#arlī masterlist

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī Masterlist

Synopsis: She was not her uncle’s first choice Naery’s knew that, but she would do her duty.

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!OC

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

[lionneee]

Aemond is the Prince Regent

English is not my first language, be kind.

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: incest, p in v, smut, oral (m), taking of sexual themes, smut, chocking, talking of wounds.•

OC!Aemond x Sister!Reader

He looked at the doors of the council room, just waiting for her to enter. 

He was enraged.

He liked how everyone in the meeting seemed to be afraid of him.

Yet not everyone.

He was to be feared. He enjoyed the glances of horror of the people who looked at him as he walked in the keep.

Yet, he believed he could summon him, with haste.

Even more, due to his brother's decision, he had to put up with that toad.

He clenched his jaw as he looked at the doors opening.

Finally. Some peace.

“Brother.” Her voice sounded like a melody to his ears. Almost enough to seath his anger.

Almost.

She walked closer, calmly, keeping her hand clasped on her lap.

“You do not look… content.” She said as she walked closer, until she stood in front of him, laying back on the table.

“Mh.” He looked up at her, as he leaned back on his seat, his leg thrown over the other.

“You look quite comfortable on your chair.” She commented as she looked down at him. “Eman ryptan, ao might daor umbagon konīr syt bōsa. Īlva lēkia glaesagon se paghagon.”

-Yet I have heard, you might not stay there for long. Our brother lives and breathe.-

He sighed and looked away.

“Syt sir.”

-For now.-

“Kostā daor pryjagon zirȳla arlī.”

-You cannot strike him again.-

He looked back at her.

“Do you think I’ve summoned you here to tell me what I’ve already known, sister?” He hissed, annoyed by her pointing out the obvious.

He already knew that.

“No, I don’t.” She answered, taking his hand in hers, bringing it to her mouth to kiss it. He hummed in appreciation, looking how her lips pouted to kiss his skin, how soft they felt on his hand. He shifted in his chair, spreading his legs.

“Ao gīmigon skoros naejot gaomagon.”

-You know what to do.-

She looked at him through her lashes, then, without much hesitation, she knelt in front of him.

“They’re stressing you, brother?” She asked as she started palming him through his trousers, gently. He sighed as he let his head lean back, closing his eye.

“They listen. Most of them. Some still don’t respect my opinions. My choices.” He said as she slowly started to undo his trousers, pulling them down just enough to be able to slip a hand under his undergarments and take his cock in her soft hand, pulling it out in the light. Her mouth watered immediately at the sight. Thick and pale. She just had to move her hand a bit, to see it grow to all his longness. 

“You’re always so ready for me, brother…” She mumbled as her gaze never left his cock. She darted out her tongue to lick his undershaft from the base to the end, wrapping her lips around his tip, sucking gently.

He groaned as he moved his hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair gently.

“Everything for my sweet sister.” He looked down at her, meeting her gaze full of lust and admiration. “Now take care of me.” He clenched his hand on her hair, pulling her down on his cock. 

As much as he loved her, he was in no mood for gentle.

She immediately complied, taking his cock in her mouth, her tongue swirling around him as she moved her head up and down and in circles, keeping not a much fast speed, but focusing on the intensity of her movements.

Aemond’s body jerks at the contact of her tongue, a low, guttural moan escaping from his chest. 

“Yeah... that feels so good." He grunted as he tightened even more his grip on her hair.

She hummed around him as she kept her hands on her back, sucking hard on him, moving her head up and down, her movements getting faster.

He moaned loudly, his head thrown back, his hand pulling on her hair instinctively

“You’re so damn good at that." he mutters, his voice thick and rough in pleasure. He pulled her off his cock for a moment, so he could bend down and look at her face, her chin already wet in saliva, her eyes seemed lost as she looked at him with a smile. He squeezed her jaw with his other hand, pulling her to his face so he could kiss her, feeling in her mouth his own taste. He grinned as he pulled back from the kiss, yanking her back down on his cock, that she greedily took again in her mouth, sucking and hollowing her cheeks, as his hand guided her movements now.

“Was my sister born to suck my cock? Mh?” He growled as he started to push her past her comfort level, pushing her head down enough to make her gag around him. She moved her hands up, wanting to put them on his thighs, but he quickly moved them away.

“Hands behind you. Don't make me repeat myself.” He warned her, watching her as she clasped her hands behind her, clenching them into tight fists as he kept using her mouth, pushing his cock as far as it could go.

He cared for his sister, he really did. Unlike their brother or their nephews, she had always been kind and sweet to him. She didn’t care if he was different.

“I am different too, you know?”

She whispered to him one night, after he had isolated himself in the library, humiliated once again by one of their nephews' jokes.

She had always taken care of him, way more than even their own mother did.

He still remembered how she ran to him, hearing about the fight at Driftmark. How she kept his hand in hers as she observed the Maester suing his eye.

He heard her chuckle ringing in the walls of his desert room.

He immediately froze, looking at her.

Not her too, please.

“Have you seen Luke’s face? It looked like a big dirty sack full of air.” She chuckled.

He remembered smiling at her foolish comment, her words, somehow, reassuring him that she would have always been by his side.

She had always been composed, intelligent and kind. Their brother once told him he would have rather marry her instead of Heleana, because she was prettier, easier to bed.

His control snapped all of the sudden.

She was his. His alone.

He pushed her head all the way down, until her lips touched the base of his cock, her nose pressed against his pubic bone, and the sound of gagging escaped her throat repeatedly.

“Suck it.” He growled. “I know you can do better sister, are you here to relieve me or enrage me even more?” He hissed as he bent down, closer to her head. She whined as she coughed around his cock, he could hear her choke, trying desperately to swallow around him as she tried to breathe through her nose.

He moaned as he let himself fall back on his chair, letting her rise lightly, but only to keep her and thrust his hips up, the tip touching the back of her throat repeatedly, making her whine every time.

“Sh-sh-shh…” He hummed as he kept thrusting up in her mouth, his movements quickly becoming more abandoned as he lost himself in the pleasure.

“Fuck— You’re gonna make me come, sister—“ He mumbled closing his eye shut. She moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver down his body, and she hollowed her cheek tightly, creating the perfect friction to make him tumble over the edge.

“Fuck— Seven Hells, swallow it— Don’t you dare waste a drop—“ He growled as he pushed his hips up, pulling her down. She whined loudly as her hands stayed behind her, taking all he gave him. He relaxed back on the chair, watching her raise his head the moment he retrieved his hand from it. She looked at him with her cheeks wet of tears, and chin of saliva, smiling as she showed her white painted tongue. He smiled down at her as he caressed her cheek, looking at her swallow.

“My sweet sister.” He praised as she leaned her face towards his hand, seeking attention like a purring cat.

She was scared to enter. She had heard from the Maesters that his brother's situation was delicate, cryptical.

She had only seen him when he returned from Rook’s Rest, still with his armor on, melted on his skin, clinging to him like the last thing he would have worn in his life.

Yet he lived.

She couldn’t tell what she was feeling at the moment. It was a mix of contradictory emotions.

She was… happy? That her brother was alive. She was anxious that he might remember, and ruin Aemond. She was angry, because he could have died and spared himself his life as a Futile King. She was scared of his condition. She was scared to not be able to look at him anymore.

Even more, she was scared to look at him, and despise Aemond for what he did.

She was sad. Because his brother was hurting.

She took a deep breath, walking in the King's chambers, finding her mother sitting not so far from the bed, and Aegon resting. She didn’t let herself linger too much on him.

She couldn’t yet.

“Mother.” She said, walking towards her. Her mother sighed as she looked at her, standing up to step closer. 

“Did Aemond tell you anything?” She asked her.

“No, the Maester did.” She pointed to Aegon.

“No…” She sighed, looking to the side. “Not that, my girl.” Her mother looked down as her daughter’s gaze grew confused.

“Then what, mother?” She asked, intrigued.

To be fair, she and Aemond did not talk a lot when they met in the council room. Though she used her mouth a lot.

“He released my seat at the council.” Her mother admitted.

So he did it.

“I’m sorry, mother.” She simply said, looking down as well.

“You know Aemond.” Her mother stepped closer, putting a hand on her cheek to raise her head, to make her look at her. “You know him well, since childhood. You might know his pain better than I ever did-“ She grabbed her harm to pull her even closer. “Please. You must help him. This anger he keeps for the Blacks will only ruin us all.” 

She looked at her mother for a long moment.

So that’s how she did it? She suddenly understood why Aemond couldn’t bear her anymore.

“I do not know much, mother.” She stepped aside. “And you know just as much that Aemond is not one to be… redirected.” She looked back at her. “Do you not trust his education better than Aegon’s?” Alicent stepped back, looking at her.

“Aemond might be well educated, but he’s young.”

“Just two years older than Aegon.” She pointed out, making her mother scoff.

“He is reckless. He is not plotting a war but a revenge. His revenge.” Her mother stepped closer again.

“Won’t that do us good? If his revenge will make us win the war, farewell.” She spoke calmly.

“Do us good?” She repeated, shaking her head. “We have to win a war, yes, but this- This is not-“

“Do you still care for the enemy, mother?” She interrupted her before she could say anything more. Her mother pressed her lips together.

“Your brother needs peace.” She simply said before walking out the room.

“Jace, stop!” She laughed out loud, rolling on the ground.

“Why do you want me to stop if you’re laughing so hard?” Jace chuckled as he sat over her, tickling repeatedly on her sides.

“Stop! My belly is hurting!” She kept laughing, trying to roll away from his hands, but to no avail.

“She said stop!” Suddenly, Jace disappeared from over her, she saw him on the ground, Aemond on top of him. 

“Aemond-“ She mumbled as she moved her hand towards them. She got lifted up from her armpits from someone behind her. When she looked around she saw Aegon smiling down at her.

“Aegon? Why is Aemond hurting Jace?” She asked, arching her brows in confusion and concern.

“They are just boys, little one.” He raised his shoulders. “Let them have their fun.” He put his arm around her shoulders.

“Fun? Is that fun?” She asked as she looked back one last time before her brother walked her away from the garden, back inside the Red Keep. 

“It’s their fun.” Aegon explained, as he guided her through the hallways that she still had trouble orienting herself in.

“I want to try that fun too!” She clapped her hand, looking up at Aegon as he smiled down at her. 

“Then we’ll try, little one, I promise.” He assured her. 

It took her a while, but then she moved in the room. She walked on the other side of the bed, raising her eyes slowly.

He looked…

She couldn’t find a word to describe it. She covered her mouth with her hands as she sat beside him.

“Brother—“ She sobbed, surprising herself with her tears.

Aegon slowly opened his eye, rolling it towards her. 

“Brother—“ She grabbed his hand carefully, keeping it in hers.

She had plotted many times with Aemond behind Aegon’s back. They drew the perfect plan.

But it was never Aemond to hurt him. Always the blacks.

Al they would have done was… push him towards his death, carefully.

“I’m sorry—“ She whispered. She was overwhelmed. Fear, sadness, even betrayal. She knew Aemond hated his brother deeply, but never, never, she truly expected him to do something like this. 

A pang on her stomach made her almost throw up.

Should she be scared? Should she fear Aemond too?

“I’m sorry, brother—“ She sobbed as she leaned down towards him, careful not to touch any of his wounds.

“L-lit-little o-one—“ She heard his weak, broken voice, almost a whisper, and it only saddened her more.

“I’m sorry-“ She sniffled “P-please-“ She mumbled as she looked back up at him. 

She felt his hand squeeze her back.

She breathed in deeply, trying to compose herself again.

“D-do you remember…?” She asked weakly. She looked closely at him, she saw how his eye slightly widened.

Suddenly, all she felt was fear.

“No.”

Liar.

The doors opened, and she quickly pulled back, standing up from the bed and wiping her tears before facing whoever entered.

“Sister.” She looked at Aemond, staring down at her with a hard gaze, his voice venomous. 

“Aem-“ She wanted to explain herself.

“Leave us. I’d like to have a word with our king.” He interrupted her as he looked away from her, his single eye focused on Aegon.

She looked back at Aegon one last time, seeing him still looking at her as she silently walked out.

She heard the door to her chamber open, but she didn’t even turn on her seat to know who it was.

“What were you doing with him?” His voice was calm, collected. 

So he was very angry.

“Can’t I visit our wounded brother?” She answered as she finished brushing her hair, standing up from her vanity in only her thin nightgown.

He quickly caught her arm, looking up in annoyance as he pulled to him, staring down at her.

“You were crying.” He stated.

“He stank a lot.” She simply said, to cover her affection towards Aegon.

“You do not fool me, sister.” He breathed out a laugh.

She didn’t answer, she simply stared at him with a hard glare, but his amusement was quick to change. He gripped her arm tighter, as he pulled her even closer, their faces mere inches apart.

“We are in this together, remember?” He hissed angrily, walking forward, pushing her harshly back, making her step back towards her bed. 

“Aemond stop-“ She warned, trying to free her arm.

“Stop? But you started this, remember?” He chuckled coldly. “So many years ago, you started this.” He repeated, as he threw her back on her back, making her land on the mattress with a gasp. “You don’t get to tell me no, now.” He crawled on top of her before she could move, sitting on her lap to keep her down. “Do you not love me anymore, sister?” He tilted his head to the side.

“Of course, I love you-“ She stated as she tried to slip away. He grabbed her hands and pinned them down the bed over her head.

“Then why all this struggle?” He asked mockingly as he raised her nightgown alway further, until her chest was exposed to him. “Why are you trying to move away?” He asked as his eye darted down on her tits, grabbing one in his hand, not so gently, and squeezing it. She whined as she kicked her feet, arching her back slightly.

“Shh… We can’t be loud here, sweet sister.” He hummed, as he removed his hand from her breast only to untie his pants, while the other kept down her wrists.

“Aemond—“

“Shut up.” He growled as he raised slightly only to pull his pants down enough to free his cock. He looked down at her tits as he slowly started to jerk himself, just enough to grow hard on her body.

“Just relax, sister.” He muttered, as he spread her legs with his knee, settling between her legs. He aligned his cock to her core, rubbing his tip over her clit only to see her squirm for his own pleasure, an amused smirk in his face. Then, he started to push inside her, even if she wasn’t wet enough to receive him, he kept pushing, making her squirm even more. “I’ll take care of you.” Said that, he spat down on his cock, thrusting inside her until her walls wrapped around him completely. He grunted lowly, opening his mouth at the pleasure of being finally inside her once again. Her tightness, her warmth welcoming him in the most delicious way.

“Gods, sister…” He breathed out as he looked down at her. “Why try to stop this-“ He begins to move his hips, his body driving into her with a slow and steady rhythm, as he pressed his forehead against her temple, looking down at her as her mouth opened, a string of moans coming out of her. “-If it makes you feel this good?” Aemond’s eye stayed fixed on her face, watching the expressions on her face as he moved against her. He could see the pleasure in her eyes, and the sounds she’s making only drive his need even higher.

He moves faster, each thrust driven by the primal need to take her, to keep her tightly on his side.

 "You feel so good, sister.” His voice hoarse with need. “So perfect." He punctuated his words with particularly hard thrusts, his eye watching her reaction. 

“Seven- Aemond—“ She cried out as she pressed her lips together, trying to contain every sound that threatened to come out too loud. He laughed at her struggle, kissing her cheek softly, a high contrast between what he was doing to her. His movements kept growing faster, rougher, delivering himself every time with a loud slap of skin and juices.

"You're so tight, sister," His voice ragged. "It's like you're trying to cling onto me, holding me inside you." He groaned as he felt her clench around him. “Oh, you already gonna come?” He grinned. “Did sucking my cock keep you on the edge all day, sweet thing?” He leaned closer to her ear. “How much more until you start begging?” He continued to move, his pace getting more intense, his body rubbing against hers, his hands gripping her hip tightly.

“Oh— Gods, Aemond—“ She moaned as she panted. “You feel so good-“ She whined as she bent her legs, widening them more as she looked down, seeing how his cock was abusing her cunt repeatedly.

He let out a low, guttural moan at her words, her sounds driving him wild. "You feel so good like this... so tight—" He growled, the sound coming out feral and primal, his body pushing against hers with increasing force. 

"Aemond- Brother I— Lēkia!”

-Brother!- She arched her back violently, her body starting to shake all over as he felt her clench on him tightly. She could feel herself on the edge, the tension in her body ready to snap.

“Come for me, sweet sister. Māzigon syt issa.”

-Come for me.- He ordered, moving his hand from her wrists to her neck, squeezing tightly, and that, did it for her. She clenched her jaw tightly as she came around him with a high pitched scream, her hips jerking against his, her body tensing and relaxing by the force of her orgasm.

He gripped her hip tightly, the feeling of her coming apart beneath him sending a wave of satisfaction and possession through his body. "Yes— gods." He groaned in her ear, his body responding to the intensity of her orgasm, his own release close behind.

"I-I'm close-" he gasped out, his body moving against her with a frantic, desperate fervor.

"Gods, you're going to make me—ah-" His words were cut off as he lost control, his body tensing and shuddering as he pulled out at the last moment, keeping his hand on her throat as he quickly wrapped the other one around his cock, jerking himself furiously, drops of his sperm falling down on her stomach, tits , and a few even in her face.

He buried his head in your neck, his body trembling with the intensity of his orgasm, his hands gripping your body tightly as he rode out the waves of pleasure. "Mine. Mine. You stay on my side. You stay with me.”

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: Some big revelations coming on this one, buckle up. Daemon and Alicent are good parents in my book, okay? Okay. ;)

Word count: 4,6k

Masterlist | Previous chapter

The perfume of wildflowers overwhelmed your senses, they bloomed in several colors around you; white, pink, blue, yellow—a field of untouched beauty, tucked away on the outskirts of the forests that surrounded King's Landing.

You sat in the middle of the field, soaking up the late afternoon sunlight as you gently plucked a few of the flowers to form a unique bouquet. It was only your third day in the capital and you already felt the need to sneak away and breathe some fresh air.

A loud huff of air came from beside you then, and a chuckle escaped you when you looked at your dragon. She lay peacefully just a few feet away from you, her ash blue scales being caressed by flower petals as the wind made them flow; one, in particular, tickling her nose and making her huff without opening her eyes. Her massive frame dwarfed the trees of the forest behind you and her tail disrupted the few bugs hidden between the grass as it swished from time to time.

The small smile you had slowly vanished, however, once your mind drifted back to thoughts of Aemond, for the umpteenth time today. Your talk with him from last night replayed in your mind over and over, while you were trying to sleep and first thing in the morning. It had felt wrong and unfair, and it left a cold feeling inside your chest. And yet a feeling that you thought—hoped—you saw mirrored in Aemond's own expression last night.

It was a fragile thing, but maybe, just maybe, what you once had could still be repaired.

Even from this far away, the Red Keep could still be easily spotted in the distance. You watched as a flock of birds flew by, as nothing but dark silhouettes against the golden sunlight.

You eventually pushed yourself up from the grass, brushing away any remaining dirt from your clothes. You walked up to your dragon, laying a hand on the warm scales of her muzzle.

Her fiery blue eyes lazily blinked open at your touch, and she leaned the slightest bit into your hand. "Istiti kostilus bartos arlī, riña." ('We should probably head back, girl.')

A low and deep groan came from the back of her throat, her large mouth prying open just enough to reveal a glimpse of her sharp teeth in complaint. Yet she slowly raised her head from the ground, the motion of her tall and heavy frame sending hidden fireflies flying away from between the flowers.

"Nyke gīmigon, ziry iksos lyks kesīr, yn se jēda kessa aderī mazverdagon zōbrie. Kosti māzigon arlī hemtubis," you promised with a smile as you looked up at her, walking beside so you could mount up. ('I know, it's peaceful here, but the hour will soon grow late. We can return tomorrow.')

She lay her chest and left wing down to allow you to mount easily, only raising to full height once you were settled in the saddle. Her steps on the ground were almost booming in the quiet field, with a small roar coming from her as she awaited your command.

You gripped tightly onto the saddle, heart tuning in with the powerful beat of the one belonging to the dragon carrying you. With a grin, you spoke; "Sōvēs, Khamira."

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Aemond's sword cut through the air, on unsteady feet he narrowly avoided Ser Criston's attack. His boots skid over the gravel of the training yard, panting heavily as he rolled his shoulders to keep up appearances and not attract a crowd of onlookers.

Sweat ran down Aemond's temple, getting caught on the leather of his eyepatch. Today was not a good day for him.

Cole seemed to catch on, dropping his shield to the ground and suggesting a break in their sparring session.

Aemond huffed, walking to the side to lay down his sword while he tugged at the collar of his vest that felt like it had been cutting his intake of air by half. His muscles ached from the exertion, yet as he let go of the hilt of his sword, his mind was already elsewhere. Trapped back in a moonlight haze that outlined the features of the one who'd taken residence in his mind and heart.

"You seem distracted today, my Prince," Cole spoke, slowly walking closer to Aemond as he caught his own breath. "Is something troubling you?"

A pair of young squires sparred to his left, two ladies and a guard stood together by his right, and Aegon made his way down the stairs that led to the grounds of the training yard—Aemond was acutely aware of every single person around him, and each one, he knew, was salivating for some royal gossip. He kept his back turned to Ser Criston, fidgeting slightly with the cuff of his sleeve; "No trouble. Simply not a good day for me, it seems."

"Oh, brother."

Both Aemond and Cole turned towards Aegon's obnoxious voice as he wandered towards them, both hands stretched before him as the first Prince gestured between his brother and Ser Criston, "Could this finally be the day that this poor man has bested you in combat?" He sported a wide and amused smile on his lips.

Aemond hummed, holding onto his composure. "We aren't finished yet."

"Well, by what I've just watched, the result seems pretty obvious," Aegon chuckled, leaning back against the weapon's table, "You were nearly getting your ass kicked."

"Watch your tongue," Aemond warned dryly, fists closed tight.

"Were you daydreaming about your childhood sweetheart, then?" Aegon ignored him, teasing further in a quieter tone, his smirk provocative. "Don't think I didn't notice you two eye-fucking each other at supper last night." He laughed at his own words.

Aemond clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. "I mean it, you drunk, mind your tongue." He leaned closer, only for his brother to hear; "Lest I pick up a sword and do it for you."

Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender, fighting a smile and losing. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, eh?" The older brother picked up a small dagger from the table, twirling it between his fingers, the sharp tip slightly digging into his skin. "And here I thought you would be overjoyed with the news."

A small, barely there frown made itself known in Aemond's features. He took half a step back, "What do you mean?" Coming from Aegon, it could hardly be anything good.

"Oh you know, brother," Aegon shrugged, hesitating only for a moment as he took a glance at Cole who stood behind Aemond with the same confused expression, "Mother's agreement with Daemon, the one... involving his dear eldest daughter."

Aemond's blood pumped faster at the mention of you, his breath stumbled and he grew more impatient, "What do you speak of?"

A beat of awkward silence passed as they held each other's gazes.

"Oh seven hells, you do not know yet," Aegon deadpanned, before a small, surprised giggle escaped him.

"Aegon..." The Prince's name out of Aemond's lips came as a warning and he narrowed his one good eye.

"Oh no, no." Aegon shook his head, dropping the dagger in his hands to take slow steps back to the same path he came from. "I'm sure mother will be the one wanting to break the news for you then, beats me wanting to be on the receiving end of her ire if I do it." He reached the stairs, one foot already on the first step when he looked at Aemond with one final grin; "But I'll say, you need not worry about your darling leaving your side ever again." Aegon winked and skipped up the stairs.

The feeling of being left in the dark was all-consuming as Aemond's eye skimmed over the training yard, the sound of steel against steel becoming muffled to his ears as he tried to find a sense of direction for his running thoughts.

He left Ser Criston without another word, quick steps taking him inside the Keep in search of his mother.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

You flew over the cloudy sky with no hurry, your dragon's wings stretched and steady while she danced in between clouds. You'd taken the scenic route, as you liked to call it, the longer path to the dragonpit so you could linger a few minutes more on dragonback.

The flap of her wings was slow, yet not less powerful for it, her size creating shadows over the capital. Without you needing to say a word, your loyal dragon knew not to hurry today.

You kept on for a while longer, and just as you were close to reaching your destiny, you heard a familiar sharp screeching coming from behind you.

A roar came from your own dragon as she felt the presence before even seeing it. You turned your head around, looking over your shoulder. Caraxes' slithering frame suddenly emerged from between the clouds, his long and red body a stark contrast to the pale sky.

He flew beside and then overhead from you, and you could barely make out the grinning face of your father as he passed you.

"Aderī," you spoke the command and leaned forward on your saddle, holding tight. With a single movement of her wings, your dragon propelled herself forward, her lean body shooting through the skies as she caught up with Caraxes with an excited roar.

You came from under the Blood Wyrm, rising in flight just short of hitting them as a giggle went past your lips and heavy wind kissed your cheeks.

Khamira flew ahead, her ash-blue scales shining under the fading sunlight. You had yet to meet a dragon that could match her in speed. Caraxes' screeching could be heard from afar as he tried to keep up.

You were undeniably the first one to reach the dragonpit, your dragon raising dust as her large body landed on the ground. The keepers tried to approach her slowly to guide her inside the caves, but as instant as a wild lioness she was quick to greet them with a deafening roar and a show of her sharp teeth, taking a single haste step forward as a warning.

"It's alright," you called from above her, gesturing to the keepers, "I'll see her inside."

Khamira had been a temperamental wild beast ever since you claimed her; she disliked most people and had a tendency for ferocity if anyone dared to cross her boundaries, or worse yet, dared to threaten you. The dragoness bowed her head to you, and you only.

You jumped down from the saddle, feet hitting the ground as you bit back a smile. Your hand traced the warm scales along her neck as you walked, "Emi ȳdragotan nūmāzma bisa, ao jorrāelagon naejot gaomagon aōha vēdros, riña." You reached her face, caressing the shape of her muzzle while she cooed quietly at your words. ('We've spoken about this, you need to mind your temper, girl.')

Soon after, Caraxes also reached the ground, grumbling loudly as if annoyed for losing the race. "Sȳrkta biarves hembar jēda, rōva vala." You approached your father and the red dragon, watching as he climbed down from his saddle as well. ('Better luck next time, big guy.')

"Kesi iēdrosa pyghagon ao lanta." Daemon walked up to you, steps lazy as he pointed a finger at you with an amused smile. ('We will still beat you two.')

You laughed, meeting him in the middle of the otherwise empty grounds of the dragonpit. "Gaomagon ao jaelagon." ('Keep dreaming.')

A few feet away from you, Khamira and Caraxes met up as well, circling each other and exchanging low grunts, roars, and harmless bites. Two formidable beasts who had become friends over time.

You watched the two dragons with fondness for a beat, before turning your attention back to your father; who, you noticed, looked at you with a strange and unreadable gaze.

Daemon had both hands resting on the hilt of his sword, there was a small frown on his features, as if hesitating with the words he was about to say.

He sighed, glancing down. "I've been looking for you."

"Oh, we just went out for a flight." You explained easily, gesturing to your dragon, "I took her outside King's Landing for a few hours, you know how she gets if she's cooped up for too long."

Daemon chuckled, no stranger to the deep bond between you and the once-wild dragon. "Of course." Yet his small smile seemed strained, almost uncomfortable.

You frowned, shifting on your feet for a moment, "Is… something wrong, father?"

"We need to talk, about a rather urgent matter," Daemon spoke slowly, minding his words. And you don't think you've ever seen him this hesitant; this is not a conversation he's overly happy to be having.

You hesitated, his nervousness seeping into you. "Okay... what is it?"

What looked like a grimace passed over his features, as if searching for other ways to say what he needed to say. Eventually, he simply cleared his throat, "After last night's supper, Rhaenyra and I have talked." Daemon held your gaze for a beat, before quickly adding; "It was mainly her idea, so don't come for my neck." He tried jesting.

It did nothing to help the growing confusion inside your stomach, and you leaned your head to the side with a deeper frown on your brows.

"We all know our family has been drifting apart more and more as the years go by." He further explained, taking half a step closer to you so as to better hold your gaze, "And with the King solidifying Rhaenyra's claim to the throne, the greens won't be happy to… be left out. So we've decided, that it would be in everyone's best interest," His words seemed to get caught in his tongue, "To unite our families again, once and for all."

You kept quiet, yet distantly you could feel your heart pick up its pace. Your fingers tingled and you grasped at your overcoat with a bruising grip. "And what… does this have to do with me?"

Daemon chose to ignore the question. "Rhaenyra has already spoken to Alicent and my brother, the King; and after some reasoning, both have, surprisingly, dare I say eagerly, agreed to it… as well."

You blinked once, twice, shaking your head; "Father, what in the seven hells are you on about?"

He breathed in deeply, holding the silence as he regarded you with something akin to sympathy. "We've decided to unite this family again, by offering a betrothal."

Your blood ran cold. You held onto the air in your lungs until he spoke again.

"Between you, and Alicent's second son, Aemond."

It felt as if your heart ceased its beating entirely. His words left you disarmed, and you were suddenly drowning in the waters of the Narrow Sea; sinking deeper, deeper, deeper into cold and dark waters that suffocated you from the inside out.

"What?" It fell as nothing but a breath past your lips.

Daemon could clearly see the sudden panic in your wide eyes, he reached both hands up, taking hold of your arms and rubbing his thumbs on the thick fabric of your overcoat. "I know it came suddenly, daughter. I… tried speaking against it, but believe me, even I know this is the right choice."

You tried finding your voice again, all choked up and tight; "I- No, I can't- Father, there must be something, anything else that can be done to repair this-" You stammered, "This rift between our families. Anything other than trading my life for it."

"I've been in your shoes before, I know how you feel, but it's not the end of the world-"

"Not the end-" You gulped back a sob, groaning in frustration, "How can you say that? It is to me. And then what? What would be expected of me? To bring gods know how many children to this world?"

Daemon huffed out a small laugh, avoiding your eyes, "No, worry not, we don't expect you to have children, you're not in direct line to the throne so there's no need for heirs. We only need a powerful alliance, a direct connection between both our families strong enough to keep our squabbles at bay, and that," He shook your shoulders, gaze intent, "You can provide."

Slowly, drop by drop, reality downed on you. The time had finally come for your betrothal, a day you had wished would never come at all. "You're asking me to be a means to an end," you whispered, "Why me?"

"I have… noticed how close you seem to be with The One-Eyed Prince," Daemon spoke with poorly concealed disdain, "We believe it would be in your best interest-"

Tears welled up in your eyes. Aemond. Of all people, his was the hand you'd be taking in marriage, being forced together for the sake of uniting your families.

How tragically ironic, for you to be promised to one another with broken bonds and stained hearts. Just as you had found each other again, just as you hoped to make up for all the lost years. Soon, the overly fragile bond you had only started to get the hang of again, will become public knowledge. It won’t be your secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.

Aemond would resent you for it, surely. You knew he would, and you wouldn't blame him. Because right now, you feel something similar, angry and bitter, as it took away your choice of falling for him all over again on your own terms, in your own time. Instead, you were being forced into a closeness none of you were ready for.

Staggerly, your watery eyes rose up again, "It is in my best interest not to be married off against my own will, father." You pleaded, taking hold of Daemon's wrist from his hand on your shoulder, "Please."

"You are also closer to being Rhaenyra's child than Baela or Rhaena could ever be." Daemon continued his reasoning, "Besides, they are already betrothed, as is Alicent's firstborn. You and the second Prince will be the final piece, so to speak."

You shook your head weakly, "I love Rhaenyra but she's not my mother, not by blood, we both know it."

Daemon raised his brows, placating you. "You're not her blood but you are mine. And Rhaenyra took you as her ward, raised you as her own since she first met you. Our… differences with Queen Alicent lay heavier on her shoulders, as you know."

His words left you lost and uneasy. You bit into the inside of your cheek until nearly tasting blood, avoiding your father's stare. He made a good point, deep down you knew he did. Tensions were high between your family, and a strong union was necessary for a chance of peace. And heavens know Aemond is most dear to you, oh he is; but no girl wants her freedom taken away like this. "Please father, don't. Don't take away my choice on this." You tried one last time.

There was a beat of silence, and then Daemon's hands came to your cheeks, thumbs smoothing the skin of your cheekbones; just a little rough yet holding nothing but affection. "My first daughter, my zaldrītsos." He spoke low and soft, a voice he most used to you during the nights you were young and afraid of storms. "Ever since I took you from the hands of your drunk of a mother, what do I tell you? Do you remember?"

A sob climbed to your throat and you failed to bite it back. There were tears in your eyes one blink away from spilling. "That as long as you lived... I'd- I'd be alright."

A small, proud smile came to your father's features. He nodded once. "That's right. I would never do wrong by you, I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't our only playing card. Marriages are political agreements. It's a contract for a chance of peace between our families. Once it is done you can pursue happiness wherever you'd like."

And yet you didn't know how to tell him, that this political agreement might destroy your last hope of rebuilding what you once had with your now betrothed. You knew what would be expected of you and Aemond now, at every court and royal gathering you'd have to be side by side, it would be your duty to hold the appearances of a united Prince and Princess of the realm.

How will you do it? How will you hold his hand knowing it was neither yours nor his choice to do it?

How will you pretend to be in love, knowing nothing will be real, when deep down in your heart you wished it was?

"I wish it could be different," Daemon spoke again when you kept quiet, gaze miles away, "But a war is brewing." He dropped his hands from you, glancing up at the darkening sky. "And this union may help us avoid it, the one between our families, at least."

You closed your eyes and emptied your lungs. All your fight left your body, and a feeling of numbness settled in. You opened your eyes. "Does- does Aemond already know about this?"

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

There were two knocks on the doors that led to Queen Alicent's chambers, a moment later, the doors were pushed open.

"Prince Aemond, Your Grace." The guard stationed outside the doors announced. Aemond slowly walked in, and the doors were closed behind him again.

Alicent sat on the couch in the middle of her room, a cup of tea in hand as she looked out the open windows. Her attention shifted once the doors opened.

"Mother," Aemond called, halting his steps by the edge of the couch. His hair partially disheveled from the speed with which he traversed the long hallways of the Keep until reaching his mother's chambers, anxiety and apprehension spurring him on.

"Aemond," Alicent placed her cup of tea on the small table, getting up to take a few steps closer to her son, "I was just about to send for you."

Aemond gulped back, striving to keep his voice from sounding as nervous as he felt, "I've just met with Aegon in the training yard." He frowned, recalling the confusing words of his brother. "He speaks of… some news regarding me, I believe, that I do not yet know."

His words made Alicent groan, closing her eyes momentarily, "He must have overheard my conversation with Rhaenyra and her husband." She sighed, regarding Aemond with a look he couldn't decipher. "I am glad he held his tongue, I wished to tell you this myself."

Aemond took a step closer, his voice softening in the slightest. "What is it, mother? Did something happen?"

"No," Alicent spoke even softer, extending her hands and taking hold of Aemond's forearms who promptly held her the same. Her thumbs moved up and down on the fabric of his sleeves. "But, my son, your father and I have made a decision, one which I hope you can understand."

A frown then came to Aemond's features. He held onto his breath until his lungs ached, tightening the hold he had on his mother's arms; fearing the worst, even if he had no idea of what 'the worst' could be. And in the midst of it all, the headache came back. It always began with a heaviness in the back of his skull, but it would soon spread to his temples, forehead, and down the harsh scar.

Aemond blinked a few times, trying to chase the pain away even if he knew it was to no avail.

Alicent inhaled deeply, giving Aemond what looked to be a bittersweet smile. "Rhaenyra and Daemon have made an offer," she hesitated, "A betrothal between you… and Daemon's eldest daughter."

Many times in his life Aemond has felt lost, helpless, unable to move his body while his heart thundered inside his chest. Yet he wondered if any at all could compare to how he's feeling now.

The One-Eyed Prince tried to keep his face impassive, almost painfully so; but he knew his wide eye reflected his surprise, he knew his tight grip on his mother's arms reflected his desperation, he knew the wobbling of his lower lip reflected his fears.

You. He was to be betrothed. To you.

The one person he wished to have back for so many years. The one person who he has missed for so many years. The one person who he'd convinced himself that, for better or worse, did not care about him anymore. The pounding pain in his head grew stronger, following suit with his spiking emotions, and he gritted his teeth.

"My son," Alicent reached one hand up to Aemond's cheek when the helpless look in his eye tugged at her heart. "I believe it can be a good idea. Your father wishes for peace between our houses, between our families, and… perhaps we should honor his wish." She held a pause, minding her next words. "He's not doing well, your father, as you know. And Rhaenyra is to take the throne, maybe sooner than we thought."

Aemond took in her words one by one, trying to find his voice but with no luck. All he did was look at his mother. He knew, of course, that she was right. If anything he'd made tensions even higher between their family after what happened at supper last night, and part of him didn't want to bring more sorrow to his mother's life by going against this betrothal.

"With this marriage, our families would be united once again." Alicent squeezed Aemond's arms, willing him to understand, "I refused an offer such as this in the past… and I don't think I should make the same mistake now." She gulped down any pride, yet still raised her chin, "For the sake of our lives. Yours, your brother's. A union with the hope of peace during Rhaenyra's rule."

Aemond averted his eye, his hand still sore from holding his sword during the sparring session with Cole, his scarred eye socket stinging persistently. He dropped his arms to his side, flexing his fingers. "I am- I am to marry…" He hesitated on your name and closed his eye in frustration.

Alicent understood anyway, and her son's hesitation brought sympathy to her. Features softening, one of her hands rubbed Aemond's arm in an attempt to comfort him, "Yes. But I remember how the two of you used to be the best of friends, always together. I am sure your marriage will be a happy one, my son." She spoke with a note of empathy, gently; "It is a privilege, to marry someone you like."

Aemond exhaled shakily. Few and far in between as they were, the moments when he could lean into a mother's embrace were always cherished by the One-Eyed Prince. Yet there was a poorly concealed lump in his throat, a restlessness making his fingers tap his thigh.

Aemond refrained from telling his mother how he feared you didn't like him as you once used to anymore. He refrained from telling his mother how he would never wish for a woman like you to be stuck with a man like him.

With a tightness in his chest, deep down Aemond knew you deserved better. Better than he could ever be.

But alas, he opened his eye, looking down at the hopeful look on his mother's face even if his headache almost got her blending with the faded sunlight seeping through the windows.

Aemond managed a small, pained smile, and nodded.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[ichorai]

amsterdam ; jacaerys velaryon. (m)

track two of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x arryn!f!reader

synopsis ; prince jacaerys velaryon traveled to the eyrie to secure aid for his mother's cause. he didn't at all expect to fall in love an arryn while he was there.

words ; 4.7k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), jace is very much infatuated with you (expect lots of praise !!), reader is the only child of jeyne arryn of the vale, mentions of daemon and rhaenyra, in this fic jace is over eighteen when he goes to the eyrie !! cursing, mentions of death, vermax is grumpy bcs he has to sit outside in the cold someone save him

main masterlist.

The Eyrie stood tall and proud on the very top of rocky mountains—so high that white wisps of clouds could be seen far below where the castle was situated. Jacaerys unmounted his dragon, placing a reassuring hand on the large, olive-green scales of his snout. 

“Kesan sagon arlī. Umbagon,” he murmured to Vermax, who huffed out a plume of warm smoke and settled back on his haunches, clearly unhappy with the prospect of waiting around in the cold. I will be back. Stay.

Blowing out a nervous exhale, Jace squared his shoulders and turned on his heel, making his way into the white-stone castle. 

Blue-cloaked guards stood in his way of the wooden entrance, faces stony and hands resting on the hilts of their swords, at the ready. 

“I am Jacaerys Velaryon, son of the rightful Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I’ve come to urgently speak to Lady Jeyne Arryn to secure aid for my mother’s cause.” His voice rang clear and true, confident despite his inner turmoil.

The guards glanced at each other, before stepping aside, letting him walk through. 

“This way, my Prince,” one of them said, guiding him through winding corridors and eventually, down a long hall. The blue-veined, marble walls shone with polish—so much so that Jacaerys could see his own warped reflection looking back at him. 

And at the end of the hall, laid two thrones of weirwood—nothing compared to the hunkering mass that was the iron throne, but still grand nonetheless. Seated on one was the Lady of the Eyrie, Jeyne Arryn, with a head of dark locks like his, and soft features that contrasted starkly with the scowl pulling at her lips. 

The lady was facing her side, where she was speaking in hushed whispers to her only daughter—Y/N Arryn, the infamous Jewel of the Eyrie. 

Jace could feel his heart stumble upon itself when he laid his eyes on you. Suddenly, your name made sense. Sure, he had heard tales of your regaling beauty and your kind nature, but words alone were not enough to fully encapsulate just how breathtaking you really were. 

The sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows bathed you in a warm glow, casting long, sloping shadows over your skin. Draped over your form was a dress of cerulean hue, cascading down your hips as if it were water. Jace considered himself a gentleman—he had to take care not to let his eyes wander to the low-hanging cut of your neckline, where the very beginnings of your cleavage were exposed, and a glinting pearl necklace hung just above your clavicle. Your hair was cut rather short, nearly as short as his, but framed your face just perfectly. Your lips were moving hurriedly as you spoke to your mother, eyes alight with a certain fire, but Jace couldn’t quite catch what you were saying. The stories not only told of your enchanting beauty, but of your strongly overprotective mother, who always turned away any and all suitors for you. And proposals were never short, from what he heard. Jacaerys felt a strange flame of jealousy brew within his stomach. 

“Apologies for the interruption, my lady,” announced the guard. “Jacaerys Velaryon, here to speak with you.”

Upon the abrupt announcement, you promptly clamped your mouth shut, looking over to Jace with a scrutinizing, yet curious gaze, meeting the Prince’s own intrigued eyes. 

His throat was suddenly dry. It took everything within him to tear his attention away from you, and look towards your mother.

“My lady,” greeted Jacaerys, fists clenching and unclenching behind his back. “I’ve come on behalf of my mother, the Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. She kindly asks you to remember that she is part Arryn herself, as you are half-siblings with the late Queen Aemma, and hopes you will support your cousin’s claim to the throne.”

Recognition sparked within the Lady’s eyes, remembering her half-sister, Aemma. From beside her, you subconsciously straightened yourself as he spoke, lips parting out of interest. This was Prince Jacaerys himself—heir to the throne. Jace gradually shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling your gaze practically burn holes straight through him. You couldn’t help but notice that he was quite the handsome young man, with a head of thick, dark hair, and hard-set, determined eyes. He spoke evenly and calmly, voice soaked with honey and smoked cedar and ocean salt. The Prince looked to be around the same age as you, give or take a few moons. And as Jacaerys had heard much about you, you knew just as much about him—and now that you were seeing him in person… the stories seemed to prove themself true. He didn’t look one bit Targaryen or Valeryon, but rather resembled the bold, physical characteristics of a Strong. 

Either way, bastard or not, Jacaerys Velaryon intrigued you.

The argument you’d just had with your mother about traveling to King’s Landing and seeing the world for yourself was still fresh on your mind, and seeing Jace right here in front of you felt like much more than a coincidence.

“Yes,” your mother said, standing up from the throne to step closer to the Prince. “I do remember the rather twisted history of our families. In fact, I seem to recall your great-uncle Daemon was married to Rhea Royce until her… untimely death.”

The Lady of the Eyrie was plainly hinting at the fact that his stepfather murdered his first wife. Jace steeled himself by blowing out a small breath. 

“It was truly unfortunate,” said Jace diplomatically. 

The woman narrowed her eyes, eerily similar to your expression. “Despite my contempt for your great-uncle, it would be hypocritical of me to say Targaryen men are the root of the problem. Mine own kin have sought to replace me as Ruler of the Vale thrice by now. My cousin, Ser Arnold, oft claims women are too soft to rule. He is currently in one of my sky cells, if you would like to see.”

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably. He’d heard little of the sky cells—only that the room bore three walls instead of four, leaving an open gap for anybody to plummet to their grueling death. And knowing how high up the castles were built, there would be no chance for survival. The grounds were sloped and it was not uncommon for prisoners to roll off the edge during their sleep. 

“Mother,” you spoke for the first time, making his head snap to you. You watched him sympathetically, an apologetic glint to your eyes, voice smoothly soft but tone firm. “I am sure the Prince has much more important matters to attend to than my bumbling fool of an uncle.”

Jeyne nodded at your words. “Yes… of course. We’ll help you fight your war, Prince Jacaerys. Send word to your mother that we support her cause and will supply her with as many soldiers as she needs—in this world of men, we women must band together.”

Relief flooded through Jace’s veins. Momentarily, he caught your eye and dipped his head in gratitude. 

“On one condition,” said the Lady of the Eyrie, holding up a hand. “We will send you support if and only if you swear to protect the Vale from the Greens with dragonriders.”

Irrational hope flared within Jacaerys’ chest—the thought of being able to spend more time in the Vale just to see you a bit more made him rather excited. Though, knowing his mother, he would most likely be stuck by her side as heir to the throne than up North protecting the Vale. 

“That can be arranged,” agreed Jacaerys. “We swear to protect the Vale and the people within it.”

“Then our deal is done,” said your mother, before lowering herself slightly, as an act of bending the knee to the Prince. You followed suit, meeting his gaze once again, this time with a subtle, radiant smile cinching the corners of your eyes. The guards flanking the hall were the last to mirror your actions, all bending the knee to the heir of the iron throne.

Jacaerys was making his way out of the hall, surprised when you bid your mother adieu and rushed after the Prince, much to her overprotective dismay, offering to walk with him to his dragon. You waved the guards away, but they still hovered over the pair of you with uncertain expressions.

“It’s just a brief walk,” you reasoned. “I’ll be fine.”

Relenting, the guards backed off and left you alone with the Prince. 

“Come along, my Prince, I can show you the way out,” you gently laid your hand on his forearm, tugging him with you further down the hall. The young man could feel his heart slamming against his chest, a thundering pulse in his ears nearly deafening him. 

Now that you were so much closer to him—mere inches—Jace could see finer details about you, and impossibly, you somehow became all the more beautiful. The blue fabric of your dress grazed his more coarse tunic. 

“There is much I have heard of you, my Prince,” you began, a kind smile illuminating your features. “I must say, I admire your Queen mother greatly.”

“Jace,” he softly said.

You blinked at him. “Pardon?”

Tripping over his words, Jace quickly backtracked, “I, uh, you don’t have to call me your Prince. Jace is just fine.” A bit more hesitantly, he tacked on, “I’m not quite used to the title just yet. It feels strange.”

A part of him was worried you’d be appalled at the impropriety of calling him by a nickname, but you merely grinned, all wide and sweet. 

“Alright then, Jace. Have you anywhere urgent to be? The hour is growing late—perhaps you can stay for supper. You cannot possibly run more errands on an empty stomach.”

You leaned closer and he caught a whiff of saccharine fruits and jasmine oil wafting from your hair, a smell that he yearned to drown himself into. It also didn’t slip past his notice that your chest was pressed up against his bicep. Good heavens, Jacaerys needed to get a grip of himself. 

Ever the responsible son, Jacaerys knew he had to be on his way to the Three Sisters, a small cluster of islands up North, to gain their support for his mother, as well. But he was ahead of schedule, and he deserved something of a rest after hours on dragonback. After all, he’d packed little else than fruit and bread and dried meat rations—the idea of a warm meal was more than appealing. 

Perhaps those were all just excuses. The true reason he wanted to stay was because he wanted to spend more time with you. 

“Wouldn’t your mother mind?” he asked, a little apprehensive, not wanting to get in between you and the overprotective Lady of the Eyrie. She already had a distaste for Targaryen men, thanks to his stepfather Daemon, and he wasn’t too keen on being added to the roster.

Expression faltering just a smidge, you shook your head. “No, she’s so very busy running the Vale—warding off her cousins who are fighting for their claim to inherit the Eyrie. It’s a whole lot of political nonsense, if you ask me.”

Hesitantly convinced, Jace allowed himself to smile in hopes of seeing your own once more. “If you insist, my lady. Supper sounds wonderful.”

To his delight, you beamed, and led him to a winding marble staircase, flourished with blue carpets that matched your dress. “Great! The morning hall is right up here—it’s rather quiet around this time, since it’s a bit early for supper.”

“Perfect,” mumbled Jace, the idea of being alone with you setting his cheeks aflame. 

Once in the hall, you kindly requested one of the servants to fetch a bowl of lamb stew and some cider for the Prince, gesturing for him to sit on one of the narrow, long tables that stretched nearly the entire length of the room. 

You engaged Jace in amicable chatter, which he seldom got to do with anybody that wasn’t his family—everyone either hated him because of his uncanny resemblance to Harwin Strong, or they were intimidated by his status as heir to the throne. It was refreshing, and frankly, made Jacaerys a little envious of those without the burden of responsibility on their shoulders.

The stew arrived not too shortly after, along with a silver chalice full of spiced apple cider that burned his tongue in all the right ways. You sipped on your own cup, nearly choking with laughter when he began recounting a story about his younger brother, Lucerys, nearly falling off his dragon during his first ride. Jace thought you had the most mellifluous laugh, practically music to his ears. He itched to hear the sweet sound over and over again.

“I wish I had siblings sometimes,” you wistfully said, placing your chalice down on the table and resting your face on your palm, propped up by your elbow. “It gets awfully lonely here. My mother, I love her, I do, but she never really lets me go out of the Vale. The only times were when I was a small child, and even then I was accompanied by half a dozen guards.”

Jace hummed sympathetically, spooning more of the peppery stew in his mouth. “So it’s true, then? Your mother constantly rejecting all the suitors and proposals lined up on your doorstep?”

“Yeah,” you fixed him with a warm smile. “Though, I suppose it’s not that much of a loss. Most of the men asking for my hand were more than twice my age and always looked upon me in a… lewd manner. It’s no wonder my mother turned all of them down.”

Without thinking, Jace blurted out, “You deserve to wed someone you love. A man who loves you doubly so.”

You fell silent, regarding him curiously. Maybe Jace didn’t know any better, but you appeared to be flustered. Clearing your throat, you said, “Thank you, my pr—Jace. Besides, the proposals aren’t really what bother me. It’s the fact that I stand to inherit the Eyrie and I have yet to explore the rest of the world. I’m afraid that once I am Lady of the Vale, I won't have any time for myself.”

“I have a dragon,” said Jace, in a half-joking, half-serious manner. “I can take you flying around Westeros one day, when the war is over.”

“You mean it?” you whispered, a genuine glimmer of excitement laced behind your words. Jace nodded, his heart leaping into his throat with the motion. “That would mean the world to me, it really would.”

The two of you fell into another comfortable silence. You downed the rest of your cider and he mopped up the remaining bits of his stew with a steaming loaf of bread. 

“I have yet to find a suitor to my liking,” you said, pursing your lips hesitantly. Jace gestured for you to keep talking, drinking some of the cider to wash down his meal. “And I’ve heard you’re betrothed now, yes?”

At the mention of his betrothal to his cousin Baela, Jacaerys stiffened. 

He leaned forward. “Can I be completely honest with you? And you must promise not to say a word of this to anyone.”

You nodded, eyes wide. 

“I do not wish to marry Baela,” he whispered, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening. Your lips parted, as if you wanted to say something, but you kept quiet, allowing for him to continue. “The romantic love I harbor for her is scant—she is more of my sister than anything. I cannot see myself ever… consummating our marriage.” Heat seeped into his cheeks, and a part of him instantly regretted admitting that to you. 

“Perhaps you need not marry her, then,” you responded without a second’s pause, before freezing at your words, as if they had slipped from your mouth out of your own volition. “I’m terribly sorry, my Prince, I shouldn’t have…” 

Whatever you were beginning to say died on your tongue when Jace moved his hand across the table to settle gently on top of yours. 

The atmosphere between the two of you seemed to shift. 

Jace studied your features with a keen eye, noticing the bright glint to your molten irises, the gentle curvature of your nose, the small birthmark on the left side of your jaw. And, not at all discreetly, his gaze fell to your lips, where your teeth were worrying into the supple flesh. His own expression melded into one of raw longing—nearing desperation, even.

And you could see it all on his face, plain and clear. Jacaerys Velaryon was enraptured by you. 

It was not at all like how the suitors asked for your hand—they looked upon you like a direwolf would a slab of meat, as if you were merely an object for their carnal desires, as if you were to warm their bed and nothing else. 

Jacaerys, however, looked upon you like you had scattered the very stars in the sky with your bare hands. And you had no doubt you mirrored his yearning countenance.

“Come with me,” you whispered, standing up and lacing your fingers with his, tugging him away from the table, and out of the morning hall. 

With a dazed look on his face, Jace followed along, allowing you to pull him towards more stairs. Up, up, and further up, the two of you went.

Until he stood in front of a large oaken door, your free hand pushing it open and the other ushering him inside the spacious room. The waning, clementine light of the setting sun shone through the diamond-shaped windows, framed by blue velvet curtains, bathing you in a regal, aureate luminescence as you softly shut the door behind you and leaned against the wood, fixing him with a burning stare. Your lips were parted, and your chest was rising and falling in a tantalizing manner. 

The cold realization that he was in your chambers suddenly dawned upon him. Seven hells, this was… beyond improper. Reality slapped Jacaerys out of his lustful stupor, and he struggled to formulate a coherent sentence.

“My lady,” he began, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “This is… we shouldn’t—”

His words dwindled away when you reached behind yourself and began undoing the laces of your dress. Despite his protests, Jace made no move to leave. He could feel his breeches growing uncomfortably tight. It felt like there was not enough air in the room for him to breathe.

“I… I should probably get going, Vermax—my dragon loathes the cold, you see…” he tried once more, to no avail.

The blue material fell from your shoulders, cascading down your body and pooled onto the ground in one seamless motion, leaving only a thin pale shift between him and your naked body. He fell deathly silent. 

You were the most beautiful person Jacaerys had ever laid his eyes on. No woman, no man, nobody in all of Westeros, could ever compare to the likes of you.

Throwing all caution to the wind, the Prince surged forward in two large strides, sealing the distance between you. One of his hands carefully cradled your face as if you were hewn from porcelain, and the other clutched your waist, thumb grazing over the sides of your ribs, dangerously close to your breasts.

And his lips met yours in a heated frenzy, your noses bumping against one another amidst your vigor.

“Should you wish to stop, just say the word, my lady,” he murmured against you, tugging you away from the door and walking you backwards to the large bed. 

Your knees buckled against the mattress and you fell back, eyes darkened with wanton need. Your fingers began hurriedly undoing the buttons at the top of his tunic. “Don’t stop, please,” you breathed out just as he began languidly kissing you once again. “Don’t you dare stop.”

A newfound confidence fueled his movements with your affirmation, and he rid himself of his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him, along with his straining breeches and undergarments. You let your eyes roam over his toned chest, lids half-hooded.

“You’re so beautiful,” you told him, following suit and shirking your thin shift off, leaving you completely nude in front of the Prince, save for the opalescent pearls hanging around your neck. 

His breath hitched at your praise. “I was just about to say the same thing,” he muttered hotly against your flushed skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, roaming over the slope of your neck, your shoulders, your chest. “Beautiful,” he said, echoing himself with every kiss. You fisted the sheets beneath you, desperate for him to touch you where it ached the most.

A wave of arousal danced over you when he came face to face with your breasts, his tongue slipping out to drag along one of your pebbled nipples, his hand lifting to tweak the other between his fingers. His lips enveloped one of the pert buds, and he glanced up to see you with your head thrown back, a sigh of pleasure falling from your throat.

“Jacaerys, please…” you moaned, breathing stilted. 

Eager to please, Jace pulled away from your breast, trailing wet kisses down your stomach, along your hips, and to the insides of your thighs. His hands held your legs apart, which trembled with anticipation and need. 

His cock twitched against the bed upon seeing your slickened cunt, soaked with your essence.

“All this for me?” he hummed, laving his tongue mere inches away from where you needed him most.

“All for you,” you said, a low groan tumbling from your lungs when he finally surged forward and buried his face into your cunt, licking into your warm hole, the crook of his nose pressing repeatedly into your spasming clit. 

Embarrassed by your volume, you slapped your hands over your mouth, muffling your breathless whines.

Obviously not pleased with this, Jacaerys looked up at you with a stern look, halting his ministrations. “Let me hear you, my lady. I want to hear you.”

Hands quaking, you let them fall away from your lips, clenching into fists by your sides. Jacaerys smiled at you, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. Then, he lowered himself back down and abruptly attached his lips to your sensitive clit, making your hips jolt upwards with the sudden rush of pleasure. 

“Jace!” you wailed, grinding your cunt against his mouth. He hummed in approval, clearly getting off on your own pleasure. Two of his fingers circled your entrance, and he slowly pushed them into you, cracking one of his eyes open to observe your breathless, writhing figure. 

He continued his ministrations, fucking you with his fingers and sucking relentlessly on your clit until you seized up beneath him, a litany of pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. 

“That’s it, cum for me. My good girl,” he praised, moaning into your cunt as you did what you were told, grinding against his face as you came down from your high, until you began to flinch away with overstimulation. Jace wished to have you ride his face, use him as the dragon he was, be completely at your mercy… but he was desperate to feel your cunt around him.

Jacaerys made his way back up your body, kissing you once more. You could taste yourself on him, which made you dizzy with delight.

“I need you, Jace,” you mumbled, wrapping your legs over his waist, your hot, soaked pussy pressed against his abdomen. “I need you inside me.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he whispered with one final kiss, ever the gentleman. “Tell me if it’s too much. I wish not to hurt you.” 

Lining himself with your still-sensitive entrance, he began to slowly ease his way in, keenly watching your expression to make sure he wasn’t paining you in any way.

“So good,” you mumbled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Feels so good, Jace.”

“Beautiful girl,” the Prince groaned once he bottomed out inside your warmth, eyes rolling into the back of his head from the overwhelming sensation of your sopping cunt fluttering around his cock. 

He started off gentle, slowly rocking into you, eyes darting between your blissful features, and your breasts bouncing with every thrust. 

You began to move in tandem with him, wanton moans echoing throughout your chambers when he reached down to rub slow circles on your clit. 

The slapping of his skin on yours made a flustered expression burrow itself permanently on his face, dusting his skin with faint rouge. You felt so fucking good, nearly too good to be true, and Jacaerys wouldn’t at all be surprised if he woke up and you turned out to be a dream. 

Your name tumbled from his lips in rapid repetition as he could feel his orgasm approaching, rhythm faltering when you clenched viciously around him. He met your eyes, leaning down to kiss you sweet and slow. “Can you cum for me again, sweet girl?” he murmured, a satisfied growl thundering in the back of his throat.

Shivering, one of your hands raked down his back desperately, on the very precipice of your climax. You came with a shout of his name, stars blotting out your vision, clenching so tightly around him that Jace had a hard time moving, which had him moaning a breathy string of curses. 

He showered you with more praises, thrusting into you once, twice, three more times, before his voice tapered off into a groan, hurriedly pulling out of your throbbing cunt to cum all over your stomach, both your chests glistening with sweat.

Panting, Jacaerys collapsed onto the bed beside you, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your temple. “My beautiful, sweet girl,” he murmured, making your heart swell with pride and adoration.

You turned to slot your lips just beside his nose bridge, rubbing your thighs together contentedly. “My handsome, gentle Prince,” you responded, voice hoarse and exhaust weighing down your eyelids. 

“You did so well for me. You can sleep now, my lady.” he reassured, expression softening as he pushed a stray strand of your hair away from your face. “I’ll clean you up.”

You could only tiredly smile at him, allowing your eyes to fully slip shut, chest rising and falling evenly as slumber took over your form. Jace could only watch fondly, pressing one last kiss to your temple, before making his way off the bed.

The next morning rolled by far too soon. The sun glared through your windows, straight into your eyes, and you tried waving it away with a huff of annoyance, to no avail. Finally, you sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand. Once you came to, you noticed that you were neatly tucked into the center of your expansive bed, and you lifted the thick blue blanket to look down, mildly surprised to find any and all stickiness between your thighs and on your stomach was gone. 

Did you dream of what transpired last night? Was Prince Jacaerys only but a figment of your hyperactive imagination?

Feeling a bit dejected, you fell back against your feather-stuffed pillows, rolling onto your side. It couldn’t have been a dream, though—it certainly felt real. Heat spidered across your skin at the lewd memories of the night before. 

Your suspicion was only confirmed when you caught sight of a small, folded piece of paper on your bedside table. With nimble fingers, you plucked it off the surface and unfurled the sheet, a small smile dancing at the corner of your mouth. You found it endearing that Jacaerys’ handwriting was a nearly illegible, messy scrawl of ink across the parchment.

My dearest lady, As much as it pains me to leave you, I have urgent matters to attend to for my mother. I will be heading North to the Three Sisters in hopes of gaining their favor. I will never forget this night with you, nor will I forget my promise to take you flying across Westeros after the war ends. You are, without a doubt, the most wonderful thing to have happened to me. I still wonder if I am dreaming, because a beauty such as yours cannot possibly exist. I will come back for you, sweet girl. I swear it by the Seven.  Yours, Jace

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (16)

A Holy Sight

At long last, Arianwyn returns to King’s Landing.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Emrys, Vermax, and Arrax were already saddled and waiting in the courtyard when Arianwyn, clad in her riding leathers, raced down the castle’s steps. Emrys immediately lurched forward to try and meet her, but the Dragonkeepers had long since learned their lesson and now had six monks holding his reins to keep him in place. He whined rather pitifully but perked up the moment Arianwyn laid a hand on his snout.

“Lentot jī, Emrys,” she whispered. “Jorrāelti gierȳti lua āmāzī.” We are going home, Emrys. We are going back to the people we love.

He whooped in response, crouching to allow her to mount more easily. She climbed into his saddle, fastening a satchel behind her. The majority of her belongings would be with Brynna and her guards on one of the ships leaving from Spicetown, but not this.

Not used to carrying any cargo beyond Arianwyn herself, Emrys tilted his head as he examined the small bag.

“Arlī mīsītsor, yno syt lo bē Dāro Vilinio māzissuty jonevīlun. Nūmia sepār landir sesīr,” she explained. The dragon looked from her to the bag, then back again, as if confused. “Vaogenkon rongondi jomīston āmāzīnna daor. Dāria yne tolī sȳrī gīmēdas.” Fresh clothes, for me to wear once we arrive. Jewels and shoes, too. I can’t make my return in dirty leather. The Queen taught me too well.

Emrys only huffed, and she imagined that if he could, he would roll his eyes.

The courtyard doors opened, and Rhaenyra and her family emerged. Arianwyn suppressed her smile and straightened her posture, refusing to look any of them in the eye. Though Jacaerys did try to catch her attention as he mounted. He’d been in a foul mood since dinner the night before. She didn’t have a single guess as to why, nor did she care to ask.

Once he and Lucerys were settled in their saddles, Rhaenyra approached, a sleeping young Viserys on her hip. She gave detailed instructions on how to get to King’s Landing and what they were to do from there, but Arianwyn did not listen. She did not even meet Rhaenyra’s gaze; instead, she focused on offering encouraging whispers to Emrys.

Why would she need instruction when she’d spent the last eight years dreaming of flying back?

Finally, Rhaenyra made her way toward the dock. She and Daemon would not fly to King’s Landing while she was heavily pregnant. Instead, they were to sail on the ship with their two young sons – Aegon and Viserys – and the servants and cargo.

Arianwyn was grateful for it. The last time she had flown across the Blackwater, Caraxes had nearly driven Emrys to madness for how close he followed. Today, they would fly free.

The sight of the shining red roofs of King’s Landing brought more comfort to Arianwyn than she had anticipated. How could simple tiles bring forth such a feeling of home?

While Vermax and Arrax dutifully flew straight for the Dragonpit, Arianwyn led Emrys in a wide circle before she landed, wanting to soak in as much of the city as possible before she was stuffed in a carriage with her stepbrothers. The sun was infinitely warmer than on Dragonstone, and while there was still the smell of salt coming off the sea, it was far more inviting than the fishy, wet brine she’d endured for so long.

The moment they landed, Emrys let out a joyful roar, overcome with excitement to finally be home. The Dragonkeepers never had the chance to take his reins, for as soon as Arianwyn dismounted, he scampered into the mouth of the Dragonpit, seeking his long-lost companions.

One of the young female Dragonkeepers allowed Arianwyn to use her room to change into her gown and stayed to help adjust the folds of the silk, straighten the braided silver and bronze chains of her necklace, and release the wind-blown tangles from her silver curls.

But when she finally climbed into the carriage, her stepbrothers were not impressed by her appearance.

“We’re going to be late because of you,” Jace complained, pounding the ceiling to signal their departure as he glared at her.

Arianwyn ran her eyes over his attire – a worn gray gambeson that made him look more like a squire than a prince. Luke wore the same. She shrugged and curled her lips in a saccharine smile. “At least I will look presentable when we reach the castle.”

He scoffed, “What do clothes matter? I am the future King, no matter what I wear.”

“What you wear can send a message,” Arianwyn replied, perhaps more curtly than was necessary. “For those of us who cannot speak so freely as a ‘future King,’ we must rely on more subtle methods to convey our opinions.”

“And what message does this dress send?” Jace asked with more venom than she’d heard before. He reveled in teasing her but had never truly sounded hateful toward her. Why did he do so now?

Luke repeatedly banged his forehead against the carriage window.

Perhaps Jace was angry because he understood the message she was trying to send and wanted her to say it aloud so he could have something to report to Daemon.

The elaborate, flowing gown was made entirely of the finest black and bronze silk brocade, with hundreds of tiny round beads made of blackened steel stitched into the bodice and sleeves, evoking the appearance of a set of pauldrons. Her jewels were entirely set in bronze, save for the single silver chain woven into her necklace – the same necklace Aemond had chosen for her on her thirteenth name day.

The ensemble practically screamed her message: I am not one of them.

But she could not say that. Not to Jace, who would immediately report what she said to Daemon. So she pursed her lips and gave a pretty lie, “It sends the message that I am a beautiful and civilized young woman. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Jace scoffed again and turned away from her, watching the pale stone of the city rush past them. For the rest of the ride to the docks, Arianwyn wore a self-satisfied smile, though she fiddled nervously with one of the stones on her necklace: a single, tear-shaped sapphire.

The mood in the carriage lightened significantly once Rhaena joined them. She was the only person who could ever create peace between Arianwyn and Jace.

She had not been permitted to bring Morning with her, as the long journey would have been difficult for the still-young hatchling. So, she talked ceaselessly about how much she missed the little pink creature, worrying that she would somehow miss all of his youth in the few days they would be gone. The others sympathized with her, and all tried to cheer her with stories of their dragons’ adolescence.

But silence fell once more when they rode into the courtyard of the Red Keep to find it all but empty. The king was not there to greet them, nor the queen, their children, or even any of the Small Council. Only Ser Steffon Darklyn was there to receive them.

“All hail Rhaenyra of House Targaryen,” he announced to no one but the regularly stationed guards and a handful of scattered servants, “Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne, and her Royal Consort, Prince Daemon Targaryen.”

As she exited the carriage behind her siblings, Arianwyn watched the confusion on Rhaenyra and Daemon’s faces melt into anger. Obviously, the princess had been expecting something far more grand. Perhaps she expected it still, as she ordered the children into formation with a tilt of her chin.

Being his eldest child, Arianwyn should have been positioned just behind Daemon, with her younger half-sisters behind her. But she knew her true place. So she stood in the back, Rhaena and the two babes ahead of her.

But it did not bother her. Soon, she would be with her true family once more.

After long, awkward minutes of waiting in the chilly courtyard, the doors to the Red Keep finally opened. Only one man emerged, a lord that Arianwyn did not recognize. He approached Rhaenyra and gave a swift bow before taking her hands.

“Welcome back, Princess,” he said.

Rhaenyra stared back at him in disbelief. “Lord Caswell. Has something happened?”

They all glanced around the pitiful courtyard before Caswell answered. “I am afraid not, princess. Please, come with me.” He stood aside with a hand gesturing back toward the door. With a hefty sigh, Rhaenyra followed him into the Red Keep.

Arianwyn’s heart soared as she entered the familiar halls. Some things had changed, yes. New paintings and tapestries hung on the walls, and the Seven-Pointed Star had been carved above many thresholds. But still, it was home.

Lord Caswell brought them to a halt at the foot of the Grand Staircase. “Your petition shall be heard tomorrow, I am told,” he said. He leaned closer to Daemon and Rhaenyra, whispering something Arianwyn could not hear.

When he withdrew, Rhaenyra turned to her children. “Your father and I are to go see the king. We will meet you in our chambers later in the evening. But, for now, you have leave of the castle.”

Daemon stared directly at Arianwyn as he added, “I expect you will all behave yourselves and stay out of trouble.” She did not reply but held his gaze until he turned and went up the steps with Rhaenyra.

Rhaena ran off to find her sister. For a moment, Arianwyn did not know where to go. Her old rooms? The library?

But her choice was made when she heard Jace whisper to Luke. “Let’s go to the training yard. I want to see if that hole in the wall is still there.”

Of course, the training yard. Arianwyn’s heart skipped a beat as she shook off her shock at being in the Red Keep again. Where she wanted to go was not a place but a person. But the training yard would do for now.

For she knew that was where she would find Aemond.

It was difficult for her not to sprint down the hallways for her eagerness, but she kept her pace slow and herself far enough behind her stepbrothers that they did not notice her and eventually, their presence faded from her mind. A lightness spread through her body, and her fingers tingled ceaselessly until she clasped her hands together and squeezed.

Though it had been eight years since she had seen him, she still had letters from Aemond every day. He kept her appraised of everything that happened in the Red Keep so thoroughly that she sometimes felt as though she had never left. So why did she now find herself so nervous to see him?

She brushed off the question as she emerged into the light. Jace and Luke were already halfway down the stairs to the training yard proper while she continued straight on the rampart to the viewing platform where she and Helaena had always sat with their Septa and the King.

Her eyes were drawn downward when she heard the clanging of steel on steel, but she was left disappointed when she only found two identical men, whom she assumed to be the Cargyll brothers sparring. The yard was more crowded than she had ever seen, with dozens of lords and ladies gathering to watch the men practicing. Curious, she had rarely seen ladies below the ramparts before.

Before Arianwyn could consider it further, a flash of white caught her eyes. Her breath caught when she, at last, saw him.

Aemond.

Though he was turned away from her, she would know him even in darkness. But there he was, leaning over a display of weapons. In his letters, he had told Arianwyn that while he could hold his own with many different weapons, the simple longsword remained his favorite. Indeed, he forwent all the maces, hammers, and axes on the table before him and drew his sword from his belt.

Picking up a wooden shield, he stalked across the yard to meet Ser Criston, a crowd immediately gathering around them. Not wanting to lose sight of him, Arianwyn ran across the wall to get a better view.

Gods, he was truly a man now.

He stood several inches taller than Ser Criston, and though he was quite lean, an undeniable width to his shoulders revealed a great strength. But what most drew Arianwyn’s admiration was his face.

Beautiful was the only word Arianwyn could think of to describe him. The line of his jaw was severe, running parallel to the sharpness of his cheekbones. His nose was long and stately, and his lips seemed to hold a permanent mischievous grin. There was an intensity in his one eye, which was only amplified by the harshness of the scar that still ran across the left side of his face and the black leather patch covering where his eye had once been.

Arianwyn’s chest stung slightly not to see her sapphire, but it was quickly brushed aside when Aemond jumped up and down several times before crouching in an offensive position. Ser Criston mirrored the motion, and the fight began.

Cole moved first, swinging his morningstar at Aemond’s head. Arianwyn’s heart jumped as it came down, but Aemond had already moved, and the weapon crashed against his shield.

She hardly breathed watching them fight, at once terrified to see Aemond hurt and yet thrilled by the warrior he had become. He moved with the remarkable swiftness of a Dornish adder and the deadly grace of a Qohorik tiger. It was entrancing.

Arianwyn fought the urge to shout when Ser Criston once more brought his morningstar down on Aemond’s shield, shattering one side and forcing him down on one knee. But Aemond only tossed his shield out of the ring and rose, swinging his blade around the Kinsguard’s head twice.

When he feinted another swing, Cole fell for the bait, swinging wildly and throwing himself off balance just as Aemond spun out of the way and behind him. Cole was angry now, frustrated that he could not match his opponent’s speed. Aemond twirled his sword in a taunting flourish as the knight stalked around him, assessing his next move.

Cole struck left, and Aemond dodged. Cole followed the momentum of his heavy weapon and came back around to his right, but Aemond dodged again. Cole swung again and again, but each time, Aemond dodged him with ease.

When Cole began to shout as he raised his weapon to bring another wild swing down on the Prince, Aemond brought up his sword to meet it. The morningstar pulled Cole to the right, exposing his chest and neck. Aemond spun around him, keeping his good eye on his opponent, and brought the tip of his blade against Ser Criston’s neck.

Arianwyn shivered as an unfamiliar feeling swept through her and settled low in her stomach. It was nearly like the rush she felt whenever Emrys took a steep dive, but somehow different. After taking a moment to collect herself, she joined in on the applause.

Ser Criston dropped his morningstar and began to clap too, murmuring something Arianwyn could not hear atop the wall. Nor could she hear Aemond’s response as he lowered his sword back to his side and faced his nephews.

A shout came to open the gates, drawing the attention of all in the yard – except Aemond and Arianwyn. Neither noticed as Vaemond Velaryon strode in, surrounded by bannermen, giving a withering look to Lucerys as he passed. Aemond did not even notice the servant approaching to offer him a new shield.

For he had turned to look up at the wall, and there he found her.

As Aemond gazed upon Arianwyn for the first time in years, he thought that, surely, no other man had ever felt such joy. When she looked down on him from the rampart and blessed him with her glorious smile, he was certain of it.

He was a drowning man at last breaching the surface and taking a life-giving gulp of air. He was a man dying of thirst at last feeling the sweet taste of water upon his lips. He was a man whose heart had been bleeding for years without ceasing, healed in an instant simply by the holy sight of the woman he loved.

When he had first heard that Rhaenyra and the rest were coming to King’s Landing, he had not allowed himself to hope that Arianwyn would be with them. For if he had, and she were left alone on Dragonstone, he would not have been able to stop himself from flying to her rescue.

But thank the gods, he did not have to. She was here. She was safe. And she was perfect.

Her beauty far surpassed anything Aemond had been able to imagine. Her curling white hair fell in a wild, wonderful cascade down her back. Her plump cheeks and full lips were the deep, enticing pink of the finest Tyrell roses. And her eyes were as bright as polished silver, sparkling with their characteristic gleam.

Aemond brushed aside a servant who had approached him and ignored Cole’s attempts to begin another round of sparring entirely. Sliding his sword back into its sheath, he pushed through the gathered crowds toward the stairs. Seeing him approach, Arianwyn ran across the ramparts to meet him.

Even as he came to a halt a step below her, Aemond stood at least a head taller. He did not say anything as he faced her, breath heavy from both his fight and his rush up the steps. Then, lowering his eyes to her neck and her jeweled chain, he reached out a hand as if to grab it but stopped mere inches from her skin.

What if she wasn’t really here? He had imagined her beside him so often. What if this was just another illusion? What if he tried to touch her and only felt cold air?

“Aemond…” she whispered, for only him to hear.

Gods, he wanted her to be real. He wanted to kiss her. To take her in his arms and carry her to the Sept and wed her without hesitation. But he could not do that. He could not even move for the intensity of the hope and elation racing through his veins.

But he did not have to. Swifter than he could realize, Arianwyn threw herself into his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as she pressed her cheek to his. Real. She was real, and she was here.

Slowly, as his body remembered how, he brought his trembling arms around her, at last running his fingers through her silver curls. It took all his strength to remain standing.

“Aemond,” she whispered again, her breath warming his ear. “Aemond, I’m finally home.”

[ladystarksneedle]

A fool for you

Aemond x niece reader

Summary: A princess longs for more, mourning a loss through time

Word count: 980

Next>

Masterlist

“Final tribute, to the health of my nephews”

The words still ring in her ears as he storms out of the hall, leaving her behind yet again. She locks eyes with the woman in front, a flicker of understanding passing between them before she rushes to follow, her mother's pleas falling on deaf ears.

She doesn't call out to him as she sees him retreating into the depths of the Keep, knowing his uncanny awareness of her pursuit. As she rounds the corner trying to close the distance between them he whirls around trapping her against the wall nearby.

“What part of go to your chambers do you not understand” he growls shoving her further “Or do you wish to continue this ordeal further.”

“Keligon ziry” she pleads looking up at him. (stop it)

“Jikagon arlī. Gaoman daor jaelagon naejot ȳdragon naejot ao” he says releasing her with a frustrated grunt, lip quivering in anger. (go back, I do not wish to speak to you)

“You will not escape me qyybor, not like this,” she speaks, reaching for his arm as he moves away. “Not after what you've said tonight.”

“Do you wish to dispute the truth yet again” he laughs cruelly “It is plain for all to see.”

“Why didn't you include me in your toast then” she counters.

“Is that what bothers you? My exclusion of you in a jest” he smirks incredulously.

“Your dismissal of me, yes, continuing as if I don't exist.”

“Don't”

“Don't what” she exclaims, closing the distance between them “Why are you so intent on breaking whatever peace we may have between our families.”

“You are a fool to think there'll ever be anything but contempt between us”

“There was long ago,” she says, searching his eye for the memories that haunt her.

“What do you have to say for this” he grits, removing the eyepatch adorning his face.

She looks at the injured socket in pain, brilliant blue glinting in the dark.

“Iksan vaoreznuni” she says tears filling her eyes. (I am sorry)

“I do not want your pity” he spits, “The peace you pray for is long gone. There can be nothing that can bring it back.”

“I did not wish for this.”

“You did nothing to stop it either” he says scornfully.

“I was a child” she all but screams “We were children, I cared for you, I didn't know what to do.”

“You made your choice years ago, now you must live with it” he says dismissively, her name on his tongue cutting her just as deeply.

“Kostilus” she says pulling his face towards her “ You've known what is in my heart since we were young, I wish for you to see it still.”

“Ȳdra daor gaomagon bisa naejot aōla. Nothing good can come out of this” (don't do this to yourself)

“Are you concerned about the goodness in my actions now?”

“Someone must keep you in check,” he says reluctantly, leaning towards her.

“I've missed you” she whispers as he touches his forehead to hers, wrapping his arms around her waist. She feels him hum in response as he pulls her closer.

“I've heard you are to be betrothed” he whispers against her, stroking her head as he speaks.

“So are you, if the rumors are true. Another task you'd excel at” she says, voice tinged with jealousy. She feels him grin against her in pleasure as she scoffs in turn.

“Where are you to be sent?”

“Trying to extract more from me? I'm not as much of a fool as you think I am”

“Only in matters of the heart then” he says, pulling back to look at her.

She gulps in response as she looks at his face tinged with remorse and awe.

“I wish you'd feel the same”

“And it seems you've proven me wrong byka mittys” he chuckles. The name stings as she feels a tear slip past. (little fool)

“Must I say it now” he says, wiping it off swiftly.

She looks at him in earnest before burying her head in his chest, rumbling with laughter.

“They won't have meleqeldlie cakes there, it's too cold for anything good to thrive.”

She whips her head back in response, staring at him in confusion.

“Orange cakes” she whispers, realization dawning on her. “They think I-”

“Love lemon” he finishes. “A simple mistake yet it has caught on quite well, has it not”

“You remember”

“Well, a six year old girl clinging to my leg demanding I give up my share lest she stop crying isn't something you'd forget.”

“There are many six year olds running about now”

“None as troublesome as you” he smirks.

“I remember it differently. I didn't cry that much, merely asked for them”

“Demanded”

“Asked politely”

“There was nothing polite about your request”

“You admit it was a request then”

“A plea rather”

“I accept”

He hums in response as she chuckles happily “It is my first memory of us at that dreaded feast. I know there have been more but that has remained with me still, not because of those orange cakes and thank you for that” she laughs “But because you were the only one who was kind to me, who checked up on me when everyone left” she says tearfully “I am sorry”

The word hangs between them, as he gazes back at her “Consider it my tribute to you”

“Orange for every time you think of me?” she giggles wiping her eyes.

“Orange, for when you haunt me the most”

She clutches the scroll in her palms, pressing her nails deeper into her broken skin as she sits before the hearth. The tears on her cheeks glinting in the flames ahead as they dance mockingly in orange, a fitting tribute for her brother lost to the seas.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy

[mizuki80]

Chapter 2: The First Spark 

Warning: Blood, Fighting

Note: Chapter 2 is here!!!! let me know what you guys think, this is a long one. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so you will know when the next chapter is out, and don't forget to look at the misterlist on all the dates and times of when I will be posting the next chapter cause they my change.

Word count: 3.8k

Masterlist

Previous - Next

Chapter 2:

After the news of Ser Harwin Strong’s dismissal from the city watch has spread. A letter has arrived at the Red Keep informing that Lady Laena Velaryon has passed away due to childbirth. This news has washed a sorrowful fog upon the castle. Visenya’s mother the Princess Visaera has always adored her cousin from the moment she was born, and formed a sisterly bond with her. Her mother was both happy when Lady Laena married her uncle, but saddened when she moved to Pentos since Prince Daemon, the King’s brother was exiled (once again). However, it does not stop her from threatening the Rogue Prince from making sure her cousin lived a comfortable and content life with him.

The trip to Driftmark was a grim affair. Her family has voyages out to send their support to House Velaryon. Visenya and Aemma never knew their Aunt in person, only reading her letters and gifts she sent on their name days. Growing a fondness and adoration from her hoping to meet Lady Laena one day, but knowing now, that day will never come.

All families stood by the rocky ocean side for the funeral. Listening as Vaemond Velaryon began the eulogy for his beloved niece. The twins clung to their mother, comforting her as she held back tears of sorrow for her cousin. As Vaemond continued speaking about blood, Visenya could not help but notice the once sorrowful tone in his voice turned to anger, seeing as he looked at Princess Rhaenyra’s sons. But hearing her Uncle, Prince Daemon’s laughter filling the solemn atmosphere broke her train of thought. Then looking at her mother with confusion, and received a nod, signaling to not pay him any heed. Hearing the tightening of the rope, and the slow pushing of the coffin. The twins watched and listened.

Ñuha rāpa valonqro tala (My Gentle niece)

ñuha se jelmior sagon kostōba hae ao arlī, (my the winds be strong as you back)

aōha seas hae gīda hae aōha issare hen lēda isse (your spirit as calm as your spirit,)

se aōha nets sagon lēda hae aōha prūmia. (and your nets be as full as your heart.)

Hen se embar īlon māzigom. (from the sea we came.)

Naejot se embar īlon kessa jikagon arlī. (from the sea we shall return)

Everyone watches as the coffin falls into the sea, and sinks to its deepest depths. 

Everyone gathered after the funeral. The twins stayed with their mother, they looked out at the sea. Princess Visaera turned and glanced at everyone in attendance, but couldn’t help but notice her Uncle (Prince Daemon) and sister staring at each other. She has always known what truly happened between them that night when they went out to see the city, but she was not one to pry on the past. 

The Princess Visaera looks at her daughters before saying “Your cousins, Baela and Rhaena, could use a friend right now.” Stroking their backs “Why don’t you girls go and give a kind word to them.” giving a small smile but in her eyes there was sorrow.

The girls only nod in agreement making their way to the two girls sitting by themselves.

“I’m very sorry about your mother,” Aemma said quietly, “Though we have never met her, we exchanged letters from time to time.” she continued.

“She spoke of you two,” Visenya chimed in. “She refers to you both as her greatest loves, and said that we would quickly befriend each other.” giving a small smile.

Laena's daughters smile at them, but never spoked, giving a somewhat awkward atmosphere.

“She spoke of you both as well,” Baela finally broke the silence “I feel as if I already know you both from what she spoke of.” Looking at the twin princesses.

“She spoke of your beauty as well,” Rhaena finally said, “That though you two are identical, people can tell you apart by your eyes and the way you act.” she looks up at her cousins “You’re Aemma, the more strong-headed and have the might of the dragons when you get angry,” Looking at the lilac eyed princess “And you’re Visenya, you're more level headed and think before you do” then looking at the pale blue-green eyed princess.

The two princesses smiled at them.

“I-I know I have not yet felt the sorrow you both have experienced today, and hope I never will,” she paused before continuing “But my grandfather says, “That though someone has passed, they never truly do, they’re with you in the stars and everything you do.” Remembering what her grandfather Lord Vaenar said to them once when they attended their first funeral for a friend of their grandfather.

“Thank you for your kindness Princesses, we truly appreciate it.” Baela said 

Before they could say anything Jacaerys came up to them and offered his condolences, letting their cousins speak in private.

As they twins walked around they parted ways, Aemma going to their mother, leaving Visenya to wander around by herself and spotting her uncles and aunt by a pile of shells, and overhearing their conversation.

“We have nothing in common.” Aegon cried out as Visenya approached them.

“With who?” Visenya asked wondering who his talking about

“She’s our sister.” Aemond said looking as Helaena

“You marry her, then.” Aegon spat out looking at his brother

“I will perform my duty,” Aemond pauses “If mother had only betrothed us.” he says

“You're marrying Helaena?” Visenya asked looking at Helaena “Why? Surely she would be better off to some noble lord and not some,” she paused looking Aegon up and down as he drank whatever liquor he had in his cup “drunk fool.” she quietly said, earning a small smile from Aemond but Aegon was too busy drawing in his cup to pay any heed to them.

“It would strengthen the family. Keep our Valyrian blood pure.” Aemond explained

“She’s an idiot.” Aegon said turning to Aemond

“Or you're just alway drunk to understand, blinded by your cup to see how smart she truly is.” Visenya said, rolling her eyes, defending her Aunt. Earring her cursing remarks from Aegon.

“We actually do have one thing in common.” Aegon said while taking another drink, and looking at the servant girl. “We both fancy creatures with very long legs.”  He said crocheting down to Aemond and Visenya’s level, before leaving.

“I still cannot believe he is your brother,” she said “How are you, kind and smart, and him so…” she paused, not knowing what to say “well him.” she says with a bit of disgust in her voice.

~ Time Skip ~

The sun had set, and the moon shone brightly. Giving off a serene glow to the land. Their mother has just kissed the girl good night in their shared room. As they drifted off to sleep, they were awakened by Baela and Rhaena while Lucaerys and Jacaerys stood by the door.

“What has happened?” Visenya said sleepily while rubbing her eyes.

“Why have you come and disturb me,” Aemma said still with her eyes closed “I was having the most wonderful dream about cake.” She said, groaning with annoyance.

“Someone stole Vhaga.” Rhaena spoke out for for Aemma and Visenya to hear

“And might you tell me…” Aemma spoke sitting up “How does one steal a dragon?” Looking at the four children who woke them up at the dead of night.

Visenya sigh “I’m sure Vhagar was just flying around by herself,” said said 

“No.. I heard it, someone was on her” Rhaena protest

“I’m sure it was just the howling of the wind from her wings.” Aemma said lay back down and turn away drifting back to sleep.

“I’m sure there is nothing to worry about,” Visenya said, holding onto Rheana's hand reassuring her “Go back to bed, and first thing in the morning we can check on her if you’d like.” she said as the four children walked out their chambers before closing the door.

For the first few minutes, Visenya could not sleep. Worrying about her cousins. So she got out of her bed and put on a robe before waking up Aemma.

“Aemma” She shakes her sister, waking her up gently but it did not work “Aemma!” She whispered, shaking harder.

“What!” Aemma groaned turning to her sister

“I can’t help but worry, we must go check on them” Visenya spoke

“Whyy?” Aemma whined 

“If you won’t go then I will” Visenya said with a stern voice as she got up and walked to the door.

“Wait!” Aemma said as she sighed “I’m coming” before getting up, grabbing her robe and walking out.

As they checked each of their cousins' rooms and saw they were not there, both girls had a feeling in their guts that something was wrong. As they got closer to the exit they were able to hear a scream of fight and started running. As they get to the steps they see Aemond holding a rock above his head as he holds Jace by the collar. This causes Visenya to run up to them.

“Aemond! No!” She says she holds his hand that had the rock.

Aemma ran up to Rhaena and Baela making sure they were alright, not noticing Luc was slowly reaching to the blade on the ground.

Aemond looks at Visenya and started to calm down and dropping the rock but not noticing jace throw dirt on his face and after Luc running up and slashing Aemond hitting his eye grasping it as he fall to the ground screaming out of pain as blood drips of his eye and onto the ground forming a  small puddle. But Aemond was not the only one who was slashed with the blade, though small it was enough to draw blood, Visenya cried out and put her hand on her shoulder but ran up to Aemond to check on him.

“Let me see,” Visenya said, holding onto Aemond, and gasping.

She was trying her best to help and comfort Aemond as she looked back at her sister and cousins. The guards came running up to them, one checking on the Visenya as blood slowly dripped from her shoulder to her arm and the other guard went to Aemond.

“My Prince, my Prince. Let me see.” the guard says as he checks on Aemond’s condition before saying “Gods be good.” with a shaking voice.

~ Time Skip ~

“How can you let this happen?” The King asked as he moved his gaze away from the children to the guard “I will have answers” he sternly.

“The princes and princesses were supposed to be abed, My king.” The guard said informingly.

“Who had the watch?” The king asked

Visenya was seated next to Aemond as the maesters tended to them, holding onto Aemonds hand for comfort as Aemma stood right next to her. Glancing at Aemond before glancing back to watch as the scene unfolds.

“Young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace,” The guard said

“You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” The king yelled with anger and he stared down each guard.

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes, your grace.” Ser Criston spoke out

“That is no answer!” The king turned to him with anger.

Aemond hissed as the maesters cleaned his eye, Visenya though only a child felt helpless. I did not know what to do or how to help. Only able to hold Aemonds had thought it. 

“It will heal, will it not, maester?” The queen asked, looking at the maester with worry.

Everyone turned and listened to what the maester had to say “The flesh will heal.” he paused as he sawed Aemond up “But the eye is lost, Your Grace.” he finally said.

Visenya gasped, holding onto Aemond tightly. The Queen Alecint had gotten up and approached Aegon.

“Where were you?” She asked angrily 

“Me?” Aegon turned to his mother before earning a slap to the cheek “What was that for?” he yelled out of surprise 

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool.” She spat back at him

With the sound of the doors opening “What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Corlys Verlaryon yelled out.

With his entrance Princesses Rhaenys, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and along with Visenya and Aemma’s parents Princess Visaera and Ser Rhaegor came and immediately looked at their daughters.

“Visenya!” Princess Visaera running up to her daughters with her husband in tow “Are you alright?” She turned to Aemma making sure she was not harmed.

“Is she alright maester?” her mother asked look at the maester for answers

“The young princess will be just fine, she has only gotten a small cut.” he paused “However it will scar.”

“Who did this?!” Visenya’s father yelled out angrily “Who dares harm my daughters?!” He looked around the room looking for answers.

“They attacked me!” Aemond yelled out first cause everyone to turn to him as he pointed to his nephews and cousins

“He attacked Baela!” Jace yelled back

“He broke Luc’s nose” Baela yelled out and all the children started joining in except for both Aemma and Visenya.

“Silence!” Her Grandsire yelled out

Everyone grew silent awaiting what will happen next. Seeing the king approaching Aemond, Visenya and Aemma.

“I will have the truth on what happened.” He said, eyeing the three children but mostly Aemond. “Now.”

“Aemma..” The king said “Visenya..” The king asked, looking at his granddaughters, knowing they would not lie to him.

Aemma and Visenya looked at each other before saying “We weren’t there from the start.” Aemma said looking at her feet

“Jace, Luc, Baela, and Rhaena came to our chamber saying Vhagar had been stolen.” Visenya said

 “But we did think it was possible, so we sent them off.” Aemma continued 

“But I got worried so I woke Aemma up, and we went to check on them…” Visenya paused “But they were not in their chambers, so we thought they went to go see Vhagar.” She said “As we made our way out, we saw…” Visenya could not finish

“We saw Aemond holding Jace by the collar with a rock in his hand.” Aemma finally said

“But I stopped him…” Visenya said “And he dropped the rock, I promise you grandfather.”

“Then Jace threw dirt in his eyes and Luc came running with the blade.” Aemma said

“Your son has been maimed and your granddaughter hurt in the process.” Looking up at Rhaenyra, “Her son is responsible.”

“It was a regrettable accident.” Princess Rhaenyra said

“Accident?” Alicent said “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush.” She looked around the room as she protested, “He meant to kill my son and your sister’s daughter.” 

“It was my sons who were attacked and to defend themselves.” Rhaenyra yelled out “Vile insults were levied against them.” She informed everyone.

“What insults?” the king asked

“The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was loudly questioned.” Rhaenyra said

“What?” the king asked confused

“He called us basterds,” Jace said

“My sons are in line to inherit the iron Throne, Your Grace.” Princess Rhaenyra said “This is the highest of treasons.” she paused “Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned, so we might learn where he heard such slanders.” 

“Over an insult?” Alicent said in disbelief “My son lost an eye.”

“You tell me, boy.” The king said leaning down to Aemond “Where did you learn this lie?” he questioned

“The insult was training yard bluster.” Alicent defended her son “The lot of boys. It was nothing.”

“Aemond…” The king ignores “I asked you a question.” 

Visenya looked down on her lap, as her mother rubbed her back to comfort.

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys’ father?” Alicent asked “Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

“Yes, where is Ser Laenor?” Ask the king

“I do not know, Your Grace. I-” Rhaenyra paused “Could not find sleep. I went out to walk.”

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture.”Alicent said

“Aemond” The King paused, “Look at me, Your king demands an answer.” looking at his son “Who spoke these lies to you?”

Aemond hesitate looking at his mother and then back to his father “It was Aegon.” Aemond finally said

“Me?” Aegon said in shock

“And you, boy?” the king made his way to Aegon “Where did you hear such calumnies?” staring down his son “Aegon, Tell me the truth of it!” yelling out making Aegon flinch 

“We know, Father.” Not daring to look him in the eye, “everyone knows,” Aegon paused, “Just look at them.”

“The interminable infighting must cease!” Viserys yelled out, making Aegon flinch once more “All of you!” he said looking around the room “We are family!” He paused “Now make your apologies and show good will to one another.” she ordered “Your father, your grandsire, your kind demands it!”

“That is insufficient,” Alicent turned to her husband. “ Aemond has been damaged, permanently, My King.” she said “ “good will” cannot make him whole.” defending her son

“I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye.” telling his wife

“No, because it has been taken.” She spat out

“What would you have me do?” asking his wife is disbelief

“There is a debt to be paid.” the Queen proclaimed

Visenya was confused, what kind of debt. Squeezing Aemond’s hand, and looking at her mother. Who had only anger and fear in her eyes knowing what Alicent ment.

“I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.” turning to Rhaenyra

“You cannot be serious…” Visenya’s mother said aloud “He is only a child, your son lost an eye because of an incident, in which my nephew should not have taken a knife in the first place….” She paused. “But you… you are just asking for it.” Saying in disbelief

“My dear wife.” The king said

“He is your son, Viserys.” Alicent sobbed out “ Your blood”

“Do not..allow your temper to guide your judgment.”Taking a step closer to the queen then walking away

“If the king does not seek justice, the Queen will.” Alicent proclaimed “Ser Criston..” Looking at her sworn protector “bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.” Turning to looking at Luc.

Luc hides and goes to his grandfather Corlys before the queen said “ He can choose which eye to kee, a privilege he did not grant my son.” Alicent ordered

“ You will do no such thing.” Rhaenyra said

With this action Visenya stiffened from where she sat and caused Aemma to run to her father.

“Stay your hand.” The king looks at Ser Criston

“No, you are sworn to me!” Alicent yelled out this caused the atmosphere to thicken

“As your protector, my Queen.” Ser Criston said

“Alicent, this matter.. Is finished.” The king said to his wife, “Do you understand?” looking at his wife with anger. “And let it be know: anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons…” He paused, “Shall have it removed.” The king proclaimed.

“Thank you, Father” Rhaenyra looks at her father in gratitude

But this causes Alicent to grab the king’s dagger and walk toward where Lucaerys hid, causing the children to scream out of fear. Making Visenya hold onto her mother, who was shielding both her and Aemond as Aemma hid behind her father with  tears falling from her eyes. As Alicent starts Arguing  with Rhaenyra. Everyone protested for the Queen to stop. A shark ring of the dagger can be heard throughout the room, as Alicent and Rhaenyra broke apart looking at Rhaenyra’s arm dripping of blood.

Aemond stepped forward looking at his mother saying “Do not mourn me mother..” He paused. “It was a fair exchange, I may have lost an eye… But i gained a dragon” walking toward Alicent and embracing her.

Visenya looks at him not knowing what to think before hearing her grandfather, The king yell out

“This proceeding is at an end.” the king said

Everyone made their way back into their chambers, with Visenya being led by her mother back into her room.

~ Time Skip ~

As the family of four entered the twins chambers, and her mother set her on the bed, her father was the one first to break the silence.

“I believe it is time for us to move to The Spine Islands.” Her father said with an angry frown upon his face “You girls will be much safer there.”

“But fath-” Aemma and Visenya Protest

“No, I will not hear it…” Their father approach his daughters ``My duty to you is to keep you safe, you two are my most valuable treasures…” he said as he looks at his daughters “We will return to the Red Keep with everyone to retrieve out items,” He looked up to his wife “I will begin the preparations at once, and inform the King of our decision.” The girls looked at their mother, as their father walked out of the room.

“Mother?” Visenya looked her mother

“ It is done my darlings,” she said looking down on them “It is for the best… You will be able to learn your father’s history and Spine is our home and our lands as well” she paused and looked at her daughters “I’m certain you girls will love it there, as you always do when we visit.”

“But mother…” Aemma started “Everything we have ever known is at Kings Landing, Jace, Luc, even little Joffrey…” 

“Aemond and Helaena..” Visenya said

“I’m not saying we will never go back, we will visit.” Visaera said “And they can send ravens to you, but for now you must get some rest, you girls have had enough chaos for one day.” She said kissing their heads good night.

Visenya was left alone in her and her sister’s shared chamber, as Aemma wanted to sleep with her parents. She sat at the window, looking out at the night sky. When she heard her door opened, revealing Aemond.

“ Are you alright?” He said as he made his way to her

“I should be asking you that.” She gave him a small smile signaling for him to sit next to her

“I’m sorry I got you mixed up with all that.” He said as he sat next to her

“You shouldn’t have done that.” She said as Aemond looked at her you with a shocked expression 

“They attacked me first…” He said “I was only defending myself!”

“Yes, but you only fueled the flames.” she paused and looked at him “I’m not saying it’s your fault, I just saying that you could have handled it differently.” 

Aemond scuffs “Hey, you know I am always at your side” she said as she takes his hand

“I know…” Aemond said

They sat in the quiet, with other the fire making crackling sound in the background.

“My father thinks it’s best for us to move to Spine.” She finally told him

“You are leaving…” Aemond said, making him stand from where he sat “NO!” 

“It’s not up to me, Aemond…” she said looking up at him “My father and mother said it was for the best, and they said you can visit or we will, and we can write to one another.” she said holding one of his hands

“It is not the same,” Aemond protested “I will not be able to see you everyday, I have no one.” He said stepping closer to Visenya

“You will always have me, I promise you.” she said to him as she pulled him into a hug.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Everyone deserves a little war crime, as a treat! Aemond is currently having a tantrum in his chambers because the reader isn't there to warm his bed...

Chapter 43: Sōvegon arlī

You left the chambers swiftly, moving as fast as your legs could carry you, as short and uneven breaths left your mouth. You did not stop as you let your body carry you to where they were desperate to go.

The war had only just begun, and yet you felt as though you had aged years from it already.

That fiery rage bubbled inside of you, your steps erratic as you moved.

You thought of what was to come. What was to be expected of everyone. Your brother would surely fight, your mother and father too, and all her men.

What little use you were without a dragon.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. 

As a child, you remember not having an egg put in the cradle alongside you, as was tradition for anyone of Valyrian blood. Though for some unforeseen reason, Syrax did not hatch a clutch for you, and so you went out and claimed Syndor instead. 

Such determination for such a small child.

Aemond was similar in that way. 

Determined. 

Harrenhal was a stark reminder of that.

He too did not have an egg placed in his cradle, and he too claimed a dragon later in life. And although he was in the same position as you were, he was the one they made fun of, not you.

What a different upbringing you both had.

Would you have turned out the same way that he did?

He had taken so much from you, including your one way to assist in this war.

How were you to fight against your uncles without one? 

Though you had spent countless hours training with Ser Harwin as a child, and even with Daemon and your brothers with a blade as you grew older, you knew that your skills were of far better use in the sky.

Daemon had said that none of the dragons on Dragonmont had been claimed thus far, and you knew that there were new clutches of eggs. But, the war would not wait. And it would take years for those dragons to grow and bond with you and be ready to fight. 

And so you were presented with a choice. 

Claim a dragon now, or never ride again.

The skirt of your dress swept behind you as you stormed your way through the castle determined. 

You walked for what felt like almost an hour, twisting and turning through the Keep, passing Lords and guards as you went, until finally you were ascending the rolling green cliffs, and sharp volcanic rocks. 

The walk was steep, and your legs ached as you followed the worn path to the edge of Dragonmont.

The island of Dragonstone itself was created by the large volcano that the castle sat upon. It built on the face of the mountain, carved into the volcanic rock already there, perfectly nestled between cliffs and hills.

Though it was a small fortress in comparison to others, it was a formidable one.

Prince Daemon however, had told you different tales of Dragonstone's creation.

He had told you Dragonmont had erupted up from within the bowels of the sea, by the birth of a dragon, its bursting lava burning its way to the surface before creating the island you now lived on. Your father had said it was created two hundred years before the Doom of Valyria, which is why the craftsmanship of the castle itself was seen nowhere else in the realm.

There are rumours of course, that the stone was melted down by magic of your ancestors, the rock giving way to carve the castle into its side. Though as a child you had wondered if perhaps it was not magic at all, and instead the large flames of dragons you had never seen before.

Some things, you would never know.

Dragons had lived on Dragonmont since its creation, living inside of the tunnels and caves that wound through the active volcano. Atop its peak, plumes of grey smoke curled into the air, giving Dragonstone a sulphuric smell.

When you had first moved there, the smell had made your nose scrunch up, but you found the longer that you were there, the more used to it you had become, until eventually you do not notice the smell at all.

The island often had storms, the heat and smoke from the volcano stirring the air in such a way that lightning would crack about the sky, and rain would fall to the ground beneath it. And although for anyone living in King's Landing it may be seen as hard to live atop a volcano, there were small villages that resided there.

Fisherman and farmers alike, living together atop Dragonstone with you.

Because of the heat of Dragonmont, dragons laid their eggs in the hot walls of the caves, and there the Dragonkeeper's kept watch of the eggs and all the dragons that resided there.

Dragonkeeper's wore plain garments and wielded long quarterstaves. They lived in the villages with the fisherman and farmers, whilst others lived in small keeps around the castle.

You were thankful for the Dragonkeeper's, for they were the ones who had told you tales of your dragon before you went out in search of him when you had visited Dragonstone. Curiosity had gotten the better of you, though in the end it was a success.

They work hard and keep their eyes on the eggs inside, wary of the Cannibal, who often liked to sneak inside to feast upon them.

You felt yourself grow out of breath as you continued to climb up the rocky cliffs, feeling the heat of Dragonmont begin to stifle the air the higher you got. Your fists clenched as you moved, and you became more determined than ever.

Vermithor resided within one of the smoking caverns of Dragonmont, and had lived there since King Jaehaerys died. He had been riderless ever since. Your Grandsire had told you many tales about Vermithor. King Jaehaerys flew to King's Landing and claimed the Iron Throne atop the Bronze Fury. 

Since the death of Syndor, Vermithor was now the second largest dragon in all the realm. You had tried to see him before, once when you were younger, sneaking into the walls of the volcano as you began to do now.

All you saw was a glimpse of bronze scales before a plume of flames came towards you. Luckily, Daemon had followed you through the mountain and pulled you away from the cavern, growling at you in High Valyrian tongue at your stupidity. 

If you did not have a dragon, you would most likely never leave Dragonstone, and would be confined to the Painted Table to strategise with men. 

And you were no man. 

You were the blood of the dragon, and what little use were you if you did not have one? What kind of Targaryen had no dragon to fly? Especially in a time of war?

Why did you keep holding back?

You were a dragon. It was time to be a dragon.

You pushed on. As you came round a rocky cliff side, you arrived to your destination.

Before you was a large entrance to the cavern within, the same one in which you remembered sneaking into as a child. There were other tunnels that led inside from within the castle walls, though you knew if you were spotted, your plans would be halted. 

The cave was deep and dark, and as you stepped through, the heat of the volcano instantly surrounded you. You felt a light sweat break out on your skin as you pushed inside. There were torches along the walls, lit by the Dragonkeeper's as you descended into the bowels of the mountain. 

As you walked, you grabbed a torch from its holder, pulling it free before continuing forward. Inside, the only noises were your feet, the breeze at the mouth of the cave, and the subtle cracking of the torches flames. 

It was silent again.

You thought of Lucerys, of Helaena, of her son, and of your Grandsire. Of Syndor and Visenya. And you let that surge of anger and rage, and spite, and brutality, push through you to move further into the cavern. 

They will pay for what they did.

As you walked in further, you were wary to not sneak up on the old war dragon, and so you began to sing Hāros Bartossi (With Three Heads) the way you always did to Syndor, into the cavern, your voice echoing off of its large walls.

You sang loudly and smoothly as you went in High Valyrian, praying that the Gods were on your side, as you finally entered the large empty cave.

It was so dark inside, and so large, that all that you could see was four to five paces in front of your torch, and the ones surrounding the walls.

But once inside, any small whispers of uncertainty and fear left, and you became more steadfast than ever. 

“Fire Breather, Winged Leader, but to heads, to a third sing.” You began, accent rolling from your lips as you moved about the space.

“From my voice, the fires have spoke, and the price has been paid,”

A large ball of fire was shot into the air of the cave, the already humid cavern, now almost burning your skin as its flames illuminated the large Bronze Fury. Although your heart sped in your chest, you continued to sing confidently, with no fear.

“With blood magic. With words of flame, with clear eyes,”

The ground shook beneath you as the large dragon began to slowly walk towards you. You lifted your head, and held your arm strong as you looked into the darkness.

“To bind three, to you I sing.”

A large horned snout and jagged teeth became visible in the depths of the dark. The large dragon snorted a breath towards you, as he sniffed, the air pushing your hair back as you held firm.

Only his teeth and nose were visible. 

“As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined.”

Flames erupted above you again, the cloud spilling against the ceiling, its red tendrils crawling across the cave as he stretched his head up. The flames made sweat drop from your brow, the front of your hair becoming wet with perspiration. A smile wound its way on your lips.

“Beautifully, freely.” You finished.

The large bronze dragon came closer, as its jagged teeth opened right before your face. If you were to sway on your feet, your nose would brush against the large canines as they shone against the torch beside you.

Vermithor's head turned as he brought an eye close to you, staring at you with intention. You held steady, looking back at him. His eye was a brilliant gold, and as his pupil dilated as he stared at you, your own reflection shone in his eye. 

You watched yourself in the reflection as you stood.

Your hair was braided back, your gown was tight, and your back was straight as you kept your gaze on the ancient dragon, who was rumoured to be a hundred years old, willing all of your anger and rage into holding still as he watched you. 

Be strong. Be the dragon.

You had claimed one once before, you must do it again.

Another breeze of air brushed against you as his mouth opened wide, teeth almost grazing against your body as you stared into his wide open mouth. Inside was a large thick tongue which curled, and behind it, the slow build of flames. 

A threat. 

You were going to die.

“Dohaerās, Vermithor! Lykirī.” (Serve me, Vermithor, calm.)

King Jaehaerys' dragons mouth still widened, the light from the flame building inside growing rapidly.

You had two options. 

One: Run. 

Two: Hold steady.

You stood your ground.

“Dohaerās!” Your voice echoed into the cavern, and suddenly the flames inside the Bronze Fury's gullet faded.

Vermithor's head pulled away from you as his jaws slowly closed, large eyes watching you carefully.

“Lykirī, Vermithor.” You said again, torch still firmly in your grip.

“Dohaerās.”

The large dragon watched you and did nothing, but breath hot breaths onto your face.

He was still.

Waiting for you.

A deep crackling purr came from within his chest, and you could feel the vibration move through the air and into you. 

He was waiting for you to move.

Slowly you lifted the hand that lay limp beside you, fist so tight together that your nails dug deeply into your palm. The fist released, and you spread your fingers out, moving towards the large bronze snout that was covered in scars, mouth slightly agape as teeth still showed in a lesser threat.

The scales beneath your fingers were hard and felt hot to the touch. You spread your palm smoothly against him, until your entire hand was flat on the Bronze Fury’s snout.

Another hot blow of air came from his nose as he sniffed you, nostrils flaring widely as his eyes tracked your movements.

“Lykirī, Vermithor.” You softly commanded, hand brushing against him as he allowed you to pet him. 

In that moment you wished it was black scales beneath your fingers. You wished that Syndor was the one breathing on you, or purring at your touch. But he was not here anymore and gone with Lucerys. And now you had claimed another.

You had claimed Vermithor.

You stepped closer, watching the dragon as he watched you back.

His teeth were gnarled and crooked, and some were missing, their large points slightly yellow with age. Crawling across his mouth and down to his nose was a large scar, its indent deep into the dragon's scales.

He had flown to war.

An advantage that before, only Vhagar had.

Vermithor has seen all of the realm, flown through all of the lands, and witnessed all of the terrains from the North to the South, even further down to Dorne.

With Vermithor by your side, you had an upper hand.

You moved slowly to his side, the dragons head turning to watch you as you walked over to his legs and wings. Vermithor was around the same size as Syndor had been, only just a bit smaller than Vhagar. His wings had scars and holes in them, but you knew they would not affect his flight.

Although you had not come face to face with the dragon since you were a child, you had still witnessed him fly about the top of the volcano and across the sea. His scales always shone a brilliant bronze.

“Dohaerās, Vermithor. Dohaerās.”

The dragon rumbled as you stood beneath his curled wing, before you reached to grab hold of it. With what little strength you had, you attempted to pull yourself up onto his wing.

The painful pulling in your side prevented you. You hissed and gripped your wound, before placing a hand on the large bronze wing. 

“Dohaerās.” You commanded, as you pushed down with your weight on the wing, attempting to get him to lower it.

The dragon did not move. 

“Dohaerās.” You said louder and pushed again, and slowly the Bronze Fury bent to the side, leaning so that you could pull yourself up.

You shifted your body up from his wing to his back, the dragon moving to assist you, before you sat in between his shoulders. An air of familiarity surrounded you as your heart beat in your chest.

You would not fall.

You would not fall.

You would not fall again.

Vermithor was different than Syndor.

He had no spines along his back to settle into, only horns and scales which you could straddle. Leaning forward you exhaled a deep breath, and found two large horns to wrap your ungloved hands around. Your dress moved up from your calves, bunching against your thighs as you clenched against him. 

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“Dohaerās, Vermithor. Sōvegon.” (Serve me, Vermithor. Fly.)

At the command, the large dragon stood higher and slowly, one foot after the other, walked you back through the path to the cavern you had came in, chest grumbling as he purred.

With every step, you swayed, the large dragon less smooth and cat-like than Syndor’s movements had been. Instead, he walked with purpose, and his footfalls caused the earth the vibrate beneath you.

You held on tightly, the tension in your body causing you to lean into your injured side, favouring it over the other to compensate for the pain. His scales and horns beneath you were hard, and you struggled to get comfortable.

But this was something you would think of later.

The light from outside began to shine through as he continued forward, walking with more speed, as you finally broke out of the cavern, the large beast calling into the air as he ran forward to the cliff. His large bronze wings spread out beside him before suddenly, you were in flight.

His wings pushed you up into the sky, over the top of Dragonmont as your eyes shut tightly. You could scarcely pull a breath into your lungs, you felt your chest seize in sudden fear.

Vermithor let out another shrill call into the sky, and another came in response. It's cry was mangled and warped in comparison to the old rumble of the Bronze Fury.

Opening your eyes you looked around you.

You were soaring above Dragonstone, looking down at the volcano below you as it puffed grey smoke into the air.

A breath whooshed out from your lungs, as you let out a small laugh. Relief. A small piece of joy, bubbling back inside of you, rather than the sticky molasses of grief and despair that seemed to drown you, and the rage that pulled you apart from within.

You were flying again.

You laughed into the air, joy building within of you, the worlds troubles falling away for even the smallest of moments, giving you a second of reprieve. It was magical. It was inexplainable, and it made you feel powerful again.

There was nothing in the world like riding on dragonback.

Again, came the sound of the broken cry of another. 

Peering over Vermithor’s wing, you saw a large, coal coloured dragon below you.

You blinked in a double take.

Syndor? 

It's cry came again as you stared, whilst Vermithor responded loudly back, his cry vibrating your body above him as he flew.

The coal coloured dragon took flight away from you both, having been disturbed from its perch on a cliffside of the volcano. As it flew, you looked at its body. 

It was not Syndor. 

Instead of his deep, black, shiny scales, this dragons scales were coal coloured and dull, with large streaks of scarring on its side.

Instead of Syndor’s brilliant eyes, this dragon had menacing green ones that seemed to almost glow. Its wings were sharp, with horns spilling off of the edges, whilst its face was covered in jagged points.

The dragons tail was clubbed, and the way it moved was wild, and skittish. 

As Vermithor replied to its calls, you realised which dragon you had disturbed.

The Cannibal.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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If you see your name in bold its because I cannot tag you :(

[gracexthoughts]

Masterlist;

Wizarding World-

Mattheo Riddle; Of Violent Delights - series in progress; Mattheo Riddle x Potter!OC (on hold rn)

A Song of Ice and Fire-

Jacaerys Velaryon; Northern Hospitality- one shot; Jace x Stark!Reader Seven- one shot; Jace x Aunt!OC, Seven by Taylor Swift Māzigon arlī naejot issa- one shot; Jace x Injured!Betrothed!Reader The Strong- one shot; Jace x Targ!OC Intrusion-one shot; Jace x Wife!reader Headstrong- drabble; frustrated Dad!Jace

[legitalicat]

The Lives of Friends - part 15

AN: This series is so much fun. @thenameswinter99 @zaldritzosrose @foxyanon as always you three have my heart. Translation for High Valyrian messages (done by @zaldritzosrose)at the bottom of the post.

Series Masterlist here!

Summary: Rhaenerys and Sihtric are the only ones with a proper braincell.

CW: Language, the summary says it all really, everyone is kinda dumb in this part, Daenyra is struggling, Cregan is kind of an ass, alluding to past abuse!!!!,

Pairings: Aegon Stark ii x Alisanne Stark (OC), Sihtric Kjartansson x Rhaenerys Targaryen (OC), Cregan Stark x Daenyra Velaryon (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Lyanna Stark

Previous Part Next Part

High Valyrian translations:

AT: Ivestragon issa bē zirȳla? (Tell me about him?)

AS: Qilōni? (Who?)

AT: Ao gīmigon exactly qilōni nyke nūmāzma. Kostilus. (You know exactly who I mean. Please.)

AS: Aemond, nyke kostagon daor. (Aemond, I can’t.)

AT: Kostilus .Nyke jorrāelagon naejot gīmigon. (Please. I need to know.)

AT: Nyke gīmigon issa lēda Lyanna paktot sir. (I know he is with Lyanna right now.)

AS: Nyke gīmigon. (I know.)

AS: Ziry iksos iā lot. Nyke ȳdra daor sesīr gīmigon skoriot naejot rhaenagon. (It’s a lot. I don’t even know where to start.)

AT: Mazeminna mirros. Kostagon nyke pāsagon zirȳla? (I’ll take anything. Can I trust him?)

AS: Daor. (No.)

AT: Nyke gīmigon īles rhinka, yn kostilus. Nyke jorrāelagon naejot gīmigon skoros sȳz hen issaros issa. (I know it was rough, but please...I need to know what kind of person he is.)

AT: Alisanne, kostilus. Udligon nyke. Nyke jorrāelagon naejot gīmigon. (Alisanne, please. Answer me. I need to know.)

AT: Kostilus. Lyanna daor ivestragon nyke mirros. Nyke jorrāelagon naejot gīmigon.(Please. Lyanna cannot tell me anything. I need to know.)

AT: Nyke gīmigon gaomā daor jaelagon naejot ȳdragon nūmāzma ziry. Yn iksan zūgagon. (I know you do not want to talk about it. But I'm afraid.)

AT: Alisanne.

AT: Iksan begging ao. (I’m begging you.)

AT: Kostilus. (Please.)

AS: Keligon. (Stop.)

AS: Kesan ivestragon ao. (I’ll tell you.)

AS: Issa kōz. Daorun iksis tolī important yn syt skoros jaelza. (Nothing is more important than what he wants.)

AT: Skoros gōntan ziry gaomagon naejot ao? Kostilus. Nyke jorrāelagon naejot gīmigon. (What did he do to you? Please. I need to know.)

AS: Vēttan nyke feel ra nyke dōrī jaelagon naejot arlī. (Made me feel things I never want to again.)

><><><><><><><><><

Taglist: @foxyanon @thenameswinter99 @zaldritzosrose @abecerra611 @tomgcsmrs @mysticalendings

[goldsainz]

could you write about telling daemon or him finding out somewhow taht you're pregnant with your first child? targ reader if you're comfortable if not any's okay !!!

MASTERLIST.

A/N: tysm for requesting!! i wrote this in half an hour, inspiration really hit here. i don’t really specify if the reader is targaryen, it’s more up for interpretation really, feel free to see it was you wish! [gif cred: @daenerys-stormborn]

WORD COUNT: 341

──────────

GLORY

You were a nervous wreck. You had not bled since two moons ago, and while you were glad those pains had been gone, it raised worries within you.

You’d called the maester and he had confirmed you were with child. It took him two times to repeat the tedious process of seeing if you were in fact pregnant, but you just had to be 100% sure.

Eventually you would have to break the news to Daemon. Would he be happy? Would he find the timing inconvenient? Your worries only grew as the time passed by.

“My love?” His voice echoed through the room, the clanking of his armour being taken off a sound you had become all too familiar with.

“In the bedroom.” You responded, your body laying on the bed as you awaited for your husband.

Daemon placed himself right beside you, finding comfort from the heat of your body.

“I’ve got something to tell you.” You break the silence after minutes of laying next to him, turning to look at him as he caresses your face, taking some hair off of your face.

“Go ahead.”

“I talked with a Maester today.” Your words make his brows furrow in worry.

Daemon immediately sits up, “Why? Are you alright?”

“I am,” You take a deep breath, trying to find the right way to tell him the news, “I’m with child.”

Your husband sits in silence, an impassive look on his face.

“Please say something, Daemon.” You whisper, fearing the worst from his reaction or lack thereof.

He grabs your face and places a passionate kiss to your lips, you return the kiss instantly.

“Y/N, this is great news.” He murmurs against your lips, a small laugh leaving your lips as the worry slips off your body.

“Yeah?”

“Bisa riñnykeā jāhor maghagon arlī se jaqiarzir naejot lentor Targārien.” This child will bring back the glory to house Targaryen.

At his words you kiss him, feeling most relieved that he is taking the news well. You couldn’t ask for a better husband.

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[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (29/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2730

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Aemond and Arianwyn relax with a shared bath after their dragonflight.

Warnings: Allusions to sex.

Author's Note: Hope y'all enjoyed a little more fluff! It's come to my attention that all the sweet, happy chapters are making y'all worry about what may be coming next. Now, I certainly have no clue where you would get such an idea….

Series Masterlist

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(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

The Bath

Emrys groaned with disappointment when Arianwyn turned him back to the city, while Aemond and Vhagar descended back to the Tourney Grounds. He wanted to stay with his new companion and continue to learn from her.

He had learned from her on their flight. Or at least, he tried to.

Vhagar was desperate for him to fly upside down with her, but he got nervous every time he tilted too far and began to lose altitude. She demonstrated how to keep airborne for so long that Aemond had nearly gotten sick, but he still never quite caught on.

The dragons had only stopped their nearly nauseating attempts when their riders assured them they would fly together again many times.

But even now, Emrys grumbled, not wanting to leave Vhagar behind.

“Ziry iksos tolī uēpa naejot deal rūsīr ao syt tolī bōsa,” Arianwyn chided. “Ivestragī zirȳla ēdrugon.” She is too old to deal with you for too long. Let her rest.

Vhagar was, indeed, a century and a half older than him. There could be no doubt that his boundless energy would, at some point, start to grate on her. It was better to keep their meetings short until the Queen of the Dragons was used to her new friend: “Byka ossȳngnon,” as Aemond named him that afternoon. The Little Dread.

Emrys shivered, purposefully tossing her about in her saddle in protest. But his rider was not swayed.

Arianwyn rolled her eyes as she guided him down to the Dragonpit. “Emā naejot return naejot Dreamfyre, se ivestragon zirȳla nūmāzma mirre se kirimves ēdā.” You have to return to Dreamfyre and tell her about all the fun you had.

That, at least, seemed to sate him enough that he protested no further, landing in the courtyard of the Dragonpit without fuss. But when his rider dismounted, he let out a forlorn whimper.

“Kesan sagon arlī hemtubis, Emrys,” she assured him, with a final pat to the tip of his nose. “ Īlon kessa sōvegon lēda zirȳla arlī pār.” I will be back tomorrow. We shall fly with her again then.

He snorted against her palm. A question. “You promise?”

“Nyke kivio,” she replied. I promise.

With that, Emrys lazily blinked his bright blue eyes, telling her he loved her and would wait for her.

But as he turned back to the Dragonkeepers to follow them to his den, he made it quite clear that he would not wait patiently. He was already having fun with the monks, brushing his tail against their feet to make them stumble and trilling proudly when they did.

“Kesan ūndegon ao hemtubis! Syt sir, kesan sagon lēda ñuha valzȳrys – sepār se lanta hen īlva,” Arianwyn called back, not caring that the Dragonkeepers would hear her as well. I will see you tomorrow! For now, I will be with my husband - just the two of us.

She laughed as she heard a few novices gasp at her words but said nothing before getting back in her carriage.

Ser Warren Crayne raised a thick eyebrow as he held open the coach door. “Do I want to know what you just said?”

“I don’t believe you do, Ser,” she said with a mischievous grin.

The old man sighed, his black eyes twinkling as he shut the door and mounted his own horse. Once they were moving through the city streets, he turned to his partner for the day, the ever-morose Ser Sterlan Coldwater.

“We always knew she would be married someday,” he said, sounding for all the world like a father at wit’s end. “And I am glad that she has made a love match. Prince Aemond will treat her well. But… I don’t think I will ever get used to looking at her and seeing a woman – a wife –  rather than the sweet, innocent little girl we followed from the Vale.”

Ser Sterlan shook his head. “She hasn’t been that little girl for some time, Warren. And it’s a good thing. You saw her standing up to her father in the Throne Room and, just now, so confident on the back of that beast. So take heart in the fact that Rhea would be very proud of the woman she’s become.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Warren answered. “I never asked. What was the message she had you send back to the castle earlier?”

The smile on Sterlan’s face nearly matched that of his Lady. “I don’t believe you want to know that either, Ser.”

-

Aemond was not in the solar when Arianwyn arrived back at their quarters. But she didn’t have time to consider why, not when she was so taken by the room itself.

The bare walls and empty tables were no more.

Against the far wall was a massive tapestry, a relic of the First Men depicting the crowning of Yorwyck I, the first of the Bronze Kings. It had hung in Runestone for millennia, a tradition that Ser Gerold Royce had broken when he brought it to Arianwyn for her tenth nameday.

A massive new bookshelf had been brought in and stuffed full. But it had obviously not been enough, as two open chests, brimming with even more books, were set in the corner of the room.

And above the hearth, two bronze swords were newly mounted. A matched pair, with Runes engraved within the fullers. A small note hung from one of the hilts, tied with green ribbon.

As she looked around the room at each new addition, from an entire set of polished Bronze armor to a small, ordinary wooden trinket box, she realized they were all her things. Every gift she had ever received from Gerold and Aemond, everything she had ever owned – save for the few measly possessions that remained on Dragonstone – was here.

“I know we’ll have to pack it all up again when we go to Runestone,” Aemond mused from where he stood beneath the doorframe. He smiled as he removed his gloves, savoring the look of delight on his wife’s face. “But as long as we have to stay here while my mother plans her feasts and celebrations, I wanted it to feel like home.”

Arianwyn surged forward, leaping into his arms as she brought her lips to his. He kissed her back, wrapping his hands around her waist and laughing at her enthusiasm.

“You are my home, Aemond,” she said, “I don’t need anything else. Still, I appreciate the gesture.”

He blushed under her adoring gaze, then pulled her in to kiss her forehead. Even now, when he had seen every inch of her, that smile still threatened to overwhelm him. Perhaps she had somehow enchanted him, and that was why his knees felt weak every time she fixed him with those shining silver eyes.

But then she pulled out of his arms, only keeping their little fingers entwined as she led him to the bathing room. She was no witch; it was far simpler than that.

She was just perfect.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember your manservant’s name,” she whispered, sliding his coat off his shoulders. “I actually don’t know if he ever gave it. But I’ll have to thank him, he’s done a wonderful job. The water is still warm.”

Aemond glanced down at the large tub in the middle of the room. It was, in fact, filled with steaming water. The table beside it held all manner of soaps and oils – including many he did not recognize. Arianwyn’s, then.

“When did you arrange this?” he asked. She had been with him practically every moment since they woke, and he had watched as her carriage left the castle. When had she found the time?

She just smiled as she continued to undress him. “Ser Sterlan sent a raven from the Dragonpit while we were flying.”

“You had a raven sent?” Aemond asked in disbelief, raising his arms at her instruction so she could remove his shirt. “Just so there would be a bath ready when we returned?”

Her eyes danced with amusement as she busied herself with the laces of his trousers. When she finished, she hooked her thumbs in his waistband and looked back up at him, pouting with feigned disappointment. “Do you not want to take a bath with me?”

He tightened his lips as he stifled a smile, his long nose scrunching up as he did his best to look annoyed and grabbed her chin. “You are a wicked thing, little wife of mine.”

With a single tug on his trousers, pulling him closer to her, Arianwyn’s pout melted into a great smile. She wrapped a hand around his neck and brought him down for a kiss.

“I knew you would,” she whispered against him, trailing a finger down his bare chest. “Now, I certainly hope you can get my clothes off faster than you put them on. I don’t want the water to go cold.”

Aemond pressed his forehead to hers and obeyed without protest, ridding her of her armor so quickly that he snapped nearly every lace. By the time she was naked, only her left bracer remained intact.

“You have to stop tearing my clothes, or Brynna will want to have words with you,” she teased as she stepped into the tub, holding his outstretched hand for balance.

He gave a smug grin as he stepped in behind her, pressing a single kiss to the back of her neck before lowering them both down to recline against opposite sides of the tub. As he savored the feeling of the hot water against his skin, he decided that he, too, would have to thank Kiran for his excellent work.

“Then I suppose I should be grateful that she is currently confined to the Maester’s Tower,” he said, his eyes wandering from Arianwyn’s face to how her curls fell around her breasts.

She followed his gaze and splashed water into his face. “Don’t think that will keep you safe,” she taunted, “There is not a jailer in the world who could hold her, let alone poor Orwyle.”

“In my experience, Orwyle is a more than capable jailer,” he replied with latent annoyance.

“Well, he had to be strict with you,” she shot back, “to stop you from hurting yourself further!”

“And what would you know about it?” He asked as he reached a hand beneath the water to grip her ankle and pull her towards him.

She only giggled as she nestled herself between his legs, wrapping her own around his waist. “Orwyle told me!”

“When?”

“In his notes. The ones he put in your letters when he was writing for you,” Arianwyn explained, leaning back to grab a plush cloth and a small block of soap from the table beside them. But when she moved to start washing her husband, he wrapped a hand around her wrist to stop her.

“You and Orwyle were exchanging secret messages in my letters? Why?” He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or impressed and ended up confused.

Arianwyn tilted her head, amused by the bewildered expression on his face. It wasn’t often that she was able to keep a secret from him, even unintentionally. Part of her wanted to stay silent, to revel in this small power she held over him.

But she could never do that. Her soul had always been open to him, her entire being laid bare for him and him alone.

Besides, she had promised she would always be honest with him.

“It was only a few times,” she assured, running her fingers through his unbound hair. “And he never said much. He just didn’t want me to think him as dictatorial as you made him out to be.”

He leaned into her touch, releasing her wrist. “But he didn’t tell you how sick I really was? How long it actually took me to recover?”

“No,” she whispered, running the soapy cloth along his chest. “So, you cannot be angry with him about that. But I certainly can.”

“Don’t be,” he cupped her chin, bringing her eyes back to his face. “I’m fine now. I got better. See?”

He turned so that his scar faced her – for once, not afraid of it being seen.

Just as she bore her soul for him, he let her see every part of him. Without shame, for he knew she would never – could never – shy away from any of it.

-

They sat in the water in comfortable silence, taking turns washing each other between soft, languid kisses.

Arianwyn was deliriously happy, laying back against Aemond’s chest as he massaged hair soaps and oils into her scalp with his long, nimble fingers. It took all her effort to keep her eyes open, but she did.

She wanted to watch him. To see his sapphire reflect sunlight off the bathwater. To see the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly each time she smiled or moaned at his delicate touches. To see the perpetual tightness of his jaw fade as he let himself relax entirely with her in his arms.

“I hope…” he whispered. Then he shut his mouth tight, sadness sweeping over his face as he shook his head.

“What is it, my love?” Arianwyn asked, reaching up to hold his face. But he turned away from her hand and withdrew his own from her hair.

He shook his head again. “It’s nothing, Aria.”

“Obviously, it’s not,” she countered, sitting up and turning around to face him. He didn’t even look at her, focusing instead on the ripples in the water until they stilled.

“I don’t want to upset you,” he whispered, holding out a hand to her. “Just lay back down. Let me finish washing your hair.”

“No!” she said, once again pouting. But this time, it was real. “Not until you tell me what you were going to say!”

He sighed, biting his lips as he considered how to say it. They had been having such a good day; he did want to ruin it. Finally, he just spat it out. “I was going to say that I hope our children have your hair.”

Arianwyn’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide. He was sure he had just ruined their day.

“Why would that ever upset me?” she asked, her voice impossibly soft. “Aemond, that’s lovely.”

He looked back at her, her sweet face crumpling with sadness. Gods forgive him. He had been so wrong.

“I just thought…” he stammered, surging forward to grab her shoulders and pull her into his chest.

“You think I don’t want to have children.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes, you idiot!” she cried, pushing on his shoulder. “Of course, I want to have children – your children. A whole army of them. I thought I made that clear last night.”

 “If it’s what we both want, why do we have to wait?” He smiled, despite her scowl, her words warming his heart. Then, needing to feel her against him, he drew her closer to his chest. “We could get started right here, right now.”

She could feel his growing arousal pressing against her, but she shook her head. “We have to wait because… because I am selfish,” she explained. “I want you all to myself, at least for a little while. I don’t want to share you with anyone, not even our children.”

Aemond leaned against her, the suds still in her hair tickling his skin. Hearing her say the words “our children” was practically divine. He cursed himself for doubting her and vowed he would not delay making amends. “Then I will gladly wait, and savor having you all to myself, as well.”

A smile returned to her face as he turned her around, laying her back against his chest to continue massaging the oils and soaps into her hair. Their sweet silence returned. They did not need words. Aemond apologized with every tender brush of his fingers, and she forgave him with a single, slow blink.

“I will pray that they have your hair,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

She pushed back against his chest, savoring the closeness. “And I will pray that they have your eyes.”

“Then it is decided: your hair and my eyes,” he said as he lowered her into the water to rinse her beautiful curls. “I can hardly wait – but I will.”

Next Chapter

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (44/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 9440

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Arianwyn returns to King’s Landing triumphant, having not only won the support of the Vale, but by striking a great political blow to Daemon. But her feeling of triumph is quickly shattered when she learns that Aemond has already returned – with blood on his hands.

Warnings: blood, allusions to suicide

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The Curse of the Kinslayer

The myriad lights of King’s Landing sparkled as brilliantly as the stars in the sky as Arianwyn and Emrys descended to the Dragonpit. Though she knew she could not see it from this distance, she still looked for the light of her bedchamber windows, hoping to see the shadow of her husband waiting for her.

She did not.

But the Dragonpit was lit brighter than she had ever seen. Fires had even been set within the eight towers adorning the upper dome – which she had always assumed were lookouts but now saw clearly as beacons to guide dragonriders home in the dark. When was the last time they had been lit?

Emrys was delighted by the display, circling low over the roof of the Dragonpit to bask in its glow before finally landing. Despite his exhaustion from the long flight – this time, they had not stopped for a rest, as their departure was delayed – he was still drunk on the sense of triumph he felt from his rider.

Arianwyn’s heart was pounding with excitement and anticipation. She could envision so clearly the pride on Aemond’s face when she told him of how she had won the Vale and exposed Daemon’s crimes for all the world to know.

But it would not last long; she knew that, and it did not bother her in the slightest. For she would enjoy what came next even more than his pride.

Perhaps she wouldn’t even have time to light her new candles before Aemond pulled her into bed.

But she would still try.

“Kostagon ao nādīnagon bisy ēlī?” She asked of the Dragonkeepers who had approached to take Emrys’ reins, gesturing to the saddlebag she had stuffed full of candles in Wickenden. “Jaelan naejot gūrogon ziry arlī naejot se sombāzmion lēda nyke.” Can you remove this one first? I want to take it back to the castle with me.

None of the acolytes responded. Indeed, none of them would meet her eyes as they guided Emrys into a crouch so she could dismount.

They must simply be tired, Arianwyn reasoned, or perhaps nervous. It was near midnight, and a storm was approaching – she had seen the dark clouds on the horizon as the sun set. But when she climbed off Emrys back, he turned to look at her, his icy blue eyes wide with concern.

“Iksis mirros pirta?” she asked the nearest acolyte, though her eyes never left her dragon’s. Is something wrong?

Though she received no reply from the young man, Emrys narrowed his eyes and gave a low huff. He did not know what, but something was indeed very wrong.

Arianwyn stepped forward to approach his head, trying to comfort him, but was stopped when a strong hand wrapped around her arm. When she turned, it was Elder Dantis, looking as grim as death.

What was the old man doing awake at this hour?

“Rȳbagon,” he commanded. Listen.

She was about to ask why or what, exactly, she should be listening for, but Dantis lifted a finger to his lips. A command to be silent and listen.

So Arianwyn did. She closed her eyes and let her focus drift to the sounds of the city.

She could hear the sand shifting beneath Emrys’ claws, the shuffle of the Dragonkeepers’ robes, and the crackling of many torches and fires. Beyond that, there were faint sounds of conversation in the streets, horses and carts clattering across the cobblestones, and music streaming out of open tavern windows.

But underneath all of it, low and grumbling like distant thunder, was a weak, mournful noise.

Arianwyn spun around, focusing on that heartbreaking cry, trying to find its source. But, amongst the din of the city, all she could determine was that it was coming from the south…

The Tourney Grounds.

Vhagar.

“Issa glaesa,” Dantis assured her when she whipped around to face him, eyes wide and already wet with tears. But the relief was short-lived. “Yn ziry ilimā hae lo issa daor.” He is alive. Yet she cries as though he is not.

Already, her heart was racing wildly. “Skorion massitas?” What happened?

“Gīmīlon daor,” he said, releasing her hand. “Īlon jiōrteks dōrior udir hen sombāzmion.” I do not know. We have received no word from the castle.

She gripped his frail arm with all her strength, for without it, she had no doubt she would collapse. “Istin jikagon naejot zirȳla.” I must go to him.

“Yes, Princess.” Dantis let her hold onto him and even set his hand on her back to guide her away from Emrys to where two horses were saddled and waiting. Atop one was Ser Warren Crayne, his face reddened from the sun and crumpled with concern. “He has been waiting here for you since the morning.”

Warren’s presence by itself comforted Arianwyn beyond measure. It always did. But he was alone, which meant the rest of her guard was needed elsewhere… needed by Aemond. And he was not with a carriage or wheelhouse but horses from the royal stables. That meant –

“We must hurry, Arianwyn,” Warren said, leaning over to offer a steady hand while she mounted the horse next to him.

Once in the saddle, she noticed the small rope linking the horses. A safety precaution, so they wouldn’t be separated – so she would not bolt away from him as she had done the last time she rode through the streets of King’s Landing to Aemond so many years ago...

Arianwyn looked at him, searching for reassurance in his deep black eyes but finding only worry. Her voice broke as she asked again, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted as he spurred his horse into a trot, taking hers with it. “He arrived back this morning, and he was… not well. I have never seen a man in such a state anywhere but on the battlefield, and even then, only a small number of times. He has confined himself to his chambers and declared that he will allow entry to none but you. I came directly here after informing the Queen of his request so I could bring you to him the moment you arrived back. I have heard nothing since.”

Dantis had been right then; Warren had been there all day.

Aemond had been in their rooms, alone and unwell all day.

Surely someone – Kiran or Alicent, or even Orwyle – must have gone to check on him. But if no word had been sent to Dantis or Warren…

“Can we go faster?” Arianwyn begged. “Please?”

Perhaps another day, Warren would have denied the plea. It was dangerous to race through the city’s crowded streets without adequate protection, even this late at night – especially this late at night. But he could not deny her when he saw the distress written so clearly on her face and the tears shining in her eyes.

He unsheathed his dagger and, in one motion, sliced through the rope holding their mounts together. “Go,” he whispered. “I will follow.”

-

Arianwyn dismounted her horse before it had completely come to a halt in the Red Keep’s courtyard, despite the shouted protestations from Ser Warren, who arrived mere seconds behind her. But she did not listen.

Her attention was drawn to the castle doors, which burst open moments after her arrival to reveal a frantic Ser Criston Cole, flanked by Ser Willis Fell and a knight Arianwyn did not know, but who wore the white armor of the Kingsguard.

She ran forward on stumbling legs, weakened by her own roiling emotions and a day spent riding both Emrys and the nervous mare than was now being wrangled by an exhausted-looking stable boy.

“Princess,” Cole murmured into Arianwyn’s hair as she collapsed into his arms. “It is alright. You are home.”

“It is not alright! Aemond is not alright,” she protested, trying desperately to find comfort and warmth in the cold steel of his armor. “I should have come home sooner. I shouldn’t have left at all.”

She could feel Cole shaking his head as he held her, bringing an armored hand to cradle her head. “You staying here would not have changed what occurred at Storm’s End.”

Immediately, she pushed away from the knight, and all arguments and regrets vanished. “Storm’s End…?” she breathed. Yes, that was where Aemond went. To try to sway Lord Borros Baratheon to Aegon’s cause.

“Was it Borros that hurt him?” she demanded. “Why have the armies not moved south? I will fly Emrys there now and burn the entire – ”

Cole shook his head again, trying to draw her back into his embrace. “It was not Borros, it… I need to take you to the King. He and the Hand can explain. And the Dowager Queen.” L

“I don’t want to see Aegon,” Arianwyn cried, at last pulling away from Cole and into Ser Warren as he came to stand behind her and laid a hand on the small of her back. “Or Otto or Alicent. I want to see Aemond.”

“You will,” Warren said softly, his touch gentler and less insistent than Cole’s. “I promise we will take you to him, but I agree that you should see the others first. If they can explain what happened… you should not see Aemond before you are prepared.”

At last, Arianwyn relaxed in Cole’s grip, and he released his hold enough that she could turn to face the commander of her guard. “Is it really so bad?” Her voice was small and weak, in a way it had not been since she was a child.

She was so afraid.

Even more so when Warren, Cole, and the other Kingsguard mumbled their affirmation.

Arianwyn fell silent, knowing that if she tried to say anything else, she would be unable to stop the deluge of tears brewing behind her eyes. So she took Ser Warren’s hand, needing to feel something solid and steady, and nodded.

As she followed the knights through the halls of the Red Keep, she never looked up from the floor. It did not matter where they led her or where she would meet the King. They could lead her to the Black Cells for all she cared.

Wherever it was, it wouldn’t be with Aemond.

She only had to get through a few minutes with Aegon, Alicent, and the Hand. They would tell her what had happened and who had hurt Aemond. Then she could go to him – hold him, help him. And once she knew who…

Arianwyn would unleash the fires of the Seven Hells themselves upon whoever dared hurt her husband.

“Aria?”

It was Aegon’s voice that tore her from her vision of eternal red and black fire, sounding more serious than she had ever heard him. Indeed, as he sat at the head of the Small Council table, the Conqueror’s Crown still low on his brow – would they ever dare alter the artifact so it would fit him properly? – he looked every bit the King he now was.

Except in his eyes. A darker purple than Aemond’s, and perpetually rimmed with red. Those eyes held a glimmer of decidedly un-kingly fear.

Arianwyn knew her silver eyes held the same.

“Are you alright, Aria?” Aegon asked. He shifted in his seat – also too large – like he wanted to go to her but decided against it.

She shook her head. “I will not be alright until I see Aemond.”

Alicent – who Arianwyn only noticed then – sighed where she sat to her son’s left. “I fear seeing him will bring you no comfort, my dear.”

“You have seen him?” Arianwyn looked at her desperately, ignoring whatever so was implying in favor of finding an actual answer as to her husband’s state.

“None of us have,” Otto said at the King’s right. He had stood when Arianwyn entered the room and still made no move to sit. His long face was as grim as the Stranger themselves. “We do not dare enter his chambers, as he has threatened to kill anyone who does. Excepting you, of course.”

Arianwyn’s stomach dropped, and her brow furrowed. It was not entirely unlike Aemond to make threats when he was angered; he had done so many times before. But to kill? And threats that encompassed his family? That was worrying.

And they seemed to believe he would follow through on his threat…

“Surely he was just upset,” she said, too quietly to be convincing. “He cannot mean it.”

“Aria…” the Queen reached out, inviting her good daughter to take the seat across from her that the Hand had vacated, but Arianwyn did not move nor release Warren’s hand. “He attacked his manservant. He broke the poor boy’s arm – his crippled arm.”

To her own surprise, Arianwyn did not vomit, even as her stomach roiled violently.

Aemond would never do that. Not to Kiran, who was so utterly devoted to his master. And who, she suspected, Aemond was devoted to as well.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head weakly. “No.”

“More concerning is that he has killed the Prince Lucerys,” Otto added, with no pity or gentleness to the declaration. Instead, he only looked to Arianwyn, assessing her reaction.

She closed her eyes, ducking her chin as she shook her head. The same reaction she often had upon waking from a nightmare as a child, as if she could shake the bad thoughts away if she only tried hard enough.

It never worked then, and it did not work now.

“No,” she whispered again. Not a denial, but a plea. A desperate plea to the gods or whatever forces guided the world that the horrible words were not true.

“He has,” Otto said, still studying every inch of Arianwyn’s face. “And with the boy’s death, any chance we had at resolving this dispute peacefully dies as well.” He narrowed his eyes and suppressed a dark smirk. “He lost only one eye. How could he be so blind?”

Arianwyn felt a familiar cold creep through her veins. She threw off Warren’s hands and stalked around the table to face Otto. For the first time in her life, she was not afraid to face the imposing figure, even as she had to crane her neck to look at him directly.

Had she not been so consumed by her worry and rage, she might have noticed the glimmer of impressed fear in his cold eyes. Might have seen the moment he became the only person in the world, save her husband, to know the depth and intensity of her inner fire.

“If you ever say something so vile in front of Aemond…” The menace in her words died when she balked and swallowed the rest of her warning.

Never before that day had she made a threat – against anyone – and she quickly found she did not like the taste.

“He is your grandson, Otto,” she muttered. Then turning to Alicent and Aegon, “He is your son and your brother! How is it so easy for you to believe the worst of him? We do not know what actually happened!”

Alicent began to cry, a hand covering her mouth to muffle her whimpering. As he gave his mother his hand to hold, the King was the only one to look guilty and turn away from Arianwyn in shame.

Good, she thought, they should all feel guilty and ashamed.

Aemond was their family.

All he wanted, all he tried to do his entire life, was to make them proud. To be the son and Prince they wanted him to be.

But now, they had turned on him, just as the rest of the court had.

As Viserys had.

“We know that Lucerys is dead,” countered Otto. “As is his dragon. By all accounts, Aemond is responsible.”

“Who gave these accounts?” Arianwyn spat. “How do we know we can they can be trusted?”

Otto sighed, quirking his head like a cat watching a bird, curious and evaluating. “The report is from Lord Borros Baratheon himself. Or rather, his Maester. It seems Rhaenyra is also gathering allies. She sent Lucerys to remind Borros of his father’s oath to the Princess. Fortunately for us, Aemond had already made the marriage pact. And Borros is a stubborn old fool. He did not take kindly to being commanded by a bastard child.”

“I don’t care about the Borros Baratheon or any of our allies,” Arianwyn growled. “What did they say about Aemond?”

For a moment, it seemed Otto would not tell her. She could not tell if he was worried about how she would react or if he simply did not want to upset her. Either way, the pitying look he gave her was nauseating.

“It seems your husband was not satisfied with letting the boy run home to his mother,” he continued, ignoring Aegon’s scoff as he poured more wine into his cup. “He demanded that Lucerys put out his own eye as payment for the one he took.”

Tears sprang to Arianwyn’s eyes. She could no longer face the Hand as he spoke. Though she wanted, so very badly, to insist that Aemond would do no such thing, she could not.

All his good sense disappeared when it came to his nephew.

That much was clear from their wedding night – before it had become their wedding night. It had been his uncontrollable, burning anger at Luke’s laughter that made him forget Daemon’s threat on her life. It had been his responding cruel words that had put her in that dark hallway, with her father’s hands around her throat, squeezing the life from her.

Arianwyn knew his soul as well as her own. But even she could not predict what he would do when faced with the boy who had stolen his eye.

“Lucerys, of course, refused, as any sane man would. So, Aemond moved to take the eye himself.” The Hand stilled when a sob escaped Arianwyn. Despite his anger at his grandson, he did regret upsetting the girl so. He had already apparently lost one of his greatest assets to madness this day. He preferred not to lose another to heartbreak. “Lord Borros forbade the bloodshed in his hall and had his men take the boy back to his dragon. But when Aemond asked for his leave, the capricious fool all but gave him permission to hunt Lucerys down.

“What, precisely, happened next, we do not know,” he admitted. “All we do know is that those in and about Storm’s End heard roaring from within the clouds. Some even claim to have seen a bout of dragonfire. Then, this morning, pieces of Lucery’s dragon washed ashore.”

Aegon grimaced, clutching his goblet tighter. “Both wings, one attached to some part of the torso. And I believe the back legs and tail were still in one piece.” He looked up at Arianwyn with darkened yet sober eyes. “The kind of damage only another dragon – one the size of Vhagar – could do, Aria.”

“Then he must have been provoked,” Arianwyn stammered, shaking her head furiously as she wiped her tears. “Lord Borros is lying about what happened at Storm’s End, or something else happened after they left. Aemond wouldn’t…”

Her voice trailed away as the memory of six words, written in Aemond’s hand, filled her mind.

Curse of the Kinslayer be damned, he had written once. When she told him how Daemon kept her from Emrys, and he offered to come and save her.

He could be so blind – damn the word – when it came to protecting those he loved.

He had threatened Jace with that rock when Baela held Arianwyn down in that tunnel.

That same night, he had spoken in desperation to protect his mother, not knowing that his words would prevent him from seeking justice in the future.

He had lied to Arianwyn, something he had never done before, in his letters. Just so she would think he was well and safe.

He had followed her out of the Throne Room following the death of Vaemond Velaryon, not caring that the whole court would see – that her father would see.

He had raised his sword against Daemon in front of the court the next day, again not caring that his actions would be all the confirmation some would need that her father’s accusations were true.

He was just as blind – perhaps more so – when it came to Luke.

But Arianwyn could not blame him for it. Why wouldn’t he harbor hatred for his nephew?

The loss of his eye had been horrific. And the pain of it had not ended when the Maester stitched up the skin. She still knew precious few details, but those she did were enough to justify the hatred.

Orwyle had performed more procedures after they returned to King’s Landing. For that night on Driftmark, he still had his eyelid. Now, he did not. She did not know how many times he was subjected to the Maester’s knife, but even once was enough.

And he had such hatred for the milk of the poppy. He had been so nervous when Arianwyn mentioned it had been in his tea. How long had he spent with his mind addled by the drug, as the King had been?

To Aemond, who had always wanted to be in control, not being allowed full mastery over his own body must have been torture.

He had struggled, apparently for many months, to adapt to the loss of half his eyesight. Had pushed himself so hard that he more than compensated for what was taken.

Even when he was ‘healed,’ he wasn’t. Not really. The scar still pained him. But he endured it.

Just as he endured the harsh words of those around him. The cruel whispers that echoed through the walls of the Red Keep, calling him the ‘One-Eyed Prince.’ The villain.

What would those whispers say now?

Arianwyn braced herself on a chair as her sobs began to come harder. “I need to see him,” she begged. Of whom she did not know.

“I think that would be wise,” Alicent conceded, wiping her tears away.

Otto came to help Arianwyn stand, offering his hand to her. She reached out to take it but froze when he spoke again.

“Find out from him exactly what happened,” he instructed. “Then report immediately back to me.”

Rage again surged through her veins, and she screeched as she shoved him with all her might. Still, he only stumbled back a step.

“I am not your spy!” she yelled, ignoring the hands of Ser Warren and the other guards wrapping around her to hold her back as she fought to rake her nails down his face – a face so like the one she loved. “I go to him because he is my husband, and I love him, not because you ask it of me!”

Once Otto retreated to the other end of the room, the guards released her, but formed a barrier between her and the Hand.

“You will get your ‘report’ the moment I remember to give a shit about you or what you want,” she spat, not acknowledging the look of dismay on the Queen’s face or that of somewhat pleased surprise on the King’s before she turned and left.

-

Slumped against the wall across from the five guards at her chamber door, Arianwyn found the last person she expected to see – Kiran.

His right arm was in its usual sling and bound in thick linen. There was no sign of blood seeping through the wrappings or other injuries. And though his eyes were distant and red from tears, he did not look to be in pain.

At the same time her heart broke to know that Aemond had done that to one of the few people outside his family that he cared for and trusted, she said a prayer of thanks that the injury was minimal. For she knew her husband was capable of far worse than a broken arm.

“What are you doing here?” Arianwyn’s words seemed to bring him out of the trancelike state he had been in, eyes clearing as he looked at her and immediately filling with tears. It set her own eyes watering. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Kiran shook his head furiously. “No, Princess. I’m staying here until I know he’s alright.” His voice broke, though as his tears began to spill down his cheeks, he spoke with impressive determination. “I need to tell him that I am not angry with him – that I do not blame him.”

Arianwyn instinctively reached out to set a comforting hand on his arm but pulled back when she realized to do so may aggravate his pain. Though she was touched by his words, she did not understand them. “Kiran, he broke your arm.”

“No, he didn’t!” At the confusion on her face, Kiran continued, “It is not broken. It is… I don’t remember the word the Maester used, but it is not broken!”

A sob escaped Arianwyn, from relief that Aemond had not severely hurt Kiran and guilt that he had hurt him at all. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out, feeling utterly ridiculous for crying more than him when he was the one that was hurt. “You’ll be well compensated, I promise. And I’ll find you a new position myself, so – ”

“A new position?” Kiran asked, so shocked that his own tears stopped immediately. “Am I being dismissed?”

“You don’t…” Arianwyn looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “You want to stay in Aemond’s service? After what he did to you?”

He blushed, looking away and cradling his wounded arm. “If he’ll have me. I know it wasn’t really him, and… the Prince is the only person that was ever truly kind to me. I can’t abandon him just because he’s had a bad day.”

Arianwyn reached out and wrapped her hand around Kiran’s left wrist, wanting to hold his hand but not wanting to push too far. “What did he do to earn such devotion from you? I don’t understand how anyone could earn such unwavering loyalty that you would forgive even this.”

“He brought me into the castle, to tell it briefly.” Kiran lifted his bad arm and twisted his mouth into a half-smile. “Someone like me typically isn’t meant to be seen by anyone, much less royalty.”

He paused, then tipped his head toward the door to the bedchamber, where Arianwyn had fixed her gaze on the Runes sketched in the wood. She could just barely see it through the gap between guards. Ser Warren still stood behind her, but four others – Sers Simon Mullynn, Rolan Krey, Conin Rocke, and Rody Tollett – now stood guard at the door.

She avoided each of their eyes, unwilling to endure the pity and worry she was sure to find there.

“Please tell me the whole of the story Kiran,” she breathed, blinking away both tears and the memory of her and Aemond carving those Runes in their youth. “I am not ready to see him, but I think hearing something… good may help me to be.”

“Yes, Princess.” Kiran licked his lips to temper his smile before recounting the tale. He was practiced in its telling, for he repeated it each time he overheard another servant speak ill of his master. He was proud to say that, thanks to him, foul rumors about the “One-Eyed Prince” had nearly vanished from the Servant’s Hall entirely.

“I was originally a stable boy,” he began. “The lowest of the stable boys. My duties were to manage the tack and groom the horses, but mostly to clear out the stables. I could do all of it well! It just took me a little longer than others.

“The man who managed the stables, Gurnar, liked to tease me. Or… I thought it was teasing at first. I know now he was just a cruel man, and I was his favorite target. Easy prey, thanks to my arm. It never got too bad – one of the other stable boys would come to my aid, most of the time.” He sighed, steeling himself. The next part of the story never got any easier to tell.

“One day, he was… worse,” Kiran had to suppress a shudder at the memory. “And I was the only stable boy there that day. Everyone else was ill. I don’t think I actually did anything wrong. Gurnar just wanted someone to torment, and I was there. He started yelling about my sloppy work – that I put the tack on wrong, cut one of the horses while grooming them, or didn’t clean out a stall properly. He just shouted and shouted. And then, with one of the farrier’s knives in his hand, he said, ‘If that crippled arm is so useless, I may as well cut it off.’”

Arianwyn watched in horror and confusion when his face broke into a smile as he continued. “Prince Aemond happened to be entering the stable then. I don’t know why. I think now it was an act of the gods. But he heard what Gurnar said, and he was furious. He didn’t say a word before he grabbed Gurnar by the collar and slammed him into the stable wall. I know he whispered something to him, because I saw Gurnar go as white as death, but the Prince has never told me what it was.”

Kiran started laughing, even when his eyes were still red from crying, and his arm ached with every breath. “Then the Prince pushed Gurnar into a pile of muck and brought his foot down on his arms, one strike on each just above the elbow. He did break Gurnar’s arms – both of them! When he turned back to me, Princess, I was so scared. But then he looked me right in the eye, and I knew then that he wasn’t what everyone said he was. And he offered me the position as he manservant, just like that!”

“Just like that?” Arianwyn echoed. She was still crying, but no longer just from fear or sadness, but from sheer pride at her husband’s good heart.

“Well…” Kiran shrugged slightly. “He did ask first if I could read. And I could – I taught myself how so I could read the names of the horses, you know how they’re written on those little plaques on their tack?” He began to laugh slightly, and to his and every one of the guard’s delight, Arianwyn began to laugh with him.

“Thank you, Kiran,” she said, at last lacing her fingers through his. She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a short kiss to the back of his hand. “I promise that you shall always have a position with us, for as long as you want it.”

He smiled and dared to squeeze her hand, pleased that her smile grew wider at the gesture. “Thank you, Princess. I admit I would very much like to accompany you to Runestone. I have never left King’s Landing before, so seeing what lies beyond the walls…”

“You shall see it all,” Arianwyn told him. “Wherever we go, you will be with us.”

“As long as I don’t have to get on dragonback,” he replied sheepishly, “I would be happy to.”

They only smiled at each other for a moment, imagining a future that might very well have died only hours before, when…

Arianwyn stilled, her eyes once again finding the Runes on the door. “Kiran?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“You saw him?”

A pause. A moment where Kiran brought himself back to reality.

“I did.”

“Is he… how is he?”

Another pause. A consideration of what, exactly, to say. Of whether the truth was too horrible to voice aloud. If Kiran could bear the weight of the Princess’ heartbreak.

“He is… wounded, Princess,” he finally said. There were no words to describe just how wounded. “His heart is… and his mind, it… he is not himself. I am sorry – if I have made it worse.”

Though her tears had welled once more, Arianwyn did not let them spill as she gave Kiran’s hand one more squeeze before letting it fall. “You have nothing to apologize for, nothing at all. Thank you for all you have told me. Please, do not stay out here all night. You need your rest.”

Arianwyn did not have the strength to look at Kiran’s face before she turned from him to face the door to her – and Aemond’s – chambers. Neither did she look at the faces of her guards as they stood aside to allow her to approach.

Tenderly, as though it was the holiest of relics, she ran her trembling fingers across each of the Runes in the wood. They granted protection from monsters and spirits, but would that protection extend to whatever demons Aemond had brought with him from Storm’s End – demons of his own making?

As she retraced the Runes, then again, and a third time, Arianwyn prayed that they would. Prayed that the Runes she traced on his chest nearly every morning protected him. Prayed that the Runes carved into the sapphire had kept him safe and unharmed.

She prayed for so many things as she retrieved the small brass key from the chain around her neck and unlocked the door.

-

The solar was endlessly dark and hauntingly quiet.

The storm clouds Arianwyn had seen earlier were now blotting out the light of the moon and each of the stars that had guided her home. No fire was lit in the hearth, and had not been for some time, leaving the room as cold and unfeeling as the stones of the walls.

Not even the candles that usually cast a golden glow over the tapestries and blankets and books that made the apartments her home – their home – were lit.

The only light came from the faint glow of the city far outside the castle walls and the occasional flash of lightning.

After one such violent burst of light, Arianwyn’s eyes landed on the door of one of the cabinets, torn off its hinges with such force that splinters of wood were scattered on the floor below it, among the slowly drying remains of several broken bottles of Arbor Gold.

And beneath the rumblings of the following thunder, she heard a low, mournful cry – so similar to that she had heard from Vhagar only an hour before.

“Aria…”

She swallowed a choking sob. His voice was so quiet, so raw, so desperate. It was not the voice that soothed her, lit a fire within her, and whispered sweet words in her ear when he thought she was asleep.

It was broken.

“Aemond?” she called softly. He had been so quiet that, with the thunder and pouring rain, she could not tell where he was.

Lightning flashed again, and she looked for him by the couch and hearth. But he was not there.

Another flash, and she turned to look for him at the table and beside the bookshelves. He was not there, either.

A third flash, and she looked through the open door to his study. His desk was empty.

The thunder grumbled again, louder this time. The storm was drawing nearer.

Then, as it faded, she heard it again.

“Aria?”

“Aemond? I’m here.”

Lightning, then thunder.

“Aria?”

She could hear the tears in his voice, the disbelief that she was truly there.

How long had he been calling for her, to be answered by only silence?

Though the thunder was closer, Arianwyn had heard him well enough that she now knew he was in their bedchamber. She did not wait for the light of the storm to return before she stumbled blindly to the door. Finding it slightly cracked, she burst through without hesitation.

The lightning lasted only long enough for her to see a blur of black leather and bloodstained silver hair as Aemond turned frantically away from her, scattering the shards of glass around him across the floor as he scrambled closer to the cold stone wall.

“No,” he moaned. It might have been a shout if his voice was not so weak. “No… please.”

Cold surged through Arianwyn’s veins. It froze the tears within her eyes and slowed her heart until she was not sure it beat at all.

But somehow, her body still moved. Her legs brought her to the edge of the glass, then lowered her down to the floor. Her arms folded within her lap, the urge to reach for her husband there but quieted. And her chest brought in a great breath of air to fuel her voice.

“Aemond,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the storm. “My love, I am here. I am home.”

She watched as Aemond raised his hands to clutch his head, palms covering his ears to block out her voice. Blood was caked on his fingertips and splattered through his hair.

If it had been a battle on dragonback, how had he become so bloodied?

Cautiously, she leaned over the moat of shattered glass to try and lay her hand on his shoulder.

But he sensed the movement before she got within a foot of him and jerked away as though a single touch would kill him. “No!” he shouted. “Don’t touch me! Please… please, Aria!”

“I will not touch you,” she assured, pulling back behind the glass and holding her hands tight to her thighs. “But Aemond… will you look at me?”

He shook his head again, groaning as if in pain. With all the blood on him, it was entirely possible. More than possible – it was likely.

“My love,” she said, more insistent but still gentle. “Please look at me.”

Lightning flashed again, and silver flecked with red was reflected on every shard of glass as Aemond shook his head once more.

There was no sound but the storm.

Arianwyn felt that every drop of rain was taunting her – taunting the tears she felt but could not let fall. She wanted to cry, to scream, to pound at her chest until her heart beat again. But all she could do was clench her fists in her lap.

“Will you tell me what happened, Aemond?” she asked, hating how stilted her voice was. She sounded like Otto – cold and unfeeling.

Aemond ducked his head and whimpered.

Arianwyn took several deep breaths as she considered what to do next. She could try and force him to look at her, to tell her what happened. But she had tried forcing him years ago when he first started retreating into himself. It had been the only time they ever fought.

No, he required a more gentle approach.

“Do you want me to speak, or would you prefer silence?” It was a question she had asked countless times before, during his ‘quiet days.’ Sometimes it helped him to hear her talk. Others… he could not bear a single sound without panicking.

She did not say anything until he lowered his hands from his ears and braced them on the floor – his permission for her to talk.

Shifting so she could lean more comfortably against the side of the bed, Arianwyn began to tell Aemond the story of the past three days. How excited Emrys had been to fly so far. The charm of Wickenden, its Lord, and Lady, and of the dozens of candles they had gifted her. How Gerold’s hair had gone white, and how excited Jeyne was to meet her.

How she had told the Lords of the Vale of Daemon’s crimes and won their allegiance.

But she did not tell him everything. Anything that would cause him more worry or strife was left out. Her arrival at the Eyrie after the sun had set and the perilous journey through the mountains. Jace’s arrival at the Vale and how he had argued for his mother. How he confessed his love for Arianwyn.

And Lamentation. She did not tell Aemond that the sword was still strapped to Emrys’ saddle, awaiting its new wielder.

She did not know why, but she suspected that news – that Gerold trusted him as the new Lord of Runestone – would hurt him more than anything else.

When she finished her tale, Aemond seemed calmer – if only slightly. His breathing was slowed, but still uneven. But he had not cried again or otherwise reacted poorly to anything Arianwyn said. In truth, he had not reacted at all.

Still, he was no longer so volatile that she was afraid to ask…

“Lucerys is dead?” she asked.

Aemond raised his head as though he wished the rain would pour onto him through the window – as though he was beseeching the gods.

“Yes.”

The word rang through Arianwyn louder than any thunder and struck her harder than any lightning.

Still, she pushed further. “You killed him?”

Aemond’s body lurched as though her question was a dagger she had buried in his spine. “I… yes. No. It… it was Vhagar. She killed him.”

For a moment, it seemed the thunder echoed the dragon’s dirge.

“Did you give the command?”

“No!” Aemond almost turned to face her then, but she only saw a glimpse of moon-white skin marred with dried blood before he looked away again. “I just… wanted to scare him.”

It was the second time that day Arianwyn had heard those words. Both times, the intention had led to bloodshed.

Jace had only been a boy when he brought a knife to that tunnel. Aemond was a man, and a man should know better –

But a dragon would not.

A dragon hears more than words. They possessed a mysterious, arcane sense that lets them hear the innermost thoughts of those they were bound to. Desires and wishes that the rider themselves may not be aware of.

Realization settled in Arianwyn, leaving her chest feeling hollow. “Aemond, did you want him dead?”

“I did not want to kill him.”

“But did you want him dead?”

“I did not mean to kill him.”

“I know, my love. But that is not what I am asking. Did you want him dead?”

“Aria, I…”

She leaned across the glass and grabbed his hand to silence him, hoping he would look at her, but he did not. At least he did not protest her touch this time. “You swore that you would never lie to me, Aemond. So please, answer me. Did you want him dead?”

His entire body shuddered with one great sob, and an agonizing whine escaped him.

“I did.”

As she heard the words, Arianwyn felt that she was falling from a great height. Her blood went cold, and her bones rang with hollowness. The impact was near, and it would crush her.

“I’ve wanted him dead every day for six years,” he growled, voice shaking with both guttural rage and unfathomable anguish. “Since he took my eye and made me into a monster. Since he stole my father’s love. Since he took you from me and tore out my heart. I didn’t just want him dead, Aria. I wanted him to suffer the way he made me suffer.”

His voice broke, and he doubled over, ripping his hand from hers as he grasped at the floor as if he could claw his way to the Seven Hells. “I wanted him dead, but I didn’t want to be the one to kill him.”

Arianwyn was frozen as she had never been before. Every muscle called out to her to go to him, to embrace him. But she could not.

“It was supposed to be the gods!” he shouted. “They would deliver justice where my father would not.”

Another sob. It struck Arianwyn like a blade.

“But they have forsaken me. Abandoned me. Condemned me for my sins. For wanting their justice when I do not deserve it – I never have. Every prayer I have ever said has been a waste.”

Not every prayer, she wanted to tell him. They had prayed together that night on Driftmark that the gods would bring them together again.

That prayer had been answered.

“I have wanted for so much that is not mine,” Aemond moaned, slumping against the bed with his head still turned from his wife, “and this is my punishment. I will never be more than the monster they always meant me to be.”

Arianwyn’s frozen heart began to beat again when he finally faced her, then fractured entirely, shattering into a million sharp pieces, just as the mirror had.

The sapphire was not there – torn out by his own hand. Even after it was gone, he had continued to claw at the empty eye. Dozens of deep scratches now crossed the old wound, leaving trails of blood washing down his cheeks along with his tears.

His violet eye was rimmed with red as he looked at his wife, his beautiful face twisted with such desperation that she could not breathe.

“It hurts,” he cried.

Whether he meant his scar, the fresh wounds on his face, or his heart and soul, Arianwyn did not know.

All she knew was that she did not care what he had done. She did not care whose blood stained his hands. She did not care about the war that would surely follow in the wake of Lucerys’ death.

Her husband was in pain. More pain than he had been the night his eye was stolen from him, the night they had been so cruelly ripped apart.

Death did matter. War did not matter. The entire cursed world did not matter.

Only Aemond mattered.

Arianwyn could not stop her voice from breaking as she crawled over the glass, thankful that the bronze plates on her armor prevented it from piercing her, and took his trembling form into her arms, pressing his wet face to her chest. “I know it does, my love. I know.”

“Make it stop,” he begged, his sobs racking his entire body.

She had never wished for anything so much as she now wished for the knowledge of how to do just that. But she did not know, and no god answered her prayers. Perhaps they had forsaken her too, for loving him still after what he had done.

All she could do was hold him tighter and tighter as she whispered soft words into his ear, assuring him that she would always love him, and that she would never – never – leave him.

-

It was long hours before Aemond had finally exhausted himself and fallen asleep in Arianwyn’s arms. But even then, his brow was still furrowed with torment, and his body twitched as he dreamed. In the short time they had shared a bed, she had grown accustomed to seeing the moonlight reflected in his sapphire when he slept.

Now she saw only darkness.

Carefully, so as to not disturb him, she extracted herself from his arms. Then, silently, she moved around the room, searching every corner and crack. But it was nowhere to be found.

She moved to the solar, searching everywhere, even in the spaces between cushions on the couch, but still, she did not find it. Nor did she find it in the study, the dressing room, or the bathing room.

Wherever it was, it was not in their chambers.

Wrapping herself in her cloak, Arianwyn left their apartments to continue her search. She tried the library, the Small Council chambers, the family parlor and dining room, and even her old rooms.

Still, nothing.

Of course, it was foolish to search all these places. He had not left their apartments since he arrived, going straight there from…

Arianwyn sighed when she realized where she needed to go.

If it was not below the waters of Shipbreaker Bay, there was only one other place it could be.

She turned to Ser Simon Mullynn, who had followed her from their chambers and throughout the Red Keep as part of his night’s watch. “We need horses,” she whispered.

He only nodded in reply, though there was a pain in his warm brown eyes that made Arianwyn think that he knew more about how she felt at that moment than most would.

She knew he had been widowed as a young man, but he had never pursued another woman nor spoken of how his wife died. Arianwyn had only ever asked once, but received no answer, and was hastily warned away from doing so again by Ser Adrew.

When he lifted her onto her steed, she caught sight of a single tear running down his tanned cheek, and she knew.

She would rather the world end than let that happen.

“I can’t leave him alone,” moving to dismount her horse. She was not as strong as Ser Simon. She could not survive the same pain she saw in his eyes.

But he held her firmly to the saddle.

“I left word with Ser Kayl to fetch reinforcements to stand at and in your quarters –to watch as he sleeps, should he wake and try to....” Even her most stoic guard could not bring himself to say the words. “He is not alone, Arianwyn.”

She nodded, signaling him to mount his own horse as she blinked the tears from her eyes. It had been years since she rode through the city on her own, and with the rain that still fell hard and heavy, she would need her sight to find her way to the tourney grounds.

-

Vhagar was resting precisely where she had been only days ago, when Arianwyn had brought Emrys to meet her. She left Ser Simon at the end of the clearing with the horses to not startle any of the beasts. The horses were already unsettled by her lowing lamentations.

It was foolish of her to approach a dragon when her emotions roiled, especially a dragon so easily provoked and likely still drunk on the taste of fresh blood. But she felt she had no choice. She needed to find it.

When she was close enough to feel the dragon’s hot breath ruffling her hair, Arianwyn removed her riding glove and held out her hand. “Vhagar?” she called. “Vhagar, nyke jorrāelagon aōha dohaeragon.” I need your help.

The dragon’s orange eyes flicked open, and she raised her massive head as a deep growl rumbled in her throat. Behind her, the sound of Ser Simon drawing his sword rang through the air.

“Lykirī! Ao gīmigon issa!” Arianwyn shouted. Calm down! You know me.

She channeled all her fear and sorrow into anger, pouring into her voice as she tried to command the Queen of Dragons. “Nyke se ābrazȳrys hen aōha kipagīros, se nyke jorrāelagon aōha dohaeragon!” I am the wife of your master, and I need your help.

Focusing with all her might, she brought every memory she had of Aemond to her mind. Let everything she had ever felt from him surge through her again so that Vhagar would see and know she could be trusted.

Finally, after a heart-pounding moment, the dragon seemed to calm, at least enough for her to resume her approach.

Arianwyn continued, “Aemond ēza ojūdan mirros. Kostagon nyke jurnegon syt ziry?” Aemond has lost something. May I look for it? She gestured to the saddle on Vhagar’s back, asking permission to mount her.

With a low, warning hum, Vhagar set her head back in the grass. Taking that as an agreement, Arianwyn raced to the rope ladder on the dragon’s side. As she began to climb, she remembered watching Aemond triumphantly mount her for the first time on the beach of Driftmark.

Neither of them could have ever predicted this.

If she had known what the dragon would one day do on his behalf, she never would have let Aemond go to that beach.

Finally, she reached the saddle. It was enormous, and must have cost a fortune. She supposed that was why it had been passed from rider to rider, repaired and altered countless times over the years. To commission a new one for each rider would have bankrupted the crown.

Cursing herself for not bringing a lantern, Arianwyn blindly searched each pocket and saddlebag.

But it was not there.

Feeling thoroughly defeated, Arianwyn slumped in the saddle seat, resting her head on one of the large handles as she gave in to the tears she had held back for so long.

She would not find the sapphire.

It was lost, likely in the belly of some sea beast by now.

She knew it was silly to cry over a lost jewel when her cousin had been killed and the entire realm sat on the precipice of war.

But it was not just a jewel.

That sapphire had been her first expression of her love for Aemond, though she had not known it at the time. She had imbued it with the magic of her ancestors to grant him all the strength, bravery, and wisdom of the greatest kings of their family. To protect him when she could not. To keep her love with him when she was far away.

And now he lay forlorn in their bed, cursed as a kinslayer with a shattered soul.

The Runes had failed.

She had failed.

Still, she wanted to bring it back to him. Still, she had a single shred of faith that someday, the Runes would protect him when he needed it most. Still, she ached to save him, as he had done for her.

Maybe she just needed to start over. Find a new stone, one that better matched the beautiful color of his eye. She would carve the Runes herself this time, to make certain her intentions brought the magic to life.

Just when she had resolved to do so, something caught her eye. A familiar blue gleam reflected the light of the moon just breaking through the clouds.

There it was.

Caught in a torn seam between two layers of leather, the sapphire sparkled at her as if alive and winking mischievously.

Arianwyn’s tears stopped, and her breathing slowed as she reached down to take it. It was clean and entirely undamaged. Turning it in her fingers, the moonlight illuminated one of the Runes.

Two lines, converging in parallel. The ends split, reaching back for the other, but never quite touching.

She wrapped it tightly in her hands, savoring its weight.

Somehow, it had made the journey home.

It was impossible.

Miraculous.

An act of the gods.

Or perhaps, the result of an ancient and powerful magic.

She smiled as she descended Vhagar’s side, whispering her thanks to the beast.

Her eyes gleamed with grateful tears as she returned to Simon and rode back through the city streets to the Keep. When she returned to their chambers and dismissed the guards from their watch, she thanked them each dearly, embracing them as they left.

Aemond was where she left him, clutching her pillow to his chest as he slept fitfully. The tension had not gone from his face, and he cried out softly as he dreamed. Nightmares, judging by the way his eyes tightened and his fists curled. Arianwyn stroked his hair softly to soothe him as she sat by his side at the edge of the bed.

She retrieved the small periwinkle scrap of silk from where she had tucked it into her armor and carefully wrapped the sapphire. Once it was secure, she placed it atop his bedside table.

He would find it tomorrow. For now, Arianwyn would let him get what rest he could.

Shedding her leathers, she laid by his side, wishing she knew how to ease his mind. When he shivered, she pulled their blankets and furs back over them, ensuring he was warm.

Then, she pressed closer to his chest. Every time he whimpered, or his lips trembled, or he reached out for something she could not see, her heart clenched painfully.

As she had the morning after they had been married, only eight – or was it nine? – short days ago, she traced Runes across his chest.

Peace. Comfort. Serenity. Protection. Each one punctuated by the Rune of love, drawn just over his heart.

With each motion, Aemond seemed to calm. His lip stilled, and his breathing steadied. Finally, he fell silent, and wrapped an arm around Arianwyn’s waist.

At last, he looked as he did every other night she had shared his bed, save for the absence of his sapphire and his new wounds.

Arianwyn leaned forward, kissing his temple before she settled against his chest and surrendered herself to sleep.

Never again would she doubt the power of the Runes.

Next Chapter

[mizuki80]

Chapter 2: The First Spark (Preview)

Warning: Blood, Fighting

Masterlist

Note: Hey Guyyys, I will be posting Chapter 2 tonight at 9:00pm EST, so here is a small chapter preview. And feel free to check out the masterlist where I will be posting all the times and dates of all future chapters. And also please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist :)

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Chapter 2:

After the news of Ser Harwin Strong’s dismissal from the city watch has spread. A letter has arrived at the Red Keep informing that Lady Laena Velaryon has passed away due to childbirth. This news has washed a sorrowful fog in the castle. Visenya’s mother the Princess Visaera has always adored her cousin from the moment she was born, and formed a sisterly bond with her. Her mother was happy when Lady Laena married her uncle, but saddened when she moved to Pentos since Prince Daemon, the King’s brother was exiled (once again). However, it does not stop her from threatening the Rogue Prince from making sure her cousin lived a comfortable and content life with him.

The trip to Driftmark was a grim affair. Her family has voyages out to send their support to House Velaryon for their loss. Visenya and Aemma never knew Lady Laena in person, only reading her letters and gifts she sent on their name days each year. Growing a fondness and adoration from her hoping to meet one day in person, but knowing now, that day will never come.

All families stood by the rocky ocean side for the funeral. Listening as Vaemond Velaryon began the eulogy for his beloved niece. The twins clung to their mother, comforting her as she held back tears of sorrow for her cousin. As Vaemond continued speaking about blood, Visenya could not help but notice his once sorrowful tone turned to anger, seeing as he looked at Princess Rhaenyra’s sons. But hearing her Uncle, Prince Daemon’s laughter filled the solemn atmosphere. Then looking at her mother with confusion, and received a nod, signaling to pay him no heed. Hearing the tightening of the rope, and the slow pushing of the coffin. The twins watched and listened.

Ñuha rāpa valonqro tala(My Gentle niece)

ñuha se jelmior sagon kostōba hae ao arlī, (may the winds be strong as you back)

aōha seas hae gīda hae aōha issare hen lēda isse (your seas as calm as your spirit,)

se aōha nets sagon lēda hae aōha prūmia. (and your nets be as full as your heart.)

Hen se embar īlon māzigom. (from the sea we came.)

Naejot se embar īlon kessa jikagon arlī. (To the sea we shall return)

Everyone watches as the coffin falls into the sea, and sinks to its deepest depths. 

Everyone gathered after the funeral. The twins stayed with their mother, as they looked out at the sea. Princess Visaera turned and glanced at everyone in attendance, but couldn’t help but notice her Uncle (Prince Daemon) and sister staring at each other. She has always known what truly happened between them that night when they went out to see the city, but she was not one to pry on the past. 

The Princess Visaera looks at her daughter before saying “Your cousins, Baela and Rhaena, could use a friend right now.” Stroking their backs “Why don’t you girls go and give a kind word to them.” giving a small smile but in  her eyes there is sorrow.