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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 9 months ago

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''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader 18+ MDNI PART 4

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Author's note: It might still be a little darkish but not as dark as usual. I think this is the closest to show aemond I ever got. So he still is not a unicorn yall but he is at least imo he is decent and nice.

🔷Wordcount :5133

Warnings below the cut

Special thanks to: @pterodactylterrace for spelling and grammar tips!!!:) ((it is much appriciated friend!)x

CW: Mention of oc's mother dying in childbirth, mention of treasons, also vaginal sex, oral sex (f recieving) fucking, dirty talk, smut, aemond being a little dark but nothing too extreme! Discussion of murder.

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Only a few days ago, your brother swore he would restore your house, house Marthyralys back to it’s former glory, back to where it was during Maegor’s time. Your ancestor, Daeyor Marthyralys was a council member for king Maegor. His crimes eventually ended with him on the stake, being burned by dragon fire and ending with your family being banished from Westeros for almost a century.

That was until you and your brother Fyrand returned to the Seven Kingdoms. You remember how you first entered the Red

Keep, your hands shaking and your eyes scanning every inch of every room, taking in as much security detail and doors as you could. It was clear to you that these silver-haired people were not your friends. They were your enemies. Your brother, Fyrand, said so himself multiple times.

The Targaryens frightened you. Of course they did. They were your father’s killer, your older brother's killers, the reason your house became dragonless, why you almost starved to death. And aside from that, Targaryens are known for their short tempers and long grudges, their insanity and incest. There is much to fear from the dragon people. And so you do.

And now, two days later, you are married to the King's son, Prince Aemond Targargyen. He won the duel for your hand against Prince Jacaerys Velyaron, the Princess’s heir. You assumed Fyrand would prefer Jacaerys, as it would be his mother that one day will become Queen, but for some reason unknown to you, he had already made peace and assumed Aemond would win the duel. He was very certain of it when you visited him in the dungeon.

And he was right, as always.

Prince Aemond won the duel and humiliated prince Jacaerys. The wedding ceremony followed the same evening, as was custom in your house. The one-eyed Prince had done his research into your house, your brother, your traditions…even you. He knew of the full day rule when it comes to duel-marriages, and he used it to his advantage by forcing you into marriage with him on the same day he won your hand.

Fyrand simply had asked you to keep the prince happy and so far you like to think you succeeded. You have done your duties and even went as far to sleep with Aemond, which was surprisingly pleasant. He was not the beast he wants the world to think he is. He has not hit you. Not once. Nor forced you or hurt you. He is gentle. Kind, in a way. And so unmistakably broken.

Your brother assumed you would have no trouble winning Jacaerys and Aemond over, and in his head that might have made sense but outside of that skull, there is no magic in your veins. You can’t just snap your fingers and make Aemond fall in love with you. He is his own person and you have the feeling that even if you tried to manipulate him into doing your bidding, it would either be too obvious or end up in an argument.

Ever since you were born, you were loyal to your house. But now that you are married, you are starting to doubt everything you ever know. Aemond shows you kindness and grants you protection in ways you never thought possible. Ways you never dared to even dream of.

But the rest of his kin, his blood and his fire that roams the halls of the red keep, hells, even the bloody servants and the guards, from the kitchen wenches to the maids cleaning your chamber pots: They all despise you and your brother for the crimes of your ancestors. There is no winning these people over with whining by Aemond’s side, you need to show them that you are different. But how? Your personal life does not matter, it is your last name that defies you and that is still Marthyralys and not Targaryen, for better or for worse.

And therefore you are worried that you will never be accepted into the Red Keep. Not truly. At first, that did not matter to you. But now that you have met and came to know Aemond, you already developed complicated feelings for him in a very short time. And you know: You want his mother to like you. To at least approve of you. For the sake of your brother’s plans and Aemond’s approval.

She’s his mother, yes. But also the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You can imagine that Fyrand would like it if you became her friend, or even trusted advisor, some honerably position among court.

You are preparing for the meeting by putting on a different, less pious gown. Your old gown is disposed of, It slides down your body, bearing you half naked in front of your husband, who does his best to pretend to be busy with his book to notice. However, you notice his good eye, sometimes briefly lifting from the words on paper taking secret glances at your body instead. As if he’s not your husband yet, as if he is not entitled to you. ‘’Does your mother have a preference for a dress?’’ You ask him, as you pillage the closet that servant earlier had filled with gowns for you. Red, black, green, gold and even silver gowns end up on the ground as you quickly look everything over, your head drowning in fabrics and ideas of what Alicent Hightower would approve of.

Aemond no longer pretends to read, slamming the book shut so carelessly that you doubt he was even reading to begin with. ‘’She loves wearing green.’’ He says, politely, smiling and clearing trying to talk you into picking a green dress.

‘’That’s what I’m afraid of.’’ You mutter. You wearing green would be a declaration of war to Princess Rhaenyra. She would see it as an allyship with Alicent. And for now, it’s important to play and appease both sides, Fyrand told you that before you left Pentos.

‘’I would like it as well.’’

Aemond continues to push you slightly, standing up from the chair he was sitting on. His hands wrap around your waist as he puts the green dress in front of you, eyeing you despite standing behind you all thanks to the big mirror in his room. You nervously bite down on your lips, tasting a bit of blood. He picked a dark green gown with sleeves made of dark lace. The back is also made of lace almost exclusively for the corners. It is a beautiful gown. ‘’You’d look beautiful in this gown. Although,’’ He lowers his voice, whispering in your ear. ‘’I can’t make any promises it won’t be ripped before the next sunrise.’’

‘’When I rip it off your body when we are home, tonight.’’ He leaves several soft kisses on your neck, all the way to both your shoulders.

You stagger on your feet, shocked and pleasantly affected by his words. He grins, pleased with the effect and leaves a soft kiss on your cheek. ‘’Pick whatever you like, but know that Green is superior.’’ Those words echo a lot in your head as you compare the dress to a red more modest gown with less lace made of modest silk.

You doubt if Alicent would appreciate you showing up half covered in her rooms, wearing the lace green dress. It also perhaps would be chilly or awkward to wear as well.

So, you pick up the red dress. The fabric feels much softer, much more pleasant and warmer. You let your fingers pet and slide along the fabric, following where the stitches were once put. There is a golden belt to accompany the dress, a thin accessory. The shoulders have subtle details, but you can tell it is supposed to represent dragonscales. Perhaps a nice dress if you are meeting with Rhaenyra.

You hold the dress to your body, imagining yourself in the lush fabric. ‘’Hm. Opposite of Green.’’ Aemond comments, from where he leans against his desk. He pretends to be busy with cleaning it, putting aside quills, vials of ink and parchment.

You put the red gown back on the bed, and instead pick up a gorgeous soft blue coloured gown, with silver patterns of swirls on the sleeves.

‘’Blue?’’ You ask Aemond, tilting your head slightly.

He has one response and it is not a pleasant one. His nose slightly rises in disapproval and his stance becomes closed, as if he reminds himself to be careful around you. ‘’You do as you wish.’’

You sigh, careful to not roll your eyes at that. What a horrible answer. You do as you wish is not only dismissive, impersonal and cold but also vague. He truly seemed to care about the dress a moment ago and now he pretends he does not care at all? Who does he think he’s with? Your memory is not failing you yet.

You feel a sting and have to fight the tears, but instead of running away or hiding from him, you stand up to him. ‘’Don’t be like that. Just say you don’t like the gown.’’ In another time, you would’ve ran or cowered. Not anymore. No longer.

Aemond sighs, still with his mind elsewhere. ‘’It’s not the gown I don’t like…’’ He murmurs.

You wonder if it’s you he does not like anymore. ‘’Revaera,’’ he tries to touch you but you step out of his reach. Aemond sighs. ‘’I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t like the color blue.’’ He says. ‘’You wear what you want. Green, black, blue, fuck it, go nude. You’re a Princess now. Someone will always be offended.’’ And that is the truth and it terrifies you. Someone will always be offended. How do you please a world that will never be happy?

You look over the gowns, but can’t stand to wear the blue or red one anymore. But going with green is also not an option. You dig a bit further into the pile of gowns, and eventually you stumble upon a beautiful purple with silver piece. Your fingers touch the silverwork, feeling the metal. The last time you saw these colors, they were on your brother Kagyr, your mother Roysa, and your father Laeyol’s caskets. Purple, violet almost so dark purple it's nearly black, and clear untroubled silver. Symbolizing the pride and the unity of your house. You hear yourself take a deep breath. You tug the dress with you. You first put it on your body, fitting it without lacing the corset.

You dismissed all your maids and ladies maids, or rather, Aemond did that. ‘’I wish we didn’t dismiss all my maids.’’ You tell him, laughing despite a few lonely tears escaping your eyes. You do it subtly, so he does not notice it.

Yet your face is turned toward his own anyway, and he wipes away the tears, before leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. ‘’We can always hire other people.’’ Instead of calling someone else in, he steps behind you, and grabs the laces of your corset. He laces it for you. You look a lot better than you did a few days ago, and with you finally dressed and proper you two can go meet the Queen.

Aemond and you walk to her chambers. Your husband has long legs and could be there long before you but instead trails behind you to ensure you are not alone in the Keep. When passing statues and portraits, Aemond tells you about the history of the people behind it, making the trip to his mother’s rooms entertaining, and useful. You know some things about the Targaryens, but more information is crucial to your survival out here.

Aemond walks as a true prince, hands folded on his back, back straightened and his pace slow as if he is in no rush to get there, despite his long legs making this challenge impossible.

Soon, instead of late you both arrive in front of a majestic looking door that already somehow tells you just exactly who is waiting behind it. These are the Queen’s chambers. Her rooms, her den, in a way. The page announces you both, as the doors swing open.

You gulp, feeling the nails on your left hand in an impulse to pull again, but you have no more nails to pull or to rip off your fingers.

You and your husband both walk in.

When you enter the lavious and luxurious rooms of the Queen, she is sitting on a bench, with her feet pulled up under her. She reads an old looking book, her mind elsewhere, clearly.

Aemond politely clears his throat, and Alicent’s red haired head snaps up in his direction. You see kindness and love in her eyes, in a way you never saw yourself. You see a mother looking at her child. Her smile dies the moment she sees you, however. ‘’Ah, Aemond. There you finally are.’’ She says, ignoring you as if you are air. You keep smiling regardless, as you do want her to approve of you.

The tender, loving slender hands of your husband find your own once again, as he whisks you away to his mother, showing you to her, introducing you formally to the Queen. ‘’Mother, I brought someone. This is Revaera, my lady, and my wife.’’ Try as he might, Aemond Targaryen cannot stop the smile that slowly grows on his lips as he speaks those words, and he seems a different man when he looks at you.

You understand now is the moment to show your respect. You make a curtsy for the Queen. Alicent sits back down, closing the book.‘’I am glad you brought her here.’’ She tells Aemond, and you can’t help but uncomfortable at that. They are like farmers talking about their broodmare. Your opinion is clearly not required.

Your husband reaches out to touch his mother, hugging her in such a gentle way unfamiliar to you. You wonder what he is feeling when he hugs his mother. Does she feel warm? Did your own mother feel warm, did she hold you like that, before she died? Did she smell as nice as Alicent? Dozens of questions you never will get answers to.

The pain of seeing another child with their mother, is unfamiliar to you. You would never wish for another to go through what you did. But why did you have to go through that regardless?

The two break their hug, unaware of your feelings and your pain. Aemond gestures a bit vaguely to you. ‘’You told me you had questions for her.’’

Whatever could she want, indeed. She’s queen of the seven kingdoms, has a husband and you have been kind to anyone here except…

You close your eyes, softly cursing yourself. This is about that handmaid that you hit. The one who called you unworthy of carrying Aemond’s children. You just know it, when you see the poorly hidden rage in Alicent’s eyes.

Somehow you should have know that Alicent provided the maids, and that in upsetting them, you upsetted her. You came in this room wishing for a allyship, you are lucky if you leave this room with mutual displeasure instead of a conflict.

Alicent nods, smiling at you. She turns to her son, her locks briefly turning so they catch the light of the chandelier. ‘’Yes, thank you for bringing her here. Aegon needs your help in his chambers. I’m afraid it is quite urgent.’’ The queen speaks, sweet as a fox. Aegon is Aemond’s brother. You have yet not spoken a word to him. You know he is the elder brother, despite Aemond being taller. Despite that he was present during the duel and your introduction, he did appear to be there with his mind at all. He was a ghost.

The expression on your husband’s face pains you, as you can see he is in clear conflict. He is ordered by his mother, by his Queen to help his brother. But he is also bound to you, his wife and his lady.

As much as it scares you to be alone, to be alone without Aemond to protect you, as you have discovered pretty early that your word means nothing without him, you know you must confront Alicent alone. She will never be honest with her son near her. ‘’It is alright, husband. I am quite certain I have nothing to fear of her grace, the Queen.’’ Famous last words, perhaps.

Alicent returns your smile, very pleased with your words. Aemond grabs your face with both his hands, gently and caresses your cheeks. He kisses you soft and kindly, respectful of his mother watching you both. ‘’I shall return soon.’’ He promises you. You hope he is right.

Aemond finally takes his leave and Alicent gestures to the lavious armchair across the small bench she is sitting on, inviting you to come sit. And so you do.

The moment you sit down, she begins her questions. ‘’I understand your life has been anything but uneasy.’’ She pauses when she sees you pinching and clawing at your own skin, in lack of nails to pull. She tries to hide it but you can see she is very distraught. She sits up straight. Unexpectedly she comes a bit closer, yet keeps her distance. As if she does not know yet if she wants to come closer or stay away.

You hear her words, silent. Why does she care? Yet you nod, agreeing with her. Your life has been uneasy. Your mother died, your father tried to kill the king, your house was exiled and poor, you nearly starved and your drunk of a one-handed brother almost daily abused you. It has not been easy.

And yet, here you sit. Alive. Whatever that is worth. Alicent takes a deep, shaky breath. It catches your attention, and when you look into her eyes you see small tears shimmering, despite her efforts to hide it. ‘’I must know, for my own sake. How does Aemond treat you?’’ You think back of the few days you have known your husband. He has been kind, gallant, gentle. A dream come true, a breaker of your chains, a light of hope you cling to in utter darkness. But why does she care?

‘’He treats me well, your Grace.’’

‘’My ladies reported they found blood on Aemond’s bed linen. You can tell me,’’ she reaches out to grab your hands. ‘’Anything, Revaera. I am not angry with you.’’ You become uneasy at her treatment, perhaps even insecure and worried.

You would not feel comfortable with lying about how well Aemond treats you. So you tell her the truth, despite you feel umcomfertable sharing such personal details and matters. ‘’Aemond and I consummated the marriage. That was expected of us both, so we did that.’’ Your voice sounds a bit snappy, and you hope that the Queen reads your body lanagune that you do not want to talk about it at all.

But to think a Hightower would just give up, would be a mistake. ‘’How did that happen, Revaera? Did he force you?’’ She asks, folding her hands against her lap.

You shake your head.

‘’No. I went willingly. It was ..pleasant, in a way, your grace.’’

Alicent seems relieved, almost happy by those words. ‘’You are happy, then? With my son?’’

You feel heat creep up to your cheeks when you think about your husband, your prince Aemond. Happiness is an unfamiliar, strange, alien, concept to you. You have never been really happy. You don’t know what that feels like. But Aemond makes you feel safe, respected and as if you matter. That is enough, for now.

‘’I’d say so, your Grace.’’ You nod to confirm your words.

She sighs, clear relief written on her face. ‘’I am glad, you are happy and both have respect for each other. A marriage without mutual respect is a marriage destined to fail.’’ You know it is unwise to speak when Alicent speaks, as she is the Queen. So instead, you sit there, nodding, as if you lost your tongue.

‘’I am afraid we must discuss a unpleasant matter.’’ Alicent says, suddenly very sharp. You gulp.

‘’I heard you abused a servant.’’

‘’She told me I was unfit to marry Aemond. That I was a traitor and a …whore.’’ You mutter. ‘’I do regret hitting her. I do. Aemond told me not to worry about it, but the truth is: I do worry. I worry a lot.’’

The door behind you opens, and your husband walks inside. You are relieved to see him, standing up. He makes a respectful bow for his mother, and after he has done that rushes to your side, to kiss you. ‘’You both seem well.’’ He observes. ‘’I hope your conversation was a pleasant one.’’

He stands next to you, hands folded on his back as you take a seat in the chair. ‘’Is your brother alright?’’ You ask. He thinks long before you get an answer.

‘’My brother is…my brother. He is fine.’’

That is a relief. And somehow also a concern.

Alicent is silent. ‘’Aemond, is it true that my handmaids have spoken about Revaera’s virtue? Did they call her a …whore?’’

He nods. ‘’Yes. I meant to speak to you about that, Mother.’’ His tone is still gentle and kind. He continues. ‘’I know it was not your fault, Mother. You likely thought they were well, kind and good for Revaera. But they were not kind or good or well for her. Not at all.’’

He takes a deep breath.

‘’Revaera has become a Princess of House Targaryen. She is my lady and my wife, one day she will become the mother of my children, gods willing.’’ You can’t help but feel even more heat rush to your cheeks at that description. Desire and fear fight in your head. Your own mother died when birthing you, and now Aemond wants to do the same with you? But to remain childless, forever out of fear…It is a big conflict. One that won’t be solved easily.

He continues, making wild movements with his hands. ‘’So, I cannot, we, as House Targaryen cannot, let this insult stand. We cannot have our servants or who else spread rumours about my wife’s purity.’’ You don’t like the sound of the finality in his voice. The sound of a man who is hurt and shamed and must restore his honour.

‘’What do you suggest, Aemond?’’ Alicent asks, and you are prepared for anything but what Aemond chooses to say.

His licks his lips briefly, his good eye so focused on you that it makes you uneasy. He is good at staring. ‘’I want them all hanged.’’ He reveals, after a brief moment, shocking you.

‘’Aemond! You can’t mean that.’’ You say, instantly. ‘’Surely a mistake was made-’’

He ignores you, planting you back in your chair firmly but gentle. He cups your chin into his hands, touching and caressing it. ‘’But I do.’’ he insists. ‘’By questioning your virtue, they question if you were pure for me.’’

You become uncomfortable once more, as you were more than pure for him. He was your first. You turn your head away. Aemond lifts it, forcing you to look into his one eye as he speaks. ‘’By questioning your purity, they question any future children we might have. Your life could be in danger, as well as the life of any child we may have. That is why I am so angry.’’ He finishes, and you understand him a bit more, but still…

You already blame yourself for your mother’s passing. What will become of you when another soul is added to that list? ‘’Fine. But only the woman that said I was a whore. The other two shall live.’’ You declare, as if it is up to you. Aemond chuckles, kissing your cheeks.

‘’I understand you have a kind, gentle heart, my wife but this is not an insult. ‘Tis high-treason.’’ And Targaryens have only one answer to that. Two, actually. One word in high-valyrian and one in the common tongue. ‘’Dracarys’’ and ‘’Behead’’.

Yet you don’t give up. You can sway your husband. You must. ‘’At least spare the girl that talked with you. You know the one. The kind one, who regretted her actions. Surely, a good man must know when to forgive?’’

To that, Aemond is briefly speechless. He thinks himself a good man.

Alicent sighs.

‘’What shall we do with her, Revaera? After she was caught, no one wanted her as their maid anymore.’’ You can imagine that must be a dealbreaker for many of the guests at the red keep.

But not for you.

‘’Have her become mine.’’ You say.

—

The maid is known as Dyana. She is a kind, humble servant from flea bottom, and you need to tell her several times to stop apologizing to you. She is very thankful. You told her she should thank Aemond for changing his mind, but she is convinced you had a hand in it. You did of course. She is lacing up your gown for the evening supper.

You and the Targaryens will have dinner tonight. It is your first official dinner and it worries you. Will you live up to the expectations? Will you do well? ‘’You have nothing to worry for.’’ Dyana assures you. ‘’Just keep smiling.’’

That is an easy one for you.

You leave Aemond’s room at last, bumping into your husband. ‘’Aemond.’’ You greet him, politely. He grins mischievously, briefly looking around for witnesses. Once he has concluded there are none, he gently pushes you against the castle walls, kissing you fiercely and without shame. You moan against his lips, lost in pleasure as he gives you dozens of little kisses on your shoulders that all feel like little bites at the same time. They pierce through your skin and leave memories and marks. Your husband grins, madly in love with you. ‘’Yes, wife?’’ He greets you, teasingly. You stutter, your cheeks heated once more. ‘’I-’’ He silences you with a grin. ‘’I think we may skip supper this once. I am in the mood for a certain Marthyralys delicacy.’ He traces a finger down your throat, slowly pulling down your gown a bit, so he may have a look at your breasts. ‘’I wish to taste my wife, properly.’’ He whispers. ‘’You will like it. I promise.’’ He adds, when he sees your worry. ‘’I told you, I would never do anything you would not like, and I meant it.’’ You pant, softly, whimpering as he kisses you again. Aemond opens the door to your bedroom again. You are turned around, your back facing his front as he works on your corset. ‘’Aemond, we have promised we would be there for supper.’’ You tell him, as you hear him breath heavily with anticipation and lust. You wonder if itll feel as pleasant as the first time.

Aemond chuckles, amused. ‘’Have we? I seem to have come down with a terrible headache. I can’t possibly attend.’’ He says, blinking at you. You realize that is him winking. Your dress is finally pulled down, as are your small clothes. Aemond throws his eyepatch on the bed, pushing you next to it. Your hands intertwine as Aemond pulls his pants down, revealing his already erected member. Your head hits the front of a pillow as your husband parts your legs, feeling your wetness and slith. He grins, rubbing your shimmering, wet pearl as you whimper, at his mercy fully. ‘’You were going to attend supper like this? Soaked up, ready for my cock?’’ He whispers in your ear. ‘’Were you hoping I would bend you on the table between two plates of food and gave you a good through nice, warm, fucking?’’ His fingers increase in speed and you notice him smirking as his face becomes closer to your entrance. Eventually, he levels it and you watch as his tongue comes out, taking a good and proper lick of you. You gasp, twist, under his grip and finally you feel pleasure waves hit your body as Aemond feasts upon your body. He moans as well, giving you fuckings with his fingers and licking you at the same time.

You cry out. He grins. He is taunting you. You think. You can taunt him back. You look at his swollen length, wrapping your fingers around it, and start touching it. Aemond growls. You smile, innocently and stop touching him the moment his length nearly jumps, ready with delicious white precum you can’t wait to lick off. Aemond grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you to his face. He kisses you one last time, before you end up on your back. ‘’Do you want this?’’ He asks one final time. You nod. Aemond grabs your legs, leveling himself back inside of you. You sigh in bliss and pleasure as he begins to push. It as if he never truly left. Your hips join in this time, surprising the prince in a pleasant way. ‘’Yes, my wife. Just so.’’ He tells you, kissing your forehead. He picks up the speed, making the movements and what men call ‘’fucking’’ go faster and harder. Your needy cunt is being taunted by his lenght and skill and you would very much like to feel as good as the first time. ‘’Please.’’ You beg soft in his ear.

‘’Pleasuring you is my duty.’’ He whispers back in your ear, before giving you a firm hard trust. You cry out, bucking your hips back. Aemond answers by taking you harder and harder on your back, fucking you so hard that you have tears of pain and pleasure. He keeps going until your soft whimpers become cries and your cries become desperate needy screams. He gives you one final time to beg for it. ‘’Please.’’ You whisper. And then, he gives it his all with a final push, sending you down in a spiral of insanity and pleasure your body can’t really handle. Your body spasms and your mind feels wonderfully blank as all there is your husband, lining himself up at your entrance and emptying his load inside of you. You have come.

‘’Good girl.’’ Aemond whispers, knowing you appreciate that. ‘’So proud.’’ He adds, kissing your sweaty hair. He gently pats your hair. ‘’I think we’ll have some servants bring us some food. As delicious as your cunt was, I can’t survive on it alone.’’ You nod. He smiles, and tucks you in as you are used to. After that, you both have supper in your bed. But the dessert? You already had the dessert. A bit earlier.

Oh, they nasty-

Anyway, thanks for reading along with me!:) Soon we'll see people hang i guess? And everyone's favourite character Fyrand returns! And also, Revaera will meet Daemon, that is sure to be interesting.....Thanks for reading!:))

#tags #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #hotd x oc #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #Aemondsmut

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 10 months ago

Text

''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Wordcount :3934

You never set foot in King’s Landing before.

Not before the exile of your family almost a century ago.

The Marthryralys were once the most trusted advisors of the Targaryens.

Until your ancestor, Daeyor Marthyralys sided with the false king, King Maegor. He had been burned after Maegor had died, and your family was banished out of King’s Landing, and the Seven Kingdoms.

For years you lived across the narrow sea, in a small village in Pentos together with your brother and the heir of your house, Prince Fryand Marthyralys. He has everything you can expect in a trueborn Valyrian prince. Silver hair, bright eyes in a shade almost close to violet and a temper befitting a god, not an exiled prince.

‘’Chin up, sister.’’ He tells you with a smirk as you pass by several nobles and guards, servants and maids alike who all stare at you with judgment. They likely heard stories about your family. Stories of their treason and kinslaying murder and pillaging. ‘’Remember what I told you earlier this morning. Today is the day our family’s legacy will be reborn.’’ That is what he hopes. You hope your brother achieves this alliance. For as long as you can recall he wanted this.

Fyrand sighs before perfecting your hair, putting a loose lock behind your ears. “You be quiet unless I allow it. If you ruin this for me, the consequences could be dire. For both of us, but especially for you.” The glare he gives you says enough. You give an absent nod, staring at your own bitten down fingernails. Fyrand follows your gaze, scoffing with a deep sigh. ‘’And quit that. I didn’t keep you alive all these years so you can fuck this up.’’

The grant doors to the throne room are opened by guards and someone announces to you both as you hesitantly follow your brother. ‘’Lord Fyrand of House Marthyralys, and his sister, Lady Revaera of House Marthyralys.’’ It is one of the few times you hear yourself being called a lady, or even your first name. Fyrand does not bother with kindness and ceremony. He calls you whatever he likes, especially when he is drunk and in a bad mood.

By the throne, several people with silver hair wait. Yet you can easily divide them into two groups. One group wears subtle or not so subtle green accessories. And the other group wears about any other color but green. The Princess's party and the Queen's party. You know this from what Fyrand briefly told you about the Targaryens. The two parties do not like each other very much. Details are vague to you, as Fyrand didn’t want ‘’to corrupt your moral compass with nonsense that is none of your business anyway’’.

You know they are the royal family of Westeros. The Targaryens. Once close friends of your family, now look at you both. You do not know these people and they do not know you. They stare at you with the same confusion and questions you have deep down. You see it mirrored in their eyes and their hearts they carry on their sleeves. You keep your eyes on your soft slippers and faithfully remain close to your brother, afraid of these strange people. They killed your parents. They killed your ancestors. They killed your dragons. ‘’Your grace.’’ Fyrand speaks, full of servitude as he bows down for the silver haired corpse like man that sits the throne.

Or rather the throne sits him. The throne is a monstrosity in the worst way of the word. It does not look like a comfortable chair to you. Perhaps that is what it symbolizes. That ruling is no comfortable chair. It is not easy. It requires sacrifice, usually the worst kind. The kind where lives are lost and doomed.

The smell of poppy is heavy near the king and you assume he uses it regularly to dull his pain. He hangs half defeated, half consumed by the Stranger on his throne, his glare growing every minute that passes when you both are here. You continue ripping your nails subtly.

‘’We let traitors in now?’’ A man comments, near who you assume can only be the Princess Rhaenyra. She is described as the most fashionable woman in Westeros, with silver, pale locks she often carries in Targaryen fashion. Her gown symbolizes a dragon, with her house colors, red and black. It has nice details and you take them all in. The man itself has shorter hair than his wife, although Fyrand would say it would still be too long for a male. He carries a sword around his hips, and wears a black armor as well. You guess by his age that this can only be Prince Daemon Targaryen, the King’s brother, the Princess’s her uncle as well as her husband. ‘’These two should be hanged outside and for the birds to peck out their eyes.’’

While you feel fear rise Fyrand laughs it off, as a joke. The king is not so quick to judge you as his brother. He even smiles at you. ‘’You are the spitting image of your ancestor, Grysalda the Bold.’’ Out of both of you, he chose you to compliment.

Your brother boils in his skin next to you, yet fakes a smile and peacefulness. ‘’Both fierce and stunning.’’ The King finishes. Grysalda was indeed both fierce and bold. She had a total of five husbands and flew the dragon Gravemaker. There was nothing she couldn't do if she didn't set her mind to it. She was said to be a great beauty. Men fought wars to lay eyes on her, Men conquered towns in her name and men would murder everyone that dared to oppose her. She was an interesting woman, although it is disputed whether or not she was a good one.

You make a small curtsy, swayed by the words yet wary of their meaning. Grysalda was a threat to the Targaryens. Is this a compliment or a very twisted warning? But to not acknowledge such a compliment would be rude. ‘’Thank you, your grace-’’

‘’Be quiet, sister.’’ Fyrand interrupts almost mumbling so the others won't hear. You close your mouth right away and let him speak instead. ‘’I have come with an offer for House Targaryen and House Velyaron.” He folds his hands on his back. You wonder if his offer is good enough for an alliance. You know what he will offer. You. He will offer you to one of the Princes of either party and he hopes that in return they will allow him to stay in Westeros.

Prior to this offer, no interest was shown by both parties. This changes instantly. Princess Rhaenyra turns into a woman dressed in Velyaron colors. Princess Rhaenys, you assume. Her granddaughters look on as well and even the Greens on the Queens side are surprised.

King Viserys sits up as straight as his sickness allows him. “You are bold.” You hear your brother laugh. You do not join him, your eyes constantly wandering to the interesting people around you. The princes and the princesses, the Queen and the King and their children.

‘’It is in our blood, I’ve been told by my lovely servants.’’ You think back of all the servants that nurtured you and Fryand when you were safely in Pentos and beyond. You are thankful for them, but there was only so much they could do to protect you from Fyrand. ‘’Since you ordered the death of my parents all those years ago.” Fryand smirks hiding the pain very well. The light in his eyes has died a long time ago. Nothing can bring it back.

The only sound that can be heard is Otto Hightower clearing his throat. “Are you here to dig up the past? I seem to recall your parents were planning my death.’’ The king is right. They were. You were almost a baby when the treason was committed but it was committed nonetheless. Your own mother died in childbirth and your father remarried quickly almost the day after.

You have known your brother for a long time. He is a dramatic man. He enjoys having power and enjoys playing with people. He will not tell them right away. He will toy with them first. ‘’I’m here for no such thing.’’

The Princess looks at you, as if you know more of this masterplan. You do, but you do not dare to speak again. ‘’I am here to ally my house with House Targaryen.’’ And with that, he hopes to restore your family’s legacy. All those years of planning in exile, all those years on the run all come down to this crucial moment. Was it enough? Or will you both hang before the sun sets?

‘’And why would we ally you?’’ The King asks, which is reasonable. They have dragons. You do not. They have a kingdom. You do not. You only have a freshly gathered army with questionable loyalties as they fight for gold and power.

Fyrand grins. ‘’It’s quite simple. I have built quite the legendary army, across the Narrow sea, in the Stepstones and far far beyond. Men are calling me Aegon reborn.’’ He grins at Prince Aegon, taunting him with this accomplishment. Aegon does not care, judging by his empty eyes and smile.

You glance at your brother, giving him a clear look that warns him of the path he is rolling down from. He should not forget you two are both hostages until you can prove you are worthy of this alliance. To make him sound like their beloved ancestor is a mistake, you just know so.

The king agrees with that as well, sitting up straighter and putting his crown back on his head when it slips. ‘’So you have come to threaten us?’’

You pull your nails faster, running out of your left hand. Fyrand chuckles but you can hear he has become nervous too. ‘’Your grace, no! Most certainly not. I came to a conclusion. I could destroy you all, but the chance you all yet survive because of your dragons is …too big for my liking. Why not forget about the past, why not let bygones be bygones. We should ally.’’ He says.

‘’Bygones be bygones.’’ Viserys repeats after your brother. ‘’And how will I know I can trust your word, if you already have began expanding your army?’’ Even more wary grows and dread fills your stomach. You can already see yourself hanging.

Fyrand gives you a small nod and you step forward, your hands neatly folded on one another as you look around the court for any kind face. But everyone looks at you like you are a traitor. It doesn't matter to anyone that you were a baby when the assassination attempts happened. They think you are just as guilty. ‘’I have brought my sister with me. My pure blooded Valyrian sister. She can stay here as a hostage, perhaps even marry one of your sons or grandsons. There is no need to have her wither away.’’

The king rubs at his forehead as if a great pain plagues him. ‘’I do not have time for this.’’ He speaks. You and Fyrand both freeze. He is not even considering your offer. ‘’Escort them to the dungeons.’’ He adds. Fyrand is surrounded within mere moments.

At first he couldn't believe it. ‘’What?’’ He can’t believe his plan didn’t work. And then the rage you know so well returns. He glares at you as if this is somehow your fault.

You understand you must act fast. So you do. ‘’Y-Your grace! Wait. One moment…’’ You search in the basket one of your servants brought with you. Fyrand glares, at first annoyed that you search your sewing basket. A few men chuckle as well.

‘’Is she going to knit her way out of this?’’

You put the wool and spools on the ground, searching deeper in the basket until you feel something cold, something hard and something ancient. You lift it from the basket, presenting it to all witnesses in court. In your hands is a familiar dragon egg. The king blinks with his eyes.

‘’Please, do not harm him. He has all I have left.’’ You add with a soft whisper.

‘’We found a chest full of dragon eggs in Pentos.’’ You hope you do not regret this. Fyrand makes a strangled little sound, briefly causing most heads to snap to him, back to the egg in your hands.

Prince Daemon draws his sword. ‘’Likely dead.’’ They might be. Most might be. Some eggs are centuries old, stolen during the time of Maelor.

You are facing certain death and so is your brother. You do not need this now. ‘’We did not have the resources to try to hatch them. We are no Targaryens.’’ You snap at him. ‘’We were lucky if we could find shelter for the night.’’

‘’How many eggs do you speak of?’’ The king asks. You did hope he would be interested. He is interested in dragon eggs. What fool wouldn’t be? You glance at your brother. He shakes his head rapidly.

Yet you go through with your plan. You must.

‘’At least seven and twenty.’’

Several gasps can be heard in the room.

Queen Alicent looks at the egg. ‘’’How did they even got there?’’ She wonders out loud.

A shout sends shivers down your spine. It belongs to your brother.

‘’I warn you, Revaera!’’ He thinks he is the only one who can make sacrifices. You will show him.

You can either lie and be executed or tell the truth and meet your gods with a true soul.

‘’They were stolen from the cradles of Targaryen babies.’’ You reveal, your head hung in shame with the crimes of your ancestors. Queen Alicent instantly turns her head to a young man on her side, wearing an eyepatch. Even from where you stand you can make out the scars that he likely tries to hide. Princess Rhaenyra, although she may hide it, also glances at the young man, her face full of regret and what could have been.

It is true. For centuries your family stole eggs from the Targaryens, replacing well working eggs with eggs that aren’t working eggs at all. Just stone and clay. You walk to the iron throne, presenting the egg to the king. ‘’This egg, I brought for you, my King. It was stolen a few years ago. It was said to belong to Prince Baelon.’’ You know he died shortly after birth but it is clear that the king has never forgotten his first born son.

His eyes light up in ways you never saw before, as you hand the egg over.

‘’This is impossible. The egg is still here. It is in my room.’’ The Queen lets out a soft but painful sigh as if she tried for years to close a door that is now pushed open wildly. You speak. ‘’No, your grace. They were switched. You have likely fake ones.’’

‘’After everything I did for you! You dare betray our family?!’’ Fyrand shouts and this time they need to restrain him from attacking you. You back away, terrified of your brother.

‘’They deserve to know! We were robbing babies.’’ You feel like you are betraying your family. But this might be your only chance at survival. You feel tired, alone, terrified and like this can all end in a moment. You have nothing left to do but break into tears.

‘’They are the reason we grew up without parents, without titles, without dragons!’’

You know he is right. And you wish you could do both but you clearly can not.

From the crowds, a brown haired young man steps forward, carrying the Velyaron colors. The colors of the sea. ‘’Grandsire, may I speak?’’ That must be Jacaerys Velyaron, the Princess’s ‘trueborn’ son with her lover, Harwin Strong.

The king smiles kindly at his grandson, proud that Jacaerys makes the effort.

‘’You already do so, Jacaerys.’’ He subtly looks at his other two sons, who stand by with rage written in their eyes, both green of envy and red of hatred.

Prince Jacaerys looks at your basket, your gown and the silver diadem in your hairs.

‘’We should ally with them.’’ He says. Hope fills your chest as you carefully start to smile.

Although the King loves his grandchildren very much, he will not let them affect his rule.

‘’Interesting. Explain.’’ He says instead, using this as a lesson. Again you notice his other two sons hide their displeasedness but it's so obvious to you.

The heir of the throne continues.

‘’House Targaryen needs more dragons. We can’t risk it that House Marthryralys will search for other allies. Dragons made us kings. Dragons made us strong. We cannot risk for the dragons falling into other hands.’’ You highly doubt that anyone aside a Targaryen could fly with dragons but with the blood thinning over several bloodlines it has become a risk to them.

‘’That is true.’’ The king admits despite the fact that he does not like you or your brother. He can see reason. That is rare for a king. Especially for a Targaryen king if what you heard from your brother is correct.

Prince Jacaerys becomes bashful, blushing a bit when trying to avoid staring too long at you. ‘’And, I think Lady Revaera has proven herself more than loyal to us, providing this information and the dragon egg. In fact, I was hoping you’d let us marry.’’ Marry? You feel new dread fill your chest as the King considers this offer. Even Fyrand has become awfully quiet. You need to turn your head to see if they didn’t knock him out. But no. He is still awake and awfully quiet.

‘’Not so fast.’’ A voice booms, as a shadow brushes past you, making his way to the Iron throne. The one eyed man stands in front of you. You feel threatened right away and gulp. The way he is dressed in all black is intimidating to you. ‘’I have done my fair bit of research into your family, my Lady.’’ You hear your heart beat only louder.

‘’You have?’’ You manage to ask, forcing your hands to stop trembling.

There is a silence in the throne room as everyone listens to what he has to say.

‘’Quite. You have an interesting story. I like interesting stories.’’ What is so interesting, you wouldn’t know. Your story is a tragedy. Perhaps he likes that. Perhaps his own story is a tragedy as well.

He turns to his father, and you briefly admire his long luscious looking silver pure locks that Jace clearly lacks. ‘’There is an old tradition, Grandsire. If an outsider wants to wed a member of the Marthryralys, he must duel a family member of the Lady to prove his worth.’’ That is true, in theory. But Your only family member is Fyrand. They won’t let their heir fight Fyrand.

And so, the king also speaks.

‘’I will not have Jacaerys fight that deranged man.’’

Aemond folds his hands on his back, his grin growing ever bigger. ‘’There is also another rule. If the Lady has multiple suitors, her suitors shall also fight for her and prove their worth. The victor shall become her Lord Husband.’’ You become uncomfortable, as you find it a bit of a silly rule, as well as concerning that he knows a awful lot about your family.

‘’Why is that needed? I want to marry her.’’ Jace bluntly says, laughing a bit to prove how silly he finds these traditions that your house honored for centuries.

Aemond looks at Jacaerys so he can see his face before he reveals what he was planning all along. ‘’Because I am also quite interested in her, Prince Jacaerys.’’ That sends shivers down your spine.

The King is confused. As are you.

‘’You are?’’

Instead of addressing his father and his king, he turns to you to give you a kind, almost the ghost of a smile as if he can hear you think and read your confusion that is written across your face. ‘’Hm. A lady as beautiful as you, I’d fight or die for you anyday.’’ Despite these words he almost seems confident he will win this match.

–

You visit Fyrand later in the dungeons.

‘’So.’’ He speaks as you have removed your hood. ‘’The Princes both seemed quite taken with you. Job well done.’’ He says, sitting up straighter, talking to you in high Valyrian so the guards won’t hear.

‘’They are eager for wives. It’s their age, I think.’’ Boys and men of that age become that way.

Fyrand chuckles as if you said something funny. He knows more about this than you ever will. ‘’Their age has nothing to do with it. They saw the way you played that fossil with that silly little egg of yours. They know their house is a dying one. The dragons become smaller and smaller still.’’ You heard the same, from your spies.

‘’You were clever, to think of it. To tell them the truth about the eggs.’’ You praise your brother, although you were scared in the moments where you acted out his plan. You had to turn off your emotions and believe that Fyrand would face certain death.

He bows his head in fake humbleness that does not become him in the slightest.

‘’Certainly. I have my moments. I nearly saw Prince Aemond drool when you presented that egg to that corpse.’’ You bet he did.

You become uneasy as you think of the one-eyed prince.

‘’He scares me.’’ You hope it is enough to call off the wedding part of the alliance.

But instead of that your brother’s smile only grows.

‘’Hm. He should. He is much to be scared of, little sister.’’

He leans in closer, his face close to the bars. ‘’There are rumors he tried to kill his own nephew. He is quick to anger, slow to forgive and has the biggest deadliest dragon in the entire world.’’ You hope he is lying. He has to be. He is describing a true monster.

‘’Aemond will win this duel.’’ He adds, as if it's clear.

‘’How are you certain?’’ Perhaps because Aemond is taller or older or something else you do not see?

He laughs as if you again ask a silly question.

‘’Because I saw both him and Jace fight. It won’t be to death, but just so you know: You will become Aemond’s bride.’’

A terrifying prospect. You did not agree to that.

‘’I thought we would pull the plan before that would happen?’’ You ask, your voice scared.

‘’No, little sister no. This is a long time plan. You just focus on keeping and making Aemond a very happy husband, yes?’’ You feel your air cut off at his horrible description. You see Aemond’s hands on your body and his lips near your neck, slightly brushing it when whispering dirty things in your ear.

Despite that, your body betrays you lie. ‘’Fyr, I’m scared. I do not wish to-’’ You wet your lips, speechless.

Your brother dryly gestures with the stomp that once had a hand attached to it.

‘’We all must make our sacrifices.’’ He says. You feel guilty. He lost his hand trying to get you to safety. He lost it defending the eggs. He smiles as you silently cry, accepting your fate. ‘’Now go. I bet they are itching to spill each other’s blood.’’

As always with a new story let me know what you thought of it. Comments reblogs likes are welcome but not required. But they do make me smile:)

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 6 months ago

Text

''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader 18+ MDNI PART 6!

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Wordcount :3347

Warnings below the cut

WARNINGS: Gore, mentions of assault (but it doesnt happen, and its not aemond who wants to do it) mentions of blood, gore, and violence as well as miscarriages (oc's mother)

Blood does not scare you. It once did, but not anymore.

It is liquid, water in a way. And there is nothing more natural to you than water.

Just funny coloured water that comes pouring out of your body if you are injured.

You came into this world, covered in blood as your mother bled out on the sheets, according to Fyrand. You were screaming and crying, kicking and alive. Despite Maesters feared the worst, despite your enemies hoping the worst, you came out alive.

And you did just that.

Time and time and time again.

Whenever you see blood, it brings you back to a distant but fresh memory. Not your birth. You don’t recall what your own mother looked like. You never saw a portrait, or anything. You never dared to ask Fyrand either. Your mother is a wound that never healed.

So, another memory surfaces from the dark instead. A dark memory of you, standing on a ship, during a storm. Your brother close to you, his fingers holding a crown. Your family’s crown.

You recall how badly the ship and the men smelled. Like piss, like beer, like all unpleasant unladylike things. Like hell, if you are being honest. You never had any man eye you with desire, but in that very moment you had. The captain of the pirateship couldn’t keep his eyes off from you.

Fyrand had made a deal, selling the crown for passage to Westeros. But the Captain had decided he wanted more. He wanted you. ‘’Westeros is a boring place. It would be best to have her stay here.’’ You remember the way his crew laughed, that sickening, twisted laughter.

Fyrand has never been kind to you. But he was not stupid either. He would not give up his pawn to a mere pirate. Not when he already offered the crown of his mother.

It is funny how the gods have a sense of humor, as that man that wanted to marry you, too missed an eye. And his teeth were almost falling from his mouth, caused by rotting.

Fyrand huffed, took the crown and left the ship, dragging you with him. But you were denied access and grabbed. The captain placed his dagger against your throat. He hissed that you needed to be quiet and that Fyrand had to make a choice. ‘’Either your sister gives me her hand, or you do.’’ You weren’t sure what you ever did to that man. But you noticed a golden sealion that day. A few weeks after the attack, you found out your house tried to destroy that house. He was taking revenge for a crime none of you were even alive to remember.

You remember how you screamed when Fyrand took a sword of a crewmember and placed it at his left wrist, and just chopped. The flesh teared, blood poured and the captain finally released you as you sobbed on the deck, hearing Fyrand’s roar of pure pain and agony. The hand wasn’t off fully. It remained, tangling by pieces of flesh, as a leaf dancing in the wind. You felt your stomach turn and whatever meal you had would soon come back up. The captain approached Fyrand, grabbed his hand, and just pulled, tearing the flesh fully as Fyrand threw his head in his neck and screamed.

After that, somehow, you were both allowed to stay. It was a uncomfortable journey for you, but no incidents had happened aside from people calling ‘’doll’’ and smirking whenever you passed.

You and Fyrand shared one room aboard, and in that room, you stitched close his wound with a needle and ripped threads from one of your dresses. You never had stitched a wound before and Fyrand didn’t have anything to soften the pain. You were afraid at first. But you knew he would die if you didn’t get over it. So you pierced his skin and started stitching, bringing the wound flesh close, and tied it close.

It is strange.

Many years and moons have passed since that night but you can still hear your brother scream and picture his hand, the way the blood sprayed out of his hand, coloring the deck red as the pirates cheered.

Aemond does not seem to notice that you are not there anymore, but your feet become quicker as if you are a dancer that takes the lead and your breath increases. Aemond, Aemond doesn't notice. In truth, Aemond seems happy. Almost dazed, enchanted or drugged. He can't seem to stop smiling as you drag him with you, faster and faster as memories plague your mind.

You think back of the conversation the two of you had earlier. How Ser Criston was allegedly a good sword fighter. How good can he be, if he injured the Prince? “I thought you told me that Ser Criston was an excellent swordsman?” Your voice sounds snappy, angry and furious.

Aemond barely hides his chuckle. You turn around to look at him, so he can see the pain and worry in your face. The moment he sees how much this hurts and worries you, the smile dies. He steps forward. You back away at first but he bumps into you anyway. Clumsily he grabs you gently and kisses your forehead. “He is, Revaera. It was a small cut and my own fault. I got too impatient. I am many things, patient is not one of my qualities.”

You smile, mischievously and play with the pins on his shirt, touching his chest. “Someone should teach you patience. I don't want you injured.” You tell him, kissing his cheeks.

He breaks into a grin, a stunning bright grin that lights up your entire world. You feel your cheeks warm and are pressed against his body. “Maybe you can teach me.” He whispers, seductively. You like the way he has you where he wants you to. You feel safe and relax, until you see that the wound still drips with blood. You stare at it, as the world seems to fade.

“We need a maester.” You hear Aemond say, but you don’t react. This time, he needs to drag you with him.

You and Aemond soon find the maester in his room. It is nicely decorated and as you assumed, it has dozens of books. You wonder if the Maester himself wrote anything. The maester in question is a bald man, wearing classical robes and a chain, as you suspected. He is reading a big book that lies in front of him on the desk, not paying the two of you any attention.

That is until you speak, pushing Aemond in his direction, surprising the young prince, who stumbles on his feet, his good eye widened in surprise. ‘’He is hurt. The prince is injured.’’ You speak, your voice clear and calm.

You expect perhaps some urgency. Perhaps a worried glance. You don't expect what happens.

The maester slams his book closed, his eyes full of fear and terror as he looks at Aemond. ‘’What? Where? Show me!’ He cries out. The chair he was sitting on falls on its back and you watch, a bit flustered.

Even Aemond seems shocked.

That was perhaps not a good idea.

You feel terrible when the concerned and dutiful Maester looks at the tiny cut in Aemond’s hands. You really scared the poor man and avoid his eyes for now on.

Aemond chuckles, smiling at you as if you are his whole world. You don’t understand why, you scared a poor man, and you also made a scene. Yet he seems to appreciate it.

You think back of his words. Earlier, he mentioned that his father wouldn't even notice if he did not attend the supper you two skipped. What was that supposed to mean?

The maester allows himself to calm down, sighing with relief as he takes in Aemond's injury. He looks at the cut. ‘’O. A small cut.’’ The maester says, after studying it. “Luckily it looks like a clean one. Did you injure yourself when fighting?” He asks prince Aemond.

Aemond turns his head away, so that is a yes. “It was just a scratch, but Revaera insisted.” Aemond should be annoyed or fed up with your behavior but instead he smiles adoringly at you, holding your hand in his free one as the maester looks closer at the wound.

‘’You have a protective wife, my prince.’’ The maester comments kindly. “It is Princess Revaera, is it not?” He asks you, and you can tell by his piercing glare that he knows all too well who your family is.

You nod. The maester does not say anything but his look says it all. Disapproval.“To have a Marthyralys back in the castle. Your ancestors left a colorful mark on Westeros's history books.” You know he is right. You know your ancestors killed a lot of people. But is it really the time to have that conversation? And is it really up to him to judge you for the crimes of your ancestors?

Any other day you might have reconsidered: This man has a story, same as you. Maybe he is a family member of someone killed. Or maybe he simply wants to keep the castle and the royal family safe.

But you can't stop the words rolling off your tongue. You can’t stop the fire that burns in your veins. “So did any family worth their salt.”

The maester makes a disapproving grimace. Next to you, Aemond nods approvingly as his wound is cleaned, smirking proudly.

The Maester turns to Aemond, tying the bandage over his cutted hand. “A fierce wife. You do best to muzzle her. I'm not so sure Westeros is ready for such a free spoken woman.” You wonder instantly if the Targaryens knew you were hiding in Pentos. You told Aemond, you assume the court knew but why does a Maester know this? A maester, who knows everything about curing a illness….

And causing one.

You look at Aemond and he seems to know you caught on too, quickly scratching behind his ear and turning his head away once more. You will talk with him about that. But you have another problem. The Maester is right.

You embarrassed Aemond. You spoke out of line. You threw a tantrum like some little girl. You disappointed him beyond words.

Aemond speaks, and you can't even look at him. You really aren't cut out to be a Princess. “She has become quite fierce. I don't mind it one bit, however. She can speak however she wishes.” He says, fierce and protective. He kisses your knuckles as a token of appreciation and love. Then his gaze hardens when he looks at the Maester. “Westeros might not be ready for her, but she is ready for Westeros. Whether it likes it or not; Here she is and here she'll stay. Am I understood?” You beam, pleased as the Maester visibly cowers, afraid of the temper of the Prince.

You see the Maester gulp and know that Aemond has made his point very clear. “Yes, my prince.” The maester mutters.

Aemond smiles, barely hiding his pride, that you are his wife. ‘’I am truly blessed. My princess has enough worries on her mind. She does not need this as well.” there is a barely hidden warning there. The maester must not disturb you.

The maester does as he is told, and you and Aemond soon leave his rooms. You walk back with him, your left hand into his injured right one. You try not to think of how your brother lost his own hand. But that is difficult.

You two walk in a peaceful silence and when Aemond speaks, you nearly jump out of your skin. “How has your day been?” You think back of your talk with Fyrand. A baby must soon be made. A child. A heir. And you hate how your memories keep haunting you, whenever you see blood.

And there’s something else.

On your wedding day, Princess Rhaenyra said something that haunts you still. She said she had her ‘’own’’ maesters. Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing? And can you even trust them? And why did she tell you, of all people?

Aemond is unaware your thoughts are gathering and forming a storm in your head. “What hobby did you pick?” He asks Excited to know your answer as you remain silent. You freeze. You had forgotten all about that. You would try to find something to entertain yourself. To bring him joy, rest, and so that he doesn’t have to worry when doing his duties.

Some wife you are.

“Uhm, well…I…” You laugh first then you become nervous, as the walls seem to close around you and your breath quickens.

You laugh, begin to breathe harder and eventually you become dizzy. You sway on your feet and begin crying as the air is taken from your lungs, as you collapse to the ground.

Aemond is shocked at first. He kneels down by you right away however. “Calm, my love. I am not mad. Calm.” He whispers, holding you by your wrists, gently so you may be free any moment you want. He also allows you room to breathe and takes deep breaths with you. You follow his example and soon you feel better and calm and stand back up, with his help.

He kisses you after you have stopped crying too. “I had a change of heart. If it truly makes you that anxious to be outside of my rooms, if it truly upsets you so much…” He swallows and looks at the tiles, clearly ashamed he encouraged you.

That's all he did. Encourage you. To be free. To be happy. To let your trauma go. To live your life. Maybe he is right. “No, maybe you were right. Maybe I need this push.” You speak.

He shakes his head. “I don't want to become someone you fear or worse, hate.” He whispers.

You could never hate him. “You were only worried for my own wellbeing and safety. You were right, Aemond. I can't stay cooped up in your rooms as some chicken.” No matter how safe you feel there. “No matter how comfortable your bed is.” You add, to jest. He takes it well and laughs, grinning.

Aemond helps you stand, testing if you can remain on your own two feet before letting you go. “How about we try to find something fun to do tomorrow? I never showed you the city. We can do that, should you wish for it.” King's Landing.

You have never seen it. Only heard stories. Stories of fierce men and dangerous dragons and treason and loyalty. “Your ancestors built this city side by side with mine. I know my family wants to erase you from our accomplishments. I know your ancestor was a great traitor. But he is not the only Marthyralys that lived. There are dozens before him that advised and counseled my family…” He is right. You know he is.

But…

Seeing your own history…

You aren’t sure you are ready for that.

Your ancestors might have build this city…

But they build it over the grave of millions.

Is it truly something to be proud of?

But Aemond doesn’t seem to know shame when it comes to history. “So, you could learn your history and ancestry, should you wish it.” He finishes a bit shy, and that makes you understand how important this is to him. He wants to show you the city he grew up in. He wants to spend time with you and to hold your hand as you walk through stinking streets as two ordinary people in love.

“Is that even allowed?” You ask. You doubt his father will approve. The king hates you, you are certain of it. And to have a Marthyralys wonder the streets, learn about Targaryen secrets and plots…

He chuckles. “I'm the Prince. You are the Princess. Asides, how can we learn from our mistakes if we do not acknowledge them?” He asks, and there he makes a good point.

Still, you aren’t sure. “That is true.” You mutter.

He breaks into a grin, victorious at last. “It stands then.” He kisses your cheeks and you are reminded of what you and Fyrand discussed. His baby. Aemond kisses increase as he leaves a trail of kisses on your collarbone, his smile something between a smirk and a smile as he softly pins you against the walls of the hallway, quickly looking around for servants or any other witnesses.

You tremble. And just like that, the spell is broken.

Aemond's good eye closes suspiciously, and the sweet kisses end. “What is it?” It is terrifying how well he can read you already.

You know he wants a baby.

You know so.

And you can’t say that you don’t want that. That you can’t want that. That you are terrified of dying like your mother. “Nothing.”

He scoffs, concern written all over his face as his body language changes from excited to worry. “There clearly is. Tell me what is the matter? I do wish us to discuss this.” You nod, and Aemond allows you to leave the wall.

You go to his bedchamber, tears burning in your eyes and you hear his footsteps, never that far behind you.

Aemond closes the door and waits for you to explain yourself. You sit down on his bed, sniffling. “Fyrand has been pressuring me about a baby.” You admit.

At first he is confused. “A baby?”

You wipe away at your tears, furiously that this makes you so upset. Giving Aemond a child, an heir, making princes and princesses, it should be the highest honor. So why does this terrify and hurt you so deeply? “Yes. A heir for you. For your father too.” You blurt out.

Aemond raises a brow.

“You want to carry my father's heir?”

You would rather die. Disgusted, you shake your head. “No! I meant, I'd give you a son, and him a grandchild. According to Fyrand that will disincrease the hate he has for me.’’

Aemond scoffs, and you can tell he does not agree with that idea. He scoffs at Fyrand, not you. “My brother thought the same thing for a while. But nothing will please that old buffalo.” You keep crying. No matter how eager you are to stop.

Aemond sighs, and he soon joins you on the bed, sitting next to you. He grabs your hands, where you are pulling your skin, to stop just that. “I know it is expected of both of us to soon present our child at court.” You nod at his words.

But he grabs your hands tightly and kisses your knuckles. “But I want us to have that child, when you want to have a child.” You are shocked.

He continues, storking your belly through your gown. “I want you to glow, beam of pride and joy and to stroke and caress your belly and to love our child. I want you to be ready for it.” He says.

You can’t believe this.

And so you won’t. “But what of your legacy? The Targargen line? Don't you want my baby?” You ask. You can’t imagine Aemond being fine with his line dying out. You just can’t.

He grins, and you can tell he is hiding something from you. He cares. He cares so badly, about having his legacy, about having this child with you. He is hiding his own darkest desires, his own insidious thoughts. ‘’I want you. I married you. I didn't marry your title. I didn't marry your bloodline. But you, Revaera.’’ You tear up, lips trembling as you wrap your arms around his neck, burying yourself in the safety of his arms. “It's alright, my love. Just let it out.” He whispers, holding you. ‘’We will find a way. I just know we will.’’ You nod, and you wonder just how much he believes his own lies.

/TRAILER CAME OUT

so uh

IM SCARED xD

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 8 months ago

Text

''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader 18+ MDNI PART 5

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Wordcount :6524

Warnings below the cut

WARNINGS: Abuse (Not aemond commiting it, Aemond is nice in the fic) brother of OC/Reader is a asshole, mention of pregnancy related deaths (oc's mother) and mentions of Oral sex (f recieving) fingering, and a looooot of angst.

Fight and die 5

Your husband stays by your side during the evening, when the sun begins to settle and when the moon and stars once again entertain and light up the night skies. The two of you nestle in the warm embrace of his bed, with sheets and blankets covering your still naked body, that Aemond caresses and kisses as if he is your devoted servant and you his Goddess. Kisses that tingle and make your belly ache, and kisses you want to last forever and forever more after that. “I've never seen such a beautiful creature.” Aemond breathes against the shell of your ear. ‘’Marrying you was the best choice I ever made.’’ He adds, burying his silver haired head between your legs. You are reminded of how this evening started, with him, wishing to taste you. You were a bit nervous, of course. But he took care of you. As he always has.

You brace yourself by allowing him to kiss the same parts of your body that he took. That he touched before and where he pushed himself inside of you.

The pain always frightened you. But aside from the very first time, your body took it well. Aemond told you early on in your marriage that he would not force you.

Sharing his bed, doing your duties as his wife is fun, enjoyable and a blessing. You feel him draw circles with his fingers on your legs, making eye contact all the while when softly wettening his fingers by sucking on them. You let out a soft pitched appreciative cry.

He smiles, bending a bit further and soon you feel his warm, soft tongue lick over your smooth and wet entrance. Aemond moans against your skin, taking a deeper lick, his tongue tasting and taking away all the wetness you have. You clench yourself, your needs increasing as Aemond keeps licking.

‘’Such a delicate, delicious delicacy you guard between your legs.’’ He mutters, between your soft gasps and moans. ‘’I can do this all day long.’’ He promises, darkly and levels his tongue back at your entrance, proving his words with a possessive soft lick.

‘’I’m not sure I can.’’ You breathe out, shakingly. Your pleasure is building fast and you can barely handle it. Whenever you are near, you become a bit shy and embarrassed, as you are not so sure yet how to properly do this.

When Aemond took you, you were a maiden. Pure and uneducated in the way of pleasures. Now you know a bit more, but you and Aemond take it slow.

Your fingers dig in the sheets of his bed as the licks become soft kisses and eventually he is sucking your needy skin as you twist on his bed, your emotions and desire running higher and higher.

‘’Hmm,’’ Aemond murmurs after watching your flustered face with a dark appreciative smirk. ‘’My wife and my lady is just so delicious. I can’t help it.’’ He says, as if he excuses himself.

You know he is teasing.

‘’You are …delicious too.’’ You say, wishing to compliment him back.

Your free hands find his arms, gently touching him. You kissed Aemond before but never bothered to actually take notice of what his lips taste like. ‘’Hmm, I’m not so sure.’’ Aemond says, honest. ‘’Men taste different than women.’’ You want to ask him more about that. You avoided the subject with your brother. Sex was not for pleasure. It was to make heirs and to gain territorial ground.

But with Aemond, your husband…you are curious. How does a man taste? How does a woman please him, properly? Do you do it well as you do, or does Aemond want more excitement and fun?

‘’How does a man taste?’’ You whisper softly. You get no response. You curse yourself. You likely were too soft and he didn't even hear your question. And you don't want to know how a man tastes. You want to know how he tastes.

You lift his chin gently, interrupting his sucking. ‘’How do you taste?’’ You ask him, without missing a beat. Aemond's lips glinster with your wetness and juice as he licks them clean, watching your face speechlessly at your question.

‘’You wish to know that?’’ He asks, his voice a few octaves lower than usual, anticipation and pure lust creeping in.

Despite that he saw you naked and touched you where no one ever did, and despite you calling him your husband, the act still makes you a bit shy. ‘’Perhaps.’’ You calmly reply.

Aemond rubs your legs.

‘’You think you are ready for such things?’’ He wonders out loud. You wonder the same thing. These things take time to learn, time and trust. You are taking things slow with your husband. You two regularly lay together but trust, it is another thing entirely.

You hope to slowly build it with Aemond, stone for stone and wall for Wall until a strong foundation lays at your feet. But your mind, however…

It is curious. Aemond fed it with delicious forbidden things. He teaches you that having sex is a pleasure, not a duty and a burden. He made you appreciate it in ways you never thought possible and that makes you curious for what awaits you both. ‘’What sort of things?’’

Prince Aemond takes a good look at your shimmering wetness, perhaps avoiding eye contact that way as the words that leave his lips are soft and gently spoken as a secret he is hiding. ‘’Pleasuring me.’’

At first you are intrigued. Until you hear your self esteem tell you that you apparently don't do a good job at pleasuring him at all, or else he wouldn't have asked for more. And that makes you a horrible nervous wreck for when your brother comes, as pleasuring the prince was your only task. ‘’Don’t I already bring you pleasure?’’ You quickly mutter.

‘’Yes, more than you know.’’ That brings you relief. He is pleased. You do well. He continues however. ‘’But, you made it sound as if you were curious about more ways to bring me pleasure. Perhaps more ways…’’

His thumb and finger rub your nipples, as his other hand smoothly disappears between your legs, to where you need his fingers. He starts to level them inside of you, grabbing hold of you as you allow his fingers to take you. ‘’For yourself to reach more pleasure.’’ You gasp.

‘’I’m not sure I can handle such ways.’’ You confess. “I'm already at my limit with what I can handle.” He chuckles, adoring you clearly, perhaps you, perhaps the thought he brought you to your limits.

Yet he is gentle with his words, sweet even and considerate. Unlike most men. Unlike most husbands for sure. “You just started this journey. You have much to learn, but I will educate you when you are both mentally and psychically ready for it.” He whispers in your ear, leaving a kiss on your neck. You shiver against him and allow his hands to keep touching you where you desperately need it.

He thinks you can take more. He knows you can handle more. He sees you as a strong thing. ‘’I’ll admit, when I first met you, I thought you were a porcelain doll. One push and you’d shatter.’’ You wait for the compliment. ‘’But, I have gotten to know you and, well… You are not porcelain. You are Valyrian steel.’’ You know of that material. It is said to be strong as nails and nearly unbreakable. It is also lighter yet, making it a perfect weapon. The steel was forged in your ancestral land, where the Targaryens and your family both hailed from.

You feel flattered and beautiful all due to his kind words. But these are more than kind words. When he looks at you, you can see he is sincere in his praise. You wait for his fingers to finish touching you before you top him in an impulse, rolling on top of him and pinning him under you to give him a sloppy messy and needy kiss.

Aemond appreciates it, moving his hands over your back, caressing you as you lay there, feeling his heartbeat close and safe within your grasp.

He pins his hands into your own. You realize you are mirroring the position where you two start when you perform your duties as his wife. He is under for once and you, you are on top.

You feel more heat rise to your cheeks as you try to get off your husband, as this is likely far from what he wants. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to-” You stutter, getting off him as fast as you can.

Prince Aemond is confused, his brows narrowed and his good eye glances up and down your body, clearly worried.

“What is it?’’

You gesture with your hands to his bed and laugh, a bit silly that you acted on such foolish impulses. “A wife is supposed to lay under her husband. Not on top of him.” You say, as your brother has told you many times. ‘’It is known.’’

Aemond remains on the bed, putting his hands behind his head and sighs, deeply. You watch his chest rise and fall, fascinated by the prince’s beauty. Not just his muscles, but his grace. His good eye twitches and sparkles with mischief as he softly smirks, looking at you as if you are his whole world. “What does my wife think of that statement?” You aren’t sure. That is the way things were explained to you. That is the way the world works, in your opinion.

But the way Aemond said it, it changes everything you had known. “It's the truth, isn't it? A man can't…put his…inside her if he's.. not…” Your lips begin to part as Aemond burst into laughter at your statement.

He touches your face, lovingly before he kisses your lips and forehead, caressing it. “I assure you, I'm very flexible. But if you are uncomfortable in this position, or any position, you will tell me and we won't do it anymore. How does that sound?” You are very well aware Aemond could have chosen something else. A wife is a wife and has to obey her husband. Yet Aemond listens to your every wish, every step down the road he has been nothing but kind and gentle.

It makes you worry, because what if Aemond is just acting around you? What if he pretends to be fine, making all these sacrifices and sees women behind your back? What if this is all temporary and a beast is hiding beneath the man? “It's just…I am curious. Do I do well? As a wife?” You ask, sincer.

“As a wife?” He repeats after you.

You force yourself to laugh, trying to appear charming and beautiful.

“Do I bring you pleasure?” You ask, clarifying what you want to know, no must know so badly.

Aemond briefly looks at what is down between his legs, before chuckling softly. ‘’Revaera. You are a Valyrian born, enchanting, stunning, funny and smart woman. And I have only known you for almost a week. I can’t wait to see all the hidden sides that there are to you, I can’t wait to face both joy and doom with you. You make me not only happy, you make me proud to call you my wife.’’

You never have know to take a compliment well, as often, you weren’t complimented at all. You change the subject quickly. “Do you think we'll be in trouble?” You ask, out of the blue. You both denied the royals of this castle by not attending supper. You broke tradition and you insulted the King and Queen. You are sure they have killed for less.

Aemond switches the position of himself, planting himself slightly on top of you, intertwining your fingers lovingly with his own, making eye contact when kissing your lips. “Unlikely. They'll be offended for a few days or weeks at most. They'll get over it.” You hope he is right.

You hear his chuckle. “I'm sure my father didn't even notice I did not attend. So no trouble at all.” He assures you, lowering himself and laying back next to you. You feel him wrap his arms around your body and pull you closer.

You understand he is planning to sleep.

You know you should make use of this moment and seek out your brother to talk with him about the conflicts and the supper you missed. And how and why he is freed from the cage. Someone did that. Someone in this castle, someone with power, freed him. But who? And most importantly: Why?

But the impulse to stay safely within your husband's reach and to keep warm under the sheets of his bed, that impulse is too big for you to fight.

If you are so duty bound to your house, why do you feel as a whole other person when Aemond is near? He makes you want to take risks you never thought of taking. You never would have defied or rejected supper with the King and Queen before.

Next to you your husband snores gently and it is a comforting noise to you. You settle down next to him, and let sleep take you as well.

☆☆☆

��Revaera. Wake up, my love.” You hear your husband's voice gently as you open your eyes. A new day has arrived and a sunny one at that. Aemond sits on the bed near you, already dressed in his usual leather coat and pants.

You size him up, your smile fading as you understand he is heading out. “Are you going somewhere?” He likely is. And that terrifies you. You'll be alone and powerless without him by your side.

He nods, confirming your worst fears. He gently pats the sword he carries around.

“Practicing my swordfighting. I didn't want to leave you without telling you, however. That seemed…” He trials off. “A bit ill suited.” He did so before, and hearing his voice you know he is ashamed and apologizes for that mistake.

When you two first slept together, when he won you and when you two consummated the marriage. Yet you never once regretted sleeping with him. He was kind, gentle and respectful. It was unlike anything you'd imagine it would be. It was pleasant.

“I know you have your duties, but thank you for thinking about me.” But that horrible feeling of helplessness grows and grows, eating away at your confidence.

The prince chuckles. “I'll think of you, whether I want that or not. You're on my mind quite often.” You hope he means that as a compliment. Aemond seems to see your worried face so he quickly adds with a blink or a wink (it is Aemond after all): “In a pleasant manner.”

You can't fight the smile that his words bring you. That he thinks of you so often is a good sign. Your relationship is improving, you hope.

Finally, Aemond speaks.

“Revaera.’’

“Yes?”

He opens his mouth and closes it, as if unsure how to start this conversation.

“What are your plans?” you freeze. Plans. He knows. He heard of Fyrand’s plans, whatever it is they are.

You try to ease your panicked voice and your fingers that itch away at your skin.

“My plans? I don't have any plans?” You nervously blurt out.

Aemond smiles, chuckling softly. “No, I meant…for today. When I'm absent. What will you do? How will you entertain yourself?”

You ease your nerves, telling yourself he has not have one clue what you and your brother are planning. You have the feeling that Aemond is smarter than he appears, and likely sooner or later will find out.

But for now, you do have a good question to answer. How will you entertain yourself? Aemond is your husband, and besides him, you haven’t made any friends or allies at the castle. You could always swarm around, but you doubt it would end in someone befriending you.

In truth: Being outside this room terrifies you. You are worried about running into the King, the Queen and having to face them after you and your husband missed dinner. There’s also the chance that more servants have heard how you are responsible for the death of two servants. And they already didn’t like you.

You want to stay in Aemond’s room, waiting patiently by his bed until he returns and you can warmly nestle back in his arms again, where he will protect you from the cruelty and cold of this world.

“I-”

You think. “I might help Dyana with folding the laundry.” You think it is a good, productive and kind way to help your maid out and to help your husband as well.

But all Aemond does is shake his head the moment you have spoken out your thoughts. He does not approve of your plans. “I don't want that for you. You are my Lady, my princess. My wife…’ He caresses your face. “You are not my slave or my whore. You are not forced to remain within these four walls when I am gone.” He ends his sentence with a disbelieving chuckle.

He continues, grabbing hold of your hands so he may caress your wrists. You understand he does so to feel your heartbeat. Proof that you are alive and real. “You should find something fun, something that excites you and something that brings you joy. A hobby, perhaps.” He suggests, kindly but it terrifies you regardless. A hobby. He wants to distract you.

Is it because he cares so much, or is it because he is worried you might be plotting something after all? Is he aware?

You never had time for hobbies or entertainment. Fyrand made sure of that. And starting one now, outside of these rooms, in halls filled with people who hate you, without Aemond, it sounds…

Terrifying.

“I never had much of a hobby. There wasn't time for that in Pentos.” You say, dismissevely.

Aemond murmurs something, but grabs your hands tighter. “You are not in Pentos now, love. You are here. With me. We have a big library, a kennel filled with dogs and even a garden with herbs. Painting, writing, singing. It's all yours, darling.” He really wants you to find a hobby.

You are a bit afraid of dogs, so you won’t be doing that, ever. And singing, you aren’t sure Aemond knows, but you can’t sing at all. And painting, you paint your own fingers more than you paint any canvas. “That sounds..expensive. What if I drop the paint, what if the dog runs away or if the glass shatters when I start singing?” You blurt out, your thoughts leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

He laughs, amused thinking you are jesting. “The dogs are very loyal and very used to this lifestyle. It is unlikely they will even entertain that thought. Paint I can easily replace that myself for you, and I'm not sure I ever heard of a glass breaking due to poor singing.’’

He simply smiles and you know he won’t give up this matter any time soon and won’t leave this room until you have given him a proper answer. “I know what you say, Aemond. I do. It's just…For years I've been alone in a cold castle and …you are my light in the darkness. My safety net. Without you, I feel like I'm drowning.” You whisper.

His smile softens and he kisses you once more. ‘’I am not sure what this is between us. There's something there, a seed that needs to be protected. I want to watch it grow; if you do as well.” He studies your face, so you give a nod. You do.

He continues, however and gently gives you a slight push in the direction he wants your relationship to go. “But I know, it is your best interest to start learning how to stand on your own two feet.”

“How do I get the servants to obey me? They all hate me for what that blasted ancestor of mine did.” You scowl, anger getting the better of you.

Yet he seems confident that in time, all will be alright. “You'll learn in time. You already made a friend here. The servant girl will be at your disposal today. The one you convinced me to save.”

You know he made it clear why he wanted them hanged. They dared to question your virtue, therefor any children you and Aemond will have in the future. It is high treason, and Targaryens have one answer to high treason: Death.

But you feel, deep inside, that you must give it one last chance to change his mind for the better. To try to save two necks from a rope. “Did you by any chance perhaps change your mind on the others?” You ask, sweetly and unintentionally you notice you rub his hands.

His lips slowly rise, as he kisses your hands. “You are too good for this world. Too pure and too kind.” He gets up from the bed, pushing you softly aside. Rejected, you watch him.

He walks a few steps in his rooms, thinking. He continues, folding his hands on his back whenever he makes a tough choice and you know he did not change his mind at all. “But no. I did not.”

There is something final in his voice, and you understand you mustn't bring up the matter again, as it will likely cause an argument between the two of you. “I, I wish it was different but..if it's truly so dangerous for our lives and our future…” You trial off, scratching your itching skin. “Our future heir, then I accept your choice, Aemond. I trust you with this.”

Your husband sighs deeply, clearly relieved. ‘’Thank you for seeing it from my point of view. I don't enjoy spilling blood or killing. But this is an insult we must and cannot let stand.” He continues. “I wish to kiss you. Do you want me to do that?”

You laugh, finding it a little silly that he asks. He is your husband, he fucked you, he owns you, in a way. “I'm your wife.”

He does not react to that, remaining resilient. “Yes or no. Are you in the mood for a kiss? Do you want me to touch you?”

You nod, but he is not moving so you give him a verbal proper answer.

“Yes.” Aemond rejoins you on his bed, giving you a soft but loving kiss that makes your stomach flutter.

You grin, brightly and whisper in his ear. “I like our kisses.”

He kisses you again, grinning just as madly as you do. “Our. I like the sound of that.”

You notice he is eying his sword again, and understand he is soon leaving your side. Aemond leaves the bed, but you yank him back by his leg, begging him with your eyes. “Please be careful.”

He nods, smiling gently at you. “I always am. Ser Criston is a respected and skilled swordsman. He would never let any harm come to me or to Aegon.” You haven’t heard much about either Ser Criston Cole or Aegon but you hope Aemond knows what he is doing. He won the duel for your hand. That has got to mean something.

You are glad he dropped the hobby matter. “I'm glad you say that. That eases my worries.” You say.

Aemond puts his sword back on and studies himself one last time in the reflection of a mirror. “Remember what I said, Revaera. You are not my slave nor my whore. Your life is your own now. I wish you to start living it. Not just endure it. Enjoy, not just survive it. Breathe out not to hold your breath.” You sigh, softly.

“I shall do my best.” You manage to say.

He gives you a final kiss before leaving.

“That's all I can ask, see you tonight, my love.’’

You mutter back that you’ll see him tonight.

—

Not so late after Aemond left, a young, blonde woman rejoins your side. She is the woman who spoke up about the bullying of your other ladiesmaids. She also was ready to defend you against Prince Aemond. That was not needed, but still, incredibly brave and kind of her.

You gesture for her to take a seat in your husband’s chair by the fireplace. A little confused and big-eyed, she does as she is commanded. ‘’Good morrow, Princess Revaera.’’ She says.

You smile. ‘’Good morrow. I don’t believe you mentioned your name. If you did, you must forgive me, but memory isn’t my strong suit.’’ It seems to put her at ease.

‘’Dyana.’’ She says. ‘’And, uhm, yes Princess. I had already told you that. But that is fine! You can’t remember every servant’s name-’’ She rambles, a little nervous. “I am forever in your debt and at your service, Princess. You saved my life from the gallows.”

You nod, sitting down. ‘’I just pity I couldn’t talk my husband into sparing the others as well.’’ You murmur. ‘’He seemed so sure that this is the right path to take, but what if we can find another way?’’

Dyana lifts her blonde haired head. ‘’Those ladies called you a whore. They dug their own graves. Your husband is in his right.’’ That is two voices against your own judgment and your own reasons.

You look at Dyana.

“Why did you come in during our talk?”

At first Dyana shrugs, but then she looks at her hands, pulling her nails like you often do. “My mind wandered. Usually when a husband dismisses his wife's ladies she's…” she gulps. “It is not pretty. I could not live with myself thinking he would harm you for things you did not do.” She regains a certain fire in her eyes, when she speaks.

You understand she has a horrible image of how Prince Aemond truly is. A truly horrible image. “Prince Aemond was just worried about me, but I'm thankful for your kindness and your protection, Dyana. It means a lot that you would risk offending the prince, for me. A strange girl you never even met.’’

Dyana nods, eagerly and clearly proud of herself. She has every reason to. “Of course, Princess. My mother always told me I should treat everyone with kindness. Princess or peasant.” She adds. ‘’Oh, I almost forgot Princess. We must also prepare you for a banquet tonight. The King wishes to dine with his entire family, now that Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon and their children have come home from Dragonstone.’’

Dyana helps you find a suitable dress. The last time you were here, the lady's maid's you had forced you to wear Green. It would send a message to the Princess and her family. A message you don’t want to send. You want to play both sides for now, and try to find out what side your loyalty should lie, for the sake of yourself but also for you and Aemond.

So, you pick out a purple with silver gown with golden stitches and a open back. Dyana helps you lace your dress, smiling at you through the big mirror. ‘’You look stunning, Princess.’’

A voice creeps up from behind you, startling you both. “I dare say so.” You turn around, your heart in your throat and your hands sweaty.

“Fyrand.” You say.

The illustrious heir of house Marthyralys, your brother, Fyrand stands behind you and Dyana, eying your silver and purple dress with great admiration.

Your brother smiles, but you can see he is furious. ‘’I came here to see my little sister. You look ravishing for the banquette. Job well done, I’d say. You’ll have Aemond fucking you again soon.’’ That makes you uncomfortable. You didn’t dress for Aemond at all.

You are glad Dyana is still with you, pretending to be busy with small things and matters, but her watchful eyes never truly leave Fyrand.

She pretends to be busy with folding blankets to avoid the eye of your brother. “Fyrand, I don't think Aemond wants you here.” You tell him, truthfully. “He is currently with Ser Criston and Prince Aegon in the gardens, practicing his sword fighting.”

He laughs, as if he remembers something funny. Something ironic you don’t know yet. “O, I don't doubt that they are for a moment. There is much to prepare for.” He grins as if he is experiencing some irony or knows something you do not. You don't like it. “I'm your brother. You can trust me.” He adds once he sees your frown.

He seems to notice Dyana finally. “You. Girl. Go bother someone else.” Dyana does not react nor move at his command.

“Girl. Are you deaf?” He barks, becoming annoyed and approaching her too. You are too familiar with Fyrand’s cruel hand, and you don’t wish to see Dyana suffer.

“Dyana, it is fine.” You tell her, gently.

For the first time since your brother ended, she looks up. Her eyes are full of worry and fear. “Are you certain, Princess?”

“Yes.”

Dyana stops folding the laundry, and leaves you and Fyrand alone in Aemond’s rooms. The moment the door is shut, he turns on his heel, facing you. “Aemond got you a nanny, then. Does he not trust you? Does he not like you anymore? Is that why he is fighting?” You are confused. You and Aemond are doing fine. Aemond is not fighting persé, not in an emotional way. He is practicing.

“Calm down.” You manage to say when he is done firing questions at you. Aemond does seem to trust you, which is why he approved of you having a maid to attend to your womanly needs as he called it. Dyana helps you with dressing, corsets and bathing. Tasks that are a bit difficult for you as you never really had to wear such fancy gowns or look that good.

You always looked decent but never this stunning. You dress for your influence and house now, and also because you know that Aemond will like it if you put effort into it. But most of all, you dress yourself now how you want to dress. You adore the different clothing and the fabrics and how endless the possibilities seem when it comes to design of fashion.

And it's not just the fashion that has changed. Your eyes sparkle with something that you can only describe as a harvest. Seeds have been planted and withered away, yet all thanks to your own strength and endurance, you forced the seeds back into the ground to give it another go. And the result is everything you hoped it would be.

Fyrand grabs your throat, bringing you back to so many horrors. Despite having only one hand, he makes up for the loss of that by dragging his nails into your neck. “I am not calming down! I lost my left hand to get us on that ship. I lost everything to save you. The least you can do is repay me back for what you owe me.” You try to get his hands off your neck, and once you start choking, he does so.

You wait for him to explain the plan.

“What is my mission exactly?”

He scoffs at your stupidity. ‘’Gain the trust of the Targaryens and the Hightowers. Aemond likes you and tolerates you. That is clear to see. The King however, does not. I think that will change the moment you give birth to a beautiful silver haired child.” His last remaining hand pets your belly.

You think back of your mother.

“You know why birthing is a difficult topic for me.” You whisper, soft.

Fyrand burst into laughter. “For you? As if you even knew our mother who died when you came out of her, as some monster crawling out of a corpse.” He laughs, oblivious to your own pain.

You don’t understand how this will make the King happy. He has plenty of silver haired grandchildren. “Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena have already gifted him grandchildren. Even Princess Rhaenyra has her own babies who qualify-”

Fyrand groans, warning you of his temper. “Prince Aemond would like to have an heir. And you will like having a son. As all women do. You will like nurturing it and taking care of it.”

You aren’t sure. For you never had a mother to begin with. Who would teach you how to be a mother? “What if I don't? What If I'm a terrible mother?” Fyrand laughs, before hitting you across your face. “Don't test my patience again.” He adds. ‘’Focus on getting pregnant. You and Aemond fuck enough for that happen, I’ve heard.’’

You are seething he dared to hit you. Again. Any other time, you would’ve let him. But not this time. You grit your teeth.

‘’Who freed you?’’

Fyrand smirks, but does not tell you.

‘’We have a foot in the door, dear sister. Your husband isn’t the only one who has taken a liking to you.’’

And with that he leaves you with more questions than answers.

—

Prince Aemond asked you to find a hobby, so you will at least make an effort for it. For your love. For this seed, you both want to see it grow. So, you leave his chambers in your new evening gown and make your way down to the big stairs.

You don’t know where you are going, but somehow, your feet take you to the courtyard. You notice a dark haired male fighting with someone with familiar long, gorgeous and lucious silver hair. Your husband. You smile, approaching the two from a distant, careful to not interrupt their practice. Aemond dodges and drops his shattered shield, before avoiding the morningstar of the man. That must be Ser Criston.

You watch your husband and Cole both give it their all, and you don’t know you are holding your breath until it is all finished and Aemond holds his sword at Cole’s throat. Cole yields, and soon the gathered crowd applauds at the Prince’s skills. Yourself included.

You feel the urge to approach him, so you do, step for step and gently but by doing so, you are listening in to a conversation between Prince Aemond and Prince Aegon.

Prince Aegon is shorter, as is his hair.

‘’Your wife. How is she settling in?’’ You freeze. They are talking about you. You don’t know why, but you quickly hide between two tall men.

Aemond cleans his sword, sharpening it as well, shrugging and clearly trying to hide his smile. ‘’Revaera is doing well, all things considered.’’ You are glad he says so.

His brother grins.

‘’She eyes me as very eager to please. You should exploit that. Perhaps invite a lady into your bed. Revy will do as you command her. Perhaps she'll learn to like it as well.’’ Disgusted, you growl.

Aemond steps closer to Aegon, his sword still in his hand. ‘’Her name is Revaera. She has endured enough torture for a lifetime, I don't intent for it to continue when I vowed to protect and honour her.’’ He lashes out, groaning.

The other Prince scoffs. ‘’Such a protective little husband you have become. And so quickly. Whatever Revaera keeps between her legs must be absolutely divine. Do not forget who your loyalty should be to.’’ Aemond sighs, embarrassed his brother had to remind him of duty for once.

‘’My wife has proven no threat, Aegon. You know them. They were traitors once.’’ Aemond suddenly stops talking, and smiles when he notices you. Instead of berating you, he rushes to your side, sweeping you off your feet for a kiss.

‘’There you are.’’ He declares, as if you went for centuries without one another’s touch. Aegon rolls his eyes and throws his sword on the ground, not even bothering to put it away.

‘’I was uhm...How did the training go?’’ You ask, your cheeks still warmed because of all the eyes aimed at you and your husband.

Aemond frowns as you two make your way inside the castle. ‘’As well as to be expected. I worry for Aegon. He is getting better but I see so much wasted potential and its driving me insane.’’ He confesses, confiding in you. You feel proud he wants to share such things with you. You don’t know what to say that will make it better, so you instead rub his hands.

He smiles, accepting your love.

‘’New gown?’’ He asks, studying your stunning purple gown. He has a good eye. You assumed most men wouldn’t even notice that.

You smile, breaking free from his grasp and make a twirl and a spin for him, so he may see the whole thing. ‘’Yes. Do you like it?’’ You ask, smiling still.

He breaks into a grin. ‘’Very much so, but do you?’’

You think. Yes, you do. ‘’I like how soft the fur coat is. I like the pretty sparkles. Thank you for clothing me. Thank you for spending coins on me. It's the prettiest dress I ever laid eyes upon. ‘’You get a bit emotional too, realizing that this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for you.

Aemond shrugs, humble and modest and gives you a kiss on your cheeks. ‘’A dress is like a blank canvas. It becomes art when the artist brings it to life. The dress itself is pretty, but you make it eternal.’’ ‘’And, no worries about my coin and funds, love. I would not have taken a wife if I could not provide for her. And don't feel guilty too, as you can hardly walk around naked.’’ He jests, but he grins, whispering. ‘’Not that I would complain…’’

You chuckle.

You giggle, and your lips share a embrace as if you are two smitten teens. That is when you notice that the Prince has been injured. His hand has a cut, a small bleeding wound.

‘’O,’’ You mutter, looking closer at the wound. ‘’You are hurt.’’

‘’It's just a scratch.’’ Prince Aemond says, dismissively. ‘’It happens when you are fighting.’’

You grab his hands, forcing him to stand still. ‘’No, it's not.’’ It is not just a scratch.

Aemond blushes, smiling at you.

‘’I mean…’’ You stutter, aware you gave your husband an order and defied him.

But he does not seem to care.

‘’Yes?’’ Is all he asks with a kind gentle and hopeful smile.

You take him by his arm.

‘’Come. We shall find a maester for you.’’

‘’That is really not needed, my dear.’’

Yet you can't help but notice the smile on his lips and the gentle shimmer of hope in his eye.

‘’Why are you smiling?’’ You ask, shaking your head at your silly husband. Aemond shrugs, pretending to be fine, but you notice his voice has become emotional.

‘’Perhaps I’ve always wanted someone to worry for me. Anyone who wasn’t forced by blood to do so.’’

----

Yeah let me know what you think of this chapter! Next chapter we have the big dinner and also aemond will be undergoing surgery for his wounds /joke.

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 10 months ago

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''Fight and Die'' PART THREE Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss. blood, loss of maidenhead, abuse (not aemond) and overall just tragedy and stuff.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Author's note: It might still be a little darkish but not as dark as usual. I think this is the closest to show aemond I ever got.

🔷Wordcount: 5065

Warnings: Abuse and manupilation (but its not aemond doing it) mentions of blood and sex, loss of maidenhead and marriage abuse (but its not happening nor is it aemond, only the fear that aemond might do it)

When you were a little girl, you never imagined you one day would wake up in a castle so big you would never know it fully, with more servants to attend you then you can count, and blankets and sheets so soft that just touching them makes you feel as if you are dreaming.

It is because you have always known the gods are cruel to those who dare to dream, and even crueler still to those who dare to hope.

As a little girl you assumed one day you would marry a powerful ally to strengthen your brother’s cause, to help aid your ruined house and restore honor to the Marthyralys family. A Lord, perhaps. A duke, maybe. But you never assumed it would be a Prince. And especially not one that belonged to House Targaryen.

So, when you wake after your consummation with Prince Aemond, wearing nothing and wrapped in the sheets of his bed, you first need to verify if you are not dreaming.

Prince Aemond scared you, at first. He seemed a dangerous, selfish man and according to your brother, he would rape and hurt you every remaining night of your life. And who would possibly come to your defense if he would? Not your brother, that is for certain.

There was always a reason you feared the consummation. There was much to be scared of. From the pain, to the possibility you might end up pregnant and end as your beloved mother, bleeding out on your birthing bed.

But from the moment he undressed you to the moment he went inside of you, Prince Aemond had given you no reason to distrust him or to doubt his vows. He didn’t rape you, he didn’t shame or insult you. Instead of that he waited for you and he listened. No one had ever listened before. No one.

You turn on your side, expecting to find your husband nestled warmly against you, his silver hair spread out as a halo around him on the soft pillows.

But fate had other plans.

Your husband, Prince Aemond, is no longer there.

You sit up straight, wide awake. You quickly look around in the bedchamber, near the fireplace and the chair. But there is no one to be found. It causes anxiety to grow and for worry to take root. Why did your husband leave your side so suddenly? Had it something to do with Fyrand? Did he grow tired of you already? Does he perhaps hate you? Do you snore?

So many questions plague your mind and not one answer appears in return. You try to sit up straight, your legs and lady parts reminding you you are no longer a maiden. You lift the blankets and stare at the blood spot between your legs, likely proof of your maidenhead and the rough sex you and Aemond had prior.

It was perhaps a bit too rough for starters but you enjoyed yourself. You never imagined you would.

You thought you would always endure it as a duty not see it as a privilege or a pleasure.

You feel terribly alone in the moment and worry if it wasn't all just an act on his part. An act to make you comply so he had an easy victory. Did he mean the promises he made to you, or is this just another monster, disguised as a prince?

You are overwhelmed by the thoughts and how fast your life is changing. You also have a slight discomfort between your legs, and pain in your hips whenever you move or turn. Tears begin to form in your eyes as you helplessly try to blink them away.

The door of the room is thrown open, and no other than your brother, Fyrand, heir to House Marthyralys walks in, a broad smirk on his lips. You uneasily back away against the headboard, barely containing your tears. ‘’My little sister!" He grins as you quickly cover yourself with the blankets that are within your reach. You notice someone put another soft blanket near where you were sleeping peacefully. Likely a servant.

He sees your skittish eyes look back and forward to the door so he quickly blocks your path with a grin. ‘’I assume you were a big girl last night and have given yourself to the Prince?’’ Given. As if you are a mere toy. A object. A quick glass of wine to enjoy before the consumer throws the glass away.

You did your duties and you enjoyed yourself doing it. But you feel ashamed you have to admit this to your own brother, your own flesh and blood.

‘’I have.’’ You respond in a soft small voice.

Delighted, he chuckles. ‘’And?’’ he asks, more cheerful than usual.

You feel tired, a bit confused and have trouble following the conversation, reading what he wants from you based on his expression alone. So you ask him what he wants instead. ‘’And what?’’

His smile dies the moment you have spoken the words. His usual scowl comes back up as crops rotating one another in a field. His tone is nothing but snappy, degrading, angry that he has to explain himself. ‘’Did he seem pleased? Was he enjoying himself? You had tasks to perform. Do not tell me you failed them.’’ He warns you.

You recall the smile of the Prince as he kissed you, as he took in your breasts for the very first time and how gently he spoke to you, calling you his Lady, his Wife and his Princess multiple times, as well as your name. You remember when you were bent on your knees, his manhood filling you up when he panted and groaned in your ear, repeatedly crying out your name against your neck as he likely reached his height.

In all accounts, he appeared to be happy. Which is why it is so confusing to you that he has left your side so quick and sudden.

You shake your head as your brother approaches, all too familiar with his short dangerous temper. ‘’Prince Aemond is very happy with me. If he was not, I wouldn't have woken up today.’’

Fyrand thinks and nods, accepting that you are right. ‘’Hm. True. He would have strangled you in your sleep.’’ You gulp and to that he smiles, folding his hands on his back.

‘’Show me. I want proof.’’ He says, raising a brow slightly. You tremble, lifting the blankets so your brother may see the bloodied sheets you are laying on, as well as the dried cum that is still on your legs.

He lets out a soft gasp, pretending to feel sorry for you. ‘’O, he was not very gentle with you, was he, little sister? It will be a while for your body to become used to this savagery.’’ Savagery. You didn’t see it that way.

Your brother turns to leave, and you stop him before he can. ‘’Have I made you proud?’’ He is your last family member. You must treasure him whether you like it or not. And you want his approval. Whether you should care about him or not.

‘’That depends. Did you pleasure Aemond? Did you touch him at all? Or did you just lay there as a useless corpse and got fucked in your cunt time after time?’’ That was what happened. You don’t recall laying a finger on him. You found it terrifying as it is, you didn’t need to make things worse by touching him.

One look at you and Fyrand knows just what has happened. He leans a little closer, and you smell the drink he had likely not so long ago. He grabs hold of your throat when you turn your head away, choking you until you are sure his nails have left marks. ‘’You will make it up to Aemond. He is important. Keep him happy for now. It is all I ask of you.’’ He asks so much.

He does not seem to understand that Aemond has been kind, gentle, sweet and noble to you. He thinks Aemond is some sort of monster. ‘’Aemond seems gentle and kind. He didn't…’’

Fyrand sighs, annoyed before he slaps you across your face, tilting it in another direction. You feel your cheeks, shocked and humiliated, tears rolling now freely over your face. ‘’I quite don't care how kind he is. You spread your legs and let him fuck a silver haired son inside of your womb.’’ Hearing that makes you feel so much worse. Your own mother died birthing you. You don’t wish to follow her.

Your brother touches the spot he hit, laughing as you flinch under his touch. ‘’And perhaps, he is in the mood for something more too. Perhaps you'll soon suck his cock, get fucked in your ass, perhaps you even experience a bit of motivational little smacks to make sure you stay in line. I shall discuss it with Aemond, that you become a good woman. I'm sure the other things he already has come up with.’’ Your nod.

But he is not finished yet. ‘’Keep him happy, entertained, and loyal, little sister. Surely you don’t want Aemond to bore himself with you, hm? You do know what happens to princesses when their princes are bored of them?’’ You would not know. Most stories about princesses and princes have a happy ending.

‘’No?’’ you mutter afraid of the answer.

He laughs, delighted that he can tell you this.

‘’O, they get killed. In horrible accidents. Aemond likely will have you fed to his dragon, the sick bastard. I can’t think of a more fitting ending for you. So do not mess this up.’’ Fyrand leaves the rooms finally, and you now just realize that he is no longer bound in chains as he fiddles with his hands, slightly rubbing his fingers as is a habit when he is nervous.

You try to sleep a bit more, and luckily the blankets and pillows only help. You are cold, so you put on a nightgown that has been put on the blankets. But you keep worrying, regardless. Where is Aemond? Will he listen to Fyrand? Who unchained him? Was it Aemond? Given their late conversation, unlikely. Aemond seems to find it difficult to forgive and forget.

The noon sun is upon you, casting light into the bedroom. And at that moment, the door is gently pushed open once more. Three in green dressed ladies enter the room, each of them wearing gowns with matching hair nets to avoid their hairs getting messy. You blink as they approach rapidly, spreading out and taking each side so you can not escape them.

‘’Who are you?’’ You demand, your voice shaking. The tallest of them does not speak but she does not need to. One look and her ladies take each arm of you, pulling down your gown, and baring you naked. ‘’St-stop!’’ You manage to squeak out.

The tall lady makes her way to your bed, smiling when she sees the blood spots on the linnen. You never saw anyone smile at the sight of blood, and it terrifies you. ‘’We are your ladies maids.’’ She reveals to you, as if that is supposed to say or mean something to you.

You would not care if they were the Queens of Dorne or the rulers of Volantis: You already suffer so much and they will just make it worse. ‘’I don't need ladies maids.’’ You tell her. It is true. You can dress, bathe and wash yourself. You have done so for years when you were in exile, anyway.

The tall lady steps closer as her ladies drag you to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, opening the doors and throwing out the one after the other dress in your size. ‘’The Queen and King and your husband beg to differ. You are uncivilized and wild. You need handmaidens, ladies maids and perhaps even a septa to mold you into the perfect wife for the Prince.’’ You flinch as she touches your wrist, familiar to where your brother often squeezes you.

You like to believe that Aemond told you the truth last night. But the longer you are awake and alone, the more doubt begins to creep. ‘’Aemond thinks I am perfect the way I am.’’ You mutter.

That causes all three to laugh out loud. A brown haired girl picks out a blue dress with ribbons and throws it on the bed, clearing comparing it with a red gown with a inviting neckline. ‘’And you believed him? Naive little girl.’’ She snickers.

You feel heat rush to your cheeks, so you avoid looking at anyone, still embarrassed and naked. This can’t be allowed. You are a princess now.

‘’I want my husband-’’ You ball your hands into fists, ready to sound commanding.

‘’He's not here. He is training and doing his duties. Or perhaps he's visiting a brothel.’’ You hear yourself gasp, followed by a whimper as you break into tears. Your husband did not need even a day before he betrayed you with another woman. What does that say about him? And what does it say about you?

The tall lady inspects the two gowns that the other girls selected before scoffing. ‘’Blue and Red? She’s Prince’s Aemond wife. Not one of the bastard breeds.’’ She huffs. She walks to the closet with dramatic steps, yanking a green gown with a high collar and a dull bodice out. It is plain, dull, boring. You miss sparkles, perhaps embroidery, or lace. You miss soul, character.

‘’I don’t like that gown.’’ You say. ‘’I like the blue one better.’’ You pick it up from the bed, but your hand is smacked down the moment you touch it. You flinch, back away and whimper.

The tall lady laughs at that, she leans in smiling sweetly but her eyes are hollow as a skull. ‘’Prince Aemond wants you in that gown. Do you want us to tell him you disobeyed? Do you know what happens to wives who disobey their husband's wishes? They get punished.’’ You consider your options.

‘’He has been nothing but kind.’’ You say, mostly to yourself. But that does not matter. They have seen your doubt, smelled your fear and sensed your insecurity. You are their prey, their victim now. They surround you and begin dressing you in the tight green ugly gown.

‘’Because you allowed him to fuck you. You are naive and blind to trust him.’’ The girl with the brown hair snickers. ‘’Just don’t be surprised if one day you wake up to find one of your eyes gone.’’ The gown is finally laced up and the corset is tightend. You can barely breathe.

The door opens again and this time black boots, a leather coat, and the man wearing them enters. You barely look at your husband, tears running down your face freely.

Aemond pauses in front of you, slightly frowning at the dress. He reaches out to touch your face, but changes his mind at the last moment. He takes notice of your tears. And turns on his heels, facing the tallest lady right away. ‘’What is the meaning of this?’’ He asks, his voice increasing. It is still soft but enough to make you flinch.

The tallest speaks, spinning lies easily. ‘’Your wife was being disobedient. She does not put the gown we selected for her. She also threw her food on the ground and tried to escape.’’ You did no such things.

Yet Aemond nods, turning to you, one of his brows raised. ‘’Is that so?’’ You open your mouth to speak, but can’t utter a single word to defend yourself. You feel so scared, so helpless and hopeless.

The brown haired girl speaks. ‘’I'd say it's for the best that you teach your new wife how it works here. She has not been here a day and she is ungrateful for the food, the clothing, the protection and all she needs to do is spread her traitor legs and yet-’’

Prince Aemond silences her by raising his left hand, giving her a glare so cold and deadly it could make the Stranger relieve themselves in fear.

‘’That is my lady wife you are speaking to. My lady, my wife, my princess.’’ You feel more heat rise to your cheeks, aware of your worries slowly dying. ‘’She is worth your respect. So you either show it to her, or I'll send you to the dungeons to have your tongue removed for your treasonous insults.’’ That seems a bit harsh to you, but it feels nice that he takes your honor seriously.

‘’I apologize, my prince-’’ The brunette tries her best at making a curtsy but Prince Aemond does not care and seems more annoyed every moment that passes by.

‘’Not to me,’’ he spits out. ‘’You will apologize to Revaera for your unkind words. She is facing enough as it is, she does not need this as well.’’

The brunette glares at you as if its your fault that Aemond lectured her. ‘’I am sorry, my lady.’’ She finally blurts out, despite her own wishes. She knows what the consequences are if she does not.

You ignore her, paining her more with the insecurity of the thought that Aemond might throw her into the bricks after all. Or worse, take her tongue. ‘’Apology accepted.’’ You say, after enough time has passed.

Prince Aemond huffs, looking at the dresses on his bed, your ripped nightgown on the floor and the dress that you are wearing. He does not seem to care for it, and his first priority is you. ‘’Tell me what else have they done?’’ You hear the ladies gasp and you feel powerful for the very first time in your life.

You play with your nails. ‘’They uhm dragged me from my bed.’’ The moment you have spoken the words, you see Aemond’s face change from calm and collected to indescribable fury and rage. ‘’But they...don't harm them.’’ You beg him.

He turns around to face the ladies. One is trembling, the one who insulted you is crying and the tallest lady smiles, a bit to play it off as a joke. Aemond folds his hands on his back. ‘’If you were all men you'd all hang. I don't see the difference. I believe in equality for all. You laid your paws on my wife.’’ He hisses, through his teeth.

‘’She didn't comply when we begged her to come out.’’ The tall lady tries. ‘’Your wife didn’t want to put the gown on. It is all true.’’ But this time, you defend yourself.

‘’No!’’You righteously speak up, causing Aemond’s head to turn in your direction, curiosity written across his elf-like face. ‘’That's not true, Aemond. They came in unannounced when I was still in bed. I asked multiple times who they were but they didn't even tell me and undressed me by force-’’ You stop your rambles as you see your husband take one more step toward the ladies. Two are now crying. And one has stopped smiling.

‘’You dared to strip her?’’ He asks, his voice a low, husky groan. ‘’You dared to strip a Princess of the House of the Dragon? You dared to strip and harass my wife?’’ He hisses.

The tallest lady falls down to her knees, begging Aemond for mercy. ‘’We only did what was right! She is a traitor. She has no pure Valyrian blood. It would be wrong to sire a child with her. Her ancestor-’’ The emotions you feel are strong and pure.

Aemond raises his dominant right hand, aiming for her face but you beat him to it. His slap would have been discipline, perhaps hard but firm, calculated and thought out well. He practices fighting. You, however. You do not.

Your slap is a mix of rage, insecurity and lack of power you try to claim through needless violence. It is supposed to inflict fear and your slap has lost its precision, its accuracy. Your intended slap becomes a fist, hooking the lady in waiting on her perfect little nose. And judging by the screams that follow and the blood that comes streaming out, and the pain in your knuckles, you broke it.

Prince Aemond sighs deeply, and you feel ashamed that you stooped that low. The lady clutches her nose, screaming bloody murder as two guards storm in. ‘’My Prince! Are you both-’’ Aemond simply folds his hands back on his back.

‘’Out. All of you. Take the screaming swine and her kind with you.’’ You hear yourself chuckle slightly because of that insult and watch your bloodied fist, impressed by the power you apparently hold.

It is not physical power. But the mental power that impresses you. You stood up for yourself. You defended yourself. You never did that before. You never dreamt of doing any of that before.

‘’I am sorry.��’ You mutter the moment the two of you are alone. Instead of dragging you to his bed and smacking your head against the stone walls, he simply steps a bit closer, caressing your face before leaving a soft kiss.

‘’We try to not hit our servants unless they do something unforgiven. I lost my temper, in that moment.’’ He says. ‘’I wanted to defend you, as is my duty. Yet you seem more than capable of defending yourself.’’ You feel relief crashing in as waves.

‘’You aren’t mad?’’ You ask one final time to be sure.

He shakes his head. ‘’No, If anything, I’m amused. I didn’t think you had such fierceness in you. Such fire. Such blood.’’ He looks at your dark green gown and smiles, pressing your foreheads against one another, reaching out to rub your fingertips.

The door is opened once more. ‘’For the love of the seven-’’ Aemond shouts, grumpy this moment got interrupted. You both are surprised to see the 3th servant girl standing there. She has a frightened look in her eyes, yet comes before you both.

‘’What are you doing here? I dismissed you all.’’ Prince Aemond says. It is true. Whatever lured her back in must be serious.

She folds her hands in front of her. ‘’I was worried for the Princess. I didn’t wanted her to endure punishment for something she did not do.’’ She tells Aemond and you both see she speaks the truth easily.

‘’Hm.’’ Aemond sits down in the chair by the fireplace, awaiting her explanation.

So the servant girl starts telling the truth of what happened. ‘’You see, your highness. Lady Selma lied to you. She called Princess Revaera a bastard, and a …’’ She glances at you now, ashamed. ‘’A whore. I should have said something. But I was too frightened. She even went as far as implying that you were in a brothel, being unfaithful to the princess.’’

Aemond scoffs, insulted.

‘’The princess only ever asked decent and normal questions befitting the situation. She called for you but Selma denied her this request. Princess Revaera told us as servants that she preferred the blue gown, but Selma lied and said you had ordered her to wear the green one.’’ You stare at the gown, feeling even more furious and more happy you hit that woman on her nose.

‘’I did no such thing.’’ Aemond mutters, looking more and more confused as the moments pass by. ‘’Why would I even-’’ He does not understand.

The girl nods, too eager and too happy that Aemond understands her. ‘’Exactly, your highness. All she does is lie.’‘’That that would be all of it.’’ She adds, her voice timid as a mouse, suddenly blushing brightly and perfecting her blonde hair.

‘’Apologies I didn’t speak up sooner, my lady.’’ she adds, before giving a final curtsy and fleeing the rooms.

You look at Aemond, curious for his reaction. He just sits there, unmoved and watches the flames lick the firewood. ‘’I have been thinking. I wish to discuss something.’’ He says without looking up. You feel your heart beat faster, afraid this could be your end.

He stands up, and closes the distance between the both of you. His slender fingers touch your cheek, before his good eye pulls down the collar of your neck a bit, revealing the wounds where Fyrand dug his nails into your skin. Quickly, you push him off and away, but he has already seen it. ‘’This is what we must discuss.’’ He says. ‘’I saw it too when you were naked. Bruises, unexplainable bruises and cuts just like these in your wrists.’’ He sounds more angry with every passing moment.

He must be angry you came with bruises. He must think you aren’t worth the fight he gave. He perhaps wants to kill you too, just as Fyrand said. You consider seducing him, giving him your body once more as a payment to let you live.

Suddenly, regret and pain flashes in his good eye as he leans closer, caressing the wounds on your neck gently. ‘’I think I know who to blame for this. But I want to hear it from your lips, first. Tell me, my wife. Does your brother hurt you?’’

You nod. You know you are risking upsetting Fyrand but you do not care. ‘’Yes.’’ You confess.

Aemond mutters something in his ancestral tongue. ‘’He said husbands do that to their wives and that he, as my brother, was above my husband. And that he decides how to raise me.’’

You can see Aemond's jaw clench at your words, his right leg slightly twitching in an impulse of him to run off and to likely find your brother. But he remains at your side despite his anger. ‘’My brother will discuss things with you. He wishes for me to be...motivated more.’’ You reveal, your hands trembling.

Aemond understands what you mean, judging by his disgusted glare at the door as if he can picture Fyrand standing there. ‘’Absolutely not. He can come to me as often as he likes, I won't lay a finger on you. That man is insane.’’

‘’He also said unkind things.’’ You begin to cry again at the memory of what your brother said.

‘’He said you were going to make use of me and to ..take me in my...butt…’’ Your words are cutt off by Aemond.

‘’He tried to scare you. You know why?’’

You shake your head. No. You don’t. You are already scared enough as it is.

He breaks into a grin, touching your lips softly, kissing your forehead, while leaving dozens of tiny kisses all over your face. ‘’Because I may be half blind, but I see a change already. I see you are more confident, free and full of life than you were yesterday. I see a butterfly that finally learned how to take wing.’’ You finally smile back at him, a bit shy perhaps but flattered by his compliment.

‘’He came for you last night. Did he ever...lay his hands on you in a different way?’’ Aemond wonders. You understand why he must think that, considering your brother came for you at night, during your wedding night, and demanded to see you.

You wrinkle your nose, disgusted.

‘’No. Thank the gods no.’’ Yet you wonder if it remains that way.

Aemond fills you in on what happened last night. ‘’I sent him away. Whatever it was, it could wait until the morning. You were tired, almost drifting off the moment I had tucked you in.’’

You understand he didn’t have to share that with you. He could have easily kept it a secret. So you tell him a secret too. ‘’I saw.’’

You see many emotions reflected in his eye. Worry, shame, fear. Worry for upsetting you, shame that he hurt your brother and fear this could cost whatever is blooming between the two of you. Yet you wouldn’t know that, of course.

You reach out, gently taking his fingers into your own, touching him for the very first time. ‘’Thank you. I don't know what he wanted, but it couldn't have been that urgent. I'm glad you protected me.’’

You feel it is going well. So you have one final request to make. ‘’I heard you have a dragon. A beautiful fierce green scaled dragon. She is called the Queen of all dragons, isn't she?’’

He nods, interested and appearing much happier to you than moments before, eager to talk about his beloved dragon. ‘’Yes. Does that perhaps frighten you? There is nothing to worry about. Vhagar and I bonded. She won't harm me.’’

He chuckles. You have never heard such an intriguing sound. ‘’My mother shares your concern and fear. I pretend I don't notice but the King's guard is always near whenever I set out for flying.’’ He says, rolling his eye. You wonder if he still feels that other eye as well, or if this is just all there is to it.

‘’I do...I was wondering, if one day, I could meet her?’’ You understand you ask something big. Vhagar is his dragon. Your family is also accused of stealing dragon eggs for centuries. To see the dragon, would mean that Aemond trusts you.

You watch him look at you for moments, and he is thinking you can tell. ‘’She sounds interesting and important to you. You know about people important to me, I thought: I want to know about my husband's life too.’’ Unknown to you, he is looking at you with admiration. Never met the prince or anyone who wanted to see Vhagar. Never.

Finally, a soft answer leaves his lips, as he puts his hands in his pocket, avoiding looking at your face at all costs. ‘’I'd like that very much.’’ He says, and you would swear he is blushing.

Your moment is interrupted as a guard enters the room once more, addressing Aemond right away.

‘’The Queen wishes to see you.’’ He says. Aemond kisses your forehead once more, before leaving your side as if he is soon facing his final battle.

‘’Actually, Prince Aemond: Her grace insisted you bring your wife with you. She wishes to speak to you both.’’ You and Aemond share a glance and you force a smile but you both seem to think the same thing: What could she possibly want?

as always thank you all for reading the little stories i make

i hope this aemond is nice and not boring. Im always torn between hes too boring or hes too violent lock him up theres no in between.

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 10 months ago

Text

''Fight and Die'' PART TWO Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Wordcount 6803

Warnings: Violence and smut but its consensual!:) fucking, smut, p in v, titty sucking, titty play, mentioned abuse (but aemond is not the abuser) stalkerish behaviour (imo)

---

The words that your brother spoke to you, haunt you like a pestering ghost, a memory of a life long forgotten, yet it is everything but a memory. It became reality the moment Prince Jacaerys suggested to marry you, Lady Revaera of House Marthyralys.

There has never been a formal wedding between a Targaryen and a Marthyralys. Your houses both survived the doom, yes. But your house understood something that House Targaryen has trouble understanding: The Iron Throne itself is no magical artifact. It does not grant you power. Not really. True power, especially the fickle love of the people, is won through actions, gold, and loyalty.

You quietly wonder how afraid your ancestor Daeyor was before they burned him alive at the stake after King Maegor had died. Loyalty, gold and actions could not save him then.

Who is to say it can save you, now? You no longer are the loyal servants of the Targaryens. Your family tried to kill King Viserys and had Rhaenyra killed as well. His precious daughter, their ‘Realm’s delight’. You no longer have the luxury of loyalty. Gold is empty, mostly earned by sacking of villages and towns you do not want to learn the names of, afraid the souls of its inhabitants will find you this way, bound their tormented soul to your own and lead you to your doom. Actions…..

What is one girl compared to Seven Kingdoms? Especially if she has no power. For she is not allowed to pick her own husband, or anything else for that matter.

Your feet quickly pace as you make your way from the dungeons to the courtyard, gasping for air when you leave the dusty dungeons behind at long last. You take a moment to breathe, to think and to worry silently against the cold stone walls of the castle.

For a moment, your world spins around you and the castle walls seem almost as liquid, threatening to swallow you whole and to merge you with the souls who died here so long ago. A sharp yet gentle voice calls out to you, and you are shocked to see someone so nearby, almost jumping away from him.

‘’Lady Revaera. We were just waiting for you. The Duel is about to start.’’

There is something about him that does not sit quite right with you. The way an unfinished painting tries to light up a grand hall it obviously does not belong in. He is leaning on a crane, and one look at his feet and you know who he is exactly. This can be no one else but Lord Larys Strong, the man who currently holds the cursed castle of Harrenhall.

Larys is known to you and your spies as a clever, dangerous spider that spins his lies easily as his webs. You were warned multiple times to treat carefully around him, or you would become webbed.

‘’O, do I know you?’’ You ask.

He does not seem to notice your lie, or he does not care about the lie. ‘’Larys Strong, my Lady.’’ You have it confirmed, at the very least. You doubt anyone would lie about being him, and his nickname adds up. Despite your trust in this man does not exist, you avoid looking at his feet at all costs. ‘’The Queen’s personal hand.’’

Larys leads you a bit further into the courtyard, where a beautiful black haired man is preparing two swords by cleaning and cutting them sharp. He wears the familiar armor of the King’s guard.

You turn your head and notice King Viserys sitting in a luxurious armchair with a blanket over his shaking legs. Next to him stands Queen Alicent with her hands folded in front of her green silk gown. Their son, Prince Aegon is close to them and is occupied cleaning his nails until he sees you, quickly giving you a crooked, dangerous smile.

The Princess and her party approaches as well, fashionably late. Rhaenyra is the first person to enter the courtyard, as she will one day sit the Iron throne. She is closely followed by her husband, Prince Daemon, also once heir to the throne. Jacaerys walks behind them, wearing an impressive seahorse embroidered tunic with long pants. You can make out the chainmail underneath it from afar.

Not a word is spoken to you by them. Nor does the Queen receive any hello. Only Viserys is greeted by the Princess with a kiss on his cheeks, and a faithful smile before she tucks the blankets tighter around his shaking body. Alicent glares as if she disagrees with the Princess, but lets her do her thing.

Prince Jacaerys approaches you, a soft dreamy smile on his lips unbefitting of a prince. Unbefitting of this world, truly. He bows his brown haired head to you. ‘’My Lady. You are beautiful.’’ He says, as if that is a proper greeting.

Rhaenyra’s scowl, what you assumed was one, is truly just her lips hanging in worry, not anger. The scowl softens when watching you make a small curtsy to Prince Jacaerys, your lips closing and opening when you praise the prince for his kindness. ‘’You honor me enough for a thousand lifetimes, my Prince. It is truly just a simple gown-’’ You feel a bit underdressed in the present of the Queen and the Princess respectively. Even Princess Helaena is dressed far better than you.

Jace leans in a little closer, keeping his distance but still close enough for his hot breath to dance on your lips and to be able to see the light shining brightly into his eyes. ‘’I was not referring to your gown.’’

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks at that compliment, briefly turning your head just in time to see Prince Aemond approach the courtyard at long last. Together, bound in chains is your brother. Fyrand gives you a final glare. A warning to not mess this up.

The Prince ignores his sister, his nephew, you, almost everyone and goes to his father instantly. You watch as he too greets his king. His greeting is stiff, short, one-sided and rushed.

Prince Aemond does not wear his heart upon his sleeve, and you have trouble making sense of what goes on inside his head. But there is a brief crack that allows you just a glimpse of the man behind the beast when he greets his mother, and he holds her hands for a brief moment when she likely begs him to not participate in the duel to come.

‘’He is interesting, isn’t he, little sister?’’ Fyrand mutters next to you. You feel another load of blood rush to your cheeks, and you quickly look away from the prince. Your brother chuckles. ‘’He rides the biggest dragon in the world. Soon, he will ride you too.’’ He whispers.

You hear Viserys cough and Queen Alicent opens the duel now that everyone is present. Jacaerys is helped into his armor, when Aemond does his armor on himself, only allowing Cole to tighten it at the end of it. Jacaerys keeps conversing with his family, but Aemond does not utter a word to his side of the family. Judging by the hatred in his eye, he is already in battle against Jacaerys. Perhaps he truly never left that battle to begin with. The swords are handed to both, and you can instantly tell who of the two had the proper training by the way Aemond yields the blade all too familiar, too smoothly, too fast and too deadly. You gulp.

Your brother is led to the circle where both men have gathered. He stands in the middle between both, his hands still in chains but you could not tell by his victorious smirk. He acts as a free man. “Welcome, both of you. Today you shall fight until the other man yields. You fight for my sister, Lady Revaera of House Marthyralys. A fine reward, if I say so myself.” As on cue, you walk into the circle as well, your eyes lowered at the ground. ‘’That is close enough, dear sister. Go stand with the Queen and the Princess.’’ He tells you, worried of his greatest investment getting hurt. Or worse yet: Injured, ugly, defiled. You obey, walking back to the Princess and it takes place beside Helaena and Aegon.

Prince Aemond positions himself with his sword in hand, ready to deal the first blow. ‘’One of you shall marry Revaera after this day. One of you shall write history and unite the houses Targaryen and Marthyralys in blood.’’ You become a little annoyed at Fyrand’s needless monologue and just want to know who won already. Finally, Fyrand looks up to the sky, before cutting his own hand, dripping the blood in the circle. Jacaerys looks at his parents, confused and worried when Aemond does not even bat an eye at the sight, likely familiar with the offer for the gods. One shout causes the courtyard to fill with a silence that is yet louder than any scream anyone could have produced, their dragons included. ‘’Begin!’’

Prince Aemond approaches, his slender feet tapping lightly against the stones, as if dancing. His eye is on Jacaerys and for a moment you see the younger prince gulp at his uncle. But that moment passes quickly as you see that Jace reminds himself of something and takes a defensive stance too, rushing at his uncle in a surprise attack.

You thought Aemond meant to attack, but instead of that, he easily raises the blade and blocks Jace’s attack, smirking and likely taunting him with insults you can’t hear from here. Jace quickly jumps back, his sword now lowered. Instead of going in for a quick and easy victory, Aemond steps back, waiting for Jace to regain his strength and ego to attack him again. ‘’It is like watching a cat toy with a mouse.’’ Fyrand comments next to you, grinning as Jacaerys rushes at Aemond, before the latter steps aside, causing Jace to stumble out of the circle instead.

Prince Jace returns with fire and blood and you can see a true Targaryen in him when he tries to attack his uncle once more, this time surprising him by faking right and going left near his face, causing the older prince to briefly, if just a moment, freeze up.

Aemond does not back down however, forcing his sword up and blocks Jace’s easily, before pushing him to the ground with his strength, disarming him. “Jace!” His mother shouts, worried. Aemond nor Jace pay her any mind. Jace tries to get his sword by crawling away, but Aemond simply stands on his tunic with his boots, blocking his way with a sickened grin on his pink lips.

The king rises too, shouting as well. “Get up, my boy!” Aemond briefly scowls in his direction, hurt and betrayal written in his eye. The sword in his hands is pressed closer to Jace’s throat. “Do you yield?” Aemond asks.

Jace only has one response. Perhaps only one way of living. “Never!” You worry that although it might not be to the death officially, it might become that way if things do not slow down.

Aemond grins, forcing the blade tighter against Jace’s throat. “Yield, you bas-” This time Aemond is surprised as Jace hooks him on the nose, sending him flying backwards on the cold stones. Jace reaches for his sword, rushing at Aemond as if to slay him. Aemond rolls away from the blade, hissing like a hurt wildcat and likely muttering insults to Jace.

Jace grins cockily as Aemond has lost his sword now too, and he holds his firmly in his hands. ‘’Let’s see how well you fight without your fancy sword.’’ Jace remarks. You see Aemond briefly look around, scanning the crowd for any other weapon. Jace knows he is disarmed.

He looks at his mother and his stepfather. They tell him one with their eyes. ‘’Finish him!’’ And so Jace does his best. Jace rushes at Aemond with his sword drawn. Aemond listens. Aemond waits. And Aemond strikes. It becomes really clear to you that Aemond Targaryen does not care about a fair fight, and neither does Jacaerys. Where Jace took Aemond’s weapon, Aemond is one step ahead of him. You watch as the young prince is hooked in his gut instead, the sword missing Aemond’s head by an inch. Queen Alicent rushes to her husband at this sight. ‘’You told me there would be no death!”

Aemond easily steps around Jacaerys, avoiding the blade when tugging at his cape. Before you realize why or what has happened, Aemond pulls the cloak over Jace’s head, blinding him. An audible gasp can be heard from the audience as Aemond pushes Jacaerys on the ground, running back to pick his sword back up.

Jace growls in anger like a trapped cat, kicking the cloak off him and in the ground. You watch as the Targaryen dragon and the Velyaron seahorse end up in literal dust because of your house. Aemond swings his sword in response, before taking another stance. As if it says: Come and get me.

Jace charges with all his might and strength and while he truly tries his best, he is no match for Aemond. Not really. Instead of sidestepping, blocking, or blinding him, Aemond now simply has enough of the fight and hooks his legs around Jace’s feet, tripping him and bringing him down. He drops himself atop of Jace and levels the sword at his throat.

“Yield!” He shouts. Jacaerys weakly groans, feeling the back of his head. There is blood on his fingers. Aemond does not care. If anything, seeing blood makes him more eager. ‘’Yield!’’ He repeats.

You see Jacaerys look at his mother and father, his head hung in shame. “I Yield…” He feels bad about letting them down. You just know so.

Aemond spits at the ground but you know he wanted to spit at Jace's face instead.

Aemond grins at his audience, his eyes searching for you. You gulp when he blinks at you, at least you assume that is his intention. ‘’What if I rather marry Prince Jacaerys instead? He seems kind and gentle.’’ You whisper to Fyrand when the crowd applause for the Prince's victory and Prince Jacaerys is helped up.

‘’You do not know what you need, I do, sweet sister. Kindness and gentleness will only take you so far. You need a husband not afraid to put you in your place, who won’t fall for your tears and won’t listen to your pleas. Aemond Targaryen is that man.’’ He whispers as Aemond is congratulated by the King’s guard.

‘’Your reward.’’ He pushes you to Aemond who barely glances at your trembling body. You do not feel as a human being.

Aemond does not say a single thing to you.

‘’When will the wedding occur? A week from today sounds reasonable.’’ Fyrand needs the wedding to happen fast.

A small condescending smirk grows on the lips of the prince. ‘’You insult me and my knowledge of my bride’s House. I know these marriages happen the same night the duels are fought, to prevent another challenger from rising up.’’ That is true. It is the reason why Grysalda the Bold was married to so many men. When Prince Car had defeated one, another challenger had appeared.

But there is an issue. As any husband taking a wife, Aemond is entitled to your dowry. You asked for a loan but that loan has not yet been delivered. Your brother knows so. And that loan would be Aemond’s well earned compensation for taking you as his wife.

‘’I-I don’t have her dowry on hand.’’ Your brother fakes a small smile, laughing through his pain.

Aemond steps closer, sizing your brother up and down before speaking. ‘’Do I look like I need her dowry? I am a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, of House Targaryen. And I can assure you, your pathetic amount of gold is not my motivation to marry your sister, you can rest assured of that.’’

“And you," he adds, staring at you for the first time. Your lips open but not a word comes out. Aemond steps within your reach, the leather of his boots cracking. Your chin is grabbed and you feel his warm bloodied hands caress your face, likely leaving prints of Jace's blood. ‘’You must prepare yourself. I wish to marry you before nightfall.’’ That is sooner than you anticipated.

—

The duel is the discussion among the servants who help you prepare for your wedding day. It is odd, seeing how two people can differently recall events and leave out details to make their chosen one seem favored by the gods themselves. Both Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra had sended you a lady to help you prepare.

While Rhaenyra’s lady, Anya braids and brushes your hair, Alicent’s lady, Dyra puts your feet in soft silk slippers that feel softer than any bed you ever laid on. ‘’I can’t believe that Prince Aemond shunned dignity and blinded Prince Jacaerys. That was unbefitting of him.’’ You do not know how to respond to that, so you remain quiet.

‘’Prince Jacaerys started it with disarming the Prince.’’ Dyra says, defending Prince Aemond as if he rescued her.

For some reason, Anya takes offense to that comment, and great offense at that. ‘’Prince Aemond did the exact same thing!’’ That is true, you saw it happen. But Jace didn’t allow Aemond to pick his sword back up. Aemond did allow that for Jace. But perhaps only because Aemond was toying with Jace.

‘’Should you two gossip about the princes? Won’t you two get in trouble?’’ You ask, becoming a little annoyed with their fighting. And they suddenly decide that maybe it doesn't matter who blinded who and who took who’s weapon away. They now have a far greater enemy.

It’s you.

For the remainder of the time you are not spoken to anymore and they are deadly silent. You are annoyed and worried and nervous for later.

The gown they eventually pick out is an ivory color and has an open back with small dragon scales to honor your new husband’s house. There are black and red ones, as well as green and white ones. It is a colorful gown. Your hair is braided in traditional Targaryen fashion, and a small tiara piece, more a diadem, is placed on your head.

The moment you are done you are escorted back to the throne room, where servants are rushing and running into each other, over each other and aside each other to arrange the wedding as soon as possible. You look up to see your house banner hanging next to the Targaryen one. You wonder if your ancestors would agree with what you have done.

You do not have long to think, for Princess Rhaenyra approaches you, this time without her son or husband. You quickly sweep in a curtsy, your eyes leveled at the floor. ‘’You look absolutely stunning.’’ Princess Rhaenyra says. You give her a thankful smile. The princess leans in a bit closer. ‘’Such a shame it won’t be for my son, however.’’

You remain silent on that matter. She smiles, kindly but you can tell her heart is not into it. ‘’Aemond will try to breed you tonight.’’ She says, and you are not sure why she would bother to remind you of that fact. You avoid her once more. ‘’Come to me if you wish to avoid his seed taking root. I have my own Maester at this castle. The Greens will never know.’’ She leaves before you respond to that, leaving you conflicted.

Soon it is time for the ceremony.

Your husband will be the last to arrive. Finally you and him stand in front of the Septon. He does not speak. Not a word. You become uncomfortable. ‘’You may cloak your bride, and bring her under your protection.’’ The Septon speaks. You feel Aemond cloak you with a smooth movement, placing the heavy cloak on your shaking shoulders. The septon smiles gently at both of you. ‘’One flesh, one heart, one soul.’’ He announces. Aemond bends his head gently, reaching your lips and briefly leaving a soft peck. You do the same, worried as you never kissed anyone before.

The rest of the ceremony feels nice as people congratulate you but you can’t help but feel that you are facing your execution. You know what will happen after this. You dread it. He will consummate the marriage. And you? You doubt you’ll survive it.

—---

The feast ends, and Aemond and you are now in his bedrooms. It is a big room full of books and a luxurious bed that reminds you both that you are not finished with your duties just yet. Aemond has taken a spot by the fireplace and has lit it, watching the flames consume the wood as you silently pull your nails, the final ones on your right hand. You aren’t sure you are allowed to speak, so you remain quiet. You aren’t sure you are allowed to sit, so you remain standing.

Prince Aemond finally rises from his chair, his scent entering your nose as you quickly stop pulling your nails. His hands slowly go up to your throat, to where the pins keep the cloak he cloaked you with up. He works very smoothly yet carefully. It is dark in the room, said for the candles and the fireplace that make the room seem eerie and scary to you. The shadows that are casted by the fire are like a beast, devouring the room until only the dark remains.

The cloak drops to the floor with a dry thud. All that remains is your dress. Aemond takes a sharp breath, folding his hands on his back and making a quick circle around you, inspecting you as you look at your slippers, afraid of what he might think or say.

It is tradition for the bride to have a dagger during her wedding night in your house. But for obvious reasons, you were denied one. So you may not stop what comes next.

A soft kiss is left on your forehead, before Aemond leaves a one sided but gentle kiss on your lips. You hear him take a deep breath once more.

You are turned around by him, your back facing his front. And his hands rest on the corset of your dress, that he begins to unlace. The moment he tugs at the strings, you feel a burden fall off your chest and yet you know this is not the end. This is only the beginning.

One by one, layers of your clothing fall to the floor. He takes a step back, his breath clearly roused by the sight of your naked breasts. You attempt to cover them, blood rushing to your cheeks. Instead of telling you to lower your arms or to smack you for blocking his view, he breaks into a precious small smile. ‘’My wife. My lady. My Revaera.’’ He tells you to disarm you with words instead of rough actions. He speaks with pride and possessiveness.

Slowly you lower your arms, your nippels poking. He steps closer and his warm breath is upon your face once more as his fingers gently reach out to touch your breasts, giving you enough time to pull away or to put your arms back up. You don't.

Perhaps you understand that you are his now. Perhaps you are scared. Or perhaps both are lies to deny that you are curious about this. You are curious to see what happens between a husband and a wife. He softly rubs your nippels, testing how sensitive you are to his touch before grabbing both breasts and firmly kneading it under his fingers. You gasp slightly confused as he pushes gently against your body, steering you to the direction of his bed with a lusty glance in his only good eye.

You stumble backward on the bed, falling on the sheets, your skirt all that covers you. Prince Aemond takes off his coat as well, unlaced his boots and pulls down his pants. You watch fascinated to see what he has between his legs. You never saw a cock before and somehow it looks yet alien and familiar.

He approaches you and climbs on the bed as well, towering over you. He takes your skirt off for you, as well as your shoes before he bends your feet, kissing your heels when making eye contact. You weakly moan as he begins to rub your irritated feet. ‘’You endure so much torture for me.’’ He teases, grinning.

You try to sit back up, to respond but he easily tops you, pinning you down with a smirk. He gives another soft kiss this time between your breasts and the leather of his eyepatch pokes you. And just like that, you feel the sliding of one of his hands down your belly, to your small clothes and finally inside of that too. He gives you a fair bit of space and time to push him away again but the thing is, you don't want to push him away.

Your body reacts to this handsome prince and a pleasant warmth spreads from within your belly to the parts between your legs. And finally, Prince Aemonds fingers softly pet and feel what no one besides yourself felt before.

You didn't even realize you were holding your breath until the prince told you to release it. ‘’Keep breathing. If it becomes too much just say so and we'll stop.’’ He says, but you do not believe him that he would.

‘’So wet for me.’’ He murmurs against your neck. ‘��I know you are a maiden. I can tell. Tell me, my little maiden…’’ his fingers softly poke your wet folds. ‘’How shall I break you in, hm?’’

‘’I don't know…’’ You confess, as you try to make sense of his question. Break you in? How does that even work? It sounds painful. ‘’I'm sorry.’’ You add quickly afraid to anger him.

Yet he does not move a finger. Not until you have answered his question. ‘’The least painful way, please.’’ You know he will do as he wishes. You are the wife so you must obey your husband. If he wishes to fuck you bloody no one can truly stop him from it.

Aemond's other hand softly cups your chin before he caresses your face gently, tracing lines only he can see. ‘’You worry for it?’’ He asks.

He must think you are a craven and a coward for being afraid of a little pain. Of doing duties you swore to do, of obeying a man that owes you. ‘’Yes, I know it makes me a craven and a bad wife but...I am so frightened of the pain.’’ You can't help the few lose tears escaping your eyes as you likely understand that the prince is disappointed and angry with you for this childish display. He had an eye taken from him. He claimed a dragon. He does not fear pain.

Instead he affectionately gives your forehead another soft kiss and you cannot read a single negative emotion on his face. ‘’My little maiden…’’ He murmurs again. ‘’Pain and pleasure are very close to one another. Closer than you might think.’’ You give a nod as if you understand his cryptic words. You do not. ‘’Kneel for me, please. On all fours.’’ He says, giving you an order for the first time since your marriage.

You feel a bit silly he asked this, yet you do your best to please him. So you kneel, on all fours. ‘’Like this, my prince?’’ You ask, your voice is a bit insecure.

He chuckles. A warm pleasant sound to match the warm pleasant wetness growing between your legs.

‘’We are married. I want you to call me by my name.’’He says, and you can tell by his tone he is used to ordering people around.

For reasons unknown to you, you want to obey him, yet mess up even this smallest request by accident.

‘’Yes, husband.’’ He psychically is displeased.

‘’My name, little cheeky brat.’’ You like the way your heart briefly rushes at his so-called angry voice. It was just him teasing you but you liked it.

‘’Aemond.’’ You say, obediently and full of admiration, turning your head so you can look at him. He blushes, keeping his eyes leveled at the floor like you often do too.

‘’Excellent. Very good.’’ He mumbles, avoiding your glance quickly. To prove his appreciation his fingers are gently pushed inside of you causing you to gasp. It does not hurt but the idea that man is touching you so intimately is shocking to you.

‘’Such a good responsive girl.’’ He whispers in his husky low lovely voice. You shudder and moan quietly at the compliment, the soft touches and the building pleasure.

He chuckles. ‘’O, we like praise don't we?’’ You suppose. You never reacted this way to anything. You feel so small and powerless and yet curious and stronger than you ever felt.

‘’I am not used to a man's gentle tongue. I've only known their sharp hatred.’’ You explain to him.

Aemond nods, as if understanding that a bit too well himself. ‘’I thought you'd prefer it kneeling, as you might be frightened by the sight of it." It. You think for a while before it hits you what he means.

‘’Yes,’’ You mutter, almost whispering. ‘’I apologize.’’ You add quickly. This likely is not what he signed up for when he fought Jace.

Another soft chuckle. ‘’What are you apologizing for?’’

‘’That I'm so wet and so confused and silly. I do not know what happens and how and what I am supposed to do.’’ You wish anyone had prepared you for this moment.

‘’Let me educate you then. Let me take care of you, as is a husband's duty.’’ You like hearing those words. All your life you had to take care of yourself. And now you have someone to watch your back. Someone who truly cares about you. Unlike Fyrand.

‘’You just focus on breathing and what feels good." Aemond tells you.’’

‘’What if I don't like it?’’

Instead of groaning or hitting you he softens his gaze. ‘’Your hands will be free. You may raise your left hand if I do anything that hurts or offends you. We shall stop the moment you do.’’

‘’My precious lady. My Valyrian little maiden.’’ He mutters when touching your chin, his mouth slowly sliding from your lips to your chin, to your neck, to your breasts…

And next is a moan close to a word that sounds Valyrian to you.

You communicated with your brother but only practiced sentences. Only words he used and whenever you asked he would deny you any further education.

‘’What was that, Aemond?’’ You ask, a little worried.

He breaks free from kissing and sucking your nipples, looking at you as if you confuse him.

‘’I said you were beautiful.’’ You suppose that is what would make sense. ‘’Don't you know Valyrian? The tongue of our ancestors?’’

You learned basic commands, basic survival words so you and your brother could communicate in secret should it be needed. But it took you months to master the easiest phrases. It's an elegant but tricky language, almost the way a snake would wrap itself around your tongue when you would speak it.

That is the physical part.

The emotional part is that your mother spoke it fluently. Your father was said to not even have learned a single word. Every word your brother had learned, came from the lips of the mother you shared and loved.

The mother that died birthing you. And you are sure your brother hasn't forgiven you for that crime.

The words sound elegant yet thick and heavy, warm as a soft fire and his eye never leaves your face when he slowly speaks the words, kissing away your tears.

You try to understand what he said to you, in that moment. You try so very hard to remember every single command and word you learned....

But this one seems to be missing from your memory. This one seems to be absent.

‘’No, please forgive me.’’ You know it was likely high on his wishlist. It would be romantic to communicate with one another in a language that is almost forgotten by most.

‘’There is nothing to forgive. However, would you like to? Would you like to learn it?’’ He tilts his head, still rubbing your nipples and your entrance making it difficult for you to think.

You worry. That is not an easy tongue and you worry no one would have patience to stick with you.

‘’Who would even teach me?’’ You ask, laughing.

He stops sucking your tit, his tongue licking his lips as if to remember the taste of your body when his good eye slightly narrows in darkness and hunger you are unfamiliar with. ‘’I would.’’ He responds, in a heartbeat.

You blink. ‘’Do you even have time for that?’’ It sounds so draining and long. He is a prince. His schedule is packed as it is, you imagine.

He sits a little straighter, brushing his fingers against your face, kissing your cheeks. ‘’I'd make time for that.’’ He reveals. ‘’My wife should learn whatever she wants.’’

You think back of all the times you begged Fyrand to teach you. And of all the times he said no. To think you are finally going to learn the tongue of your mother, it means more than he could ever know. Tears break free. ‘’I'm sorry it's just I wanted that for years and Fyrand denied it so many times.’’

He briefly groans as if annoyed you mention him. ‘’You do no longer belong to that donkey. You belong with me now.’’ With. Not to. With. Equals. Not property. ‘’And I decided it's time you start living your life. Not just enduring it.’’

Aemond waits a moment after saying that, avoiding your eyes, clearly embarrassed by what he chooses to say. Instead of mocking him you touch his scarred cheek. At first he flinches but he trusts you soon after looking in your eyes. ‘’My brother said you were a monster. A beast who missed an eye with a horrible temper who would rape me every night for the rest of my life.’’

He raises a brow, insulted.

‘’Charming description.’’

‘’Yet you might be the kindest, most considerate man I ever met. And I met so many.’’ You tell him.

He thinks. ‘’I imagine you met hungry and desperate men. Men become monsters when they want to gain something. Just look back at how I beat Jace this afternoon.’’

You feel pride grow at this accomplishment. ‘’You wanted me then?’’ You ask.

He rolls his good eye, and grins. ‘’Yes.’’

‘’What for?’’ You ask, shyly touching his chest and drawing circles over his abs, watching his chest raise with every breath he takes.

‘’Can't you tell?’’

‘’My beauty.’’ You assume that would be it.

He shakes his head, touching your chin. ‘’You are beautiful, but it's not just that. Beauty does much for the male eye but for the brain to take interest there must be something there. Interest. Curiosity. Beauty alone is a horrible foundation. Beauty fades, beauty changes.’’ You, unknown to you, have leaned in closer and are staring at his lips.

He simply nods, confirming to you that he saw it and approves of it. You sit a little straighter, leaning in closer to his face and leave a soft kiss on his lips. You are gently touched by your hairs, touched as if you were made of glass and a single movement could shatter you.

You expected him to perhaps dominate the kiss or to flip you on your back and to start fucking a child inside of you but none of that happens as the two of you just kiss.

Until you both do more.

You turn around, kneeling and he takes that a sigh of consent. It is. Your hips are grabbed gently and Aemond murmurs in your ear that you are perfect. Your cunt is touched one final time by him, just to feel what he did with you. He enjoys being inside of you with his fingers, feeling the wetness he created.

And after a much too long time, he finally sinks himself deep inside of you and gives the first shattering thrust that causes you to cry out.

Your head lowers as you become used to his soft thrusts that feel good and warm. ‘’So wet and tight for me.’’ He groans between the thrusts. You can only nod, driven speechless by how good and how fast the pleasure is building. Never in a million years you assumed you would enjoy your consummation and now you are. You are enjoying it, living for it and thank the gods for it.

Aemond’s cock takes you deeper and rougher as the minutes pass by, his breath fast and yours a soft squeaky whimper almost befitting an old door. He feels harder than he did a few moments ago, and takes you when clearly hatching something. And finally he begins to grab your hips, fucking you now fully and as fast as his body allows him to fuck you. You never knew you would enjoy it rough, dark and fast but right now it is all that exists to you. He is all that exists to you.

Your husband grins, madly before groaning and likely coming inside of you, before taking you another sharper and harder time. Your nails dig into the sheets of the bed, your cries echo and your body locks as Aemond encourages you to come as well. And you faithfully do what every good wife would.

You obey your husband and soak his cock when you shatter around him in dozens of pieces with a heart wrenching cry. ‘’Gods.’’ You murmur, catching your breath. Aemond leans back on the pillows too, your head warmly nestled on his chest.

‘’No, just me, ‘I'm afraid.’ he answers in his mocking smirk. You roll your eyes smiling. ‘’I think you should get some rest.’’ ‘’It’s been a long day for you.’’ He adds, tucking the blanket of his bed around your body. Aemond picks up a book close to his bed and starts reading the pages, but he soon joins you in bed, sleeping too with his arms wrapped around your belly. And for the first time in a long time, Aemond Targaryen slept without nightmares, early wake-ups and in the arms of someone who at least tolerated him.

You wake up at Aemond’s clearly hushed voice, yet he sounds angry. He is by the door, covered in a robe and is trying to keep someone out of the room. You overhear their conversation. ‘’No. You can’t see her. She is resting.’’ You instantly know who is on the other side. Fyrand.

You feel uneasy and dread fill your chest as well as your heart is beating faster. Your brother laughs. ‘’You will let me pass, Aemond. She is my sister.’’ He says. ‘’I only need her for a moment, you can have her for the rest of the night.’’ Disgusted, Aemond blocks his way in once more.

‘’She is my wife now, before she is your sister.’’ He steps a bit closer, making his voice softer but you can hear what Aemond has to say perfectly. ‘’I do not care that you convinced my father that you are no threat. Your sister belongs to me now. She will soon become a child, if the gods allow it.’’ He steps a bit closer. ‘’I have seen the bruises on her body. You will never torment her again.’’

‘’My sister is loyal to me.’’ Fyrand nearly shouts but you do not believe his words. You aren’t sure.

Aemond shrugs. ‘’I will just have to keep my eyes on both of you, if that’s the case.’’

Fyrand grins. ‘’Good luck, since you only have one.’’

At that point, Aemond slams the door shut.

You quickly pretend to sleep, hearing Aemond join you soon after that. Your body is lifted and put back against his chest, his arms wrapped back around you. You do not know if he knows you are awake. ‘’No one, not your brother, not my sister, not the seven fucking gods themselves will take you from me.’’ He murmurs, causing you to blink uneasily. He does not see, however and drifts off to sleep.

You, however…..

You are awake for a very long time.

thank you so much for reading!

Hopefully it was fun

let me know what you think

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 1 year ago

Text

SandStorm (DarkAemond x Oc/Reader!)

(Cool devider credits!!:) @) dingusfreakhxrrington

🔷Summary: You are Elna/Reader Martell and before you marry you go on a vacation to the land that always held a close space to your heart: The Six Kingdoms. You become the captive of Aemond Targaryen.

WORDCOUNT: 3275

🔷Author's note: This was a request, this is my first time writing any Dornish oc, I tried making her a bit as Oberyn (Curious to the world, bold) but also still her own character. I hope the anon who requested her liked her, I tried making her not a total push-over as in some of my fics.

🔷Warnings: Arranged marriages, Dead, gore, bodies, slight dub-con, no smut, kidnapping, hostage taking, and slight judgement against Dornish characters (One innkeeper thinks shes a thief) oh and eating rat-meat.

Your whole life has been about living in Sunspear, the castle in Dorne. Living a sheltered life, away from the dangers of the six Kingdoms, away from the doom, the dragons and the death that Targaryens inflicted upon their subjects.

You were a spectator from afar, unbothered with the politics of any kind, both from Dorne and outside.

Until your father, Prince Quoren Martell, planned to marry you off. And that is where your story starts.

—--

Your fingers absently play with the sigil ring of your house, as you pull the cloak a bit further over your dark, dornish locks, covering up as a shiver runs down your spine.

Your sworn shield, Oryn, walks a few paces behind you, keeping a close eye on both you and the market stalls you pass.

You run from stall to stall, taking in the wares of the sellers, throwing golden coins at their tables before whisking away necklaces, rings, to you foreign foods and other souvenirs that will hopefully fill the hole left in your soul. A hole caused by the one you loved so dearly, your father.

You never disrespected his wishes, never tried anything too dangerous, but now he is planning to sell you to a Spice lord or someone in Essos, in return for a fleet. According to your mother, it is the fate of any woman to eventually be sold to the highest bidder. You spit on that idea, and on the men.

You put a new gold with orange necklace in your pocket, eagerly looking for your next target when Oryn approaches you. He too, is disguised but certainly still armed with his trusty sword. ‘’My lady, surely you have purchased enough? Most of these necklaces are too overpriced for their value. The gemstones are coloured glass.’’ It is true, any fool would tell you the same. The gold is painted iron, if not copper, and the gemstones are glass and fragile. You have been dressing in the finest silks and jewelry for years by now. You would recognize a fraud if it was in front of you.

Your lips slowly creep into a smile.‘’I quite like the way the glass shimmers, pretending to be a gemstone. I have experience with that.’’ You tell him, with a wink.

You walk to another stand, taking a piece of meat on a stick from a vendor, before paying them. You scrape it loose from the stick with your teeth, and it's the best meat you ever tasted. ‘’Oryn, you have to try this.’’ You tell your shield as he does his best to hide his clear disgust, staring at his feet.

You put the stick on the table and leave the vendor, looking for your next target.

Oryn stutters, a bit distraught. ‘’That is rat, my lady.’’

You pretend to not care about that one bit.

‘’Really? We have been missing out, then.’’ A cry from above makes both your heads turn, and a gigantic monstrous creature with wings as tall as trees flies over the town, casting a shadow over the vendors, blocking out the sun for a mere moment.

Your heart stops beating for just one brief moment as you take in the majestic creature, soaring high above the skies, not a care in the world.

A dragon.

Your eyes widen at the sight. Oryn tackles you to the ground, protecting you with his body, from the dangerous dragon. ‘’My lady!’’ The dragon does not even notice you both, nor does its rider. The only ones who do notice you are the confused vendors and civilians. They already were suspicious of your strange golden coins, but now they are even more hostile. You get up from the dirty floors, feeling your scraped knees. Oryn mutters an apology as the dragon makes its way to the castle, without attacking anyone or anything.

‘’A thousand apologies, my lady. I thought for sure…’’ You curse, certain that most of the glass jars and trinkets you bought are now just useless shards in your bag. You throw the glass shards out of your bag.

Yet you understand why Oryn took the risk that he took. ‘’I understand. It does seem we made ourselves even more suspicious. My legs are tired, I think it is best we try to find a place to sit and to have a quick drink.’’

—-

Moments later, you are sitting in a strange but cozy room, with stone walls decorated with wood, paintings and tables that are still dirty from previous customers. The owner of the inn paid no attention to you, scowling the entire time as he took in your Dornish features, but accepted your money anyway. He is now polishing the same glass a dozen times over, when keeping a close eye on you and on Oryn.

Oryn comes back to your shared table with a large plate filled with potatoes, chicken and something that smells familiar. ‘’Rat!’’ You grin from ear to ear, when taking his plate. Oryn watches in disgust as you devour the meat on your plate, before beginning to eat your vegetables as well. Oryn has a plate of his own filled with mostly meat as well, which he devours too.

There is something about King’s Landing that you enjoy. Perhaps the simplicity of it all. You never felt more at home, so far away from home. The people of King’s Landing are interesting, unique folks with each a story to tell. You would pay a good coin to live here forever.

But your sworn shield has a bit more trouble adjusting himself. ‘’This is the capital. What do you think, Oryn?’’ You ask.

He thinks for a moment.‘’It smells.’’ He grumpily comments.

You roll your eyes, impaling another potato with your fork. ‘’Yes, but aside from that?’’

He sighs, deeply, looking around him in paranoia, failing to see the beauty you see. ‘’I don’t know, my lady. My gut tells me it was a bad idea to come here. My gut is never wrong.’’

‘’You’re just hungry.’’ You tell him with a smirk. You bring your cup of ale to his, cheering. ‘’We should celebrate our last trip together, before I become some lord’s property.’’

Yet Oryn has always been very protective of you. ‘’I still think this is a horrible idea. These people are at war with one another. They spill their own blood for a throne.’’He makes his voice soft.

You did hear about the civil war. There was a vendor at the square who sells silver-haired pillows and dolls to set on fire, pillows who are supposed to resemble ‘’Rhaenyra the cruel’’.

‘’Does that not intrigue you? Come on, where is your sense for adventure?’’ Part of you is joking. Another part is deadly serious.

‘’I lost that sense around the same time you were born.’’ He is jesting you can tell. He grabs your arms. ‘’Stay here. Don’t go with anyone, don’t tell anyone your real name. I need to piss.’’ He lets go of your arms, leaving you in the tavern.

When you are alone, you can’t shake the fears that quickly take a hold of you. Fears about your future in Essos. Fears of bedding a strange much older man, having his children and never seeing Sunspear or Dorne again. Never playing with your siblings in the watergardens, never running from palace guards or feeling sand under your feet. A single tear rolls down your left cheek, reminding you of a simple truth: You are homesick, and soon you won’t even be welcome there anymore.

Before you briefly sigh, lost in wonder. What you wouldn’t give to be a dragon, flying far away from this place and to nest somewhere warm, close to home, protecting your loved ones. A man turns around, smiling at you. He speaks, exposing his rotten teeth. ‘’Excuse me, Miss. You seem not from here. I was wondering if you liked for me to show you around the city a bit?’’ You force yourself to smile. The man has dark hair and grins. ‘’I can bring you to a dragon. For a price.’’ You raise an eyebrow at him, not sure. You sigh, moving tables and show him your well stuffed wallet. He nods before opening his mouth.

The man takes you with him to the streets of King’s landing, far away from the tavern and the inn you were staying in. You see many dangerous cloaked types of all sorts of work, assassins and brothelworkers alike. The man chuckles at your discomfort. ‘’This way, my lady. I’ll bring you to a dragon.’’ The man tells you, keeping his voice steady when you begin to question if it wasn’t a bad idea to follow a strange man claiming to have a dragon.

You stand still in front of an abandoned building somewhere close to what seems to be an orphanage. You regret not asking Oryn with you, he must be worried sick.

He gestures to the brown, wooden worn down door. ‘’The dragon is in there.’’ He tells you.

You toss him a golden coin before nodding to the building. ‘’You go first, then.’’

The man laughs at you, before nodding and entering the building. You follow after, curiously looking around for any dragons. The building is too small to host the big one that flew over, but surely they got a dragon somewhere? You hope so.

After looking around and the minutes and the rats pass you by, you begin to understand you made a grave mistake by trusting this stranger. Who knows what he wants from you? There are no dragons, for certain.

You run back to the door, but the man is faster. He grabs you by your arm, dragging you with him when you scream for help.

The man becomes annoyed with you, even hitting you to silence you across your face. ‘’Shut it, Dornish slut.’’ He warns you.

Chains are brought out and put around your hands, chaining you as some sort of animal. A door opens and a person makes themselves known by simply speaking. ‘’Gentle with her.’’ He speaks firm and clear, commanding the man. You chuckle in your head. Of course, this man was a ratcatcher. And you were his rat.

You briefly struggle in the chains as you are brought to the man, who remains where he is, not moving a inch as you are dragged over the moldy wood.‘’Who are you?’’ You demand, your voice unbowed, unbent, and unbroken.

He ignores you. He wears what seems to be castle forged armor, the pretty kind with golden details. But from where you stand you can’t see any of it. ‘’Put her on her knees.’’ He tells his pet.

The peasant obeys, forcing you to kneel before the man. You glare, infuriated by his treatment of you. Your scoff in disgust, refusing to beg or to cry for this pathetic man that would chain you up, instead of facing you with courage. The man nods to the peasant, hinting he may go now. The peasant leaves instantly. The man steps a bit closer, yet you can’t still make out his face, only hear his hypnotic voice. ‘’That is much better, now we can speak properly.’’ He says, as if you are long lost friends.

You take insult to that, and spit at his feet. He chuckles, not even slightly offended. ‘’O, Dornish temperament. I like it. I had a horse from Dorne, you know? I never liked the animal.’’ You don’t know why he is telling you of this, or why you are even here.

You grit your teeth. ‘’You would hate animals. Who are you?’’ He kicks against something, and you notice someone else laying face down next to you.

You see a familiar sword, drenched in blood followed by a familiar head, cut from his body. Fresh tears burn in your eyes as you can’t believe what you are seeing right in front of you.

‘’Oryn!’’ You cry out, trying to reach him. To your surprise, your attacker does not stop you, only watches as you shake the body of your sworn shield, and your friend. ‘’How is that possible? Oryn, wake up!’’ You beg, in tears as a little girl.

His scars and injuries betray he was severely tortured before, likely until he died. He died, protecting you. ‘’He is as dead as a doornail.’’ The man comments, not giving a fuck.

Whatever grief there is, is turned into rage before you can blink your eyes. ‘’You animal!’’ You vow revenge on him, in that very moment.

He chuckles, pulling the chain so you can’t move an inch. ‘’A-ah, Princess. I would most certainly advise against hurting me.’’ You are thankful for the lack of candles and daylight, because you are certain if he saw your face he would get suspicious. You tell yourself he doesn’t know. But he tortured Oryn. There is a chance he knows who you are.

He steps closer to you and you can finally make out the sharp long face that stares back at you, covered by a single eyepatch. But his hair is what terrifies you even more. Long, silver locks. ‘’You’re a Targaryen.’’ You stutter, as a foolish girl.

He grits his teeth, insulted. ‘’I’m insulted you don’t know who I am.’’ You huff at his boldness and rashness. How are you supposed to know who he is? Their names are as complicated as their lovely messed up family tree.

You raise a brow in rebellion, challenging him. ‘’Should I?’’

He makes a low, scoffing bow.

‘’Prince Aemond Targaryen.’’ You try to remember who that is, but you can’t really recall. He must not be a very famous or important Targaryen.

You blink, unfazed and unimpressed. ‘’Who?’’

Aemond scowls, offended once more and even deeper than the other time. ‘’Never even mind. I’m the brother of King Aegon.’’ You do know of Aegon. He sits on the throne. Well, one half of it. The other half is ruled by his sister, Rhaenyra.

You were interested in the war before but now that you are so close to it, you want to run. The Targaryen has other plans.

‘’You are far from home, little Dornish butterfly.’’ He murmurs, lifting your chin with his fingers. You notice there is blood on his fingers. ‘’Your daddy must miss you so dearly.’’ His voice is full of mockery and condescension. ‘’Little Princess.’’ He adds with a whisper in your ear, sending shivers down your spine when his hot breath runs down as fire on your collarbone.

You gulp, as it becomes clear he certainly knows who you are. ‘’You have me mistaken for another.’’ You lie, smoothly. You lie dozens of times. "I'm a poor orphan, nothing special about me."

Aemond simply walks back to the walls, before bringing forward a portrait. The portrait was commissioned on your latest nameday, and was done extraordinarily well. As if you looked into a mirror.

’Do I, Princess Elna of house Martell?’’He asks, pouting slightly, victory written in his good eye and a proud smirk on his lips.

You want to punch that man. You open your mouth, ready to tell him one horrible lie after the other.

But he doesn't let you talk. Not anymore. ‘’You can spare us both the energy: My men informed me the moment you were here when you set foot on shore.’’ they knew. All the time they knew you were here. They were likely waiting for an opportunity and took it.

And now, you are the prisoner of a Targaryen. The thing your ancestors fought so hard to avoid. ‘’What do you want with me?’’ You refuse to whimper or to let fear affect your voice. But your heart almost beats so loud he can hear it.

Prince Aemond Targaryen shrugs, putting the portrait away again. ‘’As luck would have it, I happen to be unmarried. I heard you were very unhappy in your arranged match.’’ He knows a lot about you, that information is very fresh.

You blink, smiling. ‘’Did you torture it out of my friend?’’ That must be it. He tortured your friend and shield and that is how he knows.

He sighs, as if he regrets something before shaking his head. ‘’No. He didn’t slip a word, not even when I had his eyeballs squeezed out. My compliments to whoever hired him. He was a lovely loyal man.’’

Your left eye twitches and you try once again to attack him. Aemond simply steps out of your reach, laughing when you try to hurt him with tears of rage and frustration rolling down both your cheeks. ‘’I will kill you for that.’’ You promise him. You vow it to him in the honor of your house.

Aemond scoffs, as if you are a harmless little kitten he found in a gutter somewhere. ‘’Oh, dear. I don’t think you are in the position to make any threats.’’ You hear a clear warning there. There is a line with him and you better not cross it.

He adds with a soft whisper, brushing your cheeks with his mouth when he finds your ear.

‘’In fact, it looks awfully bleak for you." You have the horrible feeling he might do something unspeakable.

‘’I lack a wife.’’ He speaks, taking your breasts in, and smiling as if picturing himself deep inside of you. Your mind forms incorrect and disturbing images.

You feel as if you are naked. You pretend to feel fine. Unbroken. ‘’I imagine that you do.’’ You sweetly smile.

He ignores your jab. ‘’You lack a husband. It is quite the simple sum.’’ To males it always is.

The answer leaves your mouth before you can think of the true consequences. ‘’I'd rather die. You want a whore, go buy one.’’

Aemond moves his mouth from your ears to your neck slowly nibbling on it when biting harder, just enough to make you whimper. He grins satisfied with the sounds. ‘’Hm. And witty too. I will have my work cut out for me, when I marry you.’’ You huff, confused as to why you liked what he did with you.

You can't believe you are playing this card but you must. ‘’You can’t, I’m betrothed to some spice lord, remember?’’

Aemond Targaryen changes from man to monster in front of you and chuckles, scoffing at your stupidity. ‘’You think I give a fuck about promises?’’ He is right. The pact might as well not exist to Aegon’s kingdom, if anything they would be happy to thwart to avoid giving Dorne more power.

You look away, at a loss for words at the first time in your life. He grabs you by the throat, roughly before smirking deeply and disturbed. His eyes are empty and you see no humanity or kindness or any human emotions. ‘’You are still very naive, for a girl your age. Don’t worry. I’ll teach you soon enough.’’ You feel an unpleasant warmth spread between your legs as your mind begins to think of double meanings of learning how to be less naive.

But your heart bleeds for Oryn. You know you can't become Aemond’s wife for dozens of reasons. It will be a war.

‘’What do you even hope to accomplish by marrying me?’’ You ask and you are terrified for the answer. You see the bloodlust and greed in his eye, brought out by your question.

Aemond answers, softly pecking you on your left cheek, causing you to blush deeply. He grins when moving his fingers over your face, caressing you gently. ‘’Why, conquering Dorne, of course.’’

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