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ichorai · 1 year ago

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water dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

the sequel to little dragon!

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; aemond loved his wife and his children more than anything. to lose one of them... that would bring nothing but war to the seven kingdoms.

words ; 10.3k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), heavy angst, established relationship (married), parents au

warnings / includes ; major character death (please proceed with caution), blood & cheese, descriptions of violence/blood, unprotexted sex scenes, sex in the rain, jealous!aemond, foul language, you and aemond have three children (syraena, kyrion, myra), cameos of the rest of the hotd characters, syraena experiencing gender dysphoria :( aemond being a good father/husband (most of the time), kyrion is a dragon dreamer, aegon being gross and touching you inappropriately, so sorry if the valyrian isn't completely correct </3 the timeline for this fic is a bit shifted so that king viserys dies a couple years later than he does in the show (so the children have more time to grow) lots & lots of foreshadowing !! there will be a part three.

main masterlist.

A dull, heavy thud resounded across the training yard when Criston swung his morningstar at Aemond yet again, its thick spikes missing his cheek by a hair’s breadth as he gracefully spun away, the ball landing onto the ground. Before his mentor could strike him again, Aemond darted around him in the blink of an eye, slanting the longsword’s blade against Criston’s throat.

“If we were enemies on a battlefield, you would be dead,” the Prince murmured.

The Dornish knight raised his hands in surrender. “Then I am grateful we are neither enemies nor at battle.”

With a hum, Aemond let the sword retreat back to his side, turning to place it back on the weapons rack. Only, he found his gaze falling on a small girl amongst the onlookers, her e/c eyes wide, curious, and eagerly dark.

“Syraena? What are you doing here?” he asked his eldest daughter, striding up to her and staring her down with the most stern expression he could muster. It was an hour past noon, and that meant she was supposed to be at her embroidery lessons with the Septa. Or perhaps it was dancing lessons? Aemond couldn’t quite recall. Either way, she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Upon further inspection, he noted that her wispy hair was far shorter and more scraggly than usual, small bits of silver strands littered over her scrawny shoulders.

“What did you—did you cut your hair?” Aemond accused, his single eye narrowing as he knelt down in front of her. “Gods, your mother is going to have my head.”

“Do you like it, Kepa?” Syraena replied, wildly ruffling the short silver tendrils with a wide smile. “I found a sharp shard of glass by that broken window beside the mess hall… and I cut my hair with it!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Aemond blew out a long, exasperated sigh. Though this wasn’t the first time Syraena had startled her parents, prone to impulsive recklessness, it didn’t make her proclivities any less hard on Aemond’s heart. “Darling, that is wildly careless. Don’t ever do that again, you understand me? Come on—you shouldn’t be here, your mother must be worried to death searching for you.”

Swiftly, he wound his arms around the six year-old, lifting her up so she would sit over his waist. Of course, Syraena being Syraena, pulled a sour face and began reaching out for Criston, who was observing on with an amused expression.

“But I want to watch you spar!” she complained, twisting in his grasp and kicking at his stomach. Aemond had to bite down on his tongue to swallow his groan of pain, but he held onto her tight nonetheless. “Kepa, let me down! Let me go!”

“You should be in your lessons,” Aemond chastised, striding up the winding stairs back into the Keep.

Pouting, Syraena let herself flop limply against Aemond’s shoulder. “I hate lessons. I hate the Septa. I hate being a girl.”

Raising a brow, Aemond glanced down at her before softly patting the back of her head. Though he hadn’t a clue what it was like to be a woman in Westeros, he could understand her feeling of not belonging amongst others who seemed to belong so easily. Syraena never got along with other girls her age, who were often afraid of her callousness and her tempestuous nature. In that respect, Aemond supposed his daughter was just like him.

“I’m sorry, my sea dragon. Perhaps I’ll let the Septa know that you no longer wish to dance.”

“And embroider!”

“Hm. That, as well.”

Syraena grinned widely—her curved lips reminiscent of yours.

“Kepa?”

“Mmh?”

“Don’t tell mother I cut my hair,” she whispered, eyes shining with worry.

It was hard for Aemond to suppress his smile. “I’m sure she’ll notice regardless of whether I tell her or not, darling,” he gently told her.

Her expression dropped. “I didn’t mean to cut it this short. I just don’t like my long hair.”

“You’re very beautiful either way, Syraena,” he easily replied, before stopping in front of his chambers, where he knew you were watching over their baby daughter. “Alright. You go on inside—I’ll go speak to your Septa.”

He set his daughter down on her feet. She loitered by the door, dragging her feet glumly.

With a bark of a laugh, Aemond nudged her forward. “Go on. Your mother won’t be angry. Not that much, at least.”

Aemond’s only son, Kyrion, was a quiet boy. Only five years of age, born less than eleven moons after Syraena, he was already of greater intelligence than most far older than him, growing a knack for reading and drawing. The maesters would often express that his mind was developing much quicker than what was deemed normal.

Not only that, but he was quite handsome, as well, with strikingly sharp features akin to his father, and a head of snow-white curls. His eyes were a pale shade of purple, always distant and clouded over with thought. From as soon as he began to talk, Kyrion often spoke in strange, twisted riddles, mystifying both you and Aemond to no end.

King Viserys, as sickly as he was, had claimed him to be a dragon dreamer. Alicent had hushed him then, thinking he was on another one of his senseless rambles, and gently asked the two of you to step out so he could get some rest.

Now, as Aemond sat with his son in the library, he pondered the possibility of it all. Perhaps Kyrion had a divine gift—the ability to see glimpses of the future. He would have to speak with you about it, see what you thought first.

Even if it were true, Aemond didn’t want to put any kind of unnecessary pressure on his son. Kyrion was only five, after all, no matter how startlingly intelligent he was.

“And what does this say?” He tested the boy, tapping his finger against the dusty Valyrian book.

Immediately, Kyrion replied in his soft, far-away voice, “Zaldrīzoti mērī ipradagon parklon. Dragons only eat meat.”

“Hm. Good.”

“It should be more specific,” said Kyrion, hands fidgeting beneath the table. “Dragons only eat cooked meat.”

A ghost of a proud smile hovered over Aemond’s lips. “That is correct—this book is old, from a time before maesters were able to record accurate, detailed information about dragons.”

Kyrion didn’t reply, flipping the worn, yellowed page.

“What does this mean?” he eventually asked, pointing at an unfamiliar word.

Aemond glanced over at the book, before blanching, and cleared his throat hastily. The paragraph was depicting a few different maesters’ debates on the mating practices of dragons—a topic of which Aemond was not too keen on broaching with his five year-old son.

“Mmh… nothing of importance. Keep on reading, my water dragon. You’re doing very well.”

Blinking up at him with his large, pale violet eyes. He seemed to sense his father’s discomfort, so he let the matter drop, returning his attention to the book. Aemond blew out a relieved breath—he’d surely have to tell you about this later tonight.

Myra Targaryen, the youngest of Aemond’s children at three years of age, was a sweet little girl with a soft heart, always wearing a gentle smile. She loved all things in nature, and had a near unbearingly kind soul. She loved singing and dancing, a stark contrast to Syraena, who turned her nose away at such activities. At times Aemond wondered how Myra could possibly be his kin, for she was far too pure and he was… certainly not.

Unlike her sharp-faced siblings, Myra’s features were much softer and healthily plump. Her hair was a shade darker than them as well, the curls a silver-gold hue of blonde. Though Aemond was hoping for another daughter that bore your beautiful eye color, Myra was born with his dark purple irises, nearly blue in certain lighting.

As you had left to soak in a bath, Aemond had taken it upon himself to put his river dragon to sleep, tucking her beneath a fleece blanket and brushing her flaxen away from her drooping eyelids, heavy with exhaust from the day.

“Ēdrū sȳrī, Myra,” he whispered, brushing a kiss upon her forehead. Sleep well.

“Night-night, Kepa,” she responded, grinning sleepily, dimples indenting her chubby cheeks. “Today I saw a butterfly in the gardens!”

“Mmh, was it a large butterfly?”

“No. It was very small—smaller than my hand! I named it Hūra, because it was white, like the moon.”

Finding her grin contagious, Aemond felt a smile flicker over his usually stoic demeanor. “A lovely name. Your Aunt Helaena loves butterflies, as well. Perhaps you can tell her all about Hūra tomorrow.”

Myra enthusiastically nodded, before sitting up against her feather-pillows, reaching up to her father to press a sweet kiss against his scar, just below his eyepatch.

By the Gods, he could nearly feel tears prick the corner of his vision, but he managed to subdue them for a minute, not wanting to weep in front of his young daughter, lest she grew worried for him.

“I like Kepa’s scar,” she mumbled as she settled back down to go to sleep. “How did you get it?”

Aemond was silent for a long while, unsure of what to tell her. “An accident,” he simply replied.

“Does it hurt?”

It did, at times. Not as often as it used to, but there were instances he could still feel phantom pains throbbing behind the leather patch. “Not anymore,” he lied, voice quiet.

If Myra had any other questions, she didn’t get the chance to ask them, already drifting off into slumber.

Aemond hummed, before rising onto his feet, making his way out of her chambers. To his surprise, you were hovering by the doorway, arms crossed and affection written plainly over your expression.

“I just put Kyrion to bed,” you whispered, leaning into his touch when he cradled your face with his palms with a quiet greeting. “He was speaking in riddles again—something about a deal with a stag?”

The two of you began making your way down the hall, to your shared chambers. “Stag?” he asked. “Baratheons?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head, sighing. “I worry for him.”

Aemond slipped into the room after you, shutting the door behind him. He gathered you in his arms, capturing your lips with his in a chaste kiss. When he pulled away, he studied your concerned features—just as beautiful as the day he’d met you.

“We’ll be fine, dōna embar,” he reassured you, leading you to bed with a protective hand resting over your lower back. You loosely smiled at the nickname—sweet sea. “The dragon-trouts are strong. No house, stag or otherwise, could ever lay a hand on them.”

Instead of responding, you kissed him again, your nose bumping against his in your haste. The both of you laid down on the tall mattress, the promise of sleep whispering sand into your ears.

Before you could fall into a dreamless rest, however, Aemond quietly murmured, “I’m assuming Syraena didn’t tell you she cut her hair with a shard of glass she found by a broken window. Kyrion also asked about mating practices whilst we were in the library. And Myra wanted to know how I got my scar.”

Startled at the sudden barrage of information, you abruptly sat up, eyes wide, sleep suddenly the very last thing on your mind. “What?”

The next morning was dreary.

It was a rare thing for rain to grace the capital, as it was usually arid and warm. But the skies were grey and thunderous, miniscule pinpricks of water beginning to fall from the dark clouds. You stood on your chamber’s balcony, enjoying the cooler temperatures and the light drizzles dampening your skin, your hair, your sleeping shift. It’d been several moons since it last rained—compared to your original home, the Riverlands, King’s Landing simply paled in comparison. How you missed the feeling.

Aemond, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to the change in weather. He stepped out to join you, one of his spindly hands reaching out to grasp the damp fabric around your waist, the other moving upward to tilt your chin so you’d look at him.

“How beautiful you are, ābrazȳrys,” he whispered, trailing kisses down from the corner of your lips to your jaw. The Valyrian word for wife was uttered with an extra husky tone. “The hour is quite early—the children are still fast asleep.” There was a rough, needy scratch to his voice, indiscreetly conveying his lustful intentions.

With a wanton grin, you replied breathily, “Fuck me in the rain, Aemond. Fuck me until I can’t wa—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Aemond was already shoving you up against the stone railing, his hot mouth slanted desperately over yours. You kissed him back with just as much vigor, curling one of your legs around his waist. Already, you could feel his length hardening, pressing against your lower stomach.

You moaned lewdly into his mouth when the hand that had been under your chin snaked further downwards to grasp at your breasts through the drenched shift, his nimble fingers pinching at your sensitive peaks. His other hand relinquished his grasp on your waist, slipping beneath the fabric between your thighs and running a finger through your folds. The action made you cry out, grasping his forearms for dear life.

“You’re already drenched for me,” Aemond susurrated, pulling away from your lips, which you had chased after with a sigh, littering kisses against your bobbing throat. “Ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love.

“Please, Aemond,” you croaked, needing more. “Please, I need you inside me.”

With a hum, Aemond swiftly shoved your damp shift up to bunch around your waist, leaving your lower half completely bare for him.

“Who am I to deny you, embar?” he whispered, biting the outside of your ear, before slowly sliding his leaking, throbbing length into your cunt. “Fuck! Mmh—you take me so well, sweet wife.”

Slowly, he began rocking into you, prideful at the way you rolled your eyes into the back of your head. Your shift, clinging against you like a second skin thanks to the rain, made the motions of your heaving, bouncing breasts all the more enticing. He ducked his head to freckle kisses over your chest as he thrust into you, murmuring praises into the wet fabric.

A clap of thunder drowned out the obscene noises the both of you were making.

Wildly, Aemond tore himself out of you, extinguishing the fiery complaints on the tip of your tongue by turning you over and pushing your stomach into the railing, so you could face the city. You were far too high up for anyone to clearly see, but the thrill of it was there, nonetheless.

Your husband slid back into you with a deep groan and a string of curses, sloppily pounding you from behind as he neared his peak. He wound an arm around you to languidly stroke at your pulsing clit, which had you bucking back into him with a surprised choke of his name.

It wasn’t long until you collapsed against him, your cunt clenching around his cock like a vice, white stars bursting out in front of your vision. Not too soon after, Aemond spilled himself within you, his hot cum dripping out of your core and down your thighs, panting against your shoulder.

“Mmh,” you moaned once he slowly pulled out, so as to not overwhelm you with overstimulation. “I do hope it rains in King’s Landing more often.”

“If it leads to more of this, then so do I,” Aemond replied, turning you around with gentle touches to kiss you soundly. “For now, how does a hot bath sound?”

Myra’s shrieks of laughter echoed across the large chambers as she clumsily ran away from Syraena, who was enacting a large, hungry dragon searching for her prey.

“Kepa, help me!” she screamed, scrambling to hide behind her father’s legs. Amused, Aemond picked up his youngest girl, setting her on his hip. His eldest clung to his shin, forcing Aemond to drag the both of them across the room as they squealed in delight.

“Faster!” Syraena ordered. Aemond made a mental note to tell Criston he was most likely going to be late for training today, knowing his girls probably wouldn’t let go of him for the next few hours.

On the other side of the chambers, you sat by your son next to the fireplace, sipping on a chalice of spiced apple cider. Kyrion was sprawled out on the expensive chaise, the corner of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated on drawing on a piece of parchment with a coal-tipped pencil.

“Mother, look,” he said, pulling your attention away from your husband and the excited girls. The paper was pushed onto your lap, covered with black smudges and hastily drawn lines. “This is what I see in my dreams.”

You blinked, studying the drawings closer. “What is it, honey? Are those trees?”

His white hair flew every which way as he vehemently shook his head. His small hand pointed at the six figures, hovering a few inches above the uneven ground. “Those are people. They didn’t bend the knee.”

Horror’s dark fingers wrapped around your heart, and you reared back to stare at your son. “Kyrion, what is this? You… have you seen this?”

His pale violet eyes met your terrified ones. “In my dreams,” he repeated, voice soft and tame, as if he hadn’t just drawn a picture of six lords hanging from the gallows. “You don’t have dreams like those?”

Still in shock, you shook your head, mute.

Kyrion studied you for a moment longer, before grabbing another sheet of paper to start drawing again. “You’re lucky, mother. Sometimes I feel it.”

“Why is that, Kyrion? What else do you feel?”

The little boy shrugged. “The milk curdles, the blood spills.” He fell quiet after that, clearly done with the conversation.

Struggling for words, you blew out a long breath, before looking back at the parchment. You leaned forward to press a kiss to his head, patting down his short white curls, before standing up and making your way to Aemond, his drawing in hand. Myra had somehow ended up on his shoulders, yelling for help as Syraena jumped around, trying to catch her little sister’s flailing feet.

“Mama,” the young river dragon cried, reaching out to you with tearful purple-blue eyes. “Syraena bit me!”

True to her word, there were shallow teeth marks imprinted in her chubby shin. Syraena grinned at her handiwork, looking none too apologetic.

“Aemond!” you sharply reprimanded, which made your husband flinch at the sudden attention, puzzled as to why the blame was placed on him instead of Syraena. “Gods, did you just stand by and watch as your daughters mauled each other?”

“I was outnumbered, darling. They are vicious little things, our girls,” Aemond lightly replied, letting go of the golden-haired girl so she could cling onto you, sobbing into your neck. At your stern expression, Aemond added on, “Syraena, say sorry to your sister.”

With a quick tongue, she quickly said with years of rehearsed practice, “Sorry, Myra. Can I come watch you train now, Kepa?”

Before he could reply, you stepped in. “Ah-ah, Syraena. You need to go to the Septa and apologize for running away from your lessons yesterday. You may be excused from embroidery and dancing, but that doesn’t give you the right to be rude.”

Glum, Syraena glanced at her father, who only beckoned her along. “Listen to your mother.”

With a heavy exhale, the silver-haired girl stomped out of the room to do as she was bid.

You traced your hand along the bite mark on Myra’s leg. “It’s not too bad, sweetheart. Go on—go ask your brother if you can draw with him.”

Sniffling, Myra slid down from your arms and waddled off to sit by Kyrion, who wordlessly scooched over to make space for his little sister.

“What’s wrong?” Aemond asked, noting the worry in your expression. The once light-hearted atmosphere seemed to dissolve away in an instant.

Pursing your lips, you handed over the drawing.

“Kyrion said he saw this in his dreams. People hanging… he said they didn’t bend the knee,” you whispered.

Aemond studied the coal-streaked parchment, eye narrowed. “Perhaps that’s all it was… just a dream.”

“Or it could be a vision. Your father said it himself—our son is a dragon dreamer,” you responded, gripping his forearm. “Aemond, I’m worried that war is upon us. Sooner than we think it is.”

There was little Aemond could truthfully say to comfort you, and so he simply drew you close, breathing in your homely scent—pleasantly noting that he could still smell the rain on you.

“It’ll be alright,” he murmured sincerely. “I won’t let anything happen to you, or our family. I’ll keep you safe.”

Blinking away the tears stinging the corner of your eyes, you pressed your nose against his throat. “I’m not sure you’d be able to, husband. Not in a war for the iron throne. Nobody is safe from that.”

Your law-sister, Helaena, had always harbored a gentle, sweet soul—a direct opposite to her brother and husband, Aegon. The very thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage, made to squeeze out heirs for a monster of a man was already nightmarish enough… you couldn’t fathom what it was like for Helaena to endure such a life. Nonetheless, she was often as happy as one could be, dreamily smiling and murmuring unintelligible words to herself.

That evening you found yourself having tea with her, listening to her speak about the strange weather and the bugs she had found washed up in the gardens due to the rain.

“Many worms, yes,” she mumbled, fiddling with a wooden carving of a cockroach. “Worms and drowned ants. Ants and drowned worms. Beetles, as well, yes.”

You smiled, glancing at her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, playing with yours—though Kyrion wasn’t really playing with his cousins, more just standing in the shadows and silently watching his sisters play with them. He truly was a copy of his father, after all.

“The poor creatures,” you surmised. “Rid of their homes and families just because of a bit of rain.” A bit of guilt twinged within your chest—just earlier today, you had told Aemond you wished for it to rain more.

“Oh, it’s not all that bad,” Helaena hummed, looking up at you with a mild grin. “Death gives way to more life. There will soon be new worms, new ants, new beetles. It’s simply the way of nature.”

You nodded, setting down your teacup. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just a shame that it has to happen in the first place.”

To your surprise and none of Aemond’s, all the childrens’ dragon eggs hatched within their cradles. They were growing larger and larger every day, being looked after by the dragon keepers before the children could ride them.

Today, Aemond took them down to the Dragon Pit, where his children were going to bond with their respective beasts. You were invited to come, as you always were when Aemond went off on his excursions with the kids, but you had wrinkled your nose and turned back to your book.

“I have no taste for stinking of dragon today, thank you,” you curtly replied, grinning down at your book. “Don’t you think Myra is a bit too young to bond with her dragon? She’s only three.”

“It doesn’t hurt to get acquainted,” he swiftly replied, before bending at the waist to slant a sweet kiss to your hairline, before taking his leave to head out of his chambers and wrangle his kids down to the Pit.

They were excited to go, Syraena most especially, practically sprinting down the corridors. He called out after her to slow down, but she paid him no mind.

The Dragon Pit smelled of smoke and charred meat and something distinctly dragon.

Keepers brought out the three dragonlings, playfully nipping at each other’s wings and yipping as if they were young pups.

The largest of the trio was named Aerion—Syraena’s dragon. He was a slender beauty, with shining black scales and sharp, crimson wing membranes. With the Keeper’s nod, Syraena confidently marched forward, stroking her dragon’s head, a toothy grin plastered across her lips. Aerion seemed to purr beneath her touch, plumes of grey smoke falling from his nostrils.

Next to come forward was Kyrion’s dragon, his rippling scales a dark shade of green and sharp eyes a molten amber. “Tyvaros,” Aemond heard his son mumble his dragon’s name. “Tyvaros.” A bit more timid, Kyrion hesitantly stepped forward and, with the Keeper’s approval, he reached out for the small green dragon. He was the calmest of the three, leaning forward to gently nudge his head against Kyrion’s shoulder.

The smallest of the hatchlings was Goldentooth, a pale, cream-hued dragon with aureate spikes running down her back and along her tail. She was Myra’s to claim, having been the very last to hatch.

“Go on, Qelbar.” He gently nudged his flaxen-haired daughter forward. River, he affectionately called her. “Don’t you want to bond with her?”

Myra nodded, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“I can’t see a reason why she wouldn’t like you,” he calmly responded, patting her back. “Your brother and sister are getting along with their dragons just fine. It took me a long time to bond with a dragon, as well. You’ll get there, eventually.”

His words seemed to instill some courage into her, and so she shuffled along to the last Keeper, murmuring hello to her dragon. It wasn’t long until the fear subsided, and the small dragon was already climbing all over her arms and shoulders.

After an hour of bonding, the Keepers were hoarding the dragons further down into the Pit for feeding, and in turn, Aemond took the children back up into the Keep. They all stank of dragon, something you definitely weren’t going to be happy with, but had wide smiles on their faces nonetheless.

There was a hearing carried out on the subject of the heir to Driftmark (which was settled in an unsettlingly gorey manner, courtesy of Daemon Targaryen), which meant Princess Rhaenyra and her sons were back in King’s Landing for quite a while, to Aemond’s displeasure. You, on the other hand, bore no ill-will to the Princess, and were rather excited for the royal dinner to be held the next day.

The night after Vaemond’s beheading, Kyrion had tugged on your skirts and asked if you could accompany him to the library so he could return his book.

“Alright,” you told him with a small smile. “But we must be quick about it—the hour grows late, and I can see how sleepy you are.”

The purple-eyed boy nodded, taking your hand as the two of you made your way down the dark corridors, to the library. When the both of you turned the corner, you nearly ran straight into Lucerys, jumping back in surprise.

“Oh, Gods! My apologies, my Princes,” you exclaimed, flustered at the sudden appearance of Rhaenyra’s sons. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Lucerys tilted his head. “No need to apologize, Lady Tully.”

“Targaryen. Tully is my maiden name—I’m married to Prince Aemond now,” you gently corrected.

“Evidently so,” said Jace, glancing at your son with a polite smile. “This must be my little cousin. Kyrion, isn’t it?”

The white-haired boy stared up at him with his pale eyes. “Ice and fire. Arrows and seas. Pacts and death. I saw you in my dreams.”

“Kyrion,” you hastily reprimanded, mortified that your son was speaking of death in front of Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest son, gathering the small boy up in your arms. “Sorry, he must be tired. It’s his bedtime—”

“He doesn’t look much like you, does he?” Lucerys observed, finding it eerily strange to be staring at a little boy that was a near carbon copy of the bane of his childhood.

Brows furrowing, you hesitantly replied, knowing the stale animosity between him and your husband, “I… I suppose not, my Prince. He takes after his father. My daughters, too.”

“Ah, then we must arrange to meet them. I’m sure your children would enjoy playing with my little brothers, Aegon and Viserys. They must be around the same age,” said Jace in an amicable manner.

Before you had a chance to respond, a familiar voice spat, “And why, pray tell, do you think I would ever allow my children near you and your filthy kin?”

Aemond appeared from out of the shadows, features set in one of cold fury. Both Jacaerys and Lucerys took a step back, shoulders stiffening. They had seen him training earlier today—it didn’t go past their notice that he had become incredibly skilled in combat over the years. In no way would either of them be a match for him.

Wary not to allow a fight to break out, you reached out to place a calming hand on his arm. “Aemond—” you gritted out.

“Leave us,” he growled.

Teeth gnashing together, you shook your head and whispered, “Aemond, I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us.”

“Take our son and go,” he said, more gently this time. To you, Jace and Luke were just boys—sweet boys with kind hearts. To Aemond, however, they were the monsters who took out his eye. They were a threat to him and his family’s safety.

Exchanging a worried glance between him and Jacaerys, who nodded at you to take your leave, you blew out a frustrated breath, before hastening away with Kyrion in your arms. It seemed the two of you would have to take a trip to the library another day.

Lowering his voice, Aemond calmly told the two brothers, “Speak to my wife or my children again, and I’ll have the both of you fed to my dragon.”

Luke swallowed nervously, but Jace stood his ground.

“Is that all, Uncle?” he challenged, eyebrows cocked.

Aemond fixed a sharp glare on them, nose upturned. With an irritated grunt, he turned and strode off after you, leaving the two bastard boys stunned and mildly confused in his wake.

Once he had made sure his girls were safely tucked in their beds, Aemond paid his son a visit, sitting by his side.

“I apologize for interrupting your trip to the library, water dragon,” he murmured, patting down the boy’s messy white curls.

Kyrion chewed on his bottom lip in thought. “Why don’t you like them, Kepa?”

Aemond’s single eye searched his son’s gaze, completely sincere in his curiosity. “A story for another time, when you’re older,” he replied. “Your mother said you’ve been drawing what you see in your dreams. Can you tell me about them?”

“Which ones?” he asked.

The one-eyed man felt sick at the thought of his little boy having to watch a thousand lives pass by in his visions, most having to inevitably end in death. It was a curse to be a dragon dreamer, he thought with a grimace. A burden.

“Whichever you want to tell me about, tresy.” Son.

Kyrion’s pale eyes seemed to mist over, and he fixed his gaze on a random candle across the room. “I see you wearing a crown. You sit on the Iron Throne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

It seemed his son had mistaken Aemond’s befuddled expression for anger, as he shrank away from his father with a frown. “I’m sorry, Kepa. Don’t be angry with me.”

Aemond softened. “I’m not angry, Kyrion. I was just… shocked.”

Not all of Kyrion’s visions came true, did they? Aemond tried his best to wrack his mind for the dozens of times his mystic ramblings lead to nowhere.

“I also see mother sailing away on a ship with Syraena and Myra. She looks sad,” he quietly spoke. “I don’t like that dream very much. Can I go to sleep now, Kepa?”

Blowing out a small breath, Aemond mustered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his worried eye. “Yes, of course. Sleep well, little dragon.”

Hastily, he stood back up on his feet, blowing out the candles around Kyrion’s chamber, before striding out the door. His head was spinning with a million thoughts at once, his son’s wispy voice echoing within his mind.

A crown on his head. His wife and his girls on a ship. Seven hells… what was to become of his family?

Myra was humming a sweet song of summer, chubby cheeks rosy with the warm breeze that blew through the Godswood. She was seated in front of you over a yellow blanket situated on the ground. In your hands, you were weaving the little girl’s golden hair into an intricate braid, small wildflowers slotted in between the crevices.

A little ways away from the both of you, Syraena was running circles around the Weirwood tree, fighting off invisible enemies with a long, wooden stick she claimed to be her sword.

“There you go, darling,” you said, patting Myra’s shoulders once you were done. “Syraena, come here! I want to fix your hair!”

Your eldest girl huffed and puffed as she stomped over, her short silver strands sticking up every which way. “What’s there to fix?” she grumbled, plopping down in front of you.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t foolishly sliced it all off with a shard of glass, it wouldn’t resemble an uneven rat’s nest sitting upon your head,” you reprimanded.

Giggling, Myra clapped her hands. “Rat’s nest!” she parroted.

Syraena scowled. “It’s not fair. You let Kyrion have short hair. I want to be a boy, like him.”

“If you wanted short hair, you could’ve just asked. Lailena would have gladly cut it for you,” you said, brandishing a wooden comb to gently run it through Syraena’s thin silvery strands. “Do you want to know what your father said when I was first pregnant with you?”

Syraena shifted with a grimace as you yanked at a knot in her hair. “What?”

“He said he didn’t care whether you were a boy or a girl. That you were his blood, regardless. His tempestuous sea dragon,” you said with a small smile, mimicking a sour face at her nickname. “And Kyrion came next, our tranquil water dragon. Then lastly, Myra, our sweet river dragon.”

When you were done, you had Syraena turn around so you could inspect her hairline, brushing back any stray bits of hair that escaped your comb. “All finished. Beautiful, handsome… I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, sweetling.”

She chewed at the inside of her cheek, nodding. “Can I go play knights with Jaehaerys now?”

“Go on,” you lightly nudged her away, an exasperated smile tugging at your lips, knowing full and well her hair was going to be all mussed in no less than half an hour of playing.

Before Syraena could get up and scramble away, however, a figure approached the three of you. She was clad in a black cloak, detailed with fine red thread in embroideries of flames and dragons. Golden jewelry decorated her pale skin, her long hair like sheets of pure snow.

The Princess Rhaenyra.

“Princess,” you breathily greeted, mind flashing back to last night, when you had bumped into her sons.

You were about to get up to bow, but Rhaenyra quickly said, “No need, Lady Y/N. My apologies, I wasn’t aware the Godswood was occupied. If you’d like to be alone—”

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright, Princess. It’s a space to be shared, after all,” you said with a courteous smile.

Rhaenyra studied you carefully, her purple eyes taking in your form. It was a strange thing, she thought. You were married to her half-brother, and mothered her childhood friend’s grandchildren. A childhood friend that was her friend no longer.

With you, however, perhaps the story could be different.

A genuine smile graced the Princess’ lips. “These are your girls?” she asked.

The taller and older of the two most certainly took after her father, with her sharp features and silver hair, though she bore your eyes and your smile. The younger was plump with a softer face, and had more blonde than white hair, her large eyes a deep shade of violet.

“Yes, this is Syraena, my oldest. And this is Myra,” you told her. “My son Kyrion is in the library at the moment, with his father.”

“His father,” Rhaenyra echoed quietly, voice distant. The memory of little Aemond in front of her, eye slashed out, and Luke cowering behind her with a bleeding, broken nose flashed into her mind. Clearing her throat, she reeled herself back into the present by saying, “Your children are very beautiful. Have you considered any potential suitors for them yet?”

Your eyes widened simultaneously as Syraena’s head whipped up to stare at you.

“No,” you replied, a tad too quickly. “I don’t think I’d want to subject them to that until they come of age. Or until they want to.”

The Princess tilted her head to the side with a mild laugh. “If your daughters were anything like me when I was a teenager, then you’d find the latter quite a challenge.”

“Yes, Queen Alicent has told me of your youth… how you rejected nearly all the contenders for your hand,” you replied. “I can’t say I could relate. Aemond was my first and only suitor.”

She hummed in thought. “I only asked because I just had my sons betrothed to their cousins.”

Right. Jacaerys and Lucerys were to wed Baela and Rhaena.

So that was why she asked. She wanted to know if Alicent was scheming, just as she had been. Betrothals and weddings were equivalent to political currency in times of war.

“I don’t plan on wedding my children off any time soon,” you reassured her. From the corner of your eye, you could see Syraena’s shoulders loosen up. The prospect of marriage was not one she was particularly interested in.

“I see,” Rhaenyra said, though her face was much more relaxed now than before. “I shall go wash myself before supper tonight. I look forward to seeing you there.”

With that, she turned to take her leave. Myra looked up at you with a toothy grin. “Can I come with you to supper?”

“It’ll be past your bedtime,” you said, rising to your feet and picking her up to place on your hip. “But I promise we can spend the entire day together before that. Come on, Syraena, I’ll drop you off at Jaehaerys’ room.”

That evening’s royal supper was a disaster.

It started off well enough, with several toasts from the adults, and an additional one from Jacaerys dedicated to his uncles and his cousins’ good fortune. The King gave one long, hunkering speech on unity and the togetherness of the dragon’s house, wheezing through his words all the way.

Only then did the feast begin, consisting of a large assortment of roasted meats and soups and plates of steaming bread. There were also cold platters of appetizers passed around, full of cheeses, figs, and grapes. Viserys had barely eaten a bite before he had to be escorted back to his chambers, past his point of exhaustion.

Aegon had spent most of the dinner tormenting Jace and Baela on their future marriage. When he grew bored of his nephew’s stoic demeanor, he turned to you, his good-sister. It was evident the Prince was quite drunk as he blathered on and on about the most trivial topics as you gingerly drank your hearty soup, though you didn’t have much of a stomach for it anymore.

The last of the toasts came from Helaena as she congratulated Baela and Rhaena on their betrothals, subtly dunking on her husband before she drank with a dreamy grin.

Not too long after, music started playing, a symphony of strings and bells, and Jace had offered his hand to Helaena, much to Aegon’s dismay.

In an effort to retaliate, Aegon leaned close to your ear, placing a hand on your thigh beneath the table. You had jerked away from his touch, glancing at Aemond, who sat on your other side.

“Care for a dance with me, good-sister?” He smelled of wine and a general foul dampness.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “That’s quite alright, my Prince. I don’t think you’re in a state to dance with me.”

“Nonsense, Lady Y/N, I am as sound as the day I was born!” he drunkenly hiccuped, words slurring together. His hand found its way back to your thigh, fingers gripping tighter this time. You tried to yank your leg away, nearly standing up with the effort.

Sensing your discomfort, Aemond growled out, “Leave my wife alone, brother.”

The song drew to a close, and Helaena returned to her seat, beaming brightly.

“Or what?” Aegon cackled, clearly enjoying seeing his brother get riled up. Thankfully, his hand slipped away from your leg to grip another chalice of wine. “What will you possibly—”

Before he could finish, Jacaerys stood between you and Aegon, offering his hand.

“If I could have this dance, Lady Targaryen?” he asked, emphasizing the family name in memory of your correction last night. His expression bore one of concern, obviously coming here to offer you an escape from Aegon.

Sparing a glance to your husband, who had taken to silently bristling, you nodded once.

“Of course, my Prince,” you said, taking his hand. Much to your satisfaction, Aegon had looked like he was struck across the face.

Off the two of you danced—spinning and twirling and laughing the entire time. Aemond was never too fond of dancing during the celebrations, always cautious of the stares, much preferring to dance with you in the privacy of your own chambers. Watching you openly have such fun with Jacaerys, however, made jealousy coil tight within his abdomen. You were smiling so widely—a smile that he had the joy of seeing every morning. To see it elicited because of his bastard nephew kindled an envious, green flame inside him.

Then came the pig.

And Lucerys’ none-too-discreet giggling.

Something in Aemond snapped.

The music halted as he slammed his fists onto the table, and his wife hastily stopped dancing with Jacaerys to see what the commotion was.

Of course, Aemond simply couldn’t help himself. In front of the entire family, he called his nephews Strong boys.

Pandemonium broke out. Jacaerys had let go of you to storm forward and land a punch on your husband, which seemed not to affect him in the least, shoving the brown-haired boy to the ground.

Aegon, eager to join the chaos, had grabbed Lucerys by the scruff of his shirt, shoving him into a searing platter of fish. “A gift for the new Lord of Driftmark!” he announced with a wild, manic grin.

In the end, Daemon had been the one to put a stop to the scuffle, staring down Aemond with raised brows. With a frustrated hum beneath his breath, your husband stormed out of the mess hall, making his way upstairs to your shared chambers.

You scrambled out after him, lifting your skirts to give you space to run. It was improper to leave without bidding the rest of the family goodbye, but then again… nothing about the dinner had been proper at all.

Once you had rushed into the room, Aemond roughly slammed the door shut, pushing you up against it. His fingers were already undoing the laces on your back, his lips sealing shut over yours.

“Aemond,” you murmured against him, lightly pushing at his chest. “Stop, for just a minute.”

Your husband pulled back at your request, single violet eye ablaze.

“What… Gods, why would you do such a thing? Why would you go out of your way to torment them?”

“You know very well why,” he quietly gruffed, reaching behind to pull off his eyepatch, tossing it onto a small table by the door, the sapphire in place of his lost eye gleaming dully beneath the moonlight. Your lips parted to ask him something else, but he cut you off by gripping your chin, whispering in a possessive fashion, “Hush, ñuha dōna embar. Seven hells, you’re more beautiful than ever. And you’re all mine.” My sweet sea.

“Don’t hush me!” you hissed, brows knitting together. “Aemond, Jacaerys will one day be the crown prince when Rhaenyra ascends the throne. It is not wise to provoke them in such a manner.”

Blowing out a heavy sigh, Aemond stroked your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “They’re bastards, my love. The throne is not theirs to take. And my sister… the realm will not accept her as their ruler. You know this, jorrāelagon.”

“They swore an oath! Our families swore oaths to her. I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on becoming an oathbreaker,” you reminded, softening beneath his touch. “Aemond, I don’t want to fight with you. I just don’t want you to do that again. If not for me, then for our children. Don’t go picking fights where it’s not needed.”

Aemond shut his weary eye. If Myra had seen him tonight, she would surely be afraid of him.

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry. I got caught up in my anger.”

You leaned forward to kiss him, soft and gentle, and Aemond wasted no time in reciprocating, pressing you back against the door. Off came your dress and down came your styled hair with Aemond’s skilled fingers. In no time, Aemond had your legs wound around his waist, his coat unbuttoned and shirked off somewhere behind him. Your drenched core was pressed right against his throbbing length, rock hard and leaking with pearly beads of precum.

“I love you, more than anything, more than life itself,” he murmured against your throat, gently nipping at the skin there. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Aemond,” you moaned wantonly when one of his hands snaked down to thumb at your clit. “Please, I’m yours, please fuck me.”

With a satisfied hum, Aemond planted a deep kiss onto your parted lips, a groan rumbling from his chest when you bit into his bottom lip, eyes hooded. He lined his cock up, before sinking into you with one smooth motion, his forehead falling into the crook of your neck.

You held onto him for dear life when he began to rock into you, scratching faint crimson lines down his toned back. The pain seemed to only spur him on, and he shifted his angle to pound into you deeper, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the pleasure.

“Fuck!” he bit out. “So good, ābrazȳrys. Feels so good around me.”

He moaned when you clenched around him, his breath hitching when you slid your hands up into his hair and yanked with no abandon. In no time, he could feel you coming undone around him with a litany of colorful curses, shaking almost violently in his hold. In turn, Aemond came inside you with a shout of your name, rocking into you once, twice, thrice more.

Slow, he pulled out of you, watching the cum drip out of your spent cunt with great satisfaction. He kissed you sweetly, nose nudging against your cheek.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he softly said, carrying you across the room to set you down on the bed. “Go to sleep, love.”

“Mm, I love you,” you murmured. A ghost of a warm smile etched into the corner of his lips. He repeated the sentiment to you, but you had already drifted off to sleep before you could hear it.

King Viserys was dead. Rhaenyra and her children were gone, having flown back to Dragonstone earlier in the day.

And already, Aegon was to be crowned King.

You were none too happy about the turn of events, but you were to turn the cheek and play the part of the faithful wife, for the sake of your family and their safety. The lords who had refused to bend the knee to Aegon were either thrown in the dungeons or hanged, labeled as treasonous traitors to the realm. It was just like Kyrion had drawn, as he claimed to have seen in his dreams.

“A beast beneath the boards,” Helaena had constantly murmured, which frightened you to no end.

It was only worsened when Kyrion would reply with, “Bursting red, red in the sky, the sun in her mouth.”

Syraena was rupturing at the seams with a constant stream of questions—questions you had no such answers to. And your youngest daughter was crying the entire day, sensing the tense, fragile atmosphere. Your husband had gone to find Aegon in the slums of King’s Landing, who had unsurprisingly disappeared in thin air.

Not before long, he was dragged back into the Keep, and the coronation commenced above the Dragon Pit. The beast beneath the boards broke out only minutes after the crown was placed on his head. Hundreds of commoners and smallfolk were killed in the commotion. Princess Rhaenys rode her scarlet dragon, the Queen That Never Was mounted on the Red Queen of Dragons.

Aemond had shoved you back, protectively standing in front of you, though there was very little he could do. The both of you were immensely grateful the children were left in the castle with Lailena, safe from the chaos and the havoc. If you were to die today, you’d be dying in Aemond’s arms, knowing your children were safe for the time being—what better way was there to die?

But neither of you died that day, for Meleys had only screeched out a shrill warning, before clambering out of the Pit, and absconding to the clouds. Red in the sky.

Aemond had ushered you to the Keep, before hugging you tight in the secluded privacy of your chambers, genuinely terrified that he could’ve lost you.

The next day, he was already leaving again. He was to go to Storm’s End to broker a deal with Borros Baratheon: a marriage proposal between his brother Daeron and one of the Lord’s daughters. It seemed that betrothals truly were the realm’s political currency now.

“I want to come with you, Kepa,” Syraena said, staring up at her father with narrowed e/c eyes. “Let me come with you!”

Expression softening, Aemond ruffled her already-mussed hair. “It’ll be a quick trip. You can come to the next one, Syraena.”

The next goodbye was for his son, who hugged his father loosely. “An eye for a pearl,” he mumbled, too quiet for Aemond to hear.

Clutched to his leg, sobbing hysterically, was Myra, her cheeks damp and her dark, plum-hued eyes red-rimmed. “Oh, river, don’t cry for me. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”

Finally, he turned to you, his hand on the back of your head as he kissed you, chaste yet passionate, and rested his forehead on yours. “Stay safe in here, my dear sea.”

“Storm’s End is wet and cold and… obviously stormy. Keep yourself warm. Don’t get struck by lightning, is all I ask, husband.”

“As you wish, love,” he whispered, before ducking his head to kiss your cheek. With a laugh, he pried his sweet girl away from his leg, lifting her up to chastely peck her forehead, and then handed her bawling form over to you. She was always this way when Aemond had to leave for longer than a day.

The four of you watched Aemond head out of the Keep. Unease roiled within your stomach with his absence.

“Three days for the pearl to wash ashore,” said Kyrion. There was a pallid tone to his skin, and he glanced at you with his large, pale eyes. “Mother, I’m scared.”

“Come,” you quickly said, ushering the children to their chambers. “Let’s go play with Auntie Helaena and Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, yes?”

It was late the next night when Aemond returned. The moon glowed in a sliver of its regular size, the crescent unnaturally bright in the dark sky, void of any stars. You were standing out on the balcony, sleeping shift rustling with the warm wind when the doors behind you creaked open.

Rainwater dripped from his cloak as he stepped in.

Drip, drip, drip.

His single eye was wide and haunted, expression so far that it seemed like Aemond wasn’t even in the same room as you.

“Aemond?” you called out, stepping back into the chambers and crossing the room in quick strides to greet him. “Gods, you're sopping wet. Are you alright?”

It was as if he didn’t hear you, staring at the ground with parted lips. There was an unfamiliar, raw sort of terror blanketed over his features, you could see it clear as ever. Your brows indented together, and you reached out to softly graze your fingers along his damp face.

At the gentle touch, Aemond snapped his gaze to you. His hands were shaking.

Finding yourself at a loss for words, you roped him into an embrace, clutching his drenched form tightly against yours, uncaring that you were getting soaked in the process. This seemed to break him out of his reverie, as he began to tremble violently, and his chest thundered with silent sobs. His nose went directly to your neck and you hushed him with your free hand stroking the back of his head.

“Aemond, my love, what happened?” you asked again.

This time, he tried his best to answer you. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean what, darling?”

“Vhagar didn’t listen to me. I tried to stop her,” he croaked, pulling his ashen face away from the junction of your neck, searching your comforting face frantically. “I… I killed him. I killed Lucerys.”

Your lips parted in shock. There was little you could find to say—for what could you tell your husband, now a kinslayer? No amount of comforting words could fix a situation such as this.

When Rhaenyra would inevitably find out about her son, war would rain down upon you and your family.

With a thick throat, you tightly hugged Aemond again, tears gracing the corners of your own eyes.

The days passed in a blur. Aemond was quieter than ever before, regret painted over his sharp features each and every time you glanced at him. Once he told his mother, she had nearly gone down the same manic spiral, but steeled herself to deal with the Green council.

When Aegon heard of his nephew’s death, he threw a large, grand feast, inviting all the Lords and Ladies at court.

Neither you nor Aemond attended.

The fourth night after Aemond had returned from Storm’s End, you were in Kyrion’s chambers, brushing away his ivory curls with tender hands as he settled beneath his fleece blanket to go to sleep. Aemond was putting the girls to bed by reading them a story, as the both of them were more restless than usual as of late.

“Kyr, baby, I have a question for you,” you said, voice soft and hesitant. Should you really be asking your son this? When Kyrion tilted his head in a silent motion for you to continue, you cleared your throat. “In your dreams… Did you see what happened to your cousin, Lucerys?”

Your son nodded once, biting at the inside of his cheek, a habit that he seemed to share with you.

Before you could ask him what he saw, there was a sudden, dull thud heard outside, followed by the familiar screech of steel. Fear wound its cold, dark hands around your pulsating heart.

The door flung open so quickly that the hinges whined in protest. Your eyes fell upon the two guards in front of Kyrion’s chambers, sprawled over the cobblestone floor, dark ichor leaking out of slit throats. Two looming figures stood in the doorway. One large and burly, the other short and thin as a twig.

You had no time to react, for a second later, the small one had darted forward, seizing you with surprising strength, brandishing coarse rope from thin air and binding your limbs together with tight knots, doing so with just one hand as his other was tightly sealing your mouth so you wouldn’t be able to scream for your husband, for more guards, for anyone. The other large man slammed the doors shut and barred them with one of his many swords he was carrying. The one holding you roughly gagged you with a cloth as soon as he pried his hand off, tying the ends around the back of your head. You gagged when your tongue registered the taste of coppery, day-old blood and sweat.

Despite the hindrance, you screamed your throat raw through the cloth anyway, kicking furiously and struggling in desperation against the small man, who was adamant on keeping you rooted to one spot. Your yells came out muffled and guttural, but not nearly loud enough to alert anybody outside, seeing as the closest people to the chambers were now dead.

Your son whimpered out for you, but he remained quiet after that, his pale mauve eyes wide as he fixed his gaze upon the large, brutish man who slowly approached him.

“Don’t be scared, little fish,” the mousy man sneered gripping your cheeks so you’d be forced to watch your little boy cower further beneath his covers. “We’re simply debt collectors, you see. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We just want ‘im. Won’t hurt one hair on your pretty lil’ head, ey?”

“NO!” you sobbed, struggling thrice-fold against him, to no avail. “Take me! Please, not my son!” you screamed, though it sounded like nothing but incoherent wailing through the dirty cloth.

You could do nothing but watch in horror as the large man tightened his grip on his longsword. The other hand reached out for your son, dragging him out of bed by the scruff of his sleep shirt so he dangled nearly a meter away from the ground.

“Don’t look, mother. I don’t want you to see it,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear through the thundering of your pulse in your ears, making your knees buckle. “I saw it in my dreams.”

With one strike, the man lopped Kyrion’s head clean off.

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment. You screamed through the cloth, sobbing as you painfully crumpled to the ground, the gangly man finally releasing you. The blood… your son’s blood… his bed was covered with it. The walls behind him, the floor, the books on his desk…

Red, everywhere…

The two monsters had taken Kyrion’s head, the large man’s crimson-flecked fist gripping your son’s pearly-white curls, both fleeing the chambers in a blink of an eye.

You sobbed against the ground, inching your way to your son with your bonds digging into you. You didn’t care. It was nothing compared to the pain within your chest.

“Kyrion,” you wailed through the cloth, using your shoulder to roughly shove it down your lips, letting it fall around your neck, tearing the corner of your mouth in the process.

The entire Red Keep seemed to awaken with your grief-stricken scream. You kneeled your head against your little boy’s decapitated body, sobs wracking through your entire form.

That was what Aemond had rushed into, hearing the echoes of your cries from far away. He’d locked the girls’ rooms before coming, fearing the worst.

Upon seeing you on the ground, hovering over his murdered son, Aemond collapsed to his knees beside you, gathering his broken, shaking wife in his arms as he tugged you away. With trembling fingers, he undid the ropes around you, allowing you to throw your arms around him freely.

“Look away, jorrāelagon,” he said, voice uneven as he began to cry with you. “Look away.”

His words made you sob even harder… your son had told you to do just the same.

When Criston Cole came rushing in with Alicent Hightower, Aemond had immediately got to his feet, murderous revenge painted across his features. He helped you up, still crying hysterically.

“Mother, escort Y/N to our daughters’ chambers. Get a dozen guards to man the door. I’ll find our son’s murderer, and I’ll kill him myself.” He began striding away, Criston hot on his heels.

You called out for him, voice hoarse with overuse.

Pausing in his steps, Aemond turned his head ever so slightly, but didn’t meet your gaze. He blamed himself, of course he did. He was ashamed, because it was his fault his son was dead. It was his fault he couldn’t protect him—that he couldn’t protect you.

It seemed that Aemond was far too blinded by his rage to learn from his mistakes.

“I need you here, please! Please, Aemond, please don’t go,” you sobbed, leaning your weight against Alicent, who had taken to cradling you against her chest.

A muscle in your husband’s jaw jumped. A tear slipped down from his only eye, and he continued to walk away, determined to bring justice to his son. It felt as if a searing hot knife had pierced through his chest and twisted when he heard your despaired cries ricocheting off the stone halls of the Keep.

Revenge, was all he could think of, cold anger dancing along the dark shadows of his face. If it is a war they want, it is a war they shall have.

a/n ; hey !! thank you for reading this fic until the end <3 means so much to me! i made some picrews of what i visualize the kids to look like so here you go !! they're all aged up, ofc.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond fluff #aemond smut #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fluff #aemond targaryen fic #aegon targaryen x reader

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arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! For the bingo: Daemon Targaryen & courting?

Mirror (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Warnings: Targaryen reader. Mature situations. Mature language. A bit of angst, incest, and innocence kink.

Summary: Courting. Daemon’s version.

A/N: Everyone who writes Daemon fics has tackled this trope. I missed oneshots so bad.

There was little King Viserys wouldn’t do for his lovely daughters. During your childhood, there were two of everything. Two Septas, two dolls, two play daggers. For as long as you have been alive, there have been efforts made to make things fair.

No doubt, it was the legacy of your mother. Your father was nice enough, but you doubted he had the foresight to try to avoid sibling rivalry. Queen Aemma’s influence had been greatly missed after her passing.

It had been then when the problems between you and Rhaenyra had started. Your relationship had gotten even more rocky when she was named heir. The situation had turned so bad, even your father had noticed. And just as if it were one of his models, he had demanded perfect symmetry in all aspects.

The same rooms. Same number of servants. Same number of dresses you were allowed to own. An even split of your mother’s jewels.

Unfortunately, there were things not even King Viserys could fix. This was one of them, you thought, as you sat on one of the rails of the dragon pit.

Daemon and Rhaenyra race on their dragons in the open sky right above you. They shriek in laughter and shout things in High Valyrian. You are not sure which you resent more. Rhaenyra, for dragging you along with the promise of tending to Syrax or Daemon for interrupting your time with your sister.

It seemed as if all you did was fight now. The occasion where you did not was rare, and so, intrusion on it was not welcome. But at the same time, you can’t help but wonder if Rhaenyra is playing a cruel trick on you, dragging you here so you can see what you are missing.

Despite your best attempts at keeping yourself calm, you can’t help but feel rage bubble up in your throat. Rage, and a deep sense of failure. You had heard even Laena Velaryon, younger than you, had managed to claim a dragon. Was this why your father had chosen Rhaenyra to be heir and not you?

It felt cruel, and hurtful. Not only did your uncle always pay more attention to Rhaenyra, but now you had to watch them do things you couldn’t do. Go where you couldn’t follow, and made you watch them go.

They dismount a few feet away from you. With them, comes all the hassle and fretting of the dragon keepers. Caraxes always takes a long time to settle after going flying, and so, you relax in your seat. You hope enough time might go by, they forget about your existence and you can slip out unnoticed. It would save you the embarrassment of having to hear them flirt and tell you everything as if you were a child.

No luck for you today, though. You smell it before you see it. Sweat, leather and the unmistakable stink of dragon. Your nose scrunches up, and you jump off the railing just in time to avoid your uncle’s ruffling of your hair.

Rhaenyra snickers a little. Despite the dragon ride, she looks as royal and regal as ever. It’s a feat you admire and despise greatly.

“Trying to sneak up on me?” You frown. You don’t need any further embarrassing. Being startled and falling into the mud would have been just the cherry on top.

Daemon ignores you, tugging on your braid.

“No dragon yet?”

“No.” Your answer it’s harsh, and perhaps a bit rude, but this feels as if they are targedly mocking you. Daemon raises his eyebrows, looking on the edge of apologizing, if such a thing it’s even possible for him. Rhaenyra, more used to your moods, just rolls her eyes.

“Let her be, Kepa.” She whispers, as if you are not there. “She is always like this.”

“Pouty?” Daemon tilts your chin up with two fingers. You jerk your head away, glaring daggers at him.

“Bitter.” Rhaenyra speaks, and you glare at her instead. You do not understand why she is so mean, lately. Her being named heir has not done anything good for your relationship, but you had tried your best to play nice. She didn’t seem to care.

“I can hear both of you.” You complain, but they just laugh. Angrily, you stomp off.

You feel too jittery to go back to your chambers. It would make you more angry, if you were to go inside the castle so soon. It’s too pleasant of a day to be spent cooped up at the Red Keep. Too preoccupied with your thoughts, you don’t notice someone is following you.

Your feet lead you to the training yard. It makes sense, in a way. This is where you have been coming the past few months when the castle got too small to house both you and Rhaenyra.

Early in the morning as it is, the yard is empty. Save for your sworn shield, of course. While Rhaenyra had gotten Ser Criston Cole, handsome and dornish, you had gotten Ser Harwin Strong. Riverlander, just as handsome and with a clear infatuation with your sister.

But kind. Unbearably so.

“I figured your meeting with the Princess would not go as planned.” He explains, as he helps you out of your cloak and jewelry. Ser Harwin helps you put on some protective gear before handing you a wooden sword.

He has been teaching you swordplay for the past few months. Not so much for self-defense, but as a way to curb your more violent impulses. When you feel like you might throttle Rhaenyra or perhaps smother her with a pillow, you come to him.

It's good. You have not learned a lot, but there is something utterly satisfying about hitting someone as hard as you can. With wooden swords and against Ser Harwin, you know there is no real possibility of hurting him. He is much taller and stronger than you.

There is also something satisfying about blocking his blows, too. In the smacking sound, in the effort it takes. You understand why men enjoy battle so much, finally. When you walk away, you are always sore and bruised, but your mind is finally quiet.

“I have just resigned myself to an arranged marriage.” You say to Ser Harwin, as you block his sword with great effort. “All the men in the court are panting after her, it’s no use.”

And you do think you are on the right, this time. Too often, you feel overshadowed by her, and seeing your uncle and Ser Harwin on the same day just confirms it. You have no chance at finding true love, not when every man here only has eyes for her.

You didn’t necessarily were a romantic person, but a bit of attention would be nice. Feeling desired and admired in the way Rhaenyra was. They even called her the Realm’s delight, for Gods’s sake.

“Are they after her? Or her tittle?” Ser Harwin tries to disarm you. You hit harder, a low blow aimed to his ribs that he avoids with little effort.

“You tell me.” You pant, a little out of breath. It was something you frequently wondered yourself, but never about him. Ser Harwin clearly wasn’t hoping to be King. What he wanted was something much more carnal. You had seen the way his eyes trailed Rhaenyra’s figure when they were together in a room. He appreciated her personality, perhaps, but he clearly wanted to bed her.

You loved teasing him about it. For such a big man, he could sure get sheepish.

“Fair.” Ser Harwin chuckled, raising his wooden sword again. You liked that he was very good-humored. He didn't mind your teasing. “But think of the bright side. If someone is after you, they are really after you.”

You frowned. He had a point, you supposed. If a man were about to pursue you, it might be because you are a Targaryen, or because of your valyrian looks. But never because of the Iron Throne. With baby Aegon existence, you are certain that whatever your place in the succession line is, plenty of people would have to die for you to even have a weak claim to it.

“Wise words for one so young.” The voice startles both of you. As if you were children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you freeze. Ser Harwin even drops his wooden sword. “You should heed your knight, niece.”

“Uncle.” You answer, casually. You know Daemon. If he senses weakness, he is going to pounce. While Ser Harwin has given away already that you are not exactly doing something your father approves off, you are not going to have your Uncle thinking he has something to blackmail you with.

Daemon ignores you, choosing to attack the weak link. He tuts at Harwin.

“Poor form. And a poor trainer. Leave us.”

Harwin hesitates. He is not supposed to leave you alone and unprotected. Much less, with your uncle. Daemon it’s not known for his trustworthiness.

“With all due respect, Prince Daemon, I am not allowed…”

“Leave us, boy.” Daemon’s tone turns harsher. Channeling all the authority he has as a Prince. Now, your sworn shield can’t refuse. It’s an order, not a suggestion. But Harwin remains where he is, looking to you for approval.

Your uncle’s eyes flash dangerously at the defiance. You look at Harwin and nod. He leaves.

You twirl your wooden sword. Daemon smirks.

“Commendable.” He gives a slow clap. “Very loyal guard dog, you have there.”

“You could learn a thing or two.” You answer, vicious. The human equivalent of an animal biting down and refusing to release its jaws. By the brief look of hurt on his face, you have touched a nerve.

But soon, his expression smooths down into a vicious little smile, to match yours.

“So this is where you have been disappearing to.”

“So?” You ask, all nonchalance.

“Feisty.” Your uncle kicks Harwin’s discarded wooden sword away and unsheathes his. Whatever this is, it’s long overdone, you realize. You are bouncing with pent-up anger and frustration.

Daemon strikes at you, hard. The flat side of his sword hits your ribs. It hurts even with the protections Harwin makes you wear, a dull sting on your torso.

“If this was a real fight, you would be dead.” His tone is smug. You cannot take it, and so, bang your wooden sword against his hip.

“And you would be unable to walk.”

Your uncle laughs, coldly. He is angry too, you realize. In that messy way he gets, sometimes. Teeth bared in a cocky grin, still high on the thrill of riding Caraxes and chasing Rhaenyra.

Despite your best attempts, you are no match for him. He is a seasoned warrior. He has been at war for the last couple of years. No amount of anger can match his technique. Soon, he has you disarmed and cornered, Dark Sister at your throat.

“Not bad. I might even bruise.” His tone drips condescension, but there is something odd going on in his face. His pupils are blown, his chest is heaving, and there is no way it’s with exertion. While you were panting and begging for a respite, Daemon hadn’t even worked up a sweat. “You need a real sword.”

“Perhaps. But then Rhaenyra gets one, and this is only mine.” It’s more honest than you would like, but you are still trying to decipherate what exactly he is feeling. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy. You feel confused.

“Is that why you want a husband? To have someone only yours?” Daemon suddenly is much closer, twirling the end of your braid between his fingers.

You scoff, and push him away.

“That’s none of your concern.”

You storm inside the Red Keep, scowling. Finally, it seemed, Daemon and Rhaenyra had managed to run you off the castle’s grounds.

The encounter is barely given a second thought. You decide to keep yourself busy for the rest of Daemon’s visit to King’s Landing. Knowing him, he is due to get exiled soon. There is no point in worrying about it.

You fill up your days with activities, be it harassing some tutors, your Septa, or even visiting orphaned children in King’s Landing. That activity is one you and Ser Harwin particularly enjoy. It fills you with joy when you get to run around and play in the mud with your stern guard having no choice but to tag along. You have even caught him smiling when little girls ask to braid his hair.

Things are surprisingly calm. You would have expected your uncle to be involved in a scandal by now. Yet, there are no rumors of him bedding three whores in one sitting, nor there is an irate Otto Hightower asking your father to send him away.

Until one night, you find a jeweled sword resting on your bed. It’s small, but you can tell from the sharpness of the blade that it is made from Valyrian steel. You start training with it the next day, getting used to its weight. If Ser Harwin thinks anything of your sudden interest in doing more than hitting him, he doesn’t show it.

You are not surprised to find your Uncle waiting for you after your morning practice. At first glance, the courtyard is as empty as when you began your training. Despite it, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching.

Just as you are entering the Red Keep, sweaty and ready for a bath, Daemon steps out from the shadows.

“You look so grown up in riding attire.” He says, from beneath some trees. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Almost didn’t recognize you, either. No scandal in nearly a month?” You start to loosen your braid, accelerating the process of getting into your bath as you walk. There is nothing you want more than to just soak in hot water and let the warmth wash away your soreness. “You must be getting old.”

“Youthfulness is in the spirit.” Daemons hurries to reach you, falling into step right beside you. You resist the urge to walk faster if only to see him struggle. Power play. Always. Push, and pull, and don’t let anyone else get the upper hand.

“Ah, that makes sense.” You slow down your steps because while you enjoy angering your uncle, you would rather not anger him too much. “You have the spirit of a child.”

“I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.” Daemon ruffles your hair, uncaring that’s matted in sweat. You make a face. “Did you like your gift?”

“Depends.” You give him a feral little grin. Your uncle looks at you, as if deciding whether he wants to bite or not. Knowing him as you do, you know he can’t stand the intrigue.

“On what?”

“How many of Rhaenyra’s necklaces you had to melt to get the sword.”

“That blade is worth at least five of her necklaces.” Daemon boasts. You give him an unimpressed look.

“Huh. Then I like it.”

“Not love it?”

“It wasn’t ten.” And with a cheeky grin, you are off towards your chambers.

You don’t see Daemon for a few days. You hear him, unfortunately. He is everywhere at once, yet never wherever you are. You know of him in the shape of rumors and hearsay.

When you go fetch yourself a tea tray in the kitchen, your uncle is in the middle of the servants. “I heard last night he was with four whores!” As you ask a maid about your sister’s whereabouts, he is her chosen companion. “Princess Rhaenyra went out to race your uncle, Princess.” And of course, when your father complains, Daemon is in the midst of it. “He insulted Otto and then walked out of the council meeting.”

Despite your wishes, your uncle starts to occupy more of your mind’s space than you would like. You keep wondering what he is up to, each rumor more outrageous than the last. You cannot help but wonder if it’s you who was prompted him to wreak such havoc. The idea of having such power over him, that an offhanded comment can cause such a reaction, makes something tingle in your stomach.

You find him next in the gardens. Alicent and Rhaenyra are fighting again, a nasty thing that soon turns into a screaming match. That's a dynamic you have stayed out of, since you had memory. While Alicent and Rhaenyra were friends, you never felt anything towards Alicent besides a slight sympathy. She seemed nice enough, but she was not your friend.

Rhaenyra and you loved in the same way, you see. Possessive, harsh. As Princesses, you never learned to share. You wanted your person to be only yours. Alicent was Rhenyra’s, and so, you stepped aside.

When she married your father, you weren’t exactly pleased. But you had the emotional detachment Rhenyra lacked, being too close to the situation. In time, you had come to understand that it wasn’t like she had a choice, either.

So, it wasn’t like you were going to break with tradition now. To avoid their screams, you had decided to pace the gardens. Daemon seemed to have the same idea because you find him sitting on a bench with a book in his hands.

“Came to join me?” He asks, voice smooth like honey.

“Rather to escape the screeching.” You sit by his side, curiously peering at the book he holds.

“A Cautionary Tale For Young Girls.” Daemon’s smirk is the only thing that gives him away, that, and the fact that the book is written in High Valyrian. “Most illuminating read. You should try it.”

You laugh, despite yourself. His lips twitch into a more genuine smile, less full of smugness and bravado.

“I was getting lonely.” You say, softly. The admission surprises even you. “You are with Rhaenyra all the time.”

Don’t go where I can’t follow, you wish to say. Don’t take her from me. My other half. But you don’t speak the words aloud, from fear of him repeating your confession. You don’t want to beg Rhaenyra for affection, not when you have been competing with her all your life.

Daemon makes a face, as if pained of what he will say next. He seems wary of hurting you. You wonder if that means he cares for you, in his own twisted way. It’s not often he worries about what others think.

“She has a dragon.” No matter how gentle the tone, it hurts anyway.

“I miss her. Not you.” But it’s a lie. You know it’s a bad pattern, and you shouldn’t miss him, but you are so used to competing for affection that Daemon has become both your rival and the one you crave. The weeks without him have been lonely and taxing. No matter if it was you who pushed him away and didn’t care to reach out after.

“I remember you two were close.” Something must change in your face because your uncle reaches toward you, gently squeezing your arm.

“We used to be. She is just… So angry, all the time. And has all these new people. Admires, prospects…” You feel like a fool. There is a deep sense of unfulfillment and being wronged yet at the same time, you know you are being unreasonable. This was always going to happen. You can’t share the Iron Throne, and she has always been your father’s favorite. Rhaenyra was always going to be the heir.

“Which one am I?”

You shrug.

“It's not like I care.” But you do. You do care, despite your best sense. Because you want to be his favorite. You have always wanted to be someone’s favorite, but Daemon has a special brand of devotion for those he cares about. You wish you could be counted on that list, lately. By the smile on his face, Daemon can probably tell. “And it's not like before she didn't have things that were only hers.”

"I thought you shared everything.” Your uncle tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes.

“She has Alicent. Had. Still does.” You know when the time comes, Alicent will be there for Rhaenyra. They are tied together by destiny in ways Rhaenyra and you are not.

“The curse of the younger brother.” With your eyes still closed, his hand gently brushing your hair back, the words do not feel as if they are being spoken aloud. The gardens around you feel muffled, distant. Perhaps it’s the soothing touch, or the deep pang of sadness in your chest, but you do not understand what Daemon means.

“I beg your pardon?” You open your eyes, giving him a confused expression. Not only is he muttering nonsense, your uncle is much closer to you than he was before. Daemon’s forehead is nearly pressed into yours, his thumb now gently rubbing across your jawline.

“Viserys and Rhaenyra are the same.” He explains, tracing your cheekbone next. As if he is keen to learn your face from touch alone, carve it on his mind. It makes you smile slightly. The pain from mourning your innocence is very much still there, but it doesn’t feel like it’s tearing you apart. “Just as you and I are the same.”

“I…” You are not sure of what to answer. Naturally, it makes sense. You can feel it in your bones, but you can’t quite articulate the thought.

Daemon’s thumb presses against your lips in a downward motion, closing them.

“We could fly off tonight. Go to the Free cities, marry. No one would care.” His tone is fervent, urgent. Pleading with you. You keep quiet, and so does he. The silence stretches between the two of you. Your mind races.

Just as your lips flutter behind his thumb to answer the proposal, your uncle speaks again.

“We are free, you and I. But the Iron Throne chains them.”

It’s then you realize it was not a proposition, but rather an explanation of the thoughts you were unable to articulate. And perhaps it’s the sting of rejection or the deep sadness that has taken root on you since the death of your mother, but you cannot keep the words in. They come flowing, tumbling, rushing out of your mouth.

“I want to be a girl forever.” You say to him, starting to tear up. “I am not ready to be a woman.”

You are scared, you realize. No longer are you a girl playing to be a woman, dressing up in your mother’s jewels and dresses. Five years down the line, you will be married. Ten, it will be you who is a mother.

Your uncle gathers you into his arms, painfully soft. You would have never believed Daemon capable of such a tender touch.

“You can’t be innocent forever.”

“Everything is so complicated now. I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

You whisper against his neck. It’s a doomed wish. You know already it’s too late for it. No longer are you an innocent, no longer anything is the same. It will never be.

“Not all changes are bad. There can be pleasure in losing one’s innocence.” Daemon kisses your temple. “And I intend to show it to you.”

That night, the two of you sneak out of the Red Keep.

“I wanted to give you something only yours.” Your uncle says, as he leads you down the Street of Silk. Both of you are wearing rough cloaks, for discretion. You cling to his arm, afraid of getting lost in between the strange sights and smells.

There is so much to see and so much to hear. People laughing in the streets, singing, drunkards and patrons from the brothels mixing. While you are familiar with the streets of King’s Landing, you have never seen them at night. It’s both frightening and exhilarating, watching the city come to life in ways new to you.

There are no children in sight, only adults. The message that Daemon hoped to convey by bringing you here is loud and clear. You are no longer a girl, you are a woman. And so, instead of sleeping soundly in your bed as you have done all your childhood, you get to enjoy the wonders of the night.

The crowd gets even more rowdy as you pass the bigger pleasure houses and walk towards the ones that are at the end of the street. Secluded as they are, they spark your curiosity.

“Where are we going?” You ask your uncle, tugging at his arm. “Inside one of those? Why?”

“They cater to tastes that the rest do not.” Daemon comes to a stop in front of one, and takes off his hood. The woman at the doors takes one look at his hair and quickly ushers you both inside a room.

The room is bare except for a couple of chairs and a bed. You examine everything closely, noting the inferior quality of the furniture. These are not the kinds of chairs you are used to, at the Red Keep. After a while, and only when you notice no one else is hiding inside, you lower your hood. Being overly cautious never hurt anyone, after all.

“What tastes?” You squeeze Daemon’s hand. He gives you a puzzled look. “You said they cater to tastes…”

“You will see.” You are saved from the wait to know what he means by the door opening. Two servants, dressed in little clothing, step inside. Men, near your age. They are completely unique, yet similar. You get the feeling they are not simple servants, even though they serve you and Daemon goblets of wine.

You stare. You do not understand why they are not leaving.

Your uncle steps behind you, to whisper in your ear. His arms circle around your waist.

“Look at them.” He presses a chaste kiss just behind your ear. “Really look.”

So you do. One of the men is tall and strong. Almost wide. All bulging muscles. He has dark hair and light colored eyes. The other man is slightly slender, yet strong either way. He has lighter hair and a much sweeter face. They are both handsome, yet you do not understand what game Daemon could be playing.

“You wanted something only yours.” He mutters, kissing the crown of your head. He perches his chin on top of it. “Most girls, they don’t get to choose whom they lose their innocence to.”

It dawns on you then. He wants you to choose one of the men to… Well. It’s a nice thing to do, but so undeniably Daemon it hurts.

Feeling mischievous, you turn around in his grip.

“And I can choose any of the men in this room?” You smirk. Your uncle’s brows draw together, in disbelief.

“That’s the point, yes.” Daemon speaks slowly, as if explaining to someone particularly daft. Or innocent. “I’ll pay for it, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You smirk, and kiss him. You feel him smirk right back against your mouth.

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon x oc #daemon x y/n #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen smut #daemon smut #daemon fanfic #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen fluff

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swimmingismywholelife · 1 year ago

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Hey guys! I wanted to come on here and tell you about my Christmas fics for 2023! This is the first year I'll be doing this and hopefully I'll have more to come!

I'll be doing 12 different fics for 12 different footballers each inspired by a different Christmas song. Each post will be every other day starting December 1st and ending on Christmas Day! Those who are regulars of my writing know I'm mostly a Christian Pulisic writer with a sprinkling of Kepa Arrizabalaga, but for Christmas I'll be writing for people I don't usually write for! I don't wanna give too many spoilers, but as an example I'll be writing for a few people who have played for Chelsea at some point or maybe they still play for Chelsea who knows 👀👀👀

If anyone would like to be tagged in the masterlist for each fic, please let me know and I'll gladly add you! Please look forward to it!

#footballer au #footballer fic #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic x reader #kepa arrizabalaga imagine #kepa arrizabalaga fic #kepa arrizabalaga x reader #footballer x reader #footballer one shot #christian pulisic one shot #kepa arrizabalaga one shot #swimmingismywholelife

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chelseachilly · 4 months ago

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so high school

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: you and ben have been friends for years, but you haven't seen him much since you left chelsea for another job opportunity. all it takes is an engagement party, a bit of alcohol and a drinking game to bring the feelings you've been harbouring for years to the surface... warnings: hints of smut, alcohol use word count: 5k

author’s note: this fic has been SUCH a long time coming! it started as an idea from a request i got like a year ago asking for a friends to lovers fic involving spin the bottle, and then i got re-inspired to finish when 'so high school' by taylor swift came out. please note this takes place last summer since that's when i started writing it lol, and hope you enjoy!

You didn’t really know what to expect when you arrived at Kai and Sophia’s place, but you figured it would be a somewhat classy evening.

You’ve had your fair share of wild nights with this group of friends - the night in Porto after the Champions League win comes to mind - but you’re all a little older now and you are celebrating Kai and Sophia’s engagement, after all. You thought it would be a relaxed, grown-up party.

Evidently, you thought wrong.

Kai is already clearly drunk when he greets you at the door with a massive hug, and you can hear Sophia squeal as she comes running to hug you too.

“Congratulations, you two!” you exclaim, hugging Sophia back. It’s the first time you’ve seen them since the engagement, and you’re over the moon for them.

“Thank you!” Sophia grins, proudly showing off her ring when she pulls away, beaming at Kai. “Now come on, everyone’s already here and they’re excited to see you!”

You knew you were running a bit late, but you don’t realize how late until you walk into a living room filled with drunk footballers. You know most of them, except for a couple of Kai’s new Arsenal teammates you haven’t had the chance to meet before. Reece is here, Timo, Kepa, even Mason is in town for the night.

And, of course, on the couch next to Mason is Ben, whose face lights up when he sees you.

When you got a job on Chelsea’s media team in 2019, you were pleasantly surprised by how quickly you became friends with many of the players. During your very first week, Mason invited you to a party at his house, and from that point forward you’ve been close with a lot of the boys and their partners.

They’re now like family to you, regardless of if they’re still playing for Chelsea. Many of the boys have now gone in different directions, and you yourself left the club for an incredible job opportunity at Sky Sports a few months ago, but you wouldn’t miss an important occasion like this one for the world.

Even if that means you have to see the one person who has always made your legs weak and your brain turn to mush. The one you’ve missed significantly more than all the rest of the guys since your departure.

The one that you’re pretty sure you fell for the day he signed for Chelsea and you bumped into him in a hallway at Cobham.

Ben Chilwell.

“Y/N!” Ben exclaims, jumping up to hug you. As usual, he looks unfairly hot in just a white t-shirt and black shorts. “You’re finally here!”

You sink into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent before the hug is over - which is far too quickly for your liking.

“Yeah, can someone get me a drink or did you lot finish off the bar already?” you joke, pulling back to meet Ben’s gaze.

“On it,” Mason offers before Ben can say anything, giving you a quick peck on the cheek on his way over to the bar.

As Mason makes you a strong drink so you can catch up to everyone else’s level, you turn back to Ben and find him still looking at you with those bright blue-green eyes and the warm smile that captivated you from the start.

“How’s your summer been?” you ask quickly, trying to ignore the butterflies erupting in your stomach from just being in his presence.

It’s been a couple of months now since you’ve seen him, but you’ve seen on his Instagram that he’s spent his summer at F1 races and on yachts while you’ve been stuck working in London.

“Good, it’s been way too long since I’ve seen you, though,” Ben says sincerely. “How’s life as a hotshot producer for Sky?”

“Busy,” you reply, trying not to blush at his previous comment. “I’m liking it, but I do miss Chelsea. You know, the atmosphere at the club, all the familiar faces.”

“The club misses you too, trust me,” Ben says without missing a beat.

You don’t have time to respond before Mason is thrusting a drink into your hand and Sophia is tugging you away to discuss early wedding plans.

After an hour or so, you’ve quickly relaxed back into a familiar state of comfort with your friends. Even if you don’t see each other as much as you would like these days, and it’s only going to get harder to make time when the season starts, these people still mean the world to you.

At some point, after you’re a few drinks deep - you’ve definitely toasted to Kai and Sophia’s engagement with at least 3 different bottles of champagne at this point - and have made the rounds to talk to everyone, you feel someone grab your hand and tug you down onto the couch.

You let out a surprised squeak, and your heart rate doesn’t settle down at all once you realize who grabbed you - who you’re now sitting so close to that your legs are touching.

The entire time you’ve been here, you’ve been trying to resist going back over to chat with Ben, even though you’ve felt a magnetic pull in his direction from the moment you laid eyes on him. You’ve been sneaking glances at him whenever you can, admiring the way his eyes light up when he talks or the way he runs his fingers through his hair when he’s thinking about something, but you haven’t had a moment alone since he greeted you.

“What’s up, Chilly?” you ask, chuckling at his content expression. “You pretty drunk?”

“Just buzzed,” Ben smiles. “You know, last hurrah before the season starts.”

“You didn’t have enough fun frolicking around the Mediterranean for a month?”

The question leaves your mouth before you can think about what you’re saying, and you see the way his eyebrows immediately raise and a slightly smug look appears on his face.

“Someone’s been stalking my Insta,” he smirks. “You miss me or something, Y/N?”

You take a small sip of your drink, staring down at your lap before answering him. Some combination of the buzz and the party and just him makes you briefly emboldened to tell the truth.

“Yeah, maybe I did.”

When you look up, Ben’s eyes immediately lock with yours, and you suddenly feel your cheeks growing hotter and your stomach in knots.

There’s always been some unexplored tension lingering beneath your friendship.

Nothing has ever actually happened between the two of you, although there are a few times it probably could have (and one time it almost did) if you weren’t trying to be professional and not hook up with one of the players at the club you worked for.

A club you no longer work for, you realize.

“I missed you too, Y/N,” he says in a slightly lower voice that sends a shiver up your spine.

You continue to look into each other’s eyes, the tension seeming to build with each second, until Sophia plops down beside you and interrupts the moment.

“Alright, we’re playing a drinking game,” she declares, setting a deck of cards on the table in front of you.

“Is that really necessary at this point?” you joke, gesturing to the fairly inebriated group of people around you.

“No, but it will be fun,” Sophia grins. “And I’m the bride-to-be, so I’m in charge.”

It’s a simple game to follow, thankfully. It’s essentially a version of truth or dare where the questions and challenges are pre-written on the cards. You go around the circle a few times, and thankfully you get some fairly easy ones, like revealing the name of your first crush (who nobody here knows) and taking a shot of the alcohol of your choice.

It’s entertaining watching the boys complete some pretty outlandish dares, and you’re excited to see what crazy task Ben ends up with when you see him draw a dare card from his spot next to you.

“Alright,” Ben says before reading his card aloud to the group. “Kiss the person…to your left.”

Even in your slightly inebriated state, it doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re the person to his left, meaning Ben has to kiss you.

The room goes silent as the implication of this settles in. You’re certain at least half of the people here have had some kind of wager at some point over when you and Ben would get together, but you always brushed it off and joked that it would never happen.

Nothing has ever technically happened between you, other than flirtation and the occasional touches. You’ve never kissed him, despite how many times you’ve wanted to.

There was one time you almost let your desire get the better of you, right after the Club World Cup win in Abu Dhabi.

You were both caught up in the excitement of the win, and you’d been spending a lot of time together outside of work lately as Ben was recovering from his ACL injury and you wanted to support him as much as possible.

You knew it was hard for him not to be a part of the win that day, to have to watch from the sidelines as his team emerged victorious. So, you spent basically the entire day with him, sitting with him during the game and staying close by during the celebrations afterward.

Toward the end of the night, you ended up alone with him in a corner booth of the restaurant the club had rented out for the party. Nobody was paying much attention to the two of you, everyone still caught up in the excitement and dancing the night away.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Ben said, gazing at you intently as he set down his drink, which wasn’t his first of the night (or third or fourth).

“For what?” you asked a bit shyly. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done everything,” he corrected quickly. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

You weren’t sure if he meant physically there in Abu Dhabi, as you were the one that had encouraged him to come, or where he was mentally in his recovery at the moment. You’d done everything you could to help him through it, but there was only so much you could do. You weren’t a doctor, or a time-traveller that could magically stop the injury from happening, or even his girlfriend. You were just a friend with no medical knowledge, trying to help without overstepping any boundaries.

You were just a girl who was head over heels for one of her best friends.

“Ben, I haven’t…I’m just being a friend,” you said softly. “You’re the one who’s faced this setback head-on, never complaining or giving up. And you’re almost there. I’m so proud of you.”

For a moment, you saw a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize, one that made your heart flutter uncontrollably. The next moment, Ben began to lean in, his eyes flickering to your lips, and you had never wanted anything so badly in your life as you wanted to kiss him.

But you knew you couldn’t. Not when he was drunk and vulnerable and had been relying on you for emotional support for months. He was sad and confused and you knew he would regret it in the morning, and you would regret letting yourself feel something that wasn’t real.

“I, um…” you muttered quickly, pulling away from him. “We should go to bed. Early flight home tomorrow.”

Ben just stared blankly at you for a moment. “Y/N, I’m sorry, I-I’ve just had too much to drink and-“

“Don’t worry about it, Chilly, seriously,” you said, reverting back to the nickname you’ve used for most of your friendship, worried that the if you spoke his first name right now, the pure adoration you harbour for him would come through in the way it left your tongue. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

You quickly squeezed his shoulder as you got up from the table, making your way to the exit as stealthily as possible to avoid having to talk to anyone else.

The moment you got back to your hotel room, you cried over Ben Chilwell for the first time. You cried in a way you hadn’t even after breakups.

You cried because you knew he would never be yours, and you had to accept that.

That night was over a year ago now, and you and Ben never spoke a word about what nearly happened between you. There were certainly moments since where he looked at you with that same glint in his eye, and you allowed your mind to wander as to whether he was feeling some deeper for you, but these hopes were always quickly dashed when he went home with some model or bid you goodnight without acknowledging the tension between you.

You took the job at Sky, and started seeing him much less often, which wasn’t exactly intentional but wasn’t totally an accident, either. It certainly made your life easier not having to suppress your feelings for him at work everyday.

Until now.

Now, when he’s looking right at you with those eyes and you’ve never wanted anything more than to kiss him.

“Uh…” Ben looks at you and scratches the back of his neck. “It’s up to you-“

“Just do it, Chilly,” you say with a sudden burst of confidence and a bit of recklessness, turning on the couch to face him properly.

Something flashes in Ben’s eyes for a moment - maybe surprise, maybe pure elation - but he doesn’t take long to act on your instruction.

He grabs your face with both hands and leans in to kiss you firmly. He tastes a bit like beer, but he’s so warm and his lips are softer than you imagined - and you imagined them a lot.

Everyone cheers and hollers at the kiss, but you can hardly hear them while you’re so singularly focused on the feeling of Ben’s lips on yours.

It’s over before you can properly enjoy it, making you wish desperately that there weren’t so many people here and you could grab him and kiss him over and over again.

“That’s gonna be tough to beat,” Mason jokes from across the table as you and Ben are silently reeling from the kiss you just shared. “I think we should call the game, Soph.”

Everyone else murmurs in agreement, and they begin to get up to get more drinks or continue to chat. But you remain frozen in place, only able to move enough to glance over at Ben, who is still looking at you.

“Y/N,” Ben breathes your name. “I…”

“I should go,” you say quickly.

You immediately have deja vu to the night he nearly kissed you, how quickly you ran off, but this time is different - now that you know how good it feels to kiss him, there’s no way you can stay another moment in his presence without doing it again.

“Wait, please,” Ben says, gripping your hand before you can stand up. “Can I give you a lift home?”

“You’re driving?” you ask in confusion, knowing that even if he’s not fully drunk, he’s certainly not sober enough to drive a car.

“No, no, I’ll just get an Uber and have it drop you off first,” he insists. “Make sure you get home okay.”

You know it doesn’t really make sense logistically, as you live much farther away than he does, but you can’t resist the temptation of his soft voice or the way his thumb is caressing the back of your hand.

“Okay, sure.”

Ben gives you a small smile before pulling out his phone to call the car.

Once he’s ordered it, you both quickly grab your things and say your goodbyes, ignoring the curious looks and knowing smirks you get when you say you’re sharing an Uber.

Within five minutes, Ben is opening the door for you to climb into the back of a fancy black SUV, and then sliding in tantalizingly close to you.

You feel like you’re going to explode with desire for him.

“You alright?” Ben asks you after another minute has passed, and the look on his face gives you the sense that he’s been working up the courage to say something to you.

You nod, holding his gaze and trying to keep your heartbeat under control.

“Do you remember that night in Abu Dhabi, when we…”

You can feel your cheeks growing hotter as you nod, trying to process the fact that Ben not only remembers that moment between you but is choosing right now to bring it up.

“You were drunk,” you remind him.

“Yeah, but I still - I still meant it. And I still remember how gorgeous you looked that night. You always do, really, but-“

“Ben,” you cut him off, unable to hear another word from him if this is going to end the same way it did last time. “I think you’re drunk now, too.”

“I’m really not,” he says in a steady enough voice that you’re inclined to believe him. And, now that you think about it, you don’t think you saw him have more than a few beers all night. “Are you?”

You shake your head, managing only a small gulp in response as you meet Ben’s intense gaze.

“Y/N…” he says, barely above a whisper as he leans in closer. “Can I…”

“Your place,” you reply without a beat. Your brain is fogged by how much you want to kiss him again, but clear enough to know that once you start, you aren’t going to want to stop. “It’s closer than mine.”

Ben stares at you for another moment, just processing your words, before he nods and turns to the driver, asking him to skip the first address and go straight to his.

It’s only a ten minute drive from there, but you’re so full of nervous anticipation for what’s to come that it feels like hours.

By the time you pull up to his house and get out of the car, you still can’t quite believe what’s happening. Ben quickly unlocks the door and holds it open for you to enter his house. You haven’t been here in a while, but it’s as big as you remember it from all the times you’ve been here for a party or movie night.

It shouldn’t be awkward being here, except for the fact that you haven’t really been alone since the night of your almost-kiss. And the fact that your first actual kiss was less than an hour ago.

“Can I, erm-do you want some water?” Ben offers, gesturing to the kitchen.

You nod with a small, nervous smile and follow him into the next room.

The kitchen is dimly lit, the only light source coming from the hallway and the stove light as Ben grabs two glasses and fills them both with water. He passes one to you, and you thank him quietly before taking a sip.

“Been a while since you’ve been here,” he remarks, perhaps reliving all the same memories you have been since you walked through the door.

“I know,” you say, setting your glass down and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bit distant since I left Chelsea. It was just…easier.”

“I’m sorry if I fucked our friendship by trying to kiss you at the totally wrong time,” Ben says sincerely. “But honestly, I’m more sorry for not trying again since.”

That’s all it takes for you to take the few steps between you and crash your lips to his, immediately throwing your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

Ben stumbles in shock for a moment before his hands find your waist and he kisses you back with equal passion, backing you up against the kitchen island.

You moan slightly as he parts your lips with his tongue, tangling your fingers in his hair. Kissing him like this, with no restraint, is something you’ve craved for so long that you can hardly wrap your head around the fact that it’s happening.

You let out a small squeal of surprise as Ben’s hands move to your thighs and he hoists you up onto the counter, never breaking contact with your lips. Your legs subconsciously tighten around him, and the friction makes Ben groan into your mouth.

Kissing Ben is everything you dreamt it would be and more. No guy has ever made you feel a fraction of the way he is right now, and all you can think about is how good it would feel to have him inside you.

You know how badly you want him, and it’s pretty clear that he wants you just the same, but you have just enough sanity left to know that you can’t just be another one of the girls he’s slept with. You’ve liked him too much, and for too long, to be just another notch in his bedpost. This has to mean more to him, too.

“Ben,” you sigh, reluctantly breaking the kiss and feeling your heart palpitating as you open your eyes and see his swollen lips and dilated pupils. “I…I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“Me too, baby,” he smiles, and the new pet name alone is almost enough to make you cave on the spot and kiss him again.

“I don’t just mean like this,” you say, hoping he understands what you mean. “I mean I want more with you. Something real.”

It’s the most terrifying moment of your life as you wait for him to respond, not sure what to expect. But when a wide grin breaks out on his face and he lets go of your waist to gently cup your face in both hands, your heart flutters uncontrollably.

“I want that too, Y/N,” he says softly. “I’ve wanted it from the moment I first saw you, in the hallway at Cobham my first time there. You were wearing that flowy white dress, and I was so nervous being there, but you just smiled at me and introduced yourself and I felt so…safe.”

“You remember what I was wearing?” you ask in astonishment, thinking back to your first encounter with him. You have a similar memory of thinking he was the fittest guy you’d ever seen and how you could get lost in his eyes for hours.

“Of course,” Ben smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, those same eyes sparkling. “And I remember thinking I couldn’t believe my luck that I signed for my dream club and met my dream girl on the same day.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes beginning to water from the heightened emotions you’re experiencing.

“I-I never knew you felt the same,” you breathe. “Why did you never…”

“At first, I didn’t want to ask you out because I thought it might be frowned upon at the club and I didn’t want to break any rules or do anything inappropriate,” Ben explains. “And then we became such good friends, I didn’t think you would feel that way about me. When I tried to kiss you in Abu Dhabi and you turned me down, I took that as your answer.”

“God, no, Ben, I wanted to let you kiss me so badly,” you sigh. “I just couldn’t take advantage of you. You were drunk and emotional about the injury and…”

“I know, I know, it’s okay,” Ben assures you, pecking your nose quickly. “Now we both know how we feel, right?”

You nod, resting your forehead against his for a moment and just taking this all in. You’ve wanted to be close to him like this for years, and to have it finally be a reality is almost too much to take.

“Kiss me again?” you ask quietly.

All you see is another quick flash of Ben’s grin before he leans in and presses his lips to yours.

It only takes a moment to escalate back to the same passion you were both displaying before, and Ben’s hands move back to your thighs to pull you closer to him again.

You can feel your desperation for him growing by the second as his tongue explores your mouth and his hands roam your body. You reach for the hem of his t-shirt and pull it upward without breaking the kiss, making Ben chuckle as he helps you in your effort to remove it and tosses it on the floor.

You immediately move your hands to his sides, feeling the toned muscles you’ve admired from afar all these years.

The sundress you’re wearing gives him easy access to where you need him most, and his hand is tantalizing close as it rests on your upper thigh.

“Ben, please,” you groan. “I want…can you-"

You’re interrupted by your own gasp of surprise as Ben tugs you closer and lifts you up off the counter. Your legs tighten around him reflexively, and the friction created makes you gasp again, this time in sheer pleasure.

“Been waiting too long for this to not do it properly,” Ben says, punctuating his sentence with another, softer kiss. “You wanna go upstairs?”

You just nod and shift slightly to try to get down, but Ben only tightens his grip on your thighs and begins to walk toward the stairs. You continue to exchange sloppy kisses as he ascends the staircase, and you’re turned on even more by the strength and ease with which he carries you up to his room.

He kicks open the door and gently lays you down on the bed before reaching over to flick on the lamp. You take a moment to take in your surroundings. Of all the times you’ve been in his house, you’ve never been in his bedroom. It’s cleaner than you expected, and a bit cozier and more lived-in than the rest of the house. There’s a book on his nightstand that you can’t quite make out the title of, and a photo of him and his family next to it.

It feels like Ben, and you feel completely at home.

Ben climbs over you and begins to kiss you again, and your hands immediately fly to his shorts to help take them off. Once they’re discarded and he’s in nothing but his boxers, you can feel how hard he is pressed up against you.

“Are you sure?” Ben asks softly, though you can see him biting his lip in anticipation as you lightly stroke him over the thin material.

You nod, maintaining eye contact as you quickly pull off your own underwear and toss them aside.

“I’m sure.”

Ben leans in to kiss you again, and you let out a sigh of pleasure as you let yourself surrender completely to the ecstasy of being with him.

“I can’t believe we waited this long to do this,” you sigh dreamily.

You’re curled up in Ben’s arms, lying with your head on his chest and an arm and a leg draped over him. You’re both still catching your breath a bit after the most perfect, mind-blowing sex you’ve ever had in your life. You always knew he would be good in bed, or at least you thought he would be, but he truly surpassed all of your expectations.

“I know,” Ben murmurs, pressing a reverent kiss to your temple. “I wish I had the courage to tell you sooner, but you’re so important to me. And a part of me also thought I would never have a shot with you.”

You prop your chin up on his chest to look him in the eye, furrowing your eyebrows. “You thought that you, a super fit, gorgeous footballer would never have a shot with me? Are you being serious?”

Ben nods shyly, as if he didn’t just go down on you until you were seeing stars and screaming his name in pleasure less than 30 minutes ago.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N, and you’re the smartest person I know,” he says, almost certainly making your cheeks redden. “You’re definitely out of my league.”

“Please, Ben, you spent the whole summer with Instagram models with perfect bodies,” you remind him, a bit ashamed of how insecure it made you seeing him all over social media with so many women you know you look nothing like.

He laughs softly before shaking his head and pressing a soft kiss to your nose. “No, my mates spent time with those girls who don’t compare to you at all while I sat around feeling sorry for myself and missing you.”

You can’t resist leaning in to kiss him firmly on the lips, your hand tangling in his messy hair. Your heart is so full of affection for this boy already that you know it’s only a matter of time before you fall even deeper for him than you already have.

“You know, maybe it’s a good thing we waited,” you say when you break apart, your fingers still threaded through his hair. “We’re both a little older and more mature now, and we don’t work together anymore. If we’re going to do this, we should do it properly, right?”

Ben smiles sheepishly. “Does that mean you’re my girl now?”

You stiffen, a little surprised by his question even if it’s far from the biggest surprise you’ve gotten tonight.

“I, um-well, if you want-“

“You already know what I want, babe,” Ben says with a soft expression on his face. “I meant it when I said you’re my dream girl. I want everything with you, Y/N.”

“Alright,” you reply, a wide smile breaking out on your face as well. “Then I’m all yours, Chilwell.”

You both lean in for a kiss at the same time, giggling softly against each other’s lips. You’re so giddy that it’s actually a challenge to kiss him properly, soft moans mixed with the glorious sound of his laughter.

You don’t think you could ever get enough of this.

And as you drift off in Ben’s arms a bit later that night, after going another round and exchanging a few more soft goodnight kisses and tender words, you make a mental note to buy Sophia and Kai a really nice wedding present. You certainly owe them one.

a/n: please let me know what you thought of this, it makes my day getting feedback 💓 thank you for reading!

#ben chilwell #ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell imagine #ben chilwell x y/n #chelsea fc imagine #my fics

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

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The Rogue Prince and the Privy

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader (niece) Warnings: Crack fic. Incest, but honestly that's the least of your worries. Mentions of shitting and breaking wind. Sex on the toilet. Smut. Word count: ~750

Summary: Daemon feels amorous while using the privy.

Author's note: A request from my boo-bear @em-writes-stuff-sometimes that also doubles up as a belated birthday gift. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EM! This is a crack fic - please don't read if you are easily offended. Community labels are for cops. No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

The call of her name echoing along the vast expanse of the corridor beckons her forth. Her uncle turned husband is summoning her and, as a dutiful wife should, she heeds his every command.

Following the sound of Daemon’s voice, her brow wrinkles in confusion when she reaches the privy.

Surely he cannot be calling to me from here?

“Kepa?” She asks with uncertainty. “Are you in there? Should I wait until you are finished?”

“No, no, sweetling,” comes Daemon’s voice from behind the closed wooden door, “you are fine to come in.”

She hesitates for a moment longer, but then reaches for the iron ring pull handle. He would not call her in if anything indecent were occurring.

Upon opening the door, the smell greets her first, causing her to take an involuntary step back, her eyes watering as she clasps a hand over her mouth to stifle her retching. The stench is ripe; a combination of the eggy scent she has only ever experienced before in the depths of the Dragon Pit, and the musk that skinned animals on hunts carry when they have been left out for too long in the sun.

Keeping a hand clasped firmly over nose and mouth, Daemon comes into view once her vision clears. He sits upon the privy, breeches around his ankles and a smug smile upon his face. Most shocking of all, however, is how proudly he grasps his hardened cock.

“Come, sit on my lap, sweet girl,” he coos to her, and her eyes widen in horror.

“B–but, Daemon, it…it smells in here,” she tries to protest.

He chuckles drily. “I know. I have been here for quite some time. Last night’s feast has been a tricky one to shift, so I require the aid of my lovely wife to aid in passing the time, while I pass this hog roast.”

Her hand falls away from her face, her jaw slackening in disbelief.

Surely he does not mean to couple with her while he defecates?

“You are shitting, I don’t want to,” she whines.

He keeps a firm hold of his erection, and narrows his eyes. “I saw you shit the bed while you were giving birth. I continue to sleep in that bed, to fuck you in it. How is this any different?”

“The sheets have been washed…” she says meekly, her gaze downcast. She knows she is fighting a losing battle. Daemon will have his way, he always does.

“It is a wife’s duty to obey her husband, especially when he is a Targaryen Prince,” he tells her matter of factly.

There it is. He has me bested.

She sighs, lifting her skirts to remove her small clothes, before moving forward to straddle him. Her knees rest on the wooden bench either side of him, his ample backside pushed around the hole on which he sits.

Holding her breath, she tries not to think too much about what could possibly be coming out the back of him as she lowers herself onto him, wincing slightly at the stretch of his intrusion of her body.

He grabs forcefully at her hips, accelerating her movements as she bounces against him, and she is unsure of whether the grunts and groans that fan hotly against her ear are as a result of the pleasure he is taking from her body, or the relief of what he is forcing out of it.

She cringes when she hears something drop faintly into the opening beneath them, muffled by the sound of their intermingled panting and the slapping of her buttocks against his thighs.

Burying her face in his neck, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him for support as he continues to move her against him, until eventually the telltale pulsating of Daemon’s manhood inside of her alerts her to his rapidly approaching climax.

When he peaks it is with a long, drawn out groan, accompanied by a loud, rasping expulsion of air that echoes into the privy underneath him. She shudders in disgust at his sudden breaking of wind, feeling the warmth of his seed begin to drip out of her.

“There’s a good girl.” Daemon murmurs softly, lightly swatting her outer thigh. “Get yourself cleaned up and then you can come back and help me to do the same.”

She freezes in utter shock as his softening member slips from her.

He wants me to wipe his arse too.

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julianalvarez9 · 2 years ago

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i hate queueing (? things bc i'm always like "well can't I post it NOW instead?" like a fucking child that can't wait until 12 am to open the presents on christmas day akdjdi

#c talks #like shut upp #i'm obviously talking about the kepa fic i am desperate to know if you like it or not jakdjd #idk why im craving feedback so much?? its like im on the bridge of quitting jaksjsk

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lya-dustin · 2 years ago

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Kepa

Build-a-fic: Dad!Aemond

Featuring: Aemon Targaryen (oc), nameless wife who is Rhaenyra’s daughter and queen of westeros making Aemond her consort.

He was seven and ten when he became a father.

Aemon was born in Dragonstone three moons after Aemond had accidentally killed Lucerys Velaryon, his own wife’s half-brother.

Aemond would not hold him until he was nearly six moons old, when his mother had escaped Kingslanding after Lady Mysaria had poisoned Rhaenyra against her own heir.

He had wept when he first held him, to see him after all those months of Aemond and his wife waited with all the fear and joy pregnancy came with.

Aemon, named after her grandmother’s father and because it was just one letter away from being Aemond.

He was the promise of peace, of knowing that he would not have his family die in a war that should have never happened to begin with.

Aemon, first of his name, king of westeros, prince of peace.

“Ke-pa.”

It is soft, but sure and accompanied but little hands trying to wake him instead of his mother on his other side.

He was a name day old, just weeks ago they had the celebratory hunt where his first words had been better than the buck he had brought down for his lovely wife and son.

Aemon had said mama a moon ago, he had never said kepa or even papa yet.

“Hmn?” Aemond is unsure if he heard it right, but his eye remains shut to see if he can get his little son to say it again.

“Ke-pa.” the boy said again, this time his little hands reaching for his good eye. “Up.”

Most children are afraid of his scars and lack of eye, but not his son, not his perfect little prince.

No, to Aemon this was familiar and comforting. Strange and yet as comforting as his favorite blanket or his dragon egg.

“You are up early this morning, ñuhe trēsi.” Aemond finds himself unable to contain a smile as he whispers to his sweet little son. “Now, if you wake up your muña, we can get started with our day.”

Translations:

Kepa: father

Ñuhe trēsi: my son

Muña: mother

#dad!aemond #aemond x rhaenyra and laenor's! daughter #aemond x reader #aemon son of aemond #build a fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond targaryen

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 2 years ago

Note

Could you please write a darkDaemon x stepdaughter fic where he forces himself on the reader after he saw her kissing Aemond.

A/N: I hope you like it!

pairing: Dark!Daemon Targaryen x Stepdaughter!Reader

summary: Daemon forces himself on the reader after he saw her kissing Aemond.

Word count: 1,5K

Warnings: Angst, rape, grooming

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

"You look so beautiful in that dress" Aemond flirted with a smirk on his lips. He buried his face in your neck, breath tickling your neck.

"I wore it for you" You responded. Fingers running over the sapphire blue silk. He pulled his face back showing the shit-eating grin on his face.

"Is that so, my love?" He tilted his head teasingly. Your relationship with Aemond was a secret that no one knew of because of the bad relationship he had with your mother, and his sister.

"Of course, who else would I wear such a color for?" You teased back. He chuckled leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. Your fingers threaded through his long locks that felt as smooth as the silk of your dress. His hands rested on your hips respectfully not to touch somewhere that made you uncomfortable.

"What in the seven hells!" The rough voice of your stepfather echoed in the deserted hallway. Aemond pulled away in a flash having registered that you were caught faster than you.

"Uncle" He moved you to the side in case Daemon decided to use more than his words.

"How dare you seduce a princess, the heir of princess Rhaenyra?" Daemon stalked closer to you and Aemond's hiding spot. Aemond put his arm in front of you in an attempt to protect you.

"He did not seduce me, I am here willingly" You protested wanting to protect Aemond. Daemon's gaze moved over to you, then his eyes trailed to your dress seeing it for the real reason it was worn and the color was chosen.

"Is that so?" Daemon smirked, it made you feel uneasy, nothing good ever came when he showed his calmer side. In a flash, Aemond was on the ground clutching his jaw. You screamed in shock at the violent act your stepfather chose.

"You will never touch her again" Daemon hissed sending another punch to Aemond's face and making his head bounce on the ground You tried to pull Daemon away but to no use, he pushed you off and resumed his assault on his nephew.

"Kepa, please stop" Father. You begged trying even harder to pull him off succeeding but regretted it immediately when Daemon chose to kick Aemond in the face rendering up useless as he fell unconscious with blood and bruises all over his face.

"Oh gods" You tried kneeling down by Aemond's side but Daemon pulled you up before you could.

"You deserve a punishment, tala" Daughter. Daemon's face was no short of evil. You gulped afraid for the first time. Since you were young you heard the stories about your stepfather and his sadistic ways but have never seen them firsthand until today.

"Punishment?" You questioned tilting your head to the side. Daemon chose not to respond and pulled you away from the hallway. Dragging you to your bedchambers despite your protests to help Aemond who was still laying on the ground unmoving.

"Uncle we have to help him" You begged as he pushed you into the room. He closed and barred the doors so no one would interrupt his punishment.

"He will live" Was his response. He moved to sit on one of the chairs by your fireplace but there was no fire there since the weather was warm and your dragon egg had hatched many years ago.

"First you will receive your punishment, come here tala" Daughter. He opened his hand for you to take. Daemon has always been gentle with you as if you were his real daughter. You shakily stepped closer to him not knowing what your punishment will be, you have never received one even as a child. You placed your soft hand into his much rougher and calloused hand.

"You have been a very bad girl, tala" Daughter. His voice had lowered making him seem even more dangerous. You shook with fear, would he be cruel to you as people said he was?

"Kneel" He ordered. Your eyes widened in shock but still did as he demanded and kneeled between his wide-open legs. He smirked proudly at the sight of you so submissive.

"You used your mouth for a very bad thing, tala" Daughter. He teased. His other hand ran through your brown locks matching your brothers Jace, Luce, and Joffery.

"What is my punishment, Kep?" Father. You asked innocently. He groaned closing his eyes tightly for a couple of seconds. You noticed him shift a little in his seat.

"I will show you what your mouth should be doing instead, tala" Daughter. He responded. Your eyes widened when his hand moved from holding your own to undoing the laces of his breeches.

"Kepa, please no" Father. You shook your head fearing whatever he wanted of you. Your septa have warned you before to never let a man with his breeches off near your or to touch him or be touched by his parts.

"Shhhh, tala, kepa has the right to punish you for being a bad girl" Daughter, father. He assured patting your head. Your eyes unconsciously wandered down to his shaft eyeing it as he pulled it out, he was long with some girth to him and there was a vein running down the side.

"Suck, tala" Daughter. He gave your head a small push in the direction of his erection. You shook your head feeling tears build up in your eyes. You cannot do that to the man your mother has married.

"I said suck!" He demanded harshly. He pushed your face closer but you refused to open your lips. His other hand moved to your jaw pressing harshly forcing you to open your mouth before shoving the tip into your mouth. You tried protesting but only muffled sounds and vibrations left your mouth making him even more aroused.

"That's a good girl" He groaned forcing you to take more of him in your mouth. You cried trying to push yourself away with by placing your hands on his still-covered thighs but to no use, he was stronger.

"You feel so good" He moaned throwing his head back. You hated yourself when you felt growing wet at the sound of his moans. You closed your eyes and gave a small suck earning a louder moan.

"You're such a whore" He chuckled darkly. One of his hands trailed down to deliver a harsh slap to your bottom. You yelped almost biting down on his shaft. Finally, you were able to push yourself off of him ending up on your bottom.

"I am not a whore" You protested tears streaming down your face. Daemon smirked standing up from the chair and stepping closer to you again. He crouched down to your height.

"No? then why do you suck your kepa's cock so well?" Father. He asked teasingly. You whined growing angry at yourself when his words made you aroused but you will not let yourself fall for him.

"I want another punishment, you are my kepa!" Father. You yelled slamming a hand on the ground angrily. Daemon's smirk slipped off his face at your words.

"Another punishment?" He stood up. You screamed when he grabbed your hair harshly and pulled you to your feet.

"I'll give you another punishment" He moved to your bed throwing you on your stomach.

"No" You tried getting up but he climbed on top of you using his weight to hold you down as he moved your dress and other layers up your hips. He ripped your small cloth easily.

"You asked for this, tala" Daughter. He reminded. You cried out feeling him push inside of you painfully slowly as if he was teasing himself.

"I was content with you sucking my cock but no you had to be a brat" He broke your maidenhead on the way in. He threw his head back when he was fully seated inside of you. Your body shivered and withered from the pain.

"Leave me be, Daemon" This was the first time you had used his name ever since he married your mother. He snapped his hips in a painful, punishing harsh thrust.

"I am not Daemon to you, I am kepa" Father. He hissed leaning forward in rhythm with his thrusts to whisper in your ear. You wanted to puke, you felt so dirty and ashamed.

"Please stop, kepa" Father. You begged and oh how sweet it sounded to his ear. He moaned loudly fastening the speed of his thrusts pulsing with need, he was near.

"Stop" You begged thrashing around. You did not want him to spill himself inside of you.

"Shhh" Was all he could master as his release crashed over him like a wave.

"No" You sobbed feeling his warm seed spurt inside of you. He chuckled seeing the way your body shook with every sob.

"Sweet tala, took your kepa's cock so well and let him seed you" Daughter, father. He whispered in your ear. You shivered as he pulled his shaft out of you watching with a twinkle in his eyes as his cum oozed out of your hole.

"I hate you" You whispered moving away from him to sit on the edge of your bed with your knees pressed up to your chest.

"No you sweet girl, you don't" He crawled closer to you. You tried moving away despite the ache in between your legs but he was faster pulling your body closer to his.

"Sweet girl this was a lesson for you, never go near that cyclops ever again" He whispered against your hair. You sobs turning your back to him crying in the sheets as he held you from behind keeping you close to his body making sure you felt his cock grow hard again at the sound of your crying.

#daemon angst #daemon x oc #daemon targaryen #daemon imagine #daemon fanfic #daemon fic #daemon smut #daemon targeryan #daemon targeryen x reader #request #hotd imagine #hotd #hotd angst #house of the dragon imagine #house targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd smut

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multi-fandom-simp · 1 year ago

Text

My soul, my heart, my fault

Part 1/3

Jacearys Velaryon x Velaryon!Reader (platonic, sisterly), Lucerys Velaryon x Velaryon!Reader(Platonic, sisterly), Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader(mentioned throughout)

-Reader is Laenor's legitimate child in both past and present parts of this fic.-

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.

Summary: What's dead, is supposed to stay dead. However, the fates decide to make an exception in the case of your younger sibling's unjust deaths. You, who lived through the dance of the dragons, are brought back for the soul purpose of watching them grow again...or perhaps it was die again, you couldn't quite remember. (This will be a three part series)

Side Note: The areas in italics are memories, or moments of the past.

❗TW❗: Mentions of character death and actual character death, murder, angst, blood, incest?(I mean reader was Aemond's niece in past mentions), angst

(A/N: Hello! This is the first HOTD fic I've posted where the reader has a set house and set parent, but nonetheless I am not forcing you to imagine those specifics as their appearance. The reader's legitimate father in this story is Laenor. Simply because I feel like I don't see enough stories/fics with a true Velaryon reader. That being said, if you have any other fic Recs or even requests that involve a Velaryon reader, please send them my way👀. I've also thought about making a series involving a pair of Velaryon twins, so I'd love to know if anyone would be interested in that. Aside from my rambles, I tagged this as both Velaryon reader and just reader so that people may read it if they please. As always, I love to hear your thoughts and see your reactions, enjoy!)

Word Count: 3,924

“Kepus” Your small voice echoed overtop the waves that surrounded your father.

Laenor, who had been previously focused on the sea turned at your call,“ Yes, Tala”

You stumbled through the water until you were able to cling to his side,“ Why do they whisper about Jace and Luke?”

“ Because your brothers are different” Your father explained softly. His hand swept lovingly over the back of your head as you gazed up at him.

“ How so?”

His hands came down to cradle your face,“ It matters not. What matters, is that they are still your brothers. You must not let the whispers get between you and them.”

“ Nothing could ever take me from them, Kepa, I promise” Your tone was fierce, just like the blood that ran through your veins. Laenor smiled and squatted to your level, paying no mind to the water that soaked his clothes. He seemed to study you for a second as if he was committing the moment to memory.

Finally, he took a breath to speak,“ That’s good because you must protect them, Tala. You are their big sister, their fate rests with you.”

“ I can no-” Your father was quick to spot your hesitancy. The hands that once held your face now held your hands. While his features remained soft, fear was evident in his eyes.

“ -You must have no doubts. Doubts lead to death, and fate is already not on your side. Heed my words, Tala, history will repeat itself,” Whether or not he was referring to him and Laena or you and the boys, you’ll never know. What you did know was that history indeed would repeat itself.

In 129 AC, you watched your brother Lucerys Velaryon die, and in 2006 you welcomed him as he was born again as your cousin. Three-year-old you was immensely confused on why these people kept referring to him as your cousin, but as you got older you came to the realization that no one else remembered who they were and that things were different. Whilst Laenor Velayron remained your father, Rhaenyra Targaryen was not your mother. In all honesty, you were not sure who your mother was. One thing was for certain though, your brothers had been taken from you. They now grew up in a different house with no memories of all you did for them eons ago. It was as if fate itself had placed a curse on you. Still, you weren’t one to let the gods dictate your life. Once your eleventh birthday came around, you begged Nyra to let you babysit the two youngest boys. She agreed without hesitation and suddenly you were back to seeing the boys almost every other day rather than in the summers. You thought you had outsmarted time and fate themselves. Six years went by and you had managed to watch the boys grow without problems. Well aside from the fact that your father and Viserys had agreed that you and Aemond would be together for the sake of both the Velaryon and Targaryen dynasties. That was six months ago, and everything had started to decline since then. Your father had mysteriously vanished, Rhaenyra’s husband Harwin had died, and tensions between the families were at an all-time high. It wasn’t Aemond’s fault per se, he was a great partner, but you knew how this went. In the end, you would be torn between his family and your own. More specifically between your brothers and him. The mere thought of it all happening again sent your stomach into knots. If only there were a way to prevent everything, prevent time from repeating itself. Maybe then you could save your brother-

" Hellooo, are you there? Hey-" Your thoughts vanished as Jace came into view. Were you having a nightmare again? No, surely not in the middle of the day, not while the boys were here.

The realization of your whereabouts sat you upright, forcing your eyes to the couch where you had last left the youngest boys, who still sat there much to your relief,"-Shit, sorry! Did I space off again?"

"You looked like you were asleep with your eyes open, to be honest," Jace snorted, his hair was wet and a gym bag hung from his shoulder, " Rough night?"

His question was answered with a groan as you laid your cheek against the cool countertop, "I’ll take that as a yes?"

"Every night is a rough night when you have nightmares like mine" You mumble between the space in your arms, “Do you ever have weird dreams, Jace?”

Jace sat beside you, mirroring the position you had slumped into. You turned your face towards him as he spoke, "I had a dream once where I was in archery club...but I was naked, like bare as can be-"

"-You can not be serious"

"Oh but I am, and my grandfather's creepy friend Otto was the teacher. It was definitely weird, but I didn't lose sleep over it" Jace shrugged.

" Why are you guys talking like that?" Both you and Jace lift your heads to face Luke. The curly-haired boy stood on the other side of the kitchen island with his eyebrows raised.

You shrugged, “Why are you not talking like this?”

“ Because I’m a normal human being?” He questioned sarcastically, “ anyways, while I have the attention-”

“You always have the attention” Jace scoffs.

You nod in agreement,“ Mhm, it’s because he’s the favorite.”

“ Can I talk or..” Luke stands there staring at the two of you patiently, much like his mother would. Actually, it reminds you of the first time Nyra caught you sneaking the boys into the kitchens during the hour of the owl.

“You must be very quiet. Some say the kitchen maids have special abilities that let them know food has been stolen” You whisper to the boys with a suppressed grin. Each of them held lemon tarts as you securely closed the door.

Luke’s doe eyes widen with fear, “Do you think they’re witches? Will they curse us?”

“ The kitchen maids are not the ones you should be worried about” The three of you whipped around at the sound of your mother’s voice. She stood tall in the firelight, a red robe covering her as she stared down expectantly.

A nervous grin stretched across your features, “ Muna! We were just collecting lemon tarts to bring to you!”

“ You know, your father has this knack for flattering me when he’s trying to cover a lie. It would be a shame for my daughter to try and do the same” She hummed suspiciously.

“ I would never!” You cringed as you realized how identical you sounded to your kepa, “Alright, we were trying to sneak lemon tarts for ourselves, but it won’t happen again! ”

“ If you were still hungry, you should have told me so. Now, Jace, Luke, take the tarts to your chambers and go to bed please.” The boys bid Rhaenyra a good night and took off down the hall swiftly.

Your fingers fiddled with your nightdress nervously, “ I’m sorry, I did not mean to cause trouble.”

“ Oh my heart, you did not cause trouble. It is natural to sneak out at a young age, but you need to be careful here. There are people in this world who seek to hurt your brothers, and you must be their protector.” She cooed, her thumb stroking your cheek.

The fire in your eye returned once more, “ No one will hurt them. Not while I’m by their side.”

“-I’m starting to think she had a medical condition at this point” It was Jace once again who pulled you from the past, but with Luke beside him this time. The two of them both stared at you with confusion. The dry itch in your eyes became apparent as you came back into focus.

“ Maybe she’s just tired from dealing with Aemond all the time-”

You cut off Luke’s jest with a groan, “ Okay, can we not start up the hate train for my boyfriend today? I was just daydreaming, good gods.”

“ No need to start the train up when it was never off in the first place” Jace spoke teasingly. Any rebuttals that were set to come from your mouth were ceased by the constant buzzing from your phone, which laid on the counter for everyone to see.

Luke’s eyes bugged at the sight of Aemond’s contact,“ ñuha zaldrīzes?! You call him your drag-”

“Shut up!” You reached over to slap a hand over his mouth as you answered the phone, “ Aem, hey, what’s going on?”

“What’s going on? Have you looked at the time recently?” looking over to the clock, your face fell. It was twenty past seven, which meant you were twenty minutes late to your dinner with Aemond.

“I thought you would be here as soon as Jace got home, has he not arrived yet?” From beside you, Jace held a thumbs up, as if he was allowing you to use him as an excuse.

“He was a little late getting home and then we got to talking and I just-”

Aemond’s sigh drowned out your words, “-Lost track of time, yeah. It seems like that happens a lot when you’re with them.”

The boy’s watched as you visibly deflated, “Aemond, that’s not fair.”

“ Not fair? You constantly put me second to them. I am- your husband and lover. Sooner or later you will have to choose, either me or them, and I will not tolerate a bastard being put before me. Not in this lifetime or the next.��

“You are being unreasonable, Aemond!”

“ The unreasonable one is you! There is a war afoot and you insist on playing both sides. If you think this will end in a happy ever after..then you’re- mistaken. Are you even listening? Hello?” Time was running out and you could feel it. The last time Aemond had spoken those words, Luke had ended up dead hours later. With fear clouding your judgment you hung up without another word. Which probably didn’t help the situation, but what else could you do? Tell Luke what you thought would happen? No, he was only fifteen, he would be terrified. You couldn’t tell Jace, because as close as the two of you were he would still think you’re crazy. And Aemond, he was absolutely out of the question. Accusing him of something like that would drive the wedge further between the two of you.

“ You must protect them, Tala. You are their big sister, their fate rests with you.” What if I don’t know how?

“There are people in this world who seek to hurt your brothers, and you must be their protector” How can I be their protector when I brought the danger to them? Is it me? Am I the variable that needs to be changed? What if I take Luke’s place?

“ Luke-” Your throat tightened as you looked forward. The spot Luke previously stood in was empty, as was Jace’s spot beside you, “ Luke?!”

Jace reappeared from behind you,“ He went out to ride his bike.”

Confusion and worry clouded your eyes,“ It’s raining, he can’t possibly ride in this weather?!”

Jace shrugged, “I suppose the rain didn’t matter after he heard your conversation with Aemond.”

“Wha-” Fear suffocated your heart like a python. He wouldn’t confront Aemond over a silly argument, would he?

“ Before you ask, no I did not just let him walk out the door to go confront our sociopathic uncle. He isn’t that fast of a peddler, so I’ll just catch up to him in the car” You snatched the keys from Jace’s hand before he could even finish his next thought.

“ Hey-”

“- This is my fault, I’ll fix it” You spoke while making a beeline for the front door, “ I promise I’ll bring the car back in one piece, and Luke too!” You didn’t wait for Jace to reply, there was no need. Nothing he could say would change your mind.

The rain barely touched you, that’s how fast you had made it to the car. You used one hand to whip out onto the street as your other hand pulled up Aemond’s contact. It rang four, five times before going to voicemail. You tried again and again to no avail before it finally went through.

“ Hello? Aemond?” Your voice was as shaky as the car on the slick roads.

“ Are you going to hang up on me again?” His tone was short, meaning he was upset.

“ No, I was just overwhelmed-” The familiar click of a turning signal sounded throughout the car, but you weren’t turning, “ Aemond, please tell me you’re at home.”

“ I’m not. I’m on my way to pick you up” Oh gods. You couldn’t do this, not now. Why was it all happening so fast?

“ I’m not there. I went out to look for Luke. Just go back home and I will meet you there” You pleaded, which was entirely out of character for you.

“I’m not far-”

“-Aemond, please! Just this once, listen to me” You hoped the urgency in your voice would persuade him to listen. Alas, it did not, and part of you knew it wouldn’t.

“The rain is too thick to turn back now. I can barely see anything as it is” Aemond argued, “ I’ll wait at the boy’s house until you get back. I promise I won’t do anything, I won’t even get out of the car.”

Your fear regressed a little. If Aemond was out of the way, then nothing could possibly happen. This could work, or so you thought. Straight ahead, racing through the storm was Lucerys. He was completely drenched from what you could tell and barely pedaling straight. You hit the brakes and jumped out of the car.

“ Luke, get in the car!” The storm roared loudly over your voice, but he still managed to hear you.

Luke shook his head, “ I won’t let him treat you like that, not again.”

“What do you mean not again?” That’s when you noticed, Luke’s eyes were different, older, “You remember, don’t you?”

He nodded slowly, unsurely, “ When Aegon hit my head against the table at dinner last week it all came flooding back. I thought they were dreams at first, but then I noticed how different you acted. How you had changed then to now.”

“ You never said anything”

“I didn’t know that you remembered, I’m sorry” He apologized through chattering teeth.

You smiled softly, “ It doesn’t matter anymore, just come with me. Let me take you back home.”

That’s when Luke’s own smile fell, “ I can’t. I ran away from him the first time, but not this time.”

“ That wasn’t your fault, Luke. I was the one who told you to run, so please, just- take my hand!"

"I won't leave Arrax!" Luke screamed from below you, ignoring the hand that you held down towards him.

"Vhagar is set to kill Arrax. You must take my hand Lucerys, please!" Eyes as green as sea moss flashed through the heavy downpour like lightning. Eyes that held fear that chilled your bones more than the freezing rain. Next came the hand, the hand that held scars from dragon riding yet looked as soft as a handful of clouds. You reached for it amidst the haze, only it never seemed to get any closer.

“Reach further-” and that’s when you saw it, rather than when you saw him. It was Aemond atop Vhagar who appeared in what seemed like a split second. Your heartbeat quickened and you reached for Lucerys once more, except something was blinding you this time- headlights, that’s what was in your way. The beams of light raced down the street with no intention of slowing down. You would be worried about them hitting you if Luke wasn’t in between their path and you. Like before, you weren’t fast enough. Every step you took towards your brother seemed to push him father away.

“Lucerys, Move!” Your screams mingled with his as he turned too late. In what seemed like slow motion you watched as Luke rolled atop the car as it completely mangled his bike. Much to your horror, the driver slammed on their brakes, propelling Luke forward.

“No!” Your feet were moving before your brain could even process what happened, “ No, no, no, please no.”

The pavement cut into your knees as you knelt beside Luke. You pulled his head to rest on your knees, paying no mind to the blood that soaked through your pants. His eyes were open, yet lifeless. The vibrant green that they held before now shone as a dull gray. You leaned down to place your ear on his chest. Nothing. Not a single sound.

“ Lucerys please, you can’t leave me again, “ Your tears mixed with the rain, “ Come back to me, Ñuha prūmia”

“ You did well, Ñuha prūmia. Do not fret” Your sincere words traveled in one ear and out the other for Lucerys. Jace had beaten him at dueling practice yet again.

He scrunched his nose as your endearment, “ Must you call me that? It sounds girly.”

“It is a simple endearment, I mean no harm to your pride. I refer to you as my heart in the same manner that I call Jacaerys my soul” You explain softly, reaching over to ruffle his curls.

“What is Joffrey then?”

“I’m not sure,” You hum in thought, “ Perhaps he is my mind.”

He peers up at you in curiosity, “Which of the three would you say that you can not live without?”

“Mhm, my heart would be the answer. I fear I’d go mad if I ever lost you.” His cherubic smile faded to a bloody gasp. The sight alone smothered out the fire in your heart and set off a drum in your skull.

“ Is he alright? I couldn’t see him through the rain. I swear- oh gods…” Whilst still regaining focus where you sat on Storms End Avenue, you looked up to see none other than Aemond Targaryen speaking to you through the rain. His hair lay limp against his face, almost covering the grim expression he held, which seemed to darken as you came into view. You gently laid Lucerys’s head on the road below before standing on shaky legs.

“ Don’t. Don’t you dare tell me it was an accident, not again” You advanced toward Aemond until the tip of your finger dug into his chest. The patience you once had now worn thin and making way for eons of repressed anger and guilt.

Confusion danced across Aemond’s face, “ Again? What are you talking about-”

“Stop acting like you do not know!” You screamed, shoving him backward, “ I am tired of everyone acting like they know nothing when everything else is happening according to the past!”

“We can talk this out, just calm down” Aemond almost sounded like he was pleading as he reached out for you, but in truth, Aemond never pleaded to anyone. Not even the woman he claimed to love.

"Calm down?! I am to watch my brothers be murdered AGAIN and you want me to CALM DOWN?! You are wrong if you think I will sit by an.. and.. a-", the longer you stood, the worse your vision got. At this point, the pounding in your head had gotten so loud that your vision swayed. Through the dark spots blotting your eyes, you could see silhouettes of dragons dancing in the clouds and the water surrounding you turning red. Everything began to feel weightless, except your head of course.

“ Woah, hey” Aemond was there to catch you as you crumbled, “ Keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m going to call for help, but I need you to stay awake.”

You tried to stay awake, you really did, but it was all too much. The weight of it all dragged you into the darkness without a fight. It was hours before you awoke, and when you did it was in a hospital bed. A warm weight against your leg is the first thing your brain registers. Well, that and the blinding white hue of the hospital walls.

"Luke.." your throat was dry and scratchy, almost as if you had been screaming for days. Your eyes surveyed the room wearily until they landed on Jace. He must have been the warmth you were feeling. His arms lay atop the bed next to you, crossed snuggly beneath his head. You could tell the skin around his eyes was puffy and red despite them being closed. He had been crying, but over what? Was it Luke? Had last night not been just another nightmare of the past? You reached out, brushing against Jacaerys arm lightly, but still firm enough to rouse him from his sleep.

His eyes fluttered for a moment before fully snapping open, "You're awake!"

" I don't remember falling asleep.." you spoke in true confusion.

Jace's eyes seemed to soften, whether or not it was in pity or sadness you did not know," You didn't fall asleep, you collapsed. Aemond brought you in-"

" and Luke? " A part of you couldn't help but be hopeful. If you couldn't remember passing out, then perhaps Luke's death was a hallucination of your foggy memory as well. Even if the look in Jace's eyes already told you differently.

" They said he was dead upon impact. Aemond killed him." your heartbeat picked up on the monitor as Jace spoke, "I know it's not what you want you to hear, and that you love Aemond, but it's true."

"Aemond claims that he didn't see him in time. That the rain made the roads too slick and that he lost control of the car, but he’s lying" Jace seethed, paying no mind to your reaction.

"Jace-"

His eyes held fire and the smallest hint of disbelief as they flickered back to you, "Please don't defend him. Whatever you're going to say, just don't. My mother has already retaliated and I've opened a lawsuit against Aemond. There's nothing else you can say."

" You don't know that unless you let me speak" You waited for a beat of silence before continuing, "I was not going to defend Aemond. On the contrary, I was going to tell you that it wasn't an accident. It's just like before."

Jace s eyes widened, " Like before? Has Aemond killed someone else?"

You shake your head quickly, "No, not this lifetime. You misunderstand, I'm talking about when he killed Lucerys the first time."

" I'm not sure what you're talking about. None of this has ever happened before-"

The patience you once had before Lucerys's death is now long gone, "-Yes it has! You just have to remember, like Luke did. I need you to remember Jace, please, before the same happens to you."

Jace leans forward to encase both of your shaking hands," If it's the lawsuit that troubles you, then you need not worry. Nothing is going to happen to me. I've taken many precautions. Otto Hightower has agreed to meet us halfway to our beach house in Dragonstone to receive the papers. He's bringing Criston Cole as a witness and I'm bringing Corlys. Everything will run smoothly."

Halfway to Dragonstone, the gullet. You sucked in a trembling breath as images of Jacaerys' arrow-riddled body flashed before your eyes. He was close to his death and yet he didn't remember, not like Lucerys did. You were the only one left with the knowledge of what was to come… Or So you thought.

#hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen angst #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon #lucerys x reader #velaryon reader #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #Jacaerys Velaryon x Velaryon!reader #Lucerys Velaryon x velaryon!reader #hotd angst #angst

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icarusignite · 2 years ago

Text

Like an old melody, my heart resumes

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: After years apart and with several misunderstandings between them, you meet Prince Daeron at what is meant to be his betrothal feast. When secrets and unspoken desires come to light, you and Daeron are faced with a choice: to let go of the past and embrace a love that has always burned between them or allow your tumultuous history to keep you apart.

High Valyrian words:

ñuha rūklon = my flower

kepa = father

Pairing: Daeron x Fem! Reader | (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

A/N: for the lovely @lady-targaryens-world and their request. Thank you, I had so much fun writing this. Daeron is a total sweetheart. I fancast him as Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen cuz he looks like how I imagined Daeron. Hope you like the fic and hope your exams went well 💙💙💙

Word Count: 4K

"What's on your mind, ñuha rūklon?"

Your head snapped up to meet the eyes of Daemon Targaryen as he leaned in the doorway of your room, observing you keenly. You shifted your position on your bed, sitting up straighter against the headboard, careful not to disturb the slumbering brunette whose head lay on your lap.

"Nothing, kepa," you smiled at him.

"You've been distant lately. Ever since news of our travel."

You sighed as your eyes strayed to the crumpled letter in your fist, "Do I have to go Kingslanding, kepa? May I not just stay here, please."

Daemons said your name disapprovingly and gave you a stern look, or tried to anyways, but he was powerless when faced with your mournful eyes pleading with him.

"Your grandsire would feel your absence deeply if you do not go. Not to mention your mother, she would like all her children in one place."

"But-"

"You will have a good time there my little flower, and you will have your brothers to keep you company," he stated firmly before leaving.

You rolled your eyes and huffed in frustration. This trip to King's Landing would be anything but fun. Your parents kept trying to tempt you with tales of festivities and merriment, but all you could think about was that the only reason such an event was even being held in the first place was that he had returned.

Him.

Daeron Targaryen, third son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, your dearest childhood companion, and also the boy who broke your heart. You frowned at the letter in your hand once again, a choked melancholic feeling rising in your throat. It was the last letter he'd ever written to you, dated years ago, and although you had written many ever since then, you never received a reply. It was unfair. He had promised you that he wouldn't forget you, but he had. He had forgotten you within the first year of being sent to Oldtown, and now your parents expected you to attend what would be his betrothal feast with a happy disposition. You could not do it. Although years old, the ache of betrayal still felt fresh.

"You've been frowning an awful lot lately sister," came a sleepy mumbled sound from below you, and you looked down to see your younger brother, Lucerys, looking up at you in concern.

You grinned as you carded your fingers through his hair, "Don't worry your head over it, little Luke."

He rolled his eyes at the nickname and pushed your hand away in annoyance.

"I'm serious. Why are you so sad? Do you really not want to go? If you want I can pretend to be sick and tell Mother that I'm not fit to travel and then you'll have an excuse to stay behind with me."

"You don't have to do that for me, Luke."

"But I would. I don't like it when you're sad."

Your heart swelled with affection for your younger brother and you smiled at him, hands going to brush the hair from his forehead.

"I know you're looking forward to it Luke. You don't have to stay behind for me. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive!"

"Okay," he hesitated before raising his fist in the air. "But if anyone bothers you, you tell me, and I'll duel them!"

A giggle bubbled out of you at his heartfelt exclamation. You pushed his hand back down, thumbing the scar that stretched across the back of it.

"How about we leave the duelling to someone else? Wouldn't want our little prince to get hurt."

"You've got to stop calling me little!" he pouted and you couldn't help pinching his cheeks in affection.

"Oh, but you are little," you cooed. "You're so very little."

Luke grumbled your name sternly, and you laughed again, already in better spirits.

The great hall of King's Landing was ablaze with life and festivity. The air was filled with a symphony of chattering nobles, their voices blending together in a lively hum. The room echoed with laughter, gossip, and the occasional clinking of goblets, creating a vibrant backdrop to the grand event.

The hall itself was a sight to behold. Tall, arched ceilings stretched overhead, adorned with exquisite tapestries depicting scenes of Targaryen history. Soft candlelight bathed the space, casting a warm and inviting glow upon the gathered guests. The flickering flames danced upon the polished surfaces, reflecting in the shimmering armour of knights and the elaborate gowns of noble ladies. Long tables adorned with elaborate centrepieces and sumptuous feasts lined the hall, laden with platters of roasted meats, trays of fresh fruits, and delicate pastries. The tantalizing scents wafted through the air, mingling with the fragrance of perfumes and the rich aromas of fine wines. The air itself seemed to carry a sense of indulgence as if every breath was infused with the anticipation of revelry and celebration. The hopes and aspirations of potential suitors, the desires of ambitious families, and the excitement of a long-awaited reunion all converged in the great hall.

Nobles and courtiers, clad in their finest attire, mingled and exchanged pleasantries. Their colourful garments, embellished with intricate embroidery and delicate jewels, added to the opulence of the scene. Laughter rang out, accompanied by the occasional flirtatious whispers and stolen glances toward the newly arrived young prince.

Prince Daeron Targaryen sat upon the elevated dais, his family flanking him on either side. His presence commanded attention, drawing gazes from all corners of the hall. His posture was impeccable, his back straight and his chin held high, and his eyes scanned the crowd with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. As each of his prospective wives was introduced, Daeron's gaze fixed upon her, his expression charming and polite. He listened attentively to their names and the descriptions of their families, his demeanour respectful and gracious. Though his duty was to find a suitable match, there was a flicker of anticipation in his eyes as if he awaited the presence of someone special.

Just as one particular noble lady was stepping forward to be presented, the herald's voice echoed through the great hall.

"Announcing the arrival of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family!"

The grand entrance of Rhaenyra and her entourage commanded the attention of all present. Daeron's gaze shifted instinctively, his eyes seeking out the captivating figure of his niece. The noble lady, momentarily forgotten, hesitated mid-sentence, her words drowned out by the flurry of excitement and murmurs that filled the hall.

Daeron's heart quickened at the sight of you, his eyes locking with yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. The noble ladies, the festivity, everything paled in comparison to your presence. He had not seen you in years, but the time apart had only enhanced your beauty and grace. Your hair cascaded down your back, framing a face that bore a striking resemblance to the Rogue Prince who led the procession with your mother. Your eyes sparkled with a lively intelligence, and your gentle demeanour held an irresistible allure. That was until your eyes hardened and when your gaze turned away from his with a barely concealed sneer, he felt his heart plummet.

King Viserys Targaryen, seated at the head of the dais, greeted his daughter with a warm and open smile. His eyes lit up with joy and pride as Rhaenyra approached, the years apart momentarily forgotten in the embrace they shared. As Rhaenyra stepped back, her gaze shifted to her father, and the smile that graced his face widened further. The aging king's eyes were drawn to you, his beloved granddaughter, who stood beside her parents. There was a mix of tenderness and nostalgia in his gaze as he took in your features, seeing glimpses of his late wife, Queen Aemma, in them.

When he uttered your name, it was filled with warmth.

"It warms my heart to see you once more. You grow more radiant with each passing day, just as your mother did," he pulled you into an embrace.

"It is an honour to see you again, Grandsire!" you grinned and then presented him with the present you had been working on during your entire journey.

The parchment you handed to him depicted both King Viserys and Queen Alicent. A royal portrait of sorts, done in charcoal. Your grandsire's eyes widened with delight as he took the sketch in his hands. His weathered fingers traced the lines and curves, his expression filled with a mixture of joy and melancholy.

"Oh, my dearest," he said, his voice tinged with emotion, "this is a gift beyond measure."

He then turned to his wife, who stood by his side, and held up the sketch for her to see. A smile adorned her lips as she admired the work, her eyes shimmering with affection as she thanked you.

Eventually, the clamour subsided and Rhaenyra and her family took their seats at the grand table, finding their places on the dais. By some twist of fate, you found yourself seated between Daeron and your brother Jace. You settled into your seat and turned yourself so that you were facing your brother mostly, wanting to avoid speaking to your uncle for as long as you could.

Once everyone had been seated, King Viserys stood again, raising his goblet high to catch the attention of all those gathered in the grand hall. The room fell silent, and the flickering candlelight reflected in his eyes, revealing a mix of pride, nostalgia, and a touch of sadness.

"My esteemed guests, noble lords and ladies. Tonight, we celebrate not only the return of my son, Prince Daeron Targaryen but also his journey of growth and learning in Oldtown. By the end of tonight's event, it is my fervent hope that Daeron shall find a bride, a woman who will stand by his side as he takes his rightful place in the realm. Let this be an occasion for new beginnings and the forging of alliances that shall strengthen House Targaryen and the Seven Kingdoms."

Your heart sank at your grandfather's words. The affirmation that Daeron's search for a bride was the purpose of this grand celebration struck you with a wave of unexpected pain but you pushed it away and kept a placid smile pasted on your face. You turned your attention to your brother, seemingly engrossed in conversation with his own betrothed, Baela.

"Jace, my dearest brother," you whispered, nudging him with your elbow.

Jace turned to you with a raised eyebrow, "What is it now? You're being suspiciously polite."

"I am always polite, how dare you?"

"You want something, don't you? C'mon spit it out, what is it?"

You grinned, "May I borrow your handkerchief? My hands are in desperate need of cleansing from the clutches of charcoal."

"You shouldn't have been scribbling away then," he eyed your stained hands with amusement.

"Oh, come on. Please," you begged, tugging at his sleeve.

"But I just had it washed."

"Oh, brother, surely you can spare your dear sister a clean handkerchief to save her from the grips of artistic messiness. Think of it as an act of kindness."

Jace huffed, reluctantly reaching into his pocket and producing the handkerchief, "Fine, but promise me you won't turn it into another work of art."

"I would never do that!"

"Mhmm, and what happened to the last few I lent to you?"

"I don't even have any drawing instruments right now. I promise, dear brother, it shall remain unscathed. You have my word."

You accepted the handkerchief with a grateful nod, laughter bubbling forth at the sight of Jace's disgruntled expression. With a swift and discreet motion, you wiped away the charcoal smudges, returning your hands to their former cleanliness. You handed the handkerchief back to your brother, who grumbled good-naturedly, but with a playful glimmer in his eyes.

As Daeron watched you engage in laughter and conversation with your siblings, a pang of hurt settled within his chest. The tinge of disappointment lingered as he longed for your attention and connection and the weight of his unspoken emotions was not lost on his older brother, Aegon.

Aegon, noticing Daeron's gaze fixed on you, couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him. He leaned closer, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and nudged Daeron playfully.

"You seem awfully distracted, dear brother. Is it the beautiful ladies or something else that's caught your eye?"

"It's nothing, I'm just lost in thought."

"Lost in thought about a certain someone, perhaps?" Aegon teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Daeron scowled, "Leave it, Aegon."

"Well, well, dear brother, it seems our enchanting niece has indeed stolen your attention. You've had your eye on her since she arrived."

Daeron's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. He tried to deflect Aegon's teasing, but the slight quirk of his brother's eyebrow told him that Aegon wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.

"I said leave it, Aegon. It's none of your business," he muttered defensively, forcing his eyes away from where they lingered on the curve of your jaw.

"All right, all right. I won't tease you anymore. But I have to admit, I think she is quite lovely myself."

Daeron gave him a withering look, making him laugh even harder. He took a swig from his goblet of wine and leaned in close.

"You know, you have this entire hall of ladies to choose from. I don't think you should mind if I were to take a liking to our dear niece here."

"Don't you dare-"

"Don't be selfish, dear brother."

"Aegon," Daeron warned.

Aegon leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk, "Well, if that's the case, then you might wish to speak to her yourself. This feast may have been held to find you a wife, but she sure is garnering a lot of attention."

He gestured to the various noble lords and knights who had their eyes fixed on your graceful movements. Daeron turned his attention back to the banquet in annoyance, choosing to ignore the surge of jealousy that rose within him. He watched you laugh with a scowl on his face. He wanted to be the one making you smile like that, to be the one sitting next to you and sharing in your conversation, but you were pretending as though he didn't even exist, never once meeting his gaze, no matter how desperately he sought you out.

As Daeron sat there, nursing his wounded pride, a group of noble ladies approached him with flirtatious smiles and sparkling eyes. Their gowns swirled around them as they curtsied and extended their hands, inviting him to join them.

One of the ladies, a vivacious brunette with a playful tone, spoke up, her voice laced with excitement, "Prince Daeron, would you do us the honour of sharing a dance with us?"

Daeron glanced at the ladies, his initial reluctance warring with the desire to distract himself from his lingering disappointment. With a sigh, he relented and rose from his seat, offering a polite smile.

"I would be delighted, ladies. Allow me to make this evening memorable for us all."

You watched him leave, a mix of bitterness and sadness welling up within you. You had expected this, but now as you witnessed him embracing the company of other ladies, you couldn't help the surge of tears that forced their way into your eyes. You scolded yourself inwardly for feeling this way, knowing you had no right to claim his attention solely for yourself.

Berating yourself, you forced a smile and attempted to push your discontent aside. You knew that Daeron was at the age where a potential wife was being sought for him. These noble ladies, giggling and vying for his attention, were merely following the customs of courtship as they tried to make themselves as appealing as possible to him. Each attempted to capture his interest with their charms, their eyes sparkling with hope. They swirled around him, showcasing their graceful movements and engaging in light-hearted banter.

Daeron, despite his initial reluctance, allowed himself to be swept into the dance, making polite conversation and offering charming smiles to each lady in turn. He appreciated their efforts and acknowledged their beauty, but his heart remained distant, his thoughts still preoccupied with you. He thought he caught your gaze from across the room, but he couldn't be sure and he didn't want to delude himself into thinking that you actually cared.

It was only the trembling of your lips that gave you away and when you discreetly excused yourself to rush out of the great hall, Daeron abandoned his dance partner mid-step and made his way swiftly towards you. The noble ladies he left behind exchanged confused glances, their voices hushed in curiosity as they watched him break away from their company. He followed the path you had taken, emerging into one of the adjoining dimly lit corridors where you stood with your back toward him. Your shoulder shook as you clamped your hands over your mouth to stifle the sob building inside.

Daeron stood at a distance, not sure what to do or say. You must have sensed his presence though, because you straightened your back and quickly brushed away any lingering tears before turning to give him your brightest smile.

"My prince. Should you not be back in the great hall? You know, dancing with your future wife?"

Daeron frowned, "What future wife?"

"One of those ladies is meant to be your future wife, isn't she? So shouldn't you be spending time with her?" you snapped.

In the solitude of the corridor, Daeron's eyes flickered with hurt as your words cut through him. He had hoped for a warm reunion, a chance to express his feelings and seek understanding. Instead, he found himself facing your unexpected harshness.

"Is that what you truly want? To see me dance with others while you remain distant? Can you not find it in your heart to tell me why you're upset? Why you've been avoiding me?" he pleaded.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean!"

"How am I supposed to know when you won't say anything!"

A fresh wave of tears welled up in your eyes. How dare he be this audacious. He was pretending to be oblivious.

"You think I've been avoiding you? That I've willingly chosen to keep my distance? Perhaps you should look inward, Daeron. You never responded to a single one of the letters I wrote to you. You went to Oldtown and forgot all about me!" your voice broke, the tears running freely down your face now.

"Letters?"

"Do not pretend not to know!"

Daeron rushed toward you, entwining his fingers with yours, eyes boring into yours as he said your name.

"What letters? I swear I never received any letters. I thought it was you who had forgotten about me."

"Liar! I do not care if you did not care enough to respond but at least do not be a coward and pretend not to know about them altogether."

"Listen-"

"It doesn't even matter," you interrupted, wrenching your hands away from him. "I stopped writing last year, anyways."

"You...you wrote to me for six years?" Daeron's voice was soft in disbelief.

"What, is that supposed to be surprising? Not all of us can be callous and cruel like you. You were my friend, of course I wrote to you!"

Daeron took your hand once again, placing it on his chest so that you could feel his racing heartbeat, voice tinged with desperation.

"I swear on all the gods, the old and the new, that I never received a single one of your letters. I would never willingly ignore you or dismiss your words. Please, you have to believe me."

"Stop! Just, stop," you pleaded. "Go back to your dancing and select a wife from amongst the ladies grandsire has chosen for you."

You wanted to believe Daeron, to let go of the resentment that had consumed you, but the wounds ran deep, and trust was a fragile thread between you two.

"Why would I lie about this?" he implored again, stepping closer. "I have spent every moment longing for you, questioning why you had grown distant. If I had known about your letters, I would have responded, you know that."

"I find that I do not know you at all, so forgive me for disagreeing."

"Do not say that. Please do not say that. I have loved you since we were children!" Daeron's words came tumbling out of his mouth, making both of you freeze.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening at his confession. Your anger and doubt began to crumble, replaced by a mix of astonishment and a glimmer of hope. You listened intently, heart yearning for the words you had always longed to hear.

"I cannot imagine marrying any of those women in the grand hall," he continued, his voice earnest. "Not when my heart has always been set on you. You are the one I have dreamed of, the one who has occupied my thoughts and fueled my hopes. Please, believe me when I say that you are the one I want to spend my life with."

Your breath was shaky as you struggled to absorb the weight of Daeron's confession.

"I... I don't know what to say," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and bewilderment.

"Say you feel the same way. Say you love me too," he begged.

"I...you truly meant what you said?'

"I have never meant anything more in my entire life," he gently brushed away the tears from your cheeks, his touch filled with tenderness. "I understand your doubts and fears. But I want you to know that I am committed to proving my love to you, to mending what has been broken between us. I will do whatever it takes to earn your trust again and make you feel cherished."

"I...I don't know."

Daeron nodded, his eyes filled with unwavering patience and determination.

"I will give you all the time you need. I will be here, waiting for you, for all of eternity, if that is what it takes. Just know that you hold my heart in the palm of your hands, and nothing will change that."

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped your lips as you met his desperate gaze.

"I do not think you have all of eternity, my prince. Grandsire expects you to be betrothed before the night is up."

"Whether or not I am betrothed by the end of tonight depends entirely on the lady I hope to be betrothed to. The decision is hers entirely."

You sniffled, "And who might such a lucky lady be?"

Daeron thumbed your cheekbone affectionately, tracing his fingers up your jaw and then settling them to cup your face. His other hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer.

"There will never be another lady. Not when I belong to you wholly."

You sighed, leaning into his touch with your eyes closed. When you opened them, you were met with his startling intensity.

"I suppose I might be inclined to accept," you murmured, arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

His lips curled upward in a beam, "Is that a yes then?"

"Yes."

Daeron paused for a moment, his lips a hairsbreadth from yours, giving you a chance to pull away, before they met yours in a gentle kiss. Your lips moved in perfect harmony, a dance of affection and yearning. As your kiss deepened, Daeron's arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if afraid to let go, his body pressing you into the cool stone wall behind you.

When you pulled away eventually, he pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes reverently as he whispered in the space where your breaths mingled.

"I am yours. I will be yours for all of eternity."

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