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almondmilktargaryen · 3 months ago

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Duty & Sacrifice (Part Three)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: Mourning child loss (written by someone who's not a parent), lying

Word count: 4.6k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four ✍️

Just as when he left Flea Bottom, the guards do not look twice at Aemond as he walks through the Keep. They do not see his face, nor the two cloaks he wore (Criston gave him his to hide the blood). No, all they see is his boots as they bow upon passing. The only words they utter are, “My prince.” Aemond faces forward. His eye does not stray. And his head stays up.

He turns sharply after climbing the stairs, finding his chamber doors in the east wing. The guard outside mimics the expected behavior before Aemond pushes himself through.

Out of all things unexpected in one night, Floris being absent was jarring. She sticks to a routine, just like him. With the candles already snuffed out, the smell of smoke had been replaced by the open air from their balcony. She should’ve retired hours ago.

Perhaps the gods wanted to leave him alone after… all of it, reminding him how alone he truly was. Still, Aemond looks around, peering past corners and squinting into dark areas at the far ends of their chambers, straining his vision with the distance as he feels the chains in his chest. They weighed down his heart and lungs as he staggered and lifted the bedcovers. Caution camouflages with his grief and takes hold just as strongly. Floris could be anywhere.

The weight, the chains stacked on themselves. Aemond discards the cloaks and mixes them in their shared dirty clothes. The view of King’s Landing taunts him; the capital he once saw from a safe distance nearly two years ago. Even in daylight, the people were nothing more than specks of dust. None of them could hurt him. He never thought it would be the reason, once again, why he felt this way. It was only more proof that he has not changed, still stupid. Three and ten, self-loathing, and stupid.

Luc used to represent his self-loathing. Now he sees Alyssa.

She was warm whenever he held her to his chest, like the sun washing over the cityscape. She was a blaze as fiery as her hair. Now she’s snuffed out like the candles in his chambers, but this time far away from home.

Aemond grips the barrier of the balcony as he falls. The stone scratches his skin as he clings to it like a cliff’s edge, yet he sinks down and down. A heave escapes him, squeezed out of him as the imagery of it all floods back, every angle pouring in as he convinces himself there was something he could have done. Before the alleyway, before Chataya’s. Surely, there was a step he missed. He had to have, so he retraced it all while shivering, like winter was here.

The door creaked open, making Aemond’s head spring up like a deer hearing a twig’s snap. He plugged his grief, picking himself up in the shroud of darkness and rubbing his face.

“Aemond!” Floris’ silhouette is barely in view, but he still recognizes it as she pushes her bangs from her forehead. Her rapid breaths grow louder with each step toward him before she’s fully in the moonlight. She’s in her nightgown. The black one from her mother that matches her hair, both now in crumpled waves. “Where have you been? Daeron has been in a state demanding to see you.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

A hand remains in her hair, the other on her hip. “He won’t stop crying. A nightmare, maybe? I put him to bed hours ago, and the handmaidens said he woke up screaming.”

“I’ll go to him.”

“Wait.” A palm meets his chest, square in the center. “What’s wrong?”

Aemond stares into the dark of their chambers just above her head before falling to her blue eyes. It was wiser not to speak.

The tips of her fingers are cold as they brush under his eye. Her short nails barely scrape his unmarred cheek. The wetness shines under the moon as she turns her palm to him.

He pulled out his usual excuse, putting a hand over his patch. “Eye pain.”

“Eye pain?”

“Yes.”

“Your upsets usually force you to rest, not tears.” She observes the residue before wiping it on her gown. “I haven’t seen it this bad since Baelon’s last name day.”

“Well, it happened. It comes in waves. Or sometimes a moment’s fit.” Another way to cover himself in the future. He’s discovered grief rises in him at inconvenient times. Gods love to torture. “I can’t control when they occur, Floris.”

“I never said you could. I just—”

“I need to see Daeron.”

The children sleep in the west wing of the Keep now. After what happened to Jaehaerys, Aemond insisted their rooms be away from the royal quarters. He made sure there was a guard at their doors day and night. Jaehaera included. Tonight, however, there were two guards outside Daeron’s door, appearing dazed and confused. Yet they still had the sense to bow to their prince.

Aemond opened the door to find five handmaidens completely helpless. But like the guards outside, Aemond was also confused when finding his son not screaming. His body only bounces in place like he had the hiccups. His head was down and he gripped his little golden blanket.

“He’s tired out his throat, my prince,” one handmaiden says. Her voice shakes.

Daeron looks up when hearing the title. His little eyes are puffy from crying so hard, and Aemond’s heart, merely hanging by chords, can still twist in on itself as he watches his boy’s lip quiver.

“Leave us, please,” Aemond says.

“Forgive us, my prince. We tried our best.”

Daeron rubs an eye with the heel of his hand. “Papa, my… throat hurts.” His voice sounds like he swallowed gravel from the training yard.

“I’m sure, sweetling. Hold on,” Aemond turns his head to the group. “My son is thirsty. Please, one of you fetch him some water. Add some essence of nightshade to help him sleep.”

Their curtsies blend with their departure. The door shuts behind him.

The candle on Daeron’s bedside table revealed the redness across his face, hot and sticky with tears. Aemond walks to the foot of the bed. He’s careful not to let his weight go too suddenly, recalling the height difference this time between this bed and Baelon’s. He’s not hesitant though with stretching out his arms. “Come here,” he says.

Daeron springs from his covers, leaving behind the small golden blanket as he crawls into Aemond’s lap. He hugs him at the neck while Aemond holds him at the waist. It’s a long hug, something they both need. He smells like outside, earthy yet sweet. He lets himself feel the boy’s fragile ribs steadying themselves. His father was here now. There was no need to worry. So they took in air as they needed it—with ease. When he pulls back, Aemond grabs the spare handkerchiefs left behind. Daeron still sniffled, but refused to blow his nose. Aemond pinches it instead.

“What’s upsetting you so much?”

“Am I to be Lord of Storm’s End?”

“What?”

Snot dribbles on the handkerchief. “I had a dream.”

Aemond cocks his head. “Tell me about it.”

“I had a dream that… that we went to Storm’s End to see Uncle Royce. But I was alone. And-and—”

“It’s alright.” Aemond rubs his son’s back. “It’s alright.”

“You wouldn’t let me fly Morning. I couldn’t get back home.”

Aemond gave pause as he listened to Daeron. The boy’s lip quivers again as Aemond’s thoughts swirl, shushing his son as he remembers Helaena. Aemond clears his throat. He smiled down at his son. “I know what this is,” he says with an exhale. “Come with me.” He holds him close as he stands up, walking across the rooms to settle at his window, the other side of King’s Landing before them. Aemond used Daeron’s fleshy arm to point. “What’s that building there?”

“S-Sept?”

“That’s right. The Grand Sept. Your Aunt Helaena is there. You never got the chance to meet her.” He petted Daeron’s head, white fluffy hairs that swept to the front and covered his forehead. He looks back up at Visenya’s Hill. The sept’s cylindrical corners and golden domes draw eyes to the center of the city. One of them held three bejeweled urns with their ashes inside, and Aemond dares not sniffle. “She would have dreams like yours, except she would often be awake. They would overwhelm her all the same. We didn’t understand them.”

“What happened?” He doesn’t look up at Aemond when he asks, only straight ahead at the sept. Meanwhile, Aemond blocks the memories; gore and blood still trailed the back of his mind if he ventured far enough. His leg bounces as he exhales slowly through his mouth, sounding like a haunting wind. Daeron didn’t notice. Aemond couldn’t gather an answer. What could he say? His sister went insane. She killed herself. He found her on Maegor’s spikes. She blamed herself for something that was his fault, and he never got to apologize.

“She lost her sons in the last war. Your cousin Jaehaera’s brothers.”

“Were they soldiers?”

“No, no.” He’s perfectly between Jaehaerys and Maelor in age. The ages they remain for the rest of time. He skips that. “But she loved them so much, losing them was too much to bear for her.” He rests his chin on Daeron’s head, just catching the tear streaking down his cheek before it dripped onto his son’s scalp. Observing the sept again, he longed to be ignorant of such despair. He shook Alyssa from his mind (as best as he could) to come back. “That’s how I feel about you.”

Daeron relaxed a little, his back touching Aemond’s chest. “But what about—” he coughs. “Uncle Royce.”

Aemond ignored the name. “These dreams can be very vivid. About things we already know. Your uncle named you heir, so you will be Lord of Storm’s End one day, yes. But you will go when you are ready.” He kissed Daeron’s head, inhaling his scent as he tried sniffling subtly. “We will ensure your brother receives proper training in royal proceedings as king. Your mother and I will ensure you’re prepared as a lord.”

Daeron doesn’t speak. He picks at the leather of Aemond’s jerkin.

Aemond, in return, hugs him tight with both arms. He gets close to his ear. “You’re not leaving me for a long, long time. Is that what you needed?”

He finally nods. His little white sideburns tickle his nose.

“Good. Because it’s the truth.” He picks him up again. “Now, time for bed.” His sniffling boy buried his head into his neck as he cuddled close, his fingers wrapped around the back. It was painful to do so, he could admit, but he still pried him off. His fingers slipped off him like broken stitches as he made him settle back in bed. He was reluctant, but gave him the golden one, avoiding the black stag sewn in the corner. He kissed the boy one more time before walking to the door.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“Uncle Royce. Where is he?”

“I assume at home.”

“But in my dream, I didn’t see him there. I said I was alone.”

Aemond blinks rapidly. “Perhaps… you didn’t venture far enough to find him.”

He rubs the satin edge of the Baratheon blanket.

“He loves you very much, Daeron. He wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“I know. I just don’t feel like he’s there.”

Aemond said nothing, only watched his son. His purple eyes, swollen and exhausted, darted up at Aemond briefly. They eventually went back down as he pulled his bigger blankets over his lap. Aemond could feel there was something else there, more his son wanted to say. And Aemond, for all the love he bears for his children, didn’t want to hear it tonight. So, he slowly turns on his heels.

“Papa?”

He suppressed his curse. “Yes?”

“Was… Aunt Helaena… were all her dreams true?”

Aemond swallowed thickly as he saw his wife do hours before he left for Flea Bottom. The truth is painful to keep down as he hears Helaena’s voice speaking of rats, then Jaehaerys’ head rolling on the floor just hours later. Still, Aemond looks his son in his beautiful purple eyes as he sternly says, “No. Now go to bed.”

Daeron doesn’t move for a moment, but eventually lays down. Neither of them say goodnight.

Finally, Aemond exits and heads back to his room. Keeping his head up, he pushes down his anguish with each step. He’s not out yet.

Floris barely waited for the door to close before she pounced. “Where have you been?” She is now the starkest thing in the room, all the candles alight again and casting a deep orange across their chambers and she is as dark as tonight’s sky. Only her cream skin contrasted with her hair and attire.

“I told you,” Aemond said. “At a meeting with the City Watch.”

“Her arms crossed over her small belly. “For two hours?”

“Yes.”

“When have you had a City Watch meeting last two hours?”

“Just now.”

“Aemond.”

“Floris, please.” He walks past her, cornering himself on the damn balcony. He lacks the courage to even glance at the city, choosing the brush below instead.

“What did this meeting consist of?” Her voice gets closer.

“My business with the City Watch.”

“Our baby boy wailed for his father.” Aemond can hear the way she bares her teeth. “And wherever this City Watch meeting occurred in the Keep, you were nowhere to be found.”

“It was a meeting in the city.” He spat out the first retort in his mind. “A dire meeting.”

“What could be so dire that you could not tend to your own son?”

“Someone killed a baby.”

The brewing storm halted with a catch in her breath. Her suspicion, though, is still strong around her. Aemond could smell it like rain in the air. He didn’t speak further. Rather, he found the nearest chair and fell into it. The barrier’s small columns blocked the city, similar to a cell as he thought of the woman he loved near the Old Gate. He cannot tell which one is the prisoner, as he pressed his temple with two fingers.

Floris crouched in her gown. Her gaze was heavy as Aemond did everything to keep from letting unnecessary information slip from him. “We took care of the killer. That’s what matters.”

Floris’ pale hand meets the crook of his arm. A thumb doesn’t brush back and forth like it did when his mother succumbed to her fever. The other arm does not wrap him in closer like it did when his nightmares of war jolted him and woke them both. Her thick brows didn’t slant in sympathy. They were straight and stern. “Whose baby was it?”

“What?”

“Whose baby was it?”

Aemond rips his arm away, the leather of his sleeve squeaking sharply from her grip. “What relevance is that?”

“Because you’re a kinslayer.” It rolls off her tongue so naturally.

“I’ve told you not to—”

“It’s what you’re known for, Aemond. I don’t understand how one baby would concern you.”

Aemond slams a fist on the arm of the iron chair as he stands, turning his back to his wife before facing her again. “You know I lost my nephews in the Dance.”

“After killing another.”

“Don’t!” His fingers curl into a fist. It’s when his father crosses his mind that he throws the force against his hip and lets out a shaky exhale. “Floris.”

“With your brother’s bastards rotting in the alleyways, I just don’t understand the difference.” She picks herself up, pushing with her knees and holding her belly. Aemond doesn’t help her.

“Because she wasn’t a bastard.” He spits out the words. Another lie, but he doesn’t care.

“Then whose baby was it?”

The chamber doors groan slowly. Aemond doesn’t move from his wife, but refuses to answer. Even as he sees her anger boil her skin and streak her cheeks, he keeps his mouth shut and watches the doors.

“Forgive me, my prince. Princess. I do not mean to disturb.”

“Cole.”

Even in a tunic and linen breeches, he stands like he wears his Kingsguard armor: feet apart, hands collected at his front. No blood in sight, and his hair is disheveled as if someone tore him from bed.

“Leave us,” Floris snaps over her shoulder.

“Cole, what news?”

He delays in reply, clearing his throat. “Once again, we require your presence, my prince.”

“With what?” Aemond slips around Floris before she can stop him.

“With, uh, burial arrangements.”

Aemond stood still, frozen.

“If the baby has a family, they can decide for themselves,” Floris says. “I don’t understand why such matters require my husband.”

“The family is quite… distraught, princess. As a mother, I’m sure you can understand the idea of such pain.”

Floris’ eyes falter slightly to the floor before glaring back at Criston

“The maesters have wrapped the body and prepared her for her final journey.”

“I’ll go,” Aemond says.

Floris snatches Aemond at the arm. “No!” Her heels skid on the stone floor.

“Do you wish to see the child’s body yourself?” Aemond snaps back at her. “For proof she’s real and your husband has a heart?”

He expected Floris to let him go, in every sense of the phrase. But her small fists only coiled tighter around his forearm. Everything hard about her expression fractured before him. The blue in her eyes glisten brilliantly as she shakes. “Please, Aemond.”

“It won’t take long, princess. I assure you. Your husband will be back soon.”

“Don’t leave.”

Aemond sighs. But he looks his wife in the face as he pulls his arm from her hold a second time. He walks to Criston.

“Please.”

It falls on deaf ears.

Neither speak a word as they make their way through the Keep, nor create any sense of urgency with their footsteps. The only ones who look them in the face are a number of Gold Cloaks, either nodding or appearing extra sullen.

They don’t exit through the front doors. No disguises with them now. Instead, the pair navigate through Maegor’s tunnels to find their escape, opening one (of many) secret doors. The scale of Aegon’s High Hill meets them, the white waves of the Blackwater and a bobbing rowboat just below.

“How did you do it? Is Alyssa—”

“Not now.”

Criston jumps down first, landing on a small area of flat rock. He scales down the small mountain with ease, and Aemond follows with enough distance to not disturb each other’s footing. They hug the jagged walls and Aemond keeps his eye focused down on his own feet, his impaired sight working against him more than ever, with only moonlight just barely revealing shadows here and there. Criston even turned around to help him with some of the hill’s slimmer edges, but he refused, wanting to retain his focus. Over time (and with an absurd amount of patience), they meet at the bottom. They let the steep decline guide them to the small beach, meeting the rowboat.

“We have paid some Gold Cloaks to act as alibis in case your wife wants to inquire. They have already spread the word to others.”

The pools of Floris’ Baratheon blue eyes stick with him. She barely faltered upon word of her father’s fall in battle, nor a tear shed at his funeral. She maintained a grace fit for an unmoving force like her. Yet it was Aemond who pushed her tonight. He pushed her to tears. “And the maesters?” He inquires while clearing his throat. “What you said back there, that was true?”

Criston stretches his arms out to steady the boat. “Watch your step,” he tells him. But before Aemond can even take a step, he’s holding out his hand. Aemond looks down at it.

“I can get in fine on my own, Cole.”

“Just…” He gestures again and keeps it out until Aemond reluctantly takes it, one palm meeting the other. Criston guides him in and continues holding tight as the wood creaks under his boots. He doesn’t let go until Aemond sits down, the boat wobbling. Then Criston steps in on the other side, the Blackwater just missing his ankles, rocking the boat all the same. He grips the edges as he steadies it before reaching down.

Even the late night couldn’t hide the bundle of white waxy cloth, the small bloodless being that he held himself just hours ago. He can still feel the phantom wriggling in his arms from her twin’s screams. Now she is here, still. Still and cold as Criston handed her over. But even as the wind blows, Aemond hovers over her to shield her from the chill. He whispers to her as he does.

“I asked Maester Orwyle to wrap her, so we have another alibi should we need it. With her… injury…”

Aemond traces over her eye. Where her eye would be.

“There was no reason to suspect she was anything but a peasant child.”

“And Royce?”

“The less you know, the better.” Criston then pulls their weight with the boat’s oars as Aemond’s fingers brush the outline of his daughter’s face. The noise of moving water surrounds them as he pictures her. He pulled her into the world first, and he never thought bringing his third child into the world would affect him as deeply as his first two. He never imagined she would leave the world the way she came: wet and screaming.

It wasn’t until Criston docked the boat on the other side of the bay that he thought about asking where he—they—were being taken. He still stood unsteadily when stepping out, eyeing the breathing mountain amongst the young trees: his Vhagar. White birds that were perched on her spine flew when she picked up her head. She doesn’t yawn as she normally does when she wakes up, leaving Aemond to wonder, again, just what they’re doing here.

She peers from her high vantage point, neck fully stretched out as her acid green eyes peer at them both, watching them trudge through the brush of her dwelling. She sniffed the air harshly, sounding like a long hiss if Aemond wasn’t looking. Criston continues pushing the vegetation aside (as he had clearly done before, given the faint imprints of feet in the lush grass). It’s not until they make a circle around her that he sees the pyre; a shadow of dry black timber. Thick logs made the foundation as smaller sticks crossed each other to make the bed.

“She was a Targaryen,” Criston says. “She deserves a proper sendoff.”

Aemond clings to the cloth, securing her against his chest as if he is concealing her under his cloak all over again. He stares at the stick bed, and Vhagar lying behind it. Her chest rumbles, something like a hum that causes the earth to tremor under them. Her neck cranes down for a closer look, and Aemond can see the slashes in her pupils as he feels the creaking of her ancient joints when she tries standing.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond tries adding some force behind his High Valyrian.

She doesn’t listen. One foot forward, and the ground quakes. Roots and leaves shiver. The length of yellow teeth come into view as she takes another sharp breath.

“Lykirī!”

Still nothing. Her snout is inches from his forehead as her sniffs are smaller and more rapid. Her pupils drop to his chest, then back to him as she nudges him. Aemond has to step back to replant himself, but doesn’t order her to be still. His hold on Alyssa remains firm, closer to his chest than her mouth. She closes her lips, and the vibrancy of her eyes disappears when they do the same. Aemond’s forehead meets her snout, and Vhagar is silent as Aemond keeps his sobs down. He clenches his teeth hard and his jaw already aches from the tension.

Eventually, Vhagar steps back, leaving Aemond to walk to the pyre. He was not sure how long it took him to get there. Neither Criston nor Vhagar spoke. The strain from his temples to his eye, and now his jaw, made every step feel glacial. But eventually he did. He couldn’t imagine the sticks being more comfortable than that cot, but he didn’t pick her back up. He swallowed the snot and bile, meeting in the middle of his throat as he stepped back. Criston stood next to him. Vhagar looked at him.

“Dracarys.” He orders it as pathetically as he did before.

Again, she doesn’t follow him. She opens her mouth with no dragonfire. Her massive head twitches to one side, looking at him as she did the first time he ordered her to fly at Driftmark. But just as Aemond can feel the ache in her bones, she can feel the chains in his chest.

Neither of them wants to do this.

Aemond takes a breath, swallowing something like courage. “Dohaerās, Vhagar! Dracarys!”

Her head drew back with another hiss and her pupils thin out before her eyes close. Her neck curls back and she stretches her jaw. It’s always slow. Even the green color that lights up her mouth. He would be convinced that the pyre lit at the same speed, but Aemond fell into the grass; his knees giving in like the wood did under the intense heat.

Criston is still there as Aemond sobs freely, the sounds of it drowned out by the cracks of sticks and logs. He holds Aemond tightly as he buries his face into Criston’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” he tells him. “She’s ascending to the heavens where she belongs. No one can hurt her anymore.”

Aemond blocks his nose in the cloth of Criston’s shirt, sucking in air through his mouth so he doesn’t smell any of it. He remembers how Helaena wailed when she held Jaehaerys, his body limp and the blood soaking into her dress. The woman he loves screamed the same way. The cry of emptiness, a gaping wound inside. Aemond doesn’t have the lungs to scream like that. He just thinks of Helaena on the spikes. “I have to go to her,” he finally says. He pulls away, and Criston’s silhouette is nothing but a bleary shadow. “I have to before—”

“You know she doesn’t want to see you.”

“It doesn’t mean she won’t need me. We still have a child to take care of.”

“She has a child to take care of. You have three. Two of them are here. Another will be in the coming months, and your wife does not need the extra stress of questioning your whereabouts.”

Criston now sandwiches Aemond’s face between his hands. He doesn’t scream at him, but the force of the bones in his hands is hard against his skull.

“Don’t make me build a pyre for your fifth child, Aemond.”

His voice catches in his throat. Neither mother of his children wishes to see him now. Helaena once felt the same, but Aemond’s mistakes called him and Aegon to war, leaving her to grieve on her own. He turns to the pyre, a green haze that occasionally spits at the sky. The smoke burns his nose, making his eye clench shut against the sting. In that darkness, he remembers his mother and the knife to Rhaenyra’s eye. She understood sacrifice. And it was now his turn.

Criston stands up. His outline is still blurry and black, but Aemond can just see his hand outstretched for him. “Your family needs you.”

Aemond remembered his role. And he took Criston’s hand.

Taglist: @paprikaquinn @immyowndefender @teal-anchor @dixie-elocin

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misguidedasgardian · 1 year ago

Text

The Dragon's Mistress (15.2)

15.2. The End of the Beginning

MASTERLIST

Summary: Some things unravel, other issues find this ties

Warnings: cursing, mentions of war, mentions of death, humiliation, use of the word bastard and traitor, incest, death, mentions of blood, death of a monarch, might miss some warnings, you know what this it

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 2.8k

Notes: muahahaha this is it people! I didn’t even realize I was so close to the end until this! a final chapter! then a good epilogue. THIS WAS IT

“It was a dangerous move”, he warned

“But it worked”, said Corlys, “he is letting her go”

“You poisoned her”, he continued

“She was never in real danger, a little nose bleeding, a day of unconsciousness”, he said, “If I wanted to truly hurt her, I would have used some common poison, and not take months to find the proper one, to give her a good scare”, he murmured, looking into the flames, “I would never hurt her, or the baby within her”

“When are we leaving?”, he asked then

“First thing tomorrow”, he continued, “and you are coming with us”, Steffon smiled, relieved, “but then, I will return, after I make sure she is safely within out allies and friends, this isn’t over, this had only just begun”, Steffon smiled, knowingly, he then teached with his hands and the guard received the items he gave him, “you know what to do with these before we leave”, Seteffon nodded, “oh, one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“Do we still have supporters in Harrenhal?”, he asked with a hint of a smile, almost knowing the answer

“The strongest of our allies reside in the Riverlands, they still hold big grudges against Aemond for burning their fields during the war”

“Perfect”, he said simply, “I´m afraid I’ll need them to burn one last thing before we are done”

Aemond was a complicated man

From the very beginning he tried to keep up to his word, since he was a young boy the thing that mattered to him the most was his honor, especially after witnessing his brother lose it so quickly in wine and whores.

He trained with the sword, he assisted to all his Valyrian lessons until he was fluent in the language of his ancient house, he took classes and read all volumes of history and philosophy in the greatest Library of the realm, the one in the Red Keep

He was a devoted son, and brother, and Prince, never arguing with his grandfather or mother, always doing what he was told

He rode the biggest dragon in the world

He was the perfect prince, a gentleman

Until, she was denied of him

When Queen Alicent had refused Princess Rhaenyra’s proposal of betrothed Helaena with Jacaerys, he thought��

Now is my turn

To take my sweet niece to wife, and put a solution to all the problems of the realm and within the family

He was the one to do it

He wanted to, his niece was the perfect Princess, well versed in history and poetry, rider of a fearsome dragon, and a beauty without comparison.

She was his retribution for everything, the price he had won with his efforts

But he was denied of that too, his brothers took his eye, humiliated him, and Rhaenyra took her from him

He could never forgive her

She, the perfect princess, was going to do what was told, and she was betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark

No, you belonged with him

You were the only thing he has ever wanted, and the Kingdoms knew it when he burned the Riverlands and entire armies, only to get to you.

And he finally had you

But like they say…

... But some little birds cannot be caged, their souls begin to wither and suddenly they no longer want to sing ...

He wanted you, but you did not wanted him

He thought he could live with it, he had enough love for the both of you, he had enough desire, enough power, to keep you by his side.

But he didn’t

If you didn’t love him back, it didn’t matter what he did, he believed, you were his and that was enough

But it doesn’t work that way.

Now he had a lump in his throat as he saw the servants and guards put all your things in coffers

He had yielded

He was sending you away

He still didn’t understand why you didn’t love him back, as you tried to hide your happiness, but couldn’t

You were happy to leave him

This is what you wanted all along

So he found himself desperate again

He grabbed you in his arms, kissed all over your face, and whispered in your ear

“I will not stop until I find who did this to you”, he whispered, “when I do, I will bring you back to me”, you took too long to answer, concocting a lie in your pretty head, he could see the wheels turning

“I hope so, my King”, you said faintly

“And when you return, there is only going to be you, no other, no other Queen”, he said, to see your reactions

“I will not wish for you to harm anyone”, you warned, oh, you, always so concerned

For when Floris expelled the babe from her belly… her days were numbered

He was losing you, he didn’t like that.

He never realized he never had you in the first place

He would never admit it, but a tiny tear escaped his eye when he saw your ship sail away. Thankfully no one saw him, as a loud roar was heard front he skies and suddenly the entire harbor was overcome by a huge shadow, Aemond looked up to see your ever faithful dragon flying above your ship, following his rider home.

His face twisted in rage because he had commanded your dragon to be chained to the pit, clearly, the people he had sent had no luck containing the beast, apparently.

Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor

A Dragon is not a slave

Aemond turned around to see Floris, cradling her belly

He was weak a couple of times, and that was the result, he thought bitterly. They lends him a hand, he played it, he played it wrong

But he did not have any time to worry, to cry for your loss, to punch the walls in anger for what others in the dark where still making him do.

A week after your departure…

Aegon died

He exhaled his last breath in a heave of puss and blood, and that is how the man that what going to be known as “Aegon the Usurper” was gone from this earth, taken by the stranger.

He detested his brother, that was no secret, but there was a day he didn’t.

Some years ago, Aegon was only his brother, his oldest brother, a bit drunk, and a whore, but he was only his brother, and that is when Aemond loved him, he had helped him usurp his sister, because he loved him, and his sister and his family, and he thought that was the way to keep everyone safe

Perhaps he had been wrong

But Aemond didn’t have the strength, nor the luxury of thinking about that, he didn’t dare.

It was what it was

His mother, Alicent, cried silently as the silent sister worked on Aegon’s body, covered his sick and twisted body with gauze and so many oils and ointments to try and cover the stench, finally, they placed the crown of the conqueror over his covered body.

He had not been the King in a while now, so the ceremony was short, but dignified thanks to his mother, but as like Viserys before him, nobody really payed attention to the burial, but rather, his own coronation

He had been acting like prince regent for a while now, but no matter, the ceremony was great, held in the throne room, instead of the Dragon Pit like Aegon’s had been, other lords of all over the Kingdoms had not been invited, they were only notified of the death of Aegon, and the coronation of Aemond.

Aegon had died, now, he was King, and you were not by his side when Criston placed the crown over his head, he looked around the room, looking for you, expecting to see you there smiling shyly, but he couldn’t find you anywhere, he could finally crown you Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in all your right

But you were not there

The day

The most important day of his life, and you were nowhere to be found.

He wanted to cry

He wanted to throw himself into his bed and weep

Only Floris was there, standing by the last step of the Throne, looking up at him triumphantly

He wanted to throw up

But he couldn’t show it, for everybody in that room, for all those lickspitters and flatterers, they had won, it was him. Aemond, the right choice, the right brother

The one that studied history and philosophy, the one that trained with the sword, the one that rode the largest dragon in the world

The one who had wed two Queens, that now were with his children in her bellies, the one that worn the conqueror’s crown and held the conqueror’s sword

All the symbols of…

For fucks sake

His grandfather would have been proud

That is what everyone in that room saw, the perfect King

That is who everyone greeted at the banquet afterwards, to the King, the Baratheon Queen, and his mother, the loved Dowager Queen Mother, Alicent Hightower

The court seemed at peace

But it seemed like the peace before the storm

As the feast was raging on, Corlys Velaryon entered the room with the remains of his family, nephews and far off cousins, but impressive nonetheless

He barely nodded to the new anointed monarch, and sat close beside him, at the side of Floris

“You must be pleased to know, your grace, that your Queen is safe, at the palace we discussed”, he said triumphantly, knowingly souring the mood of everyone at the table, “she send her bests, and wishes to be present in this joyous occasion, sadly that cannot be”

“I agree Lord Corlys, soon, it shall all be well again, and I can have my Queen back at my side”, Corlys smiled, and raised his cup at the King, which he answered back, at the scowl of the Queen, and the frown of Floris

Aemond smiled, more confidently now, he was King now

Now, he was settled in power, with two heirs on the way, he was settling on the charge, he had vanquished one of his most powerful enemies while on power, he had won the war

His chest filled with the sense of victory

One step closer

One more, just one more

One enemy left to be slain, and it was going to be fine

All of it, was going to be worth it

He was King now

A real King, anointed by the faith, cherished by the people, supported by half of the great families and at least three of the seven Kingdoms

It could be better.

But it didn’t

Days went by and nothing did.

One day, a very respected member of his kingsguard entered his chambers, he looked nervous

“Your grace, following your instructions, I found something in Queen Floris’ chambers”, he said shakily, he knew how much was at stake, specially if he was wrong

Aemond only looked at him severely

Corlys was sewing scorn, resentment and mistrust in court, and he was not going to stop, until they ripped each other apart

“Queen Floris poisoned our beloved Queen, but she couldn’t do it alone, the question is, why your master of whispers didn’t know it?”, he asked the King as he had called upon him for advice on what to do, “she couldn’t have done it alone, my king”

Reader’s POV

You didn't want to believe it, when Aemond told you he was going to send you away, you didn’t want to get your hopes up, you believed you were dreaming.

But it was real

Maids helped you put your things inside coffers, and a sudden happiness filled you

it was true, you were going away

Dragonstone? probably, is the only place that made sense for you

You were begging

But any place could be better than this

You would even go to Casterly fucking rock, instead of this place

Ironic, it should be your home, where your mother was born, where you were born

But it became a prison

You didn't want to believe you were finally going to be free of it until you were walking towards the docks, escorted by the entire Kingsguard and Aemond walking by your side

He was angry

He had promised you that you were going to be the only Queen, soon, and you couldn’t wish for anything but the opposite

This worked

You placed your hand in your belly, he had what he wanted, you could only wish you were expecting a girl and Floris a boy, perhaps then he would leave you alone.

Aemond followed you hand, placing them over yours, as you stopped by when you reached Corlys’ ship at the end of the harbor

“I will send for you soon”, he promised, as he kissed you, you leaned into him, making him believe you would come back

You wouldn’t

ONce you were weak enough to fight this, but not anymore

You were not going to come back, not against your own will.

You grabbed the small hand of your little brother as you helped him aboard the ship

Corlys held you both once the boat left the harbor.

It was funny

From all your Velaryon siblings, you were the one that liked the sea the most, even if your real father was Daemon Targaryen

You found it calming, reassuring, soothing, but it was also something to be weary of, careful, scared of.

The endless sea

“Thank you grandfather”, you whispered, he kissed the top of your head

“I’m here now sweet girl”, he whispered back, “they will pay for everything they have done to us”

There was a time you cursed him, you believed he had betrayed you and your mother, but he didn’t, he needed to get inside, attack from within, he was the Sea Snake, one of the most dangerous men on the seven Kingdoms

And he was on your side

“The sea agrees with you”, he whispered, as with the soft sway of the ship you felt more confident as when you were on mainland

“I got it from you”, you said cheekily, and he smiled warmly

“You are my legacy, history remembers names, not blood”, you only smiled gently

And those words made sense only when you arrived at Dragonstone, where there was two very familiar silvery heads waiting for you

“Baela? Rhaena?”, you called, your half sisters smiling back at you. You ran towards them, as much as you could since you were heavily pregnant

they held you tightly against them

Once the war had started to collect the lives of your grandmother and then your brothers, Corlys had taken them to Driftmark, where they were going to be safe, you never saw them again.

Your stepsisters, your baby brother, your grandfather.

You looked up at the high towers of the huge castle, just in time when your dragon arrived and flied above it and between.

Beautiful

Safe

Your baby kicked inside you and you smiled warmly, he knew he was home too

“You don’t have to worry, little one”, Corlys whispered, “you are home now, I’ll protect you”

But as you approached the castle, you realized it was more… lively, that the last time you saw it, more people, ships on the harbor, banners from houses of the Crownlands, no, it couldn’t be, you recognized from afar the house sigil of the Celtigars

“What is going on?”, you asked

“The Lords are greeting you back home, where you belong, you, your brother, and the princeling”, now Corlys had the winning hand, having all the royal bloodlines under his protection.

When you entered the hall, you were met with all the lords of the Crownlands, everyone bowed when they saw you, smiling brightly at you, you smiled shyly back, as they guided you towards the Dragonstone throne.

Encouraged by Corlys, you took a seat in the throne, something you didn’t even see your mother do.

You gazed at all the lords, who didn’t even look in your direction when you lived inside these walls, when you were the last child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and they could see how they disappointed you in your face, in the frown in your face.

Many of them started talking, amongst each other, and some towards you, many apologies, a lot of everything

“We failed you once, our sweet Queen”, one man stood above all the others, “ we will not fail you again”, said Lord Celtigar, taking a knee to you, and all the other Lords followed

“To the Queen, and Prince Viserys!”, chanted one, and everyone echoed it

“For our late Queen Rhaenyra!”, chanted another and once again, your mother’s name was being called in the halls of Dragonstone

WELL, BRING ITTTT hahaha

It is going to be a long epilogue...

#misguidedmistress #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x floris baratheon #house of the dragon #hbo house of the dragon #targaryen!reader #house targaryen

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ryuzakemo128 · 5 months ago

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Wrath of a Scorned Woman

Pairings: Freyja Raengyreon & Floris Baratheon / Aemond Targaryen x Female Velaryon Reader

Content Warning: cussing and swearing.

Words: 765

Masterlist

Credit 4 Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: Heavy footsteps had come from down a cavernous hall. Floris ringing a bell from a velvet cushion, engraved dragons into the gold bell. “You are a coward, and I will see that history forgets you.” Floris spoke, looking at Aemond with his mistress.

“You have mistaken your own importance, husband. I have no further need of you or this ‘marriage’. I have found something greater than anything you could have ever provided me.” Floris eyes narrowed at her would be ex-husband. “I have found a dragon grander and greater than your eyes had ever seen.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Heavy footsteps had come from down a cavernous hall. Floris ringing a bell from a velvet cushion, engraved dragons into the gold bell. “You are a coward, and I will see that history forgets you.” Floris spoke, looking at Aemond with his mistress.

Towering over the three of them, a woman, a giantess of a woman. Eyes of blue violet mixed with light grey. Lumen in the dimly lit room. Burgundy red hair long enough to brush across the floor. Freyja didn’t have to say anything. All she had to do is stand there. A clear enough warning to those who break their oaths.

Floris might have harmed his mistress. But Aemond did something far, far worse. He ruined her chances of having children of her own. Ruined her chance of getting something she wanted. She didn’t care for the consequences, damn them all, and she will bring his entire house around his head. Bring him to his pathetic knees and crush him like he crushed her. May he die in a pool of ruin, like the seven have foretold in legends.

Floris determined to bring down her soon-to-be ex-husband and his mistress. She didn’t care if she were to die in the process. She had a dragon, and for once in her life she had the power to change things to make her own life better. Better for herself and her house. “Greens can’t keep their oaths, it seems.” Freyja snarled into his ear. “Can’t help themselves, can’t help but ruin everything they touch with their slimy, rotten hands.”

Floris’s smug grin spread across her face, ‘I will crush your bones until you lay broken in front of me. You will watch your house burn until nothing, but cinders, ashes and embers, remain. I will have you dragged from one end of king’s landing to the other until you are swimming in an ocean of pain.’

Aemond looked into Freyja’s eyes, his heart beating like a drum inside his chest, “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Floris.”

“But I do. According to your brother. You just need her. This marriage is no longer needed if that is the case.” Floris snapped at him. “And you. (Y/N) You have nothing to give, and you are worth nothing in comparison. Keep that pathetic excuse of a man. Keep him as you rot into the earth when I am done with you. You shall bear witness as I ruin him and everything that he will ever have. I will kill you all and decorate you on my walls. A better end than you are worthy of.”

(Y/N) spoke up, "You think you can just cast us aside? You're a fool, Floris. Aemond is the heir to House Targaryen, and I am his chosen. Your threats mean nothing to me."

"Aemond is prince regent and Aegon's son is his heir. Your existence means nothing to me any longer." Floris corrected. "Perhaps if you were more interested in books than Aemond's cock, you would have learned that by now."

“As you can see, I do not need you anymore. I have found someone greater than you. Grander. She will give me everything I want and more.” Floris declared, she found herself a dragon. A dragon more liable to eat the ones the House of Targaryen rides. “We have no further need of House Targaryen. Take your leave NOW.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress and walked out of the room.

Freyja glared at the two of them, “I will devour your dragons, crush their bones and force your entire family to watch. You will not leave this world without knowing the pain you have brought down. I will eat your dragon sheepstealer, Vhagar and Sunfire. A mere snack. A small payment for what you have done to my benefactor. Or you could annul this pitiful marriage you have no interest in and leave. Otherwise, I will, and can, devour all that you are. All that you will ever be.”

Freyja stood guard outside of Floris’s bedchambers. Disallowing entry to anyone Floris did not approve of. “Aemond take your mistress (Y/N) Targaryen and leave. You are no longer worthy of Floris Baratheon.” Freyja growled as she prevented him from chasing after Floris.

#aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond x female reader #aemond x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #female reader #f! reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #prince aemond #aemond kinslayer #prince regent aemond #floris baratheon #Freyja Raengyreon & Floris Baratheon

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tallemajas-scriptorium · 1 year ago

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I’m writing an Aemond x Brune!reader x Floris now I’m thinking of Aemond Targaryen x reader x Floris Baratheon x Alys Rivers and how that would work. 🫠

Dude think about it fr

Aemond would have his bear queen reader, his stag queen Floris and his witch queen Alys

My Sappho is showing lemme tuck that back in.

@chompchompluke am I weird?

👁️👄👁️

#asoiaf #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd #ewan nation #ewanverse #alys rivers #floris baratheon #floris baratheon x reader #alys rivers x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x reader

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angrylittletrashpanda · 7 months ago

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Why the heck people are cheering for Aemond and the Madam s*x scene(s)?

To start with, I don’t understand how did the fans arrive at the rock-solid certainty there will be such scenes in the show? As far as I know, nothing is confirmed (yet). AFAIK in one interview, Michelle Bonard (the Madam’s actress) said she “got a little naked” and some believe it means she filmed a sex scene. Given Michelle is playing a sex worker, I doubt she meant we’re going simply see her changing her dress or bathing, but does “getting a little naked” or filming a nude scene actually mean having a sex scene? In GoT, we saw a bunch of Littlefinger scenes, which took place in pleasure houses he owned. In the background, we could then easily spot his more or less underdressed “employees” . I think it’s entirely possible we *may* actually see a déshabillé Michelle in any tavern/brothel scene (for instance at one of Aegon’s wild parties). ATP we can’t even rule out she could be involved in the BnC subplot. Frankly, there is something quite appealing about two lowly born women, like the Madam and Mysaria, teaming up for the “Team Smallfolk’s” sake. Don’t get me wrong, I am not cheering about BnC, but I think the Madam could not be Aegon’s greatest fan and condemn his taste for watching children fighting in pits.

Moreover, even if in this case, “getting a little naked” means “filming a s*x scene” indeed, we can’t be 100% certain it was a love scene with Ewan/Aemond specifically. Come on, Michelle plays a literal sex worker, and not Aemond’s secret girlfriend.

I know there is a popular theory that the Madam is actually Mystery Lady on whose lap Aemond pillows his head on, since we can spot the same vein protrusion on Michelle’s hand and there’s a strand of dark hair around that woman’s neck. In my view, the vein protrusion doesn’t prove anything – we could easily find a very same one on almost every woman’s flexed hand, including HOTD actresses’. And as for the strands of hair – I initially failed to spot them, and now, I think they look quite like a chain Alicent used to wear in SE1. But enough about the Mystery Lady theories.

I just wanna say I fail to understand why so many “Aemond fans” seem to be really excited about the possible Aemond x the Madam s*x scene(s)? From season one, we learn Aemond was dragged to the brothel when he was 13. In 09x01, we see he’s really uncomfortable around that woman. Which indicates his experience in the pleasure house wasn’t an enjoyable one, to say the least. Why Aemond, who “has no taste for depravity” and doesn’t want to be like his pervy brother would seek comfort in the arms of a sex worker? It sounds rather ooc for him ,tbf. I get it that in SE 2, we’re probably gonna see Aemond at his lowest. We all know excessive drinking and debauchery are Aegon’s copying mechanisms, but wouldn’t it be more interesting if Aemond’s were different from his brother’s?

In my view, Aemond’s “relationship”w/the Madam doesn’t foreshadow his relationship with Alys, since the Witch of Harenhall never forced herself on him. The actresses don’t even look alike.

To my knowledge, a bunch of people are happy about the Aemond x the Madam thing, since they believe it would be helaemond erasure. But can’t Aemond’s feelings for Helaena be brotherly (in the non-Targaryen way) even without him sleeping with sex workers? In addition, helaemond is widely disliked for its hypocrisy. This ship is deemed OOC, since the dutiful Aemond would never cuck the crown prince and neither would he dishonor his sister. Plus, he takes pride in being different than Aegon. In season 2, Aemond is already engaged. So, wouldn’t frequenting brothels mean Aemond dishonors his fiancée Floris the very same way Aegon dishonors his wife Helaena?

#anti hotd #anti aemond stans #aemond targaryen x floris baratheon #helaemond #aegon and aemond

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blackcat419 · 1 year ago

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This is an idea from my own work but I think it works here too.

Imagine Aemond married to Floris Baratheon and when they appear in public, she’s on his left side, is blind side. She is his extra eyes and he trust her to be there for him.

#hotd #house of the dragon #Aemond Targaryen #floris baratheon #Aemond x Floris

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florisbaratheons · 1 year ago

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So, I had to throw out my outline for my Team Green au (the one where Aemond is sent to Storm's End after losing his eye and eventually marries Floris Baratheon and she becomes a big member of Team Green) and start over due to writing myself into a corner like GRRM did. More ideas came to me when I wandered across this gorgeous gifset by @kingsroad and my brain went haywire. The story was going to be separated into three to four parts and from the middle of part 2 had to be reworked to fit a better plotline as well as working on the characterizations of the main characters. There will be deaths in this story, Luke will still die and be killed by Aemond but his death ended up getting moved up when I had it pushed out, and pretty much everything afterwards had to get reworked. I really hope this is all going to work out because I am really excited about this story and I am looking forward to sharing it with everyone.

#we queue the way #writing woes #alicent hightower #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #team green #floris baratheon #helaegon #but platonic #aemond x floris

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ladybug023 · 2 years ago

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Small Maris Baratheon x Aemond Drabble

(Maris sometimes cross dresses as Marcus Storm to sneak out and do what she wants.)

Aemond Targaryen, the forever stoic and brooding dragonrider, never imagined himself in this situation. He found himself standing in a crowded tavern, looking down at Maris Baratheon who was dressed in men's clothing with a pint of ale in her hand while she swayed happily to the music.

"What in the Seven Hells are you doing here, Maris?" Aemond asked, his voice stern.

Maris looked more amused than shocked to see him. "It is Marcus,” She corrected. “And I could ask you the same thing. What brings you to this fine establishment One Eye?"

Aemond scowled at the nickname. "I came to get you." Aemond said. "You shouldn't be here, dressed like that and drunker than a Bravosii."

Maris scoffed. "I am a Baratheon, we know how to have a good time. Relax, have a drink with me and live a little for once in your life.”

Aemond’s patience was wearing thin. He was here to make sure Maris didn't embarrass her family, especially her younger sister who he was betrothed to. He couldn't let anything ruin that alliance.

"Suit yourself, but I will leave when I am good and ready," Maris said, taking another swig of ale from her tankard.

Aemond had enough. "Fine, I will have to drag you out then." he said, reaching for her arm.

Maris was quick, though. She dodged his grasp and put him in a headlock. "You want to wrestle, One Eye? Let's wrestle!" she said, laughing.

Aemond struggled to break free, Maris was surprisingly strong. He had heard that Boremund Baratheon taught his granddaughters how to wrestle but he didn’t think she’d be this good. They fell to the ground in a tangled mess, and Aemond couldn't help but feel a jolt of excitement at the physical contact. As they rolled around, Maris finally pinned the Targaryen to the dusty tavern floor. She looked him in the eye as he panted from the tussle.

“You know, One Eye, I think we might be having too much fun," she said with a wolffish grin.

#I’m having so much fun writing these little drabbles #maris baratheon #aemond targaryen #floris baratheon #the four storms #house of the dragon #aemond x maris

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humanpurposes · 9 months ago

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I Have Always Been A Storm, Part 1

Read the full chapter on AO3 // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Floris Baratheon

In the year 128AC, Floris Baratheon weds Aemond Taragryen, a daughter and a son both driven to duty, now bound to each other when the realm is on the brink of war. Floris is enamoured by the Prince, but love is something she can only hope will bloom once her vows have been said before the eyes of the Seven- AU where Aemond and Floris marry before the Dance of the Dragons.

Warnings: 18+, smut, pregnancy, arranged marriage, canon divergence, angst, possibly quite a lot of angst, hurt/comfort

A/n: Surprise!! It's the Florismond fic no one asked for :) Planning on this being a 3 part mini series.

“A terrible coincidence,” my husband says.

Head bowed, he kneels before me where I sit on the end of our bed. Thunder and lightning rage beyond the windows but he has brought the storm inside with him. The rainwater that has drenched his hair and his riding leathers soak through my nightgown. I keep my jaw tight and my teeth pressed together to stop myself from shivering.

He has discarded his gloves to hold my hands in his, leaving a trail of kisses and tears on my skin. He circles the pad of his thumb over my fingertips, over the callouses left by my years of devotion to the harp. His hands are calloused too, from his sword, from the reins on Vhagar’s saddle.

He lifts his chin to look at me. I scarcely recognise him. My husband is a proud young man, always poised, never loud, often cold and stoic, gentle around the right people, his mother, his sister, me.

His single eye is glistening and glassy, the blue of his iris vibrant despite his distress. His breaths are laboured, his lips parted. I see nothing but hopelessness in him, but even like this, I wonder if the gods will ever manage to create a person quite so beautiful as Aemond Targaryen.

I slip a hand out of his grasp and, as gently as I can, pull on the eyepatch that covers the left side of his face. He lets me do it, as he has done many times before. A burst of lighting catches in the uneven edges of his sapphire eye. The twisted flesh that frames it is red, I wonder if it is hurting him.

I asked him once, why he was so reluctant to display this part of himself, why he wanted to hide it from me when we were first married.

His reply was always that he did not wish to frighten me.

What reason would I have to fear a scar? I’ve seen plenty of blood in my life, hunts, tourneys, accidents in the training yard. I see my own blood every moon. How could I fear my own husband?

He’s stuttering, sobbing, choking on his words. “I didn’t– I– I tried to stop her– but I was so– I just wanted him to…”

Heat rises behind my eyes. My skin is cold, my limbs frozen, but the shock is starting to wear off. I cannot listen to any more or I will surely break.

I hush him, curling my whole body over his head. If he sees my face he will think I fear him, he will think I am horrified by him. I run a hand over his damp hair and he rests his face against the swell of my stomach.

Before he left, only a matter of days ago, after he had kissed my lips sore and stolen all the air from my lungs, he had come down to his knees to kiss my belly. By Maester Orwlye’s estimation, I only have a month left of my term. By tradition, I should be in confinement, but Aemond had ordered against it. He could not bear the thought of being apart from me, and I him. He has his own books and correspondences with Maesters across the continent. In Dorne, expectant mothers are encouraged to exercise as much as they can, to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on their skin. This would be best for our child, Aemond decided, rather than keeping me a dark bedchamber with only midwives and septas for company.

Queen Alicent had said from the start that Aemond would make for a devoted husband, that he has always been a man of duty.

An awful sense of dread runs through my blood.

I should be glad that he has returned to me, and I am, I am .

“I wanted the boy to fear me. I did not imagine that I might…”

What can I say to him? What can I do to ease his suffering when I cannot stand the feeling of his body so close to mine?

I am bound to him, through vows, through witnesses. I have given him my body and he has given me his. I carry his blood in my womb, my child as much as it is his. Most irreversibly of all, my heart is twined with his. I love him, and yet...

When he places a palm against my stomach, over the space where our babe grows, all I can think is that this is the hand of a kinslayer. Whatever fate the gods have for him now is my fate also. If he has cursed himself, then I too am cursed.

Full chapter on AO3

Tags (commented to be added)

Series taglist:

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @jamespotterismydaddy @tsujifreya @blackswxnn

#my fics #florismond #floris x aemond #floris baratheon x aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fic #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #floris baratheon #aemond targaryen smut #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanfic

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ladymorghul · 2 years ago

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romantic or platonic au where aemond targaryen sends a raven to storm’s end while in harrenhal to inform lord borros that he has to stay to make sure he gets rid of daemon targaryen but that his mother and sister are prisoners in king’s landing and his brother daeron targaryen is marching on the capital to help free them.

aemond asks lord borros to do the same, to root out rhaenyra from the capital and free alicent and helaena. lord borros however suddenly passes shortly before this raven reaches storm’s end and with his brother dead after fighting along the army led by daeron himself, floris baratheon becomes lady of storm’s end overnight.

aemond and floris have had a bit of time before the war to get to know each other and although their relationship starts out badly, with the two of them unhappy with the sudden betrothal, especially on floris’ side, things change as they get to know each other better and they’re on good terms when they see each other last

so when floris sees his message, some of her advisers are quick to tell her that it’s not worth the loss, that aemond will surely die by daemon’s sword and daeron’s men will be outnumbered, that the king aegon has disappeared, and floris herself is so scared deep down of the situation she’s facing.

she takes a little to ponder their new position but eventually she decides to take her house’s bannermen and march them towards king’s landing, hoping to be able to help daeron the daring in freeing the two queens stuck in the red keep.

#aemond targaryen #floris baratheon #aemond x floris #this can 100% be read as both romantic or platonic for aemond x floris

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misguidedasgardian · 2 years ago

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The Dragon's Mistress (10)

10. Mistress

MASTERLIST

Summary: Every actions has its reasons, and its consequences

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Floris Baratheon

Warnings: cursing, mentions of war, mentions of death, humiliation, use of the word bastard and traitor, incest, technically cheating, groping, nakedness, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 2.5 k

Notes: Yes, I did feel pressured to post this sooner, that is why is shorter… :( and no, I did not like what I’ve been feeling the last hours…

Lord Borros Baratheon had his niece

That is what occupied Aemond’s mind as he saw you abandoning the throne room with tears in your eyes and whimpers in your mouth

That uncultured swine had his niece Jahaera

He “rescued her” when Rhaenyra had taken the capital and Alicent send her and Maelor away to Old Town, the children never got to the city, but they were stopped along the way, and eventually some baratheon soldiers rescue them from a mob, Maelor didn’t make it, but Jahaera did. And Borros he let it clear that he was not going to return her to her family in King’s Landing if he didn’t marry his daughter

He told himself that it didn’t matter if he did, with you, he already had you, tainted you, fucked you, put his seed on you, you were probably with his child in your belly, but he, as king, could legitimize all the children you were going to have, and Floris? he could bed her and gave her moon tea in the morning after without her even releasing it

You were going to be the mother of the future King of the seven Kingdoms, he had no doubt in his mind about it, and once he had his darling niece in his arms again, he was going to kill Borros and his entire line for even daring to threaten them.

He couldn’t chase after you right now, this was his first appearance as clear future King of the Seven Kingdoms, so he couldn’t just run like a fifteen year old behind his love.

So he sucked it up, grabbed the bony hand of Floris Baratheon, and presented her to the entire court in the middle of applause and cheers.

She was not an ugly woman, she had her charm, she was the youngest of Borros’ daughters, the same age as him, she had beautiful dark brown locks, and hazelnut colored eyes shaped like almonds. She was the one he had chosen that night three years ago in Storm’s End, the one he never got to marry, well, not until today.

His body was burning with the need to search for you, but sadly he couldn’t, not yet, and he also wante to smack the smile out of Borros’ face

His mother also seemed sickenly pleased, she had come to him the night before, asking him to leave you and marry Floris, when he didn’t budge she had to confess Borros had Jahaera. That is when he knew he had no choice, but he made his mother budge too, she was not going to betroth you to anybody else, she was not going to send you away.

She was going to him to keep you as his mistress.

Lord Borros was not happy about it, and he made it clear that he was not going to return Jahaera until after the wedding and bedding ceremony, Aemond was fuming, but he had to comply, that little girl is the only family he had left, the last reminding of his gentle sister, and his last full-blooded niece.

This was the most important day in his life, and the only thing he wanted to do was to run to your room and held you in his arms, tell you everything was going to be alright, tell you he didn’t meant to break his promise, that he meant it every time he said that you were going to be his Queen

But he was tied by the hands

He had to get his little niece back

When the ceremony was over, he bowed but only to his betrothed, kissing her hand and making her blush, he nodded to his mother and to Borros, and then he abandoned the hall under his mother’s worried gaze

He finally went to find you.

it broke his heart to find you cuddled in your bed, crying

As soon as you heard him come in you raised from the bed, wiping your tears

“My King”, you greeted and under other circumstances, his heart would have roared with happiness, but know he only felt bitter. You sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him, you thought you saw sorrow in his eyes, but you were probably just imagining things

“My love”

“Please, I have to ask you do not call me that”, you hated yourself for how weak your voice sounded

“That is what you are”, he said, but you only shook your head

“I’m not”, you said, he sat by your side on the bed, leaning over you, trying to comfort you

“My love will always belong to you”, he whispered in your ear as he caressed your hair, “I have to marry her for political purposes, nothing else”

“You humiliate me”, you whimpered, tears running down your cheeks

“I know this is not what I promised”, he said, “but there is an important reason, you have to believe me”, you only looked down to the floor, “but we will be together”, you then looked at him wide eyed, fresh tears forming in your eyes, “being a King’s Mistress is a post of great importance”, he muttered, “and I will legitimize all the children that we will have”

“You told me you were going to marry me”, you whined, “I gave you my body… I let you do whatever you pleased with me”

“You will be respected, and cared for, you will be treated like a princess again”, he continued his bargain, and you only whimpered, placing your hand over your heart, because it hurt

“Please don’t do this to me”, you pleaded

“Nothing will change, you will be respected, your son will be King one day”

“No he won’t”, you whined, “he will only be a bastard”

“No”, he said, you wiped your tears, angry with yourself for being so bloody weak

“What if I don’t want to?”, to your question his face hardened, and it made you tremble, “you won’t marry me, but you won’t let me marry anyone else, can I please go back to Dragonstone?”, you asked with hope in your teary eyes, but you could tell he was keeping himself in check not to burst in anger

“Everyone knows that I fuck you”, he said in a manner so mean, you whined, “you are going to be my mistress and embrace it, or you are going to be only my whore”, he spitted out, “you have one day to come around”, he said, he stood up from the bed and abandoned the room, and you along the way

What was more pathetic than to cry because a man that abused you and killed your family wouldn’t marry you?

You couldn’t come out with an answer to that question

You had made up your mind that this was what you had to do to make everything worth it, but it was snatched from under your feet like a carpet and now you were landing flat on your face, again.

You whined, as you were hurting in your chest

“You are a Targaryen”, resounded the voice of your mother in your head, “That is all that matters”

“Dragons are fire made flesh, and Targaryens are dragons made men”, said Daemon

“You must be strong”, said Jacaerys

“I CAN’T!”, you screamed wanting all the voices inside your head to disappear, “I’m none of those things”, you whispered sadly

Aemond was not angry, he was frustrated

He understand you would be disappointed that you were not going to marry him, but he never thought you would have want to leave back to Dragonstone

That is what frustrated him the most

He naively thought that you would want to stay here no matter what

“You will never have her heart”, Alys once said, and he growled when he head her voice as clearly as she was whispering in his ear

The new appointed small council had gathered and he was supposed to be there, once he got there, everybody as there already

Tyland Lannister

Borros

Even his mother even though she didn’t have a clear post in it, but being mother to the King and the Regent as well

“My King”, she greeted, pleased as she saw him enter the room

“We were discussing dates for the marriage ceremony”, said Borros, so pleased with himself that Aemon wanted to punch him in the face

“I think is insensitive… to marry while my brother the King is dying”

“Aemond, I’m aware, but…”

“Marriage, celebrations, are for the living boy”, said Borros, and Aemond’s jaw was was ticking

“In a fortnight”, Alicent offered, and Aemond nodded

“Being considerate of the current climate all over the seven Kingdoms, it is going to be a sober affair”, Aemond said, and he didn’t want to budge on that

“Of course my king”, said Borros

“Ravens will be send communicating everyone of the marriage, but only a few of the most important families will be invited”, said Alicent

“What about the girl?”, asked Borros, and Aemond looked at him

“What girl?”, he threatened

“Rhaenyra’s last daughter”, he said, “is she your whore?”, Aemond looked at him, a silent warning in his eye

“She is not a whore”, he growled

“You bedded her, you are bedding her…”, the man continued, an the entire council got quiet, waiting for the answer of their King Regent

“But I’m marrying your daughter”, he said with a sharp voice

“You must understand that it is my daughter who will carry the heirs to the throne”, he said with a warning of his own on his lips, Aemond looked at him like he wanted to kill him, which he did

“And you must understand that I’m marrying her”, he said, “instead of the princess”, Borros looked into his eye, trying to intimidate him, but it didn’t work

“Very well”, he conceded

He was not going to yield to anything else, he couldn’t, he owed it to you. The meeting went long, they started talking about things related to the realms, and that took him the rest of the day.

When it was finally done, the only thing he wanted to do was to see you. .

He found you still in your room, more calmed than when he left you, when you hear him come in you stood up from your place in front of the hearth and bowed

“My king”, you greeted, with the voice of a little bird instead of a human

“My love”, you flinched when he called you that, but you couldn’t see his reaction as you still looked down to the floor, not daring to look at him in the eyes

“How was your day?”, you asked, adapted a demeanor similar to the one you had learned to have in Dragonstone, like the one of a personal servant, a handmaid. You didn't really gave a shit, but you had to be cordial

“I just had a very long meeting”, he thought it best to keep you away from the details of his marriage to Floris Baratheon

“I am sorry”, you wanted him to leave, but you were nobody to kick the King Regent out of the rooms of his own castle.

He walked until he had you at arms reach, and he caressed your upper arms gently

“Don’t you wish we could take a long bath like we did in Dragonstone?”, he offered, you looked at him, and the coldness in your eyes made him shiver, even though he didn’t show it

“We can do anything you like, my king”, you said, again, your voice so low, so insignificant it squeezed his heart, and he, again, was starting to get frustrated

“Very well”, he had the maids prepare the bath, and when you were alone in the bathroom, he helped you out of your dress, you just let him, he then undid the braids in your hair and removed your jewelry.

You then undressed him, and even appreciated when he didn’t make you touch him

He help you into the bath, and he got in with you

The bathtub was bigger than the one in Dragonstone, you both fit perfectly together. He grabbed the sponge and started to rub your shoulders and your upper arms, he had a fixation with that part of your body you noticed.

You let yourself be handled by him, touched by him

“I love your hair”, he whispered to your ear, and if you haven't been crying for most part of the day, you would have laughed. You had the same color as him

“Thank you, my king”

“please”, it sounded like he was begging, “call me Aemond”, he sounded pitiful

“As you wish, Aemond”, you whispered. He kissed your shoulder softly, gently, as he fingers greedily caressed your back and your body, of course he wanted you, and now it was your job as his mistress to please him in that way

So you leaned back and let him touch you and kiss you

He couldn’t see you, but bitter tears fell down your eyes, but you managed to not make a sound

Luckily he noticed how tense you were, so he didn’t push you, instead he just helped you get out of the tub, he help you dry and then put on your night dress

“I should be doing this things to you my prince”, you offered, even though you didn’t have the strength to do it

“It is alright”, he got you into bed and then followed you, holding you in his arms, you appreciated the comfort, you just wished it came from someone else rather than him

“I’m very sorry”, he whispered in your ear

“You don’t don’t have to be, Aemond”, you whispered

“But I am”, he insisted, “believe me, I was forced into this”

“You don’t have to give me any explanations”, you sai, broken

“But I do”

“Please My King”

“Call me Aemond”

“I don’t feel comfortable, please, just.. let me call you my king”, you insisted, he sighed loudly, but didn’t refuse you

“I want you to call me by my name”

“But is not proper”, you said, “I am not going to be your wife”, his breathing hitched

“Call me your King then”, he relented, his fingers never stopped caressing your arm

You were lucky he wasn’t making you look at him in the day, he was comfortable with only spoon you

“I will sleep with you every night”, he promised

“You wife won’t be happy with that”, you observed

“I don’t give care”, he said

“Please, don’t make this more difficult that is has to be”, you begged him, the last thing you needed was to make enemies with the new Queen

“You can tell her that”, you didn’t press it

Did you even believe him? that someone made him do it? you believed no one could make him do anything, but again, he sounded so sincere when he said he was going to marry you.

Anyways, you were feeling so terribly every breath you took hurts.

#misguidedmistress #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #hbo house of the dragon #house targaryen #house of the dragon #targaryen!oc #targaryen!reader #floris baratheon #alicent hightower

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crescenthoax · 11 months ago

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Hi I’m that anon who sent you the GOT quote and I just wanna say to this beautiful bit 😭 “As for Floris and Aemond I know [my] Aemond is not everyone’s favourite but I don’t know… I feel like the lore about them I think every night before falling asleep is too deep and complex to even begin with. I adore them, even though he’s terrible and she deserves so much better, and yes, I see everyone pointing out that he’s not exactly mourning her but I think he is in his own way -and I will write about it. Just because.”

GIRLLL YOU DONT KNOW HOW MUCH /I/ LOVED THEM. They weren’t the main couple but I feel like all your side pairings are so much full of intrigue and drip with life. But yeaaahh um I loved them, I loved the whole “they prefer to look at each other than touch each other” thing and how less physical They were, I loved their opposite personalities, and I loved how they kept their relationship to themselves and away from prying eyes of not just the other characters like Annika but to the reader as well (unfortunately I’m a nosy bitch who wanted to see) They also reminded sooo much of Joanna and Tywin “Only Lady Joanna truly knows the man beneath the armor, and all his smiles belong to her and her alone.” LIKE.. ugh my heart.

I definitely overromanticized them to a problematic degree in my head 😭 I’m an optimist but I was so excited for the Christmas au bc I thought they’d get the happy ending they’d been robbed of by the Caswells in the main verse, I thought starting with them being broken up meant that their arc would be them getting back together so imagine my surprise and heartbreak when I read part 2 😭😭😭😭😭

I definitely feel more than a little silly for misinterpreting their relationship so much and hearing that they don’t actually “belong” together in that way, Idk. I don’t hate your Aemond but I do want to shake him and scream that he needs to get his act together and BECOME BETTER AND BECOME DESERVING of her because in my head, she was all he wanted. Idk. It’s stupid but I wanted them to be happy together so badly. I still really ship them even after alla dat which makes me a little bit of a 🤡 but I LOVE pain if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have made it this far into Aegon and Annika’s story.

I think so many of the readers associated the found family with all three of the couples just being siblings together so it’s easy to forget how much Aemond loves our girl Annika, if he’s disloyal to his wife which I think is sad and a little unfair but a valid reading. I’m also not ready to let go of this familial dynamic, it was definitely my favorite. I just hope for the best for all of the Targtowers and their remaining wives especially Aegon and Annika, but I know whatever you come up with, I’ll be happy with even if I’m sobbing on the floor.

Jeez that Tywin and Joanna’s comparison was truly something.

And, to be fair, I don’t think there’s such a thing as 'misinterpreting them.' I believe you can interpret their relationship however you want and also perceive the characters alone as you please. That's what's fun and magical about reading. As a writer, I would never say, 'no, actually…' when someone tells me their views on a character or a pairing—unless you're saying something absolutely out of context, like when someone said Annika enjoyed being with Jacaerys or that she didn’t love Floris. I want people to feel a genuine connection to the story and perhaps find themselves in the characters, to relate to them. I also love to see how what I’ve written is interpreted because it helps me a lot to see if people understand where I’m pointing. So, if you think they were in love (they were, I just think that if it were up to him he would’ve never taken a wife at all), then it’s okay. Aemond is a complicated dude driven by duty and greed, but yes, he loved her, and he’s in pain right now though he doesn’t let it show. Modern Aemond and Floris, however… I don't know I feel like modern Aemond would be so insufferable about women. Love him though.

On a side note, of course he loves and deeply cares about Annika too. I think I already talked about this, but he cares about her as an individual and also as an extension of his brother’s honour. That's why he’s mad and upset about the entire baby situation, perhaps even more than Aegon. I think Aegon feels guilty, and he’s sick with worry thinking about everything Aemond is pointing out. But I believe we can all agree that we are all going to miss this family so much. I even have to confess that I wrote that Christmas au because I was too depressed about the main fic and I missed Floris and the six of them and I wanted Helaena to be happy lol.

#im never gonna love again #floris and aemond #fanfic #team green #annika lannister #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x floris baratheon

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endless-ineffabilities · 4 months ago

Text

Official Business

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

a/n: I caved in and listened to the depraved gremlins in my mind. I hope you enjoy this official intro, you're welcome.

also, thank the gods for Rue (@peachysunrize) for creating the hottest gif of all time.

themes/warnings: language, barely-there smut, infidelity, unequal power dynamic, gross misuse of a fancy desk, getting involved with a politician (also gross)

main masterlist

Update! - upcoming series

President Aemond demands the company of his favourite reporter, whom he has been eyeing for quite some time.

You try to walk with your head held high, but your clammy hands and racing heartbeat betray your nerves.

“President Aemond wishes for you to grace his suite,” was all they said. They, being two imposing bodyguards in impeccably tailored black suits, occasionally touching their earpieces as if confirming orders.

“What does he want?” you asked, your voice coming out weak and tentative. More importantly, why you?

They only shrugged, impassive. Whether they didn’t know or didn’t care, it wouldn’t matter anyway. The President always gets what he wants.

You’d only spoken to President Aemond in your capacity as a reporter, part of the small circle allowed to amplify his words to the public. The first time was at the annual Westerosi Gala, where he arrived with First Lady Floris Baratheon on his arm. Your colleagues whispered incessantly about how the uncut footage showed his gaze barely straying from you, even with his stunning aristocratic wife beside him.

Your supervisor even had the footage edited. “You don’t need the media vultures swarming you,” he reasoned, trying to sound reassuring.

Now, after covering yet another event in Highgarden, it seems you’ve been summoned for an exclusive interview in the President’s suite. You hope that’s all it is.

After all, you can’t be another victim of President Aemond’s wandering eye. Socialites like Alys Rivers and Lara Lannister had been publicly shredded after being exposed as his mistresses.

You never understood his affairs. They seemed so juvenile, reckless even for the youngest President ever elected. Barely thirty and in the highest position imaginable. And yet, what truly baffled you was why Floris stayed.

“Ma’am, the Presidential Suite,” one of the guards states as he opens a set of ornate ivory doors for you. “The President is waiting inside.”

Your feet move automatically, sparing you from blurting something that would inevitably fall on deaf ears. But as you cross the threshold, you turn and ask, “Will you be waiting to escort me back to – ”

The doors shut behind you. Of course.

The suite is grand – no expense was spared for the President. A perfect blend of classic Valyrian architecture, all white marble and gold accents. It’s more impressive than you could have imagined, having marvelled at the Highgarden Hotel from the outside for years.

“Come,” you hear a voice command, smooth and authoritative, from the room to the left of the main parlour.

You head in that direction, mentally steeling yourself. Just get this over with.

There he is, leaning casually against a wide desk, dressed sharply in a tailored blue suit and crimson tie. The moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows catches the scar across his left eye, the glint of his prosthetic eye giving him an almost sinister allure. The kind that draws people in despite themselves.

Maybe it wasn’t immaturity driving his affairs. Maybe he was just too beautiful to resist. You roll your eyes at the stupid thought, surprised with yourself.

“Something amusing?” His voice is tinged with laughter.

Gods, you just rolled your eyes in front of the President.

“N-no,” you stammer, immediately flustered. “I’m sorry, Mister President. It’s just... I thought of something funny. Not about you! I mean, I’m sure you can be funny, but - ”

“Relax, angel,” he chuckles, raising a hand to stop your rambling. The term “angel” lingers in the air, branding itself into your mind.

You quickly introduce yourself, fumbling through your full government name like a nervous schoolgirl.

“We’ve met before,” he reminds you, smirking. “Am I that forgettable?”

“No, I know we have,” you nod quickly, “just not in such a… private setting.”

The corner of his mouth quirks at your choice of words, and his gaze sweeps over you with an intensity that sends heat rushing through your body. He hums softly, and the sound settles uncomfortably low in your stomach. Gods, get it together.

“I was told you wanted to see me, Mister President?”

“Aemond,” he corrects.

You nod, offering your nickname in return, but he only smiles, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you, but I think I’ll stick with ‘angel.’”

Weird, considering how this is your first proper conversation with him, you think, but nod regardless.

He gestures to the plush chairs in front of the desk. “Sit, please.”

You comply, smoothing your dress nervously. Thankfully, it’s modest enough – a safe choice that flows just above your knees.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice polite but edged with something else. Part of you wishes he’d just get to the point, but another part – one you’d rather not acknowledge – wants to stay, to drink in the sight of him. Aemond Targaryen, the most powerful man in Westeros, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“I’m doing well,” you reply, your smile faltering under his heavy gaze.

He hums again, eyes dipping to your lips. That same maddening hum that sets your nerves alight.

“You must be wondering why I asked for you tonight,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “I wanted us to get better acquainted. You’ve caught my attention, angel. I find you… intriguing.”

“But you don’t know me,” you counter quickly, heart racing.

“I know more than you think,” he says, eyes narrowing playfully. “You studied at the Casterly Rock Institute for Journalism. Top of your class, until your grades dropped in your final year because you were taking care of your ailing aunt. That says more about you than any degree.”

He continues, “You’re an only child. Estranged from your parents, especially your mother, after she remarried. You’ve moved city to city since, keeping your distance. Avoiding attachments, especially romantic ones.”

You freeze, his words hitting too close to home. There’s an amused lilt to his voice at the end, and you desperately want to respond with a defensive retort, but you hold your tongue. You like your job after all. He’s the President. One call and he could have you right back in the unemployment pool.

“Am I correct?” His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

You manage a small nod. Damn him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask quietly, stunned. You wonder if there are hidden cue cards somewhere in the room, informing him of the details of your relatively uneventful life. There is no way he actually made the effort to memorise all these details about you. But then again, he is the Commander-in-Chief of the country. He must have trained himself to know everything about everyone. You’re not special – just another face in his immediate vicinity.

“I make it my business to know people,” he replies smoothly. “Especially those who interest me.”

He reaches out to take your hand, pulling you gently to stand before him as he perches on the edge of his desk. The proximity is intoxicating. “And you, angel, have caught my eye. You’re the object of my desire. Can you say the same of me?”

His words leave you breathless, the floor slipping from under you. You’re no better than the others, drawn into his orbit. “I’d be an idiot not to find you attractive, Aemond.”

He smirks. “I adore the way you say my name.”

“There’s nothing special about the way I say it.”

“There is,” he insists, his voice low and rough as his hand moves to smooth a stray hair from your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, angel.” His expletive takes you aback, so unbecoming of someone of his status.

“I’m not a fool,” you shoot back, forcing yourself to remain steady. “I’ve heard about your... doings.”

“My doings?” He raises an eyebrow, amused.

“You’re married obviously,” you say bluntly. “And you’ve had affairs. Women like Alys Rivers, Lara Lannister…”

He doesn’t flinch. “I’ve had lovers, yes, but my marriage is... loveless. Floris and I, we’ve always been an arrangement for political convenience.”

“That doesn’t justify anything.”

He steps closer, his eyes darkening. “I’m trapped. I can’t leave her. It would destroy my reputation. But she has her own lovers too.”

“And so you feel entitled to have yours?”

He breathes deeply, gaze unwavering. “Not just anyone. I want you, angel. Only you.”

You feel yourself dangerously close to giving in, especially when his gaze drops to your lips and he shamelessly licks his own. Desperate to stay composed, you ask, “Am I just another lover to add to your collection? I may be a lowly journalist compared to you, Mister President, but I have a reputation to protect too.”

“I know this, angel,” he whispers, his voice softer now, yet drawing closer with every word. “I’ll protect you.”

“Did you protect Alys? Or Lara? Or the others?” you challenge, though your voice falters.

“They orchestrated their own downfall,” he says coolly, his expression unreadable. “They used me for power. That was out of my hands.”

Oh. His words momentarily rattle your resolve, but you shake your head, trying to pull yourself out of the spell he’s weaving over you. “No, this is wrong,” you murmur, the words weak on your tongue. But his warm breath fans your face, luring you into the same madness he claims to feel.

“Is this wrong?” he whispers, his lips grazing yours – featherlike, teasing, barely there. Then, as if something shifts within him, he kisses you again, harder this time, his mouth pressing hungrily against yours. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, sending a rush of heat through your body as you teeter on the edge of reason.

You cave, for a few seconds, letting your lips dance with his own in a battle for dominance. You elicit a growl out of him, and he picks you up and swaps your bodies so that you are perched atop his desk.

“Gods,” he purrs, against the heat of your neck. “Sweeter than I imagined. You’re a fucking angel.” His gaze is arresting as his hands slide from your ankles to the hem of your dress, lifting it higher and higher until your moist panties are exposed to the cool air.

You collect yourself as if hit by a dizzying wave of whiplash, pushing him away with a sharp shove. “Stop – wait, Mister Pres – Aemond…”

He stumbles, lips swollen and slick, his good eye darkened, pupil blown wide. “Right, sorry…” His breath comes heavy as he averts his gaze, and you smooth your dress down, feeling the weight of the moment between you. He straightens, his posture stiffening as if suddenly remembering who he is. “I didn’t mean to push you, angel.”

“You didn’t –”

“It was wrong of me to –”

“Aemond,” you cut in softly, your hand slipping between you to squeeze his in reassurance. “It’s okay. I wanted it too.”

A genuine smile blooms on his lips, innocent and sweet, but it fades just as quickly at your next words. “But this can’t happen again. We can’t happen.”

"Why not?" His voice is low, measured, but there’s an edge to it. "Why can’t we? You say you wanted it too."

“We both know why,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. You turn to leave, but hesitate just long enough to say, “Goodbye, Mister President.”

“Angel,” he calls softly, and it’s the only word he offers.

As you step out of his suite, the door closing behind you with a quiet finality, a thought begins to take root, unsettling in its persistence – he never actually said goodbye.

And deep down, you know this isn’t over. Something stirs in your chest, an uneasy certainty - while this is the first of these kinds of encounters, it won’t be the last.

Taglists (refer here to be added)

vhagar - @gwaynehightowerswhore @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee @decaffeinatedparadisepost @iloveallmyboys @inesdiary96

Targaryen - @angel6776 @different-tale-student @binchissimo @teasweeter @raging-panda @rhaenys-nyra @gelacat0413 @simplymurdock @yariany02 @barnes70stark @stupid---person @lonan-hane @thescooponsof @donalesaa @rosey1981 @misssanzthings @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wabi-sabi1090 @girl-lost-not-found

Some notes in the margins...

Knowing me, this will inevitably turn into more than just a oneshot. Do bookmark this or my masterlist to keep updated! Or you may join the taglist using the link above ~

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen au #president!aemond #official business

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lizzyiii · 3 months ago

Note

hi!! i have a request! what about a one shot for aemond x reader who is betrothed to him. she’s a baratheon girl or something but she gifts him the sapphire for his eye as a wedding gift or something along the lines of that?

ask and you shall receive...

The Sapphire Gift

pairing | aemond targaryen x baratheon!reader

word count | 5.1k words

summary | Of all his five daughters, Borros Baratheon has chosen you to be betrothed to Aemond Targaryen, much to your dismay. Seeking to forge a deeper connection with your betrothed, you decide to create the perfect wedding gift for him.

tags | fluff, fluff, toothrotting fluff, friends to lovers, aemond literally does not know how to communicate or court a lady, sarcastic!reader, awkward!reader, simp!Aemond, reader is just a typical seventeen-year-old girl, lowkey got second hand embarrassment writing this.

a/n | ooooh, this was so cutesy to write, I love writing awkward/sassy reader and simp/awkward aemond. Finished this in a solid 2 days💪. ALSOO I need moots, so anyway wanna volunteer as tribute????

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Why must it be me?”

Your voice echoed through the grand hall of Storm’s End, the walls adorned with the sigil of the mighty Baratheons. You stood before your father, Borros Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, arms crossed defiantly, your brows knit in frustration.

“Because I have chosen you,” he replied, a casual shrug dismissing your protests, as he lounged upon the imposing ironwood throne that commanded the room. The flickering torches cast shadows across his weathered face, but his resolve remained steadfast.

Your heart sank further as you protested, “You have four other daughters to choose from!”

Borros began to tally your sisters on his fingers, his expression serious yet unconcerned. “Cassandra is already pledged to House Brownhill, Maris is too old to be of interest, and Floris is still but a child. Ellyn might have been a contender, but she reminded me that you are more closely aligned in age to the prince, which I daresay makes you more appealing to his eye.”

You bit back a curse aimed at Ellyn, whose selfishness felt like a betrayal in this moment, and muttered, “Emphasis on the word ‘eye’.”

“Fawn!” your father snapped, the nickname a remnant of your childhood, now wielded like a blade.

With a huff, you cast your gaze towards your mother, Lady Elenda, seated on a modestly adorned stool that contrasted starkly with your father’s opulence. Her fingers deftly worked at her embroidery, her belly round and pregnant with another child. “Mother, do you have naught to say about this?”

Elenda blinked slowly, her expression momentarily vacant before she smiled dreamily, “I have heard the prince is kind and benevolent,” she replied, her tone light and airy as your father nodded approvingly at her words.

You gasped, a hand flying to your chest in disbelief. “That is a complete and utter falsehood! Tales of his cruelty and wickedness abound, even in these halls. How could you deceive me so?”

Borros waved a dismissive hand, the irritation brewing like a storm within him. “So what if he has but one eye? He commands Vhagar, the largest dragon in the realm, and wields a sword as if it were an extension of his very arm. You shall ascend to the rank of princess, lacking for nothing.”

“But Father—”

“Enough!” His voice boomed, reverberating off the stone walls and silencing the murmurs of guards and servants alike. You could feel the weight of his anger pressing down upon you. Sighing heavily, you rolled your eyes, the gesture laden with pettiness. “This matter is settled. Prepare yourself; tonight we shall feast in honor of your betrothal. Do not sulk—it is unbecoming of a future princess.”

With a final glare that could wither a flower, you turned on your heel, storming away from the throne room, your heart heavy with the weight of your new fate.

King’s Landing was an entirely different realm compared to the windswept fortress of Storm’s End. Here, the sun cast a golden glow over the Red Keep, its warmth caressing the bustling streets of Flea Bottom, while in your home, rain seemed a constant companion, drenching the rugged cliffs and soaking through the halls of your ancestral seat.

The city thrummed with life—vibrant and teeming—overwhelming in its sheer size and noise. In contrast, Storm’s End felt desolate, where the only sounds were the howling gales and crashing waves that eternally assaulted its walls.

Settling into the royal court at the Red Keep was no easy feat, for you were keenly aware of the eyes that followed your every move. You quickly learned that here, every smile concealed secrets, and every word was a weapon to be wielded.

Queen Alicent Hightower, the Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, carried herself with grace befitting her station. Her demeanor was gentle, yet there was a steeliness in her eyes that hinted at the strength behind her polished exterior. On your very first day in court, she welcomed you with a kind smile, her piety clear as she extended an invitation to join her at the Great Sept for prayer.

Her tone was soft, but her words carried the weight of duty. You accepted her offer, though the idea of spending time in such hallowed halls made you uneasy. Alicent's warmth masked the political currents swirling beneath the surface, and you were acutely aware that every gesture here had meaning beyond what was said.

Then there was her eldest son, Prince Aegon. The first time you laid eyes on him, he reeked of wine, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Despite his title, he carried none of the nobility one would expect from a dragon’s heir. His indulgences were well-known, and his lack of decorum often left the court murmuring in hushed tones.

Aegon's gaze lingered on you far too long for comfort, the weight of it unsettling, as if he sought something that wasn’t his to take. His lecherous nature made you feel for his sister-wife, Princess Helaena, who appeared as trapped by her marriage as she was by the walls of the Red Keep. It was said that Aegon had grown old before his time, his twenty-one years bearing the burden of his vices.

Princess Helaena was a stark contrast to her husband. There was an otherworldly grace to her, a softness that seemed untouched by the cruelties of life. She spoke in riddles, her voice often drifting into ethereal musings that left you both puzzled and intrigued. Her words, though strange, reminded you of the whispers of the gods in dreams, distant yet profound.

Her presence was soothing, and you found solace in her company, even if her mind wandered to places you could not follow. Her children, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, were a light amidst the shadows of the court, their laughter pure and untainted by the scheming that surrounded them. It was hard to reconcile that they were the offspring of Aegon.

But your thoughts always returned to one person—your betrothed, Prince Aemond Targaryen. From the moment you arrived in King’s Landing, you had been told stories of his fearsome prowess in battle, his unmatched skill with the sword, and the fearsome dragon, Vhagar, that answered his call.

Yet when your eyes met his for the first time, what struck you most was not his strength but the scar that marred his face—a reminder of the price he had paid for his ambition. It only added to his allure, a mark of his relentless determination. When he took your hand and pressed a kiss to it, a slow heat rose in your cheeks. His grip was firm but not unkind, and in that moment, you felt yourself swoon. After all, you were just a girl.

However, Aemond was not a man easily won. A moon had passed since your arrival, and with your wedding fast approaching, you had hoped to spend time in his company, to know the man behind the dragonprince’s mask. Yet, he seemed to slip away from you at every opportunity, his presence a fleeting shadow that vanished the moment you tried to reach for him. His evasions frustrated you, each refusal to join you in the gardens or to share a quiet moment only deepened the chasm between you.

It was said that dragons could not be tamed, only respected. But you longed for more than respect from your future husband. How could you hope to win Aemond's heart if he remained as distant as the stars that twinkled in the night sky?

Determined to change your fate, you devised a plan—a gift to offer Aemond before the wedding, something personal and meaningful that might draw him closer to you. From your balcony, you had often watched him train, his sword catching the sunlight as he moved with lethal grace. You had also stalked observed him in quieter moments, lost in the pages of ancient tomes in the Red Keep’s vast library. But no matter the scene, your gaze always drifted to the black leather patch over his left eye, a constant reminder of his loss.

Through whispered conversations among the ladies of the court, you had pieced together the story of that eye, taken from him when he was but twelve, during a violent skirmish with his own nephew. The knife had found its mark, leaving him disfigured and scarred in more ways than one. You could hardly imagine the pain he endured, the maester's delicate, grim task of removing what remained. The very thought sent a chill through you—what it must have felt like to be forever changed, to carry such a wound into manhood.

Jewelry had always enchanted you, especially the way it could transform even the simplest of gowns into something regal. And it was through that love of adornment that inspiration struck. Aemond needed something beautiful, something that would not only adorn him but perhaps bring a glimmer of warmth to that hardened exterior.

After much thought, you settled on a sapphire, deep and blue like the narrow seas, cut and shaped like an eye—a symbol of his lost strength and newfound resilience. It was a bold choice, one that you hoped would capture his attention, something that might resonate with the prince who had suffered so much.

With the sapphire crafted into an exquisite piece of jewelry, you wrapped it carefully, your heart filled with anticipation. The wedding drew closer with each passing day, and the idea of giving Aemond this token before the vows were exchanged consumed your thoughts. Would such a gift be enough to draw him out of the shadows, to make him see you as more than just his betrothed but as someone who truly wished to know him?

Desperation fueled your resolve. You decided to visit his chambers, scandalous though it might be, under the cover of night. It was unheard of for a lady to seek out a man in such a manner, but propriety seemed insignificant in the face of your growing desire to understand him.

Wrapped in a dark cloak to hide your identity from prying eyes, the gift cradled carefully in your hand, you navigated the winding, dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep. The moon hung high above the castle, casting eerie shadows along the stone walls as you walked with purpose toward his door.

Apprehension seized you as you approached, a wave of doubt crashing over you. What if he rejected your offering? What if he saw it as nothing more than a futile attempt to win his affection, which it kind of was. Yet before those thoughts could take root, you steeled yourself and knocked firmly on the heavy oak door, your heart pounding in your chest.

Moments passed in silence, each one stretching endlessly until, at last, you heard the soft thud of boots approaching from within. The door creaked open, and there he stood—Prince Aemond Targaryen. His long, silver hair cascaded freely over his shoulders, almost camouflaged against the loose white shirt he wore, which clung to the contours of his lean, muscular frame.

His single violet eye regarded you with a mixture of surprise and caution, the flickering light of the torches casting shadows across his sharp features. You found yourself momentarily breathless, caught off guard by the quiet intensity of his presence.

His gaze flicked to the dark cloak you wore, then back to your face, a question lingering unspoken between you. “My lady,” he began, his voice slow and deliberate, “it is late.”

You nodded quickly, casting a nervous glance down the dimly lit corridor. “Yes, I realize. May I come in?”

His lips tightened as though he was about to refuse, but before the words could escape him, you slipped past the threshold into the warmth of his chambers, your heart racing with a mix of adrenaline and nervous energy.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your gaze darting around the room, absorbing the details: the few books strewn across the table, the rich, intricate tapestries that adorned the stone walls, and the soft glow of firelight dancing in the hearth.

Aemond's voice was closer than expected when he spoke again. “My lady,” he repeated, causing you to jump slightly at his nearness.

You turned abruptly, releasing a nervous laugh. In the next moment, you remembered the purpose of your visit and hastily thrust the small, wrapped parcel into his hands. “I—I’ve brought you a gift.”

His brow furrowed in surprise as he looked down at the object now resting in his palm. “A gift?”

You offered a tight, awkward smile, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. “A wedding gift, of sorts.”

You watched intently as he carefully opened the small package, revealing the deep blue sapphire you had commissioned. His expression remained guarded, though curiosity danced in his gaze. “What is this for?” he asked, his voice even.

Swallowing hard, you wrung your hands together and took a deep breath. “I thought… perhaps you might wear it in place of your eye patch.”

Aemond's eyebrow arched, his lone eye narrowing in sharp scrutiny. “A decoration for my injury?” There was no malice in his tone, but the words still cut deep.

Your heart sank, panic rising in your chest as you hurried to explain. “No, no! Not like that. I only thought…” Your voice faltered as the words tumbled out, your face flushing with embarrassment. “I thought the eye patch might be… suffocating at times. The sapphire—it’s strong and regal, like you. I thought it might be more—well, appealing. Not that your injury is unappealing, of course!”

You cringed inwardly, realizing how foolish you must sound. Eyes cast downward, you continued, “Sapphires are a symbol of wisdom, strength, and royalty. It felt fitting for you. But if I’ve overstepped, I’ll take it back.” You bit your lip, the weight of your own awkwardness pressing down on you. “Truly, it’s alright.”

Reaching out to reclaim the stone, you found your hand halted by his. His touch was firm, yet not unkind. “No,” Aemond said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “I accept your gift, my lady.”

Relief flooded through you, though you could hardly bear to meet his gaze under the weight of your own mortification. Without thinking, you blurted out the first excuse that came to mind. “Oh! I just remembered—I’m to have tea with your mother.”

Aemond's gaze drifted to the window where the full moon hung high in the night sky. He raised an eyebrow, a subtle amusement curling at the edge of his lips. “At this hour?”

You nodded hastily, your laugh high-pitched with nerves. “Yes, well, a late tea, you see.”

Before he could respond further, you turned toward the door, only to misjudge the frame and bump into it with an audible thud. The embarrassment was almost too much to bear. “I wish you a good night, my prince,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you hurried out.

As you fled down the darkened corridor, you missed the rare sight behind you—the amused smirk that tugged at Aemond's lips and the way his expression softened as he gazed down at the sapphire, the light of the fire casting its blue hue across his hand. Intrigue flickered in his eye, a hint of something deeper, as he tucked the gem into his palm, the gift having made a more lasting impression than you could ever have imagined.

And now it was you doing everything in your power to avoid your betrothed. After that utterly humiliating encounter, where you had gifted Prince Aemond the sapphire for his eye, you had nearly thrown yourself from the balcony in shame. Every misstep, every nervous word, echoed relentlessly in your mind. The way he had looked at you, as though you were nothing more than a foolish girl… you could hardly bear it.

That night, you had made peace with a simple truth: it was perfectly acceptable if Aemond did not like you. You would fulfill your duty as his wife, give him heirs, and that would be the extent of your relationship. Yet, even as you tried to harden your heart, you couldn’t deny the yearning deep within you for something more—a connection, affection, or at the very least, understanding. But you’d sooner face a dragon than approach him again after such mortification.

Now, you found refuge in the company of Princess Helaena, sharing tea in her sunlit solar, where tapestries of butterflies and flowers adorned the walls. Helaena sat in her usual reverie, speaking in disjointed whispers about dreams and prophecies. You had grown fond of her strange, otherworldly nature, even if much of what she said left you puzzled.

Today, however, your tea was constantly interrupted by the young Princess Jaehaera, who was determined to climb into your lap as you attempted to drink. “You have such pretty hair,” she said, her small hands reaching to touch the loose strands that framed your face, her voice filled with innocent awe.

You smiled warmly, gently lifting a strand of her silver-gold hair to place beside your own. “Not as pretty as yours, my sweet princess,” you said softly. The Targaryen blood ran strong in the little girl, her pale locks shimmering like spun moonlight under the midday sun.

As Jaehaera continued to braid a piece of your hair, her twin brother, Prince Jaehaerys, was nestled in your lap, completely absorbed in a heavy tome recounting Aegon the Conqueror’s rise to power. You marveled at the child’s focus, noting how his somber demeanor contrasted starkly with his sister’s. It was strange, you thought, for a boy of only five summers to be so intent on reading a history so grim. His brow furrowed in concentration, a seriousness far beyond his years.

"You’ll grow to be as wise as your grandsire with all this reading, my prince," you commented with a chuckle, though you could not help but feel a touch of unease at how much the young boy seemed to carry the weight of his family’s legacy on his small shoulders.

Jaehaera giggled, abandoning your hair to cling to your arm. “I want to ride a dragon, like Vhagar!”

The mention of Vhagar brought an involuntary shiver down your spine, the thought of that ancient, fearsome beast ever-present in your mind. The mighty she-dragon’s rider, your betrothed, had taken to avoiding you as much as you had him, and though part of you was relieved, another part, buried deeper, ached at the distance.

As you entertained the children, Princess Helaena’s lilting voice broke the calm. "He dreams of fire and blood, my son," she said, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the window, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. "As do we all."

You offered a polite smile, uncertain whether to respond or remain silent..

Your gaze shifted, drawn by the soft, deliberate sound of footsteps echoing through the confines of Helaena's solar. As you looked up, you immediately lowered your eyes, your heart racing, warmth flooding your cheeks as fluttering butterflies stirred restlessly in your stomach. Aemond strode through the door, his very presence commanding the room without a single word.

You felt his gaze upon you, sharp and intense. Jaehaera squealed with delight beside you, calling out, “Kepūs!” Her excitement was palpable as she clambered off your lap, rushing to his side. Even Jaehaerys, who had been so engrossed in his book, set it aside to greet his uncle.

You dared a glance up to find something unexpected—a soft, almost tender smile tugging at Aemond’s lips as he looked down at the children. The rare sight caught you off guard, but before you could process it, his expression shifted, and he cleared his throat, turning his attention to Helaena.

“Sister,” he began, his voice steady, respectful yet commanding. “Might I steal a moment of Lady Baratheon’s time?”

Helaena, oblivious to the way your pulse quickened, nodded lightly, her gentle smile untouched by the tension you now felt. “Of course, brother,” she replied, her tone light and dreamlike, as though she sensed nothing of the undercurrent between you and Aemond.

You felt the weight of their eyes upon you—Helaena’s distant curiosity, Jaehaera’s wide-eyed innocence, and Aemond’s watchful, unreadable gaze. You rose slowly from your seat, smoothing the folds of your gown as you murmured a soft farewell to the princess and her children, acutely aware of how unsteady your voice sounded.

Aemond stood patiently, waiting as you gathered yourself. His tall figure loomed over you, but there was no sense of impatience in his posture. When you stepped out of the solar, he turned and led the way into the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls in perfect rhythm with yours.

The silence between you grew heavier with each step, and the farther you ventured down the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, the more you became aware of where he was leading you—back toward his chambers.

Your palms began to sweat, and your heart pounded with a growing unease. Why had he sought you out? Why now, after so many days of avoidance?

The corridor felt impossibly long, each step building the tension. Aemond’s back remained straight, his silver hair brushing the fabric of his black tunic, his long strides forcing you to quicken your own pace just to keep up.

When you finally reached the familiar door to his chambers, he paused, turning to face you, his one violet eye locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. The silence stretched, thick and charged, as though the air between you crackled with words unspoken.

"You’ve been avoiding me, my lady," Aemond murmured, his piercing gaze sweeping over you as you walked into his chambers.

Your eyes widened just a fraction, masking your surprise with a nervous laugh. “Why on earth would you insinuate something like that?”

His voice, soft but steady, echoed from behind you as you stepped further into the dim warmth of his room. "Perhaps because every time I enter a room, you are always the first to leave."

Fidgeting with your fingers, you murmured, "I suspect you are just seeing things, my prince."

A slight smirk tugged at his lips as he replied, “Mayhaps it’s just my one eye.”

Your head snapped up in shock at his words, but before you could respond, you noticed the faint curve of amusement in his lips. For the first time since your engagement, you let out a genuine laugh, tilting your head. “Oh, so you can jest,” you teased, though you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose in playful disapproval. “Though your delivery needs some work.”

Aemond’s smirk deepened, a flicker of something warmer in his gaze. “I shall endeavor to improve,” he replied with dry humor, his voice low.

For a moment, your eyes locked, the silence between you charged with a tension that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. But then he cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “I called you here for a reason,” he said, his tone shifting as he turned away, walking toward his desk.

Your curiosity piqued as you watched him retrieve something—a finely crafted box, larger than you expected. He carried it with the same ease as he handled his sword, and yet there was a certain weight to his movements. He approached you, his expression unreadable, and extended the box in an indifferent manner. "A wedding gift," he said simply.

Your heart fluttered as you took the box, your fingers trembling slightly. As you lifted the lid, your breath caught in your throat. Inside lay a necklace—silver, adorned with diamonds that glimmered like starlight, white pearls cascading from its base, and at the center, a magnificent sapphire, almost mirroring the sapphire you had gifted him. It was stunning, more than anything you had ever imagined.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if the beauty of the necklace had stolen the air from your lungs.

Aemond’s voice softened, a note of vulnerability threading through his usual composure. “Do you like it?”

You met his gaze, your eyes bright with genuine surprise and gratitude. “Yes, yes, of course,” you breathed, a shy smile tugging at your lips as your heart raced with something more than just relief.

You looked at him, pure joy lighting up your face, entirely unaware of the soft, almost tender look in Aemond's eye as he observed you. Nodding eagerly, you gestured to the necklace. "Will you put it on me?"

Aemond inclined his head in silence, taking the necklace from its box as he motioned for you to turn around. You did so, gathering your hair and lifting it to reveal your neck. The warmth of his presence grew closer, and when his fingers brushed against your skin to secure the clasp, you couldn’t help but wonder if the caress was deliberate or merely your imagination.

When his hands finally withdrew, you released the breath you had been holding. Turning to face him, you tilted your chin up slightly. "How does it look?"

For a moment, Aemond’s gaze lingered on you, his eye fixed on your face with an unreadable intensity before it drifted down to your neck. "Your neck looks... long."

Your brow furrowed, confusion knitting your features. "My neck looks long?"

Aemond coughed, a rare sign of discomfort, and you could swear you caught the faintest hint of pink on his pale cheeks. He quickly amended his words, mumbling, "I mean, it looks nice. The necklace brings out your eyes."

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. "Thank you, my prince."

For a brief moment, your eyes flickered to the eye patch that hid his injury, wondering if the sapphire you had gifted him lay beneath. The thought of it being there, close to him, filled you with an unspoken sense of connection. You felt content to simply stand there, the moment shared between you without the need for words. But Aemond, shifting slightly under your gaze, seemed less at ease.

“I am late for training,” he said, his tone distant as though eager to escape.

You narrowed your eyes playfully, tilting your head in mock suspicion. “I thought you only trained in the mornings?”

His posture straightened, fists clenching at his sides as he looked away, clearly caught in his lie. The silence that followed made him glance toward the window. “It’s... a beautiful day.”

You hummed softly in agreement, not pressing him any further. “Yes, it is.”

Aemond hesitated for a moment before his eye met yours again, the faintest trace of vulnerability in his voice. “Mayhaps you would be interested in a walk in the castle gardens?”

Your heart skipped, and it took everything within you to suppress the wide grin threatening to break free. You feigned contemplation for a moment before nodding with as much grace as you could muster. “I would love to, my prince.”

And though Aemond kept his face composed, you couldn’t help but notice the slight softening of his expression at your acceptance.

In Aemond's eyes, despite your apparent obliviousness to his growing feelings, it was not hard to fall in love with you. There was a quiet strength in the way you carried yourself, a delicate blend of grace and fire that intrigued him.

He had always been reserved, more comfortable in the company of books and the sound of steel clashing in the training yard than in the presence of others. But with you, there was something different, something that drew him in against his better judgment.

Your laugh, though soft, echoed in his mind long after you left the room. The way your eyes sparkled with genuine warmth when you spoke to him—even when you were nervous—was a stark contrast to the calculated interactions he was used to at court.

You were not scheming, not vying for his favor or power. You were simply... you. And perhaps that was what made it so easy for his walls to crumble, little by little, without even realizing it.

When you smiled up at him, asking him to place the necklace around your neck, his heart had skipped a beat. It was such a simple request, yet the intimacy of it made him feel more vulnerable than any duel or battle could. In those moments, he found himself wondering what it would be like to let his guard down, to let you see the man behind the stoic façade.

Even now, as he led you through the corridors of the Red Keep, heading toward the gardens, Aemond couldn’t help but steal glances at you. Your presence beside him felt... right. The idea of loving you was no longer something he fought against; instead, it was a slow, inevitable truth that settled in his chest.

In time, he hoped you would see it too.

Headcannon: reader only sees the sapphire in his eye on their wedding night

Headcannon: this is before the dance of dragons and viserys is still alive

Headcannon: aemond is 18 and reader is 17

Ages of the Baratheon daughters:

Cassandra - 25

Maris - 22

Ellyn - 19

Reader (fawn) - 17

Floris - 13

ALSO you cannot change my mind - after having four daughters (canon) Borros Baratheon is def a girl dad!

Hope you enjoyed 💜

#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x you #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader

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flowerandblood · 5 months ago

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The Price of Pride (7/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, mutual masturbation, targcets stuff, infidelity, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence, some kind of sexual harassment (unwanted touch), death threats, bad things ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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Waiting for the arrival of his betrothed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, forced to do the deed by his mother, he thought, staring blankly ahead, that he longed to be anywhere else.

In his bed, in the Small Council chamber, on the back of Vhagar flying through the skies.

Even the vision of an evening spent with his cousin in the library teaching her the language of Old Valyria did not sound as awful as the prospect of what he would now have to do.

He was not good at pretending or lying – false flirting, sweet gestures and gifts to win the heart of a beloved woman were not his domain and aroused his pity. Conversing about nothing or romantic walks were also not what he wanted or needed.

He should be planning the war with Criston Cole, not courting a woman who was indifferent to him.

Worse, now that he had managed to forget what he had done to his nephew, he knew that along with Floris Baratheon's face all the memories, nightmares and unbearable pain in his eye socket would return.

He sighed, straightening up, standing with his hands folded behind his back as a couple of carriages drove through the gate, one with only the chests, the other surely with the person to whom they belonged.

Gods, how long was she going to stay here?

The door opened and he moved ahead reluctantly, needing to show at least a bit of courtesy, giving her his hand – Floris smiled at him gratefully and placed her soft palm on his, stepping out the carriage like the princess she surely longed to be.

"My Lady. Welcome to the Red Keep." He said, letting go of her hand, folding it behind him again.

A squeal and a cry of a little boy before Luke was swallowed by the Vhagar's maw.

He swallowed heavily, feeling a cold sweat on the back of his neck and an unpleasant stab of pain in his eye socket.

His betrothed bowed before him.

"My Prince. I am tired after my journey. Please, guide me to my chamber." She said, and he nodded, hoping that she was very tired and would not require any other effort from him.

He took a breath, surprised, feeling discomfort when they moved ahead and her fingers slid under his arm right away, snuggling into his side as if they were a pair of lovers.

He closed his eye and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat, rage, humiliation and shame, aware that the guards and servants might have been watching and mocking him, knowing how much he hated such familiarity.

For her, however, what was more important was not how he felt, but what she imagined in her head.

He was only to adapt to her fantasies.

As they walked into the chamber his mother had specially chosen for her, Floris smiled – her windows looked out onto the harbour itself, the beautiful sea and the sun.

He hummed, wondering if he would be able to escape.

"Get some rest, my Lady. I will see you at the supper." He said, wanting to take a step back and leave, but he heard her sigh quickly, seeing out of the corner of his eye her furrowed brow.

"I was hoping that we would get to know each other more closely. That you were also looking forward to this moment like I was. We could take a walk in the royal gardens and talk." She said with a hopefulness that made him feel a discomfort in his stomach.

He thought that he had not been waiting for this moment at all.

His brother had told him to get Borros Baratheon's daughter, and he did.

It was a decision dictated by politics, not the desire of his heart.

Deep down, he wished that as soon as the war was over their betrothal would be undone.

Storm's End would then no longer be of any use to them.

But he couldn't tell her that.

He finally looked at her, seeing her gaze full of desire but also excitement, as if she had already imagined what this marriage would give her – that he would surely slowly fall in love with her, that his behaviour was only due to embarrassment and his shy nature.

It didn't even occur to her that she could be indifferent to him, and that was exactly the case.

How was he supposed to make something out of nothing?

"What would you like to discuss with me?" He asked, wanting to shift the burden of this awkward exchange of words onto her.

His betrothed exhaled quietly, as if comforted that he hadn't left, though she smiled, something in her gaze that he didn't like.

"My heart broke when I learned of your lonely expedition. I understand, my Prince, that you did it for the good of the Kingdom, but you must know how awful and difficult the experience was for me, knowing that there was a young, unmarried woman at your side." She said in a way that indicated, in his opinion, that she was not sad because of it, but angry and irritated.

He hated it when someone did not say directly what was on their mind.

"At my brother's request, the Maester has dispelled your doubts, my Lady. My cousin remains untouched." He said coldly, however his grin was wide, menacing – he knew by the look on her face that she understood that she had frustrated him.

She, however, instead of accepting his explanation or negating it, decided to probe deeper into the subject.

"But did you touch her, my Prince? With your hands or your mouth?" She asked, looking at him proudly, as if she recognised that these questions were necessary for her to feel that her position remained unthreatened.

She felt his hands clench into fists behind his back.

"I touched her with my hands. It's hard not to when you're flying together on the back of a dragon."

"So I also want to fly with you on the back of a dragon." She communicated, like a child demanding the same toy from him.

He felt his teeth clench in his jaw, his heart pounding like mad in his chest with rage.

Who was she to demand anything from him?

Stupid cunt.

"I cannot agree to this, my Lady, for the sake of your safety. Your father has placed you under our protection." He said lightly, smiling so that for a moment he exposed his teeth, as if he wanted to bite through her artery.

"With you, I will certainly be safe." She didn't give up, clearly annoyed that he was denying her what he had given to another woman.

"I do not agree. Rest, my Lady. I will see you during supper." He replied and, without waiting for her farewell or a word, left the chamber with a slam of the door.

He felt like shouting, hitting someone, a guard or a servant, beating them until they lost consciousness.

And then he remembered.

Tyland Lannister's fucking servant.

It was time to make him pay for his lack of discretion.

"Robert is no longer serving in the fortress, Your Highness. He was moved to Casterly Rock by Lord Lannister." Said one of the boys when asked where he could find him.

His brother knew what he would want to do and removed the man from his sight so that he could not take revenge on him for his betrayal.

Fucking bastard.

He pounded his palms on the top of his table and cursed in rage, feeling like he was about to explode – he had the urge to ride to Vhagar, get on her back and burn everything he came across in his path.

He closed his hands into fists and leaned forward, panting heavily, feeling like a caged animal.

Why were there traps waiting for him on every side, set for him by his mother and his brother?

Why did he still experience from them the two feelings that caused him such pain: rejection and humiliation?

Sitting at the great table among the lords and their families, staring blankly ahead, pretending not to see the expectant glances of his betrothed in his direction, hoping for any kind of conversation, he thought for the first time in his life that he wished he simply didn't exist.

He wanted to disappear so that he didn't have to deal with all this.

What did he get in return?

A sad, disappointed look from his mother and a sneer from his older brother.

"What's that grave look, brother? Do you not rejoice at the sight of your chosen one, Lady Floris? She has come a long way to see your displeased face." Said Aegon and laughed, licking his lips, none, however, echoed him.

If it had been the first time, or the fiftieth time, but he could no longer count how many times he had humiliated him in this way in the presence of others, and he always, every time, felt the same squeeze in his throat, sadness and emptiness.

Why didn't he instead take him aside, ask him what was happening?

Doesn't he need help?

His brotherly understanding, advice, support?

Was he not worthy of this honour?

He sighed, deciding it didn't matter, when he heard the chamber door open and his King's attention turned to another guest.

"Ah, here is my dear, fearless cousin. Come here, my Lady, I have assigned you a seat next to my brother. Perhaps your presence will lift his spirits." His brother called out, and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, not even bothering to look at the expression on his betrothed's face, hearing her twist next to him in her chair.

He wondered if it wouldn't be better if he just killed him.

He heard her footsteps behind his back, and a moment later he smelled her pleasant, floral scent – the servant had pushed back her chair for her. She sat down beside him, to his right, and for some reason he felt a little better.

She was by his side.

He didn't understand why, but he struggled to restrain himself from slipping his hand under the table and placing it on her thigh, wandering up and down, wordlessly letting her know that he missed her in some strange, twisted way.

She was always honest with him, his little dragon, her and her sweet, sharp tongue that cut like a dagger.

"My Lady." He heard Floris's voice to his left, leaning forward to see her better.

Gods, have mercy, he thought.

She was going to express her jealousy in front of everyone.

"I congratulate you on taming a dragon. No one expected you to succeed." She said with feigned admiration from which he rolled his eyes and shook his head, glancing at his cousin.

She, to his surprise was smiling broadly, her eyes shining dangerously, as if his betrothed amused her but also irritated her at the same time.

"I didn't believe it myself, my Lady. I was convinced that I would burn and become dust." She said with such light-heartedness that he and several people at the table chuckled at her words.

Why did he feel satisfaction?

"The gods have spared you. Will you stand to fight your father?" Floris continued, deliberately changing the subject to one that was uncomfortable for her, to force her to make a mistake and say something she shouldn't.

"Enough." He said impatiently, wanting to spare her this, however, his cousin decided to respond, finding her question surprisingly easy to answer.

"My dragon lacks experience and composure. I will be a mere support for the King and the Prince."

He smirked under his breath, thinking she had been clever in answering politely and cordially, while giving his betrothed no reason to mock or cause him or the King himself to distrust her.

To his relief, Aegon interrupted this exchange of words by ordering music to be played, and he decided to eat something, feeling that, indeed, his cousin's presence by his side had lifted his spirits and restored his appetite.

He pressed his lips together and sighed when Floris's hand brushed his wrist.

Did she have to touch him all the time?

Did she think it was romantic, that she was arousing his desire in this way?

The only feeling he felt was frustration.

"Will you pass me a tray of goose pate, my love?" She asked in a whisper, as if she was telling him some important secret, and he simply nodded, handing her the platter.

"Thank you." She said, but he answered her nothing, concentrating on his roast, hoping she wouldn't make him speak to her with his mouth full.

When he had quenched his thirst and satisfied his appetite, he thought it was time for him and his cousin to leave, however, they could not do so together – that would arouse the displeasure and curiosity of his betrothed, and he did not want that.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to get her attention, but she was focused on cutting the meat, immersed in her own world, not caring about what was going on around her.

The desire to sink his fingers into her thigh returned to him with redoubled force making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches, but he limited himself to pressing his knee against hers, hoping she would understand what he meant.

He saw that she froze and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stood up, communicating to all assembled that she would retire to bed, to which his brother-king, already completely drunk, agreed.

He waited a long time before getting up himself.

"My brother. Are you leaving us already?" Aegon asked.

"I am tired." He explained, looking at him coolly.

It was not a lie, he thought.

"I will escort you to your chamber, my Prince." Floris said, immediately rising from her seat, and he nodded, wanting nothing more than to escape from this room as quickly as possible.

This was what his evenings were to be like for days, weeks, months, years, once she became his wife.

He swallowed hard, stepping out into the corridor, feeling the contents of his stomach and the roast he had eaten rise to his throat as if he was about to vomit.

He closed his eyes and pulled away from her as she tried again to grab his arm.

"No." He growled more harshly than he would have liked, feeling his heart pounding like mad as he simply walked ahead.

Her silhouette walked beside him, her face raised at him filled with bitterness.

"Why? We are betrothed. I long to feel your closeness, at least for a moment."

He stopped, looking at her as if he was about to tear her apart, feeling himself breathing loudly through his mouth.

"But I don't want it." He said in a breaking voice, thinking that perhaps if he played the wounded boy it would give him at least a little peace and space.

"It's just a touch of the hand, my love. Nothing bad." She said, against his request touching his arm again, stroking it in a gesture of comfort.

He closed his eyes and grinned coldly, shaking his head, feeling tears of despair under his eyelids.

He thought he hated her.

"Sleep well, my Lady."

"This corridor. This is not the way to your chambers." She said in a trembling voice.

He looked at her over his shoulder, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

"I need to do one more thing."

"Do you..."

"That's enough. One more word from you and I'll lose patience. Don't provoke me." He said and turned away, walking towards the library.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked over his shoulder and saw that she was gone.

He ran his hand over his face, thinking that he couldn't stand it.

That he had to somehow get rid of her from the Red Keep and his life.

His brother was not worth such a sacrifice.

He felt at home in the library – the old oak bookcases filled to the brim with thick volumes reminded him of his childhood, the years he had spent in that great hall, hiding from the world.

He pulled out a few of the books he had used himself to study, knowing most of them almost by heart, and spread them out on one of the tables where one of the servants had lit some candles.

"You may leave." He said, and the boy nodded and left.

When the door finally opened and he saw her, he froze.

She was wearing his mother's robe thrown over her nightgown, that was certain, however, he did not understand why she had put it on now – that attire should only be worn in the privacy of her own chamber, outside of it being in a degree of negligee.

He swallowed quietly, watching as her girlish figure moved across the floor towards him with a quiet rustling of the shiny, delicate fabric tied at her waist.

He had a feeling that if he pulled at the ribbon, he would reveal her entire beautiful, bare body before his eyes, hidden only beneath the thin layer of her linen shirt.

He grunted as she sat down beside him, smelling her pleasant, fresh scent, sliding a few books towards her.

He knew what he wanted to practice with her and he was doing it deliberately.

He needed to take it out on someone and she had become his victim.

"We'll start with the basics. The most important and simplest terms." He said, pointing his finger at one of the words.

"Jelmor." He hummed. "North."

"Jelmor." She whispered, her voice soft and calm, clearly focused on her task.

She really wanted to learn, he thought with surprise and pride.

The heritage she so despised had become dear to her.

He felt a pleasant warmth in his lower abdomen and satisfaction at the thought.

"Ñāqon. East."

"Nāqon." She said, however, with a mistake, not making the right sound at the beginning of the word.

"No. Roll your tongue at the n." He explained, and she swallowed hard, as if gathering the courage to say it again.

"Ñāqon." She said, slightly better this time.

"Better. Vēzor. South."

"Vēzor."

"Endia. West."

"Endia."

"Muña. Mother." He hummed, looking at her intently, and saw exactly what he wanted.

She froze completely, and her body tensed all over as if he had hit her.

"Muña." She said softly, warmly, her voice trembling slightly, betraying the pain she felt.

"Mmm. Kepa. Father." He said, and she looked at him in a way from which his manhood instantly swelled and pulsed hard, causing his lips to part in a sigh.

Her brown eyes were glazed from tears, her eyebrows arched in pain as if she was asking him why he was doing this to her.

"Repeat." He whispered.

"Kepa." She said, as if she was praying to one of the gods.

Kepa.

A single, lonely tear ran down her cheek, a sign that she still loved him, her father who had abandoned her, after all these years remaining a small child craving attention and praise, helpless and powerless, beautiful in her suffering.

Noble.

He lifted his hand to her cheek, for some reason wanting to relieve her, to let her know that he understood her, that he didn't think what she felt was a cause for shame.

She shuddered as his thumb brushed the wet mark from her plump cheek, the gaze of her doe eyes fixed on him, only on him.

"Trēsy. Son." He said softly, quietly, as if he was afraid to frighten her, his index finger running over her jaw, admiring the shape of her smooth face.

"Tresy."

"No." He said. "Trēsy. The letter 'ē' needs to be read deeper, as if you want to sing."

"Trēsy."

"Tala. Daugther."

He saw her shake her head, pressing her lips together as if to tell him that she was incapable of doing it, of uttering a word the meaning of which remained foreign to her.

She didn't know what it meant to be someone's daughter, just as he didn't know what it meant to be someone's betrothed, someone's son, someone's brother.

He pressed his forehead against hers, sinking his hand into the back of her neck, stroking soothingly her soft skin, feeling himself grow hard, his breath deep and uneven, filled with desire.

Her closeness was never forced, he thought with tenderness, to which his heart thumped harder in his chest.

Just like with her dragon, she allowed him to approach her when he wished, watching her from afar, circling around her until he himself, of his own accord, fell again and again into her arms.

"Tala."

"Hāedar." He hummed, feeling his erection throb hard in his breeches, his gaze fixed on her face. "Little sister."

She opened her eyes upon hearing those words, and he saw what he wanted in her hazy, hot gaze.

She was wet.

She merely sighed as his other hand did what he had longed to do since supper, touching her knee, travelling lazily upwards to her place of pleasure.

"Hāedar." She exhaled, her puffy, pink lips parted sweetly, her hard nipples peeking through her robe.

Gods, how he craved her.

I'm going to caress her, he thought, and then I'll take her here, on this table.

"Lēkia." He breathed out in a trembling voice, closing his hand over her womanhood, her eyebrows arching in disbelief as a quiet, innocent moan broke from her throat. "Older brother."

Say it, he thought, feeling his cock twitch in his breeches in impatience, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"Lēkia." She moaned as if calling out to him, begging him to end her suffering, and his hand immediately clenched in her hair allowing his mouth, swollen with desire, to close on hers in a greedy, hot kiss.

She gasped in his throat as their one lustful kiss turned into a second, a third and a fourth – a surprised murmur of delight broke from his lips as her soft hand touch his cheek, combing through his hair at last, her closeness so unforced, tender, warm, innocent, desired.

He thought he had never allowed himself to be kissed on the mouth by Madam, while his lips sank again and again into her helpless sobs of pleasure, breathing hard with the loud clicks of their saliva, his impatient, slick tongue forced its way deep into her hot throat as his hand lifted the material of her robe higher.

She mewled and shuddered all over, clasping her hands on his body as his fingertips finally dug into the leaking, silken structure of her folds – he groaned low, surprised to feel her cunt pulsing all over, hot and moist under his fingers, ready for his further caresses.

She wanted this.

She wanted him inside her.

He thought his cock was about to burst with desire, but he knew he couldn't take her yet, so in an act of desperation he grabbed one of her hands and pressed it against the throbbing, hard bulge in his breeches.

They both groaned, panting into each other's mouths, teasing each other with the tips of their wet tongues as, while his fingers circled around her little pearl, she trailed over his long, swollen manhood.

He pulled her to him, embracing her around the waist, feeling her sweet nipples pushing against the material of his tunic as her swollen lips and soft thighs parted invitingly before him with her cry of pleasure, the tips of his fingers pushing against her slit, ready to slide into her and feel how tight and warm she was.

A voice stuck in their throats and they both pulled away from each other as if burned, terrified when they heard someone open the door – in some subconscious, involuntary reflex he wiped his fingers, sticky with her wetness against his breeches, her hands quickly leaving the material of her robe down.

When he saw Floris's grave face he closed his eyes and sighed, feeling his heart pounding like mad in bitterness and disappointment, his cock pulsing and twitching in his trousers, not understanding why he had interrupted their caresses when what he had experienced was so pleasurable.

So right.

"The guards told me I would find you here, my Prince. I did not know you would have company." She said quietly, and he looked ahead with a blank stare, wondering how he could believe that she would just go to sleep, that she would not move after him, suspicious and full of concerns.

Rightful concerns, moreover.

"I am teaching my cousin the language of Old Valyria. It is the only way she can communicate with her dragon." He said, feeling only weariness and fatigue, not having the strength to look at her or speak to her.

He knew he had been cruel, but there was nothing he could do about it.

If she had been wiser, she would have seen that he did not care about her or her welfare and would have asked her father herself to break off their betrothal, not wanting to suffer such humiliation.

She, however, preferred to remain the prince's betrothed, even if unwanted one.

Floris walked over to the table and flipped through one of the pages, pretending to understand anything of what was written there.

"May I join you? I would also like to learn the language of your ancestors, my love." She said, and although he clearly asked her not to touch him, her hand laid on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, feeling an unpleasant shudder.

Her hand on his shoulder or between his thighs, what difference did it make?

"I will not be able to concentrate with you standing by my side, my Lady." He whispered in a weak voice, for some reason feeling humiliated, having the urge to cry like a child.

Take your hand off me, he thought, but her hand slipped lower, to his forearm.

"Does my presence disturb you, my love?" She asked, but more than her question, his attention was drawn to the fact that his cousin wanted to get up from her seat.

"I'll leave you alone. With your permission." She said, and he pressed his lips together, feeling panic.

No, he thought.

Don't leave me alone with her.

"Daor, hāedar."

She looked at him in shock, her lips parted slightly in disbelief, her eyebrows arched in pain, in her eyes warmth, tenderness and something else from which he felt a pleasant tingling in his fingertips as he watched her sit back in her seat.

She stayed.

"What did you say, my love?" Floris asked, and he licked his lower lip, feeling impatience.

"I don't allow it. We are not finished yet. Soon her dragon will move to fight at my side and she must be ready. I ask that you never interrupt us again. If you wish, we will take a walk around the royal gardens tomorrow, just as you desire." He said, willing to give her what she wanted as long as she left him alone and took her hand off him.

"Is it because she is your cousin? Like any Targaryen you prefer your own kin?" His betrothed asked with anger, and something snapped inside him – his fists hit the table with all his might, both of them jumping as he stood up like an enraged lion, thinking he was going to kill this whore with his own hands.

Who the fuck was she to speak to him like that?

He could have had her tongue for that and sent it in a small casket to her father as a warning so that none of his daughters would appear in the Red Keep again.

"Lēkia." He heard her pleading voice, her soft hand gently touching his arm in an attempt to stop him.

He looked at her, at his hāedar, at her sweet face red with emotion, her gaze full of request, her puffy lips parted in an uneven, deep breath.

If he could, he would kiss her again, her moist lips, her long neck, her plump breasts, her hard nipples, her smooth stomach, to finally sink his face into her leaking, soft cunt.

For a moment he considered doing this, he decided, however, that doing so would humiliate her, and he did not want that.

Her hand let go of him when she saw that the first wave of his anger had passed, replaced by a second, much more threatening one.

He looked at his betrothed, at her face twisted in a grimace of anger and pain, at her eyes filled with tears.

She had come to marry the image of a man, not him.

"I will consider that you never said it, my Lady. Otherwise I would have to recognise that you intended to insult me and my family. And that would mean, in turn, that my betrothed is a fool. Is that how it is, my Lady?" He asked with a sneer in his voice, the corner of his mouth twitching when he saw the frown on her forehead at his words.

"No, my Prince. I am not." She said, looking at his cousin in a way he didn't like, before he could say anything, however, Floris turned and walked away, leaving them alone.

Silence fell – he glanced at his cousin out of the corner of his eye, partly hoping that they would finish what they had started, still half-hard, but he saw that her face was turned away in embarrassment, her figure bent.

Unlike him, she had a sense of shame, he thought regretfully.

"You may leave." He said.

She nodded and moved towards the door, as if she was afraid that if she looked at him she wouldn't hold back and they would both sin even more than they already had.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the door closed behind her – he sat down in his chair, undid the belt from his tunic and untied his breeches, immediately putting his hand inside them.

He groaned throatily and leaned his forehead down, pressing it against the wooden table top, imagining that he was actually cuddling it to her sweet breasts, gripping his erection in his palm.

He imagined how he would do this to her – how gentle his thrusts into her delicate, warm body would be, rocking his hips lazily back and forth, rolling them each time his fingers squeezed the base of his swollen, pink cock, sighing in pleasure.

"– hāedar – oh, fuck –" He exhaled, speeding up, panting hard, imposing a more aggressive, faster pace on himself, squeezing his painfully hard erection with loud smacks of his palm against his stones, feeling that he would reach his peak embarrassingly quickly.

"– ah –" He moaned like a little boy, feeling tears under his eyelids at the thought of how great the relief that shook his body was, his mouth wide open as his pearly, sticky spend trickled down his fingers.

For a moment more he moved his hips in rhythm with his hand, imagining that he was deep inside her, in her warmth, snuggled between her soft breasts, calm and safe.

And then he opened his eyes and felt a squeeze in his throat, seeing the books and the candles all around him, feeling an embarrassing, painful emptiness.

His jaw trembled, his breath became heavy, but he did not allow himself to shed any tears, getting up from his seat, bringing himself to order.

He was just fastening the belt of his tunic when one of the guards suddenly rushed in, terrified.

"My Prince. Your prisoner has been attacked."

He stood over her bed feeling that he was quivering with rage, not hearing his mother's or his brother's discussion, looking at her gentle face immersed in sleep.

"Will she survive? We need her. How the fuck could this happen?" Aegon said, pacing around the room furiously, running his hand over his chin.

"In my opinion, she was hit in the back of the head with a long, heavy object, after which her head hit something hard again, probably the stone floor. This night will determine her death or life. If there has been bleeding inside her skull, nothing can be done." The Maester said, and he looked away, staring at Floris' face, who stood beside his mother, pale, afraid to lift her gaze to him.

For a moment he wondered, sure that it was her doing, whether to expose her in front of his brother, then, however, he decided that she might begin to say something about what she had seen, to spread rumours about his and his cousin's relationship.

He had to deal with her himself.

"We have fucking enemies everywhere. Maybe it was her father who sent someone to get rid of her?" His brother continued, thinking out loud.

Floris looked at him and nodded.

"It is very possible, Your Grace. Certainly Prince Daemon is furious that she managed to tame a dragon. Poor girl." She said, as if she was actually worried and sympathised with her, and he looked at her, grinning broadly.

I'm going to fucking kill you, he thought.

"Aemond. Do you find this amusing?" His mother said to him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I find it very amusing, mother, because I think I know who did it." He said lightly, glancing at his brother, who spread his arms in a gesture of invitation.

"So tell us this secret." He said, and he looked at his betrothed with a smile.

"As soon as I am sure. Meanwhile, I will escort my betrothed to her chambers. She must surely be tired, and I do not wish to see her suffer a similar fate to my poor cousin." He sneered, cocking his head, stepping towards her.

"No need, my Prince, don't bother." She muttered, panicking, unable to look him in the eye as he towered over her.

"I insist."

Floris Baratheon's head slammed into the wall with all his strength as soon as the door to her chamber closed behind them – he grabbed her by the throat, holding the blade of his dagger against her chin.

"You will return to Storm's End and tell your illiterate father that our betrothal was broken because of you. Furthermore, you will tell him what you did to my cousin. You will say that the Crown could not, because of your unacceptable behaviour, bring about our marriage, but that the agreement between your father and the Realm is still in force. If your father objects, I will come to Storm's End on Vhagar once more, and I promise you that you will meet the fate of my nephew, you dumb, insolent cunt." He growled and let her go – Floris fell to her knees, drew in her air loudly and burst out sobbing, curling up in fear.

"– why are you hurting me? – I have nothing to do with it, I swear –" She mumbled, choking on her own tears.

"– and I swear you that if you insist on becoming my wife, I will hurt you every morning and every evening, for all the days of your life, and then I will fuck my cousin in the chamber next door so that you can listen to what pleasure means, which you will never know from me – you are to leave the Red Keep with the first light –" He said coldly and left, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

When he returned back to her chamber, there were only the physicians and the Maester, who was supervising their work, laying cold cloths on her forehead.

"Did she get a fever?" He asked, sitting down beside her on the soft bed, touching her cheek.

It was hot.

"Yes." He said, bringing a new bowl of water and ice.

"Leave it. I'll do it myself." He said, rising from his seat, undoing the belt and buckles of his leather tunic, staying only in his white linen shirt tucked into his breeches.

"I will come to examine her again in an hour, my Prince." Said the Maester and bowed to him, leaving him alone with her.

He sat back on the bed beside her, pulling the cloth from her face, sinking it anew into the cold water only to place it on her warm forehead again.

"– umbagon lēda nyke, zaldrītsos (stay with me, little dragon) –" He hummed tenderly, his hand moving from her forehead higher, combing her soft hair with his fingers.

"– kepa –"

He froze, looking at her in pain, her brow arched in misery.

She thought he was Daemon.

He swallowed hard, leaning toward her, stroking her head with his hand as if she were a small child.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, his full lips pressing a soft, warm kiss on her hot forehead. "– you're safe now –"

She opened her eyes – he saw her tears, glistening in the candlelight, running down the sides of her face, as if his words had both hurt and soothed her.

He sighed as her small hand lifted to cup his scarred cheek, the tips of her fingers brushed against his skin.

"– lēkia –" She mumbled, something about the way she said it, the relief he saw in her eyes, made their lips press together in a sticky, tender kiss.

"– mmm –" She sighed as he repeated the caress with a quiet click of their saliva, running his thumb over her jaw and chin, sinking into the moist sweetness of her plump lips again and again, uniting with her in that innocent, intimate way.

They both breathed heavily as he pulled away from her, looking at each other for a moment, his erection pulsing hard in his breeches, letting him know he had to stop.

He couldn't take her now.

He hummed, seeing that she closed her eyes again, stroking her hot, rosy cheek with his thumb, her face nuzzled into his hand.

"– sleep, little sister – your brother will stay by your side –"

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