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aegonification · 2 years ago

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𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 ♕ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Aegon II Targaryen x FemOC!Lannister x Aemond Targaryen

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When a letter arrives at Casterly Rock, the new Head of Lannister House, Evelyn Lannister, makes a crucial decision to marry Aemond Targaryen for her people but as she comes face to face her choice, temptations arise that leave her questioning everything.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ au, smut, fluff, angst, explicit sexual content, explicit language, blood and violence, adultery, death and grief, sibling incest, eventual rape/non-con, house of the dragon references

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 13.4k

It always appeared as a strange notion; the idea of marrying someone, falling in love, and bearing children. At least those things weren’t a dire need for Evelyn Lannister. She told herself she was destined to be alone for all her days, and occasionally, the thought would disturb and keep her up at night. That is until she met Aemond Targaryen.

When her two brothers, Jason and Tyland Lannister, were called away to fight in a battle by King Aegon II, that did not shock her. When they were both pronounced dead after the Battle at the Reach, that did not shock her. When they declared that she would be Lady Paramount of the Westlands, it caught her completely off guard.

She never imagined that this duty would fall into her lap. She was a woman after all, and if her brothers had lived and their children were grown before their deaths, the title would’ve been given to Jason’s only son, Loreon. With Evelyn being the eldest Lannister, it was her obligation to now rule over the west.

To say this terrified her was an understatement. She had watched her father and brother fiercely lead but it was completely different than being in their shoes, leading the lords of the west in this war and wars to come, sheltering their families and families of men in the Lannister armies.

This weighing responsibility turned Evelyn’s mind upside down, especially on the night of her coronation. As the lords and ladies of the west cheered for her, the thought of who she would become and the choices she would have to make to protect herself, her house, and all the houses of the west scrambled about in her mind.

Two days later, a letter arrived for her.

Evelyn and her advisors gathered in the Grand Hall; the massive room was made of dark wood and stone, with high ceilings held up by wooden beams draped with the red and gold Lannister banners. Three arched cathedral windows, nearly as tall as the ceiling, overlook the entire city of Lannisport and allow a beautiful view of the summer sky.

Several wooden tables filled the space and at the end of the hall was a raised, stone dais, the roaring red and orange flames crackling behind it in a low gray and black fireplace. A red tapestry with a huge, gold lion hanging from the balcony above.

Her mother, Ceira, and the new commander of the Red Cloaks, Theodore Farman, son of Lord Farman of Fair Isle sat around the long, stone table on the platform, discussing the aftermath of the Battle at The Reach and how it could affect the houses who’d lost family in the fight.

“The entire Westlands and our family lost Jason and Tyland, House Broom and Brax lost sons, soldiers that were supposed to be protected, and now we expect them to continue aiding in Aegon’s war…doubt will flow.” Ceira spat, eying her daughter sincerely.

“It doesn’t mean the nobles will betray us, but it means we must make sure they don’t start leaning toward the Blacks and pulling their men from our ranks.” Theo chimes in, wearing that wise expression on his face Evelyn felt to be trustworthy.

It was clear Evelyn’s mother knew the ways of war, as did Theo. Ceira had been an advisor not only to her father Tymond but her brother Jason, and Theo was well-versed in ships and bloody battles. Theo and Evelyn had been best friends since they were kids, and she trusted these two people most in the world.

“Then our next task must be maintaining their faith in Aegon’s claim.”

A potential solution to Evelyn’s problem stormed through the double entrance to the Grand Hall in Maester Creylen’s hands, in the form of a scroll. The old man approached the table as they turned to look at him, silence filling the air.

“Lady Evelyn, a raven flew in from King’s Landing with this,” Creylen announced, holding up the coiled parchment.

Everyone held their breath in anticipation, acknowledging the seal, and waiting for Evelyn’s response. She wasn’t used to being in charge at all, but this was her life now.

“Please, Maester Creylen. Read it aloud.” Evelyn ordered and he quickly split and rolled the letter open.

“To the Lady Evelyn Lannister of House Lannister, on behalf of King Aegon, second of his name, we send congratulations for your recent coronation and condolences for your recent losses. As the new head of Lannister house, we pray for good fortune and health to you and your house.”

Creylen cleared his throat and continued. “In light of the unfortunate events that have unfolded, the King greatly appreciates the loyalty that House Lannister has shown him and offers a proposal to forge a permanent olive branch from our house to yours. A marriage proposal—.”

Creylen and Theo looked at Evelyn and she swallowed hard, anxiously squeezing her hands together under the table. Her throat turned bone dry as the thought of marriage was a sore subject between her and her mother, who was staring blankly across the room.

“Continue, Maester Creylen,” Ceira commanded and Evelyn shot her mother a look before giving Creylen a small nod in agreement.

His eyes snapped back to the paper and found where he left off. “—to Prince Aemond Targaryen. This union will strengthen our houses and bond our families forming unbreakable loyalty to one another. You would become a princess. This is a marvelous proposition that Prince Aemond, the King, and I all agreed upon. We patiently await your response in three days, my Lady. Signed, Alicent Hightower.”

Creylen let the paper spiral back together and handed it to Evelyn. She hesitantly took it from him, staring down at it and not saying a word. What could she say? Marrying…a Targaryen. Aemond Targaryen, known as the Kinslayer among his enemies, the Cruel Prince, and two years her junior.

Then again, this could be the salvation her house needed, to keep them all out of harm’s way. The Greens couldn’t cut ties and the houses that swore an oath to the Lannisters wouldn’t dare break it. Glory and power never meant anything to Evelyn, which was unlike a Lannister but she was ambitious and prideful. She couldn’t fail as a leader, she wouldn’t.

Creylen, Ceira, and Theo held their gaze glued to Evelyn, and she eventually glanced up at all of them.

“Speaking as your advisor, this could work in our favor. Speaking as your mother, this is an offer I hope you refuse.”

Evelyn snapped her head toward Ceira, confusion twisted across her face at her mother’s clenched jaw and piercing stare, surprised by what she said.

“You’ve always been adamant about me marrying a rich, powerful man. What’s changed, mother?”

“This is different. He is a Targaryen.” Ceira shook her head and turned away from her daughter.

The Lannisters never declined, graciously or otherwise. The Lannisters took what was offered—something her mother always said when telling her stories of their ancestors. It would make Evelyn think of how a caged lion devours any kind of food they were given and become stronger under its captor’s nose.

Evelyn met Theo’s eyes, their pretty blue-green pools filled with understanding and comfort, and he appeared to her as the best friend she’s known since childhood.

“Ceira, you have a good point but I think Evelyn could handle any man, even a Targaryen. Their marriage could be the answer to keeping the nobles in line.”

A small smirk curled at the corner of Evelyn's red-painted lips, her kind, brown eyes mesmerizing Theo, and a twinge of pain stung his heart from his agreement to the marriage.

It was no secret that he had loved Evelyn since they were children, more than friends, and everyone could tell by the way he would study her…like he was now. But their relationship had remained platonic and he accepted that she did not reciprocate his feelings.

“It is ultimately your decision, my Lady. What are you considering?” Maester Creylen asked.

There were an infinite amount of thoughts running through Evelyn’s mind. She had to make a choice that would change the path of her personal life and her house. Though many suitors have tried, she never wanted to marry and refused every single one.

None had made a lasting impression on her or made her want to alter her independence to start a family. This time was different though, as her mother pointed out earlier—her fate now decided the fate of hundreds.

“It’s certainly an intriguing offer. I couldn’t see myself marrying because it didn’t seem necessary until now. Remember how you told me that I wouldn’t be taken seriously as head of our house unless I had a man by my side, mother?” Evelyn’s strong tone demanded respect, even from her mother, and Ceira cut her eyes in Evelyn’s direction.

“Well, I’m starting to believe you were right. Though, that isn’t the only reason I’m considering accepting his hand. I have to protect our house and the houses that swore fealty to me. Yes, Targaryens are…unpredictable, but our house swore fealty to King Aegon, and we must honor that too. This offer at least gives us more—”

“Power.” Theo interrupted.

Evelyn grinned slightly, nervously yet proudly as she noticed the Lannister qualities shining in her leadership. Perhaps she couldn’t run from who she was anymore; her ideals and mannerisms were already changing.

“Precisely.” Evelyn received approving nods from Theo and Creylen but her mother’s sour demeanor lingered, shaking her head in disapproval. “I act out of strategy, mother. If it was any other man in Westeros, you would agree to it. That’s how I know it’s a good plan.”

“She’d be able to infiltrate Aegon’s council, know what he’s planning and act accordingly, whether it’s marching her armies toward or away from a fight. The King cannot execute his brother’s wife—this marriage is her shield.” Theo expressed, eyeing Ceira but she never made eye contact with them.

It was obvious Ceira wasn’t going to agree to this, but it was three against one. Evelyn would accept this proposal and hope for the best. Even Jason was once in this exact position and even he ignored their mother’s protest when he decided to ask for Rhaenyra Targaryen’s hand in marriage.

“Then it is settled—I will accept Aemond’s marriage proposal,” Evelyn announced.

“Lady Ceira, may I add that if Lady Evelyn was to refuse, the Greens could see it as betrayal, mayhaps even treason.” Maester Creylen added before meeting eyes with Evelyn. “I will fetch some paper and a quill, my Lady.”

Creylen turned on his heels and marched out of the Grand Hall, the muffled boom of the doors shutting behind him leaving awkward silence resonating in the room until Ceira abruptly stood to her feet and glared down at Evelyn.

“This is a death sentence. That family is chaotic and if you do this, it won’t end well. I wish to protect my only daughter.” Ceira pleaded, placing a gentle hand on top of Evelyn’s.

“Mother, he is rich and powerful, and marrying him will protect us all. I will be safe.”

“Please, take the night and sleep on it. If you haven’t changed your mind come morning, send your letter of acceptance.” A loving hand cupped Evelyn’s cheek, and her mother’s heavy gaze of worry locked onto her daughter; if she didn’t know any better, Evelyn thought her mother might cry. “My darling girl, be careful.”

No tears came out of Ceira’s glossy pupils as she tucked a loose piece of Evelyn’s golden-blonde hair behind her ear, lips pressing into a stern line.

“Okay, mother. I will mull it over tonight.” Evelyn agreed, and Ceira replied with a weak smile, sighing before she exited the room without another word.

Theo immediately got up from his seat, his wooden chair sliding back as he went around the table and approached Evelyn, kneeling beside her.

“What are you thinking, Eve?”

“I’m thinking that I made a wise choice to accept but I’m wondering what it’s going to cost me. I mean Targaryens are ruthless and impulsive—”

“It doesn’t sound like those traits worry you as much as they do your mother, my Lady,” Theo interjected, teasing her about the admiring tone in her voice as she described them.

Evelyn wouldn’t deny that the thought of being with a Targaryen was appealing, especially marrying the one-eyed Targaryen who rode the largest and oldest dragon in Westeros. It impressed Evelyn and thrillingly terrified her.

“Even though I would love to be against you marrying one of those dragon men,” Theo stood slowly and pulled Evelyn’s chair back, holding out his hand for her to take, “I truly believe you’re making a smart, bold move and you’ll play it well.”

Evelyn kindly took his hand and allowed him to help her stand to her feet. Theo had gotten very good at hiding his feelings and keeping them buried, but at times he would slip, similar to this moment when he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Scanning her features from her seductive, dark chocolate-colored eyes to her pouty, scarlet lips.

It took everything in him not to kiss her, as he dreamed to do for years. Instead, he leans closer to her, faces only an inch or two apart, and Evelyn’s heart sank, unsure of what he was doing.

“You are a born leader, Evelyn.” He whispered, lifting her hand and kissing her knuckles softly.

“Thank you, Theo.” She replied, subtly taking her hand from his and moving to the side to put some space between them. “I take great comfort in knowing I have a friend I can trust wholeheartedly.”

Evelyn’s words are a knife to the gut for him, but he hid his pain effortlessly and bowed to her, lowering his head. She never wished to hurt her friend or lose him, but she would never lie to him, and he was grateful for the honesty. Lies are useless.

“Shall I escort you to your room?” He asked respectfully, glancing up at her.

Evelyn nodded and began walking out of the Grand Hall to the large staircase with Theo behind her, her mind buzzing with the same question throughout the entire night: would she dare marry and start a family with Prince Aemond Targaryen?

Most of that night, Evelyn couldn’t sleep. She had this marriage proposal rattling her brain. There was no doubt that she should accept but why did her mother urge her to decline? It made entirely no sense.

The one person that consistently made her feel small and less than for being unwed was her mother. Now that it’s a Targaryen offering his hand, her mother backs down, even though it could destroy House Lannister if Evelyn refused.

The pros beat the cons, and as a leader, Evelyn had to be willing to sacrifice everything to protect her house and bannermen. There was a chance it could all end tragically, but she was convinced that she could handle it. Gaining the support of those who supported her brother Jason had given Evelyn the confidence to trust herself in this new role and she was determined to run with it.

In the morning, Evelyn sat at her desk and wrote to Alicent, accepting the marriage proposal to Prince Aemond Targaryen. After giving Creylen the letter to send off to King’s Landing, Ceira was curious why Evelyn didn’t change her mind, explaining that she didn't want her daughter married to a dangerous man.

Yes, Aemond had an infamous reputation, but it didn’t scare Evelyn, it enticed her more. Most people hate Lannisters, and gossip about how they’re liars and have no honor. Lannisters kill ambitiously too; the Targaryens weren’t so different from her own house. Besides Evelyn having the golden mane of a lion and the last name, she was unlike most Lannisters. Aemond could be different than most Targaryens.

She wouldn’t judge him before the meeting. Speculating and assuming what their life together will be before it begins would only hurt her in the future. Evelyn wouldn’t allow her mother to make her fear her choices, and bear negative notions. She needed to believe in herself now more than ever.

Two nights later, Evelyn received a letter from King Aegon II, explaining that he and his brother would arrive at Casterly Rock on dragonback the following afternoon. Queen Alicent would arrive the day after on ship with the Hand of the King, Otto, and a few members of the Kingsguard.

Excitement and fear stirred inside her. Her betrothed would be at her home tomorrow and everything was about to change.

In the mid-morning, Evelyn ran around the Rock like a chicken with her head cut off in preparation for King Aegon II and Prince Aemond’s arrival. She wanted to throw a feast in their honor, and ensure a clear space for their dragons to land and rest comfortably during their stay.

“I want men at the south of the Rock to help the dragons land and have the King and Prince escorted across the bridge into the Lion’s Mouth. There shall be two of our guards posted at their bedchambers at all times until members of the Kingsguard arrive.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Theo answered, bowing before treading outside the main entrance of the castle and down the great stone stairway.

With her heart pounding in her chest, Evelyn glanced around the foyer of her home. It was a square room with the highest ceiling in the entire castle and three large golden chandeliers hanging to light it. The main staircase took up most of the room, leaving a narrow hallway to the left leading to the banquet hall, with three other doors that led to the dungeons, barracks, and storerooms. The doors into the Grand Hall directly behind her.

Patiently she waited but was nonetheless desperate for Aemond to arrive soon. It would be nice to get the initial meeting out of the way soon and rid herself of the butterflies swarming her belly. In the meantime, there were tasks to be sorted.

“Tabitha!” She shouted. A door slammed shut nearby upstairs and a short, brunette girl scurried down the wide, grand staircase lined with golden banisters, passing the stone lion statues at the bottom, and bowed upon greeting Evelyn.

“Yes, Lady Evelyn?”

“I would like for Yelena and Dahlia to serve King Aegon and Prince Aemond while they are visiting. Make sure they are attentive.”

“Of course, m’Lady,” Tabitha nodded, “and might I add that you look marvelous in that dress. The Prince will be unable to take his eyes off you, I’m sure.”

Evelyn blushed and smiled at her handmaiden before the young girl turned and headed back up the wide stone stairs. The dress was a red and gold gown that hung off her shoulders and accentuated her collarbones and breasts, a gold silk belt loosely around her waist. It was her favorite dress.

“Are you expecting love at first sight? In that dress, all there will be is lust.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes, hearing the disparaging tone that surrounded those cold, spiteful words, knowing it was her mother even before she turned around to see her exiting the Grand Hall.

“Could you please not ruin today? I am going to marry Prince Aemond, mother, and you will have to accept and respect that.”

Ceira sauntered closer to her child, staring deeply into her eyes as she pinched Evelyn’s chin between her fingers, focusing Evelyn’s gaze on the pained look sprawled on her face.

“He is a weapon, a killer, Evelyn. Do not forget it. A dragon may take orders and let you ride it, but that will not change its nature.”

Furiously, Evelyn swatted her mother’s hand from her face, taking a step back.

“Enough, mother. I understand you want to protect me, but not following my lead will only put me in danger.” She shook her head, disappointed at her mother’s cruelty, and sighed. “Your barraging will not change anything. Targaryens are ruthless but so are Lannisters. Dragons and lions; only a beast can deal with another beast.”

Evelyn swiftly turned on her heels and stormed off to the main entrance, the cool air hitting her in the face as she stepped outside into the enormous rocky cavern, breathing heavily and calming the anger bubbling due to her mother’s criticism.

If she wants me to rule greatly, she thought, why does she fight against my decisions?

Evelyn shrugged off the bad energy, gazing over the colossal Rock and Lannisport with pride, admiring her homeland. Although she craved Ceira’s support, it didn’t matter whether she had it or not. The Westlands would benefit from the union, even if Evelyn found herself unhappy by it, but it didn’t do her any good to be pessimistic.

The sandy blue sky filled with soft, white clouds floating overhead, there’s a stillness in the land similar to hard stone as if the world stopped spinning for those few peaceful minutes. It wasn’t until a shrill cry pierced the air, unlike anything she’s heard before, followed by a deep, rumbling call that shook the foundation of the Rock beneath her.

The cries rattled her eardrums again, closer now, and Evelyn searched the sky for the source when darkness clouded the land, a shadow casting over the castle as an enormous, dark creature flew over Casterly Rock, nearly blocking the sun from its massive body and long wingspan.

It was the most remarkable beast she’d ever seen, majestic and frightening all at once, leaving her in amazement as she watched a second dragon come behind the first one. This one is smaller than the first but much more beautiful and radiant. Shining like beaten gold in the sunlight, gleaming in the wake of the darker and larger beast, the golden dragon flew past it and swiftly landed on a hill of Rock far in the distance behind the watchtower mount.

The obsidian dragon caught up and landed with a loud and heavy ‘boom!’, igniting another ear-splitting screech from the golden-pink one as if it was alerting everyone of their arrival. There wasn’t anything as miraculous as dragons. Evelyn had never seen one in the flesh before and the sight of them made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention.

A few red cloaks swarm in front of the beasts but at a safe distance. They snarl and screech at the Lannister men until Aegon and Aemond command their dragons in Valyrian, carefully coming down from their saddles as the dragons lower their bodies to the ground. Evelyn could see their platinum hair from where she stood, eyeing the cloaks as they led them in her direction.

This was it. He was here.

Several minutes later, six Lannister men in their armor marched past the beacon the maesters used as a rookery and onto the stone bridge that led to the bottom of the wide stairway with Aegon and Aemond in the middle with two more Lannister men behind them. Evelyn took a deep breath, waiting as they headed up the stairs.

“Lady Evelyn, I present to you King Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, and Prince Aemond Targaryen,” Theo announced as they reached the Lion’s Mouth.

Evelyn’s men part to the sides of her, exposing the white-haired men. The one on the left was shorter than the other, stocky-built, with greasy and choppy hair, wearing a black metal crown with a ruby in front, and smirked as he looked at the commander of the Lannister armies.

“Impressive.” Aegon snorted, his deep, purple eyes flicking from Theo to Evelyn, trailing over her figure.

The one on the right was tall, slim with broad shoulders, with very long, straight hair in a half ponytail, and wearing a lengthy black coat and a brown leather eyepatch over his left eye, a prominent line of scar tissue above and below it. His right eye, dazzling pale violet and visible, never strayed from Evelyn.

“Welcome to Casterly Rock, your Grace, and my Lord.” She graciously bowed, watching the two white-haired men stare her up and down. “What a pleasure it is to have you both here. For the duration of your stay, my home is your home.”

“The pleasure is ours, Lady Evelyn,” Aemond replied, his raspy but sultry soft-spoken tone ringing sweetly in her ears.

The air thickened as they gazed at one another. Arms folded behind his back, his poised stance, his soft thin lips pressed together, Evelyn was taking in all of him. She was surprised that he was more handsome than she imagined, with this shroud of mystery clinging to him and it was intense to be near it. Is this what attraction feels like?

Aegon, noticeably aware of the flirty glances his brother and betrothed were exchanging, stepped closer to her and took her hand in his, shifting Evelyn’s gaze to her King.

“Indeed it is.” He bent over and kissed the back of her hand, meeting Evelyn’s eyes with a cocky grin curled on his plump, heart-shaped lips.

Cautiously, she returned a smile for his lovely gesture though it felt strange as if it was a pompous show of power. Regardless, Evelyn would treat the King with respect. Aegon let go of her hand and took a step back next to Aemond, leaning into his brother.

“Nyke ivestretan ao, lēkia. Se olvie gevie ābra isse Vesteros. Ao enkagon nyke.” The Valyrian words spilled from Aegon’s lips elegantly as he stared Evelyn up and down, and it was the most beautiful language she’s ever heard. Magnificent poetry.

“Hmm.” Aemond hummed in his throat, gaze still glued to her.

Even under their purple spotlights, Evelyn had confidence that Aemond was admiring. She didn’t intimidate easily; there was pride and self-assurance in her heart. Aemond was dangerously perceptive, and upon meeting Evelyn, she was quickly reassuring him of his decision to marry her.

Never did he imagine receiving a choking warmth in his chest when he came here to meet her since he initially agreed to wed her because he always honored duty, and was willing to sacrifice what he needed to protect his family. This appeared to be anything but sacrifice, perhaps a future he saw himself wanting.

“Let’s head inside, shall we?” Evelyn nodded to Theo and he rushed to open the double doors that led into the foyer. “Now the castle can be tricky to navigate but you’ll have two of my guards with each of you to help.”

“This place is a lot bigger than it looks from the outside,” Aegon mentioned, looking around as Aemond did.

Tabitha came down the stairs with Yelena and Dahlia trailing behind. Aegon was entirely captivated by Evelyn but soon turned his attention to Yelena’s fiery red curly hair. Aemond, however, had a fixed gaze on his bride-to-be. This rosy aura illuminated her, and her long golden curls leaked sunshine into a cold, dark world, and he imagined what her wide pink lips would feel like against his.

“Yelena and Dahlia will be your serving girls for your stay. They will show you to your rooms now, and then once you both have settled in, the guards will bring you down for the feast, in honor of your arrival.” Evelyn instructed.

“Excellent, māz��s!” Aegon shouted, waltzing toward Yelena and putting his arm around her shoulder, pulling her with him as they headed to the staircase.

Dahlia immediately went after them up the stairs, and Evelyn slowly looked over at Aemond. Their eyes met and her chest tightened, with her heart thumping uncontrollably, but maintaining her collected composure all the same.

It’s as if they wished to say something to one another but neither could muster up a word. The heated tension was thick enough to slice with a knife. She noticed that when it came to flirting, Aegon was brash and Aemond was timorous. Evelyn didn’t see a reason for him to be reserved, but Aemond did; secretly fearful that he frightened her.

She wasn’t afraid in the least. She was charmed by his tender good looks and humble disposition. A soft, amorous smirk danced on her lips, defining her high cheekbones and angelic dark brown eyes that never broke contact with the prince. Aemond casually balled his fists, his palms dampening and throat drying tremendously.

This has never happened to him and he was in pure disbelief. Unknowing how to respond, Aemond blinked and gave Evelyn a respectful nod before strutting toward the stairs, leading with his chest and shoulders, and his hair lusciously swishing side to side. He was getting flustered by her.

To her, he seemed guarded or uninterested. Evelyn didn’t want to believe this attraction was one-sided, but the way he stormed off had her marked with doubt. Four guards went along with Aemond, leaving Theo and Tabitha with Lady Evelyn.

“I told you, m’Lady. He was enraptured by your beauty.” Tabitha said as she stood at Evelyn’s side.

“Is that what you saw? It seemed as if he accepted the proposal but didn't intend to be truly married.” Evelyn sighed, unable to hide her disappointment well.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you as their wife, Eve. He should be grateful.” Theo sharply interjected, forcing their heads to turn and look at him.

Tabitha simply rolled her eyes in disgust and Evelyn gave him a friendly smile, but quickly eyed the stairs, confused about how to approach things with Aemond. There was something about him she couldn’t shake which meant she couldn’t give up easily.

“I’m going to my room to change for dinner,” Evelyn stated, swiftly heading up the stairs with Tabitha following closely on her heels.

“Wait- you’re not keeping on that dress?”

She stopped in her tracks, turning to face Tabitha, distress in her eyes.

“I hoped, perhaps, a different gown might-” Evelyn breathed, cutting off her panicked words to resist saying what she wanted, but Tabitha understood without them.

“I will help you, m’Lady. Pick out what you want to wear and I’ll come to your room in a few minutes.”

A green silk gown, long and flowing to the floor, off-shoulder, short sleeves attaching a loose strip of the fabric dipping across her chest below a clutter of gold jewels between her breasts. Evelyn decided on this dress for dinner and hoped it would delight him to see her in his house colors.

“This dress is marvelous as well, m’Lady,” Tabitha noted as she laced Evelyn’s black corset in the back.

“Mayhaps he’ll notice…”

Tabitha placed a comforting hand on Evelyn’s shoulder before gathering the dress from the bed and assisting her into the silk fabric. This was the first time Evelyn cared about a man’s opinion of her. She craved to impress him. Even something as silly as a dress mattered to her because she assumed it could matter to him.

“Don’t worry yourself, Lady Evelyn. I don’t believe there’s a man or woman in Westeros that could resist your charm.”

Her cheeks bloomed deep red as she grinned at Tabitha’s comment when a knock came at the door.

“Yes?” She called out.

The double doors opened inward slightly and one of Evelyn’s guards stepped in.

“My Lady, Prince Aemond is here to see you.”

A brief pause filled the air as Evelyn inhaled sharply, terror and exhilaration choking her words back until Tabitha gave her hand a light squeeze and then resumed making her adjustments to Evelyn’s dress in the back.

“You may send him in.” With her heart racing against her chest, she spoke serenely, and the guard nodded, stepping back and continuing to hold the door open as Aemond came into the frame.

Evelyn gave him a welcoming smile, gazing at the tall, mystifying man radiating this deliciously sinister aura, and the room stills as if it was solely she and him in that room. Aemond, captivated by her dark eyes again, was suddenly able to form words.

“Hello, my Lady.”

“My lord. Apologies, I would bow but I don’t want to interrupt Tabitha’s work.”

“You changed your dress?” He questioned, stepping closer, large hands at his sides.

She studied his confusion, surprised by the inquiry. His eye trailed down her dress, admiring the shimmer of emerald green against her fair skin, how it hugged her curves in all the right places, minuscule dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth.

He never noticed her doing the same thing to him; flitting her curious gaze up his leather fitted tunic and belt, taking in his sturdy shoulders and pronounced jawline. There wasn’t a man in Westeros that made her body tingle, ever; certainly not by their looks alone, until him. It was an unfathomable sensation but roused her immensely.

When his eye returned to her face, Evelyn looked forward, grinning to herself. Tabitha couldn’t even hold back a smile as she watched Evelyn and Aemond’s desire bloom before her eyes, braiding a few strands of Evelyn’s hair on the left side.

“I decided to change for dinner. I’d been wearing the red one all day and wanted to freshen up.” Evelyn lied smoothly.

“Hmm,” Aemond hummed. “Well, green is as enchanting on you as red is.”

That got her to look his way, silent stares at each other as she smiled sweetly, crimson warmth spreading in her cheeks. He licked and bit his lower lip lightly, catching how she glowed when she smiled, his blood pumping loudly in his ears.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“It has come to my attention that I may have given you the wrong impression about our arrangement.” He gradually stepped a little closer, only about a few inches away from her when he paused.

Evelyn muddled over his words, thinking about how only one other person in the room knew about her uncertainty about Aemond’s intentions and that was Tabitha. Theo wouldn’t say a word about her to Aemond. She shot Tabitha a glaring look and her lady-in-waiting widened her eyes, quietly moving across the room to retrieve a gemmed headband.

A deep, hearty chuckle burst from Aemond’s mouth, grinning cheekily as Evelyn turned her entire body to face him, giggling under her breath with him. His laugh was infectious, and she knew that Tabitha had good intentions in everything she did.

“What did my dear Tabitha say to you exactly?” She unknowingly strolled closer to him, tilting her chin up to look at him, visibly noting the height difference between them.

“Not much. She only asked me if I intended to get to know you. It told me enough.” Aemond stated. “I told her that I wished to give us a chance. I didn’t say much before because you…stunned me.”

“Well, I could say the same about you.” She glanced to the floor before seductively peering up at him with a bewitching smile.

“You are much more than what I was expecting, my Lady,” Aemond cooed. “My brother mentioned that you were said to be the most beautiful woman in Westeros, and even that is an understatement.”

It was becoming difficult for Evelyn to speak or even breathe properly, hearing her handsome fiancée compliment her so brazenly and confirming this intense attraction existed on both sides of this relationship. It was euphoric, similar to being in the same space as him.

“You are too kind, my Lord. I’ve never met a man as good-looking as you in Westeros. Seems as though we may be a good match.”

His alluring smile gave Evelyn a secure feeling. There was a possible connection between them. She raised her hand cautiously toward him, tangling her dainty finger in the ends of his hair that hung down his chest, placing her hand gently against him.

This was impulsive. Evelyn had been holding back the urge to touch him, but it didn’t appear that was necessary any longer. Beneath her fingertips, he felt warm and familiar, solid and safe. She partially yearned to cling to his shirt and bury her face in the curve of his neck, never letting go.

“Indeed it does,” Aemond breathed, studying her lips and holding back his urges. “May I escort you to the feast?”

“Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.”

“Oh, wait—” Tabitha chipped in, and Evelyn’s hand fell to her side.

Evelyn and Aemond turned to look at her simultaneously, eyes wide, realizing they’d forgotten she was in the room beside the bed the whole time. She rushed over to Evelyn with a vine headband, gold gems sparsely placed along it.

“A few final touches…” Tabitha whispered, placing the headdress on Evelyn, tucking it behind her ears, and clipping the hair back with it. “Done. She’s all yours, Prince Aemond.”

“Technically, you’ll be escorting me given my unfamiliarity with the castle.” Aemond joked with Evelyn as Tabitha backed away proudly to give them their space.

Aemond turned to the side and put out his arm, glancing down at his future wife.

“I will lead you well, my prince. I promise.” She kindly wrapped her arm around his.

“Hmm, I don’t doubt it.”

They share flirtatious glances before leaving her chambers with the guards.

As they walked down the upper keep’s corridor covered in dark red wallpaper, wooden doors, and oil paintings lining it, the nobles leaving their quarters bowed to Evelyn and Aemond, acknowledging the royal union. The support of her bannerman echoed clearly and it meant everything to Lady Evelyn.

“A question I’ve been wanting to ask is what is it like to ride a dragon? Especially one such as Vhagar.” Evelyn asked as they went down the stairs and rounded the corner.

“Indescribable. It’s unlike anything imaginable and freeing. Vhagar is powerful, and riding her makes me feel invincible sometimes.”

Approaching the doors, red cloaks standing on either side opened them, revealing a full view of the banquet hall. Servants and cooks are walking amongst the abundance of wooden tables covered with red cloths, surrounded by benches and chairs. Carefully, they laid various appetizers on them and pitchers filled with wine.

Stone archways and posts lined the walls, dividing them from the center room with tables beneath them. A huge gold chandelier hung in the middle of the room, and golden candlesticks scattered around the room. The majority of the nobles were already seated with a few stragglers still flooding in.

Evelyn took Aemond to the back of the room where there was a set of tiny stone steps leading up to a platform. In the middle was a stone stage with flowers scattered at the front of it and a stone table behind it. There are three archways; red and gold banners with gold Lannisters sigils on them in each one and three stone lion statues in the center of the posts.

Three white stone chairs at the table, and Evelyn takes her seat in the middle, with Aemond sitting to her left. An uproar of chatting voices filled the hall and Evelyn noticed when Theo joined in and guarded the doors. Ceira entered shortly after with Jason’s widow Johanna and her kids—Cerelle, Tyshara, and Loreon. Once she spotted her daughter next to the one-eyed man, she urgently strutted to their table.

“Hello, mother. This is Prince Aemond Targaryen.” Evelyn introduced him as Ceira stopped in front of the stage.

“A pleasure to meet you, Prince Aemond.”

Evelyn kept her guard up, afraid of what kind of unbecoming things her mother might say to Aemond but hoping she had the common sense to be respectful.

“A pleasure to meet you as well. Thank you for welcoming my brother and me into your home.”

“Ah, yes, the King is here. Will he be joining us?” Ceira pressed.

“Uh—yes, he should be here momentarily,” Aemond stated, picking up his cup and taking a sip.

Ceira smiled, and nodded, returning to the table beside the steps on the left with Johanna. The violinist in the back corner played a joyful melody as more food was brought out. A large pig sat between Aemond and Evelyn. He cut up a few pieces and put them on her plate.

“Is your brother truly coming?” Concern bubbled in her tone, worried the King wasn’t adjusting well to the castle.

There’s a pause between them, Aemond’s attention stuck for a few seconds, cutting slowly until his eye snapped back to the charred meat.

“Yes, he’ll be here. My brother likes to make an entrance.” He slid pieces of pork on his plate, taking another sip of wine but viciously glaring across the room. “Is that the commander of your armies guarding the door, with black hair?”

Evelyn tilted her head up and looked at Theo by the door frame, arms behind his back and brows furrowed, staring off into the distance. He looked slightly upset, but he wasn’t making eye contact with anyone.

“Yes, it is. Why?”

“He was watching us, intensely, like he’s been put out. Have you two ever…?”

“No, no!” Evelyn's head snapped in Aemond’s direction, rushing to explain. “It’s not like that. We’ve been strictly friends since we were kids, and that’s all.”

Aemond, nonchalantly chewing, nodded his head. She took a sip from her glass, worried about the impression Theo was giving Aemond under her nose, and she urged to correct the situation.

“I’ve never…been that close with anyone.” She confessed quietly, but loud enough for Aemond to hear her.

He met her eyes, disguising his surprise, and nodded softly, his large hand caressing hers resting on the table. Warm, thick fingertips encased hers, a loving squeeze of reassurance for her to know that Aemond believed in her purity.

“I understand, my Lady.”

The doors suddenly opened with a loud boom, the buzzing chatter lowers in volume as Aegon marched into the banquet hall.

“King Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” One of the guards called into the room.

Does he need a long introduction when he comes into every room? Evelyn thought to herself.

It was quite repetitive, but the egoistical grin on Aegon’s face said enough. He ate the attention up as everyone stood and bowed as he passed by their seats. He moved toward the back, up the steps, and sat next to Evelyn.

“Brother. Lady Evelyn. What have I missed?” Aegon murmured, brushing his hand along her arm as he sat down.

“Nothing at all, Your Grace. They brought the roast out a few minutes ago.” She ignored the hair-raising touch and took his plate, holding it as Aemond cut pieces of it for Aegon.

“The food smells extraordinary.” Aegon grabbed his plate from her as she handed it back, placing it down in front of him. “Your scent is significantly better, my Lady.”

He whispered it low enough that only Evelyn could hear and she grinned respectfully at him, watching him stuff his mouth and drink wine. It was odd, his compliment, but she took it in stride, not wanting to read too much into it.

The rest of the evening was delightful. There was laughter, full bellies, and drunken chatter at each table. Aemond and Evelyn couldn’t stop talking and laughing with one another, their eyes glimmering with passionate wonder when they locked.

Aegon, drunk as he was, joined the pleasant conversation between Evelyn and his brother, revealing to her some embarrassing and dangerous mischief they would get up to as children. She giggled aside Aegon’s belly laughing with Aemond blushing and chuckling with them.

Looking at the boys, the joyous energy made her feel welcomed into their family already. It didn’t even bother her when Aegon chugged the rest of his cup and placed his hand on Evelyn’s shoulder casually. He continued telling, rather shouting, stories about their thieving adventures as adolescents.

Aemond didn’t notice; he was roaring with laughter and rebutting certain statements Aegon claimed to be true. Evelyn figured it was a friendly touch, or perhaps he was too drunk and no longer self-aware, but she chose to not ruin this moment by misreading the King.

Soon enough, Aegon passed out with his head on the table. The room emptied steadily as some of the nobles exited the hall for bed.

“I should take him to bed,” Aemond stated, standing from his chair and taking her hand. “Have a goodnight, Lady Evelyn.”

He leaned down and kissed her knuckles, two gentle kisses, and she unconsciously pressed her thighs together, hairs standing on her arms. They stare into each other’s eyes with longing, neither wanting the night to end. Playful grins on their lips, he slowly let go of her hand and strolled around to Aegon.

He picked up his brother with ease, putting one of Aegon’s arms around his neck, and slowly left the hall, holding the King up by his waist. Evelyn sighed, goosebumps fading from her skin.

He fascinated her and electrified her to the core. The sparks that erupted inside her whenever he was near or touched her felt unreal, and it terrified her how fast it happened. They only just met and this burning hunger she’d never experienced before stirred intensely.

She was falling hard for Aemond.

There wasn’t a man that crossed Evelyn’s path that could charm her, that made her feel the way Aemond made her feel inside. It was unexplainable, nearly fictitious in her mind; pushing her every impulse and driving her to act on her desires.

When she went back to her room, Tabitha helped her undress completely. As Evelyn stood there nude, thinking of Aemond, an idea came to mind and she questioned whether it was too daring or pathetic in taste.

“Tabitha, please bring me my short peach robe.”

“Do you want the nightgown as well, m’Lady?” Tabitha soon walked back with the robe in hand.

“No, just the robe.”

Evelyn slipped her arms into the puffy sleeves as Tabitha covered her in the thick mesh linen, tying it closed under her bust with the attached string of fabric; not transparent but left a little less to the imagination. She brushed out Evelyn’s hair, braiding it all to one side before bowing and heading to the door.

“Have a goodnight, Tabi.”

“You as well, m’Lady,” Tabitha said, leaving the room, smiling to herself.

This is crazy, she debated in her head, but what’s life without risks?

Taking a deep breath, she traipsed across to the door on her bare feet and closed it behind her as she went into the hallway. The guards tried to go with her but she ordered them to stay put. Evelyn traveled to the left wing keep, silently skipping on the balls of her feet until she got to Aemond’s room.

“Please let the Prince know I’m here to see him.” She told the guards and they complied, knocking on the door before opening it.

“Prince Aemond, Lady Evelyn is here to see you.”

“Let her in.” There is no hesitation in his reply. His smoky voice resounded outside the door, unyielding and alluring to her.

The guards part, creating a wide path for Evelyn to walk through, soon closing the doors after she entered. Aemond sat at the desk along the nearest wall, holding loose parchment in his hand until she came close into view.

He thanked the gods in his head for blessing him with the most ethereal fiancé as he took a good look up her body—from her ravishing legs to the hem of her robe rested just below her curvaceous hips, over her defined collarbones and lovely neck—and his eye expanded in awe from the depth of her beauty.

“Hello, my Lord.” She said softly.

“Hello, my Lady.” He set the paper down on the table, standing up and moving away from the wooden furniture.

It took a moment before Evelyn stepped closer, reducing the distance between them and flicking her eyes around the room anxiously, figuring out what to say next.

“How are you settling in?”

“Very well, my Lady, thank you. Your home is as breathtaking as you are.” Aemond said, lust dripping in his low voice.

There was no hiding the happiness in her heart when he complimented her. Her smile and the way her face lit up like the sun showed him how truly beautiful she was and he wanted to express how he admired that any time he could.

He was irrevocably falling for her charms.

“If I may say, I believe you and I are past formalities, don’t you think?” Evelyn asked, taking graceful steps toward him. “From now on, I could just call you Aemond and you can call me Evelyn, or Eve or Evie, whichever you prefer.”

“I like Evelyn.” He cooed, and her cheeks raised to her eyes, planting herself about a foot away from him. “So, tell me…to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Right, well I- I had an amazing time with you tonight.” She confessed hesitantly, building up her courage and inhaling his vanilla almond scent wafting up her nose.

“As did I.” His low voice reverberated around the room. “The most fun I’ve had in a long while.”

“Good…good, I’m glad,” Evelyn muttered, suddenly getting weak in the knees as they stared at the lustful haze in each other’s eyes.

She pressed her lips in a hard line, searching for the words to say. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, she thought, Aemond is your fiancé now. He has shown clear signs that he’s not upset with their union and has flirted with her all evening. Just be honest.

“Okay, look…I’ve never really done this sort of thing before, but I sense this connection between us and I don’t know if I’m imagining it or if it’s real.” She explained, gingerly untying the string around her in a way that left Aemond completely unaware of what she was doing while pinching the robe closed with her fist. “I don’t want to hide from what I’m feeling or what I want.”

His brows furrowed together, confused by her words, his pink lips parted to say his piece when Evelyn dropped her hand and let her robe fall open. Pushing the fabric off her shoulders and arms, her eyes never shifted from Aemond’s face as it fell to the floor around her, leaving her bare and naked for him to see.

“I want you.” She breathed, biting back her trepidation, her chest rising and falling dramatically.

She stood with courage, but still worried he might reject her. Not because of her appearance; a blind man could see how Aemond practically drooled at the sight of her bare form, soaking in the delicious curves of her hips and brazenly exposed breasts.

His lips still parted but no sound came out of his mouth, his eyes trailing over her perfect body with his fingers twitching at his sides. Evelyn worried that intense attraction wouldn’t be enough and her feelings were one-sided.

“Please…say something.” She whispered, desperation seeping from her voice.

Aemond, infatuated with her, didn’t say a word. He looked to the ground, licking his lips and smirking to himself until he flicked his eye back up at her, his mouth in a fine line, clenching his jaw.

He sauntered closer to her, gazing over her as if she was the most prized treasure he was itching to get his hands on. She held her breath as he began circling her, pausing at her back. His towering body made her dizzy, the heat of his breath on her shoulder as his head lowered stirred the growing ache in her belly she’s had all evening.

Evelyn closed her eyes, timid and eager, mentally preparing to be wrong about her doubt, for him to claim her, but Aemond bent down to the floor and picked up her robe. He stood and unfolded it, holding it up at her side. Her eyes opened and she turned her head to him, catching the tender gleam in his eye.

Disheartened, she looked down to the ground and slipped her arm into the sleeve. Aemond covered her back with it and helped her put her other arm in. Evelyn swiftly pinned the robe closed with her hand.

“Right…uhm- I misread what was happening between us. I made a mistake and moved too quickly. My impulses and impatience got the best of me,” she babbled as she turned around and lifted her head, “so I took a chance. I get that you don’t want to, I get that. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, I’m- I’ll just leave.”

She marched past him, humiliated and ready to storm out of the room until Aemond grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back toward him.

“Wait, please.” He pleaded, “Don’t go.”

“You- what?” Her brows scrunched together, her lips parted and her nostrils flared. Her feelings were confusing enough as it is, and now she had to understand his too.

“I don’t want you to go because you didn’t make a mistake, Evelyn. Our connection, it’s real. I feel it too.” He pulled her against him with ease, placing her under his chin. “I’m sorry I have such trouble communicating how I feel.”

“I’m sure deciphering them will get easier for me with time.” She cooed, his thumb leaving affectionate circles on her arm as he held her to him, allowing her to admire the deep creases of his cheekbones and chiseled jawline.

“Hmm.” He raised a hand and pinched her chin between his fingers, forcing her to meet his eye. “Listen to me when I say I want to you, bad, especially now you’ve teased me.”

With a playful grin on her lips, she snickered, and the side of his mouth curled up.

“The reason we’re not having sex tonight is that I would like to wait until our wedding night.”

His hands fell, letting her go, but he didn’t move away and she remained pressed to him.

“May I ask why that is?” Evelyn couldn’t help but be surprised at the fact that he was holding off. Since he was younger than her, she expected him to be more eager than her.

“I- I want to protect your virtue and I want it to be special for you…it would be cruel to salvage it for my benefit. You only get one first time.” He explained with sincerity in his tone and gaze.

He wasn't anything like she imagined. This man, who was known as a monster, wasn’t a monster with her. His thoughtfulness and consideration for her made her heart swell. It was in those words she knew he was made for her. She nodded, blushing vividly.

“Well, thank you, Aemond…but how long will I have to wait exactly?”

He smiled widely, showing all the dimples on his face, thrilled by her candor.

“It’s our wedding. We can have it whenever we want. We could have it within the week if you’d like.”

“What about tomorrow?” She blurted out.

“You want to marry me tomorrow?” He asked, raising his right eyebrow in astonishment.

“Do you want to marry me tomorrow?”

“Yes, I do.” He stared at her earnestly, his words full of conviction.

Her heart fell to her stomach in disbelief at how assured he was to be tied to her. They’d only met today and it felt as though they’d been a part of each other for a long time. She reached out her hand and gripped his fingers tight.

When Aemond felt her fingers, he flinched; he’s not been touched with such tenderness since he was a child. He wasn’t a stranger to a woman’s touch and felt their hands all over his body but her touch made him feel at home like he belonged with her.

“Then, it’s a date. We marry tomorrow…will your mother be upset that we aren’t having the wedding in King’s Landing?” She sweetly brushed her thumb over his tough knuckles.

“You’re the bride, we should marry in your home. It doesn’t matter what she wants.” He insisted, raising their conjoined hands and kissing her fingers delicately, inhaling the rose perfume scent that came from her wrist. “As long as it’s not too much for you to plan in a day.”

“Oh, not at all. I was born to plan events, and I can draw up some ideas tonight before bed. It will be perfect.” She giggled, excitement coursing through her veins. “Tomorrow, it is.”

Aemond lowered their hands and their bodies stilled, savoring the peace in each other’s presence. Evelyn, content as she was, didn’t want to overstay her welcome.

“Well, I should let you get some rest. Goodnight, Aemond.” She waited for him to release her hand but he didn’t, and even when she attempted to pull away, he resisted and tugged her back near him.

“Stop trying to run away from me.” He demanded calmly, moving close enough to her that she was pressed to his torso again. “I know I said we can’t sleep together yet, but that doesn't mean we can’t spend time talking and perhaps doing this…”

His words faded out as Aemond leaned his head down, curling his long finger under her chin, and tilted her face up. Without warning, he planted his lips on hers softly, sliding his hand along her collar and caressing the side of her neck in his palm.

The butterflies in her stomach fluttered uncontrollably and her wide brown eyes eventually closed as everything else fell away, moving her lips lithely against his, melting into his touch. His lips, tender and supple as she imagined, sent electricity through her veins and the kiss deepened.

It’s full of passion and hunger, desperate for their first taste of one another. Aemond slipped his tongue between her lips, tasting the warm mixture of strawberry pie and arbor red in each other’s mouths, and she curled her free arm around his thin waist to keep him stuck to her, letting her robe fall open.

It was dizzying, and though this wasn’t her first kiss, it was the best. His experience was far greater than her own, evident in how he captured her mouth, sweeping his tongue over every inch of her mouth, and moaning reverently into her.

It sent vibrations through her body, prodding the growing ache between her legs and tingling in her toes. She let out an involuntary whimper, digging her fingernails into his tunic, showing him that she truly craved him, the first man she’d ever felt this way about.

Aemond slowly lifted his head and separated their lips, looking down at Evelyn blindly searching for his lips until her eyes fluttered open. She pouted playfully and he chuckled, tucking a loose strand of golden hair behind her ear.

“Have I done well convincing you to stay?”

Evelyn nodded vigorously and he continued laughing at her enthusiastic smile, one that lifted his soul and melted his icy heart instantly. Around everyone else, he remained quietly dangerous and stoic, but when he was around her, he felt alive and couldn’t hold back his enthusiasm from her intoxicating presence.

“C’mere, beautiful.”

Aemond led her by the hand toward the bed and they sat up against the pile of pillows along the headboard. They talked, mostly about dragons and their childhoods; laughing and making out a lot. At one point, Aemond was halfway on top of her while they were kissing and laying in the bed, but restrained himself from breaking his vow.

She did not make it easy for him. Every time his hand roamed over her stomach and down her bare hip, or whenever her fingers would tangle in his hair and brush the back of his neck, he held back from following through on all the sexual, intrusive thoughts he wanted to do to her.

The willpower of his need to do right by her helped him and secretly, she hoped he would disregard it all, but he stuck to his word the whole night.

Hours passed, and Evelyn’s head laid on Aemond’s chest, romantically twisting their fingers together as their connected hands hovered over her face, resting in the tranquility they created around themselves as they chatted about the wedding. His other arm folded around her waist in a loving embrace.

“My mother told me she would give me her wedding dress when I marry but now, I’m not so sure.” She confessed, sighing, thinking of how her mother rejected Aemond without a second thought.

“She appeared pleasant at dinner. Perhaps she is warming up to the idea of us together.”

“Possibly…but was that kindness genuine or all an act for the nobles? It wouldn’t have been smart of her to cause a scene in front of them.” She giggled weakly, interlocking their hands.

“Regardless, if she loans you the dress or not, you’ll look incredible and I’m not concerned with what you wear. Only that you are there for me to put a ring on your finger and claim you as mine.”

Evelyn grinned, abruptly bouncing to her knees beside him, and placed her hands on either side of his face, her eyes roving over his pale violet eye and the eyepatch. She lowered her head and kissed him gently. This was the man she needed, that she’d been waiting all this time for.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he would be an extraordinary husband and father for any children to come. Their union was meant to be in her eyes, and the sparks ignited between them proved that.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Aemond whispered against her lips and she kissed harder once more before breaking their shared affection.

“Neither can I.” She traced the sharp line of his jaw with her finger. “I best head to bed though. Lots to do tomorrow and I need all the rest I can get.”

“Yes, you’re right. We both need to sleep.”

Evelyn kissed him one last time before sliding off the bed, knotting the string of her robe to cover her nude body, and headed for the door with Aemond walking behind her. She turned to look at him, memorizing his features for her dreams to come.

“Goodnight, Aemond.”

“Goodnight, Evelyn.”

Leaving the room, Aemond closed the door behind her as she headed back to her chambers. Upon arrival, she spotted Tabitha waiting by her door and rushed over to her.

“Tabitha?” She noticed the handmaiden’s worried look, and her heart raced.

“M’Lady, I-”

“Is everything alright? What are you doing out of bed this late?” Evelyn took her hands, squeezing them lovingly.

“Everything’s fine, Lady Evelyn. I don’t mean to frighten you but…King Aegon came to find me tonight. He asked me to show him where your room was.” Tabitha’s hands retreated to her sides.

Evelyn could visibly see Tabitha’s muscles tense, like a child preparing for punishment.

“After I did, he knocked but I told him you weren’t in there. He insisted I let him in and that he would wait for you to come back.”

“He’s in there now?” Evelyn questioned and Tabitha nodded in shame.

“I’m sorry m’Lady. I tried to convince him to come by at a more reasonable hour but he- I didn’t want to bring dishonor to your house and with him being…”

“I know. I understand completely, Tabi. He’s the King, and it was wise of you to not defy him. You did absolutely nothing wrong, my dear.” Evelyn promised her, patting her shoulder reassuringly.

“Thank you. I didn’t want to lose your trust.”

“Never, Tabitha. I trust you with my life, always.” She explained, glancing at the door hesitantly. “Nothing to concern yourself about, but you must get some sleep. We’re having the wedding tomorrow.”

Evelyn and Tabitha quietly squeal together in excitement, smiling and giggling, sharing the joy of the wonderful news.

“Really?! Congratulations, m’Lady!”

“Thank you, but that’s why I need you to get as much rest as you can. There’s so much to do tomorrow and I will need your help every step of the way.”

“I’ll not leave your side tomorrow, m’Lady.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, off you go.” Evelyn commanded leniently, nudging Tabitha’s arm and directing her into walking back to her quarters.

The maiden bowed and nodded, spinning around and hiking back to her bedroom. Evelyn sighed, facing the door and thanking the gods that Tabitha was here to tell her that the King was waiting for her just inside. The biggest question on her mind: why was waiting for her?

She carefully stepped into the room, self-conscious of the fact that she was wearing nothing but her peach robe, and spotted him standing by the fireplace with his back to the door. The red and orange flames cracked and burned through the wood and reflected at him.

“Making yourself comfy, your Grace?” She asked, curious to see he’d started a fire on such a warm night.

“Fire is beautiful, don’t you think? They speak only truth in a world full of lies and burn them in its wake. It is why people of the free cities worship the Red God; flames help light the true way.” He answered, his words confusing her even more.

“It’s quite late, your Grace. Is there an urgent matter you need to discuss?”

Aegon turned leisurely on the heels of his boots, facing Evelyn silently and his eyes immediately scanned up and down her body. Each time he laid eyes on her, he had to remind himself that she was real. To him, she wasn’t just pretty; she was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. He was enamored by it.

“Where were you tonight?” He began stalking in her direction, closing in on her and leering deep into her eyes.

“I went to meet a friend.” She choked on the words she truly wanted to tell him, but she didn’t want to piss off the King, especially not the night before the wedding.

“You mean, my brother. It’s fine, you can speak freely with me, Lady Evelyn.” His sly smirk made her shift on her feet, and the noticed change flew to his ego.

“Yes, I was with Aemond. Is this what you came here to discuss?”

“And what did you two do together?” His demanding tone rang in her ears as he moved closer to her, filling her range of sight, and inhaling her honey-rose scent.

The question stunned her for a moment, an overwhelming tension forming as he stood in her face, pushing her about the private time between her and his brother. His curiosity confused her further, leaving her mind boggled.

“Apologies, your Grace, but I don’t believe that is of any concern to you. This is-”

“Oh, don’t be a prude, darling. It’s in our nature to fuck, feed, and breed, as it is for all humans. Nothing to be ashamed about.” He shrugged, moseying around her to the long table along the wall with a large bowl of fresh fruit and a pitcher of wine on it.

Her lips parted in bewilderment, spinning around in time to watch him pluck a grape off its stem and shove it in his mouth, lodging three more after it.

“If you must know, we didn’t do anything of the sort. We talked. That was all.”

His striking, narrowed eyes met hers. “Liar.”

“Excuse me? I haven't lied.” She scoffed. “This is absurd. I don’t need to be sharing any of this with you. Perhaps you should go get some sleep, your Grace.”

He must still be drunk from the dinner party, she thought. That was the only reasonable explanation for this prying inquisition. Aegon swallowed his chewed fruit and his dark eyes grew wide, his lips falling open a little as he steadily moved near her.

“Wait- you’re serious? You went to his room, dressed like that, and he didn’t sleep with you?”

Evelyn shook her head, her lips pressed together and her brows knitted above her nose, but the second his eyes lit up, she knew she wasn’t going to enjoy listening to what came out of his mouth next. The most overzealous and boisterous laugh erupted from his throat, holding onto his sides for support as he continued.

“What’s so humorous?”

“Oh, my brother, that's what. My twat little brother.” Aegon’s laughing slowed as he took giant breaths in between and cleared his throat, chortling in the interim.

Evelyn stood frozen as he planted himself directly in front of her once again, nearly pressing his torso to her chest, breathing in her air.

“I mean, if a girl shows up to your room naked in a robe, you don’t turn her away. You unwrap her and make her cum until she can’t move.” He purred, casually brushing his fingers against her hand but she didn’t notice. “You sought him for intimacy, correct?”

“Yes.” Her teeth clenched apprehensively, taking a step to the side to get some space between them.

“Then why didn’t he open his gift? There had to be a reason unless my brother is simply a half-blind idiot.” Aegon continued to pry, his dark gaze darting over her face as she paused in thought.

She contemplated her choices; it was either to answer his questions, get him out fast and not ruin things between her and her fiancée’s brother or kick him out, potentially ruin everything with Aemond and turn the Lannisters into enemies of the crown.

To her, Aegon certainly reflected the type of guy who would take defiance as an act of treason and she couldn’t afford to step on toes.

“He wants to wait until we are wed. He wants it to be special for me.” Evelyn admitted, folding her arms across her chest.

The corner of his eyes caught the hem of her robe rising about an inch, exposing more of her supple thighs and he licked his lips, taking another gutsy step to stand in her direct line of sight.

“So, Aemond truly is a pitiful, half-blind idiot. To think I’d taught him well enough.”

“I thought it was quite refreshing. A true gentleman. He wished for my first time to be memorable.” She stated matter-of-factly.

“First time? No- you’re kidding. You’re a virgin?” His brows raised, an audible gasp of disbelief as he watched her unwavering stare, knowing she hasn’t lied once. “How?”

“I don’t know.” She spat, her eyes shot to the door, frustrated by the interrogation. “Never found a person I wanted to be intimate with or perhaps nobody has wanted to be intimate with me.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.” He chuckled, biting his lower lip, lusting shimmer in his rich, purple-hued eyes.

This was the first time Evelyn fully observed how he looked at her, like a delicious meal he wished to sink his teeth into, and it worried her severely; because Aegon wasn’t unappealing in her eyes. No Targaryen was and she had two pieces of proof right under her roof.

“Well, if that’s all and I have satisfied your curiosity, it’s very late and I need to get some sleep.” She said and stormed away from him to the door.

“Have you ever touched yourself, my Lady?”

The vulgar question stopped her as her hand touched one of the doorknobs, a hard gulp of saliva down her throat, and the room grew hotter.

“No.”

“Why not? I mean, you want to know what it feels like, right? The sensation of an orgasm. That’s why you went to see my brother tonight, isn’t it?” Aegon took small steps in her direction, enjoying the view of her backside, the rounded curves of her ass peeking from beneath her robe.

“Yes.” She breathed, goosebumps raising on her skin as he came closer, her gut tightening and twisting like before and she hated it.

It was true, she’d never touched herself but she always figured it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t feel as good unless it was someone else. The urge was easy to ignore until she met Aemond, then it came in waves all evening.

And right now, with Aegon behind her, his breath on her shoulder and the swelter of his body cascading hers intensely brought it back and she didn’t understand why. She wanted only Aemond, but her touch-starved body didn’t care.

She swirled around to see him standing there, face to face with her, and only an inch between them. With her back pressed to the door, he gave her no room to move, placing a hand against the wood beside her head, inherently trapping her between his stocky body and the firm door.

“Look, it was wrong of my brother to turn you away. Delectable as you are, you deserve to cum whenever you want. I could help you with that, my Lady.” He whispered sensually, bearing more of his weight against her.

“Your Grace, please-”

“You should experience it once before you go all in with Aemond. That way you’re not blindsided by how your body reacts and more prepared for how it will feel to be touched down there.”

His other palm rested on the side of her thigh, warming her skin and she shook her head, working to resist his seduction, but his pretty eyes and sharp jawline, the choppy hair that shaped his face perfectly, his delicate features, similar to his brother’s, were undeniably charming.

“We can’t do this. We shouldn’t. I won’t have sex with you and betray Aemond.” She said weakly, working hard to not tremble under his touch, especially when his fingertips dig into her leg as he gave her tender flesh a stiff squeeze.

“Who said anything about sex? Aemond would have my head if I deflowered you.” He explained, removing his hand from the door to play with the end of her hefty braid. “My fingers can give you exactly what you need.”

Her heart pumped rapidly, her breath hitching in her throat as he lowered his head into the crease of her neck, the hand on her leg traveling to her inner thigh as he gave her skin a gentle kiss and she accidentally whimpered.

“Please, your Grace.” She pleaded shakily, grabbing his wrist and stopping his hand before it reached her now throbbing cunt. “This is wrong.”

“Then tell me to stop. Tell me no. Tell me you don’t want my help and I’ll leave.” He whispered in her ear, nibbling and sucking on the lobe and she gasped.

The sensation was consuming, sending aches straight into her gut and her will was crumbling. This would be a betrayal to Aemond, and although she wanted to tell Aegon to leave, her body’s desire had built up for too long.

Losing her fight, Aegon lifted his head, peering into her gaze reflecting into his, and her hand reluctantly slid up his arm, signaling to him that he had her permission to resume.

“Good girl.”

He leaned in and kissed her, sloppily and full of need; he’d been wanting to kiss her badly and as his hand cradled the side of her neck roughly, she could tell that Aegon craved her. It was evident in the raging force of his lips on hers.

His hand shoved over between her legs, the bottom of his palm resting on top of her pussy, nuzzled in the trimmed bush of hair, his finger petted her slit begging for entrance but she kept her legs clasped together.

“I’ve got you. I’ll talk you through it, darling. I’m going to make you feel good, I promise.” He muttered against her mouth, peppering kisses down the side of her lips.

She already regretted the choice she was making and exhaled harshly, parting her legs for him and he grinned against her throat, slipping a thick digit between her wet folds. A sharp inhale sucked into her throat, her clutch on his arm tightening.

“Fuck, you are wet. That’s a good thing, by the way. Gods, you are making my cock extremely hard. Probably had my brother the same way.” He groaned, purposefully grinding his clothed erection on her leg as he added another finger.

A crude moan escaped her, throwing her head back, she instinctively arched her back as his fingers played with her sinewy flesh and flicked along the sensitive bud of nerves, building this uneasy pressure in her abdomen, and her body tensed attempting to control it.

“How does it feel? Tell me.”

“Weird.” She huffed through gritted teeth, placing a hand on his shoulder for support.

“You have to relax, it’s the only way to get the results you desire. Let me take care of you. I know it��s strange, but trust me.” His words unexpectedly comforted her, and she leaned her forehead onto his shoulder, his evergreen scent calming her.

Her body shudders, melting into his touch hastily as she lets go, no longer holding back and allowing herself to succumb to the carnality of his fingers coated in her slick juices. He slid them back and forth, reveling in how she whined in his ear and clutched to his clothes.

“That’s it, surrender to it, my Lady.”

Light-headed and breathless, Evelyn drowned in the pleasure of his fingers rubbing circles on her clit, playing with her wetness and expertly building the fire pooling in her belly with squelching friction. Her knees buckled, realizing she’d be on the floor if Aegon wasn’t holding her up.

Evelyn proudly owned the obscene pleasure she was experiencing, rutting her hips into his hand and using him to push her over the edge that she senses her body nearing. Huffing moans, her body threatened to tear in half as she buried her face into his neck.

Suddenly an explosion of light came across her vision and she cried out into his skin, muffling their volume as her insides pulsed on his hand, squirting sticky arousal onto his fingers, fisting his tunic fiercely. Panting heavily, she worked to catch her breath, her jelly legs unable to move.

“Mmm, you did well, my Lady. I’m sure you’ll sleep even better tonight now that you aren’t tightly wound anymore.” He teased, slipping his hand from her pussy, and she shivered, leaning back and looking away shamefully.

Aegon looked at the creamy, transparent discharge on his fingers, snatching her jaw in his other hand, forcing her to look at him as he held it up to his lips.

“Look at your mess. Don’t be ashamed of it. Aemond is a very lucky man.”

Evelyn slapped his hand off her face and pushed him as hard as she could, but he only tripped back a few inches, chuckling mockingly. He immediately licked his hand clean of her cum, wiping his fingers dry on his trousers and watching her body language change from aroused to furious in a split second.

“I need you to leave. Now, your Grace.” The guilt rushed through her, eating her up inside and reminding her of how weak she was.

“I suppose you can thank me tomorrow for my service. He remarked, heading toward the door and she stepped aside, keeping her distance. “Just so you know, I won’t say a word to Aemond. If you want to, that’s your choice but he won’t hear anything from me, little lion.”

With that, he grabbed the doorknob and opened one of the doors, but as he began to walk out, he stopped in his tracks. Aegon spun to the side and looked at Evelyn, her head hanging low, sadness in her eyes and he sighed deeply.

“Guilt and shame are useless emotions, Lady Evelyn. This isn’t as big of a slight as you think it is. We did nothing wrong.” He commented, shrugging his shoulders in contentment.

She remained silent, not meeting his eyes, and it stung him a bit. He missed the satisfying bliss in her eyes after he made her cum, but now only saw hatred building in them. Always the villain, he thought.

“We can’t take it back, best not dwell.” He swiftly exited the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Though she wished not to feel this way, Evelyn knew she betrayed Aemond only hours after agreeing to marry tomorrow and it made her nauseous. She couldn’t lie; to start a marriage off with dishonesty would put their life together on the wrong path. But if she told him, would there even be a wedding?

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aemondssapphirebussy · 9 months ago

Text

i’m ready to be hurt again :,)

1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

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Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has fought his way through the maelstrom and is dragging Aegon away by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston roars, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. He is running not as a Democrat but as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to decide the election and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #r*ch*rd n*x*on mentioned #love the history lesson as a canadian #fic rec

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