#aemond targaryen hurt/comfort

[queers-gambit]

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice

title citation: Hamlet

prompt: similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: The Truth Will Out - coming soon collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 18.3k+

note: SLUTTY ANGST CLUB, COME GET Y'ALL JUICE!

warnings: not edited. heapings of angst, hurt and no comfort, fuck your feelings. tweaked timeline, cursing, Bridgerton influenced, Aemond's both a bestie and an outstanding, fucking asshole - so is this vilified Aemond? eavesdropping trope, nicknamed reader, insecurity, insults, betrayl, abundance of ye ol' misogyny, self destructive tendencies; a single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure. there's men being men, men being gossipy little bitches, and the most random Lord of the Rings quote that kinda breaks the fourth wall?

Bridgerton - available to watch on Netflix 🍒 this fic was written before season three premiered

Jacaerys Velaryon version: coming soon

Tonight was a celebration that echoed across the entire Realm. Lords and Ladies alike with their service maids, House guards, any available singletons flocked to King's Landing for the courting season. They did this annually. Three solid months for eligible singles to make a match and attempt to secure their bond in matrimony.

Ladies wore layers of multicolored fabrics. Lords dressed in embellished tunics. Ladies tied on tight corsets to push their breasts to their necks. Lords shaved their facial hair, appearing "cleaned up". Ladies smelt of exotic perfume and Lords stood in shiny boots. All wore sparkling, gaudy jewelry.

While the Starks of Winterfell and the Umbers of Last Hearth traveled over a month to reach the capital, your family, the Tyrells from Highgarden, had a much more comfortable commute. Greyjoys and Mormonts sailed in from the Iron Islands and Bear Island, Tullys from Riverrun, Royces and Arryns from the Eyrie. Single, available, eligible Hightowers returned under Queen Alicent's sponsorship, Lannisters prowled in from Lannisport, and select few Martells arrived in gorgeous, gloriously golden carriages from Dorne.

Everyone who was anyone descended onto the Red Keep, eager to earn King Viserys' stamp of approval - being that he only granted one couple his presence at their ceremony. It was the highest of honors, a prize to be won, a chance to show off and show out; giving the two bonded families bragging rights until the next season. Plus there's a superstition that all weddings the King attended were prosperous, healthy, and long lasting marriages. There was a buzz in the air, a static of excitement and mystery; tension brewing when the members of court arrived and sized each other up for that first week. You thought they were silly for this energy, akin to strutting peacocks, treating their own like competition, treating bloodlines like currency.

You never realized how many purists there were.

While the other Houses had to travel, you were most lucky to already host residence in the Red Keep. Your uncle, Evin Tyrell, had once been in line to assume lordship over Highgarden, but after losing his son to the War of the Stepstones, Evin turned away from his inherited responsibilities; forcing it onto your father's shoulders. You had several siblings, both younger and older, and eventually got lost in your bustling, busy, arguably large family. Evin had no more children, wife long departed from this life, and was excited by the prospect of being a guardian; insisting you come with him to King's Landing, where he accepted a tutoring position for the King's children and grandchildren.

You were absolutely romanced by the idea of existing among the royal family, telling your father it was your one chance at a decent, higher education - an opportunity to study under the Targaryens being once in a lifetime. Truth be told, you're not entirely sure Lord Tyrell even processed your words, approving with a distracted grunt and a wave; gone by the next morning without even breaking your fast with your family. Evin hooked both your beloved horse and one of your father's young stallions to a wooden cart you shared, using the journey to King's Landing to prepare you for the life you were soon to live.

You had always been a little wild child, so, Evin felt it necessary to remind you of your manners; brushing up on your etiquette, quizzing you on members of the Royal Family, explaining what would be expected of you now that you were a guest to the royals.

For well over a decade, you were the single wildflower blooming through dragon fire, earning the moniker Rose of the Realm; living under Queen Alicent's good grace. She seemed to like you well enough, going as far as to invite you to family events after noticing the bond between you and her openly favorite son, Prince Aemond. Years ago, when you were fresh and new to the Capital City, your uncle brought you to attend Lady Laena Velaryon's funeral on Driftmark at the King's invitation. You already had a friendship with the young royals; keeping Helaena company, trying to sneak Aegon's chalices of wine out of his grip, and when the time came, rushed off over the sandy dunes with your best mate after he told you his plan to lay claim on Lady Laena's dragon, Vhagar.

After the King's heir, Princess Rhaenyra's (rumored) bastard son, Lucerys, slashed Aemond's eye from his socket, you became incredibly close. Impossible close. Like unbelievably close; being thick as thieves, joined at the hip, magnetically pulled towards one another before clicking into tight place. You were his pillar of support, his anchor to reality; and he was your salvation.

You realized you were in love with him when you turned ten-and-six. It was something strange, the two of you studying together in the library and when you looked up from your book to meet his eyes, you just understood. Something in your brain clicked, heart cemented in knowing, guts twisting in sudden realization, words caught in your throat and only letting out an inaudible gasp. Ever since that day, you were acutely aware of anything the Prince did; from the way he would caress the back of your head at each embrace, to his eye darting to look at your lips during conversations. From how he took almost every meal with you, to the way he insisted upon your invitation to family, public, and / or royal events. From the way he absorbed your secrets and opinions, to the way he shared his own - getting back what you put forth, forever mutual.

Being friends - best mates, even - with Aemond was easy. So easy, in fact, that nobody ever batted an eye when they saw the two of you unchaperoned. Your friendship was wholesome, endearing, supportive, enlightening, and pleasurably challenging in the sense that Aemond liked pushing your envelope; testing your boundaries. He set new standards and helped lift you to meet those goals, made you think harder, consider new points of view, expand your humanity.

What more could anyone ask for?

About half way through the current season, your uncle sent for you to join him for afternoon tea in the gardens. "Do you recognize these?" He asked when you arrived at the pavilion he sought shade under, admiring the bushes of florals surrounding the bannister.

"Of course," you smirked, hands behind your back as you stood at his shoulder, "they're honeysuckle."

"Native to only Highgarden, just like I called you in your youth," Evin added, plucking a bloom to admire. "Do you know why they're planted here?"

"I imagine through pollination?"

"A sound guess, but no," your uncle handed you the flower. "These were imported years ago, but have only bloomed now."

You nodded, sucking the bud to extract its honey-sweet taste, asking through puckered lips, "Imported by whom?"

"Do you remember your 17th nameday?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess, it was only a few years ago. You weren't here, you were on some diplomatic matter, right?"

"Inna way. After I concluded my affairs, I returned to Highgarden. You see, Prince Aemond confided in me how he wished to do something special for your birthday and knew you missed home. He asked me to bring these seeds back."

"Aemond asked you to plant honeysuckle?"

"Specifically here," Elvin grinned, "so they were within easy reach."

"So why have they only just now bloomed?" You tried to keep the jittery excitement out of your voice; baffled yet giddy from hearing about Aemond's kind gesture.

"There's an old legend," Evin gestured you to the patio table and chairs that was dressed for your social visit. "It's said, when the honeysuckle is gifted from lover to lover, they will only bloom when love surrounds them. I believe they have come to life this season as a portent to an impending match to be made."

"You spend too much time with Otto, Uncle, you're starting to sound like him - veiling your words and talking in riddles. Tell me why you called me here, Uncle, I know it's not for a botany lesson. Out with it, please, for the sake of my sanity."

Evin chuckled, watching you lean forward to pour two mugs of tea. "I was wondering, sweet niece, what the nature of your relationship is to the Prince Aemond?"

"Oh," you blinked, adding a sugar cube to your brew before stirring in a bit of milk, "well, I hate to disappoint, but I don't know what to tell you, Uncle. We're friends, nothing more or less."

"You seem real chummy."

"We're close, yes."

"Romantic?"

You scoffed, "Uncle, please - "

"Tell me the truth of it."

"Nothing inappropriate or unseemly nor nefarious has occurred between us, Uncle, I promise you. The Prince and I are just friends."

Evin sipped his tea, nodding slowly, "Well, humor me. If I asked who you would marry, who would you choose?"

"Well, as of right now, I'd choose myself since I don't know the men at court yet, only rumors and whispers."

"And if the offer of marriage presented itself, would you marry the Prince?"

"I would do my duty to our House, no matter the suitor."

Evin nodded slowly, "If I said I had struck a pact with the Queen and Hand, what would you say?"

"That despite what I've just said, if you marry me off to Aegon, I'll pitch myself from a window."

Your uncle's head tilted back as he belted short laughter. "I would never condemn you to such a fate, honey girl! Have more faith in me. I speak of Prince Aemond - it's why I asked about him."

"Uncle, speak plainly. Have you attempted to make such a match between the Prince and I?"

"Pending a few logistics, the Crown's interested in the match."

The words echoed in your mind on an obnoxious repeat for the weeks to come, surely living a dream. The longer you dwelled on the impending match, the giddier you felt; a secret smile brightening your features, small spring in your step, an air of positivity hanging around you that even the tiresome Rogue Prince wouldn't be able to taint. The One-Eyed Prince has long been your best mate for a decade, surely, this match would've been offered sooner or later; it was a smart choice, the definition of compatibility.

Some might've referred to this elation as "cloud nine", though you'd say it was cloud 10, 11, 12, 100! You were flying high, feeling good, and mistakenly allowing your hopes to heighten while imagining what marrying your best friend would be like.

You prepared for that evening's courting session with a dreamy, dazed look in your eyes. Even your ladies-maid picked up on your joyful spirit; questioning through her smile, "What's got you so distracted, my Lady? You've been staring off into nothing with that smile for an hour now."

"Huh?" You met her eyes through the vanity mirror, the woman standing behind you to intricately braid your hair. "Oh, no, no, nothing, I'm only lost in thought."

"Which thought?"

"It doesn't matter, it's just a thought. When it becomes a notion, I'll tell you, my friend."

She repeated with a grin, "'Yeah? When's that? Are you expecting good news?"

"Perhaps."

"Fine, fine, keep your secrets," she playfully tugged your hair. "Do you know which dress you'd like to wear tonight?"

"The lilac one," you answered, lips stretching your smile.

"You mean the dress that matches Prince Aemond's eye perfectly?"

You both giggled girlishly.

When you arrived at the Throne Room, there was already more than 75% of guests in attendance; getting a jump on their mingling. You greeted several familiar faces, locating your best mate standing at the side with his arms crossed and shoulder leaning on a pillar. "Well, you certainly look happy to be here," you teased when at his side, leaning on the other side of the intricate column.

"It was Mother's idea, Rosie, you know I do not dance," he frowned. "She's not given up the hunt to make me a match. She's adamant this is the year."

"Perhaps if you participate, you could organically meet your future wife."

"Hmm," his eye rolled, thin lips quirking in a smirk; gaze turned on you, watching you scan the room.

There was another 20 minutes of mingling before dinner was called, laid out on tables that stretched the entire length of the Throne Room. Naturally, like every single day, you and Aemond took side-by-side seats together at a risen table that hosted the royal family which provided an incredible view of those in attendance this eve. With your elbow, you nudged Aemond's bicep, making him lean over instantly so you could speak in his ear quietly. "Looks like Lady Fell and Lord Blackwood are gonna jump each other's bones," you mused, smirking, adding, "though I heard she's already hiding a growing belly and is trying to nab herself someone more mature in age with the intent to trick the Lord into thinking she's having his baby."

"No," he scoffed in amusement.

"Yes!"

"That's diabolical. Blackwood's the father? Truly?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Good for him, good for Blackwood - didn't know he had it in him." He paused to take a pull from his goblet of wine, continuing, "Hm! Look, look," he grinned coyly, "do you see what I see?"

"It's packed in here, so... No, I don't see whatever you're seeing."

He snickered, "Lady Mormont looks smitten with Lord Greyjoy, looks like she wants to eat him."

"I thought he was romancing Lady Redwyne?"

Aemond hummed in amusement, "Perhaps he is considering options, courting more than one lady. Are we taking bets this season, again?"

You grinned, "Of course."

"Lay out the criteria, what're the parameters?"

After thinking a moment, you answered, "The pairing and timeline of impending weddings?"

"The stakes?"

You just shrugged, "Bragging rights?"

"Oh, c'mon, Rosie," he tisked.

"Fine, uh, how about... 10 Gold Dragons?"

"Both our families have enough money."

"Then you decide the rewards."

He lowered his voice, ensuring his family couldn't eavesdrop, "If you win, I'll go to Highgarden with you next time you visit. But if I win, you have to come flying with me on Vha - "

"No," you snapped instantly.

Aemond smirked, "Those are the terms, my Lady. Do you accept? Or will the Rose of the Realm shy away from challenge?"

Well, when you put it that way...

"Fine," you relented. "You're eager to lose so bad, let's do it. Who do you think will couple first?"

"Does it count if I get at least one correct? Such as, if I predict Lord Umber and Lady Lannister, but Umber marries Lady Tully, does it count that I still predicted Umber?"

You mulled his idea over, humming, stabbing a piece of roast goose from your plate to place in your mouth and chew thoughtfully. "Hmm, no, no, you gotta get the couple completely correct."

Aemond nodded, accepting your terms, "You really don't wish to go flying, do you?"

"What gave me away?"

Sharing a chuckle, Aemond finished, "All right, Rosie, bring it on."

When dinner concluded, once more, patrons were allowed to mix and mingle; dancing to the live band, drink spiced wine to their heart's desires. Like the common wallflowers you were, you posted at the side of the room with Aemond, content to watch the sea of vying adults trying to establish and rush courtship. It was the most comfortable you could be at these events, being anxious in judgmental crowds and seeking salvation from Aemond's domineering aura.

"Lady Tyrell," Jason Lannister purred as he approached you with his chest puffed out, "I was hoping to hold your ear tonight. Your father was telling me about your love to ride horses."

"Oh, my father said that?"

"That's who he said he was - "

"My father's in Highgarden, my Lord," you corrected, knowing for fact that Evin always described himself as your uncle.

"Ah, well, right," Jason cleared his throat in embarrassment. Did this pompous arsehole just lie about talking to your father to give the illusion he was an honorable man? That your father approved of the golden headed Lannister? "Perhaps you would honor me with a dance?"

"Perhaps not," Aemond cut in sharply, bringing the tension to focus.

"My Lord," you distracted, on behalf of Aemond's anger, "uh, thank you for asking, that's very kind of you. Though I'm afraid, I'm all, uh, danced out. I won't be on my feet much longer."

"Means fuck off, Lannister," Aemond growled, appearing positively murderous at the honey blonde's audacity.

Jason eyed Aemond, stiffly bidding, "I see. My Prince, my Lady, enjoy your evening."

You bid the older widower the same, Aemond chuckling the moment the lion was swallowed by the crowd. "As if you'd ever dance with a Lannister, let alone court him," he mused, looking down at you. "But he had the right idea, you need to dance at least once. Shouldn't waste this dress standing on the side with me."

"I'm quite comfortable here with you," you shrugged off, seeing your uncle at the royal banquet table exchanging hushed words with King Viserys and his Queen, Alicent.

"C'mon," he held his hand in offer, palm up.

"What? No, no, Aemond, I'm not dancing - I've two left feet!"

"You can break every toe on my feet and I'd still ask you. Just one dance. With me, Lady Tyrell."

"You don't dance!"

"Perhaps the mood has taken me. C'mon, petal."

Your head turned from left to right as if looking for someone spying on you. The moment your hand laid daintily in his, you melted right there on the spot, not having any coherent recollection about how you ended up in the middle of the overzealous contenders. You realized you'd follow this man anywhere.

Beating off your immense anticipation and overwhelming excitement to join The One-Eyed Prince for an intimate activity, you kept your composure amongst everyone else. But, my Gods, did you want to scream in delight the moment he placed one hand on your waist and the other clasping yours to raise in the air at your side. But in this position, you could feel the ridges of his stomach - making you briefly feel embarrassed, wondering how you must've looked to the members of court.

"You sure about this?" You whispered nervously, but you had a feeling that was due to the intense concentration he pinned you with.

"We'll be fine, Rosie, just breathe and follow my lead. I got you."

So launched your dance with Prince Aemond Trgaryen, second son of King Viserys. You couldn't divert your gaze from his porcelain, angled face to save you from overthinking your dancing skill - or lack there of. A few times, he'd smirk and whisper how good you were doing, mind flashing to an image of you and he, married, tumbling in bed sheets together while he praises you. Everything he did became sinful to you; every touch, every glance, every smile, every private studying session setting your skin on fire and heart to beat rapidly.

It was a longer song, string instruments creating a pleasant, ideal, slow-paced, soft environment. Yet you couldn't hear the music, too focused on Aemond's single piercing eye and quirked lips. It was as if the two of you existed outside of time and reality, forgetting the people packed in the stuffy room. Aemond told you softly, "See? You're not so bad at dancing - you just need the right partner."

You wanted to be partnered every single dance from now until your death with Aemond.

"I thought you couldn't dance?" You coyly questioned.

"I said I don't dance, not that I couldn't."

To your idle shock, Aemond gave you a few twirls that made your hair and dress fan around you in an angelic motion. Dare you say it, you even laughed with mirth when you found yourself enjoying the courting season more than ever before - all thanks to your best friend and hopefully, soon-to-be intended. You were acutely aware of his hot and heavy hands holding your flesh, knowing this feeling would burn into your skin to remind you of his closer-than-close proximity. To remind you of his gentleness, to remind you of this dance and the way he gave you his complete and undivided attention.

When the musicians concluded the song, you were grinning authentically while joining in the applause to show appreciation towards the artists.

"Gods," you panted, "that nearly winded me. Think I'm out of shape."

"And you said you had two left feet," he mocked with a scoff, head shaking, but the smirk on his lips told you he wasn't serious. "You're a natural, Rosie."

"You're not such a bad dancer yourself, my Prince," you complimented, the applause subsiding as a new song began. "Though you'll have to excuse me while I get a drink."

You parted way in search of two empty goblets and one of the servants carrying decanters of spiced wine. After being served, you rocked on your toes to try and gaze over the heads populating the room. You were unsuccessful, so, you backed up to the edge of the crowd and moved around the involuntary empty loop along the wall, behind the pillars. There was no reason finding the white haired prince with an eyepatch would be this difficult, yet, you got more than halfway around the room before finally locating him.

Once again, he was leaning on a column, but he wasn't alone. No, there was a gaggle of Lords around him, all exchanging chatter about the Ladies they had to choose from this season.

"Well, c'mon, what about you, Aemond?" Cregan Stark pondered. "Things with The Rose look like they're escalating - congrats. Are wedding bells on the horizon?"

Hearing your name, you quickly scurried behind the same pillar, just out of sight but able to still listen. Look, eavesdropping was highly frowned upon, you knew it was bad manners, but if you heard men gossiping about your name, you would've done the exact same!

Aemond scoffed in pure amusement, "Come off it, Stark."

"No, c'mon, mate, I saw you two," Cregan continued, "dancing together, pressed all close."

"You two make a handsome match, logistically speaking," Paxtan Florant labeled. "Could marry someone abundantly worse, I think you two are quite the pair."

"Handsome and logical as it may look, there's no possibility I'd court the Lady Tyrell, let alone marry her," Aemond declared with a chuckle, your heart stalling and brows wrinkling together. "The Tyrells only just obtained their name in court, they're still too low born for a prince to entertain. Peasants like that are uneducated, prominently not intelligent enough to be my counterpart; uncultured, unwise, unable to retain most information we study during lessons."

You blinked in shock. If anything, you were Aemond's ONLY intellectual counterpart!

"So, she's not as smart as you, mate, so what?" Cregan cocked his head. "You don't need smart, you need fertile and capable."

Though he was attempting to defend you, Cregan's words made your skin prickle. How could they think you weren't intellectually on their level? Was it because you were a woman? You read the same books, attended the same tutoring sessions, was questioned on the same material they were and hardly ever answering incorrectly! And yet now you're reduced to your reproduction system?

The Prince scoffed, "Think about it, if I married a Tyrell, their lowly standing would taint the Targaryen bloodline."

"So, it was all an act?" Paxtan snickered, "C'mon, mate, you two looked dazed, all enamored with each other. Can't convince us there's nothing there, not after that."

Aemond chuckled, "You want the truth?"

"Lay it on us."

"I shared a single dance with her because I pity her. Don't any of you? The way she all but repels suitors? Surely, you've noted her dresses as well? They're terribly revealing, unlike anything a proper lady would don. No self respecting woman nor future princess of mine would wear something like that. It's as if she's so desperate for attention that she has to flaunt her flesh just to get a man to look at her since her personality surely doesn't reel suitors to her."

The men laughed, your mouth dropping open in offense. You're not chasing men away - look what happened with Jason Lannister! It was Aemond who told him to fuck off! After years of friendship, was this truly what Aemond thought of you? How did it come to this - the man you loved, the man you considered your best mate, slandering your name to any able ear willing to listen? How could he speak such calamities about you? Was this entire friendship a folly, just a cover for his pity? Was he only your 'friend' to entertain his own selfish boredom?

Was everything just in your head?

"I don't know, I like how she dresses," Tyler Lannister mused, the teenaged son of Tyland Lannister, Jason's twin brother.

"None the less, I find desperation unattractive in a woman," Aemond rejected, tears gathering in your eyes to silently stream down your cheeks. "Besides, Lady Tyrell isn't my type, she talks far too much. Truly, there's never a moment of silence, I cannot even hear my own thoughts when she's prattling - and it's never anything of substance, just useless nonsense. It's as I said, it was a pity dance, I felt sorry that she has little to no suitors."

"Seriously, mate, have you considered the reason she has no suitors might be because of her proximity to you? They might stay away because they feel threatened by your friendship, thinking she's spoken for - and trust me, no man here would dare compete against a prince for a lady's affection," Cregan scoffed, mildly disgusted by Aemond's choice words.

"The courts know there's no affection shared between Lady Tyrell and I. We are simply friends - no more or less - and that's as far as our relationship will ever progress."

Cregan hummed, nodding his head sarcastically. Then his curiosity questioned, "Answer this: are you attracted to her?"

"Truthfully, I just don't think she's... Attractive enough to be my wife. She's a pretty lass, I'll admit, but if she's called the Rose of the Realm, I fear to learn the appearance of other ladies from Highgarden." A few lads chuckled. "Additionally, there will be public outings I must attend, and as my wife, the people will expect to see someone alluring - someone qualified and fit for the position as a princess of the Realm. Someone stunning and worthy of the title, able to fulfill royal responsibilities."

"Gods, why're you so against this match? You're being terribly superficial, judgmental, and defensive - she's your friend, after all. Wouldn't this be a love-match? Do you know how rare those are?" Luras Arryn snarled, sounding genuinely distraught and jealous.

"And if you're so against her, why do you constantly escort her to formal events?" Arnas Blackwood tacked on. "It creates the illusion that you're courting, my Prince, surely you're aware of that."

"As I stated, her blood isn't pure, but she's also criminally clingy. She's always lingering around and I feel awkward not inviting her to royal events - since she's right there, all alone, in front of me. I only invite her out of obligation. Again, I take pity on the girl, knowing when she leaves the Red Keep, she'll never experience this life again."

"Well, if not the Rose of the Realm, who do you have your sights on?" Luras Arryn asked stiffly.

Aemond's smirk was clear as day, answering swiftly, "The Lady Floris Baratheon is appealing enough."

The lads obnoxiously cheered in supportive approval, directing the conversation in a new direction about how bloody gorgeous Floris was - one of them even mentioning she deserved the nickname, Rose of the Realm.

You heard enough, more than enough, more than you ever wanted to know in an entire lifetime; rightfully insulted past belief and violently nauseated, feeling cold and mechanical. As swiftly as you could, you rushed to set the goblets down and speed walk towards the doors, shoving past both individuals and couples; not wanting to linger where you're clearly not wanted. Where you were apparently not welcome. After making your inconspicuous getaway, tears fell faster than earlier, mind replaying Aemond's words while sprinting to your chambers.

Describing you as clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Dubbing you an improper lady who lacked self respect. Thinking you talk too much - that you prattle nonsense. Labeling you unworthy and unqualified to be his wife or assume the title princess with all the relating responsibilities. How he pities you and doesn't ever want to be more than your friend; thinking you're uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Declaring House Tyrell peasants who would taint his family's pure bloodline. How you 'have' to flaunt your flesh to attract suitors - since your personality did you no favors. Marking you a friend out of obligation...

Were you even friends? Did you even understand the definition of a friend? Have you been operating in a delusion this whole time?

In the words of King Théoden: how did it come to this?

Feeling utterly humiliated, you ran away from your peers; lungs heaving, huffing and puffing, panic ready to overflow. You burst through the wooden door, fully sobbing by now, engaging the iron lock and dropping to lean your weight against it.

Most, if not all, of your insecurities were aired out like soiled bedsheets for all eligible bachelors to know. Aemond might as well have hung a painted wooden sign around your neck: DESPERATE AND CLINGY LOSER - DO NOT ENGAGE.

Nothing about this situation felt normal, it all felt terribly impossible; absolutely heartbreaking and vile, like it was some kind of bad dream. But everyone woke up from dreams. You'd never wake up from this, you'd be forced to remember and relive it day after day. Tonight would haunt you, cast a dark shadow around you as if a thick, temperamental, torrential storm. Yet every storm eventually breaks, but tonight, there was no remedy, no shelter, no protection - you had to weather this alone.

It felt foreign, enduring anything by yourself. For years, Aemond was your partner, always at your side, level headed, insightful and wise; supportive, protective, calming, and something like a safety net when you faced trouble. Now, he's left you devastatingly alone; where after tonight, the very idea of being in the same room as him made you nauseated and anxious, fearful and small.

In that moment, your brain screamed that you were no longer welcome in the Red Keep - Uncle Evin's position be damned.

You sat on the stone cold floor for the better part of half an hour before your bottom turned painfully numb. After sluggishly hiking up your dress skirt, you removed your shoes and tossed them aside, standing to swollen feet to unhook your jewelry and place everything in their safe and proper place. Then, a particular necklace made of red rubies set in a thinly crafted Valyrian Steel chain caught your eye and mocked you. It was Aemond's gift on your ten-and-eighth nameday, laid in a plush velvet case for adequate preservation. This simple piece of jewelry was your absolute favorite in your collection, a treasure beyond words of appreciation that you greatly admired, now rusting in salty tears.

Being gifted this necklace had once convinced you Aemond might've felt the same for you as you do him. You remember even trying to rationalize it as a sign that the One-Eyed Prince was at a loss and didn't know how to confess his feelings. That he was shy, perhaps afraid to ruin your friendship if you didn't feel the same.

Angry tears of betrayal fell like acid over your cheeks, gritting your teeth, clenching your jaw as you snapped the velvet box closed and with a barbaric grunt, hurled it (with impressive strength) across the room. You felt so confused, so lost; deceived, lied to, and puppeted - and then the anger flared again when you realized what family you were angry with.

Why bother being upset, emotional, distressed? You had no right because your feelings truly didn't matter - not in the grand scheme of things. Nobody cared about your trivial feelings! You were just a Tyrell and by comparison, a peasant nobody who never deserved, earned, warranted, or was bestowed respect. In fact, to the Targaryens up on their mounted pedestals, none of you mattered - not a citizen in all Seven Kingdoms.

In fact, it was almost treated as a curse to not be a Targaryen. Some kind of punishment for daring to exist amongst the privileged royals as a lowborn - which, despite your family's newly established status in court, you were still characterized as. In their eyes, anyone NOT a Targaryen was lowborn; deemed unworthy to the white haired bloodline, being merely tolerated for the sake of politics, strategy, and reproduction. It was a sick game, and the Targaryens always won.

They do what they want, when they want, with no consideration towards other people's safety, emotions, wellbeing, stability, or comfort. The Targaryens were always stationed above everyone because, after all, they were closer to Gods than men; entire family spoiled, entitled, narcissistic, holier than thou, avoidant of any and all consequence.

They're legendary. Untouchable and worshipped.

And you? You're just a Tyrell, the tiny beetle trampled under the God's boot. Beetles were essential to any ecosystem, similar to the Tyrell's providing to the Realm productions of wheat, grain, barley, and corn. Similar to your family, beetles are also disposable - meaning the Targaryens might tolerate you, but they never need respect you. They could stomp you into the ground whenever they wanted because where one beetle died, three more takes place. Where one House might falter and fall, become doomed, eradicated, or subcomes to tragedy, others step up in an effort to establish their usefulness; prove their House's necessity to the Realm's ecosystem, attempt to diminish the threat of being razed to the ground by dragon fire.

Why be so upset with the Targaryens when they can do no wrong? What right did you have? And how could you ever think a Prince of the Realm would remotely be romantically interested in you?

You felt delusional and pathetic, crying over a man who was never in your league. Yet betrayal gutted you like a fish, a bright reminder that your friend would expose you like that; offer loud disrespect, speaking hatefully, to finally voice hidden malcontent. It felt impossible to stomach that your first friend, your favorite person, secretly hated you.

Because how could he not? You did not love anyone you could speak so lowly of.

Sobbing harder, you yanked pins out of your hair, working at break-neck speed to strip from your gown, then freezing when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The reflection looked distraught with exhausted red eyes; glowing in defeat, in a desperate need for a long, hot soak in the washtub. With shaking hands, you tossed a spare blanket over the mirror, despising the sight of yourself as Aemond's words continued to ring on a loop in your ears.

Clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Improper, lacks self respect, talks too much, lacks suitors. Unworthy, unqualified, pitiful, never desiring to bloom past friendship - which is constructed around obligation. Uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Unfit, tainted, lowborn blood with a lowly personality. Revealing, tempting dresses.

Your mind, heart, and head screamed that no matter how hard you hoped, prayed, and tried, you'd never have a place among the Targaryens. Yelled that Aemond's right: you're ugly on the inside and out; damaged goods, undesirable - all because you were not born amongst fire and blood. Bellowed about your lack of quality, purpose, contribution. Reminded you that the one person you trusted unconditionally never truly wanted to be your friend; that he spoke horrendously on your name when absent, didn't value who you were - and never did.

He took every insecurity you confided in him and weaponized it; used it against you, made it into a joke with people you didn't trust nor want to know about you...

You sunk into the bath water, submerging as if to hide from your own thoughts.

The knock at your chamber door didn't surprise you. Servants and your uncle had been coming and going since you first refused to leave the morning after the ball. You figured Aemond would come around eventually, too curious for his own good and still under the impression he had to play "friend", thinking his deceit was unknown to you.

Aemond called your name through the door, asking, "You awake? Could I come in?"

You didn't answer.

He sighed, "C'mon, I know you're there. You haven't been seen in four days, you have to eat. You should get some air, feel the sunshine."

Silence.

Aemond frowned, "When you're ready, come find me, petal. I'm worried about you."

You wiped the tears off your cheeks, pulling your knees to your chest. For four days, you couldn't stomach the idea of running into the Prince, just wanting to avoid anyone or anything that would remind you of what Aemond said. You understood there were several decisions left to be settled, lost in an endless rampage of confusing emotions, maids bring you full trays of food and removing them with more than half still left.

Humiliation knotted in your chest, the harrowing thought of punishing yourself for being so stupid something you couldn't fight. All you registered was the feeling of betrayal, something that inked into every single thought you had, but with it came sinking realization that you were done. Simple as that.

On the sixth night, you sat with Uncle Evin, forking through your full plate and blurting, "Don't do it."

He paused to finish the bite in his mouth, "Do what, honey girl?"

"Don't - Don't make a match with Alicent and Otto. Don't make the arrangement with Prince Aemond."

Evin nodded slowly, washing his bite down with a mouthful of wine. "There a reason for your change of heart, love? The Queen thinks it's a handsome pairing. Just before, you seemed content with the match - dare I say, you seemed pleased?"

"Things change, Uncle," you spoke evenly, "and I can't shoulder this responsibility. In fact, I... I do not think I'm capable of making my own match. I will be stepping away from courting for the time being."

Your eyes seemed distant and dark, proving serious. So Elvin agreed easily, allowing you to withdrawal from the current season officially. He understood something was deeply amiss and didn't want to make worse whatever turmoil you teetered in. He didn't want to upset you and make things worse - you obviously had enough going on.

Aemond knocked again the next day, "Petal? You awake?" But you didn't answer. He sighed, "You've been missing lessons, love, and I just... I brought you some books. Thought maybe you'd like to catch up?" When there was no answer, he ended, "I'll just leave them here for you, petal... I'm not sure what's wrong, but I hope you're all right in there... I miss you."

You scoffed quietly, wiping your tears.

Ten days after withdrawing from the courting season, you left your chambers for the first time. But it wasn't like anything changed - it was still as if you were invisible, like a ghost. Losing your best mate turned you silent, refusing to attend lessons and since Aemond was your source for solace, had turned to seeking shelter at the Sept. It was the easiest way to avoid everyone - mostly Aemond.

He had shunned the religion the older he got, though respected his mother's devotion to it in trying times. He couldn't remember the last time he was in the Sept... So, it was perfect for you; a safe space.

You were no longer seen in the library - a once daily occurrence. If you ever wanted to read, you sent your ladies maid to collect content for you; but the drive to learn and read had abandoned you as swiftly as Aemond's loyalty. The stables grew cold in your absence, refusing to ride; something that troubled your uncle gravely. No longer did you take meals with family or Aemond, always seeking solitude to eat alone in your room or the physical kitchens; the Red Keep growing dark over your lack of sunshine - that had shone so brightly in the previous weeks. Even then, when you ate, it was in small quantities to only sustain yourself; mostly feeling nauseous when food was put on your stomach.

The first time Aemond saw you, you were returning from the Sept in a dress that reached close to your pulse point of your neck. He tried to get to you, but you slipped through the cracks of the Keep and disappeared when he dodged around a set of Kingsguard. Yet it was still a comfort to him to know you had left your room finally.

He knocked on your door about half an hour later, but like usual, you didn't answer.

"Rosie?" Aemond called, sighing. "I know you've not been feeling yourself, but, uh, tomorrow's Helaena's nameday. We're having dinner for her on the terrace..." He waisted, not hearing a single thing from within your chamber. "You're invited, as usual, petal. Your uncle said he'd attend, wanted you to know you're always welcome at our table."

But you didn't show up, you couldn't bear to see any of them.

You didn't eat that night, you were far too anxious and spiteful against yourself that you refused to allow yourself to indulge in celebrating your companion.

Despite withdrawing, you still heard rumor of all the matches being made and the courtships established through your ladies maid. A cord struck in your gut when you heard the couples you had bet upon were public and engaged, but so were Aemonds... Which meant you both won; and if things were different, would mean a flight on Vhagar to visit Highgarden. On nights of merriment, you would sit alone in the Godswood sometimes; attempting to connect to the Old Gods, but they never spoke back. They never connected with you.

Tonight, you were under the blood red leaves in earnest curiosity; quiet, just as you had been since the day you found out Aemond's betrayal and discouraged your uncle from making a match. It was there Elvin found you, frowning as he took a seat beside you in the grass.

"The Old Gods do not speak to me," Elvin offered softly.

"Nor I," you whispered.

"Yet I always feel at peace here," he nodded, sighing deeply. "I must ask you something, honey girl."

"Hmm?"

"Do you... Do you wish to depart? From King's Landing, I mean?" He questioned. "I ask because I intend to ride for Highgarden, your father's nameday nears. Your mother intends to throw him a grand celebration, since turning 50 seems such a milestone."

"You ride for home?"

"Tomorrow morning."

You paused, then answered, "I would like that... There's nothing left for me here."

Aemond's words had done irreparable damage, making you feel worthless and alone. Bitter. Damaged and unworthy of any such match; forever worrying if your best friend could harbor such ill will and hatred for you, surely, a husband would as well. Yet you were not new to being a woman; you knew the role you were to play, how marriage was strategic and calculated. Political. You could be a wife, you were so sure of it; but would you ever feel worthy of love? You feared you never would.

"We will stay a few weeks."

"I don't know if I would like to return, Uncle."

He offered a sad smile, "I figured as much. But should you want to, feel able to, you may return. You, my sweetling, are always welcome at my side."

You leaned into his shoulder, sighing softly. "I should thank you," you whispered in the wind.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me all these years," you lifted off him to meet his eyes. "You didn't have to, but you wanted to... And you've shown me a father's love when I thought it gone from my life. Thank you, Uncle."

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, humming, "Don't tell the others but you were always my favorite. I consider it a great pleasure to raise such a gorgeous young lady - and I mean that, honey girl. Inside and out. Now," he pulled back and found his feet, offering his hand to you, "come, we've packing to complete."

"Of course."

However, while in the midst of packing, you felt a jolt in your heart. This had been your home of a decade or more; these people were who you grew and learned with. Who influenced your life in the best and worst of ways; they did not deserve to read your praise and thanks for friendship in a letter... So, you swung a cloak on and ventured out of your room.

Otto was first since he was the easiest to say goodbye to. He was gracious of your parting words of thanks; telling him how much you appreciated his wisdom and riddles.

Aegon was next. He insisted you share a last goblet of wine together - since you did not intend to delay your parting. It turned into a bit of a drinking game with his mates, but you didn't mind; far too used to the company of these debaucherous lechers. Dare you say, you enjoyed yourself.

Helaena was after, your words harder to say as your emotions strangled you. She was a sweet girl, an endearing companion, constant and dependable, albeit a bit strange and unorthodox. But you loved her all the same and cried tears of sadness when hugging her tightly as a last ditch effort to convey your gratitude for her authentic and generous friendship.

You only offered Ser Criston Cole a soft, "Farewell."

Alicent was perhaps hardest to say goodbye to. After Aemond, you were probably closest with the matriarch and found her wisdom and lessons a privilege to learn. She was kind to you; usually with a stern hand, but that was because she could recognize the little girl you once were who missed her mother tremendously. She introduced you to religion, another common bond. She encouraged you, supportive and curious; sharing affinity for the histories, often reading to one another for moments of peace.

Saying goodbye to Alicent hurt. You both shed tears of sorrow, the Queen wishing you the very best and insisting you return for her nameday and other celebratory events. She told you to write, told you to keep in touch; insisting if and when a match was made, to invite her since she would love to attend your wedding. Truly, Alicent considered you one of her own and to know you were departing in pain wounded her.

King Viserys was last. He was already in bed, half-asleep, a Maester at his side; but still, he accepted your audience. You thanked him for his hospitality and kindness - especially to your uncle. You thanked him for hosting you, for allowing you residence at the Keep and the for the years living under royal privilege. You told him you'd not forget his generosity.

You returned to your chambers after that and finished packing. You didn't sleep.

When morning broke, you stood in the courtyard with Elvin; packing the wagon you would use, your horse tacked and waiting as you both intended to ride. Alicent and Helaena came to see you off, hugging you tightly one last time before the Queen offered you a handheld velveteen case. "Just a little something to remember us by," she smiled lightly.

"Oh, as if I'm in a hurry to forget you?" You mused. "My Queen, this is too much, I cannot accept."

"You have not opened it."

"I do not need to, I know you," you smirked. "Your leadership these years is enough gift, my Queen."

"I'm not taking it back, you might as well accept it," she insisted. "Helaena and I picked it out together..."

You lifted the case lid, blinking in shock and gasping lightly. There laid a gorgeous chain necklace of Valyrian Steel, a dragon pendant dangling from front with gems of bright emerald - surely a representation of the Hightower side.

"Thank you, Your Grace, my Princess," you breathed, closing the case and caressing it to your chest. "It's more generous than I deserve but will treasure for the decades to come."

Queen Alicent nodded and pecked your forehead, leaving you alone with Helaena to speak with Elvin. The moment her mother was gone, the Princess asked, "Did you say goodbye to Aemond? I'm surprised he's not here."

"No," you spoke softly, "I cannot, Helaena, it is too painful to even look at him - let alone share words of parting. I have nothing left to say, no more words for him."

She frowned, "You know... I don't think he meant what he said. He says things he does not mean when anxious or feeling as if he's cornered."

Your head cocked, "What? H-How do you know what's been said?"

"I saw it - in one of my dreams."

You sighed, "I know you mean well - "

"I just do not wish for you to think that is his honest opinion about you."

"If it wasn't, he would not have spoken so loudly for so many to hear. Your brother has never sounded so sure, Helaena, I do not wish to relive it."

She sighed and nodded, "Will you write?"

"Every week," you promised, the two of you meeting foreheads and breathing as one. "Take care of yourself, Helaena."

"You, too, Rosie," she smiled, letting you depart. Alicent clipped your new necklace in place and gvae you a final hug, watching you mount your horse, stare at the pair for a moment longer, then follow your Uncle Elvin out of the courtyard.

As you rode down the streets, Aemond came sprinting out of the Keep in a blind panic after running into Aegon in the hall. Normally, Aemond wouldn't have bat an eye at his hungover brother, but he had said something about you drinking him under the table and demanded to know what Aegon meant. Upon hearing you had "left", Aemond sprinted to your bed chambers and didn't even knock - just burst in.

Never before had the Prince felt such anger as when he learned you had left King's Landing without saying goodbye. Without a single word to him - as if the past decade+ hadn't meant anything! He needed to know, Aemond needed to see for himself the truth because surely, someone was mistaken. His brother, surely still drunk and misremembering because there was no possible way you could've left! Not without Aemond! Not without a word! He refused to believe it.

He panted, tears gathering in his eye, finding your room bare and stripped. Aemond's breathing picked up in panic, hands shaking as he stepped into your room; looking, desperately, for any sign of life. But there was nothing... Nothing, save for a letter addressed to him left on your table with the ruby necklace he gifted you for your 18th nameday.

Gingerly, Aemond reached out and plucked up the necklace. He frowned, petting the jewels in disbelief; noting the way a few were missing, some loose - evidence of your anger. Slowly, Aemond sunk into a chair and with the necklace still in hand and his heart hammering in his chest in a rattle, opened your letter.

Aemond ― I know you'll be the one to find this, of that, there's no doubt. Sooner or later, you will learn of my departure and come looking, and for that, for being unable to say anything in person, I am sorry. Though this might come as a shock, it shouldn't as I would hate to give you the satisfaction of being right by burdening you with a desperate goodbye. I would hate for you to think I am clingy, even after our friendship died. So, I figure a letter is better than nothing. Goodbye, Aemond. Though all a lie and dedicated ruse, thank you for the years of friendship. You made time in the Red Keep pleasant enough. ― Rosie

Aemond sprinted to the courtyard, flinging open doors and shoving past patrons; desperate to find you, understanding you overheard him all those weeks ago and needing to apologize. He needed to explain himself, the confirmation now that Aemond was the cause of your pain and reclusion? His heart was about to burst. He skidded to a halt in the dirt, turning left and right and in a circle as he realized the gates were open and you were not in sight.

"Aemond?" Helaena questioned softly, Alicent taking to her side. "Brother?"

"Wh-Where is she?" He panted. "Rose - Rose - Rosie, where is she? Where is she!?"

"She's gone, Aemond," Alicent frowned, shaking her head slowly; startled by his desperate tone, "gone with her uncle back to Highgarden."

"When? When? When did they leave!?"

"She's gone, brother," Helaena snipped, sending him a look of disappointment; ears ringing from her dream, repeating what he had said to you.

Aemond swallowed harshly, asking his sister, "She heard me, didn't she? I know you know, Helaena, please, tell me. She heard me?"

The Princess nodded and walked away, the One Eyed Prince turning to his mother in desperation and for the first time in 10 years, perhaps more, he collapsed in her arms. Emotion clawed at his chest and into his throat, starting to tremble, sniffing heatedly; his mother's arms tight and comforting.

"I love her," he whispered.

"I know," Alicent answered, "but she should've been the one you told." A pause and her hand lifted to caress the back of his head, just like when he was a child. "It's too late now, Aemond. She's gone."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

does this count towards the Clingy Baby collection? since Aemond technically calls her clingy amongst other things?

[icarusignite]

An Eye for an Eye Ch.7

MASTERLIST / ao3 / wattpad

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

"I want to grab my brother's hand and run back through time, losing years like cloaks falling from our shoulders."

Summary: Daenys Velaryon finally manages to escape her usurper husband and return to her family to bend the knee to the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Word Count: 4.6k

Daenys floated in the murky depths of unconsciousness, her senses dulled by the weight of her own weariness. It felt as though she were adrift in a sea of shadows, pulled down by the heavy chains of numb sleep, yet amidst the darkness, a persistent shaking stirred her from her slumber, tugging at her with a desperation she did not imagine anyone might give to one such as her.

At first, she was only vaguely aware of it, a distant echo of sensation that barely registered through the fog of her mind. But as the shaking grew more insistent, more urgent, she felt herself slowly being drawn back to consciousness, like a ship pulled from the depths by a relentless current.

Her head throbbed with a dull ache, each pulse sending waves of pain crashing through her skull. With great effort, she summoned the strength to open her right eye a crack, the other swollen shut so tightly, it hurt just to think about it. Through the haze that clouded her vision, she could make out the blurry outline of familiar brown curls, swaying gently with each movement.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had passed from the realm of the living, but the warmth of the hands that grasped at her, the tender care with which they held her, chased away any fear or doubt that might have plagued her. 

Perhaps the Stranger was doing her the kindness of coming to claim her in the guise of someone she knew. Although she would have liked it to be her father, Ser Harwin made a fine replacement. However, as consciousness began to seep back into her weary limbs, Daenys found herself realizing that the grip was too weak, too fragile to belong to the stalwart knight who had raised her with such love and devotion. No, this touch was different, softer, gentler, yet no less determined in its purpose. 

Could it be Luke then, she wondered, having absolved her of her crimes in death, and there to hold her as she passed over. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was not him. Luke's touch was sure and steady, his hands strong and capable, nothing like the fragile grasp that held her now. 

Then Daenys found herself engulfed in a tidal wave of fear and uncertainty. Despite any brave words she might have uttered in the past about being prepared to face death with courage and false bravado, the reality of the moment was stark and undeniable: no one was truly ready to meet their end.

Tears welled up in her eyes, hot and stinging, as soft, choked sobs wracked her body. In the embrace of the figure holding her, she felt a desperate need to both pull them close and push them away. She clung to them as if they were her lifeline, as if by holding onto them she could somehow anchor herself to the world of the living. Yet, even as she sought solace in their embrace, a part of her recoiled from the thought of facing the unknown, of surrendering herself to the finality of death.

"I don't want to die," she whispered, her voice trembling with raw emotion, the words a fragile plea against the looming spectre of mortality. "I want to see my mother... hug my little brothers... beg for forgiveness..."

Her thoughts tumbled together in a jumble of confusion and longing, each desire a reminder of the life she still yearned to live. She wanted to feel her mother's arms around her, to seek comfort in the embrace of her siblings, to make amends for past wrongs and seek forgiveness for her failings.

Above all else, Daenys Velaryon did not want to die and she was afraid. 

That is until she forced her eye open completely, and saw him. 

There he was, her brother, her beautiful baby brother, his arms wrapped around her as he shook her with desperation leaking from his eyes in a never-ending river. 

"You're going to be alright. Please, please, please, you're going to be alright. You have to be," Joffrey Velaryon muttered over and over, like a prayer gone stale. 

He said it so many times that Daenys believed him. If he was her then she was not alone. If he was here then she wasn't as loathed as she believed herself to be, and if he was looking at her like that, then she would be okay. 

"You're going to be alright. I promise you're going to be alright."

She did not question why he was there, or how he had even found her. All that mattered was that he was here. 

She closed her eyes, ignoring the way his frantic sobs grew louder. 

She had been ten when he was born, and her father had handed him to her for the first time ever so carefully, his slender weight so fragile in her arms, and now here she was, dead weight in his fragile arms. It wasn't fair. He should not have to look after her like this. That was her job. 

She had been thirteen when he broke his wrist the first time while sparring, and she had cradled him just so, whispering the same words that slipped past his blubbering lips now. 

You're going to be alright. You're going to be alright, I promise you, you're going to be alright. 

She had said it over and over, even as the maester wrapped his injury and placed him on bed rest. She had said it until it had healed completely, over and over until he believed her. 

Now he was returning the favour. 

Daenys's eyes remained closed. It was easier to live in her memories, where the sounds of her brother's laughter rang in her ears like bells and her heart wasn't a graveyard of losses. 

The urgency in the voice that pleaded with her to wake up finally pierced through the haze of her consciousness once more, and she groaned softly in response, the sound escaping her lips as if torn from the depths of her soul. The hands that shook her grew more insistent, more desperate, and with a jolt, her right eye flew open once more, this time properly taking in the frantic expression of her brother.

"Joff?" she whispered, her voice barely above a hoarse murmur, her mind struggling to make sense of the chaos that surrounded her. But before she could gather her thoughts, Joffrey was moving, trying to rise from his position beside her on the floor of the little wooden cabin.

"We have to go home, Daenys," he urged, his voice trembling with emotion, his eyes wild with fear and determination. "You'll be alright if we can just get you home. Maester Gerardys will fix you. I know he will. He is Grand Maester now, you know. If anyone can fix you, it's him."

The words spilled from him in his panic, and he explicitly avoided looking at her face, now that she was awake. With a grunt of effort, he reached for her, his fingers curling around her arms as he tried to loop them around his neck, to hoist her limp body up from the floor, but his strength faltered, his knees buckling beneath him as he struggled to bear her weight.

"Joff, you don't have to-"

"Be quiet..." he choked out. "Please...please just be quiet. I have to-I have to think."

"Joffrey, I..." Daenys began, her voice catching in her throat as she watched the anguish play across her brother's face. "I'm sorry..."

Joffrey would not be deterred. With a renewed determination, he tried again, this time reaching for her under her arms, his fingers grasping desperately as he sought to pull her towards the door, towards the spill of twilight that beckoned from beyond.

"We have to go home, Daenys," he repeated, his voice strained with effort, his brow furrowed in concentration. "You'll be alright, I promise. Just hold on."

Fueled by his perseverance, Daenys summoned the last reserves of strength within her weary limbs, pushing herself up into a shaky standing position. The world spun around her in dizzying swirls, and for a moment, she feared she might collapse once more, but the urgent grasp of her brother's hand steadied her, anchoring her to the present moment with a fierceness that spoke of his unyielding resolve.

His grip on her hand was tight, almost painfully so, as if he feared that she might disappear if he dared to loosen his hold. His fingers dug into her skin, his nails leaving faint impressions in their wake, but Daenys found herself welcoming the pressure, finding solace in the reassurance of his touch.

Daenys leaned heavily against her brother, her taller frame awkwardly mismatched with his shorter stature, but Joffrey bore the burden without complaint, and Daenys felt a pang of guilt gnawing at her heart. She knew that she was putting her brother through this hardship, that her own weakness was burdening him with a weight that he should not have to bear.

Outside on the beach, Silverwing and Joffrey's dragon awaited their arrival, and Daenys turned to Joffrey, suddenly furious. 

"You rode Tyraxes!" she whispered hoarsely. "How many times have I told you not to-"

"You're one to talk!" Joffrey snapped sullenly. "Look at you!"

"Tyraxes is not large enough to ride safely. You could have gotten hurt. You could have died."

"You would have died if I had not come! No one else would come, but I had to, I just had to Daenys."

"Why? Why would you risk yourself..."

"Because it's you!" the brunette boy's lower lip trembled as a fresh wave of tears spilled down his cheeks, and this time Daenys did not stop herself from racing out and thumbing them away. "Because it's you, and I know they were all wrong about you. They said you were a traitor, but I knew you weren't. Not you. Never you!"

Wordlessly, Daenys pulled him into her, finding comfort in the way his bony arms wrapped around her waist and sobbed into her salt-and-blood-encrusted dress. 

"It's okay," she mumbled. "It's okay, you're going to be alright."

"I'm supposed to be telling you that. You're the one who needs to be alright."

"I'll be alright if you're alright," Daenys managed a weak chuckle. "And you're riding Silverwing with me this time."

Daemon Targaryen was an impatient man. It had been almost a week since his Lucerys had been murdered in cold blood by the usurper's brother, the son of the whore who killed his King, and unfortunately his daughter's husband. Daemon had been waiting for a chance to avenge the young boy but Rhaenyra had stayed his hand, expressing concern for the daughter who remained in the viper's den at King's Landing. She had worried about harm befalling Daenys but Daemon didn't think their lack of action would stop the Hightowers, not if they truly wished to cause her harm. Their lack of action or retaliation clearly hadn't stopped Lucerys's death, so it would not stop Daenys's if it came to it. 

Mysaria's spies assured him that the Velaryon Princess had not bent the knee to the usurper as Otto Hightower had so brazenly declared before his wife, and Daemon had to wonder how much longer they'd keep her alive if she wasn't serving some greater purpose to them. It wasn't as if his Kinslayer nephew had enough heart to do it out of mercy, or gods forbid, some pathetic notion of love. 

Whatever it was, he and Rhaenyra had already lost a daughter and a son, and they could not afford to lose another child. Daemon would deal with it of course, as he always did, but he didn't think the Queen could bear another heartbreak like that. She was stronger than most of them, but three children dead would be unnecessarily cruel of the fates. That kind of loss hollowed one from the inside out. 

These were the thoughts that consumed Daemon as he took his early morning stroll along the grounds of Dragonstone. He was finally brought out of his reverie by a commotion in the air. He looked up just in time to see a massive silver dragon land a few yards away, and from the dragon's back climbed off the last person he expected to see here. 

When Silverwing landed at Dragonstone, Daenys barely even noticed, not until Joffrey shook her awake once more, signalling the end of their journey. He helped her slide off and together they stumbled, on the damp cobblestones below, dawn creeping across the sky behind them. 

Joffrey eyed her for a moment, meeting her eyes with great difficulty, and it began to hit her how terrible she probably looked. Her head still spun and she was so cold, as if all the warmth had bled out of her, but the only thing on her mind was to make it to her mother still standing on her own two feet. 

She had to bend the knee to her true sovereign. 

Her knees shook, and Joffrey reached out to steady her, but then there was another figure, a sturdier presence that caught her elbows before her knees could buckle and brought her up. As she lifted her face to look up at them, even though her vision was more than slightly blurry now, she heard a sharp intake of breath. She could make out the vague outline of a familiar face and she nearly collapsed with relief.

"Daemon," she breathed.

Daemon looked at Daenys in horror, shrewd eyes mapping the bloody torn contours of his daughter's face. Then his attention turned to his son, brows furrowing. 

"Does your mother know where you've been?" he inquired sharply. "Haven't you been told to remain in Dragonstone for your own safety?"

Joffrey flinched and instinctively tucked himself behind his trembling sister. 

"I-I'm sorry, Father. I just...it was a short flight, I promise!" 

Daemon felt the slightest guilt at the look in Joffrey's eyes, but it couldn't be helped. The safety of his family was his first and foremost priority, and Joffrey in particular, he had raised practically from birth. 

"Go to your Septas at once. I shall speak to you later on this. And by the gods, do not let your mother know of your misadventures."

Joffrey hesitated, looking up at Daenys.

"Will...will she be alright, Father?"

Daemon almost winced when he looked at her again, and then he was filled with rage. Rage at whoever had done this to her. Turned her face into a mangled mess. His beloved daughter, reduced to this? As if he needed another reason to behead Otto and his entire bloodline. 

She seemed delirious from blood loss and could barely stand, so he solidified his grip on her arms and signalled to a nearby groundskeeper to lead her dragon away. 

"She'll be fine, Joffrey, so be on your way now and send for Maester Gerardys on your way."

"Where-"

"Mother!" Daenys blurted. "I need to see Mother, please, take me to Mother."

The air was heavy with the weight of sorrow in Daemon and Rhaenyra's shared chambers, where Rhaenyra lay, tangled in the embrace of a fitful sleep. As Daemon shook her gently awake, his voice a gentle murmur in the quiet stillness, Rhaenyra groaned softly, her body heavy with exhaustion, her mind clouded with the weight of grief.

Slowly, she sat up, rubbing sleep from her swollen eyes, her heart heavy with the ache of longing. The pillow beneath her was damp with the evidence of her tears, and she wondered what new catastrophic news her husband would break to her today. 

But as she turned her gaze to the figure kneeling at the foot of her bed, her heart skipped a beat, a rush of emotion sweeping through her like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. There, before her, knelt her daughter, her darling girl, her firstborn child, her heart's greatest treasure.

"Daenys..." Rhaenyra whispered, her voice choked with emotion, tears welling up in her eyes once more as she drank in the sight of her daughter, as if seeing her for the first time all over again. "Oh, my dear sweet girl. Is it really you?"

Daenys kept her face bowed low, a veil of hair obscuring her features, a silent gesture of humility and reverence as well as an excuse to hide her injury if only for a moment longer. As her mother's words washed over her like a soothing balm, she nodded her head ever so slightly, a tremor of emotion running through her slender frame. 

"Yes, Your Majesty, the true Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms."

It was as if Daenys had been in a drought and Rhaenyra was rain, a cure to her pain. 

"Come, my darling," her mother said, her voice soft and tender. "You don't need to kneel before me. I only wish to hold you again, to feel your embrace and know that you are truly here, and not a spectre of my imagination."

As Daenys finally lifted her face and stood before her mother, she braced herself for the inevitable reaction, steeling herself for the pain that she knew would flicker across Rhaenyra's features at the sight of her scarred visage. But nothing could have prepared her for the raw anguish that washed over her mother's face, the way her features contorted with a mixture of shock, horror, and heartbreak.

Rhaenyra blanched, her eyes momentarily averting from her daughter's disfigured face before returning to trace over it, her gaze lingering on the puckered mass of flesh and blood that marred her features, taking up half her face. The silence between them stretched on, heavy with unspoken words and unshed tears, until finally, Daenys found her voice.

"Mama... I..." Her voice trailed off, choked with emotion, and she was a child once more, going to her mother for a skinned knee or hangnail. Something small and insignificant that she would kiss away, and all would be right in the world again. 

Daenys felt a surge of self-loathing wash over her, a bitter taste of shame that threatened to swallow her whole. She was hideous, she realized, a grotesque mockery of the daughter that her mother had once known and loved. Even now, Rhaenyra could not bear to look upon her without recoiling in horror.

With a heavy heart, she turned away, ready to take her leave, to spare her mother from the burden of her presence, but before she could retreat, Rhaenyra reached out and pulled her down to sit beside her, her arms wrapping around her daughter in a tender embrace.

That was what opened the floodgates and Daenys buried her face in her mother's neck, her tears flowing freely now, unchecked by the weight of guilt and shame that had burdened her. She felt unworthy of her mother's love, unworthy of the comfort that she so freely offered, and yet, in the warmth of her embrace, she found solace and sanctuary.

"Shh, my darling," Rhaenyra whispered, her voice soft and soothing against Daenys's ear. "It's alright. I'm here, and I will always be here for you."

"I didn't do it!" Daenys hiccuped. "I didn't bend the knee to Aegon. I'm not a traitor, I swear!"

"I know, dearest. I know."

"But Otto said-"

"Never mind what that cunt said," Daemon snapped, still watching their reunion silently. "Your mother never doubted you."

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry Mama. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Rhaenyra soothed, carding her fingers through Daenys's hair with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "My beautiful girl, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I thought I had lost you too. I could not lose another child, another daughter. I could not bear it."

"Another daughter?" Daenys whispered in confusion, pulling away from her mother for a moment.

"The baby. The baby did not make it. I have lost my Visenya. I have lost my Lucerys. I have lost my father. How much more must I lose till the fates decide they are done with me? I cannot lose you too."

Oh. 

So that is what Otto Hightower meant by the loss of two children. Daenys did not know what to say, or how to put into words the grief and the regret and the guilt. 

She did the only thing she knew how to do. She apologized some more. 

Daemon came over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, "We are glad for your return my little one. It was getting unbearable, all these losses."

Her mother only shuddered at his words, her grief too much to contain, but she held herself together. For the sake of her daughter, she held herself together. She had been doing so for a long time, waiting, hoping for Daenys's return. Putting all of her faith in Alicent and her son to keep her only remaining daughter safe, even as they broke her trust over and over, as they stole her crown and her Lucerys. Now that she had Daenys in front of her, her resolve shattered and all that was left was despair at the loss of everyone she loved and the final betrayal Alicent's family had cost her: the mutilation of her child.  

Rhaenyra finally pulled away a little to properly examine Daenys and she cringed under her scrutiny. She did not want her mother to see the extent of her injury or the horribly uneven job she did at trying to mend it. 

"Call a maester. Call a maester, my daughter is hurt," she muttered angrily, gesturing to Daemon who caught her hand and tried to soothe her as he called for a maester as she had asked. 

"Mother, I am fine," Daenys sniffled. "It's alright. I'm ok so please do not worry."

"NO! Look at you. How can you be fine? Just looking at you hurts me so how can you possibly be fine!"

When maester Gerardys finally made an appearance, even he winced at the sight of Daenys's face. He had been tending to her since she was a child and she had never seen him look so concerned. 

"What has happened princess?" he prodded at the left side of her face experimentally, shaking his head when she flinched at the touch.

"Will she be alright? Can the eye be saved?" Rhaenyra still had Daenys's hand clutched tightly in hers. 

It was strangely reminiscent of another time, of another mother, frantically asking the very same question. The irony of it all was not lost on Rhaenyra. 

Maester Gerardys carefully cut away the violet threads that bound her wound together and Daenys felt herself missing their loss. There was something symbolic about it, about having to hold herself together using the very same threads that wove through her mother's favourite flowers, her brother's favourite masterpiece. 

Everything was both a memory and a landmine. 

"My queen, there is no eye to save," the Grand Maester responded grimly. 

Rhaenyra's hand squeezed Daenys's tighter and across the room, Daemon growled. 

"That worthless husband of yours will pay. The least he could do was keep you safe as his family decided to usurp what was rightfully your mother's. He made vows to protect you, to honour you. There is no honour in maiming your wife, in killing a child."

As Maester Gerardys continued to examine her injury, Daenys could feel the pain creeping back in. She had made herself numb to it but it was coming back in waves and she did not know how much longer she could hold it at bay.

"It appears as though whoever stitched you up had hooves for hands. Do they not have trained maesters at the Red Keep anymore?" the elderly man inquired, and Daenys found herself flinching at his words. Then he pulled out a needle that he brandished in her direction, "Hold still princess, this is going to hurt quite a bit."

When he placed the first stitch under her eye, Daenys tensed. Her mother's grip on her was deathly tight, yet somehow it soothed her because she leaned into it. It did not hurt as much as it had when she had tried to stitch herself up. Perhaps it was Rhaenyra's maternal comfort or perhaps all the trauma had finally fried her nerves. 

Whatever it was, Daenys thought that she would have liked a bit of wine to help her along. She didn't dare ask though, for alcoholism was not her forte. 

Not yet anyway. 

Rhaenyra on the other hand seemed to carry the pain in her very bones. She gasped every time the needle went under Deenys's skin, her other hand clasped against her mouth to swallow the sobs that threatened to break past her lips. She had to remain strong for her daughter, and it took everything within her not to snap at the poor old maester to be gentler. 

Seeing her like this, Rhaenyra finally realized what Alicent must have felt on that night on Driftmark, the night her son's eye was taken. As she watched the maester tell her that her child's eye could not be saved, as her child cried into her arms and she was helpless to do anything. Daenys wasn't even crying, showing no external indication of pain except for the occasional tremble, but Rhaenyra felt as though she'd break into a thousand pieces. Watching one's child in pain was one of the most painful experiences, and Rhaenyra's pain was built on top of the death of her other children. She knew nothing but pain these days. 

Perhaps a little too late she realized that it had been unfair for Alicent to have had to sit and watch Aemond suffer as he had that night. 

Too little too late. She had failed her family, and in turn, they had taken from her all she held dear. 

There was no room for reconciliation now. 

She couldn't help but wonder all the same, if all those years ago, she had just given up Luke's eye, would he still be alive today? Would her children be safe if she had sacrificed such a thing back then? An eye seemed so trivial in the grand scheme of things. She would rather have her son without an eye than not have him at all.

"This will leave a very prominent scar, my Queen," Maester Gerardys turned to Rhaenyra when he finished up suturing and bandaging Daenys's eye. "There will also be scars where the uneven stitches went. Undamaged skin that did not need to be sewn was put under the needle, so this is to be expected."

Rhaenyra gave him a tight-lipped nod and thanked him, as Daemon sent him on his way. 

"Mama..."

Rhaenyra turned towards her daughter, thumbing away the stray tears that had spilled from the eye that could still cry, "Yes my darling girl?"

"Can I stay here with you tonight?"

"Yes of course. You can stay as long as you want. I will have you with me forever if you wish it."

And so in the comfort of her mother's arms, Daenys finally found peace after what felt like a brief eternity. Even though she knew it was temporary, she allowed herself to relax and slip into the darkness that had been creeping its fingers toward her since her standoff with Aemond on the balcony. It had been so long since she had been held like this, with affection so unconditional, by someone who cared this much about her. She had once thought Aemond had grown to care for her, but how delusional she had been. No one could love her like her family could, and in return, she'd lay down her life for them. She was finally where she belonged, with the people she'd die for. With the people, she'd kill for. 

The last thing she heard was her mother and Daemon's tensed whispers but she was more focused on the feeling of Rhaenyra's fingers running through her hair and for the first time in weeks, she slept without fear. 

A/N: likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, would love to hear your thoughts <3

[the-common-cowgirl]

He Stopped Loving Her Today

Pairings: Modern Aemond Targaryen x (Third Person) AFAB Reader

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Longing, Fluff, Smut (Not Graphic), Some Swearing, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Unhealthy Coping Methods, Depression

Word Count: 8266

Author’s Note: A modern Aemond smutty/fluffy One-Shot won the Valentine’s Day poll. I thought to myself, “what is more fluffy than a love that is only halted by death?” This fic is based on my favorite song “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” by George Jones.

“I’ll love you till I die.”

She turned to him, looking down and blushing. Sunlight danced through her lively hair as he gazed up at her from where his head rested on the blanket. “Is that so, Aemond Targaryen?”

He hummed, closing his eyes and smiling thoughtfully. The breeze was warm atop the hill they rested on. “You question my love?” His eye peeked open ever so slightly to see the silhouette of her face before the right shining sun, and because of this, he didn’t see her smile falter before feigning once more.

“We ought to get back. Mum will be looking for me-”

“She’ll never find us out here.” The tall prairie grass blew gently in the breeze. A sudden chill rode the wind and met them atop the hill above the town.

“It’s cold,” she stated plainly, looking around and rubbing her arms.

Aemond rose to a sitting position before encapsulating her in his arms and pulling her down atop him back onto the blanket. He felt her chest rise against his own, then exhaling a long sigh.

Something was wrong. Her demeanor was solemn today; like she wanted nothing more than to be alone; something Aemond could not comprehend now. He needed her like the late July crops needed rain. He couldn’t spend these last two weeks of summer vacation apart. He required her soft skin on his, her warm breath against his lips. His heart demanded to be fully enveloped in her until they separated; until that very last moment. 

“I don’t want to leave.” His hand wove into her hair, brushing through the locks tenderly as he confessed to her his feelings; more often he felt: his sins. The long battles arguing with his mother and grandfather about his future had been futile but that didn’t sway Aemond from initiating them. Pleading with them to let him attend University closer to home so he didn’t have to leave her. 

She moved to sit up but Aemond held her down gently against him with his arms holding tighter; not being able to bear the thought of her warmth leaving his chest.

“Aemond,” she warned, “I don’t want to talk about this. You’re leaving. It’s settled.” She laid back down with her cheek against his chest. He wondered silently for a moment if she could hear how his heart beat for her.

“I could stay,” he reasoned absentmindedly; knowing that there was no scenario in which he could keep his word to her and not be disowned by his family. “I could stay here with you.” The words leave his chest empty. Aemond knows it’s a desperate lie.

She doesn’t respond and for some reason, he’s grateful for that. The thought of giving her false hope makes him feel a deep guilt in his bones. He wished he never said it, yet, the words linger in the air, ignored. 

“Give me your phone,” she says as she rises from his chest to look him in the eye. Her soft smile warms him against the cold front closing in. “I want to take a picture of us. Here and now. I want this memory to last.”

Aemond reaches into his pocket, extracting his phone and hands it to her with a sly smirk. She leans back against his chest and raises the phone with both hands. He sees her pretty smile on the screen of the phone and instinctively looks down at her resting against his chest to see her in real time. She clicks the picture button before he can look at the camera and they laugh as they look at the picture, her smiling with him looking at her. “I’ll delete it and we can take another one-”

“No,” he protests, grabbing his phone from her before she could erase the moment from history, “I love it.”

She turns around smiling at him, before her eyes advert to behind Aemond and her smile drops from her face. “We ought to go now. It looks like the front is coming in.” 

Aemond turns around to see the dark clouds and what looks like a wall of rain closing in fast. The wind picks up against the grass upon their hill, almost flattening it. Their pink and red plaid blanket lifts up, threatening to fly away if it hadn’t been for their weight upon it holding it down. Aemond turns to her, offering his hand, “Let’s go.” A pain in his heart grows steadily as they descend the hill.

Their picture is the first thing Aemond unpacks in his dorm at Oldtown when he finally has everything moved in his room. The day is rainy as he calls her; she picks up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

He smiles and settles himself against the headboard of his bed, “Hey. I’m all settled in. How are things at home?”

He hears her sigh, “Mum’s angry that I picked up an extra shift tonight but I’m bored without you here.”

Her boredom makes his heart warm. Her boredom makes him feel wanted, loved. He feels selfish for smiling. “Well, countdown the days until fall break. That’s when your boredom will end and fun begins again.”

His new roommate enters the room, Aemond gives him a nod and his roommate makes an attempt to be quiet as he unpacks his suitcase. He suddenly feels as though he should get off the phone and introduce himself. “Hey, uh, I need to go but I’ll call you later. Okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure, Bye. Love you.” Her voice is uncertain.

“Love you, bye.”

Late summer turns into fall. The leaves turn from greens to vibrant reds and oranges, before falling and beginning their ceremonious rot. Aemond drives back for fall break and the first place he stops when he returns is her home. He knocks on her door with a rose in hand and it takes nearly a minute before her mother answers and Aemond politely asks for her with the rose still hidden behind. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Aemond. She’s got a new job. Did she not tell you? She’s working during the day now.”

 Disbelief races across Aemond’s mind, followed shortly by pain in his heart. “Uh no, he drops the hand holding the rose slightly, “she didn’t.”

Her mother offers him a soft, knowing smile before letting him know what time she’d be back from work. Aemond thanks her before descending down the front steps as the door closes behind him. November air swirls coldly around him as he walks back to his car. 

The rose sits waiting in the passenger seat as Aemond sits in the driver’s side and waits the hours he feels he has until her eventual arrival, a total of four hours after she supposedly clocked out. 

When she gets off the bus, Aemond bounds out of his car with a newfound vigor, excited to see her again despite the hours he’d waited. “Hey,” he says excitedly and she turns with a puzzled look on her face. His arms envelop her before she can register his presence and he squeezes her gently before releasing. On her face, a shocked expression remains as she offers an breathy smile.

“Aemond! I didn’t know you were coming back today,” her voice holds little animation as she fixes her hair. 

He disregards her lack of excitement. “I wanted to surprise you,” he holds out the rose that waited for her all these hours; wilted slightly. “Your mom told me you were working a new job? When did you get a new job? You didn’t tell me about that.”

She shifts, the wind blows a lock of her hair free and it tickles across her face. Her hand comes up to remove the hair and tucks it behind her ear again. “I didn’t want to bother you with it. You’re pretty busy with your studies and all-”

Aemond shakes his head, silver hair blowing gently in the breeze. “I’m not so busy that I can’t be bothered with the updates of your life. You matter to me.” His hand reached for hers and she quickly pulled back and tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat. 

“Sorry then, about that. I just assumed that I was a bother to you.”

His brows furrowed gently in confusion, “Why would you ever think that?”

She shook her head, “Nevermind. Anyway, let’s get inside. It’s cold.”

During Fall Break, the two saw much of each other, however, Aemond noticed a difference in her demeanor. The way she laughed held less mirth, her smile was softer now, less bright, her eyes didn’t crinkle the same way they used to when she smiled. Fall  had made her colder.

Aemond felt as if he was doing the wrong thing leaving again, but she willed him to go; stating that everything was fine and this is what was best for their future.

Fall turned into Winter and soon, finals were over and Aemond returned home again. First, stopping at her house. As he ascended the stairs to her front porch, she opened the door greeting him in her fuzzy blue robe. His mood was ecstatic as she smiled and told him her mother and siblings were out and they had the house alone to themselves for a few hours.

His hands raced into her hair as they broke through her bedroom door in a hurried motion, desperate for the other’s touch as they fell upon the bed. His mouth fell upon her neck, her hands grasped the base of his head. “I love you,” fell from his lips as his hands found her breasts underneath her clothing and “I missed you,” tumbled from his chest as her hands found the buttons of his pants.

She only replied with breathy “I know” as he confessed to her amidst their needy coupling. He’d take what she offered him greedily and did not complain for he knew the distance put a strain on their relationship.

He entered her in one long, slow motion; reveling in the warmth of her he had missed so desperately. Her head fell back against the pillow as he seated himself deep within her, unmoving. 

“Gods- Please, Aemond. Move!” She demanded so sweetly yet he denied her briefly to kiss her face and cupped it gently between his hands.

“I love you,” he said, expecting her to return the vow.

Her flushed face fell flat as she gazed at him. “Aemond-” her voice filled with regret, “I…love you too. Now please-” Her hips grinded against his own, causing his cock to rub against the velvety walls of her core and her to groan in satisfaction.

Aemond felt his heart shatter from the ingenuine enthusiasm. Surely the reason for it was desperation, not true, genuine, real feelings. Surely she was just needy, just wanting, just sexually frustrated. Of course, it had to be that he reasoned. Distance had put a strain on them both too. He recounted the nights he spilled into his hand while away, wishing it had been her. He assumed the same for her. She didn’t have the patience for words right now. 

So he pleasured her, he angled himself to hit her spots the right way that had her clenching around him in white hot ecstasy in little time. Her body convulsed and squeezed him but his body didn’t respond; his mind too busy to complete.

“You didn’t?” She asked, pulling the covers around herself as he pulled from her and slipped his pants back on.

He shook his head, buttoning his jeans. “No but you did and that’s all that matters.” 

He heard her sigh and returned to her bed, wrapping his arms around her and laying down. “I’m content just laying here with you, being in your presence-”

“I need to go get ready.” She stood from the bed and his embrace suddenly, his arms falling flat against the sheets with her floral scent lingering behind to comfort him.

“I thought you worked days? It’s nearly four in the evening. What do you have to do?” He sat up in her bed, studying her as she stripped down and grabbed some jeans and a sweater from her dresser. 

“I’m gonna go out with some friends tonight.”

“Why?” He felt so lost and confused.

“I just-” she stopped, jaw fixed as she looked across the room and refused to make eye contact with him. “I just don’t want to be with you tonight. Y’know, I have a life outside of you. Just like you have one outside of me.”

Aemond shook his head, “You are my life. I don’t want to be anywhere except by your side.”

She scoffed before pulling on her sweater, still refusing to meet his eyes. 

Hurt boiled inside him like putrid water. “I mean it. You mean everything to me.”

Her eyes finally met his, sharp and filled with hot tears. “Then why did you leave? Why did you leave me?”

His breathing stopped and his heart went stale. Shock absorbed him. “You-I…You know why I left. I had to. I went away for us. So we can have a better life.”

She scoffed again, “A better life? What about my life is so bad? You could have stayed here with me, gone to college here and chose me. But you didn’t, did you? You chose what your family wanted.”

“I don’t understand, you wanted me to go?”

“I wanted you to go because I thought I was being selfless but Aemond…I can’t do this. I can’t be selfless with you. I wanted you here, with me. I wanted you to choose me! But I see this is the way it’ll always be with you, won’t it? You’ll choose your family, money and power and I’ll always come after, won’t I?” Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking the collar of her sweater.

He had to fix this, had to make it right, so in the moment…Aemond came up with a solution he believed was right. “Marry me. Marry me and move to Oldtown. We can get an apartment near campus and-”

“And leave my mom?” Her voice was full of disbelief at his simple solution. “Aemond, the world isn’t always black and white. I can’t just leave my mom and my siblings-”

“I can help pay for them too,” he offered, “ I can send money every week and-”

“Aemond!” Her eyes were bloodshot and sharp, “Money is not the answer to everything. I need to stay here and look after them when she’s not here. I- ugh” He heard her mumble, “There is no use in arguing with you about this,” as she grabbed her floral perfume and sprayed her neck.

He stood from the bed and tried to grab her hand, make her turn and talk to him. “Please-”

“No, Aemond,” she cried, “we are from two opposite worlds. This isn’t bound to last.”

“Please, I love you, I’ll try. I want to be with you. I can’t imagine my life without you.” He pleaded, nearly falling to his knees as he grasped her hands desperately. Tears formed in his remaining eye. “I love you,” his voice spoke with defeat and finality. 

A shaky sigh escaped her lungs. “You’ll forget in time.” Pulling her hands from him, he felt the chill of her absence in the room. She was resigned to her decision.

“I don’t-” he looked up to her, eye blurred with the veil of tears. “Are we- what is this?”

“We’re done.” Her voice was ice. “Please leave.”

Winter break came and went. Aemond felt like there was a hole in his heart that would never be able to heal and when he returned from break, he saw their picture on his dorm room wall. The memory pained him, ripping more pieces from his heart. How warm their picnic had started; how beautiful the day. He remembers her gentle smile, the crinkles around her eyes as she laughed deep from her belly. He remembers holding her hands in his as he thrusted into her on that soft pink and red plaid blanket and how they breathily held each other as they came down from their respective highs. He remembers the chill picking up just before this picture was taken and the clouds afterward. But most of all, he remembered how he had lied to her and offered the false hope of staying; how he regretted that comment now. 

He plucked their frame from the wall and extracted the picture from its casing. Folding himself out of view so it was just her, he put the picture back into the frame and hung it on the wall. He’d let her haunt him. He’d let her memory haunt him. She’d tear at the hole, desperately trying to escape his heart but as long as he kept her memory fresh, he’d never let her out. He had to hold something in place of the destruction their love caused and that had to be the memory of her.

Valentine’s Day was fast approaching and Helaena had made the trip to visit Aemond at University so he didn’t have to spend the day alone for the first time in two years. They met at a small cafe on campus at midday and once small talk ceased, Helaena had asked the question that had been gnawing at her mind. “How have you been?”

Aemond shrugged before sipping his coffee and looking down to the left of her eyesight, “Fine, I suppose.”

“Fine?” She repeated softly, making sure she understood the definition of his ‘fine.’

Aemond nodded, “Yeah, fine. I figured-” He wanted to trail off, stop there but he felt he could open up to Helaena. “I figured once I get this year done here, I’ll transfer to a college closer to home and maybe, I don’t know-” the words felt like glass in his throat, “maybe I can try to get her back.”

Helaena sighed, her hand reached across the table and rested upon Aemond’s. “Aem, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe just put her to rest-”

“No,” he cut, slightly offended, “I love her. I still love her. We can make this work if I am closer, I can be better, do better.”

“Aemond, she’s engaged.”

A strange pain stung in his chest, he felt like he was going to have a heart attack. His eye looked to his sister’s, trying to find any semblance of a lie; he found genuine pain as well. “What?”

Helaena nodded, rubbing her thumb across Aemond’s gently, trying to soothe him. “She’s engaged. She brought back the things you had left at her house and I saw the ring and I asked.”

“When?”

“Two weeks after you two broke up.”

Aemond was in such a state of shock he didn’t remember rising from his seat or abandoning Helaena in the cafe. He didn’t remember getting back to his dorm nor dialing the number he hadn’t dialed in over a month. 

She answered with, “Aemond. You shouldn’t be calling,” breaking him from his trance.

“I-uh…I need to know if it’s true.” His voice now shook. Aemond couldn’t remember the last time his voice shook.

“If what’s true?” Her usual honeyed voice was full of venom.

“Are you engaged?”

Silence met him at the other end of the line and it stayed that way for so long, Aemond worried he had lost the call. That was, until he heard her sigh, “Yes.”

In his haze, his words spilled from his lips before he could speak. “Were you cheating on me?”

He hears her scoff. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“It matters, it matters to me.” His voice cracks with the weight of yearning, he needs a reason to be angry with her, to hate her. Maybe that would help him heal. 

He hears a shaking sigh come from within the phone, “No. I mean- emotionally maybe. But not physically. I couldn’t- I still can’t.” He thinks she trails off because the line goes silent but he hears muffled sobs and the pain in his heart stings for her. 

“I still-” his throat is choked with the words he knows he shouldn’t say, “I still love you.”

He hears her sniffling before the line goes dead. He tries calling again but it goes straight to voicemail. He tries a second time and a third before the line quits ringing all together. His phone goes flying across the room, hitting the wall and bouncing onto his bed along with her picture in its frame. He picks up the picture, barely visible behind his tears and grasps it against his chest as he lulls himself to sleep with deep sobs that winter evening.

Late Winter turns into early Spring, which turns to late Spring and Aemond’s first year of college is complete. He packs his belongings in boxes, her picture packed safely at the top of the final box. Moving back home for the Summer was something he dreaded since the middle of Winter but as the months went by, he looked forward to the warm breeze he had once shared with the woman he loved; the woman he still loves.

His first week back in his home was a discomfort he was not used to yet expected all the same. To aid this discomfort, Aemond spent most of his days out of the house, on the beach or on the sea. Somewhere where he could feel the wind dancing within his hair in solitude and appreciate the loneliness for once; his appreciation was never long lived.

On one particular day, Aemond passed by a little church, her church. He hadn’t meant to but old habits die hard and before he knew it, his hands were making a right turn when he really meant for a left. Outside, he saw people decorating with pink and red flowers. Some of those people he knew, then, he saw her mom and his heart sunk. Pulling his car into the parking lot of the little white church, jumped out of his car in a haste without care or concern for how he may appear. Her mother saw him approaching and nearly dropped the flowers she was fastening to the railing. 

“Aemond,” she warned loudly as he approached, making the other ladies that were helping turn their heads, “She doesn’t want to see you, Aemond.” 

‘She doesn’t want to see you’ meant she was here and by the way some of the younger ladies were forming a barrier on the steps meant she was inside. He kept approaching.

“I just want to talk to her,” he reasoned.

“You need to leave,” a woman standing on the steps of the church told him.

He stopped before the blockade of women, not wanting to push through but deciding he would if he had to. “Please just let me-”

Then, he saw her emerge from the doors behind the women. Their eyes locked and he swore he felt a divine joy he had never felt in his life. He looked up to her and pleaded, using her full name.

She sighed and told him to come inside. The pack of ladies parted with no less judgment and sorrow on their faces than before. He followed quickly behind her to a secluded little room in the back of the church that looked like an office mixed with a library.

She crossed her arms, a small sheen of sweat beat down her brow. Her hair was tied back and a bandana was worn across her crown. She stood in jean shorts, old ratty running shoes and a tank top - just as she was the day they met four years ago. 

“If you’re here to talk me out of it-”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, but I know at this point, it would be a futile attempt.” Her stance softened slightly, taken aback by his confession. “Yet I suppose, I am a fool and despite knowing I will most likely fail, I need you to know that I still love you. That has never changed nor will it ever. I meant it when I said it. I will love you till I die.”

She scoffed, her arms crossing tighter around her chest, “And I meant it when I said that you’ll forget in time. Aemond, stop dragging this out.”

“Why? Why are you marrying him?”

Her eyes narrowed, offended with the question, “I don’t owe you an answer.”

“No you don’t but an answer might be all I need to get over this heartbreak I feel everyday of this goddamn life. I love you. You loved me once. You’ve never given me a good answer for any of this and I exist here, in the same world as you do, everyday, holding you in my heart as I have no other. Yet, you’ve offered me no explanation as to why I was plucked from your own. What have I done other than try my best? I made a mistake by leaving but I promise, if you allow me to try again, I will never make that mistake again. Or any, I will be perfect, I can be perfect for you. Just please,” a sob threatened in his chest. “I feel as though I will never recover. I worry I will take this pain and this love with me to the grave if you do not allow me to retry or tell me why.  Kill me now and be done with it.”

Tears brimmed her eyes as she walked past him and escaped the room they shared. He had poured his heart out all for naught and the emptiness chilled his bones. He had done everything he could and hoped that somehow, it had made a difference. Maybe tonight, as she laid in her floral scented bed, she’d think of his words and change her mind. Choose him or finally cut the string. Realizing he had sunk to his knees, Aemond arose and walked out of that church alone and defeated yet with a new smaller hope growing deep in his belly.

The next day, he sat in the parking lot of the church with his belongings in the back of his car, waiting for her to emerge; waiting for an answer. When she walked out of the church with her husband locked in her arm, a floral bouquet in her hand and that beautiful white dress on, surrounded by people celebrating her union to another man, Aemond left his hometown and never returned.

Years went by and she still preyed upon his mind. He searched for her in other women but nothing felt the same. How could anything compare to her? Their scent was never sweet enough. Their skin was never soft enough. Their moans were never as desperate and needy as her own and his name on their lips never sounded quite right. After some time, Aemond halted his pursuit of pleasures of the flesh for the flesh he yearned for was promised to another.

He felt his grip on reality slip from time to time. He began seeing her in the corner of his eye while seated at home, alone on his couch. Sometimes he’d even hear her voice calling to him from his dreams. And when he dreamt? He dreamt of Summer, warmth, the sun burning their skin as they rolled along the grassy hill entangled in each other's arms. Waking would be his nightmare.

Years had passed and some hair atop his head had thinned somewhat. He had just watched his youngest nephew, Maelor, graduate from University and that’s when he saw her. Standing for a photo beside a boy with the same hair color as her own. He towered above her in his graduation gown, her in a white blouse and yellow skirt. Subtle lines appeared where her smile creased and her eyes held a gentle age that made Aemond jealous of those who were able to witness time mature her. 

Her familiar eyes meet his, as if drawn by some magnetic force that binds the two whenever the other is near enough to feel the pull. Then, as suddenly as it happened, her eyes dart away, grabbing the boy in the graduation gown’s arm and telling him something. A person passed before Aemond’s vision in the crowded hall and when he spotted her and the boy again, their backs turned as they were walking away; heading for an exit. Aemond sped up, pushing a girl in a graduation  gown aside, nearly knocking her over. He heard people yelling behind him as he pursued his love blindly. He didn’t know what he’d say to her but he knew, simply hearing her voice again would be all he needed to set the world right.

A body knocked into him from the side, causing him to lose him balance and fall sideways to the ground. “Oh man, I’m sorry sir,” a younger boy in a wrinkled dress shirt apologized as he reached a hand down to help Aemond up. He swatted the boy’s hand away as he stood, looking toward the exit where she had disappeared. Many people were filing out of the crowded graduation hall and none of them were her. Without dropping his pursuit, he pushes past the people in line to leave and out the doors. Once outside, he searches for her; her hair, her voice, her laugh…any trace of her. 

He finds people taking pictures with their grown children, he finds smiles and laughter, he finds happiness. 

He doesn’t find her.

His heart sinks from the elevation of the mere prospect of hearing her voice again to the depths of anguish when he’s deprived of the life held behind her saccharine smile. The sun shines down on the people around him but Aemond feels cold, like a dark cloud lingering only above him and preventing the warmth from touching his skin.

That night, after Aemond leaves the graduation party for his nephew, he parks his car in the driveway of his quaint home. The car beeps as he rounds the corner to his front door, freezing in the pale moonlight.

She was sitting on his front steps. Her eyes looked up and met his one and the moonlight glimmered against her eyes, highlighting the soft tears she held.

His heart hammered a cold thrum. “What are you doing here? How did you-”

 She looks down, playing with the rings on her hands: three of them and not residing on the fourth of her left.

“My uh- son is friends with your nephew, he texted him and got your address.” Age had touched her voice, deepened it slightly, less breathy. Like she had finally stopped running and filled her lungs.

 A faint breeze blew between them, reminding Aemond that he was still standing; hovering above her like a hawk. Suddenly aware of this (and never wanting to come across as a predator to her) he moved to sit beside her at a respectable distance on the stoop. She kept turning the rings on her fingers and did not look at him.

“I want to apologize for not speaking to you today…” she begins with trepidation and he knew she’d give him an excuse that he’d accept regardless of how weak because despite these years of pain and yearning, he had never stopped loving her with the fault of forgiveness akin to an abused beast who had only ever known love by the same hand that taught him pain. “I just couldn’t do that in front of him.” Aemond nodded, understanding that ‘him’ meant the boy in the graduation gown, her son. And by ‘do that’ she meant ‘I couldn't revive a conversation with the man I’d once loved,’ or so Aemond hoped that is what she meant.

“I understand.” In truth, he didn’t. If the cards were flipped, Aemond would have sought out her in that crowded hall and held her taut in front of all those present; regardless of if his child or children were present. But that was the difference between them, their paths divided due to a reason not robust enough for Aemond’s understanding and she got married, had at least one child. She did all the things Aemond had reserved for only her and in doing so, ripped Aemond from those chances at more; this was the only transgression he’d ever hold her to. 

“I’m sorry-” she says this as abruptly as she stands, wiping her tear duct carefully with a single finger as to not smudge her makeup, “I don’t know why I even came-”

Aemond stands and takes her hand in his without permission or consent, as if he still had a claim to her skin as he did all those years ago. “No, stay. Please.” His eye pleads with her alongside his tongue. He wants to say more but he is worried to sound too eager. Worried she’d spook and fly away like a lost dove. 

Her head shakes but her eyes tell another truth: she wants to stay too. “Aemond, I can’t. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be here disturbing your peace-”

“I haven’t known peace since the day you decided to walk out of my life.” His mouth moves before his brain does and he regrets the truth as it tumbles from his heart yet he can’t find it in himself to apologize.

Her face is shocked as her eyes well up with hot tears. “You can’t blame me for ending our relationship. Aemond,” she pleads and grasps his other hand to look up at him with wide eyes, “we were not compatible.”

He grasps both of her hands tightly in his own. “Compatibility is a farce. I could've changed to have been anything you wanted, anything you needed me to be. You didn’t allow me to do that. You gave me no warning.”

She pulls her hands from his grip. “Aemond,” her voice raising in defiance, “that line of thinking is exactly why I knew I had to end our fling!” The word ‘fling’ stung his heart more than it should have. “You moved to college and I grew up while you were gone! I would have never asked you to change yourself for me Aemond. Do you know how childish that line of thinking is? Did you ever grow up in the years that have passed or have you always been the same boy I loved back when?”

Hurt and confused, “I’m childish because I believe in love?” His pain blinded him, “Maybe if you believed in love you’d still have a husband!” 

It was a low-blow, he knew it. His apology started tumbling from his lips as soon as he said it and saw the stinging pain and shocked expression on her face. She held a hand up, halting his words. “How did you know that?”

“What?”

“How did you know I’m getting a divorce?” 

In truth, he didn’t. But she had always been fond of jewelry. Even when he’d get her cheap necklaces out of the coin operated vending machines on their dates together, she’d wear them proudly until they broke. 

“You aren't wearing a ring on that finger.”

She looks down to her hands, a choked laugh spills from her lips as she plays with the indented skin of where a ring had been. “You were always so perceptive.”

“I’m sorry-” he begins to apologize again but she looks up at him with a face full of defeat.

“It’s been in the works for a while now, y’know? He wanted to wait until our son graduated.”

Aemond nods, now feeling uncomfortable. He shifts slightly before deciding to sit back on the stoop, hoping his retreat will make her feel less threatened. 

She sits on the stoop again, this time, closer but somehow the air between them feels colder.

“Was he good to you?” 

She nods. “He never gave me reason to be upset. He was a good husband, provided for us when I had to stay home with the kids. He was kind, a good listener. He made me feel valued and when we had enough money, he bought us a big house with two bathrooms. We were happy.”

‘Were.’

“What changed?” He dared ask it but he had to know.

She looked down to her hands again, fiddling with the skin at the base of her fourth finger. “Our daughter died.” She said it so plainly, as if it were a simple fact and not a soul crushing thing for her to have gone through. He feels a pain in his chest, not for the girl he never knew, but for the woman he loved to have gone through something so traumatic. 

“After she died, our connection seemed to wither and crumble. I don’t know if it was him or I that initiated the loss in communication, I just knew the night our son moved to college and we were alone in that big house for the first time ever, that our marriage wasn’t going to last much longer.” She reached up and wiped a tear that threatened to slide down her face. “Our daughter was supposed to be there with us. We weren’t supposed to be ‘empty-nesters’ yet. I realized that our marriage was built upon our children and having lost a pillar, we weren’t stable. There was nothing between us connecting our lives. We existed in that house together with the ghost of our daughter and the memory of our son as the only ties that bound us. And when you think hard about it, how long can a ghost and a memory tie someone to another?”

Too long, Aemond thought selfishly of himself.

“So now that he’s leaving the house for good, we are finally calling it quits.” She adds as if she’s reading the newspaper.

“What are you going to do?” He sneaks a look over to her, a bubble of hope in his chest.

She’s aware of his view but she doesn’t reciprocate. “I’m not getting into something again. I’ve built my home upon pillars of sand and out of straw. I think it’s time to find a strong foundation and a sturdy home. I suppose the only way to do that is through myself.”

“Are you reserved to building your sturdy home so small that only you’re allowed in?”

She nods unapologetically. “I’m not here for you, Aemond. I’m not letting you in. I'm here for me. I never got to say good-bye in that church, never allowed myself to and I’m here to say-”

“Don’t.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it be easier if we finally say goodbye? For good?”

He sighs, “I’d rather spend my whole life loving you without a goodbye than for you to say it and crush my hope.”

“You shouldn’t have hope for what can’t be, Aemond.”

“That’s what hope is.” 

Her eyes met his and they lingered with an understanding that whatever once existed between them was still there, even if it lingered on hospice, something was still alive. 

The next seconds are a blur. Her hand fell into his, his mouth invaded her own, his other hand skimmed into her hair and pulled her closer. His front door is unlocked and he pushes her through it, down the hall to his bed. When she falls into the soft mattress, he descends upon her without giving her time to think. Wound up in passion and need, they fell into a vicious game, one where the only wounds here that bleed are on the inside, long since scarred over but never healed properly. The two push their carnal desire toward the front of their thoughts to drown out the objections of clarity. Maybe this once, they’d allow themselves to give into what they once were before the pain, before the rejection, before the betrayal. Maybe they can be how they were before love had come between them. Maybe this once, they can just be two bodies in the night that feel so right against one another. Push aside their feelings and simply feel; if only for this once.

The pale moonlight shone throughout the house as Aemond rose to get a glass of water. Barefeet padded gently out of the bedroom, afraid to wake her from her exhaustion induced slumber. The cabinet opened and shut with the faintest creek and the water sloshed gently into the cup and when Aemond turned around, she spooked him standing in the archway to his kitchen, clothing back on.

“Did I wake you?” His voice was hoarse and did not hide his fear well.

“Yeah,” she looked behind her toward the front door, “I needed to be gone a long time ago though.” She glanced back toward the door.

“Don’t leave yet. It’s the middle of the night. Stay here till morning.”

She shook her head. “This was a mistake. I need to be home before anyone notices I didn’t come home last night-”

“Stay,” Aemond pleaded as he set the full glass down, “please.”

Even in the shadows, moonlight not quite reaching her features, Aemond saw her eyes, downcast and defeated. “Sure.”

Without another word, Aemond scooped her into his arms and returned her back to his bed where he held her tightly, afraid she’d slip through his grasp yet again. Aemond had never prayed much as an adult, however, that night…he prayed silently with her in his arms.

When he awoke, he knew it was for naught. His bed was void of warmth in the heat of the sun rays dancing through his windows. 

He never saw her again.

In his sixty-eighth year of life, on a warm morning in late September, Aemond Targaryen awoke for the last time. He pulled some old letters from a box beside his bed, as he did nearly every week or so in his growing age, and read each one, pausing to smile every time he came across the phrase “I love you” that he had underlined in red ink many decades ago. Aemond was content with memories now. When he finished reading and reminiscing, he touched her picture one last time the way he did every morning; the one that hung on his bedroom wall and had followed him to every bedroom since college. Then, went onto his back patio with a cool glass of water to watch sunlight bathe the landscape in warm light and the plants awaken. At twelve past eight, the glass fell from his hands, shattering on the patio. His body would be found by his elder sister Helaena who was coming to visit him later that day from her home halfway across the continent. She was to attend a cardiologist appointment with him the next day; a rather hurried appointment amidst rapidly growing concerns for his failing heart. 

His funeral was a grand affair, as expected of a Targaryen, and despite the grandiose of the visitation, the attendance was picked thin. Aegon, Aemond’s eldest brother, stood furthest from the casket, refusing to look anywhere near where his brother lay. Helaena, stood diligently by his side even in death and strangely offered her condolences to the few people that ventured their way to the casket to say their goodbyes. Daeron, the youngest, sat next to their mother, Alicent, who rested in a wheelchair in the front row, refusing to take her eyes away from her third child’s final bed. 

Helaena hand’s were just unclasping from one of Aemond’s former work colleagues when Aegon approached the casket for the first time and spoke in a hurried tone into his sister’s ear. “She’s here.”

“Who?” Helaena looked around as she tried to find who Aegon was talking about but his eyes remained glued on the corpse of his younger brother, seeing him lying peacefully in the casket for the first time today. He felt a wave of shock, guilt and fear course through him. “Who, Aegon,” Helaena asked again but Aegon needed not to answer because Helaena’s eyes landed on the woman who caused Aegon to finally approach their brother’s body. “Oh,” was all she said and her eyes drifted to Aegon who was taking in the presence of Aemond for the first time without his brother truly being with them. Helaena grabbed his shoulder, “Aeg, you alright?”

A strange smile crossed his profile as he looked on, “He looks like he’s smiling almost.”

Helaena glanced over, Aemond’s lips did seem to have an upwards lilt that she only previously attributed to the moritician’s work of making him look younger, more angelic. She nodded, “Yeah, I suppose so.”

Aegon finally looked sideways to Helaena, his blue wrinkled eyes brimmed with tears. He had something to say yet the words never came. 

They’re broken from their unspoken conversation when they feel her presence approach. Helaena’s eyes drift to her; oh how time has changed her. Her once vibrant hair is now graying, her skin dull and wrinkled. She dresses more conservatively now, hiding how her body has aged. Helaena felt a rare strike of anger flood through her body; vexed that the only woman Aemond had ever loved had deprived him of coddling her in his arms as time aged them together. 

“Hi,” she gave a curt nod, not taking her eyes off the man in the casket whom she had loved once. “I um,” she reached up and wiped her nose with a tissue that was nearly completely soiled by now, “came to see him this one last time.”

Helaena nodded toward the casket, “go see him then.” 

As she approached with Helaena’s permission, Aegon leaned into her ear. “I wondered if she would come.”

Helaena watched as the only woman Aemond had ever loved placed a hand on his body and a kiss on his cheek. “We all did.”

Just before the funeral was about to begin, Helaena stepped outside, wanting to find some relief in solitude and a cigarette. Lighting it up, she got a single puff before she was joined by Aemond’s old lover. They stood in silence for sometime, Helaena had no wish to talk to the woman, still angry at how she had left her brother all those decades ago and how he tortured himself.

“I feel bad,” she heard the shaky voice beside her but did not turn, “I feel like I’ve wasted my life now that he’s gone. And the worst part about it is I feel like I killed him yet, I only feel sympathy for myself.”

“Death is not something we mourn for those who exist in it; it’s something we mourn for ourselves. Lost opportunities for things unsaid and missed experiences. Human nature is inherently selfish.”

The early fall air was thick between the two as they stood outside the funeral home. Helaena knew she made her uncomfortable but she couldn’t find it in her to care, not anymore. 

“I’d like to think I was selfless.”

Helaena smirked, dropping her cigarette and twisting it into the pavement with the toe of her boot.

“Old habits die hard.” Her mouth twisted at the sour words. Helaena knew she shouldn’t hate this woman for the decisions she made nearly a lifetime ago. So, despite her gut feeling, Helaena offered her own version of words of encouragement. “You know, my brother never blamed you for what you did.”

She smiled a sad smile and dropped her head, “I wish he did…that would have made today easier.”

Some leaves fell from a tree, landing between them. “He loved you through it all. There wasn’t a day that went by that he stopped. Y’know, when we started going through his house yesterday. Terrible job for a sibling to do by the way…it should be a kid’s job to go through their parent’s house. Learn things about them they never knew while they clean up the evidence of their parent’s past to make room for new life in the home once occupied. But I digress, Aemond never had kids, never had anyone…anyone but the ghost of you.”  

The soiled napkin rose to her face again, wiping away the evidence of tears and snot. 

“But today,” Helaena nearly laughed at the irony, “he stopped loving you today. They’ll place a wreath upon his door, carry him away and place him into the ground. He’ll be over you for good this time. Nothing awaits him in the soil. Not pain or longing. He’ll stop this senseless romance when he’s buried. And to me, that makes me feel better. No more torment, no more love. Just death. Just peace; for once.”

She looked up at the sky, trying to blink away tears. “I told him he’d forget in time.” The confession was a whisper on her lips, perhaps to the Gods, Helaena or herself. “Time…” she repeated to herself quietly.

Aegon stepped out of the funeral home, shouting for Helaena that they were ready to start. Helaena nodded and turned to Aemond’s only love, “Are you coming?”

She closed her eyes, head still tilted toward the sky. “No, I think I overstayed my welcome.”

Aegon gave the eulogy, co-workers and a few old friends carried his casket with a wreath of white flowers sitting upon it to the hearse. In the cemetery, they lowered the body of Aemond Targaryen into the ground. Not a soul noticed the woman in black who lingered on the outskirts of the crowd; for the first time since she was a young woman, no one thought of her.

The world felt lonely.

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Dawn Ends the Night - Interlude

Aemond Targaryen x FemReader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 3.5K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: Every morning, at dawn, for the past fortnight you meet Aemond Targaryen. Will today change things for the better between you two?

Notes: Hello everyone!!! I am writing earlier because I had this scene in my head that I could not fit into a regular plot-driven chapter because it was so long. So instead I turned it into a little interlude between chapters 4 and 5. It focuses on our favourite couple and if you have a thing for the whole regency "OMG THEY GRAZE EACH OTHER!" You will like that one. Its a bit angsty but with loads of fluff at the end. Hope you like it and like always LMK what you all think!

Thank you again to all of you who take the time to comment, like and reblog, you are all so kind and I love you all so much!!! 💜💚💜

See you in the next one xxx

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts , @httyd-marauders , @singhfae , @nothing-just-hanging-around

At Dawn

In Starfall, you had been a ghost, haunting its ancient halls. You cherished the late hours, those quiet moments under the cover of darkness where the sky was a canvas of stars. To you, each star was not just a celestial spark but a guardian soul, a sentinel silently watching over the world from the heavens – you imagined they were looking after you when you needed them the most. This nightly ritual, however, came at a cost — mornings often found you rising late, the consequence of surrendering to the tranquil embrace of moonlit solitude. 

In King's Landing, the luxuries of being a ghost were behind you. Now, well before the first golden rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, with the dawn barely painting the sky in hues of timid pink and soft orange, Prince Aemond would be at your door ready to eat his morning meal in your company.   

Yawning, you gathered your hair, weaving it into a simple yet elegant half-up, half-down style. It framed your face in a way you found particularly becoming. But these early hours beckoned for self-sufficiency as you didn’t wish to disturb your handmaiden at such a time. Thus, you had grown accustomed to readying yourself alone in the quiet of dawn, opting for dresses that required no assistance to don. Today, you chose one of your favorites, a dress perhaps a tad too short by King’s Landing standards, ending mid-calf. Its design was a mixture of airy fabrics and light silks that embraced your form in a flattering caress, and its deep blue hue complemented your complexion beautifully. 

Gently, you pressed your fingers to your cheeks, coaxing a rosy flush to the surface. Despite the early hour, it was important to you to look and feel your best. Right on schedule, the familiar, soft knocking at the door signaled his arrival, accompanied by a gentle, "My lady," floating through the wood. A smile spread across your face at the sound. Each dawn spent with Aemond only deepened your desire to spend more time in his company. To learn all you could about this dragonrider, this will-be husband. 

You gave yourself a final glance in the mirror before sauntering towards the door. With a playful lilt in your voice, you called out, "And who might be serenading my door at this ungodly hour?" 

From the other side came Aemond's mock-serious reply, "My lady, should there be another suitor at your door at this time, I fear I must step in to defend my betrothed honor. A fight to the death perhaps?" 

Your laughter rang out, rich and unrestrained, as you swung the door open. Leaning casually against the frame, hand perched on your hip, you greeted him teasingly, "Ah, what a sight – A fierce dragon graces my doorstep." 

Aemond rolled his eye, the man teetering between amusement and exasperation, before offering a polite bow of his head. Over his shoulder, you caught sight of Perros, his expression a perfect study in stoic disapproval. Ever since these dawn meetings with Aemond had become a routine, Perros had appointed himself your unofficial chaperone. Chaperoning had never been a tested custom of Dornish culture, but due to his protective nature, Perros had still not warmed up one bit to the idea of the betrothal, even after a fortnight under the Targaryen royal roof and he was looking for anything to hold against Aemond. 

You stepped aside, allowing room for Aemond and Perros to enter. Perros, ever the vigilant guardian, promptly made his way to his usual spot in the corner. There, he brooded, his gaze sharp and watchful, tracking every interaction between you and Aemond with hawk-like intensity. 

You recalled a morning some days ago when Aemond, in a rare moment of clumsiness, had spilled some jam on your sleeve. His instinctive move to dab it away had provoked an instantaneous reaction from Perros, who leapt to his feet, his voice laced with protective fervor as he reprimanded you both for the supposedly improper contact. The moment had ended with you and Aemond awkwardly distancing yourselves, while Perros took up a stern post at your table on the small balcony, arms crossed in silent disapproval. Aemond had sported a look of utter vexation, his face tinged with a hint of pink, huffing, while you couldn't help but shoot a glare at Perros for his overzealous protectiveness. 

You led Aemond to the quaint table on the balcony, its surface crowded with an assortment of dishes. Your taste buds, having grown accustomed to the vibrant spices and flavors of Dorne, found the typical Westerosi cuisine rather uninspiring. Consequently, you had developed a preference for simpler fare – delicate cakes accompanied by soft Vale cheese and a sweet red-berry jam from the Reach, as you could not stomach anything else. If you were to live here, you would need to have a cook brought from Sunspear, you thought. 

As you both settled into your seats, a serene quietude enveloped the balcony. The early morning light cast a soft glow on Aemond, accentuating his regal features and rendering him even more striking than usual. You caught yourself momentarily captivated by his appearance and quickly composed yourself. It wouldn't do to let on just how much your betrothed affected you. 

"I trust you had a restful night, Prince Aemond?" you inquired softly, putting some berries on your plate. 

"Fairly restful," Aemond replied, spreading cheese over a slice of bread. "However, I was somewhat vexed last night. I had intended to read 'The History of Dragon Anatomy' from the library, only to find it had already been taken out. The Maester there mentioned a young lady had taken it just after dinner. Curious, since I had expressed my interest in that very book earlier in the day, to that same lady." 

You glanced at him coyly. "How frustrating for you. Perhaps this lady simply wished to delve into subjects that intrigue you, my prince." 

Aemond let out a thoughtful hum, carefully layering jam on another slice of bread before placing it on your plate. "And..." he prompted. 

"And what, my prince?" you asked, feigning innocence. 

"Did you find the book to your liking?" Aemond's tone was casual, but his eye held a playful glint as he took a bite of his cheesy bread. 

Your gaze lingered on Aemond as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing quite attractively. The sight inexplicably left your own throat feeling parched. 

"The book was quite fascinating," you commented, "Particularly the chapter on dragon scales and their resistance to various metals. In Dorne, we don't have many resources on dragons, so it was a nice change of literature." 

Aemond let out a soft scoff. "I imagine not. It would not be wise to provide our enemies with knowledge about how to defeat our dragons. Some would probably say it would be insanity" 

Your eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Enemies?" 

Aemond paused, meeting your gaze with a hint of uncertainty. "Old enemies, perhaps. You must understand the strategic folly in sharing dragon lore with those who have historically sought to bring them down. Our betrothal itself hinges on the long-standing enmity between Dorne and Targaryen’s dragons." 

You bristled at his words. "Perhaps if dragons were not made to attack and lay claim to our lands, the sentiment towards them in Dorne would be different!" 

Aemond's eye narrowed, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. "House Targaryen united Westeros by right of conquest. We are neither thieves nor invaders." 

"Right of conquest?" you echoed incredulously. "Dorne was never conquered. Your ancestors never succeeded in bringing Dorne under their rule!" 

Breakfast now lay neglected as you both locked gazes, each unwilling to yield, to be the first to lower the proverbial banner. 

Aemond broke the silence with a measured tone, "Well, here you are now, in King's Landing. So, perhaps the past should remain just that." 

Your response was edged with a hint of bitterness. "There's no need to remind me of my place here, Prince Aemond. Your views on my people, and by extension on me, seem quite clear. It must be such a burden to align your esteemed dragon lineage with mine.” 

Aemond's eye flickered slightly, a shadow of discomfort crossing his face. "You exaggerate, my lady. I did not imply any such thing." 

"Of course, my apologies," you replied, the sharpness in your voice unmistakable. Gathering his plate, you stacked it atop yours, a clear signal of the meal's end. "I trust your breakfast was satisfactory, Prince Aemond. However, I need to prepare for the day. I promised your sister I would meet with her." 

Aemond seemed momentarily taken aback, his composed facade faltering. "But we've only just begun, and you've yet to enjoy your favorite jam. Why leave so abruptly?" 

"I wouldn't want to impose any longer," you said, your tone firm yet polite. "It might be best for you to leave now Prince Aemond." 

A thick silence enveloped the room, heavy with unvoiced sentiments. Prince Aemond, his jaw set in a firm line, rose abruptly from his seat. His movements were rigid, each step resonating with barely restrained anger as he made his way to the door. Upon reaching the threshold, he paused, turning to face you with a stiff, formal inclination of his head. "My lady," he uttered, his voice a strained whisper of formality. Then, with a swift motion, he opened the door and exited, the slam echoing with a finality that reverberated through the room. The resounding closure seemed loud enough to stir the entire wing, making you flinch. 

Seated alone at the table, you gazed out towards the horizon, where the sun had begun to cast a golden glow over the morning sky. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you leaned forward, resting your head on your crossed arms atop the table. A soft groan of frustration echoed the turmoil within. 

Had you overreacted? Aemond's words about Dorne's historical enmity with the Targaryens weren't unfounded, but his tone, dismissive and tinged with superiority, had struck a nerve. Your Dornish pride, a deep-rooted part of your identity, felt belittled in his presence. It was as if he had trampled upon the history and struggles of your people, reducing them to mere irritants in the grand Targaryen narrative. 

Perhaps your reaction had been too impulsive, or maybe your expectations of Aemond were too lofty. The romantic notions you’d harbored, fueled by the tales and books you’d devored in Starfall, seemed naive now in the harsh light of the morning. Yet, Aemond’s daily visits, those moments that had started to become a cherished routine, suggested that maybe there was something more. Had you misconstrued his intentions, read too much into what was merely a princely obligation? The very thought of it twisted in your chest. You were confused and could feel a strange feeling of longing coiling deep within your stomach.  

"My lady?" The concern in Perros's voice pulled you from your introspective reverie.  

"Mmm?" you hummed, your voice muffled against your arms, still not lifting your head.  

"Are you well, my lady?" He inquired gently, worry edging in his tone.  

"You must be feeling vindicated," you said, lifting your head to meet Perros's gaze, your laughter tinged with a hint of bitterness. "It seems Prince Aemond has made his views about me quite clear." 

Perros regarded you with a steady, thoughtful look. "I've never been fond of him, true. He's too princely, too arrogant. He's not worthy of you," he admitted, and you couldn't help but let out a small, teary chuckle. 

"I guess now is the perfect time for your 'I told you so,'" you remarked wryly. 

"But," Perros cut in, his tone shifting, "I can't ignore how he looks at you. From the very first day we arrived, he's been drawn to you like a moth to a flame. It's like you're the Maiden reborn in his eyes. And..” Perros took a breath for effect, "I suppose I might have judge the prince too harshly too... I was not to tell you, but Prince Aemond has been joining Davos and me during our training sessions in the yard.”  

"He has?" You exclaimed, turning to face Perros - The image of Aemond, a prince of the realm, spending his time with little davos was a stark contrast to the man you had argued with only moments ago. 

"Yes," Perros nodded. "He's been taking time to teach Davos the basics of swordplay. You should see the boy's face light up. The prince has a way with him, showing patience I didn't think possible. It's as if he sees something of himself in Davos. The lad's been boasting about it to anyone who'll listen, his chest puffed up with pride. Keep saying it’ll go to his head, but the lad is excited, the prince even said he’d show him that great beast of his. " 

A thoughtful frown creased your forehead. "But why keep it a secret? Why didn't Aemond mention it? Why didn't Davos?" 

Perros shrugged slightly, a faint smile touching his lips. "I suspect the prince isn't doing it for praise or recognition. Maybe he just wanted to help, to do something good without any fanfare. It's not something I expected from him, but with all my years, I’ve learned that people, even princes, can stil surprise us." 

As you pondered his words, Perros placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding. "Speak with him, my lady," Perros advised gently, his voice carrying a wisdom born of years. "Whether he's a princely dragon or not, it's always better to clear the air, especially with matters of the heart.” 

You offered a small, contemplative smile. "Perhaps you're right, Perros. I might just do that." 

Just then, a series of knocks echoed at the door, you released a weary sigh, wondering aloud, "Do you think that the noise might have woken up mother?" 

Perros straightened, ready to take action. "Shall I see who it is, my lady?" 

"No, no, it's alright," you quickly responded, waving a hand dismissively. "It's probably mother, or Gerris and Davos. They have this habit of barging into my room to start their day. They find it amusing, I suppose."  

But as you opened the door, it was neither your mother, nor Gerris, nor Davos – Standing before you was Aemond. His usually neatly styled hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had been anxiously running his fingers through it, and his solitary eye, usually so sharp and focused, now held a wild, almost frantic quality as he gazed at you 

Finally breaking the silence, you found your voice ; “Prince Aemond?”  

You were momentarily caught off guard as Aemond pulled you into his arms, his embrace firm yet cautious, tentative as though he was handling something precious and fragile. His body, usually so rigid and imposing, now enveloped you with a breath-stealing, protective warmth, contrasting sharply with the slightness of your own form.  

His face buried in your hair, Aemond seemed to be seeking a sort of solace, his breath slow and deep. You could feel the slight quiver in his chest and for a moment, you stood there, unsure, your body rigid in his embrace. But as he inhaled, as if drawing strength from your presence, you felt a surge of want wash over you. 

Tentatively, your arms wound around his back, your touch light, almost hesitant. The contours of his body under your fingers felt like the unyielding walls of a fortress, yet there was a tenderness in his hold that belied his outward appearance. The sensation of his breath warming the nape of your neck sent a shiver down your spine, and his voice, thick with emotion, resonated against your soft skin. "I am sorry for my words, my lady. They were careless and unkind," he murmured, his tone laced with a rare vulnerability. "Please, I am sorry. I ask for your forgiveness, but more than that, I beg you, do not shut me out. Not when I feel like I have only begun to know you." 

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if fearing you might slip away, his voice a soft whisper against your hair. "You have every right to turn away from me, yet I find myself selfishly hoping you will not. In you, I've seen a kindness, a strength that I have longed for. Please, my lady, grant me the chance to prove that I am more than my harsh words and hasty judgments." 

Nestling closer into his hold, you felt a wave of understanding wash over you. "Perhaps I, too, was quick to judge," you admitted softly. "Your words, though harsh, weren't entirely unfounded. Our kingdoms have been locked in conflict for so long, and both have suffered greatly. It's just that..." You paused, taking a deep breath, grappling with the words that lay heavy on your heart. "I understand the reasons for our union – duty, family, the realm, the crown. But still..." Your voice trailed off, laden with unspoken hopes and fears. 

Aemond gently lifted his head from yours, their foreheads meeting in a tender, earnest touch. For the first time since your encounter, you were close, close enough to see the subtle hues in his remaining eye, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. "I too wish for more, my lady, more than you could possibly imagine," he confessed, his voice a soft echo of your own longing. 

A timid smile touched your lips, a flicker of the young woman who once dreamt under the stars, the girl who laughed freely. "Back in Starfall, they used to say I was like a ghost. After Gerris was announced as the future lord, I lost a part of myself. I never thought I'd find that girl again – the one who could marvel at the stars, who loved to read and laugh without care." Your smile grew, a hint of old joy resurfacing. "But with you, Aemond... when I'm with you, I feel as if... as if I'm finding her again." 

Aemond's smile, a rare and genuine thing, mirrored your own. "And I," he confessed, "feel something I feared was long lost in me too." 

Perros's conspicuous throat-clearing echoed in the room, startling both of you into stepping apart, faces flushed with the sudden intensity of the moment. You shot Perros a glare, one that he met with a raised eyebrow and a look that managed to be both unimpressed and protective. 

Aemond, regaining his composure with a soft cough, glanced toward the door. "I must take my leave, my lady. Ser Criston awaits me in the training yard, and I dare not keep my sister from you company as she probably awaits you for her early morning beetle hunt," he said. 

Your smile returned, a gentle curve of lips that hinted at the warmth you felt inside. "Of course, my prince. Dawn tomorrow then?" 

Aemond hesitated, an unusual shyness in his demeanor as he paused at the door. "Actually, I was wondering if I might join you in the afternoon? You spend time with your brother and Davos then, right?" 

"Oh, you needn't trouble yourself. Heleana usually takes the twins along, and we all enjoy the gardens together," you explained. 

He hummed thoughtfully. "Nevertheless, I would like to be there. To spend time with those you care about." 

A genuine smile graced your face. "Then after midday it is." 

As Aemond began to exit, he paused once more, turning slightly toward you. "And perhaps after dinner, I could meet you in the library? I could show you more books about dragons. I read them all as a child." 

Your smile deepened, warmth spreading through you at the thought. "I would be delighted to receive literary recommendations from the realm's most renowned dragon rider." 

Aemond's response was a shy smile, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He nodded silently, a gesture that spoke volumes of his growing affection, before finally stepping out of the room. 

Left in the quiet room, you felt an unfamiliar sensation, a fluttering lightness in your chest, like a bird cautiously testing its wings after a long confinemen. With a dreamy smile lingered on your lips, you turned to face Perros, who stood near the small table, you caught the hint of a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes held a mix of amusement and something softer that you had trouble deciphering, perhaps a reluctant acceptance of the scene he had just witnessed. 

With a mock groan, you raised your hand, preempting any comments he might have. "Do not say anything, Perros." 

His smile broadened, but he raised his hands in mock surrender. "I wouldn't dream of it, my lady," he replied teasingly. 

Shaking your head with a mix of exasperation and fondness, you moved past Perros towards the door. "I have a busy day ahead," you remarked, "And it seems I now have plans for after dinner as well." 

Next chapter

[hatelangdon]

Finding a x reader hurt/comfort/sickfic and then realizing the reader is the one being comforted...

[bittersweetarts]

Masterlist ✴ by bittersweetarts

Fandoms: House of the Dragon (TV), The Bear (TV), The Boys (TV)

Little Lamb  –  Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: As a maiden of a noble house, it is your duty to wed well. But how will you manage to, with a curious and possessive Prince in the picture?

Status: Complete

Spotify Playlist – AO3 Page

Chapter 1: The Summer Solstice Festival

Chapter 2: Jealousy

Chapter 3: Dead of Night

Chapter 4: Morning Sins

Chapter 5: Family Line

Chapter 6: To Be Alone

Chapter 7: Homecoming

Chapter 8: Yearning

Chapter 9: The Tempest

Chapter 10: Solemn Oaths

Chapter 11: Cherry Wine

Chapter 12: Tenderness

Chapter 13: Bound By Blood

Chapter 14: Mercy

Chapter 15: Absolution

BTS Interview by @arcielee

The Great War - Aemond Targaryen x OC , Aegon Targaryen x OC

Summary: A war is brewing, but only some know this – Camyla Peake, daughter of Lord Unwin Peake, is sent King’s Landing to wed the Hand of the King. It is a shame though, that she garners the attention of his grandsons instead.

Status: Work in progress

Spotify Playlist - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: The Flowering 

Author’s Note: This story is currently on hiatus

Shades of Cool - Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto x OC

Summary: Carmy Berzatto never considered himself to be lonely, just frequently alone. His neighbor however, makes him think otherwise.

Status: Work in progress

Spotify Playlist - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: Strangers

Chapter 2: French Toast

How to Disappear - Soldier Boy (The Boys) x OC

Summary: Eden Reid can't help her curiosity, and Soldier Boy can't help but take advantage of that curiosity.

Status: Work in progress - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: An Act of Kindness

Chapter 2: Sweet

Chapter 3: Out of the Woods

Chapter 4: Talk

[shawty-writes-a-little]

No other remorse

Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Part 1 (2/3)

Warnings: curse words, Some angst and hurt comfort ig? The dinner table chaos

Summary: Prince Daemon’s harsh comments leaves Aemond to be his protective husband for his lady wife?

Word count: 1.8k

An: this can be read w/o the first part if you wish to read

—

One can be overcome with grief, cry for every wretched and wronged soul, cry for the world. Maybe to put your grief in any place else only to dwell more and more into it. Or in Aemond’s case aim to raise hell for what caused y/n to feel this way. He couldn’t seek vengeance against his grandfather for y/n at the moment but he wasn’t resistant to go to any lengths that would make his lady wife feel better. He demanded a proper funeral procession for y/n’s father in the tradition of her house. It was very unpleasant for his grandfather the hand to allow that for a declared traitor but Aemond wasn’t asking.

Alicent wanted to be there for the funeral but as a queen she couldn’t, Halena and Aemond, with few of y/n’s maids from her house that stayed with her at the red keep and a priest attended the funeral. It was kept very discreet by Otto Hightower but y/n didn’t care about any of it. She was glad to have her father a proper funeral. It commenced the very next day after his execution. Things in no way got better for y/n but she it was a silver lining in one way. A final goodbye.

She smiled and showed Aemond his gratitude for what he did, not that he wanted it. For him all he wished for was for y/n to feel better in whatever little way she can. He couldn’t do anything to take all that pain for the loss of someone she’d known and loved all her life but he hoped to do as much as he could to help her through it.

—

All of this took place in span of two days, funeral took place the morning of Princess Rahaenyra’s arrival. Y/n didn’t attend court that day, there was an issue regarding the succession of drift mark. Generally y/n took an interest or was maybe accustomed to it because her father always talked to her about these council matters. It was expected of her to be at all court meetings being Aemond’s wife but that day he didn’t ask her to be there. She would’ve joined if she willed and to him it seemed unlikely, she needed some time.

Though by sundown the servants were gossiping about what happened at court, how lady y/n didn’t attend court that day, also the funeral procession arranged for a traitor. Most words just indicated how wrong it was for y/n to grieve for traitor to the realm. Regardless of the fact that he was her father nor was he a traitor. She didn’t pay attention to what anyone had to say but was difficult not to.

The servants informed her about the supper arranged at king Viserys’ wish and laid out a dress for her from her wardrobe. The tears on her face had barely dried yet and a dress was laid out for her to attend the supper. It was assumed she would attend it nonetheless the king had wished for the entire family to be there. Y/n concluded she didn’t have a choice here, she had to get out of her room eventually. Even though right now she could barely move out from her bed. Every moment felt a stinging loss.

Also it wouldn’t be a good colour for everyone to think she was overcome with grief for a ‘traitor’. She got the maids to help her with her dress, with her hair that normally didn’t need any help. Be presentable even if your heart aches with sadness. When Aemond came into her room she was already wearing her hair in a pretty way with a pretty dress. To Aemond she always had an effortless charm, beauty about herself. But as his eye met her face, he could easily tell she had been crying for the entire time. Anyone could tell with the red in her eyes on the tired face but she stood up giving him a short smile as if it would disregard her obvious state.

“You don’t have to join the supper…I’ll stay with you here it’s not necessary-“

“No.” She wearily interrupted him mid sentence “It’s quite all right-you don’t have to its—we’ll attend. I’ll attend.” She stumbled over her words but attempted to sound firm as she finished her sentence not looking up at him.

“Are you sure my love?” He insisted again, Princess Rahaenyra’s kin were going to be there as well. Y/n knew them but as of now Aemond didn’t want her to do that was unwilling and unpleasant for her and clearly for someone who has gone through something so drastic it was difficult to act fine even if y/n thinks it’s working.

“I said I’m alright!” annoyed she exclaimed but her words were in a hushed tone as they before not making much impact but Aemond knew she was stubborn and nothing further he could do to make her change her mind, best not aggravate her.

Sighing in defeat he gestures his hand out for them to leave for dinner.

The dinner was quite usual as the other ones however it had been a long time since king viserys had joined. Y/n sat slant to Aemond’s seat at the centre of the table next to Haelena. Haelena shared deep sympathy for y/n though at dinner she didn’t bring it up for her, kept asking mundane questions to her to keep her mind off what had happen. Every now and then Aemond would linger his fingers on top off hers to let her know he’s there for her, sharing soft glances y/n would give her best to show him a content smile to seemed gathered but Aemond knew better than to believe that.

Dinner felt quiet after king viserys resided to bed, haelena and jace were still dancing giggles across the table as y/n sat idle staring at her plate with Aemond by her side. Prince Daemon from across the table noticed lady y/n from the looks of it still in grieving of lord y/l/n. As ill mouthed as he was he wasn’t about to spare the poor princess “Earlier when the Queen mentioned the sea snake’s brother in the prayer I gather we forgot about lord y/l/n.” He spoke attaining everyone’s attention and sat forward in his seat. “Isn’t it quite later to mourn lady y/n?”

Two moons. It’s been two moons. Y/n wanted to scream but she couldn’t process her own words to come out right now, Aemond reached out for her hand in her lap holding hers with his to bring her whatever comfort. Y/n’s eyes turned glassy as Prince daemon’s words stung her the unforgiving reality. Tears threatened to spill from her puffy eyes again as she replied prince daemon with a slight nod of her head and stared down at her lap with Aemond’s hand in hers. She held his hand back firmly hoping she wouldn’t break down in tears right there.

“Or is it that-“ Princess Rahaenyra nudged daemon’s elbow stopping him from finishing his sentence, she could see lady y/n hurting already.Daemon might have a disliking for the greens but there was a line for jest. Shrugging it off Daemon continued nonetheless “we don’t mourn for boring treacherous cunts at all?” he snickered finishing his sentence.

Aemond stood up banging his fist on the table “One more word against my late father in law and I’ll forget where you’re standing uncle.” everyone averted their gaze to Aemond as the air grew tenser.

“Aemond sit back down.” Otto commanded him but he was in no mood to be a part of anyone’s little jest. He was trying so hard to pull y/n out of her space or grief only for her spirit to be trampled over for a game of words thrown around very insensitively. He couldn’t let that happen to his lady wife and not say something.

“Aemond.” This time his mother pleaded and he couldn’t disregard that, shocked his uncle was still quiet. Not that he would back down at all.

Covering his outrage he raised his glass, “Final tribute…” the music stopped as he spoke. “To the health of my nephews. Jace, Luke and Joffrey each of the them handsome, wise—” he took a pause as everyone stared at him in anticipation. Queen alicent rather in distress Aemond would say something vastly unpleasant. And unpleasant it was going to be. If Aemond was bound to not draw his sword for the discomfort of his wife he might as well just hit where it could hurt, “Strong.”

Dinner escalated to a much much worse scenario from there. Everyone scattered around the room, Daemon approached Aemond with a sigh “Have you grown so much as to threaten me nephew?”

“It was a mere warning” he began and stepped a few steps away taking y/n’s hands in his who stood there in much fear the entire time. “Should it come to my wife again I will not think twice.” He huffed at his uncle not waiting for any reply with his fingers interlocked with y/n’s as he walked out of the room.

—

Aemond didn’t leave her hand until they reached their shared bedchambers, not shared exactly they barely slept a few nights sharing the bed together. Y/n rushed to the bed with her head dipped between her knees already sobbing uncontrollably. Aemond could talk back and as of now willing to start a war but as a consequence of seeing y/n this way. It shattered his heart. He walked to her bedside gently sitting on his knees beside her he gently brushed her back. “My love” he spoke as y/n continues to cry.

“I’m so sorry” she managed to say in between sobs lifting her head up to look at him.

“What are you apologising for?” He asked as a frown spread across his face. After everything that happened at the supper somehow she managed to find a reason to be guilty of?

“The dinner—what happened if I had j-just been more collected you wouldn’t have had to go against prince Daemon like that I’m really sorry..” she cried more with her head falling into her hands.

“No y/n” he debated for her to stop crying and blaming herself, standing up from the floor to sit close beside her on the bed he wrapped his arms around her from her back covering both her hands in his. “You need to stop blaming yourself for everything-my uncle saw it fit to make inconsiderate comments for your loss and he did it knowingly. Used your state for his jest and mockery. Did you really think I would’ve allowed for that to go on sitting at the same table?” He comforted her as her sobs grew quieter and she rested her head by his shoulders. With a soft peck by her head Aemond hugged her to himself as she dwelled into his embrace.

“My lord?” She spoke with hesitation hating to move away from him but did as Aemond let go off her torso by his arms.

“Aemond, darling.” He corrected her with a smile and she reciprocated that expression. Aemond could tell it wasn’t a forced one out of niceties the way it was at the supper, she smiled the way she did around her favourite books, while walking in the gardens awkwardly when their eyes would meet that godly expression of hers he’d like to see every waking moment.

“Aemond” she corrected herself emphasising and flustered with how nice was being to her, along with the nickname. “Can I ask you for a favour?” again the awkwardness took over her pulling her out of the moment.

“Anything.”

“Do you mind sleeping here for tonight? I understand if you—“

“Of course!” He smiled wide. Aemond understood she wouldn’t like to be all alone and he was much more than happy to be by her side to hold her. He wished to spend all his nights beside her ever since he’d seen her.

—

Tags :D @stuckinaf4nfiction @crownofdecitreadingrespectfully @icarusignite @dumdaradumdaradum @moonmaiden1996 @draganaludoski @tonijpl

Hi feedback and likes are always appreciated let me know if you want to be added to my Aemond list :)

[brokecherry]

guys is this not lucemond ?! like saw this and my brain just went ooooooooooooo my babies🥹

[thedragonbloody]

~ FIRE & LOVE ~

House of the Dragon Fanfic

Synopsis: Some changes happen gradually, others are forced, like a price you pay for living. It is like a sharp blade cutting through the reins we had in our hands, until we realize that we never had any control. To have power is a dangerous thing, but to think you have power is even worse. To think that we can steer fate is an illusion, control is as ephemeral as life itself. And when change happens, we become prisoners of our desires long before death.

House Targaryen could ride dragons, but change was upon them as well. Powerful and imposing, but hostage to their own power. It was so with Valyria and it would be so with the house of the dragon.

The Iron Throne demands a price in blood. Ambitions and internal rivalries grow like weeds into an ember-red future. However in a twist of fate, Rhaella and Vhaelys Velaryon have the potential to avert their family's tempestuous decline.

Rhaella Velaryon with her free spirit is thrust into the perilous plots of fate, magic and the unknown. In the company of rascals, marauders and thieves impossible to capture, the young princess will sweep the sea after monsters and secrets, legends that many did not dare to believe.

And Vhaelys Velaryon and her steadfast loyalty, a portrait of her time and place. Lover of herbal and medicinal plants, she is dedicated to her responsibilities as a princess and her family first of all. The only thing that moves Vhaelys forward is her love for her siblings and her loyalty to her mother Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Moved far beyond blood, both sisters will face the whispers of the court, usurping counselors, imminent tragedies and their own family if needed.

And a love that burns your bones like dragon's fire - so hot and powerful it can change fire and blood.This is an epic story about freedom, courage, hope and love.

A visit to the world of ice and fire, from the secret passages of the Red Keep, into the skies beyond Westeros on the back of a dragon.

Contents: Drama, Romance, Pain, Angst, Hurt, Menace of War, Childhood Love, Sisterhood, Abuse, Blood, Torture, Death, NSFW, Fluff, Depicted Violence, Monsters and Bad words.

On AO3

Chapters: Love? , Prologue , Chpt 1, Chpt 2, Chpt 3, Chpt 4, Chpt 5, Chpt 6

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread series masterlist

completed series summary: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

total series parts: TBD total series word count: TBD

universal warnings: ALL characters aged 18+, Balerion lives AU, Dance of Dragons AU, Blacks win AU, cursing, TBC.

though Balerion is not shown in the shows [ HOTD or GOT ], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: -> this -> this, but this color

in chronological order:

part one: you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent. -> character intro, claiming Balerion, deploying envoys.

read here

part two: after receiving the Dragon Princes, you discuss terms of negotiation and your best mate questions what you will do. Balerion likes lamb. -> receiving the Princes at Highgarden and a little flashforward.

read here

part three: in this week, you find time with Prince Aemond. -> Aemond's part.

read here

part four: in this week, you find time with Prince Jacaerys. -> Jacaerys's part.

read here

part five: aht aht, no spoilers! -> your wedding, the [ redacted ], and how your reaction leads to your first, only, and final battle.

read here

❗️subject to change after author officially finishes writing❗️

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[icarusignite]

Like an old melody, my heart resumes

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: After years apart and with several misunderstandings between them, you meet Prince Daeron at what is meant to be his betrothal feast. When secrets and unspoken desires come to light, you and Daeron are faced with a choice: to let go of the past and embrace a love that has always burned between them or allow your tumultuous history to keep you apart. 

High Valyrian words: 

ñuha rūklon = my flower

kepa = father

Pairing: Daeron x Fem! Reader | (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

A/N: for the lovely @lady-targaryens-world and their request. Thank you, I had so much fun writing this. Daeron is a total sweetheart. I fancast him as Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen cuz he looks like how I imagined Daeron. Hope you like the fic and hope your exams went well 💙💙💙

Word Count: 4K

"What's on your mind, ñuha rūklon?"

Your head snapped up to meet the eyes of Daemon Targaryen as he leaned in the doorway of your room, observing you keenly. You shifted your position on your bed, sitting up straighter against the headboard, careful not to disturb the slumbering brunette whose head lay on your lap.

"Nothing, kepa," you smiled at him.

"You've been distant lately. Ever since news of our travel."

You sighed as your eyes strayed to the crumpled letter in your fist, "Do I have to go Kingslanding, kepa? May I not just stay here, please."

Daemons said your name disapprovingly and gave you a stern look, or tried to anyways, but he was powerless when faced with your mournful eyes pleading with him.

"Your grandsire would feel your absence deeply if you do not go. Not to mention your mother, she would like all her children in one place."

"But-"

"You will have a good time there my little flower, and you will have your brothers to keep you company," he stated firmly before leaving.

You rolled your eyes and huffed in frustration. This trip to King's Landing would be anything but fun. Your parents kept trying to tempt you with tales of festivities and merriment, but all you could think about was that the only reason such an event was even being held in the first place was that he had returned.

Him.

Daeron Targaryen, third son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, your dearest childhood companion, and also the boy who broke your heart. You frowned at the letter in your hand once again, a choked melancholic feeling rising in your throat. It was the last letter he'd ever written to you, dated years ago, and although you had written many ever since then, you never received a reply. It was unfair. He had promised you that he wouldn't forget you, but he had. He had forgotten you within the first year of being sent to Oldtown, and now your parents expected you to attend what would be his betrothal feast with a happy disposition. You could not do it. Although years old, the ache of betrayal still felt fresh.

"You've been frowning an awful lot lately sister," came a sleepy mumbled sound from below you, and you looked down to see your younger brother, Lucerys, looking up at you in concern.

You grinned as you carded your fingers through his hair, "Don't worry your head over it, little Luke."

He rolled his eyes at the nickname and pushed your hand away in annoyance.

"I'm serious. Why are you so sad? Do you really not want to go? If you want I can pretend to be sick and tell Mother that I'm not fit to travel and then you'll have an excuse to stay behind with me."

"You don't have to do that for me, Luke."

"But I would. I don't like it when you're sad."

Your heart swelled with affection for your younger brother and you smiled at him, hands going to brush the hair from his forehead.

"I know you're looking forward to it Luke. You don't have to stay behind for me. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive!"

"Okay," he hesitated before raising his fist in the air. "But if anyone bothers you, you tell me, and I'll duel them!"

A giggle bubbled out of you at his heartfelt exclamation. You pushed his hand back down, thumbing the scar that stretched across the back of it.

"How about we leave the duelling to someone else? Wouldn't want our little prince to get hurt."

"You've got to stop calling me little!" he pouted and you couldn't help pinching his cheeks in affection.

"Oh, but you are little," you cooed. "You're so very little."

Luke grumbled your name sternly, and you laughed again, already in better spirits.

The great hall of King's Landing was ablaze with life and festivity. The air was filled with a symphony of chattering nobles, their voices blending together in a lively hum. The room echoed with laughter, gossip, and the occasional clinking of goblets, creating a vibrant backdrop to the grand event.

The hall itself was a sight to behold. Tall, arched ceilings stretched overhead, adorned with exquisite tapestries depicting scenes of Targaryen history. Soft candlelight bathed the space, casting a warm and inviting glow upon the gathered guests. The flickering flames danced upon the polished surfaces, reflecting in the shimmering armour of knights and the elaborate gowns of noble ladies. Long tables adorned with elaborate centrepieces and sumptuous feasts lined the hall, laden with platters of roasted meats, trays of fresh fruits, and delicate pastries. The tantalizing scents wafted through the air, mingling with the fragrance of perfumes and the rich aromas of fine wines. The air itself seemed to carry a sense of indulgence as if every breath was infused with the anticipation of revelry and celebration. The hopes and aspirations of potential suitors, the desires of ambitious families, and the excitement of a long-awaited reunion all converged in the great hall.

Nobles and courtiers, clad in their finest attire, mingled and exchanged pleasantries. Their colourful garments, embellished with intricate embroidery and delicate jewels, added to the opulence of the scene. Laughter rang out, accompanied by the occasional flirtatious whispers and stolen glances toward the newly arrived young prince.

Prince Daeron Targaryen sat upon the elevated dais, his family flanking him on either side. His presence commanded attention, drawing gazes from all corners of the hall. His posture was impeccable, his back straight and his chin held high, and his eyes scanned the crowd with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. As each of his prospective wives was introduced, Daeron's gaze fixed upon her, his expression charming and polite. He listened attentively to their names and the descriptions of their families, his demeanour respectful and gracious. Though his duty was to find a suitable match, there was a flicker of anticipation in his eyes as if he awaited the presence of someone special.

Just as one particular noble lady was stepping forward to be presented, the herald's voice echoed through the great hall.

"Announcing the arrival of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family!"

The grand entrance of Rhaenyra and her entourage commanded the attention of all present. Daeron's gaze shifted instinctively, his eyes seeking out the captivating figure of his niece. The noble lady, momentarily forgotten, hesitated mid-sentence, her words drowned out by the flurry of excitement and murmurs that filled the hall.

Daeron's heart quickened at the sight of you, his eyes locking with yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. The noble ladies, the festivity, everything paled in comparison to your presence. He had not seen you in years, but the time apart had only enhanced your beauty and grace. Your hair cascaded down your back, framing a face that bore a striking resemblance to the Rogue Prince who led the procession with your mother. Your eyes sparkled with a lively intelligence, and your gentle demeanour held an irresistible allure. That was until your eyes hardened and when your gaze turned away from his with a barely concealed sneer, he felt his heart plummet.

King Viserys Targaryen, seated at the head of the dais, greeted his daughter with a warm and open smile. His eyes lit up with joy and pride as Rhaenyra approached, the years apart momentarily forgotten in the embrace they shared. As Rhaenyra stepped back, her gaze shifted to her father, and the smile that graced his face widened further. The aging king's eyes were drawn to you, his beloved granddaughter, who stood beside her parents. There was a mix of tenderness and nostalgia in his gaze as he took in your features, seeing glimpses of his late wife, Queen Aemma, in them.

When he uttered your name, it was filled with warmth.

"It warms my heart to see you once more. You grow more radiant with each passing day, just as your mother did," he pulled you into an embrace.

"It is an honour to see you again, Grandsire!" you grinned and then presented him with the present you had been working on during your entire journey.

The parchment you handed to him depicted both King Viserys and Queen Alicent. A royal portrait of sorts, done in charcoal. Your grandsire's eyes widened with delight as he took the sketch in his hands. His weathered fingers traced the lines and curves, his expression filled with a mixture of joy and melancholy.

"Oh, my dearest," he said, his voice tinged with emotion, "this is a gift beyond measure."

He then turned to his wife, who stood by his side, and held up the sketch for her to see. A smile adorned her lips as she admired the work, her eyes shimmering with affection as she thanked you.

Eventually, the clamour subsided and Rhaenyra and her family took their seats at the grand table, finding their places on the dais. By some twist of fate, you found yourself seated between Daeron and your brother Jace. You settled into your seat and turned yourself so that you were facing your brother mostly, wanting to avoid speaking to your uncle for as long as you could.

Once everyone had been seated, King Viserys stood again, raising his goblet high to catch the attention of all those gathered in the grand hall. The room fell silent, and the flickering candlelight reflected in his eyes, revealing a mix of pride, nostalgia, and a touch of sadness.

"My esteemed guests, noble lords and ladies. Tonight, we celebrate not only the return of my son, Prince Daeron Targaryen but also his journey of growth and learning in Oldtown. By the end of tonight's event, it is my fervent hope that Daeron shall find a bride, a woman who will stand by his side as he takes his rightful place in the realm. Let this be an occasion for new beginnings and the forging of alliances that shall strengthen House Targaryen and the Seven Kingdoms."

Your heart sank at your grandfather's words. The affirmation that Daeron's search for a bride was the purpose of this grand celebration struck you with a wave of unexpected pain but you pushed it away and kept a placid smile pasted on your face. You turned your attention to your brother, seemingly engrossed in conversation with his own betrothed, Baela.

"Jace, my dearest brother," you whispered, nudging him with your elbow.

Jace turned to you with a raised eyebrow, "What is it now? You're being suspiciously polite."

"I am always polite, how dare you?"

"You want something, don't you? C'mon spit it out, what is it?"

You grinned, "May I borrow your handkerchief? My hands are in desperate need of cleansing from the clutches of charcoal."

"You shouldn't have been scribbling away then," he eyed your stained hands with amusement.

"Oh, come on. Please," you begged, tugging at his sleeve.

"But I just had it washed."

"Oh, brother, surely you can spare your dear sister a clean handkerchief to save her from the grips of artistic messiness. Think of it as an act of kindness."

Jace huffed, reluctantly reaching into his pocket and producing the handkerchief, "Fine, but promise me you won't turn it into another work of art."

"I would never do that!"

"Mhmm, and what happened to the last few I lent to you?"

"I don't even have any drawing instruments right now. I promise, dear brother, it shall remain unscathed. You have my word."

You accepted the handkerchief with a grateful nod, laughter bubbling forth at the sight of Jace's disgruntled expression. With a swift and discreet motion, you wiped away the charcoal smudges, returning your hands to their former cleanliness. You handed the handkerchief back to your brother, who grumbled good-naturedly, but with a playful glimmer in his eyes.

As Daeron watched you engage in laughter and conversation with your siblings, a pang of hurt settled within his chest. The tinge of disappointment lingered as he longed for your attention and connection and the weight of his unspoken emotions was not lost on his older brother, Aegon.

Aegon, noticing Daeron's gaze fixed on you, couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him. He leaned closer, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and nudged Daeron playfully.

"You seem awfully distracted, dear brother. Is it the beautiful ladies or something else that's caught your eye?"

"It's nothing, I'm just lost in thought."

"Lost in thought about a certain someone, perhaps?" Aegon teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Daeron scowled, "Leave it, Aegon."

"Well, well, dear brother, it seems our enchanting niece has indeed stolen your attention. You've had your eye on her since she arrived."

Daeron's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. He tried to deflect Aegon's teasing, but the slight quirk of his brother's eyebrow told him that Aegon wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.

"I said leave it, Aegon. It's none of your business," he muttered defensively, forcing his eyes away from where they lingered on the curve of your jaw.

"All right, all right. I won't tease you anymore. But I have to admit, I think she is quite lovely myself."

Daeron gave him a withering look, making him laugh even harder. He took a swig from his goblet of wine and leaned in close.

"You know, you have this entire hall of ladies to choose from. I don't think you should mind if I were to take a liking to our dear niece here."

"Don't you dare-"

"Don't be selfish, dear brother."

"Aegon," Daeron warned.

Aegon leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk, "Well, if that's the case, then you might wish to speak to her yourself. This feast may have been held to find you a wife, but she sure is garnering a lot of attention."

He gestured to the various noble lords and knights who had their eyes fixed on your graceful movements. Daeron turned his attention back to the banquet in annoyance, choosing to ignore the surge of jealousy that rose within him. He watched you laugh with a scowl on his face. He wanted to be the one making you smile like that, to be the one sitting next to you and sharing in your conversation, but you were pretending as though he didn't even exist, never once meeting his gaze, no matter how desperately he sought you out.

As Daeron sat there, nursing his wounded pride, a group of noble ladies approached him with flirtatious smiles and sparkling eyes. Their gowns swirled around them as they curtsied and extended their hands, inviting him to join them.

One of the ladies, a vivacious brunette with a playful tone, spoke up, her voice laced with excitement, "Prince Daeron, would you do us the honour of sharing a dance with us?"

Daeron glanced at the ladies, his initial reluctance warring with the desire to distract himself from his lingering disappointment. With a sigh, he relented and rose from his seat, offering a polite smile.

"I would be delighted, ladies. Allow me to make this evening memorable for us all."

You watched him leave, a mix of bitterness and sadness welling up within you. You had expected this, but now as you witnessed him embracing the company of other ladies, you couldn't help the surge of tears that forced their way into your eyes. You scolded yourself inwardly for feeling this way, knowing you had no right to claim his attention solely for yourself.

Berating yourself, you forced a smile and attempted to push your discontent aside. You knew that Daeron was at the age where a potential wife was being sought for him. These noble ladies, giggling and vying for his attention, were merely following the customs of courtship as they tried to make themselves as appealing as possible to him. Each attempted to capture his interest with their charms, their eyes sparkling with hope. They swirled around him, showcasing their graceful movements and engaging in light-hearted banter.

Daeron, despite his initial reluctance, allowed himself to be swept into the dance, making polite conversation and offering charming smiles to each lady in turn. He appreciated their efforts and acknowledged their beauty, but his heart remained distant, his thoughts still preoccupied with you. He thought he caught your gaze from across the room, but he couldn't be sure and he didn't want to delude himself into thinking that you actually cared.

It was only the trembling of your lips that gave you away and when you discreetly excused yourself to rush out of the great hall, Daeron abandoned his dance partner mid-step and made his way swiftly towards you. The noble ladies he left behind exchanged confused glances, their voices hushed in curiosity as they watched him break away from their company. He followed the path you had taken, emerging into one of the adjoining dimly lit corridors where you stood with your back toward him. Your shoulder shook as you clamped your hands over your mouth to stifle the sob building inside.

Daeron stood at a distance, not sure what to do or say. You must have sensed his presence though, because you straightened your back and quickly brushed away any lingering tears before turning to give him your brightest smile.

"My prince. Should you not be back in the great hall? You know, dancing with your future wife?"

Daeron frowned, "What future wife?"

"One of those ladies is meant to be your future wife, isn't she? So shouldn't you be spending time with her?" you snapped.

In the solitude of the corridor, Daeron's eyes flickered with hurt as your words cut through him. He had hoped for a warm reunion, a chance to express his feelings and seek understanding. Instead, he found himself facing your unexpected harshness.

"Is that what you truly want? To see me dance with others while you remain distant? Can you not find it in your heart to tell me why you're upset? Why you've been avoiding me?" he pleaded.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean!"

"How am I supposed to know when you won't say anything!"

A fresh wave of tears welled up in your eyes. How dare he be this audacious. He was pretending to be oblivious.

"You think I've been avoiding you? That I've willingly chosen to keep my distance? Perhaps you should look inward, Daeron. You never responded to a single one of the letters I wrote to you. You went to Oldtown and forgot all about me!" your voice broke, the tears running freely down your face now.

"Letters?"

"Do not pretend not to know!"

Daeron rushed toward you, entwining his fingers with yours, eyes boring into yours as he said your name.

"What letters? I swear I never received any letters. I thought it was you who had forgotten about me."

"Liar! I do not care if you did not care enough to respond but at least do not be a coward and pretend not to know about them altogether."

"Listen-"

"It doesn't even matter," you interrupted, wrenching your hands away from him. "I stopped writing last year, anyways."

"You...you wrote to me for six years?" Daeron's voice was soft in disbelief.

"What, is that supposed to be surprising? Not all of us can be callous and cruel like you. You were my friend, of course I wrote to you!"

Daeron took your hand once again, placing it on his chest so that you could feel his racing heartbeat, voice tinged with desperation.

"I swear on all the gods, the old and the new, that I never received a single one of your letters. I would never willingly ignore you or dismiss your words. Please, you have to believe me."

"Stop! Just, stop," you pleaded. "Go back to your dancing and select a wife from amongst the ladies grandsire has chosen for you."

You wanted to believe Daeron, to let go of the resentment that had consumed you, but the wounds ran deep, and trust was a fragile thread between you two.

"Why would I lie about this?" he implored again, stepping closer. "I have spent every moment longing for you, questioning why you had grown distant. If I had known about your letters, I would have responded, you know that."

"I find that I do not know you at all, so forgive me for disagreeing."

"Do not say that. Please do not say that. I have loved you since we were children!" Daeron's words came tumbling out of his mouth, making both of you freeze.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening at his confession. Your anger and doubt began to crumble, replaced by a mix of astonishment and a glimmer of hope. You listened intently, heart yearning for the words you had always longed to hear.

"I cannot imagine marrying any of those women in the grand hall," he continued, his voice earnest. "Not when my heart has always been set on you. You are the one I have dreamed of, the one who has occupied my thoughts and fueled my hopes. Please, believe me when I say that you are the one I want to spend my life with."

Your breath was shaky as you struggled to absorb the weight of Daeron's confession.

"I... I don't know what to say," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and bewilderment.

"Say you feel the same way. Say you love me too," he begged.

"I...you truly meant what you said?'

"I have never meant anything more in my entire life," he gently brushed away the tears from your cheeks, his touch filled with tenderness. "I understand your doubts and fears. But I want you to know that I am committed to proving my love to you, to mending what has been broken between us. I will do whatever it takes to earn your trust again and make you feel cherished."

"I...I don't know."

Daeron nodded, his eyes filled with unwavering patience and determination.

"I will give you all the time you need. I will be here, waiting for you, for all of eternity, if that is what it takes. Just know that you hold my heart in the palm of your hands, and nothing will change that."

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped your lips as you met his desperate gaze.

"I do not think you have all of eternity, my prince. Grandsire expects you to be betrothed before the night is up."

"Whether or not I am betrothed by the end of tonight depends entirely on the lady I hope to be betrothed to. The decision is hers entirely."

You sniffled, "And who might such a lucky lady be?"

Daeron thumbed your cheekbone affectionately, tracing his fingers up your jaw and then settling them to cup your face. His other hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer.

"There will never be another lady. Not when I belong to you wholly."

You sighed, leaning into his touch with your eyes closed. When you opened them, you were met with his startling intensity.

"I suppose I might be inclined to accept," you murmured, arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

His lips curled upward in a beam, "Is that a yes then?"

"Yes."

Daeron paused for a moment, his lips a hairsbreadth from yours, giving you a chance to pull away, before they met yours in a gentle kiss. Your lips moved in perfect harmony, a dance of affection and yearning. As your kiss deepened, Daeron's arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if afraid to let go, his body pressing you into the cool stone wall behind you.

When you pulled away eventually, he pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes reverently as he whispered in the space where your breaths mingled.

"I am yours. I will be yours for all of eternity."

[dirtytransmasc]

every time I see those time travel fix-it fics, where in some way Alicent gets a do-over, typically going without having her children, I wonder how badly she wants her children back in her arms, if she ever wishes to go back to how things were, if only to have her babies.

they were her life, she loved them more than she could ever understand, more than she could ever show them, so to give them up must be agony. she could have more kids, call them the same names, they could be the same or similar, but they aren't her kids, they aren't the ones she lost, the ones who suffered with her, who deserved this second chance at life.

I would imagine she mourns them.

[bellofthemeadow]

Dawn Ends the Night | Chapter 2

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 6.1k

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: As you arrive in King's Landing, you realise that the city is in even worst shape than you ever could have thought. When you are face with a deadly situation, will you be saved in time?

Notes: Hello everyone! I hope you all had lovely holidays, for me this time of year is always bittersweet as it is close to the date of my dad's passing away. But it was still lovely to have some time off (for the first time ever I am working somewhere which closes during the holiday season!!!) And if you do not celebrate any holidays, I hope you had a very lovely regular week doing something that gave you some joy 💚

I finally had time to sit down and finish this chapter (the longest so far!) I hope you all enjoy it, I am not really good with action scenes, but I am trying to get better at it and I know that the more I work at it the better I will become. I feel like some part of it might feel a bit rush, but I wanted to finish the chapter and go into more details in the next one.

Once again, thank you to everyone who commented, relogged and liked my work, I appreciate you all so so much. If you want to be added to the taglist lmk, and if I forgot to add you, lmk and I will remediate to that right away. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! 💜💜💜

Love you all

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts

My dearest friend,  

When Father returned from Starfall, my heart sank. Not only had he visited you, my soul's companion, without a whisper of it to me, but the reason... oh, the reason cuts far deeper. To hear that you, my most cherished friend, are to be wed to a Targaryen whelp is nothing short of a cruel jest. Had I been the ruling Princess of Dorne, never would I let you be torn from our sun-kissed lands to that pit of treachery. 

Father speaks of alliances, of securing our houses' futures, but what of your heart? Your laughter? If such a future means dimming the light in your eyes, I say let the sands of Dorne turn to glass in dragonfire before I witness your spirit fade. Give me but a sign, my beloved friend, and I will defy the world to bring you back to where you belong. I will hide you away in the lush secrecy of the library of Sunspear, our childhood haven, where no prying eyes could ever dream of finding you. 

Never forget, you are the other half of my soul. Wherever you go, my spirit will be entwined with yours, ever ready to rise in your defense, to be your shelter, to protect your heart.  

With all my love,  

Your Aliandra 

Princess of Dorne.  

Gently, you kiss the letter, feeling the delicate texture of the paper against your lips before pressing it close to your heart. It's a small comfort, a tangible piece of Aliandra you can hold onto. The pain of leaving without a proper farewell to her gnawed at you, a regret that lies heavy in your chest. You were torn apart so suddenly, with no chance for one last embrace, no opportunity to exchange final words that might have eased the ache of your separation. 

As the cart lurches over a rough patch on the brick road, it jostled your mother awake from her peaceful doze across from you. Watching her, you envy her momentary escape from worry. Your thoughts, however, are clouded with the fear that you might never see Aliandra again, casting a pall over the passing scenery that blurs outside the cart's window. 

“The road is getting more unsteady. It is a wonder horses and carts are not toppling over all the time.” your father grumbled from your mother side as he puts her back solid in her seat.   

"Given that King's Landing is the largest city in Westeros, it's not surprising," you mused aloud. "The roads bear the weight of countless travelers. Without regular maintenance, they are bound to deteriorate more quickly than those in quieter regions." 

The news of your circumstance had unfolded all too swiftly. From the moment you were informed about the arrangement to wed prince Aemond Targaryen, you had anticipated some months to come to terms with the idea. Yet, fate allowed no such luxury. Barely a fortnight had elapsed before you found yourself, alongside your parents and younger brother, embarking on the long journey away from the familiar comforts of your home. The swiftness of it all left you reeling, with nothing to tether you to yourself other than Aliandra’s letter. 

The fortnight following the announcement of your betrothal was a blur of melancholy. You spent most of it confined within the wheelhouse, gazing listlessly at the world transforming outside its windows. The familiar sandy dunes of your homeland soon gave way to the verdant, rolling hills of the Reach. The air was thick with the scents of fragrant flowers and sweet honey, an assault on your senses accustomed to the arid desert air filled with spices and sweet blooming oranges.  

By the end of the second week, you had developed a certain aversion to the Reach; everything was too lush, too green. It was also no secret that Dornishmen were viewed with skepticism here. Truthfully, this sentiment seemed to extend across Westeros, where your customs were considered peculiar and too promiscuous, your traditions alien, and your gods too lenient.  

With each mile that brought you nearer to King's Landing, another mile stretched between you and your home. You tried not to dwell on the past, yet occasionally found yourself gazing wistfully out the back of the wheelhouse, eyes tracing the path that led home. In those moments, a quiet hope flickered within you, a wish for your father to suddenly steer the carriage around and return to the familiar embrace of your homeland. But such thoughts were the whims of a child, and you were no longer that - you were a woman grown, bound by duty and family. 

Your brother's lively banter abruptly drew you out of your pensive state. Turning towards him, you saw him nestled snugly in your mother's embrace, his tiny forehead receiving a shower of gentle kisses from her. His eyes, bright and curious, were wide open following his nap, which had likely been disrupted by the jostling ride over the capital's unevenly paved roads. He seemed to be bubbling with excitement, his small hands pointing animatedly towards the window, captivated by the new sights as your wheelhouse neared the imposing gates of King's Landing. 

As the procession drew closer, the stern-faced gold cloaks at the gate were methodically examining each entrant. The presence of the knights accompanying your family, a small but formidable escort clad in armor and ready for any threat, was a reassuring sight amidst the bustling activity at the gates. Upon spotting your family's sigil of the white fallen star set against a deep purple background, the gold cloaks' expressions subtly shifted. It wasn't a look of welcome but rather one of begrudging acknowledgment. They seemed to recognize the necessity of allowing your party entry but did so without enthusiasm or warmth. With a barely perceptible nod, they allowed your group to pass through the gates. It was a reluctant concession, one that made it clear that while your arrival might be expected, the arrival of a Dornish retinue was not exactly celebrated in the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. 

After your carriage was waved through into the city, your brother's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Sister, is this where you're going to live forever?" he asked with wide-eyed curiosity. 

 "Yes, Gerris, it seems this will be my new home," you replied, trying to mask your apprehension with a serene tone. From the corner of your eye, you caught your mother's melancholic expression. "Gerris, give your sister some space," she cautioned gently. "She's about to meet the man she will marry and needs time to prepare herself in peace." 

"I've had plenty of time to think these past weeks while stuck in this wheelhouse Mother," you interjected softly, "I'd welcome a distraction from my charming little brother right now." Gerris' face lit up at your invitation. He wriggled out of your mother's arms and settled beside you, eagerly pointing out every new sight he saw outside. 

As Gerris animatedly described every novel sight outside the window, your mind wandered slightly, though you kept nodding and smiling at his observations. The reality outside was a stark contrast to his cheerful words. The streets were filled with people whose life seemed to be a daily struggle, their worn-out garments telling stories of hardship. The smell of the city was overpowering, a pungent mixture of waste, overcrowding, and something harder to define — perhaps the desperation of those trying to survive in the capital. The stench made you miss the pungent smell of roses of the Reach, at least people were not starving there.  

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, jostling everyone inside and causing a chaotic tumble of limbs. From outside, a cacophony of shouting voices penetrated the carriage walls. Curiosity piqued, you attempted to peer out of the small side window for a better look, but your father's quick movement halted you. With a firm gesture, he signaled for you to remain seated, his expression stern and alert. 

Meanwhile, your brother's lower lip began to tremble with the sudden scare, and he quickly buried himself in your mother's embrace. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, offering a comforting shield against the confusion and noise outside.  

"Stay in the carriage, all of you!" your father commanded, his voice tense with urgency. 

"But Father, I—" you began, only to be cut off. 

"Stay inside!" he reiterated sharply. "I'll return shortly. We're strangers in this city, and I need you to be strong, my little star. Take care of your mother and brother for me." With these words, your father quickly opened the carriage door and stepped out, moving swiftly towards the source of the disturbance. 

From the corner of your eye, through the small gap as the door swung shut, you caught a glimpse of the chaos outside. About 100 meters ahead, a blockade of overturned carts sprawled across the road. As you sighed, offering Gerris a strained, reassuring smile, you couldn't help but notice his tight grip on your mother. "It's just some overturned carts, Gerris. Nothing to worry about," you murmured, but your heart was heavy with unspoken fears. Watching your little brother, you realized the innocence he still held, a stark contrast to the burdens you had borne from when you were his age. 

Gerris managed a timid smile, yet the sight only deepened your sorrow. He would one day need to don the armor of a lord, to face the harsh realities of ruling a strong ancient seat like Starfall. You quickly brushed aside the thought, reminding yourself he was merely five summers old. Still, a painful realization crept in – he had time to be a child, a luxury you were never afforded. 

"When were you ever just a child?" the bitter voice in your mind accused. "Always groomed to be the perfect future lady of Starfall, diligent in your studies until they decided you were no longer needed." The realization felt like a tightening vice around your chest, each breath becoming more labored. 

"I... I need air!" The words escaped your lips in a choked gasp, tears threatening to spill over. 

"Wait..." Your mother's voice, laced with worry, reached out to stop you as you lunged for the door. "Your father said..." 

"I know what Father said!" you snapped, the words sharper than intended. Pulling your arm free from your mother’s grasp, "I'm just going to stand outside the door. Nothing will happen. I... I just need a moment alone!" With that, you pushed the door open, desperate for a few breaths of fresh air and a brief escape from the confines of the carriage. 

You slammed the carriage door behind you, effectively silencing your mother's protests that echoed faintly through the wood. Taking a moment for yourself, you closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, each breath an attempt to soothe the turmoil within and restore your composure. When you finally opened your eyes, you saw your father in conversation afar with a gold cloak. The guard's expression was one of indifference, seemingly unimpressed by whatever your father was explaining. Your father was a foreigner to them, you were a foreigner, and you knew deep in your heart that you would always remain a foreigner in these people’s hearts.  

After taking several steadying breaths, you let your gaze drift across the bustling scene. Women hurried by their dresses worn and their eyes weary, each absorbed in their own world of tasks and toils. Nearby, men argued loudly over some trivial matter, their voices blending into the city's cacophony. Merchants hawked their wares, each vying for the attention of passersby. 

Across the walkway, a small market caught your attention. Among the various stalls, one in particular stood out with its display of brightly colored silk pieces. Glancing back at your father, you noticed he was still engaged in a seemingly fruitless discussion with the gold cloak. Making a quick decision, you shrugged and stealthily made your way toward the silk stand, evading the guards that had remained near the carriage. It would be a brief detour, you reasoned. You'd have time to explore this little slice of the city and return before the carriage was ready to continue towards the castle. 

You approached the stall, immediately drawn to the array of silk pieces displayed in a riot of colors, from a brilliant azure to a deep orange reminiscent of a breathtaking sunset. 

The shopkeeper, a portly man with a twirling mustache and a shiny forehead partly concealed under a vivid purple cap, noticed your interest. "Find anything to your liking, m'lady?" he asked with a friendly twinkle in his eyes. 

"These silks are quite stunning," you remarked, admiring the craftsmanship. "Your selection is impressive." 

The man leaned forward, curiosity lighting up his face. "Ah, I detect an accent there! From Dorne, aren't ya, m'lady?" he inquired. 

You offered a hesitant smile. "Quite perceptive, good ser. I hail from the Torrentine region." 

"Dorne's a land of beauty, no doubt about that. Shame about the recent troubles, though," he mused. "My wife, Margy, often says them highborns complicate life more than necessary. But when you meet a girl as pretty as you’self, you wonder, why even go to war eh!?" He raised an eyebrow in a playful, flirtatious gesture, eliciting a light chuckle from you. 

"I hope the rest of King's Landing shares your open-mindedness and hospitality," you said, still smiling. 

"For a lady as charming as yourself? I'm sure you'll find plenty of warm welcomes here," he reassured. 

"Are you originally from King's Landing?" you inquired. 

 "Indeed, born and raised in this very city," he beamed. "Left as a lad to see the world, ended up in Myr where I got into the silk trade. Met my Margy there, and we returned to set up shop. The war in the Stepstones made things difficult, but we're getting back on our feet now." 

A pang of sadness hit you. "I'm sorry. I know Dorne played a role in that conflict, one that might not have been favorable for your business." 

He waved off your concern. "Don't you worry about that, m'lady. You didn't make those decisions, did you? We all just play the hand we're dealt." 

Your laughter lit the air. "I suppose not. Nonetheless, please accept my apologies on behalf of Dorne." 

"I'll do you one better," he proposed, "I'll accept your apology if you accept one of my silk scarves." 

"Oh, I couldn't possibly impose," you demurred. 

"It'd be my pleasure, m'lady. Perhaps you could show it off at court? It's not every day a future princess visits my stall." 

"And how did you guess my identity?" you asked, amused by his astuteness. 

"HAHA, we don't see many Dornish ladies of your stature around here. I recognized you the moment you approached my stall," he chuckled. 

“Well, if I am to accept your offer, may I know the name of the kind gentleman who extends it?" you inquired with a teasing smile. 

“The name’s Dougas m’lday, pleased to make the acquaintance of such a’ pretty princess!”   

"Thank you, Ser Dougas," you said sweetly. "By any chance, do you have a scarf with some purple and white?" 

__________________ 

As you perused Dougas's collection of silk scarves, you found yourself hesitating. Each scarf, while beautiful, didn't quite match the calming purple hue you had in mind. They were either too bright or too dull, never hitting that perfect shade. Dougas, however, seemed unfazed by your indecision, confident that somewhere within his stock lay the exact color you were seeking. 

While you sifted through the vibrant array of fabrics, the carriage remained stuck amid the traffic caused by the overturned carts. This gave you the luxury of time to carefully consider each option. Just as you were about to decide, a loud cry from the market abruptly interrupted your thoughts, drawing your attention away from the scarves and making you turn toward the noise.  

A small figure caught your eye amidst the commotion – a boy, no older than Gerris, but his appearance was marked by the harshness of what life in Knig’s Landing is like for those less fortunate. He was clad in threadbare rags that hung loosely on his small frame, and his hair, a dirty mousy brown, was tousled and unkempt. His young face, smudged with grime, bore the unmistakable look of poverty, likely a young resident of Flea Bottom. 

You recalled a lesson from your tutor back in Starfall, whose words now echoed in your mind: "In King's Landing, especially in places like Flea Bottom, you'll witness the depths of despair and poverty. Crime there is often a byproduct of extreme circumstances. Remember, my lady, those driven to such acts are often at the edge of their humanity, their moral compass skewed by hunger and desperation. Our response to their plight, whether it is one of disdain or compassion, is a testament to our own humanity." 

" ‘Tis young Davos again," Dougas murmured with a heavy sigh, his eyes following the small boy struggling in the firm grasp of a gold cloak. "Second time this week he's been caught stealing. They'll likely make an example of him now." 

As the boy writhed and squirmed against the guard's unyielding hold, you scanned the crowd. Indifference was the prevailing response; some onlookers snickered; others deliberately looked away. The merchant who had been the victim of the theft was loudly demanding justice, his voice filled with frustration and anger. 

A growing sense of anxiety began to pulse within you. The ease of being a passive observer, of being the Ghost who roamed the hallways of Starfall and who murmured sweet nothings in the ears of Aliandra, now felt uncomfortably inadequate here in the bustling streets of King's Landing. 

Without another thought, you grabbed hold of a beautiful purple silk scarf from Dougas's stall, its intricate white threadwork catching your eye. "I'll take this one, thank you, Dougas," you said quickly, laying some gold coins on the counter. "And please, accept this if not as payment, as an apology for any hardship Dorne's actions in the Stepstone may have caused you." 

With a brief nod, Dougas acknowledged your gesture. But your attention was already elsewhere. You turned swiftly, making your way towards the commotion. The boy's small feet kicked futilely in the air as he tried to free himself from the gold cloak's grip. 

"Let him go! He's just a child!" The shrillness of your own voice surprised you, piercing through the market's din with an urgency you had never expressed before. 

Both the gold cloak and the boy snapped their heads towards you. In that brief moment of distraction, the boy seized his chance, delivering a sharp kick to the guard's shin. The guard winced but, recovering quickly, caught the boy by his dirty, tangled hair, yanking him back with such force that a pained cry escaped the boy's lips. 

"Stay out of this, wench! This isn't your affair!" the guard sneered at you. 

"This boy's been thieving from me for weeks!" the merchant screeched, still in the throes of his tirade. "He needs to be taught a lesson!" 

You strode determinedly towards the merchant, your resolve steeling. "And what? He deserves to be beaten? Killed, perhaps, because he stole from you? Look at him – he's just skin and bones, starving!" 

Reaching into your purse, you pulled out ten gold dragons. "Will this cover what he owes?" you asked, extending the coins towards the merchant. His eyes, greedy and calculating, fixated on the gold. "It'll do... for now. But if I see him near my stall again, no amount of gold will stop me from dealing with him myself, you hear that, boy?" 

You whirled towards the guard, your voice firm. "Didn't you hear? Let the boy go this instant!" Yet, the guard only tightened his grip on the boy's hair, drawing another pained cry. "Please, help," the boy whimpered. 

"You think I'll just let him go because that fat merchant said so?" the guard scoffed. "I am the law ‘round here, and it's my call who gets punished. This boy is nothing but a common thief and I’ll serve him the king’s justice as I see fit, so stay outta it!" 

"If it's money you're after, then I can pay," you offered, desperation creeping into your voice. "Would 10 gold dragons suffice, for the boy’s life?" But the guard only sneered in response. "You think you can bribe a member of the gold cloaks? Your money means nothing to me." 

With a harsh shove, he pushed the boy to the ground, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. Then, turning his attention to you, the guard advanced with a menacing leer. You suddenly felt like prey – you recalled the time your father took you fox hunting in the desert. Back then, you were the hunter, patiently pursuing your quarry. But now, here in the heart of King's Landing, you were the cornered fox, vulnerable and exposed, ready to be killed. 

Your eyes scanned the crowd, seeking an ally, but found none. Dougas's concerned gaze met yours, and you could tell he was contemplating stepping in. Yet, with a subtle shake of your head, you silently implored him not to intervene. This was your battle; you couldn't bear the thought of anyone else suffering for the situation you had escalated. But only a look at little Davos whimpering on the ground and you knew you had made the right choice, you could not just stand by and see this little boy suffer for the sick amusement of this guard.  

"Then what do you want in exchange for the boy's freedom?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. The guard stepped closer, alarmingly close, and insolently grabbed a strand of your long hair, taking a deep, unsettling sniff. A shiver of revulsion ran down your spine. "I fought in the last Dornish war, you know, little lady? I can spot a Dornish whore a mile away." He yanked your hair painfully. "I know your kind are loose and easy. So, prove how badly you want the boy freed. Satisfy me, and maybe I'll let him go." 

The guard was so close that the foul stench of sour wine on his breath was overwhelming you. Without thinking, you slapped him hard across the face. "Don't you dare touch me!" you shouted. "Do you have any idea who I am?" 

"I know exactly what you are," he sneered, reaching for your throat. "A self-important little Dornish slut." But before he could tighten his grip, he suddenly crumpled to his knees. Little Davos, wielding a sizable rock, had struck him from behind. 

"Come on, lady, we gotta run!" Davos urged, but you stood frozen, overwhelmed by the chaos and the unfamiliarity of your surroundings. The fond memories of Starfall's serene dawns, the fragrant lemon air, and Aliandra's gentle touch over your body seemed like distant dreams, replaced by foul a foul stinking stench, crying little boys and discussing greasy hands tugging your hair and pressing upon your throat.  

As the gold cloak staggered to his feet, spewing obscenities, you instinctively grabbed Davos, positioning him protectively behind you. "Stay behind me; I'll protect you," you asserted, but the boy refused to stay put, instead wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. With one arm, you held him close, while with your other hand, you braced yourself as the guard drew his sword and pointed it at you.  

“YOU STUPID FUCKING WHORE! YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST SUCKED MY COCK WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE!” The guard was purple in the face from all his screaming, you tightened your arm around Davos who was weeping, his tears wetting your gauzy skirt. “I’m gonna enjoy killing the boy, but I am going to enjoy dealing with you even more, you Dornish slut!” The guard raised his sword to your neck and let it drop to your cleavage, pushing your dress down and revealing the top of your breast, “You imma strip naked in front of everyone, then I am gonna give you the beatin’ your daddy should have given to the little bitch that you are, and I am gonna show everyone what happens when someone dares to disrespect the gold cloak!”  

Your heart pounded in your chest as the guard menacingly dragged his sword across your chest, not deep enough to draw blood but enough to make you squirm, the cruel glint in his eyes holding your gaze as he toyed with you. Paralyzed with fear, you desperately wanted to urge Davos to run, to escape this nightmare, but you knew you couldn't - it would only put him in more danger. 

A wave of despair washed over you. You had thought you could make a difference, naively believed that you could help this little boy. But now, you realized just how misguided you had been. What a foolish idiot to think that you could go against an armed guard. "I'm so sorry," you whispered to Davos, your voice trembling. Gently, you stroked his hair, pulling him as close to you as possible, a futile shield against the imminent threat. 

Davos lifted his eyes to meet yours, and you found yourself looking into deep, warm pools of brown, brimming with tears. In his gaze, there was an unmistakable look of trust and love, as if you were the Mother reborn. Despite the layers of grime on his face, his still soft youthful features were still apparent – the rounded fullness of his cheeks and the small, upturned nose. After a moment of shared eye contact, laden with unspoken understanding and fear, he buried his face back into the fabric of your skirt, his grip around you tightening as if to say, “It's alright you did your best.”  In that moment, you steeled yourself, determined to stand your ground. If it came to it, you would fight, not just for yourself, but for this boy who had shown more bravery than anyone else you had ever known. Your eyes remained fixed on the guard, refusing to look away. If this was to be your end, you would face it head-on, protecting Davos to your very last breath. 

You clenched your teeth, “You better do your worst you piece of shit, because if I get up, you certainly won’t!”  

The guard menacingly lifted his sword, a sinister glint in his eye. "Perhaps I'll start with you," he sneered, "Let the boy watch." 

In a desperate attempt to shield Davos from the impending horror, you whispered urgently, "Don't look." You braced for the blow, but it never landed. What happened next was a blur of motion – one moment, the guard was poised to strike; the next, he was howling in agony, clutching the bleeding stump where his hand had been. His severed hand, still gripping the sword, lay on the ground beside him. He crumpled to the ground, his cries piercing the air, as chaos erupted around you. 

Clutching Davos tightly, you frantically scanned the crowd, hoping against hope that your father had noticed your absence and come searching for you, perhaps with some of the guards in tow. But amidst the onlookers, there was no sign of the familiar soft purple that marked your family's entourage. 

Then, your gaze locked with the most striking eyes, well eye you had ever seen – a deep, piercing sapphire. The owner of this mesmerizing eye was the most handsome man you had ever encountered, wielding a bloodstained sword. Standing a few paces behind him was a man with distinct Dornish features, garbed in a white cloak. The identity of the younger man became unmistakably clear as you noted his long silver hair and the distinctive eye patch. Prince Aemond Targaryen, your betrothed, stood before you, the very person who had just saved your life. 

Your breath hitched, and your heart raced as Prince Aemond held your gaze. There was a steely intensity in his eye that seemed to harden further when he took in your disheveled state and the small figure of Davos, who now timidly peeked out from behind the folds of your skirt to witness the unfolding scene. 

The wounded guard writhed on the ground, his voice a mix of pain and anger. "My Prince, why?!" he moaned, clutching the bleeding stump of his arm. "That Dornish whore insulted the royal guard! She must be punished." But Prince Aemond's response was non-existent; his intense gaze remained fixed on you, causing your breath to quicken and a familiar warmth started to pool inside your belly.  

For several agonizing seconds, the only sound was the guard's plaintive moans for help. Finally, Prince Aemond broke the charged silence. Tearing his gaze from yours, he delivered a forceful kick to the guard's abdomen, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. 

"Ser Criston," he commanded, and the Dornish-looking man behind him immediately snapped to attention. "Remove this filth from my sight. Make sure he serves as an example to others." 

His voice was deep and resonant, wrapping around you like velvet. Meanwhile, the guard's pleas escalated into a panicked babble as Ser Criston roughly hauled him up by the collar. "No, no, no," the guard stammered desperately. "The whore disrespected me! The boy's a thief! I was only giving them what they deserved. I did nothing wrong!" 

"Watch your tongue, you wretch!" Ser Criston's voice thundered, thick with disdain. "You dare insult a future princess of the realm, the betrothed of Prince Aemond Targaryen!" 

The guard's demeanor crumbled into desperation, his eyes brimming with tears. "I... I didn't know, please! I swear, if I had known, I would have never acted so... Please, forgive me!" His voice cracked with fear and panic. 

Ser Criston started dragging the guard away, and he turned his wild, frightened eyes towards you, pleading. "You have to believe me; I didn't mean any harm by it! I didn't know who you were!" All you could smell was the sour wine and all you could see was Davos scared brown eyes.  

"Wait, Ser Criston." Your attention immediately shifted to Prince Aemond at his commanding tone. He stood, resolute, beside the severed hand, still gripping the sword, exuding an aura of calm authority. His posture was impeccably straight, hands clasped behind his back in a stance of dignified composure. He then turned his gaze towards you, and there was a discernible edge in his voice, a mix of curiosity and challenge, as he spoke. "The affront was directed at my betrothed. It is only fitting that she decides his fate." The words, though spoken casually, carried the weight of a test, his single eye fixed on you with an intensity that belied the nonchalant sneer. 

The weight of every gaze in the vicinity pressed upon you. Davos gazed up with innocent eyes, still clinging to you for safety. Dougas, from his stall, looked on in horror at the unfolding drama, and the crowd around you had swelled, drawn by the prospect of witnessing a spectacle involving a prince of the realm – a rarity in the city. In the distance, you spotted a flash of purple – a sign that your family's retinue had noticed your absence and was making its way toward the commotion. 

Your eyes then fell upon the guard, a pathetic and almost crazed figure now pleading for mercy. You searched within yourself for the compassionate girl who once blushed under Aliandra’s gaze and bawdy laugh and cherished reading beneath the orange blossoms, but she seemed distant now, unreachable in this moment. 

Finally, your gaze met Prince Aemond's. He hadn’t moved, save for an arched eyebrow signaling his anticipation of your decision. "My father taught me the virtue of grace and forgiveness," you began, the guard's eyes lighting up with a flicker of hope. "But this man was ready to subject me to a public beating, to strip me before all an humiliate me. Where I not of my birth, he would have killed both me and this boy for mere sport. He is no better than a dog, and rabid dogs must be put down." Your voice was steady, resolute, as you clutched Davos closer. "Soon, your words will be mine, my prince. 'Fire and Blood.' I trust your judgment in handling him." 

The guard's whimpering grew more desperate at your words. Prince Aemond’s lips then curled into a smile, a grim satisfaction in his eye. "You heard my betrothed. Take him away. I'll attend to him personally later." His command was final, and as the guard was dragged away, you stood firm holding onto Davos and softly stroking his hair, his whimpering had finally abade, but he refused to let go.  

As more gold cloaks began to arrive, they efficiently dispersed the gathering crowd, their presence imposing order on the chaotic scene. Amidst the commotion, you heard your father’s voice growing louder as he approached. Suddenly, a gentle, warm hand tenderly lifted your chin, guiding your gaze upwards. You found yourself looking directly into the eyes of your betrothed, Prince Aemond, the unkown man who had hunted your worst nightmare of dragons and blood had now become your unexpected protector. 

Were you harmed?” he asked with concern. 

He listened as you explained, “He mostly threatened me, but the boy... he was hurt, and he was going to kill him. I couldn't just stand by.” 

“Shhh,” Aemond interjected softly, halting your anxious recounting. “You showed remarkable bravery, more than anyone else here. Standing up for a child facing unjust punishment speaks volumes of your character. Few would have had the courage to intervene, but that boy was fortunate to have your kindness and protection. You've not only honored yourself today but also brought honor to my house, my lady.” 

As he spoke, Aemond gently stroked your cheek, then cupped your face in his hand. Overwhelmed by the tenderness of his touch, you instinctively leaned into his palm, closing your eyes and finding a moment of solace in his comforting gesture. 

Your father then burst into the scene, his expression a mix of worry and confusion, breaking the tender moment. "What happened?" he exclaimed, taking in your disheveled appearance and the tearful child in your arms. He quickly closed the distance and enveloped you in a protective embrace. 

Prince Aemond, who had been tenderly holding your face, discreetly withdrew his hand and coughed, as though to recompose himself amidst the sudden interruption. 

"Guards!" Aemond commanded, addressing the gold cloaks who promptly gathered around him. "Ensure that my betrothed and her family are safely escorted to the Red Keep. Let nothing like this occur again, or you'll join your colleague in the black cells." His voice carried an undeniable authority, prompting the guards to spring into action. 

As two gold cloaks moved to escort you and your father, another reached to take Davos from your arms. "No," you stated firmly, feeling Davos cling tighter to you. The guard hesitated, glancing at Prince Aemond for guidance. With a simple nod from the prince, the guard backed off, allowing you to lift Davos and secure him against you, his skinny legs wrapping around your waist. You whispered soft reassurances to the frightened boy as you began to move away with your father, who bombarded you with a flurry of questions. 

Before you got too far, you turned and called out, "Prince Aemond!" The prince turned, his posture regal, his hands clasped behind his back, his piercing blue eye fixing you with an intense gaze. Gently setting Davos down, you guided his hand into your father's, who received him with a puzzled expression. Then, making your way towards Prince Aemond, you reached into the folds of your bodice and retrieved the beautiful purple and white silk scarf you had discreetly tucked away earlier. 

Approaching the prince, you carefully wrapped the scarf around his bicep. Aemond watched, a look of bewilderment crossing his face as you performed this unexpected gesture. His usual composed demeanor seemed momentarily unsettled by your action, as he gazed at the soft uprple fabric now adorning his arm. "My thanks for saving me, for protecting us. A small token to show you that your bravery won't ever be forgotten," you said earnestly. Prince Aemond held your gaze for a moment longer, then gave a slight nod in acknowledgment before you smiled and made your way back to your father and Davos, taking the latter back into your arms. 

As the gold cloaks ushered you back towards the carriage, your family bombarded you with questions. You responded absently, your mind replaying the scene. Despite the turmoil, a smile found its way to your lips as you remembered the deep flush of red that had colored Prince Aemond's cheeks and ears at your display of gratitude. You held tighter onto little Davos and smiled, perhaps marrying a man like Aemond Targaryen might not be so bad after all.  

Next Chapter

[welcomefortune]

so much alicent's character in season 2 for me hinges on her reaction to aegon getting burned. if she does get into an argument with him that causes him to fly off to rook's rest she should feel a type of way about that!

[aemondsbabe]

Deliverance

summary: following your nephew's death, you find aemond in need of comfort. as his older sister, who are you to deny him?

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, mentioned canon death, infidelity technically but reader's husband is cool with it and understands that she comes from a weirdo family cough cough incest cough, lactation kink, hurt/comfort, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, titty sucking, angst but happy ending, otto cameo ew, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 7.4k

a/n: *slams fist on table* i need for him to suck on my boobie

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @feodor-dostoevsky

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“Shall I fetch Maester Orwyle once we return to your chambers, Princess?” Your handmaiden, Edyth, questions as the two of you make your way up one of the many winding staircases in the Red Keep – each step making you wince. 

“Yes, please,” you sigh, ever grateful that she had always seemed to have a knack for predicting your requests before you had the chance to voice them, “Perhaps tell him to prepare some of the same soothing balm he gave to Helaena?” 

“Of course, Princess,” Edyth nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, ever the optimist, “I believe it should help with your aches, I remember it seemed to help the Queen after…” She trails off, breath hitching in her throat.

A heavy silence seems to fall over the two of you, the same that had been blanketing the entirety of the palace for the past few days. You swallow thickly, battling against the lump suddenly growing at the back of your throat and merely nod your head in simple understanding, offering her a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sure it will be of great help, Edyth, thank you.” 

Ever since… it had happened, the Red Keep feels as if it’s made of eggshells, like one small gust of wind could knock it right over. Everyone’s so on edge, terrified of saying too much or too little, the wrong thing at the wrong time. The stress of it all seems nearly suffocating, though you still have a feeling the worst was yet to come. 

Suddenly, someone calls your name from behind you and you turn, smiling once you see your grandsire striding toward you.

“A raven arrived earlier from Gwayne,” Otto explains, deep voice carrying down the empty hallway, “He’s reached Oldtown safely, everything seems to be well there.”

“Oh, wonderful,” you nod, grateful for news of your husband.

“Indeed,” he continues, “Daeron seems to be in good spirits, happy to come home; they’re to depart tomorrow, as scheduled… forgive me, I meant to tell you before supper but it seems to have slipped my mind.”

“Everything has been so hectic of late, please don’t trouble yourself. He arrived safely and will be back all the sooner for it, that is what matters.”

“Of course,” Otto nods, glancing out a nearby window, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been ordered to attend to His Grace,” he says gruffly, a wry smile on his lips, nodding in the direction of Aegon’s chambers.

You nod at the mention of your twin, brows pinching together with worry. “Be… patient with him, grandsire, please,” you beseech, chest heaving with a soft sigh, “I spoke with him earlier this morning, he’s… well, he’s not himself.”

“Are any of us anymore, I wonder,” Otto mutters, fixing you with a tight smile before taking his leave, striding quickly down the hallway. Your brows furrow at that, you can’t help but throw Edyth a questioning look before the two of you continue toward your chambers. 

“Seven Hells,” you grumble, quickly bringing a hand to your breast as you climb another, blessedly shorter, set of stairs, “Perhaps check the nursery first, yes? Daena may be stirring still…” You know better, even as the words leave your lips. 

Your daughter has finally begun sleeping soundly through the night recently and while that is cause for celebration, you certainly won’t miss the past eight moons of late night feedings, your poor breasts are paying the price – your body not yet caught up with the lessened need for milk. 

“Yes, Princess,” Edyth replies with a little nod, walking alongside you.

The two of you are almost at your chambers, finally turning onto the hallway where the family apartments are housed, when you hear it – a muffled, barely there cry. The sound makes you pause in your tracks, head swiveling, unsure of exactly where it came from and it’s then you notice that the door to Aemond’s chambers is ajar. 

That in and of itself is strange indeed, your little brother valued privacy above all else, so you stride over only to pause at the entrance, hand poised midair as you reach for the door handle. Your heart clenches when another soft sob pierces the quiet of the hallway – a mournful little noise, one you’d expect more from Aegon. 

Turning back to Edyth, you lead her a few feet from the door, knowing Aemond would hate it if he knew someone, anyone aside from you, had overheard him. “Go to the nursery,” you instruct, making sure to keep your voice low, “Make sure Daena is well, then you’re free for the evening.” 

“But, princess, what about –”

“Nevermind it,” you murmur with a shake of your head, “I’ll send for the maester later myself.”

With a nod, she scampers off further down the hallway, leaving you alone by your brother’s door. Stepping back over toward the threshold, you bite at your bottom lip, wondering if you should go in at all – if it would be more merciful to simply pretend you hadn’t heard anything at all. 

But then it happens again, another pitiful sob sounds from beyond the cracked door and you’re unable to help yourself – Aemond had always come to you with his troubles when he was younger, surely now would be no different. With a little breath, you push the door open just enough to slip through it and thank whichever Gods may be listening when you’re able to press it closed with hardly a sound. 

Peeking around the screen your brother has beside the door, it feels as if your heart shatters in your chest. He looks so… small, so fragile, the complete opposite of the towering, formidable man he’d become in recent years. It’s clear he didn’t hear you come in as he stays seated in a chair near the door, his back to you; his shoulders shake with gentle cries while he hunches over, head cradled in his hands. 

The disarray of his normally spotless chambers startles you once you let your eyes flit over the space – papers are strewn about all across the low table he keeps in the little sitting area, some scattered across the floor, crumpled up, or ripped to pieces. His bedsheets are halfway ripped from the bed and lie in a pool at its foot, along with the remnants of a candle, now merely a translucent puddle on the dark stone floor. 

Taking a step forward, you softly call his name, trying your hardest to keep your voice as low and soft as possible, though you’re hardly able to get the first syllable out before he bolts up from the chair with a strangled gasp and spins toward you. 

“Oh, Aem,” the words fall past your lips in a soft sigh, pulled from you by the startled expression on his face – eyes wide with the fear of being caught so vulnerable. His sapphire eye seems to sparkle with just as much emotion as his pale purple one. 

“Sister, I –” He starts, hastily wiping his hands over his cheeks, chest heaving while he tries to calm his harsh breaths, but you’ll have none of that.

“Shh, whatever excuses you have, I’ll not hear them,” you murmur, quickly walking the few feet over to him and enveloping him in a tight embrace, just as you used to do when he would come crying to you about the tortures Aegon or your nephews put him through in their youth.

Your brother stays stiff in your arms for a moment, tense and wary, though he slowly relaxes as you rub a hand over his back, smoothing out his long hair. You yourself relax once he finally winds his long arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder with a soft sigh, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing. 

“Tell me what distresses you so?”

“I… Jae– the boy,” he stammers, stumbling over his name. You understand, just saying your little nephew’s name seems to somehow make the pain of the loss even worse. Yet, something in your gut tells you there’s something else going on, that Jaehaerys’s death is not the only thing causing your brother such anguish.

“Aemond…” you gently press, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, “I cannot help if you won’t tell me–”

“Tell you what?” He counters, tone growing too defensive too quickly, “My nephew’s death brings me sorrow, sister. The loss of a young child is a… distressing thing.”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” You counter, trying desperately to keep your voice calm, even when Aemond backs away from you with an exasperated sigh. You’re no stranger to this game – ever since he lost his eye, your brother has guarded his emotions carefully. Getting him to speak honestly about them was about as hard as keeping a bottle of Dornish wine from Aegon’s grasp. 

He gives you a sidelong glance as he paces about the room, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched. Worry only blooms brighter in your chest the longer you watch him; so agitated and so guarded, closed off like an abused animal. 

“It… it’s nothing,” he mumbles finally, voice short and clipped, “Nothing important, sister, I assure you.”

Unconsciously, you wring your hands worriedly, heart clenching; you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, yet you know from experience that it was better to let Aemond come to you. 

“Well, surely it cannot be nothing if it has upset you so, sweetling.” 

His nervous pacing comes to a screeching halt at that and he squeezes his eye shut, fists clenched at his side – his whole body tense like he’s trying desperately to keep some invisible dam within himself closed. 

You reach a hand up instinctively when he bites at his bottom lip and turns his head away from you, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I–,” he croaks, the tightness in his voice makes your breath hitch in your throat; every maternal cell in your body is screaming at you, pleading with you to hold him, “I don’t w-wish to burden you.”

“Baby brother,” you sigh, finally going to him, practically running the few feet over to where he stands. Your arms encircle him instantly, pulling him into a tight embrace – one hand rubs over his back while the other cups the back of his head, holding his face against the crook of your neck, “You could never be a burden to me, never.”

That seems to break him and he gasps, breathing warm against your neck, before he finally lets go and his shoulders heave with sobs while his hands cling to you desperately, fisting into the fabric of your gown like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. A tightness grows at the back of your own throat, not used to seeing him be this raw, this open, in what feels like lifetimes. It breaks your heart to think he’d been holding all of this in, determined to be the strong, silent soldier like everyone expected, while he dealt with such sadness all alone. 

“Shh, shh, Aemond, you’re okay,” you murmur gently, eyes widening when he sags against you, his knees giving way only for a second. “Here, come,” you instruct, taking one of his hands in yours and leading him to the small seating area in his chambers. You urge him to sit on the sofa he has there before joining him yourself, a bit surprised when he all but throws himself against you again – practically laying his head in your lap as he sobs, cheek pressed against your chest in a way that makes you wince from the tenderness still there, not that you’d ever scold him for it. 

“There, that’s much better, hm? Comfortable?” You ask, simply trying to draw him back to the surface. 

He doesn’t reply, something that doesn’t really come as a shock to you given how harsh his cries are, leaving him breathless against you. Deciding to let him get it out, you stay quiet, merely shushing him every so often as you run your fingers through his pearlescent hair.

After a long while, he seems to settle some and tears begin running down his cheeks silently rather than racking his body with savage cries; he lifts his head from your lap and rests it instead against your shoulder, gazing up at you as if you’re an angel sent from the heavens themselves. The intense tenderness with which he looks at you makes you blush, yet your brows furrow slightly at the darkness still there – lingering in the lilac of his eye. 

“I have… I have done something terrible.”

Your brother's murmured confession only serves to confuse you further and you shake your head slightly, heart clenching in your chest as you silently wonder what in all the Seven Kingdoms he could possibly mean by that. 

“Aemond,” you start, knowing not to pry – to let him tell you, “There is nothing you could ever do that would make me think any less of you.”

He stares up at you for a long moment, eye flicking across your face like he’s checking for even the barest hint of deception, yet he finds none – your words are true. 

“You… promise me you will not hate me.”

“I promise, sweet brother,” your brows pinch together at his words, wondering what could possibly be bad enough for all this, yet you can’t stop the corners of your lips from quirking into a sad smile at his request; that uncertain lilt in his voice reminds you so much of when he was younger, “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Nothing.”

“I…” He starts, pulling away from you as he sits up, sparing you one last glance before staring off into the fireplace, “I am the… the reason Jaehaerys is dead.”

“What?” The word is pressed from you, leaving your lips as little more than a breath. You stare at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, utterly perplexed. How in the Seven Hells could he have ever arrived at that conclusion? Taking one of his hands in yours, you lean a little closer, “Sweetling, what in the world do you mean?”

“They were here for me,” Aemond rasps, wincing as if the words themselves are painful, clawing at his throat on their way out, “They were… Gods, they were sent for me and – and when they couldn’t find me, they… H-He died because I was not here, because they could not f-find me…”

“Oh, my love,” you sigh, the backs of your eyes stinging as he presses himself against you again, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, “Aemond, you couldn’t have known, none of us did. You couldn’t have known…” You repeat, like saying the words again and again will make him believe them. 

“I s-should have,” he whimpers, voice breaking over a sob, “I should’ve k-known, I sh–should’ve been here…”

You hold him tightly, practically hauling him onto your lap as his tears leak over your skin, running into the valley of your cleavage like a river, though you pay it no mind. “Shh, sweetling, shh,” you murmur and press a soft kiss to his forehead, “It’s not your fault, dear one, it’s no one’s fault but the vile men who took him and our… our coward of a sister who ordered it done.”

He stays silent for a moment and you can feel the gears in his brain turning, working furiously as he tries to internalize your words, wanting desperately to believe them but unable to let himself. You sigh softly when you feel him shake his head against you, so determined to cling to guilt. 

“If… if I had n-not been at the…” 

“At the where, brother?” You press, clinging to anything you may be able to use to shift the conversation. 

“...The brothel…” he mumbles after a long pause, the words so muffled against the column of your neck that you have to strain to hear them. His words shock you, the complete opposite of anything you’d been expecting. You try your hardest not to let that show, even as a strange sense of jealousy wells up within you – a sense of possessiveness you’ve always felt for your little brother.

“Well, you… you are a man grown, my love,” you heart hammers in your chest, loud enough that you wonder if he can hear it, “If you wish to lay with–”

“I didn’t… I–” He stammers, clinging to you tightly as he shakes his head, an urgency in his voice you can’t quite place, “That’s not what, I… I mean, I–”

“No matter,” you cut him off, aching to see him so distressed, “Whatever you do there, sweet brother, it’s your… right to do it.” You struggle to get the words out, the sense of protectiveness rising viciously in your chest makes your throat feel tight. 

He lifts his head from your shoulder again and eyes you for a long moment – for what, you aren’t sure. It’s almost like he’s surprised not to be meant with disgust or contempt; you wish you knew why.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally mumbles, glancing away from you, ashamed, “I should’ve been home… I should’ve been here to protect my family.”

“Aemond, please,” you sigh and sit up slightly, moving to cup his cheeks in your hands, wiping at his tears with your thumb, “It is not your job to protect us, we have guards for a reason… if anything, this atrocity is their fault but it is not yours, do you understand?” Your eyes bore into his as you speak, desperate to make him understand, to rid him of this misplaced guilt. 

“Do… do you still love me?” He asks after a long moment, voice so timid, so meek like he’s already preparing himself for your rejection, that it makes your heart twist horribly in your chest. 

Still, you cannot help but huff out a little laugh, lips lifting into a sad smile at the utter ridiculousness of the question. “You are my dearest brother,” you murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead, letting your lips linger on his skin for a second, “Of course, I still love you, Aemond. I have loved you from the moment you came into this world and I shall never, never stop – the Gods themselves could not make me.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, save for a small hum from your brother as he nods. His arms encircle you again and selfishly, you enjoy it – being this close to him again, like he was a little boy once more. He’d been all but attached to you at the hip before that dreadful night, following you about the Keep and telling you all sorts of tales about various histories of the Realm in that sweet voice of his. 

All of that had stopped that night and, at first, you had assumed that he merely thought himself a man grown afterwards – a man who had finally claimed a dragon, a man who no longer needed comfort from an older sibling. The sadness in his voice when he speaks again, muffled against your shoulder, tells you otherwise.

“Mother doesn’t love me anymore,” his voice is flat and detached as he breathes out the words, like he’s informing you of some tragic, unavoidable accident. 

“Aem, of course she does. She loves you very–”

“No,” he cuts you off, sitting up once more and shaking his head, “Ever since that business with Luke, I… she can hardly bring herself to look at me. She won’t speak to me outside of Small Council meetings and even then she tries not to, ‘tis plain to see.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes, leaving you to swallow around the lump that grows at the back of your throat once again. What are you to say? He’s… Gods, bless him, he’s right, you’ve seen as much to know. 

“You are the only one who has never abandoned me,” he starts, eye sparkling in the candlelight as tears begin welling up within it once more, “Everyone else has left.”

“That’s not…” Your voice fades as you sigh, knowing that arguing with him now will do no good. Instead, you simply hold him tighter and brush a few stray locks of hair from his face. “I can promise that I shall never leave you, sweet brother.”

He grows quiet for a moment, slumping down against you until his head rests in your lap and his body curls up onto the sofa. Silently, you resist the urge to cradle him, to hold him against you as you do Daena when she wakes from a nap with a start, crying out from her cradle. 

He is a grown man, you remind yourself, yet it does nothing to stop the strange ache in your heart. 

“They all used to taunt me, surely you remember, when we were younger,” he mumbles, eye fixated on the fire crackling in the hearth, even as he clings to you, “First for not having a dragon, then for not having an eye.”

You hum in affirmation – you do remember it, sadly. You remember it all very well; he had slept in your chambers for a week after the incident with the pig, not wanting to be left alone at night with the memories of it. You remember having to hold him back at the table when Aegon had poked fun at his eyepatch during supper, about a month after his eye had been gouged out. 

You remember that night too, when he’d come to you with tearful apologies, murmuring sorries again and again for accidentally nicking your hand while trying to brandish a knife against his brother. 

“I have always been an outcast.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips despite the circumstances and you sigh softly, brushing your fingers through his long strands of hair, “I quite like you being different… perhaps if you weren’t, we wouldn’t be as close, hm?”

Aemond goes quiet at that, stills in your lap with a little sigh before simply burrowing against you even more, curling in on himself tighter. 

A soft coo leaves your lips, strands of his long hair passing between your fingers like silk. “What say you stay with me tonight, yes?” You offer, the thought of him in the dark carrying all this alone grief makes you feel ill, “We could even cuddle, if you like? Just as we did when you were younger.”

A short beat of silence later, all you get is a little, “Yes, please,” mumbled against your abdomen. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs later, the two of you finally lying together atop your bed, cuddled closely against one another just as you’d promised. You’d each taken time to get ready for bed and Aemond seems a little better for it, no longer as distressed and teary now that he’s had the time to collect himself. 

Your hand carefully cups the side of his face that isn’t pressed against your pillow, that isn’t buried in the crook of your neck, as an astonished huff of laughter escapes your lips as they curve into a sad smile, your brows furrowed. “Why in the world would you think such things?” Even as the question is whispered into the quiet of your chambers, you know the answer – Aemond has always been this way, always one to reject comfort, even when it is so freely given, even when he himself seeks it out. 

If only he could see himself as you do. 

“I… I have done so many shameful things, sister, I…” His voice breaks when he cuts himself off and you can feel him tense in your hold, “‘Tis the simple truth, I don’t deserve you.”

You hum softly, combing your fingers through his hair while you mull over his words, silently wondering why he has always been like this – why you have always felt so unworthy of softness and kindness and love. 

“Well, it is not my truth,” you murmur after a moment, eyes flicking over the long line of his body, hidden by your silken bedsheets. In the time each of you had taken to ready yourselves for bed, you had changed into a nightgown and he into a simple nightshirt, leaving your bare legs to tangle together, “Would you like to know what I think, my love?”

You feel him inhale against the crook of your neck, sucking in air like he’s steeling himself for disappointment, yet he still lifts his head and peers up at you. His lilac eye searches your face for a long moment, looking for even the smallest indication of displeasure in your features, only to find none. 

Seemingly satisfied with his assessment, assured that surely whatever you were to say would not hurt him too badly, he nods. 

Sitting up just enough to better see his face, you look at him with nothing but adoration as the two of you rest shoulder to shoulder, backs against the headboard. “I believe you deserve every kindness in the world, Aemond. And I believe even that would be too little,” your voice is hardly a whisper when you speak, like this is the deepest of secrets meant only for his ears, “You deserve nothing but happiness, sweet baby brother.”

He stares at you for a long moment, eye wide and glassy while his chest aches as your words seep into him like a soothing balm. You can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows, eye squeezing shut for a moment while he processes your words – so sweet they nearly stung. 

A soft coo bubbles from your lips when you see his chest rise and fall rapidly beneath the linen of his nightshirt, and you lean into him all the more when one of his hands reaches out and grabs one of your own, squeezing it like it’s a lifeline. 

“Shh,” you soothe, giving him a sad smile when his eye finally opens again, gaze immediately finding yours, “Sweet boy.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before looking away from you once again, mind reeling. Not knowing what to do, overcome with so much emotion his heart feels as if it’s adrift at sea, he brings your hand up and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles before holding it to his cheek and sucking in another little breath as his bottom lip trembles. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he whispers finally, voice tight and hoarse. 

Cupping his face, you caress your thumb over the scar beneath his eye softly and lean over just enough to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “I will never leave you, Aemond, I swear it.”

He shudders once more before letting out a shaky breath, eye filled with a wild desperation. Before you can register the movement, his hands are suddenly gripping at your waist and hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck once more, apologies already muffled against your skin. “I-I’m sorry, I – Gwayne will… will hate me but –”

“Shh, sh, sh, sweetling,” you murmur, despite the small, barely audible gasp that leaves you at the sudden movement, so wholly unused to this as half of you tries desperately to comfort you while the other half wonders if you should put a stop to this, “Gwayne knows, my love, he… it’s okay, he knows.”

A sob is wrenched from Aemond’s lips, warm against your neck, but he nods nonetheless, sighing when you begin carding your fingers through his hair once more, smoothing out the long, pale strands. Slowly, he relaxes again, arms wound securely around your waist while his breath evens out. 

You’re about to say something else, though your breath hitches in your throat when he begins peppering your neck with soft, chaste little kisses – feather-light down the column of your neck. He stops after a second, noticing you tense up on his lap, eyes wide as a million thoughts swirl in your mind: Is this okay? Should you stop this? This is your precious baby brother, the one who used to cling to your skirts when he was sad, who used to come to you in the night when he woke from a nightmare… 

He leans forward once more and nips at your earlobe, making your heart stutter in your chest, “Can… can I try something?”

Your head reels at the sudden change in his touches, needier now, though for an entirely different reason, yet still your mind reels – piqued with curiosity. “What is it you wish to try?” You question after a moment, voice scratchy from the sudden dryness at the back of your throat. 

Silently, Aemond relishes this; something about you, you his normally strong and carefree older sister, being this flustered because of him makes his heart flutter in his chest. Dipping his head, he resumes pressing soft kisses against your skin, though they linger now – teeth nipping before he soothes the small bites with a swipe of his tongue, drawing ever closer to the pulse point in your neck that beats so wildly he can feel it beneath your skin. 

“Aemond!” You all but wheeze when he suddenly grabs at your hips, his own firmly bucking up against you. A shock goes down your spine at the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, two thin layers of fabric doing precious little to mask the feel of it. Again, you tense up, practically jumping out of your skin as you pull back just enough to gaze down at him, your eyes wide, blinking rapidly, as they search his. 

This was the last thing you expected tonight, the last thing you’d expect from him at all. “Wha – I…” You stammer, dumbstruck while worry and uncertainty cloud your mind. 

Aemond shushes you now, long fingers squeezing at your bare thighs now that your nightgown has ridden up enough to reveal them. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against your skin, “Do you trust me…?”

Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly, heart hammering in your chest. You should be the one comforting him… what in the Seven Hells has happened? Is… is this the comfort he needs now?

Even still, you nod your head at his question; of course you trust him, you’d trust him with anything… even this. 

A smile grows on his lips when you acquiesce, a pleased glimmer in his eye when he lifts his hands to your hips again, his grip firmer this time. “Good… good, sweet sister,” he hums lowly, rutting his hips up against you once more, lilac eye watching you with keen interest. 

“A-Aem…” You gasp once more, the feel of him against you so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, even when your brows furrow as your eyes flutter, threatening to slip shut. His movements press a small whimper from your lips and you can feel the sting in your cheeks as they flush, chest heaving while your hands grab tightly at his shoulders. 

The smug look on his face slowly morphs into one of wonder and his eye flits over your face greedily, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of seeing you like this – already so strung out over him. 

He moves again, the feeling of your soft core pressing against his growing length through the thin linen only serving to drive his urges further. “Gods, you look so beautiful like this…” He murmurs, in awe at having you like this, and all to himself. Unable to help himself, he leans forward yet again and pulls you closer as his lips settle once more against your neck. 

Instinctually, your head tilts to the side, giving him room to kiss over your skin. His movements against you cause you to shiver in his grasp, even if a small part of you was still uncertain, hoping this wouldn’t change your relationship with him for the worse. 

The slow grind of his hips causes his nightshirt to eventually ride up his legs as well, and you gasp anew, jumping once more when his length suddenly presses against your center, unhindered by fabric. 

“Feel what you do to me?” He purrs, letting out a low groan of his own. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, lips parted ever so slightly while your chest heaves, silently wondering if this is truly happening. Almost imperceptibly, you nod your head, shuddering at the feeling of his cock pressed against you, already twitching. 

“L-Little brother,” you gasp, breathless already.

Aemond smirks at your response, your whimpers and soft gasps going right to his head. He grabs at your waist still, bucking against you in slow, almost teasing movements. A low, pleased hum vibrates him in his chest when he feels how wet you are against him – the heat radiating from your center nearly stifling. 

The longer this goes on, the more you can feel your resolve crumbling, any small bits left of you that wanted to put a stop to this slowly fading away. Distantly, you can’t help wondering if this is how it’s always been meant to be, if this was the only logical conclusion your paths could reach, the outcome of such a close bond. Perhaps, you have always been made for this. 

“Aemond,” his name falls from your lips in a soft sigh and you finally lean against him heavily, pressing your chest against his unthinkingly. “Shit!” You gasp only a second later, jolting as if stung by a bee, brought back to reality by the ache in your breasts. 

“Sister?” Aemond questions, freezing beneath you while he looks over your face, his hands rising to cup your cheeks protectively. 

You start to answer, to explain, when you feel a sudden tingling sensation at your chest and, judging from the look on your brother’s face, an explanation would be a moot point by now anyway.

“Gods grant me mercy,” he sighs, eye wider than you’ve ever seen it as he stares, near open-mouthed, at your chest. Glancing down, your cheeks flush at the sight of milk dampening the linen at your breasts, leaving it all but translucent. 

Again, you go to explain, only to stop yourself in your tracks when his tongue darts out, licking over his bottom lip. Your head spins when you notice his chest heaving as he stares at you with a nearly savage hunger, eyes fixed on your breasts like his universe has been narrowed down to a pinpoint. 

“Aemond?”

“Please,” he groans, swallowing thickly and licking over his lips once more, practically salivating. His eye flicks up to yours for only the briefest of seconds before zeroing in on your chest once more, “Sweet… sweet sister, please.”

Again, the energy in the room seems to shift, Aemond once again begging you for comfort, bowing to your whims. Quickly, you shush him while one hand threads into his hair once more as you bring his head back against the crook of your neck, settling him there while he groans against your skin, rough hands slowly trailing up your waist before halting at your ribs. 

Your other hand busies itself with snaking between the two of you and impatiently batting your clothes away before your fingers finally curl around his length, causing the both of you to let out soft cries. 

“Shh, sweetling,” you coo, chest heaving while you position him at your entrance, sighing as he desperately mouths at your neck, “I know what you need, I’ve got you.”

Again, twin moans fill your dimly lit chambers when you slowly sink down on him. Whimpers are punched from your lungs at the feel of him steadily filling you, his chest rumbling against yours as he groans deeply, hips jolting beneath you. 

“Gods,” you sigh when your hips are finally pressed tightly against his once more, panting and letting your eyes fall shut while you give yourself a moment to adjust. 

The feel of him borders on overwhelming – pressed so tightly inside of you, around you, the very air in your room filled with the heady, herbaceous scent of the bath oils you know he favors. You imagine he must feel the same as he trembles beneath you, fingers and hips twitching with barely contained desire. 

Finally, your need to comfort him, to protect him even from himself, rears its head again and you relish the breathy sigh that leaves him as you begin to move your hips. It’s a grinding motion, soft and gentle – what he needs now, to be treated with care. Still, the movements send shockwaves up your spine as the pale hairs at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your pearl, creating a delicious friction to spur you on. 

“So good,” he breathes, warm against your shoulder as he leans forward, kissing at your neck, “You feel so good, sister, you… you are s-so good to me…”

“Just as you deserve,” you murmur, combing your fingers through his long hair once more before your hands travel down to the hem of his nightshirt and you begin impatiently tugging at it, pulling it over his head and grinning at the soft, nearly petulant, whine he gives at having to separate from you even for a second. 

Still, some instinctual force seems to drive you, a need to feel his skin against your own, and you waste no time before pulling your own nightgown up and over your head as well, leaving nothing to separate the two of you. 

The groan that leaves him when your chest presses back against his own once more is like nothing you’ve heard before – a sound of the purest relief, like he’s found some oasis in the desert. His eye opens again and the rhythm of your hips stutters only for a second once it finds yours. The lilac is almost completely overtaken by black and yet, he still regards you as if you are an angel sent from the heavens themselves, stares at you with such reverence that your heart flutters in your chest. 

Something clicks for you then as he whimpers beneath you, his own hips beginning to buck up against your own as the lazy tempo you’ve settled into slowly starts to pick up. You understand, now, that this is merely another step, an added turn, in the so carefully balanced dance the two of you have constructed.

And if this is what he needs to be comforted, then you’re more than happy to give it. 

“My good boy,” sigh, moving against him with renewed vigor, grinning when he lets out a hitched moan, “Is this what you needed?”

“Yes, y-yes,” he nods, his eye never leaving your own as he ruts beneath you, the choppy movements only adding to the fire slowly building within your veins, “Please, sweet sister, please…”

You don’t need to ask to know what it is he means, nodding before he has time to stutter out another word, “Take what you need, my love.”

Another breathy groan sounds from him as he quickly descends onto your chest, tilting his head down and immediately capturing your sensitive nipple between his lips, one hand coming up to gently cup your breast, holding it steady. The feeling of relief that flows through you when he starts suckling is nearly disorienting, the dull ache in your breast slowly fading away with each mouthful of milk he pulls from you, greedily taking a few mouthfuls from one breast before switching to the other.

Your fingers stay anchored in his hair while your hips work against him, your high building more steadily within you now that your breasts no longer feel ready to burst. You pant as you gaze down at him, eyes half-lidded while you watch his lips move against you, lilac eye still fixated on you. 

Below you, Aemond is halfway convinced he’s died and somehow the Gods have seen fit to spare him the Seven Hells. His head spins as he drinks from you, the taste of you by far the sweetest, most decadent thing he could fathom. As the knot in his belly grows ever-tighter, his suckles become more greedy, frantic, not knowing whether you’ll allow him this pleasure ever again. 

“Please, f-fuck,” he sighs, the words punched from his lips as he pulls away from you just enough to speak, uncaring as dribbles of milk leak from the corners of his lips, staining your skin. His hips practically move on their own accord as he mindlessly grinds up into you, seeking out the warmth and safety he knows he shall only ever feel within you. 

Above him, you nod, swallowing thickly against the dryness at the back of your throat, cheeks flushed while you watch him unravel. Snaking a hand between your bodies once more, your fingers quickly find your sensitive, aching bud and rubbing at it with a practiced precision. 

“Gods, sweet little brother,” you breathe out, pleasure zapping down your spine. You frantically nod again, frantic this time, just as your high washes over you, “Come, Aemond… Gods, let go, little one.”

His suckles turn more into little biting nips while he gasps against you, trembling beneath you when he finally lets pleasure overtake him – eye squeezing shut at the feel of your walls clenching tightly around his cock. 

The warmth of him filling you only spurs you on more, your breaths ragged against his forehead while you feel yourself tense and relax again and again, grabbing at whatever parts of him you can reach. 

You each go still after a few moments, panting against each other. Aemond is practically limp beneath you, lazily nuzzling his face against your chest, satiated smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. Chuckling softly, you pepper his forehead in sweet kisses, relishing the contented hum he gives in return. 

When you go to get up however, intent on fetching a cloth to clean you both up with, he reaches for you with a small whine as he grabs at your thighs.

“Don’t, please,” he murmurs, brows furrowed when your eyes meet, “Stay…”

“You… you want to stay like this?” You question, your heartbeat quickening as he quickly nods, “You wish to stay –”

“Inside,” he finishes quickly, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows bashfully, cheeks flushed, “I… I feel safe like… like this.”

“Then you can stay, silly boy,” you answer with a grin, kissing at his forehead once more, “Here, let’s just…” You murmur, tilting your hips to the side ever so slightly, attempting to pull him with you.

Blessedly, he seems to understand and follows you willingly, allowing you to maneuver the two of you onto your sides. After a moment, you’re comfortable once more, each of you lying on your side and facing the other, one of your legs slung over his narrow hips to keep him pressed tightly within you. 

“Good boy,” you sigh softly, smiling when he shivers against you. 

The two of you stay like that for a while, your hands gently caressing his soft skin or running through his hair while you hold him against you. After a while, his lilac eye finally flutters closed and you can’t help but marvel at how much younger he looks like this – relaxed and spent while he lies against you, like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. 

After a while, he seems to grow restless again, nosing at your chest until he finds what he desires. You sigh softly as he pulls a nipple into his mouth once more, suckling at it contentedly while he peers up at you sleepily. 

“There you go,” you murmur soothingly, coaxing him to lift his head just enough for you to lay an arm beneath it, allowing you to caress his shoulders while your other hand cups gently at the side of his face, thumb sweeping over his soft skin. “Take what you need, sweet one,” you coo, smiling as he quickly returns his lips to your breast, “You’re safe, I’ve got you…”

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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Little Lamb - Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Chapter 8)

Aemond Targaryen x You –  Chapter 1

Word count: 2838 words

Summary: As a maiden of a noble house, it is your duty to wed well. But how will you manage to, with a curious and possessive Prince in the picture?

WARNINGS: This chapter is hurt-comfort, but please note that the previous chapters have depictions of violence and misogynistic behaviour, as well as some minor swearing

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Chapter 8: Yearning

Sharing a bed together after what had happened should have been an inconceivable thought, beyond belief. But you were hurting, and you felt alone, and it felt easier to let Aemond comfort you, rather than to push him away. So here you were, in the guest quarters of Thunder Fort, in bed with him.

You were not crying anymore, but you had been earlier when the two of you were alone in your family home’s dining room.

“You need some rest.”

You shake your head, through the sobs, but the Prince is unrelenting, and tilts your chin with a gentle hand, so that you are looking at him.

“Where is your chamber? I will escort you, and you will sleep.” He says in a firm, yet still compassionate tone. But the thought of going to your chambers, if they are even still yours, only makes you shake harder, as they are situated near those of your siblings. Sighing, Aemond picks you up and carries you away. Slowly, you tears stop, as you observe the dark, empty hallways.

It was late and it did not surprise you that others have sequestered themselves into their chambers, given the events of the evening. As the Prince walked further, you understood that he was bringing you to the guest quarters. Having him there while you slept felt normal now, and funny enough, you missed his presence during your time away from him, having become accustomed to his warm body while you slept.

At some point during the brief stroll, you had turned to face him, watching his tight expression as he concentrated to not get lost. You could also hear another person walking, their steps echoing in the silent hallway, and quickly ascertained by Aemond’s lack of concern that it was most probably Ser Landon.

Prince Aemond’s face was often spoken about in unkind terms, but watching him now, you could not understand why. In the pale moonlight, further illuminated by the hallway’s candleflames, his face was bewitching, something you could admire for an eternity. His face was sharp, as was his eye, and the scar that seeped beyond the confides of his eye patch only served to refine his features. You could understand others being intimidated by him, but to consider him grotesque? No, you could not understand. You found yourself wanting to touch his face and to trace his features, but you did not, instead opting to close your eyes, so you could drift away and pretend that tonight never occurred.

Eventually, you felt yourself being placed on a soft surface, which causes you to wake slightly. You hear hushing as fur is bundled around you, but it only serves to wake you. As you gain consciousness, you see the Prince’s dark silhouette and slightly startle, which alarms him.

“Shhh… sleep.” He says, tugging the fur over you again. You stare at him but struggle to see in the darkness. You do see him turn his back to you though and proceed towards the room’s entryway.

“Stay.”

Your girlish voice echoes through the large room, haunting every corner. The Prince stops for a moment, but still keeps his back to you, and all you wish is for him to turn around and look at you.

“Sleep.” He softly demands, and begins to take another step away. You are adamant however, and really do not want to be alone– not now.

“And where will you go?” You ask, sitting up right. As you do, you realise that you are still dressed in your gown from the day and feel conscious of your appearance and hygiene, but try to ignore it.

Turning to face you, the Prince responds. “I will be fine, I can find another room, or join your beloved Ser Landon outside. Do not worry about me.” You wonder whether you heard jealousy in his speech.

“Can you please stay with me? I do not want to be left alone.” You speak truthfully, letting the Prince know what is on your mind.

“My Lady, now is not a good time, this will not help us.”

“Nothing will help us, not here with them. They have made up their mind, us not being together now will not change their beliefs.” You feel your eyes water again, which confounds you, as you cannot understand how a person can cry so much.

“… Please do not leave me like they have.”

You hear a loud sigh, and you watch as his dark figure slowly approaches you, first sitting down on the bed. Now that he is closer to the window, the moon’s soft light illuminates his face, and he looks more celestial than ever before. You contemplated whether it was due to your sadness, but at this exact moment, all you wanted was for him to hold you close. And for him to make you his, you realise. You were tired of fighting against the inevitable, and saw no purpose, as no one believed that you had not been with each other already.

“I can still go. I should.” Aemond says lowly, his eye not leaving yours. This was the last thing you wanted, and you shake your head in response, your hair falling out of place as you do.

As Aemond tucked a loose strand behind your ear, you collect all your strength and push yourself up, colliding you lips against his. This takes Aemond by surprise initially and he stares at you wide-eyed. But you ignore his reaction, grabbing his face with both of your hands, pulling him as close as possible. He does not return your affections back though, so you escalate matters.

As you bite his lower lip, he compulsively gasps, allowing you the opportunity to assault his mouth with your tongue, his mouth still holding the taste of the dinner’s wine. When you hear him moan, you feel encouraged to continue, pulling him onto the bed, and removing his coat, followed by his shirt. As you peeled off his layers, you could not help pulling back to admire him.

Him being underdressed was nothing new, as he preferred to sleep mostly nude, but tonight, it was different. Tonight, you are the one that desired him, that craved to have more of him.

When your hands moved towards his riding pants, you feel a hand roughly grasp your wrist, which catches you off guard, and as does him pulling away.

“We cannot.”

“I am the one that supposed to say that.” You retort back, smiling. In contrast, the Prince’s face is grave, lines appear on his face with worry.

“You only want me because you grieve. That is not right.” He says sadly, softly pulling you in by the wrist he held. As he tenderly embraces you, he whispers into your ear. “You will have me only when I know you desire me, unequivocally and without woe, as I do with you almost always.”

“But not now?” You say, feeling shame begin to spread through you. Breathing out, Aemond responds.

“Not now.” Seeing your dejection, he pulls away and takes hold of your cheek with one of his rough hands. “I will stay here with you though, but you should get some rest.”

Yielding, you pull away and lay down on the bed, facing away from him, still feeling shame course through you. Seeing you so desolate only serves to garner more empathy from the Prince, and he joins you, wrapping his arm around you. You relish in the warmth that radiates from him, realising how cold the room had been, as was the norm of the weather in the stormlands. Turning to back to face Aemond, you see him attentively watching you, trying to figure out what to say. He hesitates, opening his mouth to speak a few times, only to close it. After a few attempts, he finally speaks.

“I am truly sorry. I do not want to ever see you hurt, not like this.” His statement makes you laugh, given your history, and you bring your hand to his face, tracing his scar with a finger. This takes him by surprise, and he flinches slightly.

“I do not claim to be clairvoyant or all-knowing, but I do think that if we had never met, I would not have been anymore better than I am with you now. I would still be an unwed old maiden, and my family would have found another reason to dislike me. Maybe I would be in some marriage, probably a loveless one to an old lord, but who is to say? I am plain in appearance and hold no value, already deemed past my prime.” You say softly and in earnest, turning to face the ceiling. Your words and actions only manage to infuriate the Prince, whose mood dramatically shifts.

“Only you would demean my apology with such falsehoods.” He rasps out, trying to control his temper. Placing a hand on your jaw, he firmly maneuvers your face to his.

“You are far from plain or valueless. I value you, you know that I do, so why do you ridicule me like this?” Not knowing what to say, you remain silent, watching him attentively. The two of you stay silent for some time, but do not fall asleep, just gazing at each other. You do not know what was on his mind, but at that moment, you were without thought, just staring at him.

The longer you stared at him, the more you realised that you had never looked at him, never completely without prejudice. You always thought him handsome, but how could say that when you had never admired him completely. Your hand, which laid on his forearm, moved to his face, and as it neared his eye mask, the Prince’s breathing stopped.

“Don’t.”

“Does it hurt?” You ask, letting your finger reach closer to the confides of the mask, lightly tracing over his skin and onto the leather fabric. He shakes his head lightly in response, and you smile at him, after biting your lower lip.

“Why do you always keep it on with me? Surely it cannot be pleasant, and you have always worn it around me.”

The Prince remains speechless though, not speaking. Though reckless, you take his silence for permission and carefully tug the mask off. As you do, the Prince shuts his eyes, both of them, and keeps them closed, which brings a frown to your face. You continue to trace his face, this time letting your fingers reach closer towards the center of his scar, places you had never touched, where his left eye had once been.

Through whispers, you had heard many speculations about what lay there. The stable boys swore that there lay a gaping hole, just as the deceased King Viserys had left his. Others said that his eye had been completely stitched through, which is why he wore mask constantly. Through gossiping maids and noblewomen, you heard that a beautiful gem laid in the socket, and you were most inclined to believe this, as it suited his demeanor best, although you wondered whether this was because it was what you hoped for, something pleasant. A silly notion, because if it were true, then why would he always conceal it? Right now, though, you did not care whether weeds were stuffed in his eye, because it would not have mattered.

Pulling yourself forward, you gently press your lips against his injured eyelid, letting your lips linger there. You can feel how cold the skin is against your feverish lips, and you smile against his skin when the Prince shudders. When you pull away though, Aemond still keeps his eyes shut, relentlessly unyielding. Exhaling in disappointment, you run a hand through his hair, which you realise was still tied behind in his usual daily styling. His hair is soft against you fingers and he shivers again as your fingers caress his scalp. Softly grasping the base of where his hair is tied, you ask.

“Can I?”

It is silent for a breath, but then the Prince hums in approval. As you gradually slide down the tie that held his blonde hair up, you watched carefully as he shuddered yet again, observing his reaction as your fingers trailed through his scalp and hair. When the Prince finally opened his eyes involuntarily, you triumphantly grin and pull back, to see his face properly. When you do, you feel your breath taken away.

Against the moonlight, his ‘eye’ reflects as though it were the star. It was a gemstone indeed, a beautiful deep coloured one which glowed in the dark, which only served to make his countenance more captivating. You could not even remotely comprehend why he concealed it, when it was perhaps his most captivating physical feature. You were left speechless watching him, which the one-eyed man interprets erroneously.

“Are you afraid?” Aemond asks, his voice riddled with diffidence. This completely throws you off, confusing you.

“What?” You ask. You restrain the urge to laugh in bewilderment, as you know that now was not the time.

“You do not have to lie. I do not mind wearing it.” The Prince speaks quickly, so unlike how he normally does, and reaches for the discarded mask that laid between the two of you. Also quick, you stop him, grabbing his hand with all the strength you possessed. This only serves to confuse him now.

“Don’t. I like you better without it.” You say, warmly smiling at him. His confusion shifts into bafflement, as though he had never expected a person to react as you have.

“You do?” You nod in response, warily moving your hand towards the gemstone. You do not touch it though, as the seemed to be too intimate to do without express permission.

“There is no need to wear it around me, or others. I do not know why you hide it when you wear it so well.” You speak with conviction, as you truly did believe it. This furthers his confusion, as though he genuinely did not believe you. So, you do what you have done many times before, and kiss him until he understands.

When you bring yourself forward, the hand near his face moves towards his neck, and you position his face lower towards you. Similar to as he has done to you before, you capture his throat with your hand. But rather than being the one to take control, Aemond’s confidence returns, and he pushes himself forward, colliding his lips against yours.

As you kiss, your hands move everywhere; through his hair, along his back, across his abdomen, and you quickly find yourself on top of him. In contrast, his hands remain affixed to your hips, holding you tightly, as if he intended to never let go. You feel yourself impulsively move in a motion against him, which only amasses the most vulgar words from his mouth, which he mumbled against your lips.

You are the one to pull away though, and though the Targaryen Prince is unwilling to release his hold on you, he eventually does. When the two of you separate, you both are breathless.

“Do you believe me now?” You ask, trying to catch your breath.

Rolling one of his eyes, Aemond flips you over to your back, your positions reversed now. He leans closely to you, and the two of you are sharing air once again. You stare at each other so intensely, and you are filled to the brim with anticipation, waiting for him to continue.

“Sleep.” He says lowly, before laying on his side. As he did, he pulled you into his familiar embrace again, and you moan in disappointment. This earns a chuckle from the blonde Prince, and he presses a kiss onto your hair, before tucking you into his embrace more tightly. This only serves to frustrate you more, but not in a way that you minded too much. You try to tilt your head up, to face him, but the head on your chin prevents you from doing so.

“Tell me though, is it a topaz?” This earns a deep laugh from Aemond, who does not answer you. “Moonstone? Fluorite?” You continue asking, trying to turn to face him so that you could assess it more closely. He holds you tightly though, your back pressed against him. “It is an opal, I know it is,” you declare, and his sincere laugh continues, but he does not answer.

“Just tell me.” You whine, before attempting to guess again. “It’s some sort of quartz stone, I am certain.” You declare, opening your mouth to guess again. Before you manage to, you feel yourself quickly turned, and his mouth captures yours in another kiss. When he pulls away, he looks at you serenely. Staring at his expression, you decide that it is the most beautiful one that you will probably ever see.

“Sleep, my love.” This time you listen and stare at him, until your eyes tire and you drift off to sleep.

Author’s Note: One of my favourite songs ever is Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey, and I tried to channel its energy into the writing. After how intense the last few chapters have been, I felt like a little break from the angst was needed. The next chapter will go back to being more plot-orientated and though ambitious, I’m hoping to get it done before weekend ends, as I will be traveling for quite a while after. Please be patient with me if updates become slow during the next few weeks. As always, I hope you enjoyed!

– Chapter 9

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