#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 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?

[magmagicstyle]

THE LITTLE GHOST OF HARRENHAL

In the haunting ruins of Harrenhal, Aemond Targaryen is confronted by the ghost of his nephew, Lucerys. But Lucerys offers something far more painful than vengeance—understanding and forgiveness. Ultimately, Aemond is left with only his memories and the phantom touch of the one he lost forever.

Hi, sorry if there are too many grammatical mistakes. Please be kind and remember that English isn't my first language. The IDEA for this one-shot came thanks to the wonderful @violetastridhotd! Thank you. IF YOU WANT TO READ IT ON AO3: here's the link

The ruinous hallways of Harrenhal stood early quiet, a deep and suffocating kind of silence that wrapped itself around the castle like the shadows clinging to its walls. The once-great fortress was a shell of its former self, scarred and broken by time, just as its current occupant felt himself to be. Aemond Targaryen sat near the hearth, staring into the last flickering flames of a fire that had grown cold, much like the rest of him. His long silver hair was loose, falling in wild strands over his shoulders, and his single eye—sapphire gleaming in the dim light—was fixed on the dying embers. The chill of the castle seeped into his bones, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when the true cold had taken residence within his heart, freezing him from the inside out, making him feel like he had died while staying in the world of the living.

Aemond's mind, once sharp and focused on war and conquest, now swam in the murky waters of regret. How long had it been since he had arrived at Harrenhal? Days? Weeks? Time had lost its meaning in this desolate place, where every corner whispered of death, betrayal, and madness. It felt like it had been a long time since he had claimed this haunted keep, yet he found no solace here. No glory. Only cold stone and darker memories, and the voices that haunted Aemond were not those of the thousands of souls who had perished within Harrenhal's walls. No, the voice that haunted him most belonged to the one person he could never escape.

Lucerys.

Aemond's jaw clenched at the thought of his nephew—the nephew he had chased through the storm, the nephew whose life had been cut short by the dragon he had once believed he could control. Vhagar had snapped him out of the sky like a wolf devouring a lamb, and in that single, terrible moment, Aemond's world had changed forever.

Vhagar... the dammed storm...

The image of Lucerys’ terrified face flashed before him, as vivid now as it had been when he last saw him alive when the storm howled and raged at Storm’s End. The boy's brown curls, his wide eyes filled with fear, and the moment everything had spun out of control. The moment Vhagar... no, the moment he had taken Lucerys’ life .

I didn’t mean for it to happen… That was never meant to happen.  

The words echoed in his mind, a futile refrain. But they didn’t matter. Intentions were meaningless now. Regret was meaningless now. It wasn’t like his regret or heartbreak would bring his nephew back to the world of living. It wasn’t like he could have Luke back to hear his laughter, even when it was at his expense. Lucerys Velaryon was dead, and Aemond’s hands were stained with the blood of his kin.

He would never be able to wash it away.

He closed his eye and leaned back in the chair, the flickering light casting harsh shadows across his gaunt features. His body was as exhausted as his soul, but still, sleep would not come. How could it? Every time he closed his eye, he saw it again—the storm, the wind, the look of fear in Lucerys’ wide, innocent eyes. The sickening sound of Arrax's flesh being torn apart and the crunch of bones breaking, Lucerys was so small, so young and he along with his dragon had been torn apart by Aemond's lack of control over Vaghar. The dragon had acted on instinct and no matter how many times Aemond told her not to do anything, it was too late. He can still remember how terrified Lucerys looked...

Luke...  

Aemond would always remember the way the young dragon's flesh and blood fell into the sea as he watched from the sky, knowing it was his fault, that he had ended his nephew's life in that horrible way. That image would follow him forever. That… and the terrible, final silence that followed. 

Aemond remembered how his lips parted at the horrifying sight. There wasn’t much that would make him feel uncomfortable, after all, he was ready to be a warrior, but the view of the dragon falling and the fact that he had killed Lucerys had shaken him. His lips parted, but no sound came for a few seconds. He had no words left for the grief that was hollowing him out piece by piece, even now, in the middle of the night, in the desolated Harrenhal, he didn’t have words to explain the pain that crushed his heart when he thought about his nephew. He had chased the boy through the storm intending to frighten him—maybe even hurt him a bit, just a small revenge from the damage the younger boy had done to his eye so many years ago—but he never intended to kill him. Not his Lucerys.

“Lucerys…” he whispered in the cold of the room, the name breaking like glass on his lips, and for the first time in days, his eye burned with the threat of tears.

Lucerys, Lucerys, Lucerys… My Lucerys… 

A sudden shift in the air made Aemond's breath catch in his throat, his thoughts stopping for a second. The temperature in the room plummeted further, a biting chill that sent a shiver down his spine. He sat up straight, heart pounding, as a faint light seemed to bleed into the edges of the room—a soft, otherworldly glow that he knew should not be there.

Along with the soft gleam that had appeared, the silence of the hall was broken by the faintest of whispers, so soft that Aemond almost thought he had imagined it. But no, there it was again, drifting through the cold air.

"Aemond…"

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. The voice was achingly familiar—too familiar… And then he saw him.

The ghost of his nephew stood at the entrance to the hall, bathed in the pale light of the afterlife. Lucerys’ face was as gentle and innocent as it had been when Aemond had last seen him—young, with wide brown eyes, a small and kind smile playing on his lips. He looked as he had in life, but with an otherworldly glow that made him seem even more delicate, more fragile.

His small form was dressed in the clothes he had died in, though they were now unmarred by blood or the storm’s water. His hair, dark curls that Aemond had once tugged at in their youth, framed his gentle face. But it was his eyes that held Aemond captive—those same brown eyes that had once looked up at him with fear, now filled with something else entirely.

Forgiveness.

Aemond’s throat tightened, his breath frozen in his lungs. This was not real. It could not be real. But Lucerys—Luke—looked as real as he had the last time Aemond had seen him alive. His lips quirked up into a soft smile, one that made Aemond’s chest ache with a feeling of deep, unbearable sorrow. 

Lovely foolish Lucerys… How can you smile in my direction when I’m the one guilty of your death? 

“Lucerys?” Aemond’s voice cracked, barely a whisper, as though speaking too loudly would cause the boy to vanish like smoke in the wind. Right now, that was his bigger fear, for him to push away the only presence of Lucerys that he was being blessed with, even if this was probably part of his imagination. “Is it… is it truly you?”

The ghost took a step forward, and the soft glow that surrounded him seemed to pulse, like the fading light of the sun as it set on the horizon. “Uncle… Aemond,” Lucerys said, his voice as soft and kind as Aemond remembered from their childhood, before the war, before the hatred. “It’s me.”

Aemond rose to his feet on trembling legs, his body aching under the weight of his grief. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to stay, to bask in Lucerys’ presence, to beg for forgiveness and absolution from this vision… but at the same time, he wanted to run, to flee from this invention from his mind that threatened to break him apart. Still, he found himself rooted in place. As if sensing his hesitation, Lucerys came closer, his small hands hanging loosely at his sides. He got so close that Aemond could see him clearly now—his nephew, the boy he had killed.

“I…” Aemond’s mouth moved, but the words were stuck in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he struggled to breathe. This was too painful… Too cruel... “Why are you here?” His voice was a broken rasp. “Why do you haunt me?”

Lucerys tilted his head, his expression softening even further, looking at Aemond with sadness and love. “I don’t haunt you, Aemond. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The words stung, cutting deeper than any accusation ever could. Aemond’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. Why? Why would you not want to hurt me? He could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but he forced them back. No matter how much pain he was feeling, how much he felt that his heart was being pulled out of his chest and how he couldn’t breathe from the sheer pressure that he felt at being in front of Lucerys. He did not deserve to cry. Not for this. Not for the boy whose life he had ended.

“I don’t deserve your kindness, Lucerys.” His voice shook, and he looked away, unable to meet those gentle brown eyes any longer. 

Why? Why do you look sad for me? Why do you look at me with so much love? I don’t deserve your love.  

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I took everything from you.” Aemond said almost desperately while looking at the floor, his voice breaking a bit at the last part. He couldn’t bring himself to look up, to look at Lucerys… He didn’t deserve it. 

Lucerys stepped closer until he was standing directly in front of Aemond, his presence as gentle and calming as a spring breeze. He couldn’t help it and he looked at his nephew, noticing how the younger boy’s eyes were filled with a warmth that made Aemond’s heart ache in ways he had never imagined.

“You didn’t mean to,” Lucerys said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I know you didn’t mean to kill me.”

Aemond let out a broken, humorless laugh, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his guilt. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his eye burning with unshed tears. He would not cry. He wouldn’t allow himself to cry. “I still did it. Vhagar still—”

“I know,” Lucerys interrupted softly, his tone full of understanding. “But I don’t blame you, Aemond. I never did.”

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt as though the ground beneath him was crumbling. How could Lucerys stand there, looking at him with such love, such forgiveness, when he had stolen everything from him? How could the boy he had killed be the one to offer him the absolution he had so desperately longed for?

“I… I thought I wanted revenge… but I just wanted… I wanted you to love me,” Aemond whispered, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His voice cracked under the weight of his confession, and his hands trembled at his sides. “And I ruined it. I ruined everything.” He said, bitterly. He wanted to scream, cry and curse at the gods that had condemned him to destroy the one person who could truly love him.  

Lucerys’ eyes softened, and for the first time since his death, Aemond felt the warmth of another’s touch as the boy reached up to cup his cheek. It was faint, like a breeze barely stirring the air, but it was real. He was real. 

Oh… He’s really here.

“I do love you, Aemond,” Lucerys whispered, his thumb brushing softly against Aemond’s skin. “I always have.”

Aemond’s heart shattered. The thread keeping him calm and composed had finally snapped in two. And without being able to stop himself, the tears he had fought so hard to keep at bay broke free, spilling down his face in hot, silent streams. His chest heaved with the weight of his sorrow, his grief, his regret. He had longed for Lucerys’ love, had yearned for it with every fiber of his being, and now he would never know it—not truly.

“I’m so sorry,” Aemond choked out, his voice breaking with the force of his sobs. “I’m so sorry, Lucerys. I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Lucerys said gently, his eyes filled with an endless, unconditional love. “I know, Aemond.”

Aemond fell to his knees before the boy’s ghost, his body wracked with sobs as he clung to the hem of Lucerys’ cloak. He could feel his heart breaking all over again, shattering into a million pieces that would never be whole again. He would never know how would it feel to wake up beside Lucerys, to feel his small body between his arms, to kiss his lips. He would never hear his laughter again, his teasing voice, he would never see the pout that he made when he was annoyed at something, and he would never be able to grow old with the love of his life.  

Still, Lucerys stood there, his presence a quiet comfort, his love a balm for Aemond’s shattered soul.

“I forgive you,” Lucerys whispered, his voice soft and soothing. “I forgive you, Aemond. You don’t have to carry this burden anymore.”

But Aemond couldn’t let go. How could he? He had taken everything from Lucerys—his life, his future, his happiness. Not only that, he had taken away the possibility of a future together. Because knowing his lovely Luke, he would have found a way to stay together… Aemond didn’t deserve to be free of this regret… And now, his adorable Lucerys was in front of him, offering Aemond the one thing he could never forgive himself for.

“You deserved better,” Aemond whispered, his voice broken and filled with sorrow. “You deserved so much more.”

Lucerys knelt in front of him, his small hand reaching out to touch Aemond’s face once more. “Maybe… Maybe not… but I know I had what I needed,” he said quietly. “I had you, I had your heart.”

Aemond’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, and he closed his eye, his tears still falling freely. For so long, his desires for revenge had covered his real feelings, he, in his dumb, young mind, had wanted to protect Lucerys, to keep him safe, but in the end, he and his foolish actions had been the one to destroy him.

“I will never be free of this,” Aemond whispered, his voice filled with the weight of his guilt. “I will never forgive myself… I won’t…”

Lucerys smiled, his eyes soft and full of love. “Then let me forgive you.”

Aemond looked up at him, his vision blurred with tears. Lucerys’ face was bathed in the soft glow of the afterlife, and in that moment, Aemond saw not the boy he had killed, but the boy he had loved.

And then, with one final, soft smile, Lucerys began to fade, his form dissolving into the misty light of the otherworld.

“I’ll always forgive you, Aemond,” Lucerys’ voice whispered as he vanished from sight, leaving Aemond alone in the cold, empty halls of Harrenhal.

Aemond remained there, on his knees, his tears falling silently onto the stone floor. The warmth that Lucerys had brought with him was gone, the kind touch of his love had faded with him, leaving behind only the icy chill of regret.

But Aemond didn’t move. He couldn’t. His legs felt weak, his body heavy, as if the weight of all his sins had finally anchored him to the ground. The fire had long since died out, and the only light in the room came from the faint moonlight filtering through the broken windows. His heart was still racing, each beat sharp and painful in his chest, he could hear his own heart, hitting against his ribs with painful punches as if it was trying to run away from his body. He couldn’t blame his heart… After all, Aemond felt as if his very soul was being torn apart.

For a long while, he didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. He just existed there, in that hollow space of grief, his mind replaying every moment of Lucerys’ death, and every bit of the conversation he just had with the ghost of his loved one.

I will never forgive myself.

It was the only truth he had left, the only constant in a world that had unraveled around him. Even Lucerys, in his infinite kindness, could not absolve him of this sin. Even if Lucerys could forgive him, even if he could move past his horrible death. Aemond knew that he would carry this burden for the rest of his life, a shadow that would follow him until the day he died. Maybe when he died, he would feel that he could forgive himself.

His breath came shallow now, the weight of it all finally pulling him down. Slowly, without thinking, Aemond sank to the floor. His cape had fallen from the chair earlier, and now it lay beside him, a small, insignificant object that seemed almost out of place in this vast, empty hall. He stared at it for a moment, then reached out with trembling hands, pulling the cape beneath his head as he lay down on the cold stone floor. Maybe he should start the fire again, maybe he should look for a warmer place to pass the night, but he couldn’t bring himself to move away from the last place he felt Lucery’s touch on his skin. He wasn’t able to do it. 

The chill seeped through his clothes, biting into his skin, but he didn’t care. He welcomed it—the numbness, the quiet, the peace that could only be found in the void. His long silver hair spread out like a halo beneath him as he closed his eye, his chest still heaving with the weight of his sobs. His body felt like lead, his heart a dead thing in his chest.

Lucerys.

He whispered the name in his mind like a prayer, as if saying it enough times might bring the boy back to him, might somehow undo the terrible wrong he had committed. But of course, it was a futile hope. Lucerys was gone. He was never coming back.

Yet, as Aemond lay there, drowning in his own grief, something strange happened.

A gentle warmth brushed against his cheek, so faint and so fleeting that he almost didn’t notice it at first. His breath hitched, his eye flying open as his heart stuttered in his chest. His hand instinctively rose to his face, fingers brushing over the scarred flesh where his sapphire eye was embedded, but the warmth wasn’t coming from his own touch.

No, this was something else. Something softer.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he lay there, frozen, the warmth growing stronger—like the brush of a hand, the lightest caress, as though someone was touching him with the tenderness of a lover. His fingers trembled as he lowered his hand, his body going rigid as he realized what it was.

Lucerys.

It was impossible, absurd even, but in that moment, Aemond swore he could feel Lucerys’ hand on his cheek—the same gentle touch he had felt earlier when the ghost had stood before him. It was as if Lucerys had come back to him, not as a haunting specter of forgiveness, but as the boy Aemond had longed to love in life.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest, and the tears he had fought so hard to hold back spilled over once more. His breath hitched in his throat, and before he knew it, he was sobbing—great, heaving sobs that wracked his entire body, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. His fingers dug into the stone floor beneath him, his body curling in on itself as if he could somehow escape the torment of his own heart.

But still, the warmth remained. Lucerys’ touch lingered on his scarred cheek, soft and loving, as if trying to soothe the pain that had taken root in Aemond’s soul. And for a brief, fleeting moment, Aemond allowed himself to believe it. He allowed himself to believe that what he saw before was real. That the ghost wasn’t a product of his regretful heart but that Lucerys had truly forgiven him, that his nephew had returned—not as a vengeful spirit, but as the boy who had once loved him.

Aemond squeezed his eye shut, his sobs growing quieter, more desperate. He clung to that feeling, to that faint touch, as though it were the only thing tethering him to the world.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken and hoarse. “I’m so, so sorry.”

And as the warmth slowly began to fade, as Lucerys’ touch slipped away like the last breath of wind before a storm, Aemond’s heart shattered all over again.

He had been given a glimpse of what could have been—what should have been—and now it was gone. Forever.

The last of his tears fell silently down his cheeks, and as the night deepened around him, Aemond lay there, alone in the cold, broken and hollow. The echoes of his sobs were the only sound in the vast emptiness of Harrenhal, a reminder that no matter how hard he had tried, he would never escape the consequences of his actions.

He would never know Lucerys' love in life, only in the fleeting touches of a ghost.

[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

[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

[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.

[queers-gambit]

Ignorance is Bliss

prompt: turns out, you didn't care if they fucked - it's her job. you do, however, care that your husband's been confiding in her more than you. -> or in which your husband has an emotional affair.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!wife!reader platonic pairing: Aegon Targaryen x mean!bestie!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: Pumpkin Eater

word count: 3.2k+

note: because we don't explicitly see them fucking, this is an emotional affair. cool? cool.

warnings: kinda AU timeline so very small spoilers, alcohol consumption, Aegon's a gossipy little bitch, kinda mean!reader, self doubt, not all cheating is physical - this is a single variation. cursing, established relationship / wife!reader, relationship angst, generalized angst, hurt no comfort, feelings are hard. Aemond's a dick, ONE SHOT, abrupt ending, drama, technically friends to lovers, is this a toxic relationship? idk, maybe. not edited. requires maturity and caution.

"Oooooohhhhh, sis-teeeerrrrr! Sister, where art thou!?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you snarled quietly, dropping the book in your hands to your lap in defeat. "Is nowhere sacred?"

"Sister! Sister, dearest! Hello? Your little handmaiden said you were down here! Wheeeeere arrreeeeee yoooouuuuuuuu?"

"This fucking lecher will wake the whole bloody Keep," you shook your head with a scoff. Then, with a raised voice, you called, "Over here, Aegon!"

"Who's here!?"

"Left!"

"It's dark - where's Left!?"

"Oh, Gods, walk straight ahead of you!" You watched as the King slowly revealed himself, turning every which way. "Okay, halt." He did, hands held out carefully. "Turn a little... No, no, over here, mate - to your left... Your left... Your LEFT! Aegon, your other left!"

"Oh, hoooo!" Aegon giggled when he spun in a complete circle before pausing upon his sight of you - sitting beneath the Heart Tree in the Godswood. "There you are, sister! Oh, you look glorious tonight!"

"Fuck off with your fake compliments, Aegon, what do you want?"

"Perhaps I am merely happy to see you!"

"You're never authentic, tell me what you want. Why do you seek me?"

"Well, that's no way to speak to your King."

"I am speaking to my brother-by-law."

"Not your friend?" He pouted dramatically before dropping to the spot beside you in the dirt, groaning, "Oh, how do you sit like this? It's - It's miserable. The bloody roots... Here, I got this, this will help, make it allllllll better," he wriggled around to pull his flask from his belt.

"How much have you had to drink tonight, friend?"

"Enough," he assured, taking a swig, "but this is mostly for you."

"Oh, I'm fine - "

"I think you'll need it, sister."

"Why's that?"

"I have something toooo telllll yoooouuuuu," he sang with a devilish grin.

"I truly don't care for petty gossip - "

"It's about Aemond."

"Spill, bitch."

"Okay, so," Aegon and you both readjusted to face one another in your respected cradles of the Heart Tree's roots, "do you know where he was tonight?"

"Am I to track his every move?"

"It was a mere question, sister, c'mon, play along and humor me."

With a sigh, you relented with a shrug, "He was... Supposedly in the library."

"Wrong," he handed over the flask, "he was in a brothel!" You lifted the flask to your lips and took a slow pull, narrowing your eyes in suspicion. "I swear it, we walked in on him! I would not lie to you! Well, not about this!"

Gulping, you pondered, "Hmm... Who's 'we'?"

"Myself and, uh, some of the Kingsguard who had yet to be blooded... If you catch my meaning."

"Everyone always catches your meanings, you wouldn't know subtly if it smacked you in the face," you chuckled dryly, taking another swig. "Where were you? Which brothel?"

"Sylvie's? Whatever her name is - the one with the lion's head door knocker."

With another nod of understanding, you asked, "And who was he with? Just one woman?"

"Yes, yes, just the Madam of the House."

"I see... Hm... Wait, do you mean - "

"The woman he lost his boyhood to?" Aegon snickered, "Yes!"

"I was going to say the brothel owner, but all right. Do keep in mind you're not just exchanging gossip, Aegon, but telling a wife you found her husband in a brothel," you sighed, nodding and knocking back one last shot.

"Right, no, you're right," he cleared his throat. "I apologize for sounding so... Um, uh, insensitive?"

You snorted slightly in amusement, knowing he never apologized to anyone but you because he never cared for what others thought. It was a foreign sound on his tongue, so you took mercy and moved on, sighing deeply and revealing, "In truth, my friend, I think I'm just shocked."

"Ah, well, that's to be expected, innit? Every wife is."

"Is yours?"

"No," Aegon snickered. "But I have to admit, after seeing how he pined and begged me to set you two up, I did not think my brother could ever be the type to cheat."

"Nor I. It's why I let you arrange our betrothal."

"Are you angry?"

"I'm processing."

"Well - "

"Aegon, shut your trap for just a moment," you pleaded. "It's a lot to take in and process, I'm unsure what I feel in this moment."

He paused and nodded, breathing deeply before taking a swig from his flask. "Are you angry at me, though?" Aegon asked softly, like a wounded child - akin to who he was on the inside.

"About what?" You asked patiently.

"Telling you...?"

You heaved a deep sigh, "No, no, my friend. I appreciate knowing, though, you took far too much pleasure in telling me."

"Well, in my defense, it was quite humorous to find him in such a position."

"I don't wish to know - "

"They were cuddling!"

You couldn't help the small chuckle that burst forth, asking his drunken person, "So?"

"Well, it's weird, is it not? To cuddle with a woman you pay to fuck you?"

"Some men have paid for weirder things, cuddling is the least of it."

"Are you trying to rationalize your husband's cheating?"

"No, just - defending different tastes?"

"You sound in denial."

"Perhaps I am."

"Have another shot," he insisted, nudging the flask closer.

"No, I should, uh... I should head back, confront Aemond."

"He might already be there, he left in a real big huff."

You sighed and nodded, "Tell me something in truth, please, Aegon?"

"Now would be the best time," he snickered, but nodded and gestured you to continue.

"Cheating doesn't mean he's... Unhappy, does it?"

"It could mean anything, everything, honey. Do you truly believe it's cheating when we aren't meant for just a single person to begin with?"

"What're you on about?"

"Well, no one person can be everything to anyone. Right?"

The entire walk to your chambers, Aegon's words echoed in your head. You had to admit, you understood where he was coming from, what he meant; but you hated the concept that cheating could be excused because humans weren't 'simply' monogamous. What a pathetic excuse, humans were capable of a great many things - being loyal and trustworthy among them! You oft heard it said you were only ever asking too much if from the wrong person, and the idea that Aemond was your "wrong person" to ask anything from gutted you in a surprising way. To say you were caught off guard was an understatement.

He was supposed to be your friend and husband, what happened to that trust?

You barged into your chambers, shutting the door in a flurried rush as you were desperate to speak with your husband; who you married at the age of ten-and-five after years of companionship. Your family had serviced the Targaryens for ages, it was only natural you grew alongside the newest brood; finding an unlikely, lasting friendship with Aegon, of all people. It was surprising, but the pair of you seemingly needed someone to lean on, so you developed a friendship to keep the other in line; something you obviously failed at.

YET - if Aegon would say humans are not monogamous, you'd argue humans had free will and made their own decisions. So, the little lecher should be held accountable for how he turned out as much as Aemond should be questioned about what was seen in the brothel.

It was Aegon who set you up with his brother. Aegon who supported your courtship. Aegon who instigated your engagement. Aegon who told you your husband was found in a brothel, cuddled up to the Madam... Naked.

Upon your inspection, Aemond wasn't back yet.

For mere fleeting moments, you despised being alone, finding the silence haunting; your chambers too big, too empty, too cold without your husband's usual warmth. However, the moment you thought of him in a whorehouse, laid naked with a woman not you, rage returned ten fold; burning bright and white-hot in your gut. You needed to nip this curious situation in the bud. Tonight. By confronting him. No matter how scary or anxiety inducing it surely will be.

So, you waited.

With a glass of wine, you settled in your living quarters; tucked on the loveseat with nothing keeping the thoughts at bay. They were terribly invasive, forcing you to relive your discovery and accept your husband preferred the company of whores over you. Forced to accept he was cheating on you. You waited.

Maids entered your chambers for nightly chores, even letting you remain in place, facing the door, when fixing your hair in loose braids for sleep. They turned your bed down, placed hot coals under the blankets, refilled wine decanters, and lit the candles in each corner of your suite. Aemond's prolonged absence might've been cause for concern if you hadn't been cursed to know where he was. You waited.

Yet that anger was dulling into something more alined with annoyance to learn he lied. "If he wants to fuck painted whores, let him fuck painted whores," you thought, "it's the lying and deception I am uncomfortable with! What need could he have for lying about his whereabouts? Was this an affair of some sort? Was it just my flesh he desecrated or our wedding vows, too? If he wanted to fuck whores, that was fine - it was just their job, they did this for coin. Yet if this was an affair of some sort - like the rumors of Prince Daemon and his mysterious whore he lifted from the ashes - I don't know how to move past that. Please, please, Gods, let this just be him wanting to fuck painted whores." You waited.

Your leg bounced, a fresh decanter of wine being presented and set upon the table you sat before. Nerves prickled your skin, tension coiled your stomach, heart hammering so intensely that it nearly beat out of every pulse point; so you reached for your chalice to quell the erratic speed in which everything throbbed. Polishing off any drop of wine, you felt warmed to your core - though, whether from the alcohol or anger, who could tell? You waited.

Your ladies maid lingered after the others filtered out; laying out an acceptable night gown, dressing robe, and house shoes the Dornish called "slippers". She tried to goad you into changing into them, but you insisted you would later. When she questioned you, you answered your business tonight was not yet concluded and you could not yet prepare for bed. Kindly, she asked if there was anything she could assist you with, but all that was left was to refill your goblet with a worried gaze before being dismissed for the night. Still, you waited.

Until, finally, after hours of isolation, your husband returned. He didn't seem to notice you yet, whipping off his cloak in a flourish only to drape it over the back of a perpendicular chair. When he noticed you, he jumped slightly, "Gods, love, what're you doing? I wasn't expecting to see you there."

"No shit."

"Why're you out here? Awake?" He asked, dropping into a padded arm chair so he faced you. In truth, you were grateful since either the wine or acute anxiety prevented you from finding your feet. "Oh, I see," he purred. "Can't sleep without me, can yah?" Aemond's lips curled at the corners.

"I'll sleep easier after you confess."

"To what charge, my darling?" Aemond reached for your thigh, but you swatted him away. With a sigh, he sassily requested in a quip, "It's been a long night, just tell me what you're upset about, I won't play these games."

"You're disrespecting the vows and sanctity of our marriage by visiting brothels! What an insult to spend the Crown's coin on such foul debauchery, Aemond, you were supposed to be a better man than this!"

He froze, staring at you without blinking. Then, slowly, Aemond asked, "What?"

"I know, Aemond! I know about Madam Sylvie." Then, to your shock and horror, Aemond chuckled; leaning back in his chair, hand raising to curl over his lips as if to hide his amusement. You shot out of your seat, "Oh, fuck you, then - "

"No, no!" Aemond rocketed to his feet, two long strides bringing him to your side. His hand grabbed your upper arm, "No, my love, listen to me - you do not understand - "

"You went into a brothel, it's not a riddle, there's nothing for you to explain nor for me to further understand, I am no fool," you snapped, allowing him turn you so you faced him.

"I did nothing of the sorts with her - with anyone."

"I'm not so ignorant nor foolish. You forget, I grew up with you and Aegon! Our own King Lecher!"

"I swear to you, my sweet wife, I have not lain with anyone since our marraige but you."

"How can you stand there and lie to me? Aegon saw you! Naked with her, in bed!"

Your husband took a deep and long breath, then told you slowly, "When I was ten-and-three, Aegon took me to the Street of Silk."

You nodded with a small roll of your eyes, "Yes, I know."

"The woman who I laid with - she's a Madam, yes, named Sylvie."

"So... You... You visit the woman you lost your virginity to?"

He sighed, "Yes, and I know it sounds strange."

"It's borderline wretched, Aemond, to us, this relationship. You are not making the case you think - "

"Please, allow me a moment to finish explaining?"

You've never seen or heard Aemond beg, so you nodded slowly, "Speak."

"I visit Madam Sylvie... Because she's the only other woman I've lain with. There's a certain level of... Comfort that goes beyond her payment. I lay with her, yes, but only together, in bed, without ever fucking."

"You just, what? Cuddle?"

"Yes."

This made you pause. With several flutters of your lashes, you asked, "W-Why?"

"I felt I was bringing home to you too much tension and strain... This war takes its toll on us all, so I go to Sylvie to unload and... Be vulnerable? Have an outlet?"

You're unsure how long you must've stood there in genuine confusion, earnest hurt, prolonged disappointment, but jolted when he tugged you forward towards the loveseat again. After he guided you to stiffly sit, you met his eyes with confused tears while he asked, "My love? Would you say something? Anything?"

"How... How long?" You managed to croak.

"Only a few visits."

"And you've not fucked her?"

"I've not fucked her."

"You just... Lay together, naked, and what? Talk?"

"Yes."

"W-What?"

"I fear I do not know what else I can clarify, love."

You just nodded and leaned back in your seat, sighing deeply. Aemond mimicked your position beside you and tentatively picked up your hand to hold. You swallowed thickly, asking, "So, you've not slept with Madam Sylvie?"

"No."

"You go to her for some kind of emotional comfort?"

"I suppose."

You nodded slowly. "You just talk... Naked, in bed, laid together, and talk."

"Yes. It is a grave comfort in this time of uncertainty."

You couldn't help but snip, "And I do not provide such comfort?"

"Darling girl - "

"What do you speak of to Madam Sylvie that you cannot speak to me about? What comfort can she provide that you cannot seek in me? What insights to this war can she provide that you cannot hear from me?"

Aemond froze, blinking in shock and letting his thin lips part without words. "It is... You are not serious, are you?" He suddenly snipped.

"Deadly," You assured.

"You're angry at me for speaking to another woman?"

"It's more than that and you know it. You lay in a private bed of a public whorehouse, naked! Open! Vulnerable! You speak to her as you do a wife - as you do me! You seek her ear when you neglect mine own!"

"Do you hear yourself?" He chuckled cruelly. "I have never fucked her, yet you grow angry - irritable! You pick this fight with me when all I do is unload my burdens - "

"What burdens!? What burdens do you have that I do not already know of!? That you cannot speak to me about?"

You both stood off the loveseat - taking several paces in opposite directions to distinguish space and sides of this fight. "Perhaps that is what I seek! An unbiased ear! An opinion untainted by the venoms of the vipers of the Red Keep! Someone removed, uninvolved! Someone on the outside that - that - "

"That will what, Aemond? Take your side?"

"Yes! Perhaps that is something I seek!"

"You pay a woman to tell you woe is me!?"

"You make it sound so vain - "

"How would you phrase it, then!?"

"That I need an outlet! With everything going on, I needed something more!"

You nodded sarcastically, "Well, you'll be needing her for more than an emotional outlet from now on, won't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aemond watched you storm away, following hot on your trail, barking, "Hey! Don't walk away - I'm speaking to you!"

"You know," you pushed into your bedchambers, "I didn't think you'd be the one to belittle my feelings so easily!"

"I fail to see how this is even an issue! Why're you - what're you doing, now!?"

"You being blind to my feelings is why I think we should spend a few days apart," you snarled, shoving a few items into a carpet bag and rushing in a flurry to grab necessities and comforts of 'home'.

"Fine."

You paused, glaring at him and asking, "What? That's it?"

"You wish for a fight?"

"Anything - "

"I told you, I will not play games. So, fine; leave," he shrugged. "I certainly won't be."

"Oh? That so?" You challenged - obviously already planning on leaving, but wanting to test him.

"I'm the Prince," he eased, "you're the one married into this family, I will not be the one to vacate these chambers. So, fine, flee, go, take your things and be gone. I'll send for the maids and have a chamber prepared for you, take your time packing the rest of your items."

You watched him charge from the chamber and slowly lowered onto the edge of the bed behind you; crumpling the laid out nightclothes while pulling the carpet bag closer to your chest. Blinking rapidly, you fought back tears and decided that perhaps your marriage was too far gone if your husband was so willing and nonchalant about you wanting distance post his breech of trust. He had evidently emotionally moved past you, something you hadn't realized was happening in real time before it was too late; and now, you were left to reel in the aftermath.

Why did Aegon have to tell you? Why did you have to know? They say Ignorance is Bliss, and if you didn't know, you and Aemond would be right as rain right now. He could have all the alone time with Madam Sylvie he wanted and you'd be none the wiser. But now that the cat was out of the bag, you were cursed with knowledge and felt incapable of processing, accepting, and moving forward in the wake of this emotional betrayal.

You didn't see Aemond the rest of the night, just the nightshift maids, errand boys, and guards who helped you gather your belongings and usher you into a new chamber... Three floors away from Prince Aemond, further evidence he perhaps did not intend to mend the tattered threads of your torn matrimony.

requesting rules and masterlist

Pumpkin Eater collection masterlist - coming soon!

HOTD masterlist

NO INTENDED SEQUEL

[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!

[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."

[naerenavelaryon]

I reread this fic every single night and it still has me giggling and kicking my feet!

Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys. 

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid… 

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing. 

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily. 

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives. 

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.  

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way… 

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs. 

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him. 

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say. 

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke. 

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,”  he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,” 

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup. 

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face. 

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness?  How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him? 

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.” 

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans. 

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

 He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore. 

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor. 

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this? 

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body. 

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little. 

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you. 

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

[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

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family series. Chapter 9: Now everyone knows.

The reader wants to go back to sea, she wants to dive in to find that squid, she asks her father to help her.

The morning sun glistened on the waves as you stood at the edge of the rocky shore, the tide lapping at your boots. Your heart raced with anticipation and curiosity. The image of the glowing squid, its bright orange eyes gazing at you in the depths, had been haunting your thoughts since the night of the fall. You needed to see it again. To know it wasn’t just a dream or a trick of your frightened mind.

Daemon stood behind you, his arms crossed, a mix of wariness and protectiveness in his expression. “This is madness,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “The sea is dangerous, and you nearly died. Why would you tempt fate again?”

You turned to him, determination lighting your eyes. “It saved me, Father. I know it did. I just need to... thank it. To understand why.”

Daemon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He hated saying no to you, especially when you looked at him with such conviction. “And what if it’s not there? Or worse, if it is and it’s no longer friendly?”

“It helped me once,” you said confidently. “I don’t believe it would hurt me.”

Rhaenyra appeared beside Daemon, her expression one of concern. “Daemon’s right. You don’t know what you’re diving into. The sea is not kind.”

You stepped closer to your father, your hands gripping his arm. “Please. Just one dive. You’ll hold the rope. If anything happens, you’ll pull me back.”

Daemon looked at you for a long moment, then sighed heavily. “Fine. But if I feel even the slightest tug of trouble, I’m pulling you up.”

You grinned, relief washing over you. “Thank you.”

Minutes later, you stood at the edge of a cliffside inlet, a long, sturdy rope tied securely around your waist. Daemon held the other end, bracing himself against the rocks, his jaw tight with nerves.

Rhaenyra stood a few paces back, her arms crossed, watching with a mixture of apprehension and pride.

“Remember,” Daemon said, his voice sharp with authority. “You signal if you’re in trouble. No exceptions.”

“I will,” you promised, your heart pounding with both excitement and trepidation. With one last look at your parents, you dove into the water.

The chill of the sea enveloped you, and for a moment, all was silent except for the muffled sounds of the ocean. You opened your eyes, squinting through the saltwater, and began to swim deeper, your legs kicking steadily as you scanned the murky depths.

Minutes passed, and doubt began to creep into your mind. What if it wasn’t real? What if—

A sudden flicker of movement caught your eye. Then, from the darkness, the glowing orange eyes appeared, followed by the enormous form of the squid. Its luminescent tentacles moved gracefully, their glow illuminating the water around you. Your heart leaped in awe and recognition.

You raised a hand, waving at the creature. To your amazement, one of its massive tentacles reached out, brushing gently against your arm. The touch was warm, almost soothing, and you could feel the faintest sense of acknowledgement—as though it was saying hello.

For a moment, everything else faded. The world above the water, the danger of the sea—all that mattered was this moment of connection. You smiled, your lungs beginning to burn with the need for air. But as you turned to swim back, the heaviness of the water pulled at you. Panic surged as your legs tired, and you began to sink.

The squid reacted instantly. One of its glowing tentacles wrapped around your waist, lifting you with surprising gentleness. It propelled you upward, guiding you toward the surface. As you broke through the water, gasping for air, Daemon and Rhaenyra’s panicked shouts reached your ears.

From the shore, your parents watched in stunned silence as an enormous orange tentacle emerged from the water, holding you securely. It gently deposited you on the rocks before retreating. The squid’s glowing eyes surfaced for a brief moment, and it lifted a single tentacle in what looked like a wave goodbye before vanishing beneath the waves.

Daemon rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms. “What in the Seven Hells were you thinking?” he demanded, his voice shaking with both anger and relief.

Rhaenyra knelt beside you, her hands fluttering over your face and shoulders. “Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you managed, coughing up a bit of seawater. “It helped me. Again.”

Daemon glanced at the water, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. “That... thing. It lifted you.” You nodded, your voice was soft but steady. “It’s not just a thing. It’s... it’s intelligent. It saved me. Twice now.”

Rhaenyra exchanged a stunned look with Daemon. “A creature like that... it defies everything we know.”

Daemon pulled you close, his grip firm but comforting. “No more diving into the sea, do you hear me? I don’t care if it’s the Mother herself swimming beneath those waves. You stay on land.” You smiled faintly, leaning into his embrace. “I promise.”

As the three of you sat together on the rocks, the mystery of the glowing squid lingered in your minds. But for now, the only thing that mattered was that you were safe, surrounded by those who loved you.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain fell in a soft, steady rhythm, cool droplets rolling down your face as you lay on the damp ground near the cliffside. The spot where the enormous orange squid had placed you felt like a strange sanctuary now, a place tied to the mysteries of the sea and the creature that had twice saved your life. The rain soothed you, calming the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. Beside you, the direwolf lay curled up, its thick fur slicked with water but unbothered by the weather. On your other side, Caraxes rested his massive head close to you, his body a looming, protective presence. Their shared comfort in the rain mirrored your own, a silent unity that made you feel, for a fleeting moment, not entirely alone.

You shifted slightly, your arm brushing against the damp grass. Slowly, you stretched it toward the cliff’s edge, your fingertips grazing the rocky ground as if reaching for the memory of the squid’s warm, glowing tentacle. A small part of you hoped it might rise from the depths again, even in this storm, just to remind you that the connection had been real.

Behind you, the sound of footsteps on wet grass reached your ears, and you glanced back to see your father approaching. Daemon’s dark hair was plastered to his face from the rain, his expression softened by concern as he crouched beside you. Without a word, he lowered himself onto the ground, stretching out beside you, the rain pooling in the folds of his clothing.

“Are you cold?” he asked quietly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the rain and crashing waves.

You shook your head. “No,” you replied softly, staring up at the gray sky. “I like the rain.”

Daemon turned his head to look at you, his piercing gaze catching yours. His face was unreadable for a moment before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re a strange one,” he said, not unkindly.

You let out a small laugh but didn’t respond. Instead, you hesitated, biting your lip before finally speaking the thought that had been gnawing at you for days. “Father,” you began, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

Daemon frowned, his expression immediately serious. “What do you mean?”

You gestured to the direwolf beside you, its large head now resting on your stomach as its golden eyes flicked up to watch you. “The wolf,” you said. “Caraxes. Even the squid. It’s like they... understand me. Like they’re drawn to me. I know it’s not normal.”

Daemon was silent for a moment, processing your words. He turned his gaze to Caraxes, who let out a low, rumbling sound as if responding to the conversation. The dragon’s crimson eyes blinked slowly, his long neck stretching to nudge your shoulder with surprising gentleness. The direwolf, too, let out a soft whine, nuzzling your side as though reassuring you.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Daemon said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of conviction. “You’re my daughter. You have fire in your veins, the blood of dragons in your heart. That connection to these creatures—it's not something to fear. It’s a gift.”

“But why me?” you pressed, your voice trembling slightly. “Why do they come to me and not anyone else?”

Daemon exhaled deeply, his gaze returning to the sky. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his honesty cutting through the usual bravado he wore like armor. “But I do know this: these creatures, they see something in you. Something strong. Something worthy.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond to that. For so long, you’d felt isolated, even among your family. Different. And yet here, with Caraxes and the direwolf at your side, with your father lying in the rain beside you, you felt... seen.

Daemon reached out, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face. “If anyone makes you feel like there’s something wrong with you, they’ll answer to me. You understand?”

You nodded, a small, grateful smile breaking through the rain-soaked melancholy on your face. “I understand.”

For a while, the two of you lay there in silence, the rain continuing to fall as the direwolf shifted closer to you for warmth, and Caraxes let out a low, contented rumble. The storm seemed to wrap around you like a cocoon, the sound of the waves below blending with the steady rhythm of your father’s breathing.

Daemon finally broke the silence, his voice softer now. “You know, when I first brought Caraxes to the Dragonpit as a boy, I thought he was the ugliest creature I’d ever seen.”

You glanced at the dragon in question, whose large crimson form radiated an almost regal intensity despite the rain. “He’s not ugly,” you said defensively.

Daemon smirked. “No, he’s not. But I didn’t see it then. I didn’t understand what he was, what he could be.” He looked at you, his expression serious again. “Sometimes, we don’t understand our own worth, either. But that doesn’t make it any less real.”

His words settled over you like the rain, soothing in their weight. You closed your eyes, letting yourself lean into the warmth of the direwolf and the steady presence of your father beside you. For now, you didn’t have all the answers, but you had this moment—and that was enough.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The reader sat cross-legged at the edge of the cliff, her fingers gently wrapped around the warm, textured tentacle of the orange squid that had become something of a secret friend. The creature’s massive, glowing eyes peeked just above the water’s surface, its head bobbing slightly with the waves. She whispered to it softly, her words carried away by the sea breeze, though the squid seemed to understand her without needing to hear every syllable.

Caraxes lay sprawled protectively behind her, his long neck stretched lazily, but his sharp crimson eyes remained watchful of his rider’s daughter and the mysterious sea creature. Every now and then, the dragon let out a low, guttural rumble, as if conversing with the squid in his own way.

Meanwhile, back in the great hall of the castle, Rhaenyra was seated with the entire Targaryen family for dinner. The direwolf lay quietly at her feet, its golden eyes scanning the room for signs of its mistress, but it remained obediently still at her side. Rhaenyra looked to Daemon, her expression tinged with exasperation.

“She’s not here,” Rhaenyra said, glancing at the empty seat meant for her daughter. “Go fetch her, Daemon. We both know where she’s gone.”

Daemon smirked slightly, but he didn’t argue. As he pushed his chair back to rise, Aemond’s sharp voice cut through the murmurs of conversation.

“Why waste your time?” Aemond sneered, his one eye gleaming with derision. “She’s probably out there playing with her sea monster again. Perhaps she thinks it’s a kraken.”

Daemon froze mid-step, his jaw tightening. The rest of the family turned their attention to Aemond, the room falling uncomfortably silent.

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Enough, Aemond,” she said coldly. “You’d do well to hold your tongue.”

“Oh, come now,” Aemond continued, ignoring her warning. “We’ve all heard the legends. A kraken—great beast of the deep, capable of sinking ships and dragging men to their watery graves. Fitting, isn’t it? A beast for a girl who always seems out of place here.”

Before anyone could respond, Daemon’s sharp intake of breath silenced the room. He was standing by the window, his eyes wide as he stared outside. “Seven hells,” he muttered, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asked, rising from her seat.

Daemon turned, his face pale but his expression determined. “She wasn’t lying,” he said simply, pointing to the cliffside.

The entire family rushed to the window, crowding around to see. There, perched dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, was the reader. She was leaning forward, her hand outstretched to the massive squid whose vibrant orange form glowed faintly even through the rain-dappled mist. Its head had emerged partially from the water, and it moved gently in response to her touch, as if drawn to her presence.

“She’s talking to it,” Viserys murmured, his voice laced with shock. “It’s real.”

Without a word, Daemon turned on his heel and hurried out of the hall, Rhaenyra close behind him. The rest of the family followed, some out of curiosity, others out of disbelief, and Aemond out of simmering resentment.

As they reached the cliff, the scene before them stopped them in their tracks. The reader was still seated, her fingers lightly tracing the squid’s tentacle. She spoke softly, her voice a mixture of comfort and gratitude, though her words were too quiet for the others to make out. Caraxes watched them approach but did not stir, his massive frame coiled protectively around the girl.

The squid, noticing the approaching group, withdrew slightly, its glowing eyes narrowing warily. The reader noticed the movement and turned, her expression shifting from peaceful to defensive as she saw her entire family standing there.

“What are you all doing here?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Daemon stepped forward, his face unreadable. “We came to see if it was true,” he said simply. “And it is.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened as she took in the sight of her daughter and the mysterious creature. “You’ve been telling the truth all along,” she said quietly, guilt flickering across her features.

The reader frowned, still clutching the squid’s tentacle protectively. “Of course I was,” she replied. “Why would I lie about something like this?”

Before anyone could answer, the squid released her hand and let out a low, musical sound that resonated through the air. It turned its glowing eyes toward the group, then dipped its head slightly, as if acknowledging their presence.

Aemond sneered, his hands twitching at his sides. “It’s just a beast,” he muttered under his breath, though his words carried enough for everyone to hear. “Nothing special.”

Daemon shot him a warning glare. “Careful, boy,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re speaking about both the creature and my daughter.”

The squid seemed to understand the tension, retreating further into the water, but not before brushing the reader’s hand one last time. She turned back to it, whispering a soft goodbye as it slipped beneath the waves.

The direwolf arrived shortly after, trotting up to the reader’s side and sniffing her hand as if to reassure itself she was unharmed. She gave it a small, distracted pat, her mind still on the squid.

As the family stood in stunned silence, Viserys finally spoke, his voice filled with awe. “Whatever this creature is, it has chosen her. Perhaps it’s time we stopped questioning that and started trusting it.”

Daemon smirked, proud as ever of his daughter’s strength and uniqueness. Rhaenyra, too, looked on with a mix of pride and regret, knowing she had doubted her child when she should have believed in her all along.

The reader stood slowly, her wet clothes clinging to her as she turned to face her family. “It’s not just a beast,” she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. “It saved me. Twice.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier scepticism now replaced with a sense of wonder—and, for some, jealousy. Aemond turned away sharply, his expression dark, but he said nothing more. The reader, her father, and her mother shared a quiet, understanding look before heading back toward the castle, leaving the mysterious bond between her and the creature of the deep undisputed.