#jason lannister x you

[annwrites]

⸻ being jason & tyland's younger sister would include:

· tags: twincest, canon-typical incest, double-penetration, possessiveness, jealousy

Since you were a babe, your older brothers have doted on you.

You may be nearly half their age and a girl, but they never made you feel an outsider to your own family.

When you were little, they showered you with gifts & attention, which only multiplied tenfold as you grew older.

They wanted to ensure you wanted for absolutely nothing.

As a child, they would bestow upon you only the finest porcelain dolls, tea sets, ribbons for your shimmering blonde curls, sweet, decadent treats, one of the finest ponies from your house's stables: one of pure white, with silver tassels hanging from its mane, painted spinning tops, and much, much more.

They watched with glee as you smiled, giggled, and cooed over your presents, their hearts warmed by the mere sight of you.

When you bloomed into womanhood and became more of who you're truly meant to be, so, too, did those gifts change in nature.

They became gowns and corsets, pearls and jewels, golden brushes for your hair, a gleaming handheld looking glass, a polished leather saddle for your horse, with a lovely handwoven blanket to rest atop it, a silver flute and a gilded harp for your music lessons, along with a set of bells, paints and a cherry-wood easel...in truth, the list is practically never-ending.

A large hand comes to rest gently over your eyes and your lids flutter closed while a small smile spreads across your lips. "I've brought you a present," a familiar voice softly coos before settling something in your lap. Even without seeing his face—rather, more specifically, his hair—you already know that it's Jason. There's small, nigh-on imperceptible differences between the two men, including the tenor of their voices, which aid you in telling them apart. You seem the only one able to do so, at that. You giggle quietly, then rest your hands gently atop the package he's given you. Jason then seats himself beside you while winding a curl, which resembles freshly-spun gold, around his index finger. "Go on, my sweet, open it," he tells you with a twitch of his lip.

Another difference between the two are their nicknames for you. For Jason, it includes 'my sweet', 'young lady' (which, at times, he uses if he is cross with you), 'little doll', etc. While Tyland prefers 'my love', 'darling', or just your name. Jason hardly ever calls you by the latter.

Even their respective treatments of you differ in nature.

Jason can be more sarcastic and almost...flirtatious in nature (then again, that seems to be his disposition in general, you've noted, so you think little of it anymore), while Tyland is far more gentle and serious.

You pull loose the light-pink satin ribbon tied around the box, then set it to the side so it can be added to your collection. You then begin to peel back the crisp brown wrapping paper wrapped around it before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it playfully at Jason's face. He grins. "I should put you over my knee for that, young lady." He leans in closer while gripping the back of your chair. "And not stop until your backside is raw and you're begging for mercy." You blink at him while blushing from nerves, then return your attention to the box in your hands. You lift the lid and your eyes grow wide at the collection of small pelts within. You lift one gingerly and run your fingertips along the feather-soft, light-brown fur. "I prefer bigger game, as you well know, but I wished for you to have them," Jason remarks. You remove another, which is white as snow, and another beneath it that's fur is as black as the inky night sky. "Rabbit?" You ask quietly while glancing to him. He nods while caressing the back of your head in his callused palm.

Jason often enjoys having you accompany him for horseback riding through the western woods.

The two of you race one another through open fields of greenery and flowers, or between tall oak trees that cast the afternoon sun in dappled light across the forest floor.

Sometimes, you break for small picnics together, or Jason watches as you strip down and wade through warm summer waters in only your shift.

You hardly ever notice the way his gaze darkens as he takes in your bare feminine form through the thin linen that hangs from your frame.

Hiding his arousal isn't possible, however, when you emerge drenched, with the item of clothing clinging to you—thus leaving nothing to the imagination.

You pad over to your eldest brother to retrieve a strawberry from your picnic, until he grabs your hand and tugs you down beside him. "Jason!" You call through a fit of voracious giggles while he leans over you, sliding a hand along your damp waist. "I think," he says, settling his weight atop you, allowing you to experience the full length of his manhood, hoping it stirs something within you. "You are the most comely girl in all the realm." Your brows furrow slightly and you shift beneath him before pressing your palms gently to his chest. "I doubt that." He tangles his fingers in your wet strands. "Mm, I don't, my lovely little dove." He considers for a moment—his blue eyes flitting between your own, and then he presses his lips softly to your flushed cheek. He drags them across your skin and you snicker at the feel of his beard scratching against you, until he places a featherlight kiss against the corner of your full lips. And then his own come to hover just overtop of them—yours and his touching as he speaks. "For I've seen every inch of you. So I know what it is which I speak of."

You and Tyland typically spend your time together either taking leisurely strolls through Casterly Rock's gardens, sitting together outside and overlooking the Sunset Sea as you dine together, or you sit with him before a roaring fire as he reads quietly to you as you rest your head upon his shoulder and keep your arms wound tightly around his own.

Tyland presses a loving kiss to the top of your head and your eyes flutter closed as you smile warmly. "Would you like for me to continue, my love?" He asks, turning a page from the history book he's currently reading to you. You nod, sliding a palm up his arm. "Yes, please." He smiles for a moment, though you cannot see it. "I love you," he whispers, his heart full of adoration for you. You slowly lift your head and gaze at him from beneath hooded lids, as the warmth of the fire and the sound of his voice are both lulling you gradually to sleep. "And I you." He cups your cheek, then kisses your lips tenderly—mere brotherly affection, you're sure—before returning to the book in his other hand.

A number of balls and masquerades are held within the kingdom Jason serves over as warden of.

And you're invited, of course, to all.

"Please, please, may I go?" You ask excitedly as you stare up at Jason with wide eyes. His mouth tugs into a frown. "It's all the way at Ashemark, my sweet. And you know I have duties I must attend to here, so I can't accompany." You shift unhappily on your feet—your blonde curls swaying around your waist. "What of Tyland? He can come as my chaperone. There are two of you, you know." He raises a brow and crosses his arms—meaning that he is now growing cross with you, so you shrink away. "You know how he detests crowds, and does not do well to be shoved into the middle of them." "But—" "I won't force him to subject himself to an evening of frivolity, all so young lords with only one thing on their mind can try to get in your good graces, so as to tarnish your reputation. Or to otherwise flock to Tyland to try and earn our house's favor, if not a bit of coin, or land." Unshed tears burn in your eyes and you watch as Jason's eyes flit to somewhere, or perhaps something, behind you. "It's better for you to remain here," Tyland calls from the doorway, before stepping closer. Your chin wobbles—you detest when you don't get your way, because the times of it occurring are so few and far between, for they both adore spoiling you so. 'No' is hardly a word within their vocabularies when it comes to their darling little sister. You look away from Jason and sniffle quietly. "I just...wanted to enjoy myself for one evening. But instead, you'd rather keep me locked up here." Just then, you feel Tyland pressing his frontside to your back, while sliding his hands up your arms before coming to firmly grip your shoulders. Jason takes a step forward and he tucks a curl behind your ear, pressing his chest against your own while gazing down at you. "This is where you belong," he replies quietly, the look upon his face one of certainty. "Between the two of us," Tyland adds. Jason takes your face between his hands and brushes his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks while Tyland winds his arms around your waist. And then Jason leans in for a kiss.

After that day, you begin to think back through all the times spent with your brothers.

Which is a difficult feat, as they've always been there.

So you focus on more recent events and occurrences.

Like that time at the lake with Jason when he laid his body atop yours and you felt…part of him pressing against you.

Or all the times he and Tyland have kissed you directly on the lips.

Or allowed you to fall asleep in their beds and when you woke, it was to them holding you.

And how many times have they entered your chambers when your handmaids were readying you, only to dismiss them so they could instead aid you in dressing the rest of the way?

Or when you bathed… So many times have they come in and kept you company while you were doing so, then held a towel out for your naked body once you were finished. 

And showering you with gifts, praise, attention, and undying and unfaltering love…

Surely what you’re thinking—rather, suspecting—can’t be true.

They’re not…in love with you, are they?

Such a relationship could never occur. 

For you are not Targaryens.

You wonder if they care about that fact.

Somehow, you doubt it.

And you smile at the thought.

Jason is ecstatic about your family’s invitation to attend the Royal Hunt.

You and Tyland less so, but you both know that you are nevertheless expected to come along with your eldest brother.

And so you have your servants pack you, perhaps, one too many trunks, but you merely tell them sheepishly that you only mean to ensure you’re well prepared.

A few shake their heads with playful smiles.

When the three of you arrive, your tents are already, quite thankfully, ready.

You each break for lunch as the servants take your trunks and bags into your respective tents and unpack your things while you fill your bellies.

Jason glances to Tyland who sits next to you, across the table from him. He chews his roast duck thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "Just ensure me that the pair of you aren't going to be remaining sequestered away inside your tents for the duration of this trip." Tyland briefly studies him, then slightly shrugs. "Perhaps we will." He wraps an arm around your shoulders then, so you release your fork as you stare up at him, while he remains meanwhile looking at his twin. "Worry not, Jason, I'll keep our little sister well-entertained, I assure you." With that, he presses a kiss to your cheek and releases you and you could swear that Jason seems to be... Well, if you didn't know any better, the look on his face makes him appear to be absolutely seething. "Mayhaps I will have to steal her away into the woods, then," he remarks. "For I can think of no finer quarry." Jason picks up a warm roll from a carved wooden bowl positioned in the middle of the table. "On that, we agree."

Many young lords seem to admire you from a distance over the next few days, but with Jason and Tyland attached to your side at all times, hardly any attempt at conversing with you.

You nervously clutch Tyland's arm and half-hide yourself behind him as a young lord speaks with Jason, asking if the two of you may take a walk together around the camp grounds. With your brothers, you're more than open and comfortable. Around others...not so much. The young man gives you a gentle smile. "Hello there, My Lady." You press yourself against your brother shyly while staring at him with wide eyes. "Hello," you reply quietly, only half your comely face even visible to him. He thinks you resemble a frightened fawn. Not quite as interesting as he'd been hoping you would be... Jason steps over and slides a hand down your silky mane of golden hair. "She's rather timid around strangers, I'm afraid. Poor thing." He glances back to the man while cupping your cheek protectively. "I think it best she remain at my brother's side for the day instead." He quickly escorts the man out of the dining tent then, glad to be rid of him.

Not even once it is late and the stars are shimmering in the sky as the royal encampment goes to their tents and beds do your brothers leave you be.

“Which of us would you like to stay with tonight, my little doll?” Jason asks, running a knuckle softly down your cheek while Tyland sips idly from a glass of arbor red across the way. You hold your satin robe more tightly to you, then cross your arms. “I’m not a child anymore, Jason. I can sleep in my own bed.” Tyland sighs and rises from his seat, padding over to the both of you. Jason merely smirks, which you feel an urge to smack off his face. Instead, however, you merely glower at him from beneath your long lashes. You’re cross enough with him right now after his pathetic little proposal to the ‘princess’ that afternoon. As if the spoiled little brat doesn’t have enough men lusting after her, she doesn’t need your brother, too. Because he’s just that: yours. Not hers. “I’m staying in my own tent tonight,” you spit. You make to step away, until you feel a hand suddenly gripping your forearm.  You jerk your head to the side and narrow your eyes at Tyland and try to yank it away, but he holds firm. “Get into bed,” he says softly, nodding toward the head of the tent. “No,” you say, then take a small step back, slipping your arm from his grasp. And then you promptly bump into Jason’s chest. “What—” “Are you jealous, my sweet?” Jason whispers while leaning in closer to your ear. Tyland cups your face between each of his hands. “O-of what?” You ask, turning your head slightly back toward him. “I think you know,” he replies, sliding his hands beneath your robe while Tyland unties the front of it and it falls to the floor, pooling around your feet. Jason ghosts his lips along the sensitive skin of your neck while Tyland leans forward and presses his lips to your own. Your heart jumps into your throat and you jerk under their roaming hands. “What’re you—” “Do you think I truly desire her?” Jason asks, sliding his hands up your stomach, then cupping your breasts. You stare up at Tyland with wide eyes and then he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “You’re all I want.” Tyland’s eyes flit away from you and instead to Jason. “All we want,” he adds.  “I saw an opportunity for our family,” Jason explains.  “As I was…unsure,” he says, pressing his hard cock into the small of your back. “If you felt similarly as we do.” “So you…propose to—” He comes around to the front of you then while Tyland positions himself at your back and he begins running his fingers through your curls. “A foolish mistake,” Jason states as you gaze up at him. “But rest-assured, my pearl, that I never intended to part with you.” “You will stay at Casterly Rock,” Tyland whispers. “You will stay…with us.” Jason leans forward and crushes his lips to yours while Tyland reaches down to the hem of your nightgown and begins to push it up, until he’s reached your neck, and you and Jason break from your kiss long enough for him to remove it. And then one of them spins you around—you’re unsure whose hands are to blame—and Tyland grips you beneath your thighs before carrying you over to the bed.

Every inch of you is being tended to by your brothers.

Every part of you is put to use.

Their hands roam along your skin, your breasts, your thighs, between your legs...

Each of them takes turns making love to your cunt with their mouths.

And each of them takes turns inside of your own.

They gently pump their cocks away between your lips, giving you loving words of encouragement of how well you're doing, how good you feel, how things have always been meant to be like this between the three of you.

They tell you how much they love, adore, & cherish you. They assure you that no other men could ever compare. That you are meant to belong to them and them alone.

Before long, you're begging the both of them with tears in your eyes to take you. And that you want the both of them to claim your virginity at the same time.

It is the way you need it to be.

You tell them that you wish for it to be perfect and that is the only way that it can be.

You lie down on Tyland's chest and he wraps an arm around you while his other strokes his cock. Jason positions himself behind you and slides his hands along your hips before taking himself in-hand as well. Your eyes flutter closed and you nuzzle against your brother's neck happily. "Are you ready, my love?" Tyland asks one final time, his eyes flitting to his twin's. You nod gently. "I am," you whisper. They each rub the weeping tips of their cocks against your slick, dripping entrance and you bite your lip at the feel. And then they each begin to ease inside of you.

You would be lying to say it was not initially painful.

But once they were past your threshold and buried deeply inside of you, and your cunt was stretched to its limits around them... Gods, you never knew such pleasure was possible to feel.

They each fuck themselves gently inside of you, appreciating this most perfect moment.

The three of you bound together in such an intimate and private way.

Joined as one at last.

You kiss Tyland repeatedly, mewling and whining against his lips and Jason moans from behind you as he grips your supple hips tightly in his rough hands.

They each repeat to you time and again how much they love you. And you repay the sentiment. And then they proceed to assure the other of their love as well.

The sound of ragged breathing and slapping skin and moaning fills the tent.

Your eyes sting with tears of happiness.

They each spill their seed inside of you.

Your wedding is carried out in a Sept near Casterly Rock.

It's a grand occasion.

Jason spares no expense.

He and Tyland each have new suits tailored for them, each of red and gold, while your gown is of pure white.

Even if you know your maidenhead had already been claimed before your wedding night.

There are flowers and food and music, and a pile of gifts taller than either of your husbands.

Even if many scoff and disapprove of a young woman taking for herself two husbands—especially with them being your siblings at that—but none of you care in the least, for you've never been happier.

And once they have each sealed their love for you with a kiss, to many attendees' chagrin, they too kiss each other.

You smile with tears in your eyes at the sight.

Soon enough, all of you move into one bedroom together—the mattress more than large enough to fit all of you.

You make love nigh-on nightly.

And you fall asleep in their arms—the three of you a mere tangle of limbs.

And when you fall pregnant, there is no debating over who the father is, because they each agree: it is all of yours.

And if you thought your life was already like something out of a fairytale...

You had been so wrong.

For now....it truly is.

Your children are darling little cherubs.

Little lion cubs made between you and the two men you love.

And you all three dote on them.

But still ensure to do as much with one another when time allows.

You run through the gardens, dodging marble statues and giggling excitedly all the while. And then you slam into a solid chest while another form suddenly comes up from behind you and grips your upper-arms, holding you in-place. "Well," Jason says with a smirk, while Tyland slides his hand along your waist. "It appears that we've won." "So," Tyland continues, caressing your jaw between his fingertips. "What is our prize?" You smile. "You already have me for a wife and mother of your children. What more could you possibly desire?" Jason cups your cheek while Tyland presses his lips to your hair. "Not a thing in all the world."

[novaursa]

Flames in the West (his rock)

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: for better or worse

- Next part: a sad lion

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The morning sun spilled into the dining hall of Casterly Rock, the long table laden stood with platters of freshly baked bread, steaming porridge, and roasted meats. The Lannister family was gathered for breakfast, their voices mingling with the clinking of silverware and the occasional roar of a lion from the distant menagerie.

You sat near the head of the table beside Jason, who seemed in an annoyingly cheerful mood as he slathered butter onto a thick slice of bread. The rest of the Lannisters present—a mix of cousins and distant relatives—watched the two of you with thinly veiled interest, as they often did. Your verbal sparring had become something of a morning ritual, one they all thoroughly enjoyed.

Jason leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied grin on his face as he addressed you. “I must say, my lady, you’ve taken to life at the Rock quite well. I was worried you’d miss the dragons too much.”

You didn’t bother looking up from your plate, slicing into a piece of fruit with deliberate precision. “And I must say, my lord, you’ve taken to bothering me every morning with great enthusiasm. I was worried you’d grow tired of it by now.”

The cousins chuckled softly, their eyes darting between the two of you like spectators at a tourney.

Jason smirked, unbothered. “How could I possibly grow tired of such stimulating conversation? Besides, you brighten my mornings, even when you’re sharpening your tongue.”

You finally glanced at him, arching an elegant brow. “Perhaps I’ll sharpen it further—on your ego. There’s certainly enough material to work with.”

The table erupted into laughter, and Jason placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “You wound me, my lady. But don’t worry, I’ve grown accustomed to your fiery nature.”

You set your fork down with a faint smirk, tilting your head slightly as though considering your next words. “Then you should find this quite tolerable as well.”

Jason leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “Oh? And what might that be?”

Calmly, you reached for your goblet of juice, taking a sip before replying with deliberate nonchalance. “I’m with child.”

The room fell into absolute silence, save for the distant roar of a lion echoing through the corridors. Jason blinked, his grin frozen in place as his brain worked to process the words.

“What?” he finally managed, his voice somewhere between a gasp and a squeak.

You turned to him, your expression perfectly serene. “You heard me. I’m with child.”

Jason’s goblet slipped from his hand, clattering onto the table and spilling wine across the polished wood. He didn’t seem to notice as he stared at you, his eyes wide. “You’re… we’re… a child?”

“Yes,” you replied, as if discussing the weather. “Your hearing is intact. Congratulations.”

The table, which had been silent moments ago, erupted into chaos. Lannister cousins began talking all at once, offering congratulations and exclamations of surprise. One of the younger cousins nearly knocked over a platter of bread in her excitement, while an older aunt dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, declaring, “Another Lannister to carry the line!”

Jason, however, was still frozen, his gaze fixed on you. “When… how…?” he stammered.

You gave him a pointed look. “Do I really need to explain how, Jason?”

This earned another round of laughter from the table, though Jason didn’t seem to notice. Slowly, a grin began to spread across his face, wider and brighter than you’d ever seen. “I’m going to be a father?” he asked, as if needing confirmation.

“Yes, Jason,” you said with a sigh, though there was a faint smile tugging at your lips. “You’re going to be a father.”

Jason shot to his feet, nearly toppling his chair in the process. “I’m going to be a father!” he declared, his voice booming through the hall.

“We heard!” one of the cousins called, laughing.

Jason ignored them, rounding the table to pull you to your feet. “This is incredible!” he said, his hands on your shoulders as he beamed at you. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You arched a brow. “I wanted to see your reaction. It didn’t disappoint.”

Jason laughed, pulling you into a tight embrace before turning to the rest of the table. “A toast!” he shouted, grabbing the nearest goblet and raising it high. “To my wife, the most extraordinary woman in all of Westeros, and to the future of House Lannister!”

The table erupted into cheers, goblets raised as laughter and congratulations filled the hall.

As Jason turned back to you, his face alight with joy, you couldn’t help but smile, though you tried to hide it. “You’re entirely too pleased with yourself,” you muttered.

Jason grinned, leaning in closer. “Of course I am. I married a dragon, and now we’re bringing a little lion-dragon into the world. What more could I ask for?”

You shook your head, unable to suppress your amusement. “I’ll hold you to that enthusiasm when the child arrives.”

Jason laughed, his arm around your waist as he led you back to your seat, the table still abuzz with excitement. For once, you decided to let him bask in the moment—after all, it wasn’t every day a lion learned he was about to become a father.

The sun shone brightly over Casterly Rock as you strode confidently through the courtyard toward the cliffside where Sylveris, your majestic she-dragon, waited. Her silver scales shimmered like molten metal under the light, and she let out a low rumble of anticipation as she saw you approach. The sea breeze tugged at your cloak, but you paid it no mind, your focus entirely on the thrill of the ride ahead.

Trailing behind you was a gaggle of noble ladies—most of them Jason’s Lannister kin—fluttering like a flock of golden-haired sparrows. Their voices overlapped as they tried to dissuade you, their concern genuine but, to your ears, grating.

“Are you sure this is wise, my lady?” one of them asked, wringing her hands. “In your condition, no less!”

“Surely the dragon can wait a few moons,” another chimed in, her tone imploring. “What if something were to happen?”

You stopped abruptly, turning to face them with a calm but firm expression. “Ladies, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been riding Sylveris since I was a child. She is no danger to me, nor am I to her.”

“But—” one began, only to be cut off by the sound of Jason’s boots echoing on the stone as he approached at a brisk pace.

“Ladies,” Jason said, his voice cutting through the chatter like a blade. He offered them his most charming smile, though his eyes were fixed on you. “Might I have a word with my wife?”

The ladies exchanged knowing glances, curtsied, and began to retreat, though one lingered long enough to whisper, “Keep her safe, my lord.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jason turned to you, his golden eyes filled with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “You’re really going to do this?”

You tilted your head, crossing your arms. “Do what, Jason? Ride my dragon? Yes, that is precisely what I’m about to do.”

Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, you’re with child. Surely you understand why that might make me… uneasy.”

“Uneasy?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You’re acting as though I’m marching into battle. It’s a short ride.”

“To you, maybe,” Jason retorted, his voice rising slightly. “To me, it’s strapping my wife—and my unborn child—onto the back of a fire-breathing beast and hoping for the best!”

Sylveris let out a low growl, her golden eyes narrowing as though she understood the conversation. You glanced over your shoulder at her and smirked. “She doesn’t appreciate being called a ‘beast.’”

Jason groaned, his hands on his hips. “You know what I mean.”

You stepped closer, your tone softening slightly. “Jason, I’ve been riding Sylveris longer than I’ve known you. She’s as much a part of me as this child is. I’m not going to stop now.”

Jason hesitated, his concern warring with his respect for your independence. Finally, he said, “Fine. But if you insist on going, I’m coming with you.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “You? On dragonback?”

Jason crossed his arms, meeting your gaze with unwavering determination. “Yes, me. If you won’t listen to reason, then I’ll make sure you’re safe myself.”

A slow smile spread across your face, and you gestured toward Sylveris. “Very well, my lord. If you’re so worried, climb aboard.”

Jason’s confidence faltered slightly as he glanced at the enormous dragon, who was now watching him with what could only be described as amused disdain. “I… I didn’t mean right now.”

“Oh, no,” you said, your tone laced with amusement. “You’re coming. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Sylveris.”

Jason’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he straightened, attempting to summon his usual bravado. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

With your help (and some reluctant assistance from Sylveris herself), Jason managed to climb onto the dragon’s back, his knuckles white as he gripped the saddle. You settled in front of him, your posture relaxed, as Sylveris spread her wings.

“Relax, Jason,” you said over your shoulder, grinning. “She’s not going to drop you.”

“That’s incredibly reassuring,” Jason muttered, his voice tight. “You realize this is my first—and possibly last—time on dragonback, yes?”

Sylveris let out a huff, and you patted her neck affectionately. “She’ll take care of you.”

As the dragon launched into the air, Jason let out an undignified yelp, his arms tightening around your waist. The wind whipped past, the ground falling away as Sylveris soared higher.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your voice carried on the breeze. “Still uneasy?”

Jason’s response was muffled, his face buried in your shoulder. “Let’s just say I have a newfound respect for you—and her.”

Sylveris glided smoothly over the cliffs, her wings casting long shadows over the water below. Despite his initial panic, Jason began to relax—slightly. By the time Sylveris circled back toward the landing point, he even managed to loosen his grip.

As the dragon touched down gracefully, Jason all but stumbled off, his legs shaky but his pride intact. “Well,” he said, brushing himself off. “That was… invigorating.”

You slid off Sylveris with practiced ease, patting her flank before turning to Jason. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Jason sighed, shaking his head with a mixture of exasperation and admiration. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You smiled, threading your arm through his. “And yet, you married me.”

As you walked back toward the castle, Sylveris let out a low, rumbling laugh that seemed to echo Jason’s sentiment: You’ll never tame her.

The morning at Casterly Rock began like any other: the sun rose over the cliffs, casting its light across the sprawling fortress, the servants bustled to prepare for the day, and the sound of lions echoed faintly in the distance. But Jason Lannister had no interest in the usual affairs of the day. He had a singular mission—to win a few stolen, private moments with you before his impending departure for a meeting of the Westerlands’ bannermen in Lannisport.

As you sat in the dining hall, enjoying a quiet breakfast with the household, Jason entered with a flourish. His doublet, embroidered with golden lions, was particularly well-fitted today, and he wore a grin that suggested mischief.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of your head before taking the seat beside you. “You look radiant this morning.”

You didn’t even glance up from your plate. “What do you want, Jason?”

“Only to bask in your presence,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening. “Is that so terrible?”

From across the table, one of Jason’s younger cousins snickered, whispering something to her sister. Jason shot them a mock glare before turning his attention back to you.

“I’ll be leaving for Lannisport soon,” he said, his tone turning just a touch softer. “I thought perhaps we might spend some time together before I go.”

You arched an eyebrow, finally looking at him. “You’ll only be gone a few days, Jason. I think I’ll manage.”

Jason placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “You wound me, my love. Surely you’ll miss me.”

The table erupted in quiet laughter, and you sighed, setting down your fork. “I’m sure I’ll find something to occupy my time.”

“Something?” Jason repeated, leaning closer. “Surely you mean someone.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Sylveris doesn’t count, Jason.”

Jason chuckled, undeterred. “Still, she’s no match for me.”

Later that morning, you strolled through the gardens, the scent of roses filling the air. Jason had caught up to you within moments, his footsteps crunching on the gravel path as he fell into step beside you.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he remarked, hands clasped behind his back as he matched your pace.

“It was,” you replied dryly. “Until I realized I couldn’t enjoy it alone.”

Jason laughed, his golden eyes sparkling. “You wound me again, Y/N. I simply wanted to admire the roses with my wife.”

You stopped, turning to face him. “Jason, what are you up to?”

“Up to?” he echoed innocently. “Can’t a man enjoy the company of his beautiful wife without ulterior motives?”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “No.”

Jason grinned, clearly amused. “Alright, fine. I admit it. I’d rather not leave for Lannisport without spending some… quality time with you.”

The emphasis on “quality time” wasn’t lost on you, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And yet, you married me,” Jason countered, mirroring your own statement for the other day, his grin widening.

By midday, you’d retreated to the castle’s library, hoping for a few moments of peace. But Jason found you there, of course. He didn’t enter the library, though—he simply waited for you to leave. As soon as you stepped into the hallway, he was there, leaning casually against the wall.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, his tone light.

You sighed, brushing past him. “Jason, if you don’t have anything important to say—”

He followed, his long strides easily matching yours. “I just wanted to let you know how much I’ll miss you.”

“You’ve mentioned that,” you replied without slowing down.

Jason stepped in front of you, stopping your progress. “But have I shown you?”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “Is this leading somewhere, or are you planning to serenade me in the hallway?”

Jason grinned, stepping closer. “Only if you insist.”

The final straw came during supper, when Jason, seated beside you at the high table, made no secret of his attentions. He leaned close, brushing his fingers against yours as he reached for his goblet, and complimented you endlessly, each remark more extravagant than the last.

“I swear, the stars themselves dim beside you,” he said, his tone so sincere it was almost convincing.

“Jason,” you said, setting down your fork, “if you think flattery will work, you’re mistaken.”

“Who said I’m trying to flatter you?” he asked, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’m merely stating facts.”

One of his cousins coughed into her hand, clearly stifling laughter, while another whispered something to the person beside her. Even the servants seemed to exchange amused glances.

Finally, you leaned closer, your voice low. “If I agree to give you this ‘quality time,’ will you stop making a spectacle of yourself?”

Jason’s grin widened. “Absolutely.”

You sighed, rising from your seat. “Then let’s get this over with.”

As you left the hall, Jason followed eagerly, his cousins and the rest of the household breaking into open laughter as the doors closed behind you.

“Do you think he realizes she’s playing him?” one cousin asked, shaking her head.

“Not at all,” another replied, laughing. “But I think he’d follow her into the lion’s den if she asked him to.”

Lannisport buzzed with its usual energy: merchants peddling their wares in the bustling market square, the clang of hammers in the shipyards, and the faint scent of salt carried on the sea breeze. It was a city alive with wealth and activity, yet Jason Lannister found little joy in it. He sat in the hall of one of the grand Lannister manors overlooking the port, swirling a goblet of wine and staring into the distance as though it might offer some distraction.

Across the table, his cousin Martyn Lannister—known for his quick wit and even quicker mouth—watched him with barely concealed amusement. Martyn had been roped into accompanying Jason on this trip to oversee trade agreements and ensure the bannermen remained loyal to the Lannister cause. While he enjoyed the relative freedom of Lannisport, he found Jason’s current mood far more entertaining.

“You’ve been brooding all day,” Martyn said, leaning back in his chair. “What’s the matter? Did the merchants raise their tariffs again, or did you discover your wine isn’t from the best vintage?”

Jason sighed dramatically, setting his goblet down with more force than necessary. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Martyn pressed, his grin widening. “You’ve been sulking since we arrived.”

Jason hesitated, running a hand through his golden hair. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, it’s definitely something,” Martyn said, leaning forward with mock seriousness. “Come now, cousin, unburden yourself. I’m all ears.”

Jason groaned, slumping back in his chair. “Fine. If you must know… I miss my wife.”

Martyn blinked, then burst into laughter. “That’s it? You’re moping because you miss your dragon princess?”

“Yes!” Jason snapped, though his tone lacked any real bite. “It’s not just that I miss her presence. It’s… well, it’s everything.”

Martyn raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Everything?”

Jason waved a hand vaguely, his frustration evident. “Nobody insults me here. Not once since we arrived has anyone called me a ‘preening golden peacock’ or implied that I’m a fool.”

Martyn tilted his head, his grin turning wicked. “I could insult you if it would help. I’m very good at it.”

Jason shot him a glare. “It’s not the same.”

Martyn held up a finger, as if to stop Jason from ruining his fun. “No, no, let me try. Ahem—Jason, your hair looks like it was combed by a drunken stable boy.”

Jason groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not even clever, Martyn.”

“Oh, I can do better,” Martyn said, clearly enjoying himself. “Your doublet makes you look like a gilded goose, and you strut like one too.”

Jason leveled him with a flat look. “Still not the same.”

“Fine,” Martyn said, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. “How about this? You’re so infatuated with your wife that even the merchants can smell your desperation from across the harbor.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “That’s closer, but it’s still missing something.”

“Missing something?” Martyn repeated, laughing. “I’m giving you my best material here, and you’re still whining.”

Jason groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Because it’s not about the insults themselves. It’s about her. The way she says them, with that infuriating smirk and that glint in her eye. She makes it… entertaining.”

Martyn stared at him for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “Seven hells, you’re whipped.”

Jason sat up straighter, pointing a finger at his cousin. “I am not whipped.”

Martyn held up his hands in mock surrender. “Of course not. You’re merely sitting here pining for your wife’s insults like a lovesick troubadour.”

Jason picked up his goblet, muttering under his breath as he took a long drink. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Martyn said, his tone laced with amusement. “You’re a lion who’s lost his dragon, and now you’re sulking because nobody else has the courage—or the wit—to put you in your place.”

Jason sighed, setting his goblet down with a faint clink. “That about sums it up.”

Martyn laughed again, shaking his head. “Well, enjoy your misery, cousin. Personally, I find this whole situation delightful.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite his mood. “I’ll remember this the next time you need my help, Martyn.”

Martyn raised his own goblet in a mock toast. “To dragons, insults, and lovesick lions.”

Jason shook his head but couldn’t suppress the small chuckle that escaped him. Even in Lannisport, far from your biting wit, you still managed to be the center of his world—and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The gates of Casterly Rock creaked open to welcome Jason Lannister and his men back from Lannisport. The courtyard bustled with activity as servants scurried to take horses, unload supplies, and prepare for the evening’s feast. At the center of it all stood you, resplendent in a deep crimson gown adorned with golden embroidery. Beside you stood a gathering of Lannister kin, all eager to witness the return of their lord—though more for the spectacle than any genuine excitement.

You held yourself with regal composure, as was expected of a Lady Lannister, though your expression betrayed the faintest glimmer of impatience. The journey to Lannisport had only taken a few days, and yet Jason had insisted on an elaborate sendoff and an equally dramatic welcome.

The sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard as Jason rode in at the head of his retinue, his golden hair catching the light like a halo. He looked every bit the proud lord, his attire impeccably tailored and his grin as wide as the Sunset Sea. As soon as his eyes landed on you, however, his composure faltered, and he dismounted with all the grace of a man in a hurry.

“Y/N!” he called, striding toward you with alarming enthusiasm.

You arched an eyebrow, waiting until he was closer before replying. “Jason.”

Jason reached you in a few long strides, taking your hands in his and glancing down at you with exaggerated concern. “How is the child? Are you well? Did anything happen while I was gone?”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “Jason, you’ve been gone for four days. Did you expect the child to grow a foot in that time?”

Behind you, a muffled snicker came from one of the cousins, but Jason was undeterred. “You’re avoiding the question. Are you well?”

You sighed, extricating your hands from his. “I’m perfectly fine. And so is the child, though I assure you, nothing has changed since you left.”

Jason tilted his head, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Are you sure? You’re glowing.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms. “I’m glowing because I’ve been standing in this courtyard for an hour waiting for you to arrive.”

Jason laughed, clearly delighted by your irritation. “Ah, how I’ve missed you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” you quipped, though there was a faint smile on your lips.

The crowd of onlookers, which included several Lannister cousins and household retainers, watched the exchange with thinly veiled amusement. Martyn, who had accompanied Jason back, leaned toward a nearby cousin and whispered, “I give it two minutes before she completely disarms him.”

Jason stepped closer, lowering his voice but still loud enough for those nearby to hear. “You know, I’ve spent the past four days thinking of you.”

“Thinking of me?” you repeated, your tone skeptical. “Or thinking of what you’d say to annoy me when you returned?”

“Both,” Jason admitted with a grin. “And I must say, I’ve done an excellent job so far.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

Jason leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “That’s why you love me.”

Before you could reply, he turned to the gathered household, addressing them with his usual flair. “It’s good to be home! My thanks to everyone who made this welcome possible. And now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe my wife and I have some… catching up to do.”

The crowd erupted into laughter, and you felt your cheeks flush as Jason took your arm and began leading you toward the castle.

“Jason!” you hissed, pulling your arm back. “Must you make a spectacle of everything?”

“Of course,” Jason said cheerfully, steering you toward the nearest staircase. “Where’s the fun in being a lion if you can’t roar?”

You groaned, though you didn’t resist as he guided you up the stairs, the sound of laughter and murmured commentary following you. Behind you, Martyn called out, “Don’t let her sharpen her tongue too much, cousin! You might not survive the night!”

Jason waved a hand dismissively, his voice ringing with mock confidence. “If she does, I’ll die a happy man!”

As you disappeared into the castle, the courtyard erupted into another round of laughter, the household already looking forward to the next chapter in the saga of the lion and his dragon.

[daemontargaryencollection]

One Shot

Paring: Daemon x reader

Warnings: rape attempt, nightmares.

A/N : This is not edited or proofread. Please do not repost, translate or copy my work with out permission. Please ❤️ and leave comments. Super nervous about this one is super long. 😬

Update: Part Two was requested and posted

The castle still sleeping from the previous night's activities is rather quiet. I make my way to the library and it’s blessedly quiet still. I’m turning the corner when I feel a body collide with mine

“Lady Stark, My apologies I did not see you.” Jason Lannister smiles his apology. Something about the man makes my skin absolutely crawl.

“No apologies needed sir Lannister. I should have been paying more attention as well.” I smile politely at him and take a step forward to be on my way. I’m tugged back by the hand on my arm.

“My lady you would leave me bereft of your company so quickly.” He smiles at me still.

“I’m afraid I must apologize again. I must be going, my lord husband is expecting me.” I say quickly. I start to pull my arm away from him and the grip on my arm tightens almost painfully. He leans forward still gripping my arm. The smell of sweat and perfume sticks assaults my nose.

“Now now we both know Daemon is out sticking his cock into every whore in flea bottom. Why don't you accompany me to my chambers, my lady. Let me show you the pleasure a lion can give you.” He whispers the last part, his lips brushing my ear. I pull the knife I keep hidden in my pocket. “I will have you in my bed last Stark.” He tries to purr in my ear.

“I will have your beating heart in my hand if you don’t step away from me.” I tell him with a smirk of my own as I press the knife between his ribs. He stares down at me with a hateful sneer on his face and I have the urge to snap my jaw right back at him. He takes a few steps back. I keep my knife in my hand. “I think it’d be best if you were to take your leave my lord.” He makes a snarling sound in his throat before he knocks the knife from my hand and grabs my wrist.

“Let go of me.” I tell him trying to tug my arm from him. His grip tightens and he grabs me by the throat and pushes me to the wall. His hand comes up and cups my breast.

“You’ve always thought yourself better than everyone now your husband won't even touch you.” He licks the side of my face. I rear back my head and slam it into his face as hard as I can. Pain radiates throughout my head. He lets me go as a curse comes out of his mouth. I look up to see his hands come away from his nose stained with blood. “You little whore, you broke my fucking nose.” I start to run from him as he grabs my hair and pulls me back to him. He cracks my head into the wall.

Pain radiates throughout my head as I slide down the wall. I fight to stay conscious as black spots fill my vision. I touch my head and blood comes back on my fingers, wet and sticky. Jason pulls me up to him and pushes me to the wall again. I feel my head roll to the side. I try to blink away the black spots as they fill my vision. Jason starts kissing down my neck. I know I need to fight. The only thing I can think about is the smell of him in my nose. It’s only when I feel him trying to push my dress up again that a surge of fear pushes through the fog. I knee him right in the balls and he crumples in front of me.

I take off running down the hall when I slam into a warm body. Hands grab by my forearms and I struggle against them.

“Let me go!!” I scream tears coming down my face. The hands release me. I backed away finally looking up to see Daemon looking back at me.

“What’s happened?” He asked me. His face is unreadable, hard as stone.

“I - he… I don’t-“ Daemon walks right past me. Down the hall I came from. I follow after him. When I catch up with him Jason is already pin against the wall like I was.

“Would you like to explain what you did to my wife?” Daemon says with a dagger pressed against his throat.

“I -I was trying to h-help her. She wanted me okay.You know these women.Whores all of them.” Jason stutters and blusters. I see Daemon dig the dagger in harder

“Did you just call my FUCKING WIFE A WHORE!!!!” Daemon screams. Jason looks over to me as if I should help him.

“No no you don’t look at her you look at me.” Jason winces. I see blood dripping down his throat. “You see here, Jason, I don’t believe you were trying to help my wife. So I will make your death long and painful.”

“No please, I’m sorry. I wont touch her again

“Daemon you can’t-“

“I can do whatever the fuck I want and If I want his head mounted behind the iron throne I’ll fucking have it.” He scream. “So you did touch her. You tried to rape her didn’t you.” I see the knife dig deeper and I hear Jason gurgling as he tries to speak.

“I- I -“

“DAEMON!” I yell. He finally turns to look at me. “I’m sure Jason will think twice before he tries that on any woman again. Please let him go.” I hear my voice wobble. Daemon tips his head at me before letting Jason go. He walks over to me and grabs me by the nape of my neck and pulls me to his chest. I cling to him. Never would I have expected him to comfort me or to find comfort in him. For the moment I feel safe. Daemon pulls away from me and turns back to Jason.

“If you come near my wife again I’ll burn your entire house to ruins while you watch before I slit you throat and throw your body to burn with the rest of your house.” I hear Jason’s scream before Daemon's sword registered as having moved. Daemon turns back to me and ushers me to turn around not before I see Jason’s finger laying bloody on the ground. The site makes the black spots return with vengeance.

Daemon places his arm around me. We take a few steps before I sag against him. I feel my legs go to mush beneath me. “Hey. Hey!” I hear daemons voice. I feel my head roll again. I try to keep my eyes open but they just won’t.

“I’ve watched you for a long time. Always thinking you’re better than everyone else.” He says pushing my back against the wall. I put my hand on his chest in an attempt to get him to stop but he grasped my wrist tightly. “I will have you y/n.” He says.

He pressed his mouth against mine forcefully. I try to turn my head and his other hand grabs my face. “You’re going to like this.” He licks the side of my face. My whole body goes slack and I feel like I’m moving weighted down. I feel his hands around my throat and he squeezes ans I try to claw at him but I just can’t move. I open my mouth to scream and no sound comes out. Suddenly he’s shaking me.

I jolt up and when my eyes open. The hands are still gripping me. I scream and the shaking stops and I push back into the bed away from the hands trying to grab at me.

“Hey, Look at me.” The voice says. “Zokle (wolf) Look. At. Me.” I peak up to see Daemon looking back at me. He takes a deep breath and takes a step toward me.

He bends down and reaches a hand at me. I flinch and try to pull away. “No….you will not shrink back in fear.” He tells me firmly. “Do you understand?” He ask. I nod my head. “ I don’t ever think I’ve seen the wild wolf pup so docile.” He smirks. I narrow my eyes and him. “There she is.” He laughs.

“What happened? How long have I been out?” I ask him.

“You’ve been sleep for a few days. You passed out as we were walking back.”

“Where is he?” I ask him my eyes darting around the room searching. Daemon sits back in the chair.

“He went back to casterly rock. The same day I made him an 8 fingered man instead of a dead one.”

“I didn’t want him to-“ I start and Daemon cuts me off.

“I know.” He says taking a seat on the bed. He looks down at his hands for a moment before looking back up at me. “I’ve arranged for your direwolf to be brought to kings landing. The lone charade wolf isn’t safe anymore. Your eldest brother will be here within a fortnight with Zaria.”

“Thank you.” I hear my own voice break. I feel the tears slide down my cheeks. Daemon nods before standing up to leave. I grab at his hand and he looks back at me. “Don’t leave. Please stay.” I ask him. He looks down at me with another one of his unreadable faces. I think he’s going to say no when he pulls his hand from mine. He comes around to the other side of the bed and sits next to me and places his hand on mine giving it a slight squeeze. In this moment I finally feel safe.

[allyriadayne]

Alicent Hightower and Tyland Lannister, the last two members of the Greens left alive after the death of King Aegon II.

Rhaenyra Targaryen's son took the throne as Aegon III Targaryen in 131 AC. [...]. She once terrified her granddaughter by suggesting she slit Aegon's throat. Since Alicent refused to be reconciled, Ser Tyland Lannister, the Hand of the King, ordered her confined to Maegor's Holdfast.

Alicent remained in her chambers for the last year of her life. Her only company was her septa, serving girls, and guards. [...] She died in 133 AC, during the outbreak of the Winter Fever. (x)

In early 133 AC, when it was discovered that Winter Fever had broken out across the city and the realm, Tyland ordered the gates of the city and the Red Keep closed, to prevent the disease from spreading. But as the Winter Fever was nearing its end, Tyland himself fell ill. He died after only two days, in the presence of Septon Eustace and King Aegon III, who took his hand as Tyland took his last breath.

Tyland is not remembered fondly, partly due to his physical appearance after being tortured and partly due to his actions during the Dance of the Dragons. Some blacks hated him for having urged King Aegon II Targaryen to put Aegon the Younger to death and some greens hated him for serving Aegon III faithfully in the aftermath of the war. (x)

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

But Daddy I Love Him - Jacaerys Velaryon

A/N: Oh hi! First of all, thanks for all the love on my last Jace fic. I'm sorry it's taken so long to post my next, I've had a crazy couple of weeks, but I wanted to make to get something out before this week's episode. I can't believe there's just 3 eps left of the season! I am hoping to get my Jace chapter fic out before then, so I have put most of my focus there. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

TS Prompt #8: But Daddy I Love Him

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Lannister!Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Jace and the reader fall in love, much to the displeasure of the reader's father.

Warnings: smut

Jacaerys Velaryon is beautiful.

It is tourney day in King's Landing, and your eyes are stuck to him as he makes his way out into the arena. Around you, there are scattered conversations whispered not low enough, about how the prince has matured in the last year, how handsome he has become.

He has not yet put his helmet on. This leaves his hair out, curls whipping around him in the gentle breeze. He flicks his hair back and there is a chorus of awes around you. You smirk at the reaction.

"The arrogance," your father, Jason Lannister, mutters from your side. You barely spare him a glance, not wanting to remove your eyes from Jacaerys.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"He's showing off," your father says, disgust in his voice.

"It is a tourney," you say, "Isn't that the point?" He doesn't respond, just continues to monitor the arena space.

Jacaerys mounts his horse and with bated breath, you watch as he accepts the lance from the Master of Revels. His opponent is a knight you haven't met yet, a Ser Estermont. He has done well in the tourney so far, though, which makes you nervous.

As both men prepare to make their joust, you lean forward in your seat, needing to see as closely as possible, what is about to happen.

Unlike the matches before, this one is over in one round. Jacaerys aims his lance to the perfect angle, and expertly knocks over the knight from Greenstone.

Applause erupts from the viewing gallery, and you nearly stand up and cheer, you are so relieved about his win. Jacaerys rides around the stands and stops in front of the gallery you sit in. He lifts off his helmet and smiles in a way that makes your heart race.

"Lady Y/N," he says, and you think you hear discontented sighs from behind you. "Might I request your favor, that I may excel through the rest of this tournament?" You smile and reach for your wreath of flowers. For one moment, your father grips your wrist, as if he means to keep you from going. But it does not last long. No matter what your father may think of Jacaerys, he is still the prince, and future heir to the the throne. To deny him would mean scandal.

As you approach the railing, you try to fight off the grin at seeing him. Jacaerys extends his lance so that you may drop the wreath onto it easily.

"Thank you, My Lady," he says, eyes locked onto yours.

"Good luck, My Prince."

He rides off into the arena, garnering more applause from the stands, as you return to your seat. There are jealous eyes upon you. Even your father looks angry. But you pay them no mind. There will be more rounds, and Jacaerys is sure to succeed time and again, which will have him request the favor of more ladies.

Smiling as you sit down, you think of the girls who will bestow upon him their own wreaths. You might even feel bad for them, for surely, they will assume that his attention means he might court them. But you know that his affections lie only with you.

To you, the prince was just Jace, and you had loved him since you were a girl. Three months ago, he had declared his love for you, too, and ever since, the two of you had been hiding your love, waiting for the right moment to proclaim your intentions.

"He did quite well," you say to your father, making another effort to talk up Jacaerys to him.

"Ser Estermont was an easy opponent," your father says, disinterest and dismissal reflected in his tone.

Once the tournament is over, Jace makes his way into the castle. Several lords and ladies stop him on his way, congratulating him on his victory. He thanks them in passing, his thoughts only on getting into the castle, where he knows he will find you.

There is a feast to be held after the tournament, and while most everyone heads that way, he dismisses himself, saying he wishes to change before then.

When he turns down the hallway towards his quarters, the area is empty. The guards that usually stand at his door were at the tourney and are now sitting down for the feast.

You come around the other end of the hallway, your red dress immediately drawing his eye. You glance around cautiously before breaking into a run, launching yourself into his arms. He catches you easily, laughing as his arms settle around you.

"Oh," you say on a breath, pulling back just enough to face him, "You have no idea how worried I was for you."

"Have you so little faith?" he asks with a smile.

"I believed in you," you say, hand to his chest, "But belief doesn't change the fear that comes at watching a lord twice your size sprint at you with a lance."

"I'm alright," he says, his hands running gently along your back. You smile at him and lean in to kiss his lips softly. Jace hums contentedly into the kiss, his arms wrapping tighter around you as he pulls you into a corner and deepens the kiss.

Together, you stay locked there for a long moment, relishing the quiet that is so hard to find. Jace's hands travel through your hair and over your body, greedy to get his fill of you while he has you.

"I should get to the feast," you say softly when you break for air, your forehead pressed to his.

"Stay with me," he says, entwining his hand with yours.

"My father will be looking for me," you say. Jace's smile drops. "I'm trying," you say, "To sway him to our favor."

"I know you are."

"Your victory today should help with that," you say, giving him a small smile. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you, My Lady," he says with a laugh. "I'll see you at the feast."

"Yes, My Prince."

By the next week, your father's attitude still hasn't changed. At the feast, you tried to talk about the prince, but he wouldn't hear anything of it. Jace had even come over to greet your family. Your father was diplomatic and only spoke to the prince for as long as he had to.

"I don't get why he won't give his blessing," you say, looking down at Jace. His head is in your lap, his eyes closed. He is so peaceful at this moment, you hate to bring this up again, but there seem to be fewer and fewer times for the two of you to be together. Even now, you are supposed to be with other ladies of the court, practicing your needlework. Instead, you snuck off to the Godswood to be with Jace amongst the blossoming trees.

"I'd be queen one day," you continue. "What more could he want for me?" Jace opens his eyes and looks at you with a frown.

"It's because of the rumors about me," he says lowly. You want to say he's wrong, but you wouldn't even believe yourself. The rumors of Jace's parentage had only grown in the last few years. It seemed that as he became older, and King Viserys grew sicker, the accusations only multiplied.

"I don't care about that, though," you say brushing your fingers through his hair.

"You should," he says, taking your hand in his own. "There are some who would see my brothers and I slain, rather than see us inherit our birthright."

"All the great houses swore allegiance to your mother," you say, squeezing his hand. "And you are her trueborn son. To do so would be--"

"Treason," he says, "But there are still those who would try it."

"My father wouldn't," you say. "As stubborn as he is, he is loyal to King Viserys, and by extension, your mother." Jace sits up, a serious expression on his face.

"Tensions are high amongst my family," he says, taking your hands in his. "In the entire kingdom, really. I am worried what may happen. Your father is smart, and that is why he must worry, too."

"You all fear something that may never come to pass," you say, "Are we to be separated in the name of what ifs?"

"We are to be separated until we can convince your father that I can keep you safe."

"And how do we do that?" you ask. Jace lays his head back on your lap.

"I don't know," he says.

The room is dark when you enter your father's quarters that night. He sent word to your lady's maid to see him immediately, but she couldn't find you until now, because you and Jace had been intwined in the Godswood all afternoon.

"Lady Clegane said she did not see you today," your father says right away, before you can even greet him. "Were you not to be under her tutelage this afternoon?"

"I don't need to study my needlepoint, Father," you say, stopping in front of him. "No man alive cares how well his wife can stitch."

"You were with the prince, weren't you?" he asks, standing. He towers over you, but you hold your head high, meeting his gaze.

"Why don't you like him?" you ask. He merely shakes his head.

"It is not a daughter's job to pick her husband," he says, "That duty lies with her father."

"And who would you have me marry instead? A lesser lord of the Westerlands? Someone directly under your control?"

"If that is what I demanded, yes," he says, bracing your arms. "I raised you to obey me, Y/N."

"No, you raised me to cage me," you say, tugging from his grip. "I would be Jacaery's queen! There isn't a more advantageous match out there for me. Yet you refuse to even hear us out, because it is not of your doing!" His face reddens, a telltale sign of his rage. You have never raised your voice to him before, and are now slightly scared of what he may do.

"I think it's time you return to Casterly Rock," he says lowly.

"What?" you ask, momentarily stunned.

"Your time in King's Landing is over," he says firmly. "You have become disobedient and careless."

"Father--"

"Do you think I am the only one who sees it, Y/N?" he asks, taking your hands in his desperately. His eyes are wide and pleading. "Do you think no one saw the two of you in the Godswood today? That no one can see the secret looks you exchange? That family is shameless, and I will have you take no part in it.

"I will not allow your reputation to be ruined by the prince's," he says. Tears begin to form at the finality of his words.

"When do I leave?" you ask, setting your jaw as you fight off the tears.

"I'll escort you the day after tomorrow, so you can make your goodbyes," he says. He can't meet your eyes.

"Very well."

Jace is speechless when you tell him. He found you sitting outside of his chambers the next night, tears streaming down your face. He invited you inside, a hurtle the two of you had yet to pass until then, and held you close while you told him your fate.

"We'll only have tonight," you say quietly.

"Maybe it's for the better."

"How can it be when it separates us?" you ask, looking up at him with watery eyes.

"Just for now," he says, brushing your hair back gingerly. "When things relax, we can try to convince him again."

"How long will that be?" you ask, "He'll have me married off as soon as possible, I know." Jace frowns down at you, his eyes searching for an answer in yours, that he knows he can't find.

"I won't stop fighting for you, Y/N," he says. "I promise."

"I won't either."

"We'll find a way," he says. You nod your head, a new wave of tears incoming, and relax into his chest. He holds you in his arms for a long time, his had tracing patterns along your back. The fire is nearly out in his hearth, and the room grows dark quickly.

"When did he say he wanted you back?"

"Fuck what he said," you say, looking at him intently. "I am not leaving your side tonight." With a hand to his cheek, you bring your lips together. The kiss is slow, a bit salty with the tears streaming down your face, but it is all he has ever wanted. He tries not to think about the fact that this might very well be the last time he ever gets to taste your lips, ever gets to hold you.

But it seems that your thoughts go there as well. Quickly, the kiss turns passionate. Your teeth scrape against his lip, like you can take him with you to Casterly Rock. His hands move down your body, to places he hasn't dared to explore yet. As one, the two of you move, so that he has you pinned to the couch, his body atop yours in a way he's only dreamed about before. You moan into his kiss as his body rocks into yours.

“Y/N,” he says breathlessly, forcing himself to break away from your kiss. Your lips are red, swollen from his touch. Your hair is spread out around you in a cascade of curls. It is torture to see you like this and not bring his body clashing into yours again.

“What?” you ask, your hand trailing down his chest, as if you need to touch him however you can.

“We should stop.”

“Why?”

“If anyone ever found out, you would be disgraced. Your father already doesn’t like me, I don’t want to give him any other reason to—“

“I’ll tell you something right now,” you say, “My good name is mine alone to disgrace. Being here with you now, doesn’t change a single thing about my honor.”

"Are you sure?"

"I need you, Jace," you whisper. You are barely able to finish the words before his mouth meets yours again, fiercer than before. He doesn't stay there too long. He needs to taste you everywhere, savor every moment he's got left with you.

His lips move across your face and down your neck. He loves the sounds you make when he bites down softly, the way your back arches your body into his. He sits the two of you up for just a moment, so that he can pull at the laces along your back.

When the top of your dress falls, he stares at your bare chest for a long moment. You smile at him, your skin flushed.

"You are so beautiful," he says. You grab hold of his face, kissing him again as you fall back onto the couch. Jace palms your breast, kneading gently as you whimper into his mouth. You pull at his clothes, too, until you rip his shirt off over his head.

Skin to skin now, Jace breaks from your lips to kiss down your chest. He lingers for a moment on your breasts, but his need to take you is growing too urgent. He moves down lower, tugging your dress down with him until you are fully exposed to him.

"Y/N," he says on a sigh, marveling at the sight of you.

"I love you."

"I love you," he says, dropping his lips to the folds at your center. The moan you let out is nearly enough to send him over, but he won't deny himself the opportunity to feel what it's like to be inside of you. He focuses on your pleasure, kissing the sensitive bud at the apex of your thigh, watching your face with rapt attention, seeing what action makes you cry out, which makes you thrust into him.

When you cry out his name, his watches proudly as your body clenches, waves of pleasure roll through you. Jace keeps up his actions for a few moments longer, tasting and savoring the moment as you come down.

When he sits up, he watches the rise and fall of your chest, the satisfied smile on your face. He kisses your lips passionately, treasuring the little sounds of happiness you make as he does.

He drops his trousers next, rubbing his cock against your slick folds. He presses into you slowly, barely able to keep his control, his need is so great. You gasp as you take him in, grabbing hold of his shoulders. He begins to rock into you, his movements gentle. As your sounds become more frequent, he picks up his pace, until the only sound he can hear is your cries of pleasure, and the collision of your two bodies.

He comes soon after that, his body collapsing on top of yours. For a long while, the two of you lay there, sweaty and happy, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

"Jace," you say on a breath, breaking the silence first.

"Yes, my love?" he asks, his eyes meeting yours.

"This cannot be the last time," you say, cupping his cheek.

"It won't be. We'll find a way, I swear."

It's early morning when you return to your chambers. Your father collects you an hour later, and although the look he gives you suggests that he knows where you were, thankfully, he doesn't say anything.

The journey to Casterly Rock is long, taking nearly three weeks, and the entire time, your thoughts are on Jace. You bring him up a few times with your father, but after the most recent, he stops looking at you, stops speaking altogether, and rides astride his horse, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

When the news of King Viserys's death breaks, you hear it from your lady's maid. You shoo her away when she tries to finish braiding your hair. You know you should feel sad - Viserys was a great king, and had been sick for a long time. The last time you saw him, he looked like a walking corpse, and you had to avert your gaze.

But his passing means that Rhaenyra will be crowned queen. She will return from Dragonstone, where she fled just a week after you left King's Landing, and Jace with her.

You run from your chambers and burst into your parents' quarters, and find them talking in hushed, urgent tones. Your mother turns at your arrival and the look on her face scares you. There is panic in her gaze, mixed with a sadness that seems to grow when she sees you.

"Y/N," she says softly.

"I just heard the news."

"Yes."

"I expect we'll be leaving for King's Landing soon?" you ask, looking to your father. "For Princess Rhaenyra's coronation?"

"My dear," your mother says, a hand out to call you to her side. "Maybe you should sit down."

"What is it?" you ask as she sits you down in front of their empty hearth.

"Rhaenyra is not going to be queen," your father says.

"What do you mean?"

"Aegon has been crowned."

"He usurped the throne?" you ask in shock. "Are we gathering our bannerman? Should we--"

"Y/N," your father says with a sigh, taking your hands as he sits across from you. "We won't be calling our bannerman. We are supporting King Aegon."

"You swore allegiance to Rhaenyra," you say icily, looking between your parents' faces.

"I can't explain it all to you, daughter. There is much you don't understand."

"Uncle Tyland?" you ask quietly. Certainly, your level-headed uncle would see reason, when your father could not.

"He sits upon Aegon's small council," your father says.

"How long has this been planned?" you ask, moving away from your parents. The room suddenly feels too suffocating. Watching them, waiting for their response, you catch a quick look between your parents.

"How long have you known about this, Father?" you ask, stepping closer to look him in the eye.

"Rhaenyra was never going to be queen," he says lowly. "Regardless of the parentage of her sons. Although, that certainly didn't help her cause." You pull back from him, a look of disgust on your face. "And Aegon will make a good king."

"What will happen to Rhaenyra? To her sons?" you ask, the second question coming out broken. He doesn't answer. You look to your mother, hoping for some words of support from her, but she shares the same sad look on her own face.

"You've known this for so long . . ." you say, thoughts racing, "That's why you wouldn't approve an engagement between Prince Jacaerys and I."

"Yes," he says, "And I won't feel sorry for it. He'll be killed, no doubt. I don't want the same fate for you."

"But Daddy," you cry, calling him by a name you haven't in years, feeling as helpless as if you were still that child, "I love him!"

"It's already done, Y/N," he says, pain in his eyes. You let out a strangled sound before sliding down the wall.

"I'm having his baby," you say through a sob.

"What?" your mother asks urgently, crouching at your side. "What do you mean?" But no words come to you. The tears are falling too fast, any words choked by hiccupping.

Eventually, they bring you to your room. They both asked more questions about the baby, but you don't answer them, you can't. You don't trust them.

Your father had known this fate would befall Rhaenyra, would befall her sons. He knew you loved Jace, and he still let it all happen.

The next morning, your mother comes into your room. Her eyes are bloodshot, with dark circles underneath them. She brings you a cup of tea and kisses your forehead, before she says anything.

"Tell me about the baby," she says. "Are you certain?"

"No," you admit, bringing your knees to your chest. "But I haven't had my blood in a few weeks." Your mother nods and looks down sadly at her own drink.

"You'll need to drink moon tea," your mother says softly.

"I won't."

"Then you'll need to get married immediately, and claim the child as your new husband's."

"I won't do that either."

"Y/N," she begins with a sigh.

"You've already slammed the door on my whole world, I won't let you take this one last piece of him I have. If I am to have his child, I will keep it and I won't claim it as anyone else's."

"You'll be ruined," she says. "And if Aegon finds out that your child is Jacaerys's--"

"He won't. Nobody needs to know."

"Your father won't like this," she says gently. "You do not wish to make him angry."

"He's been angry. I've made my decision."

The next week, your cycle arrives, and you cry all day long.

"Sending another raven?" Rhaenyra asks, stepping out onto the cool balcony beside Jace. He gives her a tight lipped smile and nods. "Have you heard back from her?"

"Here and there," he says. He has been sending ravens to you for the past two weeks.

"I'm sorry your feelings fell into the middle of this mess."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Mother," he says seriously. She gives him a sad smile, a palm to his cheek.

"Baela tells me you have a plan to get her out," she says. Jace looks at her with wide eyes. He hadn't technically asked her permission, and what he was doing would be dangerous for their position.

"I know I should have told you," he starts.

"Yes, you should have. I would like to help," she says. She laughs at the bewildered look on Jace's face. "Do you think I would let you suffer here, knowing she's there, probably suffering too? Tell me your plan, Jace."

So he does. He gives her the same instructions he just sent to you. She gives him her support, while offering a few suggestions. She leaves him on the balcony after, giving him space to think over his plan, and to try and quell the hope building up inside of him.

All he is waiting for is one word from you, and he will enact this plan.

A day later, a raven knocks at his window, waking him from sleep. He leaps up immediately to grab its message, and finds just one word, written in your handwriting.

Yes.

On the morning of your escape, you awake with a smile on your face. It has been weeks since you felt anything at all. Your lady's maid enters into the room to ready you for the day, and you greet her, "Good morning."

"Good morning, My Lady," she says, looking at you in bewilderment. You're not sure you've spoken to her since you arrived at Casterly Rock. "I trust you slept well, then?"

"The best yet," you say.

As she moves about the room, getting your clothing together, you make sure to pick out the dullest dress in your wardrobe. When she sits you down to do your hair, you have her tuck your tendrils into a woven braid. Everything for indiscretion, or this plan will not work out.

When you walk into the breakfast room, your parents are gathered around a table. You give them a kind smile, playing the part of the dutiful daughter, knowing that your plans for escape were all laid.

"Good morning," your mother says, an air of suspicion in her voice.

"Morning," you say, sitting down next to her. "Good morning, Father."

"You haven't forgotten about your commitment today, I hope?" your father asks.

"No, I remember I am meeting with Lord Lannys today," you say innocently. He studies you for a moment like he doesn't believe you, but then his expression changes, or he forces it to. He forces himself to believe that you have finally pulled out of your darkness.

"Perhaps I'll accompany you down there," he says, "It's been a while since I have checked in on Lannisport."

"No," you say quickly. "You said you'd let me go with just a few guards."

"So I did."

"I have so little freedom," you say, "Am I to be chaperoned every day of my life?" The look on your father's face is one of remembrance, that this is the behavior he expects from his daughter.

"You will stay close to your guards," he says firmly.

"Of course."

"Our world is not as safe as it once was."

"I know."

"Very well."

You thank him and your mother, and when you bid them farewell, it is bittersweet. You try to see them as the loving parents you had when you were younger, but now you only see the causes of your heartbreak, and know that you're making the right call.

"When will she be here?" Joffrey asks impatiently, for the third time.

"Soon, I think," Jace answers.

"Why has it taken so long?"

"You don't have to wait with me, Joff," he says with a look to the younger boy. "It takes a long time to get here from the Westerlands."

In his plan, Jace had wanted to assure that your route would not be easily followable. The plan was for you to go to Lannisport and get aboard a ship that would take you to Seaguard. From there, you would travel by horse to Gulltown, where the Arryns would assure you passage to Dragonstone.

Yesterday, he got word that you arrived to Gulltown safely. If all went well, you would be in Dragonstone anytime now.

But the waiting was agony. Many times, Jace thought about saddling Vermax and flying out to you, just to get one glimpse of you. He knew himself, though, and knew that if he saw you, even from the air, he wouldn't want to let you out of his sights. He needed to wait patiently.

He was as bad as Joffrey, though.

When he finally sees your ship on the horizon, his heart starts beating faster. He rushes from his balcony and makes his way through the castle. Joffrey tries to keep up, but Jace loses him somewhere along the steps leading down to the shore.

Jace gets to the pier just as the small boat does. He doesn't think he is breathing as you step off the boat. Your eyes are searching for his and when they find him, a smile breaks across your face. You run towards him and he does the same, meeting you in the middle of the pier.

The second you are in his arms, you break down into tears. You cling to every part of him, your hands needing to touch him, needing to know that he is well. He realizes he is doing the same, his hand tangled in your hair, the other on your back.

"Oh, it's so good to see you," you say, pulling back just enough to look him over. Before Jace can say anything, you kiss him quickly, but fiercely.

"I'm so glad you're here," he says, hugging you again. You laugh, squeezing him just as tight.

"You're probably exhausted," he says, taking your hand and leading you back towards the castle. "You've had a long journey."

"Just a month," you say with a shrug, making him laugh.

"Well, you deserve your rest. I'll bring you right to my room," he says, "But there's one thing you'll have to do first."

"What's that?" you ask, furrowing your brow.

"Speak to my mother."

Dragonstone castle is not that much different from King's Landing, but it's unfamiliar, and unwelcoming. At least, the men sitting around Rhaenyra are. As you stand before them, some of your courage starts to slip.

"I am relieved to see you here safely, Lady Y/N," Rhaenyra says with a gentle smile.

"Thank you, Your Grace," you say. She stands and moves closer to you.

"I am sorry for having to do this, but seeing as your house has pledged their support to my brother, I have to ask where you allegiance lies," she says, stopping in front of you.

"With you, of course," you say immediately.

"You must know the risks, Y/N," she says, "You could very well be killed for supporting my claim and Jace's." For a moment, you glance back at your prince, and gather strength from his encouraging look.

"I'd burn my whole life down before I listen to another second of my father's scheming, and well before I bend the knee to Aegon Targaryen," you say.

"I love your son very much, I would never do anything to jeopardize his future, or yours, My Queen." Rhaenyra gives you a smile that is so much like her sons. She nods her head.

"Thank you, Y/N. Welcome to Dragonstone."

"Thank you, Your Grace," you say. Before you can even turn around, Jace's hand is in yours. He is looking down at you with a smile.

"Come on," he says, pulling on your hand gently. He leads you through the castle, up to his chambers, which will now be your own, he explains.

Once the doors close behind you, he is upon you, wrapping you in his arms as he kisses you. You smile into the kiss, realizing that this is not a dream, or just a passing moment. You'll get to stay in his arms for the rest of your lives.

"I love you," you say when you break away. "Thank you for getting me out of there."

"You're my lady, Y/N," he says, "And very soon I'll make you my princess. Of course I sent for you. I love you."

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing your body into his again as your lips connect again.

"You must be exhausted," he says breathlessly. "You'll want to sleep."

"All I want is right here."

[scarlet-star-witch]

You were my man and I your girl

Aemond Taragryen x female reader

Summary: Facing the news of her impending betrothal, she makes a final, desperate act of rebellion. Though when she discovers she is to marry her dear uncle, the man she has longed for since childhood, she realizes she may have ruined their marriage before it even began

Word count: 17.5 K (I need help)

Warnings: angst, smut, fluff, Aegon being kind of a good brother, men having the audacity, jealous Aemond, reader is Rhaenyra's daughter, but no mention of who her father is

~~

“What?”

Rhaenerya winced and bowed her head at the sharp tone. She knew her daughter would not take the news lightly, but she had hoped she could understand the delicate nature of their situation. 

“Darling, I know I told you-”

“Are you alright with this?” She interrupted, turning to Daemon who was sitting stone-faced, hating the news as much as she was. 

He opened his mouth, most likely to spew insults about her soon to be betrothed, but Rhaenrya’s sharp glare quickly quieted him and she turned desperately to her raging daughter. 

“My love, please understand-”

“What is there to understand?” Her daughter continued, her eyes wide, searing with betrayal. “You told me I would have a choice, that I would never be used as some political pawn for power.”

“We are on the verge of a succession war. We all have a duty to perform and as my heir you have your own to fulfill.”

The mention of the fight for succession, the hint as to who exactly she would be marrying did not register in her mind or it would have calmed the burning fire inside her. All she could make out in the maelstrom in her mind was that she was to be married and it was not her choice. 

She remembered, just moons ago, when Jason Lannister had offered his hand. The thought of being forced into the bed of a man decades older than her, power hungry and desperate to take the titles she could give him, made her feel sick to her stomach. 

“I can’t believe you would do this to me.” She told her mother, her voice sounding weaker, knowing she was facing a losing battle. 

Rhaenerya’s face fell, her daughter’s words cutting her deeply, causing an aching pain to bloom in her chest. 

“Please, if you would just listen, you might change-”

“I might change my mind and accept the fact that I’m to be sold like a mare?” She argued and quickly turned on her heel, storming out of the room. 

Rhaenerya pinched the bridge of her nose as she exhaled loudly, her frustration clear. Daemon tapped his fingers against his thigh, his gaze remaining on the empty doorway.

“That went as well as I expected.” He spoke dryly, his expression softening slightly when he saw the tiredness in his wife’s eyes. “She’ll get over it. She’ll eventually stop arguing long enough for you to explain.”

“She’s always been stubborn, but she has never raged like this before. She’s been spending too much time with you.” 

Daemon scoffed, though he couldn’t exactly deny the claim. 

“If she had only let me finish, she would have been happy with the news. She used to be so close to Aemond, I know she’s always cared for him. She barely spoke to me when we left King’s Landing, she was so mad that I had separated them.”

“I still say she can do better than that one-eyed cunt.” 

“Daemon.” Rhaenerya hissed, fighting the urge to smack him upside the head. “It is already done. The King has accepted the betrothal and their union will finally mend the divide between our families.”

~~

Her breathing was labored as she raced through the halls, unsure of where she was heading. Outside, she heard Vermithor’s loud roar, her dragon sensing his bonded rider’s discomfort and anger. She had a fleeting thought of racing to her beloved dragon and flying across the sea, hiding away from her duties for the rest of her days.

The thought was quick to dissolve. She knew Daemon would catch her before she could get Vermithor off the grounds of Dragonstone. 

So that left her to stew in her anger at being forced to marry a man she didn’t love and probably would never love and her hurt that her mother had broken the promise she had told her years ago as a child, that she would never be used a political pawn, that her hand in marriage would never be forced.

She briefly thought of a young boy with silver hair and quickly pushed the thought away when the ache of longing overtook her. 

The thought of the old, greedy, disrespectful lord she was soon to marry made her want to throw up. This was never what she pictured for herself. 

Defeated, she trudged back to her room, her head down, a picture of broken girlhood too many women in this realm knew all too well. 

“Princess, are you alright?” 

She perked up, her eyes meeting the caring gaze of her guard, Ser Darick, standing vigil at her door. 

A twisted idea unfurled inside her, a half-hearted plan of rebellion sparked by the flames of anger that burned brightly. 

She smiled, the gesture bringing one to his own lips. She had always found him handsome, many late nights had been spent with Baela and Rhaena giggling amongst each other about his broad shoulders and silken hair. 

She had no deeper desires for him, that place in her heart was firmly held by the sweet boy she left behind years ago, but it didn’t stop her from noticing the way her guard looked at her. She knew he desired her and the anger inside of her left her wanting for one thing she could control, one thing the man who would soon own her would never have. 

“I’m afraid I need your help with something in my chambers.” She spoke sweetly. Ser Darick nodded eagerly and he followed her inside. 

She closed the door behind them, causing him to turn back to look at her, his brows furrowed in confusion as he noticed the pristine state of her chambers. 

“Princess-?”

“I see how you look at me, Ser Darick.” She stated bluntly, vindicated from the way his eyes widened and averted from her gaze. “There’s not many things in my life that I get to choose and I’d like you to help me make one last choice before my freedom is taken from me.”

“I don’t understand.” 

She untied the laces of her dress, allowing it to fall from her shoulders, leaving her in a sheer slip. The man before her choked on his breath, the hunger in his eyes making her heart race, she knew he wanted her. She stepped towards him, her hands running over the expanse of his chest. 

“We shouldn’t. I swore an oath-”

“To protect me.” She finished his sentence. “I think this is exactly the protection I need.” She smiled cheekily. 

She pulled the shift over her head, leaving her body bare to him and she knew the second he gave in as his eyes took in every inch of her body. He dropped his hand from the hilt of the sword on his hip and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him as he crashed his lips to hers. 

She smiled in between kisses, feeling like she had her power back as she undid the pieces of armor from his body. 

She steadily ignored the guilt that crept through her mind, guilt for defying her mother and her duty. Moans fell from her lips as her guard took her hard and fast, his hunger for her clear in the way he held her tightly, in the way he refused to part his lips from any inch of her body. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the image before her melt into one of the silver haired, one-eyed man she longed for. A shiver wracked her body, her toes curling at the images she conjured in her mind.

She bit her lip, stopping herself from letting the wrong name fall from her lips as she reached her peak. As the man above her shuddered to his end, her name bellowed in the quiet room, she thought of how Aemond would sound saying her name in rapture. 

As Ser Darick panted against her lips, his body collapsing against hers, she let herself indulge in the passionate touch of another and mourned for what she believed her future would hold. 

~~

Aemond was sitting stiffly in the same spot he had been for the last ten minutes, since his mother had told him the news. 

He couldn’t make sense of the emotions whirling within him. Relief was the first one he could pinpoint, but it quickly turned to guilt, soon to remorse, and then to the sham of disdain he had tried so hard to feel for her since the night he had lost his eye. 

Though no matter how hard he had tried to hate her like he hated the rest of her family, he found he could never conjure any for her. She never ridiculed him the way Aegon and her bastard brothers had, she was never a part of the cruel jokes and pranks they pulled on him. They were both young Targaryen’s without dragons and had found solace in their shared longing. Despite her own perceived shortcoming, she never wavered in the comfort she bestowed upon him. 

She spent many nights holding his hand, reassuring him he was worthy of a dragon when the teasing became too much for him to handle. She stuck up for him like no one else ever had. She even looked down upon her own brothers, scolding them for their immature teasing and jokes at his expense. 

 He remembered the worst night of his life, as his family splintered with the loss of his eye and the insults he had hurled at the Strong bastards.

But he always remembered how she had tearfully screamed at her own brother for what was done to him. He remembered when hours later, she snuck into his room, hugged him tightly and told him how proud she was that he had claimed Vhagar. 

He remembered how just a year later he had heard the news she had laid claim to the wild dragon, Vermithor. He wanted so badly to saddle his own dragon and make his way to her, to tell her how proud he was of her the same way she had praised him. 

But his mother had never had allowed it 

He could never hate her. She was never just another one of Rhaenyra’s bastard children and as much as he tried to tell himself to remain neutral, he couldn’t help but feel relieved at the news of his mother’s reluctant acceptance of their betrothal, one he had longed for but never had hope of ever coming to fruition. 

“Aemond?”

His mother’s voice broke him from his thoughts and he turned his attention towards her, attempting to remain stoic so he would not reveal his true feelings about the news. 

“Tell me if this is truly what you want. If not, I will tell Rhaenyra the betrothal is off.” 

Panic grew at the thought of his mother, or even his scheming grandfather, taking this away from him before he even got the chance to revel in it. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair.

“It’s alright, Mother. I will perform my duty.” 

Alicent smiled and reached over to place her hand over his. She adored her son and his strong sense of duty that was certainly lost to his older brother. Despite his attempts to remain stone-faced, Alicent knew her son too well, she knew what he truly longed for. 

She remembered how close he had been with Rhaenyra’s eldest child and she knew how devastated he had been when she had left for Dragonstone. Aemond had refused even meeting possible suitors for years and she could see his desire to shut her down as she mentioned the betrothal.

Until she had mentioned the Princess’ name.

It had shut him up quickly and he had stayed quiet, taking in the news with a contemplative expression that was all too familiar on her stoic boy’s face. 

But it was the slightest twitch of his lips upwards and the way he seemed to exhale in relief, every inch of his body losing its rigidity that told Alicent this was the right decision. Despite her ire for Rhaenerya and her children, the thought of an impending war was not something she wanted and it would clearly make her son happy, an emotion she did not often see him indulge in. 

She smiled and squeezed his hand. 

“They will arrive in a few day’s time. We will start preparations for the wedding as soon as possible.” 

With her parting words, Aemond was left to remain sitting, leaning on his elbow as his hand covered his mouth, trying to make sense of the emotions he was feeling that were so foreign to him. He wasn’t used to getting what he wanted. 

It didn’t seem real. 

~~

By the next morning, with an awkward passing smile to Ser Darick, she was headed towards the dining hall, her pace slow, as if she could delay greeting her family. She felt as though there was now an enormous target on her back, letting everyone she passed know what she had done the previous night. 

“Darling,”

She startled, placing a hand over her chest and plastering on a smile as she greeted her mother stiffly.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mother. I just… didn’t sleep well last night.”

Rhaenyra frowned and linked her arm through her daughter’s. “I know last night was difficult, but I think you’ll come around to it.”

She tensed, picturing the cruel, power hungry lord she’d be chained to for the rest of her life.

“Mother-”

“If you had let me finish, you would have heard that I have betrothed you to Aemond.”

She abruptly stopped in her tracks, almost causing her mother to trip over her own feet. Rhaenyra looked back at her daughter, expecting to see pure joy cross her features but she was confused to see the anguish in her expression.

She stepped towards her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her hand caressing down the length of her hair.

“Darling, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy with the news, I know how much you care for him.”

The lump in her throat grew so tight, she worried she’d choke to death before she could voice her mistake. The guilt that had already been lingering beneath her skin grew tenfold, threatening to knock her right off her feet.

“But… the Queen… she’d never agree.”

“She did.” Rhaenyra confirmed, still perplexed by her daughter’s reaction. “The King made his decree, something even she cannot dictate. With you as my heir, Aemond will be King Consort. I guess she realizes that was as good a consolation as she would get.”

It was real. She was to marry Aemond, the man she had longed for for years. She hadn’t even been reunited with him and she had already betrayed him. 

“Mother-” She paused, taking in a ragged breath, her hand holding tightly to her mother’s arm for stability. “I… I did something stupid.”

Rhaenrya’s face twisted into an expression of concern and she quickly ushered her daughter through the halls into the privacy of her chambers. She sat on her bed, her hand held tightly to her daughter’s as she tearfully explained what she had done the night before.

The first emotion to rise was a dangerous protective anger. 

Rhaenyra sprang to her feet, her hands clenched into fists and she grinded her teeth. 

“If that man did anything to pressure you-”

“Mother, stop. He didn’t do anything I didn’t ask him to do.” Her daughter assured her, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment at having to explain her indiscretion. 

Her words caused her mother to sigh and begin to pace. 

“Aemond can never- Alicent can never know about this.” 

“What?”

“This betrothal is tenuous, it took months for Alicent to give in, it took months for the decree to even make it to my father. The first sign of a crack, she’ll tear it apart, her and that lecherous father of hers.” Rhaenrya ranted.

Guilt burned through her veins, the thought that her stupid decision could ruin her family made her feel sick. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. I just… the thought of being married to some old man-”

“Oh my love.” Rhaenyra took a seat next to her daughter, taking her hands in her, pressing a kiss to her shaking knuckles. “Do not blame yourself.”

“This was the path to peace and I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Rhaenyra spoke sternly, as if speaking it into existence with her mere words. She gave her daughter a weak smile, her actions all too familiar to her.  “You know I was about your age when I had the same idea of a rebellion against duty.”

Her daughter looked at her curiously, but Rhaenyra’s heavy sigh was indicative that she didn’t want to spare too many details of that fateful night when Daemon had taken her to a brothel that led her to bring Ser Criston to her bed. 

She shouldn’t have been surprised that her dragon of a daughter had rebelled just as similarly as she had all those years ago.  

A half-hearted plan began to form, one based on tenuous lies, but it was all she had. 

“We’ll switch rotations, you’ll never have to see Ser Darick again. We’ll go to King’s Landing, you will marry Aemond and they will all be none the wiser about what happened last night.”

“Will you tell Daemon?” She asked fearfully.

Rhaenyra let out an amused huff of laughter. “Not unless you want your guard tortured and torn limb from limb.”

Sensing her daughter’s lingering anxiety, she placed a kiss on her forehead. 

“No one will ever know.”

A shuddering breath escaped her. She prayed to the Seven her mother’s words were true. 

~~

Aemond stood tensely in the courtyard with his family, his hands firmly planted behind his back, the picture of royal stoicism. He just hoped no one could see how his fingers fidgeted behind his back, his nerves getting the better of him.

It had been six long years since he had seen her, since that last visit she had paid him where she had mourned his injury with him and kissed his cheek, a moment that left him wondering if he would live with a blush on his cheeks for the rest of his life.

An elbow to his side forced him out of his daze and he turned to see Aegon’s smug smirk as he gestured with his head at the oncoming carriage. 

“Creaming your pants yet?”

Aemond sneered at his brother, his jaw clenching as he turned himself to face straight ahead, steadily ignoring the amused smirk sent his way at his expense. 

His heart began to race as the carriage door opened, anticipation heavy on his shoulders. With every face he saw that wasn’t hers his impatience began to rise, holding back a glare to her brothers who exited first. 

He didn’t pay attention as his mother and Rhaenyra greeted each other awkwardly. He didn’t spare his nephews a second look. All he saw was her. He perked up the moment his gaze found her, his lips parting unknowingly, no longer holding strongly to the passive facade he had forced all day.

She had grown into a beautiful woman in the past six years. He had pictured this moment for so long and none of his late night fantasies could ever compare to the woman before him. 

He cleared his throat, straightening his posture as she stepped towards him. For years he had tried so hard to push down the feelings of longing that arose at the thought of her. For so long he had forced himself to believe she was nothing more than an enemy, a bastard girl that deserved nothing. 

But as she stood in front of him now, grown and more beautiful than he could have ever conceived, he realized it was all a farce. Every hateful thought he had forced into his head about her was nothing more than a lie. 

“Prince Aemond.” She greeted with a small curtsey, the small smile curling on her lips capturing his eye effortlessly. 

After a few seconds, he suddenly realized he hadn’t spoken a word, a brief flash of panic racing through him at the embarrassment that he had been merely staring at her like a fool.

“Princess.” He responded slightly bashfully as he bowed his head. 

The air surrounding them was awkward, both with so many things to say that had been left unsaid for years, complicated feelings that went unresolved for so long. 

But they were to be married in a mere week's time. The family drama that cut through their childhood bond did not need to be addressed, they had no choice but to accept the inevitable. 

He would be her husband no matter if he came to terms with the delusion he had forced for years. He would be her husband no matter if he had unlearned everything his mother and grandsire had instilled in him for years. 

~~

A welcome feast had been thrown in their honor. The table of royals had been a sight of strain as the ailing King gave his remarks to the room, welcoming his dear eldest daughter back to King’s Landing, lamenting the union of their divided family through the marriage of his first granddaughter and his second son. 

The stifling tension among their family remained throughout the celebration. With the secret weighing heavily on her, she felt as though she couldn’t even spare a glance at her betrothed without choking on the intense guilt she couldn’t shake. 

As the heir of the heir and a coveted Targaryen Princess, her mother’s only daughter, she was practically forced to remain on the dancefloor all night, indulging in the many noble Lords and their sons that offered their hand. 

“Mind if I cut in?”

She almost audibly sighed in relief at the sound of her brother’s voice, taking the place of the obnoxious boy who had accosted her for three dances. Since the feast began, she’d been approached by more Lords than she could count. 

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly as he began to dance with her.

“I’m fine.”

“You say the word and I’ll take you back to Dragonstone.”

“Jace.” She scolded, giving him a pointed look. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Sister.” He defended. “You’re about to marry the man that tormented us as children.”

She frowned, her eyes drifting to Aemond who sat at the head table, eyeing the dancing couples with disinterest. The sight of his eye patch was like a punch to the gut, the memory of what had happened that night was enough to bring tears to her eyes. 

“If I remember correctly, it was you, Lucerys and Aegon that tormented him as children.”

“He called us bastards.”

“And he lost an eye.” She reminded him tersely. “I’d say that more than evens the odds.”

Jace sighed heavily, the conversation weighing heavily on him. He wasn’t proud of his actions that night or how he had treated his uncle as children, but the guilt wasn’t enough to allow him to feel happy for this union. 

“He’s different now.” Her brother mumbled. “He seems… angry.”

“Can you blame him?” 

Jace sighed again to which she sent him a pointed look. It was as if it pained him to admit his guilt, to admit that their uncle wasn’t the villainous enemy he had built up in his head. He looked at his sister thoughtfully, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“What I want doesn't matter, Jace.”

“It does. Especially if you are to be married to a man that would make you miserable.” 

She remained quiet, contemplating his words with confliction. Misery was never a feeling that followed the thought of her uncle. She knew their marriage could be great, that they could foster a beautiful love, but only if he let it and only if he never discovered her betrayal. 

As the song ended and Jace moved from her side to spare a dance with an impatient Baela, she floundered for a moment, eyeing her brother and his betrothed for a moment, their delighted smiles, the clear fondness they held for each other stirring envy within her. 

She wondered if her own marriage would bear the same smiles. 

She looked around, dread settling inside her as her gaze passed over the many other noble sons that wanted their chance to dance with her. It was the last thing she wanted. 

With a heavy breath, she pushed her way through the throng of dancing couples and slunk out onto the balcony, hoping no one had noticed her swift exit and moved to follow. It had been years since she’d been in King’s Landing, it seemed the novelty of her family had not waned. 

It was as if everyone wanted a piece of her. She loathed it. 

Only a minute later, she heard footsteps approaching and she grit her teeth, her peace seeming to be taken from her as quickly as she had gained it. She turned her head and her eyes widened at the sight of Aemond stepping out onto the balcony. 

He startled slightly when he noticed her and smiled, a gesture that was weak and awkward, though it managed to bring an equally weak smile to her own lips.

“I didn’t mean to impose.” He began, sounding slightly stilted. 

“You aren’t.” She assured him. “I can leave if you wish to be alone.”

He eyed her for a long moment, as if surprised by her request, but he just shook his head and approached her slowly so he was standing at her side. 

“This is where I seem to find myself during these events, when I need to get away. I presume you are out here for the same reason.”

“Yes, I fear my feet have grown too tired to indulge in another dance.” She replied, hoping her words didn’t sound as dour to him as they did to her own ears.

Aemond seemed to grimace, the reminder of the many lords who had taken her hand for a dance stirring something within him he didn’t quite recognize. He didn’t care for it. 

“I probably shouldn’t have left, I just…”

“Needed a minute.” Aemond supplied as she trailed off. She nodded bashfully, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly hyper aware of her appearance as she realized this was the first time she had been alone with Aemond in years.

They were no longer childhood friends, they were betrothed. It was enough to drive her nerves to a boiling point where she could no longer meet his eye.

He stepped closer to her so he was leaning against the railing next to her, mirroring her position, an act that signaled ease.

“I had an interesting conversation with your brother.”

Her eyes widened. That was the last thing she had been expecting him to say. She was surprised Lucerys even listened to her request, that he had even attempted to approach the man he had scarred.

“I have a feeling that was your doing.”

She turned her head to meet his gaze and every fear she had that she had crossed the line faded in an instant as she saw the gratitude in his expression. 

“You have no obligation to forgive him.”

Aemond huffed out a laugh and bowed his head slightly. “Those were the exact words your brother said as well.”

She inwardly cursed her brother. He wasn’t supposed to say word for word what she had asked of him. 

“I just wished to solve the rift in our family. We can’t very well expect a happy marriage if we spend our time hating each other.”

“I never hated you.” Aemond responded quickly, his brows now furrowed as he moved in closer to her. “I may have.. complicated feelings for your brothers, but I… I never felt any of that towards you.”

She felt her breath hitch, her throat feeling tighter, as if she suddenly forgot to breathe with him so close to her. 

“Are you truly content with marrying a bastard?” 

Aemond flinched, her words so unexpected, he involuntarily took a step back, asif his instincts were telling him to run far from this conversation and never look back. He spoke her name softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve whispered about our parentage our entire childhood. Am I to believe the sentiment now means nothing to you?” Her voice was cutting, but not with anger. She just sounded disappointed and somehow, Aemound found it so much worse.

“I never called you- it was never…” He stammered for a moment before sighing heavily, his teeth gritting as he looked out onto the horizon, desperately trying to find the words he needed to tell her she was never a part of the ire he held for her brothers. 

She watched him, a deep part of her feeling satisfaction to see him flounder as he was. She held much affection for Aemond, especially in their childhood, but his affliction for calling her brothers ‘Strong’ was always a source of hurt and caused many petty arguments between them before they had been separated.

“It was never about you.” He admitted quietly.

“They are my brothers, Aemond. I am not absolved from what you say about them.”

“But you are.” 

Her breath was stolen from her at the gravity of his words, at the sincerity she heard from him. She eyed him cautiously for a long moment, trying to gauge just what she felt for the man before her now, no longer the shy and sweet boy she had once known. 

She longed for him, but she wasn’t sure if the person she desperately desired even existed any more. 

But with how he looked at her, how hard he seemed to be trying to appease her, left her feeling defenseless against her own fears. 

“Why did you never write to me?” She asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, as though she regretted even posing the question. 

An expression crossed his face that she couldn’t recognize. He looked tortured, as if the mention of the part he played in their loss of friendship all those years ago brought him pain. The letters he received from her that were left unanswered had grated on him for years. 

Years ago, he had even written a letter to her to apologize for his silence, but his mother had caught him, tore the letter to shreds and warned him not to reach out to Rhaenyra’s bastard daughter, that he would only get hurt again if he dared to reconnect with them. 

“I never wished to ignore you.” He spoke softly. “It was just, after what had happened on Driftmark, my mother-”

“I understand.” She interrupted. The state of their family wasn’t the fault of themselves alone, their mothers had a complicated relationship they could barely comprehend. It was no fault of their own that they listened to the vitriol their mothers spoke in their years of hurt. 

“I never wanted to ignore you.” He repeated, as if he was desperate for her to believe him. 

The years of hurt that had cut her heart deeper and deeper with every unanswered letter she had sent slowly began to heal as she looked into his eye and saw the reverence with which he gazed at her. 

“I am willing to put the years behind me. If we are to be married, I don’t want there to be animosity between us.”

“There isn’t, at least on my part.” He assured her, looking to her hopefully, almost holding his breath for her next words.

“There is none on mine either.”

He nodded, the relief coursing through him feeling like the antidote to the years of guilt and sadness that surrounded his thoughts of her. His gaze met hers and the small smile, more genuine than the one she had greeted him with, caused his own to grow, a gesture that was no longer forced, but now one of hopeful excitement. 

The prospect of marriage no longer seemed so daunting.

~~

In the days leading up to the wedding, they didn’t see much of each other. 

She felt more lonely in the place she used to call home than she had expected. While she had her family, it was clear they were all on edge about the upcoming wedding and hadn’t exactly settled being in the Keep where the Hightower influence reigned supreme. 

She found herself taking Vermithor out daily to escape the tension among her family. 

The only peace she found was amongst the clouds, where the air was thinner, stealing the breath from her lungs. It was as if the reminder that there were things more dangerous than her own family was a comfort to her situation.

Suddenly, the earth shattering roar of a great beast sounded behind her, startling her. She turned quickly, her eyes widening as she saw the enormous figure of Vhagar taking to the skies, her gargantuan form heading towards her.

She watched the creature in awe, the great war dragon, centuries older than her, gliding through the skies like a beautiful relic. 

“It’s alright.” She soothed the dragon below her who grumbled at the unexpected presence of another. 

She kept her head turned, her eyes trailing the hulking figure that grew closer. A small smile curled on her lips as she spotted the silver hair of her betrothed atop his mighty dragon. 

As Vhagar approached, their eyes met, shared smiles passing between them. She gripped onto the reins in her hands and directed Vermithor forward, her large dragon diving towards the water below them. 

A trilled call from behind made her smile, knowing Vhagar was following suit. She looked over her shoulder, a warmth building within her as she saw Aemond guiding his dragon to follow her every move. 

The two of them didn’t share any words as they flew together in solidarity. She laughed as Vermithor let out a grumble of content. Her dragon suddenly titled, moving in closer to the dragon at his side, almost bumping the dragon beside them. 

She froze momentarily, gripping onto the reins tighter, preparing for an adverse reaction from the surly war dragon, but she could only watch in disbelief, her lips parting in awe as Vhagar crooned, a sound she had never heard from a dragon before, and bumped her head against Vermithor’s, a gesture that seemed almost affectionate.

She laughed, the warmth within her chest that had been stirring, now in full bloom. She turned to Aemond who watched the dragons with a small, amused smile. His head turned, their eyes meeting and as though a force greater than anything they had ever felt before, they couldn’t look away. 

As he looked at her, that lone blue eye encroached by a softness that was so familiar to her, she felt as though she was once again face to face with that boy she had loved all those years ago.

~~

Their wedding was a beautiful affair. 

No one would know it was a union between a fractured family. Though, it seemed as though their wedding was already stitching their broken family back together. Or it may have something to do with the amount of wine consumed. She noticed Helaena smiling happily as she danced with Jace. Aegon was drunkenly laughing with Luke who was smiling awkwardly, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else as Rhaena laughed on in his playful torment. 

Daemon sat next to his brother King, his smile soft as they spoke together intently. Her mother sat with Queen Alicent, the two of them deep in conversation, their hands finding each other as they descended into bouts of laughter like they were nothing more than two young girls again.

The sight made her happy. She knew her mother missed her old friend dearly and it looked as though Alicent had missed their friendship just as deeply. 

“Are you ready?” 

She turned on her heel to find Aemond, her husband, standing before her anxiously, his face a mask of anxious anticipation as he held his hand out to her. 

She swallowed and nodded stiffly, taking his hand as nerves as heavy as lead built within her. It was time for the bedding. Every happy thought in her head was gone in an instant as she suddenly could focus on nothing but the secret she kept from him. 

As he guided her out of the hall, her eyes met her mother, her face now serious, giving her a slow, knowing nod, reminding her to stay silent, to perform her duty and act as an untouched maiden. 

They walked in silence, the tension between them growing. 

They had been in a daze practically the entire day, their smiles shy yet glowing as they spoke their vows in the Sept, as they shared their first kiss as husband and wife. 

Their true first kiss had been years ago when they were merely eight years old. She had kissed him after he had yet another unsuccessful bout in the dragon pit and had stolen a chaste kiss as she brushed the dirt from his cheeks. 

She had never seen him turn so red before. 

They were a long way from those innocent children they had been.

“Are you alright?” He asked, startling her out of her long lost thoughts. She looked at him and was surprisingly relieved to see he looked just as nervous as she was sure she looked. 

“I am.” She assured him with an awkward smile. “Are you?”

“Yes.” He answered quickly, too quickly to portray any calmness about their current predicament. 

Their hearts were racing as they stepped inside their new marital chambers. She immediately moved to the vanity, working on removing the many pins from her hair that had been pinching her all night.

She sighed dramatically as the pressure on her skull was relieved and the sound of an amused hum, an almost sounding laugh, caught her attention. She looked over her shoulder to see Aemond watching her thoughtfully. 

The sight of him, the small upturn of his lips, the desire in his eye, should have stirred her own, but all she could feel was all consuming nerves. 

Tonight she’d have to lie to him. 

“You look beautiful.” 

His words startled her, her eyes widening slightly, not having expected the compliment. She smiled bashfully, trucking a strand of hair behind her ear nervously as her gaze fell to the floor between them.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t told you that yet tonight. I haven’t told you since you’ve been back.” 

She was surprised by how forward he was, his words so sincere yet so different from the man she knew stood before her. 

It seemed she wasn’t the only one who longed for this marriage to be one of peace, to heal the wounds that had been so deeply ingrained in their family for so long. 

He approached her slowly, the look in his eye one she had never seen before. Desire. He reached out, his hand moving to her jaw, his touch light as he held her as if he were afraid she would flee. 

Her hands almost shook as she laid them across his strong chest, beginning to slowly undo the intricate buckles that covered him. 

He let her undo each one, the sound of his own heavy breath betraying his nerves. Once his chest laid bare before her did he finally pull her in close to him, his gaze locked on hers as he leaned in close before finally kissing her. 

He was soft, though as she responded to his kiss, he met her with fervor, portraying every ounce of pent up desire he’d unknowingly held for her for so long. He kissed her as if she were the very air he breathed. 

Her mind was a mess of thoughts, swirling with desire and agony as she desperately wished his lips had been the first she kissed so passionately, that his touch that tightened on her waist as he undid the laces on her gown, were the first hands to touch her so intimately. 

She couldn’t break herself from the thoughts as they moved to the bed. She couldn’t stop the heavy feeling of regret that tainted every one of his touches and fervent kisses. 

Her chest heaved, her guilt portraying as nerves for a perceived first bedding. Aemond ran his hands up the length of her thighs, his touch, which should have caused butterflies to fly rampant within her, only reminded her of the man who had touched her previously. 

He kissed her softly as he settled himself atop her. 

“I’m sorry… this- it might hurt you.”

The claw of guilt inside her turned into a fist that clenched tightly and she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“It’s alright.” She breathed out.

He kissed her again though the gesture, filled with so much affection, did little to soothe her as he intended to. 

She kept her eyes on the ceiling, the guilt keeping her from looking at her husband, from seeing the eagerness in his gaze as he took her for the first time.

He eased inside of her slowly, the sound of his breath stuttering catching her attention, almost enough to incite her own arousal if her mind wasn’t tainted with worry, of suddenly being found out and ruined before she even got to enjoy her marriage.

With hatred for herself burning hotly within her she mimicked a sound of discomfort as he settled inside her. 

“Are you alright?” He asked slightly breathlessly, his gaze looking down at her in concern. 

She nodded stiffly, her throat tight as she met his eye. She soon wondered if the guilt would stop her breathing before he could even finish. 

She tried her best to forget about the glaring guilt, she tried not to think about her night with Ser Darick, of the man who touched her before that shouldn’t have. She should’ve been in ecstasy to finally be laying with the man she had dreamed of for years, but as he moved inside her, she couldn’t help but wince, her lack of arousal keeping her from enjoying what she had desired for so long. 

It at least helped with her charade of the innocent maiden who feared the marriage bed. 

She watched her husband with barely contained emotion as his eye closed in pleasure, his lips parted with heavy breaths, the sound of his quiet moans had her wishing she could go back in time and never invite that Knight into her bed. 

As she watched him find his pleasure, as he stuttered out her name in delight, she knew she could never hurt him. She could never reveal her secret for she could never cause him pain. 

Above her, Aemond stiffened, his hips losing momentum, his grip on her hips tightening as he lost himself to his pleasure, a loud grunt falling from his lips as he reached his peak. 

She exhaled loudly, an empty feeling settling within her, the guilt and anger at herself melding into self-loathing despair. 

“I hurt you.” He breathed out, sounding pained as his hand cradled her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. 

“I’m ok.” She assured her, though with how stilted her voice sounded, she knew he didn’t believe her. 

He pulled out of her slowly and moved to lay next to her, his worried gaze never leaving hers. He moved his hand to rest at the back of her neck, gently urging her forward so his forehead could rest against hers. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and she felt her eyes sting with more tears, his affection stirring the loathing that lashed her like a whip.

She shook her head and leaned into him, grasping onto his hand, holding tightly. 

“I wish we could have had this earlier.” She whispered, the only admittance she could allow herself. 

Aemond smiled softly and kissed her again, his touch gentle and careful, as if he worried about hurting her more. 

“So do I.” 

He held her as she struggled to sort out of her emotions, unaware of the torment within her. 

~~

By the next morning, she woke from a tumultuous sleep to find herself alone in bed. 

Her heart began to race as she propped herself up, dread coursing within her veins as she suddenly feared the worst. That, somehow in the night, Aemond had figured out the truth and left in a rage, leaving her behind before she could even enjoy what they could’ve had. 

“Good morning.”

The sound of his voice broke her out of her dark thoughts and she turned abruptly to see her new husband strolling in through the open balcony doors. He smiled lightly, looking slightly bashful to see her in such a vulnerable state, as if he hadn’t laid with her just hours before. 

“The maids brought breakfast.” 

She nodded and moved to peel the covers off her, hiding her wince at the flare of discomfort at the back of her thigh from where she had given herself a small cut after her husband had fallen asleep, using the small wound to stain the sheets with her blood that would not fall between her tainted legs. 

She stood from the bed, oblivious to how Aemond’s eye followed the length of her body with intrigue as she reached for her robe. They shared small smiles, the air of awkwardness lingering as they stepped out onto the balcony together. 

She immediately moved to pour herself a cup of tea, taking a much needed sip of the hot drink, praying it would soothe her frayed nerves. As Aemond took a seat next to her, she poured a second cup, adding a spoonful of honey before sliding it over to him. 

His gaze remained on her, as if in awe, as she took another sip. 

Feeling his eye on her, she turned, her brows raising in question at the beseeched expression on his face. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked slowly and he nodded, clearing his throat, leaning his elbow on his knee as his curled fist covered his lips, covering the smile that began to grow. 

“You remembered how I take my tea in the morning.” He spoke softly. 

She felt her stomach twist, this time for reasons completely different from the regret that had been staunchly drowning her since the night before. 

“Of course I did.” She said quietly with a shrug. “I wouldn’t forget anything about you.”

Her words, the knowledge that she had thought of him just as he had thought of her, had longed for him just as he had longed for her all those years they were separated, had a warmth spreading through him he had never felt before. 

Any trepidation he had about the marriage, any qualms he had about Rhaenyra taking her place on the throne, of his nephews back in King’s Landing, shattered in an instant. Everything else seemed so inconsequential to him now that he married her, now that he got to call her his wife. 

He reached out, slightly hesitantly, his heart racing as he placed his hand over hers. 

Their eyes met and it was as if an understanding passed between them, a final puzzle piece falling into place. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

She nodded quickly and smiled as he leaned in. Their lips met in a gentle, unhurried kiss that was filled with quiet affection, the meeting of a new husband and wife who had just come to an understanding, who had put away years of complicated feelings and settled to live as the pair of childhood companions that felt nothing but love for each other.

As he kissed her, she forced herself to move past the pain in the back of her thigh. Under his assured yet gentle touch, she forced her guilt and regret to the depths of her mind, desperate to find peace with him. 

~~

Over the next couple of months, their marriage flourished in ways neither one of them had expected. Their time spent together had seemed to heal every slight from their childhood, leaving the both of them feeling lighter, no longer shrouded in the guise of hatred. 

It would take time for Aemond to come around to her brothers, but he was finding it easier to let go of the fury that used to permeate every thought of them. They were by no means friends, but it was at least becoming easier to simply look at them, to exist among them. 

One morning, as Rhaenyra and Alicent took their morning tea together in the gardens, they caught sight of the newly married couple, arm in arm, barely an inch of space between them. 

“They are quite the match.” Alicent remarked with a smile as she looked at her son, the easy expression on his face a far cry from the scowl that had become all too familiar from her second son. 

“They are.” Rhaenyra agreed, relief flowing through her as she heard her daughter’s laugh from across the yard, watching as she leaned into her husband. 

She was more than thankful her dear daughter’s secret remained. 

“I am sorry I took so long to agree to their union.” Alicent admitted almost shyly. “To see my Aemond as he is now, so carefree, so… unburdened with her. I regret that my hesitation caused him to suffer for longer than he needed to.”

Rhaenyra frowned and reached out, taking her friend’s hand, curling her fingers around her own. 

“There is nothing to forgive. They are happy now… we are happy now. That is what matters.”

Alicent smiled, her eyes filled with emotion she hadn’t let herself reveal for so long. She squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand in silent comfort. 

“I have heard the maids gossiping. It sounds as though it will not be long until there is a new babe to care for.” 

Rhaenyra’s jaw dropped, a scandalized laugh escaping her as she looked at her friend, usually so demure, in disbelief. 

“Oh gods, do not let them know they are being gossiped about.” 

Alicent giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“I would never. I do not think my son would ever return to court if that were the case.”

“They are late to every dinner. Surely they know it is not much of a secret what they are doing.” Rhaenyra commented, descending them both into laughter once more.

While the both of them laughed as though they were young girls again, the two of them couldn’t help but feel as though an enormous weight had been lifted from their shoulders, allowing them to breathe easier. 

The union between their children gave them what they needed, what they were desperately hoping for. The fact that their children were just as happy with each other was everything they needed to heal themselves. 

They soon lost sight of their children and, judging by the gossip they heard from the maids, they thought they preferred not knowing exactly what they were getting up to.  

It was for the better because the second Aemond had enough of the desire raging through his body, he had dragged his wife back to their chambers, only a mere hour after they had left it for the morning. 

He couldn’t get enough of her. 

He could barely get through his day without succumbing to his fire that burned hotly for her. Their walk in the garden, their duties for the rest of the day were long forgotten as he took her roughly atop her vanity, the wooden legs shaking beneath their passionate affair.

“Aemond!” She called out, her hands tightening at the back of his head where she had fistfulls of his hair. He groaned and quickened his pace, thrusting into her with the ferocity of an animal. 

Over their time together, she had been able to relax around him, thinking less and less of that horrible night with her guard that could have ruined everything. She allowed herself to fall into him, to let herself think of nothing but him, and she couldn’t have been more thankful.

He took her daily, their union fiercely passionate, the two of them quickly becoming insatiable for each other. 

“Fuck, darling, you are perfect.” Aemond growled, his hips never faltering in their harsh rhythm as he took her roughly. 

The way he took her now and had been for weeks was a far cry from the tepid and shy man she had seen on their wedding night. 

Cries fell from her lips as she desperately held him, her only tether in the haze of pleasure he now could so easily spiral her to. 

“Don’t stop.” She begged breathlessly, her head falling back to her shoulders, her eyes shut tightly as he fucked her so hard it was all she could do to hold and enjoy the ride. 

“Never, my love, I'll never stop.” He promised her, the desperation in his voice clear. He panted heavily as his hips moved with precision, eager to reach that spot he knew ruined her completely. 

He longed to see her unravel, he longed to hear her scream for him. It had quickly become the greatest thing he had ever been fortunate enough to witness and his greatest accomplishment. 

His grip on her hips tightened, his awed gaze fluttering over her form, eager to take in every inch of her. 

Her toes curled, a high pitched moan sounding as her body tensed, as she felt herself creeping up on the crest of blinding pleasure. 

“That’s it love, cum for me. Do it for me, I need it.” He rambled, his voice rough, causing shivers to race down her spine. 

Her nails dug into his shoulders and his answering grunt of pleasure undid her completely. She screamed his name, her hips jolting against his as she reached her peak. Aemond held her tightly, his arms moving around her back to hold him to her as his hips stuttered, becoming frantic in his final moments.

“Fuck… fuck!” He yelled as he felt her tighten around him.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, planting sloppy kisses along the delicate slope before he felt the curling of hazy pleasure unfurl within him. 

His eye squeezed shut, his jaw fell slack as a breathless moan escaped him as he came. Small cries left him, his hips continuing to move, losing their intensity as he spilled inside her. 

Their shared heavy breaths echoed throughout the room as neither one of them moved an inch. He continued to hold her tightly, wrapped around her completely. He shivered against her as she began to caress the length of his back, her soft hands moving up and down gently, causing him to sigh in delight. 

After a few long moments, as they caught their breath, he pulled away, nudging his nose against hers, smirking lightly at the sight of her so thoroughly spent. He kissed her assuredly, his tongue tangling with hers, his touch still firm, as if he were still desperate for her. 

They parted with the need for air, soft smiles shared between the two, almost bashful, as if they hadn’t just fucked debauchedly as though they were in a brothel. He pulled out of her and began to clean the mess between her thighs, delighting in the way she’d twitch against his touches, thoroughly overstimulated from his hands. 

“Do you remember when you put jam in my hair?” He asked suddenly, causing her to look down at him with a raised brow in disbelief. 

“You are thinking about that now?”

The childhood memory was not forgotten but she certainly hadn’t been thinking of it after he had ravished her.

“With how you were just pulling on it, I’m beginning to think you have some kind of vendetta against my hair.” He remarked with a smirk as he pulled his breeches back up and grabbed his discarded doublet that she’d torn off him. 

She laughed and shook her head, her eyes trailing his every move, pouting almost reflexively as he dressed himself, covering up that beautiful body from her eager gaze. 

“It is beautiful. Perhaps I am trying to sabotage you out of jealousy.” She smiled coyly.

“Jealousy?” He echoed in disbelief. “Darling, you are the most stunning woman in the realm, you have little to be jealous of.”

She felt her cheeks heat as she half-heartedly rolled her eyes. Since they had become more comfortable with each other, his compliments had been never ending, never failing to make her swoon each and every time. 

“So, same time tomorrow?” She joked, to which he snorted and looked over at her, nothing but adoration in his eye. 

He stepped toward her again, pulling the fallen sleeve of her dress back in place.

“Oh, darling, I will have you again tonight, surely.” He drawled, reveling in the way she seemed to shiver against him, already eagerly anticipating the night and agonizing over the hours between. 

He kissed her again and leaned his forehead against hers, as if he needed a moment longer with her before parting from her side. 

“I will find you once I am finished.” He assured her. 

As he left her to continue with his duties for the day he had steadily been ignoring, she finished cleaning herself up and fixing her disheveled hair. 

Her smile remained as she righted her dress, her legs trembling slightly as she made slow steps across their chambers. She just knew Baela would be dragging their salacious actions out of her the second she saw her. 

The giddy feeling within her crumbled into dust the moment she opened the door and came face to face with the one person she was content to never see again.

Her face fell, a look of horror overtaking her features.

“Ser Darick.” 

Her voice shook as she greeted him, which seemed to only deepen his smug grin. 

“Princess.” He bowed dutifully. “It has been too long.”

The sarcasm that laced his words cut her deeply and she averted her gaze, her heart racing wildly. The memories of that fateful night, the guilt that she had been able to push into the depths of her mind resurfaced with the force of a punch, almost enough to knock her off her feet.

She didn’t spare the man another look as she took off down the hall, her face crumbling into a deep frown as frustrated tears filled her eyes.

He would ruin everything.

~~

Her hand was clutched to her mother’s, her retelling of the day striking a need for her motherly touch. 

“I will take care of it.”

“How?”

“I will find a way.”

She remained silent, her face twisted with fear and disgust.

“What if he knows?”

“He doesn’t.”

“You cannot know that. Why would he be reassigned to me? Surely this is some plot to ruin me.” She rambled, her worried mind not allowing her to think straight. 

“The guards are spread thin here. We needed more help so guards from Dragonstone were requested here, but I… I had no idea he would be assigned to you.”

She sighed heavily, her mother’s words doing little to reassure her.

“I can’t keep lying to him.”

“Darling-”

“I love him and I can’t stand the fact that our marriage is built on a lie.”

Rhaenyra clenched her jaw, her teeth pulling her bottom lip tightly. Before she could even attempt to soothe her daughter the door opened and Daemon stepped into their shared chambers. 

Both women tensed, sitting up straighter in their seats at his unexpected arrival. 

His eyes flitted between both women curiously, immediately sensing the tension in the room.

“Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, my love.”

His wife’s words did little to soothe the awkward energy in the room.

“What are you two discussing?”

“Guard rotations.” 

Daemon looked at his step-daughter with narrowed eyes, the topic one he had not expected. His instincts were telling him something was wrong, that he was being lied to. 

“Is someone not to your liking?”

“Ser Darick has been assigned as her guard and we hoped we could find someone else for her.”

“Why?”

“No specific reason-” Rhaenyra attempted to diffuse the situation, but he had seen right through it, he knew something was amiss.

“I don’t understand. Ser Darick was your guard for years, he was loyally by your side, he watched over you, he cared for-”

Daemon’s sentence stopped abruptly, as if he had suddenly realized the double meaning in his words. His eyes narrowed, the angry fire burning within him so hotly she had to turn away from his gaze. He looked to his wife, as if needing confirmation to the thought burning in his brain.

When Rhaenyra sighed disappointedly, her gaze moving away from his, he felt as though he had the answer to the horrible explanation he had conjured.

Within a second he unsheathed his sword, causing his daughter to flinch and Rhaenyra to get to her feet. 

“Daemon-”

“Where is he?”

“You need to calm down-”

“I will strike every limb from his body and string him-”

“Please stop!” She yelled, stopping her father’s detailed description of the torture he would inflict on the man he believed to have committed an egregious crime.

“You cannot seriously be protecting the man that took advantage of you. He touched you, he raped you! He should be fed to our dragons!”

“He didn’t rape me!” 

Daemon remained quiet, taking in her words slowly. His face twisted, an expression of confusion soon morphing into dread and she shifted in her seat under his intense glare.

“You didn’t.” He spat. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Daemon, please.”

“You let that guard into your bed?”

She leaned her elbows on her knees, her head falling into her hands as she breathed heavily, embarrassment washing over her like a tidal wave that threatened to drown her. She would surely welcome it. 

“It was a mistake.” Rhaenyra chimed in, trying to ease the fury in her husband. 

“Of course it was a fucking mistake.” Daemon bellowed. “How could you be so simple minded?”

She raised her head, staring plainly at the man before her. She’d heard about his tales before he had married her mother, the Prince of Flea Bottom, the many times he had been banished by the King and he had the audacity to shame her about who she bedded.

“Your hypocrisy is astounding.” 

“Don’t be cute.” Daemon scolded. He tightened his grip on his sword, his anger still burning. “I’m still going to kill him.”

“You are going to do no such thing. Rumors will spread if a guard mysteriously winds up murdered. We will solve this quietly and reassign him so he will never lay his eyes on you again and you will never tell a soul about what happened that night.” Rhaenyra countered, her eyes locked onto her daughter sternly.

She could only nod, the guilt she’d steadily buried in the face of her happiness, in the bliss she’d found with Aemond, now clawing its way forward, threatening to tear her apart piece by piece.

~~

“There you are.” Aemond greeted her with a smile, bending down to press a kiss to the top of her head. Their chambers had been empty when he returned from training and he knew the first place to look for her was Helaena’s chambers. 

Her heart skipped as she saw him, her mind racing, screaming at her to blurt out her secret, to spill everything that was weighing heavily on her, darkening her soul, but she found no words could escape her. 

She smiled stiffly, forcefully pushing past the overwhelming regret and sadness that threatened to choke her. 

“Are you finished with your training?”

He nodded as he took a seat next to her, his soft smile directed to the children who played at his feet. 

“I am and I suddenly found myself in desperate need of my wife’s company.” 

“Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but we were just about to leave.”

“Leave? Where are you going?”

“We are going to the markets in Flea Bottom.” Helaena answered happily, oblivious to the way her brother’s expression darkened at her words. 

Aemond looked to her desperately, as if pleading with her to tell him his sister was mistaken, that she wasn’t going to roam the dangerous streets of Flea Bottom. 

She sighed, taking his hand in hers.

“She wishes to find gifts for the twins’ name day.” She spoke softly so the children would not hear. 

“Send servants.”

“She wants to pick them out herself.”

Aemond exhaled loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose. He startled when his wife stood from the couch and he reached out for her hand, but she was already walking away. 

“Come with us brother.” Helaena offered, oblivious to the torment unfurling in her protective sibling. “We will be taking guards, but we will be more protected with you at our side.” 

She smiled widely and linked her arm through Helaena’s, looking to her faithful husband.

“Well, you heard her.”

Aemond let out a long sigh, the thought of his beloved and his dear sister venturing down the dangerous streets of King’s Landing loathsome, but with one look at his wife’s stare, he was powerless to refuse her wishes. 

“Just for a short visit.”

The wide smile she gave in return was all he needed to stop himself from refusing the offer. 

He followed behind the two women, their group of guards walking behind him faithfully as they made their way into the city. 

Aemond kept his eyes fleeting between his sweet sister and his beloved wife as they perused each vendor they passed. He admired his wife as her face lit up at the sight of a beautiful trinket that had caught her eye. He admired the way she smiled at each vendor, politely asking them questions, dignifying their compliments about her beauty and kindness. 

She was truly a marvel, the most beautiful sight to behold. 

“Aemond, look, isn’t this beautiful?” Helaena called out to him, breaking him from his trance as she held up a butterfly figurine. “I think Jaehaera will find this absolutely divine, she’s always admiring the butterflies in the garden.”

“She will love it.” He assured her with a small smile, following her as the ever protective brother he was as they ventured to the next vendor, caught up with another bout of glasswork she had found. 

He felt as though he had only taken his eyes off his wife for a minute when the yelling started. A fight had broken out between two vendors and the crowd around them had responded to the sudden surge of violence with equal measure.

His arm immediately went around Helaena who cowered and covered her ears as the crowd yelled and became insufferably loud. He briefly made eye contact with a man in the crowd, the lowborn recognizing the pair of royals before him and, as most disparities of power result, decided to direct his anger towards them. 

Aemond guided Helaena into the capable hands of her guard as he unsheathed his sword menacingly, warning the crowd not to try their luck with the famed one-eyed dragon prince. 

The crowd soon became raucous, screaming, shouting and pushing at anyone they could get their hands onto. 

Aemond quickly spotted his sister being scurried away from the action, though his stomach dropped when he could not spot his wife. 

He yelled her name, the sound lost in the chaos of the riotous crowd. He pushed people out of the way carelessly, elbowing his way back to where he had last seen her. His heart dropped at the sight of her absence. He became more desperate, his voice sounding weak as he stood atop a vendor’s booth, trying to catch a glimpse of her.

The longer he did not see her, the more fear encased every inch of him.

~~

A muffled scream left her as a sturdy hand latched over her mouth, a strong arm wrapped around her waist as she was carried away from the action of the riots ensuing in the streets of King’s Landing. 

She hadn’t seen Helaena or Aemond. As soon as the fighting started she had been dragged away, seemingly against her will. She had thought it was a member of the King’s Guard but as the hand stayed steadily over her mouth and the painful arm carrying her through the streets of Flea Bottom refused to recede, she became more and more fearful of who had latched onto her.

The grip on her slackened and she quickly pushed her way out of the grip, her expression a mask of derision as she faced who had manhandled her so roughly. Her face fell, an icy feeling of dread spreading through her veins as she met the gaze of Ser Darick. 

He sneered and gripped her arm again, pulling her into his side. 

“Stop struggling, Princess, we don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.” He warned, though it sounded more like a threat as he pulled her along with him back to the Red Keep.

She remained still, allowing him to drag her forward, her face passive as they made their way through the halls of the Keep. She felt equal parts relief and dread as he forced her into her chambers. 

He slammed the door shut behind them, his face dark with anger, his hand still sturdily gripping her arm.

“You have brought me back, now leave.” She ordered harshly as she wrenched her arm out of his grip.

“Not until we talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” 

“You invited me into your bed, let me fuck you and then ignored me. I deserve to know why.” He argued angrily. Her face twisted with derision, at the reminder of that night she had acted so carelessly.

“I am truly sorry for how I treated you, it was wrong of me to take such liberties. But the night we had was simply a night of desperation. I am married now. I love my husband and you need to move on.” 

He scoffed, looking at her with nothing but derision.

“I don’t believe you.” 

“What?”

“That night. It didn’t mean nothing to you. It couldn’t have.” 

He stepped towards her, forcing her to take frantic steps backwards, but he was quicker. He gripped onto her shoulders, his touch strong and harsh. 

“Let go of me.” She hissed through gritted teeth, her heart racing, the beginnings of dread seeping through her, chilling the blood that ran through her veins. 

“I know you felt something that night. No one could fake that passion. I know you feel something for me. I know you have for years.” 

Her eyes widened, staring back at the man completely dumbfounded as she squirmed under his hands.

“You have gone mad.”

“I gave you pleasure that night, Princess. I made you cum under me. I made you moan for me.” He spoke earnestly, making her wince and shake her head, desperately trying to pry his hands off her.

“It meant nothing.”

“Of course it did!” 

“Get off!” She yelled as she pushed at his chest, causing him to stumble a few paces back. 

The door suddenly slammed open, her breathless and worried husband storming into their chambers. He seemed to deflate in relief when he saw her, every ounce of fear dissipating in a second, though when he noticed the guard in their chambers, his expression twisted into confusion.

“Are you hurt?” He asked worriedly, stepping towards her hurriedly, assuming she had been injured in the fight and that was the reason the guard was in the room with her alone. 

“No, I’m fine.” She assured him, her voice quivering. 

He grabbed her trembling hands in his, looking over her in concern briefly before his untrusting eye turned towards the guard who couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

The anger in his gaze did not go unnoticed by Aemond who stiffened, his hand reaching for the sword at his hip instinctively. 

The guard smiled sardonically to his wife, the sight setting the blood in his veins on fire. 

“Princess.” He bowed and turned on his heel, leaving the room. The fact that he did not address Aemond only angered him further. 

“Who was that?” Aemond questioned the second the door closed behind him. 

“He was my guard at Dragonstone.” She answered monotonously, her chest aching in fear as her waking nightmare unfurled before her.

“Did he hurt you?” Aemond’s anger flared as he looked at her questioningly, his gaze searching her frantically for any indication that her guard had stepped out of place. 

“No, he didn’t hurt me.” She spoke quietly, omitting mentioning the bruises she was sure would be blooming on her arm from his harsh grip.

He stared at her quizzically, knowing deep within him that something was wrong. The look on her face, one of muted horror, was striking and the fact that she couldn’t meet his eye had worry stirring within him so strongly his hand twitched towards his sword once again, ready to strike down the mysterious guard at her command. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I-”

“Yes, you’ve said that, but I do not believe you.” He interrupted, fighting between his confusion and his worry as she flinched at his harsh tone. He wanted to reach out to her, but something held him back, something he didn’t quite understand. 

She wrapped her arms around herself as she turned away from him. He called her name slowly, his critical eye never leaving her. 

“Who is he?”

“He is no one.”

His heart raced and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach as a multitude of answers swirled through his mind, none of them bringing any kind of peace.

“Do you love him?” He asked abruptly, jumping to the worst conclusion he could have possibly conjured.

“No, of course not!” She yelled, perturbed by the mere question. 

“Then why does he look at you as if you have a history?”

“I swear to you, Aemond, he is nothing to me.”

“So nothing has happened between you two?”

She remained quiet, her mind racing with a million different answers to the question, most lies, but only one truth, the one that spoke the loudest.

Her silence rang loud in the room and Aemond’s face shifted instantly, first to shock, then disbelief, then betrayal, and finally to fury. 

“You… you and him…” He startled slowly, trying to find the words to explain the blinding anger that overtook him so greatly it soon became hard to breathe.

The images that his mind created, visions of her tangled in the sheets with that man, her soft touch on his body, her sweet moans he relished given to him. 

“Aemond-”

“You fucked him?”

“Please-”

“Answer me. Did you fuck him?”

Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her world was crashing down around her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

“Yes.” She breathed out weakly.

A bitter laugh left him, a sound filled with so much anger it made her wince, tears beginning to burn in her eyes. 

“Aemond, please, I can explain-” She began as she approached him, reaching out for his hand, but he yanked his arm away from her, staring back at her with such vitriol it was as if a dagger had been lodged in her chest.

“Explain what? That you have been lying to me this entire time? That I married a whore?” 

Her eyes widened, his words striking her harshly. She had seen him angry before, she had seen him vindictive before, but it had never been directed at her, he had never spoken to her with such hatred, as if he were eager to hurt her. 

“It was before our marriage. I have never even looked at another man since I knew you were to be my husband.”

He shook his head, his chest heaving, an ache settling deep within him. Jealousy tore through him roughly, all he could think of was her tangled passionately with another man, and it made him see red. 

She reached for him again and he shut her down with a vicious scowl. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

She breathed heavily, her own anger beginning to rise at his stubborn refusal to listen to her. She knew if he ever found out it would cause a rift, but she had thought after the time they had spent together, that what they shared would be too special to let a mistake from the past rupture the beautiful love they had carved for themselves.

“Are you serious?” She snapped, her patience wearing thin the longer he directed his fury towards her. 

She thought of Daemon’s reaction, of Aemond’s disgusted scowl, and it made her seethe. If she had been a man no one would be batting an eye and she wanted to scream at how entirely unfair life was simply because of what lay between her legs.

“I had one night and I am penalized but you can do whatever you want with your body and I am just supposed to accept it. As if you haven’t followed Aegon to the brothels.”

“I am not my brother!” He yelled fiercely, his overt anger making her flinch. 

She stayed quiet, her anger receding as quick as it had come, leaving her with nothing but guilt. She knew she had crossed a line. 

Anybody could see how different the Targaryen brothers were, how much more accustomed to duty and honor Aemond was, how he refused to defile himself and shame his family as Aegon continued to do. 

It was deadly silent between them, neither one of them with anything productive or relatively polite to say to the other. 

With a clenched jaw, Aemond stormed out of the room without sparing her a look. 

His breath left him in uneven pants as he stormed down the hall, unaware of where he was headed. 

Images of her, his sweet wife, his beloved, wrapped up in another man’s arms replayed in his head torturously. He felt his eye sting with emotion he desperately attempted to hold at bay. 

He loved his wife, but this was agony. 

He loved her, but she had lied to him. 

He didn’t know what to make sense of the situation. He didn’t even know what to make sense of what he was feeling. 

He was at a loss as to what his marriage held. 

The only thing he could make out in the whirlwind of thoughts was pain. 

~~

He avoided her for the rest of the day and the next, choosing to sleep in his old chambers instead of returning to her. 

He couldn’t bear to face her, not after what he had yelled at her so callously, not after he had called her a whore, not after he had spent hours picturing her with that guard. 

It was agonizing to think of. 

He avoided dinner, giving flimsy excuses to the maids that dared to approach him. 

He sat out on the balcony of his old chambers, gazing out sightlessly into the night before him. The sound of his chamber doors opening had him rolling his eye, looking over his shoulder at the intruder with a scowl.

Aegon gave him an annoyed look. 

“You know you have mother worried sick? She sent me to find you, you twat.”

Aemond remained quiet as he turned to look back out onto the horizon. 

“What are you doing out here?” Aegon asked as he took a seat at his side, causing him to sigh loudly, not bothering to hide his disdain for his presence. “I figured you would be busy fucking your wife. You seem to do little else lately.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched as he steadily refused to meet his brother’s eyes.

“What? Has your paradise been ruined already?” Aegon joked, though when he received no reaction from Aemond, not even anger, he knew something was truly wrong. “What happened?” He asked, sounding more sincere than even he expected.

Aemond remained quiet for a long moment, dreading to say the words aloud, as if it made them more real than they already were. 

“She had a dalliance with a guard.”

“She has been unfaithful?”

“It was before she came back to King’s Landing, before the wedding.” He mumbled.

Aegon was quiet for a few seconds as he took in his brother’s words and eventually shrugged nonchalantly. 

“So?” 

Aemond glared coldly at his brother, the flippant response sparking his fury once more. 

“Finding out your wife let another man into her bed isn’t exactly comforting news.”

“It happened before she was your wife and, judging by how infatuated she seems with you, I’m willing to bet it happened before she knew you were the one she was to marry.” 

Aemond sighed loudly, no matter the circumstances, no matter whatever explanation he could think of, it did nothing to quell the green eyed beast that took over him. He had grown to deeply love his wife, the girl he had latched onto in childhood, the only one who seemed to root for him. 

The thought of her in the clutches of lust with anyone that wasn’t him was enough to incite his anger. 

He had never had a passionate, loving embrace. He certainly didn’t count what he endured on his thirteenth nameday, the moment that brought him nothing but shame. To think that she could so easily bring someone into her bed, have someone touch her lovingly, bring her pleasure, just as he could to her, stirred a fury in him he could barely comprehend.

“So, she betrayed you, what happens next?” Aegon asked, a smarmy smirk growing on his lips, striking Aemond’s anger before he could even speak of the depravities that mingled in his mind. “How about I take you down to the Silk Street and you can get back at her.”

In the blink of an eye, Aemond was on his feet, his face drawn tightly with fury, his angry glare locked onto his brother who laughed raucously at his reaction.

“Easy!” He yelled, shoving his brother’s hands off of him that gripped his shirt, ready to throttle him. “Gods, you have no sense of humor.”

“You know you don’t have to be here.” Aemond growled, sending his brother a final fierce scowl that silently threatened him of saying anything untoward about his marriage, before settling himself back in his seat. 

Aegon watched his brother carefully, noting the agony within him and he sighed.

“Look, you clearly care about her. She is your wife and you two have been able to build a bond which is more than many can say.”

Aemond looked at him, surprised by his honest words, surprised that he wasn’t slurring as he spoke. 

“Are you willing to give that up for a mistake she made before you loved each other?”

He looked taken aback at the question. The mere thought of letting her go was unfathomable. The thought was so horrible it turned his stomach more than his jealousy ever could. 

“I cannot stop picturing her with him.” He admitted quietly, almost shamefully. 

Aegon sighed, while he didn’t have anyone he loved as Aemond loved his wife, he had to admit, it didn't sound easy to picture the woman you loved in the arms of another man.

“So, let’s say you give up, what then? She marries someone else and warms their bed instead?” 

Aemond grit his teeth and sent a wicked glare to his brother who held his hands up in surrender. 

“Just think about it, brother. Get over it or let her go.” Aegon stated bluntly before parting from his side, leaving him to bury his head in his hands, a long slow breath falling past his lips. 

He didn’t want to let her go, he didn’t want to end what they had, he didn’t want to lose her. 

He breathed deeply again, forcing the green-eyed monster within him to retreat, to let him think clearly for once. 

He pictured her face, her teary eyes as she stared at him in disbelief as he threw horrible insults her way. He winced, his eye squeezing shut, as if the memory itself hurt him physically. 

He had to make this right. 

~~

He stepped into their shared chambers, his body rigid with nervous anticipation. He startled slightly as the sight of her was suddenly blocked, Baela having immediately got to her feet at the sight of him, standing in front of her half-sister protectively. 

“What do you think you’re doing here?” 

Aemond rolled his eye, sending a glare to the stubborn woman. 

“These are my chambers.” 

“Are they now? They haven’t seemed to be yours the past few days.” Baela responded sarcastically, forcing him to hold back a wince at the reminder of how he’d left his wife alone and worried for days on end in his fit of anger and jealousy.

He looked past Baela to find her looking back at him worriedly, wondering if this was the moment he left for good. The sight pained him deeply and he sighed heavily.

“I came here to talk.” He spoke softly, looking past her human shield, trying to appeal to his kind wife. 

“I think you’ve said plenty.” 

“Baela, it’s ok.” She said softly, hoping to stop her half-sister before she ended up in a physical fight with her husband. With how angry Baela had been on her behalf she knew it was certainly a possibility. 

Baela looked back at her questioningly, to which she nodded, silently assuring her she would be ok. 

With a sour expression, Baela left her side, her glare darkening as she passed the one eyed prince.

“If I see any more tears fall from her eyes, not even Vhagar will save you from me.” She threatened before stepping out of their chambers. 

Aemond let out a long breath. The sight of his wife upset cut him deeply, he knew he would let Baela inflict whatever pain she wanted on him if he hurt her any more. 

He looked at her, subtly wincing as he noticed she was looking away, refusing to meet his gaze. He moved forward slowly, never taking his eye off her as he approached. He sat on the opposite couch, making sure to leave space between them.

He didn’t think she’d be comfortable with anything else and he didn’t think he deserved to be so close to her, not after what he had said to her just days ago. 

“I’m sorry for what I said. I was angry and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve my words.” He started quietly. 

She remained quiet, her gaze yet to meet his. The longer she didn’t look at him, the quicker his heart raced.

“I want to understand. I know you have no feelings for this man, but… it may kill me, but I want to know what happened between you two.”

“Why would that change things?” She asked stiffly.

“What?”

“You know I have no love for this man, you know I only care for you. So what more do you need to know?”

Aemond swallowed against the lump that grew in his throat. Aegon’s words came back to him, that her dalliance could have happened before she even knew they were to be married. 

“I need to know that I wasn’t the cause of this.”

She turned to him fully, her brows furrowed as she looked at him in bewilderment. She was sure a piece of her heart had shattered. He thought she had chosen to jump into bed with a guard because the news of her marriage to him was so horrible she was desperate to seek comfort. 

She let out a shaking breath and smoothed down the skirt of her dress. 

“Do you remember Lady Eleanor?”

Aemond looked confused for a moment at the sudden turn in conversation, but took a moment to think deeply before nodding. 

“She was your friend when we were children.” He answered softly. “I remember I could scarcely find any time with you without her presence.”

She smiled at the onslaught of memories that rushed through her mind, all hazed in the happiness of childhood innocence, though she was quick to be reminded of the grief that rose at the mere thought of her old friend. 

“She was married off to a Tully Lord. The man was older than her father. His past three wives all died mysteriously, no one dared to question why.” She explained stiffly. “I could tell from her letters that she wasn’t happy.”

Aemond watched her, frowning slightly at the dull tone of her voice, of the tortured look in her eyes, as if she was recounting something too painful to ever speak of again. He sat up straighter, longing to reach out to her, but he held back, suddenly reminding himself of the rift between them. 

“She birthed him a daughter, just as his previous wives had. The next day they found her body by the river.” She spoke quietly, her voice growing hoarse with emotion. “They could barely recognize her, she was black and blue, every bone broken by his hands.”

Aemond shifted in his seat, an unsettled feeling growing within him. He remembered the annoying little girl who followed his niece around and now felt nothing but horror at the memory of her. 

“Her husband faced no punishment. No one dared to question why yet another young girl was dead. I don’t even know what happened to the babe, if she-” She stopped abruptly, unable to finish the thought. 

Her vision blurred with tears which only began to steadily slip down her cheeks as she felt his hand take hers, their fingers intertwining. 

“His name was in consideration for my hand in marriage.” She admitted, finally bringing her gaze to reach her husband’s, immediately noticing the dread that shrouded him.

Despite the fact that they were married and had been for months, the mere prospect of her being forced into marriage with a man so barbaric left him feeling sick. 

She let out a shaking breath, pulling her hand from his as she wiped her tears furiously, forcing her expression into a mask of indifference, refusing to show him her weakness. 

“I’m sure that changes nothing for you, but I figured you should know.” She spoke hoarsely. “My night with Ser Darick meant nothing. I had no idea you were my betrothed. I thought I’d have one more night for myself before I was forced to be a silent, battered wife who would wind up dead in a matter of months.”

Aemond exhaled shakily, his gaze watching her curiously. Her sadness cut him deeply and while he could never understand the fear she felt, the fear almost every woman in the realm faced at the prospect of marriage, he couldn’t help but ache for her, for what she feared. 

The thought of her so scared, resigning herself to be abused, forced into a marriage with a man that would treat her horribly, had his hands clenching into fists, forcing back the desire to draw blood from men that weren’t even present.

“I’m sorry.” She choked out, her teary eyes finally meeting his, causing the lump in his throat to swell.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“No, I do. I betrayed you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I acted as nothing more than a lowly street whore.” 

Aemond clenched his jaw, a flash of pain striking him deeply. His previous words he had thrown at her in anger caught up to him, hurting him as if they had been directed at himself. The guilt that overcame him was overpowering, enough to knock him off kilter, enough to haunt him for the rest of his life.

“I didn’t mean it.” He told her, his voice weak, portraying his pain.

“You said it.” 

His chest ached yet again at the sadness in her voice, her teary eyed gaze hurting him like a sword to the heart. 

“I was angry and I didn’t mean a word of what I said. I let my jealousy rule me.” He explained to her, reaching out to take her hand in his again. “But you mean more to me than my anger, you mean more to me than a single mistake.”

Her eyes narrowed, derision crossing her features, as if she didn’t believe him, as if his forgiveness was too good to be true. As she shook her head, he felt his heart crack yet again. 

“You’ve forced yourself to feel nothing but derision for me for years, I’m sure you can do it again.” She spoke tersely, her eyes betraying her hurt as they brimmed with tears. “I’ll tell my mother we wish for an annulment.”

“Stop.” He demanded angrily, looking at her with barely contained hurt.

“I’m sure your mother will be thrilled.”

“Love, please-”

“You can be married to a pure maiden within the next moon.”

“Stop!” He yelled, finally cutting off her frantic rambles. She looked at him with wide, tearful eyes, the sight causing his chest to hurt in ways he couldn’t even fathom. 

He breathed heavily for a moment, allowing his anger to fade. 

“I won’t let you end this. I care about you too much to let you go.” 

Her heart jumped at his words, her emotions beginning to stir once again. She let out a trembling breath, a glaringly bitter thought in her head she couldn’t move past from.

“Please, do not hate me for asking…” She started quietly, swallowing thickly as she looked to him hesitantly “Do you forgive me because you wish for power? Because you will one day be consort, because your heir will sit the throne?”

Aemond tensed, his gaze full of bewilderment. He had to admit, maybe in the beginning, the prospect of being consort enticed him, but now, it wasn’t even a thought in his head.

It hadn’t been since the moment she stepped out of that carriage and their eyes met for the first time in years. 

“I forgive you because I love you.” Aemond answered, as if it was the most simple explanation he could have given. 

Her breath caught in her throat, completely taken aback by his admission, one he gave freely, the genuine look in his eye making her crumble within. 

“You love me?” She choked out and he smiled sadly, the sight of her reluctance to believe it causing the ache in his chest to throb once more. He moved to sit closer to her, taking her hand in his.

“I have loved you for a long time. Much longer than I would like to admit.” He spoke with a soft laugh. “The things you did for me in our childhood…” He paused, taking in a deep breath. “Sometimes it felt like you were the only one who cared.”

She frowned, her hand holding his tightly, her heart aching to hear him so vulnerable.

“I could never turn my back on you. I could never let you walk away from our marriage, not for anything.” 

He was more than surprised when her lips descended on his with a fierce kiss, one that was filled with hunger, longing, and relief. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, responding to her kiss with equal fervor, moaning against her as her hands winded through his hair, the gesture so intimate, so familiar to their last months together. 

They pulled away, breathing heavily. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She whispered, sounding pained, as if she would have to repent for his forgiveness for the rest of her life. 

He shook his head and held her tighter. He leaned his forehead against hers, swallowing thickly against the small ounce of doubt that creeped within him.

“He truly means nothing to you?”

She seemed pained by his question, her expression twisting as she placed her hand against his cheek as she looked at him with reverence. 

“He is nothing to me. I have not had a single thought of him since I’ve loved you.” 

He perked up, his wide eye searching hers, as if looking for any sign of dishonesty. But he found none. 

He wouldn’t, for she loved him just as he loved her. 

He crashed his lips to hers, his hands holding her tightly as he pulled her onto his lap, eager to place his touch upon her and equally as eager for her greedy hands to bestow their pleasure upon him. 

He preened under her gentle caresses, her hardened tugs at his hair, her eager hips that grinded against his. He longed for everything she was willing to give him. 

He could feel the jealousy that had blinded him, that green-eyed monster that threatened to ruin it all, fade to nothing while he was in her arms. 

He would not let a single mistake tear apart what they had, what had been growing since their childhood. 

He loved her and she loved him. 

It was all he needed.

~~

They mended back together with ease. With Ser Darick transferred, no longer a glaring reminder of her indiscretion, they were able to put the incident past them. 

Her brothers questioned what had happened, why there seemed to be a rift in her marriage then, as quickly as it had come, disappeared as she and her husband soon proved themselves as a united front, more infatuated with each other than ever. 

She didn’t give them any answers. She only assured them she was happy, that Aemond treated her well and that their marriage was a success. 

They were back to the blissful, wonderstruck and obsessed couple they had been before her secret had been revealed. 

Until the dinner for the King’s nameday. 

Her arm was locked with her husband’s as they stepped into the dining hall, their smiles mirroring each other as they spoke quietly. 

Aemond suddenly stopped in his tracks, his body becoming stiff as stone. She looked up at him, her smile falling at the sight of the murderous rage in his eye. 

She followed his gaze and paled instantly, her stomach twisting with fear as she found Ser Darick’s smirking face staring back at her. She swallowed against the lump that grew in her throat and held tighter to Aemond’s arm. 

“Let’s sit.” She spoke quietly, having to basically drag him along with her to take their seats at the table. 

Aemond’s glare remained on the man as he took his seat, his eye cold and unflinching. His wife had told him about that day the guard confronted her, explaining his strange possessiveness, the harsh way he held her. 

He wanted to kill the guard the second he saw the bruises on her arms, but she held onto him tightly, begging him not to leave her alone, begging him to drop the matter completely. 

She so desperately wanted to forget the entire thing and she knew if Aemond killed him, it would invite questions she dreaded to answer. 

The fury he felt at the sight of her bruises, at how scared she had been because of that guard, hadn’t left him. He had kissed every mark on her body, though it did little to soothe the storm inside of him, the desire to draw blood from the man that dared to hurt her. 

His fingers tapped erratically atop the table, his deadly scowl never wavering from the man who smugly smirked back at him, inciting his rage. 

Her hand covered his, startling him out of his haze of anger. He looked over at her and she gave him a weak smile, her eyes pleading with him to not act on his anger. There was a look of regret in her gaze, as her guilt returned tenfold, as if she were the one angering him. 

The sight tore his anger away in an instant and he intertwined their fingers, squeezing her hand comfortingly, silently assuring her, promising her he wasn’t upset with her, that her guilt was for naught. 

“I love you.” She mouthed to him, wanting to remind him in the face of her dreaded mistake and he smiled, mouthing the words back to her. 

The days they had spent together over the past weeks were enough to heal him of the fierce jealousy that had wracked him at the news of her night with her guard. She had spent night after night worshiping him, bestowing pleasure upon him that left his mind spinning, proving to him over and over again that he was the only one she wanted, he was the only one she had eyes for, and he was the only one she would pleasure so intently. 

Their thoughts of that damned guard were gone swiftly as the King was carried into the room, the sight of his decaying and weak body stealing their attention completely. 

King Viserys smiled, a sad yet relieved looking gesture as he looked at the table full of his family, smiling faces around him, easy conversation flowing, no sight of derision or hatred he had seen just months ago that had broken his heart. 

He raised his cup of wine with a shaking hand. 

“A toast to my family.” He began with a hoarse voice. “To my daughter, Rhaenyra, who will make a fine Queen. And to my dear grandchild.”

She perked up at the sound of her name, seemingly growing bashful under the King’s eye. 

“My beautiful darling and my dear son. May your union be fruitful and prosper with a love the realm has not yet seen.” Viserys toasted them with a warm smile. “My dear you will make a wonderful Queen after your mother. You will be a fair, peaceful ruler and a wonderful mother when the time comes.”

A bitter scoff echoed through the room, causing everyone to tense, their gazes searching over the faces of those present to find the culprit. 

Her throat went dry, embarrassment washing over her as she noticed Ser Darick rolling his eyes. Beside her, Aemond stiffened, the murderous glare glinting in his eye once again. He gripped the arms of the chair he sat on, mere seconds away from getting to his feet to beat the guard into oblivion. 

“Is there a problem, Ser?” The King questioned, looking at the guard incredulously. 

Ser Darick didn’t even seem intimidated to have the attention of the most powerful man in Westeros. He seemed to preen under all their gazes, straightening his shoulders as if he were of importance. 

“Apologies for my interruption, Your Grace.” The guard began, his sickly sweet smile never wavering as his eyes landed back on the culprit of his anger, the shaken girl who seemed to shrink under his harsh gaze. 

Aemond clenched his jaw, his hand twitching, desperate to reach for the dagger at his hip.

“You are kind to dole out praises to a whore.” 

Chaos erupted in a matter of seconds. Viserys’ face darkened and he struggled to get to his feet, his voice hoarse as he called for his guards to seize Ser Darick. 

Daemon sprung to his feet, kicking his chair out of the way, his expression dark and full of hatred as he approached the dead man walking, swiftly pulling the sword from his hip. 

But it was Aemond that acted quickest. 

He ignored his wife’s warning as he got to his feet with agile precision, his steps heavy as he marched his way toward the guard. He pulled the dagger from his belt, his teeth grit as he stared the man down with nothing but pure hatred. 

With a swift kick to Ser Darick's hand, Aemond disarmed him before he could pull his sword. Aemond gripped the front of his armor, dragging him forward harshly and swiftly plunged his dagger into the man’s neck without hesitation. 

Gasps and screams sounded behind him at the violent display, but he paid no mind to it. 

He watched with satisfaction as the man’s eyes went dull, the life leaving him slowly as he bled out, finally erasing the smug smile from his face. 

He eased his grip, letting him drop to the floor. 

He turned, coming face to face with Daemon, who had his sword drawn and at the ready. His uncle eyed the dead guard at their feet, with slight disdain for the mere fact that he hadn’t been the one to end his life, before slowly raising his gaze to him, staring at him for a long moment before nodding, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. 

Aemond nodded back, a dark and twisted respect blooming between them in that moment. 

He turned, ignoring the chaos that continued as his family watched on in horror and confusion, a mix of questions, admonishments him for his brashness, praises for his actions, but he heard none of it.

He stepped towards his trembling wife and quickly guided her into his arms, holding her tightly. 

Her eyes were wide, shocked by the violent display, though she couldn’t deny the immediate relief that coursed through her. 

“Thank you.” She whispered shakily.

Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his arms tightening around her, his silent promise to always protect her. 

~~

Hope you enjoy and sorry it's so long, I can't stop myself xx

[entitled-fangirl]

A Northern Lannister.

Cregan Stark x Lannister!wife!reader

Summary: the reader proves she’s worthy of being the Lady of Winterfell.

Warnings: blood, death, fighting, cursing, yelling

Masterlist

…………………………………..

They hate her.

She's sure of it.

They all hate her.

A Lannister lion in a den of Stark wolves.

Cregan was wonderful, and he made no actions that would lead her to believe he thought her less than for not being a northerner.

But the whispers were still there.

Their mother's last contribution to the earth, Y/n was born the much younger third sibling to the twins, Tyland and Jason. The two treasured her. Due to their significant age difference, she was much more like a daughter than a dear sister. So when she was to marry, they knew the beauty had potential.

And with the war looming over their heads, she was sent to Cregan in an attempt to gain the North's favor.

The greens failed in their attempt at gaining Cregan's favor, however, the girl had not.

He quite liked her.

She had a fire to her that he knew would cause trouble.

And he also liked trouble.

What a deadly combination.

…

"I assure you, I am no delicate rose, Lord Mormont," she said through gritted teeth.

He chuckled in amusement, "You're a mere woman. We will not have you discussing battle plans."

"Mere woman?" She scoffed. "I am your Lady of Winterfell. I am married to the Warden of the North- the man you raise your banners for!"

He shrugged, "My loyalty is to him, not a Lannister wench."

Her eyes burned with fury. "Watch your tongue, Mormont-"

"-Or what?" He taunted. "You'll have your Lord Husband take it? He wouldn't."

Her fists clenched so hard she swore her nails cut into her palm.

She couldn't cause trouble. She couldn't cause trouble.


She huffed and turned around, walking away from the man, ignoring his taunting words as she did so.

…

Cregan stepped up to his war table and looked around at the men, "Where is my wife?"

They all looked around and at each other, lost at what he meant.

His brows furrowed, "Where is my wife?" He tried again. When no answer came, he snapped at a servant, "Where did she go?"

The servant bit her lip, "I last saw her storming from the castle, my lord."

"What?"

…

Hours passed, and Cregan became more and more worried, but he couldn't walk away from his war table until the meeting was finished.

Luckily, she returned.

Mid-meeting, she threw the doors open, making all in the room jump from the sound.

She stood in the doorframe, covered in blood with a look of rage in her eyes. A bag in hand.

They all stood at the sight of the lady, utterly shocked.

Cregan's eyes widened and he immediately rounded the table to get to her, "My love? Wha-"

She threw the bag down and moved to Lord Mormont. "You."

Mormont frowned, "My lady?"

She gripped his cloak with one hand and swung at hard as she could with the other, breaking his nose.

All around the table gasped, completely shocked by the woman's actions as Mormont fell against the table, holding his nose when blood gushed from it.

Her rage was all but tamed, "CALL ME A WENCH AGAIN! I FUCKING DARE YOU!"

Cregan raced forward, pulling his wife back by the waist when she began to wind up for another punch.

She grunted and fought against him, "DO IT! FUCKING DO IT!"

Cregan held one arm around her waist, the other gently around her neck to push her head back against his chest and he whispered to her, "Stop this."

But she was far from done, "I'M A FUCKING STARK! A WOLF! MORE WOLF THAN YOU!"

Cregan tried again, "C'mon."

She looked around, noting the wide eyes, "YOU CAN BE NEXT IF YOU WANT!"

Mormont stood up now, the bottom half of his face completely red, "Control your lady wife, Stark!"

Cregan's brows furrowed, "Pardon me?" His voice lowered, "Did you call my wife a wench, Mormont?"

Y/n finally quieted herself, her chest heaving but her eyes glaring.

Cregan finally looked at her and really took in the blood, "Where did all this blood come from?"

She looked over to the cloth bag she left on the floor.

Lord Bolton crossed the room, picking up the bag and grimacing when he saw what laid inside. "My lord?"

Stark's eyes moved between his wife and the man. "What is it?"

"Two heads, my lord."

All eyes moved to her frame slowly, continually being shocked by the woman.

"Love? What happened out there?"

She pulled herself away from him and reached up, trying to wipe the blood from her face but smearing it instead. "Green spies."

He frowned, "How did you know?"

"Tried to take me back."

Silence fell over the group and Mormont decided to break it, "Perhaps they should have."

Instant rage fell over Cregan's face and he rushed forward, throwing a punch at the man, connecting with his jaw. "YOU BASTARD!"

Bolton stepped forward, "My lord. Please."

Cregan held the bloody Mormont up by his cloak, his jaw clenched as he growled the words out, "To the wall."

Mormont frowned, "w…what?"

"To. The. FUCKING WALL!" And he threw him to the ground.

Cregan then turned to the rest of his war council with equal anger, "Anyone else wish to spew insults in my face?"

When no one answered, he turned to his wife, whose anger had disappeared and surprise had replaced it at his actions. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, "Yes, Cregan."

He grunted and moved back to his place at the table. "Go wash yourself and return. You're needed here."

She nodded, leaving the room quickly.

"Someone get this Mormont scum out of here!"

…

The entire North heard of the Lannister girl's actions, and it was quickly forgotten that she was of Lannister blood entirely.

She was a Northerner.

There was no doubt about that anymore.

………………………………

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn, @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[sansaorgana]

— LADY OF THE ROSES (III)

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART FOUR

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Tyrell!OC

SUMMARY — Six moons of marriage have passed and an unexpected visit of Lord Jason Lannister causes Ser Gwayne and the new Lady Hightower to have their very first disagreement. Not long after, she gets pregnant with their first child.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is a Tyrell. + You don’t have to know the previous chapters to understand this one. I wanted to include Gwayne and Reader having their first child in the previous part already but it was too long and the time skip would be too big so I decided to turn it into yet another chapter of the story. Since the pregnancy and birth would be quite boring, I added some drama with Lord Jason aka Reader's previous suitor from the first chapter (but the details are not required to be known if you haven't read the first part!). There will be one more part to this story for which I am very excited! 😊 Thank you for all the nice comments. 💚

WARNINGS — Lord Jason being himself, pregnancy, birth

WORD COUNT — 6,130

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

LADY OF THE ROSES (III)

First six moons of your marriage had passed by quickly and peacefully. You couldn’t believe it was half a year already and you were very pleased with how everything you had been so scared about turned out to be not so bad – performing marital duties was nothing but pleasure and fun, meanwhile running Oldtown could be exhausting sometimes but you still enjoyed it most of the time and you proudly held your head high while helping your husband with all his obligations around the city and the castle.

Having your own property with your own servants to order around was a good feeling, too. Not that you wanted to abuse the power that had been given to you but it was simply nice not to be someone’s daughter but your own Lady. Well, your husband’s – but he had never made you feel like that. Ser Gwayne Hightower was a chivalrous knight who was treating his duties and honour very seriously. He knew that being a husband did not only mean getting but it also meant giving. He was your protector and a shoulder to cry on, a strong hand to hold you and lead you and fight for you. You trusted him with your life and you would never doubt his loyalty to you.

Sometimes you wondered why had gods blessed you with such a good husband as you doubted if you had deserved him. Not that you were a bad person but you had your flaws – your pride, your stubbornness. Yet, you had not fought even once yet with your Lord Husband.

Well, once, nearly. Gwayne had suggested that perhaps you should start wearing more modest clothing because The Highgarden fashion was a bit too revealing for Oldtown. You had scoffed at that and he had not brought that up ever again.

You knew that The Highgarden fashion was considered too exposing for lots of regions of Westeros. Only Dornish women liked even riskier gowns but Oldtown was a part of The Reach so its people were not shocked to see a Tyrell Lady in a revealing dress. You had a feeling it was your Lord Husband’s personal preference because his own sister was known as a woman of strong faith and modesty like her mother before her.

Despite being Lady Hightower now, you still felt a very strong bond with The Tyrells. You always wore a golden ring with a rose on it and you loved all sorts of ornaments and decorations in the shapes of roses. You were corresponding with your Lady Mother and sisters every week and sometimes you were still signing the letters as Lady (Y/N) Tyrell – out of habit that was visibly saddening your husband whenever he’d catch you doing that.

Just like right now as you were sitting by your desk and Gwayne was handing out letters for you to sign them. Those were some official matters that he was supposed to send out to his vassals but ever since he was married and Oldtown had a Lady, he insisted on you both signing them even though it was not a popular custom for husbands to insist on such things.

You didn’t even read those letters since you trusted him as you mindlessly kept signing a letter after a letter. You gave him back the last one and he sighed, which made you look up and raise an eyebrow at him.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Lady (Y/N) Tyrell,” he read out loud and you felt bad at the sight of his sad expression.

“I am sorry,” you reached out to squeeze his wrist. “I was not focused enough,” you admitted.

“I shall rewrite this one,” Gwayne waved the letter in the air.

“No, I shall do it,” you took it from him gently. “Or will it be seen as something inappropriate when they realise it was the wife’s handwriting?”

“No, it won’t be,” Gwayne smiled at you and allowed you to take the letter. “Can I stay here and watch you work?”

“What kind of husband asks such a thing?” You chuckled at him. “Of course, my love,” you leaned into his hand as he caressed your cheek and you placed a soft kiss upon his fingers.

Gwayne sat in the armchair by the window inside your chambers. You would spend some of your days here but all nights so far you had slept with him. However, the chambers he had prepared for you were so beautiful that it would be a waste to never spend your time inside them.

You rewrote the letter and handed it for him to sign and then you could start working on answering the letters that were addressed to you specifically. Gwayne kept sitting in the armchair and looking at you, occasionally staring out of the window. It was peaceful and quiet and you wished that moment could last forever.

The next envelope on the pile of letters made you furrow your brows. It was red and the golden wax seal had The Lannister lion on it. You checked twice if it was really addressed to you and not to your Lord Husband but no, it was very clearly addressed to “Lady (Y/N) Hightower of Oldtown”.

“Weird,” you hummed to yourself when you opened the envelope with a small dagger, without breaking the seal.

“What is it, my darling?” Gwayne turned his head around to look at you since he had been gazing out of the window and staring at the water.

“It is from Lord Jason Lannister and it is addressed to me instead of you,” you told him. It felt quite inappropriate so you wanted your husband to know for you would never hide anything of such a matter from him.

Perhaps you would not be so suspicious about it if you didn’t have a history with Lord Jason. He had been one of your suitors and your father’s favourite. In fact, he had been plotting with your father behind everybody’s back to win the tournament for your hand and he had been playing dirty by using his knight brother to pretend to be him.

“And what does he want?” Gwayne crossed his arms.

“Well, allow me to read the letter first,” you rolled your eyes playfully as you began reading.

Gwayne was trying to be very patient but from the corner of your eye you could see that he was tapping his arms with his fingers and you found it pretty amusing so you read the letter three times before putting it down and taking a deep breath in as you laid your eyes on your husband.

“He wishes to visit us. He claims he was around for his friend’s wedding and he wishes to stay at The Hightower for the night on his way back home,” you explained.

“What friend, I’m wondering?” Gwayne snorted. “Oldtown is never on anyone’s way. It is usually a destination, not a stop.”

“He says his friend is Lord Bulwer, they are our vassals from Blackcrown. He must reach Oldtown to get on the Rose Road. It is a faster way to get back to Casterly Rock than to travel alongside the shore,” you explained because, sadly, Lord Jannister’s excuse sounded very realistic. “Well?” You asked Gwayne. “We must give him an answer.”

“We are not in a state of war with The Lannisters, are we? We shall let him stay for the night,” your husband sighed and stood up to read the letter himself as if he wanted to make sure there was nothing inappropriate in it.

In the meantime, you began working on a reply letter to Lord Jason Lannister. Your husband kept standing behind you and examining every word you were writing down. He had never done that before, even when you had been writing letters of much bigger importance.

“I don’t mind you being in the same room as me while I work but this is a little uncomfortable, my love,” you tried to make him realise calmly when you were about to sign the letter.

“Do not forget your surname this time,” Gwayne reminded you and you furrowed your brows at the tone of his voice. It was not rude but certainly harsher than usual.

“Lady (Y/N) Hightower,” you signed silently, “of House Tyrell,” you added, just to spite Gwayne and you didn’t have to look up to know that he rolled his eyes. However, he did not say anything.

Lord Jason was supposed to come three days later in the evening, right in time for the supper. You wore a green dress for that occasion but you had a rose-shaped jewellery that your husband usually did not mind but on that day he seemed to be bothered by it.

“This jewellery is beautiful, dear wife, but are you sure it goes well with the dress?” He asked during breakfast as you froze.

“Since when are you an expert?” You turned your head around with widened eyes. Well, Gwayne knew quite a lot about fashion but his comment had irritated you.

“Since I am a married man,” he cracked a nervous smile at you.

“Yellow roses always go well with green for those are the Tyrell symbols,” you reminded him with a forced, ironic smile.

“Is this how you wish to greet Lord Jason in Oldtown? As Lady Tyrell?” Gwayne raised an eyebrow at you.

“I have been walking around this city in this very dress and jewellery many times before and you have never said anything!” You protested and Gwayne blushed a bit because he had no idea what else to say.

You went back to eating because you didn’t want to torment him more by pointing out the flaws of his argumentation, however he did not choose silence at all.

“The dress is also quite low-cut,” he mumbled.

“Yes, it is, my beloved Lord, and what about it?” You clenched your fist around the fork you were holding.

“I suspect not many Lord Husbands would want their wives to greet their previous suitors in such a dress,” he commented.

“I have never treated Lord Jason as my suitor,” you scoffed. “And what is wrong with the dress?”

“Nothing,” Gwayne quickly fixed himself. “Nothing is wrong with the dress, my beautiful Lady,” he assured you and went back to eating.

“Are you perhaps jealous of Lord Jason? Do you wish to impress him or show me off as your property?” You asked after the sudden realisation as you laid your eyes on him again.

“Property? No. My wife,” Gwayne clenched his jaw as he explained. “I want to show you off as my Lady Wife.”

“My darling,” you smiled and shook your head as your anger subdued. You leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I would have chosen you as my champion during that tournament even if you were a beggar knight from a peasant family. I would love you even if you were a miller, a carpenter, a fisherman. And no amount of Lannister gold would convince me to go with Lord Jason anywhere,” you assured your husband and fixed his hair gently. “I want to show you off as my Lord Husband in front of him just as much.”

That seemed to calm Gwayne down for now as he nodded with a small smile and even stole a little kiss from your lips. You were alone by the table and the few servants walking around would not scold you for that anyway.

The sun was slowly setting down when you were standing by Gwayne’s side in the courtyard of The Hightower and awaiting Lord Jason Lannister. Your arms were brushing and you kept looking at each other once in a while as if you were giving each other courage. Not that you needed it but Lord Jason was rather insufferable and you knew that losing temper around him would not be good for your relations with The Lannisters. The relations were pretty fragile already anyway.

Finally, you heard the horses and saw a big, elegant carriage with the Lannister lion ornamented on its doors.

“I thought he would travel on a horseback,” Gwayne mumbled.

“Well, he is not a knight. He is used to certain comfort,” you whispered and wore a fake smile that very moment when one of your servants opened the door of the carriage and you saw Lord Jason walking out.

He looked around as if he could not see you nor your husband at first. Then, he faked a smile as well and approached you.

“Lord and Lady Hightower,” he looked you up and down and kissed the palm of your hand when you bowed your head down.

“Lord Lannister,” you greeted him.

“Ser Gwayne,” he nodded at your husband.

“Lord Jason,” Gwayne nodded back. “You must be tired after the journey. Come, the supper is ready and your chambers have been prepared.”

“Thank you. I have never been to The Hightower, I must admit,” Lord Jason followed you inside. He kept looking around like a curious cat.

“How did you get to Blackcrown, my Lord?” You asked him curiously since you and Gwayne had been wondering about it earlier – why was he asking you for a room to stay on his way back only.

“I went there by a ship, Lady Hightower, but the ship was the wedding gift for my friend,” Lord Jason answered and you nodded.

“Your wedding gifts are very generous, my Lord,” Gwayne pointed out.

“Well, I can afford such,” Lord Jason grinned at him as you reached the dining hall. “You must forgive me for not sending one to you, Ser, but in my position of a failed suitor, it would have been pretty humiliating,” he explained and you pretended to understand his point of view.

And it was not like you cared about any gifts from him anyway.

“Please, let us not dwell on the past,” you showed Lord Jason an empty chair by your husband’s side and he took it after you and Gwayne had sat down as well.

“I am not meaning to, my Lady,” Lord Jason informed you proudly. “I am a married man myself now.”

“Oh, are you? Congratulations, my Lord,” you smiled at him even though he had never congratulated you on your union. “To whom?”

“Lady Johanna of House Westerling,” Lord Jason answered and you hummed to yourself.

“Well, she is a lucky Lady,” you tried to be kind.

“Thank you, that is very flattering, Lady Tyrell,” Lord Jason bowed his head and Gwayne shot him a deadly glance. “Oh, do forgive me, Lady Hightower. The colours you are wearing have misled me,” he explained with a grin and you faked a smile but you began to feel guilty for not listening to your husband earlier.

“Green is the colour of House Hightower,” your husband reminded Lord Jason.

“Indeed but the roses…”

“My wife is not forbidden from wearing the emblems of her father’s house,” Gwayne interrupted Lord Jason and it was rude enough to make all of you sit in silence for a moment after that.

“Lord Jason,” you started quickly to change the subject, “why isn’t your Lady Wife with you?”

“It was not recommended in her fragile state. Lady Lannister is expecting,” Lord Jason straightened himself and you could see pride and smugness about him.

“Congratulations, my Lord,” you nodded at him.

“Aren’t you afraid of leaving your pregnant Lady Wife alone for so long when it is no matter of life and death keeping you apart from her, my Lord?” Gwayne asked and you clenched your jaw before kicking him slightly under the table.

“Ser Gwayne, there is nothing in this world women do better than give birth. She does not need my assistance,” Lord Jason found it quite funny, though, as he laughed but he was the only one doing so. “Speaking of, I’ve expected to see Lady Hightower being swollen already. How long has it been now since the wedding? Six moons?”

You froze at his question. It was incredibly rude to be up in other people’s business like that.

You had been discussing the matter of children with Gwayne in the very beginning of your marriage and you both had decided you wanted some time for yourselves before having children and to enjoy each other’s company first. You were regularly drinking teas prepared by The Hightower’s maester to prevent you from getting pregnant and so far it had been working. But if it had failed, you wouldn’t be sad about it either, for you couldn’t wait to have your babes soon anyway.

You exchanged a meaningful look with your husband, not knowing what to say. If you told Lord Jason the truth – that you wanted to wait and enjoy each other’s company – he would only scoff at that and find it hilarious.

“And who has told you that I am not swelling, my Lord?” You answered swiftly before Gwayne opened his mouth.

Lord Jason looked you up and down before humming to himself.

“Well, congratulations, Ser,” he patted Gwayne on his back.

“Thank you,” Gwayne gritted through his teeth and gave you a scolding look. “It is still very early news, though,” he added.

“May the Gods bless Lady Hightower and her offspring,” Lord Jason nodded at you and it somehow felt very sincere.

“Thank you, Lord Jason,” you gave him the very first genuine smile that evening.

The rest of the supper went pretty boringly and you said goodnight to Lord Lannister before the servants took him to his chambers. You and Gwayne went upstairs in awkward silence.

On your way to your husband’s room, you passed the door to your chambers. They were a floor below Gwayne’s chambers that were located at the highest level of The Hightower.

“I shall join you later,” you only mumbled out and he nodded, watching you disappear inside your room.

Your maids were already waiting there to help you into your nighttime attire. You kept sighing and they were exchanging looks.

“How was it, my Lady?” One of them asked. She knew your backstory with Lord Jason because she was one of the girls you had taken with you from The Highgarden.

“Lord Jason is insufferable as always and even though he is married now himself, he finds great enjoyment in tormenting my Lord Husband,” you told her.

“Well, my Lady, I doubt Ser Gwayne is angry at you,” her eyes widened.

“I do not know anymore. I have worn a dress he did not approve of and it indeed caused trouble. I have also said something… Something I should have not said and I have said it to defend his honour but he might not see it this way,” you confessed.

“Ser Gwayne is a very understanding Lord Husband,” the girl assured you and smiled while she brushed your hair.

You kept looking at yourself in the mirror’s reflection but you weren’t sure of her words. That supper had gone worse in the beginning than you had even imagined.

You thanked your maids and they left you alone but you kept sitting in the armchair and staring at yourself and at the candles slowly burning out instead of moving up and joining your husband as you had promised.

For the first time during your marriage, you simply blew out the candles and went inside your own bed. It even felt weird to lay there since you were not used to it but it just felt like the right thing to do on that night.

You couldn’t fall asleep though. And after a while of tossing and turning, you heard the doors open as the wooden floor squeaked under someone’s feet.

“Who is it?” You sat up immediately.

“And who do you think, my Lady?” A familiar voice made you sigh out of relief.

You reached your hand out in the darkness and Gwayne grabbed it as you led him into your bed.

“Why didn’t you bring a candle with you?” You asked.

“I felt a little adventurous,” he chuckled. “And I know my way to you by heart, my beloved Lady,” he added. “Why haven’t you joined me?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to, my Lord,” you admitted when he laid next to you under the cover. You cuddled him immediately by curling up next to him and putting your arm around his waist. “I thought you were cross with me.”

“I am not cross. I simply do not understand why you lied,” he confessed and kissed the top of your head.

“Is it the lie that you’re upset about?” You furrowed your brow. “I do value your honour but…”

“Not the lie itself,” Gwayne interrupted you. “Why didn’t you allow me to inform Lord Jason that we do not wish for children yet?”

“Because he would not understand and find you weak or assume you are unable to produce an heir and it is nothing but an excuse. I wanted to spare you further embarrassments,” you explained. “And… I am sorry for the dress…” You added, looking down.

“Do not be. I am sorry for insisting,” Gwayne rubbed your back. “And thank you for wanting to spare me embarrassments but now we are facing quite a challenge, aren’t we, my love?”

“What do you mean, my Lord?” You looked up, finding his blue eyes in the darkness of your chambers.

“I mean that Lord Jason now believes that you are expecting, my darling,” Gwayne smirked a little and you furrowed your brows.

“Oh no,” you gasped, faking the dramatic aspect of it. “And what shall we do about it now?” You wondered theatrically.

“Well, I have quite a few ideas,” Gwayne leaned in to join your lips together in a kiss as his hands pulled you even closer by your waist.

“Are you sure?” You breathed out between one hasty kiss and another.

“Only if you are,” he assured you.

“I am,” you nodded. “I am, I am, I am…” You kept repeating, suddenly realising how eager you indeed were to have your own little babe before you allowed your husband’s lips to devour yours with yet another passionate kiss.

Thankfully, Lord Jason was supposed to leave Oldtown after breakfast. You greeted him in the morning in another green dress and even though this one was pretty low-cut, too, you decided not to wear any roses on that day. Instead, you wore a necklace with The Hightower that had once belonged to Gwayne’s late Lady Mother.

Lord Jason kept staring at your chest and the necklace until it became a little uncomfortable and he cleared his throat before looking up to meet your cold gaze that you were gracing him with.

“I must admit I have not expected The Hightower to be that grand. It really is as tall as they say,” he bowed his head at you.

“We Light The Way, Lord Lannister,” you reminded him with a forced smile.

“Of course, Casterly Rock remains taller,” he added and you put the cutlery down, irritated. Gwayne gave you a look to remind you to stay polite.

“My Lord, why the remark? Is it a contest?” You asked him, trying not to sound too angry. “It is not the size of the castle that proves manhood. I do believe that you have already shown yours during the tournament for my hand in marriage,” you reminded him of his shameful behaviour and cheating. “The tournament which my husband has won fairly and justly,” you added.

Lord Jason did not say anything. He looked down and went back to eating while his cheeks' colour started to resemble The Lannister emblem.

You squeezed Gwayne’s hand under the table and the rest of the breakfast went pretty smoothly. You went outside to the courtyard to watch Lord Jason ride away. His farewell was pretty short and official. He was not trying to make any jokes anymore.

“My darling, you have acted as if you were a knight and I was a lady in distress,” Gwayne chuckled at you once you were finally free of Lord Lannister.

“Sometimes you are, my Gwayne,” you smiled at him sweetly and leaned in to steal a kiss from his cheek.

“Shall I get you a sword, my sweet?” He teased you and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Perhaps another time, Lord Husband,” you chuckled at that.

Two moons later you were watching Gwayne training with his sword as he was teaching a young squire on the courtyard. The day was quite hot but you had nothing else to do and you loved to watch him train anyway so you were sitting on a wooden bench, trying to remain in the shadow but you felt awful nevertheless. The sun felt too warm, the corset seemed to be too tight no matter how many times you had asked your maids to loosen it and you were hungry but too nauseous to eat. You blamed your condition on the weather and your upcoming monthly bleeding, which was late already but the soreness of your breasts could only mean that it would come very soon.

Gwayne kept looking at you from the corner of his eye with a worried expression because he could see that something was not right – you looked exhausted and your skin was a shade paler than normally. There were bags under your eyes and your voice sounded weak whenever you cheered for him or his squire.

He knew he was most likely overreacting but he was panicking deep inside that you could be seriously ill like his mother had been. The beginnings of each illness looked the same and losing you so fast after marrying you would surely kill him, too.

You were too exhausted to even notice the worried look on his face. You raised your head to shield your face from the sun and you felt a sudden dizziness that made you flutter your eyelids as your head grew heavy before losing consciousness for a short while.

When you opened your eyes again, the very first thing you saw was Gwayne’s furrowed brows and blue eyes filled with worry and fear. His cheeks were so pale that his freckles were more visible than ever and the strands of his auburn hair were tickling your face. His squire was standing behind him with widened eyes.

“Wh-what happened?” You asked and looked around while your vision was slowly coming back.

“You have fainted, my love,” Gwayne swallowed thickly.

“It must be due to the heat,” you tried to explain.

“Mayhaps. But I shall not underestimate your condition,” he picked you up the bridal style, carefully.

“What are you doing, my Lord?” You chuckled weakly at him.

“I am taking you to the maester,” your husband answered with all seriousness.

You didn’t protest because you knew he was worried and to be honest so were you. You only hoped that the maester would confirm that it was nothing serious.

Gwayne’s squire opened the door leading to maester’s chambers in front of you both and The Hightower’s maester stood up to bow his head. He had been sitting by his desk and working on something before you came inside.

“My Lord, My Lady,” he greeted you. “Is everything alright?”

“No, maester. My Lady Wife has fainted,” Gwayne laid you down gently on a bed.

“It is because of the heat!” You protested.

“Mayhaps,” the maester hummed to himself and approached you to examine you with his hands as Gwayne stood above him and watched worryingly. “Have you slept well, my Lady?”

“Oh, I can’t sleep for about two weeks now,” you admitted and yawned a little at the mention.

“I understand. What have you had for breakfast, my Lady?” The maester furrowed his brows.

“I was too nauseous to eat,” you confessed.

“May I ask you when was your last bleeding?” The maester raised an eyebrow.

“It should come any day now for it was more than a moon ago… I am sure it is going to come, though. My breasts are sore,” you lowered your voice a little, feeling uncomfortable with the way he was looking at you and Gwayne’s presence hovering above the both of you.

“May I?” The maester lifted his hands and you opened your mouth to answer but you noticed that he was looking at your husband and not at you.

“I mean, if you must…” Gwayne cleared his throat. “And if the Lady agrees,” he added and only then the maester laid his eyes on you.

“Go on,” you nodded and your heart skipped a beat when he grabbed your breasts gently through the fabric of the dress and squeezed them carefully. You hissed at the feeling.

The maester hummed to himself and moved his hands away before looking up at Gwayne again. Your husband shook his head out of anticipation.

“And?!” He asked.

“Lady Hightower is expecting. Congratulations, my Lord,” the maester informed and you opened your mouth slightly at that revelation.

“I… I am with child?” You inquired and sat up, feeling the sudden outburst of energy.

“I am quite certain of it. Too many symptoms confirming,” the maester nodded. “And when was it that my Lady stopped drinking the tea? Two moons ago, right?”

“That is quite right,” Gwayne answered and took you by your hand. He squeezed your fingers gently and sat on the edge of your bed. He placed a gentle kiss upon the palm of your hand and looked deep into your eyes with such a loving expression that you felt butterflies all over your body even though you had been married for more than half a year now.

The maester walked away and sat back by his desk to give you some space but you completely forgot about his presence anyway for all that mattered was your husband and his child you were apparently carrying under your heart.

“Oh, Gwayne…” You stuttered out as your eyes filled with happy tears. “So it is happening… And to think we have Lord Jason Lannister to thank…”

“My Lady!” Gwayne frowned and chuckled. “Do not say such things. Some people might get ideas…”

“That is true, I guess,” you laughed at his comment. “Are you still certain that you will not mind a daughter if it is a girl?”

“All I care for is your safety. And the child’s. In that exact order,” he answered and you gave him a faint smile.

“Whether they’re a boy or a girl, I just wish for them to be like their father,” you squeezed Gwayne’s hand lovingly. “That is my greatest wish.”

A slight blush covered his cheeks and you smiled at his reaction. It was quite easy to make him flustered with such compliments for he had not been getting many in his childhood. He had been left alone at eight years old, raised by all the septas and maesters of The Hightower alongside older knights teaching him the craft and chivalry. His life had been quite a lonely one but it no longer would be for you would fill the corridors and courtyards with tiny little Hightowers running around.

Your screams could be heard on every floor of The Hightower – a monument taller than The Wall itself – at least that was what your husband had claimed with a chuckle when you nearly crushed his hand while squeezing it tightly. You gave him a deadly look and he lovingly wiped your sweaty face, pushing away all the hair strands that got stuck to your forehead.

You knew that Gwayne was trying to distract you with his jokes here and there but overall he was very worried – perhaps even more than you were since your pain was too overwhelming to focus on anything else. The septas were busy around you, wiping your sweat away, helping you to drink water and telling you when to push as they monitored the birthing process.

You had not expected your Lord Husband to actually be there for you but he had not disappointed you. You had been conflicted at first for you had been told once that wives should not allow their husbands inside during labour. But you were too scared to go through this alone and the pain was much greater than what you had imagined as well. Gwayne’s presence was bringing you great comfort even if sometimes he was annoying you.

The birth had started after breakfast and the sun was slowly going down already but the septas were assuring you that it would not take long from now on. Gwayne had not left your side even for a moment throughout the whole day.

“I did not mean to upset you, my love,” he explained, caressing your hand as if it was the most delicate thing in the world and not a deadly machine that had nearly crushed his hand on several occasions that day. “You are the bravest woman in the Realm to me. In all the Realms of this world, in fact,” he assured you and you just couldn’t be angry at him any longer.

You smiled and wished to tell him something equally sweet when a sharp pain distracted you and you turned your head around while wincing and squeezing your husband’s hand tightly again.

“I can see the head!” One of the septas screamed. “Go, fetch the maester!” She ordered the young girl who was only getting her training but seeing her pale face and terrified expression, you wondered if she regretted her decision to become a septa.

On the other hand, as a septa she would never have to go through what you were going through at the moment.

The girl ran out of the room and you kept taking deep breaths in and pushing like the eldest septa was instructing you. Gwayne kept holding your hand throughout that but seeing his face, he needed the breathing instructions as well.

The maester entered the chambers in a hurry with the scared young septa after him and in that very moment the child’s screams and crying filled the room. The sound was so loud and determined that you immediately knew that there was nothing to worry about for only a healthy and strong child could make such a fuss.

The maester hurried to the newborn baby and Gwayne was trying to see as much as possible through all the septas swarming up around you to clean you up a little and wipe your face from all the sweat.

“It is a boy,” the maester informed and you couldn’t help but sigh with relief.

You knew your Lord Husband could not care less about it but you did care – you loved him and you wanted to give him an heir.

“Is he alright?” Gwayne asked with a raspy voice.

“See for yourself, my Lord. He is a perfectly healthy babe,” the maester approached you two and handed Gwayne his firstborn son. He showed your husband how to hold the little head up and you watched with a loving smile the little bundle of joy staining your husband’s clothes with blood as he was screaming his lungs out.

“He is beautiful,” Gwayne mumbled and moved closer to you as you reached out your weak hands to hold your own babe as well. He placed him gently on your chest but his eyes were fixated on the boy. “Thank you for him, my love.”

“I thank you, my Lord,” you answered but you did not look up at him either since you kept staring at the screaming child. But when he felt your skin and your heartbeat, he stopped crying immediately and just kept staring at you with huge eyes. You chuckled at that and cried happy tears. “How do you want to name him?”

“Lord Edmund Hightower?” Gwayne suggested. It was no surprise to you that he did not propose his father’s name and you liked the sound of Edmund Hightower, so you nodded. You could not care less about the name, you were just glad to have a son and you thought it was only fair for the father to choose his heir’s name anyway.

“I like the sound of that,” you assured your husband as you looked up to meet his gaze.

“So do I,” Gwayne nodded. “And the sight, my Lady,” he added and you felt your cheeks heating up.

Only Gwayne knew how to make you flustered still, after over a year of marriage and right after giving birth to a child, dirty with blood and sweat but to him you were nothing but a victorious warrior that had just survived a battlefield and he admired you now more than ever before.

MASTERLIST

[sapphire-writes]

Pretty Little Thing

summary: After finding yourself at a holiday party you hadn't wanted to attend in the first place, Aemond Targaryen makes it worth while.

pairing: modern!Aemond x Reader

warnings: 18+/NSFW/MDNI - smut, oral fem receiving, fingering, spanking, praise, slight dirty talk, overstim, kissing, love bites, hand over mouth, titty play, allusions to Aegon being a creeper, alcohol, smoking, langauge

word count: 7.2k

note: im back! grad school didn't kill me! hope you enjoy!

link to other stories from me!

To be notified when I post something new, be sure to follow @sapphire-writes-updates & turn notifications on 💙

—

Be there soon.

Alysanne had texted you nearly an hour ago, and with each passing minute you became more doubtful she’d be making an appearance at all.

You hadn’t even wanted to come. It’d been her idea and now she was blowing you off.

“We’re just exchanging the last of our things,” she’d promised on the phone several hours earlier, “You go on without me and I’ll meet you there.”

Yeah. Because it takes three hours to give your ex-boyfriend his stuff back. Totally.

Alysanne and Cregan Stark had been on and off again since you’d known her; this time was no exception. You knew from her first running later than I thought text that the night wasn’t going to go as you’d hoped. 

You decide to like her most recent message instead of replying, unable to stop the wave of annoyance cresting inside of you. 

You hadn’t even wanted to come.

An end-of-semester holiday party. Thrown by the elder Lannister siblings; twins Jason and Tyland. The kings of Casterly Rock are well known for their extravagant get-togethers and the unimaginable generational wealth that funds all their exploits. 

They’d long graduated from King’s Landing University, but you and Alysanne scored an invite courtesy of Cerelle Lannister, their younger sister, whom you’d been trying to avoid since you arrived. If Cerelle didn’t see you, perhaps you could escape the party unscathed.

That hope proves too good to be true as your name is called from across the room. You slide your phone back into your pocket as Cerelle approaches you. Her blonde hair hangs in effortless curls down her back, the emerald green top she wears accentuating its golden hues, along with her bright green eyes. 

You’re not exactly close with Cerelle, though she appears to enjoy your friendship, at least on a surface level. She’s part of the weekly book club you attend. Her grin widens as she reaches you, eyes drinking you in. 

“Darling!” she muses, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

“You wore it!” she says, fingers ghosting across the cashmere cardigan you’d chosen to wear that evening. Cerelle had bought it for you a few weeks ago, though you’d begged her not to; the price was more than you made in a paycheck.

Alysanne once referred to you as Cerelle’s Polly Pocket.

“She pulls you out of her pocket and plays dress up. It’s fucking weird,” she’d said. 

Cerelle’s lips curve upwards in a Cheshire cat grin as she slings an arm around your shoulder, bringing her glossed lips next to your ear.

“Stop moping in the corner like some dreary wallflower,” she purrs, brushing some hair behind your ear, “Have some fun! It’s winter break!”

Goosebumps break out on your skin at her affections. You laugh breathlessly shrugging away from her touch causing her to frown. 

“You haven’t had enough to drink,” she insists, reaching for another glass, “You’re much too antsy.”

“Alysanne was supposed to be here,” you tell her and she nods understanding, looping her arm through yours and giving your forearm a comforting pat. 

“Fashionably late as always, I suppose,” Cerelle drolls, pointing across the room, “There are lots of fascinating characters here who’ll distract you. Shall I spin a bottle to decide?”

“Hilarious,” you tell her, shaking your head.

“I never joke about a good shag,” Cerelle argues, gaze flickering about the room, “From the looks of it you could use it.” She turns back to you, matching your pout. “Don’t frown, you look too lovely.” She places her hands on your cheeks, thumbs tugging the corner of your lips upwards.

“Much better,” she praises as you hold the smile she’s decorated your face with, “Come on let's find you someone…don’t look at me like that! Someone to flirt with, that’s all. A bit of harmless fun.” 

You roll your eyes earning a pitch on the arm and you swat Cerelle’s hand away.

“There’s no one here I want to flirt with,” you insist, following her gaze around the room, “Let alone shag.”

“You’re too picky,” she muses, tapping a manicured nail against her chin as she scans the room, “What about Greyjoy?”

A shiver rolls through you, “No thank you.”

“Heard he’s good in the sack.”

You’d heard a lot of things about Dalton Greyjoy. None of which made you want to spend an extended period of alone time with him. You glance at Cerelle giving her a firm look. She sighs, returning to her mission.

“You need someone,” Cerelle insists after you shoot down several more options, “You haven’t been with anyone since—what was it again?”

His face flashes through your mind before you can help it. 

“Unimportant,” you quip, “Cerelle, I just want to—” Your words die as two new guests bound up the stairs into the main hallway. 

Suddenly, it’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room, your heartbeat echoing in your ears the only sound you can hear. You tug Cerelle closer, eyes wide.

“You invited them?” you hiss, as Cerelle frowns, following your gaze.

“Not me. Jason must have,” she answers, “It’s not a party without Aegon. Jay swears he has the best coke on this side of the Keep.”

Aegon Targaryen is relatively harmless as long as you keep your drink close. You’re more concerned with the tall figure who lurks closely behind him. Though the younger, Aemond Targaryen towers over his brother; his presence makes the room feel smaller, colder than it was moments ago. He’s dressed in all black, as he usually is, the silver chain around his neck the only other color. His long snow-white hair is braided down his back, an eyepatch securely covering his left eye.

He never takes it off.

Aegon pushes by his brother making a beeline for the kitchen where most of the chaos is localized. You can tell a new drinking game has begun by the sound of cheers and the echo of glasses clinking together. Aegon’s eyes lit up as he disappeared down the hall, eager to join the miscellaneous fun.

Aegon loves a good party.

Aemond watches his brother but lingers behind in the living room leaning against a wall. He extends a long arm to the bookshelf retrieving one with his long fingers. He flicks open a few pages, lips pursing. He glances up, violet eye meeting yours for the briefest moment. 

Your lips part and you look away, warmth flooding your cheeks. You had shared a couple of classes with Aemond, nothing more nothing less. He was quite mysterious. 

“Anyway,” Cerelle says, her attention wavering with each passing second, “Back to you drinking. I’ll get you another glass. Loosen up, pet.” 

—

You try to, you really do. No matter what her intentions are, Cerelle has been nothing but nice to you, so you allow her antics. An hour has ticked by and Alysanne has yet to respond to your latest text message. Squeezed between Cerelle and Sabitha Frey during another round of quarters you decide to plan your escape. 

“I’m going to get some air,” you tell her, rising from the couch. Cerelle rolls her eyes, “I’m not leaving, I swear!”

“You better not!” she says, perfectly sculpted eyebrows knitting together, “I’ll come to fetch you if you’re gone too long—you know I will.”

She’s telling the truth. 

“Five minutes,” you insist, forcing a smile.

Cerelle’s nose twitches but she lets it go and nods, returning her attention to the game.

Weaving through the sea of people you make your way outside letting the door shut behind you as you walk down a few steps of the front stoop. It’s colder than you expected, you can see your breath in front of you. 

You stand shivering, trying to decide what to do next. Reaching into your pocket, you check your phone for the time. You could leave, make your escape down the steps, and catch the last bus back to Maegor’s Holdfast. 

If you stay any longer, you’ll be forced to spend the night or dip into your savings to splurge on an Uber. It’s always crazy expensive on this side of town as if the drivers know the neighborhood is full of rich kids. 

The door opens and noise from the party fills the cool night until it slams shut once more. You roll your eyes expecting Cerelle as you turn your head. 

Only it isn’t her.

Aemond Targaryen lingers on the top step, reaching into his jacket pocket and placing a cigarette between his teeth. He finds a lighter a moment later, a nice expensive one, flicking it open with a sharp click. Fire blooms in the palm of his hand and you can just make out the three-headed dragon branded on the side of the silver lighter before it disappears into his pocket again.

He releases a cloud of smoke into the air, mimicking the one your breath makes. You turn away as he walks down a few steps, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“You were in my class,” he says suddenly, his head tilting to the side, “History of The First Men, right?” 

You force your lips together. “Mhmm,” you answer, surprised he recognized you.

Aemond Targaryen didn’t seem the type to remember a random girl in his class. Smart as hells, he focused solely on his grades, paying little attention to the rest of the student body. He seemed to be the antithesis of his elder brother. Though incredibly different, supposedly they had similar lustful appetites. 

One for pleasures of the flesh, the other for academic validation.

Aegon Targaryen was a known party boy and ran in multiple social circles. He didn’t care about class or popularity; if there was sex, liquor, and drugs around, Aegon Targaryen would be there. 

However, there were stories about Aemond too that made their way around campus. 

“You alright?” he pressed, the silence laying heavy between you. 

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now,” you breathe, chuckling slightly as you rub your arms as the frigid air bites into your exposed flesh. 

Aemond quirks a brow at that, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Why’s that?”

“You’re sort of a banned topic at book club,” you admit, causing his lips to curl into a small smirk. 

“Am I?”

“Mhmm.”

Another moment of silence goes by before his curiosity gets the better of him. “Because?”

“Maris runs it,” you tell him, and he clicks his tongue, nodding to himself before taking another drag of his cigarette.

Maris Baratheon, the elder of a pair of Irish twins. Floris Baratheon, once the object of Aemond’s affection for about a half second, was royally screwed over when he left her for none other than Alys Rivers. Adjunct Professor. It was quite the scandal at the time.

You’re not exactly friends with Floris; closer to Maris if you had to choose. But it's the principle of things—girl code. 

“Floris and I were never exclusive,” Aemond comments.

“Yikes.”

So maybe Aemond Targaryen is just like every other guy. Though, you’re mostly sure he’s telling the truth. The story you’d heard was that he ghosted her. 

“She shouldn’t have assumed,” he continues, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

You roll your eyes, blood boiling at his statement as annoyance begins to quicken in your belly. Aemond Targaryen seems more like his elder with every word that leaves his curved lips. 

“Right, of course not, how dare she,” is your sarcastic reply. 

Aemond tilts his head toward the sky, speaking around the cigarette. 

“You seem rather upset,” he accuses, “Funny, Floris never mentioned you.”

You turn to face him fully and he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. Folding your arms across your chest you jut your hip out. “We’re not friends. It’s the principle of it all. I don’t like assholes.”

His perfect lips curl slightly. “I’m an asshole?”

“Mhmm. At least Aegon owns up to his behavior, he doesn’t pretend he’s some suave guy doing nothing wrong.”

You swear a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he plucks the cigarette from between them.

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Sure seems like it.”

Aemond takes a step closer then. You have to tilt your head to look him in the eye. Something about being this close to him is almost unnerving, your stomach drops slightly as you focus on his prominent cheekbones. 

“It’s not my problem if a girl gets her hopes up after getting fucked properly,” he counters.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you back up, slightly slipping against the icy railing. Aemond reaches out, his hand curling around your bicep to steady you. It’s warm, almost hot; the heat seeps through your thin sweater in the shape of his fingers. 

There’s a tension between you as he holds your arm for a second too long, before the door opens and several partygoers stumble down the steps, forcing you to break apart. Aemond takes another drag of his cigarette from across the stairs as they laugh tumbling into the street. You’re grateful for the distraction, taking a moment to slow the frantic beating of your heart, and the slight flutter in your stomach. 

“So,” you begin, trying to break the awkward silence the partygoers left behind with their departure, “How do you know Cerelle?”

Aemond looks at you quizzically.

“How do I know Cerelle?”

You jerk your chin up in a hasty nod. Aemond chuckles, shaking his head and taking another drag.

“Family friend,” he answers, “Old money likes to stick together.”

You nod again, unsure of how to answer as he observes you. 

“Surely you’ve heard of the Westerosi Seven?” he asks.

You haven’t.

“The what?” 

“The seven families,” Aemond says, his tone indicating that this is somewhat common knowledge, “Generational wealth that can be traced back to medieval times. The higher lords and ladies. Near royalty.” He takes another drag.

“And you’re one of them?” you ask, crossing your arms. 

“My family, yes,” he answers, “And Cerelle’s. The Baratheon girls. Stark. They’re all quite close.”

“Interesting,” you tell him, glancing down the street again, “You sound like the mafia.”

Aemond holds your gaze, not denying your allegation. You release a breathless laugh, but unease settles in your gut. 

The door opens as if on cue, and Cerelle pops her head out. 

“Darling! Come back inside you’ll catch your death,” she calls, waving you forward. She spots Aemond out of the corner of her eye, and you don’t miss the look of interest that gathers in her green eyes as they flicker between the pair of you, “Targaryen.”

“CeCe,” he politely greets, choosing to use the nickname Cerelle often kept reserved for her family only. She doesn’t comment on Aemond’s choice. 

“Hope you’re being nice to my girl,” she says, the words clipped.

“Of course,” Aemond comments and you can’t help but feel like you aren’t there. 

Cerelle glances back at you, a smile decorating her face once more. 

“Come on, pet! In the kitchen.”

Her blonde hair disappears in the door. Aemond walks down the remainder of the steps tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it beneath his heel. 

“Best run along,” he muses, not turning to face you, “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Annoyance prickles under your skin.

“She’s my friend—”

“You have got a very generous friend,” Aemond comments, turning to face you. He motions at your sweater. “Myrish, isn’t it?”

You cross your hands over your chest. 

“Mhmm,” Aemond hums glancing up at you from the bottom step, “I’d just be careful if I were you. Accepting gifts from rich strangers is a lot like Persephone eating the pomegranate seeds.” 

You scoff at the implication before turning away and heading back into the townhouse. Aemond does not follow; you don’t hear the door open as you hurry back up the stairs. 

The party has since moved completely to the kitchen, sans a couple making out on the living room couch. You enter the crowded space and crane your neck to see what everyone is cheering at.

It’s something happening on the marble island, but you don’t see what—that is until Cerelle sits up, her blonde curls cascading around her face, a lime between her pearly white teeth like a cat with a mouse. 

She smiles curling her finger, beckoning Aegon Targaryen forward. He leans against her, bringing his mouth to hers and stealing the lime. The juice flows down his chin before he lets it fall, pressing a sloppy kiss to Cerelle’s lips, earning several cheers. 

As she breaks away she notices you, eyes lighting up as she slips off the counter. 

“Good, you didn’t leave!” she says giggling, “It’s your turn.”

“My turn?” you ask, heart dropping into your stomach. 

“Mhmm,” she says, dragging you forward, “Up now!” 

“Cerelle, I don’t—”

“Hush! Qyle Martell is doing it,” she says biting her lip suggestively, “Let the sexy Dornishman take a shot off you, alright?”

Your cheeks darken as he appears before you, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you onto the counter like a lamb for slaughter. The crowd cheers and your eyes widen as you meet Qyle’s warm brown eyes. 

“Your sweater,” he says, motioning to it with his hand that clutches a bottle of tequila. 

You glance at Cerelle and she nods encouragingly. Over her head and in the doorway you spot Aemond. He didn’t leave after all. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, observing the chaos with a curled lip, as if the entire thing is beneath him.

Qyle whistles, drawing your attention back to him. He motions to your sweater yet again.

“Oh,” you tell him, moving to unbutton it. 

Thank goodness you wore a tank top underneath. Your fingers slip with nerves as you struggle to unbutton it. You’re the center of attention, peers cheering and chanting around you as you struggle with the bottoms. 

Quite the sacrificial lamb you are. 

“Here, can I help?” Qyle asks, reaching toward you, his fingers bumping against your own. The bottle of tequila sloshes. 

“No—no I’ve got it—oh!”

You’d moved wrong, done something wrong—or perhaps someone pushed him you’re not sure. Your head is buzzing with the noise of the room and suddenly the front of your sweater is doused in tequila. Qyle’s eyes are wide as Cerelle pushes him to the side as the smell of alcohol fills your nose. 

The room quiets momentarily until Cerelle’s bell-like laugh pierces through the silence. 

“Qyle you idiot,” Cerelle sneers, nose wrinkling with playful distaste, “You’re supposed to wait till she’s laying down—”

“It was an accident!”

“—and her sweater!” Cerelle growls in annoyance, “Go upstairs, pet, my room. Pick anything you like.”

You slide off of the counter, hurrying from the room, leaving the sound of music and chanting behind as you move deeper into the labyrinth of the Lannister home. 

—

Cerelle’s room lacks color and warmth. 

You’d spent the night once here before, crawling into the white feather bed after too much mulled wine. Cerelle had stroked your hair until you’d fallen asleep, only to awake the next morning with a severe headache and a churning belly. 

Popping the rest of the buttons, you peel the soaked sweater from your body and throw it in the hamper. You then walk over to Cerelle’s closet—double doors—and open it. Expensive. Perfumed. You’ve already ruined one pretty thing. Though Cerelle could hardly care about the expense, you do. You sigh, gently pushing through the soft fabric.

“Playing dress up?” a voice calls, and you turn to Aemond at the door. 

You close the closet door. You’ll just have to survive in your thin top. Aemond holds a glass of whiskey between his long fingers.

“Well, I suppose that was a given,” you answer him, sitting down on the bed.

Aemond watches you from the doorway, his arm raised above his head, fingers tapping nonsensically against the frame. 

“D’you want to see how you’re supposed to do it?” he suddenly asks.

“Do what?” you question, tilting your head to the side. 

“What Qyle was going to do,” he answers, and you understand his meaning. 

Aemond walks over to you, the ice rattling against the glass he lazily grips between his fingers, coming to stand in front of your legs. You’re not sure why he’s asking, what interest he has in you. But something in your belly tightens the closer he gets.

“Alright,” you give him a quiet answer, the word barely slipping past your lips. 

Aemond purses his lips, glancing down at your legs. 

“Spread them,” he says softly, motioning with the cup. Warmth creeps up the back of your neck and blooms on the apples of your cheeks. You lock eyes with him, focusing on the ring of violet that surrounds his pupil. You do as you’re told, knees parting; his gaze hypnotizing. “Wider.” 

Your skirt tightens against your thighs as you do so, but you spread your legs wide enough for him to stand between them. He takes a step forward and you’re forced to look up at him.

“Lean back,” he instructs. You’re beginning to notice how easily he slips into the domineering role. Again you follow his instructions, cheeks burning as you lean back, propping yourself on your elbows. 

You’re much more exposed without your sweater, the tops of your breasts visible in the thin top you wear. Aemond steps closer, looming over you, heat radiating from his tall form.

He reaches out, fingers caressing your cheek. You hope he can’t feel how warm they’ve become, feel your pulse fluttering against his fingers as they trail underneath your jaw and down your neck until they reach your collarbone.

“You’re to put salt here,” he murmurs, pressing against the dip of your collarbone for emphasis, “That’s first.” He leans down then, fingers trailing over your shoulder and down your arm leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Though we’re without.”

You swallow as his fingers continue to trace your collarbone. His violet eye watches you carefully before he pulls his hand away. He brings them lower, ghosting down your ribs until they reach your waist.

“May I?” he asks, fingers at the hem of your shirt. You give him a wordless nod, not able to trust your voice. Aemond pushes the fabric up slightly, revealing your navel. He holds the glass above your stomach; a drop of condensation falls causing you to flinch at the cool sensation.

Aemond flicks a brow at the constriction of your abdomen, “You’re quite sensitive.”

“It’s cold.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees, turning the glass so more condensation falls; little raindrops begin to adorn your skin, “The liquor goes here.” His fingers ruin the pattern he’s created, rough fingertips swirling the dew drops around your navel, “Tequila.”

“We haven’t got any,” you breathlessly tell him, his touch leaving a scorched trail across your belly. 

Aemond brings his glass closer, pressing the edge against the beginning of your belly button, letting some whiskey pool there. Your hands clenched into fists as the cold liquid fills you up; you watch as it shakes slightly, overflowing. Aemond leans forward, catching the spill with his mouth causing a gasp that sounds more like a moan to leave your mouth. His mouth covers your navel and you can feel his tongue swirl around, collecting the liquid he poured there with hot, calculated strokes. 

His violet eye peers up at you from behind silver lashes, half-lidded as he hollows his cheeks sucking harshly. He reaches toward the side table, mouth never leaving you, to place his glass on the edge freeing his hand. You can feel his tongue circling your navel, gently probing the sensitive skin. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at the ticklish sensation. Aemond presses his hands against your obliques before releasing you with a pop, his chin and lips shining. 

“That’s how it's supposed to be,” he murmurs, not moving from the spot between your legs. Some of his silver hair has fallen across his brow, and on instinct you reach forward, brushing it from his eyes. 

“There’s one more part,” you tell him, fingers grazing the beginning of the scar that mares his left brow before disappearing behind the patch.

“What’s that?” he asks, his gaze revealing he knows the answer. 

He just wants to hear you say it, you realize. 

Your lips part, fingers still somewhat tangled in his hair; the strands soft as silk between your fingers. 

“There was a lime,” you tell him, “The person….holds it in their mouth.”

Aemond pushes up then, his hands sliding up your sides until they’re pressed into the bed on either side of you, his face inches from your own. 

“Have you got a lime on you?” he asks, his breath warm on your face, the scent of whiskey strong between you.

“No,” you murmur, not knowing where to look. He’s so close you can see the flecks of blue and gold in the lilac iris of his eye, count his silver lashes, and notice the small indentation on the tip of his prominent nose.

He hums again, his eye dropping to your lips.

“Pity,” he says, lips down turning into a pout.

Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest with the way it's pounding incessantly against your ribcage. He’s so close your chests are practically touching; your nipples straining against the fabric of your top. His chain peeks out from under the collar of his shirt and your resolve crumbles. Your eyes flicker to his lips, tongue darting out to wet your own and he leans forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

Your hands wrap around his neck as he kisses you; his lips so soft and firm against your own, skilled tongue parting them with ease to deepen the kiss. A moan doesn’t make it out of your throat as his hand cradles your jaw, the sound of soft kisses is the only thing you can hear besides the muffled hum of the music playing downstairs. 

Aemond pulls away then, the look is his eye ravenous as he lowers himself between your legs once more. For a minute you think he may grab his glass and do the party trick all over again, the kiss just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Instead, he pushes your skirt up, fingers digging into the flesh of your inner thighs. You realize a moment too late what he’s doing.

Riiiip!

“Aemond!” you squeak, as he rips the seam of your tights, “These were a new pair!”

“I can buy you another,” he says, pressing a kiss against the smooth newly exposed flesh, “Or perhaps CeCe can. You’re her favorite plaything, aren’t you?” 

Your cheeks burn at the statement, your mouth pressing together in a tight line. Aemond grins, nimble fingers undoing the zipper of your skirt and wiggling it down your legs along with your ruined tights.

“Oh she doesn’t like that,” he says, clicking his tongue, “But it’s true, isn’t it?” His hands are roaming higher now, grazing against your clothed center. You’re certain he feels the evidence of your arousal but he stays quiet about it. “That’s what you are, aren’t you? A pretty little plaything.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, humiliation seeping into your veins, though it does little to quell the desire pooling in your belly. 

“No shame in that,” he says, shaking his head, “I understand Cerelle, entirely.” His fingers tug your panties down your bare legs, exposing your wet center. Aemond’s eye locks on it, lips quirking upward. “I like pretty things as well.”

“So I’ve heard,” you quip as Aemond’s second-hand joins the first. He swirls a finger low against your entrance and you clench as he drags it upwards.

“Have you?” he muses, circling your clit with minimal pressure, “And what have you heard?”

“That you’re as insatiable as your brother,” you manage to choke out as his thumb continues to tease your clit, “You just hide it better.” 

Aemond cocks his head to the side in silent agreement before pressing his face against you. A sharp cry leaves your lips as his tongue explores from your entrance up to your clit, the tip circling the sensitive button. 

Eyes rolling back in your head, Aemond nuzzles his face against you, tongue slipping down and pressing into your clenching hole. He hums in approval as you make another desperate noise as his tongue curves upwards inside of you. 

Seven hells, how is anyone’s tongue long enough to do what Aemond’s is doing? Your toes curl as his tongue hooks upwards against the front of your pelvic bone, thrusting against the sensitive patch of nerves that resides there.

“Oh gods—fuck—fuck!” you cry as he continues the repetitive movement of his tongue, waves of pleasure lapping up your spine, sending shivers through your whole body. “Hells Aemond…”

His nose presses against your slippery clit, rubbing against it in a way that stokes the pleasurable fire burning in your belly. His hands hold your thighs open and you throw your head back against the bed as the pressure inside you builds and builds and builds. Your back arches and your thighs tremble in his bruising grasp.

You lean up on your forearms to watch him, his violet eye intently watching your face, studying your reaction. You can tell he’s smug at the effect he’s having on you. He would often get that same look in his eye in class after he proved someone wrong or made a more intelligent point. How you must look to him now; all spread out before him, flushed and slack-jawed, dewy-eyed and pretty. 

You’re a pretty toy to play with. Just want he wanted. 

His tongue leaves your fluttering pussy and you whine at the loss of contact. He mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like needy before two fingers sink inside your warmth to replace what he took away. 

Aemond’s tongue returns to its place around your clit as his fingers curve upwards replaying the motion from before. The stimulation now is much harsher, the pads of his fingers dragging effortlessly against your spongy walls, curling with brutal intention; relentlessly pressing against the swelling spot inside of you. 

His warm, wet tongue against your clit only hastens the tightly winding ball of pleasure in your gut and you feel your walls swelling around his fingers as your release knocks the wind out of you. 

You come with a strangled cry, hands gripping the bed sheets as your abdominal muscles contract to the point of pain, all your muscles going taut as warm waves of euphoria rush through you. 

Aemond releases a choked chuckle of appreciation as he feels you tighten around his fingers. He fucks you through it, stretching out the wave of your orgasm until your legs are trembling and the overstimulation causes you to hiss at him.

“Stop, stop, please.”

“Alright…shhh,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your mound and gently pulling his fingers from your fluttering walls, “There you go, that’s a good girl. You did so well for me.”

You can’t help but warm at his praise, the ringing in your ears fading as your chest swells. Aemond is on you once more, lips pressed to yours the mingled taste of whiskey and you hot on his tongue. 

“Are you going to let me fuck you?” he murmurs between sticky kisses, “Hmm?”

“Aemond…” you breathe into his mouth, hoping that is enough for him.

You can feel him smirk against your lips and know instantly it's not. He tuts disapprovingly, pushing you back against the mattress, his face dipping into the crook of your neck.

“What would Floris say?” he teases, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers digging into his scalp. His braid is all but ruined. “I thought you said something earlier,” he continues, nipping and sucking at different spots on your neck, humming with pleasure when he locates a spot that has your back arching. 

“I don’t—”

“Loyalty, I recall,” he purrs, his hand snaking down your side, gripping the meat of your thigh and hoisting it around his waist, “Something like that.”

“Aemond,” you whimper helplessly as he grinds against you, the feeling of his hard cock concealed by his trousers driving you close to madness, “Aemond please.”

“You’re going to have to say it,” he insists, kissing your cheek, “Come on, say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, “Please Aemond—gods.” 

“They can’t hear you,” he taunts, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, “You’re all mine.”

You frantically nod, nose bumping against his as his lips curl into a greedy smile. He removes his shirt with one hand before he rolls off of you and onto his back, motioning to you with his hands. 

“Go on then,” he says, “Take what you want.”

With shaky hands, you undo his belt above the sizable tent in his pants before dragging the zipper down and releasing his cock. He’s bigger than you expected, both in length and girth, the reddened tip already weeping in anticipation. You stroke his velvety shaft once before he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward him. 

His hands pull your shirt from your body as you straddle him, his cock nudging at your folds. Aemond’s hands slide up your back, undoing your bra and freeing your breasts. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, hands cupping the sizable mounds, “Gods, you’re so lovely.”

Your face burns at his praise as you raise your hips before gripping him in your hand and guiding him inside of you; gently letting yourself slide down his length, inner walls fluttering around him at the new sensation. Shuddering on top of him you whine at the stretch. “Gods—”

“You can take it,” he murmurs, squeezing you softly in encouragement, “Come on baby, that’s it, just like that.”

Slowly you let him bottom out in your warmth, happily seated on his cock feeling incredibly full. You brace your hands on his chest as he pinches both of your nipples, your jaw slacking in response. Aemond lifts his hips slightly, gauging your reaction as your eyes screw shut.

“That feel good?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper.

“Yes,” you breathe, slowly starting to ride him, hips lifting and returning to his with a soft smack. 

“There she goes,” he murmurs, hands dropping to your hips, squeezing, “Take what you need, gevie.”

A breathless moan escapes you as you ride him, his hands guiding you through the movements. The hum from the music downstairs matches the ringing in your ears. 

Aemond drops his hand from your waist bringing it to the apex of your thighs. His lips part as he watches you rise and fall on his cock, his length coated with your arousal. 

“That’s it,” he coos, his tone bordering on one of condensation, “Just like that—there’s a good girl.” His thumb brushes against your clit as he says it, a broken moan leaving your lips as pleasure ignites your veins. 

His movements are soft, tantalizing, and brutally calculated as he circles the sensitive button; his other hand clings to your waist, hard enough to bruise. Surely they’ll be memories of his touch when you wake; dark purple petals blossoming on your soft flesh at first light. He guides your movements as they become sloppier the closer you get to your release. 

It sends tingles up your spine, your chest and neck growing warmth as you edge closer to the precipice of pleasure.

No other man has made you finish before.

“Are you close?” Aemond murmurs, never stopping his attention to your clit, the subtle movement of his hips thrusting up into you, “I know you are—can feel you clenching around me.”

Your head falls back, mind foggy as you desperately grind against him, trying to ignore the burn in your hamstrings. Aemond’s hand leaves your hip crashing down against your ass with a loud smack. You yelp in surprise, head jerking forward, nails clawing into the hardened muscles of his chest. Aemond’s hand remains where he’d spanked you, fingers curling into the meat of your ass as he releases a breathless laugh; his eye flickers to where your nails dig against his pale flesh, leaving a trail of red behind as they scrape down his chest.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you quickly nod earning another stinging slap, “With your words gevie. Use those pretty lips.”

“Yes,” you practically gasp, “Yes, Aemond I’m close—”

“And you want to cum, don’t you?” he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk, “Do you want me to make you cum?”

“Yes, Aemond please—” the sentence dies with a moan as he plants both feet on the mattress, bucking his hips up against yours at an inhumane pace. Your eyes screw shut, mouth hanging open in ecstasy as all the muscles in your body tense followed by a sudden burst of euphoria pulsing through you. 

Aemond hums in satisfaction as you ride your high, blood rushing in your ears as you shake on top of him, clenching around his thick length. He’s careful to pull his thumb away from your sensitive clit as your eyes flutter open, eyebrows scrunched together at the overstimulation. But his compassion is short-lived as he hooks his arm around your waist, flipping you onto your back and slotting his body on top of yours. 

His cock is removed for merely a moment at the switch of positions before it’s stretching into your once more earning a sharp gasp. Aemond’s hand covers your mouth in an instant, his face buried in the crook of your neck once more. 

“Shhh,” he coos, placing a kiss under your ear, “Hear that?” he asks, thrusting gently into your warmth causing your eyes to roll back in your head. “Listen.”

His hips continue their gentle roll against yours, slowly stoking the pleasurable fire that is reigniting in your belly. Limbs still tingling from your previous orgasm, you blink rapidly trying to focus on what he’s asking. 

The music downstairs has died.

“Everyone’s going home,” he murmurs, through another kiss, “We’d best be quick. Would hate for lovely Cerelle to find her pet in such a position.”

Embarrassment burns your cheeks and he chuckles, keeping his hand over your mouth as he slings your leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle of his thrusts. The head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot almost lovingly as he drags his cock in and out.

“Keep quiet,” he murmurs, the sound of silence deafening with the lack of music, “Can you do that?” He’s rather cruel with his question, delivering a particularly harsh thrust as he asks, then clicking his tongue in disapproval at your muffled moan. “Thought not.”

So his hand remains as he plows into you, the sounds of your pleasure muffled but still desperate as you claw at his shoulders. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, “Cum for me again, just like that.” His pelvis grazes against your clit, the friction only aiding in his efforts of making you reach your release once more. His violet eye scans your face before he dips to your collarbone, nipping the sensitive flesh with his teeth and you cum with a desperate cry against his hand. 

“There you go,” he coos, the words breathy and broken his hips faltering as your walls clamp down around him, “Squeezing me so fucking tight—fuck.” He regains his pace with renewed enthusiasm as your walls continue to flutter around him. Aemond removes his hand from your mouth pressing it into the mattress beside your head. 

Nerves raw from the continued stimulation a tear rolls down your cheek as he chases his own release. Aemond leans forward, hot tongue darting out to catch the salty stream as he hums in satisfaction. 

“We’ll have more time next time,” he whispers the promise against your cheek, “I want to explore what other pretty noises you make.” His lips capture yours then, swallowing the whimper you release. 

“I’m very curious,” he murmurs against your lips, slinging your other leg over his shoulder, pushing your knees back beside your ears. “And I’m very thorough.” A silent scream leaves you as he slams back into you, toes curling as you cum again, vision going white with the force of it. 

Aemond’s hips meet yours a few more times and then you feel his cock pulsate inside of you before the warmth of his release fills you to the brim. You’ll need to make a trip to the pharmacy, but you’ll think about that later. He stays like that for a moment, buried to the hilt inside of you as you both try to regulate your breathing. 

Aemond lowers your legs gently from around his shoulders and brushes some sweat-soaked hair from your forehead. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you nod as he kisses you sweetly.

“Just fucked out,” you assure him, a pleasurable ache radiating down your thighs. Aemond hums, carefully pulling his softening cock from your warmth.

The emptiness takes your breath away as he stands. “Wait here,” he orders, walking towards Cerelle’s bathroom. He returns a moment later, washcloth in hand. You push yourself onto shaky forearms as he carefully cleans the mess between your thighs.

“Thank you,” you tell him, face burning from his attention.

“No need for thanks,” he insists, “It’s the bare minimum.”

“For you maybe.”

Aemond flicks a brow toward his hairline, his violet eye meeting yours. His expression is curious, but you sense he’s not going to push you to elaborate. You hold his gaze. 

Not tonight.

“Are you staying here?” he asks, standing when he’s done, handing you pieces of your clothes.

“I think I have to,” you answer, putting your skirt back on and glancing at the clock, “The last bus is long gone.”

Aemond frowns, reaching for his phone.

“I’ll have my driver take you,” he says, unlocking his screen.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s no trouble,” he insists, placing the phone against his ear, “Cole. Ten minutes. Thank you.” He hangs up quickly leaving no time to argue.

“Thanks,” you mutter awkwardly while finishing dressing. You walk to Cerelle’s large mirror and attempt to fix your sex hair. Your eyes widen in horror as you tilt your head to the side, leaning closer to get a better look. 

“Aemond,” you hiss, fingers pressing against the three red marks sure to bruise, “I look like I’ve been mauled by a bear.”

Aemond walks up behind you dragging his fingers down the curve of your neck and over your collarbone. Goosebumps appear in their wake. Three more red marks lead a path down to the top of your right breast. Several sizable mouth-shaped love bites. 

Aemond rests his chin on your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Think of them as a gift,” he tells you, the curve of his lips pressed against the skin of your neck.

His hand curves around your waist, the other slinking up to turn your face towards him. He hums appreciatively, kissing your lips, then your cheek. Down your neck to your shoulder. You glance in the mirror once more, catching his eye. 

There’s something new there. Almost possessive. 

His grip on your waist tightens and he presses his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

Outside, snow begins to fall.

[flowerisevil]

Lifetime

Gwayne Hightower X Targaryen reader princess @beckyxzz

Disclaimer: incest. Gwayne is the reader's uncle, slight angst, attempted r@pe, mention of sa.

~•~

A youngest and a daughter. What an awful combination can the princess have.

The princess was feeling spiritless between these walls, after a war was declared.

"I want to go in the Sept, it is the seventh day today" she informed her sworn protector, her uncle.

"Princess, would you like for me to inform the Queen so she shall accompany you?" Gwayne asked.

She shook her head, she can't even look at him after the dream she had about him last night, it was unpleasant.

Gwayne took knowledge of her request, as soon as he fetched a carriage for her, the princess was fast to enter the carriage before him.

"You look devastated princess..." Gwayne pointed out.

"I worry for my future, Ser Gwayne" she confessed, as she skinned the tip of her fingers, a manner she obviously gets from her mother.

Gwayne looked at her, she looked like she did not come from her sister Alicent, from her outside and inside. She looked extremely like a Targaryen, out of the five of them, she was the only one who radiates an aura like the other pure-blooded Targaryen had. Her skin and hair were glowing, her lilac eyes that can deceive anyone.

"I worry that someday, the King would arrange me in marriage to the other houses for alliance" Gwayne snapped back in reality as her voice echoed inside the carriage.

"Aegon and Aemond they're plotting to marry me to the Oscar Tully"

Gwayne only nodded, he knew that his nephews' ideas were right, Oscar Tully was a young boy who would accept a generous offer of marrying a Targaryen princess, especially if it's her.

"And you don't want it? Lord Oscar Tully is a great chivalrous and has a great title"

She shakes her head, she never dreamed of marrying a guy, she wanted to marry for love and build a family that will be full of joyous laugh and lovely interactions.

She dreamed one man to marry and unfortunately it was the man right of her, out of all people her heart chose the one she truly shouldn't be with, he was sworn and took an oath.

As they have reached the Great Sept none between them, uttered a word.

Gwayne watched her kneel on the stone statue, while she lit up three candles he frowned, for whom she lit up the third one? Gwayne stared at her, she was the most beautiful of all of them, the most beautiful in his eyes too. His eyes stares at her position, kneeling while she looked up, he wonders how beautiful she would look if a such position is in front of him, he shook his head it was never a good idea to think about her in a sensual way.

It was a painful minute he had to endure before the princess and him came back in the Keep.

~•~•~•~•~•~

Gwayne resisted her, he tried, and he was good at hiding it, the people inside the Keep did not suspect him aside from one.

The youngest princess was outside the Godswood of the Keep when the Jason Lannister pay her a visit, Jason had always dreamed that someday he might get her hand for marriage before the two Targaryen brothers finalize her betrothal to Oscar Tully. It's not like Aegon did not want him for their sister, it would be an honor for both parties to unite their houses.

Gwayne eyes followed the steps of the Lannister towards the princess, he sat beside her on the wooden bench, the princess gaze moves towards him, a hint of discomfort flashed on her face at the close distance between her and Lord Lannister.

"Ser Jason, I am afraid my brothers are nowhere to be seen here" she spoke genuinely, Jason let out a small chuckle as he shakes his head.

"It is you princess that I am looking for" his body moved closer to her and his hands slowly reaching for her hand but before he had placed a kiss on the back of it, the princess had already withdrawn her hand from his grasp.

"What a very proper lady you are" Jason smirked. "I do wonder if only I had asked for your hand earlier than maybe our houses and the people in Kings Landing are already cheering at our union" the princess face grimaced as he spoke, he was speaking nothing but nonsense.

Gwayne hold his sword as he watched the scene unfold, Jason reached to cup her face, he cannot read what he's telling her, but one thing is for sure, the princess is not pleased nor comfortable with him. And he himself is not happy at the scene right in front of him, that cunt of a Lannister touching her elegant face, he dared to touch the princess like that.

Gwayne battled with his own emotion, but his restraints vanished when Jason Lannister took a small fabric of her dress and sniffing it, he immediately walked over them and grabbed his collar pushing him to the ground, he draws his sword before pointing it on the lord lion's neck.

"What an immoral person you are to harass the princess" Gwayne spat, the guards seem alert on his actions but he paid no mind and looked at the princess behind him.

He was furious.

And she can read it clearly on his eyes, but why? Why does it look like his act and rage was caused by other than his knightly duty? Why does his eyes seems have something more to say.

"Princess give me your command and I shall extinguished this unhinged man" Gwayne spoke, digging the tip of his sword the man's skin.

She opened her mouth to speak when Aemond walked inside seeing the scene in front of him.

"Ser Gwayne? What is the meaning of this?"

Aemond spoke beside him was Ser Criston Cole, Aemond's eye widened at the unpleasant scenario, when Gwayne moved his gaze to the Prince, Jason Lannister took it as a chance to run and stand beside Aemond.

"The princess sworn protector is insane! H-he pointed his sword at me!" Jason snarled.

Aemond looked at his uncle, demanding an explanation, Jason's defense made the knight chuckled as he placed his sword back his side.

"My Prince, Lord Lannister was harassing the princess"

Jason denied his allegations fueling the anger inside him, he stepped forward to make him admit his treasonous act but the hand of the woman behind her was placed on his arm, deterring him. His tense muscles softened at her touch.

Aemond eyes watched the interaction between his sister and uncle, he made a small sound with a click of his tongue as he whispered something to Ser Jason Lannister and the Lord walked away.

Then he turned back to them, looking at his dear sister. "Ser Criston, please escort the princess out of the Godswood."

"Aemond, I wish to stay. Hear me out, Lord Lanniste-"

"Enough. We shall talk later princess, for now I need to have a word with Ser Gwayne" with Aemond's command, Ser Criston walked to the princess and slowly guiding her back inside the castle.

Gwayne and Aemond remained there, the prince walked near at his uncle, his uncle was a great knight, one of his greatest swordman.

"You are a very an honorable knight Ser Gwayne, I would not have to deny that" Aemond murmur to him, looking him from toes to his head. "But it seems like the past moons you are having dereliction with your duties" the prince continued, he might only have one eye, but it does not mean he wasn't able to see the stare of fondness his uncle setting to his sister.

"I am only doing my duty, and it is to protect the princess, my Prince" Gwayne was bravely enough to stare back on the one-eyed prince.

"There is a difference with protecting the princess because of your duty and protecting her out of jealousy" Aemond chuckled, Gwayne was not fazed by his nephew's correct allegations. "I am no fool uncle, I know the little amor you have for the princess" Aemond stepped backward as he turned his back against the Hightower knight and walked away.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The last phrases echoed inside Gwayne's head, his mind was preoccupied when he heard a noise inside the princess chamber.

He quickly knocked on her room, waiting for her answer but it remained silent, he tried multiple times still no answer.

"Princess I am going inside" he informed before pushing her wooden door.

He went inside and he saw her sitting on the edge of her bed, her back facing him.

"Princess? Are you alright?" He walked toward her.

He took the sight of her, when he finally saw her whole, her cheeks covered in almost dried tear stains, both of her arms hanging on her sides, it took his attention at the two bottles of wines scattered down her bed and one on her right hand.

Gwayne kneeled in front of her, slowly taking the wine out of her grasp, when he kneeled, he noticed pieces of broken glasses on the floor and small drops of blood, he searched where did it came from, and his eyes dropped on the left arm of the princess.

It was a long slit, probably a wound from the broken bottles of wine, he remained calm despite the urge to be angry at her for being too careless and letting herself get wounded. He scanned her chamber looking for something to aid her injury.

He slowly grabbed the liquor away from her, next he reached for her hand and gently washed it with wet water removing the flowing blood.

The Princess watched his actions, when he slowly held her hand like it was a piece of jewelry that need to be held with care. Her drunk state told her to caress his hair to show him her affection.

She has always admired him, from his physical traits to his inside traits, an honorable man, raised by his mother in Oldtown, an heir to Oldtown. He would be a perfect candidate as her betrothed, perhaps if only their father, the previous King was still alive he would consider Ser Gwayne to be her betrothed.

She looked down on him as he slowly wrapped a clean cloth around her palm, she reached to cup his face, slowly bringing his face close to her. Gwayne was surprised by the princess but also was fast to move away from her. Her heart sank as she felt his skin detached from her hand.

"Princess" his voice warned, the young princess stood up walking closer to him, she again caresses his face, her thumb rubbing his pale skin. With her drunken state she tried reaching for his lips, but the knight looked away, dodging her kiss.

"Ser Gwayne" her voice almost sounded like a plea, Gwayne took all his courage to not smash his lips to her at that moment, she would not need to ask him again, but he knew better than be intimate with the young princess.

"Princess, this is inappropriate" Gwayne managed to protest.

The Targaryen princess did not care, the alcohol she consumed had put enough courage for her to do an act that no proper or modest lady would do.

"Just for tonight please..." she leaned her forehead to his shoulders, her hand rested on his chest.

Gwayne was frozen, saying every curse he knows in his mind, he was no saint, with her pleading voice and desperate request she awoke something inside of him. He bit the inside of his cheeks, his hands gently snakes behind her back not enough for her to notice.

"Please"

Gwayne did not wait for another word, as he tilt her chin up to face him and connected their lips, he knew it was wrong, that if someone had walked in and caught them, he would be exiled, hanged, or beheaded with no trial.

She was a bit surprised not expecting his lips to hers, his tongue devoured her mouth, licking the taste of alcohol in her, she reached for his collar, but Gwayne gently pushed her down back to her mattress.

She studied his face, he was breathing heavily and his face fall down to the ground, Gwayne did not utter any word when he tucked her in thick covers.

"You must retire, princess" he said before turning around.

She was puzzled by his actions, while he was walking to leave her chamber, the princess pulled his white cloak enough to make him turn around, facing the princess.

"Ser Gwayne are you playing jest on me?" She furiously said, she somehow felt like her ego was stepped in. Not because she was rejected, but the mere thought that this knight left her hanging.

"I am clearly aware that you princess is very much familiar with ordinance and oaths that I have took as your sworn protector" Gwayne retorted, he returned his words with fully, like he intends to knock some senses into her wasted state. "I do not intend to break that princess; I am afraid you may have to find a different man or a whore perhaps who can fulfill your desires" he continued.

It was a harsh slap to the princess, with heavy steps she moved away from him. "Would you like me to fetch you a whore that will please you for the night?" She shakes her head.

Gwayne felt the pang of guilt when she raised her face to face him, the watery eyes were obvious to see. "I have no needs for those whores Ser Gwayne" she defined, hating how her voice sounded like it was about to break, it was shameful, she knew that her own sworn protector now see her as an improper desperate lady, who would risk everything just to get a taste of pleasure.

Gwayne nodded in acknowledgment before leaving when the princess spoke again. "I may be drunk but clearly I know what I am doing. I do not kiss just because I am drunk Ser Gwayne it is because I have deep feelings for you" she confessed.

Her head fell down on the cold ground as silence covered them, she was anxiously tugging her dress looking for comfort, but she failed. She knows that maybe inside of him he's already laughing at her little confession, maybe she was truly a Targaryen for having queer customs.

"Princess you are a young lady, you have no idea what you are talking about" he begun not daring to face her. "Whatever it is, please keep it to yourself or forget about it. Because I do not see you nothing more than my duty and a daughter of my Queen sister" he continued as he walked outside the chambers.

She pursed her lips, her eyes remained down before she finally composed herself to go back in her bed. She saw it coming, how fool of her to even try her luck at him. As she lay down Gwayne's words keep repeating inside her head until her mind grew tired and drift off.

That night Gwayne frustratedly punched the wall beside the door outside of her chamber, he was amused to himself that he was able to pull off a such thing, he talks like he did not want her, like he did not dream of having her, he talked like he has no interest in her, but he knew that inside him says otherwise.

That night he had left her chamber, he asked a different knight to guard the door of the princess bedchamber. Gwayne went outside the castle inhaling the air wishing that the fucking wind would relax him.

Gwayne's attention shifted towards the sound of someone approaching, he turned to find the source of sound prompting him to ready his sword. After minutes he finds nothing and left.

On his way back to check the princess his was puzzled as a lot of servants and guards are running through the halls urgently, his worry rise and ran towards the princess room. When he stopped in front of her chamber it was open and she looked inside to see the Dowager Queen with a teary eye watching her youngest daughter as her handmaidens tearing up while changing her already ripped dress.

Alicent eyes darted towards him as well as Cole's, the Commander of Kingsguard immediately gripped his collar dragging him out of the room.

"Where have you been? Why aren't you here when this tragedy happened?" Cole scowl at him, his fingers tightly grip his collar.

"I was gone for an hour, I asked another guard to look after-"

"They beheaded prince Jahaerys in the Queen's chamber, after that they stopped by the princess chamber slitting the throat of the guards that was here and they have harassed the princess, all this because of your insolence" Criston's last words are the only one who hit him.

He abruptly pushed him away trying to see her, but Criston pulled him back "After your negligence I don-"

The Commander dropped on the cold ground from the hard punch from Gwayne, before Criston could even react the knight was already inside the chambers.

Gwayne rush towards her but Alicent was quick to block her way. "Brother" Alicent spoke, when he moved his gaze towards the princess, she was already sleeping.

"The Maesters gave her something that would ease her shaking and led her to sleep." his sister voice was shaking as she explained.

"What did they do to her?"

Alicent can't form any words, how she will be able to repeat the words her daughter told her. "T-They barged here, and she said they touched her in the most inappropriate ways" Gwayne's inside was trembling, but he remained still when Alicent continued.

"The guards was already searching each room after what happened in Helaena's room, it was good thing that the guards looked inside her room before they do anything to her. The boy is dead, his pain has put through its end."

Alicent next words broke out. "B-but what they have done to my girls" she cried out, she covered her mouth to stop from making noises, preventing to wake her daughter.

A tear escaped on Gwayne's eyes as he listens to her words, there was no one to blame other than him, he didn't only forsake his duty but also her safety. In one night, he was able to completely harm her in many different ways.

It took minutes before Alicent calm herself, Cole assisted her back to her room, Gwayne was left there, he remained inside her chamber, it was inappropriate but it did not matter anymore. He watched her sleep, recognizing the familiar kind and sweet face she have, out of all people she did not deserve that, she was nothing but kind to everyone highborn or not.

"What kind of Gods are they to put harm to someone like you" he whispered with a small tear streaming down his face.

What happened to her, stabbed him inside. He wanted to protect her, he wanted to shield her from any harm but at the end he was the one who had forsaken her safety.

~•~•~•~•~

Because of the incident, every kingsguard was questioned by the King Aegon.

"My son is dead! My poor sister was harmed! I shall have those rats head on a spike!" Aegon burst out as he left the council room.

Him along with the Kingsguard remained still when the Dowager Queen spoke, all the other guards shifted their gaze to her sister but his eyes remain on the youngest princess beside her, she was looking down while the Prince Aemond gently talk to her, Gwayne can see the Prince hands covering hers.

"All of you remain to your duties but none of you shall go near to my daughters, I'll have different men guard their room" His reality snapped back at the Dowager Queen's command. "And Ser Gwayne"

His eyes darted towards his sister, waiting for her to finish her words.

"You are dismissed from your duty, you are no longer the Princess sworn protector" her last words before she left the suffocating room.

The room was filled with whispers and silent chatters, thinking that Ser Gwayne would be exempted on the consequences of the accident last night.

"You should be glad, you weren't exile from the position, because of your insolence the princess was harmed" Aemond move to him face to face. "She was supposed to be under your protection and what have you done?"

"You know what's the right punishment for you? I should have both your head and cock in a-"

"Aemond that's enough" the princess rose from her seat, her face expressed nothing but devastation, the old kind and glowing aura now long gone.

"You defend this guy? A man who was responsible for what happened to you?" Aemond's outrage grew more as her voice and words protected him.

"Please, its inelegant to cause a scene in the council room" she rose from her seat and walked towards them, her face that used to be filled with a joyous, harmonious and glowing light is long gone and changed with despair and agony. When she came near them his gaze drifted down on the small gray patch that was hiding under the collar of her dress.

A bruise. A mark that left to remind her about that night.

The princess noticed his attention to her bruise, she swiftly fixed her collar to hide the bruise. "Aemond that is enough please, I would like to rest please..." He noticed Aemond softens at her words when the prince pulled away from him and guide the princess outside the room.

•~•~•~•~•~

A week passes the memory of accident can't seem to be buried from the people inside the Keep's minds, all servants looked after the Queen Helaena and her younger sister more, their guards was replaced by knights of Casterly Rock, the security was more stricter, and it was killing Gwayne, a whole week he wasn't able to see her, he tried to get over it, convincing himself it was for the better but it did not work, Sevens whatever nonsense words he would say to himself it will never work.

The past few weeks people despise him, Aemond hated him rather, would often discreetly throw him vile insults but Gwayne paid no mind, and that's what anger the prince most.

And here they are, standing in front of him. The prince was on the training grounds when the prince Aemond saw him and challenged him for sword sparring.

"I challenge the Dowager Queen's brother"

"The irresponsible knight, Ser Gwayne" Gwayne rolled his eyes at the insult, Aemond was a young man who knows nothing but to throw vile insults thinking it would be the greatest weapon to have.

Criston was the first to spoke. "My prince Ser Gwayne Hightower is your uncle it would be disrespectful to challenge your older uncle-"

Criston explained but looks like the prince has no intention of listening. It was no secret of Gwayne's skills, an expert in sword and combat, he was raised for the specific specialty as an heir and knight he was taught to hold a sword and fight at a very young age, and he excels.

"It's much more disrespectful to neglect a prince offer, doesn't it?" His one eye placed on his.

Gwayne offered a small smile and nod before he bows for respect. "You are truly right my prince, a shame on my part to neglect your generosity, and it would be an honor to-"

"Honor?" Targaryen prince muttered under his breath with a loud scoff. "Honor is the last thing you deserve uncle"

With the prince last words, he draws his sword and begin to attack the Hightower knight. Everyone on the training grounds did not plan or even wish to intervene between the two skilled swordmen, not even Ser Criston Cole. On the upper part of the castle the King Aegon took a sip from his goblet while watching with a smug look on his face, beside him was the Lord of whispers, Ser Larys Strong.

"Look at them fighting over my dear little sister, what a cunt deprive they are." Aegon laughs watching two kin of his dwell.

"I beg your pardon you grace, Prince Aemond?" Larys asked, he did not expect a such thing from the one-eyed prince, to waste his time and defeat his own for a woman.

"Y/N was the only woman he ever loved, our dearest sister who showed her nothing but gentleness" Aegon explained his hand rotates clockwise to stir the wine in goblet. "Did you not notice how he was not fazed by the idea of betrothing Y/N to Oscar Tully, the Lord of one of the most important houses in the realm but rather he was threatened by a simple knight, our uncle to be exact" Aegon laughs loudly, he finds it quite entertaining to see two dumb men kill each other for a cunt.

But on the other hand, Larys seems like not to get his idea. ''What do you try to say, your grace?"

The sound of laughing that covered them disappeared, the King raised an eyebrow at him, but it later turned into a sly smile.

"Aemond knows who his enemies are, but he only attacks the ones he knows he will lose to" he looked back down the grounds, Aemond was behind Gwayne the prince arm wrapped around the knight's neck.

"Because he knows he has no chance of winning over Ser Gwayne" Aegon said and place his goblet, letting out a loud burp.

Back on the ground the guards were growing worried of the two, Gwayne's army tried to intervene but Gwayne command them not to.

"You think just because you are the brother of the previous Queen you have the right put your hands on the princess?" Aemond whispered his grip tightening.

Gwayne knew, the overprotectiveness, the insults Aemond made after the accidents, the small jealousy that would flash on the prince face when she defended him. Those was plainly all because of his romantic feeling for her.

"I am far better than you could ever be Aemond" he replied striking his elbow right to his patched eye, resulting him to fall on the ground. Gwayne was fast to take his sword from the ground and points it towards the prince.

it made everyone gasp, a treasonous act was displayed.

"Perhaps the prince would wish to ask for different opponent next time, someone who has the same level of skills like him" he said before finally throwing the sword and turning his back. His back dropped to the cold ground, and a sharp dagger was pointed at his neck.

"You shall know your place in here......uncle" Aemond remind him.

Looking around he can see the concerned eyes of his men, but neither of the two paid minds. Aemond pushed his dagger furthermore earning a loud groan from the knight beneath him. "No one in this people would dare to question me if I slit your pretty neck-

"Aemond"

All of the attention moved to the princess on the door, behind him was the King Aegon that has a wide annoying smile. Quickly Aemond removed himself above the knight and simply left the training grounds without uttering any words. Before the prince passed her by, she whispered to him.

"What is this about Aemond?" her voice lingered on Aemond's ear.

"You shall not know my dear sister" he only smiled and resume to walk pass her.

The youngest princess sighed out her frustration, oh she knew, she has always known. He did not perfectly hide it. Her gaze moved towards the knights that was helping Gwayne to stand up, the bruises was starting to swell as well as her worries for her.

"Bring Ser Gwayne in my chambers now" she commanded before leaving the grounds.

Her heart was beating fast as she reached the hospital wing of the castle and gathered the things and medicines she will need. She was worried and guilty she knew the exact reason why Aemond did that, she knew her mother will be vexed if someone told her what she just commanded those people earlier. No one was supposed to go near her other than her brothers, sister and mother.

When she opened her chambers, Gwayne was sitting on the chaste his armor is still on, her hands were shaking as she placed the medicines on the top of her drawer. After that night she don't know how she will be able to face him again.

"Princess the Queen would not be pleased to know that you invited me in your chamber without anyone to chaperone"

She exhales and pretend like she did not hear him. "Remove your armor and lay down the chaste."

"But princess-"

"I will not repeat myself again"

Gwayne pressed his lips together and diligently nod and did what he was told to. He was having a hard time removing the damn armors around him, his body was still sore from what all the prince did to him earlier.

The princess immediately moved towards him and helped him with removing his armors, it stunned the knight at the sudden proximity. For a moment he was breathless with her closeness to him, her hands slowly put down the heavy plates and armors around him and Gwayne was finally relieved from his armor she moved back to take a cotton with a medicine to heal his cuts.

Gwayne sat still on her chaste, she sat beside him to tend his wounds, the first tap earns a groan from him, she whispered him to calm down.

How can he? when she was that close and beautiful

But after few minutes they both grew comfortable with each one's presence, Gwayne's body was leaned against the chaste while she was tapping a medicine in the long slit Aemond made on his neck.

She wanted to cry at that moment, she wanted to talk to him about that night even though he made it clear.

"I apologize for what Aemond did, he can be very impulsive sometimes" she managed to start a conversation with her hoping that he would reply.

"He loves you" Gwayne stated, it was hard to let out those words because he did not want to acknowledge someone's romantic feelings for her, but other than that he was scared that you might feel the same towards Aemond.

"I do not wish to talk about that, Aemond is nothing but a brother to me and it will always remain that way" she explained her eyes fixated on his neck, everything about him was gorgeous.

"I apologize for that night princess, I was supposed to be there, to protect you" his words made her froze.

Once again, she was reminded by the horrible night that happened to her, she composed herself as she gathered all the used cottons, the memory of the incident still lingers inside her head, she intends to forget about those as much as she can.

Gwayne noticed her abrupt movements, when she stood up to move away Gwayne had caught her arms pulling her back down on the chaste, his arms snakes behind her and pushed her body close to him. Their closeness did not help the longingness their trying to suppress.

"Please know, I cry out for you, the one thing I can't have" Gwayne spoke as he gently tucks some of her hair strands behind her ear.

"Please do not play with my feelings by doing this you only make-" she was cut off when he seal her into a kiss.

She can feel her muscles relax above him, her hands automatically landing on his chest while she tried to deepen the kiss. She was drowning at their kiss. Meanwhile, Gwayne carefully guided her body above him, his hand behind her waist while the other one was placed on her face.

The two separated to catch their breaths, Gwayne moved his forehead towards her. "Forgive me, my love" his voice was regretful.

"Every night my love, I did nothing but pray to the Gods for their forgiveness and yours, every night I wished to be on your side and comfort you, every night I think of no one but you. Forgive me princess for being a coward daft" he pleaded; his fingers intertwined with her as he brushes his lips to her hand.

"Gwayne that night when they were...." she could not bring to mention the words of what happened to her. "In my mind I was shouting your name hoping you would hear me and save me, I prayed to the Gods to bring you and save me from that horrid situation" her lips formed a smile

A bitter smile with her watery eyes was displayed infront of him. And it shattered him.

"But you shall not to blame yourself" her voice became hopeful, her eyes settled above his blue ones. "I would not be please to burden yourself with guilt"

"i tried to resist my feelings for you, you know" he chuckles. Their body wrapped around each other, "but I was only fooling myself, telling myself that I wasn't devastated by the news of your betrothal with Lord Tully, or whenever prince Aemond was all over you. I had to convince and to repeat to myself that I was in no position to feel that way"

"My betrothal to Oscar Tully is now gone, you have nothing to worry" she explained and sat up beside him.

Gwayne only nodded as he brings his lips to her knuckles "I don't care if it's to happen or not, no matter what will happen I will forever fight for your hand, no matter what consequences I will face"

"Gwayne if you wish we can keep this as a secret"

"I do not wish nor intend to darling" he cupped her cheeks and pulled him into another kiss.

This time he will do everything to have her, he will not leave Kings Landing without her by his side.

His lips move down to her collarbone, his finger moved the fabric that was covering the bruise, the princess tried to hide it, but he stopped her. He pressed his lips on the top of the bruise lightly not wanting to hurt her, if only his lips could remove these horrid marks and replace it with his own, he would gladly do it.

He switched positions with hers, now she was beneath him.

"You must rest, your wounds and bruises are not healed" the princess smiled and stood up, she led him towards her bed.

Tiredness covers the two as they both lay on the bed, when Gwayne opened his eyes, it was almost night he removed himself from her bed and starts wearing his armor again, he has to talk to her sister and start explaining everything, he placed a kiss right on top of her head before exiting her room.

A soon as he closed the door of her chamber, the familiar dagger was settled once again on his neck.

"Does the bruises of my punches not enough or maybe I shall fully-"

Aemond wasn't able to finish his sentence when Gwayne was fast to get the dagger out from his grasp, and quickly moved on Aemond's back, his arm wrapped around the prince neck while his other arm swiftly placed on the top of his other eye.

"I have been patient with you boy" Gwayne spoke, the tip of the dagger moved closer to the prince eye. "But I must tell you that everyone has their limits"

He let go of the prince, gasping for air before Aemond scowled "Do you think the King and your Queen sister would approve of this? no, you will be exiled not only from here but from your position or even worse you'll end up beheaded"

Gwayne showed no hint of fear, "You are right, there's uncertainty of what I am about to do, my life, position and honor will be put in risk because of my actions, but if there is something I cannot risk is my love for the princess."

He had come to the point where he was desperate to be with her.

"I can and I will risk everything just to have her, even if the only chance is impossible, for her I would gladly risk it, my prince"

Gwayne always knew the importance of honor, being the heir of the King's Hand, his father didn't miss any day of reminding him about it, and growing up his principle was just like his father's. But now he was ready to bend everything for her no matter at what cost.

"Prince Aemond you have no idea how far I will go just to prove my love her, you don't know the things I'm willing to do for her."

Gwayne stated before finally walked past the one-eyed prince all confound.

A/N: hello doves i am truly sorry for the long and slow updates, life's been quite busy, had a lot of things going on but anyways please know that i am slowly working on your requests.

[justanoasisimagines]

Pick Me

Summary; Ser Harwin Strong is enamored by you as you are him. However, your betrothal to Lord Jason causes both of you distress. You don't want to marry Lord Jason. Harwin doesn't want you to marry Lord Jason. So what happens when Lord Jason gets cocky on the training grounds… Pairing; Harwin Strong x Female!Heir!Targaryen Reader WordCount; 1,542 Requested by; Anon Warnings; Violence, Strong Language, Misogyny A/N: I've not written anything this long on here before. I really enjoyed it! Requests are open! Credit to @cafekitsune & @zaldritzosrose for the dividers and banner

The wedding preparations were in full swing. Tourneys and great feasts. Beautiful flowers were being brought in from far and wide. Maids' and servant's duties had grown, preparing for the day.

Much of the preparation had landed in your hands. You'd found it all pretentious. You understood that as heir it was your duty to provide such an event. To introduce your husband to the realm.

However, if you were being truthful, duty was the only reason you were going along with this facade in the first place. You didn't wish to marry lord Jason Lannister. Your heart didn't belong to him. He was rather repulsive in his views on women. Especially on what they were capable of.

Your heart belonged to Sir Harwin Strong. Harwin was attractive, kind, and the strongest man in Westeros. He valued your opinion on issues. He was a gentleman who made you feel safe and protected.

Ser Harwin was everything Lord Jason was not.

Perhaps you'd be mistaken but you'd presumed Ser Harwin had felt the same towards you. The longing glances, the light flirtation exchanged between the two of you. The subtle touches whenever he walked past.

it was safe to say your heart broke when no declaration came. When each suitor made their intentions known, you'd prayed to the God's Ser Harwin to be next.

You attempted to bury your disappointment, but you couldn't. You'd much rather marry a pig than Jason Lannister.

You needed to face facts; you were never going to be Ser Harwin's wife.

Harwin swung the sword with all his strength as a result of the ear-piercing clang. He followed through several movements he was well rehearsed in. Training was necessary if he intended to remain strong.

Swing. Turn. Dodge. Defend. Swing.

A mighty roar as his thoughts broke his concentration. Why couldn't he gather the courage to confess his feelings towards you? Why couldn't he have you in your arms? Why wasn't he going to be the one declaring to the realm you were his wife?

The answer was simple. He had become a coward.

His heart pounded at the mere thought of you. His palms began to sweat with each interaction. He found himself purposely attempting to draw a smile from your lips.

If Harwin longed for anything it would be to call you his wife, for you to be the mother of his children.

His heart sank. He swung his sword desperate to escape the torment in his mind as he attempted to focus on the present. The newly constructed plan shattered around him when Lord Jason entered the training grounds, sauntering around like the cat who'd got the cream.

Harwin's mood shifted. No longer was he pinning for the woman he was desperately in love with. Sorrow morphed into anger. Harwin wanted to rid Lord Jason of his persistent smug smirk.

"Good Ser's, I have come to train with you before I take on the greatest challenge in our world, taming the dragon which is the Princess," Lord Jason declared loud enough for the entire grounds to stop their duels.

"The Princess is your future Queen, Lord Jason. Perhaps you should regard her with respect," Harwin retorted. Harwin's jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other. Lord Jason was known to be boastful and rude, but to talk so willfully against the Royal family, Did he believe he was untouchable now? Perhaps he simply did not care.

"This is what I'm allowing her to believe. She will simply learn I will make the decisions on what is to be. All she needs to concern herself with is baring my sons." With a smirk, Lord Jason stalked around the training grounds as if this were Casterly Rock.

Lord Jason was a male lion patrolling his new territory. Attempting to assert his dominance amongst the other men.

Lord Jason Lannister may be a lion. He didn't have the feline reflexes; Harwin swung his arm, fist colliding with Lord Jason's jaw.

"How dare you speak about her like that? She is more than a vessel to bear your sons. She is kind and thoughtful, brave and one of the strongest women I've encountered. I believe you are unworthy of the Princess's hand."

Lord Jason spit blood from his mouth, "When she is my wife, you will have no say on how I treat her. She is no longer your concern. Strong! The Bitch is mine." Harwin roared with a great might. Chest heaving as he proceeded to tackle Lord Jason to the ground.

Harwin laid down a rain of fists on Lord Jason. He didn't care where they lay home. Lord Jason attempted to defend, yet they were feeble and didn't amount to much. Lord Jason could use his words like a great scribe, but a warrior he was not.

Six men attempted to pull Harwin from his onslaught. Six men failed. Harwin was a man possessed. No one could stop him. Even as more men toppled onto Harwin, Lord Jason was a bloody pulp.

"Harwin! Stop!" Harwin's fists hung in the air upon the sweet sound of your voice, Sir Criston following behind you. As he turned, he glanced down at his busted fists. When his gaze met yours, confusion crossed his path.

You remained perfectly composed. Your expression was unreadable as he pulled away from Lord Jason, crossing the short distance before collapsing at your feet.

"This beast needs to be executed! He's-he's dangerous. Is the caliber of man you allow in your court?" Lord Jason was doubled over in a pool of his own blood. Your eyes briefly flickered towards him before lowering to Harwin, your hand brushed his jaw softly.

"If Harwin didn't lump you one I would have done." Another knight called out.

"Why Ser Byam? Ser Criston would you fetch some salve and wraps for me please?" Ser Criston nodded, leaving the courtyard in haste.

"For speaking ill of you Princess. Never heard such utter shit in all my life. Harwin had every right to knock his lights out-"

"Don't you dare regard me, you absolute half-wit. I am to be your King!" With a brow raised at Lord Jason's words. You had been told for the past several nights and days how Lord Jason was boasting about the power he'd soon have. You never believed him to be fool enough to voice it within your presence.

"Don't marry him! Princess, you can't marry him." Harwin pleaded. You ran your hand along his chiseled jaw.

"Who do you suggest she marry Breakbones? You?" Lord Jason scoffed as he spat blood onto the ground.

"He's a much better match for her," Ser Byam retorted.

"Marry me, not him. I know I am not well-versed in court politics. I know my family is not as wealthy as the Lannisters, however, Princess I can provide you with what's important"

"Will you rule beside her like a dutiful husband.? Taking orders from a woman"

"Say another fuckin' word and I'm taking ya tongue out. Posh Bastard." You stifled a laugh as you kept your gaze in Harwin's blue eyes. Just as Ser Criston returned with the wrappings and salve, you requested. With them in hand, you knelt in the dirt covering your red dress in brown splotches.

"Princess, your dress."

"Relax Ser Criston, I have more dresses. What can you provide me with Ser Harwin?"

"Love and honor, someone you can confide in, who will always tell you the truth. I would destroy armies for you. I would break my own bones for our children; Son or daughter it doesn't matter to me. As long as they were healthy. I am well verse in what I undertake by asking for your hand. Yet I am willing to rule the Seven Kingdoms by your side. Unlike some who wish to take your hand to future their own endeavors."

Gently, you placed Ser Harwin's hand in yours, applying the salve occasionally glancing up to detect any pain from him. You found none. Instead, you found longing.

With his free hand, Harwin lightly cupped your jaw guiding your head so your eyes could reach his. "I admit I should have asked you the moment your Father mentioned it. I was a fool. I will not let this opportunity slip up this time. Princess, marry me?"

Your movements halted as you were suddenly stuck staring into Harwin's eyes. If you hadn't believed Harwin's words, his gaze was suffocating.

You'd seen the look Harwin was giving you before. Back when everything was much less complicated. When your mother was alive. This is how your father would stare at her.

Up until Harwin's confession; you mind had been saddened at the idea of never being loved like that. This was your chance and you be a fool not to take it.

"I would like nothing more than to be your wife." Harwin rose to his feet capturing you in his arms, swinging you around before placing you on the ground.

"You will regret this Princess! My house will never pledge loyalty to you, you worthless-" Thud.

"I told him, Princess. I fuckin' told him!"

"Thank you Ser Byam. Could you take Lord Jason to the Maester. His head may ache when he awakes." Ser Byam bowed before flinging Lord Jason over his shoulder. He appeared to weigh nothing.

"Come we need to inform our fathers of the good news. I believe father is going to rejoice at the news. He never wanted me to marry Lord Jason anyway."

[novaursa]

Flames in the West (for better or worse)

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: his rock

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The journey back to King’s Landing was marked by golden sunlight filtering through the trees, the steady clatter of hooves on the dirt path, and the ever-present bickering between you and Jason Lannister. The man seemed utterly incapable of silence, trailing your horse like a particularly persistent shadow.

“Really, Princess,” Jason began, his tone teasing, “do you always wear such practical clothing? You’ll find Casterly Rock has little use for muddy boots and hunting gear.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your reins. “Forgive me, Lord Jason, but I hadn’t realized I needed to start dressing for an audience of stone lions.”

Jason chuckled, his golden hair catching the light. “Stone lions, real lions—it’s all the same. A lady of your standing deserves silks and jewels to match her beauty.”

You arched an eyebrow, smirking. “I suppose you think I should be draped in Lannister crimson as well?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Jason replied with a grin. “Red and gold suit you.”

“Red and gold suit you, my lord,” you shot back. “I’ll wear what I please, and you can thank the gods I don’t show up at Casterly Rock in dragon scales.”

Jason’s laugh was loud and genuine, earning a few glances from the Lannister retainers riding behind. “Now that’s an image,” he said, clearly picturing it. “You’d frighten the servants half to death.”

“Perhaps that’s the point,” you quipped. “It would make up for the fact that I’m being dragged to your oversized pile of rocks.”

Jason placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Oversized pile of rocks? Princess, Casterly Rock is a marvel of the Seven Kingdoms! Wait until you see it—you’ll change your tune.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you muttered, though your lips twitched in amusement.

The banter continued for hours, ranging from the superiority of lion sigils versus dragon banners to the merits of hunting stags versus boars. Jason seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, his grin never faltering no matter how sharp your words became. You suspected he was intentionally prolonging the exchange, as though every quip of yours was a treasure to him.

By the time the Lannisters reached the fork in the road where they would part ways to return westward, the procession slowed. Jason dismounted, his crimson cloak billowing behind him as he approached your horse.

“This is where we part, Princess,” he announced with exaggerated solemnity. “For now.”

You tilted your head, feigning surprise. “You mean I’ll finally get a moment’s peace?”

Jason smirked, looking up at you with those ever-confident eyes. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll be preparing Casterly Rock for your arrival.”

“Preparing it?” you echoed, your tone skeptical. “What does that even mean? Polishing the stones?”

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Hardly. I’ll have the halls filled with music, the chambers adorned with the finest tapestries, and the kitchens stocked with Dornish wine—all to make it worthy of you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity, leaning slightly forward in your saddle. “You’d better be careful, Lord Jason. If you keep this up, I might start to believe you.”

“Good,” he replied simply, his grin softening into something almost genuine. “Because I mean every word.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily without a retort. Jason seemed to notice, his grin widening once more. He took a step back, bowing with dramatic flair.

“Until next we meet, Princess,” he said, mounting his horse with practiced ease. “And when you see Casterly Rock, you’ll realize what an excellent decision you’ve made.”

“You’re assuming I’ll even make it that far without changing my mind,” you called after him, though your tone was more playful than cutting.

Jason turned his horse with a flourish, raising a hand in farewell. “I’ll take my chances.”

As the Lannister party rode off, Rhaenyra pulled her horse alongside yours, a knowing smirk on her lips. “He’s relentless, isn’t he?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Relentless and insufferable.”

Rhaenyra laughed, clearly unconvinced. “And yet, I’ve never seen you smile so much on a journey.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. Instead, you turned your attention to the road ahead, Jason’s laughter still echoing faintly behind you.

The sun rose over the cliffs of Casterly Rock, casting its light over the sprawling fortress as its lord, Jason Lannister, paced through the Great Hall with all the grace of a lion trapped in a cage. Servants scurried around him, their arms laden with tapestries, wine casks, and golden candelabras, while Jason barked orders like a commander preparing for battle.

“No, no, no!” Jason exclaimed, pointing at a newly hung tapestry depicting a lion surrounded by roses. “This is all wrong. Where’s the one with the lion and the dragon? The dragon, Roderick, not a bloody garden party!”

Roderick, the steward of Casterly Rock, adjusted his spectacles and sighed. “My lord, the lion-and-dragon tapestry is still being embroidered. It won’t be ready for another fortnight.”

Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “What am I supposed to do with roses? She’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

Tyland Lannister, who arrived one moon ago to assist his twin, leaned against a nearby pillar, watching the chaos unfold with a smirk. “Perhaps she’ll think you’ve developed a love for horticulture. Isn’t that charming?”

“Not helping, Tyland,” Jason snapped, gesturing wildly at the hall. “This has to be perfect. The princess deserves the finest welcome Casterly Rock has ever seen.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow, sipping leisurely from a goblet of wine. “And you think she’ll notice the difference between one tapestry and another? From what I’ve seen, she’s more likely to mock you for fussing over it.”

Jason paused mid-step, his expression turning thoughtful. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Tyland replied, clearly enjoying himself. “But don’t let that stop you. Your suffering is highly entertaining.”

Jason rolled his eyes and turned to a group of servants struggling to arrange an elaborate floral display in the shape of a lion’s head. “Higher on the mane! It looks like it’s sulking! And where’s the gold thread for the eyes?”

A young maid curtsied nervously. “My lord, the gold thread is being used for the banners in the courtyard.”

Jason threw his hands in the air. “Banners? Who’s looking at banners when there’s going to be a lion made of flowers in the hall? Priorities, people!”

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re going to exhaust half the servants before she even arrives.”

Jason shot him a glare but didn’t have time to retort as the steward returned with a scroll listing the preparations. “The kitchens are finalizing the feast, my lord,” Roderick reported. “Roast boar, Dornish pears, and the finest Arbor gold. We’ve also prepared a selection of the princess’s favorites, including lemon cakes and—”

“Wait,” Jason interrupted, holding up a hand. “Did you confirm she actually likes lemon cakes?”

Roderick frowned, adjusting his spectacles again. “Er… no, my lord. I assumed—”

“Don’t assume!” Jason barked, pacing again. “What if she hates them? What if she’s allergic? Gods, imagine if she took one bite and—”

“And choked to death before the wedding?” Tyland offered helpfully. “Now that would be memorable.”

Jason groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re insufferable,” Tyland replied, clearly unbothered. “But do go on. This is the most fun I’ve had in moons.”

Ignoring his brother, Jason turned back to Roderick. “Forget the lemon cakes. Just stick to the Arbor gold and the roasted boar. And don’t burn anything!”

As the hours passed, Jason inspected every corner of the Rock, from the newly polished golden lion statues in the courtyard to the lavish guest chambers prepared for the royal family. He even ventured into the kitchens, where the head cook waved a ladle threateningly until Jason backed out, muttering about “artistic temperaments.”

By the time the sun began to set, Jason was standing atop the walls of Casterly Rock, his crimson cloak billowing in the sea breeze as he scanned the horizon. Tyland joined him, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“They’ll be here soon,” Tyland remarked, gesturing to the distant road winding through the hills. “Still time to add a few more flowers.”

Jason ignored the jab, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement on the horizon. “There,” he said, pointing. “The royal procession.”

Sure enough, a long column of banners and carriages was snaking its way toward the castle, the Targaryen sigil gleaming in the fading light. Jason’s heart raced as he imagined her among them, her sharp tongue ready to flay him alive if anything was out of place.

Tyland clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “Relax, brother. If you’ve survived her insults this long, a wedding should be easy.”

Jason let out a breath, his nerves warring with excitement. “Easy for you to say. You’re not marrying a Targaryen.”

“And thank the gods for that,” Tyland quipped. “Good luck, Jason. You’re going to need it.”

Jason stood tall, a determined grin spreading across his face. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Casterly Rock is ready.”

The procession drew closer, the banners fluttering in the wind as the Lannisters prepared to welcome their royal guests. Jason adjusted his cloak one last time, his heart pounding as he prepared to greet the woman who would soon be his bride.

The courtyard of Casterly Rock was a hive of activity as the royal procession finally arrived. Jason Lannister stood at the gates, flanked by his brother Tyland and an entourage of Lannister bannermen, their golden banners billowing in the warm breeze. The royal party entered in a slow, regal procession, the sound of hooves echoing against the stone walls.

King Viserys rode at the head, his crown glinting in the sunlight, followed by Queen Alicent, holding a fidgeting Prince Aegon. Rhaenyra rode close behind, her fiery gaze scanning the courtyard with faint amusement. The Targaryen knights followed, their armor shining as brightly as the dragon banners trailing behind them.

Jason stepped forward, his expression carefully composed, though his heart pounded in his chest. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing deeply to King Viserys. “Welcome to Casterly Rock. It is an honor to host you and your family.”

Viserys smiled warmly, dismounting with some effort before clasping Jason’s shoulder. “The honor is ours, Lord Jason. You’ve prepared magnificently.”

Jason’s grin widened, and he straightened to address the rest of the royal party, his eyes scanning the procession. He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Where is the princess?” he asked, his tone polite but edged with curiosity.

Rhaenyra smirked, her eyes glittering with mischief as she swung down from her horse. “Missing her already, Lord Jason? My sister will arrive soon enough.”

Jason frowned, glancing at her, then at Viserys. “She didn’t travel with you?”

Viserys chuckled, his tone reassuring. “There’s no need to fret, my boy. Y/N is… making an entrance.”

Jason blinked, his mind racing. “An entrance?”

“On dragonback,” Rhaenyra said, her voice laced with humor. “Surely you didn’t expect her to leave her dragon behind?”

Jason’s jaw slackened slightly, but he recovered quickly, forcing a smile. “I hadn’t considered it,” he admitted, though his voice betrayed his unease.

Tyland, standing beside him, muttered under his breath, “Well, you did say you wanted a dragon.”

Jason shot his brother a glare, but before he could respond, a deep, resonant roar echoed across the sky. The Lannister bannermen shifted uneasily, their horses whinnying in protest as the sound reverberated through the courtyard.

Jason turned sharply, his eyes scanning the horizon. “What in the Seven Hells—”

Rhaenyra interrupted with a smug grin. “Ah, there she is.”

A shadow passed over the sun as your dragon, Sylveris, appeared on the horizon. She was a magnificent she-dragon, her scales shimmering like molten silver in the daylight, flecked with faint streaks of gold that rippled as she moved. Her wings were vast, their translucent membranes catching the light and casting shimmering patterns over the ground as she soared closer. Her long, sinuous tail ended in a sharp, golden barb, and her golden eyes burned with intelligence and fierce pride. The spikes along her back glinted like a crown, and her roar was like thunder, commanding and unyielding.

Sylveris descended gracefully, her massive claws kicking up dust as she landed just beyond the gates. The ground seemed to tremble beneath her weight, and the Lannister knights instinctively stepped back, their hands tightening on the hilts of their swords.

Jason stood rooted to the spot, staring up at the beast with a mix of awe and apprehension. “By the gods…” he murmured.

Rhaenyra leaned toward him, her tone mocking but amused. “You didn’t think she’d come in a carriage, did you?”

Before Jason could reply, Sylveris lowered her neck, allowing you to dismount with practiced ease. You stood tall, your riding leathers bearing the Targaryen sigil, your silver hair flowing in the breeze. The confidence in your stride as you approached was unmistakable, and the faint smirk on your lips suggested you’d been looking forward to this moment.

“Lord Jason,” you greeted, your voice calm but commanding. “I hope my arrival hasn’t caused too much of a stir.”

Jason quickly gathered himself, bowing deeply. “Princess Y/N,” he said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “Casterly Rock is honored by your… dramatic entrance.”

You arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Dramatic? I thought it was appropriate. Sylveris insisted on accompanying me.”

Jason glanced nervously at the dragon, who was now watching him intently, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “I see. She’s… magnificent.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly from behind you. “Get used to it, Lord Jason. Sylveris doesn’t leave her side.”

Jason straightened, his confidence returning as he met your gaze. “I look forward to seeing more of her,” he said, his tone earnest. “And of you, Princess.”

You inclined your head, though the faintest smile tugged at your lips. “We’ll see how you fare, Lord Jason.”

As you turned to join your family, Jason remained rooted to the spot, his gaze shifting between you and your dragon. Tyland stepped closer, his expression caught between disbelief and amusement.

“Well,” Tyland said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “You wanted a dragon, and now you’ve got two. Congratulations.”

Jason exhaled slowly, straightening his doublet as he watched you disappear into the castle. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he muttered, though the nervous edge in his voice betrayed him.

Behind him, Sylveris let out a low rumble, almost as if in answer.

The great hall of Casterly Rock had never been more resplendent. Crimson and gold banners bearing the Lannister lion draped the towering stone walls, interspersed with black and red sigils of House Targaryen. Hundreds of candles flickered in ornate chandeliers, casting a warm, golden glow over the sea of assembled guests. The air was filled with the mingling scents of freshly cut roses, polished wood, and roasted meats from the kitchens below.

Jason Lannister stood near the altar, flanked by his brother Tyland and several Lannister cousins, his palms slightly damp despite his composed demeanor. His golden doublet was embroidered with a roaring lion, and his usually unruly blond hair had been tamed—though Tyland had already teased him about the absurd amount of effort it took.

“You look like you’re preparing to face a battle,” Tyland whispered, smirking.

Jason shot him a look. “It feels like one.”

Tyland chuckled, adjusting his own cloak. “If you faint, just try to fall gracefully. The guests might assume it’s part of the ceremony.”

Jason ignored him, straightening his shoulders as the crowd quieted. The sound of the great doors opening echoed through the hall, and every head turned to see the procession begin.

King Viserys entered first, his crown gleaming as brightly as the smile on his face. He walked beside Queen Alicent, who carried a squirming Prince Aegon, who had managed to smudge dirt on his tunic despite her best efforts. Behind them was Rhaenyra, radiant in crimson and gold, her smirk evident as she scanned the hall. Jason caught her eye briefly and immediately regretted it—her expression promised trouble.

And then, you appeared.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you stepped forward, your gown shimmering like molten silver. Threads of red and gold wove through the fabric, catching the light with every step. A delicate crown rested atop your silver hair, and your piercing gaze swept the hall with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect they had. Behind you, the faint scent of dragonfire lingered, a subtle reminder of Sylveris, who had taken to perching atop the highest cliff of the Rock.

Jason’s breath caught as he watched you approach, his nerves momentarily forgotten. You met his gaze briefly, your expression unreadable save for the faintest hint of amusement.

“You’re doomed,” Tyland murmured beside him, though there was no malice in his tone. “She’s magnificent.”

Jason didn’t respond. He already knew that.

The septon stood before the altar, resplendent in his robes, though he seemed slightly nervous. Perhaps it was the presence of King Viserys, or the looming shadow of Sylveris visible through the arched windows, but his hands trembled slightly as he began the rites.

“Today,” the septon announced, his voice echoing in the hall, “we join two great houses: the mighty lion of Casterly Rock and the indomitable dragon of House Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra leaned toward Alicent, whispering something that made the queen purse her lips. Jason, standing at the altar, tried to ignore it, though his curiosity burned.

As the septon continued, Jason risked a glance at you. You stood beside him, composed and regal, though there was a faint gleam of mischief in your eyes. When the septon asked if you accepted the union, you tilted your head slightly, as though considering it, before answering.

“I do,” you said, your voice carrying across the hall.

Jason’s heart nearly stopped when the crowd chuckled softly. Even in this moment, you were playing with him.

“And you, Lord Jason Lannister?” the septon prompted.

Jason cleared his throat, managing a steady, “I do.”

Tyland coughed behind him, muttering, “Barely.”

As tradition dictated, the septon wrapped a ribbon of red and gold around your joined hands. The ribbon, woven specially for the occasion, was said to symbolize the blending of fire and gold—a union of strength and passion.

“May the Seven bless this union,” the septon intoned, though he seemed to be glancing nervously at the arched windows again, where Sylveris had let out a low rumble moments earlier.

Jason tightened his grip on your hand slightly, and you glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Nervous, my lord?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jason replied, though the faint sheen of sweat on his brow betrayed him.

“Liar,” you murmured, your lips twitching into the faintest smile.

Finally, the septon raised his hands. “You may seal your union.”

Jason turned to you, his heart pounding. He hesitated for the briefest moment, then leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was both tentative and reverent. The crowd erupted into cheers, though Jason barely heard them. For that moment, it was just the two of you, the fire and the lion.

When he pulled back, you arched an eyebrow again. “Not bad,” you whispered. “For a lion.”

Jason couldn’t help but laugh, the sound filled with relief and joy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As the ceremony concluded, the crowd rose to their feet, applauding as you and Jason turned to walk down the aisle. The combined banners of House Lannister and House Targaryen hung above the hall, and the guests murmured among themselves about the strength of the union.

Rhaenyra caught your arm as you passed, leaning in to whisper, “He looked like he was about to faint.”

“I noticed,” you replied, smirking.

Jason overheard and shot Rhaenyra a pointed look, but she merely winked and stepped back, letting you and your new husband continue your procession.

As you left the great hall, Jason glanced at you, his smile softening. “You didn’t make that easy.”

“I didn’t intend to,” you replied, though your tone was lighter now, the edge of amusement lingering.

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Then I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.”

You glanced at him sidelong, your expression unreadable once more. “You’ll have to do more than that, my lord. But perhaps you’ll surprise me.”

And with that, the dragon and the lion stepped into their new life together, the roar of Sylveris echoing faintly in the distance as if to mark the occasion.

The Great Hall of Casterly Rock was ablaze with music and laughter, the echoes of revelry bouncing off the gilded walls. The grand feast stretched out before the assembled lords and ladies, a decadent display of roasted meats, exotic fruits, and golden goblets brimming with Arbor gold. Lions—real lions—sat in golden cages positioned around the hall, their low growls occasionally punctuating the festivities.

At the center of it all sat the newlyweds. Jason Lannister and you occupied the high seats at the head of the table, framed by the banners of your respective houses. Jason leaned casually toward you, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, Lady Lannister,” he began, swirling his goblet of wine, “how does it feel to finally join the pride?”

You arched an eyebrow, your own goblet resting untouched in front of you. “It feels remarkably similar to being badgered by a persistent lord.”

Jason chuckled, undeterred. “Persistent, perhaps. But successful.”

“You only succeeded because the alternative was never hearing the end of it,” you retorted, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I had to accept, if only for my own sanity.”

Jason raised his goblet in a mock toast. “And here I thought it was my charm.”

“No,” you replied simply, though the glint in your eye betrayed your amusement. “It certainly wasn’t that.”

Jason laughed, leaning closer. “Admit it, Princess. You’d miss me if I hadn’t tried.”

“I’d miss the silence,” you quipped, sipping your wine as Jason placed a hand dramatically over his heart, feigning offense.

Further down the table, King Viserys observed the exchange with a bemused smile, his goblet resting comfortably in his hand. Beside him, Otto Hightower leaned in slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the opulent surroundings. “Lord Jason certainly spared no expense,” Otto remarked, gesturing subtly to the caged lions and the extravagant decorations. “The pomp of this wedding rivals even King’s Landing.”

Viserys chuckled, his gaze shifting back to you and Jason. “It’s clear the lad wanted to make an impression.”

“And yet,” Otto continued, his tone slightly dry, “they seem more interested in bickering than anything else.”

Viserys’s smile widened as he watched Jason lean closer to you, clearly enamored despite your sharp retorts. “Ah, but that’s the charm, isn’t it? A lion and a dragon—they’ll keep each other entertained.”

Back at the high table, a string of lords began stepping forward to offer their congratulations. The first was a balding lord from the Westerlands, his doublet embroidered with a modest sigil of a burning tree.

“Lord Jason, Princess—ah, forgive me, Lady Lannister,” the man stammered, bowing deeply. “Congratulations on your union. May it bring strength and prosperity to both your houses.”

Jason nodded graciously. “Thank you, Lord Denys. Your loyalty is always appreciated.”

The man turned to you, his nervousness evident. “My lady, if there’s anything the Westerlands can offer you, you need only ask.”

You inclined your head politely. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

As Lord Denys stepped away, Jason leaned toward you once more. “You’re already charming the lords of the Rock.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you replied, your tone dry. “He’s terrified of the lions in the cages.”

Jason grinned, glancing toward one of the massive beasts lounging lazily behind golden bars. “A fitting addition, don’t you think? Nothing says ‘welcome to Casterly Rock’ like a lion or two.”

“Or ten,” you muttered, glancing around the hall. “I half expect one to escape just to prove a point.”

Jason laughed, clearly delighted. “If it does, I’ll protect you, of course.”

“How brave of you,” you deadpanned, earning another hearty laugh from your husband.

As the next lord approached—a stout man with a nose that seemed permanently red from drink—Rhaenyra caught your eye from further down the table. She raised her goblet in a silent toast, her smirk unmistakable. You narrowed your eyes at her briefly, knowing full well she was reveling in the sight of you seated beside Jason.

The stout lord launched into a rambling speech about the glory of House Lannister, but you barely heard him. Jason had leaned in again, this time under the pretense of adjusting his goblet, and you could feel his attention entirely fixed on you.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, not looking at him.

“Am I?” he asked innocently. “Perhaps I’m just admiring my bride.”

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to flatter me, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Jason grinned, leaning just a fraction closer. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

At the other end of the table, Viserys chuckled softly, shaking his head. “The man’s completely smitten,” he said to Otto, who only sighed.

“He certainly doesn’t lack for enthusiasm,” Otto replied.

The feast continued, filled with laughter, music, and the occasional roar from the caged lions. And though you wouldn’t admit it, you found yourself smiling more than once—not just at the festivities, but at the ridiculous, endearing man seated beside you.

The feast at Casterly Rock reached its crescendo as the last of the dishes were cleared away and the minstrels struck up a lively tune. The hall echoed with laughter, clinking goblets, and the occasional roar from one of the caged lions, who seemed less impressed with the festivities than the guests. Jason Lannister sat beside you at the high table, his golden goblet raised as he toasted yet another well-wisher. You were beginning to feel the weight of the evening, though Jason seemed buoyed by the sheer energy of the crowd.

As the music swelled, a particularly boisterous lord from the Reach stumbled to his feet, raising his goblet high. “A toast!” he bellowed, his voice slurring slightly. “To the lion and the dragon! May their union be as fiery as it is golden!”

The hall erupted in cheers, and Jason leaned toward you with a grin. “It seems they’ve taken a liking to us.”

You smirked, swirling the wine in your goblet. “Or they’ve taken a liking to the wine.”

Jason laughed, though the mirth in his eyes flickered briefly into something more cautious as another lord—a Lannister bannerman this time—rose to his feet.

“And now!” the bannerman shouted, his cheeks flushed with drink. “It’s time for the bedding ceremony!”

The room erupted in a cacophony of cheers, whistles, and laughter. Lords pounded their fists on the tables, and ladies covered their mouths with their hands, their eyes sparkling with mischief. Jason froze, his goblet halfway to his lips, while you raised an eyebrow, your expression cooling into something dangerously calm.

Jason recovered quickly, holding up a hand in mock protest. “Now, now, surely we can skip that tradition this evening.”

“Skip it?” a burly knight called from a lower table. “What’s a wedding without a proper bedding? It’s tradition, my lord!”

The crowd roared its agreement, and you turned to Jason, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, Lord Lannister, it seems your bannermen are eager to see this through.”

Jason chuckled nervously, setting his goblet down. “I’m not sure this is entirely necessary—”

“Oh, it’s necessary,” Rhaenyra interjected, stepping forward from her seat at the king’s table, her smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. “It’s not every day my sister gets married. Why deprive us of the entertainment?”

“Rhaenyra,” you said warningly, shooting her a glare. “Don’t.”

She held up her hands innocently. “What? I’m merely supporting tradition.”

Before Jason could reply, a group of lords surged toward the high table, clearly emboldened by the call for the ceremony. The ladies weren’t far behind, their laughter ringing out as they began plotting how best to assist you in the “removal” of your wedding attire.

Jason stood abruptly, raising his hands in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “Friends, let’s not get carried away!”

“Oh, we’re just getting started!” a younger lord from House Tarbeck shouted, grinning wickedly.

Two burly knights grabbed Jason by the arms, dragging him down from the high table despite his protests. “You’ll regret this!” he called, though his laughter betrayed him as he was swept into the throng of revelers. They cheered loudly as they began pulling at his doublet, the golden fabric slipping free as Jason half-heartedly struggled against them.

Meanwhile, the ladies turned their attention to you, their smiles deceptively sweet as they approached. “Come, Lady Lannister,” one of them cooed, her hands reaching for the delicate fastenings of your gown. “It’s all in good fun.”

You stepped back, your expression one of cold defiance. “If any of you touch this gown, I’ll set it—and you—on fire.”

The group hesitated, glancing nervously at each other. Rhaenyra, however, was thoroughly enjoying herself. “Let them try,” she teased, sipping her wine. “I’d pay to see Sylveris crash through the roof.”

The mention of your dragon seemed to give the ladies pause, and you seized the opportunity to step forward, your voice commanding. “Enough! This is ridiculous. The bedding ceremony is a relic of drunken lords with too much time and not enough sense.”

From across the hall, Jason—now missing one sleeve of his doublet—called out, “I agree with my wife!”

The crowd roared with laughter, and you couldn’t suppress a faint smirk as you turned to the group surrounding you. “If you want to carry someone to bed,” you said dryly, “feel free to toss Lord Tarbeck into the sea.”

Jason, still caught in the chaos, raised a hand. “Or Tyland! He deserves it more.”

Tyland, seated smugly at a nearby table, merely raised his goblet. “I’d like to see them try.”

Eventually, King Viserys stood, his voice cutting through the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, though his tone carried more amusement than authority. “Let the newlyweds retire in peace. I’m sure they have… important matters to attend to.”

The crowd erupted into laughter again, but they began to disperse, releasing Jason from their clutches. Disheveled but grinning, he made his way back to the high table, adjusting what was left of his doublet as he sat beside you.

“Well,” he said, breathless but amused, “that went well.”

You shot him a look, though there was a faint smile on your lips. “You call that well?”

Jason shrugged, pouring himself another goblet of wine. “We survived, didn’t we? And besides, I think it’s safe to say they love us.”

“They love a spectacle,” you corrected, leaning back in your chair.

Jason grinned, raising his goblet in a toast. “To spectacles, then.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath, though you clinked your goblet against his all the same. The feast continued, the chaos subsiding into a warm, golden glow of laughter and music, and for the first time that evening, you found yourself relaxing—if only slightly.

[just-some-random-blogger]

I don't know if you accept requests, but I'm going to risk it. Did you see the last photo of Harry Collett and Tom Taylor (the future Cregan Stark)? Could you write a Harry/Jace x reader x Tom/Cregan threesome? I'm obsessed with them

Push & Pull

It's basically Lannister tradition to create a scandal on your nameday, or maybe that's just you.

Jacaerys Velaryon x Lannister!Reader x Cregan Stark | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, jealousy?, am I the drama!YN, typos, etc.

A/N: hello nonnie! i do take requests, but i dont explicitly state it because ive been having a hard time writing. i had an idea for a jace fic when you sent this, so it felt really timely, but then that fic i went to die 💀✋ so im tryna revive my spark writing smth else. i know you said a threesome but i just 💔 the best i can do is them tryna one up each other. I AM SO HYPE FOR THEM FR FR but i didnt really see the actors' photo together, just them in the trailer

"Is that the older Velaryon boy?" I mutter to my brother in between taking a sip of wine.

Jason turns where I'm looking and takes a sip of his own wine, "indeed."

"He's rather easy on the eyes, isn't he," I smile at my Jason.

He raises a brow, "and you are rather engaged, aren't you?"

"Engaged to be engaged," I shrug, looking around the room again, "and I do not even see our man of the hour anywhere."

"Lord Stark is travelling here from Winterfell. One would expect him to be late."

"Are you not the same brother of mine that said impressions have their weight in gold?"

Jason narrows his eyes, "clearly that was Tyland."

I roll my eyes at him and look away. I quickly turn back to Jason after I notice something, "oh, look. He's coming over."

"Lady Lannister."

I avert my gaze from my brother, to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, who gives me a nod in regard.

"My prince," I smile and curtsy.

He smiles back then turns to my brother, "Lord Lannister."

Jason raises a brow and nods curtly.

"If your sister will allow it," Jacaerys turns to me, "I would like to ask her for a dance."

I giggle under my breath. I share a look with my brother. Jason assesses my expression before turning back to the dark haired man, "my sister is not accepting dances this moment."

I turn to Jacaerys as he gives me a questioning look, "may I enquire why?"

"I hurt my ankle," I mutter, "whilst getting off the carriage."

Jacaerys' forehead visibly wrinkles, "you took a carriage here?"

I purse my lips into a soft smile, "I did."

"To Casterly Rock?"

"I was visiting a lady friend who lives not too far from here."

"... I see."

Just as Jacaerys says this, the doors open, and Lord Cregan Stark's arrival is announced as he walks in. As he swaggers in, I am struck by a delicious idea.

"On second thought, my prince," I extend a hand, "my ankle is feeling rather better now."

I feel my brother give me a dirty look, but before he can say anything, I am whisked away for a dance.

Jacaerys leads me as we dance, holding my hand firmly as we glide across the floor, and pulling me closer than what was needed when the movement called for it.

The truth was, I didn't mind it, but there was nothing I loved more than putting a man in his place.

"You're being quite familiar with your touches, Jacaerys," I mutter when we as close enough.

I see his eyes light up when I call him by his first name. He chuckles, "can you blame me for wanting to be so?"

I hum as he spins me around, "I doubt many refuse your advances anyway, with the life of a princess up for prize."

Jacaerys ends up behind me as we continue with the dance. I feel his breathing as we continue with the next steps. Once we pull away and face each other again, I speak, "it is an honor to be the first."

Jacaerys looks at me in confusion when I curtsy rather than take his hand. I smile, "I have another waiting on me," then walk away.

It doesn't take long for me to weave my way out of the dancing bodies, nor to find the said person waiting for me.

I press my lips together into a soft smile as I approach the towering man, "Lord Stark."

Cregan nods and extends a hand, "my lady."

I take his hand and smile when he kisses my knuckles, "I do hope your travels were safe."

Cregan straightens up and tilts his head, "safe?"

He takes a step forward and brushes my knuckles, "I arrived to see my future bride ensnared in the jaws of a dragon."

I clasp my hands together and raise a brow, " I believe the Velaryon's sigil is that of a seahorse."

"And I believe he is set to inherit the throne after his mother, the king's appointed heir."

I purse my lips and lock eyes with Jacaerys from across the room. A moment later, I turn back to Cregan and smile, "political talk has always bored me."

He shifts on one leg, "I would not bore you on your nameday."

"Then dance with me."

Cregan takes a second, then offers me a hand.

Not a moment later, the two of us are dancing with the rest of the crowd. Cregan is much more wary with his touch, more courteous, and modest.

I cannot help but tease him with lingering touches and with the bat of my lashes, "you are surprisingly graceful for someone of your stature."

Cregan chuckles, hands gripping my waist with more intention, "perhaps the same could be said about you, my lady."

I raise a brow, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, with your injured ankle and all."

I tilt my head, eyes locked on his as we change partners. I keep my attention locked on Cregan as I come back to him the next measure.

"How do you know that?"

He tucks my hair behind my ear, "your brother told me as you danced with Jacaerys Velaryon, how you humored him, despite your reluctance."

We spin around and switch partners again.

This time, I cannot keep my attention on Cregan as I find myself face to face with Jacaerys, himself.

He immediately speaks, "I did not know you were waiting upon Cregan Stark."

I do the steps with him and purse my lips, "why would you need to know who I wait upon?"

"I thought I made it clear," the corner of his lips quirk, "I wish to be familiar."

I chuckle, taken slightly off guard, "and I thought I made it clear that I did not."

Jacaerys' hold on my hip lingers, "did you?"

My breath hitches when he pulls me flush against his chest, arms around my waist as we twirl. He breaks away, seconds too long, and we change partners again.

Except I don't, and neither does Jacaerys, for then the music finds its completion. We stand in front of each other, staring, as the rest of the room breaks into applause.

"I would like to share another dance with you, my lady," says Jacaerys.

"She is already spoken for," another answers for me.

I peer up at Cregan as he comes between us. He blankly stares at Jacaerys. It lingers and becomes rather painful. Eventually, he gives him a nod in regard, "your grace."

"Lord Stark," Jacaerys clenches his jaw before nodding back.

I stare at them as they stare at each other for another prolonged moment. I purse my lips then sigh, "I am actually feeling rather parched. Would you two boys like to pour me a drink?"

The two of them turn to me, but before they could respond, I'm already heading off to the banquet table. My brother's eyes shoot daggers at me as I approach.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Secrets behind the curtain. // Actor!Aemond Targaryen x Manager!Reader || MODERN AU

Summary: Aemond takes out his frustration of losing an award on you.

WARNINGS: mdni, dubious consent, p in v sex, unprotected sex, tiddy sucking, degradation, dacryphilia, car (it's a limousine) sex, slightly dark!aemond, riding, messy sex, power imbalance, rigged award show, + not proofread, please lemme know if I missed any.

WC: 1.7K

A/N: I cooked this while trynna complete my other wips like bro 😭 adhd be like 😋 also this isn't dark enough to be tagged under mae:dark!content but it does contain dubious consent (reader is implied to find the situation inappropriate to fuck) so yeah, a heads up // divider creds: @cafekitsune

“And the best actor award goes to…” The host trails off, leaving room for suspense and Aemond leans back relaxed on his chair, knowing that he would be winning.

“Jason Lannister!”

As the host announces the name, your blood runs cold, you notice Aemond twitch slightly in his seat, he shoots you a glare and you look down at your feet.

Aemond watches in anger as Jason goes up the stage and collects the award, “That asshole isn't even that good at acting.” He scoffs and you swallow, “Aemond, the cameras.” you whisper and he rolls his eyes, putting on a fake expression of a smile, as though he's happy that Jason won, but you know the truth.

After this award, a small break was given to artists to freshen up, redo their makeup, or relieve themselves, but for Aemond that wasn't the case, “We're leaving.” He tells you and you look at him in shock, “But- the award show hasn't ended yet? If we live now, the press might notice and create articles on how you left right after you lost.” You reason, trying to catch up to Aemond as he was making his way through the alleyway, reaching his limousine which was parked behind the building, he checked the area for any press before he turned to face you.

“And whose fault was that? You brought me here, saying that I would win, look what happened now.” He grabs you by your cheeks roughly and you swallow thickly, “You were supposed to win! The judges evaluated that your performance was better but the Lannisters might've played foul.” You tried to reason but he scoffs, making his way over to the limousine and getting in.

“Where the fuck is the driver?” He asks you, when he sees you getting inside along with him, and you shrug, “He probably went to take a break– but Aemond please, your image will be ruined if you leave now.” You beg, yet he remains quiet and sits down, you shut the door behind you and sit down as well, awkward silence filling up the air.

There was no convincing Aemond once he made up his mind, so you dialled the drivers number but he didn't pick up, and you took this as a sign to persuade Aemond one last time, as if he'll suddenly change his mind even though he refused multiple times.

“Aemond, the press will write about how you were upset that you didn't win and left right after, besides that isn't the only award you are nominated for, you are also nominated for best character in the series, which will take place after this break.” You tell him calmly and he scoffs, “Yeah, just so i can lose that award too right?” He glares at you, and you shut up.

You sigh to yourself, knowing that you'd have to be the one dealing with damage control, Otto and Alicent would not be pleased, considering how Aemond had already once gotten into a controversy for taunting his nephews at an award show, questioning their birth indirectly.

You are about to dial the driver's number once again before your phone is yanked off from your grip, your hand is then grabbed and you stumble forward into Aemond arms.

He wastes no time in unbuttoning your shirt revealing your bra, he untucks your shirt and pulls it off you, throwing it on the ground and then begins mouthing at your breast, and kissing on your neck.

“Aemond— we can't right now—” You try to protest but he interrupts you, “Shut the fuck up.” He grits his teeth and you immediately obey.

He pushes you down onto the seat and pulls your pants off, leaving you in nothing but your underwear and feeling vulnerable.

You open your mouth to protest again but he slams his lips against you, leaving you unable to speak. The kiss is aggressive, hungry and anger filled, he bites your lip enough to make it painful but not to draw blood, and you whine into the kiss. His hands roam up your body and he finds your breasts, squeezing them tightly and mostly aggressively.

He pulls away and begins to undo his own pants, unbuckling belt and pulling his pants and boxers down, revealing his hard and leaking cock, he unbuttons his shirt slightly, feeling hot.

Your panties are pulled off in an instant and thrown to where the rest of your clothes are, same with your bra, you grip the edge of slim seats to not fall off when he grabs your legs and spreads them wide, before leaning forward and causing your knees to push up against your chest.

He spits on your cunt, his hands now holding the underside of your knees, he lets one of them in order to line his cock up against your entrance before going back to the underside of your knees again.

You gasp when his cock stretches your walls, throwing your head back in pleasure, Aemond doesn't waste any moment and begins to ram harshly into your cunt and you bite your lip to prevent noises from coming out.

“Fucking slut, look at how wet you've become.” He says harshly, his hips thrusting in and out at a fast pace, he grabs your arms and pins them upwards, “'Foul play' you say? It doesn't matter how much money they've spent, you should've spent more.” He grits his teeth, still remembering your words from earlier. “B-but that wouldn't be fair–” You are cut off with a light slap to your cheek, before he grips it tightly, “Fair? Who cares about fairness? Look what happened now.” He spits in your mouth.

You swallow, knowing you have no choice, a small smirk forms on his lips at what you've done, likely satisfied with your behaviour.

But soon he remembers that this situation didn't occur because he simply wanted to fuck his favourite woman like all the other times, no, he was mad at you.

“You're so fucking useless, do you know that?” He asks and you sniff, staying silent.

“Useless whore, you couldn't even make me win the award, the only thing you're good for is being a cocksleeve and a cunt to dump my cum into.” He degrades you and you can feel the tears begin to form in your eyes at his words.

Yet he finds joy in those tears.

“You're crying now? Imagine how I felt when I lost the award huh? How embarrassing was it for me? Especially to that fucking Jason Lannister.” His thrusts become even more brutal.

Your body jolts up and down the seat at the impact, but you still remain silent, the only noises that leave your mouth being whines and moans.

“You're fired.”

Your eyes shoot wide open at those words and you begin to shake, “No- no, please!” You beg and he chuckles, “Desperate to keep this job that much huh? Why? Is it because of my cock?” He asks and you shake your head no, “Please–” You beg and he seems to be in thought.

He suddenly pulls you up, changing positions.

He is now sitting straight with you straddling him, your arms gripping his shoulders for balance.

“Do you really want to keep this job?” He asks and you nod eagerly, “Well, you know what to do.” He says and you nod.

You raise your hips slightly before going down again, you set a decent pace and begin riding him, you bounce up and down on his cock, gripping his shoulders tight, whilst he grips your hips.

“You're so fucking pretty like this.” He mutters, pressing kisses on your breasts before pulling your nipple into his mouth, your pace falters slightly, yet his mouth remains on your breast, suckling on the nipple, twirling his tongue around the bud, and groaning in pleasure.

He leaves your breast with a wet pop before giving the other one the same attention, “I love these tits so much, I can only imagine how delicious it would be if they swell up with milk.” He sighs, rubbing his face in between them and placing a kiss on your sternum.

You begin picking up the pace again, slightly leaning forward which makes the tip of his cock hit the sweet spot, making you let out a moan, you feel his grip tighten on your hips, and soon starts to thrust upwards, matching your pace.

“Fuck Aem– I'm so close.” You close your eyes, “I know baby, me too.” He kisses your neck, and due to the repeated hits at your sweet spot, you finish with a loud moan and immediately fall limp at the impact, your breathing uneven as you rest your cheek on his shoulder.

He thrusts a few more times before he comes too with a grunt, painting your walls white with his seed. You both stay like that for a moment until you break the silence with a question, “Are you actually gonna fire me?” You question and he chuckles, “And miss out having the best fucking company ready 24/7 for me? No. I'm no such fool.” He answers.

Suddenly your phone begins to ring, you get off him and pick the call up and Aemond watches you to do so.

You gasp when the other person reveals the news to you, and you turn to look at Aemond, who looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, and you end the conversation with the other person, cutting the call.

“The award show is cancelled, apparently the Lannisters have been exposed for the foul play they had done.” you tell him, and his face immediately becomes bright with a smile on his face, and soon it is replaced with a smirk as he watches you put your clothes on.

“You better prepare yourself for a round two at my house.” He tells you and quickly pulls his pants up, before you can say anything, the door opens

“Sorry madam, I wasn't able to pick up the call, my phone died when I tried to.” The driver apologises and gets into the vehicle, seating himself on the driver's seat and quickly starts the limousine, and you sit down next to Aemond, who rests his hand on your thigh, causing goosebumps to rise as you oddly anticipate what's about to come.

The ride home felt like an eternity.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[painted-flag]

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST - aemond targaryen, (Part 1/3)

Story 3 in Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 5.3k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: is this releasing a month after the cregan story? yes, sorry for the delay.

The sound of running water acted as a backdrop to the environment of a small and quaint village. A stream ran through the village, with little bridges allowing people to cross. Each cottage looked like the other, with shingled roofs and white walls outlined with wood beams. At the centre of the town lay its well, surrounded by small vendor stalls. Travellers passed by the town often as it was situated on a main road, but they seldom stayed longer than two days. The populace was little, as low as a hundred. Everyone knew one another, giving you very little privacy. 

If you had a say, you would be living somewhere else. However, this was the place your father had chosen to settle when he met your mother. His dream was to be a well-known inventor, but so far his biggest success was modifying some farming equipment for some of the villagers. You believed in him, truly, but had hoped he would try and land a more stable job to help support the house. The only spare money you had been able to make was on account of your sewing skills by mending dresses. Customers were few, as not many people lived in your area. However, the occasional wandering traveller was far more generous in compensation for your work.

Despite the suffocation, you had no idea of where else to live. You were caught in a sort of purgatory; incredibly willing to leave your current circumstances but incapable of imagining another life. It was not a life you thought you would lead as a child. Dreams of adventure - of finding more in the world - clouded your memories. More often than not you would be caught daydreaming. Your mind would be lost in the fantasies you would conjure to distract from anything else but your reality. 

Fantasies, eventually, can drown someone. 

You continued in your routine, with your hands brushing the familiar spines of books in the quaint library. There were only a few shelves full and you had read each volume no less than three times, some more than others. It was the only supply of reading for what you expected was a few hundred miles. Nobody in your town shared an interest in reading except for the kind old lady who lends out her collection. 

One of the spines, a blue clothbound tome, caught your attention. You had obviously read it before, but it had been a while since your last go-through. You plucked it from the shelf and added it to your wicker basket full of food from the market. You waved goodbye to the lady and exited her home. The warm breeze brushed through your linen clothes and carried further in the air. It was part of the last vestige of summer, with autumn approaching steadily. Leaves had just a wisp of darkening on their edges, growing gradually daily. 

You made your way down the paths, passing each cottage and waving to the residents. You had just stepped onto the street towards your home when a presence came up behind you. The figure snatched the book from your basket and let out a sigh of disappointment. It startled you for a moment. You turned and were not surprised to see Jason Lannister holding the tome in his hands. 

“Reading again? What a waste of time…” His voice, a tone which sparked a tense annoyance in your body, drolled on. You crossed your arms and gave him an unimpressed look. 

Jason was a man who did not fit the status of a ‘man’. Foul is the one word you are sure perfectly encapsulates his personality. He was a hunter, though you doubted any of his kills were done with honour. He carried around a gaudy-looking spear with an oversized tassel on the end and claimed to be a fierce warrior, yet would never go against any of the strong travellers that passed through. He would pick fights with the men, but devise a surprising excuse as to why he could not fight. 

‘I have honour.’

‘It would be unkind to kill a man.’

‘My skills far surpass yours, a fight is not necessary.’

‘It is not appropriate for the women in this village to see such bloodshed.’

To you, it was all a load of horseshit.

“Give it back, Jason.” You were in no mood to converse with him. For years now, he had tried tirelessly to get your attention. Time after time you had said no, yet it has all fallen on deaf ears. 

“Come to the tavern with me,” he did not ask, but demanded, “My recent hunt has been added to the other trophies. I can tell you all about it.” 

There was no better way to ruin your day than to be trapped in a stuffy tavern with countless mounted heads of hunted animals. You reached out and snatched your book back from his grip. The market stall next to you displayed various shiny pots and pans. An idea of escape came to mind. 

“Could I finish looking at these pans, Jason?” You reached out and grabbed one, flipping it over to the flat side. You saw your reflection in the polished silver metal and you moved it to face him. 

“Does this look good?” You questioned. Jason took the pot in his hands but did not seem to register your words. He held it in one hand and used to other to tousle his hair. 

If there was one trait of Jason’s that could be depended upon, it is his vanity. He got caught up in adjusting his appearance and you used that distraction to quickly move away. You jogged across a small stone bridge and down a dirt path to your home. 

It was only in the safety of your home, with the door shut and locked, that you felt the tension leave your shoulders. You could not keep betting on momentary distractions to continue working. Jason was relentless in his pursuit of your hand. You had lost count of the number of times you had to come up with a plan to get away from his presence, and it was beginning to weigh down on you. 

The sound of falling items, clanking and clashing, startled you from your thinking. You placed your basket on the kitchen table and rushed down the stairs to the basement to see your father picking up miscellaneous fallen items. He was on his knees on the ground, mumbling with frustration. 

“Father?” You questioned.

He was startled and moved with a frantic nature to turn to you, “Ah! Do not worry, everything is alright. I just knocked over some things…” He rubbed his forehead and observed the mess around him. 

“Well,” You began while you reached out to help him stand up, “You seem to be in far better happiness than I today.” 

“What happened, dear?” He gave you his full attention. When he read your face, he could tell it was the same expression you had made many times in the past, “It’s that Jason lad again? Oh, if only I could kick that man in the-”

“Father,” You scolded, but secretly would not mind for him to continue, “We are above that.”

“I only wish for you to be safe in my absence.” He spoke while he fiddled with one of his newer inventions. A weird wooden and metal box that served some function you were not entirely sure of.

You leaned against one of the wooden tables and raised a single eyebrow, “Absence?” 

He sighed and set down a tool he was using. You could see that he closed his eyes and waited patiently for an answer. He turned around and cleaned some grease off of his hands with a discarded rag. 

“There is a fair a few towns over. I will be going over to see what I can sell.” He informed you. You nodded and looked at the ground. While you were proud of his work and encouraged him as much as you could, there was still a big burden on your shoulders. The majority of the financials fell on you, as your meagre funds raised through sewing still surpassed his. Money had never mattered to you, but its burden has. 

“How long will you be gone?” You asked him. 

“A few days at most,” He approached and patted you on the shoulder. You returned a tired smile and dismissed yourself from the room to begin making dinner. 

That night was quieter than usual. Your father and you ate in relative silence, only occasionally muttering short topics between one another. It was awkward and undercut by tension. Your father was largely oblivious to it, his mind too focused on the upcoming fair. You pushed the meat around on your plate with your fork while your other hand was propped up and holding your chin. 

After the two of you ate, you cleaned up while he packed his things onto his wagon and prepped his horse. You exited your home and walked down the steps to your father. In your hands was a basket of food of some baked goods that would keep him fed during his short travel. You placed it up on the bench at the front of the wagon, making sure the cover was on tight. 

Your father had hugged you goodbye and cheerfully gotten on his horse. He waved to you before pulling on the reins to get the horse to move. You stood outside for a while, watching as his figure slowly disappeared in the distance. When he was out of sight and the sun had begun to set, you made your way back inside and got ready for bed. 

Despite the frustration of your father's abrupt leaving, you had managed to go to bed with little strife.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

 Sunlight streamed in from the windows and hit you as you sat perched in a plush chair in your living space. The morning had been uneventful as you worked on some recent sewing projects and returned fixed clothes to some customers. It earned you a meagre amount of coins, but you supposed it was better than nothing. 

You had taken a break and curled up on the chair with some tea and biscuits. Truthfully, these moments were your only moments of reprieve before you would go back to scouring for more sewing projects from those in the village. You had just reached a pivotal moment in the book, one which you knew well because you had read every book there at least once. It was your favourite moment, yet you had to resist slamming it closed after the echoes of someone pounding on your doors shook through the space. 

The book had been placed on the small table next to you and you shrugged off the blanket you had been under. You got up from the seat and walked across the creaking floorboards. The iron hand on your front door was cool as you gripped it. When you opened the door, the grating presence of Jason greeted you. 

Immediately, you wondered if it was too late to close the door and ignore him, however now he knew you were home and would not stop knocking until he got your attention. You kept the door only slightly open, enough so that you could see him. 

“What is it, Jason?” You did not attempt to disguise your displeasure. A few years ago, when he began making his advances, you had tried to be civil. Yet his relentless pursuit had soured you over the years. Even when being foul, it was as if he did not notice or had some weird case of selective hearing. 

He wore a sleazy smile, “You know, I was up all night thinking.”

“You were thinking?” You did not know he could do that. Jason did not indicate picking up on your casual insult. 

“Of my future. I picture a house, with children running around and my wife taking care of them. I would come home from hunting to dinner and watch the children as they played in front of the hearth. My wife would be there to aid me after a long day.” Jason went on his tangent. You did not look at him and chose to peek past him. It was a wonder how he never noticed how little you cared. Perhaps he did but chose to ignore it. Either way, there was no possible scenario where he was a good hunter with observational skills like that. 

“Sounds like quite the picture.” You spoke with a tone of disbelief. 

“Yes, that is why I am here.” Jason stepped forward and you moved to close the door more but his hand reached up and stopped you. You grunted slightly as your strength was not enough to rival his. 

He left no time to respond, “You are to be my wife.” 

Those words, those dreaded words cut through your ears like a sharp knife. You winced and took a step back. Jason took that as an invitation to come in, so he opened the door more and stepped just past the threshold. You were stuck in a moment of frozen horror. That fear soon melted into anger, largely posed by his sheer audacity. 

“Jason, in what bloody realm does that make sense?” You scolded him. He then finally caught on to your attitude and put a hand up to his chest as if he were the one offended in this situation. 

“Well, obviously, you will be my wife.” He reiterated. 

“Well, obviously you have misread this situation. I mean, for years I have insulted you endlessly, yet I am ceaselessly tormented by your presence.” You were exasperated but also had an inkling of fear. Your father was not here to defend you. This house was positioned further from the other in the village and you worried that nobody would hear and come to your aid. 

“What do you mean?” Jason was still clueless. You did not know if it was intentional, but regardless it managed to anger you further. 

“What do I mean?” You begin to push on his chest, moving his body across the threshold and back outside. “I mean that you are a foul, uncharismatic, and downright vile being with enough patience and perception to fill a thimble!” You grabbed the door and went to slam it, but stopped it to leave a sliver of space. 

“And by the way, there is no force in this realm to ever get me to consider your offer. I’d sooner jump into a boiling cauldron. Now leave me alone before I get the town guard!” You slammed the door in his face and locked it quickly; both the bolt of the handle and a wooden plank to block it. 

Yet Jason did not seem done and yelled through the door, “You worked today and I assume your womanly mind is overwhelmed. I’ll let this slide.” He then stomped away. His words angered you further. If it was not an egregious crime, you would surely open the door, grab the nearest solid metal object, and give his head a good thwack. 

For a long time after he left, you ruminated on your words. You were so caught up in the moment, that you had no control over your speach. You wished you had been harsher, perhaps thrown in a few curses to drive home your points. Nevertheless, you had managed to get him off of your trail for the day. 

This home felt too stifling and you needed to leave. A hill just outside of the village boundaries, with a tree on top, was calling to you. It had been a particularly favourite spot of yours, as most people did not wander there. So you grabbed the book you had been reading, donned a cloak to protect from the approaching cool of the late day, and marched out of your house. 

Through the village, past the baker's house, over a hill and across the stones of a shallow stream was the place you always gravitated towards. It was calm. The light breeze shook the willow branches. The leaves brushed against one another, providing a relaxing soundscape for you to read with. 

You had begun to settle down when the crushing of hooves over grass disrupted your moment of peace. There was underlying worry that it was perhaps Jason, but the horse in the distance had no rider. When it got closer, you realized it was your fathers. A sinking feeling made its way into your stomach. 

The horse was grunting with distress. His head swung back and forth and you had to grab the cheekpiece of the bridle and start humming gently to calm him down. You looked around the expanse of the field for any sight of your father but saw none. There was nothing but worry that coursed through you. 

“What is, bud?” You questioned the horse. You decided to climb onto the saddle and get comfortable. You leaned down to his ears and whispered, “Take me to him.” 

Your father's horse did not wait a second longer before immediately running off in the direction he came from. By the time you made it to the treeline, the sun had begun to set. You hugged the cloak tighter around your form. The horse did not show any signs of fatigue as he trotted carefully and skillfully through the woods. 

Time passed very slowly as worry for your father grew. You were scared that something grave had happened to him. Surely this was a misunderstanding. Perhaps he had set up camp for the night and his horse got free and decided to go home. You had begun to become weary and tired. The horse had eventually slowed down and now you were riding through the woods slowly. 

It was late, incredibly late, and you regret not having stopped at home to pick up food. Your stomach rumbled every few minutes and the exhaustion in your body had picked up. The trees stopped and you entered an open space at the bottom of sharp jagged mountains. You had ridden to a large wrought iron gate that had vines, mostly dead, crawling up the spokes. The ground had turned to a stone brick path that was overgrown with grass and weeds. 

Just a while down the path was a large mansion that looked like a castle. It was built from the same stone as the path and appeared derelict. There was no way people lived here, as it looked as though it had been abandoned for a long time. You hopped off the horse and grabbed the reins to guide him. You walked to the gate and saw that there was no lock on it. You pushed it open and with a horrifying creak, the gate doors moved. 

You walked down the path and towards the castle doors. They were large double wooden doors reinforced by the same style of iron as the gate. A knocker was located on both of the doors where a handle would be. It was iron cast and shaped like the head of a dragon. In its closed jaw sat a ring that you would use to bang against the wood. You grabbed it gingerly and banged it against the wood. The thumping sound reverberated through the door. You wanted to make sure that no person was living here in case you happened to be intruding. 

“Hello? Does anybody live here?” You waited a moment, but no response came. You looked back at your horse that was tied off to a tree before braving it and pushing on the door. Surprisingly, like the iron gate, it opened. 

Like prey falling into a trap, you walked into the dark corridors of the castle.

There was no source of light save the moon as it fluttered in through the stained glass windows. The faint colours of the glass cast a gossamer veil of light over the thick antique rugs that ran the length of the entryway. It was a vast entry space that had two staircases that wrapped around the outer edge of the circle room. The stairs led up to a platform and joined into one and led to the upper levels of the castle. Ahead of you, between the two stairs, was another set of double wooden doors. To the left and right were large archways leading to more areas of the castle.

“Hello?” You asked again but achieved no response. There was, by the door you had entered, a standing storage desk. You walked to it and saw the thick coat of dust that covered the top. To your luck, there was a bronze chamberstick candle holder with a candle. You looked around for anything to light it with and found two pieces of flint and steel. There was no hearth around to transfer the flame, so you struggled for a moment to light the candle with the flint and steel. 

With a few nicks, you were able to light the candle. You put the tools down and picked up the handle. You felt just a little better knowing you had a source of light with you. There was no reason behind where you chose to walk other than a gut feeling. You ascended the stairwell and to the next floor, wandering through corridor after corridor. The entire castle was still decorated with elaborate furniture and interesting paintings and tapestries. 

Your trip had gone across an expanse of the castle and you wondered just how large it was. You reached a tower area and decided to go up the stone steps. The dark was occasionally broken up by a stained glass window; reds, blues, greens, and yellows of all shades would be cast against the stone of the centre winding wall. 

At the top of the stairs was a door. You grabbed the iron handle and pushed it open. Inside was a caged area, but it was too dark to see past it. You inched in and held the candle out in front of you. At the far wall was a figure hunched down and shaking in the cold. They moved their cloak away from their face and you instantly recognized it. 

“Father?”

He looked at you for a moment before moving to the bars of the cell, “Darling, what are you doing here? You must go!” You approached where he was and knelt. The candle was placed beside you. Your hands grasped his that were on the bars. His face was pale and hair sweaty; sickness had taken hold of him.

“What do you mean? Father, why are you here?” You questioned. Your father opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden sound of the door slamming shut disrupted you two. The force from the slam blew the candle out and the room was shrouded in darkness. A small window cast a single ray of white light that hit the centre of the room. You turned around and looked into the shadows, but were unable to find anything except the sound of shuffled movements. 

A voice, deep and imposing, boomed from the shadows, “Who are you? How dare you trespass on these grounds?” It sent a shiver up your spine and swirled at the base of your neck where some sweat had begun to form. You sucked in a breath for a moment and steeled yourself to answer. 

You spoke your name, then hardened your voice, “Why is my father locked up?” In the darkness, you could barely see a wisp of movement, but the figure appeared tall. Their voice came out rough and did not entirely sound human. 

“He trespassed on these grounds.” The figure moved about the darkness and you could hear the sounds they made on the stones. 

“Surely that warrants something other than being locked up? Don't you see that he is sick?” You tried to reason. Your heart rate had shot up and you could feel the fear and adrenaline course through your veins. 

“Then he should not have stepped foot on land that is not his.” The deep tones of the voice could be felt in your bones. 

“But he’ll die. Please, I’ll do anything.” You turned your body away from your father to face the direction of the voice. 

“There is nothing you can do to change his status as my prisoner.” It was a cold response, laced with malice. You know you should not say it, but an idea had come to your head; one that just may grant your father freedom to leave and get help for whatever sickness he contracted. 

“Take me.” You were almost hesitant, but there was an underlying strength in the way you carried yourself. 

The figure did not respond for a moment, letting a lull insert itself into your conversation, “...You would take his place?” They sounded almost surprised at your declaration; caught off guard by the unfettered love and loyalty displayed towards your father. 

“Will you let him go?” You punctuated every word to get the point across. If there was a guarantee for your father’s freedom, you would make the deal in a heartbeat. 

“You must stay here.” The figure affirmed. 

“Come into the light.” You would not swear until you saw who you were speaking to; who would ultimately be your captor. The dark figure moved swiftly, lumbering into the stream of white moonlight. 

The whole time, with the monstrous voice and lurking shadow, you believed it would be a gnarly creature, but became surprised. He was tall and had a lithe but built form shrouded in black and dark greys. His features were as sharp as the cut frames of the stained glass you saw while wandering the castle. He had high cheekbones and a sharp jaw that came down to a point. His lips were pursed into a sort of snarl. 

What frightened you most of all was the jagged scar that cut through the left side of his face. His eye was covered with an eyepatch that sat on the crown of his head and brushed over the long silver hair that glowed in the moonlight. The animosity that reflected in his one eye, strangely violet, made your breath hitch. 

He was not a monster, just a man. 

Though, you supposed there may not have been much of a difference in those two things. 

Now that you have seen your captor, you relinquished your freedom, “I’ll stay here.” At your words, your father began to protest, but you paid no mind. All you were trying to do was memorize what little of your father's face you could see and stop the tears that came running down your face, leaving the skin red and raw. 

The man moved forward and pulled out a metal circle filled with countless different-sized keys. He unlocked the cage with a harsh shudder. Your father surged forward and wrapped you in a hug, both of your bodies sitting on the cold stone floor. 

“Why did you do that? Darling, why?” He held your face between his hands. The man reached forth and seized the collar of your father's shirt and pulled him along. You were subsequently pushed into the cell and forced to hear the door lock. 

“Wait, can’t I say goodbye?” You yelled from behind the bars. Your fingers wrapped around the cool metal and you could do nothing but watch on helplessly as you heard your father be dragged down the steps. At this point, your gentle cries had been reduced to sobs. 

You did not know how much time had passed until the man came back again. You sat in the centre of the cell, barely able to move. That was the last time you would ever see your father, the last time you would be a free woman. The silver haired man came forward with a large candle, though his hand made the holder look small. 

When he approached the cell, you instantly backed away. In your eyes was both apprehension and fear. You did not know what he would do next. Would he hurt you? Mock you in your permanent isolation? Or simply come to the conclusion that it was not worth keeping you and throw you from the top of the tower?

He unlocked the door and gave you an expectant look, “Are you coming or not?” 

“So you could hurt me?” Your voiced was laced with venom. He rolled his eye at your attitude and moved forward to grab your upper arm. His grip was tight as he pulled you out of the cell. His back was to you and you hit it multiple times to try and get him to let you go, but his strength far surpassed yours. You gave up quickly after recognizing there would be no way out. 

He led you back down a familiar path to the front entrance to the castle, but went across the landing of the stairs and to another wing. You looked around and spotted the same decor as the other wing. This time, the wing was lit with candles and looked lived in. The light provided some warmth as well since the rest of the castle retained all the cold air from outside. 

“You will have your own room. You may go wherever you please, but the west wing is strictly off limits.” He informed you. This whole time you had yet to learn his name. Would you ever? He seems too elusive to offer answers to anything and in the short time you had known him, he only ever answered questions with as little words as possible. He forced them out like socializing was a heavy burden or deeply hurt. 

“Why is the west wing off limits?” You asked. He stopped in his tracks and turned to you. His hold squeezed for a moment and he looked to be holding back rage. You shrinked in your spot. The two of you had stopped in front of some doors and he used his free arm to open it. He all but shoved you in. 

The room was large. A four poster bed, carved from dark wood, had a canopy of sheer black silk curtains. The floor was covered in layered antique rugs, all mostly red and black; a colour theme that you had noticed littered the entire castle. A fire was roaring in the hearth, intricate stone carvings decorated the arch of it. The whole room was luxurious, but it was your prison. 

“Dinner will be ready shortly.” He informed you as you stood there. Your gaze then went back to him. He stood by the door and had his forearm resting on the wood of the door and leaned against it. He was regarding you with an inquisitive gaze; analyzing your every move. He seemed content in the information he shared and went to leave. 

“Wait,” You called out and he returned to watching you, “I’ve told you my name.”

“That you have,” He spoke. You nearly huffed, but it was difficult to speak or moved the muscles in your face as the crying you had done no longer hurt, but left a numb tingling feeling behind that was awkward to deal with. 

“What’s yours?” You questioned. Your hands joined behind your back and you did not know why a sudden feeling of bashfullness washed over you. He judged you for a moment, as if contemplating his words. 

With a tone of reluctance, he answered, “Aemond.”

He swiftly left the room and closed the door behind him. Here was where you were left and forced to stomach the reality of your situation. You looked around the room, a place you will likely be in until the moment you died. The place all looked warm and inviting, but you were full of constant fear. 

This room had become the hallowed shell of your new life, but you would not sit and cry anymore; many things can grow strong in darkness. A newfound determination built within you. You would not let Aemond crush your spirit.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

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[mmogurl]

In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 1: Requited Passions

18+ | 7.2k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Smut, Dragons, Political Intrigue, Plotting, Murder, lots of old timey concepts that don't make a lot of sense today, but are still kind of hot/fun.

The second born daughter of King Viserys Targaryen, Ryna, is nine and ten years old and still unwed. Despite being surrounded by suitors, she has yet to find a man who captures her interest, and bristles at the pressure to select a husband. But a chance encounter with her enigmatic uncle, Daemon, promises to disrupt all her assumptions and to set her on a path she could never have anticipated. (Loosely set in episode 6, but Laena has already died a year prior)

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 Also on AO3

The Great Hall was bristling with celebration held in honor of Viserys’ latest grandson, Joffrey Velaryon. The massive chamber was alight with dancing shadows, decorated grandiosely with Targaryen tapestries hung where all could witness to demonstrate wealth and power. Long tables filled with the most toothsome of fine delicacies lined both sides of the throne room. Perhaps Father was trying to distract the noble assembly with pomp, away from the very obvious fact that Rhaenyra’s children were all bastards.

Numerous guests filed in with their entourages in tow, announced by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Criston Cole. Ryna grimaced at who he declared next.

“House Lannister with their lord, Jason Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West, and Master of Casterly Rock,” Cole’s voice was stout enough, but had nowhere near the authority his predecessor, Lord Harrold Westerling had in his day.

The Lannister strode at the head of his retinue, like a preening peacock adorned in so much crimson and gold that one might think he were royalty and not the hosting family.

Ryna sat sandwiched between her good-brother Laenor Velaryon and Lyonel Strong, a position that made her feel most irritable as she was not even allowed the courtesy of being placed next to her own kin. The Hand was pleasant enough, albeit mostly a stranger, but she had never grown close to Laenor given how much time he spent preoccupied with affairs outside of his marriage.

As always her father, Viserys, sat proudly next to Rhaenyra, his named heir and, one might wonder at times, favored daughter, despite how much he protested to the contrary.

When the Lannister party drew close to the high table, Lord Jason bowed before them with a flourish and as his party withdrew, he climbed the steps and approached the King.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he fawned in the manner only a Lannister could muster, a tone both disrespectful and servile at the same time. “Healthy babes are a worthy cause for celebration. Where is the strapping lad? I had hoped to pay my respects.”

Rhaenyra piped up this time, looking exhausted and not fully recovered from child bearing even though it had been days since Joffrey’s birth. Ryna supposed the wee babe had been keeping her awake more often than not.

“Prince Joffrey is resting. He would not tolerate staying up any longer. You know how babes are, always sleeping,” she replied, playing into Jason’s feigned deference.

It was then that the Lannister shot a glance down the table at Ryna. She tried to smile just politely enough so as not to encourage more attentions from the man, but it was without success.

“Your Grace…” he started off in that same falsely sycophantic tenor. “Has the Princess given any more thought to the courtship I proposed?”

Father looked down the table at her, leaning forward slightly so that he might see the expression on her face. Ryna’s eyes were pleading ‘No’ while trying to remain civil in the lord’s presence. Viserys’ features hardened with annoyance and he rested back into his chair.

“The Princess should be happy to consider your attentions. After all she is but ten and nine summers and still not wed,” his voice was stony and strict, markedly cross with her for shirking her duties even longer than Rhaenyra had.

Jason Lannister ruffled his feathers as he voiced appreciation to her father and stepped down the length of the table until he came to stand before her. Ryna had to choke back a smirk when the thought occurred to her that the Lannister’s sigil should be a primping cock instead of a lion, for Jason had more in common with a fowl than the fearsome and proud predator.

“Princess, I trust you will save me a dance?” he squawked and it took all she had to keep from rolling her eyes.

“I shall try, Lord Jason,” she answered with a prim smile through grit teeth. “But, I have not been feeling well. It might be something I ate.”

Father shot her an irate look and Ryna had no doubt that if they had been seated next to each other, that she would have felt his palpable frustration.

“The Princess is in good health,” Viserys said, with a snide smile. “Expect her company once the revelry starts.”

With a pompous smirk, Jason Lannister excused himself and made his way down the steps and back to the banquet. Ryna heaved a sigh, finding it difficult to hide her true feelings on this subject, despite years of learning to comport herself in the presence of refined company.

Viserys was still glaring at her, and she reckoned he might be wrathful enough to cause a row amongst guests and their kin alike.

“Ryna, draw near,” he called out and she rose from her seat and came to where he sat.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the birth of my grandchild, but unofficially, I had hoped you’d make use of the congregation of eligible lords and find a husband once and for all. Enough of this procrastination. Find a man worthy or I shall make the choice for you.” His voice was low so that the company in attendance of the great feast could not hear them.

“You would wed me to a Lannister?” she practically spat. “Just to fill the coffers with his dowry?!”

“Watch your tone with me, girl. You have heard me and I will not suffer your insolence any longer. Leave me so I might enjoy the festivities.” Viserys turned his head back to the next guests approaching the King’s table. He was done with her, his decision final.

Ryna could not help but to stomp swiftly away with a childish petulance that did not become a lady. Leaving her family behind, she slipped into the shadows of the great pillars that lined the throne room and made her way down a short corridor until she was outside in the crisp night air.

She let out a troubled sigh, wishing now that she had brought a goblet of wine with her. Ryna walked to the edge of the stone parapet and looked down at the splendor of King’s Landing in fall of the leaf. The color marking the trees was apparent even at nightfall and the sea was glittering in the moonlight just past the city’s edge. The sight made her feel both reverence and panic in equal measure, with a mounting desire to climb atop her dragon and take flight away.

Why should a princess of Valyrian blood be constrained to laws of man when she had the power to tame a dragon? She should be free to do as she longed to - to wed whom she desired, and not be forced to play along to such formal vulgarities, duty or not.

Ryna was so deep in thought that the nearby sound of a clearing throat startled her back to awareness. She turned sharply and could just barely make out the figure of a man leaning against the massive stone bricks of the castle wall behind her. Then her eyes caught the blinding billow of moonlit tresses and she knew it must be her uncle, Daemon, for no other Targaryen males yet had his height.

Daemon had returned from exile a year ago to attend to the funeral of his wife, Laena Velaryon, who had died in childbirth. Although to be more technically accurate, her dragon Vhagar had incinerated her once the baby would not come out. The end result was the same; Daemon widowed once again.

She had been closer with her uncle in the past, back before Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor, but her uncle had made himself scarce as of late. He spent much of his time away from King’s Landing, presumably finishing up his business in Pentos or simply behaving restlessly as Daemon was wont to do. Often she had observed his comings and goings from a distance by the sight and screech of Caraxes in the sky outside her window.

Daemon stepped forth from the shadows and approached her, yet halted at a pace’s length, his eyes roving up and down her form in keen appraisal.

He leaned in closely, his eyes of violet hooded as he whispered in a velvety, ardent tone, “My you’ve grown, niece.” His closeness and the heat of his gaze caused her cheeks to flush, and she could not help but feel a flutter in her chest.

For a moment, Ryna just stood there incredulously, unable to think of how to respond. He had never shown any interest in her before, no matter how much she had desired it. Daemon had only ever had eyes for Rhaenyra it seemed, and Ryna had always remained a child in his eyes. She had honestly forgotten those long lost unrequited desires until his simple greeting brought them all rushing back like a wave breaking hard as the tide comes in.

“Uncle,” she acknowledged him, yet scarce a word could she find in answer to his bold suggestion.

“Such beauty should never be sullied with a frown,” he continued, his demeanor charming without effort as he brushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Tell Uncle what is troubling you.”

His inquiry proved to be somewhat of a balm to her tensions, providing a welcome transition into a topic she could put words to.

“Father has given me ultimatum to choose a husband lest he choose one for me,” she pouted, her lips pursing and her eyes sullen.

“Surely it cannot be so grim, sweetling,” he reassured her smoothly and she now saw he was holding a silver chalice adorned with the the three-headed dragon, likely filled with wine. “I imagine you’d have your pick of many fine and wealthy lords.”

“I’m afraid the selection is quite lacking,” Ryna scoffed gently, feeling a fondness stir as she recalled the old pet name he’d given her in many years past. It had been some time since she had heard him utter the word, but the fact that it sounded so well when spoken by him did not escape her notice.

Daemon quickly turned her around by the shoulder, then with a firm yet gentle hand placed against the small of her back, he led her towards the balustrade. His hand remained steadfast even as they halted, and Ryna shivered involuntarily at the feel of his fingers tracing the fabric of her gown with a tender and possessive touch.

“Let me guess,” he relished with sardonic glee. “Some old and fat oaf of a lord… No doubt a widower with a dozen children?”

“That and much worse,” she scowled thinking of all of the potential suitors that had approached her father for her hand. “A Lannister so full of himself that is makes my skin crawl to think of his paws upon me.”

An easy laugh escaped Daemon’s mouth and she thought with a wry smile that many must share her disgust for the lions.

“Ah, Lannisters. What a bunch of cunts,” he chuckled condescendingly, stealing a wanton glance down her bodice. “And the rest? Are there none suitable, niece?”

Ryna pondered the question, but could not think of a single man that had caught her attention. Except for Daemon of course, but that had never been a real option, especially after his transgressions with Rhaenyra some years back. Father had tried to keep it secret, but she’d crept into the throne room upon hearing his furious yelling and had heard the entire ordeal take place between the brothers.

Even still, she could not imagine marrying anyone of plain blood. In fact, it repulsed her to think that Father would ever marry a Hightower without an ounce of Valyrian heritage. And even though her brothers were technically half Targaryen, they were both young, and while Aemond seemed sweet, Aegon was a reprehensible human being.

The answer it seemed was simple after all. “No,” she replied curtly with a rueful sigh. “There are none who please me… But, I fear Father will not be thwarted this time. He will not permit me to celebrate my twentieth nameday without a husband.”

She glanced over at her uncle and took in the almost ethereal way his pale skin glowed in the moonlight. He hadn’t changed at all, like an ageless god from the legends she’d so loved as a girl. His hair swayed against his shoulder in the slight breeze as he took a sip from his cup.

“Ah yes, sweetling, It would seem your father has you in quite the bind,” he said matching her somber tone. “No doubt he believes that time is running short. That you must fulfill your duty to the family and start producing heirs before you get much older.”

“He has been patient with me. Rhaenyra shirked her duty at first, but still acquiesced to marry at seven and ten years, but I… Well, they will be calling me an old maid soon.” She hung her head down, feeling ashamed for the way she’d behaved towards her father. He had meant well for her after all, and Ryna had done nothing but rebuke him as reward for years of lax freedom.

Daemon removed his hand from her back, sliding it gently up her arm until it came to rest below her chin. He tipped her jaw up to meet his face and she was met with a kind smile.

“Do not ever lower your head, sweetling. You are a dragon,” he said warmly, letting go so that he could sit against the stone wall beneath the balustrade. “Now, perhaps we can solve this little problem.. What would make a suitor worthy of your hand in marriage?”

She felt a hot wave of embarrassment rise within her, for she knew well the answer that rested upon her tongue, yet dared not speak the words aloud. Surely, Father would never let her have him even if she begged on her knees. Even so, Ryna didn’t see the point in lying completely. She would be honest about the qualities she sought in a partner, even if not being direct about the person whom she had in mind.

“It is important to me that my offspring remain pure. I do not wish to mix with those who are laden to the ground. That doesn’t leave me with many options,” she spoke softly, her head tilting up towards her uncle as she finished.

There was an intrigued sparkle in Daemon’s eyes as he comprehended her words and a smile wove its way across his face. “A dragon’s clutch should remain undiluted and pure, I agree. The blood of Old Valyria is powerful and should be preserved.” He hummed in approval as he wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her a touch closer. She gasped softly, unaccustomed to being so close to him.

“Tell me, little dragon. Have you never considered your uncle as a match before?” Daemon’s words cut like his sword, Dark Sister, through the cool night air.

Ryna’s lips parted as if to speak, unsure of how to proceed. He had taken the bait she’d unintentionally laid out and given he suggested it himself, the prince must be partial to the idea. But, Daemon was an enigma and she found it difficult to gage his intentions at all times.

“I have,” she said concisely. “It is the only obvious choice when it comes to such aims, but… It is… complicated.”

She saw his eyes flare, brow rising in challenge as he gripped more tightly around her waist. He placed his chalice down on the stone and drew her even closer to him. His knee wedged between her skirts to rest between her legs and her breast was now pressing indecently against his chest. It was not a position she was familiar to enduring. Ryna knew she should pull away, but Daemon had lulled her into compliance like a Dragonkeeper.

“Oh? And why is it so complicated, sweetling?” he asked with a smug grin and mock concern as he looked down at her.

Her uncle’s words snapped her out of it. How could he feign ignorance to the current situation?

“After your,” she began but found her mouth grow exceptionally dry after only two words. She turned her head to the side and brought her hand to her lips, clearing her throat before she continued. “After your exploits with Rhaenyra, Uncle… I doubt Father would consider letting us wed.”

Daemon’s gaze darkened with the mention of Rhaenyra. “Ah yes, that little indiscretion.” He said with an air of indifference that turned into an irritated smirk. “What do you know of it?”

“I overheard the two of you in the Great Hall that day. Father’s booming voice drew me in and then I stayed once I saw you lying on the floor with guards on either side. I was worried for you, but then I heard Father’s words. That you had taken Rhaenyra’s purity in some brothel… And you did not deny it.” The memory was not a fond one for Ryna. She could remember the inebriated state he’d been in as he asked her father for Rhaenyra’s hand in marriage as a result of their transgression.

“No, I did not deny it. And I did not confirm it either,” his voice was harder than usual, sterner as though upset by her knowledge of what transpired that day. “In all truth, I didn’t do much. I merely took her to a decent establishment to show her the reality of life outside the castle.”

“If you did not sully her virture, then why would you not refute such slanderous claims made against you, Uncle? Why accept exile for it… Again?” she asked furrowing her eyebrows, her hands with a mind of their own coming to rest on his shoulders.

He chuffed like a dragon, the only aspect missing was perhaps smoke escaping from his nostrils. “Why would I deny it? What would be the point?” his words were gruff. “What could I have said to convince your father that Rhaenyra was still untouched? Was I supposed to prostrate myself before him as a loyal dog to prove it?”

“You were already at his feet. Why not tell him the truth? Unless you hoped only to make him believe you besmirched her honor, just so you might wed her and recover your claim to the throne,” there was a certain amount of hurt in her voice as well as misgiving.

Ryna had never spoken to her uncle in this manner, or anyone so far her elder for that matter. But, part of her felt scorned, wronged for how much stock he had placed in Rhaenyra instead of her. She had to know what his true motivations had been and what he was capable of carrying out in order to get what he desired.

“You are treading on thin ice, little girl,” he voiced dangerously as his grip on her hips tightened. “How dare you make me out to be some incorrigible fiend. If anyone has been wronged in this whole… ordeal it has been me.”

His knee shifted a bit higher between her legs as he pulled her hips forward onto his lap, his thigh pressed firmly against her center. She whined faintly with the force of it, even through the layers of her skirts it made her core throb with unknown want.

“Iksos bona skoros ao pendagon hen issa?” he resumed in a more measured tone, his voice lower now. Is that what you think of me?- “That I only wanted Rhaenyra for the throne?”

His hands slid up her back, pulling her flush against him. Ryna’s lips pressed against the leather of his collar as he whispered in her ear, “Or do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

Was she so transparent? The very thought of him reading her so accurately made her feel about as obvious as the sun is bright. Despite Daemon’s embarrassing insinuation, it was impossible to think whilst being held in such close proximity to him. She attempted to regain her composure, but his hot breath against her ear and the way he dug into her heat with his knee was driving her mad.

“And what if I was?” she finally blurted out. “You never once glanced my way, not like you did her. I do not wish to be second best even to my own husband.” Ryna tried to make distance, attempting to push away from his chest.

Daemon wouldn’t allow it. His grip was strong and possessive, making it clear that he was not willing to let her go just yet.

“Who said you would be second best?” his words spilled out gravely, sweet, yet viscous as they fell from his lips. “Have you so easily forgotten how I used to dote on you? How I called you my little sweetling? Do you not remember how I would let you ride with me on Caraxes before you claimed your own beast?”

Ryna was taken aback by his perception of the past, not realizing that her uncle had remembered her so fondly. Perhaps she had spent too much time dwelling on inconsequential matters. She peered up at Daemon as he held her forearms tightly in front of his chest. The matter of Rhaenyra was still of some concern, but clearly she was mistaken about a great deal.

“Yes, Uncle, I do recall. And that is what made my envy all the more dire when you attempted to pursue my sister, barely noticing me as I tried to bid you welcome home. I felt you had forsaken me in favor of her.” She didn’t feel obligated to mention how desperately lonely she had felt when he was sent away once again, nor the deep sense of heartache she had experienced upon hearing about his wedding to Laena.

Dameon’s grip on her lessened and the softness now present in his features made her feel a little more relaxed. His hands caressed up her back once more as he sat down on the stone parapet and brought her fully onto his lap. Ryna’s dress protested, the skirts fighting as he pulled her knees forward to straddle him. It was an obscene, intimate position for a young maiden, but she couldn’t help be reminded of better times when she found great comfort in that same lap.

“Your envy?” he mused almost sympathetically. “Have you been pining away for me all of this time, sweetling?”

“No,” she answered abruptly, feeling the hot sting of mortification as he continued to reveal the inner yearnings of her heart.

He let out a deep, hearty chuckle as he brought a hand to her face. Long fingers traced the outline of her cheek before wrapping around her chin. She had forgotten the contentment of his affections even though the way she recieved them had been altered now that she was grown.

“No?” he echoed with mock disbelief.” He gently gripped her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at only him as he spoke harshly. “Do not attempt to deceive me, niece. You could never tell-tale when you were young, and you still lack the talent.”

Daemon’s hand released her chin, sliding it down to rest against the base of her throat. “You forget I can see right through you… I know what you’re really thinking.”

“What am I thinking then?” Her voice was not haughty, but tinged with awe as his rakish wiles seduced her into calm once more.

“You’re thinking…” he paused, bringing his hand to brush a strand of hair from her face before caressing her cheek. “You’re thinking that you would welcome my touch further. You’d welcome my affections. My attention.”

His hand slipped further down, sliding along the neckline of her bodice he drew a finger against the top of her breast. “You’d welcome more than that. You want so much more than that. No matter how you pretend otherwise.”

Ryna’s breath stuttered out disjointedly, her chest heaving not just from his capricious words, but the unfamiliar touch of his hand at the swell of her breast. It was not at all unpleasant, but it was unseemly. The sounds of the banquet carried on from inside, but nobody had disturbed their solitude yet. She would venture an allowance, just this once.

“And what do you want, Uncle?” Ryna gazed at him, entranced at being the object of his focus after having been starved of it for so long.

As Daemon looked into her eyes, his expression darkened with what appeared to be lust and longing. His palm lowered over the curve of her breast, cupping her soft mound gently as he leaned his forehead against hers. A low whimper struck against Ryna’s closed mouth as his fingers grazed lightly down her bust, traveling over her ribcage and then rounding to her hips.

“Nyke jaelagon ao, jorrāelagon mēre,” he purred deeply. I want you, dear one- His lips brushed against hers as though trying to lure them open. “I’ve always wanted you, but thought it too wicked, even for the likes of me, to tarnish you with my degeneracy.”

His hands slid around to the small of her back, pulling her closer with a satisfied grunt. “But, now that I know you’ve been hungering for me, sweetling, I’m beginning to think… that you’ve always been mine. That I’ve wasted so much time hiding from the truth.”

She could feel the heat of his breath upon her face, coaxing her so enticingly into his thrall. Her lips parted to release a quiet breath, but before the air had fully escaped her mouth, Daemon sealed them with a kiss. Even though she had never kissed a man, she was consumed by his fiery passion. She closed her eyes, her fingers wrapping around his back as she whispered hushed, sultry mewls against his lips.

His tongue swept her lower lip, teasing at her mouth until she yielded to him and allowed entrance. The kiss was urgent and demanding, filled with untold desire she’d only read about in old tales of Valyrian mythology. One of Daemon’s hands roamed to the exposed skin at her right knee, bunching the fabric up higher and groaning as his fingers felt the bare skin of her thighs. His lips tasted of Westerosi strongwine and spices, his tongue plundering her mouth as though it were an indulgent ambrosia all its own.

“I should stop before I go too far, sweetling,” he groaned, tearing his mouth away as he regarded her. “I don’t want to ruin you out here in the open… Or at least I do not wish to get caught doing so.” A wicked smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, but the yearning was still present in his eyes.

Ryna fussed at the loss of his sweet kiss, an aching throb now coursing throughout her entire core. Lost in the affections she’d always wanted, she could not possibly think to stop now.

“No, please,” she pleaded without meaning to. The words were barely a soft gasp against his neck as her lips found the pulse of his throat and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

Daemon chuckled at her protestations, leaning his forehead against hers again. It was a simple gesture he had always used in the past to ease her distress, although there was an entirely new meaning to it now, it still made her feel at peace in much the same way.

“What will people say if they see us?” he whispered with feigned anxiety, his hot breath skimming against her dampened lips. “A wicked prince spoiling a young innocent maiden with his turpitude. What sort of debauchery is this?”

Her uncle’s words were laced with a sense of mockery, but she knew he spoke true. She sighed and kissed him once more, making sure to keep it brief lest she become unable to refrain from continuing. Ryna slipped off his lap, feeling her senses slowly return to her. She glanced at the glowing light coming from the hall and exhaled with relief when there was nobody present to see their misconduct.

She smoothed her skirts so that they were not so unkempt and tucked away any loose strands of hair back against her scalp. Daemon took his time in rising from his seat on the parapet, adjusting the front of his trousers slightly as he did so.

“You should return to the party,” his voice was rough with lust and did not sound pleased by the prospect. “At least for now we should keep up appearances. For now…”

“And what of our earlier conversation?” she asked almost demurely, with a submissive tone she was not frequently used to employing. “What of Father’s ultimatum?”

Daemon took a few steps forward, crowding into her as he rested his hands firmly at her waist. “I won’t suffer any suitor but myself to claim you,” he hissed possessively. “Especially not some timid lordling whose ineptitude would bring your heart naught but bitterness, my sweetling.”

Ryna couldn’t help but smile with the ornery way he insisted no other man should wed her, but it would still be difficult to convince Father to allow it.

“How shall we persuade my father that you are worthy than, Uncle?” she peered up at him, her fingers gently clutching the sleeves of his doublet.

“Worthy,” Daemon said with a scoff. “I have the blood of Old Valyria. I am the Prince of the City. I am a dragon, little niece.” He let his hands slide around to her back, gripping her hips greedily. With a swift tug, he yanked her flush against his chest and whispered quietly in her ear. “Name another who is more worthy?”

Gods, he was too good at this. With barely his low trill in her ear, Ryna’s knees felt weak.

“I do not question your value, Daemon. There is no better match in my eyes,” she placed her small hands on his chest and pushed him back so she might look upon him face to face. “But I fear Father will think the worst of your intentions.”

He let out a gruff chuckle at that, a knowing smile spreading wickedly as he tilted his head. “Intentions?” he mused with thick sarcasm. “Yes, how horrible it would be to bed, wed, and impregnate his sweet innocent darling daughter. I’m sure the thought of the latter will be a dagger to his heart.”

“I am speaking in all earnestness, Uncle,” she ruffled, her lower lip pouting out at his jest. “He will think you wish to claim the throne by way of wedding me.”

Daemon chuffed, clearly amused by her petulant scolding. “So, my brother thinks me a scheming opportunist, does he?” With a shrug he dismissed the notion, yet added, “Well, he isn’t wrong.”

A wolfish smirk pulled at his lips as he leaned his head down to her ear once more. “Although, if the throne comes to me as a result of seeding your belly with my babe, my sweet niece, then I certainly won’t complain.”

“You are awful…” she scoffed with disbelief, making space between them again. “How can you not take this seriously? I don’t want you to be sent away again. You know you should renounce any claim to the throne.” Her pale lilac eyes grew wide, peering at him with thinly veiled worry and beginning to gleam as tears threatened to come.

He clenched his jaw at the mention of relinquishing the Iron Throne. “Daor. Nyke jāhor daor,” he growled. No. I will not.- “Do not ask me to lie down like a whipped dog. And do not bring tears to your eyes in an attempt to soften me.” Daemon’s eyes remained cold as they narrowed at her, the fondness all but gone from his voice as he continued.

“I have spent my entire life living to the expectations of others. I will follow the path I know I am destined for.” He gripped her chin roughly, forcing her to look up at him and meet his gaze. “I will claim what is mine by right, and you will be a part of it whether you wish it or not, little niece.”

Ryna attempted to speak, but he stopped her by placing a single finger over her lips.

“You have made it clear that you are mine. You will do as I say. You will wed me and stand at my side when I ascend to the throne. Those are the only outcomes I will accept,” he ordered sternly. “And to ensure it, I will have to use any means necessary. If that includes ruining your innocence to ensure you do not wed another… So be it.”

There was a palpable tension in the air between them. She wished to have the sweet man she had shared her first kiss with back and not the tyrant that stood before her. But, Ryna understood his ambitions, just as everyone in their family did. She knew she had touched upon a sensitive subject, perhaps too insistently, and now regretted digging into a wound that ran exceptionally deep.

Most distressing of all, was that she believed his purpose to be true, even though the thought of what lengths he might have to go to achieve it sometimes haunted her. Now, he might not even trust that she had any faith in him or his calling at all.

“I am grieved,” she replied with a quiet whisper. “I did not mean to say that you should not seek the throne, Uncle, but use it as pretense so that Father lets his guard down. He knows you want it and he does not wish you to have it.”

The truth of it was that between Rhaenyra’s bastards and the Hightower half-blood mongrels, the pairing she’d make together with Daemon would have the strongest claim to the throne. If something were to happen to Rhaenyra, the throne would pass to Ryna, but the realm was still not wont to have even a Targaryen Queen rule over it. If she wed Daemon though, then there would be no question of a higher authority. She had no desire to rule and would pass it to her uncle gladly.

His grip on her chin faltered, the anger leaving his voice and replaced by a tired sigh. “My sweetling, you know not how difficult it has been for me to restrain myself for all these years. You have grown more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” He spoke low and deliberate as he gently brushed along the line of her jaw. “It was a challenge unto itself, not to ravish you the moment you became a woman, but I was certain your father would geld me for it.”

She could not help but laugh at his admission, although Father had certainly not opted to castrate her uncle for his supposed transgression with Rhaenyra.

“You laugh but only I know how it felt to resist you day after day, year after year,” he growled, voice husky with need. “I was tempted on so many occassions to claim you as my own, to steal you away to Dragonstone and keep you there.”

He leaned closer, burying his nose in her platinum tresses and inhaling deeply of her scent. “And now you’ve left yourself vulnerable, sweetling. Now that I know you want me as much as I desire you… There is nothing that can keep me away.”

“Not even the King,” he added with a huff, his lips moving to trail the smooth skin along her neckline.

She was not sure how to reply to such conviction, especially when it concerned her father. Ryna did not wish ill of him, but then she was sure Daemon would not hurt his own brother. Well, mostly certain at least.

Daemon must have sensed her hesitation, for he murmured softly against her temple. “Let me handle your father, my sweet little niece… Just focus on being my good girl, alright?” His grip was firm, but tender on her shoulders as he pushed himself away from her. “Now, you must head back, before anyone comes. I wouldn’t be surprised if Viserys hasn’t had the servants upturning the keep for you by now,” he chuckled wryly and pressed a kiss against her forehead before disengaging from her completely.

As he released her, Ryna suddenly felt an unbearable emptiness. His lips left her skin feeling warm and wanting more, but he was already taking steps away from her, retrieving his chalice from the surface of the parapet. The tone of his voice told her he would brook no disagreement in this and she knew it would be for the best that she return.

“Return to the celebration, sweetling,” he said with his back to her as he looked out over the city. “And do not worry your pretty little mind of all this. I will take care of your father. You have my word.”

Ryna had so wished to ask him if he would dance with her this evening, but soon realized something as she turned and headed back inside. That once they were wed there would be a week-long celebration and she would have as many chances to dance with her uncle as she liked.

She paused for a moment as she stood in the flickering shadows of the hallway that led back to the Great Hall. Ryna had seen it clear as day when she was only but ten and two years old. She did not understand what it meant, but had spent weeks combing the library for information trying to understand it with no answers to be found.

She’d had a strange daydream or perhaps a vision. In it, Ryna had seen a beautiful young woman with flowing silver-gold hair standing beside her uncle Daemon as he sat upon the Iron Throne.

It had befuddled her for years until finally she began to mature, her skinny, tomboyish body blossoming outwards like the petals of a flower. And, one day she looked in her hand mirror and realized that the woman she’d seen, was none other than herself.

It did naught but break her heart when she then found out that his affections, nay his ambitions, laid with Rhaenyra. And, she’d forced herself to tuck that long lost song of what might come to pass away, when she heard Laena gave birth to twins. Ryna locked it all tightly, somewhere she might never think of it again.

And yet now, it might all be coming to pass regardless. She didn’t know whether she should be excited or aghast at what might happen in the coming months.

She stepped into the Great Hall and was pleased to see that most every guest had imbibed much of her father’s generosity since her departure. Nobody seemed to take notice of her as she walked through the crowd aside from Ser Criston Cole who eyed her wearily. She cared little for the man, thinking him a miscreant since observing him beat a man to death at Rhaenyra’s wedding. Ryna wondered how it was he still held such an esteemed post regardless.

Heading right up to the King’s table, she was not surprised to see that most everyone had abandoned her father as they always tended to do once a banquet got underway. He sat alone in his chair without a soul to even pour his wine. Ryna lamented how lonely he appeared. The most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms and here he sat deep in his drink and completely alone.

Father’s eyes brightened as he saw her, a slur in his voice, “Daughter! I was wondering where you ran off to. Come and pour your father another.”

“Do you think it wise, Father?” she asked with a playful tone, knowing he would not be denied despite her pestering.

“Your King demands it, girl,” he jested with a smile and she obediently filled his cup.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she apologized, her voice demure and meek in an attempt to show him the deference he deserved, not just as her King, but as her forebear.

He waved a hand, scoffing as though it mattered not. “I should bid you apology, my child. For suggesting you dance with that Lannister fellow. He is truly insufferable.” Father’s eyes grew wide with joy as he let out a boisterous laugh and she could not help but join in the royal ribbing of Jason Lannister.

“But you still must choose a husband, Ryna,” he said somberly, the mirth still poking at the edge of his words.

“I know,” she replied with a smile, trying to show her appreciation for the years of independence he’d allowed her. “I will perform my duty for you and the realm, Father.”

“That’s my good girl. Disobedience never suited you,” he took a long swig from his ornate chalice. “Besides, I have all that I can handle of that with Rhaenyra,” he quipped with a chuckle and quick raise of his brow. “Now leave me, child. I have wont to pass swiftly from drink to slumber tonight.”

“Good evening, Father,” she bowed her head to him slightly and turned to give him the space he desired.

She glanced around the hall looking for a certain blond uncle, but did not catch sight of him. Perhaps he was being cautious by not being seen together with her in front of the masses gathered for the celebration. It was an intelligent idea that she thought she would abide by as well for now. After all, she’d had enough excitement for one night.

Ryna nodded at several lords and ladies she know of, but barely knew as she retired from the banquet hall. The path to her chambers was quiet and uneventful and after minimal effort undressing, she soon found herself comfortably lying in her bed, ensconced in plush blankets.

Thoughts swirled of the moments she’d shared with Daemon on the balcony. Ryna could still taste him upon her lips and feel his hands upon her body. As though attempting to reprise the memory, she ran her fingers gently over her breast in much the same way he had. It was too much to bear. She clenched her thighs together and turned harshly on her side with a squeal of flustered arousal.

She tried to clear her mind of lustful thoughts and peered out the window at the high moon. Would Daemon be able to convince Father that he would be a worthy suitor? Truly there was no better man in terms of Valyrian descent, but her father had been so angry with her uncle, so many times over the years. She worried he might not be able to let it go.

Given all that had occurred and the pressing marital matters at hand, she’d thought it might be difficult to sleep, but surprisingly it found her quickly.

Notes: This was the longest chapter I have ever written! I could not stop - a woman possessed!

So, I know this is not entirely necessary, but I thought I would write up a little post-chapter introduction to explain some of the setting I’ve chosen for this story.. And why I decided to make these choices.

I wanted the OC to be young, but not too young as it wouldn’t make sense that she would remain unmarried if allowed to get too old. I also did not want such a huge gap of time to pass after Rhaenyra and Laenor’s wedding. Ten years is such a huge amount of time, and I wanted the OC to have been within a comparable age to Rhaenyra when she last sees Daemon.

Now, with that in mind, the timeline of the show is also very confusing when you compare it against the timelines on the wiki, which is based on lore. There is an understanding of an approximate amount of time that has gone by on the show, but even when using those estimations, the years don’t come close to the dates on the wiki. I know I shouldn’t focus on such trivial matters, but it did in fact bother me while planning my own outline. I decided that I would base it more loosely off the official lore dates of events and ages of characters, and not the show's. This is something you may or may not notice, but it is worth mentioning. Any changes made are not necessarily for lack of being informed about it, they are just conscious changes.

One glaring issue is the birth of Rhaenyra’s first three children.. All of which are born in pretty quick succession, 115 AC, 116, AC and then 117 AC. That means that technically, this fic should be starting in 117 AC.. Only 4 years after the events of Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor (114AC). And Baela and Rhaena were born in 116 AC, which certainly causes some difficulty in lining these dates up with the show. Laena dies in 120 AC and yet her children look much older than 4 and the same can be said for Rhaenyra’s as well.

So, I’ve decided after much deliberation, that Joffrey’s birth will take place in 119AC instead of 117AC, meaning that instead of 10 years, only about 5 years have passed since the wedding. And Laena’s death will be moved to 118AC, 2 years earlier than in the lore, and much earlier in the show. I think if you add the time skips together.. That the (10 years later) jump that occurs ends up being about 126AC which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, except for the fact that they’re likely trying to line things up for the Dance of the Dragons, but the timing still feels off.

I also wanted to say that I had several starting points in mind for this story, but this was the one I just happened to like the most in terms of the timeline and how close it is to Viserys’ death and all the major events that take place afterwards! So please enjoy, and I do hope I can capture the tone and feel of the show and characters without stepping on my own feet too much. I have never attempted to write a story in this time period or style, so I guess we’ll see how it goes. Expect some growing pains until I’m more practiced and do not judge me too harshly.

Another thing worth mentioning is that I wrote the first chapter in a rather obsessive flurry that lasted most of one day and all of a night. Suffice it to say, it slipped my mind to add in the High Valyrian, given how much I had my hands full with grasping a more Shakespearean take on English. I will likely add placeholder Valyrian in, so that it does not hold me up too much as I write. When finished, I’ll take the time to research how to make it more accurate. So don’t worry too much if you do happen to know High Valyrian and find any glaring errors.

But! Please DO tell me what you thought! Also.. Yes, there will be a lot more. This is planned to be a rather big story... Read Chapter 2 here.