#i get why it triggered aemond though he's sensitive about it

[welcomefortune]

i stand by my cancelled king, y'all don't have complicated sibling relationships my siblings and i have said way worse to each other than that

[ryuzakemo128]

Dragonfire & Wildfire

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aelora Targaryen

Content Warning: Incest, mature themes, and mention of burn scars.

Trigger Warning: Not for readers with a sensitivity to incestuous relationships, extreme fire imagery.

Words: 1795

Links: [Masterlist]

Dividers Credit: @cafekitsune / @strangergraphics

Links to dividers used: [01], [02], [03]

(Headcanon One)

Aelora's scars from her multiple experiments using wildfire and dragonfire would make any ordinary person shudder with revulsion. Which doesn’t bother her nearly as much as most would have assumed. Although, considering her tendency to cover them up, it was clear she wasn’t entirely immune to the judgement of others. Her fascination with the destructive power grew from a young age, a twisted curiosity had led her down a dangerous path.

Yet this is the only version of her youth ever told in legends and tales. Mostly written by men of power who sought to diminish her influence over young women during her lifetime.

As other versions painted her in a light of scientific curiosity rather than a maddened princess obsessed with fire to her quote unquote bitter end. Those who knew her would say she is a lover of most things, from warships to sea creatures. To fine art, to poetry.

Nothing about her was able to be able to be strictly defined. As her hobbies changed as rapidly as she breathed. The maesters the house of Hightower had in their pockets simply called her self obsessed in their historical writing of her. Leaving her simply as a footnote, unworthy of a second glance according to them.

Aemond, her one-eyed cousin, would remark, “You're like a dragon in human form, Aelora.”

Aelora raised an eyebrow, “In appetite or in temperament?” she quipped, her voice holding a hint of challenge. As she continued to walk through her ever-growing archive of knowledge passed down to her from generations of women from her father's side.

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head in pure amusement, “Both, I suppose. The way you devour knowledge and the fiery passion that burns in your heart.”

(Headcanon Two)

Aemond, he sometimes took them after sex, leaning into her to smell of ash and sulphur, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. He would say, Your fire is my home, as he took the gloves from her hands, kissing each one of her burn scars on her forearms, feeling the warmth of her touch on his skin.

He would continue to whisper into her ear, “No. I don’t think so, jorrāelagon, we're not done yet, you still have more to learn, more to burn and discover about yourself.” His hand would trace the line of her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he touched her collarbone, his finger hovering over her heart as he felt it race in anticipation.

“I still want to taste you,” he murmured, clinging onto her as if she was going to slip through her hands.

Aemond remained rather clingy when it came to Aelora, his fascination with her as intense as her obsession with fire. He found something eerily alluring about her scars and the untamed spirit they seemed to represent. They were not just a physical manifestation of her power, a symbol of the fiery passion fuelled her soul.

Her curiosity about the world, her boundless love for knowledge, and her fearlessness in the face of danger reminded him of the mythical beasts they both shared blood with—dragons.

Clingy because that is what his mother thought he was being. Though Aelora didn't seem to mind, at least, she didn't particularly get why he was so obsessed with her. She was the one who sought him out for companionship in the first place.

(Headcanon Three)

Aelora deliberately translates certain valyrian texts just to say she did before he did. Which was a silent competition between them, a dance of wit and intellect. It was how she started her first conversation with him, she didn't know how to approach him, thinking she would scare him off, much like she had with so many others.

To him, on the other hand, here was this woman, fiery and powerful in her own right, and yet, she sought companionship with him. It was a mystery that tickled his mind and filled his chest with something warm and unfamiliar. Something that felt suspiciously like affection. “A pity it wasn't you,” she sarcastically remarked.

He countered with, “Perhaps it's because you're the closest thing to a dragon I've ever met, Aelora.”

“Pretty sure, Daemon is closer to it, considering his temper can scorch someone alive,” Aelora replied with a smirk, referring to his uncle, which is also her cousin. She knew he didn't mean it literally, but the tease rolled off her tongue as naturally as the flames she'd coaxed from the candle earlier.

Aemond grinned, his one good eye gleaming with mischief, “Daemon is more like a wildfire, unpredictable, and consuming. You, Aelora, are a dragon, precise and masterful, capable of bending the very essence of fire to your will.”

(Headcanon Four)

Cuddles are prevalent when either Aemond or Aelora are feeling particularly anxious. They seek each other out, sharing whispers and warmth. It didn't matter how late it was in the night, one, or the other, would find their way to the other's chambers. The wooden door would creak open, and the tiptoeing across the cold stone floor was like a silent symphony of comfort. They would wrap themselves in blankets, their bodies entwined like serpents, sharing the heat of their embrace.

If Aemond went into her bed chambers, it was a silent quest of his own. He knew the layout of her room like the back of his hand, having spent countless hours there, not just studying, but exploring every inch of her, both in mind and body. The candles were often lit low, casting long shadows across the ancient tomes that lined the walls. The air was thick with the scent of dust and parchment, mixed with the faint hint of Aelora's favourite lavender perfume. It was her sanctuary, and he was her devoted pupil.

Aelora would shift, turn and move in her sleep. Regardless of why he snuck in there. She would wrap her warm arms around him in a protective embrace. Melting into her arms like a block of ice in a dragon's flame. A leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a tighter embrace, her hand resting gently on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beating. He felt safe, something he had not felt in a very long time.

If Aelora snuck into his room, he would lay there, one eye open, watching her as she moved about, her silhouette dancing in the moonlit darkness. He studied the way she moved, the way she breathed, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't watching. He had seen her fiery side, the one that could bring a room to its knees with a single word or gesture. But here, in the quiet of the night, she was something else entirely.

Vulnerable. It would be because of a nightmare rather than anxiety. He would whisper, “It's just a bad dream, Aelora,” his voice soothing and calm, his hand gently stroking her hair. Aelora's eyes fluttered open, and she took in a deep breath, the scent of him filling her nose, a mix of leather and steel. Her heart was racing, and she clutched onto him like a lifeline. They would fall asleep together, his one eye staring into the darkness, watching over her like a silent sentinel.

(Headcanon Five)

Once Aemond found out Aelora slept naked during her voyages on her war ship, it was all over from there. As the mental image of her naked beneath the sheets of her bed, rocked by the gentle waves of the sea, consumed him.

Torn between the desire to respect her privacy and the irresistible urge to see her in that vulnerable state. Unable to resist the temptation, he sneaked into her cabin, his heart pounding in his chest.

He had artists paint portraits of her subtly, in this state, subtly to not overtly state his desire but to show the side of her that was untouched by fire.

Aelora in the moonlight, unmarred by the wildfire that danced on her skin. She was a vision of beauty and grace that he couldn’t get out of his mind. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

(Headcanon Six)

Her Lindwyrm, Zerthurnax, the one with four legs, a serpentine neck, coiled around her like a living blanket. The creature's obsidian black scales glinted in the candlelight, a stark contrast to Aelora's soft, scarred skin.

She recently found out it snuck into her bag somehow. She took it home with her. When he saw it, his one eye widened in a mix of shock and fascination. “Where did you get that?”

“It must have snuck into my bag when I wasn't looking,” Aelora shrugged as if it was a regular thing to happen to her. “I don't remember when it happened. Must have been while I was having a bath or something.”

Aemond couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “You're something else, Aelora. A true wonder of the world.”

“What can I say, I attract the peculiar,” Aelora smirked, stroking the small lindwyrm's head. Its forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air, and it hissed softly, seemingly in response to Aemond's disbelief.

“It's quite harmless, really,” she assured him, watching the creature coil around her arm.

(Headcanon Seven)

Aelora invites Aemond to eat with her, even if it is mainly seafood dishes or dishes with duck, chicken, or pheasant. As she liked sharing food with him, enjoying the way his face lit up when he tasted something new. Plus, she found his one-eyed glares when she'd eat something that smelled particularly foul quite entertaining. She would also insist on paying for it. As she liked the idea of spoiling him in her own way. Even if it's just food.

He would protest at first saying, "I'm not your pet to be spoiled," but his stomach would always win out in the end. Plus, it was hard to refuse Aelora when she looked at him with those fiery eyes, filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with her affinity for fire.

"Pet? No. Someone who I find attractive? Absolutely." Aelora bluntly countered.

Aemond's cheeks flushed slightly at the bluntness of her response. He had never had anyone speak to him like that, especially not someone he was attracted to.

There was something about Aelora that made him feel… alive. Like he was living in a world that was not just black and white, but a world filled with color, heat, and passion.

He could feel his heart race as he looked into her eyes, crimson pools of fire that seemed to see right through him.