#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...

[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

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family series - Chapter 13: Avy jorrāelan

CW: masturbation

Y/n paced back and forth in her room, her chest tight with panic. Her hands trembled as she tried to steady her breathing, but the reality of what her father had told her loomed too large to ignore. A rightful queen. A symbol of the gods’ favor. The weight of it pressed down on her like an iron chain.

“I don’t want it,” she whispered to herself, her voice cracking. “I just want peace. I just want to be free.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and uncontrollable. She gripped the edge of the table in her room, her knuckles white as she fought to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside her. She thought of Rowena, of the quiet mornings they spent together, of the laughter they shared with the animals. That was her life. That was all she wanted.

A soft knock at the door startled her. She quickly wiped at her tears, trying to compose herself, but before she could say anything, the door opened to reveal Aemond. He stepped inside, his expression unreadable, though his single eye immediately flicked to her tear-streaked face.

“Get out,” she snapped, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair. She turned away from him, not wanting him to see her like this.

Aemond didn’t move. Instead, he closed the door behind him and took a step closer. “You’re upset,” he said simply, his tone softer than usual.

“Go away, i’m fine!” she hissed, spinning to face him.

Aemond regarded her for a moment before speaking. “What’s wrong.”

“Then why are you here?” she shot back, glaring at him through her tears.

He said firmly, stepping closer. “I’m here because I heard your cries, you’re hurting.”

The reader froze, her anger faltering as his words sank in. She looked away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Aemond took another step closer, his gaze steady. “I may not know whats happening but you fight. You fight to keep what’s yours.”

She looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but found none. For a moment, she let herself believe that maybe he understood.

When he reached out, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder, she didn’t pull away. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said quietly. “And you’re not alone.”

She nodded stiffly, unable to find the words to respond. Aemond gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts,” he said, turning toward the door. Before he left, he glanced back at her. “If you ever need someone to stand by your side, you know where to find me.”

When the door closed behind him, the reader sank onto the edge of her bed, her mind racing. She stayed there for what felt like hours before finally rising, her resolve hardening.

The dragonpit was dark and quiet as she slipped inside, Rowena safe with her grandfather for the night. The massive stone structure echoed with the sounds of dragons shifting in their sleep, their low rumbles filling the air like distant thunder. The white stag followed her, its graceful movements almost ghostlike in the moonlight.

“This way,” she whispered, leading the stag deeper into the pit. Her steps were quiet, careful, as she made her way to Caraxes’s lair. The massive dragon lay curled in his chamber, his crimson scales glinting faintly in the dim light. His head lifted as she approached, his glowing eyes watching her with curiosity.

“Good boy,” she murmured, reaching out to touch his snout. Caraxes rumbled softly in response, his warm breath washing over her. She turned to the stag, gesturing for it to follow her behind the dragon’s immense form. The stag hesitated for a moment before obeying, stepping into the shadowed space behind Caraxes.

“No one will find you here,” she said, crouching down to meet the stag’s gaze. She ran a hand along its neck, her voice trembling with determination. “You’ll be safe, and no one will know. I don’t care about the iron throne or what the gods think. This is my life, and I’ll protect it.”

The stag let out a soft grunt, as if understanding her words. She stood, her hand lingering on its side for a moment before turning back to Caraxes. The dragon watched her intently, his head tilting slightly as she met his gaze.

“Watch over him,” she said softly. Caraxes rumbled again, his tail curling protectively around the stag’s hiding place.

As she left the dragonpit, her heart felt a little lighter. She had made her choice. The gods may have sent her a sign, but she would decide her own fate. Her peace, her freedom, and her family were all that mattered.

The quiet of the night was shattered by the low, rumbling growl of the direwolf at the foot of the reader’s bed. She stirred, half-asleep, until the sound became more menacing, pulling her fully awake. Before she could react, a gloved hand clamped down over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, meeting the cold, dark stare of an assassin looming over her.

“Where is the child?” he hissed, his voice low and threatening.

The reader’s heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to show fear. She glared at him, her lips sealed beneath his hand.

The assassin’s patience quickly wore thin. “Tell me, or I’ll make you wish you had.” He produced a sharp blade, pressing the edge against her cheek. Pain flared as the steel bit into her skin, a thin line of blood welling up.

The direwolf growled louder, teeth bared, but the assassin ignored it, focused on his target.

In that split second of distraction, the reader’s hand darted under her pillow, her fingers closing around the hilt of a hidden dagger. With a desperate cry muffled by the assassin’s glove, she plunged the blade into his neck. The man staggered back, blood spurting from the wound as he crashed into the small table near the bed. The sound of breaking wood and clattering objects filled the room, jolting Rowena awake.

The toddler’s frightened wail cut through the chaos, and the assassin, clutching his bleeding neck, lunged toward the crib.

“No!” the reader shouted, throwing herself at him. But before she could reach him, the direwolf attacked, leaping onto the assassin with all its weight. The wolf’s teeth sank into the man’s throat, ripping and tearing until he went still. The room fell silent, save for Rowena’s terrified cries and the reader’s ragged breathing.

Blood pooled around the assassin’s lifeless body, staining the floorboards crimson. The direwolf stood over the corpse, growling softly, its muzzle bloodied.

The reader staggered to her feet, her hand pressed to her bleeding cheek. She stumbled to Rowena’s crib, scooping the toddler into her arms. Rowena clung to her, sobbing into her mother’s shoulder. Y/n sat down heavily in the rocking chair, cradling her daughter close as she gently rocked back and forth, trying to calm the child. Her eyes remained fixed on the assassin’s body, her mind racing.

The crash and commotion had woken Daemon and Rhaenyra. They shared a brief, alarmed glance before springing out of bed, grabbing weapons on their way out. Daemon’s face was a mask of fury, his sword gleaming in the torchlight as they ran down the corridor toward their daughter’s chambers.

When they burst into the room, the sight before them froze them in their tracks.

The reader sat in the rocking chair, blood streaked down her cheek and splattered across her nightclothes. Rowena was curled against her chest, her small body trembling as she sniffled into her mother’s neck. The direwolf stood by the chair, its teeth bared, blood dripping from its muzzle as it growled at the intruders.

On the floor lay the body of the assassin, his throat mangled, blood pooling beneath him.

The reader’s eyes slowly lifted to meet her parents’. Her voice was calm but tinged with an edge of hysteria.

“They tried to take her away from me,” she said, her words trembling but resolute. “They came for Rowena.”

Daemon stepped forward, his face ashen with rage and concern. He sheathed his sword and knelt beside his daughter, his hands trembling as he inspected the gash on her cheek.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We need to get the maester—”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted sharply, though her hand trembled as she stroked Rowena’s hair. The toddler’s cries had quieted to soft whimpers, but her little hands still clung tightly to her mother’s nightgown.

Rhaenyra approached slowly, her eyes darting between the corpse, the blood, and her daughter’s pale face. She crouched beside Daemon, her expression a mixture of horror and determination. “Who sent him?” she asked. “Did he say anything?”

The reader shook her head. “He only asked where she was. He didn’t say who sent him.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed a kiss to Rowena’s hair. “I don’t care who it was. They’ll have to kill me before they touch her.”

Daemon stood abruptly, his fury boiling over. “This was no common assassin. This was deliberate. Whoever did this will pay.” He turned to Rhaenyra, his voice cold and decisive. “Double the guards. No one gets in or out without our approval.”

Rhaenyra nodded, rising to her feet. “I’ll handle it.” She placed a comforting hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You’re brave,” she said softly. “But you need rest. Let the maester tend to you.”

Y/nhesitated, her arms tightening around Rowena. The toddler had finally drifted off to sleep, her face tear-streaked and nestled against her mother’s neck.

“I’m not letting her out of my sight,” the reader said firmly. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Daemon crouched again, his expression softening as he placed a hand on his daughter’s knee. “We’ll protect her,” he promised. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

y/n’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away, nodding silently.

Later that night, after the maester had tended to her cheek and the guards had been doubled around the castle, the reader lay in bed with Rowena curled up beside her. The direwolf was sprawled across the floor at the foot of the bed, its ears twitching at every sound. The reader stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.

The image of the assassin’s face haunted her. The sound of his voice, the weight of his hand on her mouth, the feel of his blood on her hands—it all replayed in her mind, over and over. But above all, it was Rowena’s cries that echoed in her heart, a reminder of how close she had come to losing her daughter.

As her eyes drifted shut, a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?” she called, her voice hoarse.

“It’s me,” Daemon replied from the other side.

She hesitated before getting up, careful not to wake Rowena. She opened the door a crack, finding her father standing there, his face shadowed and somber.

“I just wanted to see if you were all right,” he said quietly.

She nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Daemon’s eyes flicked past her to the sleeping toddler. “She’s safe now. And she’ll stay safe. I swear it.”

The reader’s lips trembled, and she looked down. “I don’t know if I can do this, Father. Every time I think we’re safe, something happens. Someone tries to take her from me.”

Daemon placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’re stronger than you think. And you’re not alone in this. We’ll find whoever’s behind this, and we’ll end them.”

She nodded again, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

Daemon gave her a small, reassuring smile before turning and walking away. As she closed the door, she looked back at Rowena, her heart aching with love and fear.

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

Y/n needed time—time away from the overwhelming presence of family, animals, and responsibilities. Though she adored her daughter more than life itself, the constant worry and tension since the attack had left her emotionally raw. She decided to visit Rowena’s biological mother’s resting place, a quiet, secluded spot on the edge of the woods.

Standing before the unmarked grave, the reader knelt, her hands tracing the earth. She spoke softly, as though the spirit of the woman could hear her.

“She’s beautiful,” the reader said, her voice trembling. “Rowena’s learning so quickly. She talks so much now. She’s fearless, just like I imagine you must have been.” Her fingers dug gently into the soil, anchoring her to the moment as tears welled in her eyes. “I’ll keep her safe. I swear it. But—” She choked on her words, wiping her cheeks hastily. “Now I understand. I understand what it must’ve felt like for you, knowing someone could take her away. I can’t imagine the fear you must have lived with every day.”

Her tears fell freely now, spilling onto the earth. “I’ll protect her for both of us,” she promised, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m so sorry you couldn’t be here to see her grow.”

After a long moment of silence, she rose, brushing her hands against her dress. As she turned to leave, she cast one last glance at the grave, her heart heavy with sorrow and resolve.

Returning to the castle, the reader felt the weight of the day pressing down on her. She craved solitude—a chance to collect herself away from everyone and everything. Entering her chambers, she locked the door firmly behind her, ensuring no one would interrupt her.

The room was quiet, dimly lit by the fading light of the evening. She sank onto her bed, lying back as her breathing grew shallow. The events of the past days, the constant vigilance, and the unrelenting fear for Rowena had left her body tense and restless.

She closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting as her hand trailed down her stomach. Lifting the hem of her dress, her fingers brushed against her bare skin, seeking some form of release. The touch sent a shiver through her, and she bit her lip as she slid her hand lower, beneath her knickers, where she felt the warmth and wetness of her desire.

Her breaths became uneven as her fingers worked in steady circles, her body responding to the sensation. The tension she’d been carrying began to ebb, replaced by a mounting heat that overtook her senses. She rubbed faster, her lips parting as soft gasps escaped her. The climax built within her, each motion drawing her closer to the edge until her body arched, and she found her release with a shuddering sigh.

For a moment, she lay still, her chest rising and falling as she savoured the brief relief.

Unknown to her, the door to her chambers had opened quietly during her most private moment. Aemond had entered, intending to speak with her, but the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

His breath caught as he realized what she was doing, her face flushed and her body taut with pleasure.

He stood frozen, torn between retreating and his inability to look away. But as her breathing evened and she began to stir, he quickly and silently stepped back, pulling the door closed behind him.

Leaning against the wall in the corridor, his mind raced, conflicted between guilt and an undeniable pull he couldn’t ignore. Whatever feelings he harbored, he knew this was something he could never speak of.

Inside her room, the reader remained unaware, lost in her moment of solitude. But as the stillness returned, a part of her couldn’t shake the sense that something had shifted—something unseen and unspoken.

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

The white stag was found.

The news travelled swiftly through the Red Keep, causing a stir that could not be ignored. The creature, a symbol of divine favor and a rare omen in the history of Westeros, had chosen the dragonpit—a place of Targaryen power and history—as its sanctuary. Whispers spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of nobles, courtiers, and even the smallfolk who worked within the castle walls.

A summons went out from King Viserys himself. Every Targaryen in the Keep was to attend a meeting in the small council chamber to discuss the unprecedented arrival of the legendary creature.

The reader stood in her chambers, Rowena in her arms, as she processed the news. Her heart raced as she tried to prepare herself for what was to come. The white stag had been her secret, a silent companion she had hidden in the dragonpit to shield it from prying eyes and ambitions. She knew the truth would come to light eventually, but the weight of what this moment represented was almost too much to bear.

Rowena tugged gently at her mother's hair, breaking her train of thought. “Mama,” she babbled, her little hand reaching for the reader’s face.

The reader kissed her daughter’s forehead. “It’ll be fine, little one,” she whispered, though the words felt more like an attempt to reassure herself than Rowena. Handing her to Daemon, who had come to escort her, she took a deep breath and followed him out of the room.

When she entered the council chamber, the white stag was already there. It stood proudly in the center of the room, its magnificent antlers brushing against the high ceiling. Its pristine coat gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and its calm demeanour commanded the attention of everyone present.

The room was filled with Targaryens—Rhaenyra, Daemon, Aemond, and Helaena stood near the table, along with Alicent and the king himself. The air was thick with curiosity, awe, and an undercurrent of tension.

As the reader stepped inside, the stag’s head turned sharply toward her. Its dark eyes seemed to light up as it recognized her, and without hesitation, it strode gracefully across the room to her side. A collective gasp echoed through the chamber as the creature nuzzled her hand, an act of affection and trust that left no doubt about its connection to her.

King Viserys rose from his seat, his expression a mixture of disbelief and wonder. “Why does the stag come to you?” he asked, his voice carrying a weight of both curiosity and authority.

The reader hesitated, glancing at Daemon and Rhaenyra for reassurance. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. “The stag came to me, Your Grace. It was injured and sought help. I bandaged its wounds and cared for it. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Alicent repeated, skepticism evident in her tone. Her sharp gaze swept over the reader, as if searching for hidden motives.

Daemon stepped forward, his hand resting protectively on his daughter’s shoulder. “She has always had a way with creatures,” he interjected, his tone firm. “The stag is hardly the first to be drawn to her. Look around, and you’ll find a direwolf, a kraken, and even my dragon, Caraxes, favor her presence. Animals sense what humans often cannot.”

Viserys seemed to mull over this explanation, but his eyes remained fixed on the stag. “The white stag is a symbol of the gods’ favor. It is no small thing that it has chosen to seek shelter here, in the

Red Keep, and now aligns itself with you.”

“I never asked for this,” the reader replied, her voice soft but resolute. “The stag came to me of its own will. I only did what any decent person would do—helped an injured creature.”

The room fell silent for a moment as the implications of her words sank in. Then, Aemond stepped forward, his tall frame a steady presence beside her. His hand brushed against hers briefly, a subtle gesture of support that didn’t go unnoticed. “If the stag came to her, then perhaps the gods have spoken. But that does not mean she seeks power or influence. Let us not jump to conclusions.”

The reader glanced at him, grateful for his intervention but also wary of how his words might be interpreted.

Viserys finally spoke, his tone heavy with both authority and weariness. “This is not something we can ignore. The presence of the white stag will raise questions—questions we must answer. For now, we will treat it with care and respect. And you,” he said, looking directly at the reader, “will tell us if anything else happens. The gods’ favor is not a thing to take lightly.”

She nodded, though her heart sank at the thought of the scrutiny she would now face.

After the meeting, the reader made her way out of the chamber with Aemond by her side. Rowena, who had been with Daemon throughout the discussion, toddled over to her mother as soon as she spotted her. The reader scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“You handled yourself well,” Aemond said quietly, his tone lacking the teasing edge it often held when they spoke. “Though I imagine this isn’t what you wanted.”

“Not at all,” the reader admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just want peace—for me, for Rowena, for all of us. But it seems the gods have other plans.”

Aemond hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “If this becomes too much, you don’t have to face it alone.”

The reader met his gaze, searching for any hint of ulterior motive, but all she found was sincerity. “Thank you,” she said simply, though she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust him.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the reader retreated to the dragonpit. The stag followed her as it always did, its steps silent and graceful despite its size. She knelt beside it, her hands running gently over its smooth coat.

“What am I supposed to do now?” she murmured, more to herself than the stag. “I don’t want a throne. I don’t want power. I just want to live my life without fear, without—”

Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands. The stag nuzzled her gently, as if offering comfort. Its presence was a reminder of the bond they shared, a connection that went beyond logic or explanation.

After a while, the sound of footsteps reached her ears. She turned to see Daemon approaching, his expression unreadable. He stopped a few paces away, his gaze shifting between her and the stag.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t want it.”

Daemon stepped closer, kneeling beside her. “I know,” he said softly. “But sometimes, we don’t get to choose our paths. The gods have a way of steering us where they want us to go, whether we like it or not.”

“That’s not comforting,” she muttered, though a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Daemon replied with a faint smirk. “But whatever happens, you won’t face it alone. You have me, Rhaenyra, Rowena—and even that stubborn wolf of yours.”

“And Aemond,” she added, surprising herself with the admission.

Daemon’s smirk faltered, replaced by a more serious expression. “Be careful with him,” he warned. “He’s loyal to his family, but his ambitions might outweigh his better judgment.”

The reader nodded, understanding the caution behind her father’s words. “I’ll be careful,” she promised.

Together, they sat in silence, the stag lying beside them as the stars began to fill the sky. For now, at least, there was peace. But in her heart, the reader knew it wouldn’t last.

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

The midday sun bathed the reader’s chambers in warmth, the soft glow reflecting off the bookshelves and casting gentle shadows on the floor. It was a quiet, peaceful moment, one of the rare instances when everything felt right. The reader sat cross-legged on the rug, her daughter Rowena nestled in her lap, a book propped open in front of them.

“Once upon a time,” the reader began, her voice gentle and melodic, “there was a brave little girl who loved the forest.”

Rowena, barely more than a toddler, pointed at the illustration of a forest on the page, her chubby finger pressing against the paper with a delicate curiosity.

“Forest!” she exclaimed, her bright eyes sparkling.

“Yes, that’s right, my clever girl,” the reader said with a warm smile, pressing a soft kiss to Rowena’s head. “Can you say, ‘The girl went into the forest’?”

Rowena scrunched her little nose in concentration, her lips forming each word slowly. “The... girl... go... forest!”

The reader chuckled, pride swelling in her chest. “Close enough,” she said, kissing her daughter’s chubby cheek. Rowena giggled in delight, clapping her small hands together as if she knew she had done something remarkable.

The peace of the moment was disrupted by a sudden knock on the door. The reader’s smile faltered slightly, and she turned her head toward it.

“Come in,” she called, her voice steady though her heart sank slightly at the thought of what might interrupt this serene moment.

The door creaked open, revealing Aemond standing in the threshold. His tall figure was backlit by the dim light of the hallway, and his face bore an expression that the reader couldn’t quite place—somewhere between determination and vulnerability.

“We’re just reading,” the reader said calmly, turning her attention back to Rowena and gently adjusting the toddler in her lap. She kissed the top of Rowena’s head and whispered, “Why don’t you go play with your blocks for a bit, sweetling? Mama needs to talk.”

Rowena pouted slightly, reluctant to leave her mother’s side, but after a few moments of coaxing, she toddled over to the corner where her favorite wooden blocks were stacked neatly.

Once the toddler was occupied, the reader stood, her expression hardening as she folded her arms across her chest. “What do you want, Aemond?”

Aemond stepped into the room fully, closing the door softly behind him. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said, his voice low but steady. “About us.”

“There is no ‘us,’” the reader replied firmly, her tone sharp enough to cut through the air. “And I’ve made that very clear.”

Aemond took another step closer, his single eye searching her face. “But why not? You know how I feel about you.”

The reader let out a humourless laugh, the sound bitter and filled with years of pent-up emotion. “Why not?” she repeated incredulously. “Aemond, do you think I’ve forgotten? That I’ll ever forget?”

Aemond’s expression faltered, confusion mingling with guilt.

“You killed my baby dragon,” she said, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “It was barely out of its egg, and you killed it. Out of jealousy.”

“I was young,” Aemond said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “Reckless. I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t care,” the reader interrupted, her voice rising. “And when I confronted you, you didn’t stop there. You pushed me off the cliffs, Aemond. I could’ve drowned.”

Aemond looked away, shame etched into every line of his face. “I regretted it the moment it happened,” he admitted.

“Regret doesn’t change what you did,” the reader snapped, her voice breaking slightly. “It doesn’t bring back my dragon, and it doesn’t erase the terror I felt when I hit that freezing water.”

She stepped closer to him, her eyes blazing with fury and sorrow. “So tell me, Aemond. After all that, what makes you think I’d want to be with you?”

Aemond opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. For the first time, he seemed genuinely at a loss. His eye flicked to Rowena, who was still blissfully unaware of the tension filling the room, and then back to the reader.

“I’ve spent every day since trying to be better,” he finally said, his voice barely audible. “Trying to prove to you that I’m not that person anymore.”

“And yet, here you are,” the reader said, shaking her head, her tone cold. “Still trying to convince me to give you something I’ve told you I won’t give.”

She turned away from him, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield herself from the weight of his words. “Please, Aemond,” she said softly but firmly. “Just leave.”

Aemond hesitated, his eye lingering on her back as though hoping for a change in her resolve. But it didn’t come. With a heavy sigh, he nodded—though she couldn’t see it—and turned toward the door.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the reader let out a shaky breath, her composure crumbling. She glanced at Rowena, who had paused her play to watch her mother with wide, curious eyes. Forcing a smile, the reader knelt beside her daughter and pulled her into her arms.

“Mama?” Rowena said, her small voice full of concern.

“It’s nothing, sweetling,” the reader whispered, holding her close and pressing her lips to Rowena’s forehead. “Just... nothing.”

But as she rocked her daughter gently, the weight of the past and the lingering shadow of Aemond’s presence bore down on her. Peace, she realized, was always just out of reach.

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

The evening light in the chambers grew softer, the sun dipping low behind the horizon. The reader paced back and forth, Rowena nestled in her arms, her little fingers curling into her mother’s hair. The toddler’s wide eyes followed her mother’s movements with quiet affection, her small mouth occasionally parting in a yawn as the soothing rhythm lulled her.

The reader whispered softly to herself, her voice tinged with emotion. “Avy jorrāelan.” Rowena blinked up at her, her tiny brows furrowing in confusion. She tilted her head as if trying to decipher the unfamiliar words. “Mama?” she asked, her voice curious.

The reader paused, looking down at her daughter’s puzzled face. A soft smile broke through her own thoughtful expression. “It means ‘I love you,’ sweetling,” she explained, her voice warm and steady.

“In a language called High Valyrian.”

Rowena’s face lit up with wonder. “Av... Avy jor... jorr...” she babbled, her small tongue stumbling over the unfamiliar sounds.

The reader’s eyes widened in shock as she heard the little girl attempt to mimic the phrase. “Avy jorrāelan,” Rowena repeated, surprisingly clear for her first attempt.

“Oh, my clever girl!” the reader exclaimed, her heart swelling with pride. “You said it perfectly!” She kissed Rowena’s chubby cheeks, making the toddler squeal with delight. “That’s High Valyrian, and you’ve already learned your first words in it. You’re so smart, my love.”

Rowena giggled, her tiny hands reaching up to pat her mother’s face.

The next morning, the castle was alive with the sounds of the waking day. Servants bustled through the halls, and the warmth of the rising sun began to spread over the stone walls. The reader walked through the corridors with Rowena at her side, the toddler toddling excitedly on her own sturdy legs.

“Are you ready to see Caraxes, sweetling?” the reader asked, smiling as her daughter let out an enthusiastic squeal.

“C'raxes!” Rowena chirped, her small voice filled with anticipation.

The dragonpit loomed ahead, the familiar structure casting long shadows on the ground. Rowena’s pace quickened, her little feet padding against the stone path. But before she could reach the pit, she spotted someone else—Daemon, her grandfather, standing tall near the entrance with his usual air of quiet authority.

“Grampy!” Rowena squealed, her voice echoing through the space.

Daemon turned, his stern expression softening immediately at the sight of his granddaughter running toward him. He crouched down and opened his arms just in time to catch her as she barreled into him. Despite her growing weight, he scooped her up with ease, holding her close as she babbled excitedly.

“My little dragon,” Daemon said fondly, kissing the top of her head. “What brings you here so early?”

Rowena placed her tiny hands on his face, her eyes searching his with a curious intensity. Her lips pursed as if she were trying to remember something. Finally, she said, “Avy jorrāelan?”

Daemon froze, his violet eyes widening in surprise. He stared at the toddler, a mixture of astonishment and affection washing over him. “What did you say?” he asked gently, his voice softer than usual.

Rowena grinned, clearly proud of herself. “Avy jorrāelan,” she repeated, this time with more confidence.

A rare, broad smile broke across Daemon’s face. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his heart swelling with warmth. “Did your mother teach you that?” he asked, glancing toward the reader, who had just caught up to them.

The reader nodded, a small, proud smile on her lips. “She heard me say it last night,” she explained. “And somehow, she picked it up immediately.”

Daemon chuckled, his gaze returning to Rowena. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” he said, his voice brimming with pride. “Avy jorrāelan, my little dragon.”

Rowena beamed at his words, hugging her grandfather tightly around the neck. The moment was tender, a rare glimpse of unguarded love shared among their complicated family. The reader watched them, her heart full, though a twinge of worry lingered at the edges of her mind.

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

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the forest canopy as the reader and Rowena made their way toward the cliffs where the kraken resided. Rowena’s giggles echoed softly as she rode on her mother’s hip, the direwolf trailing faithfully behind them. The toddler occasionally pointed at the trees, babbling nonsensical words as her mother indulged her curiosity with a warm smile.

As they followed the winding path, the reader suddenly froze. Up ahead, the white stag emerged from the underbrush, its presence commanding yet serene. It paused, lifting its regal head to meet her gaze. For a moment, the world seemed to still. The stag dipped its head in a deliberate bow, an action that felt deeply significant, though its meaning eluded her.

The reader furrowed her brows. “What does that mean?” she murmured to herself.

Rowena tilted her head curiously at the stag, her tiny fingers reaching out as if to touch it. Before the toddler could babble anything more, the stag turned and began to walk away, its steps graceful and purposeful as it disappeared deeper into the forest. The reader stood rooted in place, torn between following the stag and continuing on to the kraken.

Rowena squealed, pointing at the stag. “Deer, Mama! Deer!”

Eventually, she sighed, shaking her head. “Let’s go see the Kraken, sweetling,” she said softly, adjusting her grip on Rowena.

When they reached the cliffs overlooking the water, the direwolf had already arrived, pacing near the edge. The kraken's immense form shifted just below the surface, its powerful tentacles occasionally breaking the water to bask in the sun. The reader placed Rowena next to the direwolf, brushing a kiss on the toddler’s head before slipping off her boots.

“You stay with the wolf,” she told her daughter firmly. “Mama will be right back.”

Rowena nodded, her wide eyes fixed on the kraken. Satisfied, the reader walked to the water's edge. Still wearing her deep red dress, she leaped gracefully into the cold, bracing sea. The shock of the water hit her like a jolt, but she quickly acclimated, her strokes strong and practiced. The kraken joined her almost immediately, its massive presence both protective and familiar. The reader patted its leathery skin and smiled at the creature as they moved through the water together.

“You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?” she murmured, stroking the kraken gently.

After swimming several lengths, her muscles began to tire. She paused, floating on her back and letting the water cradle her for a moment of peace.

Suddenly, she heard a familiar sound cutting through the serenity—Rowena’s small voice, sharp and insistent. “Ag! Ag!” the toddler shouted, her voice filled with urgency.

Her heart jumped. Aemond.

Panic surged as she swam swiftly toward the shore. Before she could fully pull herself out, the kraken, sensing her urgency, lifted her out of the water with one of its massive tentacles and placed her gently on the rocky ground. Dripping and shivering, the reader quickly scanned the scene to find Aemond sitting casually next to Rowena. He was speaking softly to the toddler, who seemed to have forgotten her panic and now babbled at him animatedly.

The reader placed her hands on her hips, exasperated. “What do you want, Aemond?”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his sharp features unreadable. “I might ask you the same thing. Why in the seven hells were you swimming in freezing water?”

The reader shrugged, wringing out her soaked dress. “I felt like it. I’ve always enjoyed swimming.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t always know how.”

The reader wrung out her hair, ignoring the goosebumps rising on her skin. “I was just swimming,” she replied nonchalantly, though her lips trembled from the chill. “I’ve done it plenty of times since you pushed me in all those years ago. I had to learn, after all.”

She snorted, shooting him a pointed look. “You pushed me off a cliff, remember?”

His jaw tightened, guilt flashing briefly across his face. He opened his mouth to respond, but the reader cut him off. “Forget it, Aemond. Just leave it.” She stepped past him, scooping up Rowena.

As she settled the toddler on her hip, Rowena waved at Aemond with a cheerful “Bye-bye, Ag!” Aemond watched them leave, his gaze lingering longer than it should.

Inside the castle, the warmth of the halls contrasted sharply with the chill still clinging to the reader’s skin. Rowena snuggled against her shoulder, her little fingers playing with strands of her mother’s damp hair. The reader moved quickly, eager to change into dry clothes and avoid further interactions.

As she turned a corner, however, she spotted her mother, Rhaenyra, speaking with Alicent in hushed tones. Her heart sank. She quickened her pace, hoping to pass unnoticed, but Alicent’s sharp gasp stopped her in her tracks.

“Y/N,” Alicent said, her voice tinged with both surprise and concern. “Why on earth are you dripping wet?”

The reader turned slowly, her expression neutral. Rowena whimpered softly, burying her face in her mother’s neck at the sight of Alicent.

“I was swimming,” the reader replied flatly, her tone making it clear she wasn’t interested in elaborating.

Alicent’s eyes widened slightly, clearly unaccustomed to such bluntness. “Swimming?” she echoed, glancing down at the puddle forming around the reader’s feet.

“Yes,” the reader said simply, shifting Rowena on her hip. She cast a brief glance at her mother, who gave her a small nod of understanding but didn’t intervene.

Without waiting for further questions, the reader turned and walked away, her daughter clinging tightly to her. As they entered the chambers, Rowena let out a relieved sigh, finally relaxing now that they were away from Alicent’s presence.

The reader kissed her daughter’s head, whispering softly, “I’ve got you, sweetling. Always.”

[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."

[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

[sluttysnowangel666]

His Second Wife - cregan stark x reader (request)

summary: two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.

cw: mean cregan😓, widow!cregan, targ!reader, loss of virginity(reader), rhaenyra’s daughter, angst to fluff, unrequited love, sex, happy ending

do yall notice i always post a long ass story usually around midnight or later ( i’m unwell)also this is long af soz it was a detailed request and I wanted it to be to a T. this is SOO long. i prolly should have done two parts… oh well @lillithsalvatore hope you enjoy it love ❤️

“How do you feel, my love?” Your mother asked, placing a warm and comforting hand on yours.

You sighed. “Nervous.”

She gave you that warm and sweet smile of hers. “I know. I hope you know this choice was not easy for me to make, as I know this was a hard task for me to place upon you.”

“I know, mother.” You say with forgiveness, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Had it been any other lord I would have surely declined but… Starks are the most honorable among men. I know your union will be blessed by the gods.”

You give her a smile, blindly trusting her words. You had met him once, and you knew he was kind. In fact, he had left a paw shaped imprint on your heart. You thought to yourself no union could be more suitable. You knew he had married once before out of a prior marital alliance, but the marriage had been short lived, lasting only a year before his first wife died in her birthing chambers.

It took more than four moons before you arrived at Winterfell, as if every power in the world was set on preventing it. You were not a superstitious person, so you simply thought all the bad things that happened prior to your marriage was coincidence.

Each time you went to leave, something prevented you. Your mother miscarried your baby sister, Lucerys was killed by Aemond, Daemon went silent at Harrenhall, Rhaena ran away and was lost in the eyrie before revealing she claimed Sheep-stealer.

You arrived in the dead of winter, and the journey had not been kind to you. You got a chill on the way up, causing you to stop at an inn for a few nights, you had came across raiders who killed one of the many men escorting you, and your clothes were ill suited for the weather.

You did eventually arrive at Winterfell thankfully, all in one piece.

You stepped out of the carriage cautiously, eyeing the snowy landscape surrounding you. It went as far as the eye could see. You held your hand out, letting the thick snowflakes fall and melt in your hand.

“My princess.” You turn to see Cregan, walking towards you. He bows, forcing a politeness. “Winterfell is yours.”

You bow in return, “No need for such formalities, Lord Stark. This is your home, and I am honored to have you welcome me here.”

He nods, choosing to say nothing else to you.

“Please show the princess to her chambers.” He says to one of the servants, then immediately turning on his heels to leave. Your jaw falls slightly, surprised at his curt demeanor.

You compose yourself, trying to hide the slight hurt in your features before making your way to your private chambers.

You bathed immediately, welcoming the hot water against your skin. No water could be hot enough for your dragon blood, but what they had drawn up for you would do nicely.

Your wedding was a week after your arrival, the lord having given you time to settle in. You had not seen him much during that week so you chose not to bother him, assuming he was busy with duties.

When you walked down that snowy path to the red weirwood, Cregan stole a glance at you. You looked beautiful, and he felt horribly guilty for thinking it. He felt like what he was doing was betraying her.

You said your vows, swearing your love before the old gods. You smiled at Cregan and he gave you a forced one in return. Guilt wracked his whole body. He felt guilty for you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you a union where you were loved, he felt guilty for liking your smile, he felt guilty for forgetting hers.

There was a feast following the ceremony, nothing large due to the pains of winter, but it didn’t bother you. The small gathering felt intimate, compared to southern weddings where lords and ladies travelled from all over the realm to witness it.

It was here you met Cregan’s son, Rickon.

“Hi, little one.” You said. He was only two, a fat little babe who looked just like Cregan.

“Rickon, this is my new wife.” Cregan said. The way he worded it made you twitch, it had sounded so strained. He didn’t even use your name. You told the boy the name he could call you, but he said nothing as he hid behind his father’s leg.

“I apologize.” Cregan said, his voice showing no sign that he actually was sorry.

“It is alright, my lord. He is just a babe. He and I will have time to get to know each other.” You said. Cregan tensed up, suddenly remembering again this union was forever.

“Excuse me, princess.” He said, turning and walking away with Rickon. Your heart sunk a bit. You could start to sense it now, Cregan was not in the slightest invested in your union together. You felt lost, out of place suddenly.

You sat back down at the high table, overwhelmed with nervousness. You bit at your nails and the skin around them, biting until they bled. You missed your mother dearly. Being here, in this room among strangers who didn’t care much for southerners to begin with, made you feel small.

You had sat there for an hour or two, not moving or eating once, save for your cuticles.

Cregan came to you, not noticing your nervous state. If he had noticed, he chose to ignore it. “I’ve put Rickon down… Would you please accompany me to my chambers?”

You looked at him, the nail bed of your thumb resting between your teeth. You nodded, standing and staring at the hall one last time. You locked eyes with a man, who noticed you both about to take your leave.

“Is it time for the bedding ceremony, Lord Stark?” The man asked, erupting a few cheers from the men mostly.

“No!” Cregan nearly barked the order. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

The men in the crowd shuffled awkwardly at his outburst but accepted.

“Princess.” Cregan said, walking away and not waiting to see if you were following.

You did anyway, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. You had the sense he wanted this to be over with quickly.

He held the door as you both entered his chambers. You took in your surroundings. It was a clean and large kept room with a lit hearth and a large bed. A thought passed your mind, even though you tried to push it down.

Did he share these chambers with her?

Cregan began to take off his armor and furs, again not watching to see if you did the same, only assuming you were. If you weren’t, he didn’t care.

“Um, could you help, my lord?” You asked, referring to the laces of your white wedding dress.

He sighed, walking over to you as you turned your back to him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you tried to hide it.

His hands were gentle with the laces, not tugging at them as you expected him to. He obviously had experience doing this before.

He grew emotional as he undid your dress, but he hid it well. It was a weird sense of deja vu. Your hair looked like hers from the back and he felt like he was back at his first wedding.

You pushed the dress off, revealing the sheer linen soft dress underneath. He hadn’t moved from behind you, trying to maintain his composure. You walked away from him, lying on the bed and biting your nails again.

He finished disrobing besides his briefs, and you stole a glance at his back. It was huge, muscular and scarred.

He walked over to the bed, getting between your legs and pushing up your shift.

“Is this alright with you, princess?” He asks. “We need not consummate this if you are not ready.”

For the first time it seemed like he kinda cared about how you felt. His hand still had a hold of your shift, which was resting on your pelvic bone.

You nodded, “Is it alright with you, Lord Stark?”

He nodded, pushing your shift up the rest of the way to reveal your chest. He wanted to fall on his sword for the way he kept stealing glances at your breasts.

He pushed his briefs down, and you choked on your breath at the reveal of his length.

“Oh, gods.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rubbed himself against your slit, and your heart stilled for a minute. The feeling was foreign and intense.

He gently grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. You hadn’t even realized you were still doing it, it was starting to become like breathing. A natural, unintentional habit.

Your hands fell to his biceps to steady yourself. You looked at him, but he did not meet your gaze. He instead bowed his head, watching himself enter inside you.

You dug your nails into his arm, gasping in shock. He gently shushed you, telling you it was okay.

“Please, please.” You said, not knowing what you were even pleading for.

“What?” He asked gently, his voice low and almost mimicking of your whining. It sent a shiver up your spine.

He was slow and gentle with you, not in it for any pleasure himself.

You touched his chest and his hair and his arms, and while he didn’t stop you he made no effort to touch you himself. His hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight.

Your hands found his arms again and you moaned softly, feeling your peak building in your stomach. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his head, moaning as you spilled onto him. He closed his eyes as he felt it, and guilt wracked him again.

He gently pulled out of you and stood up, immediately dressing himself into his nightwear. You pushed your shift back down and pulled the linen covers over you, immediately going back to biting your nails at his reaction.

He laid beside you, not facing you and not saying anything.

You said nothing, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he intentionally avoided spilling himself into you.

———

It had been 3 months since your arrival to Winterfell, and you had adjusted as well as you could given the circumstances.

You did not often see your lord husband, but you were used to it. He spent a lot of his free time in the crypt where she was. It hurt, but you gave him his peace and he appreciated that you didn’t hover.

“Mummy!”

“Sh, sh, love.” You say as Rickon runs into your chambers.

Cregan did not like when Rickon called you his mother. He’d gotten upset with you a few times over it, and you assured him you would correct Rickon when it happened.

“Mummy.” He repeated. You giggled. pulling him into your lap. You shook your head and tapped his nose, saying, “Nooo. Not mummy.”

“Mummy.” He laughed, and you ran your fingers through his thick brown curls.

“What ever will we do with this mop on your head, my son?”

“He is not your son.” You turned to see Cregan standing in the door way. “And his hair is fine.”

“Apologies, my lord.” You said, curtly. He ignored your attitude.

“Come, Rickon.” He said, beckoning his son.

“No, mummy.” Rickon whined, holding you.

“Go see papa.” You told him, and with your blessing Rickon ran to Cregan.

Cregan gave you a cold stare as he left, and you returned the favor.

You were growing ever so agitated with your husband. He had welcomed you into Winterfell, but not his heart. The only time you both had shared a bed was the night of your wedding, to which Cregan had made sure not to give you an heir.

You had no one. Rickon had you, Cregan had you even if he did not want you, yet you were alone here in Winterfell.

You decided to write to your mother on Dragonstone, requesting for Jacaerys to pick you up on dragon back so you could visit your family and hopefully receive advice. You had left your dragon, Silverwing, at home. You did not want to disrespect the already hesitant northern people, and you did not want Silverwing to be cold or hungry.

That night when you were brushing your hair before bed, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You looked in the mirror and saw Cregan’s half sister, Sara, enter.

“Hi, Sara.” You said. She came up behind you, taking the brush from your hand and slowly combing it through your hair. You two had formed a unique bond, given you were both considered outcasts in Winterfell. You were a southerner, she was a bastard. They were two sides of the same coin here in Winterfell.

“I heard what happened today.” She said, and you hummed mindlessly. “My brother can be a bastard.”

You smiled at her in the mirror. “Is that so?”

She nods. “I wish I knew what to do, Sara.”

“We northerners love hard, princess. We are unwaveringly loyal. The wound of losing Aly is still fresh in my brother’s heart. Give him time. He knows you love Rickon, and that scares him. I don’t know why.”

“Was Aly pretty?” You ask.

“You have a southern beauty we do not see often in the North. Aly was not a beautiful woman, but she was a fierce fighter. That is how history will remember her. She was born fighting, and she died fighting. I know you are a fierce fighter as well, princess. You are the blood of the dragon. Do not let the grief my brother holds make you feel small.” She kisses the back of your head. “Throw a fucking book at his head if he acts like that again.”

You laugh, her joke comforting you. She turns and leaves you alone, your head clouded with thoughts of Aly.

You heard back from Jacaerys within a few days that he would arrive shortly to bring you home. You had not yet told Cregan, as you knew he wouldn’t care anyway.

A few days following the letter from the raven, it was Sara’s name day. Cregan had decided to celebrate with a feast, one bigger than your wedding.

You all sat at the high table, your husband and sister in law drinking heavily. Although Cregan was a big man, the amount of ale he consumed that night seemed enough to kill a horse.

“My princess.” A servant rested her hand on your shoulder. You and Cregan both turned to look at her, and she grew nervous, not expecting Cregan to pay any attention or perhaps she would not have asked the princess the request. “Rickon has had a nightmare and wants no comfort of the maids. He is requesting you by name specifically, princess.”

You turn to look at Cregan for his approval. He gives a quick nod, which you hadn’t expected. Perhaps he only obliged since Rickon had requested you by your name, rather than requesting his “mother.”

You walked with the maid to his chambers, opening the door.

“Mummy.” He said through sniffles. You turned to face the maid.

“I thought he requested me by my name.” You said.

“That is your name, princess… to him.” The maid closed the door.

You turn to face Rickon with a gentle sigh. “You know papa doesn’t like that word.”

“Mummy.” He just says again. You walk to his bed, fitting yourself in to lay with him. He cuddles into your chest, and you play with his hair to help him sleep.

“Say it okay.” He says.

“Hm? What do you mean, child?” You ask.

“She say it okay to call you mummy.”

“Who?”

“Mummy did.”

“No, you have to call me my name, sweet boy.”

“Not you, mummy. My other mummy said it okay.”

“You confuse me, Rickon.”

“Mummy says ignore papa.” You chuckle softly.

“Sleep now, my love.” You say, and he slowly falls asleep while you hum him a soft song.

You rise, tucking him in and giving his head a kiss.

You open his door to return to the feast, and Cregan is there waiting.

You gasp, covering your mouth quickly to not wake Rickon.

“Gods, you scared me!” You whisper/yell at him. He says nothing, his eyes in a glossy and drunken haze.

You close the door, nearly standing chest to chest with him.

“I heard you sing to him.” He says softly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“He taught me it.” You say, as you go to step past him when he stops you.

“Cregan?” You say confused, turning to look up at him.

He takes your cheeks in your hands and slams his lips on yours. You freeze for a second in shock, before immediately returning the kiss. He presses you against the door, and you moan into him as you quickly grow wet with Cregan’s sudden change of behavior.

He moves to press gentle kisses on your neck, biting softly here and there. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding himself into you. You moan softly, trying not to cause too much noise against the door.

“Not here.” You moan. He avoids your eyes, taking your hand and pulling you further down the hall to his chambers. It was only your second time in his room. He lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing you against the wall.

You both hadn’t even undressed, but you loved the thrill. Your husband finally wanted you after three long grueling months. He pushed your dress up to your waist as you unlaced his breeches.

He took you there against the wall of his chambers, fucking you so sweetly, fucking you in a way that would surely produce an heir.

Your moans filled the halls, and the servants began to spread word that the lord had finally moved on from his first wife.

He carried you to the bed, placing you along the edge as he stood, fucking you with sloppy and drunken thrusts.

You moaned his name, both of you drawing so close to your peak as your hands rested against his stomach. He leaned closed to you as hand moved beside your head to hold his weight, and the other moved under your lower back to lift you slightly off the bed and pull you more into him. The angle sent you over the edge, crying and moaning his name.

Your moans pushed him over, but his next words made you sick.

“Fuck, Alysanne.” He groaned, burying his head in your neck and spilling his seed into you.

You gasped, not even sure you heard him right.

He kissed your neck a few times and then rolled off you, not noticing the look on your face.

You laid there unmoving, still in your dress which was now damp with sweat, and your thighs now sticky with Cregan.

He fell asleep the second his head hit his pillow, still in his clothes.

You choked back a sob, moving your hand to your mouth so he wouldn’t waken. In reality, you could’ve started screaming and he wouldn’t have woke, or even shuffled.

You exited his chambers, trying not to be sick on the way to yours.

“My sister!” Sara drunkenly yelled as she seen you in the hallway. She took notice of your disheveled dress and hair. “Oh my gods, did you and Cregan just…?”

You ignored her, but she noticed the tears on your face. “Wait, sister what is wrong? What happened?”

You slammed the door in her face, throwing yourself into your pillow and screaming.

—

“Mother would be furious if she knew you were sleeping this well past sunrise.”

You groaned, lifting your head from the pillow to find the voice in the room.

“Jacaerys?” You said, when your eyes landed on him.

“I take it the feast for Sara Snow was a success.” He says, making fun of you. Your hair was sticking to your face, wet with a mixture of tears and drool.

“I guess you could say that.” You said, wiping your hair to the side.

“You’re disgusting.” He says.

“Gods, five minutes you’ve been here and you already frustrate me! Get out!” You say, both of you immediately teasing and arguing like you had never left home.

You push him out of your room.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” He whines, smacking your arms.

“Piss off! Go harass the bloody Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’d rather harass the Lady.” You push him out of your doors, turning and pressing your back to slide down the wall.

You hear him knock again and you rise to your feet, angry. “Jace, I said-“

You don’t finish your sentence, since as you open the door it’s Sara.

“I wanna talk about last night.”

“I don’t.” You say, going to close the door on her before she pushes it back open.

“What happened?” She asks, angry. She closes the door behind her and follows you to the bed. You sit on the edge and rest your elbows on your thighs, burying your face in your hands.

“Did my brother hurt you?” She asks, worried.

“No, no.”

She rests on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your knees. “Tell me what happened.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your tears, but you cannot. “We had sex.”

“Isn’t that good? What went wrong?”

“He called me Alysanne.” You sob out.

“Oh, no.” She says, moving to sit beside you and wrap her arms around you.

“I cannot stay here no longer, Sara. I am being haunted by Alysanne. I find letters she wrote to Cregan, her clothes, her weapons. Rickon thinks I am her and Cregan wishes I was.”

“I am sorry, princess.” She says, sadly. “I thought I knew my brother better than that… Perhaps, if you talk to him about these past few months things can be different. Just give it a try, yes? You have your brother here now. You can leave if things do not work and the marriage can be annulled.”

You did not even wish to think of that possibility. It would be so shameful for both of your houses. You would do everything in your power to make it work.

You cleaned yourself up and went to Cregan’s chambers, knowing he would be hungover.

And you were right.

You entered his room without knocking, finding him in a bath with a warm rag over his eyes. Three times now you’ve been in his chambers.

“You can set it on the table.” He says, not moving the rag.

“What?”

“Oh.” He says, his voice changing in tone. “I thought you were the maid.”

You say nothing, unsure of where to even begin.

“Can whatever you’ve barged into my chambers for wait until I am done.” He asks, only the question is more of a statement.

“No.” You say, angry. You walk over to him and pull the rag off his eyes. He squints at the brightness, then gagging on the air as if he might be sick. “We’re going to talk, Cregan. We’ve been married for months and I don’t think we’ve ever truly had a conversation once. It is all I am asking. You could at least give me that. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for three months, and I’m tired of it. I’ve helped raise your son, I’ve loved you and I’ve cared for you even when you didn’t want it. You owe this to me.”

He sighs, defeated. “You are right in that, my princess. I apologize. We can talk later, alright?”

“No, Cregan. We will talk now.”

“You wouldn’t rather talk when I am of a clear headspace?”

“No. Now.” You say. He sighs again.

“Say your piece.”

The words left your mind the second he said that. You had this conversation in your head many times before, but now it was here and you could not handle the heat of the moment.

He raised his eyebrow at you, as if you were dumb.

“Oh, do not do that. I thought you Starks were supposed to be the most honorable among men. This whole marriage I have been treated with everything but. You are a disrespectful man, Stark. I am truly sorry about Alysanne-“

“Do not speak to me about my wife, ever!” He yells, pointing at you.

“I am your wife!” You cry out. “You chose me, whether you were ready for another marriage or not! I left my home, my family, my dragon to be with you! If I cannot have your love, is it too much to ask for your fucking respect?!”

He goes quiet for a few moments, “You have always had my respect, princess… and I know I have erred in the way I’ve treated you these past moons. But this marriage is just a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. This marriage is not out of love… so do not expect me to love you back.”

You laugh, dryly. “You called me Alysanne last night… Do you remember that? No… I suppose you were too drunk. You never would have touched or cared for me like that sober.”

He says nothing, but his hands grip the side of the tub and his face is contorted with anger. You rise, hiding any sort of emotion on your face.

“The dead don’t need lovers. Only the living.” You said. He threw his rag at the door as you walked out, not even granting him a second glance.

The memories of last night flooded back to him, and he rested his face in his hands, crying at his behavior. He had let down Aly, his son, and you.

He did care about you, he did love you in his own way. He just didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t want to show it. If he had shown it, he only would have betrayed Aly even more.

You went down to the crypt, somewhere you had never gone before. You had no reason originally, no people to mourn.

You stood in front of her plot, staring at the statue of her. She had been a skinny girl, with long dark hair and ‘plain’ features. You thought she was a beauty in her own way. You saw why Cregan loved her.

You cried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.”

Your hand touched her statue, then you stood and left the crypt.

You said goodbye to Rickon, Sara, and then you left with your brother on dragon back, ready to be home with your true family.

———

“You’re a fucking fool, brother.”

“You think I don’t know that? Gods.” Cregan rested his head in his hands. He had sent every raven in Winterfell to Dragonstone, yet not one had responded in the weeks since you’d left.

“We’ll be lucky if the bloody queen doesn’t declare war on us for you scorning her daughter.”

“I am trying here, Sara! I’ve sent my ravens, I’ve sent men to retrieve her. There is nothing more I can do!”

Sara slammed her hands on the table. “Go and get her your bloody self, Cregan. The trip to Dragonstone will give you plenty of time for reflection.”

Sara turned to leave, and Cregan knew it was his only option of getting you back here. He would go and get you and make things right. He had to.

You had your own time for reflection, riding home with Jacaerys made you realize how much you missed being on dragon back.

Your mother of course welcomed you with open arms, but was wracked with guilt that you and Cregan’s union was not working. You paid it no mind however, spending your days patrolling Dragonstone on Silverwing.

Cregan had taken his horse and a few men to retrieve you from Dragonstone. The trip by horse was long, more than several weeks.

The entire time he rode in silence he thought of you. He thought of your last conversation and the final words you had said to him. The dead don’t need lovers. And you were right. Alysanne would not have wished to see him treat you how he had, she would not have wanted Cregan to spend his time sulking or being angry. He only wished he had realized it before he left.

He loved you. If only it hadn’t taken you leaving for him to realize. You were kind, gentle, beautiful. Traits Alysanne didn’t have but it was what seperated you from her. It had been how he was able to find his own kind of love for you, even when he didn’t consciously realize it yet. His own bitterness from losing Aly had made forget his honor.

Cregan arrived about two moons after you had left. He was aching, frustrated, and desperate by the time he reached Dragonstone.

It was dark, pouring rain, and you were playing with your brothers Viserys and Aegon when he arrived.

“Your Grace!” A knight came into the room shouting. Your mother looked up from her book. “Cregan Stark of Winterfell has arrived and requests an immediate audience with you and the princess.”

Your mother looked at you, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart sank and your face went pale, but you nodded.

You met him inside the council chambers with your mother and his men. He was soaked, shivering. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, that was how nervous you were.

“Cregan.” You said, walking towards him and pushing him by his arms to the hearth to warm him up. It was another thing he loved about you, your protective nature, so he said it.

“I love you.”

“Cregan…”

“Love her?” You both looked at your mother, whose face was angry. “You love my daughter?”

“Your Grace.” Cregan said, removing his sword and bending his knee. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

She walked towards you both. “It is not mine you need to beg for… I sent my only daughter to you, and you spurn her for your dead wife?!”

“Mother!”

“You will not interrupt the Queen when she is speaking.” She commands you. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Stark?”

He stands. “I have nothing to say, Your Grace. You are right. My behavior was unacceptable. The princess deserved none of it.”

“Why are you here?” Your mother asks him.

“I’ve come to ask the princess to return home.” Your mother scoffs at him.

She looks at you, then back to him. “You are lucky it is not my decision to make.”

She turns and exits, leaving and commanding his men to wait outside the doors so you both could be alone.

You were even more nervous with just the two of you in there. It is silent for a few moments before you speak.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” You ask Cregan.

“It took you leaving for me to realize I love you.” He says, taking your hands in his. You roll your eyes, taking your hands back and stepping away.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, starting to sob.

“I know, I know.” He steps closer to you again, taking you in his arms as you cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you, Cregan.” You say, crying. “Since I was a girl I loved you. I thought you were different from other men. But, you’re just like the rest.”

Cregan cries into your hair. “I’m so sorry, my princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

You both stand there, holding each other and crying.

“Please come home.” He says. “Let me take you home.”

“Rickon misses his mother, Sara misses her sister… I miss you, you my wife.”

You pull away to look at him, trying to read his normally stoic features. You can see he means it.

“Okay.”

———

You returned to Winterfell on Silverwing, no longer having the strength to remain apart from your dragon.

Cregan had to endure another long and grueling trip back to Winterfell, which you enjoyed knowing he was suffering while you road through the skies.

Rickon had cried tears of joy when you returned, and a week later when Cregan arrived Rickon cried again.

You and Cregan had remained in seperated chambers while you still navigated your marriage, but Cregan made a point to spend every moment of his free time with you.

But you had been keeping a secret from him.

After you returned home to Dragonstone originally, your blood never arrived. The maester determined you were with a babe, which would arrive several moons away in the dead of winter.

Your thick furs and dresses made it easier to hide from Cregan, as you were not ready to tell him.

The babe had complicated things. If you had not been pregnant, you might not have returned to Winterfell when Cregan came for you. But you knew you had a duty, and you believed if Cregan could love you then you could fix your union.

Cregan had indeed put the work in the second he arrived home. He attended to you, conversed with you, ate with you, laughed with you, but gave you the space you needed and gave you the option to be intimate with him when you were ready.

It was strangely like falling in love all over again. You blushed around each other, got nervous and flushed, made each other’s hearts race, shared a first kiss when you were both ready.

Cregan had undoubtedly fallen madly in love with you, and he regretted not taking the time to do it sooner. He couldn’t make up the time he lost being afraid. All he could do now was love you without guilt, love you without fear, love you without shame.

Normally Cregan always knocked on your chamber doors before entering, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t knock, he didn’t know if it happened unconsciously or if he was too busy wrapped up with his thoughts.

Either way, he entered without knocking and by that point the cat was out of the bag.

He said your name, greeting you with a smile, only for it to fall off his face as if it had never been there.

You were in the bath, relaxing in the burning water, but that wasn’t the problem. He’d seen you naked, although it hadn’t been for a few months by this point, but him accidentally invading your privacy wasn’t the problem either.

It was the bump in your belly that was a problem.

Your head turned sharply, covering your chest quickly. “Cregan!”

“Sorry.” He said quickly, turning around to avoid disrespecting you.

“It’s fine.” You said, dropping your arm from your chest. “You just gave me a fright.”

He said nothing for a moment, only continuing to face the wall.

“What is that?” He finally asked. You sighed, stepping out of the tub and into your robe.

You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face you now, and his eyes fell down to your other hand resting on the small bump in your stomach.

“Perhaps it’s time we talk.”

“You think?” He spits at you, immediately apologizing after. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.”

You said nothing, walking over to the seats by the hearth hoping he would follow.

He did, and he sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your belly.

“Can I?” He asked, gesturing to your stomach. You nodded, untying your robe so that you were bare. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to the small bump.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have accommodated for you, made sure you were comfortable.”

“Truth be told it’s been hard for me to accept I’m truly with a child.” You say, “The reality had not set in until… well until you just now found out... I am sorry, Cregan. I should not have kept it from you.”

He chokes back a sob. “Feels like just yesterday Alysanne had Rickon.”

“He will be overjoyed to know he will have a little brother or sister.” You tell him. He looks at you, his face full of emotion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and before you can even finish nodding your head, you’re already leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you. I love you so much, my wife.” He says in between kisses.

His hand did not move once from your stomach the whole night.

[aegonstradwife]

exposure therapy | aemond targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; you and aemond were recently married. you're afraid of him, but aemond goes to great lengths to show you he's not that scary.

warnings: excessive use of ellipses, #1 wife lover aemond targaryen, brief mention of childhood trauma, smut. (fingering, face riding, oral.)

a. note:link to the original request.

As Aemond's new wife, it's surprising how little time you spend together. The servants whisper about it around every corner; how you skulk through the halls hoping to avoid him, how nearly every meal you take is apart from each other.

But there's a very good reason for this, one that you've never admitted to anyone.

You are terrified of him.

Even at night, you might share the same bed, but it's big enough that you can sleep soundly without ever once touching him. Although even that was difficult at first; those first few nights you dreaded climbing into bed with him and got nearly no sleep at all.

He is so much bigger, and much stronger, than you. He really could do anything he wanted to you and you would have no chance of fighting him off.

Eventually, however, Aemond's still body beside yours throughout the night, you realized he either wouldn't, or didn't want to, touch you. And finally you were able to get some sleep.

But now, though sleep comes much more easily and your nights are no longer fraught with peril at the thought of him forcing himself upon you, it still doesn't mean you have any desire to be around him.

And you thought he felt much the same. Until tonight.

Aemond is already comfortable on the settee by the window, reading, when you retire to your shared bedchamber for the night.

Hells bent as usual on ignoring him, you busy yourself with removing your shoes in front of the wardrobe.

"Come. Sit with me."

In the quiet of the room, Aemond's sudden, uncharacteristic, voice makes you jump, going very still. His tone is soft; now that you think on it, you've heard Aemond's voice very few times, either before or after you were married.

In your mind, the few times you had heard him speak, you remember him sounding like a complete barbarian. Not this lilting, almost melodic, softness....

Straightening, you nervously smooth the skirts of your dress down over your thighs. Aemond's silhouette is stark against the candles guttering on the windowsill.

You gulp, starting to tiptoe toward him, but stopping at the opposite arm of the settee. "Do I have to?" You ask quietly, and even that takes every ounce of courage in your weary body.

This is probably as close as you've ever been to him when not in bed together at night.

"I won’t bite." Aemond's lips are quirked in a half smirk. He closes the book in his hands and sets it aside, patting the space beside him. "I assure you, I won’t hurt you. Come. Sit."

Though he had indicated the middle cushion, you sweep your skirts under you and take a seat on the one beside it, furthest from Aemond.

Normally you would have loved sitting and reading by candlelight, the cool breeze from the open windows ruffling your hair.

But now you bite your lip, heart hammering hard against your ribcage like a frightened bird.

Aemond can feel the tension radiating off of you. Your shoulders tight as a bow string, the muscles in your jaw taut, hands folded in your lap fidgeting with a loose thread on your gown.

He simple looks at you for a very long moment. Your features are delicate, almost fragile, your frame small and dainty when compared to his. To Aemond, you look very much like a porcelain doll. He has no idea how someone could be so beautiful and yet so…. breakable.

You glance nervously at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking.

"What?" You ask, though you keep your voice low, not wanting to anger him.

"You're afraid of me," Aemond states bluntly. He leans against the back of the settee, studying you with one intense purple eye. "Why?"

You laugh aloud, unable to stop yourself. Now seems as good a time as any to tell him exactly what you've been thinking since your wedding day.

"Look at you. And look at me. You could do whatever you want to me and I wouldn't be able to stop you. Not to mention...." You shrug. "The stories about you aren't kind...."

Aemond raises an eyebrow at your laughter, that same small, wry smile never leaving his lips. He can't help but wonder if you're mocking him as he leans forward, gaze still locked with yours.

"And what do the stories say about me, little wife?" His voice is low, a dangerous, frightening edge to it.

For seemingly the first time, you look your husband in the eye. One piercing violet eye stares back, the other covered by his customary eyepatch. "They say you're a fearsome warrior, one of the strongest swordsmen alive. And they say.... they say you killed that boy. Rhaenyra's son...."

Aemond’s eye narrows. There is so much uncertainty in that gaze of yours, something about your innocent face makes Aemond feel.... bad. His jaw clenches and he leans back.

"Lucerys Velaryon. Yes, I did kill him. Though I didn't mean to.... I lost control."

"You didn't?" Your eyes narrow as well, suspicious of him. "Then.... what did you mean to do?"

Your husband lets out a long sigh and crosses his arms. "I meant to scare him. I was.... angry. I wanted to teach him a lesson, to frighten and humiliate him. And I did not have such good control over Vhagar as I do now...."

At the mention of his dragon, you perk up - that's one thing you've always been curious about. The Targaryen dragons are so beautiful and powerful; you would love to ride one one day, if given the chance.

"So your dragon, she disobeyed you?"

Aemond is clearly taken aback by your interest in Vhagar. For a moment, it seemed you forgot you were supposed to be scared of him. He tries to hide the hint of surprise flickering across his face.

"Well, yes and no," Aemond says, diplomatic. "Vhagar is a very old and powerful dragon, and she is used to doing what she wants. Sometimes.... it's difficult for any Targaryen to control a dragon, even the strongest of riders."

You are positively fascinated, hearing about Vhagar, leaning in toward Aemond without realizing. "What is it like, riding her? Does it ever get cold, so high up?"

Aemond can smell your perfume as you lean toward him, a mix of jasmine and honey, faint yet sweet. He clears his throat.

"Riding Vhagar is like nothing else," he tells you. "And yes, it does get cold at times, but the feeling of the wind in your hair and the power of the dragon beneath you is.... indescribable."

"Do you think she'd let me ride her?" At this point, you're nearly nose to nose with Aemond, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Or do they only let Targaryens?"

Aemond freezes, gaze still locked with yours, your heads so close together that he can feel your breath ghost across his lips. He is surprised by your question and even more surprised by how badly he wants to fulfill the request.

"They only let Targaryens ride them, yes," he says, voice sounding much huskier than he intends. "But.... I'm sure Vhagar wouldn't mind letting someone else ride her.... if I were to accompany them."

"Would you?" You reach out, hand finding his thigh and giving a thankful squeeze. Realizing what you've done, how close you've become to him, you quickly snatch that hand back as though Aemond is on fire. "I'm so sorry...."

Aemond’s eye widens; for a heartbeat, your touch sent a shock through his entire body.

"It's alright." His voice is rough. “Don’t apologize....” He catches your wrist gently, before you can pull your hand away completely. "It was.... nice."

You tense, wrist caught in his strong embrace. "What are you doing?"

For a long moment, Aemond doesn't respond, simply staring at your slender wrist in his hand. Your skin is so smooth, so soft. He can feel your pulse beating against his palm, fast and fluttering like the wings of a small bird.

"Doing?" He finally asks, looking up at you with a sly smile. "Just.... holding your hand, that’s all."

"Holding my.... oh." All things considered, Aemond is handsome, you suppose. With his long silver hair, that chiseled jaw, the little moue of his lips. "You.... you really aren't all that scary, are you?"

Chuckling softly, Aemond's fingers gently stroke the skin of your wrist. Your words, spoken almost as a question, take him by surprise.

"I'm not trying to scare you," he says, his voice low and slightly amused. "And I don’t want to be scary, to you. Can I be honest with you, little wife?"

You nod, letting him continue to stroke that sensitive bit of skin around your wrist. He is very gentle, which has taken you by surprise.

"The truth is," he mutters, "I don't like it when you're scared of me. I don't like the way you look at me, as if you think I'm going to pounce on you and tear you apart at any moment. That's not what I want."

Slowly, still wary of him, you curl your fingers around his thumb and Aemond's breath hitches. Your hand is small compared to his; Aemond's fingers look massive beside yours.

"Everyone else seems so frightened of you. I thought.... I should be as well. I didn't know, that you hadn't meant to kill that boy. Have you told anyone else that?"

“No,” he says after a moment. “No one else knows. I haven't told anyone.”

He pauses, looking down at your hand in his. His other hand comes to trap your fingers inside of his palms, his thumbs tracing back and forth over your skin. “You’re the first I've shared this with.”

"You should tell others, that way no one will be scared of you."

Aemond lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze still fixed on your fingers intertwined with his own.

“I quite like others being afraid of me,” he admits. The smile on his face fades, just a bit, in the flickering candlelight. “But not you.”

"Not me?" You query, a sweet blush rising high on your cheeks. "Why not me?"

Aemond’s eye is drawn to that color blooming across your cheeks, the innocent flush sending a strange feeling coursing through him. He continues to stroke your wrist in a gentle, almost reverent, way.

"A wife should not be afraid of her husband," he says finally, his voice soft. "She should be worshipped by him....”

Slowly, so as not to startle you, he brings your wrist to his lips and places a gentle kiss there.

You lick your lips, nervous as all seven hells with the way things are going. Not only are you still afraid of Aemond - though growing less so by the moment - you have also never been close like this with anyone else before.

"And why.... why is it so important for other people to be afraid of you?"

Aemond’s lips linger over your skin, the faintest ghost of a smile there. He can feel the way your hand trembles slightly in his, the nervous flutter of your pulse against his fingertips. But he also notices how you don’t draw back, how you sit still and allow him to hold you.

“It's.... payback, almost,” he confesses. “For the torment I suffered as a child. It is better to be feared than loved - no one will ever again treat me the way they did when I was young.”

You are not aware of any torment in Aemond's childhood, though that isn't saying much. Of course the Targaryens keep much of what goes on between them a secret. Even now that you're married, you're hardly privy to all - or even most - of their secrets.

"Is that.... how this happened?" Shaking ever so slightly, you raise a hand to Aemond's face, fingers stroking the strap of his eyepatch.

As your slender fingers brushed against the edge of it, Aemond tenses, every muscle in his body going taut. No one has ever touched him there before, and it's an unfamiliar intimacy.

He closes his eye for a moment, trying to control his reaction, before speaking. “Yes,” he says, his voice thick with emotions he finds difficult to name. “That's how this happened.”

You feel for Aemond; having to grow up that way must have been torture.

Pulling your hand gently from his grasp, you bring both up to hook beneath the rough leather strap. "May I?"

His breathing hitches as your hands tug gently at the straps of his eyepatch. He knows your touch is innocent.... but no one has ever dared to remove it for him before. He nods once, his voice low.

“You may.”

With fierce concentration and a desire not to ruin his perfect hair, you slide the eyepatch up and off, gasping at the gorgeous sapphire glimmering where his eye should be.

"Gods, it's beautiful, Aemond." Letting the patch rest in your lap, you run your fingers lightly over the scar tissue below Aemond's eye. "Who did this to you?"

Aemond's breath hitches again, rougher this time, as he feels the tips of your slender fingers graze the scarred tissue around his eye, the touch stirring something deep within him. The feeling of your touch against the sensitive skin there is almost overwhelming.

He swallows hard, that old pain and anger bubbling up inside of him.

"My.... nephew," he finally says, his voice surprisingly even. "Lucerys Velaryon."

You inhale sharply; all you can think of is that if Aemond had really meant to kill the boy, he would have been well within his right to, after having been mutilated like this.

Grabbing for his hands, you hurry to say something. "Aemond, I-"

But your husband cuts you off. "There is one other reason it's important for others to be afraid of me."

"A-And what is that?" You ask, holding his hands close to your bosom.

"So that I can protect my wife, and my family." That sapphire is positively glowing in the light of the flickering candles. "The more afraid people are of me, the less likely they are to try and harm me, or you, or our family.... once we make one...."

His declaration takes all the air from your lungs, and you find it hard to breathe. "If I had known all of this, I.... I would never have been so frightened of you. I'm sorry, Aemond."

You cast around desperately for something else to say, some other way to apologize.

"Do not apologize."

His voice is gentle, yet firm. Your hands are still holding his against your breast, and he can feel the warmth of your skin even through the layers of your gown, the rapid beat of your heart.

"You didn't know, it is not your fault for being afraid," he soothes you. "But.... now that you know.... may I ask you something else?"

You nod, eager now to answer Aemond's questions and to ask more of your own - you want to learn so much more about him.

Aemond's fingers tighten around yours, the feel of your soft skin against his own sending a strange heat through his veins. He draws you in a little closer, his face now so close to yours that he can feel the warmth of your breath, that same scent of sweet honey and jasmine in your hair.

"You.... have not shied away from my scar, or my missing eye," he says, his voice a low whisper. "You have touched them, caressed them even.... why?"

Why...? You find it odd he even has to ask.

"Because I think they make you beautiful. Is that wrong?"

Your thumbs find his wrists now, pressing in against his pulse points, which are fluttering erratically.

Aemond's breath catches in his throat, the feeling of your dainty thumbs resting against his wrists, feeling the rapid beating of his pulse, setting his skin on fire. Your words, declaring him beautiful, ring in his ears, stirring something deep within his chest.

"Be-Beautiful?" He repeats, his voice a terrible croak. No one.... no one has ever called him beautiful. The word sounds strange in his ears, as if they're not meant for someone like him.

You nod, and after only a momentary hesitation, you bring one hand up again to his scar. This time, brushing the side closest to his hairline, a few strands of long silver hair getting in the way.

"Beautiful, Aemond. You're beautiful. I mean.... I did always think that. Just.... was too afraid of you to tell you. Do you forgive me?"

Aemond's breath hitches once more as your fingers stroke his hair, your soft touch sending a shiver down his spine. No one, no one, has ever touched his scar with such tenderness, such care.

"I.... I forgive you," he whispers, voice raw. "And for what it's worth.... I'm sorry, that I.... that I made you afraid of me. I never wanted that, I swear."

"I know. It wasn't even your fault, really." You roll your eyes, relaxing against the back of the settee. "I was just.... assuming that what everyone else said was true. Which is a terrible thing, really. My parents raised me much better than that."

A particularly chilly gust of wind blows in through the window and you wrap your arms around yourself. "I have to admit, I thought if my shenanigans went on much longer, you'd be forced to.... well, force yourself on me...."

Aemond is silent, as if that thought, the notion of forcing himself on you, is something he refuses to even consider. He turns to look at you, the pale glow of his sapphire eye giving him an otherworldly appearance.

"I.... I would never force you to do anything, little wife, not ever," he says, his voice low and serious. "I believe the first time a man and wife.... are together.... it should be.... enjoyable.... for both of them."

Suddenly, all words are caught in your throat. The thought of your first time with Aemond still makes you nervous, even knowing that he would never want to do anything against your will.

"I thought.... a woman's first time was always painful?" That's what you've always been told. You have never done anything of the sort, but perhaps Aemond knows better.

At your words, Aemond's jaw tightens. His fingers clench into a fist, the thought of you in pain during your first time together sending a wave of anger through him.

"No. No, never. It shouldn't be painful, not unless you don't want it, too," he says, his voice low and urgent. "Your first time should be.... enjoyable. Pleasant. I would never take you simply for my own pleasure. I would make sure you...." he falters.

Flinching slightly away from him at the sight of his hand in a fist, you gasp softly. Have you said something wrong?

Still, you dare to ask, "You would make sure I what?"

In the candlelight, Aemond's eye flashes dangerously and that sapphire blazes.

He takes a very deep breath, forcing himself to relax, to open his hand again. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I.... I don't like the idea of hurting you, it.... makes me angry."

He looks down at you again.

"I would make sure that you.... felt pleasure as well. It wouldn't be about me. It's about both of us."

If you had known how protective Aemond was of you, you would have asked him about these things sooner. He is, after all, the only person you can think to ask. If you can't discuss bedroom matters with your husband, who can you discuss them with?

"How does it feel?" You ask him softly, scooting closer to him on the settee. "When you have sex, how does it feel?"

Aemond is taken somewhat off guard by the sudden question, his cheeks going pink at your unexpected candor, but he doesn't back down. He doesn't want to shy away from your questions, not when you're so close to him, peering at him through those wide, innocent eyes.

He takes another deep breath, shifting on the settee so he can face you fully.

"it.... it feels.... good," he begins, his voice a low rumble. "It feels.... full. Warm. Tight. But.... good. More than good, especially when you do it with someone you care about. It feels safe, like nothing can hurt you ever again."

The look on Aemond's face as he speaks is one you've never seen before - something vulnerable and almost childlike staring back at you. You wonder how you could ever have been afraid of him.

"And you? Who was your first time with?"

As your question hangs in the air between the two of you, Aemond goes stock-still. No one has ever asked him that before.

He hesitates for a moment, peering warily at you. "Why.... why do you want to know?" He asks finally, voice cautious.

Now you know you've definitely said something wrong. "I was just curious," you hurry to tell him. "It's wrong of me to pry, I'm sorry...."

Aemond sighs softly, shaking his head. "No, no, don't apologize," he says, his voice a light simper now. He reaches out, taking your hand gently in his.

"It's okay, I just.... wasn't expecting you to ask that." He pauses, and you can see a flicker of something run across his face. "You.... you really want to know?"

"I do," you admit bashfully. "If you feel comfortable telling me?"

Aemond's hand grips yours a little tighter, your words sending a strange, tight feeling through hm. He hasn't thought about that night in a long time, and the memory is still painful enough to make him wince.

"All right," he says, letting out a slow breath. "I.... I'll tell you. Just.... just don't.... don't judge me, all right?"

"I won't judge," you assure him with a shake of your head.

Aemond looks down at your intertwined hands, his fingers tracing a light pattern against your palm. He closes his eye, gathering his thoughts, before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a barely-there kiss to your knuckles.

"My.... my first time," he begins, and his voice is rough, "was with a whore, in a pleasure house, at the behest of my brother who frequented - and still frequents - them much more than I did."

"I don't think that's anything to be ashamed of," you admit, mulling the idea over. "Most men visit those types of places at some point in their lives.... don't they?"

Aemond pauses for a moment, his eye locking with yours. He looks almost surprised by your response, as if he hadn't thought you would be so blasé about the situation.

"Yes...." he says slowly, "they do. But.... it's not.... it's not the sort of thing a wife would expect to hear, about their husband's past exploits."

You chew your lip thoughtfully, running your fingers around and through the spaces between Aemond's. "I don't mind, as long as...."

You hesitate, wondering if you really want to say this now or leave it for another night. "What I mean to say, Aemond, is that.... now that we understand each other better.... perhaps you can show me what it's like? Sex? And, if you do, I expect there to be no more pleasure houses in your future, is that clear?"

Aemond's gaze darkens as your words register, his heart stuttering in his chest. His fingers twitch against yours, breath catching in his throat.

"You.... you want me to show you...?" He repeats weakly, his eye wide and disbelieving.

You close your fingers tightly around Aemond's now, leaning in toward your husband. "Mm. But as I said, you must promise - no more pleasure houses. After all, you did say you want to worship me, did you not?"

Aemond's head swims with your words, his heart hammering in his chest so hard it's difficult to catch his breath. The way you're looking at him, the sweetness in your voice, the scent of honey and jasmine in your hair.... all of it is almost too much to bear.

He swallows hard, and nods. "No more pleasure houses. I promise," he whispers, his voice hoarse and rough.

His oath sets you at ease, but there's one more thing you must tell him.

"I must admit, Aemond, I'm still scared...."

He looks about to interrupt, but you cut him off. "Oh, not of you. I'm.... terrified of the pain. I've never done well with pain, and I'm so scared it's going to hurt like hell."

Aemond's heart twists at the worry and fear in your voice, his fingers tightening over yours. He hates the thought of you being scared, hates his own inability to take that fear away from you.

"Why do you still think it's going to be painful?" He asks quietly.

Instead of making you feel trapped, his fingers around yours make you feel safe. Aemond is lethal; you can see it in his face, in the hard line of his body. But he wants to use all of that to protect you....

Though what could he possibly do to prevent his own body from hurting you, even though he might not mean to?

"That's all I've ever been told." You gulp. "A woman's first time is always painful. And.... There's always blood."

Aemond's jaw clenches in anger. He doesn't know who planted these false, hurtful notions in your head, but he wants to tear them limb from limb.

He reaches out to you, tilting your head gently up to meet his gaze. "No. No, no, no," he says, his voice low and intense. "It's not supposed to be painful, especially the first time. You've just.... you've been told wrong."

He pauses. "Sometimes there is blood, I won't lie to you about that. But there are ways to minimize the chance of that."

Aemond's fingers start to skirt back and forth under your chin. "How .... How can we stop there being so much blood? I want you to show me."

Heart now beating much faster, Aemond's stomach twists with a mixture of desire and trepidation. He swallows, hard, his eye dark and heavy-lidded as he gazes down at you.

He runs his fingers through your hair, the soft feel of it against his skin maddening. "I can show you," he murmurs, "but.... you have to trust me."

"Of course. I do now." You turn your face toward his hand, palm skimming your cheek as he touches your hair. "I know you'll take care of me."

He takes another deep breath to steady himself, his hand coming to rest against the side of your face, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "Good," he whispers, "because I will, always. But there's something.... something I need to know first."

You shiver, Aemond's fingers reverent along your cheek and jaw. "What is it?"

Fingers now trailing down your neck, he pauses, hand coming to rest on your collarbone, your pulse beating fast and hard against his palm.

Aemond leans in close, his voice a rumble in your ear. "You.... you have never even been touched, have you?"

You are very aware of how hard your heart is beating, thumping underneath his fingers. "I haven't.... is that bad?"

Aemond breathes heavily, pulling back to look at you.

"No," he says emphatically, "it's not bad. It's.... it's just...." He trails off for a moment, struggling to find the words. "I need to know.... if you're still.... if you're still intact."

The question makes you blush furiously, looking down at your laps, side by side, so you don't have to look Aemond in the eye. "I.... yes.... isn't that where the blood comes from?"

You don't know much, but you do know that.

He places two fingers gently under your chin, coaxing you to look up at him again.

"Yes," he says, "that's where the blood comes from. But it can break in other ways. For instance, from fingers or.... other objects." His fingers trace along your cheek, obviously trying to soothe your growing discomfort at this conversation.

"But it.... it doesn't have to," he adds after a moment.

You chuckle, reluctantly meeting Aemond's gaze. "Can we try?"

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand now trailing back down your neck, slowly caressing. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

You nod fervently, gripping onto his wrist. "Positively. Now that I understand you better, I can think of no one else I'd like to teach me such things...."

He leans in, lips brushing your ear again, breath hot against your skin. "Then I will," he murmurs, his voice an uneven, ragged whisper, "I will show you. And I will take my time."

Long have you waited for someone to come along and share this experience with you. When you were initially betrothed to Aemond, you thought all hope was lost - he was so frightening and the thought of sharing a bed with him sent a shiver of panic through you.

But now.... Women have desires just as much as men do, surely... At least you know you do. And Aemond is offering to take care of them for you....

You steady yourself with a hand on Aemond's chest, nails digging into the soft cotton of his tunic. "Please.... I want it."

Aemond's stomach clenches, your soft, pleading voice sending a bolt of white hot desire through him.

"Patience," he murmurs, his sizeable palm laid against the back of your hand on his chest, "I'll take care of you, I promise. I just need you to relax for me, all right?"

"Mm, I'll try...." With another nod, you take a deep breath, shuddering at the feeling of Aemond's big hand covering yours entirely. "Maybe a drink would serve to relax me better...?"

This gives Aemond pause, and he pulls back slightly, his eye raking over your face, taking in the soft blush on your cheeks, the way your lips are parted as you catch your breath.

He gives a single, slow nod. "Yes," he admits, "I think a drink might help."

Without another word, he moves to a small table on the other side of the room, pouring you each a generous glass of sweet wine.

As he does so, you finger the pendant at your throat, a gift from your late mother. The way Aemond looks at you; any woman would be lucky to have a husband who looks at her that way. Like you're precious, like he would do anything to protect you.

Once offered your glass, you take it and swallow a large mouthful, hoping to get drunk as quickly as possible, to make this whole ordeal more bearable.

Aemond watches you closely, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sees you gulp the wine so quickly. He knows you're trying to get drunk, trying to use the alcohol as a crutch to make this easier.

"There's no need to rush," he says quietly, taking a seat beside you again, his knee bumping yours. He lifts his own glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured drink.

Swallowing another substantial mouthful of wine, you furtively watch the way Aemond's lips purse around the rim of his glass.

You smooth the skirts of your dress down, taking a deep breath. "I just want to be as relaxed as possible for you, Aemond."

He continues to watch you, that striking violet eye taking in every tiny detail - the way your fingers grasp the fabric of your dress, the soft movement of your body underneath the silk.

He takes a deep breath, his eye watching you as he drains the last of the wine from the glass. "I know," he murmurs, his voice a husky rumble, "but there's no need to get completely drunk, my love."

"It can't hurt." You upend the first glass of wine, draining the last dregs, and hold your glass out toward him. "Another?"

Apparently highly amused, Aemond raises a brow, but refuses to pour you another.

"I think that's quite enough. There's no need to be quite so drunk tonight, I promise."

You pout, setting your glass aside, but starting to feel a pleasant warmth wash over you from the first glass all the same.

"How do we start?" You question, leaning in close to him. Aemond smells of chamomile and sweat and.... maybe just a hint of blood? It's the best thing you've ever smelled.

Aemond reaches for you suddenly, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you gently onto his lap so you can straddle him.

The next breath he takes rattles through him as you settle on top of him, his hands gripping your waist, heart beating fast. "We.... we start here," he whispers, his voice a rough murmur.

"Goodness," you breathe, hands curling over his shoulders to steady yourself. "And.... what do we do here?"

You're trying your best to be brave, and the wine is making it easier, but there is still that niggling worry at the back of your mind, chanting blood blood blood.

Aemond feels that slight tremble in your hands as you grab his shoulders, the way you hesitate and swallow nervously as you ask your question. He can practically hear your thoughts racing, paying attention to the fear and trepidation in your words.

He leans in close, hands slipping from your waist to bracket your ribs, pulling you flush against him, your body cradled easily in his lap. "We start like this," he murmurs, his fingers gently tilting your chin up to look at him. "Just like this."

Slowly, fingers gentle but firm on your chin, he's bringing you in for a kiss.

The sound that leaves your mouth at the first dry press of your lips together is embarrassing. You curse. "I'm sorry." You bite your lip hard, searching Aemond's one violet eye for forgiveness. "Can we try again?"

Aemond chuckles good-naturedly, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs tracing slow, gentle patterns over your cheeks.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he whispers, leaning ever closer to you, his breath hot against your lips. "We can try as many times as you like, darling."

With a hand again around his wrist to steady yourself, you don't have far to go, what with Aemond's face so close to yours. You press your lips to his - soft yet firm. Your other hand slides up the outside of his thigh as you open your mouth under his, grateful for his willingness to teach you.

You hear Aemond's breath hitch again as he feels your hand moving up his leg, the touch of your slim, soft fingers against his body sending a shiver down his spine. He groans as you open your mouth, his tongue immediately seeking yours, tangling, tasting, claiming.

He grips your hair in one hand, angling your head back so he can deepen the kiss, his other hand back to gripping your hip, pulling you tighter against him.

You do the same, hands migrating down, loving the feeling of Aemond's slim, strong muscle under your fingers. As you kiss, you surreptitiously move the thin cloth of Aemond's tunic aside so you can touch him skin to skin over his sharp hipbones.

This earns you a keen inhale from your husband, who jerks away from you.

"I'm sorry," you breathe. "Is this okay?"

His mouth has opened in a gasp against yours, eyes squeezing shut.

When they open again, he merely looks at you, taking in the soft, pink flush of your cheeks, the way your pupils are thoroughly dilated, your chest heaving. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "Yes," he says ruggedly, his voice a scratchy gasp, "I'm sorry, it is. It's okay."

A flood of warmth washes over you, and you grin. You don't know why, but you want to kiss his neck.

Fingers digging hard into his hip, you lean in, nosing his long hair out of the way as your lips meet his neck, sucking and biting. Aemond tastes clean and faintly of rose water.

Aemond's head tips back immediately, giving your lips and teeth free reign over his neck, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh at the unfamiliar sensation. A soft, low moan escapes him as your mouth traces a path along the sensitive skin of his neck.

His body arches against yours. "My love," he gasps, his voice a ragged, breathless plea, "this is maddening."

"Need you to teach me," is your reply, pushing harder against him. "Don't go mad just yet."

He runs his hands down your sides, skimming over the soft, silky material of your dress, his body reacting powerfully to your closeness. "Gods, woman," he gasps, thumbs playing idly along the edge of your ribs, "are you sure you haven't done this before?"

You rest your cheek on Aemond's shoulder, nose brushing along the chiseled line of his jaw. "Positive," you sigh, arms now slung around him. "But I like the way you touch me. It's making me feel all hot and wet.... down there."

At this declaration, Aemond makes a noise you've never heard anyone make before. He nuzzles against your collarbone, pressing slow, hot kisses along the line of your chest just visible over the collar of your dress.

His mouth is starting to curve into a wicked smile. "Do you want me to touch you there, too?"

With a nod, you begin to pull the folds of your dress up over your thighs. "Please. The feeling down there, it's.... very insistent." And Aemond's fingers look perfectly long and warm and rough with calluses.

Aemond swallows hard as he watches the fabric of your dress retreat up over your thighs, the soft, bare skin of your legs suddenly exposed to him. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every detail - the soft, pale flesh, the way the candlelight casts shadows over the curves of your body.

As though trying not to startle you, Aemond runs his knuckles painstakingly slowly up the inside of your thigh. "When we were first betrothed, I knew I had gotten lucky."

That drunken haze still hovering around you, you let your legs slip further apart around him. "Lucky? How so?"

His hand moves further up, touch feather-light against her skin. "Lucky," he murmurs, "because I knew I'd be marrying the most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms."

He lets his hand move higher still, fingers stopping just before they reach the edge of your smallclothes. He pauses, looking intently at you, the question plain on his face.

"I never knew you thought I was beautiful...." You lean more against him, feeling impossibly safe and comfortable in his embrace. "Please. You can."

Hips canting forward, you try to push his hand in toward you.

"The most beautiful," he replies. He can feel your hips moving subtly against his, feel his own desire rising with every move you make.

Those long fingers hook into the edge of your smallclothes, running the backs of his knuckles along the sensitive bit of skin he finds there.

Your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of his gentle fingers finally scooping up under your dress making your stomach flip nervously. "Please." The word is uttered against Aemond's chin, where you've pressed your lips as you wait to feel his hand where you need it most.

As slowly as he an manage, he insinuates those fingers fully inside your smallclothes. He can feel the heat of your skin, the way you squirm in his lap as he moves closer to his destination, his own body reacting strongly to the anticipation.

He leans in, mouth finding yours in a heated, hungry kiss, his fingers finally, finally touching that wet, sensitive flesh between your thighs.

A sharp inhale accompanies the meeting of Aemond's hand to your sex. Everything down there feels so wet already, you suppose you should be embarrassed, but the wine is making it hard to feel so, which you're grateful for.

"Aemond...." Seeking his lips for another kiss, you mutter, "please don't stop."

One long finger sinks into your wet, hot flesh, his entire body shivering at the feeling of you beneath his hands. He lets out a ragged gasp as you kiss him, mouth moving fervently against yours, tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with yours.

With a low, gruff noise, he starts to move his finger inside of you, slow, gentle circles that make your muscles tighten and twitch against his hand. "I won't," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes squeezed shut, "I promise, I won't."

Aemond's finger has slid easily into you, all the way down to the knuckle. "Is it -?" You gasp, glancing down, tugging your skirts out of the way to see better. "It's inside? I thought it would be much more painful...."

You know it might not be the same with his manhood, which is surely a fair bit bigger than one of his fingers, but you're glad things have gone smoothly so far all the same.

Aemond's other hand presses itself solidly against that little bundle of nerves, the one you're familiar with, the one that makes you see stars, and you bite his lower lip a little too hard in response.

"Shit, sorry."

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your reaction, his lips curving into a smile against your mouth. "No need to apologize, sweet girl," he mutters. "There's a possibility it might hurt more than this when we go further, but I promise I'll be gentle."

He moves his finger in and out of you slowly, his other hand still pressing against you, the pad of his thumb circling that swollen bud, his touch gentle but firm. "How does this feel?"

A pang of fear shoots through you at his declaration that you will likely be in pain later on, but it's soothed by the way Aemond's fingers are gently coaxing themselves inside of you and over your clit.

"It feels perfect, Aemond. I never even knew it could feel this good." Not even when you'd touched yourself in bed at night.

Aemond's eye darkens as he hears your words, the sound of your voice, gutted and breathless, making his stomach clench. "This is just the beginning, sweet girl. There's so much more I can show you."

He slips another finger into you, feeling your body tighten and go taut around him, his own body still reacting powerfully to the sight and feel of you. He leans in to kiss you again, his mouth hungrily claiming yours.

With another finger inside, you start to squirm in his lap, and your hand slips, colliding with something hard inside of Aemond's trousers.

"Aemond," you gasp, "it.... it's hard."

Aemond lets out a strangled noise as your hand brushes against him, his body shuddering, his eye squeezing shut. "Ah, shit, sweetheart," he gasps, his breath ragged, "Don't do that."

He looks at you, his breath coming in quick, rough pants, his eye darkened to a deep, intense violet. "I'm going to be patient with you."

He says this like he's trying to convince himself of it.

"I'm sorry," you gasp again, hands flying to your mouth. "I didn't mean to touch it...."

Gaze flickering to the windows, to the Targaryen flags flying from every turret, you stifle a smile. "But maybe.... maybe you don't have to be so patient...."

Aemond growls at your words, fingers slowing their ministrations over you. "How impatient would you have me be?"

You reach down to take his free hand - the one currently touching your clit in nice, soft circles - in yours, lacing your fingers as you lean into him. "Still gentle, just.... Maybe lead me? Show me how things like this should be done."

Aemond can practically feel his self-restraint slipping at your words, the feeling of your small, soft hand in his making his head spin. He takes a deep breath, trying desperately to maintain control, to keep up the facade of gentility.

He grips your chin with his free hand, lifting your face to meet his eye, his voice low and rough. "Are you sure you're ready for that?" He asks, the question almost pained.

"I am. I'm sure." You wrap your shoulders around him, burying your face against his neck. "Take me to bed and show me, please."

Aemond swallows hard, the feeling of your breath against him sending a shudder through him. Lifting you easily in his arms, he stands silently from the settee.

The loss of Aemond's fingers from inside of you makes you whine, clinging to his broad shoulders as he makes his way to the bed.

He lays you gently down, crawling over you, hand once again trailing up the soft expanse of your thigh.

"Aemond...."

A sweet noise rumbles through him as he positions himself on top of you, body pressing you down against the covers, hips slotting between your legs. His gaze as he looks down on you is fiery, eye raking over your body, hands gripping and kneading the supple flesh of your thighs.

"You drive me mad, do you know that?" He murmurs. He leans down to kiss your neck, his mouth hot and insistent against your skin.

With Aemond on top of you, you reach around to tug the back of his tunic up, skimming your fingers along the warm skin of his lower back.

"Why did you never.... tell me before?" You mutter quietly, nibbling at Aemond's earlobe.

Aemond allows himself a deep moan as you touch him, your fingers roaming over his skin, your mouth on his ear. He rolls his hips against you, the aching hardness of his body weighing you down.

"Gods, I don't know," he gasps, his hands roaming over the soft curves of your body. "Maybe I could tell you were afraid of me. Maybe I was a fool."

"I suppose we both were fools." You curl your tongue around Aemond's ear, teasing.

His hardness is pressing insistently against you through your clothes. Aemond leans his forehead to yours. "I'm going to take your dress off now. Is that alright?"

You've never been naked in front of anyone before, but Aemond is making you feel so safe that you nod hurriedly, sitting up. "Yes, please."

Aemond's eye darkens at your nod, his hands immediately going to the laces of your dress, working them loose until the fabric falls away from your body. He lets his gaze roam over your exposed skin, his fingers tracing the soft planes of your body, reverent and gentle.

"Seven Hells," he mutters, his voice a ragged whisper, "I've never seen anything so perfect."

The wine allows you to feel comfortable enough to stretch out over top of your discarded dress, staring up at him over the swell of your breasts. "Don't you want to touch your perfect wife, Aemond?"

"Of course I do," he mutters. He moves aside only slightly, letting his fingers scrape over one of your hardened nipples. "I want to touch every part of you."

You arch into his touch, his fingertips hard and callused against your sensitive nipple. "Aemond.... Would I be a complete whore if I asked for your fingers back inside of me?"

"No," he mutters easily, a hand running its way down your body, the other holding himself above you. "No, you wouldn't. But I want you to ask for it, my love. I want you to tell me exactly what you want."

Your breathing quickening, the air in the room thick and heavy, you spread your legs around him, unabashed. "i want you to touch me. To touch my stomach, my hips and thighs .... my cunt. Please."

Aemond makes a ragged noise at your request, his body shuddering as you open yourself to him. He trails his hand lower, his fingers grazing over your stomach, trailing over your hips and thighs, before coming to rest between your legs.

He lets that hand rest on your for a moment, feeling your wetness, his violet eye dark and full of lust. "Is this what you wanted, darling?"

"Yes," comes your voice, wrecked, entire body feeling overheated and overwhelmed already. "Gods, Aemond, I.... I'm sorry I didn't ask for this earlier."

You run your hands up Aemond's toned arms, tugging on the short sleeves of his tunic. "M-May I take this off?"

Feeling you tug at his tunic, Aemond nods, loving that ragged and pleading tone in your voice. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can see the raw, pleading look in your eyes, and he's never been more turned on in his life.

By way of a real answer, he reaches down and hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt to rip it off over his head. He shakes his hair out majestically, making you giggle.

But after that giggle.... You can do nothing but lay beneath him and stare. His body is perfect, abs cut into his skin above the smooth, narrow line of his hips.

"Goodness ...." You whisper, fingertips prodding at his hardened stomach. "You're.... actually perfect."

"Perfect, really?" He replies, clearly perplexed. "I'd say I'm looking at perfection right now."

You whimper, Aemond's moist lips once more at your neck, his body pressed to yours. "How do you.... get your body to look that way? Maybe you can teach me that too, as well as how to ride a dragon."

Aemond laughs softly, his teeth scraping against you as he kisses down your neck. "It's actually quite simple," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your body, arms caging you in against the bed. "Just a lot of sword practice and fighting."

He pauses, his lips trailing teasingly over the line of your jaw. "I'm going to teach you to ride more than just a dragon, my love."

"I could sword fight." Your voice doesn't sound like it ever has before. "Easy. Train me."

You gasp at his words, nails now digging into his back. "And what else are you going to teach me to ride, husband?"

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your response, his muscles coiling where your nails dig into his skin. He rolls his hips against you and makes you gasp.

"I can teach you how to ride me," he mutters, his voice a rough, ragged whisper. "Or maybe you'd like a ride on my face."

Your eyes go wide, and you press him away by the shoulder just so you can look him in the eye. "I.... I'm allowed to do that?"

You've never heard of this - using your mouth? Why have you never thought of it before?

"Of course you are," he murmurs, looking bemusedly down on you. "And I would be more than happy to let you."

His hot breath whispers over your skin as he leans to speak into your ear. "You've never heard of it before, have you?"

"I haven't." You tilt your head, fingers tender along Aemond's jaw. "How should I.... How do I do it?"

Aemond's eye closes at the feeling of your fingers, tender on his jaw, your touch ever gentle and caressing. He makes a very small noise and shudders over top of you. "It's easy, darling."

"I just lean back here...." With one swift movement, Aemond rolls and settles himself against the pillows. "You come up here...."

Gentle but insistent hands guide you, pulling you all the way up. "And swing a leg over me."

Still helped along by his strong hands, you throw one knee on the opposite side of Aemond's head, bracketing his ears with your thighs. "Like.... this?"

This position makes you feel as nervous as you have all night, even with the aid of the wine - Aemond can see all of you. Truly all of you, and you can't quite meet his eye because of it.

Aemond's hands tighten on your thighs, his breathing growing ragged. He can sense your nervousness, the way your muscles are tensing up, the way you're avoiding his eye.

He rubs his hands soothingly across your thighs, trying to relax you. "That's it, darling." His voice is soft, comforting. "You look gorgeous."

You bite your lip, carding one hand through Aemond's alluring silver hair. The other you place over his good eye, the hint of a smile on your face as you mutter, "Don't look...."

Aemond smirks, and yanks you suddenly, roughly forward by the backs of your thighs, so that your womanhood is directly above his smirking lips. "As you wish."

He places a single, open-mouthed kiss to your clit and the suction, the wetness, of it all is enough to make you squeal.

There's one poignant moment where Aemond's intensely hot, wet mouth rests over your womanhood. Then, with a jagged moan, he begins to lave over you, lips, tongue, and teeth working in tandem.

His callused palms cradle the backs of your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue works you over. And when that same tongue points itself deep inside of your core, you can no longer keep your hand over his eye, lest you want to smash your husband's head painfully into the sheets.

Instead, that hand flies to the headboard, holding on for dear life. "Gods, Aemond! I.... I've never felt anything like this, what.... what in the seven hells...."

Aemond redoubles his grip on your thighs, keeping you in place as he works you with his tongue, his mouth and teeth and lips bringing you to new heights of pleasure. He moans roughly, and the sound reverberates through you, making your mouth fall open.

"Just... relax, my love," he mutters against your folds, "I did say I would worship you, did I not?"

You nod, still petting a hand gently through Aemond's hair, coiling your fingers around the strands, feeling how soft it is. Your eyes, however, are trained on the gilded ceiling when you answer.

"Y-You did, but.... this.... I didn't even know this was a thing people did. Is this.... common?"

"No, sweet one," he mutters, his voice thick with desire and - somewhere - a hint of disdain, "it isn't common. Most men see their wives as something to be claimed, conquered. And I...."

"You see them as something to be worshipped," you answer, remembering his words from earlier.

Aemond lets out a low chuckle against you as you knot your fingers in his hair, his tongue continuing to lathe across you. He lifts his head for a moment, his lips and chin glistening, a smirk on his face. "Look at me."

You do, and are rewarded with his fingers climbing the insides of your thighs, splaying themselves over you. "You are the most exquisite creature I've ever laid eyes on."

The sight of his face, so slick with you, his eye dark, his sapphire glinting, his fingers roaming over your thighs, it all makes you shiver, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps.

"And you," he continues, voice muffled against your folds, "you taste divine."

And without another word, he dives back in, his tongue delving into you once more, his hands gripping your thighs, bringing you lower, closer to him.

All of this - Aemond telling you how beautiful you are, his talented mouth on you, the haze of the wine moving through you - has you tumbling toward the edge quicker than you've ever done so by yourself.

"Aemond.... close!" You give a hard tug to Aemond's hair, warning him.

He closes his eyes as he focuses on nothing more than bringing you further to the edge, the heat of your body and the taste of you driving him wild, pushing him to give you more, more, more.

"Just.... let go," he mutters against you. "I want you to let go for me, my sweet."

You're trembling now, hips riding down against his face of their own accord. "Oh, gods...." You've never done this in front of anyone before. What will Aemond think of the way you climax? Will it be embarrassing? "Aemond...."

There's no longer any time to think it over, though, as one last swipe of his tongue sends you spiraling with a loud cry.

Aemond's heart is pounding hard, watching you cum, his eye wide and alight with desire as he watches your body shudder and shake above him, your cry of pleasure filling the room and, undoubtedly, the hallways around it.

He helps you ride out the wave of pleasure, his tongue slowly bringing you back down, peppering your thighs and hip bones with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Your eyes fluttering, your chest heaving, Aemond coaxes you through your first climax with him and then maneuvers you down to lay beside him. You feel so boneless, you sure you aren't much help in this endeavor.

"That was...." You don't even have the words to describe what just happened to you.

Aemond watches you closely as you lay beside him, breasts rising and falling heavily, your skin flushed and marked all over with his mouth, one hand trailing lightly over your stomach. The sight of you, well-loved and satisfied, makes his chest burn with desire.

He leans in close to you, curling his body around yours like a protective shield. His mouth trailing over your neck, his voice a quiet whisper. "That was beautiful. And we're only getting started."

You gaze at him out of half-lidded eyes, your body already feeling drained from just one round. "What...." You stifle a yawn behind your hand, trying to hide it. "What's next?"

Aemond laughs at the sight of you yawning, both hands now brushing over your body, his touch gentle. He can see the exhaustion in your eyes, hear the tiredness in your voice.

He leans down and presses a loving kiss to your forehead. "I don't think you're quite ready for more yet, my love. You look like you're barely awake."

Through your tiredness, you whine, "But you promised to show me. What it's like...." You're pressing sleepy kisses to Aemond's jaw, lips sweeping down over his neck.

Aemond's lashes flutter at your tiny kisses, his arms curling strong and protective around you. He makes an odd noise, and you realize you may have had an orgasm, but he never did.

"I can take care of it for you." Searching down below, hands clumsy and heavy with sleep, you feel Aemond grab for your wrist.

"And you will," he mutters, admonishing. "But tonight it's getting late, and you're tired. We have our whole lives together, we need not rush this."

Another yawn overtakes you, and you snuggle down into his warmth. "Tomorrow, then?" You mumble, arms slung lazily around him. "And dragon riding tomorrow, too...."

Aemond chuckles again at your insistence, hands gently rubbing themselves over your body, comforting you. He shifts back on the bed, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you, holding you as close as possible.

"Of course, my love," he murmurs, his voice a gentle, soothing rumble in your ear. "Tomorrow. And dragon riding, too. But for now, you need to sleep."

Aemond runs the very tips of his fingers up and down your back, just along your spine.

"I really am sorry, Aemond...." You're already half asleep, struggling to stay awake, to get the words out. "D'you really forgive me?"

Aemond sighs.

"Of course I forgive you," he whispers, breath tickling your ear. "It's all in the past now, my love. The only thing that matters is you and me, right here, right now. And dragon riding tomorrow, I promise...."