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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years ago

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Midnight Blades {24}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: Your trip to the Temple takes a turn as the emotional turmoil triggers labour. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, gore, birth, death WC: 2860

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty || Part Twenty-One || Part Twenty-Two || Part Twenty-Three || Part Twenty-Four || Epilogue

The Temple of the Blood Witches was closed when you arrived, the acolytes having all left for the evening, but you held the skeleton key that opened the heavy doors. Your steps echoed along the stone of the foyer before you descended the damp stairwell that led to the apothecary storage rooms in the cellar.

“Slow down,” Aemond warned as he followed you down after stopping first to light a torch. “I know you are in pain.”

“How do you know that?”

“You think I do not know my wife?” he scoffed, swapping the torch to his other hand so he could place one on the small of your back. “You have been flinching with every step. Wait here and I’ll find the medicine.”

“Stars forbid, you will probably find the water hemlock root instead.” He looked offended but you ignored it as you took another step. “I’m fi-” Your words died as you looked down in time to see the gush of water splatter at your feet.

“Shit,” Aemond cursed as he wrapped his arm around you and tried to turn you back up the stairs. “Let’s go.”

“No,” you spat as you fought against him. “Not without the pain relief. Unless you plan on knocking me out, I suggest we get moving.”

Aemond looked like he was ready to take you up on the offer but he sighed and pushed his fingers back through his long hair. “You are fucking infuriating.”

“Now is not the time for sweet talking, dear husband.”

The pain that had been growing steadily since you realised your fathers condition rapidly progressed after your waters broke. With each bend in the stairwell that led you deeper into the bowels of the Temple you could feel the contractions strengthening but you pushed it to the back of your mind and focused on what your father needed.

The doors that lined the hall were once darkhouses, the cold and damp environment perfect for growing all manner of flora that could not thrive in the warmer climate above the surface. Some were still used for things such as the hallucinogenic fungi that aided with prophetic visions and helped lift the spirits of those feeling pain in the heart but most were turned to cool storage rooms over the centuries.

“Here,” you said as you handed Aemond the key and pointed to a specific door before leaning against the wall and suppressing the deep groan that was building. “Can you grab a jar from the cedarwood box? Not the redwood.”

Aemond took the keys without a word and hurried to the door, quickly unlocking it and slipping inside with the torch. You doubled over in the dark as you gritted your teeth and more liquid ran warm down your thighs. Your tongue bled as you bit it to keep silent and the coppery scent hit you as you slid down the cold floor, your skirts bunching up over your bent knees.

“Got it,” Aemond called out, the torch filling the hall as he reappeared and found your hands between your legs.

“She’s crowning,” you whispered through tight lips as you felt her head breaching your canal. “Cloak.”

Aemond stabbed the torch into the wall sconce and shucked his cloak as he fell to his knees between your legs. Your fingers came away red in the fire light and they trembled as adrenaline flooded your entire body.

“Wha-what do I do?” Aemond stammered as he saw the blood slick along your thighs and feared the worst. Aemond had been witness to Selaena’s birth but Grammy had been the one to deliver her, just like Aedira. He had not paid too much attention to anything other than your comfort and then the feeling of holding his newborn in his arms.

“Feel…feel for the cord,” you panted as the pressure grew and Aemond gave a choked sound as her face appeared. “Unwind it if…it is around her…neck.”

Your head fell back against the stone wall with a thud but the pain was secondary as Aemond pushed your legs wider apart and checked for the umbilical cord. “I can’t see anything, there’s too much blood.”

“Aemond,” you murmured as your eyes started to drift shut.

“My dear daughter.” Your eyes flew open wide as you saw your father standing to your left, his hand resting on your shoulder though you did not feel it. “You cannot rest just yet.”

“My little witchling.” Your mother appeared at your right just as you remembered her, and she crouched by your side as she touched your clammy brow. “You have done so well but your journey is not over yet, Mother of Queens. Push, darling.”

“I’m tired,” you whimpered before another shade appeared, then another. Grammy and Nate stood beside your mother and father. Each pair was a leader and their rightful heir for the titles you held.

“I know, sweetheart,” your mother cooed gently, “but the living world needs you and that little girl.”

Grammy’s eyes faded to moonlight and her head tipped back as a hum of power filled the hall. “Three daughters, three Queens, the blessed trinity to unite the lands.”

Your mother patted your cheek as she said, “Remember, and live.” She slammed her palm into your chest and you felt as if you had been struck by lightning as the torch flared brightly and a gasp erupted from you.

“-kill you myself!” Aemond shouted as he shook your shoulders and fell back on his heels as you startled awake. “By the gods, you’re alive…”

The whisper of Grammy’s words echoed in your head as a fresh contraction tightened your abdomen and you screamed as your fingernails dug into your knees that you gripped as you pushed. Aemond launched forward with his cloak as the pressure released with the torrent of hind waters and a shrill cry broke the air.

You slumped against the wall as Aemond gathered the little girl wrapped in his cloak into his arms. He carefully shifted to your side so you could rest against him and look at the beautiful babe he held while you birthed the placenta.

“You scared me,” he whispered as he blinked a teary eye at you. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Guess the god of death spat me back out again,” you chuckled but it fell short at the glare he gave you. You reached out and caressed your babe’s soft cheek that was quickly gaining colour as you murmured, “I saw them all on the other side; Grammy, Nate, my mother…and my father. He’s gone, Aemond.”

Your husband pressed his lips to your forehead as he murmured his condolences, trusting the power in your blood to hold the innate knowledge despite being miles away from the palace.

“I need you to cut it,” you said weakly as you saw the umbilical cord pale and the pulsing stop as the nutrient rich blood passed to your daughter.

Aemond pulled the leather band from his hair with bloodied hands and tied it close to your daughter's stomach before he drew Midnight from your hip. He carefully folded the cord over the blade and sliced cleanly through it, letting the longer length fall to the floor between your legs.

“Megaera,” he said, breaking the silence as he wrapped the cloak back around her. “What do you think?”

“Megaera,” you tested the name on your tongue and smiled. “It’s perfect.”

You should have been resting but royal custom dictated the funeral procession begin as soon as possible. A week was all you were allowed to recover from the blood loss and childbirth before the people gathered at dawn.

The peak of Mount Vigor loomed ahead as you trailed the horse and wagon that carried the King, each step reviving the ache in your abdomen and between your legs. You would put your emotions aside, you would be unfeeling to the pain in your body and soul. You would hold your head high and make your father proud as you put one foot in front of the other and cradled your new babe in your arms.

Aemond already had his arms full as Selaena begged to be carried as her legs tired with the climb. The six year old had her daddy wrapped around her fingers and it took little convincing for him to agree to carry her up the mountain. Unsatisfied with the view over his shoulder, she climbed atop them instead and tugged his crown from his head, messing the long silver strands of his hair.

“Careful, sweetheart, that’s sharp,” Aemond warned gently.

Selaena ignored him and placed the Valyrian steel crown over her head, but it quickly slipped down to her shoulders. “I’m going to be King of Scythe one day, just like mother.”

You smiled and shook your head as Aemond corrected her, “Your mother is Queen.”

Selaena narrowed her eyes at the horse and wagon setting the pace of the procession before pointing a finger at the silk wrapped body of your father. “But Grandsire was King and now he’s dead so she’s the King.”

“Men are Kings, women are Queens,” Aedira said from where she followed, her arm looped through Viserys’ as the reserved teen silently offered his support.

“That’s stupid,” Selaena huffed as she tugged the crown off and dropped it back on Aemond’s head a little off kilter. “When I am Queen I will change that.”

“Have you not been paying attention to your tutors?” Aemond asked softly. “There’s a line of succession passed down through the firstborn child.”

“But…” Selaena looked at her sister with tears in her eyes.

Aedira dropped her hold on Viserys and reached up for her sister’s hand. “I find the prospect of ruling one nation frightful, let alone two. My first declaration as Queen would be to place you upon the sister throne to my own.”

“What about Megaera?” you asked, intrigued by the proposition Aedira was navigating. “She might get jealous that she is left out.”

“The Dornish King had a son just last Fall, perhaps they will be a love match like you and father.”

Aemond choked on a laugh that he hid behind his hand. “Goodluck with that.”

“I haven’t even had the crown placed upon my head and they are plotting their own ascensions,” you said with a smile to your husband. “We might have to sleep in shifts lest a dagger finds its target.”

“I am an honourable fighter,” Aedira gasped in offence. “Cloak and dagger is not my style, I would challenge you to a duel.”

“That’s my girl,” Aemond chuffed proudly. “But I am the only one allowed to threaten your mother.”

“I would rather not be Queen anyway,” Aedira admitted as she looped her arm back through Viserys’ and rested her head on his shoulder. “Not if it means you and father are dead.”

“They could always abdicate,” Viserys said with his soft-spoken tone. “It’s rare, the last one being almost two centuries ago, but it has been done.”

The boy jogged your memory and you did remember reading that in the history books as a child. Some great-great-great-grandsire had ceded the throne to his son and become his advisor instead. It had been a peaceful rule from what you could recall, not a single war waged for the 60 years his son reigned. “I see you have spent your time in the royal library.”

“I find solace there.”

“I’m glad,” you said as you saw Aedira’s hand squeeze his with a smile. “Perhaps you will join us on our journey back to King’s Landing? Aedira seems more intent on learning the skill of the blade than the history of our nations.”

Viserys returned to his quiet, thoughtful state without giving an answer but you saw he took the offer to heart as he looked up to the weyr of dragons flying overhead.

“Fighting is more practical,” Aedira commented. “What use is history, it’s all just stuff that's already happened.”

“It serves to avoid making the same mistakes as our predecessors,” Aegon said from behind the group where he carried his daughter in his arms. “That which we do not want to repeat. You should come home, little brother, you have been away too long.”

Night had fallen when you reached the royal bethel at the peak, the journey taking longer than usual with rest stops taken when the pain became too much to bear. Jaehaera had taken to carrying Megaera when your body had weakened and Aedira left Viserys’ side to offer her strength as she wrapped her arm around your waist.

As High Matron, you performed the Final Rites for your father just as you had for Grammy, only this time you could not complete them. “I cannot draw the bow string,” you said as you handed the bow and quiver of arrows to your eldest child.

She took them with a wavering hand but you nodded reassuringly and her grip tightened. You held the bowl of oil as she dipped the arrow head in and then Aemond was there with the torch to ignite it.

Aedira drew the arrow back in the string until the bow bent with her strength and she took aim at the pyre that the King had been laid upon. “Dracarys!” she ordered Kileyxs who circled above as she let the arrow fly.

The arrow flew straight and true, igniting the pyre as Kilexys craned her neck and filled the sky with flames for her rider’s grandsire.

“Dracarys!”

The dragonriders surrounding you each honoured your father with towering pillars of flame that could be seen from across the nation and you almost collapsed as a wave of emotion hit you.

“Be strong,” Aemond murmured in your ear as he held you up. “You are not finished yet.”

He set you on your unsteady feet and reached for the circlet resting on your head. “Twelve years we have been breaking traditions, but this is big even for you. Are you sure?”

“This feels right,” you said with a nod and he lifted the diadem from your head. “Selaena, come here, my dear.”

Aedira grinned as her little sister skipped across the temple and stopped in front of you.

“For the one who loves these lands above all else, I name you, Selaena Targaryen, Heir of Scythe.”

Her violet eyes widened and she looked to her sister. “I already have a crown, that one belongs to you,” Aedira reassured her.

The Lords and Ladies of court gasped as they realised what you were doing but none protested after they saw Aemond place his hand on his sword and the promise of violence on his smirk. The circlet was a little too big but with the braids styled around her white hair it draped elegantly across her head.

It was Ferra the Soothsayer, who you had chosen as your Second to lead the Blood Witches in your absence, that appeared with a velvet cushion in her hands and the crown your mother wore resting upon it. You dropped to your knees and you were glad to feel the sharp stones beneath you, knowing your legs were struggling to hold you afoot.

“Allow me the honour, my queen,” Aemond said quietly as his voice thickened in his throat and he held the large diamond encrusted crown above your head. “This crown changes nothing, you were always my equal.”

The heavy weight of the crown settled on your head and you felt it bear down on your shoulders as Ferra placed the empty cushion on the table that held two small clay pots. Her lithe fingers dipped into the first and the oil glistened in the firelight before she brushed it over your brow and blessed your reign with good health. She took the second bowl and dipped her fingers in, coming away black with the ash of an ancient oak tree, as she recited the words as old as the tree itself.

“With the ash of the First Oak that grew in the heart of Scythe, we remember that though what we loved has gone, the memory is ours to keep alive.” Your eyes closed as ash fell from your brow where she smeared it and you held your breath for the final declaration. “The King is dead, long live the Queen.”

The chant was echoed by the thousands down the mountainside and you felt the title settle deep in your bones.

“Rise, Queen Y/N, the First of Her Name, Queen of Scythe, and of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.”

The gems embedded in the silver and crown reflected in the firelight and sent a cascade of colour around the temple as you rose to your feet with Aemond’s help. Turning, you faced your people for the first time as their Queen and for the first time the reality no longer brought you dread. You would make your family proud, both the living and the dead. That was your promise as you touched the sapphire hanging around your neck and felt the edges cut your palm.

Click here for the Epilogue.

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