#aemond please there are better ways to deal with this

[aphemera]

was aemond’s scene with the brothel lady strange and disgusting? yes but also I get it because just like aemond I have been searching for the comfort of my mother’s embrace for years, my memories being made up more of my wanting than actually receiving, and so its with much regret that I must compare myself to one of alicent’s kids but i guess it was also inevitable as my own mother shares even more similarities with her

[i-smoke-chapstick]

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[mythicmanuscripts]

god i love your writing so much. i saw your ask about the jealousy thing, what if it was the other way around and someone flirts with their wife and the wife just very pointedly and proudly introduces them. like "have you met my husband" like aemond or daemon is the sweetest person on the planet. for all our boys please.

Ooo I love this!!! I think I'm gonna write a little bit about a few different characters and then we can always expand on something or if you have your own thoughts then feel free to send them in!

AEGON:

As we all know, Aegon is extremely needy and very very much in love with his wife. The entire kingdom knows this, and they all know what an amazing change in Aegon you managed to bring out, but of course they arent stupid either, they know that Aegon is still prone to emotional outbursts.

I bring this up because all of the above means that people generally arent dumb enough to flirt with you, and certainly not to flirt with you when Aegon is in the room somewhere. Most people tend to think that if they tried anything with you then they'd be killed, which actually isnt the truth. Aegon would certainly be upset, but because of his insecurities he'd never try to hurt the other guy because if he's honest, the other guy would probably be a better husband than him anyway.

So when someone hits on you and you respond by actually calling him over? You motion for Aegon to come to you and of course he's on his way immediately. The moment he's next to you, you wrap your arm around his waist and give it a little squeeze. Then you introduce the man that was flirting with you to Aegon and say very clearly that you love your husband so much.

When the guy walks away Aegon is positivity BEAMING.

AEMOND:

Aemond is in complete shock when you respond to flirting by actually pointing him out? The shock comes from the fact that he's honestly never had anyone be fully satisfied with him alone and not think of him as second fiddle to his brother. He's never had someone actually be proud of him, and not just proud of his achievements but actually proud of him, as a person?

His stomach does several flips when he realises you're motioning to the man you're speaking to to look at him. You smile at him when he catches your eye and soon after the man walks away.

Aemond comes to you then and asks why you were pointing at him and you just smile and inform him that you the man you were speaking to was trying to get you be with him instead and so you just politely showed the man what a beautiful lovey husband you have and how no one else could ever come close.

Which... well done he's now crying in the ballroom.

JACE:

You learn pretty quickly that Jace's methods of dealing with emotions is the tried and true method of bottling them up until the bottle explodes in a massive mental breakdown before getting a new bottle and starting he whole process all over again. After a while he starts to come to you when he can feel he's beginning to struggle because then he knows you'll keep a close on him.

Besides just that, you also start trying to understand what triggers him and makes him this upset so that you can try to avoid it in some way. One such thing is when another hits on you, especially when they insinuate that they'd be a better husband because their lineage has never been in dispute.

Previously you thought the best way to handle this was just to turn the guy down and move on, often without telling Jace at all. But this runs the very real risk that if he does find out he will be devastated.

You have since found a way to stop the jealousy from impacting him at all, and that's why bringing him into the conversation and allowing him to hear you defend him.

[daenysx]

Okay blurb req for old money!Aemond who is ALSO a model for really expensive brands and his gf is a photographer👀 inspired by the photoshoot and that one specific blue leopard print pic🙂‍↕️🤭

oh my god i hope i did well, thank you, rue !! <33333

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

cw; modern!aemond being a hopeless romantic, suggestive, kisses, no but he's really so in love it hurts, photographer!reader and model!aemond can be a new favorite wow

"are you sure this is professional?"

aemond has no shame, honestly. you don't think you can be expected to be 'professional' when your boyfriend looks like he'll ruin your entire existence by looking like the most charming being in the entire universe.

his blue eyes sparkle in the latest photos you take, a stark contrast with his platinum blonde hair. flowy strands make you want to pull aemond to yourself enough to give him a good kiss on his neck as your fingers travel in his hair. maybe you can do that when you get to be alone with him. oh, you'll definitely do that when you're alone.

"i believe i'm extremely professional." you murmur, holding his hand to make him pose the way you want. "if you stop being so distracting, it'll be even better."

he smirks. a small quirk of lovely lips, he's handsome and he knows it. he leans into your space and your hold on your camera tightens. you will not kiss him. you can't, there are other people here, and this is business. you take a step back.

"i'm only doing what you tell me to do." he says like he's the most innocent man. "you can't say i'm not being good."

you give him a small smile. he's in the mood for playing.

"i didn't say that." you say, quietly. "come on, a few more for me and we'll be done."

aemond fixes his posture, your one hand still holding his. "of course." he says, coolly. "you know i can actually be good for you. as many as you want, you'll have it."

you lick your lips to control your face expressions. not the time, not the place. just like you say to him, only a few more and you'll be done.

the clothes he's wearing make aemond look taller as if it's actually possible. you admire his poses, his confidence and his awareness of how good he looks. he turns his head for another picture, his eyes following your every move. it's like a wordless conversation between you two.

"can i get one with a smile?" you ask him, your hand directing his last pose. "not too wide, just- a subtle one, please."

"i'm afraid that's not possible if i'm going to give you a smile." he flirts. "maybe you should let someone else take the photo if you need a subtle one."

you hear two girls giggling at the corner. he really thinks he's so fun, doesn't he? it's his world here, he knows how to charm his way and he certainly knows how to be a flirt. you're thankful he's already yours, it would be impossible to handle him otherwise.

after another fifteen minutes, you're all done. you go next to aemond, leaving your camera. people around you move quickly to clean up the place, and fix all the mess that has been made. aemond takes your hand to brush a kiss on your knuckles. his eyes are warm this time, so clear under this lights.

"what do you think?" he asks. "good?"

you nod softly. "probably the best in a long time."

"kind of hard not to." he wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer. "i had the best photographer."

you give him a kiss on his cheek but that's all. he's been teasing you all day long. "do you flirt with all your photographers like this, mr. targaryen?"

"absolutely not." he answers, cheekily. "my flirting skills are reserved for only one person."

"i think you owe me a drink." you tell him. "even working is easier than trying to deal with your incessant teasing."

"we'll have dinner first." he says, kissing the side of your head. he doesn't say, but he's tired. "think of what you want to eat when i'm changing, okay? i have a few options if you can't decide."

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Secrets behind the curtain. // Actor!Aemond Targaryen x Manager!Reader || MODERN AU

Summary: Aemond takes out his frustration of losing an award on you.

WARNINGS: mdni, dubious consent, p in v sex, unprotected sex, tiddy sucking, degradation, dacryphilia, car (it's a limousine) sex, slightly dark!aemond, riding, messy sex, power imbalance, rigged award show, + not proofread, please lemme know if I missed any.

WC: 1.7K

A/N: I cooked this while trynna complete my other wips like bro 😭 adhd be like 😋 also this isn't dark enough to be tagged under mae:dark!content but it does contain dubious consent (reader is implied to find the situation inappropriate to fuck) so yeah, a heads up // divider creds: @cafekitsune

“And the best actor award goes to…” The host trails off, leaving room for suspense and Aemond leans back relaxed on his chair, knowing that he would be winning.

“Jason Lannister!”

As the host announces the name, your blood runs cold, you notice Aemond twitch slightly in his seat, he shoots you a glare and you look down at your feet.

Aemond watches in anger as Jason goes up the stage and collects the award, “That asshole isn't even that good at acting.” He scoffs and you swallow, “Aemond, the cameras.” you whisper and he rolls his eyes, putting on a fake expression of a smile, as though he's happy that Jason won, but you know the truth.

After this award, a small break was given to artists to freshen up, redo their makeup, or relieve themselves, but for Aemond that wasn't the case, “We're leaving.” He tells you and you look at him in shock, “But- the award show hasn't ended yet? If we live now, the press might notice and create articles on how you left right after you lost.” You reason, trying to catch up to Aemond as he was making his way through the alleyway, reaching his limousine which was parked behind the building, he checked the area for any press before he turned to face you.

“And whose fault was that? You brought me here, saying that I would win, look what happened now.” He grabs you by your cheeks roughly and you swallow thickly, “You were supposed to win! The judges evaluated that your performance was better but the Lannisters might've played foul.” You tried to reason but he scoffs, making his way over to the limousine and getting in.

“Where the fuck is the driver?” He asks you, when he sees you getting inside along with him, and you shrug, “He probably went to take a break– but Aemond please, your image will be ruined if you leave now.” You beg, yet he remains quiet and sits down, you shut the door behind you and sit down as well, awkward silence filling up the air.

There was no convincing Aemond once he made up his mind, so you dialled the drivers number but he didn't pick up, and you took this as a sign to persuade Aemond one last time, as if he'll suddenly change his mind even though he refused multiple times.

“Aemond, the press will write about how you were upset that you didn't win and left right after, besides that isn't the only award you are nominated for, you are also nominated for best character in the series, which will take place after this break.” You tell him calmly and he scoffs, “Yeah, just so i can lose that award too right?” He glares at you, and you shut up.

You sigh to yourself, knowing that you'd have to be the one dealing with damage control, Otto and Alicent would not be pleased, considering how Aemond had already once gotten into a controversy for taunting his nephews at an award show, questioning their birth indirectly.

You are about to dial the driver's number once again before your phone is yanked off from your grip, your hand is then grabbed and you stumble forward into Aemond arms.

He wastes no time in unbuttoning your shirt revealing your bra, he untucks your shirt and pulls it off you, throwing it on the ground and then begins mouthing at your breast, and kissing on your neck.

“Aemond— we can't right now—” You try to protest but he interrupts you, “Shut the fuck up.” He grits his teeth and you immediately obey.

He pushes you down onto the seat and pulls your pants off, leaving you in nothing but your underwear and feeling vulnerable.

You open your mouth to protest again but he slams his lips against you, leaving you unable to speak. The kiss is aggressive, hungry and anger filled, he bites your lip enough to make it painful but not to draw blood, and you whine into the kiss. His hands roam up your body and he finds your breasts, squeezing them tightly and mostly aggressively.

He pulls away and begins to undo his own pants, unbuckling belt and pulling his pants and boxers down, revealing his hard and leaking cock, he unbuttons his shirt slightly, feeling hot.

Your panties are pulled off in an instant and thrown to where the rest of your clothes are, same with your bra, you grip the edge of slim seats to not fall off when he grabs your legs and spreads them wide, before leaning forward and causing your knees to push up against your chest.

He spits on your cunt, his hands now holding the underside of your knees, he lets one of them in order to line his cock up against your entrance before going back to the underside of your knees again.

You gasp when his cock stretches your walls, throwing your head back in pleasure, Aemond doesn't waste any moment and begins to ram harshly into your cunt and you bite your lip to prevent noises from coming out.

“Fucking slut, look at how wet you've become.” He says harshly, his hips thrusting in and out at a fast pace, he grabs your arms and pins them upwards, “'Foul play' you say? It doesn't matter how much money they've spent, you should've spent more.” He grits his teeth, still remembering your words from earlier. “B-but that wouldn't be fair–” You are cut off with a light slap to your cheek, before he grips it tightly, “Fair? Who cares about fairness? Look what happened now.” He spits in your mouth.

You swallow, knowing you have no choice, a small smirk forms on his lips at what you've done, likely satisfied with your behaviour.

But soon he remembers that this situation didn't occur because he simply wanted to fuck his favourite woman like all the other times, no, he was mad at you.

“You're so fucking useless, do you know that?” He asks and you sniff, staying silent.

“Useless whore, you couldn't even make me win the award, the only thing you're good for is being a cocksleeve and a cunt to dump my cum into.” He degrades you and you can feel the tears begin to form in your eyes at his words.

Yet he finds joy in those tears.

“You're crying now? Imagine how I felt when I lost the award huh? How embarrassing was it for me? Especially to that fucking Jason Lannister.” His thrusts become even more brutal.

Your body jolts up and down the seat at the impact, but you still remain silent, the only noises that leave your mouth being whines and moans.

“You're fired.”

Your eyes shoot wide open at those words and you begin to shake, “No- no, please!” You beg and he chuckles, “Desperate to keep this job that much huh? Why? Is it because of my cock?” He asks and you shake your head no, “Please–” You beg and he seems to be in thought.

He suddenly pulls you up, changing positions.

He is now sitting straight with you straddling him, your arms gripping his shoulders for balance.

“Do you really want to keep this job?” He asks and you nod eagerly, “Well, you know what to do.” He says and you nod.

You raise your hips slightly before going down again, you set a decent pace and begin riding him, you bounce up and down on his cock, gripping his shoulders tight, whilst he grips your hips.

“You're so fucking pretty like this.” He mutters, pressing kisses on your breasts before pulling your nipple into his mouth, your pace falters slightly, yet his mouth remains on your breast, suckling on the nipple, twirling his tongue around the bud, and groaning in pleasure.

He leaves your breast with a wet pop before giving the other one the same attention, “I love these tits so much, I can only imagine how delicious it would be if they swell up with milk.” He sighs, rubbing his face in between them and placing a kiss on your sternum.

You begin picking up the pace again, slightly leaning forward which makes the tip of his cock hit the sweet spot, making you let out a moan, you feel his grip tighten on your hips, and soon starts to thrust upwards, matching your pace.

“Fuck Aem– I'm so close.” You close your eyes, “I know baby, me too.” He kisses your neck, and due to the repeated hits at your sweet spot, you finish with a loud moan and immediately fall limp at the impact, your breathing uneven as you rest your cheek on his shoulder.

He thrusts a few more times before he comes too with a grunt, painting your walls white with his seed. You both stay like that for a moment until you break the silence with a question, “Are you actually gonna fire me?” You question and he chuckles, “And miss out having the best fucking company ready 24/7 for me? No. I'm no such fool.” He answers.

Suddenly your phone begins to ring, you get off him and pick the call up and Aemond watches you to do so.

You gasp when the other person reveals the news to you, and you turn to look at Aemond, who looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, and you end the conversation with the other person, cutting the call.

“The award show is cancelled, apparently the Lannisters have been exposed for the foul play they had done.” you tell him, and his face immediately becomes bright with a smile on his face, and soon it is replaced with a smirk as he watches you put your clothes on.

“You better prepare yourself for a round two at my house.” He tells you and quickly pulls his pants up, before you can say anything, the door opens

“Sorry madam, I wasn't able to pick up the call, my phone died when I tried to.” The driver apologises and gets into the vehicle, seating himself on the driver's seat and quickly starts the limousine, and you sit down next to Aemond, who rests his hand on your thigh, causing goosebumps to rise as you oddly anticipate what's about to come.

The ride home felt like an eternity.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[yanderes-galore]

in love with the platonic yandere aegon ii and the greens too, will you please write more? 🥹💖 i cant imagine the thrill he’d feel when you bond with a dragon, and maybe even actively seeking him out and being there for him when the maesters treat him. i would love to see reader be so caring for helaena and their little sister, training to fight for the purpose of protecting them from harm. i can also see reader being inquisitive of their lineage as a targaryen, asking their uncle aemond to let them see vhagar and learn about their family. i can also see queen alicent being weirdly caring like seeing reader as another chance of being a better mother?

This is extended thoughts based on the Darling in this concept I'm linking here. Kept Darling Female as she was in the previous concept.

Based these extended thoughts on the Anon comments you made ^^ I don't mind making a few other cute ideas. Sorry it isn't all that yandere, I wanted to make cute content with the subtle echo of a threat without forcing unnecessary conflict.

Yandere! Platonic! Team Green Extended Thoughts

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Overprotective behavior, Isolation, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Fear of loss, Violence, Dubious companionship.

While Aegon is nervous about it, a good Targaryen princess and queen needs a dragon of her own.

So eventually you'll be given one of your own.

Dragons are rideable rather quickly, so within a year and a half you'll have a rideable dragon.

It's a hatchling of your own with pretty scales and piercing eyes.

Aegon himself would want to teach you the ways of having a dragon.

Although he often comes off as arrogant with his explanations, using Sunfyre as an example as he shows you how to properly command a dragon.

Uncle Aemond may be the one to teach you High Valyrian to not only hold conversations and mess with Aegon... but to give better commands to your mount.

Even if Aegon was burned, he still asks for frequent updates on your progress.

Of course the burned king feels thrilled to see and hear you able to control a dragon of your own.

While he was anxious at first, he feels quite prideful to see his eldest daughter prove herself.

Aegon loves you the most out of his children, even if laws limit you due to being a woman.

You're just so determined to do good for your father.

Aegon usually doesn't want you to see him suffer when the Maesters treat him.

Yet you often go out of your way to show up and stand beside his bed.

You love him even if Aegon tries to isolate you from the world.

Aegon only wants you to focus on your family....

It makes him happy even if he's pained when you hold his hand.

You're loyal, staying by your father's side as he's treated after being burned.

Although, eventually, Aemond will call you away to teach you more.

Be that swords or ancient languages and history... Aemond takes a great deal of enjoyment when becoming your mentor.

He even offers to help you with your dragon bonding, showing you Vhagar and teaching you how to treat your own mount.

Aegon would hate you being shown Vhagar but Aemond knows he can't do anything about it.

Since you've been taught to care for family, you care for Helaena after the death of one of her sons.

You often help her parent your younger brother and sister, sitting quietly in her chambers as you watch the two babes coo to each other.

You beg Aemond to teach you more in order to protect your family.

Your uncle is amused yet teaches you of course.

Sometimes people wonder if Aemond is trying to gain your favor instead of Aegon...

Aegon was never into history or very dedicated to swords or language.

Which means Aemond spends a lot of time preparing you.

Your grandmother, Alicent, may wish her sons taught you like a proper lady.

Despite it, Aemond usually ignores her and gives you the lessons you desire.

Speaking of Alicent, you're right when you'd say she'd want to parent you to try and be a better mother.

You may be Aegon's kid, yet she finds herself also attentive to you.

She usually visits Helaena's chambers when you're there to interact with both you and your mother.

Alicent loves you too... and with how you're being brought up... she's happy at least one Targaryen seems to have their heart in the right place.

Even though Aemond, Helaena, and Alicent are usually the ones who have your attention... you still return to Aegon.

You lay beside him as he rests, telling him of your progress as a young Targaryen princess.

Aegon is pleased with it all... you're almost fit to be a queen... you just need a husband...

Although Aegon dreads the idea of promising you to anyone.

Sure, you'll have heirs of your own someday...

Yet for now Aegon wants to keep you to himself for a while.

You're his promising princess... more precious to him than anything...

The rest of the family feel a similar way, you're like their trump card.

None of them would ever let anything happen to you.

Blood has already been spilled in this war, so them executing anyone else in your name isn't too unheard of.

The last thing The Greens want is to let The Blacks have you.

They don't want you being tempted and betraying them... or being kidnapped... or worse.

So, for now, Aegon and the rest want to keep you isolated...

If you ever got captured by The Blacks... or were tempted to leave your family by other means...

Fire and blood will follow.

[nena-la-fresa]

The Dragon and The Wolf |Part 1|

18+ Account | Minors DNI | Do NOT Follow, Like, or Comment | Pls have your age in your bio, if you do not I will automatically block you because I’ll assume you are a minor.

Part 2

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f! Stark Reader

Warning: Arranged Marriage | Steamy Themes | Angst |

Word Count: 1807

A/N: Hasn't been proof read so bear with me I'll fix it later. Aemond is also aged up to the actors age cuz that’s the age he looks.

You could overhear the whispers, the pity in their voices. The young wolf being sent off to marry a dragon. 

All due to the stupidity of your house. How infuriating that they accepted an audience with Rhaenyra's son. It was most definitely seen as an act of treason to the Crown. No matter how much you pleaded with your father not to accept the meeting. You had the sight, you had seen what would happen if they had sided with her. You never disliked Rhaenyra, she was absolutely beautiful, you had always admired her since you were a child. But knowing that the safety of your family was now jeopardized you could not stay silent. But your family was permitted to stay on good terms with the Crown under the condition that you marry Prince Aemond. 

The whispers of how you were kissed by visions from the gods had reached Otto. He was the reason your family was given a second chance. What better way to win wars and make sure his blood stayed on the throne than to marry his grandson to a Greenseer. The wedding would take place in a month's time. Plans had been formed to begin as soon as you had left for Kings Landing. 

The road was long and no amount of sleep could calm your nerves. 

“Mother please not now.” 

Aemond pushes the door to his chambers, unable to close it as Alicent was close behind. 

“I understand you are upset. But you know it is your duty. Your brother is sick, he’s practically on his deathbed. So your grandfather thought it was best to find you a wife in preparation.” 

“The Stark girl who comes from a traitor family? How is that any good?” His voice hinted with malice. 

“Because she is a great asset to our family. You know how your father always spoke of Targayens and their prophecies. How they escaped Old Valyria. This could be good for us, Aemond. We wouldn’t have to lose anyone else.” She moved forward and touched his arm as he stared into the fire. “Aemond please.”

“It’s not as if I have a choice mother.” He sighed and placed his hand on hers. No matter how frustrating a situation he could never be upset with her. “When will the wedding take place?”

“Two days after she arrives.”

Much to your dismay you had arrived at King's Landing. Your wedding was in two days time, nothing could prepare you for it. You hadn’t even seen your betrothed since the moment you got there. You had met the Queen and she had asked for your forgiveness at her sons, ‘Shyness’. You expected as much. You heard rumors, the whispers of how cold Aemond was. In fact you preferred that he didn’t see you. But contrary to what people believe you were not always within the favor of the gods. 

“I know what people say of my son. And I am sorry you have to hear that. But I can assure you he is at the very least a gentleman. If my son ever does you harm please do let me know and I will do my best to correct his behavior. “ 

“Thank you. I very much- '' You were cut off by the sounds of the doors opening loudly combined with heavy footsteps. 

“Mother, Aegon has been begging for you. Please shut hi-'' He paused as he saw you sitting there. Before you turned to him could only describe you as cold looking and distant, with a hint of poise. He thought your look was very fitting for a Northerner. And had he known his mother requested an audience with you he wouldn’t have come barging in. 

“Good you're here.” Alicent got up from her seat and headed towards him. “I’ll deal with your brother. But the two of you need to converse.” 

Alicent closes the door behind her, “Make sure he doesn’t leave just yet.” She tells the guard on post. 

You turned away from him and focused your attention on the fire as you began to fidget with your hands. Aemond takes notice of it, and he sees the same movement his mother does when she gets nervous. Then he hears you wince, and the sight of blood can be seen on your thumb. 

“Stop that.” He took three steps before he was in front of you and grabbed your hands. You had looked up at him in surprise, looking at him now you couldn’t believe the rumors you heard of him looking hideous. Your eyes softened a bit at his touch and by the look of concern he gave you. He had an ethereal beauty to him, even with the eyepatch and scar. 

As he looked down at you he took notice of your eyes, doe like. And that coldness he saw was gone for the moment. He then remembered the blood on your hand, not having anything to wipe away the blood he brought your hand up to his lips and sucked the blood. 

You should be weirded out. But the sensation of his tongue and lips against your finger sent a shiver down your spine that made its way to your nether regions. 

“Aemond.” You whispered his name. Yet it seemed as if he didn’t hear you. You cleared your throat and spoke clearly, “I think the blood has stopped now.” 

He let go of your hand “Forgive me.” In a panic he turns and heads straight for the door. As he opens the door the guards stop him. 

“Forgive me Prince Aemond but your mother said not to let you leave just yet.” Aemond gave the guard a look. 

“You must be joking.” 

“Sorry my Prince.” The guard shut the door leaving Aemond trapped. 

“Unbelievable.” Aemond made his way over to sit by the fireplace. You both sat in silence for what felt like hours. You watched him as the fire casted a shadow on one side of his face and illuminated the other. 

“Are you always so quick to run away?” You playfully joked. 

 He turned his head quickly to you and was quick to respond, “Maybe if you had not picked at your skin I would not have run away.” 

You were taken aback by his response, almost getting whiplash by his change in tone. Just a minute ago he was gentle with you. “Me? Then maybe you should not have kissed my finger.” 

“You dare argue with me?” He scoffed. 

“Yes and what of it.” You stood up and made your way over to him. “Are you going to have me killed?” 

He laughed and stood up, he towered over you. “No.” He smirked and leaned down at eye level, “I could just do it myself.”  

“And risk another war?” 

“Oh please, your father begged my grandsire for forgiveness. You really think they’d go to war for a daughter?” 

“You must know very well considering they call you kinslayer.” 

“Hold your tongue.” He hissed and grabbed your face firmly. 

“You must know what love for one’s child could make anyone do. What your sister did for her son, and what your mother did for hers.” 

“Do you always speak when you’re told not to?” His voice no longer hinted with any concern he had for you earlier. You felt his breathing become heavy, and his grip tightened. 

“Do I upset you?” You smirked slightly, “Were you expecting someone quiet? Someone who won’t put up a fight?” 

“Like how you put up a fight when I cleaned your blood?” His face moves closer to your ear as he whispers. “You don’t think I could feel you shaking? Or hear your breathing hitch?” 

“What are you doing?” You try to pull away as you feel his hot breath on your neck. 

“Not much of a fight you’re putting up is it.” He kissed your neck, and sucked for just a second. Just enough to make you let out a small whimper. 

“Aemond stop.” You pleaded as he kept teasing you. You felt the heat rising in your body and I’m sure that he felt it too.  

His lips were moving down your neck to your collarbone. He sucked a bit harder, enough to leave a mark, you winced and pushed him away. Without even thinking you slapped him. 

His face turned only slightly, it was almost as if it hadn’t even hurt him. You kept looking at him and noticed the light tint of red on his cheek. Not only that but the corner of his lip began to bleed, the sight of it had distracted you from the stinging pain coming from your palm. 

You hurt him, but he kept pushing. But maybe it was your fault for teasing him. But he practically defiled you before you were even married. He went too far. Yes you were to be married but, what of this mark. What will others think? Will they think you were a whore? Will they question your virtue and think another man has touched you? Will this get your family and you killed? You hadn’t seen this, in fact you hadn’t seen anything regarding Aemond in your dreams or visions. Your thoughts ran wild and you couldn’t stand to be here anymore. It was all overwhelming. What were you doing here? How could your father be so stupid. How could he do this to you? You weren’t some common whore. 

“Forgive me, my Lady. I went to fa-” Before he could even finish what he wanted you were gone. His head turned to hear the doors fling open and your scurrying footsteps. He began to run after you but ran into his mother in the corridor. Alicent had looked back at you and then at her son. She could see his tinted check and the blood. 

“Aemond what did you do?” She wiped the blood off his lip. 

The next two days were spent with you avoiding Aemond at all cost. You had practically locked yourself in your chambers. Thankfully Alicent had permitted it, but that didn’t help much as tomorrow was the day. The day you would be binded to him forever. The whole day was nothing but making sure that your dress still fit and that you were prepped for consummating the marriage. It has plagued your mind. Not even sleep could help with this. 

The sounds of the bells had brought you out of your trance. You don’t even remember how you got up here. But here you were next to Aemond hand in hand about to be trapped. 

As both your hands were tied together the man spoke, “Let it be known that Y/n of House Stark and Aemond of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

[thought--bubble]

Hey, would you write something related to modern Aemond like: Aemond in high school is often excluded and harassed because he comes from a family considered strange and also because everyone has a view that he is strange. The reader is the only one who is kind to him and doesn't ignore him, and this is enough for Aemond to fall in love with the reader, despite never having had a real or very long conversation with her.

Additional: Aemond, despite maintaining a tough attitude, is extremely lacking in affection and is quite sensitive

This Is My First Ask So I Really Hope You Like It! The Characters are not in high school because i only write about adults but they will have originally met there. This got away from me a bit but I had a really good time writing it. I hope you enjoy!

My Salvation

Modern Aemond X (Long Term Crush Reader)

Warnings Under The Cut

Modern Aemond Master List

Full Master List

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings:: Allusions to Bullying, Car sex, Unprotected sex, Pining. IDK i suck at these any suggestions please LMK

"Everything is perfect" You think to yourself as you get yourself ready for your morning shift at the local coffee shop, and as far as you are concerned it really is.

You graduated from Highschool a few months ago and were ready to start your life as an adult. You had gotten yourself a job at the local coffee shop as well as signed up for the Autumn Semester at the Beauty Academy in Manchester.

Makeup for the stars was your dream and with the acceptance to the academy you felt like you were well on your way to achieving that goal.

Your day starts off like any other. You walk into the coffee shop apron in hand and greet your Co-worker Floris. She was a very popular girl back in your high school and dated the local bad boy Cregan Stark on and off for years.

"Good Morning Floris" You smile sweetly at her as you make your way behind the counter.

"Morning" She sighs letting you know the Floris you get to interaact with today is going to be the moody Floris. Internally you sarcastically thank Cregan for breaking up with her yet again and leaving you to deal with her sullen disposition, but you being the ball of sunshine that you are try and bring up the mood with cheerful banter.

"Has it been busy today?" You attempt to make conversation hoping she will bite at the bit so you don't have to suffer through one of those awkward days where she is silent and brooding through almost the entirety of your shared shift.

"No" she answers short and curt. you briefly rub your fingers against your forehead, if you don't figure out how to get her into at least a little bit better of a mood this is going to be a very long annoying shift.

The bell over the door jingles signaling that a customer has entered the shop.

"its back" Floris says annoyed.

"Stop that" You scold as you look toward the door.

There he is, your most common customer. Aemond Targaryen. He has his long blonde hair tied back and his eye patch on. You never understood why he wears that outdated thing. He must think it adds to his mystery persona.

Aemond is a bit of an oddball. Never fit in much in school. He is after all a Targaryen. The fact that he lost an eye in some sort of childhood accident, made him that much more different than everyone else. Which around here, is never a good thing.

"Hey there Aemond, the usual?" you ask him, your typical bubbly demeanor on full display.

"Yes please"" his answers are always so short and void of emotion. never mean or aggressive just short and cold.

You smile at him happily while you prepare his usual black coffee with tons of sugar. How he drinks his coffee like this you will never understand.

You spoke to Aemond sparingly back in school, which although is most than other students, still wasn't much. You wouldn't say you are friends but you do hold a bit of an affinity for him.

He had a tough time. No one could deny that. He was ignored, ostracized. Not that he would ever let anyone know if that fact actually bothered him, you always assumed that it did. At least to some degree.

You hand him the coffee with a big smile on your face. He takes it from you and nods. Making his way to his usual table and pulling out his laptop.

"Why does he stay?" Floris whispers "It's weird"

You shoot her a pointed look. "It is not weird for someone to sit down and work in a coffee shop, actually, it's quite common. Kindness isn't difficult. you should try it"

"You are aware their family tree doesn't have quite enough branches right?" Floris says while chuckling.

"A lot of royal families have that .... kind of history, they are descendants of royalty. Its been like what? 100 generations or something? Don't you think it's time for a new plot point?"

Floris sighs "He's just .... weird"

You roll your eyes and can't help but glance over at the mysterious man. Watching him type away on his laptop and staring at his side profile. If he wasn't the silent brooding type or a Targaryen the girls at school probably would have been all over him. He is obviously handsome with a jaw line that could cut diamonds. Its that icy chill around him and that albatross of a last name that had him shunned.

As your shift continues you occasionally glance over at him. His coffee long gone but still he stays typing away as other customers come and go.

"What do you think he's working on?" you wonder out loud

"Some version of the Targaryen anarchists cookbook i'm sure..... "

You sigh and roll your eyes again. Why could no one seem to look at the man himself instead of his family? Instead of the eye patch? It seemed so cruel.

"Do you mind if I head out 20 minutes early? Cregan wants to talk" she starts putting her jacket on before you even respond.

"Yeah that's fine, Sara and Jace should be here any minute anyway."

You watch as she quickly gathers her things running out of the shop. You tap your fingers on the counter. The shop is now empty save for Aemond typing away on his laptop.

"Hey Aemond?" You practically yell across the shop. He looks up at you furrowing his brows but doesn't say anything.

"You want a muffin or something?" you offer holding up a double chocolate muffin and wiggling it back an forth.

He simply shakes his head returning his focus back to the laptop in front of him. you sigh as you come to the conclusion that it is going to be a long and boring 20 minutes before second shift shows up.

Probably five minutes before Sara and Jace are due to arrive the downpour starts.

"oh well isn't that grand" you mumble to yourself.

You have been trying to save up for a car. Your parents couldn't afford to buy you one at the present time, and with the wages earned at the coffee shop it would most likely take the entire summer for you to save up enough so you walked to and from work. This typically wasn't a big deal since you lived close by but torrential rain always made the experience a lot less pleasant.

Jace comes running in soaked to the bone.

"Please tell me you just ran a mile and not just 5 seconds from the car park?" the grimace on your face outwardly showing how you are feeling

"Nah this is the 2 second walk from the car park it's serious out there right now!" he laughs while he shakes his hair off.

He comes around the back of the counter.

"He's here again huh? I could ask him to stop?" Jace whispers

"No, he's fine, he has a coffee works on whatever and then he goes."

"He always comes at the beginning of your shift and leaves at the end of it. You don't think that is a little weird?"

"Isn't he like your cousin or something? I would think that you would be nicer" you take off your apron and hold it in your hands.

"uncle, and we're not close" Jace heads to the backroom trying to dry himself off. "When sara gets here, I'm sure she won't mind running the store alone a few minutes so's I can drop you off"

"No, I'm ok. Just a little rain, Heard rainwater is good for your hair" You chuckle to yourself. "Bye Jace"

Jace waves as you head out the door of the shop and the second you get outside you can't believe how hard it is raining.

"Let me take you." Aemonds cool voice comes from behind you.

"Oh!" you jump and turn around his face, still as stone looking at you awaiting your answer.

"Thanks, that would be very kind" You decide to accept his offer. Firstly, it is downpouring and you really don't want to ruin your shoes and second, he can't escape you in a tiny car. He will have to finally speak.

The two of you run over to his Porsche. Of course he would have a Porsche.

"I'm getting your seat wet, i'm so sorry" you blurt out the moment the two of you are in the car.

"Don't worry about it" He turns the car on and turns on the heat.

"Thank you for this." You smile at him hoping he will look over at you.

Instead he just nods and puts the car in reverse backing out of the parking space.

You don't even tell him where you live but he pulls out front of your building anyway.

"Ummm.... how did you?"

"I dropped you off junior year after your friend ditched you."

"Right, I forgot about that" you scratch the back of your neck and purse your lips but don't make a move towards getting out of the car.

"Why do you come see me?" you look directly at him.

"What?" His voice sounds a bit defensive

"I'm not bothered by it. Really, I'm just curious"

"I like coffee." He answers as he turns his head toward you.

"No. it's something else. C'mon tell me" you flutter your lashes and give him a puppy dog look, no one can withstand your puppy dog look.

He chuckles and rolls his neck. "I remember"

This peaks your interest "Remember what?"

He sighs "I remember every single time you talked to me, looked at me, walked by me and waved. Hell, i remember when you held the door open for me. twice"

Your breath catches in your throat.

"I'm not crazy and i'm not a stalker i swear" he rubs his collar bone nervously. "it's just..... you were my salvation. The one person who didn't run from me or sneer at me or judge me and hate me" he grips the steering wheel tightly.

you reach over and gently rub his knuckles as they turn white. he takes a deep breath in at the skin to skin contact.

"So in other words.... you miss me?" You ask with a tiny smile and a blush on your cheeks.

"yeah, if you wanna make it simple i guess that would be the right term for it"

"How much?" Your voice drops from your sweet and kind persona, to a more sultry sound.

Aemond catches this right away. "Umm.... what?"

you get up on the seat, on your knees and lean over the center console. getting up close to his ear. "How much did you miss me? Like, was it driving you crazy?" You place your hand on his shoulder tracing your finger along his neck "Keeping you up at night?"

his breath comes out in unsteady huffs "You really shouldn't"

"Hmmm?"

"I will not be able to control myself if you keep that up" he grips the steering wheel tighter and suddenly the situation in this car had changed completely.

You were no longer teasing him to get a rise and reaction out of him. Him stating he wouldn't be able to control himself lit a fire in you. You felt this urge to push him there. A burning pooling in your belly you were not going to ignore. No, just this once you were going to indulge.

You lean over further bringing your mouth to his ear. "Maybe I want to see it"

He bites his bottom lip, then grabs your face pressing his lips against yours harshly. Lust and desperation apparent in his kiss. His hand slides up the back of your neck to the base of your head holding you close as he continues to devour you. Like a man starved.

Before your brain has even caught up to what is happening he grips your thigh harshly pulling you over the center console and into his lap. he quickly grabs your hips pushing you down into him as his tongue continues to explore your mouth.

"I've dreamt of this for ages" he whispers as he kisses and nibbles along your jawline making you purr contently. Being wanted this bad is the biggest turn on you have ever experienced.

You roll your hips against him chasing that pressure. When he feels this he growls and pushes your core against him as he ruts up against you.

"I have to have it." He begs with a breathy sigh "Gods please i have to"

You unbuckle your khakis and slide them off your legs giggling at the slight gymnastics you have to perform in order to get them off. Once they are off you drop back onto his lap and he runs his hands up your back pulling you tight up against him. His mouth finds yours again as his slips his hand between your thighs and slides a finger inside of you.

"I knew you would be perfect, I fuckin knew it" He groans as he adds a second finger pumping in and out of you slowly. he hooks his finger finding that spot inside of you that sends you to ecstasy. You close your eyes and roll your head back moving your hips rhythmically against his hand.

"oh god, oh god!" You squeal as he brings you over the edge, you clenching around his fingers. He immediately unfastens his jeans sliding them down to his thighs and pulling you over him.

"is this ok?" He asks gripping your hips tightly

You nod and he pushes your hips down sliding himself into you slowly. he makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a growl as you sink down onto him.

"This ain't gonna last long darlin" he grunts as he thrusts up into you. He bites down on your shoulder as he pulls you down over him over and over thrusting up into you at the same time. He rubs your pearl with his thumb as he quickens his pace.

Jaw slack and eyes like dinnerplates he watches as you come done a second time and groans

"Where? Where?" He whines "Fuck"

"I'm on birth control it's fine" You bite his bottom lip "Go ahead"

"Fuck! Ok Ok Fuck" He slams your hips down onto him three more times before his body tenses and squeezes your hips so tight you think your bones may snap.

you rest your forehead on his shoulder as the both of you regulate your breathing.

"Thank god it's fucking pouring" You giggle.

"Yeah, that was a bit mental wasn't it?" he laughs while breathing heavily and running his fingers through your hair.

You flop back over to the passengers seat and start pulling your trousers back on.

"See you at the coffee shop tomorrow?" you ask as you clasp the button.

"Always" he smiles back at you.

"Good, cuz i think I may need another ride..... " you giggle

"Really? you live so close" He teases back

"Who said I wanted to go home?" you wink at him as you hope out of the car. "See you tomorrow"

You shut the door and head inside with a huge grin on your face.

"Ok ... NOW everything is perfect"

To be added to taglist click here

[leth-writes]

Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warning: This is 18+ due to discussions of sex

Let’s just say you’re betrothed. Doesn’t really matter what family you’re from.

Your first meeting is definitely awkward. He’s coId and calculating, more focused on the sense of power that the marriage will bring.

Part of this is definitely insecurity due to his appearance. He’s convinced he’s absolutely unattractive, and he deals with that feeling through pushing everyone else away. He’s easy to anger, and might antagonize your family just to get away with it

After the wedding, you spend some time alone, just getting to know each other, on the wishes of Alicent.

It’s tough at first; he has a way of talking that can set you off. You get into a lot of fights, and that feisty personality really forces him to back down; having someone genuinely challenge him, not physically but verbally, boosts his level of respect for you immensely.

Don’t let him talk down to you; call him out on anything he says that’s rude

“Wow, did it take you all day to come up with that line?” just a little sarcastic one-liner will completely disarm him. He isn’t used to people outside of his family standing up to him.

Seeing you hold your own against him really starts to get him enamored with you. He really admires that quick, cool wit and how well you’re able to keep that calm demeanor

He would quickly start to fall for either a really fiery partner, or one who’s got that calm, take-no-shit demeanor

Eventually, what really makes him fall in love is the way you deal with his eye. Not being scared or disgusted by it will really help him get closer to you. It’s his biggest sense of insecurity. It’s best if you either have no strong reaction, finding the scar not a big deal, or if you tell him how beautiful you find the violet hue of his eye.

It’ll bolster his confidence, especially if you tell him how hot you find the scar and his eye, and he might even start leaving the eyepatch off for longer periods of time when the two of you are alone

Loves reading to you, your head cuddled in his lap and staring up at him lovingly.

He lives for those quiet moments where he doesn’t have to be some big, intimidating force, and he can just be.

As his wife, you get a lot of questions. About his eye, about his personality, everything.

He’s fiercely protective. He doesn’t want you to realize how much better you are than him, so he protects you from the harsh realities of court life.

Loves showing off. Please compliment him on his swordwork

He’ll show you some moves in private, easily disarming and pinning you. You can surprise him and win the sparring match by kissing him. The surprise will shock him so bad he’ll forget what he’s doing and you can defeat him 🙂

He LOVES you

Oh my god he thinks you’re incredible. He thinks you’re way out of his league, and he often finds his breath taken away by your beauty and grace.

You’ve absolutely revolutionized the way he views love. He had always viewed relationships as largely transactional; as a way to get what he wants and secure his position and his legacy

You make him believe in unselfish, kind love.

NSFW

Aemond loves giving oral. It’s probably the thing he spends the most time on throughout your time together

Loves eating you out, if you’re interested.

Really sensitive. The eye tends to put people off, so he doesn’t actually have all that much experience. He tries to make up for it through working hard to get you off as many times as possible

Genuinely tends to accidentally overstimulate you. Push his head away if you need a breather, or even better, guide him by his hair.

If you’re the dominant partner, take your time. He’s sensitive from not having much experience.

If he starts getting cocky, pull his hair. Gently or hard, whatever your preference. He’ll surprise himself with the strength of the groan he release, vibrating through his chest like thunder.

Going down on him but not letting him cum is probably the best way to get him thrashing and begging.

Even when he does beg, it’s very lowkey. He makes it seem like it’s for your own good.

“Aren’t you tired of that, little dove? Wouldn’t you prefer to sit on my cock?”

(forgive me for that line)

Speaking of his cock, it’s lean and smooth with a nice curve, though it’s just slightly over average. Still, it hits all those spots just right, and it’s not too hard to fit in your mouth, especially if you use him as practice to train out his gag reflex 🙂

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen

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Author's Note: Happy Anniversary to Maiden! I'm so happy to those of you who've been on the journey from the start and those who have found this story along the way. We are in the final few chapters of this Arc! And to celebrate, I bring you amazing plot twists! All my love and thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend for holding my hand and being with me every step of the way, and @darkwolf76 who loved this story first.

If you're reading here on tumblr, I'd love to hear from you! My inbox is open and I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

CHAPTER TWENTY - I'm In Over My Head

We finally arrive at Harrenhal, where you cannot escape the ghosts.

It was a fortnight by horseback and only six hours by Sunfyre to Harrenhal, but the royal progress along the Kingsroad took a moon. The people needed to see them, the queen had insisted, refusing to let them stay and ride out on dragonback. Instead, Helaena would stay, Ser Criston at her side, and the sworn sword would fly with the princess in a month’s time. Baela would fly out with them on Moondancer, Jace on Vermax, and Aemond would accompany the royal progress without Vhagar.

Harrenhal could only house so many dragons.

Abby was ready to be done with it all; her body felt like it would never stop jostling even when she was out of the wheelhouse. The days on horseback were better, but even those had left her aching from her inexperience. Aegon had whispered in her ear that it would be good practice for her, and how precious she looked bowlegged. The ribald flirtation had sent a rush of heat and anticipation through her, as well as frustration with him for making light of how uncomfortable she’d been. For his cheek, she’d bundled herself in the wheelhouse with the Crane twins, Merei Thorne, and Floris, the latter of which had her hold her tongue to keep from ranting.

She missed Wylla.

Wylla, she knew, would loop her arm through hers and recount all the wonderful ways they could make Aegon miserable. Jesting, of course, though the pair regularly snipped at one another.

Guilt roiled in Abby’s gut. After the betrothal announcement between Aemond and Floris, Wylla had taken the opportunity to flee to Stone Hedge to witness her brother’s nuptials to Lady Alys Bracken. It had been good that she did, Abby thought. She would be able to see her mother and other brothers, who had come down in order to attend her wedding, and Wylla did not know when she would see them next. Karhold was further north than Winterfell and her friend was giving up a great deal to come live at Harrenhal.

That said little of the other reasons why Wylla had eagerly left for Stone Hedge, and Abby thought of Helaena’s words all those months ago. ‘And I’ll be left alone while you and Aegon are busy making babies together!’ She felt like a poor friend and and even worse sister, unable to deny that as the weeks had passed, her focus had been less on duties she’d taken so seriously, of being there for those she cared for, and more focused on the making of her wedding dress, of the stealing time with Aegon with a desperate heat and wanting, of responding to well wishes and organizing a household… when she had promised to always be there for Helaena. When she had begun to foster a love and friendship with Wylla that had grown into its own sisterhood.

Jace had so easily comforted Helaena during her difficult days when Abby was pulled away or otherwise occupied. And Wylla had not even told her of the budding romance between her and Aemond - now brutally cut short in the wake of politics beyond their control. So consumed she’d been with Aegon, with everything else, things that, selfishly, were for her and her alone, and so easily she’d forgotten those she vowed to care for.

Abby would do all she could to make up for it. She would ensure that Wylla did not feel forgotten, that her and Helaena could indeed visit often. She would write, she would-

“Lady Abrogail?”

Desmera’s voice cut through the swirl of guilty words flitting through Abby’s head and she looked up at the Crane girl. Desma, Abby corrected herself. Desmera preferred Desma. She was holding the wool kirtle in her arms, the shade of green as lush and dark as the fields they passed through with red weirwood embroidery along the arms. The surcoat carefully folded on the table was half red and half blue and edged in silvery rabbit fur, among the other parts of her heraldic dress. She would not be in the wheelhouse as they came into Harrentown, and the parade that announced their arrival would be a large one. Already they had seen an uptick of traffic along the Kingsroad and the tents in the fields, the small inns filled to bursting the closer they were. With only a few hours until they approached the town, it was almost like they were approaching King’s Landing. Merchants were setting up along the way to hawk wares and Abby knew that the crowd would be thicker the closer they crept

The distant call of dragons echoed outside the tent and Abby and Desma poked their heads out the flap to crane their necks to look up.

“I can’t believe Ser Criston is riding dragonback with the princess,” Desma murmured, and Abby laughed. He had stayed behind with Helaena, and Abby knew it was to keep an eye on Jace. What Abby would have given to see the look on the knight’s face when he was told that he would fly with Helaena. Not even Queen Alicent had flown with her children, despite both Aegon and Helaena’s offers.

Abby knew how big dragons were, having been around them her whole life, but this was different. With no expansive sprawl of King’s Landing or the Great Sept to compare, they seemed even larger. Past the many tents of the camps, the moors of the Riverlands was all there was. No buildings, no great mountains or spires or monuments. Just the green, rolling hills surrounding the Kingsroad and the forest beyond.

Dreamfyre’s bulk was impressive, the blue and silver of her scales standing out in the morning light, her call warm and low, melodic in a way that was surprising for a dragon. Two smaller dragons were flying about, answering the calls, scales in shades of jade and bronze and silver as Jace and Baela danced around the great dragon.

There was another familiar call, the trilling echoing across the moor like a song. Abby’s heart swelled, hearing Aegon’s happy shout from somewhere inside the camp as Sunfyre gleamed as bright as the morning sun. How she missed him, how she missed being free in the air where nothing else mattered.

Desma tugged on her elbow, laughing. “Come back here, Abby, you’re still in your nightgown.”

Abby allowed herself to be pulled back in the tent, and was soon joined by Merei Thorne, who came bearing a plate of cold meats and bread and warm cider to break her fast.

“I’m ready to be done with all this mud,” she groused, dark hair loose and free about her shoulders, her swarthy skin flushed from the cool morning air. “Ser Rickard says the crowds up the road will be thick by the time we reach them.” Merei’s uncle was a member of the Kingsguard, and Abby was grateful that she had sought information before arriving.

She let herself be tugged out of her nightgown and a fresh chemise pulled over her head before Desma got her into the green kirtle and Merei shoved a piece of bread with ham into Abby’s open mouth. “Wylla’s sent word this morning with the rider.” Merei waved the scroll around. “Your rooms have been made ready, and Lythene and Sarra are settling in, so all you need to do is arrange things to your liking.”

Abby eagerly reached for the scroll as the girls laced her into the kirtle. It was a short message, but Wylla’s handwriting was comforting and familiar.

“Is Alys another one of your ladies?” Merei asked, moving the surcoat out of the way while Abby sat to eat. Desma opened the box of combs and ribbons and hairpins to get to work on her curls.

Wylla’s letter had mentioned help from Alys Rivers, and Abby shook her head before Desma pinched her to keep still as she carefully worked Abby’s curls.

“No, she’s a member of our household. A healer and sometimes ladies maid. She helped my mother when she was pregnant with me, but declined to come to the capital with us.” Her memories of the woman were fuzzy whenever Abby tried to look at them more closely. Dark haired with large grey eyes, Alys had been a fixture when she had visited Harrenhal over the years. “It’s good that she’s helping Wylla. I know Aunt Mya has her hands full with everything and my cousin, Deidre, is there to help.” Deidre, the future Lady Smallwood of Acorn Hall, had grown up at Harrenhal and would prove helpful in this busy time of preparation. Deidre’s younger sister, Cassana, lived at Runestone and would be arriving with Lord Yorick’s party soon.

Desma’s hands worked quickly to pull Abby’s curls from her face, winding a knot of braids along the back of her head, the rest curling down her back to her waist. It would be hours of riding, but also hours of being seen by the people who looked to Harrenhal, who looked to her family, as their liege lords. Merei pulled a delicate net of silver dotted with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds and pinned it around Desma’s delicate knotwork.

With her mother’s carnelian necklace around her throat, Abby shoved her feet into her riding boots and grabbed a last chunk of bread and ham before ducking out of the tent as her ladies oversaw the packing of her things.

The sea of black and red tents felt like a field of Targaryen poppies as she made her way through the camp. The ground was not as muddy as Merei complained, but Abby was nonetheless grateful for her sturdy boots. Already the grass was churning into a muddy mess in various places and she carefully stepped around them. Servants paused to offer quick bows and curtsies, which Abby felt awkward about. They did not need to pause in their duties to acknowledge her, but at the same time, it was strangely satisfying to be recognized, to be deferred to in some small way.

Abby was not sure how to feel about it, so she pushed the confusing feelings away and shoved the rest of her bread in her mouth.

She found Aegon where the horses were stabled, tethered to temporary posts and being fed their morning grain. The morning light turned Aegon’s curls a soft gold, his gray linen shirt tucked into a pair of high waisted, black riding pants, stripes of red embroidered with gold scales down the sides into a pair of tall, shiny black boots. He was without his own surcoat and she knew that it was just as ostentatious as her own heraldic gown: black and red and scaled as was the Targaryen way. She licked butter from her thumb as she approached, gaze raking over him appreciatively and the opened neck of his shirt, teasing the lightly freckled skin that she longed to kiss.

Kostōba was as brilliant as ever, pawing happily at the ground and rooting his nose against Aegon, clearly looking for more treats. His cream colored coat shone as golden as his master’s hair in the sun, brilliant against the caparison of red and black taffeta for House Targaryen. Aegon was busy stroking the snout of another horse, focused on checking the buckles of the halter and bit. The mare was a brilliant chestnut, so red that it matched her hair, it’s mane only a scant few shades darker. It pawed the ground beside Kostōba, nickering and also looking for treats.

“What’s this?”

Aegon turned, eyes wide as if he’d been caught, a sleepy smile on his face. She was no longer mad at him, of course, but the forced distance over their travels was frustrating, in addition to the misery of frequently having to sleep outdoors, no matter how comfortable the tents were. It made tempers shorter, and the stress of everything that was to come was fraying at her.

Aegon closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands, and the touch immediately had her shoulders relaxing and she sighed as he kissed her. Chastely, but it was Aegon and his teeth snuck in a quick nibble before he pulled back. She did her best to hide her pout, tasting the wine he’d had that morning on her mouth. Abby licked her lips, blushing at the look he gave her.

“Happy nameday!” he declared, gesturing to the mare. Abby blinked at him, owlish and momentarily confused.

“Nameday?” What day was it? Time had become an endless blur of bumpy roads and the creaking wheelhouse. He raised an eyebrow at her, taking her chin in hand and tilting her head to look up at him.

“It’s your nameday,” he repeated slowly as if she hadn’t heard him the first time.

Oh! It was, wasn’t it? She sputtered softly and he chuckled, pressing another brief kiss to her parted mouth.

“Happy nameday,” he repeated more slowly this time, snickering at her lapse of memory and dropping her chin to caress her shoulder and turn her towards the mare. “She’s from the same stock as Kostōba. Six years old and well trained. She’ll be gentle with you and give a hoof to the face of any who should try to pull you from her.” His grin brightened as he went on, lilac eyes crinkled in excitement as he glanced back at her. Abby could see the hope in Aegon’s face, the nerves and question of if he’d done well with the gift.

Kostōba snorted at Aegon’s shoulder, nudging at him more insistently. Aegon huffed and pulled another piece of carrot from the pocket of his black riding coat. Abby reached up to gently stroke the velvet soft nose of the mare and took the second carrot that Aegon offered. She eagerly took it with greedy teeth, and Abby giggled as the velvet nose tickled her palm.

“She’s beautiful,” Abby said, giddiness bubbling through her belly, swooping at the thoughtfulness of the gesture, and surprise at how exciting it was to be given a horse of her very own. “And she won’t buck me off?”

“Well you’ve proven to be a good rider already, on dragonback no less, though it’s different with a horse, obviously. And I think as long as you keep petting her and speaking to her sweetly as you do, provide plenty of carrots, maybe even some apples? Oh, I think you’ll be just fine.”

Abby scoffed, but her smile was bright. “Endless supply of carrots and apples and oats. Understood, my prince. I will endeavor to bond her to me.” The mare huffed softly as Kostōba’s head came near hers to bump it.

“They look good together, don’t they?” Aegon asked softly, casually.

“They do,” Abby agreed with a soft laugh. “She matches my hair.”

“Exactly. That’s why I picked her.”

“And your horse matches your hair.”

Aegon shrugged, cheeks flushed pink as he scratched around his stallion’s nose. “I have good taste. Do you like her?” There was a furrow now between his brows as he pointedly asked her, her words not doing enough to convey her thanks. It was a guileless thing - Aegon wasn’t trying to tease a deeper showing of affection from her in his usual, playful way. Abby handed him her gathered skirts and he took them, confused, and she reached up to cup his face with both hands, his skin warm against her perpetually chilled fingers.

“I love this gift, Aegon. No one else has wished me happy nameday, but you did, and provided me a thoughtful gift that I love very much,” she reassured him, teeth catching on her lower lip as the words visibly washed over him. She could feel the tension vibrating through him, as if he couldn’t quite believe she enjoyed the gift, or was waiting for something to drop, or a dozen other things. She felt him shudder and relax into her and Abby hummed, thumbs stroking along the apples of his cheeks. The furrow eased, the tension in his shoulders relaxed, his gaze grew softer as he turned his head slightly to nuzzle against her touch. Her belly was warm, fingers toying with the softness of his silver hair, affection surging through her. Abby pressed up on her toes to press a soft, innocent peck to his plush mouth. “I love you, Aegon.”

“I love you,” he whispered shyly as his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. Satisfaction and ease seemed to fill him as she pulled away and took her skirts back from his hold. He cleared his throat, tossing his hair back from his face and reached up to stroke the little white star on the mare’s forehead. “Now we can go riding together - properly have a good race.”

“You want to race? Well then, we’ll have to come up with some good wagers then, won’t we?” The prospect excited her, the planning for things they’d do once the wedding was over and they could just get on with the rest of their lives; away from the Red Keep, away from the politics and the eyes that constantly watched them, away from everything that chased them in waking and in sleep.

Another bright call sounded above them and they both looked up to see Sunfyre circling, his chirps and clicks echoing down to them. The mare snorted and backed away, shaking her head at the closeness of the predator. Two of the stableboys came hurrying over to help calm her. Abby backed away, not wanting to be too close should she rear up, feeling foolish that she was unable to calm her horse, let alone understand how.

“He missed you,” she said, and Aegon laughed, bright and happy as he always was when it came to his golden boy.

“He’s a smart one, isn’t he?” Aegon grinned. “I was…” He trailed off, uncertain, and Abby pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“He would not abandon you. That menace broke out of the dragon pit to get to you, remember?” Not that Sunfyre had caused any damage outside of freeing himself from his chains, and would not return until Aegon had gone to retrieve him before they were dragged back to the Red Keep all those months ago.

“He would most certainly not.” Confidence returned to Aegon’s voice and he cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting words of Valyrian and gesturing north.

Abby’s gaze drifted from the sight to look out past the horses to the rolling moors past them. The mist still hung heavy along the ground, slowly burning away as the morning grew, lending a murky sight of the forest that obscured the sight of the God’s Eye.

A twisting sensation spooled through her chest as she watched the trees. There were oaks abundant along the road, and as they drew north, there were pines dotting the landscape as well. But the great, dark forest beside them was different. The oaks here were giant things. Once, as a little girl, she’d ridden out with Harwin into the Red Wood. There were a few red oaks in the Harrenhal godswood - massive things that shot past the great height of the walls. Here in the forest surrounded by them, it felt like another world. The trunks of the trees were as big as the family dining hall in the Kingspyre. Uncle Simon said that the great round table had been cut from such a trunk.

Ancient trees that had survived the great heart wound of Harren the Black. Spirits lived in the weirwoods; she remembered those stories, and the ancient sentinels remembered too. They were here long before and would be there long after -

“Hey!”

Strong, warm hands gripped her arms and shook her. Abby blinked slowly, feeling tired and confused. Aegon was looking down at her; face pale, confused, annoyed. “What’s gotten into you? I was calling for you, Abby.”

“But…” As she meant to say she had not moved, Abby realized that she could not hear nor smell the horses, and that the sounds of camp were softer than they had been before.

“You kept walking and I thought you were going to show me something but then you stopped speaking,” Aegon went on, but his voice sounded odd - strangely muffled and then clear. She reached for him but her hand missed his arm and he reached for it, tugging her to him. “Abby, you’re freezing.”

She was always freezing.

The crowd was deafening and the drum beats of the parade only added to the din. The chestnut mare, now named Stranger, trotted smoothly beside Aegon’s stallion as the royal procession made its way through Harrentown. The scouts and messengers had not lied.

The crowd was large, not only the townsfolk but filled with those who had traveled far and wide to witness the festivities and hawk their wares. As they approached her family’s castle, the fields field with colored tents sporting the banners of the noble houses that had made their way to the God’s Eye.

Harrenton was not an exceptionally large town although little was when compared to King’s Landing. It was a trading post, a crossroads at the mouth of the Riverlands. Trade and travel that came south from Darry would stop here, as well as the trade from the south at the capital. The buildings were white stucco and plaster with the red oak timbers from the Red Wood, tiered three stories tall with steeply pitched, clay shingled roofs. Many of the ground floors were made from red bricks. Mud was in abundance here, and pottery and bricks were their foundations of trade.

Abby tilted her head up to the banners hung across the thoroughfare, the tri color streamers of House Strong interspersed with the black and red ribbons of House Targaryen. Those who could not find space along the red brick road hung out from the leaded windows, waving flags and banners, throwing out handfuls of flower petals from the winter flowers in swirling dances of pinks and purples, whites and yellows. Young children on their parents shoulders, too disinterested in whatever people were on display, giggled and reached to try to catch the petals. The people yelled for House Strong, they yelled for the name of her father, they yelled…

They yelled her name.

‘Lady Abrogail! Lady Strong! Princess Abrogail!’

Her cheeks flamed, her grin both shy and beaming, unused to the attention being paid to her. Abby glanced over at Aegon, who preened beneath his own attention, the petals that were thrown about the air catching in his silver curls.

‘Prince Aegon! House Targaryen! Lady Abrogail! House Strong!’

His lilac gaze found her, his grin broadening, all teeth and bright eyes, dimples creased in his cheeks. The breeze caught in her curls, fluttering the delicate silver veil around her face. The flower petals drifted and swirled between them, caught in his hair, in the silver and red manes of their horses, and everything felt like a dream.

Now they left the main thoroughfare and made their way up the switchback to where the castle loomed, and as they made the turn, the world dropped out as the vast, glittering expanse of the God’s Eye filled the horizon. Abby’s breath caught in her throat and beside her, Aegon audibly exhaled, momentarily halting his horse beside her to take a look. Behind them, Abby could hear Daeron’s exclamation of wonder.

The God’s Eye ate the entire horizon, glittering like an aquamarine gem beneath the cloudless blue of the sky. The only thing that interrupted the site was the distant, hazy sight of the Isle of Faces, obscured by the haze and distance.

“It’s bigger than the Whispering Sound,” Daeron breathed. “Uncle Gwayne-”

“Aye,” the elder sounded just as surprised, just as awed. “Large enough for the eye of a god, isn’t it?”

Seagulls called along with other birds along the banks and Abby could just make out a few fishing boats tiny on the water. She rose up in her saddle to take a better look, vowing that she would never tire of the spectacular sight.

“I didn’t realize how I missed this sight.” She laughed, unsure if she might cry from grief or joy.

“It’s the color of your eyes,” Aegon said softly, his gaze firmly affixed to the sight before them. He wasn’t even looking at her, just caught in wonder. It was a new expression for Aegon, and Abby was loath to draw him from it. She reached over and he must have seen her, or maybe he’d been reaching for her hand at the same time. “It’s endless, like the sky.”

He squeezed her hand and with a gentle command, their party continued.

Harrenhal was a scar against the landscape, the black stone stark against the green and blue of the landscape. With towers shooting up higher than the tallest of Maegor’s Holdfast, Harrenhal loomed as its maker always intended: Ominous and impossible to ignore. The twisted, melted stone that capped the towers were vicious reminders of the violence in the past, but life bloomed amidst the ruins. Sentinels and oaks, vibrant and lush, shot past the tops of the stone walls from the large godswood that butted up against the shore. Harrenhal held a small household guard and several called out from the gatehouse.

Making the final turn, their party was greeted by the half shattered statue of Harren the Black, only his legs and rearing mount left above the bridge. It started with stone and then switched to thick ironwood that spanned the dry moat beneath, and, as if to welcome them home, Sunfyre of all things perched above the gates like an enormous, golden hawk, calling out and declaring that this was now his domain. Stranger whickered nervously, hesitating in approach until Abby urged her on with a gentle hand against her neck.

“Seven hells,” Aegon muttered, barely caught over the sounds of the hooves on the wooden bridge and the creaking of the carriages behind them. Whatever else Aegon said was drowned out beneath the sound of Sunfyre’s trilling. The golden dragon was singing and it was a haunting tune that echoed along the stone like water over river rocks. The sound of it sent dozens, maybe even a hundred or more, bats bursting from the ruined tops of the tower. Distracted by the creatures that took to the sky, he pushed off the gatehouse, the horses rearing as stone debris fell in their path.

Abby looked at Aegon, eyebrows raised. “He can’t keep doing that.”

He frowned, half-offended and mildly concerned. “It’s not his fault the stone is crumbling,” he said, but the defense was half-hearted as he eyed the broken stone being pushed out of the way.

Aemond and Daeron, Ser Gwayne and a few of the Kingsguard followed them, the guards taking a station at the gate until the king passed through. The rest of the party in their wheelhouses were held back until the stone was removed.

The gatehouse was a great thing cut through the thick, black curtain walls. The way was lit with torches, the echo of the horses’ hoof beats giving an uncertain cacophony as the sound bounced around the tunnel. Abby’s gaze drifted up, the ceiling of the tunnel shadowed but she remembered Larys telling her the frightening tale of the dozen murder holes where they would drop oil and poisonous spiders and venomous snakes down onto those who tried to breach the castle. She’d had nightmares for weeks.

Aegon said nothing beside her, and the look on his face was one of bewildered interest. She bit her lip, a smile playing. He had only ever known King’s Landing, after all.

Tears pricked her eyes as the strange longing sensation that had harbored for so long in her chest eased. It didn’t go away, but she could feel the hooked edges of yearning, the grief, the feeling that she did not belong, that something was missing, smoothing out into something bittersweet. Beyond the great walls of the castle, Harrenhal was full of life. Beneath the great shadow of the ruined towers, a reclaiming had taken place over the years, and the notion soothed that bramble within her.

As the party passed through the gatehouse into the outer bailey, Abby’s eyes darted over the crowd that had begun to gather. Over the years, some of the ruins had been dismantled and turned into proper staff quarters. A new granary, the stables,meant to house a thousand horses, had partially been converted to a barn. Before them, the Hall of a Hundred Hearths loomed, rebuilt through the reclaiming of the ruined Tower of Ghosts, now only a few stories tall.

The focal point of the hall was the ornate, stained glass window above the colossal entrance. Along the top half of the circle, a weirwood tree was carefully placed, the red leaves a border around the top, the cream colored branches reaching wide, and the sun behind it sported the tri-color stripes of her family’s sigil. Below the roots was a mound with seven circles - each portraying the sigil of each aspect of the Seven.

The Andals had spread their faith when they had conquered, but here in the halls of her family’s seat, and through the Riverlands, folk noble and small alike found a faith made their own - to mourn the loss of the weirwoods in their subjugation, and the comfort found in faces old and new alike. Especially here, on the shores of the God’s Eye, where the last of the southron weirwoods still thrived, where whispers and tales of the Children of the Forest outside the North clung like moss to the stilts of the houses along the riverbanks.

Fluttering fabric caught her eye and Abby looked up to see the banners of their house strung between the towers, interspersed every two with the black and red House Targaryen, and every ten with the blue and red fish of House Tully, their immediate overlords. In the front of the hall, where the crowd was thickest, the short, white hair and broad frame of Uncle Simon stood out; he was clad in a rich, black coat, Aunt Mya beside him, her dark curls thickly streaked with silver, her gown red. Her cousins were there too; Garret, with his strawberry blonde curls, not much older than herself, holding his three-year-old daughter, Gwenys, just as ruddy gold as her papa. His father, Ser Edric, leaned heavily on a cane on the other side of Uncle Simon. As she went down the line, she caught sight of Wylla, clad in Abby’s colors in a gown of deep blue with a sash of green and red, beaming brightly beside Alyn Hull, who looked dashing in a jerkin of deep, blood red and black pants tucked into shiny, polished boots.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Your Grace,” Uncle Simon greeted Aegon before his warm gaze found hers. “Welcome home, Lady Abrogail.” The title address to her felt odd, but this was a formal occasion. Two stableboys glad in House Strong livery reached for the bridles of the horses, Aegon dismounting easily as Abby frowned in slight annoyance at the yards of fabric of her surcoat. She’d shifted to side-saddle before they’d entered the town in preparation for an easier dismount but it was still daunting.

“Allow me, my lady.” Alyn was there, grinning at her, his green eyes soft and Abby returned his bright expression with a relieved one of her own.

“Thank you, Mister Hull,” she said, grateful, and let Alyn help her from the horse and set her safely on the ground. She caught Aegon’s brief annoyance at being denied his gallant moment and she patted Alyn on the shoulder. “We have some things your mother and a Miss Bri had sent up to the castle.” Alyn’s friendly expression moved to a grateful surprise, and she could see the red coloring his tanned cheeks.

“And I thank you, my lady. I am most appreciative.” Abby felt a giddiness at making a good impression with Aegon’s friend, and she left Alyn to embrace her great-aunt and uncle, uncaring if it was improper. This was her family, and even though she’d only seen a few of them not long ago, this was different.

This was a homecoming.

The warmth of her Uncle’s hug made her chest ache further, and Abby tucked her head beneath his chin, squeezing him tightly, eyes shut and for a moment, allowed herself to pretend that there was no pomp and circumstance and that it was her father who embraced her. Uncle Simon would never replace him, but he reminded her so much of him that she would not feel guilty for clinging to the memory. He seemed to understand, for she felt him squeeze her extra hard before releasing her with a paternal kiss to her forehead and then allowed Aunt Mya, who exclaimed, “A chroí! Tá cuma álainn ort,” before she was wrapped in a cloud of softness and the smell of lilies from her aunt’s perfume. Her hands, shaking slightly with her arthritis, carefully touched the veil she wore and the carnelian necklace around her throat. “You’ve got that Westerland poise to you,” she observed, and though the words might have been taken as a slight, there was a fondness there. “Like your mother and that Lefford blood, but oh, you’ve got the wild river in you, don’t you.” Her hands gently cupped her face, and Aunt Mya’s dark eyes shone with tears. “They haven’t taken that from you. Good.”

“It’s good to finally be home,” Abby said, her voice thick with emotion. Joy, sadness, grief, relief, and a swirl of other things she could not identify. She cleared her throat, turning in her Aunt’s embrace to gesture to Aemond, Daeron, and Gwayne who had dismounted. “May I present Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron, as well as the queen’s brother, Ser Gwayne.”

“Ser Simon,” Gwayne said, sketching a bow. “I hope you do not mind my squire and I joining the household.” His grin was bright and disarming, his hand coming to clasp Daeron’s shoulder. “My sister hopes for us to keep an eye on my nephew, but I think it will be a good opportunity for my squire to also learn from a renowned knight such as yourself, Ser.” Abby bit her lip to hold in her laugh, appreciating the look of surprise and pride on her uncle’s face. “And Lady Mya, these are for you.” He produced from his green leather riding jacket a carefully wrapped package. “Your lovely niece shared with me how you once loved lacemaking. While this could not compare what you’ve made, I do hope you find use for this.”

“From the lacemaker who made my wedding dress,” Abby chimed in as her blushing aunt took the carefully wrapped package of lace. Aunt Mya’s features shifted into amusement.

“Oh, I like this one, Simon. You can sit by me at dinner, Ser Gwayne.” Uncle Simon rolled his eyes while Daeron stepped forward, sending a look at his uncle.

“And I brought this for Lady Gwenys,” Daeron said, not to be outdone by Gwayne’s flirtation. He produced a doll from his own coat, made from soft linen with carefully made brown yarn hair, and painted blue eyes with a felt crown on her head.

“Thank you very much, my prince,” Garret said, shifting Gwenys in his arms. “Can you say thank you to Prince Daeron?” Gwenys’ eyes were large in her face, gnawing shyly on her lip as she snuggled into her father, unsure of what to make of all the strange people. Daeron held the doll up higher, taking the little hand to wave at the child.

“Hello, Lady Gwenys,” Daeron said in a silly voice, blonde hair falling into his blue eyes, his own cheeks pink at all the attention. “Will you be my new friend?”

That drew the little girl out of her shyness, bubbling with giggles and reached for the toy with grabby little fingers. “Fank you!” she shouted, squealing as she clutched at the toy. Abby felt Aegon at her back and shivered as he leaned down to brush his lips against her ear.

“Was I meant to bring a gift?” he asked, his whisper harsh with anxiety. Abby pressed her lips firmly together to hold back her giggle and turned into his hold, a kiss brushed to his cheek.

“You’re fine. There’s plenty of time. I think it’ll have more meaning after the wedding.”

Abby’s gaze briefly took in the arrival of the carriages that held the king and queen, and the small council absent Ser Tyland. He’d left court with her grandfather to Castamere where his wife, Elayna, was ready to give birth to their children. Twins had been born, according to the raven that Abby had received from her cousin, and Elayna was sorry she could not bring them, but it would be nice to see her. Lady Elayna preferred the freedom of Castamere, and Abby could not blame her, not when being here among the half ruin of Harrenhal had revitalized her in a way she could not describe.

The crowd all lowered themselves in deference as the king was helped from the wheelhouse. Travelling had been difficult for him, and the progress had taken as much time as it could in order to keep him comfortable. He clutched his cane, squinting in the afternoon sun, the light catching upon his golden crown. The expression on his pale, mottled face was difficult for Abby to read, and she wondered if he was thinking about the last time he was here, when the lords of the realm declared him king over Princess Rhaenys and her son.

Larys appeared from the next carriage with Lord Jasper Wylde and the Grand Maester, a placid smile on his own features. “Uncle, you’ve outdone yourself,” he complimented. Abby noticed then that her uncle’s smile tightened, no longer meeting his eyes as he regarded Larys.

“It has been some time since our house has something so wonderful to celebrate. Not since Abrogail’s birth, I think. After so much tragedy, these halls benefit from the festivities.”

“We are looking forward to them, Ser Simon,” the queen smiled, her hand fluttering to the king’s arm. “It has been a long journey, and the king needs rest and recuperation. We shall reconvene for supper?” It was not a request. Alicent Hightower could command with a smile, and all the authority afforded to her as the mother of the realm.

“Of course, your graces,” Aunt Mya said with a smile. She clapped her hands and there was a flurry of activity, the king’s wheeled chair being brought out while Uncle Simon explained they had easily accessible rooms for the king so his time here would be comfortable.

Then there was a flurry of raven hair and blue wool as Wylla’s decorum barely kept her from completely barrelling into Abby and she clutched her friend, embracing her tightly and burying her face into her shoulder. She smelled of cinnamon and spice, familiar and comforting.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she cried, Wylla giving her a tight squeeze.

“I’ve missed you too! You look beautiful.” Abby pulled back and Wylla pinched her chin with a playful look on her fox features, the little scar along her mouth pulling at the smile on her face. She pushed her hand away with a shake of her head, hooking their arms together.

“As do you! Is this a new dress?” Wylla hummed in the affirmative and led the way across the tightly packed gravel. Aegon and Alyn fell in behind them, and behind them, the rest of her ladies followed. The king and queen and the rest of their immediate party were being led into the closest tower - what was ominously referred to as the Tower of Dread.

It was where Athair and Harwin had died.

As she watched the king and queen enter the tower, something ugly curled in her chest. ‘Good’, she thought savagely, though altogether unlike her. She hoped the ghosts that slept there would haunt them. The queen would not treat her so unkindly if her father were still here. The king? Well, he deserved a good haunting. Let the ghost of Lord Maegor Towers terrorize him during his stay.

The main hall at the foot of the Kingspyre Tower was a bustle of activity. Servants in the House Strong livery hurried to and fro from the small kitchens beneath the tower, sending out refreshment to the new arrivals.

“As soon as we had word of your arrival, I had a bath readied,” Wylla said. “There’s the bathhouses, of course, but I thought you’d like some private time.”

“That does sound nice,” she sighed, heading up the staircase. The next floor above the hall held the galleries and the library. Precious things that her father had loved, and his father before him.

‘What if fire seeks to claim me here? As it had them?’

The fear was ugly and painful and squeezed the breath from her lungs with its sudden onset. Wylla’s voice was muffled in her ears as she stood frozen in the stairwell.

“In the black of night, the dragon did rise.”

“What?” she choked out, turning to look through the open doors of the gallery. It was not Wylla’s voice. Abby could not even be sure it was a woman’s voice. She tugged away from Wylla’s hold to the open archway but a firm grip on her arm tugged her back. Aegon stroked her cheek, drawing her attention back to him. Abby’s cheeks colored. “I heard… I thought…”

“It’s just the wind,” he told her.

“Unfamiliar sounds,” Wylla chimed in, coming to her other side, although her eyes narrowed at her friend’s discomfort. “Come, we’ll get you settled into the bath and you can lay down. A lazy lie in.”

Abby nodded, mouth shut as everyone stared at her with worry and confusion. Catching the brief look Wylla and Aegon exchanged, Abby tugged away. She felt judged, as she had felt that morning when Aegon had shaken her out of whatever haze had taken hold of her. It was one thing to have such a lapse in front of him, but now here she was in front of their household, so many eyes on her, confused and curious. Gathering her heavy skirts in her arms, she soldiered forward, desperate to get out of her gown. If she could, she would have stripped from the surcoat in the stairway itself, but she would have gotten tangled in the fabric and likely tumbled down the stairs.

What an auspicious start to the festivities; a tragic bride felled by a broken neck.

She ignored the call of her name behind her, climbing past Uncle Simon’s apartments and office to the landing of what had once been her mother’s rooms. They were rooms that might have belonged to Rhaenyra Targaryen in another life, or Sabitha Frey or Alysanne Blackwood, or any dozens of young women in the Riverlands her brother could have taken to wife.

None of this should be hers. This castle, these lands, were not her birthright.

They were drenched in ash and screams and the knowledge of this was grasping her tighter with every step she took before she burst through the doors of her apartments. Afternoon light streaked through the large doors that opened out onto the multilevel balcony that went from her rooms up to Aegon’s chambers. Beyond would be the beautiful sight of the God’s Eye, but for now, it was the brilliant blue sky and the roses that crept along the stone and woodwork. Low couches littered the space, plush rugs faded with age, and before the fireplace and its merry flame, was the large tub draped in linens and ready and waiting.

The shadows beside the fireplace moved and Abby stilled, fear freezing her limbs until the face of the shadow appeared. The woman was older, older than the queen, mayhaps, with inky black hair that hung to her waist, a square face and storm gray eyes. In her hands, she held a woven circle of twigs, and Abby looked at the stick figure coming to shape in the center of it.

“Lady Abrogail,” she greeted, her accent like Wylla’s, like her Aunt Mya’s. “Did you leave the rest of your chattering ducklings behind?”

Buzzing filled her ears and Abby pressed her hands to her chest, fingers knotting into the fabric. “I… I… I can’t breathe.”

“If you could not breathe, you could not speak,” the woman pointed out, discarding her wood weaving on the chair. She closed the distance and grabbed Abby’s hands. “You speak, therefore you breathe. I hear your gasping. So keep doing that.”

Hands joined the woman’s to help her out of the surcoat and work the laces on her kirtle. Her vision was dark and hazy around the edges and she continued to heave and gulp for air. She swooned and arms caught her.

“What did she say, Alys?” she heard Wylla ask.

“A tincture from my chest,” was the answer. “The one in the blue bottle. And the smelling salts.” Alys River tsked and her face shimmered before her as she backed Abby to the low couch. “If we shove you in that bath now, you’ll faint and are liable to drown. A bride felled by her bathwater. What a tragic end.”

Abby blinked, her mouth dry. “What did you…”

“Alys likes to be cryptic,” Wylla’s voice drifted to her through the buzzing in her ears. She let herself be shuffled around and moved as if she were no more than a ragdoll onto the chaise, her legs propped up higher than her head on a pile of cushions. Time passed in a haze as the dizziness and the rushing passed. Alys sat on the couch beside her, holding a goblet to her mouth and Abby grimaced at the strangely sweet and medicinal taste of the thin, red liquid. Her limbs tingled and the drunken feeling gave way to a more relaxed sensation. Alys’ large, slate-gray eyes filled her vision and the elder woman tilted her head, appraising her.

“I cannot call you Little Lady anymore, can I?” she asked, but Abby didn’t think it was much of a question. “Although, you are still littler than me, wee beast.”

“Oh, so she calls you that as well?” Wylla’s voice drifted from somewhere behind the couch. “Do you feel like you can get in the bath now?”

Alys helped her up and held the goblet to her mouth once more, feeding her the strange liquid. “Someone should tell the princeling that his lady is all right, I can hear him pacing.”

“Hear him?” Sarra Frey’s voice chimed in, confused. Abby smiled wanly at Wylla as the elder girl helped her out of her chemise and into the tub. The water was still plenty warm, but not the scalding, steaming heat that it had been from when she first came into the room. “But he’s so far away.”

“You’re just not listening close enough,” Alys said and passed her the goblet. “Make sure the coinín beag drinks all of this.” The door shut behind the woman and Abby settled against the back of the tub, Wylla’ pinning her hair up.

“Doesn’t Aegon call you little rabbit as well?” she murmured against her ear.

Abby did not answer.

The confused look the servant gave Jace when he asked where the family crypts were was not something that would normally bother him, but there was no reason that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should be asking where the family crypts of his host were.

The look in Ser Simon Strong and his wife’s eyes upon seeing him still stuck with Jace, and he tried not to keep looking over his shoulder as he strode down the gravel pathway through the family gardens. Torches were lit along the pathway, servants and guests still milling about, and the gardens were beginning to bloom as the seasons shifted. Lady Celeste’s mountain roses crept like a great, dark beast, along the outside of the Kingspyre tower, up to balconies above. Jace stole a glance up there, at the distant, flickering light behind the windows.

Abby should be here. She should be with him. This was more her family than his. Did he even have a right?

Jace straightened.

He did. He did have a right. Ser Harwin was someone in his life he cared for, who cared for him and his brothers. He had been gentle and kind - to them, to their mother.

Ser Simon looked at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

Goosebumps bloomed beneath Jace’s black tunic. Perhaps he was one.

The Sepulcher of House Strong was largely underground, but the entrance to it was a stone gazebo, just over a story tall, with seven stone pillars carved to mimic the twisting boughs of the weirwood trees. The branches held up the circular roof, the torchlight casting long shadows over the carvings of strange creatures. There was no door, simply smooth stone stairs leading into the torch lit crypts beneath.

At the foot of the stairs were a pair of doors, heavy ironwood etched with more of the weirwood motifs and little creatures that Jace realized from this close distance were meant to be the Children of the Forest. They were different from the drawings he’d seen in his books. These were spindly things, some with fins in place of ears, with large eyes and sharp little teeth. He reached to undo the latch but the door was partially ajar. Had Abrogail come down to pay her respects? Should he leave and return another day?

His mother would be here on the morrow, and as soon as Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen set foot in this place, Jace’s chance to come here would be lost.

The door made no sound as he pushed it open to slip inside and he blinked as his eyes tried to adjust to the deeper gloom. Braziers affixed to the pillars were spaced out every few dozen feet or so and as he quietly walked the path his ears could just make out the distant sound of rushing water, though he had no idea where it was coming from. Stone tombs were erected every few archways, and he paused in front of the tomb of Maegor Towers before he caught sight of the dragon relief nearby.

Targaryens were not entombed, they were burned on pyres, back to flame and ash from whence they came. But Harrenhal’s last lady was honored here.

In the stone alcove, a beautiful carved relief of Dreamfyre stood, raised on her legs, wings spread and her neck arched to call out to the sky. At her feet was a pedestal with an urn in the shape of a dragon egg.

Rhaena Targaryen, Queen of the Rising and Setting Sun. Mother of her beloved Aerea and Rhaella. Beloved by Prince Aegon, where their souls meet once more.

To always Chase the Sun.

The crack of a cane hitting the stone echoed violently along the walls and Jace choked on dusty air, panic taking over. The next tomb was that of Lord Osmund. There was just enough room to duck behind it and Jace crouched behind, his heart pounding in his ears.

“You are kind to accompany this night, Your Grace. I confess, when I extended the invitation, I was not sure you would accept.” The low voice of Lord Larys drifted through the quiet ghosts, otherworldly beneath the earth himself. Your grace… was grandfather also down here?

“Lord Lyonel was a good man,” the king rasped, his voice shaky with emotion. “The best of us, I think. No better servant to the realm than he.”

“Surely you yourself are the realm’s greatest servant, my king.”

“Mmmm, Lyonel offered good counsel. I did not listen to him as much as I should have.”

“My father served the realm with all the wise counsel of a Grand Maester and the knowledge of one of your vassals, my king. In the end, however… Even beneath his great wisdom, matters of succession were well out of hand.”

Heat burned along Jace’s neck and rushed into his cheeks. He pressed his face against the cold, stone tomb but it did little to calm him.

Driftmark. It always came back to Driftmark. It came back to screaming and blood. It came back to his words. Yes, the words of a child, but his words that he knew, without question, would prevent punishment.

‘He called us bastards.’

With such a simple sentence, Jace watched, clutched in his mother’s arms, as the king’s ire went from Aemond’s wound to the accusations that had chased Jace and his siblings all their lives. Words that he knew were cruel, that upset his mother, yet words that spoke true. Lord Lyonel had stood, struck and silent beside the Driftwood throne, and Ser Harwin had lingered by the door, unarmored and disheveled given the late hour it had been. As old as he was now, Jace knew. He knew. He knew.

Ser Simon had looked at him as if Jace were a ghost.

Jace reached up and gripped the edge of the tomb of his blood, feeling the burn of Vermax inside of him with every beat of his heart, loudly thumping in his ears.

“I did not want it to happen that way, Larys,” King Viserys finally spoke, his voice mournful and heavy.

“I know, my king. Only a Targaryen can truly master the dangers of flame. Mere mortals such as those who strove to follow your wishes could only wish to wield such understanding.” The sound of scraping metal grated on Jace’s nerves. He hit his head against the tomb and had to shove his fist in his mouth to keep from crying out.

“Only Ser Harwin-” the king began and then stopped. Jace could see the long throw of their shadows along the stone floor. They weren’t moving.

“Whatever tragedies befell, they have brought us here, my king. Have the wounds not healed as you had hoped? Your daughter and brother arrive here with their children after their long absence. Our houses will be joined in only a few days. The match you and my father discussed so many years ago is now far more advantageous, as is right, for the King’s first born son, given the unusual circumstances.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Lord Larys.” The scrape of two canes now. Jace pressed himself as far into the shadows as he could, straining to listen as the two men made their way back up the corridor beneath the eyes of the dead. He dared not breathe, he dared not make a single sound for fear of what might happen were he discovered. It felt like an eternity before the door shutting reverberated through the quiet.

Jace sat on the cold ground, frozen and still as Dreamfyre’s statue. His heart continued to pound in his ears as he tried to process exactly what he had just heard. King Viserys, a peaceful man, so afraid of any confrontation that his mother fled to Dragonstone to hide than maintain her presence at court. She’d sent him to do it for her.

He couldn’t escape the catacombs fast enough. His feet slipped along the damp stone as he raced towards the entrance. Ser Harwin would forgive him, he was certain. Now? Now, he needed to get away as fast as possible. He tripped hard up the stone stairs, his left knee and shin screaming in agony before he made it up and forced himself to slow down so as not to attract attention. What would it say to see the king’s heir racing through the gardens of Harrenhal? Jace’s lungs ached and he kept trying to remember to breathe. All he knew was that he had to get away.

How could he hold this? Should he tell his mother? What would she do? Nothing. She’d do nothing, forbidding them - forbidding him from speaking of Ser Harwin. Did he tell Abby?

It would destroy her.

Should he - Jace slammed into a figure, sending the two of them sprawling to the gravel.

“What the fuck, Jace!” Aegon snapped, aggressively shoving him off. He too was dressed for night in his own gray linen and breaches, dark circles beneath his eyes. It struck Jace, hard between his ribs, how much Aegon looked like Jace’s own mother in that moment. How much he sounded like his own mother. Jace’s palms scraped against the gravel and he heaved a breath. “What?” Aegon repeated.

Another breath and Jace felt the words strangling him, and could feel the tension in his face as he looked at his uncle, his childhood playmate, with wide, lavender eyes. Aegon stared at him and whatever annoyances were on his tongue fell. His brow furrowed. “What is it?” he asked again, less sharply this time.

Jace gulped once more for air and heard Aegon mutter something about panic attacks before the elder manhandled him up to his feet and towards one of the benches. “Get your head between your knees before you pass out,” he snapped, hand on his back to push him forward. In spite of Aegon’s annoyance, his touch was gentle, if firm.

Also like his mother.

“Breathe, you idiot,” Aegon said and sat down beside him, hand between his shoulder blades. Jace did as he was told, falling into the way things once were, where Aegon led and Jace happily followed. They could never return to those days, and Jace did not wish for it, but Seven Hells, it had been easier.

He did not know how long they sat there, listening to the lowing of dragon calls outside the walls and the shrieking of bats, the distant sound of water fowl amid the rushes outside the castle walls. He breathed in the cold air, let it ebb at the fire in his blood. He spat on the ground and finally sat up, aware that Aegon’s hand did not leave him until Jace settled against the bench.

“You said something but I couldn’t understand,” Aegon ventured with his brows raised in exaggerated curiosity. The quiet of the night filled the space between them, the gaps left when things had reached such a breaking point.

It always came back to Driftmark.

“The king…” Jace whispered, heat burning in his eyes. “T-the king, he… ordered the deaths of Lord Lyonel and… Ser Harwin.”

So... that was an ending. As always, I love that you're here, but the only way I know you're reading is if you comment! Comments let me know people are reading and are actively interested! So I'd love to hear what your favorite part of the chapter was, what your theories are, OR If you have no idea what to say, drop a tree emoji to let me know you were here <3 I promise, I'm glad you are. ALSO! I would LOVE to hear how you found this story! Was it through the AO3 search? Tumblr? Did someone recommend it? (if so, where?) (we might end at 24 chapters. I'm not quite sure yet, I'll have to see how the next few chapters go for pacing as I don't want to inundate y'all) Shoutout to @queen--kenobi for allowing me to borrow the lovely Elayna Reyne! Baby girl is here!

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[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Rev. 22:20 - Chapter Four: Saviours and Saints

Warnings: Talk of religion, angst, sexually suggestive language. Word count: ~3.1k

Summary: Aemond deals with the shame of his confession, leading him to get closer to the novice..

Author's note: I do not have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications to be updated when I post a fic. Community labels are for cops.

The moment Aemond spills over his knuckles with a choked grunt, shame weighs heavily upon his chest. Disgusted with himself, he cleans himself off, the very act of wiping away his spend feels as though he is scrubbing away his irrational thoughts, though he cannot evade them for long. 

Of course a novice would not be touching herself to his words, especially not while inside the confessional booth in the Sept. He is a fool to entertain such a notion, has allowed his lust and recklessness to direct his actions; but no more. He will simply stay away from the Sept, until he can keep his thoughts and urges under control, and put this woman out of his mind. Perhaps he ought to apologise to her.

I imagine taking her virtue.

He feels his cheeks blaze at the memory. How could he ever begin to say he is sorry for such crassness? Worse still, it would be a disingenuous apology because, despite their utter depravity, he meant every word. In spite of the risk it poses, he still wants her, is still enamoured by the way her eyes catch the light, the softness of her voice.

I think about how she’d feel writhing beneath me.

His chest tightens, his heart beating rapidly as the thought occurs to him that she may tell someone. What if she was so appalled by what he’d said to her that she had divulged it to one of the septas? What if they tell his mother? He feels bile rise in his throat at the image of her looking at him with the same disappointment that she so often stares at Aegon with. He really is no better than his wastrel of a brother.

Aemond drums his fingers anxiously on the arms of his chair, keeping his gaze fixed upon the flames within the fireplace. His stoic demeanour does nothing to betray the maelstrom that rages inside of his mind, as he sits and waits for the inevitable moment that his mother will fling open the doors to his chambers and scold him, just as she has done to Aegon each time he has forced himself upon one of the maidservants.

He has no idea of how much time has passed, but eventually, the door creaks open - to his surprise, not in an angry burst, but with quiet trepidation. He turns and meets the soft, hopeful gaze of Helaena, a tight smile upon her lips.

“Did you see Dreamfyre?” She asks, keeping her hands clutched in front of her as she moves slowly towards him.

As she draws nearer, he sees a golden beetle brooch clasped within her fingers, her thumbs running over its ridges as she anxiously awaits his reply. Aemond loathes the nervous habits passed down to them all by their mother - where she picks her nail beds bloody, Aegon flexes his fingers against every surface, taps incessantly against his wine goblet. He drums on the arms of his chairs, rubs his forefingers against his thumbs, while Helaena is always clutching something, fiddling with some small trinket to soothe her inner turmoil.

He keeps his eye fixed upon the beetle for a few moments more before looking at his sister.

“Yes,” he replies simply, thinking about the sorry state the she-dragon had been in when he’d seen her earlier that day.

Helaena kneels beside his chair, not a care for how the position rumples her skirts, gazing up at him imploringly. “How is she?”

Aemond is struck at this moment by how childlike his sister appears. Despite her being the elder sibling, he has always felt seniority over her, an intrinsic need to protect her. She is so innocent, so filled with wonder, and his brooding darkness has forever served as the shield that ensures her light is never snuffed out.

He swallows thickly, going against all of his natural protective instincts and his earlier thought to water down the truth and not cause Helaena upset. Right now he needs to look out for himself, to ensure it is his sister that accompanies their mother on her next visit to the Sept instead of him. So he wields the words he knows will hurt her, against his better judgement.

“She…she is in a bad way,” he says quietly, his heart aching at the pain that fills Helaena’s eyes as her brow furrows, her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

He has never hated himself more than in this moment, deliberately tormenting his sister to get his own way.

“I think you should accompany mother on her next visit to the Sept, go and see Dreamfyre, she needs you,” he tells her gently.

The movement of Helaena’s fingers against the brooch becomes more insistent as she blinks slowly, her lashline becoming watery. “But…the children–”

“Will be fine with the nursemaid for a few hours while you tend to your dragon,” Aemond tells her. “She needs you more than they do at the moment.”

Helaena nods slowly and Aemond wants nothing more than for her to just leave. He cannot bear to see her so sad, to know that he is the cause of it.

“I-I suppose you’re right,” she says, uncertainty colouring her tone as she rises to her feet. “Thank you.”

She places a gentle hand upon his forearm, where it rests upon the arm of the chair, and for a brief moment her face becomes vacant of all expression. “Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike,” she says, her voice hollow.

Helaena releases his arm, sniffing quietly before moving quickly from the room.

Aemond huffs a sigh of relief as the door clicks closed behind her. He is used to his sister saying all manner of strange things, however, there is something in her words this time that unsettles him, adding to the swirling dread that plays havoc in the pit of his stomach - another piece of tinder for the burning misery that rages white hot within his heart.

He is irritated over the following week, he had assumed ensuring that Helaena takes his place on Alicent’s next visit to the Sept would give him respite from his constant thoughts of the novice, knowing he wouldn’t have to see her.

Instead she is prominent in his mind as ever, but this time when he pictures the graceful slope of her neck and the silkiness of her hair, it is accompanied by the words he’d disgraced himself with in the confessional booth.

He is driven to distraction by a combination of crushing shame and unbridled lust. Nothing is able to fully occupy his mind, he replays their exchange over and over again, noticing that he has taken in none of the words on the page of the book he is attempting to read. He has gripped the cover with such force that his short nails have left crescent shaped indentations in its leather cover.

As Helaena and Alicent ready themselves to leave the Keep for the Grand Sept, it takes all of his restraint not to rush out to join them. He longs to see her, even speak to her again, and yet he knows he must not.

He is fortunate that it appears she has told no one of his indiscretion the previous week, however, there is nothing to say she won’t tell Alicent if she sees her today. It is a humiliation he cannot face.

It is better that he stays behind and continues in his efforts to simply forget about her, cast her from his mind, and attempt to return to his life as it was before he met her.

He is filled with restless energy and attempts to burn it off in the training yard, physically exhausting himself with the exertion of every slash of his sword and defensive block of his shield. Yet, while his body aches and fatigues, his mind refuses to cease its racing.

By the time Helaena and Alicent return, he is setting down his blade for the day. He rights himself to his full height, anxiously anticipating a withering look of disapproval from his mother as she walks through the yard. Perhaps it is today that she’ll have learned the words he sullied the ears of the young novice with.

Instead, to his relief, she gives him a small nod and smile as she moves past, eager to get back inside. She has never enjoyed watching the sparring sessions that occur in the training yard.

He ponders why the novice has not told anyone of what he said to her, but has little time to indulge his curiosity as Helaena makes her way towards him, looking much happier than when they’d last spoken.

“I saw her,” she tells him brightly, “I saw Dreamfyre. She ate the rest of her goat when she saw me. The keepers said she has been leaving most of it. I am happy to have lifted her spirits. Thank you for telling me.”

Aemond nods. “I am glad to hear it.”

“And perhaps we could fly together soon, like we did as children?” Helaena continues, looking hopefully up at him. “I will have more time to, once we have the new septa.”

Aemond blinks, swallowing thickly, feeling his heart freeze. “The new what?”

“The new septa”, Helaena repeats, oblivious to Aemond’s shock, “she is still a novice at the moment, but once she finishes her training she will be able to care for the children once they’re old enough to no longer need the nurse maid.”

If Helaena says anything else, Aemond does not hear it over the roar of blood in his ears, as silent panic settles over him. He quietly excuses himself and walks back inside, shutting himself away in his chambers.

This will be disastrous for him. If she hasn’t revealed his indiscretions yet, then she certainly will once she resides within the same four walls as him. He cannot allow this, he must ensure he silences her once and for all. The risk is simply too great to leave to chance.

Aemond bathes, changing into plain looking attire and dons a hooded cloak, ensuring his dagger is securely fastened to his belt, before leaving the Keep via the passages he has seen Aegon use to sneak away hundreds of times before.

His steps are sure and quick, keeping his gaze fixed ahead as he strides through the streets of King’s Landing towards the Grand Sept. It occurs to him as he draws closer that he hasn’t fully considered what he intends to do. He has been so tightly wound over the last week, that he has sprung forth at the first opportunity for release, and now stands at the doors to the Sept, unsure of his next move.

Slipping through the slightly open door, his fingers flex around the pommel of his dagger. Has he come here to slash the novice’s throat? Spill her blood upon the chancel, for all of King’s Landing to see? 

Foolish. 

He should not have come.

But then he sees her. 

The sun is beginning to set, and if she’d looked beautiful the first time he’d seen her with the mid morning rays shining upon her face, she looks positively ethereal now, bathed in a warm orange glow.

He watches her, entranced, feeling as though he has forgotten how to breathe. His grip loosens upon his dagger, but he does not lower his hood, choosing instead to stay back in the shadows and watch her from afar.

Uncertainty regarding what he ought to do clouds his thoughts, but he is sure of one thing; he cannot turn back now he has seen her.

It is nightfall by the time she completes her duties, and Aemond is swift to follow her as she leaves the Sept, keeping back a few paces so he does not arouse her suspicion.

The walk through the narrow street seems incredibly dangerous to him, and it occurs to him that anything could happen to her as she makes her way back to her lodgings each day. He could do literally anything he wanted to her at this moment, and she’d be powerless to stop him. He draws in an unsteady breath, attempting to ground himself and clear the idea from his mind as he feels himself stir in his breeches.

He has never given much thought as to where it is that septas might go when they retire for the evening, but he is surprised at how humble the building she unwittingly leads him to is.

Waiting in the darkness, he watches her go inside, the door closing behind her.

He steps forward, trying the handle, expecting to find it locked, but is surprised when it opens with ease. She has forgotten to lock it. 

Stupid girl.

Every part of Aemond demands that he cease what he’s doing and return to the Red Keep, yet he is powerless to stop the force that propels him silently forward, carefully following the lingering herbaceous scent of camphor - it is burned regularly within the Sept, and he is certain it must cling to her hair and clothing - up the stairway and down a narrow corridor.

It feels more like a place where one might be held prisoner than find a comfortable night’s rest, a joyless existence in service of others, which each day ending in a room that may as well be a cell.

He pauses when he catches a glimmer of a candle light coming from one of the narrow doorways, illuminating a familiar head of soft hair.

Pressing back against the wall, he watches her, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to help himself. His single eyed gaze is captivated as she removes her robes. She faces away from him, yet he is enraptured by the curve of her back, the swell of her backside and her shapely legs - legs that would look so good wrapped around his—

Screwing his eye shut, he swallows thickly, and when he opens his eye again she is wearing a nightgown. He exhales shakily, his hood slipping back from his head, watching as she slips into bed. Seeing she is about to snuff out the candle, he moves closer, telling himself he will allow himself one final look before he leaves. 

He will ask that his grandsire send him to Oldtown to be with Daeron before she is ever stationed at the Keep, and put an end to this once and for all.

Her quiet voice causes him to freeze in place, heart lurching.

“I knew you’d come.”

His fingers flex uselessly around the pommel of his dagger once more as she climbs out of bed and walks slowly towards him. He is rooted in place, eager to run from her but unable to.

She stops in front of him, impossibly close, the heady scent of camphor mixed with cloves fills his nostrils as they stare at each other in silence.

“I waited for you all day”, she finally says, “I knew I’d see you eventually. It’s why I didn’t lock the door when I returned.”

“That is dangerous”, he replies in a strained whisper.

“As are you, I am sure,” she says, cocking her head slightly.

He blinks, pursing his lips, his curiosity making it feel as though his skin sizzles with expectancy. “Why haven’t you told anyone…about what I said?”

She smirks, her eyes sparkle in the dim glow of the candlelight. “You and I are not so different.”

Aemond scoffs. “I hardly think so.”

“It is true,” she insists, “we are both angry over what we have lost.”

He narrows his eye at her. “And what is it you have lost?”

She giggles softly, though there is no real humour to it. “You assume me pure and virtuous, but it is not my faith in the Seven that has led me along this life path.”

Pausing, she pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, choosing her words carefully, before she continues. “Before I was forced to give up my life to the Seven, I came from a noble family. I fell in love with the son of a blacksmith. My father caught us…together, and the blacksmith’s son was sent to The Wall for sullying my virtue. No rich lord wants to marry a woman who is no longer a maiden, so my family handed me over to the faith to be trained as a septa.”

Aemond feels his pulse race as he listens to her confession, certain that this is how she must have felt when he’d revealed his darkest desires to her just a week prior. He opens his mouth, closing it again when he realises he is unsure of what to say.

She takes another step towards him, her nose almost brushing his as she looks up at him. “Do you still desire me? Does the fact that I am defiled turn your stomach, or does it make you want me more to know that I am all too willing to writhe beneath you as you rut into me, as you so eloquently put it?”

His mouth runs dry. Her words are crass, sinful, and yet his gaze drops to the fullness of her lips all the same.

It happens too quickly for him to know which of them moves first, but the kiss is hungry, possessive, his hands cup her jaw as she clutches the front of his cloak eagerly. 

Aemond has not kissed many women before - the servants he allows into his bed he does not permit such affection. Their purpose is for his pleasure only, he does not desire their lips upon his. Yet he moves his mouth against hers as though he means to suck the very air from her lungs, a groan of appreciation rumbling in his chest as he feels the wetness of her tongue caress his.

When they eventually break apart, both breathing heavily, the reality of what he has done settles over him like a viscous cloud. She is to be the septa for his niece and nephew, she is nothing like what he expected her to be. There is a familiarity to her that sets him on edge, and he is overwhelmed by the urge to get away. She is too much, too dangerous, he cannot get close to her.

Wordlessly he turns and walks quickly away, out into the night, back towards the keep, knowing in his heart he has done nothing to quell the deep seated ache of longing he feels for her; on the contrary, he has worsened it.

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

Chapter three || Chapter five || Series masterlist

[thegreengnome]

Can you please write a fic where a lord tries to win over Aemond’s betrothed because he thinks nobody would want someone like Aemond but she immediately rejects him and tells him that she owes Aemond which he overhears.

Fandom – House of the Dragon

Word Count - 626

Pairing – Aemond Targaryen X Reader

Warnings – Very oc Aemond Targaryen

NOTE- I hope this is okay! I'm sorry if Aemond is very occ but i do think given the chance of 'love' he would act very different then we have previous seen from him.

Aemond is a Targaryen prince, a member of the royal family, and a dragon rider. He knew he was better than most in this room yet he could not help but twitch in agitation at the sight Infront of him.

Y/N L/N glided beautifully around the grand hall. Her hair floated after her in an almost halo effect. She truly looked ethereal. The man Infront of her on the other hand looked like he could be Vhagar's next meal.

Aemond's betrothed had only been at court for two moons but Aemond already knew she was his, and his alone.

During their first meeting his lady did not flinch nor gasp at the sight of his face as most ladies of the court had done. No, she had curtsied and smiled prettily up at him. Earnest in her chance to get to know her future husband.

He often found her waiting for him in the great library. The maester acting as a chaperone to the unmarried pair. Y/N would bring her recommendations to him expressing her interest in her latest find while he quietly observed her.

The way her fingers would follow along with the words, gently touching the pages so not to damage them. Her mouth quirking ever so slightly at an amusing or befuddling line, turning the page towards him to share in her merriment.

He had truly never felt so content before. His entire life had been built around duty and honour and this marriage was just another part of his duty. At least at first. He had known what it felt to be feared, loathed, and even hated but never loved. Perhaps he should feel love from his family – his mother at least but he knew all she felt for him was guilt. Guilt at the loss of his eye, at the lack of a loving father. He was the result of duty, much like he assumed his own children would be.

But with Y/N he felt seen. Nothing scandalous had happened between the two. Every interaction perfectly innocent.

“I’m surprised brother” the strong scent of ale and wine hit him as his older brother Aegon leaned his head down “if my women danced with another then that person that dared touch her would no longer have hands”

Aegon rarely said anything of interest to Aemond. He preferred to pretend his brother was not around, it was easier than dealing with him. But for once in his life Aegon made a point.

Ignoring the satisfied smirk on his brother’s face Aemond excused himself from the table. Approaching the dancing pair, the conversation between them became clear.

“I could give you everything he cannot” The man was lucky they were in polite company, or Infront of his mother.

Y/N abruptly stopped her movement. Her partner stumbling awkwardly to keep up. Muttering apologises to the remaining couples.

Removing herself from the embrace, Y/N moves back a polite smile on her lips. “I very much doubt that my lord” curtsying slightly Y/N leaves the startled man behind as he splutters in indignation.

Aemond had never felt like this before. This pure unadulterated joy. He started the man down as he passes. Making his way to his betrothed who had found a nearby servant no doubt to notify the royal family of her departure.

“My lady” said lady spun quickly, a hand clutched to her chest.

“My prince. You startled me” Giving the lady an apologetic smile he takes her hand in his own. Bringing it up to his lips, he gives it a quick kiss amusing himself with the blush spreading across her face.

“Would you like to dance?”

The smile he was given in response would remain in his head for some time “Of course my prince”

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Ties That Bind

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen X Reader

WORD COUNT: 6707

WARNINGS: canon typical cousin-cest

SUMMARY: After spending most of your childhood in the Red Keep, it’s hard to let go of the bonds you’ve formed even with war on the horizon.

A/N: It's been over a month since HOTD and I'm really rusty with writing so if you see bad writing, pretend you don't xx Please reblog, like, or leave a comment! I love hearing from you guys 💛

You were only two years of age when your mother, Laena Velaryon, and father, Daemon Targaryen, left you in King’s Landing while they went to deal with some business in Driftmark. Looking back, it’s unlikely that they intended for your stay to last longer than a few moons.

The weeks stretched into years, and as you began to serve as your Aunt Alicent’s ward, your parents had more daughters – your sisters, Baela and Rhaena. They visited once, after your cousin Rhaenyra had her son Luke. Your mother had hugged you so tight and for so long that you feared she would never let go. And your father…he couldn’t stop looking at you.

Only a few years after that visit, a raven came to the Red Keep from Pentos. Laena Velaryon was dead. Your Uncle Viserys was gentle enough while delivering the news. He sat by your side, ready to console you if you cried. When you didn’t, he felt safe dismissing you from his chambers.

“She’s in shock.” you heard Alicent whisper as you left the room. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it would not hit you until you were at the burial.

That was not the case.

Long after Lord Vaemond’s eulogy and everyone returned to the castle, you stood on those cliffs staring out into the sea where your mother’s body now lay. It was a strange feeling knowing that she was gone. You felt the loss in your heart, but there was no grief, no pain…you were not even certain that you would miss her.

A part of you was ashamed to feel that way, which is perhaps the reason why you felt the need to hug your father tightly when you were reunited for the first time in years. You wanted him to believe you mourned her as your sisters did. And you hoped being with your family would help you feel that pain. It was a misguided hope.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of gravel crunching under approaching feet. It was Aemond.

He walked over and stood beside you, searching the horizon with his eyes to spot whatever it was you were gazing so intently at. With you being a few years older than him, you stood a head taller, but he was growing fast.

Eventually, he realised that you were not looking at any specific thing and turned his gaze to you. He looked at you through squinted eyes due to the gusts of wind blowing his long silver hair into his eyes.

He examined your face for sometime before asking, “Are you sad?”

A simple question it was not. You thought of how you’d feel if your cousins, or Uncle Viserys and Aunt Alicent died and knew that you’d be inconsolable. You would not feel this…numb.

“I don’t know,” you chose to answer as you turned to face him, “She was my mother and I’m sad she’s gone, but…I never knew her really.”

Any grief you felt was over never getting the chance to know your mother.

These were not thoughts you’d share with anyone, but Aemond wasn’t just anyone. With no dragons to claim, you chose each other. He was your closest friend and ally, and you were certain that there was not a single person in the seven kingdoms that knew your heart better.

Aemond slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. He knew how conflicted you were without the thought being expressed, and he wanted to be your comfort.

You looked down at him and smiled softly, “Thank you. For coming to make sure I was alright.”

“Mother sent me,” he said quickly, sounding flustered. He never liked admitting how much he cared.

“Of course she did,” you chuckled just as a blush coloured his cheeks, “Come, let’s return inside.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were not sure how late it was. All you knew was that you’d been put to bed a few hours earlier but had chosen to read while your sisters snuck out of the room. That reading was interrupted by chatter and yelling coming from down the hall. You would not describe yourself as a particularly nosy child, but the amount of voices made you curious as to why so many people were awake at this hour.

Following the voices, you approached a room where the noise was loudest and pushed the door open. Your father, Daemon, was standing by it and as you looked around the room, you realised that everyone was here; your sisters, Rhaenyra, her children, Aegon and Aemond, your Aunts Rhaenys and Alicent, Uncle Viserys – there were even members of the Kinsguard present.

Aemond was sitting on a chair facing away from you, his mother standing in front of him. As your father pulled you closer to him, you meekly asked, “What happened?”

“Aemond stole Vhagar!” Baela spat harshly as she glared and pointed at him

You shifted your gaze to Aemond who had slightly turned around at the sound of your voice. As soon as your eyes landed on him, your blood ran cold and the air seemed to leave your lungs. There was a jagged scar running down the left side of his face, and his eye was swollen and stitched shut.

Without thinking, you slipped out of your father’s hold and brushed past your sisters, Rhaenyra and her children to reach Aemond, ignoring the looks from everyone in the room.

Aemond looked hesitant as you raised a hand to his face, your fingers brushing his cheek, but even that was too sensitive and he winced in pain.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked back tears asking, “Vhagar did this?”

He shook his head and looked at his mother. You turned to face her and saw her burning gaze focused directly at Rhaenyra who was bleeding from one arm and shielding Luke with the other.

Realisation dawned on you in that moment. “Luke?” you gasped as the boy cowered behind his mother. You couldn’t believe it. What reason could he possibly have had to hurt Aemond?

“There is no need to start this quarrel up again,” Rhaenys said, “We should get the children cleaned up and put them to bed.”

Everyone nodded, mumbling words of agreement as they started to clear out the room.

“Come, Y/N,” Daemon reached out a hand as he summoned you from across the room.

You stared at him for a moment then looked at Aemond whose eye was still on you.

“Uncle Viserys?” he turned to look at you, an eyebrow raised, “Please may I go with Aemond?”

Viserys looked over your head, no doubt to your father, before letting out a sigh. “Of course, you may,” he cracked a smile, “But don’t stay awake too late.”

You smiled thankfully and returned to Aemond who was being helped out of his chair by Alicent. Almost everyone had left the room now, but Daemon remained by the door, watching you. You took Aemond’s hand in yours as you walked out of the room with Alicent and the Maester trailing behind you.

Alicent allowed you stay with Aemond for the night. She knew that both you and her son needed each other that night. He was laid on his back facing the ceiling, two pillows cradling his head to minimise movement. You climbed into bed beside him when he’d finished his tea and held his hand gently under the blankets.

“Does it hurt terribly?” you whispered after staring at him for a while.

“It did,” he said, “But the Maester’s tea is helping.”

You could see him trying to turn his head to face you completely, but wincing every time he moved it. It broke your heart to see him in so much pain. You didn’t realise when you started to cry.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” you spoke through tears as you squeezed his hand.

Aemond was quiet at first, but then you saw a tear roll out of his eye and disappear into his silver locks. “I thought you would be angry with me.”

“Angry?” you asked, wiping your eyes, “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I thought– Baela and Rhaena said–” he started through sniffles, “I should’ve given you a chance to claim Vhagar before I did.”

He thought he had stolen your chance at having a dragon, and that you would resent him for it.

“Vhagar chose you,” you reassured him, “She wasn’t mine to claim.”

Aemond seemed to blow out a breath of relief as more tears rolled down the side of his face and into his hair.

You decided to change the subject to make him a big happier, "Once I find a dragon, you could teach me how to claim it."

"And then you and I can go flying together," he said, his tone sounding lighter, eager, "We could race each other around King's Landing!"

"We could fly anywhere we want," you said, intertwining your fingers with his, "Just us."

Aemond did his best to look at you properly as a soft smile formed on his lips, "Just us."

You moved up in the bed and hugged him close. He didn't say anything even when your tears surely soaked through his shirt, and so you didn't let go even after he'd fallen asleep. Not even as you drifted off as well.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was dawn when you suddenly woke up. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. You glanced over at Aemond who was finally sleeping soundly. He'd woken up twice during the night crying in pain. Only milk of the poppy could ease his plight and allow him to return to his slumber.

The Maester said it would remain like that for next few nights. Alicent seemed even more terrified for Aemond, but you didn't care. You were going to stay by his side and help him through it. When he woke during the night, you whispered that promise to him over and over again, and his body seemed to calm.

Carefully, you slipped your hand out of Aemond's and climbed out of the bed. You gave him one last glance to make sure he was still sleeping before tiptoeing out of the room and returning to your own chambers.

As soon as you entered, you came face to face with your handmaiden, May.

"My Lady," she curtseyed, "Your father is expecting you in Princess Rhaneyra's chambers."

It was an odd request, but you went anyway. You noticed that your sisters were not in their beds and assumed they would be with your father as well.

When you finally arrived at Rhaenyra's chambers, Daemon was visibly annoyed. He turned to you, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Where were you?" he asked, though it sounded more like an accusation.

You nervously glanced at Rhaenyra who was standing beside him before explaining yourself, "Uncle Viserys said I could go with Aemond."

"Yes, to escort him to his chambers, not spend the night," he snapped, eyes burning deep into you.

His anger was unexpected. You and Aemond had practically shared a bedchamber since you were small. He would often climb into your bed late into the night and you into his. After some time, Alicent no longer cared to send you off to separate rooms, knowing come the morning, you would be found curled up next to each other sleeping soundly.

Of course, your father wouldn't know that. He was never there.

"I'm sorry, father," you bowed your head, mostly to avoid his eyes.

"It does not matter," he grunted, "I called you here to tell you that we will be returning to Dragonstone today."

The news was unsurprising considering what happened to Aemond. It was good they would be gone while he recovered.

"I need you to go and pack your things," he continued, "We will be leaving soon."

You froze. He could not be suggesting what you thought.

"Why?"

"Because you are coming with us," Rhaenyra answered. Coming from her lips, it sounded more like a declaration.

You began to panic as you looked between the two. "But…I don't want to," you said as you took a step back, "I wish to return to King's Landing."

They both seemed taken aback by that. Rhaenyra shared a glance with Daemon before stepping closer and taking your hand.

"Y/N, your father is going to Dragonstone. Your sisters too," she smiled encouragingly as she crouched down slightly, "Don't you want to be with them?"

"I want to go home," you snatched your hand away, suddenly terrified of how this situation may unfold. You couldn’t leave. Not now.

Not once did Daemon shift his stance. He just stood there, weight resting on one foot as he stated, "We're your family."

It was true. But your sisters had never needed you, and you questioned whether your father ever did either. What had changed? Why did he want you with him now that your mother was gone and Aemond needed you the most?

"Aemond is family too," you whispered, your gaze never leaving your father's.

Daemon rarely lost composure, but in that moment you saw anger awakened in him. He titled his head and narrowed his eyes before moving closer to you.

"That little cunt stole your mother's dragon," he hissed, "Your dragon."

That set you off. Your fists clenched at your sides and your skin felt like it was burning.

"You cannot steal a dragon," Daemon reacted to that like you had spit in his face, "And I don't want to go to Dragonstone, I don’t want to leave Aemond. I want to return to King’s Landing with Uncle Viserys.”

Daemon was silent as he watched you. He meant to intimidate you, but you were too angry to be affected. Rhaenyra’s eyes were trained on him, seemingly concerned about what he might do.

"I am your father,” he said after a moment’s silence, “You will do as I say."

He brushed past you as he walked out of the room and that was that. Tears began to well in your eyes as you looked down at the ground. You promised Aemond that you would be there for him. You promised…and then you didn’t see him for six years.

***

In some ways, being on Dragonstone had not been the worst thing imaginable. You cherished the opportunity to form relationships with your sisters, and your cousins Jace, Luke and Joffrey. But even as you grew closer to them, they could not replace the people you had lost.

For a time, the relationship with your father was improved. It was only in recent years when his many attempts to have you betrothed had been rejected by you that your relationship soured. You could not provide him with a reason for your rejections despite the suitability of many of the matches, and so he washed his hands off of you.

Your father loved you. You knew he did. But he loved other things – and people – more. It was a reality you came to accept in the years living with him.

When Rhaenyra announced that the family would be travelling to King's Landing on short notice, you could barely contain your excitement. You did not care that it was to go and defend Luke's claim to the Driftwood throne, all that mattered was that you were going to see your family again.

Arriving in King’s Landing on dragon back for the first time was surreal. You did not wait to see the Senryr taken into the dragon pit by the keepers, nor did you wait for your sisters or cousins when you landed. The only thing on your mind was finding Aemond and...well, you did not know what you would do or say yet. But you knew you needed to see him.

Starting at Aemond's old chambers, you were surprised to find Alicent coming out of the room.

"Aunt Alicent," you breathed as she wrapped you in a hug.

She was beaming when she pulled away, even stepping back to take in your appearance. "Y/N," she gasped and cupped your face in her hands, "How you've grown!"

You smiled and looked to your feet as heat rose to your cheeks. "How is Uncle?" you asked, offering a sympathetic smile.

Her face immediately dropped, eyes glazing over as her lip twitched. She didn't have to say it. It was as everyone feared – he did not have long left in him.

"I'm sorry."

She nodded, accepting your condolences before plastering another smile on her face, "Were you looking for Aemond? He'll be on his way to the throne room. For the hearing."

"I'll go there now," you pecked her cheek and hurried down the hall.

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The sheer amount of people filtering into the throne room was clear indication to the importance of this particular hearing. Rhaenyra was standing with your father at the very front of the room on the right side of the aisle. You bowed your head and briskly walked towards them to stand with your cousins.

On the opposite side of the aisle, you spotted white hair very similar to yours on three heads. One of them was sweet Helaena, and Aegon was more than likely the man standing next to her looking bored. Towering over the both of them was Aemond. His hands were clasped behind his back, long hair cascading over his shoulders. The eye patch gave him away instantly.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you saw him, and as if he’d heard you, he snapped his head in your direction. Even from this distance, you saw the way his eye widened ever so slightly upon making eye contact. Every inch of you wanted to dart across the room and throw yourself into him, but you knew what the consequences of such a public display would be.

Where you were anxious and jittery, Aemond froze at the sight of you. He'd gathered that you were in the Red Keep when he encountered his nephews in the courtyard, and yet he was still so unprepared to see you again. Instantly his walls began to crumble and he found himself scrambling to keep them standing.

You smiled at him and he melted, but he could not let you see that. Instead of returning it, he turned away from you and faced the Iron throne. It was an unexpected action, but it didn't hurt yet. Perhaps he had not actually seen you.

You kept your eyes on him for the rest of the hearing, hoping to gain his attention – to no avail. When the entire farce of a hearing was ended, you tried to call out to Aemond, but he disappeared amongst the crowd of people.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding you, much to your frustration. It is why you were glad to hear that Viserys had requested to have his entire family join him for dinner. Before Aemond could protest or find another place at the table, you occupied the seat next to him, hoping it would force him into acknowledging you.

It did not work.

Despite being sat right beside him, Aemond made no move to speak to you or even look in your direction. He was actively ignoring your presence, and it would be a lie to say it did not cut you deeply.

It remained that way for most of the night. At one point, he actually turned his chair away from you to watch Jace and Helaena dance. It wasn’t until after his toast to your cousins and the scuffle which followed that he acknowledged your existence.

Everyone but you was on their feet, a few guards held Jace and Luke back as Aemond stared your father down. For a brief second he glanced in your direction, a second that felt like a lifetime, then he turned, hummed to himself in annoyance, and strutted out of the room. Without thinking about it, you rose to your feet and followed him out, ignoring the stares of confusion from your father and Rhaenyra.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside Aemond's room, you raised a hand, intending to knock, but decided against it and pushed the door open. The two of you never knocked in the past, why should it be any different now?

Aemond was sitting in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand resting on the arm while he cracked the knuckles of his other hand. He paused when you entered and tilted his head slightly to see you with his right eye. Once he confirmed it was you, he turned back to the fireplace, not acknowledging you at all.

You scoffed and looked around the room, spotting a gold chalice and some wine sitting on a high table on the opposite side of the room. You walked over to it and filled the chalice before approaching Aemond. He finally lifted his head to look at you when you held out the cup for him.

“What are you doing here?” the smoothest Valyrian danced off his tongue as he accepted the wine from you.

You smirked and raised a brow. “He speaks,” you said, “I was beginning to fear that you had taken a sacred vow of silence. One that only applies to me, of course.”

He scoffed and took a sip of the wine, ignoring your comment. Despite his attempts to pretend you didn’t exist, you did not miss the way his body tensed as you sat down on the arm of the chair.

“Your Valyrian has improved.” Improved was an understatement. His accent was perfect.

Aemond shook his head and downed the drink before rising to his feet. “‘Tis impolite to enter one’s chambers without first knocking,” he said, his back to you.

The hostility was less amusing now and increasingly annoying. “You’ve grown bitter,” you narrowed your eyes at him from where you were seated.

He turned to face you and cocked his head to the side, “I’d like to think I’ve grown honest.”

“It was unnecessary,” you said, referring to his toast.

He smirked when he caught on to what you were talking about. “It was fun.”

You cracked a smile at that and Aemond’s lip twitched, his eye gleaming. Slowly, you pushed yourself off the chair and walked closer to him. He didn’t even flinch when you came so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you.

“You don’t talk as much you used to,” you whispered, your tone sad “You don’t smile either.”

He seemed so…guarded. He was looking at you like you were some kind of predator that he had to protect himself from. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but feared how he might react.

“Much has changed,” he said with the tiniest shrug, “It has been six years.”

Six years of yearning, you wanted to say.

Time had passed, it was true, but that did not explain why he felt so far from you. Or why he’d been ignoring you since you arrived. Bonds like the one you shared are not so easily damaged, nor broken.

“You have changed,” you said, eyeing him in the least discreet way possible.

He too drank you in unashamedly, taking his time from the bottom of your embroidered silk dress, to the top of your silvery-white, curly hair, before finally meeting your gaze. He looked seconds away from saying something, or doing something, but then he caught himself and shook his head.

“As have you,” he chose to say instead. The words came out steady, but when you glanced down, his fists were clenched tight. You reached out to take his hand and he moved back.

"Why are you being like this?" you snapped, though you never raised your voice, "What have I done to upset you?"

He was taken aback by your straightforward question. His plan had been to maintain a wary distance from you until you left again. He did not want to dig into memories of the past...but he couldn't deny you answers when you looked at him with such desperate and confused eyes.

He licked his lips and confessed two words, "You left."

You stepped back in surprise. That was it? Of all the things you may have done to earn such a cold reception from him, leaving him all those years ago never once crossed your mind.

"What?" you practically spluttered.

“You abandoned me,” he reiterated.

“Aemond, you can’t possibly be angry with me over that,” you smiled nervously though you were confused, “You must know I had no intention of leaving you.”

His voice was measured, unemotional. “And yet, you did.”

“I was a child. I could not have prevented them from taking me anymore than you could have.”

He was unconvinced and looked away from you.

“Aemond.”

He didn't respond.

“Aemond, would you look at me.” You grabbed his chin to force him into facing you. With reluctance, he met your gaze.

“My mother had just died. And seeing you hurt that night, pained me more than standing at her funeral,” you whispered it like a dark secret, “That is how deeply I care for you.”

Aemond was stubborn – more so than you – but his features softened at your admission.

The day he woke to find that you had left was the worst pain he had ever felt. He'd been inconsolable for weeks, even attempting to fly Vhagar to Dragonstone and bring you home. But when the tears dried and the irrational thoughts quieted, Aemond came to understand what he had to do to move on. He chose to forget the things he had lost. He chose to forget you.

Despite what you’ve admitted, you do not look away from him shyly, or run away in embarrassment. You keep your gaze steady so that he knows your heart is true.

Your voice trembles slightly as you lower your hand from his chin and ask, “Do you understand?”

He hesitates before nodding slowly. Not once since the day you left had he allowed himself to imagine that you might say anything like that. He spent years hating that you were his weakness. Resenting the fact that years later, he still felt the ache of missing you when he lay in bed at night and you were not there beside him.

And even though he successfully hid his true feelings from everyone else, he could never fool himself.

“I’ve often thought about that night,” he muttered so quietly that it was as if he was speaking to himself, “When I do, this,” he points to his eye patch, “is not the loss I mourn. It is you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“You cared for me?”

“I breathed for you,” he said, then dropped his gaze to the floor in embarrassment, “I fear I still do.”

You let out an exasperated laugh, "Aemond, why would that be something to fear?"

He looked up from the ground and met your eyes with an intensity that made your smile falter. Your heart began to race as he took a step closer, and almost instinctively you moved to him.

He raised a hand to the side of your face and tucked your hair behind your ear. Then he let his hand fall to your cheek where he stroked it gently and lightly brushed your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You sighed and leaned into his touch, raising a hand to his and holding it just where he cradled your face.

"I fear it," he started as he looked over your face, committing every detail of it to his memory, "because you will not stay. And you are not mine."

"Now is not then," you whispered, "If you want me, Aemond...then I am yours."

With that, he leaned down, his lips hovering over yours as he paused to take in your scent – sweet and earthy – before capturing them in a kiss. He knew that after this there was no returning to what once was. There would be no 'forgetting' this time. He knew this, and he eagerly accepted it.

His hands gripped your waist. You pulled him closer, wanting – no, needing to disappear into him. His scent, his touch, his kiss. It was dizzying, euphoric, and you fell into him happily.

"We must stop," you breathed between kisses, "Anyone could find us."

Aemond didn't respond as he chased your lips fervently.

"We must stop," you repeated, this time gently pushing away from him. You stopped to gather your thoughts, one hand pressed against his heaving chest. You could not look at him, no. If you did, you feared you would not leave this room again.

"We ought to return to the table," you said as you began walking to the door, "You and I have been gone for too long, they will begin to search for us."

You waited by the door until you heard Aemond's footsteps follow behind you. He stopped beside you, one hand on the door handle.

"You'll stay this time," the familiar lilt at the end of a question being asked was missing, but the hesitance in his voice and the pleading look in his eye showed he was asking.

You slipped your hand into his, just as you had done so many times as children, and with conviction answered, "I promise."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you returned to the dinner table, most of the food had already been cleared away. Luke, Jace and your sisters were dressed in their cloaks and being escorted outside by the guards while your father and Rhaenyra spoke to Alicent and Otto.

You shared a confused glance with Aemond before approaching the four.

“What is happening?”

Your father's head snapped up at the sound of your voice. “Come,” he motioned you over, “Your things are already in the carriage outside.”

“In the carriage?” you frowned, “What for? Where are we going?”

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, "Back to Dragonstone."

“But we've only just arrived,” you chuckled, "Why the hurry to leave?"

An answer was not given, but Rhaenyra's quick glance over your shoulder to Aemond said it all.

“We never intended to stay long,” she offered instead.

Your father motioned you over once again, “Say your farewells then go and get Senryr.”

The request came out like a man ordering his pup to fetch his shoe. He had no sympathy for the position he was forcing you into yet again, and did not care to pretend to show compassion to you. His daughter. It did nit make you sad, it made you angry.

“No.”

Daemon reacted as though you had just slapped him across the cheek.

“What?”

You stepped back to stand by Aemond's side. “I said no,” you repeated, jutting out your chin, “You cannot make me leave, Father. Not again.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I am not asking, Y/N,” he spoke slowly, “You will do as I say.”

It used to terrify you when he spoke in that intimidating tone, even though you knew your father would never harm you.

Perhaps that knowledge is what gave you the courage to say, “I am not leaving.”

Daemon was not often challenged, especially not by his children. He'd known from a young age that of all his children, you had inherited the worst of his temper. Your defiance was not only aggravating, it was insulting.

He stepped towards you, but before he could take another, Aemond moved in front of you protectively. The bold action stunned everyone in the room — including yourself.

Aemond was a good few decades younger than Daemon and therefore little challenge to your father. His wordless threat only indicated one of three things: stupidity, arrogance, or...

You ignored the suspicious looks thrown between you and Aemond as you placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. He broke his stare down with your father and looked down at you. Upon seeing the pleading look in your eyes, he stepped back to your side but remained close enough that your arm was still brushing against his.

Daemon was seething. He could see what was happening right before his eyes. Many years back when you'd refused to return to Dragonstone, it was because of Aemond. All those proposals you had turned down were because of Aemond. Even your excitement to return to King's Landing – it was because of Aemond.

He'd known all along, but he'd never spoken it aloud, thinking it beneath him to even entertain the idea that his eldest daughter cared for a Hightower – be him Targaryen or not. But how could he ignore it when it was being thrown in his face like this?

"He," he nodded his head to Aemond, "is the reason you want to remain here?"

Rhaenyra quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation. "There is no need for this," she looked directly at you as she spoke before turning to Alicent, "I will see the children back to Dragonstone, then I shall return on dragon back."

That barely seemed to satisfy Daemon. And if Rhaenyra was suggesting that she could return and convince you to leave, she would be in for a surprise. Alicent was the only one who seemed happy with this solution. She embraced Rhaenyra with a regretful smile as Daemon walked towards you.

Your body stiffened as he approached. He glared at Aemond before looking down to address you, "You may not have to choose today, but you will soon."

He gave you a long look before placing his hand on the hilt of Dark Sister and turning to leave the room. Deep down, you knew he was right. Your Uncle was fading fast, and once he was gone, lines would be drawn and sides would have to be chosen. You only hoped that you had some time before then.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was difficult to part with your sisters after growing so close over the years. You would miss not having them around, but you knew they would never stay. They still hated Aemond for what happened that fateful night years ago, and neither could understand why or how you were able to forgive him. You didn't know how to tell them that to you, there had been nothing to forgive.

You remained by Aemond's side as Alicent showed you to your chambers, each of you like the other's shadow. Alicent was walking ahead of you and when she noticed you trailing behind, she stopped and turned to look at you both.

She raised a brow as she looked between you. "Aemond, I believe your room is down the other way," she pointed to the hallway leading in the opposite direction to where you were heading.

Aemond glanced at the hallway, then to you, and back to his mother. He seemed lost.

She ushered him away, "You may have spent your younger years sleeping in each others' beds, but there will be no more of that."

He nodded once and gave you a final look before walking off to his own chambers. You followed Alicent to the end of the hall where you parted ways at your room.

She was barely gone two minutes when you heard a knock at the door. You knew who it was before you even opened it. Aemond stood there under your door frame, his shoulders hunched slightly, no doubt feeling guilty for defying his mother.

You didn't say a word, you simply stepped aside to let him in. He kicked the door closed with his foot and moved closer, his knuckles brushing against the back of your hand.

"I want to sleep here with you. If you'll have me."

You turned and walked to a table at the other end of the room. You removed your bracelets, earrings and necklace and placed them on the table. Brushing your hair to the side, you looked over your shoulder at Aemond.

"Can you help me with these laces?"

He looked unsure at first before following you. His fingers trailed along your hip before finding the two laces and undoing them for you. There was a pause as he debated what to do next, then he stepped away and sat down on your bed just by your pillow.

You chuckled to yourself at his level of restraint and removed the sleeves of your dress, letting it fall to your feet. Stepping out of the dress, you could feel Aemond’s eyes on you as you removed the pins and ties in your hair and placed them on the table by your jewellery. There was no seduction in your actions. You were simply undressing, and he was simply watching you do it.

When you turned to look at Aemond, he had already kicked off his shoes and was now leaning against your headboard. He sat up when he saw you approaching, his gaze never wavering. There was so much love in his eyes, but it didn't make you shy, it made your heart race. You stopped when you were standing between his legs, resting your arms on his shoulders.

“How come you let your hair grow so long?” you asked as you ran your hand through his long, white locks. He didn’t answer, however. His eye was focused on something else.

His hand slid the hem of your slip higher up your thigh as his brow furrowed in concern. “What caused this?” he asked as he traced his fingers over two jagged scars on your knee and up your thigh.

“Senryr,” you sighed at the feeling of his touch, “She clawed me when I went to claim her. Tore my favourite dress to shreds.”

“Why did you go alone?” he asked, tracing higher to the very tip of the scar on your hip, “She could have killed you.”

You smiled as you looked down at him. “You claimed Vhagar alone,” he looked up at you as you gently stroked his jaw with your finger, “Perhaps if you’d been there to teach me, she never would have hurt me.”

He laughed then. A low, quiet one, but a laugh nonetheless. It lit up his entire face and made his eye sparkle. You felt your heart swell at seeing him so happy, so content.

You climbed over him and into the bed, slipping underneath the blanket, "Are you going to undress?"

He shook his head and climbed in after you, "I'm comfortable like this."

He lay facing you, his arm resting on your waist as he drew circles on the small of your back over your satin slip. You raised a hand to his cheek and touched the bottom of his scar.

"It wounded me when you ignored me today," you said to distract yourself from the question you wanted to ask.

Aemond chuckled, "That was the intention when I did it."

You rolled your eyes and giggled, but your gaze returned to his eyepatch. What did it look like under there? Aemond noticed your furrowed brows and understood what was playing on your mind.

Your hand hovered over the eyepatch, "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded quickly, and removed it before he could change his mind.

A deep blue gem in the place where his left eye used to be. A sapphire, glimmering in the candlelight.

"Beautiful," you whispered absentmindedly as you stroked his cheek just below the sapphire eye.

He softened and pulled you closer to him, placing a light kiss on your lips. You curled into him and tucked your head under his chin, releasing a deep sigh.

Aemond's hand found yours under the blankets, and he smiled when you threaded your fingers together. There wasn't much he wanted to say. He just needed to be here with you, listening to your quiet breathing and feeling your heartbeat against his chest.

[flowerandblood]

The Golden Cage (2/5)

[modern! mafia boss • Aemond x female]

[warnings: angst, domination, sexual tension, fluff]

[description: Aemond works with the mob and finds a new accomplice. His attention is drawn to his daughter, trying to isolate herself as much as possible from their criminal underworld. Angst, domination kink, a lot of sexual tension.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Her father was furious with her, he only calmed down when she explained exactly why she had come to the club in the first place. They both quickly got into his car and drove to the hospital.

She felt her legs shaking the whole way, whoever he was, Aemond terrified her and made her shiver. She knew that he was someone very dangerous, seeing how the other guests of the club looked at him with fear.

They finally made it to the intensive care unit. The doctor told them that her grandfather's condition was stable, but would require rehabilitation. Her grandmother hugged her tightly as they entered the hospital room.

"Where have you been?!" She asked her son in pain, slapping him in the chest. "Business is more important than your family?!"

Eddard pursed his lips, looking away.

"I'm sorry. I was in a place where there was no phone service." He said quietly and humbly, clearly feeling remorse.

Her father went to the vending machine and brought them coffee and tea. They told Grandma to go home, promising to stay with Grandpa for the night.

When her grandmother left, she looked at her father with pursed lips. She saw that he was avoiding her eyes.

"What were you doing there?" She asked quietly.

Her father gave her a quick, uneasy glance, then turned back to his mug.

"I already told you. I had my business to attend to." He said, taking a sip of coffee.

"What kind of business do you have to deal with in a place like this?" She asked, annoyed that he was treating her like a stupid child.

Her father shook his head.

"The less you know, the better for you. Don't come there ever again. Got it?" He asked tensely and she looked away, angry and bitter.

She wanted to think that her father was a good, decent man, but she couldn't. She loved and cherished him, and at the same time she knew absolutely nothing about him.

After a few days, her Grandpa was able to leave the hospital. Her father used to visit them every day, helping him with his exercises. On Saturday morning, while she was eating her cereal, Eddard was getting ready to leave.

"Aemond is coming to pick up some papers, they're on the table. Give them to him if I'm not back in an hour." He said quickly and left before he could see her expression.

She swallowed loudly what was in her mouth and put down her spoon, losing all desire to eat, Harrold had the day off and she was home all alone. She didn't trust this man and she felt uncomfortable around him, so she prayed that her father would come back in time.

She was sitting on the couch in the living room, reading a book about the Polish kingdom in the 14th century, when she heard someone drive up to their driveway.

She felt a squeeze in her chest and swallowed hard hearing it, it was hot, she was wearing only an oversized T-shirt and shorts. She sighed heavily, thinking with relief that it wasn't a very inviting outfit.

She heard an impatient knock on the door and stood up, grabbing the papers her father had spoken of, walking barefoot to the door and turning the lock. She opened them wide, his eye wide open when he saw her.

His gaze quickly fled to her legs, chest and face. She pretended not to see it and extended her hand with a sheaf of papers towards him. They stared at each other in awkward silence and she wondered why he didn't just take it from her.

"Where are your manners, birdie. Won't you invite me in?" He asked dryly.

"I took you for a person who hates wasting his time." She said cautiously, looking at him expectantly, her hand still outstretched to him. He looked at her intensely, the corner of his mouth twisting into an ironic smile.

"I happen to be in the mood for coffee." He said low.

She swallowed hard and looked to the side, dropping her hand helplessly. She stepped aside, allowing him to enter and he did it without haste, slowly taking off his leather jacket.

She closed the door behind him, walked through the living room to the kitchen, placing papers on the table as she went, and opened the cupboard searching for a cup. She watched, looking across the bar, as he entered their living room, sat down on the couch, and picked up her book, opening it where she had left off.

"What kind of coffee will you drink?" She asked dispassionately and calmly, trying to sound at least a little warm.

"Black. Two teaspoons. No milk. No sugar." He said matter-of-factly.

It looked like he was actually reading her book.

She put water in the kettle, glanced at him, and sighed softly, her heart was pounding like crazy.

She prayed that her father would come by now and take over this conversation.

When the water boiled, she poured the mug and, with a heavy heart, walked back into the living room, placing it on the table in front of him.

"Thank you." He said dryly, not taking his eye off her book.

She pursed her lips as she looked at him, thinking that she couldn't just go to her room and leave him alone, so whether she wanted to or not, she had to sit with him now and watch over him. She sat down in the soft armchair next to him, drawing her legs under her buttocks, making herself comfortable, her whole body tense.

They sat in silence for a while, only the sound of him turning the pages in the room, she was surprised to see that he seemed to be drawn into what the author had written. He took a sip of his coffee once in a while, not stopping reading, and she thought that if she wouldn't bother him, maybe he'd leave her alone.

He turned the book over suddenly, placing his finger where he had left off, apparently he was checking the author of the entire publication.

"I'll borrow it." He announced calmly. She looked at him surprised, her mouth parted slightly.

"I… I need it for the exam." She said looking at him uncertainly, she didn't know if it was a good idea to say no to a man like him, but she wasn't about to fail the semester because of him.

He looked at her intensely for a moment.

"And the exam is when?" He asked, as if he wanted her to finish his sentence. She looked down on her knees.

"On Monday." She said softly. He rocked the book slightly left and right as he looked at her.

"Then I'll come pick it up on Tuesday." He said throwing the book on the table. "I used to study history myself."

He said indifferently, taking a sip of coffee, looking at the book absently. She pursed her lips, wondering if she should investigate further. There was silence between them.

"And what happened then?" She finally asked, unable to contain herself, she saw him smirk at her question as he pulled cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.

"Many things." He grunted as he took the cigarette to his lips, intending to light it with his lighter. She stood up at once and reached out to take the cigarette from his mouth, but he gripped her wrist tightly, glaring at her warningly.

"Careful, little birdie." He said low and dark. She felt her heart pounding wildly, her chest tightening. She thought she wouldn't be intimidated by a stranger in her own home.

"No smoking inside our house. Where are your manners?" She asked, looking at him with a frown, mimicking what he said in a way. He looked at her intensely, his face completely frozen.

He finally took the cigarette out of his mouth with his free hand, the other still holding her wrist. Seeing this she wanted to go back to her seat, but he wouldn't let her, holding her tighter. He looked at her expectantly.

"Apologize."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Apologize."

She felt the tension between them could be cut with a knife. She looked at him defiantly.

"No."

She jumped in fear as he stood up suddenly, his hand gripping her jaw tightly, his other hand tightening around her wrist. He looked at her as if he wanted to kill her, towering her, their faces millimeters apart.

"What you did was impolite. I am your guest. Apologize." He hissed through clenched teeth.

She stared at him in horror and figured out that she didn't care. Maybe if he did something to her, her father would finally end his businesses with him.

"What you are doing is impolite. You barge into my house uninvited, want to take my book without my permission, and try to smoke without asking if you can." She said, breaking free from his grip, her chest was heaving fast.

He blinked at her, his jaw clenched tight, running his tongue over his mouth, looking at her thoughtfully.

"May I ask you for this huge favor, to lend me your book after your exam?" He asked ironically, articulating each word slowly and carefully. She knew that he was furious.

"No." She said right away. "You don't deserve it." She said angrily, grabbing her book and walking towards the stairs, leaving him alone, not caring what he do with it.

As soon as she entered her room, she heard a loud slam of the front door, and after a moment the sound of the engine starting, the screech of tires.

She lay in her room, continuing to read her book, enraged. She thought that he was a brutal, ironic, shameless man, who thought he could do anything to anyone. She didn't know who he was and she didn't care.

She had no intention of serving him or allowing herself to be humiliated in her own home, let him thrash herself like an animal. She thought he expected culture from her, and he had no respect for anyone or anything himself.

After a while, she heard her father enter the house. He ran up the stairs and opened the door to her room.

"What have you done to him?" He asked, looking at her incredulously. She blinked, not understanding what he meant.

"Who?" She asked innocently. Her father rolled his eyes.

"He's so pissed that he won't even talk to me on the phone." He said putting his hands on his hips. His daughter frowned.

"He was rude and insolent. He grabbed me by the jaw like some animal when I pointed it out. I don't want to see him here again." She said, going back to reading. Her father sighed heavily, running his hand over his face.

"He's not a person you can just chase away from our home." He said impatiently. His daughter looked at him angrily.

"Why? Because you're doing business with a man who will now kidnap me for revenge? Beat me? Rape me?" She asked furiously, tears of anger welling up in her eyes, her lip trembled, she turned her gaze towards the window, trying not to cry.

"Mother doesn't want me. With you are only secrets and dark deals. It's never safe. I have nowhere to run!" She almost screamed helplessly without looking at him, her breath and voice ragged and trembling.

She covered her mouth with a shaking hand, clutching her book to her. Her father wanted to approach her, but she moved as far away from him as possible.

"Leave me alone." She said in a trembling voice, without looking at him.

After a while, she heard him leave quietly and close the door behind him. Only then did she allow herself to truly cry.

____

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Little Gifts (1/3)

Aegon II Targaryen/Reader

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SINGLE POST FOR ALL THREE SCENARIOS GOD FUCKING DAMMIT—

ahem :)

This is Aegon meeting his babies for the very first time, please enjoy!

| Word Count 6.2k | Angst, Fluff | Childbirth, brief absentee-ism, Aegon has parental issues out the ass, general cuteness at the end |

Gods help Kings’ Landing once Aegon The Elder realizes he’s going to be a father.

It’s a tumultuous time at best, though never one that came directly at your expense. Aegon had never wanted children, he always told you. Bound up in the sheets and in your arms, with cruel platitudes about how they were smelly, messy, foul little creatures. That you already had one of those to deal with, and you didn’t need that one to put another in you.

This, of course, was a lie. And you knew that, you did. Aegon who hates children, yet gives them more patience than any other in the world. Sitting at the steps of the Keep and listening to some Lord’s boy excitedly tell him about a cat he saw prowling about the gardens. Never sparing a mean word, or even so much as a look of boredom. Aegon does not have patience, Aegon does not suffer things that he does not like for anyone save that of his family.

Aegon loves children, Aegon is terrified of them.

You came to the Keep when the Queen Mother herself expressed a desire to wed her son away- initially the ideal had been to have Helaena marry her elder brother, but for some manner of reason the honor had passed down to Prince Aemond. Rumor tapped it’s mousy foot, but it hadn’t been your business and you’d been far too nervous to poke around and find out.

It hadn’t taken you long to realize the dysfunction of the royal family. To see the way the man you were vying to marry would shrink away from his own mother and father, the way he would curl and wilt under their gazes as if he thought he didn’t belong within their memory.

Needless to say, it followed him into his blossoming- handsome adulthood. The knowledge of the brutality of childbirth, of how it rips a woman apart and kills her if she’s not strong enough. The understanding of what comes after for the rest of ones’ life, and the sheer amount of damage you could do to that life if you weren’t equipped for it.

As far as Aegon had been concerned, he would never be equipped for it. He hadn’t even been worthy of love when he was a child. How could he ever be worthy of giving it?

It’s for this that, following your marriage, you do not bear a child for quite some time. A full year of marriage without sight or whisper of a swollen belly that might carry his babes. This was somewhat devastating for you. Not that you held any grudge for Aegon’s fears, for the way you would find him with glistening eyes and wine-slicked lips, every time his mother would bear down upon him about his duties.

No, it was the gossip and whispering. That you were a failed woman and a terrible wife, that perhaps he thought you so ugly that he couldn’t even bear the few minutes it took to spill his seed in your womb. That you were so dull and lifeless that he could not derive pleasure from you. That your womb was simply a wasteland and that you needed to be replaced. Nevermind that you loved him. Nevermind that he loved you. Happiness was of no importance, here.

Aegon held off for as long as he could, but eventually the frightened boy was chased to his end.

Alicent had had enough of him- had made the ultimatum very clear. Put a babe in your womb, or she would find a new bride for him. Had made sure to list off all the eligible young women of higher houses than your own that would gladly throw you out with the rats to share his bed. It’d been a yelling match, it’d been filled with tears on his end and the bitter sort of resoluteness only a woman who herself had children she hadn’t wanted could possess.

It was the very first time Aegon had ever crawled into your marriage bed and had you while he was drunk.

Things did not get better for some time. Aegon drank, and he drank more. He bedded you with none of the love he truly held for you- because it was not his choice to do so, and he fled to his old vices in the deepest pits of the city, skin crawling as if he’d both been the violated and the violator. He could not imagine how it must have made you feel.

Lonely. Lonelier than you’d ever been. Kept awake with the remnants of his heat between your legs and the absence of his person- whether he was in your bed with you or not. Had he ceased to love you? Is the thought of a child so all consuming that you can no longer hold candle to it? Did he flee from you into the night, find the arms of women who would not have their bodies ruined and spirits tempered by motherhood? Did he disgrace you in such ways?

You didn’t know, and you were too terrified to ask. And so you sat and grew with the misery. He drank more and you ate less, withering beneath a relationship that you could not live without, and yet were being destroyed within.

Until one moon turned to another, and another. And you did not bleed.

The Maesters confirmed it easily enough, the babe that surely grew within you— Aegon had done his duty, and your womb had accommodated, you were not barren. But it did not feel like a joy, to learn of this alone, without him holding your hand. To be the one to go and tell him, to have to inform him of what surely must have been his worst nightmare.

You’d started regal, head held high, shoulders squared. You were informing him of his legacy, you were continuing the reign of the Dragons into another generation.

By the time your slippered feet scuffed the threshhold of your shared chambers, you were a little girl with your arms bound around your middle, hunched and ready to cry.

What a pointless struggle you put yourself through, fingers dancing repetitive tangles around the wash-softened silk embroidery of your bodice. You know how this will fare, perhaps- your mind supplies you desperately even as it’s too late- you could simply not tell him, and let him realize when your body has changed too much for it to be hidden?

He’s slack where he sits at the foot of your shared bed, the fabric of his undershirt fine enough that you can see the flush of skin beneath. He’s always been a touch warmer than his siblings— more like his mother, that rosy hue that clung perpetually to her. Perhaps he was most like her in all regard, for you could not imagine any other Targaryen crying with such open and childlike vulnerability as he could.

You wonder if that is what you will receive now. Tears, or rage, or fear? Will he be offended by your decision to tell him? Will you watch those downturned, lovely features warp into something so far and foreign from you. As he has become over the past moons?

And you try, you truly do. You mean to tell him firmly and prescriptively of your state and what to expect in the coming moons. But when your lips part to break the silence, it is anything but.

“I am sorry-!” It must be a half-beg, it must be a whine, it must be the cries of a wounded animal. Afraid and in pain. The kind that would gnaw itself to bone to survive. You wish to gnaw out your own womb with teeth not suited.

His head jerks then, startled. But you can’t see it, your gaze refuses to witness a thing past the torrent that crowds around your lashes and spews over your eyes. A relentless wave of grief futilely smothered by the way your soft palm pinches angrily around your mouth. Like it was a physical thing to be held, like it hadn’t already begun to drown the air. Humid with pain.

And it is for this— swaddled in the no no no no this is all wrong it’s wrong it’s bad no- that you do not, cannot see Aegon rise. It is for this that you are nearly taken clean off your feet by the sheer force with which his frame collides against yours, held solely by his iron-like grip.

But you don’t question it, the hand at your belly and the hand at your mouth flee to him. Dig in tightly enough to sting through the cloth that separates your nails from his direct skin. You’re clawing at him, scratching violent red ribbons into that peach skin that clings across his shoulders and back. If you’re truly hurting him, if he’s noticing it at all, he makes not a sound, says not a word to it.

“Husband, please..! I am- am afraid, I do not want to be alone. I cannot- I cannot be-” anymore. You couldn’t be alone anymore. Because you had been. You are. He’d abandoned you.

And he knows it, knows it so violently that tears spring to his own eyes. He can’t wrap himself around you as tightly as you dig into him- the cognizant and horribly numb parts of his pysche supply him with an offensively dull you would hurt the babe if you did. That his mind offers this with such simplicity doesn’t prevent the horrible shudder that crests his body. The gooseflesh that forms.

What a horrible, terrible creature he’s been. Typical, but inexcusable.

“Shh, shh…” He tries, weakly. An attempt to balm you while he scrambles to put together the right words to comfort. He knows what he needs to say, he just doesn’t wish to lie. Aegon needs to know that if he tells you this, he will mean it. What he has already done is a heartbreak, enough. But it holds nothing to the weight of a broken promise. “I will not leave you, do you hear me? Never again. The wine will go, the taverns will go, the fights will go. I will be here. I am here.”

It was easy, it was so effortless to pull you to the bed. To lay you curled and fetal beside him as he bound himself to you once more. The door was ajar, enough so that overly nosy servants and guards alike could see the young royals tucked among the pillows, could see the large hand trailing delicate paths over even more fragile features. Soothing and rhythmic motions until a crumpled and upset face turned to something neutral, nearly sleeping.

He would not promise you that he would be perfect, that he would be able to love and cherish the way you deserved. But he would be there. He would be there. You would not be alone. He would never abandon you again.

And he held true to his word. Aegon becomes a constant at your side, perhaps more than you even anticipated. He follows you to learn everything from the wetnurses and Maesters. He follows you to the gardens, he asks you how you feel. He keeps a rigorous, near paranoid grip of your health and mental state.

First you find it confusing, but not unpleasant. You find that just as quickly as you’ve come up with child, Aegon has put aside the things that kept him away from you. Curled into bed and talking to you in rasping, warm tones. Kissing your fingers and nose and lips. And even, when he thought you asleep, trailing a shaking hand over your belly- still too early on to show in any real way.

Then you understand, and it becomes tragic. Aegon knew the stories of Aemma Targaryen, his father’s first wife. At least in rumor if not in direct. And he knew of Alicent’s horrors, as he had been the cause of many of them. He stares at your growing belly over the moons, and he grows paler and paler with the sight of it. Sickened by it. Terrified. Of them, and for you. He fears that you will die, and he fears that he will be the one made to take your life. Even if it’s not him doing it, then giving the order to insistent, heartless Maesters.

This fear increases threefold when the Maesters proclaim that there cannot possibly be a single child within your fertile womb. That you grow too large and too fast. Twins, it could only be.

Aegon sits up that night, with you sound asleep beside him, and he stares into the dark with absolute certainty that he has murdered you. That he marches you to your grave faithfully, now. How it is he is expected to live with it, he doesn’t know.

Nightmares plague him, shakes assail him, his appetite vanishes. You must coax food and drink into him just as Aegon must beg you to take things easily. To let him help you around, to not take so many stairs, to gentle yourself.

He sleeps less, too. And you find yourself kneading puffy cheeks in your palms and caressing reddened eyes as you coo at him and push him to bed. Watching over him like you might- some day soon- your own children.

Eventually however, too soon, much too soon, you head into your labors and Aegon feels the most helpless he ever has. You go to a war that he cannot fight in, and all he can do is sit witness to whether or not you live or- or-

Uselessness should be a thing as natural to Aegon as sleeping. All his life it has been of abundant clarity that his importance was simply in function and name, and not what he- the person- could do. It was not about him, only his blood, his title, the cock between his legs.

It should have been something he’d resigned himself to. But watching you lay there, screaming with tears and sweat trailing down your face- no, he wasn’t so resigned after all. It bit at his bones and made some burning rash crawl it’s pestilent fingers up his clammy back. His hand had long gone numb in your grip, squeezed until nails dug savagely into the places between his bones. It was all he had to offer, his hand, his useless words, the cloth which he gently used to wipe away your sweat.

Even that, they had tried to deny him. Even that. As if he were so Gods-be-damned useless that he couldn’t keep the sweat from your eyes.

“Mm… Aeg..?” Your voice is under a current, being pinched and stretched by your exhastion. You’d been fighting for so long now.

“Yes, ladybug?”

“Could eat an entire pig, right now.”

It makes a bittersweet joy touch Aegon’s cheeks. His smile curves bright and wide, teeth glittering in the afternoon sun, but his lips are trembling and his eyes are glassy. You’re only half there, he’s sure of it, skin glistening and eyes lidded as you stare both at and through him. “I’m sure, love. Been wrestling with a pair of stubborn dragons all day, haven’t you? Once you’re done, I’ll go to the kitchens myself, whip up a frenzy. Everything you could want, okay?

All you need to do is stay here, with me.” Please, please. For the love of the Old Gods and the New. Stay. Don’t let me be what took you.

His hand, the one not clasped relentlessly within yours, brushes at your forehead and at your hair. Tugging strands away with a sort of histrionic worry that maybe they were making you uncomfortable by clinging to your face like that. He didn’t want you to be any more uncomfortable than you were. In fact, how terrible must the sheets feel on your skin? The nightgown they force you to remain in even as your body rips itself apart to create life?

You should be naked, bare on something soft but firm so that it wouldn’t cling to your skin. There is no shame in a man being rendered completely bare so that his war wounds can be tended to, and yet they will not offer you the dignity of the same treatment? Unfair, cruel- you should be allowed to breathe—

His hand practically creaks like settled oak when you start to vice around him again. It’s not fully there yet, simply a pained whimper, but your vision is sharpening by it. You’re forced back to the forefront by cruelty, and Aegon can only give some sort of childish look of sympathy and regret, forehead lowering to touch yours.

“Don’t know how much further I can go, Aegon…” You say, submerging Aegon into a cold that would make even the bitter North curl just a touch deeper into their furs.

“No, no. Don’t you say that, listen to me. Listen… I know it’s beginning to hurt again-” a sentiment unfortunately punctuated by the shriller, louder pained cry that starts to trickle out from your heaving chest. “-But I know you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever seen. So you’re going to do this, do you hear me? You’re going to bear two beautiful, healthy children, and you’re going to be fine, and you’re going to eat an entire fucking pig. You hear me? Hm?”

He doesn’t hear the words murmuring out and around him from the midwives and the Maester. He doesn’t know that the pain is cresting because one of the children is coming- he doesn’t know. All he knows is that you’re looking at him now, and you look pleading. You remind him of a frightened little girl, seeking out the comfort of someone bigger and safer during a storm. Aegon leans over you allows his cheek to find your head and his weight to join yours in sheltering. Instinctual, without particular rhyme or reason, but he’s rewarded for the thought with the touch of your nose against him. Tucking down even as you scream louder than you have at any other moment since this began in the early hours of the morning.

Then-

Oh—?

A cry, so fragile and gentle and quiet breaks the air. It’s so tiny, and all of the skin and hair across his entire body raises at the sound of it. It’s so small, and yet the roaring in Aegon’s ears would tell him that the Keep is falling apart around him. That the sea is drying, that Harrenhal is crumbling, that the Wall is melting.

It meant nothing to him, in all the years he heard familiar cries like that. It meant anxiety, it meant help, where is an elder!? It meant another day that I’m just a failure, it meant looming dread.

A babe’s cry meant nothing to Aegon. His babe’s cry nearly pulls him away from you, nearly has him crumpling broken and limp against the red brick and mortar beneath his feet. He could simply lie there, could curl fetally and stare blankly beneath his bed into the vacuous and yawning nothingness that you lay fighting for your life above. The very sound could eradicate him without effort.

He’s scared, suddenly. Oh, oh Gods. Aegon wants his mother, he wants Alicent to hold him, he wants the reassurances now. He’s afraid, he’s terrified. What if he gets it wrong? What if he drops the babe? What if he forgets, or is clumsy, or reckless, or just plain bad? No one ever taught him how to love innocence.

“My Prince!” A sharp voice calls him out of a complete blank state, he jolts as if slapped, eyes wide and doe-like when he settles upon his caller. A stout, ruddy cheeked woman with kindness seemingly built into the very lines and freckles of her face. “She’s doing well, Prince Aegon. Just one more to go, okay? Think you can convince her?”

There’s something lined in this woman’s ale colored eyes, made more vivid by the light. It’s a hint, it’s the gentlest way he’s ever had someone coax him to get his shit together and focus. A nudge rather than a slap. It’s a sweet boy, remember what’s happening rather than a stupid mutt, a useless grandchild who sees nothing more than his cups.

So he turns back to you, to the way your head lulls slightly under his motions, and the way you seem almost absent from your own flesh. It scares him all over again, not that he needed the reminder- mostly that Aegon is the fly caught between two palms now. The clap so loud to his tiny frame that it should shake the teeth right out of him.

“Ladybug… Sweet love, look at me? Look,” he whispers with love, touches your chin with index and middle fingers to pull you toward him again. “You already did it, see? I told you. You’ve only got one left, should be much quicker now that their older—”

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know if he just had a son or a daughter, and when he swallows around that information his jaw trembles. “—Their older sibling made way, yes? So that’s it, this is it. You’re okay, you’re amazing. Just one more, then I’ll get to bringing an entire roast pig in here for you.”

You manage him a smile for your husband. Looking up at him and recognizing in all the ways that Aegon looks utterly petrified by this. You’re still not entirely sure about survival, the pain remains, and the sudden absence of something that had become so intrinsic to your body. The way it’s as if they’re taking pieces of you with them, stealing at your soul to fuel their own. You find that you don’t mind it, and yet when you blink you see silver and starlight rather than the typical blank darkness of your eyelids.

But he’s scared, and he’s making you all sorts of sweet Aegon promises, and you know you cannot allow this to happen- for him, yes. For the broken man you’d leave behind, for the beautiful boy you always loved to see smile and don’t think ever would again. But also for the children, the children who would have no parents. For the cycle that would repeat, with a bitter man too hurt to look at his own children and love them, because he’d see you there.

You know this, you know him, and you scream with what little ferocity you have left before they even call for you to do so.

Aegon finds himself squeezing his eyes shut, swaying as if he means to rock you- or himself, he’s unsure in that regard. You’re still heaving, still fighting, you’re clawing into his forearm until- much to his mild impress and great worry, droplets of life are pooling out and cascading over the softness of his flesh.

“Little bit longer, Princess!” The same kind faced, warm hearted woman says loudly over your noises of protest and suffering. “An eager one, this! Doesn’t want to be too far behind their sister, eh?”

Sister. The word almost lacks meaning in the fabric of his mind. Sister. He has a daughter, then. A baby girl, a sweet little thing. No wonder her cry was so soft and so devastating. He can feel his spine attempting to break free, he’s sure of it. That is the only way he could possibly comprehend the sensation of the entire length of bone vibrating and trembling violently beneath a thin layer of skin and sinew. Yes, his body is like that of a mayfly, he has helped- however futilely- to bring life and now life he escapes.

“Once more, Princess.” Her voice comes again, and Aegon finds himself looking at her hovering between your legs. He must look a sight himself- embarrassing, considering he has no hand in this fight. But he can feel the pressure around his eyes, the sting of his lips from where he’d bitten them bloody and the tears had found their way into the cuts. He tries to prevent this, to not look like a scared child, but the sympathetic pinch that doesn’t leave as the woman looks between you and him is enough for him to know he’s failed.

“Okay… Okay…” You’re convincing yourself of it, nodding even with the slight resistance from Aegon’s plush cheek. It’s as if you’re being coaxed to do something frightening to you- like when he first introduced you to Sunfyre. Your voice soft, assuring yourself as you pressed on with him. That it would be fine, because he would never let you get hurt, would he?

So he does the same thing to you now that he did then.

“My pretty Princess…” He whispers, rasping and thick. Aegon is your ferryman, you decide in delirium. He’s cut through the fog just as quick, effortless like a lantern in the night. “There’s no need to be afraid… You hear me? I’m right here, I’m right by your side, see?”

His hand threads through yours once again, clammy and hot from nervousness while he rubs soothing patterns.

“Just a little bit more.” Just a couple more steps.

“Then you’re done.” Then you can pet him. Ride with me? See the skies? All that… Targaryen goodness we like to tout so much.

What he hadn’t told you, and you’d already known anyways, was that he was asking permission to love you. It was the first time he’d kissed you, up there. Far away from the city and expectation. That’d been the point. Your first kiss deserved to be Aegon. Not Prince Aegon. Just him.

You screech out a horrible noise, grinding sand and sharp cobbles ripping up and down your throat before it waters down into a sob- Aegon can offer nothing but a sort of hiccupping gasp, an almost panic at the noise that splits the stone and races out of the windows thrown open. Were you dying? Was this going to be it?

A shape now, pulled free quickly and cut away from the mother- from you- just as quick. There’s a certain urgency there, to the way they move. They’re not celebrating or offering to let him see- not yet, no. And it increases his terror twofold, does nothing to soothe the burgeoning feeling that someone is about to die. So he lifts, eyes darting around at people far older and more experienced than himself. He asks no questions because he cannot find his voice, has not even seen the faces of his children yet in the flurry.

The silence is deafening, he can make out a pale foot, a pale arm, the gentle tap tap of someone patting at their flesh.

Finally, a soft, even quieter squeak.

“Congratulations,” you’re both addressed in turn by the rosy woman who turns- a tiny- so fucking tiny- bundle she swaddles in her arms as she approaches. “Two more, lovely Princesses for the Keep.”

His ears are ringing.

The babe- his babe, already shows the wicks of his pale locks, still too fine and short to know whether they’d curl or lay flat like their uncle. The face is a little redder than he’d anticipated, with a tiny swooping nose and a gently parted mouth. Her little eyes are closed, she must be so tired coming into the world like this, shouldn’t she?

He looks down at you then, and feels his heart leap into his throat to see you’re already looking at him. Your eyes are half lidded, but the smile there is nothing short of love. You look at him like it’s been years since you last touched, or like he placed the sun in the sky.

“We’re… we’re parents…” You manage, softly. You must be so tired, making someone else come into the world. Gods, you must be on the brink of sleep. You need sleep. You-

“We are,” he whimpers. You see the tears starting to pour. He looks afraid, yes. But you’d expected that. In fact, you didn’t expect this level of acceptance from him. You’d expected him to be in the corner with his knuckles in his teeth. For him to shy away from the bundle before you two, the other being brought back into the room somewhere beyond your fuzzy vision. “They’re so small, love.”

Aegon’s shape shadows yours, you can feel his heavy arms beneath your sweating frame like the great chains of a drawbridge, pulling you against him. It’s temporary, just so that he can slide you over, cooing something about how sweaty and warm where you were just laying must have been. And it’s true, but the pain and discomfort feels detached and distant, like you’re watching a play rather than living it in the moment.

And then he’s beside you, his body pressed all along yours. And the midwives are moving closer.

“She’ll need ample rest, you hear?” Someone says in the distance, your eyes slide off faces like water down the side of a cliff. But you can feel his humming affirmations, the vibrations make staying aware even harder, heavier. “Hard enough to bring one into the world, but she’s blessed you with two, my Prince.

No moving around without someone to keep watch. No awkward positions. And no getting any ideas with her for at least a turn of the moon. You hear?”

Aegon is painted in shades of crimson, but he nods along like some small child being given their first ‘grown up’ task. He wouldn’t fuck this up. He couldn’t. It would be dangerous if he did.

“She will recover, my Prince. I suggest you enjoy now the fruits of her labor.”

One is much smaller than the other, Aegon realizes. He’s not sure why he’s completely taken aback by it. Children didn’t all start out the same, nor did they end up the same either. He was much bigger than Aemond once upon a time. But this feels different.

His first born, she’s a bit of a fat one if he’s honest. He doesn’t know if a babe can even be such. But she is, a big round face and big round feet and meaty little fists. She’s wriggling and energetic, he realizes. Rowdy, even.

“Hello there,” he says quietly, awkwardly. He’s not sure how to do this part. He’s not sure he understands anything, anymore. His whole life feels as if it’s been taken aside and smashed with hammers. But it’s not so unpleasant anymore. It doesn’t feel like death, or the end. There’s sudden opportunity… Almost an excitement. For nothing else if not to see what these little babes grow into. He hopes they look more like you than him, even with the danger that poses.

“You gave your mother quite some trouble, do you know that?” The babe in his arms makes a creaky little noise, and he nervously shifts her around. How does one… adjust a baby without hurting it? “Yes, you did. I’m sure of it, you’re the one that kept putting your foot in her ribs. Aren’t you? You’d make her fight you all day, you ornery little thing.

But my… Aren’t you pretty.” She is, he’s decided already. She’ll be the prettiest thing in all the Kingdoms, the only competition will be the tiny little bundle settled in your arms.

She’s the opposite, so tiny that it frightens him. Face is redder, and much much quieter. But the Maester looked the babe over and said that she would likely simply be a small child. A quiet one. He was glad of that, though. He could handle the rowdy little beast in his arms. Could take on the challenge, you deserved a quiet little mousy thing. One that he can imagine now with such clarity that a wet smile curves his lips.

Fingers clinging to your skirts, and little eyes peeking around a leg. Quiet embroidery lessons where you teach her all your techniques. Blissful little strolls through the gardens with her.

Meanwhile, Aegon suspects this one will be chewing on his ankles in the night.

You’re watching him, and it’s a sort of relief you can’t describe. It makes you want to sob, to break down into hysterical tears at the sight. He’s smiling down at your daughter, your daughter! Bouncing her ever so gently and laughing in that fond timbre that ceaselessly gives you chills. The babe is still too young to move much, but she gurgles and makes all sorts of little noises that Aegon gasps at and reponds to in kind. You’re sure they’re holding some sort of conversation without you. Deciding what mischief they’ll get into together once she’s older.

Meanwhile the little one sitting in your arms just continues to rest. You brush the very tip of your finger against her nose, feel a foot wiggle. Hm, just like her father, then. You hope she gets his nose, that endearing little swoop that you love to kiss. Maybe his eyes too, the weapons that they would be in the hands of a woman.

“We did it,” you finally say. Your voice has come back to you slightly, exchanging the babes in an awkward fumble of limbs and embarrassed little laughs some time prior. You had remained floating in a bit of shock, head slouched against his shoulder as you waited out the minutes until things went horrifically wrong.

But now, with the sun hissing into the windows as it continues it’s trek across the sky, you realize that this is it. It’s okay. It’s over. You’d survived, and they’d survived. You have daughters now. Daughters and a husband who so clearly loves them with all his being.

Aegon had giggled like a little boy until his eyes and nose scrunched up while he held the larger of your daughters, had rocked her back and forth and whispered all sort of nonsense into her ear almost assuredly more for your own benefit than that of the child. Anything to make you giggle, to hear you have joy after it all.

But the moment your little star settled into his arms? Oh, he’d melted. You’d watched the way the joy, but also the pain, and the fear, and the anxiety melted off of him. He looked in awe. He’d not even been able to glance away from his littlest as he’d told you with such reverence she’s so small.

“You did,” he eventually says. His voice is nearly a whisper. They’re sleeping now, soundly and peacefully like little pieces of divine will cast upon the soil. “Look at them. Look what you did, ladybug… They’re perfect. You’ve created perfection.”

It’s hard not to giggle at his antics. “Aegon, my love… They’re yours too, you had just as much a hand—”

“But I didn’t, not really.” He shakes his head with conviction as he says it. Looking only briefly apologetic for running right over you with his words. “I- I bedded you, in the coldest way I could have. And I ran from you. And I left you alone while your body willed itself to create… this. Them. Our beautiful little Princesses. I only came back because you had to beg me. Your own husband, to stay.

No I- …I truly did nothing, here. I failed you, I think I did even when I promised to never leave you again. But the truth remains the same. I got to run away, you didn’t. You weren’t given a choice to run. This is yours. They are perfect because of you.”

You look away when the tears begin to drip off your chin, willing them not to dot your child and wake her. You’re not sure you’re ready for that stage. You want to see them sleep for just a touch longer.

“It was… hard… Aegon…” You concede this part to him, because it does no good to lie about the lonely nights of weeping and fear. “But I want you to know something…

It all went away the moment I saw you smile at them.”

It’s true, it did. You hold not a single reservation for the man beside you. You’ve always known him to have the heart and the will to love the way a good father should, you just never knew if he would give himself the chance.

He will, you think. You can already picture with heartfelt clarity what your near future will look like. The image of a head of white hair chasing a squealing little figure across the gardens. You can see yourself beneath the veranda, surrounded by vines and enjoying some sort of confection while you watch your whole world before you. You can hear the screeching laughter of a daughter tossed in the air, caught faithfully in strong arms. Laughter, so much laughter.

“I love them,” he says softly. Disbelieving of himself. “I love you.”

The hand not preoccupied with a sleeping bundle finds Aegon’s face, heart squeezing tenderly at the way his face drops into your palm so readily.

“My husband, father of my children…” Your finger traces the swoop of his nose, and you giggle when you see one of his feet squirm.

“I love you, in spite of nothing and with all my heart.”