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0bticeo · 5 months ago

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aemond targaryen | you owe a debt

summary:

you grit your teeth.

you’re a long way from dragonstone. with you plummeting towards the ground, leaving aemond above, you’ve bought yourself a few precious seconds ー not enough. far from enough. your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you, a storm is raging and aemond is catching up.

you still.

he’s there.

wc. 1.6k

tw. unreseolved sexual tension, niece!reader (targcest), mild description of blood and gore, hubris, fix-it fic set in season one epsiode ten.

the rain is cold on your face, like tiny pinpricks of ice piercing your skin. raging wind blowing through your ears, you hear your dragon roar above the thunder. the force of it spreads through your bones. eyes half closed against the storm, fists clenched on the handles of your saddle, you curse.

sending your younger brother alone, what was your mother thinking?

he wants revenge. an eye for an eyeーa fair price. he could’ve asked for lucerys’ life. ( he must’ve been itching to do it, to draw his sword, sharp blade slicing your brother’s throat. to watch the blood pour out, spilling on the round hall’s floors.)

you see it, then. the dark mass before you, coming in closer and closer with each beat of your dragon’s wings. vaghar, largest, oldest dragon in the world. a massive, battle-hardened beast, with wrath etched in every inch of her being, begging to be unleashed, held tight behind her master’s iron will. (you think you hear him begging her to stop. )

high valyrian rolls off your tongue, scraping against your throat in a bark.

faster.

visegar obliges, wings spread out against the storm. your breath hitches with how fast you’re going, strands of hair clinging to your face like you do to your reigns.

you’re close enough to see arrax now, as small and young and terrified as his rider.

close enough to hear aemond’s laughter. close enough to hear his tauntsー you owe a debt, boy . vaghar opens her gaping mouth, fangs gleaming under the pouring rainー

this will start a war. this will have your brother dying, torn up to pieces.

you will not let him die.

when you strike, it’s from below. lightning-fast, a blur of black scales, snatching your brother inches away from vaghar’s gaping maw. you feel her heated breath on your skin, the putrid scent of it – how many were left to rot there?

you meet your uncle’s eye and he recognises you.

you see it in how that mouth of his twists in a grin, tongue licking his lips in a slow drag. in how his eye traces your frame, sharpening upon noticing your stance.

“and what do you hope to do with that blade of yours?” there’s a flash of amusement in that coy grin of his. “surely, you can do better, niece .”

and he knows you can. he’s seen you in the training yard, wielding your mighty bow. he’s seen you grasping arrow after arrow, pulling them out of your quiver in an inhumanely fast gesture. he’s seen you hit target after target. he’s seen you run out of arrows and switch to the sword at your side, calling out for a sparring partner.

(he’d been the one stepping forward, lip curling in that coy grin of his.)

now, your mouth is drying.

you’ve left your bow and arrows behind in your haste to get there. at this range, the sword is useless.

you snarl, poison-laced words ready to strike because you yourself can’tー

your brother is screaming.

you look down and see arrax falling. with him, your brother. both of them, tumbling to the ground, spiralling down. arrax, almost torn in half, holding it together in a gory mess of viscera and torn up bones, wings beating erratically in a desperate attempt at stopping his fall. there’s so much red.

plunge.

plunge towards the ground at break-neck speed, visegar’s wings folding by his sides, almost brushing your arms. your shoulders are set ablaze. from the sheer strength it takes you to remain on your dragon’s back, or from your uncle’s heated gaze, you do not know.

soon you’re within arm’s reach. one look at arrax tells you trying to save them both is hopeless.

“lucerys!”

he doesn’t look at you. he can’t, not with the wind roaring at his ears, not with arrax’s pain merging with his pure terror, not with the sea and its devouring waves below, they’re pulling him in, he’s going to dieー

you grab your brother’s arm and pull , high valyrian leaving your tongue in a bark.

“visegar, up! ”

and so he obliges, your faithful dragon, leaving his brethren to crash in the hungry waves beneath. for a split second, you remain like that. floating in a never-ending storm, with your brother clinging to you, legs hanging in the void, hands in a vice grip around his flesh because you must not let him fall .

so you pull and pull , muscles begging for you to stop, praying to gods old and new that your strength doesn’t fail you, that your uncle doesn’t catch up, not now .

then he’s on your saddle, and you press him against you, arms surrounding him, firmly pressing his hands on the saddle’s pommel for purchase. you do not let him see arrax’s fall. he’s safe. for now.

you grit your teeth.

you still.

he’s there.

right behind you, hot on your tail. you do not need to turn to see the wide grin etched on his pale features. you hear it in the low baritone of his voice, in the venom of his words.

give up, niece.

and you can only weigh the odds. you cannot fight him. not with your brother there, clinging to your forearm tighter than one would to a lifeline. not with this storm. not without your prized weapons. you’re bound to lose, and he knows it.

you feel lucerys shift, looking up at you. oh, brave, brave boy with terror in his eyes.

“it’s me he wants.” he gulps. “if you hand me over to him, you might get awayー”

you bite your lip.

each beat of dragon wing drives you closer to dragonstone. you can get there. you have to. it’s not just a matter of ensuring your brother’s safety ー or yours for that matters. it’s that should the both of you die here by aemond’s hand, war would break out.

greens and blacks have daggers held at each other’s throats. the slightest mishap will draw blood. you will not let your death be the reason a fragile, relative peace is broken.

but you can’t kill aemond either, can you?

“niece.”

your attention snaps back to him. you find him already watching, hungry gaze never leaving you. he’s waiting, this wretched, cunning beast of a man. waiting for your move.

your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you on his back and a raging storm against his wings.

but if there was only one rider…

you don’t have a choice.

beneath you, visegar rises to attention. does he feel it, your fear? does he feel it, your unyielding resolve?

your hand closes around your brother’s shoulder, gently squeezing it.

“whatever happens, fly home and do not stop .”

visegar moves. faster than all-mighty vaghar can see, faster than aemond can see, spiking above them both.

your brother is screaming.

you’re falling.

you’re falling, and there’s nothing to stop you. the gaping mouth of the sea will swallow you and leave nothing behind. you wonder if you’ll die upon hitting the water, bones shattering with the impact. you wonder if you’ll drown, if the fall doesn’t kill you. you wonder if you’ll taste arrax’s blood.

you’re falling, and everything blurs before your eyes, storm grey and rain and a blue so dark it’s almost black. there’s lightning streaking the sky above, waves crashing down below ー and you do not know what’s up and what’s down anymore. the wind is merciless, splitting your ears with its force.

you’re falling, limbs spread out, gasping for air, and it feels like thousands and thousands of hands are pressing down on your heart and you can’t breathe ー

you think the wind roars your name. you think you see a great, black void coming from above, like the meteors the maesters weaved tales about for your entertainment.

you feel as though you’re floating. you’re flying without a dragon. does that make you a god? you think you’re laughing.

you’re falling and it’s a gamble .

you’ve seen aemond’s stare. felt it burn like dragon fire on your skin, felt its pull down to your core as you fired arrow after arrow in the training yard. you’ve seen his signature half-smile widen just a tad bit as your swords clashed, felt the heat radiating off him as you pulled him closer, close enough for your dagger to brush against his jaw.

(close enough to see his eye dart to your lips, pupil dilating for a brief second. close enough to feel his warm breath on your cheek. close enough to feel the lean muscles of his chest beneath the black leather of his clothes. close enough for him to bend down, lips brushing your ear in a low voice that left you with a hollow ache and clenching thighs.

“surely, you can do better, niece.”)

you intrigue him, at the very least.

so when he comes, when he catches you mid-fall and cradles you against the warmth of him, with your name on his lips and what surely cannot be fear but is, you cannot help but smile.

your grin flashes, as sharp as your blade.

“is that better, uncle?”

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