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folkloreandfable · 3 months ago

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Culpa mea

Synopsis: All will pay the price for their follies. Even you. One mistake drove a wedge between you and your betrothed. Now, with a looming war, you must make choices that will alter your life. For better or worse. Pairing: Jacaerys x targtower!reader Warnings: None. A/N: English is not my first language, so please excuse any errors.

ALICENT HIGHTOWER’S FINAL BIRTH was the most excruciating. Hours of pain and sweat-glistened skin until, finally, shrilling screams drowned out her sobs of exhaustion. A set of twins. Boy and a girl. Daeron is the spitting image of dragon blood, silver hair, and amethyst eyes. You, however, had dark hair with tinges of red and deep dark eyes that turned to the colour of a dying ember when caught in light.

You were unlike any of your siblings. You lacked the inherent cruelty seeded in Aemond and Aegon, but possessed the spiritedness lacking in Helaena. Growing up, you were aware of the games and power struggles that were woven into the undercurrents of your family, yet remained ambivalent. When your mother warned you about not getting too close to Rhaenyra’s ‘bastard’ children, you paid no mind. Not like you had any idea what it meant, either. You happily went out to play with them, anyway. Until the incident, at least.

Aemond got into a fight with Luke, which lost him an eye. You were furious. Your brother lost his eye, yet your father did nothing. No one punished Lucerys. Instead, your father declared you betrothed to Jacaerys while you seethed at them behind your mother’s skirts. That night, he came to you; you demanded he and his brother apologise to Aemond but Jacaerys argued Aemond was in the wrong. The quarrel ended in no resolution and you saying “Mother was right, we should have never associated with bastards!”

Which you came to regret. You stayed up all night, tossing and turning, thinking of how you would apologise to Jacaerys when you see him again. Come morning, your mother declared you are to be sent away to Old Town with Daeron. She would not have her blood sullied by a bastard and your grandfather came up with the idea to send you away until they could find a proper ‘fix’. Though Alicent and Otto promised Viserys that they’d call you back when you are of marriageable age.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Six years later,

YOUR GRANDSIRE has yet to convince your father to break off your engagement to Jacaerys and find a more ‘suitable’ match. According to your father, there is no more suitable a match than the heir to the Iron Throne. When the Viserys fell ill, your mother reluctantly calls you back at his behest. You arrive post-haste on the back of Silverwing, donning Hightower Green and a pendant of the seven. You saw something flicker in your mother’s eyes when she received you, but it dissipates as quickly.

Your sister arrived with her uncle husband and their brood. Soon you’re at the grand hall, standing with your mother and siblings, in opposition to your eldest sister and her children. There were two more since you last saw them. Jace had grown up to be quite handsome as well. He’d make a fine King, even more so once starts slouching less. You eagerly await until you finally his gaze and offer a small smile, but he looks away. It was like a knife piercing your heart. You have not left on the best of terms, yet a part of you hoped that there was room for reconciliation. You sent him letters, profusely apologising for your words and offering amendments. Yet all went unanswered. It wore on you that things might never go back to the way it was. And part of it was your fault. In your rumination, you almost did not react when Daemon cut Vaemond’s head off. But that was the conclusion of a strenuous ordeal. Alas, the worst was still to come.

Supper was a tense affair. Your father decided to play pretend a happy family for one night and who could deny him? You often forgot that Viserys Targaryen was your father. That fire ran through your veins. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps forgetting you were a Targaryen meant that envy and resentment wouldn’t consume you as they consumed your brothers. But their anger was misplaced. But it was also seeded by your grandfather. You may have been away, but you were not ignorant of what was at play here. The distance may have given you more clarity in your judgement.

You were sat opposite Jacaerys who avoided your gaze at all costs, finding the uncomfortable toasts far more interesting before giving one himself. Though you revelled in Aegon’s uncomfortable expression when Helaena made her toast, andit turned indignant once Jacaerys invited her to dance. The table settled into a somewhat comfortable atmosphere, and you took a few sips of wine as a personal celebration of that achievement. Though you should have known better when Aemond suddenly stood to give his toast.

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three…strong men.”

Your heart sank into your stomach when he finished his sentence. It was a good thing that your father was taken to his chambers a while ago. The grip on your goblet tightens as a fight ensues and the weakly woven tapestry of a loving family completely unravels. You all get sent to bed by Daemon and on your way out, you distantly hear about them leaving for Dragonstone.

As the night got eaten away by daylight, you awaken to the sounds of bells and panic as a heavy dread settles within you. And your instinct did not betray you. Your father was dead and Aegon would be king.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

YOU PACE RESTLESSLY, stone clacking underfoot and fire crackling in the hearth. Nothing felt right. And it wasn’t just Aegon being missing. Why would your father, who unwaveringly insisted Rhaenyra was his heir, change his mind regarding something so detrimental and only express it in his dying breath with no other witnesses? You did not have the highest opinion of King Viserys, but knew he had the wisdom to know better. You paused in your steps, casting a side-long glance at your mother, who sat at the table with steepled fingers and a contemplative look with no show of guilt. So either your father truly had a change of heart on his deathbed or something else was at play here. Though your mother was clever, much of her cunning came from Otto's influence. She would never have been capable of lying about something like this. At least, not without it surfacing in her countenance.

“Your grace,” Ser Cole’s voice pulled you both out of your stupor as he stepped aside to reveal Aegon at the doorway. They found him, and you do not know what to feel except the lead-like weight settling on your chest. You were not one to believe in bad omens. It was but a creation of the cynical human mind that was incapable of believing in anything good. But you weren’t so sure anymore.

The coronation was arranged swiftly with all of King’s Landing gathered in the Sept to watch the crowing of a new dragon. You almost pitied Aegon seeing his downtrodden stance as he walked down the aisle. But you also knew Aegon. Once he tasted power, this will all become a happy memory. Your mother greeted him with a small kiss on the forehead before handing him over to your grandfather. You press your lips in a thin line and let your gaze wander to the crowd. Somany faces, all of whose fate lives in the House of The Dragon. No matter who wins the game, they lose. As the Septon recited prayers, you noticed a hooded figure in the crowd who reeked of suspicion, but your attention was pulled back to Aegon before you could follow it.

The conqueror’s crown now rested upon your brother. Aegon the Second, lord of the Seven Kingdoms. His eyes swept those at the altar as they lowered their heads, one by one. And with each one, you could see unearned pride seeping into his bones. You, too, lowered your head when the time came.

A slow smile formed on his lips as he turned to the crowds with arms wide open and they erupted into cheers. He revelled in it.

*SCREECH*

A sudden shrill permeated the halls, along with a cloud of smoke, and the cheers turned to screams of terror. You held on to Helaena, cowering as you whispered prayers for protection. Smallfolk pushed and shoved against one another, eager to escape the monster revealed to be Meleys as the dust settled.

“OPEN THE GATES!” Your grandfather’s voice bellowed through the halls, your mother rushing to Aegon whose bravado dissipated like the heat of a burning ember submerged in water.

You slowly lift your head to see Rhaenys looking down proudly from her steed.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

YOU WERE THE USURPERS there was no doubt in your mind left. You had your suspicions, but Rhaenys siding with Rhaenyra cemented it. Truthfully, you should do nothing. You had all to lose and nothing to gain. But you had this pesky honour and integrity that does not allow inaction. Your mind wandered to Jacaerys. He was sure to believe you were involved in this betrayal, and with your father gone, there was no reason for your betrothal to continue. You swallowed hard, feeling a knot forming in your chest. All your hopes threaten to shatter into smithereens.

Before you could ruminate further, your door opened with a creak, followed by the urgent footsteps of your mother.

“Is all well, mother?” You ask, propping yourself back up against the pillows as you take in Alicent’s tense shoulders and fidgety hands. She gives you a small nod before taking a sit next to you. Dipping the mattress ever so slightly.

“I thought we should talk.”

“Well, it must be a rather disconcerting discussion to agitate you so,” you offer an easy smile.

Alicent tried to return the gesture. Instead, she reached forward to grasp your hand. “Your grandfather and I have been discussing your future. Now that Rhaenyra believes us to be usurpers to the throne, there is really no hope of reconciliation, as your father hoped.”

You feel your heart begin racing at your mother's words. The lead dug deeper into your chest, but you gestured for her to continue.

“So we’ve arranged for you to be wed to Aemond.” And the pendulum drops. You don’t stop the tears prickling your eyes, but you try to keep your voice steady.

“But Rhaenyra has yet to make an indication she wishes to dissolve the arrangement. If she believes us to be traitors, then usurping her son’s betrothed after his throne would be the greatest offence–”

“Enough.” Alicent firmly shuts down and further retorts from you. “You do well to remember your place, daughter. And your place is next to a man of good breeding, like your brothers. Not some lowly bastard.” She spat out the last bit like spoilt wine.

“But–“

“Not. A. Word.” She squeezed your hands tight for emphasis before standing back up as if nothing happened. “Aemond is at Storm’s end, and we will announce your betrothal once he returns.” With that finality, she left, leaving only the echoes of her fading footsteps.

Alone once more, you allow the sobs bubbling in your throat to be free. This can not be happening. As much as you skirted around your feelings for Jace, there was no point in hiding from them. You loved him. Yes, it waxed and waned over the years but never diminished. The walls were closing in. Like an encased tomb of a prisoner whose only salvation lay in suffocation. A passive victim of fate. No. You needed to move. You could go back to Old Town, but it would only be a temporary respite before Alicent ordered you to be brought back by your uncle.

There was only one path for you left. It was uncertain and dangerous. But you would not rest until you saw Jacaerys, and he assured you that you were truly alone in the world.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

JACAERYS VELARYON always knew deep down that he was a bastard. The words uttered under hushed whispers and his utter lack of resemblance to Laenor Velaryon. He always suppressed those insecurities. He and his brothers were loved by their parents. All three of them. And received acceptance from their grandfathers. What were the words of a few lowborns to the words of a king? But he never understood that words could leave welts like lashes until they came from the tongue of the one he loved in secrecy.

We should have never associated with bastards.

The immediate regret in her eyes was a balm of sorts but the damage was done anyway. So he left. Part of him believed that they were out of anger and not from the heart. But she said it anyway. Even so, he was ready to forgive and forget it all with one word of apology. The messengers came and went but with none for him. Still, he perhaps deluded himselfinto believing she would be different despite Alicent’s influence.

He thought wrong.

“Are you sure of it?” Rhaenyra asked Master Gerardys once more.

“Yes, my queen, it is said that Queen Alicent’s younger daughter wishes to marry her brother Aemond and dissolve the betrothal with the crown prince.”

Jacaerys curled his fingers, nails digging into the flesh of his palm. “And what of it?” He snapped. “The betrothal is of no benefit to us and if she is willing to marry Luke’s killer then it is all the more good reason to dissolve it!”

The eyes of the entire council landed on him at his sudden outburst but his mother just knowingly smiled. “We have more pressing matters to attend than a supposedly dissolved betrothal, anyway.” The queen smoothly changed subjects, which Jacaerys was grateful for but it never left his mind.

Later in the evening, Jacaerys sat opposite his mother's desk with his cheek on his hand, looking over papers. At least trying to. “It does not befit a prince to pout.” Rhaenyra chided with all but anger in her voice.

“I’m not pouting,” he murmured without a change in his stance.

Rhaenyra sighed, pulling her son’s hands into her own. “You truly did not believe that–“

“I do not wish to speak of it,” Jace swiftly interrupted.

“Very well,” she let go of his hands with a small squeeze. “But I wish to speak of my sister and I know she would never betray you like that. However the greens are, my sisters have not a cruel bone in their body.

“You know what she said to me–”

“I know, but that was years ago and her brother lost his eye. But I also saw the way she looked at you when we were in King’s Landing.”

Jace stiffened, swallowing the dryness in his throat, suddenly finding the woodgrains very interesting. “Really? I haven’t noticed.”

Rhaenyra only smiled and reached over to cup his jaw. “I want you to be happy, do not let petty misunderstandings and political games take it away.” Jace looked away again, focusing on his lap instead as his mother pressed a small kiss on his hairline.

There was always the possibility of a carefully crafted misunderstanding between him and you, but he never allowed himself to fully consider it. To do so would risk hope—hope that would only lead to his heart being shattered into dust again. So he chose to assume the worst, that you were just like your family, complicit in all their schemes.

Their moment would be soon interrupted by the heavy footsteps of Ser Erryk, who spoke with great urgency. “Your grace, we’ve spotted a dragon not our own heading for the castle.”

Rhaenyra shot up, her expression hardening as she rushed toward the terrace, Jace following with his sword half-drawn. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the sky, searching for the creature soaring among the clouds. It was far too small to be Vhagar. “Stand down!” she barked, her voice sharp and commanding. The dragon drew closer, its form almost camouflaged by the grey skies, its dark silhouette flickering through the mist like a phantom.

Jacaery’s hand dropped from the hilt of his sword in astonishment.

“It’s Silverwing…”

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You land Silverwing on the shores of Dragonstone and feel anxiety reel its ugly head again. You have no idea how you will be received on your arrival. Especially after the stunt Aemond pulled. Putting it mildly. You were not close with your half-sister, but she always treated you kindly in your minimal interactions. However, you would not blame her for anyhostility or suspicion toward you. She has every reason to distrust you.

Even so, you steel yourself, disembarking from Silverwing and tightening your grip on your skirts. In hindsight, wearing green was probably not the wisest choice either. But it wouldn’t be the first foolish decision you’ve made on this journey. You keep your gaze so low as you ascend the steps to the castle that you almost miss the woman standing on the landing, her presence sharp and unmistakable.

“Y–your grace,” you stammer, stumbling back a step to avoid colliding with Rhaenyra. She doesn’t move, only watches you with a gleam of curiosity in her eyes, the corners of her lips hinting at amusement. “I—”

"You’ve come a long way," she said, her words slicing through yours with practised ease. "We shall speak more on the eve." With that, she vanished inside—or so you assume, because everything blurred when you were met by a pair of smouldering brown eyes glaring from just behind her.

“Jacaerys.” ─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── Note: This is definitely part 1 of 2. Thank you so much for reading <3 Inbox: Open

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd s2 #hotd season 2 #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jace x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #asoiaf #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower

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synchodai · 5 months ago

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HBO's Continued Insistence on Dumbing Down Westerosi Politics

So there have been countless thinkpieces already on how GOT simplified the feudalist politics of Westeros (by giving a lowborn sellsword lordship over The Reach, by having no consequences for destroying the Sept of Baelor, etc.), but I haven't seen a lot of people talking about that for House of the Dragon.

The worst being that the show presupposes that Rhaenyra is the lawful heir when the books showed there are plenty of lawful arguments why she wouldn't be.

Mind you that I've been enjoying the show a lot so far. This is just to vent out my frustration with the writers' failure to fully engage with the values and protocols of the Middle Age-inspired setting. The show seems uninterested in laws of the Realm in a story ostensibly about politics, save for when they're using it as an excuse to amplify depictions of sex and violence.

Blacks vs Greens wasn't a matter of misunderstanding of who each side thought Viserys wanted on the throne. It was the Targaryens' belief of their absolute authority clashing with the Realm's established traditions. Everyone always knew who Viserys chose as heir. In Fire and Blood, Grand Maester Orwyle said as much when he was parleying with Rhaenyra on behalf of the Greens.

Rhaenyra heard his terms in stony silence, then asked Orwyle if he remembered her father, King Viserys. "Of course, Your Grace," the maester answered. "Perhaps you can tell us who he named as his heir and successor," the queen said, her crown upon her head. "You, Your Grace," Orwyle replied. And Rhaenyra nodded and said, "With your own tongue you admit I am your lawful queen. Why do you serve my half-brother, the pretender?" Munkun tells us that Orwyle gave a long and erudite reply, citing the Andal law and the Great Council of 101. Mushroom claims he stammered and voided his bladder. Whichever is true, his answer did not satisfy Princess Rhaenyra.

(For non-F&B readers: Munkun is the Grand Maester who served Aegon III, the king who came after this civil war. Munkun's book, The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling, is one of Fire and Blood's source texts. Mushroom is the King Landing court jester from Viserys I to Aegon III's reign. One is a source written with academic rigor but is secondhand at best. The other is a firsthand eyewitness account but is from a literal fool who will take every chance to make things more scandalous and sexual to please the crowd.)

In House of the Dragon, they replaced Orwyle with Otto and Orwyle's discussion of legal precedent with Otto handing Rhaenyra a book page from Alicent. It's quite evident here that the writers, much like Mushroom, thought a discussion on the actual laws of the Realm were negligible in this story about a succession war.

Even Alicent made no pretense that Viserys chose Rhaenyra over her children and I have no idea why the HBO writers decided to make her mistakenly think otherwise. Maybe they thought a queen regent pushing her son to take the throne over another woman made her appear unsympathetic as a character, but if anything, this only makes show!Alicent less politically savvy and more delusional than her book counterpart, fully believing an addled king's vague muttering on his deathbed was sufficient grounds to change heirs last minute.

Book!Alicent following Andal laws instead of her husband's wishes makes sense given her Andal upbringing, her devotion to the Faith of the Seven which enforces said laws, and her desire to protect her children from Rhaenyra given that Rhaenyra has shown she's not above murdering family (see: Laenor).

In the books, there was a long discussion between the former king's council on who should succeed Viserys.

Here are the arguments for Rhaenyra:

Rhaenyra was older than her brothers and had more Targaryen blood

the late king had chosen her as his successor, that he had repeatedly refused to alter the succession despite the pleadings of Queen Alicent and her greens

hundreds of lords and landed knights had done obeisance to the princess in 105 AC, and sworn solemn oaths to defend her rights.

Here are the arguments for Aegon II:

many of the lords who had sworn to defend the succession of Princess Rhaenyra were long dead [...]

Ironrod, the master of laws, cited the Great Council of 101 and the Old King’s choice of Baelon rather than Rhaenys in 92

the hallowed Andal tradition wherein the rights of a trueborn son always came before the rights of a mere daughter

Ser Otto reminded them that Rhaenyra’s husband was none other than Prince Daemon, and “we all know that one’s nature. Make no mistake, should Rhaenyra ever sit the Iron Throne, it will be Lord Flea Bottom who rules us, a king consort as cruel and unforgiving as Maegor ever was [...]”

Should the princess reign [...] Jacaerys Velaryon would rule after her. “Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the Iron Throne.”

Once again, the show chose to cut out this long political discussion. Instead, the council had already made up their mind and decided to stage a coup (when in their perspectives from the books, it would definitely not be a coup).

For all their marketing how two sides are equally grey, HotD is actively delegitimizing Aegon II. The strongest argument for him is how his claim follows the laws of the Realm, but the show doesn't seem to care about the laws of the Realm or the political need to maintain a more predictable/tested transfer of power.

Instead, the show focuses on Viserys's relationship with his daughter and the mysticism of the Targaryen bloodline. In doing so, they emphasize Rhaenyra's strongest arguments for succession — that she's more of a Targaryen than her half-brother and that her father prefered her.

And what for? Because in our modern-day, we don't have male-prefered inheritance and people can only imagine misogyny as the only injustice here? What about the injustice of a monarch exercising absolute control, thinking that his "superior" heritage makes him above the established laws of the native people?

This is not to say Aegon II is unquestionably the heir. But this is to say that the show removed the political nuance of why people are questioning in the first place. Precedence isn't the end-all-be-all of succession, but neither is "because daddy said so".

#hotd critical #hotd #house of the dragon #Fire and blood #A song of ice and fire #asoiaf #Long post #this doesn't mean I think the writers are Team Black #I just think the writers can't shake off their 21st century values enough to portray the Greens as an equally valid side #They're too girlboss-pilled #Imagine that Queen Nymeria page scene where Rhaenyra asks Otto why he defies the orders of his late king #Otto: The laws of the Realm decree that the crown pass to the king's eldest trueborn son #Rhaenyra: The laws of the Realm? The king's word is law and it is within his power to overturn these unjust traditions #Otto: The king's will is only one of many. The crown's power is derived from the support of its people. Jaehaerys the Conciliator himself—#Rhaenyra: Perhaps the people have forgotten that my forebears did not forge the Iron Throne with “support” but with fire and blood.#There you've shown why this civil war happened and why people fall on either side

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two-white-butterflies · 5 months ago

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three great men and death | daemon targaryen

Description: You were the object of his ire - the foreigner who stole his position as hand. Hate and love are parallel lines. Daemon finds himself running to you after his failed marriages and exiles.

Pairing: the hand! reader/daemon targaryen

Word Count: 3k+ did not bother to check after it passed 3k

A/N: Enemies to lovers. Reader is crazier than Daemon.

There have been stories about his brother's new hand. A great beauty that came from Lys and managed to earn the King's trust. You tell everyone that your purpose as Hand is for the betterment of Westeros, but Daemon does not believe that - how could a foreigner want good for a land she did not come from?

"Power is a curious thing, my lord. Are you fond of riddles?" you inquired, walking past the roses and peonies. "Why? Am I about to hear one?" he asked. His eyes narrowed slightly.

He has slithered his way into your company, seeking to understand you better. He needed to know your purpose; and the best way to undermine the enemy was to pretend to be their ally.

"Three great men sit in a room, a king, a priest and a rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bids the sellsword kill the other two. Who dies?" you inquired, carefully watching him from your periphery.

You did not succeed by being stupid and trusting. You knew what kind of game he was playing at and it would be best to quench this little rebellion of his before it began. "Depends on the sellsword." he surmises, staring at your face and awaiting a reaction.

"Does it? He's not the crown, no gold, no favor with the gods." you continued toying with him. "He has a sword, the power of life and death." Daemon argued, hidden meaning in his tone.

He's telling you that he wields the sword.

"But if it is the swordsman who rules, why do we pretend that kings hold all the power?" the sides of your lips turned upwards. His eyes twinkle slightly, but it loses its glow the moment he opens his mouth.

"I have decided that I do not enjoy your riddles, lady hand." Daemon turned to look at you, escorting you deeper into the garden.

"What I next say is not a riddle." you breathed, cleverly waiting until his eyebrows merge together. "What is it?" he humored.

The facade breaks, your smile dissapears as quickly as it came.

"There have been rumors of you and the Princess. I understand that you aim to slander the Crown's good name - mayhaps even take Rhaenyra to wife as you've already taken her maidenhead." you say.

"- but I want you to understand that the plan is stupid, and that King Viserys plans to throw you back into Lady Royce's arms." you informed, pretending that you were truly concerned about his wellbeing. Daemon's breath stills.

There was no one around you in the gardens. Not a single soul that was able to hear about the ordeal. "Lady hand." he began, his hands circling around your neck, threatening to choke the life out of you.

"I know the truth, that you did take Rhaenyra's maidenhead. But I will not tell your brother if you agree to my proposal." you held his hand, attempting to pry it away from your neck, but his grip tightens.

"Speak." he commanded, his fiery purple eyes glaring daggers upon your own.

"What I offer is a transactional relationship. I keep my silence, and defend you against any accusation, but you must be on my side." you insisted, that twinkle returns in his eyes. Gods, he was unpredictable.

"Against who?" he interrogated.

"Ser Otto. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He wishes to rid me of this post. He wishes to make his grandson heir. I am the only one standing between the family that you love, and a war." you breathed.

He frees you from his grasp. A strange smile on his face.

"You prove yourself useful, lady hand." he complimented, before abandoning you in front of the Weirwood Tree.

He lays cooly on his bed, watching as you entered his chambers with a hood hiding your face. "I have brought the evidence that you begged for." you informed, throwing a compilation of letters on his bed. "I did not beg for anything, lady hand." he rolled his eyes.

But he still reads the letters that you've presented him.

"These are compilations of Ser Otto's letters to his brother. Clear proof of his plans to supplant your niece." you explained in simpler terms, maintaining the distance between you, in case he think of something else.

You've been allies for half a year now. You've grown to understand that Daemon was the type of man who allowed his emotions to rule over rational thought. His lack of control gave you the upper hand.

"He wants Aegon as King, and by extension, he wants to be King." you continued, seeing his eyebrows merge together in intrigue. "What should we do? Should we tell Viserys?" he asked.

Daemon already had a plan of action in mind - to kill Ser Otto. But that wasn't the smartest course of action. Your plan was inevitably going to end up better than his.

"Ser Otto is the Queen's father. Viserys has always allowed mercy to persevere throughout his rule. Ser Otto will not be punished. He'll be exiled and in a few years, he will be back for revenge. I say that we keep the evidence and wait for the perfect time to use it against him." you strongly advised.

Daemon smiles at you - a real smile, this time.

He pats the empty side on his bed.

You sigh, but you sit beside him anyways.

"I wish to marry Princess Rhaenyra. I need you to think of a plan that will use this to get what I want." he tells you, pointing at the letters.

A loud chuckle escapes your mouth.

"We have a transactional relationship, my prince. I have given you something and you've not given me anything in return." you scoff.

He tilts his head. "If I kill my lady wife, Viserys might give you the Runestone. It would be killing two birds with one stone." he pondered, smiling to himself as his words rhymed.

"Lady Rhea Royce has cousins." you reminded him.

"Her cousin is sworn to the Kingsguard. The rest of the cousins, you tell me have collectively committed a grave crime that could send them in servitude at the Wall." he schemes.

He casts you a look.

"I will threaten them with a letter, and I know them best - they will flee like a feather on top of a bouncing mattress. This is your path to legitimacy, lady hand - a chance to have a title." he continues.

"Viserys will never allow me to have lands and titles of my own." you looked away from him. A woman from Lys, inheriting a great castle. "The King has always granted your petitions. He treats you like his own daughter. He will give you the Runestone. It is between you and me." he says with certainty.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for his robes on the chair.

He stands up.

"Where are you going?" you inquired.

"To do exactly what I've told you." he rolled his eyes, lifting his grey hood until it was over his head.

Prince Daemon Targaryen was going to be the death of you.

There was a stinging feeling in your heart. Were you cruel for not telling him about the engagement between Laenor and Rhaenyra? It wasn't like you wanted him to remain in the dark about it - but the idea of him marrying his niece brought shivers down your spine.

It felt wrong.

"It behooves me how half of House Royce flees the very second Lady Rhea is murdered. Do you have any idea why that is?" King Viserys asks you while pouring himself a cup of tea.

"They must've murdered her, my king. Why else?" your eyebrows merge together, a line that you've rehearsed a million times in front of the mirror. It was wrong to lie. There was a time in your life where you were pure, unable to lie, but those days were gone now.

You've given this world pieces of your beliefs until none remained the same. This was the law of life - you reminded yourself. There were only two types of people, the preys and the predator. The ones taking and the ones getting took. It wasn't fair, but life was never fair.

"There has been a vacancy in the Runestone. You've been loyal to the crown and to the people of this kingdom, and thus, I wish to endorse you in claiming the Runestone." he says with kindness in his tone.

Your eyes lit up.

You didn't even have to ask him for it.

"I've always admired your dedication. All the sleepless nights that you offered to ensure that my nights would be filled of sleep. There is not that many years in front of me, and before I pass - I wish to repay your dedication and loyalty." he finished.

You force a smile on your face.

"Thank you, your grace. I promise to protect Rhaenyra and if she ever offers me a seat in her council in the future, I wish to offer her the same dedication and loyalty." you thanked.

A genuine chuckle escapes your mouth as you continued dancing with Ser Harwin Strong. There was a certain tranquility in his features. He brought you peace, made you remember a kinder version of yourself.

"You are beautiful, my lady." he complimented you.

There have been hundreds of men that have called you exactly that. There was always lust behind their eyes, but Harwin was different - his eyes had the same twinkle as Daemon's. He looked like he was telling you the truth - that he admired you too.

"I assume that those sentiments have been provided to numerous other maidens in this court, but I still am thankful that you find me thus." you danced to the music, staring deep into his eyes.

You were aware of Daemon's gaze upon your figures. You couldn't understand why he was looking at you - and not Rhaenyra. The wedding has not been conducted yet - he should steal her, marry her.

"I've not told anyone that before. Only you." he insisted.

You could see in his eyes that he was telling the truth.

"Of course, my lord." you smiled cheekily.

"You fancy my lady hand?" Viserys leaned over so that his brother was able to hear his voice. Daemon rolls his eyes. "Her?" he scoffs. "She is a clever and sly little thing. Sometimes, I find myself agreeing with whatever proposal she brings forth - I do not know the purpose but I know that it is for the betterment of the realm." Viserys admits.

Daemon glances at his brother.

You were dancing circles around them.

"If I had a son around her age, I would've wed him to her. She is a lowborn girl, but she knows our highborn games." Viserys says.

There were times where Daemon thought about the feel of your skin. How your voice would sound in the early morning. He wonders if your palms were warm enough to soothe his freezing ones. But alas, those are thoughts that he keeps to himself, because he cannot make the mistake of falling in love with you.

He knows that he is incapable of loving a woman like you. Because you are too good for him, too much like him. He craves his brother's attention and he fears that once he has you - he'll abandon his purpose. He fears that when he realizes that you are all he wants, he'll be content and happy.

He's not ready for a time like that yet.

He is still standing on the threshold, unable to cross the line.

"There are leeches on your throne. The lady hand is loyal to Rhaenyra. It would be wise to keep her." Daemon advised, before standing up and making his way into the dance.

He's not failed to observe you dancing with Ser Harwin. He intends to have a little fun of his own.

He smiles at Lady Laena.

"You are almost as beautiful as your brother." he teased.

Daemon, always so busy in catching up with the dance - too late to realize that it was an illusion, and that there's no where to cling on to.

He found peace shortly after that.

He married Lady Laena and you married Ser Harwin Strong. Thousands of miles away, yet your lives still mirrored each other. He could not speak on your behalf, but he knew that Laena was good for him - she was kind and sweet.

She did not care about the highborn games in Kingslanding. All she wanted was a warm home with little children running along the halls. "How is the babe?" he inquired, placing a hand on top of her swollen stomach. It was their third child.

"They are well, but they miss home." she replied, sitting beside him on the bench. "When will we return to Westeros? I miss Driftmark." she admitted, resting her head on Daemon's shoulders.

Daemon couldn't find it in himself to return home. He loved Laena, but he knows that it would ruin him to see you. With Rhaenyra it was different - their love made itself known, but with you? You both drifted away from each other before that love could release itself.

He fears that seeing you would make him admit that something has been indeed missing.

"Rhaenyra has given birth to another baby boy named Joffrey. And your brother tells me that your old friend, the lady hand, has given birth to her second child with Ser Harwin. A little babe named Duncan." Laena continued, hoping that it would sway her husband into returning.

"We should offer our condolences too." Laena paused.

"- is the babe dead?" Daemon inquired, his wife shakes her head.

"There was a fire in Harrenhal. Ser Harwin died with Ser Lyonel." Laena informed. "What?" Daemon's eyes narrowed.

Before Laena could answer his question, there was a stinging sensation in her stomach, telling her that the babe was to come. "The babe is coming, Daemon." she breathed sharply.

Daemon stares coldly as his wife's body is lowered into the ocean. Consumed by the fire of her own dragon. "I offer my condolences, your daughters look exactly like Laena. My children look like Harwin too and it has been a great pain." you admit, sitting beside him.

He continues looking at the horizon. Unwilling to look at you in fear that his resolve would fade. "How is life, Daemon?" you asked.

"It could be better." he admits. "- and how is your life, lady hand?" he asked in an amused tone. Though, he still refused to meet your eyes.

"My oldest daughter is betroth to Prince Jacaerys. Believe that whatever transaction we did or did not have is ancient history." you cleverly reminded him, while also hinting that your loyalties shift like the tides.

"You wish your daughter be Queen?" he asks plainly.

Your shared language of being blunt with each other not forgotten by time. "I wish our kingdom be safe." you corrected.

"Of course." he exhales.

"Goodbye, Daemon." you place a hand on his shoulder.

He find himself involuntarily looking at you.

The sight of you takes him off guard.

Nothing has indeed changed.

It was a year later when he saw you again. He visited Kingslanding with both of his daughter, for his ill brother.

"My king, you have visitors. Prince Daemon and his daughters, Baela and Rhaena." you announced, allowing the small family to enter Viserys' chambers.

"Brother," Viserys says weakly.

"It has been far too long." Daemon smiles, sitting on Viserys' bedside.

Daemon sits beside you on the bench. Time did not leave an indent on your features, still as beautiful as the day he left. "I never told you but I enjoyed your riddles." he admitted.

You respond with a chuckle.

"Time hath given me the answers to some, but there is one riddle that remains in my mind. Three Great Men." he says, still remembering the story from long ago. "Who dies?" he inquired.

Your past comes back to you. Memories in all of its color.

"I don't know the answer but I know that all men must die." you repeated the answer that you observed from decades back.

"- once the dust settles, and the sellsword swings his sword, someone will want revenge. The sellsword will certainly have his head on a spike soon after, for killing the king, the priest, or the rich man. I've always reminded you and Viserys that I am lowborn - and despite having land and marrying a highborn man, I am still. The highborn schemes are costly, and only benefit a single person. I do not know who lives, but I know who dies. The sellsword. The people." you answered.

"I wanted to leave my post the moment King Viserys gave me Lady Rhea's land, but I remained because I feared that Ser Otto would scheme to have Aegon on the throne. Scheme of war." you reminded.

There were many things that you did for your own benefit, but this wasn't one of them.

"- and the smallfolk are the ones who pay heavily. I thought about a little girl in the slums of Flea Bottom, with ambitions and intelligence greater than any highborn lord. The only difference was, she was born there and you were born here." you continued.

Daemon takes a casual sip of his ale.

"How long has it been since you've last step foot inside of a tavern?" he teased with a small chuckle. "I've only ever gone with you." you smiled, leaning on the chair and soaking in the warm ambiance of the place. Gods, you were the only woman here. How sad.

"Do you ever think about an alternative future? If we'd been the ones married?" you suddenly inquired, allowing the alcohol to speak in your behalf. "What do you mean by that?" he asks, eyebrows merging together and suddenly transported to a past before the fall.

"We were amazing, gods. We had the entire kingdom wrapped around our fingers. Viserys offered an engagement between us, and I declined him because I knew how much you loved Rhaenyra. But seeing that you're not married to her, still, makes me believe that what you felt for her was nothing but limerence." you surmised.

Able to read him like an open book.

"I loved Laena, and I love our daughters." he says, knowing that he wouldn't have it any other way. "I loved Harwin too, he was one of the few men that made me abandon rational thought." you reply, agreeing with him that you wouldn't have it any other way too.

"- but gods, I did burn for you." you added with a chuckle. You take another sip of your ale. "I thought that if we were together, then there was nothing in this world that could be out of reach." you hummed.

Daemon Targaryen was standing at the threshold and he finally has the courage to cross the line. "I did love you. I still love you." he corrected himself. Your head turns in his direction, shocked at his sudden confession.

"There were nights where I'd think about your beauty, the feel of your skin, your voice. But I kept those thoughts to myself, because you would never indulge yourself in me. I knew how dangerous I was. How much I craved my brother's approval. I didn't want it to ruin you. I didn't want you to turn against me." he admits in a low tone, careful not to be heard by anyone.

"I figured that I could only love you from afar, because if you truly knew me then I would drive you away. Time has made me realized that I am not as awful as I believe myself to be." he smiles, but before he could get another word in - your lips were on his.

Finally ready to be together.

It only took more than a decade.

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bumblesimagines · 5 months ago

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The Sky's Empty

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers, F!Reader

Summary: Nobody understands Queen Helaena, absolutely nobody. She's always been the odd little girl who whispers senseless things. Nobody understands her. Nobody heeds her warnings. Nobody comforts her.... except for her loyal lady in waiting.

CW/TW: Spoilers for S2, death of a child, a mother in grief, Criston Cole, could be read as platonic or romantic written with a secret romance in mind tho

Heyyyy I promise I'll do a fluffy Helaena thing soon! This is for my beautiful girl kissers who love angst.

~~~

Another prince was dead.

(Y/N) could hardly comprehend it, could hardly believe the news she'd woken up to earlier than usual when the castle had abruptly come to life in swift panic before the sun had even begun to rise. Her maids had flocked to her bedchambers as quickly as their nimble feet could take them and woken her up with pale faces and wide eyes.

"They killed the prince," One told her, spinning around to retrieve the clothes (Y/N) would be wearing for the day while the woman in question stared groggily after her, left to sleepily turn to the other maid and furrow her brows in question. The other one sniffled, hardly containing the tears before they spilled from her eyes. "The Queen's son, My Lady! Prince Jaehaerys!"

At her words, (Y/N) had gone rigid with shock, mouth falling open and a wave of dread crashing into her like a cold wave eager to drown her in its depths. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening until they were no doubt almost bulging from her head. Helaena... Helaena. She'd thrown the covers from her body and flew out of bed, her maids quickly springing into action to dress her and pull her hair back into a regal style befitting of a lady.

Access to the floor where the royal family slept had been restricted until the guards managed to capture one of the men involved but Dowager Queen Alicent and Otto had granted her permission to pass.

So, there she went, the front of her dress lifted slightly so she could speed through the halls and staircases in the direction of Helaena's bedchambers. Servants and guards stepped swiftly out of her way and dipped their heads in respect as she flew past them until she reached the doorway leading into the twin's bedchambers and stepped inside.

"Oh, Gods," She exhaled shakily and pressed a hand to her chest at the sight of the bloodstained sheets. Decapitated, she'd heard. Decapitated in front of his mother. Little troublemaking Jaehaerys who loved laughing and playing and getting up to no good with his father. (Y/N) inhaled deeply and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her body to calm itself and her heart to slow back down to a regular pace.

She swallowed and opened her eyes again, scanning the room until they landed on Helaena. "Oh, my dear Helaena." (Y/N) whispered, placing her fingers over her lips, refusing to let the tears fall yet. Helaena needed her. She needed her. (Y/N) swallowed down the bile threatening to rise and looked back toward the servants stripping the bed and mattress.

"I need you to move quicker." She told them icily and their movements quickened, hands fumbling and eyes frantically glancing in her direction. She watched them through narrowed eyes until they stumbled out of the bedroom and disappeared down the hall, forcing her attention to the guard standing by the door. Cole. Her shoulders squared and she strode toward him.

"My Lady," Ser Criston greeted forcibly, his eyes dancing between the partly taken apart bed and her face.

"Get out."

"I-"

"Get out." (Y/N) hissed, her hand flying out to grasp the collar of his chest plate and tug him closer to her. His eyes flashed with surprise and a hint of fear, his body going rigid beneath his armor. She leaned in to angrily whisper without Helaena hearing, "Do not pretend to be doing your job when you're simply here to rid yourself of guilt, Cole. A child died because of your failure. If it were up to me, you'd be stripped of your position and cloak, now, go. Nobody wishes to lay eyes on your face today, Ser."

Releasing him with a forceful shove, (Y/N) watched him stagger back and out of the doorway before she grasped the door and closed it in his face. She summoned all her anger and annoyance and forced it out in a long exhale, her fingers reaching down to grasp the skirt of her dress and raise it as she turned back around and approached the sorrowful mother.

"My darling," She cooed softly. Helaena barely looked like herself anymore. Her hair remained messy and unattended, her eyes red and marked with lack of sleep, her lips cracked and bitten from anxious nibbling. (Y/N)'s heart twisted at the sight of it.

"My boy... they wanted the boy... it was always going to be the boy... my boy," Helaena whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears and cheeks stained with the ones she'd already shed. She sobbed and gasped, nearly collapsing over the table containing the children's toys. (Y/N) quickly stepped toward her and wrapped a delicate arm around her, the other one nudging Helaena's face into the crook of her neck. "They took him... they took him, they took my boy, my only boy."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. I'm here now, Helaena. I'm here. I will not leave your side, sweet darling, I will not. I promise." (Y/N) reassured, feeling Helaena's full weight lean into her as the mother slumped in her arms and sobbed into her shoulder. (Y/N) carefully lowered herself onto the floor, taking Helaena with her and cradling the weeping girl. She carefully began rocking side to side, whispering comforts and reassuring sentiments.

Helaena sniffled. "They... they wish to show his body to everyone..." She hiccuped and buried her face further in (Y/N)'s shoulder, staining the fabric of her dress with tears. Her arms wrapped loosely around her, seeking out every bit of comfort she could find through her crying. (Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut again, running her fingertips along Helaena's hair and scalp. Heartless fools the lot of them; too caught up in a war they began to care for anything else.

"I'm so sorry, Helaena. I'm sorry, my darling." (Y/N) continued to stroke her hair until her weeping subsided for the moment, leaving Helaena to nuzzle her cheek into (Y/N) shoulder and sigh shakily, occasional sniffles leaving her. (Y/N) stared at the bedframe of Jaehaerys bed, all too fond memories of helping Helaena get the twins down for the night flickering through her mind. Poor, sweet boy. A child brutally killed and for what? Revenge? Coin?

The door creaked open and a maid peeked in, her lips parting to speak but the scathing glare (Y/N) sent her way had her shutting the door again. (Y/N) slid her hand down to Helaena's hair to gently take her shoulders, carefully pushing her back slightly and cupping her wet cheek. "Come, my dear. We must get you dressed. I will attend to you, alright?"

Managing to coax Helaena onto her feet, she led the girl to her bedchamber and dismissed the maids. She helped Helaena dress in a gown fitting for a funeral and combed her hair, ensuring to give her encouragement and words of comfort throughout while her experienced fingers braided strands back into a bun. Helaena stared blankly at her lap so (Y/N) carefully took her hands and brought her attention up to her face.

"Helaena," She began, "You are no longer a princess bound to do whatever your mother and grandsire wish of you. You are the Queen of Westeros. You must speak with your husband. Aegon may be... volatile and unpredictable but I highly doubt this is how he wishes your boy to be remembered. You must tell him. His word is final. Not your mother's or Otto's or anyone on the council. His. You are his wife. Speak to him. Do not allow them to parade Prince Jaehaerys to be gawked by those who never knew nor cared for him."

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idkyetxoxo · 16 days ago

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Gwayne Hightower - Knight in Shining Armour

Summary - Between familial resentment and favour she finds herself the target of an assault. Just as hope seems lost, Gwayne, the knight she's long regarded as an enemy rescues her. His actions unveil buried vulnerabilities and ignite a fragile new understanding between them.

Pairing - Gwayne Hightower x reader

Warnings - Violence, Sexual assault (attempted)

Word count -��2531

Masterlist for Gwayne • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

I had always been the ditzy friend of Alicent, his younger sister.

Perhaps it was the fact that for reasons unknown to me, their father, Otto Hightower seemed to shower more affection on me, a mere stranger, than his own blood son. Whatever the cause, it fueled a simmering animosity in him that was hard to ignore.

I was no fool. The tension was evident, and I had learned quickly not to feign politeness when faced with his disdain. If he harboured such contempt, why should I grovel or feign respect?

"Gwayne," I said curtly as he dismounted his horse. Alicent, radiant with joy at her brother's return, stood beside me, her smile wide and welcoming.

"Sister," Gwayne replied, his gaze completely bypassing me as though I were a mere shadow. I stifled a scoff, crossing my arms over my chest as the siblings exchanged greetings.

After a moment of mutual affection, Gwayne turned his attention to me, his face contorting into a displeased scowl. "And you, the girl who is always clinging to my sister."

I sighed, unimpressed. "Forgive me for expecting any semblance of decency from you. It's strange, isn't it? How manners seem to elude those who need them most."

Gwayne's expression darkened further. "Forgive me for giving the impression that I value your presence."

"I'm merely here with my friend," I said sharply, "and your father suggested my company."

His face darkened even more, a sour expression spreading across his features.

"Of course he did and you still seem to be at his beck and call after all these years," he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain.

I laughed mockingly. "It's hardly my fault that he prefers my company over his own son's."

Before Gwayne could respond with another cutting remark, Alicent intervened, sensing the conversation's descent into outright hostility. "I think that's enough," she said, her tone firm. "Brother, you must be weary from your travels. Perhaps you should rest before dinner tonight."

Gwayne's eyes remained locked on me, a smouldering resentment evident. He nodded curtly and stalked off, his back rigid with irritation.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Alicent looped her arm through mine, guiding me away. Her voice was a low, exasperated murmur as she began to lecture me.

"You really must learn to temper your responses."

I shook my head, a mix of frustration and amusement in my expression. "He's hardly the epitome of charm himself. He makes it quite clear he doesn't want me around."

Alicent sighed, her eyes softening with sympathy. "I understand, but if you continue to provoke him, it will only make things worse. He's been struggling with his place in the family for years. It's not easy for him."

I tilted my head, considering her words. "Maybe, but that doesn't excuse his behaviour towards me. I'll try to be more civil, but I won't pretend to be pleased with his attitude."

Alicent's gaze was earnest. "I appreciate that. Just remember, it's not only about getting along with him. It's about maintaining peace for everyone's sake, including your own."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm losing both of you" she confessed, her voice tinged with quiet sorrow.

I sighed, the weight of her words settling over me, and leaned my head on her shoulder, seeking comfort in the only place it seemed to remain.

As we walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that the battle lines were drawn.

It was clear that Gwayne and I were locked in a struggle that would require more than just diplomatic niceties to resolve.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ──

Dinner unfolded as smoothly as could be expected under the circumstances. I maintained a careful silence throughout the meal, choosing to forgo any remarks that might provoke further tension. My restraint did not go unnoticed by Gwayne or Otto, their conversation growing momentarily heated before being cooled by forced civility.

Alicent excused herself early, citing fatigue, and I followed suit shortly after.

I made my way through the streets of King's Landing, heading towards the shop where Alicent and I had ordered two gowns for an upcoming celebration.

The evening was rapidly darkening, and I quickened my pace, feeling a twinge of regret for declining Alicent's offer to join me. I had insisted on walking alone, hoping the solitude would help me clear my mind after the strained dinner.

As I navigated through the bustling streets, the throngs of people seemed to press in on me, their chatter and movement creating a cacophony of noise.

I found myself jostled by passersby, their brusqueness only adding to my sense of urgency.

Determined to expedite my journey, I decided to take a shortcut through a narrow alleyway. The alley was dimly lit and somewhat eerie, its walls lined with uneven cobblestones and littered with refuse. The noise from the main thoroughfare receded, replaced by a more oppressive silence.

As I moved swiftly through the alley, the sound of footsteps behind me made me glance over my shoulder.

Two intoxicated men staggered into view, their steps erratic and their voices loud. One of them, his eyes bleary and unfocused, spotted me and quickened his pace, cutting across my path with an unsteady gait.

"What's a pretty lady like you doing around here?" he slurred, reaching out and twirling a lock of my hair between his grimy fingers.

I took a step back, my heart pounding faster with each beat.

"I apologize, but I must be going," I said, trying to maintain my composure. I lifted the skirts of my dress, readying myself for a quick escape.

The second man, whose demeanour was just as menacing, blocked my way, pressing me against the cold brick wall. His eyes gleamed with a predatory glint as he leaned in closer.

"What's the rush, darling?" he drawled, his breath reeking of alcohol.

I glanced frantically between the two men, my instincts screaming that they had no noble intentions. Their sinister expressions and dishevelled appearances only heightened my fear.

"I really must go. My friend is waiting for me," I said, my voice trembling. The first man traced a finger along my cheek, his touch sending shivers down my spine.

The second man's grin widened as he closed in further. "We could be your friends for the night," he suggested, his voice dripping with menace.

Panic surged through me, and my eyes filled with tears. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath as I pressed myself fully against the wall.

"Please," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper as a few stray tears slid down my cheeks.

The first man's laughter was low and cruel. He reached out, brushing a tear from my face with a rough thumb.

"Now, now, love. Don't cry. There's nothing to be upset about. We can make this quick," he said, his tone laced with malicious amusement.

His fingers continued their unwelcome journey, trailing along my cheek with an unsettling mixture of pity and predation. The second man's proximity was even more unnerving. His breath, hot and rank, washed over me as he leaned in closer.

"Please," I whispered again, tears now streaming freely down my face. "I really need to go."

The first man's expression shifted from twisted amusement to cold determination. He leaned in, his face close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath.

"We'll make this quick," he murmured, his voice a low, threatening growl. "Just don't fight it."

The second man's grin became predatory as he grabbed at my arms, his touch invasive and rough. My instincts screamed at me to resist, but the sheer terror immobilized me for a heartbeat.

Desperation sparked a burst of energy, and I swung my arm, landing an elbow into his ribs. He grunted in pain but only tightened his grip, shoving me forcefully against the wall.

The first man's laughter turned into a growl of frustration. He seized my face with both hands and yanked me closer, pressing his lips against my neck. His breath was hot and nauseating, I struggled violently, but his strength was overpowering.

I kicked out desperately, my foot connecting with the second man's shin. He yelped and staggered back, but it was a fleeting reprieve. The first man's hands were relentless, his grip vice-like.

In a moment of sheer panic, I tried to claw at him, but his strength overpowered mine. He slammed me against the wall, and I felt a sharp, searing pain as he roughly shoved me.

The second man recovered quickly and rejoined. They worked together with terrifying efficiency, and before I could react, they overpowered me. The second man grabbed my waist and hoisted me up.

In the struggle, my foot caught the edge of the cobblestone, and I was kicked forcefully in the side. The blow knocked me off balance, sending me crashing to the ground with a painful thud. I cried out, the impact sending a jolt of agony through me.

Dazed and disoriented, I tried to push myself up, but my body felt leaden. I looked up to see the men's faces twisted with cruel satisfaction, their intentions laid bare. The alleyway seemed to spin around me, the darkness growing thicker and more oppressive.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the night, sharp and authoritative. "What is going on here?"

The two men froze, their faces shifting from malicious intent to surprise and apprehension. I could barely see through my tear-blurred vision, but I could tell from the tone and urgency that someone was intervening.

"Piss off and wait your turn," one of the men sneered, his bravado faltering slightly as he glanced toward the source of the voice. His tone was rough, but there was an edge of uncertainty now.

Gwayne stepped into the alleyway, his expression hardening as he took in the scene. Without a word, he drew his sword with a smooth, practised motion. The blade gleamed ominously in the dim light.

The first man's sneer faltered. "We don't need your help, you interfering—"

Before he could finish, Gwayne lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air with precision. The second man attempted to intervene, but Gwayne's blade parried his move, sending him staggering back.

Steel clashed, and the alley rang with the sounds of battle. Gwayne fought with deliberate, controlled strikes, easily deflecting the first man's frantic attacks. The first man's attempts grew increasingly desperate as Gwayne's skill became apparent.

The second man tried to tackle Gwayne from the side, but Gwayne twisted and delivered a powerful kick to his midsection, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Gwayne turned his focus back to the first man, whose blows were now wild and ineffective. With a final, decisive strike, Gwayne disarmed him. The man fell back, fear etched across his face.

"Get out of here," Gwayne said coldly, pointing his sword at the retreating figures. "If you ever come near another lady again, you'll regret it."

The men scrambled to their feet and fled, their bravado shattered. Their hurried footsteps echoed as they disappeared into the night.

Gwayne sheathed his sword and turned to me. I was still sitting on the ground, trembling and dishevelled. His gaze softened as he extended a hand to help me up. I hesitated for a moment before taking it, my grip weak and shaky.

As I rose to my feet, I wiped away my tears with a trembling hand, trying to compose myself.

"Thank you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I managed a small, bitter smile despite the lingering fear. "I'm sure it pained you to save me of all people."

Gwayne's expression shifted, a shadow of guilt passing over his features. He seemed to wrestle with his own emotions before speaking, his voice low and conflicted.

"It's not your fault that my father can't find it in him to love me," he said, his tone carrying a hint of raw honesty. "You didn't do anything wrong."

I looked at him, surprised by the depth of his words. "I didn't mean to imply that—"

"No," he interrupted gently, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of sadness and determination. "I've been struggling with my place in this family for years. Seeing someone like you, a stranger, who my father seems to favour over me, only made it worse."

His vulnerability took me aback "I never meant to be a source of discomfort for you."

Gwayne's expression softened further, the harsh edges of his earlier demeanour giving way to a more weary understanding.

"I know," he said, shaking his head. "It's not your fault. I suppose I've let my frustrations cloud my judgment, and it's unfair of me to take it out on you."

There was a moment of silence between us, the tension of the earlier confrontation dissipating into an uneasy truce. Gwayne's eyes lingered on me, his gaze still filled with a mix of regret and sincerity. He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time beyond the resentment that had clouded his judgment.

"I'm sorry for how I've treated you," he said quietly, his voice carrying an undertone of vulnerability. "It's not right to blame you for things beyond your control."

I met his gaze, feeling a mix of relief and surprise at his unexpected apology. "Thank you," I said softly, my voice trembling slightly. "I appreciate that."

Gwayne's expression softened, and for a brief moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble. He offered me a small, genuine smile, though it was tinged with sadness. It was a smile that spoke of unacknowledged pain, a smile that was meant to bridge the gap between us.

"Let's get you out of here," he said, his tone shifting to a more practical note. He took a step closer, his arms reaching out to steady me.

Before I could react, Gwayne gently pulled me into his embrace. His arms were strong but careful, wrapping around me with a warmth that was both reassuring and unexpected.

I felt a strange mix of comfort and uncertainty, my heart fluttering at the closeness.

We stood there for a heartbeat, the world outside the alley fading away. His gaze remained locked on mine, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if he might lean in for a kiss.

The intensity of his stare, the tenderness in his touch, everything seemed to suggest a possible shift from the tension to something more intimate.

Instead, Gwayne leaned forward and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to my forehead. The gesture was gentle, almost shy, and it carried with it a sense of care that spoke volumes. It was a simple, tender touch that held a promise of change and understanding.

As he pulled back, he took my hand in his, his grip firm but comforting.

"Come on," he said softly.

He guided me through the dimly lit streets, his presence a steadying force as we walked. The night air was cool and crisp, and the earlier fear and confusion began to recede, replaced by a fragile sense of peace.

We walked in silence, the city's sounds were distant, and the shadows of the alleyway seemed to grow fainter with each step. It felt like a moment of quiet reconciliation, a brief respite from the turmoil that had consumed us earlier.

In the end, the night had brought us an unexpected connection, one that promised a new beginning, if not for us, then at least for the understanding that had taken root between us.

A/n - National sexual assault and rape hotline (call : 1-800-656-4673, or access RAINN's online chat service at : https://rainn.org/get-help) 💙

Gwayne tag list - @deniixlovezelda @randomnerdyfan @callsign-blue

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd s2 #team green #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower x reader #ser gwayne #ser gwayne hightower #gwayne x you #gwayne fanfic

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

Bound to Apologise

Summary: Aemond upsets his wife and forms a punishment fit for a Prince, feat. subby!Aemond | Word Count: 5.6k | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: subby!Aemond x wife!reader, p in v, oral (m receiving), use of a belt as bondage, orgasm denial, breeding kink I guess, Aemond blueballs Targaryen

When one thinks of Aemond Targaryen, a few descriptors come to mind.

Stoic, stiff, perhaps brazen on occasion and when the opportunity should present itself, he has quite the silver tongue. He is a man who is sure of himself in identity, fiercely proud of his Targaryen ancestry, his skills with the sword and his deep and well-founded knowledge of history and philosophy, a fact he rivals smugly against his older brother at any occasion he is able.

It is not as if Aegon cares much for rivalries of the mind. No, Aegon’s knowledge that is worthy of bragging in his mind is that of the flesh, and he makes sure to flaunt such knowledge in Aemond’s face at any chance.

That is until Aemond took a wife.

It had been almost half a year since Aemond was wed to his sweet wife in the Sept. An arranged affair, of course, and the two had scarcely seen one another beforehand, so even now he remembered the way he held his hands behind his back, wound tight with nerves, wondering what kind of person she was. It felt wrong to be tied so intimately and indefinitely to another person without really truly knowing them.

She had smiled sweetly on that day, kissed him softly once their vows were exchanged, a faint blush at her cheeks while standing before her now husband. The wife of Aemond Targaryen. It felt so final, and she could not help the fluttering in her stomach.

Aemond on the other hand had barely cracked a smile, simply kissed her, as he was duty-bound to do, and said his vows. She was pretty, yes. But he almost felt bad. What did this woman, illuminated so softly by the warm rays of light, have to gain by marriage to someone she surely found repulsive? Aemond hadn’t missed the various hushed conversations his mother had with Otto, the door cracked slightly ajar.

He had a reputation amongst the ladies. Some desired him purely for his title and placing their family name on a high podium, their future children into the bargain. Some were repulsed by his fiery temper, those long, hard looks he gave everyone. And perhaps most notably, they were frightened of the One-Eyed Prince, on this moniker alone. ‘Aemond One-Eye would never find a wife’.

Despite the incident being several years ago, it still raised its ugly head every now and then, in the form of self-consciousness, hushed female whispers and side-glances throughout the Keep. Most Lords and Ladies appreciated his skills from afar, never treading that delicate path in between that would bring them closer to him, which is precisely why it was difficult to even court a woman. Nevermind marriage.

And yet, when his new wife had looked upon him at their wedding feast, she’d given him a sweet smile, looked deeply into his good eye and showed no signs of repulsion. It confused him for a moment. Was she making a mockery of him? By pretending not to be afraid or repelled by him on purpose? Hiding what she truly felt inside. Holding the bile in her throat at the thought of consummation? He blamed her flush on her face on the two cups of wine she had consumed.

He was immensely relieved to have been proven wrong.

Once the chamber doors were closed, she was clearly nervous, as any young maiden would be on her wedding night. With every aching second she removed the pins from her hair, Aemond stood before the fireplace, his heart hammering in his chest with nerves. He didn’t want to have to bare his soul to her. He didn’t know her. And the thought of forcing such a delicate little thing to gaze upon his affliction, watching her face contort into one of disgust, was eating away at his insides, his insecurities feeding on the buzz of the wine.

She looked so pure and gentle in her off-white, thin chemise, leaving extremely little to the imagination. And with her hair down, waved from the braids, she looked positively mythical.

Aemond swallowed and began to unclasp his doublet. She must have seen his true feelings beneath his poorly-hidden expression, because she’d stopped before him, a small hand laid delicately on his arm. A silent confirmation, that she was just as nervous as he was.

“I do not wish to frighten you, my lady”

Her heart could have broken, but instead it merely shuddered with his words.

“Do you believe you frighten me?” she asked.

Aemond’s silence had confirmed it.

“You are my husband. And I, your wife. You may show me as much of yourself as you deem comfortable and I will not judge”

Though brief, her comforting words gave him the confidence to consummate their marriage. At first it was clumsy, the way their lips had pressed against one another, and the clamouring at her body, laid entirely bare for him to feast upon. As with any wedding night, there was some discomfort, both for her and him, but for different reasons.

But he was gentle, which surprised her and elated her in equal measure. And the sting of the loss of the maidenhead gave way to blooming pleasure, alongside something else. Perhaps a closeness that neither of them expected to have after just a few hours of knowing one another. But she hadn’t shied away from him, as he expected her to. On occasion during the act, she held his face so softly he trembled, struggling to fathom that this woman wanted him.

They had left it only an hour before he was inside her again, where he now found sanctuary in her acceptance of him.

In the moons that had passed since then, she had been his haven. His escape. She was so good to him, accepting of his desire to take his time in showing himself to her.

Three moons after their wedding night, he finally pulls off his eyepatch, after a particularly long evening of lovemaking. She was laid next to him, the bed sheets tucked around her chest. Her lips parted when she saw what he’d been hiding underneath his eyepatch all this time, and she felt an undeniable closeness to him that was not there before.

His scar felt raised beneath the gentleness of her fingers, but it was a look of sheer wonder, watching the way the sapphire that replaced his eye adopted the amber glow of the candles.

Aemond felt his heart thunder and his cock get hard, when all she asked was for him to fuck her again.

And he did with a new-found enthusiasm, a warm feeling blossomed in his chest, holding her form beneath him and fucking her relentlessly into the mattress, so hard that the bedframe struggled. He moaned loudly, giving her his seed and praying that it took, so that he could see his precious wife grow round with his child.

It took him an entire moon to figure out that he not only respected her, but had come to love her.

His wife, shy and timid perhaps at first, had become rather a force to be reckoned with. Their intimacy with one another had awakened something not only in her, but in him as well. At first, he delighted in having power and dominance over her, being quite a lot taller and broad, which he was wholly proud to have on display in the comfort of their chambers. He loved every little one of her whines and moans, drawing peak after devastating peak from her until she quivered in his touch.

It had become a nightly routine. Sometimes several times in one night.

Who would have thought that Aemond Targaryen, every now and then, enjoyed having such power taken away sometimes.

It had started innocently enough. After so many moons being married and proving their love to one another every night, his sweet wife had sought for some variety and instead had clambered on top of him and sank on his cock, guiding the pace herself. Her hands steadied on his chest for leverage, her backside smacking against his thighs with every rough thrust of herself onto him.

Alongside the dizzying feeling of watching his cock disappear into her cunt over and over, reaching new places in this new position, he found being held down exhilarating. Dare he say, even pleasurable. It made something wind tight as a bowstring in his gut.

It seemed like she noticed this, as a lazy smirk graced her face.

Ever since then they had experimented with that sensation. The feeling of one partner having full control, being held down, even tied sometimes. It was something reserved solely for them, behind their chamber doors. In the morning, when they break their fast with his family, he is once again the stone-faced, stoic Aemond Targaryen.

Although it does not stop her from shooting knowing grins in his direction on the odd occasion, which makes his cheeks go a very fair pink, the tips of his ears burn and his breeches get inexplicably tighter.

He enjoys this new side to his wife. It was buried deep, but now that he sees it, it never fails to surprise him.

Which brings him to this moment. The moment when he knows he has said or done something to irk her.

Her sister had arrived at the Red Keep alongside her father to visit her for a few days. Unlike his dear wife, her sister was still young and unmarried, and unbearably innocent. As soon as Aegon had laid his eyes on her little sister, his eyes gleamed with mischief, as if he’d seen a shiny new version of his favourite toy, but one that was actually available.

He wasn’t even deterred by the firm look she’d given him.

She and her sister walked arm in arm to the main hall, where they would dine all together that evening. Her sister spoke excitedly, happy to be brought to the Red Keep for the first time and to be reunited with her beloved eldest sibling.

Aemond and Aegon were chatting idly at the table when they’d arrived, her sister went to one side of the table to be sat next to their father. The two brothers, who usually were not so well-acquainted and chatting in such a friendly manner, were so engrossed in their conversation and their cups, that they barely acknowledged her presence.

All the better that Aemond’s back was to her as well.

“She is a lovely looking girl, but it is a shame she is so terribly dim-witted” Aegon chuckled, “A family trait, I presume?”

Aemond, dizzy from the effects of his wine, chuckled.

“Perhaps”

She’d bitten her cheek in frustration. Was he so deep in his cups that he actually found Aegon funny? Not only that, but had humoured him in insulting not only her sister’s intelligence, but his own wife’s as well.

She pulled her chair out beside him loudly, and Aemond went red and jumped in surprise, dread prickled all over his skin. She gave him a mischievous, knowing smile as she sat, “Husband” is all she greeted him with.

Aegon, who found the entire situation hilarious, had left him with that and as Aemond took his seat next to his wife, straight-backed and instantly sober, he bit his lips several times throughout the evening. She didn’t spare him a single word nor glance, unless he spoke to her directly, in which she forced a pleasant enough smile to her face and gave him one word answers. Playing the pliant little wife, while at the same time letting him know that he would not get off so easily.

She thought, once, that she may have taken her retribution a bit too far. But it was fun if nothing else, to watch how frustrated Aemond got.

She did not lay with him that night, nor the night after. Nor the night after that.

When her sister and father departed King’s Landing, he thought this might be the reprieve. But he was wrong.

It had been a full week since he had touched his wife intimately, not because he didn’t want to, he’d tried a fair few times. But every time, she had dismissed him with that playful smirk, the same one she had when she’d clambered atop his lap for the first time. And though her outfits and mannerisms remained the same as always, after being denied the pleasure of his flesh to hers for so long, every sway of her hips, every glint of her eyes and every movement of her hands had his breeches pathetically tight.

She knew what she was doing as well, the little tease.

He was aching. And it became too much. Not only did she deprive him of her sweet, tight cunny. She barely spoke to him. And the silence and barely-contained need to be inside her, was all too much to bear.

She was in their chambers, sat before the fire, a large tome open in her lap and when she’d heard the chamber doors shut, her eyes had met that of an extremely pent up husband.

But instead of greeting him, she bit back a smile and turned back to her book.

That little-

“Wife” he greeted through gritted teeth.

“Husband”

She didn’t fool him with the sweetness of her voice.

“What are you doing?” he asked, half-desperate and half-irritated as he crossed the room to sit opposite her.

“Reading, my love. So that I may grow to have acceptable intelligence”

His nostrils flare in annoyance, and yet he can’t deny the way she acts has a profound effect on him, after a week of not being able to have her, he’s desperate for anything. Even just the brushing of her hand, he is convinced, would make him spill in his breeches.

“You know as well as I that is not what I meant”

She slowly closes the book, righting to stand in front of him, her eyes trickling over his form. She knows him well now. Knows how underneath this cold exterior he offers up to her, is a desperate man underneath, yearning for a taste of her affections. His body sparks up at her hungry eyes over him.

“Then I do not know what you mean, husband” she replies, barely able to stop the spread of her smile, “You shall have to elaborate”

His hands form tight fists. She’s right there, ripe for the taking, his sweet wife. How easy would it be to sling her over his shoulder and take her right there on the bed, still dressed in her finery, with her skirts rucked up over her hips.

“I mean-” he starts, “-you and I have not laid together for the better part of a week”

She cocks her head, “Oh? Is that so?” she answers sweetly, “Forgive me, I hadn’t noticed”

He’s stunned into a sort of shocked silence, mouth slightly open, but without the headspace to form a reply. His wife pretended to busy herself with other things, placing the book back and dusting the covers, something she knew would get him riled up.

“What is this game, wife”

When she turns to him with that faux-innocence smile on her face, unable to hide how amused she is at how outwardly her husband is showing his frustration, Aemond can feel his limbs go numb.

“I do not believe you are in any position to accuse me of anything, husband” she counters, crossing the room in deliberately small steps, “In fact, I do believe I am owed an apology of sorts”

Her brow twitches slightly. She knows. She knows she has him exactly where she wants him.

As much as he tries to ignore the way her attitude makes his breeches get tighter, all of his blood goes straight below his waistline.

“But I can see, in your true Targaryen male nature, that you will not apologise…with words that is” she says, a wider smile gracing her face. An almost mischievous one.

Aemond swallows thickly.

He clears his throat, blinking a few times at what she just said, “Perhaps…you might enlighten me on how I can make amends”

Got you.

“Give me your belt” she instructs.

It’s borderline pathetic, the speed in which he tries to unbuckle it from his doublet and his fingers fumble with the silver, the embarrassment evident in the way it clinks clumsily. He pulls it through the loops and extends the leather towards his wife. She lets his hand hang there for a moment, as if to extend his internal torment, before she takes it, her fingers slipping over the roughened edges.

“Take off your clothes, leave your breeches on” her voice is clipped and deadly serious, “then get on the bed”

She watched from the foot of the bed as he did, twisting the belt in her hands as she regarded him. Saw the way his breath had hitched as she instructed him to do something and the way his pupils swallowed the violet of his eye. He was desperate. And the longer she went without saying or doing anything, the more the excitement and anticipation was starting to build in his core.

“My dear husband” she says, still fully clothed but clambering onto the bed beside him, “You have wronged me in a manner most unbefitting”

Her voice was low, the same way it would be when they were alone together, coupling.

Gently she pulls both his wrists together, tying them first before raising them to the bed frame, sliding the leather through the buckle and pulling his skin flush to it. She pulls on it a few times, to make sure it is secure. Smiling down at him when she confirms he is not able to move.

His chest moves hurriedly, a warm, fluttering expectancy erupts in his gut.

“And all you have been able to think about is our coupling, or rather lack of” she smirks, pulling a large pin from her hair so it falls around her shoulders. Looking up at his dear wife from this angle, in this position, will never cease to be thrilling.

Her small fingers slide under his eyepatch, depositing it on the bedside, so that she may see all of him.

He would never ever reveal beyond their chambers how he enjoys to see her, eyes half-shut looking down at him, exerting her own version of dominance over him. And he was eternally grateful that she never told a soul either. It would embarrass him beyond measure. He could only stand to be embarrassed in front of her.

Even though she was very much in charge, she did so in her own feminine way. Used her body differently, her words even.

He doesn’t think he will ever tire of it.

“Would you like to fuck me, husband” she asks low, nudging his knees apart so that she can kneel between them. It doesn’t fail to set his blood alight, the way she says such vulgar things…and make it sound so right.

As her fingers begin to undo his breeches, his hips move and so do his hands against the bed frame. It sets that grin on her face again.

“Yes, I do…I have missed you”

Her fingers start to peel his breeches from his hips, exposing the pale skin underneath, and he almost sighs in relief to feel her soft hands on his bare skin.

She cocks her head, looking at him, “What makes you think I will let you fuck me?”

A sort of dread…disappointment pools in his stomach, but alongside that, arousal. He cannot tell if she is serious or merely teasing him, and it is the in-between of not knowing that makes his head feel as if there is cotton stuffed into it instead of thoughts.

“Fucking is a reward” she starts, “and you have not been good”

Once his breeches are off, or at least down to his toned thighs, enough where she can see his manhood, aching and swollen against his taut abdomen, hardened from his years of training with the sword. The tip is flushed, the same colour as his lips, with a milky arousal leaking from it. She is sure that with one touch, he could simply come undone, and it makes her smirk wickedly.

“I will forgive you…on one condition”

Gods, how badly he wants her to just touch him already. With his cock now exposed to them both, her hands so close, it’s borderline unbearable to be teased like this.

“Anything, please…”

A flush blossoms on her cheeks. She always did like it when he begged.

“You must not peak, until I say”

Aemond almost goes bright red. This is territory that has not been tread before. And yet, he can’t deny the excitement it sends through him, the way the air is instantly knocked out of his lungs, and how his hands tug slightly against the belt.

He outright moans as her small hand encircles his cock, giving a few languid pumps, squeezing when she gets to the tip, brushing her thumb over the sensitive slit. Now that she has given her order, her demand, all he can seem to think about is his peak, and how hard he is concentrating to not do it too soon.

“You seem more sensitive than usual, husband” she coos, her other hand placed on his thigh, only barely squeezing, “have you missed me that much?”

“Yes…” he responds through slightly gritted teeth, unable to take the breathiness out of his tone.

“Hm” she hums, dipping her head to his waistline, making him suck in a quiet breath, “Let us see if you can be good then”

She flatters her tongue against the underside of his length, dragging up achingly slow to the slit, her hand still applying pressure as she makes her way up. When she gets to the slit, her eyes meet her husband's.

There's that damn smile again.

Aemond shudders a breath, looking into her eyes while she has his cock on her tongue is only spurring him on, so he shuts his eyes, tipping his head back against the pillows. His hands tug at the belt. Wanting morning more than to just run his fingers through her hair.

"Look at me" she orders.

When he does, his jaw slackens, cheeks warm as her hot mouth envelops him entirely. Pushing down to take more of him, her hand strokes whatever else she cannot fit. Aemond watches her take him with every slow bob of her head, pushing his cock against her hot throat, warm, wet and inviting.

If he is good, he may get something else.

From this angle, her breasts are dangerously close to spilling from her dress, and he watches them move as she continues to suck him, her tongue curled up to press against the prominent vein on the underside. After a week of not having him, she relishes the taste of him. How he smells faintly of sweat and leather, and how badly she wants more of it.

She plunges her mouth down further, til her lips are against the base and Aemond moans out loudly. His tip lodges the back of her throat, and while well endowed, she has learned to take him as deep as she can, until she softly gags, tightening her throat around him.

She is testing him. Seeing how far she can push him as she pleasures him with a renewed vigour, humming around him, sending little jolts of pleasure up his spine.

It was his biggest weakness, taking him into her mouth. And to be so clearly pleased to do it as well. Merely watching the way his length disappears between her plush lips is nothing short of heavenly.

He bets her cunny is wet from this alone.

It very nearly makes him peak, those sparks are there most certainly. Especially the way her throat contracts around him.

But he holds back the reins. For now.

She pulls off him with a soft, wet pop, making a show of licking her lips to taste his precum.

"You are blushing, my love" she says, and he knows even without looking she is smirking again.

"Please…" he murmurs, "...do not tease me any longer"

She cocks her head again, pretending to not know what he means.

"Is my mouth inadequate?"

He shakes his head quickly, feeling his hair begin to stick to his nape with the effort of holding back his peak.

"No-no…I just need you"

"Need what" she grins, moving to straddle him.

Aemond's eye widens here. Her dress is fanned out, and underneath he feels her bare form pressed against his aching cock.

The vixen had not had small clothes on this entire time.

And after using her mouth to pleasure him, she was soaked.

It was most like her. She always did everything with purpose. Always one step ahead.

She smiles when she sees it click in his mind and she moves her hips, dragging her slick over his length, making his eye flutter.

"Say it"

He swallows, tugging against the belt. He half thinks of requesting to touch her. But he knows she would not allow it.

"I need to be inside you"

She raises her eyebrows.

"Please" he finishes.

She pulls the front of her dress up, to give him a good view of her wet cunny, spreading her slick over him and he almost moans at just that. It's a sight to behold. The feeling…even more indescribable.

"My poor, silly husband" she coos, taking his length in her hand, using her palm to coat the entirety with her arousal, "...you came here to say something. Now is the time"

She raises her hips, his tip not even touching her, but the anticipation of it is too much. Aemond, almost subconsciously, bucks his hips up. Only to be met with her pushing him back down.

"Stay still" she says firmly, "or you will not fuck me at all"

His chest moves quickly, clenching his fists, his whole body feeling unbearably hot.

She waits, with that glint in her eye. She really would do it. She would clamber off him and not fuck him, just for the satisfaction that she knew he wanted her, and that it had been denied.

"I…apologise…" he mutters quietly.

She doesn't move.

"For?"

He grunts, frustrated. Too busy thinking of him sliding through her folds, nestled in her cunny.

"For saying such things about you…"

She tuts, with an amused grin, "We shall test your loyalty, husband. Remember…you need my permission"

Whatever Aemond was going to say is stuck in his throat as she sinks on him, enveloping him entirely in her slick heat. She does it slowly, so that he might feel every inch of her, every ridge inside. And when her backside sits on his thighs, moving her hips side to side, his tip nudges her sweet spot, the curve of his long, delicious length finding it effortlessly.

He has to briefly close his eye, not look at her, so that he doesn't get too overwhelmed. After a week of not having her, she feels so perfectly tight, so much so it feels as if her cunt is milking him already. He cannot get too tied up in the feeling, lest he lose her forgiveness.

The sound he lets out when she begins to move is almost pained, one that feels like it takes all his strength from his muscles.

He looks up at her, her hair cascading over her shoulders with every shallow thrust inside, with that tell-tale pink to her cheeks from the effort of it. He can feel her arousal weeping out of her, coating his length and smacking against the base, that alongside his barely-contained moans.

Her hands trail up his bare torso and he can feel gooseflesh erupt in the path she leaves. Her soft palms trace the expanse of his chest, and she doesn’t miss the way his stomach muscles tense up as she hastens her pace while she touches him. It’s only when her fingers apply a feather-like touch against his nipples that she finally gets a breathy moan from him.

It only adds more fuel to her fire.

Every touch, as small as they are, with how pent up Aemond had been, is hurtling him towards that edge. He can feel every inch of her perfect insides, squeezing him as she nears even herself. His stomach does flips, a familiar flutter getting stronger inside.

“Please…wife…” she barely manages to say.

She smiles, her chest moving quickly with the effort of their lovemaking. Her thighs ache in the most wonderful way, her cunt stretching around his girth, the tip kissing her end, filling her so deliciously.

“Please what”

“I want to touch you…please” he begs, his fists still tight and pressed against the bed frame.

He takes a much needed breath when she slows down, merely circling her hips against his pelvis instead.

“Are you close, my love?” she asks sweetly, leaning up to grasp the belt in one hand.

Aemond nods, not trusting his own voice, lest it betray the inner turmoil inside. But she sees it. She doesn’t miss a thing.

She cocks her head, half of her wants to reprimand him for not using his words to reply to her. But the other half feels how his cock throbs inside her, aching for completion, to paint her walls with his spend.

“Very well” she smirks, undoing his bondage, “but you may only touch me here”

She guides his now free hands to her clothed hips, keeping hers on top to make it clear how serious she is. Even now, merely touching her, through clothes it doesn't matter, it’s like some kind of torture.

He grabs her hips tightly and backs himself up against the pillow in a half-sitting position, causing his length to press up inside her, he doesn’t miss the small gasp she emits. She’s close as well, he can tell.

He fucks up into her with renewed passion, and her head tilts back, her lips parted only slightly to allow her quiet but wanton moans to slip out. Her sounds are like a reward. But he knows he is still denied the greatest one of all. One that seems more and more difficult to hold back the tighter she clenches around him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his wrists. There was something exciting about her being fully clothes while he fucked her. It almost felt forbidden. But exciting all the same.

He can feel her slowly losing her resolve as he pounds harshly into her, as if he is letting out all his frustrations.

“-Fuck…Aemond…” she breathes, “-Don’t stop-”

His breath comes in hurried pants, wanting her to feel good but at the same time holding himself back. He can feel the pressure inside, fit to burst at any moment.

“My perfect wife…”

“-Aemond, I’m close-”

She pulls up the front of her dress, her small slender fingers diving between her legs to apply pressure to her pearl, and she inadvertently tightens around him at the combined pleasure.

He is not sure if he can last much longer. Forgiveness be damned, he wants to see his spend leak from her.

“My love, I-”

She looks down at him, a lazy, fucked-out smile on her face, her hair sticking slightly to her forehead.

“-Yes, husband…fuck your heir into me…”

His eye widens at the vulgarity, but his throat tightens at the challenge and he slams so deep inside her with a shocking collection of desperate thrusts. She continues to circle her slick over her bud until the buzz floods into her limbs with a choked cry, her body trembling in the bruising hold he has of her hips.

He fucks her all the way through it, now that he has been given the permission he so desired, he craves it like hunger. It feels like it takes everything out of him, the wind surely knocked from his lungs, as he finally stills inside her, feeling the warm, familiar flood of his spend deep against her womb, completely emptying himself until he aches.

Aemond never lets up on his grip, holding her tightly to ensure she has all of it, and he gives a few additional shallow thrusts that make her cry out, hoping his seed will take and she will grow round with child for him. The thought alone makes him want to keep her in their chambers all day if he has to.

Their eyes meet, the only sound is both of their breathing. Her own eyes flicker from his seeing one, to the sapphire, and a soft, contented smile, not the same mischievous one as earlier, makes its way to her face. It encourages him to do the same.

“I could stay in your perfect cunt forever…” he breathes, his chest moving steadily.

She hums a laugh. It is certainly something he would say.

“Am I forgiven?” he asks, eyebrows moved only slightly, like he is expecting a witty response.

His wife pretends to think, her fingers touched to her lips. And with his softening cock still nestled inside her, she leans forward to lay a tender kiss on her husband, her delicate, soft lips pressed so gently to his, in a manner that contradicts the sensuality of what they had just done.

When she breaks, her forehead pressed against his and her hand cupping his face, she wrinkles her nose playfully.

“I shall think about it”

When one thinks of Aemond Targaryen, a few descriptors come to mind.

Stoic, stiff, perhaps brazen on occasion. With not a soft bone in his body.

Who would have thought, that sometimes, he enjoyed letting that persona slip, just for a moment.

But only ever with her.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

General Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics @theoneeyedprince @thelittleswanao3 @hb8301

Aemond Taglist: @m00n5t0n3 @boofy1998 @merakiaes @hanihoney88 @let-love-bleeds-red @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy @heavenley1927 @ryswritingrecord @partypoison00 @gaeela-6 @saeselkie @padfooteyes @introverbatim @queenofshinigamis @thatkingofgirl @ryswritingrecord @dahlias-and-marigolds @triscy

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prideprejudce · 3 months ago

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Also kind of related to the last alicent ask-- how objectively funny is it that the targaryens pulled alicent kicking and screaming into their weird blood purity incest tangle. For them, having uncle fathers and brother husbands and just generally blurring all the lines between family and romantic interest is sooooo normal. Yes its done massive damage to their psyches as we've seen with daemon in particular- but its passé to them at this point. For Alicent its breaking her BRAIN.

Like, Alicent who's deeply religious in a very westerosi faith and has classic nuclear family adjacent issues in contrast- overbearingly strict father, dead pedestalized mother to emulate, estranged sibling- is just SHOVED into the targaryen familial polycule and told to figure it out.

She keeps trying to bind herself to westerosi gender roles for comfort and safety, but bc of the targs she's now married an father/uncle figure, the girl who was supposed to be her sister growing up is now her daughter AND shes in love with her, her children are basically her siblings, and ALSO she's two of their mother in law(s?). Throw in the desperate parentification of aemond bc its not like viserys is helping her raise these kids-and its fucking her up!!! how is she supposed to have any sense of self when every role she would define herself by in a patriarchal westerosi culture has been fractured into twisted branches!!

It spiders into her other rationships too!! Her father otto has been treating her like both a daughter AND a pseudo wife, criston her lover keeps trying to assert himself over her choices in a very fatherly condescending way, and her brother gwayne is out in oldtown fathering her third son.

I sent an ask a while ago about how the tragedy of the alicent/rhaenyra/aegon triangle is that its an allegory for how targs just cant acclimate to westeros at all and end up breaking their dynasty AND the country by trying to force their culture to fit anyways, and i think you were so right in ur response that its not just rhaenyra/aegon/alicent who are the allegory but its ALL the targs in relation to alicent thats the allegory- they just cannot work with Alicent/westeros while she/its trapped in the current westerosi culture.

its hilarious bc it really is like having ONE catholic nun in an insane echo chamber hedonism cult and then being like 'why are you going insane bc of the incest and sex we're so over it it hasn't effected us whatsoever maybe if you try the kool aid you'll chill out' while she's desperately pretending none of this is happening and she's Not Involved.

this is a great point, and if you also go back to her as a child saying "you targaryens do have very queer customs" with noticeable disgust on face, and flash forward a decade later where she's marrying two of her children together in typical targaryen incest practices. I wish they had explored this more in the show and looked into how she feels about this currently, but I can't imagine she feels too great about it, and it's probably the reason why she went ULTRA religious with a five pound star medallion almost hanging from her neck. she wants at least some repentance for playing along in targaryen incest rituals, which goes against everything she was raised to believe

and like you mentioned, if you look close enough, almost EVERY relationship that alicent has is majorly twisted by either targaryen customs or her own stunted growth from being a child bride. she's now a grown woman who still has the mind of a 15 year old and is trying to navigate a civil war that she helped ignite in her rage and jealousy over her own private hell for last decade. she also swings from a protective parent role to having an almost eldest sibling like relationship with her kids who desperately crave more motherly affection from her that she is just not able to give (because she cant completely seal off her deep down resentment of them)

and to top it off, the purest relationship in her life (rhaenyra) with genuine love was also twisted into a familial one through an arranged marriage. if you also headcanon her possible romantic feelings for rhaenyra, you can times three that trauma on your score card as well

alicent literally was forced into the targaryen world of the snake eating its own tail (reduced to a bargaining chip for otto) with decades of inbreeding and family infighting for power and control and was told to play nice with them. no wonder she's out in the woods wandering around and dissociating lmao

#answered #anonymous #house of the dragon #hotd spoilers #rhaenicent #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #I also mentioned before that i imagine that alicent also had really bad postpartum depression by the time daeron came around #that when he was moved out of kings landing she was almost relieved to not have to take care of Another One #and still feels tremendous guilt over that feeling because I bet she also rarely wrote to him too

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axelsagewrites · 1 year ago

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Hello, dear reader. I'd like to make a wish for Rhaenyra's little sister, maybe a year or two. And she never liked Alicent, who after marrying the king tries (along with Otto) to demote her to bastard status (but Viserys loves his little girl too much to do this to her). Of course, things get even worse when Rhaenyra's sister gets engaged to Harwin...

Thank you for your attention, I like your stories 🫶🏻. Another thing, can I stop by more often? I wish I had more of my ideas adorned with your writing

Harwin Strong*Suitable Match

Pairing: Harwin x f!reader

Word count: 1320

Warnings: Step parent hating step child, secret relationship, kind of implied smut

a/n: ahh thank u sm for being so sweet and ofc request as much or talk however much u want. sorry i didnt reply sooner i just didnt want to lose the request x

Masterlist Here

A life of a princess was something to envy. Well so many had claimed however after the death of your mother life felt like an ever falling spiral. Your sister began to grow closer to Alicent after the death and while you were happy for her to have a friend Alicent had always been unkind to you.

It had started small with her asking Rhaenyra not to let you join in their games to her unpicking your needle work whenever you would wander off to stretch your legs. Soon you gave up on even trying to be nice to her. anytime she was invited to dinner was met with loud sighs from you.

“Why does she hate me?” you pouted one night as Rhaenyra upbraided your hair.

Your sister rolled her eyes as she began to brush your hair out, “She doesn’t hate you. she’s just not used to a little sister,”

“She’s mean,”

“Cmon she isn’t that bad?”

You didn’t want to say I told you so when Alicent was betrothed to your father but the look on your face said it for you. at least Rhaenyra was able to marry and move away. you were instead stuck living at court with your evil stepmother and her spawn. Well, the children were kind to you, but Alicent constantly used them to get under your skin.

She’d send toddler Aegon running over with pretend crown shouting that he was going to be king. Or she would have a 2-year-old Aemond claim he was your husband. She tried to make Helena spill wine on your dress one time, but the poor girl burst into tears and confessed to you instantly.

Instead Alicent settled on insisting that your chambers were given to Aegon. Something you managed to convince your father against from at first but soon you were moved to a wing of the castle usually just for guests. You would’ve complained about longer if you hadn’t realised your new chambers window overlooked the kings guard training ground.

From your window you’d pretend to be doing needle work while secretly watching break bones fling any man that challenged him like a rag doll. Eventually Harwin caught onto your staring and would send his own glimpses up between sparring. It was also handy that your chamber was only a short walk from the guards’ sleeping quarters and Harwin soon became a frequent private guest of yours.

“Ser Barros is coming to court next week,” your father told you over a family dinner, “and I heard his son is looking for a wife,” he said, shooting you a hopeful glance.

“I heard he’s a fine man father,” you said kindly knowing full well it didn’t matter. Somehow every match they tried to make for you was sabotaged. The tall dark Baratheon boy was ever so keen for weeks for your hand then one day disappeared like a ghost. The gorgeous Lannister man that would bring you fine jewels suddenly decided a dornish match was of more importance. Even the Tarly boy you had courted had inexplicitly decided to join the nights watch. Every time Alicent wore the same twisted smile.

The only ones she didn’t send running were the incredibly old and decrepit looking men from minor houses, but it wasn’t hard to convince your father they weren’t suitable matches. “Perhaps we should set up a luncheon to great the boy,” Alicent suggested making your father smile widely. She really had twisted him around her finger.

“I wish I could stay here all day,” you pouted as you lay your head on Harwin’s bare chest.

His chuckle vibrated through you as his arm wrapped tight around your waist, “Me too princess but I have my duties and you have yours,”

“I thought your duty was to serve me,” you sighed dramatically, pretending to try get away.

Harwin laughed, his arms moving to cage you against the bed as he moved to lay over you, “I think I serve you just fine princess,” he said, his lips moving to kiss along your jaw.

“Oh yeah?” you asked and Harwin hummed in response as his kisses grew lower.

As expected Borros’s son went running after only a week and now you were in another awkward family dinner however unluckily for you the children all had the cold so now you were sat in stoney silence with just your father and Alicent. “You should really think about your future dear,” she said with a fake sweet smile, “We worry for you,”

Instead of replying you grabbed your wine, drinking a hefty sip of it. Viserys sighed, “Alicent is right dear. You must marry. At this point we’re going to have to start considering marrying you to a tree!” he said, flinging himself back in his chair. “Honestly what even happened between you and the boy?”

The days that followed were awkward to say the least. Alicent walked around smug as all hell and your father continued to sulk. You decided enough was enough and when Alicent went out to the sept you decided to track your father down. Unsurprisingly you found him staring over a model of the city.

“Father?” you greeted, walking closer to the tired looking man, “May we talk?”

“Of course, sweet child,” he said, nodding for you to sit beside him before sighing, “You know I worry for you?”

“I do father, and I do appreciate it,” you lied but did your best to look sympathetic to your clueless father, “but I was thinking. Well. I found another match you see father,” you spoke, and his head perked up as he waited for you to finally spit it out, “He’s sweet and kind and his family is well respected. You even like his father, and I was just thinking- “

“Out with-it child,”

You took a breath before finally asking, “Have you considered Harwin Strong yet father?” Viserys sighed, his eyes turning away but you continued, “Think about it! I’d be able to be at court and help Helena with her studies. Plus, you have four more children so four more matches. You already have the Velaryon which secures the crownlands. Harwin and I would secure the Riverlands. Then after you betrothed Helena, Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron you will have six of the seven kingdoms on your side. Your reach will go far especially if our children do the same,”

“You want to dilute the blood of old Valyria?” he asked, sounding exhausted as he spoke.

“No father, only strengthen it,” you said, moving to hold his hand, “Besides there is no other Targaryen or Velaryon to wed unless uncle daemon is brought back from exile- “you said but your father raised his hand to hush you.

He paused for a moment before nodding, “I will think about it. but for now, leave me. I have a lot to consider,”

“Thank you, father,”

Apparently Alicent must have missed this chamber meeting because somehow the news came back finally in your favour. Harwin would be your husband. You were so happy when your father told you that you instantly hugged him before rushing to find Harwin however that night at dinner Alicent shot you many dirty looks.

Finally, you had undermined her. you’d won. Well, that’s how it felt at first, but her glares began to sink into your skin till it itched. As the dinner ended, she tapped her cup with her fork, “A toast to my dear sweet daughter,” she smiled at you making your father beam, “May she have a marriage like ours,” she said, holding his hand tightly but you felt your stomach flutter.

“Here, here,” your father said, standing to kiss your cheek.

Alicent did the same, her arms twisting round your back into a bony hug, “Do not forget yourself darling,” she whispered sweetly in your ear, “You don’t win that easily,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila @jacesvelaryons

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themotherofhorses · 2 years ago

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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “she is pregnant.” his queen mother’s palm slams heavily down on the dark council table, loud as a thunderclap. “she is pregnant! aemond!”

warnings: explicit language. angst. protective!aemond being a hot hypocrite and defending his bastard. fluff towards the end. i can't make alicent a villain in this, i just can't (sorry not sorry).

notes: a lot of ppl requested alicent's reaction to handmaid getting pregnant, so here it is.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

“She is pregnant.”

His queen mother’s palm slams heavily down on the dark council table, loud as a thunderclap. “She is pregnant! Aemond!” and her voice only loudens, “I brought her for you to have as your handmaid, not your bedmate! Seven hells, Aemond! She was not meant to be your personal whore to toy around with whenever you felt bored!”

Aemond feels his lips slightly twitch at her words. “She is not a whore, mother, nor will I stand here and allow for you to insult her.”

“AEMOND!”

The other councilors remain silent, doing their finest in pretending that they were somewhere else. Aemond knows he would have none of their support or backing in this- he is alone in defending his beloved handmaid and their child. Gods give me peace. Two moons back, Lord Tyland Lannister offered up his niece as a wife. Now he sits with his hands wringed together, shaking his head and sneaking him a scowl. He could only imagine the lord’s thoughts of him.

No doubt they’d all be ill-pleasant.

His mother sighs. “Might it be too late to sneak her the moon tea, Grand Maester?” she asks.

“I would say so, your Grace.” Grand Maester Orwyle clears his throat. “The handmaid, she is already a month or so pregnant, mayhap even two. You could give her the tea, but it might risk harm on both the mother and babe, perhaps even an unsavory death…”

“Death...?” Aemond repeats, aghast.

Her face falls into her hands, and she heaves a deep breath before glancing around the council table. The men all shift uncomfortably.

“Might you consider sending her away, my Queen?” Lord Tyland proposes with a sly smile. “Perhaps back home?”

Aemond’s head quickly snaps to Lord Tyland, violet eye narrowing. His fist clenches tightly at his side, near the dagger sheathed on his belt, at his waistline. “You would not dare separate them from me,” he tells him coldly. “She now carries my babe, my heir, and I will not allow her to leave my side!”

“She carries your bastard in her belly, Aemond,” Otto begins, slowly, carefully. He lays a soft hand on Aemond’s sleeve, giving him a pitiful smile. “There is quite a difference between a realm’s legitimate heir and a bastard. I understand you are taken with the girl, my prince, and that she is good and kind to you. But, at the end of the day, you remain a Targaryen prince, who will wed when the time comes. How might your lady wife feel if she were to learn your servant mothered your bastards?”

Aemond shrugs. “Then I shall take her as my wife.”

“You cannot wed her, Aemond!” His mother shakes her head, as if he is some absentminded child. She looks much older too, as if the news aged her a good ten years in one night. He suddenly feels a tad guilty. “How many times must we discuss this! Your father will not allow nor bless this union, and neither will I! Damn you, Aemond! She is a baseborn girl- your damn handmaid! Her duty is to serve you as a servant, not a wife.”

“And yet-“ Aemond replies, trying to keep the scorn out of his voice, “-she treats me far better than everyone in this very room.” At that, his mother has enough shame to blush red. He continues, “I love her, and she loves me. Is that not enough? Does that not make you happy? My entire life, mother, I’ve done everything that was expected of me. I’ve studied and trained and fulfilled every princely obligation of mine while your firstborn flouts to do as he pleases! Aegon shames Helaena every night with an empty bed yet you refuse to acknowledge such! And yet, when I find love and happiness, you’re ready to punish me.”

He levels his bright purple eye to his mother’s face. “I love you, mother, but I love her as well, and I will not live a life without her.” And Aemond’s all but ready to collapse to his knees, to beg and plead her acceptance. It is the only one that truly matters amongst everyone else's.

Afterward, his mother sits in silence, staring down at her hands. The skin stretched around her nailbeds are both red and tender, and she wears only her wedding ring on the right. She turns to face her king husband’s Hand. “Well, there it is, father.”

“It makes little difference, my Queen.” Lord Wylde and Lord Tyland murmured in agreement.

“But would it truly be wise to separate father from child, Lord Hand?” Lord Beesbury asks, pointing at the Hand, white eyebrows arched high. Otto Hightower raises his own eyebrow in return. “She is lowborn, yes, but a royal babe still sleeps in her womb.”

"A bastard, Lord Beesbury, mothered by the daughter of a milk cow."

A milk cow? Aemond blinks, momentarily confused. But before he could say anything further, his mother makes her final judgment on the matter.

The queen slowly rests her elbow on the table before plopping her chin atop her palm. “My son’s to be a father,” she says, a faint smile twisting on her lips. She repeats it again, almost like she doesn’t believe it. “A father…” Aemond feels a bit of hope blossoming inside his chest. “Pray tell, would you rather me separate him from his trueborn child? The child that is still his child, his own blood, bastard or not. We can argue on this matter till we are purple in the face, my lords, but the truth still remains,” she declares, before taking Aemond’s hand in hers, thin fingers laced with his.

“Take me to see her, son.”

At once, multiple voices arise in protest. His grandsire calls his mother’s name, but she ignores him as she stands to her feet. “I do beg your pardon, my lords, but I must see my grandchild.” Aemond bows, victorious, and turns on his heel without another word, feeling all eyes on his back as he strolls from the council chambers with his mother, her hand still in his. The doors closing shut behind them silences all the lords, and his mother sighs.

“My sincerest apologies, my dear Aemond, for referring to her as a whore,” she says, earnestly. “I know she is far from that, and I must say I’m rather fond of her.”

Outside, Ser Criston Cole was stationed, wearing his long white cloak of the Kingsguard. He gives the two a curious look but remains silent and still, straightening his shoulders when they pass by him. Aemond wonders if he overheard the small council’s session, and whether he agrees more with his mother or grandsire.

It does not matter, Aemond decides, pressing a soft kiss to his mother’s knuckles, in a show of forgiveness that makes her smile. He loves her too much to remain irate and frustrated with her, especially once she mentioned her soft spot for his girl. His queen mother- good and fair to the smallfolk- is the same with his handmaid. And his future children as well, he hopes.

“You’ll be a wonderful father,” she tells him, tucking a long strand of silver hair behind his ear. “And I mean it.”

He brings her to his bedchamber, where his handmaid sits on the settee, dutifully sewing up one of his tunics. When they arrive at his doors, she’s quick to bolt onto her feet, falling into a small courtesy. She wears a thick and ugly serving dress that hides her swelling belly underneath but does little to dull her beauty.

“My queen! My prince…”

Aemond takes her arm, pulling her alongside him. “My mother wishes to speak to you, my love,” he explains, gazing down into her eyes. His thumb strokes her cheekbone before he takes a step back, and his mother takes his place.

Before her, his love trembles, and he knows she’s awfully scared. It breaks his heart a little. He forewarned her of the small council’s gathering this morning, and how the maester told the queen of her pregnancy and the decision that would likely be made. She cried that entire night he held her, and neither got a wink of sleep.

“Your Grace…!” she sputters in a quavering voice, hand dropping to her tummy. “I beg of you…”

But his mother says nothing, instead cradling his sweet girl’s pretty face within her hands before leaning to kiss her temple. When she pulls back, her big brown eyes are soft and kind. “You’ll make a lovely mother, my dear,” she mumbles, and it is enough for his handmaid to break into a sob, falling limp as Queen Alicent holds her close, running a hand up and down her back.

“Thank you!” she cries through jagged gasps and wheezes. “I was so scared. I- thank you, my Queen, thank you. Thank you!”

His mother gently lifts her face upwards, wiping away the fat tears streaking down her cheeks. “Shhh, there was little to worry about, sweetling,” she coos. “Aemond wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, believe me. A man in love, with everything to lose, is perhaps the fiercest warrior to be found on the battlefield.”

Perhaps?

Aemond watches as his mother comforts his handmaid, mouthing small praises and pleasantries while stroking her hair back, doing her best in calming her down until her eyes are dry. Several minutes later, the two women are discussing the babe, with Queen Alicent sharing memories of the early days of her own pregnancies. The sight before him makes his heart swell in his breast, and he then recalls the words exchanged back in the council chambers.

I’m to be a father, and hopefully a husband soon.

He crosses his hands behind his back, smiling..

It seems to be true, he thinks, that there is indeed no more beautiful sight than your woman swelling with your baby.

But no one spoke of the beauty that follows when your mother accepts her grandchild for the first time, and the blinding glow that brightens your woman’s face when she realizes such has happened.

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #handmaid!reader #his handmaid’s tales #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 5 months ago

Text

My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 1: Loverly

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond is just a bitch ass rude motherfucker

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Enjoy happiness! Or at least more than you'd get with WIB...

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Loverly

“Now, what are you doing here, Miss Doolittle?” Mrs. Cunningham asked from behind a wall of flowers – peonies and daisies, roses and hydrangeas, violets and lilies. “I thought you’d be well on your way to Kingswood by now.”

“And miss me last market day? Never!”

There was very little in the world that was more exciting to Miss Doolittle than market day in Rosby. For others, almost anything else was more exciting, but not to her. For a few hours once a week, the sleepy town of only a few dozen people that made up her entire world grew into a bustling city. New people, new gossip, new trinkets and doodads from all over the countryside for her to gawk at.

It was better than a circus.

At least, she imagined it to be. She’d never been to a circus.

“Can’t hurt to earn a few coins more before I leave, can it?” she asked as she stooped to the ground and began picking through the smaller stems that had fallen on the journey between Mrs. Cunningham’s wagon and her brightly painted stall. Those that were still mostly passable found their way into a threadbare basket.

Market day was when she made her living, even if it was just enough to pay the rent on her tiny basement apartment and cover her tab at the local pub. Though sometimes, she made enough to share with those even less fortunate than her.

“And what would you be spending it on, dear?” Mrs. Cunningham asked, not so slyly dropping a few of the finer blooms. She was a kind woman, a florist from King’s Landing. She had a shop in the city where she sold her flowers and bouquets most of the week, but she came to Rosby each Saturday. Most of the rich people in the county lived in the city, but there were several manors further out in the countryside that needed their flowers, too.

Fancy folk loved fresh flowers. Even the ones who weren’t actually rich enough to be fancy, but tried to pretend like they were, would pay for a flower just to show that they had the money to spend on something that’d be dead in a day or two.

She was only nine years old when Mrs. Cunningham gifted her an old wicker basket and began letting her take the flowers that were too small, slightly crushed, or not quite the right color to use in her bouquets that would otherwise be discarded. Then, she’d flit around the marketplace, selling them for a penny each.

If she had a good day, she’d make enough to pay her expenses and buy herself a sweet or two after her evening meal. If she had a bad day… she’d find a way to make do.

It wasn’t charity, like her father used to say before he drank himself to death. She worked for it, and that meant she earned it—every penny. Mrs. Cunningham always told her so, too. The old woman was very proud of her little protégé, in fact. So proud that she’d begun making inquiries about other jobs for the girl – real jobs.

Miss Doolittle shrugged, “Oh, this ‘n that. Fare for the journey ‘n such.”

“Your new employers are making you pay for your own journey?” Mrs. Cunningham asked with a raised brow as she wrapped a satin ribbon around a bouquet of pale yellow lilies. “I thought they were sending one of their own to fetch you in the morning.”

She would know. A fortnight ago, it was Mrs. Cunningham herself who found Miss Doolittle a new opportunity: a position as a lady’s maid for the eccentric daughter of a duke. The poor lady was so odd she’d frightened away nearly every other employable girl in the county, so her butler had no qualms about hiring someone with so little experience as long as she had at least one decent reference.

So tomorrow, Miss Doolittle would leave her basement behind and travel deeper into the forests of County Westeros to Kingswood Manor, where she would begin to look after the eccentric Lady Helaena Targaryen, son of the late Duke Viserys Targaryen. With the wage they’d promised, she didn’t need to be selling flowers today.

“Thought I might should get some new shoes or… ribbons for my hair?” She shrugged. Perhaps she could even make enough to buy something nice to put in her room in the Manor’s servant’s quarters. She’d always wanted her very own clock.

“Gotta pay off some folk, too,” she sighed. The basket was nearly full now, but she wanted to try to nab a few of those pink roses – they were always popular. “Don’t want to have to send my wages all the way back here.”

Mrs. Cunningham dropped a bundle of nearly perfect rosebuds in the basket, then drew the girl’s gaze back to her face. “Buy yourself something nice, dear. You deserve it.”

Tears began to spring to her eyes, and she looked away to avoid meeting Mrs. Cunningham’s kind gaze – she’d only cry harder if she did. “Thank you. For everything. I –”

Her ramblings of gratitude were cut off when the florist took the girl into her arms, squeezing tight enough to choke her. “Just make the best of it, dear. Work hard, like you always have. And never stop coming to see me, promise?”

Finally, she hugged Mrs. Cunningham back. “I promise.”

The best customers were always near the dressmakers and textile sellers, young women who couldn’t resist the perfect flower to match their new frock. It was on the other side of town, but if Miss Doolittle wanted to afford a clock, that’s where she needed to go first.

She had taken only a single step into the street when someone large and firm collided with her, knocking her to the ground in an instant.

“AAAAOOWWWW!”

Her knees pounded with pain, the edges of her vision pulsing black, but she pulled herself up to her elbows, focusing only on what was directly in front of her.

The flowers were scattered across the cobblestones, half already trampled on by people scrambling to avoid falling with her. Those had been the best blossoms, the ones she put at the top of her basket to entice people into buying from her. All that remained in her basket were the scant pickings she used to make the basket look full.

Nearly a full day’s wages – more, with those rosebuds – gone like that.

“What in the devil’s name was that noise, girl?” The bastard who ran into her sneered. She’d never before heard a voice so suited to sneering. She lifted her head to growl something back at him, but any biting words quickly died when she saw who looked down at her.

He was finer than any man – any person – she’d ever seen in Rosby. Not a single silver hair out of place, not a loose thread anywhere on his fine clothes, or a speck of dust on him. Well, except for the slight smudge of grime left on his deep green tailcoat from where he’d crashed into her. The sight of it made her want to crawl into her dirty basement and never come out again.

“You should watch where you’re walking, brother,” another man, standing next to the severe man who had run into her, said. The familiar resemblance was obvious in their coloring – the silver hair, the eyes so vibrantly blue they were nearly violet.

The severe man scoffed, his lip curling as he looked at her. “I was, Daeron. But the little wretch came out of nowhere.”

“I ain’t no ‘wretch!’” she shouted, indignation burning through her fear and embarrassment. “I’m a respectacle woman, I am!”

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes, and only then did she notice: his left eye was entirely white, its milky paleness emphasized by the angry red scar stretching from his forehead down through his cheek.

She didn’t mean to stare, really. But she had never seen a man who looked like him – scar or no. He was like something out of a fairy tale. Especially when his scowl deepened, and his one blue eye seemed to catch fire.

“Have you looked your fill?” he growled. She immediately averted her gaze, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t think of a single word.

The other man stepped forward, angling his cane slightly in front of his brother. He was softer, kinder looking. “Now, now, she’s just had quite the fall. Allow her to recover her senses.”

“I doubt she has any to recover.”

She flinched at his cruel tone and tried to hide it by picking up her basket full of little more than mulch. “My flowers…”

“Lord, she can’t even talk properly.” The severe man turned to his brother as she began picking through the spilled blossoms. “She sounds like a strangled goose.”

Evidently, the scene was too much for even the worst of the gossip mongers to endure, and the final gawkers turned back to their business. How was she ever supposed to speak to any of them again after this?

At least she’d be gone tomorrow. No one at Kingswood would know about this.

The kinder man – Daeron, the other had called him – hissed something before kneeling with her to help her pick at the flowers. He didn’t care to see if they were ruined; he just put them all back in the basket. “These are yours?”

She nodded.

“What are they for?”

“I sell ‘em,” she explained, wiping away an errant tear. The cruel man scoffed again when she sniffled. “Penny a bloom, tuppence for three. But…”

Daeron looked at the trampled violets, daisies, and rosebuds, then at the meager offerings that remained unharmed in her basket. The only reason anyone would buy them now would be to feed some animal. For that, she’d hardly get enough to pay her rent and have to use what little money she had hidden in a wooden box under her bed to cover her tab at the pub.

She wouldn’t be able to buy the clock.

“How much for the basket?” Daeron asked as he pulled out a pouch of coins.

“What?” She and the cruel man said at the same time, in the same disbelief.

He stepped forward, a large hand gripping his cane like it were a club he’d beat her with. “It is nothing but weeds, brother. Let’s move on.”

As much as she hated it, she agreed with him. “I don’t want your charity, sir,” she told Daeron. “I earn my money.”

The cruel man put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, ready to pull him away. “You heard her. Let us go.”

“No, Aemond!” Daeron pulled away from his brother – Aemond. The name was familiar to her, somehow. But the man himself turned away, his cheeks flushing slightly. Perhaps he was embarrassed, too. Good.

“It is not charity,” Daeron insisted. “We have damaged your wares, and we are compensating you. It is a fair exchange.”

“I…” she was too flustered to truly comprehend his words, much less calculate how much the destroyed flowers were worth.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Aemond stepped forward, pushing his brother back. He snatched the pouch, withdrew a few coins without looking at them, and tossed them toward her basket. Only one made it in, the others plinking onto the cobblestones. “There. You are compensated. Let us go.”

She vaguely heard Daeron say something in protest, but both men were gone when she looked up from gathering the stray coins. No one looked at her, as if she had dreamed the entire encounter. Depositing the coins in the basket, she quickly left the market and returned to her little room in a dirty basement.

Miss Doolittle dumped the contents of the basket on her bed. The flowers were thoroughly ruined now, but seven coins were glimmering amongst their dull petals: a sixpence, two shillings, two half-crowns, and two crowns.

Whatever the flowers had been worth, this was so much more. Perhaps more than she had ever possessed in her life. It could buy her that clock – the finest clock at the market, even. And more. But when she touched the coins, they felt oily. Wrong.

She had not earned it, and neither was it charity. These coins were an insult, a dismissal. That cruel man—Aemond—had thrown them at her like they were table scraps and she was a starving mutt.

It was more money than she ever dreamed, yet it was nothing to him but the soon-forgotten cost of ridding himself of an inconvenience.

She could not buy the clock. Not with this. But she would not let it go to waste. She added the sixpence, shillings, and one of the half-crowns to her box. That would pay all her remaining debts.

That still left her with two crowns and one-half crown. And while she had no intention of spending it, she knew someone who would have no hesitations whatsoever about doing so himself.

Market day ended the moment the sun set, and Rosby was once again just a quiet little town. Nearly every resident, now exhausted from a day hawking their wares or frantically trying to buy everything they’d need until the next market day, converged in the Ailing Rooster, the beloved, if more than a little run-down, local pub.

Miss Doolittle would usually be found in the middle of the throng, soaking up any gossip she could find and happily picking bits off other people’s plates. But tonight, she had merely claimed a small corner table where she sat staring at her three remaining coins. The longer she looked at the stamped faces on the coins, the more they started to look like that man – Aemond.

If that was how fancy folk saw her, what hope did she have for when the Duke’s daughter saw her? Would she be fired on the spot?

The excitement in her chest began to turn to nervousness at the thought. Was she little more than a fool for thinking she could actually do this?

Part of her was tempted to throw them into the fire to watch that stupid, sharp, beautiful face burn, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, even if she didn’t want the money for herself. There was someone out there who needed it. Or at least, who would appreciate it very much.

“How’re you gonna sulk the day before you go to live in bleedin’ paradise, ‘Little?”

She swiped the coins back into her little purse before Alfred could land in the seat across from her, his compatriots, Harry and Jaimie, close behind him. If he saw them, he’d only try to convince her to buy them all a round, but while the money was still hers, she would not allow it to be spent on drink. “I’m not sulkin’, just tired. And it’s not gonna be a ‘paradise.’”

“Yer sulkin’,” Harry laughed as he slyly swapped his half-full tankard with Alfred’s full one.

“Am not.”

“You are.” Jaime leaned forward, genuine concern on his face. “What’s wrong, girl? I thought you were excited about leaving?”

She sighed. “I was – I am! Just havin’ a bad day, I guess.”

All three men exchanged a look.

“We ‘eard,” Jaime nudged her with a shoulder. At least they hadn’t been planning to bring it up themselves. “Rich bastard.”

“Shit-sack,” Harry added.

Alfred slammed his tankard on the table. “Twat.”

A small smile bloomed on her lips. “Well, least I’ll never have to see ‘im again, right?”

Harry raised his stolen ale. “I’ll drink to that!”

“In a week, you won’t remember this,” Alfred added, flapping his hands about like he could swat the memories away from her. “You’ll be in a palace wearing silk and gold and won’t give a damn what some moron said to you.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbing Harry’s tankard and taking a large gulp. “I’ll be a servant, I don’t think I’ll be wearing any silk or gold.”

“But you’ll make good money, maybe you can buy yourself something nice!”

Jaime nodded. “Maybe you’ll make enough to buy your own palace in a few years?”

“I don’t want a palace,” she admitted. In truth, she’d never really thought about a future beyond Rosby until about two weeks prior. “It’d be too big for just me.”

“Who says it would just be you, ‘Little?” She glared at Harry, and he swiftly looked away, already ruddy cheeks blushing even redder.

She leaned back in her chair, her hand reaching her pocket to fiddle with her coins. “Even if there was someone, I don’t want a palace. I just want…”

What did she want?

Something better than Rosby, but nothing too grand. She wouldn’t fit somewhere grand. So…

“All I want is a little cottage somewhere nice, where it doesn’t smell like cattle or sheep.” The more she spoke, the clearer the vision became. “I want a massive fireplace, so the whole place stays warm even when it’s snowing. And a garden – I want a place to grow my own flowers. Wouldn’t that be loverly?”

When she looked back up, all her friends were smiling at her. She soon joined them.

“Loverly, ‘Little,” Alfred agreed.

Suddenly, she did not feel so nervous to leave for Kingswood in the morning. She knew what she wanted, even if the details were still fuzzy. Holding that dream close to her chest, she was sure she could endure anything to get that loverly little cottage.

188 notes · View notes

kckt88 · 6 months ago

Text

In The Night.

Summary:

Aemond struggles to cope in the aftermath of killing Lucerys and seeks comfort from an unlikely source.

Warnings - Brothel Visit, Guilt, Remorse, Language, Violence, Angst Uncle/Neice Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex, Vaginal/Anal Fingering, P in V, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Positions.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C - JACAELLA VELARYON

Word Count: 6065

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Aemond wandered the bustling streets of King's Landing, his mind a tempest of recent events and decisions. The cobblestones under his boots seemed to echo the turmoil within him.

His grandsire Otto Hightower's plot to usurp the throne from Rhaenyra had set everything in motion, pushing Aemond into a whirlwind of political machinations and betrayals.

Otto's insistence on crowning Aegon as King, and the measures taken to ensure their success, had left a bitter taste in Aemond's mouth. He remembered the cold determination in Otto's eyes as he had insisted that his wife, Jacaella, and their son, Rhaegar be locked in their chambers, preventing any chance of escape or interference.

Jacaella's pleas still haunted him. Her voice, filled with desperation and fear, echoed in his mind. “Don't do this, Aemond. Please, I’m begging you-”

But he had steeled his heart then, convinced that the end justified the means, his brother Aegon was Viserys first born son, he was the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms, not his oldest child and named heir Rhaenyra.

His journey to Storm's End played out in his thoughts like a twisted saga. He had gone there to secure Baratheon's support, promising a marriage pact between one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters and his younger brother, Daeron.

But it was his encounter with Lucerys that stood out the most. The memory of their confrontation. The chase through the skies on the backs of their dragons was a blur of adrenaline and fear. And then, the final, horrific moment when Vhagar had torn Lucerys and Arrax to shreds.

The streets of King's Landing blurred around him as Aemond thought of Jacaella, her grief-stricken face burned into his memory, she had wept for hours upon hearing of her brother's death.

Since then, she had withdrawn from him completely, refusing to be near him, to see him, or even to touch him, even in the presence of their son. The distance she placed between them felt like a physical wound, deep and unhealing.

His heart ached with a profound sorrow. He loved Jacaella more than he had ever thought possible, at first, she was the wife he never wanted, but their fates were sealed that night in Driftmark, after he lost his eye, it was his father’s last desperate attempt to bridge the ever expanding chasm that had formed within the family.

He had lost an eye but gained two dragons that night, and he had loathed his father for it, forcing a the twin sister of Jacaerys Velaryon upon him, but when she arrived in Kings Landing at the age of four and ten, he tried his best to avoid being around her, but everywhere he went there she was, he tried to pretend he was unbothered by her amethyst eyes and flowing dark curls but eventually he succumbed.

She wormed her way into his heart and from their first kiss, he was hooked. She was intelligent, witty and a fantastic artist. His chamber walls were quickly decorated with her sketches, and his most treasured possession was the drawing of Vhagar.

Their wedding night would be ingrained within his memory forever, the sounds she had made as she peaked on his tongue, fingers and then his cock were like song notes on the wind. The marks he had left upon her skin were proof of their love.

He insisted on shared chambers, so they could enjoy one another as often as they wished too, which admittedly was every night and sometimes more than once, there were even occasions when he would find her during the day, and they would sneak off with one another.

It was no surprise when it was announced that she was with child, given how often he gave her his seed. The day she birthed his son Rhaegar was one of the proudest moments of his life, his precious boy, his little silver haired dragon.

Gods how he vowed to always make sure that his son knew of his love, and that Rhaegar would always know he was wanted, that his wife would always know of his devotion.

But now his actions had driven a wedge between them. She was angry and frightened of him, and he was desperate to bridge the chasm that had formed.

But how could he? How could he make her understand that everything he did was for their family's future? How could he win back her trust when his hands were stained with her brother's blood?

As he walked, the weight of his choices pressed heavily on him. The people around him went about their lives, unaware of the storm raging within their Prince. The street vendors called out, children laughed and played, and the city thrived. But Aemond felt like an outsider, disconnected from the world around him.

Aemond stood outside the brothel, his heart pounding in his chest. The sounds of the city seemed distant, muffled by the roaring turmoil within him. He didn't mean to be here, didn't want to be here, but he couldn't help himself.

Desperation and confusion had led him to this place, a refuge of sorts where he hoped to find some semblance of solace or escape from his tormented thoughts.

The sign above the door swayed gently in the evening breeze, and the soft, inviting light spilling from within contrasted sharply with the darkness that shrouded his heart. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and pushed open the door.

The noise and spectacle inside assaulted his senses: laughter, music, and the murmur of illicit activities. He ignored it all, his eye scanning the room.

And then he saw her. Sylvi. The older woman Aegon had brought him to see when he was just three and ten. His stomach churned as their eyes met, a mix of shame and a strange, unsettling familiarity washing over him.

Sylvi's gaze held recognition, and a slow smile spread across her lips as she approached him, her movements graceful and predatory.

"How you've grown," she said, her voice a sultry purr.

Aemond lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes. He didn't know what to say, the words sticking in his throat like shards of glass.

He felt like a boy again, lost and uncertain, standing in a place he didn't belong.

Sylvi reached out and took his trembling hand in hers, her touch sending a jolt through him. She led him through the room, past the leering patrons and the spectacle he was trying so hard to ignore.

They ascended a narrow staircase, the noise fading into a dull hum as they reached the upper floors.

She opened the door to a private room and gently guided him inside, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of incense and something else he couldn't quite place.

Aemond stood there, feeling more vulnerable than he had in years.

Sylvi turned to face him, her expression a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, perhaps a flicker of compassion. "Why are you here, my Prince?" she asked softly, stepping closer to him.

He shook his head, his emotions a tangled mess. "I-I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "You're carrying a heavy burden," she observed. "It's written all over you."

Aemond closed his eyes, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "I just-I don't know what to do," he confessed, his voice breaking.

Sylvi's gaze softened, and she took his hands in hers, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I can offer you something, someone, to help you forget, if only for a moment. Sometimes, that’s all we need."

Aemond hesitated, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. But in his desperation, he nodded silently.

Sylvi gave him a sad smile, squeezing his hands once more before slipping out of the room. He sat there, staring at the flickering candlelight, feeling the oppressive silence close in around him.

Minutes later, the door opened again, and a young blonde woman entered. She moved with a practiced grace, her smile polite and professional. "I'm Copper Penny," she introduced herself, her voice soft and inviting.

Aemond said nothing, his throat tight.

Copper Penny approached him, taking his hand and gently pulling him to his feet. He stood there, watching her silently as she untied his cloak and began to undo the clasps of his leather tunic. Her fingers were deft and quick, but as she worked, he caught sight of her eyes—green and bright. Panic surged through him.

His mind was flooded with images of Jacaella, her amethyst eyes filled with hurt and anger. The memory of her face, her voice, her touch, crashed over him like a tidal wave.

It was wrong, all wrong. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be doing this. He had a wife; they had a son, he couldn’t dishonour them like this.

"N-No," he whispered, his voice trembling.

Copper Penny paused, looking up at him with a mixture of surprise and concern. He could see the questions in her eyes, the silent query of what she had done wrong.

Aemond's panic turned to anger, a desperate, flailing anger born from his own self-loathing.

He pushed Copper Penny away from him, his movements abrupt and forceful. "Leave," he demanded, his voice harsh and unsteady. "Get out!"

Her eyes widened in shock, but she didn't argue. She nodded quickly, gathering her composure before retreating from the room, the door closing softly behind her.

Aemond stood there, his chest heaving, his hands trembling with the intensity of his emotions. The room felt stifling, the walls closing in around him.

The weight of his actions, his decisions, and the consequences they had wrought pressed down on him, threatening to crush him completely.

He thought of Jacaella, of their son, of the life he had shattered with his choices. The woman he loved was pulling away from him, and he was powerless to stop it. The realization cutting deeper than any blade.

Aemond collapsed onto the bed, the softness beneath him barely registering as he fought to contain the flood of emotions.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, the room spinning around him as he struggled to keep his composure.

The sound of the door opening was a distant murmur, but he didn't have the strength to lift his head or see who had entered.

Sylvi's presence beside him was a gentle intrusion into his storm of despair. She sat beside him, her weight sinking into the mattress, and he felt her hand on his shoulder, a warm, comforting touch.

He turned his head, resting it in her lap, his tears soaking into the fabric of her dress. She stroked his long silver hair with slow, soothing motions, her fingers gentle and patient.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," Aemond sobbed, his voice muffled and broken. "I didn't mean to kill him. It was an accident-all I wanted was his eye as payment for the one he took from me”.

Sylvi's hand continued its rhythmic stroking, her silence an invitation for him to unburden himself.

"He never said sorry," Aemond continued, his words pouring out in a torrent of grief and anger. "He was never punished for what he did, and I suffered for years. The pain, the infections, the endless procedures to try and fix the damage. He lived without consequence while I bore the scar. My father choosing her-we meant nothing to him, I was nothing"

His sobs intensified, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "And Jacaella," he choked out. "My sweet wife, I've broken her heart. She was the one good thing I had in my life, my light in the darkness-and now she's gone. I've driven her away."

Sylvi's touch remained steady, her presence a steady anchor in the maelstrom of his guilt and sorrow. She listened without interruption, allowing him to pour out the anguish that had been festering inside him.

"I don't know how to fix this," Aemond whispered, his voice hoarse and raw. "I don't know how to make her see that I'm still the man she loved that I never wanted to hurt her. I just wanted justice, for what was taken from me."

Sylvi continued to stroke his hair, her silence a balm to his wounded soul.

In her lap, Aemond wept for all that he had lost, the tears cleansing in their own way.

As the minutes passed, the intensity of his sobs gradually subsided, leaving him exhausted and hollow.

"I don't know what to do," he confessed in a whisper, his voice trembling. "I don't know how to make things right."

Aemond's breathing began to steady, the storm of his emotions gradually subsiding. But as the silence stretched, a new feeling took hold—a creeping, insidious fear.

His confession, the vulnerability he had shown, it was dangerous. If anyone knew, if word got out, it could unravel everything.

Panic seized him. He bolted upright, gripping Sylvi's arms with a strength that belied his earlier exhaustion. His eye, wild and desperate, bored into hers. "No one can know," he hissed, his voice low and trembling with intensity. "You are never to repeat what I just told you-If you do, I will feed you to Vhagar."

Sylvi's eyes widened, but she nodded quietly, understanding the gravity of his threat.

She had seen many men in states of distress, but the ferocity in Aemond's gaze was something else entirely. "I won't tell anyone," she promised, her voice steady despite the fear creeping into her heart.

Aemond's grip loosened, and he exhaled shakily, his panic slowly ebbing away. He reached into his belt pouch, retrieving a hefty purse of gold coins, and handed it to her.

Without another word, Aemond picked up his discarded leather tunic and cloak, his movements sharp and hurried. He threw them over his shoulder, his eyes avoiding hers as he made his way to the door. He paused briefly, his hand on the doorframe, as if weighing his next words.

But none came. Instead, he pushed the door open and left the room, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Sylvi remained where she was, the purse of gold heavy in her hands. She watched the door close behind him, her mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

She knew better than to betray the secrets of powerful men, especially one as volatile as Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond walked through the halls of the Red Keep, his mind still reeling from the night's events. He moved quickly, his steps echoing in the empty corridors, until he reached his chambers.

Pushing open the door, he was surprised to find Jacaella there.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.

Aemond stiffened, confusion and defensiveness flashing across his face. "What do you mean?"

"I know where you've been," she snapped, her eyes blazing with anger. "You've been on the Street of Silk. To a brothel."

Aemond's heart sank. He opened his mouth to respond, but Jacaella's words came in a torrent, cutting him off.

"Wasn't stealing my mother's throne and killing my brother enough for you? Now you have to sully our marriage by laying with whores?" Her voice rose, trembling with emotion. "You have made a mockery of me, of us. You have dishonoured me."

Aemond's face twisted with a mixture of guilt and anger. "Is it any wonder I found myself seeking comfort elsewhere when my own wife will not even look at me?" he retorted, his voice sharp.

The slap came swiftly and without warning. Jacaella's palm struck his cheek with a resounding crack, the force of it snapping his head to the side.

He stared at her, stunned, as she continued to rage, lurching forward pounding her fists against his chest.

"KINSLAYER” she screamed. "I hate you-I hate you-I hate you!"

Aemond stood there, enduring her blows, the words cutting deeper than any physical pain. Each accusation, each strike, drove home the depth of her betrayal and heartbreak.

"I didn't touch another woman," he began, his voice raw with emotion. "I almost did, but I couldn't-"

Jacaella paused, but he could see the slight tremor in her shoulders.

"I just felt so lonely," Aemond continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I know you hate me for what I've done, and I hate myself too. Every day, I live with the regret, the guilt-I know I destroyed what we had. But you mean everything to me, Jacaella."

“Aemond-”

"I hurt you so badly. I took away your brother, your trust, your peace. And I can't forgive myself for that." whispered Aemond as he took another step closer, reaching out to her.

Jacaella turned slowly to face him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Aemond felt a lump in his throat, his own tears threatening to spill over. He took her face gently in his hands, his touch trembling.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Tears streamed down his face as he repeated the words over and over, his thumbs brushing away the tears that fell from Jacaella's eyes.

He sobbed openly, the weight of his remorse and sorrow overwhelming him. "I don't want to lose you. I never wanted to hurt you."

Jacaella stood there, her heart pounding, torn between the remnants of her anger and the glimmer of hope Aemond's words had kindled.

The pain was still raw, the betrayal fresh, but his anguish and sincerity had touched something deep within her. Without warning, she lunged forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed him.

For a moment, Aemond was stunned, his mind struggling to process the sudden, intense contact. This was the most she had touched him in what felt like an eternity.

Her lips were urgent, demanding, and filled with a mix of pain and longing. He hesitated only for a heartbeat before his instincts took over, and he kissed her back, his arms wrapping around her body and pulling her close.

The kiss was a tumultuous blend of emotions—grief, anger, love, and desperation. Aemond held her tightly, afraid to let go, afraid that this moment would slip away like so many others.

He could feel the tremble in her body, the soft hitch of her breath as their kiss deepened. His hands roamed her back, clutching at her as if she were a lifeline.

Jacaella's fingers tangled in his long hair, pulling him even closer, her tears mingling with his. The kiss was a catharsis, a way to pour out all the emotions that words could never fully express.

Aemond's mind swirled with the intensity of it, the world outside their embrace fading into insignificance.

Aemond looked into Jacaella's eyes, the intensity of their shared moment still coursing through him.

He could feel the fragile connection they had just begun to rebuild, and he didn't want to let it slip away. With a deep, shuddering breath, he whispered, "Please, Jacaella-let me take you to bed."

Jacaella looked up at him, her eyes searching his. She could see the raw need in his gaze, the sincere plea for a chance to show her how much she meant to him. Her own heart ached with the desire to find solace in his arms, to escape the pain that had haunted them both.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice breaking. "Please, Aemond, make me forget. Let me feel your love for me."

Aemond's heart soared with a mixture of relief and yearning. He gently cupped her face in his hands, pressing a tender kiss to her lips before leading her to their bed.

Aemond hooked his arms around her thighs, quickly pulling her to the edge of the bed.

Jacaella watched as Aemond opened his mouth spat on her cunny.

His singular eye quickly looking at her before he lowered his head and pressed into her core with his tongue.

Jacaella clutched the bedspread above her head, her fingers digging into the fabric.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core, licking at her pearl with his tongue. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Jacaella ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

“That’s it come for me baby-” urged Aemond, his fingers reaching forward to caress her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Jacaella arching off the bed as she peaked.

“Hmm” muttered Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to her inner thighs, his teeth nipping at her skin.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Jacaella.

Aemond rose from the floor, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth savouring the delicious taste of his wife.

Aemond moved up Jacaella’s body pausing to grasp hold of her left breast as he ran his tongue over the rosy nipple, his teeth grazing the stiffened peak.

“Oh-yes“ gasped Jacaella, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

“Issa jorrāelagon-Issa glaeson-ñuhon” growled Aemond as he seized his wife’s lips in a ferocious kiss, his hard cock throbbing against her thigh (My love-my life-mine).

Aemond wrapped a hand around his cock and slowly ran it over Jacaella’s wet entrance, she began squirming impatiently against him as he continued to tease her.

Gods he was so desperate for her, his wife. His treasure.

“P-Please, I want you” exclaimed Jacaella desperately.

“Hmm” rasped Aemond as he slid inside her with a singular thrust. His hips coming to a stop against hers.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Jacaella.

"Patience, issa dōna" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up his wife’s neck (My sweet).

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Jacaella.

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders. Her fingernails raking down his back.

“Fucking mark me harder-“ growled Aemond.

Jacaella dug her nails into his skin and clawed at his back deep enough to draw blood.

“Gods, Ella" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly, revelling in the pain.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me”.

Aemond groaned loudly, knew exactly what his wife was doing, but he couldn’t help himself. She wanted faster, he was going much faster now.

His pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips. Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the wall.

Aemond lifted Jacaella’s legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

His wife folded her arms above her head as she moved her hips, meeting Aemond thrust for thrust.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Jacaella.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, Aemond moved Jacaella’s legs off his shoulders and quickly manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his large hands kneading the soft pale flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Jacaella, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

Aemond stuck his finger in his mouth before he ran it over her puckered hole.

“Is this alight?” breathed Aemond.

“Y-Yes. Put it inside me. I can take it” whimpered Jacaella.

“Tell me-Tell me if it’s too much” replied Aemond as he slowly pressed his finger inside her.

“Ooh Aemond, yes. Please. More” babbled Jacaella as he moved his finger in and out before adding a second.

“Your doing so well-my darling” moaned Aemond as he moved his fingers inside his wife, his other hand slowly stroking his cock.

“I want you-please Aemond”

Aemond moved into position and sheathed himself inside Jacaella once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

“FUCK-” groaned Aemond,

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Jacaella, his fingers in her arse and his cock deep in her cunt was so good.

Aemond began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts, his fingers moving in rhythm with his cock.

“Harder-more-please raqiarzy” wailed Jacaella (Beloved).

“Issa vaogenka hāedar” growled Aemond, his fingers moving faster (My dirty girl).

“Valzȳrys-” whimpered Jacaella (Husband).

“That’s it-take it-take all of me” muttered Aemond as he removed his fingers, and grabbed hold of Jacaella’s hips and increased the pace of his thrusts.

Jacaella took one of Aemonds hands that was on her hip and brought it to the back of her head.

Knowing what his wife wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress, her back arching.

His cock reaching deep inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal, his long silver hair unbound and sticking to his sweaty back.

Aemond then grasped both of Jacaella’s arms and held them behind her back as he pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

Her screams of pleasure muffled by the mattress.

“Fuck. Ella-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

He released Jacaella’s arms and then took hold of her long hair, twisting his fingers into the dark messy braid before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held his wife tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

One hand grasped her hip, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. Whilst his other released her hair and moved to her throat, squeezing gently.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Jacaella her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Jacaella.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from his wife’s wet heat and propped himself up against the headboard.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Jacaella breathlessly.

“Ride me-” replied Aemond as he pulled her on top of him. His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“Ooooh” gasped Jacaella as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on her hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Jacaella dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Jacaella as he suddenly sat up, moving his hand to her breast again and taking her nipple into his mouth, his teeth biting down on the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

“AEMOND” screamed Jacaella her vision going white as she came around his cock.

Her husband pulled her too him and then rolled her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

“Gods Ella-my Ella” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed, collapsing on top of his wife, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses.

Meanwhile his wife was laid underneath him completely blissed out. Her heart pounding in her chest.

“I love you ābrazȳrys-never forget that” (Wife).

Afterwards, as they lay together in the quiet of their chambers, the air heavy with the aftermath of their shared intimacy.

Aemond held Jacaella close, his arms wrapped around her as if he could protect her from the world outside.

"What are we going to do now?" Jacaella whispered, her voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. "I'm scared, Aemond. Scared of the war that's coming, of the losses we will no doubt endure."

Aemond pressed a kiss to her forehead, his heart aching with the weight of her words. He held her tighter, as if trying to shield her from the harsh realities they faced.

"We will leave," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "We will take Rhaegar, and we will fly across the Narrow Sea. Far away from this war."

Jacaella lifted her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. "But your duty-”she began, her voice faltering.

Aemond shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "I made a mistake before," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "I put my duty ahead of what was truly important— you and Rhaegar. But not anymore. You are all that matters to me, Jacaella. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

Tears welled up in Jacaella's eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his love and his determination to protect their family. She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him as if he were her anchor in a storm-tossed sea.

"Can we truly leave everything behind?" she asked softly, her voice muffled against his chest.

Aemond held her close, his fingers gently stroking her hair. "We can," he reassured her, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "We will find a place where we can start anew, away from the shadows of our past. I promise you”

"What will our absence mean for the war?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with concern.

Aemond sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him once more. He held Jacaella closer, as if drawing strength from her presence.

"The only thing keeping Rhaenyra and Daemon at bay is you and Vhagar," he admitted, his voice low and resigned. "Once we are no longer here, they will likely seize their chance to take King's Landing."

Jacaella's eyes widened with realization, the gravity of their departure sinking in. "And what about your mother, Aegon, Helaena, and their children?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond hesitated, his jaw tightening with a mixture of hope and fear. "With any luck," he murmured, "Your mother will be merciful and spare them-”

He brushed a strand of hair away from Jacaella's face, his touch gentle despite the turmoil within him. "But those who committed treason, my grandsire, Tyland, Jasper, Larys-" he continued, his voice hardening slightly, "They will not be spared. I know that-”

Jacaella's voice quivered as she voiced her deepest fear. "What if my mother seizes the throne and sends people after us demanding your head in retribution for what happened with Luke?"

Aemond's heart sank at the thought, but he met her gaze with unwavering determination. "If it comes to that, if giving my life ensures your safety and Rhaegar's future, then I will gladly meet the Stranger," he replied solemnly. "I have made many mistakes, but I will not shy away from the consequences."

Tears welled in Jacaella's eyes as she shook her head, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "No, Aemond," she pleaded, her voice breaking with emotion. "I won't allow your death. Leaving isn't just about keeping me and Rhaegar safe. It's about protecting you too."

Aemond's brow furrowed with concern. "Jacaella, if it means sparing you and our son from harm—"

"No," she interrupted firmly, her voice trembling with resolve. "I cannot lose you. Not like this."

They held each other tightly, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy between them. Aemond's heart ached with the knowledge of the pain he had caused her, the wounds he had inflicted upon their family. He buried his face in her hair, his voice muffled but earnest. "I am so sorry, Jacaella. For everything."

She held him close, her fingers running through his hair as she struggled to find the right words. "I know," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And maybe, in time, I will forgive you for what happened. But I will never forget."

Aemond nodded, his throat tight with unshed tears. He kissed her forehead gently, a silent promise to do everything in his power to make amends. "I will spend the rest of my life trying to make things right," he vowed quietly. "For you, for Rhaegar, for our family."

Aemond stood at the edge of King's Landing with Jacaella and Rhaegar beside him, Vhagar and Cannibal looming large behind them. His gaze swept over the city one last time, a mixture of nostalgia and resolve tightening his jaw.

He slowly lifted Rhaegar into his arms, the weight of his son grounding him amidst the tumultuous emotion swirling within him.

Rhaegar looked up at him with wide eyes, sensing the gravity of their departure. Aemond kissed his forehead gently before ascending the rope ladder attached to Vhagar's saddle.

As he settled into the saddle, securing the riding chains around himself and Rhaegar, Aemond glanced over at Jacaella. She was already mounted on Cannibal, her posture proud yet tinged with sadness. For a fleeting moment, a pang of regret over leaving their home behind tugged at Aemond's heart. But he pushed it aside with conviction.

This was the right thing to do. For Jacaella, for Rhaegar, for their family's safety and future.

He met Jacaella's gaze across the space between their dragons, offering her a reassuring nod. She returned it with a determined look of her own, her resolve mirroring his.

Together, they were embarking on a journey into the unknown, but they were united in purpose.

Aemond took a deep breath, his hands steady on the reins of Vhagar. With a spoken command, the great dragon spread her wings, lifting them into the sky, with Cannibal following suit, their powerful wings beating rhythmically against the air.

As Vhagar soared through the skies away from King's Landing, Aemond felt the wind rush past him, carrying with it a sense of both relief and uncertainty.

Then, amidst the sound of the wind and the beating of dragon wings, another roar echoed through the air—a familiar, unexpected sound. Aemond's eye widened in surprise as he turned to see Dreamfyre approaching, her majestic form cutting through the clouds.

Strapped into Dreamfyre's saddle was his sister Helaena, and in front of her, squashed together but laughing, were her three children.

"Helaena-what?" Aemond called out, a mixture of shock and concern in his voice.

Helaena looked over at him with a serene smile, her eyes reflecting a newfound sense of freedom. "Jacaella" she replied simply, her voice carrying over the rush of the wind.

Aemond's heart swelled with gratitude and admiration for his wife. In that moment, he realized that Jacaella had not only secured their own escape but had also ensured Helaena's happiness and the safety of her children.

Aside from Jacaella and Rhaegar, Helaena and her little ones were the only other truly innocent souls in their Targaryen family.

A sense of peace settled over Aemond as he looked at Helaena and her children, their laughter ringing out in the sky. He had always felt a protective instinct towards his sweet sister, knowing the hardships she had endured within the confines of the Red Keep.

Now, she was finally free to live a life away from the politics and dangers that had plagued their family.

With a nod of gratitude towards Jacaella, Aemond turned his focus back to the horizon ahead. They were embarking on a journey into the unknown, but they were united, bound by love and a shared desire for a new beginning.

As the dragons continued to carry them away from the troubles of Westeros, Aemond felt a glimmer of hope that they might find a place where they could all truly belong, where their dragons could roam freely and their family could finally thrive in peace.

The End.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x original female character #aemond #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond targaryen #hotd smut #hotd

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lady-pug · 3 months ago

Text

Written Between the Lines

Chapter V - Two Hearts as Embers

Summary: On the eve of your wedding day you are left feeling agitated, anxious and lonely. But an unexpected late-night visit and some surprising revelations might be just what you need to calm your racing heart.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece), ritualistic self-inflicted wounds, ritualistic blood consumption

Notes: Hellooo! It’s me again, and I bring you something I have been dying to write for a while (pretty much since chapter got published). I had lots of fun writing this one and ended up loving how it came out.

Like I’ve mentioned before, I have left the question of the reader’s parentage more ambiguous (she can be biologically Laenor’s daughter, or Harwin Strong’s or some other folk Rhaenyra decided to bed once, it doesn’t matter). I did this in order to not imply a certain appearance for the reader and leave the whole thing up for interpretation.

High Valyrian translations are in the end notes.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope with all my heart you enjoy!

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You had never been more agitated than you were feeling after supper. Not even the bath you requested your maids fix for you had helped to calm your skittish nerves, nor did the calming tea Alicent suggested you drink before bed. Sleep eluded you, so you decided to read something as a distraction but found yourself rereading the same sentence several times, such was your lack of concentration.

Time couldn’t go by any slower in your opinion. It had been almost four whole moons since your betrothal to Aemond, and not a day went by that you didn’t wish the wedding day would arrive faster. No less than three days after your quarrel with Jason Lannister in the courtyard (to which Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at Tyland’s apologies on behalf of his brother, pretending not to notice the proud smile Daemon sent your way once you’d told them what happened) your mother had given birth to a healthy baby girl, to whom she gave the name Visenya. You insisted on helping with the delivery, like you had done before with the birth of Aegon and Viserys, and nothing she said could pry you from her side.

“You shouldn’t see me like this, tis’ not a pleasant sight.” she had said, even though Visenya’s birth was the most uncomplicated one compared to her two older brothers you had witnessed.

“Worry not, mother.” you had soothed her, swallowing down your own fear of the whole situation “I wish to be here for you. And besides, it shall be me in the same place as you are now soon enough. I should see what awaits me.”

Almost as soon as she could stand unassisted again, without much care for her own well-being, she started planning and preparing your wedding feast, much to both Daemon’s and Alicent’s dismay. She started ordering servants around, asking the maesters to send ravens to all great houses, requesting the cooks to buy different exotic meats. You told her all the fuss wasn’t necessary, that just a feast with the whole family would suffice, but she and even Alicent scolded you, saying that the heirs to the throne warrant only the best on their wedding day.

After getting past her initial shock at the way Rhaenyra handled things, Alicent joined in the wedding planning efforts. The whole ordeal brought them closer, and now without the looming figure of Viserys, the very thing that had drifted them apart in the first place, and Otto no longer caring about securing Aegon’s claim, the both of them managed to find their footing again and their friendship started to bloom once more. It was the main reason you tried not chiming in too much on the planning of your own wedding, wanting them to have this moment for themselves knowing how much, at least on your mother’s side, she had missed her best friend.

Now, on the eve of the day you were to be wed, you were disproportionately anxious and you couldn’t even understand why. You knew Aemond wanted to marry you as much as you wanted to marry him, you knew this union would avoid a bloody and gruesome war between your kin, you knew it would make both of you, and in turn both your mothers, happy. Then why did you suddenly feel so apprehensive? It couldn’t possibly be due to cold feet, you could think of nothing else but how much you wanted this day to come. So why?

You wanted to see Aemond. His presence brought you comfort and you always felt safe when you were with him, ever since you were merely more than a babe, and even more so now that you had gotten to know each other once more. But Alicent, fervorously adept in the Faith of the Seven, had prohibited you from seeing one another after dusk had fallen, claiming that the groom seeing the bride before the wedding brought misfortune to their union. So you resigned yourself to simmering alone in your thoughts until the wedding, or until you have gone mad.

Deep down you knew you could talk to your mother. She would most likely understand, even relate to what you were feeling. However, you felt like she already had too much on her plate with the last minute preparations, same thing with Alicent (and to be honest you still weren’t all that close to your soon to be good mother, maybe someday). Daemon had been away from court for almost a week now, no word to where he was going, just a promise that he would most definitely be back for the wedding. You could talk to Helaena, but you didn’t wish to bother her with such trivial matters, as she had her hands full with her two children (three if you included her husband in the bill). Jace and Luke? Absolutely not. Maybe Baela could talk some sense into you if she was still awake at this hour.

There was one other person who used to bring you a similar sense of security as Aemond did, someone you used to go to when you felt frightened as a child and who calmed you down in a way your mother never managed to match. But he was no longer here, and the almost debilitating ache his absence evoked in your chest brought tears to your eyes. You shook your head, desperate to get rid of this feeling and focus on something else

Then something caught your attention. A muffled, dry thud echoed around your chambers, so low you almost didn’t hear it. It sounded out again, louder this time, and you guessed it was coming from the wall. Or rather behind the wall. Walking over to where the sound was coming from, you placed your head on the cold stone, the side of your face flat against the surface as you tried to listen better. You beamed brightly once you heard the sound again, this time right under your ear: someone was knocking on the wall from the other side.

Eagerly, you opened the door, expecting it to be your soon to be husband, but the face that greeted you on the other side was not who you were hoping for.

“Daemon?” you questioned, feeling more confused than ever. He didn’t answer and only stared at you until you stepped aside to let him into the room “When did you get back?”

Once again your question went unanswered as he sauntered into the chambers, and only now did you realize he was holding a beat up parcel in his hand, its contents unknown to you.

“What are you doing here?”

He placed the parcel on your bed and turned around to face you.

“Put these on and meet me outside when you are ready.” he walked back the way he came, halting only when you grabbed his hand.

“Daemon, what is going on?”

“Just do as you are told.” his face softened upon noticing the apprehension on your face, a reflection of your earlier fidgety state “Trust me on this, alright?”

After a beat you nodded, moving back towards the parcel. Looking over your shoulder you noticed Daemon had walked out the hidden door once more, leaving it ajar just a crack. As you opened the bag you were left puzzled as you pulled robes that were almost the same beige, grayish color of the parcel. As you unfolded it, however, you noticed the red details on the fabric, lining the bottom of the skirts, cuffs and shoulders. You changed out of your nightgown and pulled the robes over your head, tying it around your waist.

Staring at your reflection on the mirror, something about the clothes, all the intricate details on the midsection and the patterns embroidered in colors, all of it seemed almost too familiar to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on where you remembered it from, though, no matter how long you stared at yourself in it. Deciding not to dwell too much on it, you followed Daemon out the secret door.

A thousand questions raced through your mind as you followed him through the secret tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast. When had he gotten back? Where had he been? Where were you going? None of the scenarios you created in your head made any sense so you kept your head down and followed after your step-father. You eventually left the passages, coming out on the side of Aegon’s High Hill that faced the sea. Daemon started walking towards Shadowblack Lane, intending to climb all the way down to the beach.

“Where are we going?” you asked, careful to watch your footing on the steep track.

“You will see.” he gave no more away, elusive as ever.

“You know, kepa, had I not known you for so long now I would think you are trying to abduct me before my wedding day.”

“You know I have never been the biggest fan of the one-eyed cunt, tala.” he chuckled at the scathing glare you sent his way “But you seem fond of him, so I rest my case.”

You walked the rest of the way in silence before you stood a short distance from the beach. There, as you walked ahead of Daemon, you spotted three lone figures, standing next to decorations in shades of red and yellow and illuminated by lit pyres. Upon closer inspection you realized one of them was your mother, holding something you couldn’t quite make out in her arms, and another was a priest or cleric of some kind. The third person, on the other hand, you couldn’t even see for their face was obscured by the hood of their cloak.

As she noticed you approaching, Rhaenyra nudged the hooded figure who turned around to face you as well, and when you could finally see under the cloak you felt like your heart had ceased beating and all air left your lungs in a single, shaky exhale.

No, you thought, it can’t be. He was dead, had been dead for years. He couldn’t possibly be here, your tired mind had to be playing tricks on you.

But when he pulled the cloak down, revealing all of himself to you, it was clear it wasn’t an image conjured by your mind to toy with you. He was really here.

“Father?”

Your voice was so soft, so scared that if you spoke too loudly you’d break whatever spell you were under, wake up in your bed and find out you had been dreaming all along. Tears brimmed in your eyes, something heavy and tight burning on your throat, as you felt a hand gently rubbing between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t even noticed when Daemon had caught up to you, now trying to bring you comfort in your most vulnerable moment. One look at your mother smiling kindly at you, a mist in her own eyes as she gave you a single nod, had you taking off running into the arms of Laenor Velaryon.

You buried your face in his chest, your arms circling his waist as his own wrapped around your shoulders, one hand gently cradling the back of your head and holding you tightly against him. Years upon years of pent up grief, of deep seated longing and anger and resentment and pain and desperation poured out of you, a weight being lifted off your shoulder as they shook from the force of your sobs. You felt him tightening his arms even further around you, swaying you from side to side as he used to do when you were younger and in need of comfort, and the realization that he was here, that he was truly alive, made you shed even more tears and cry even harder.

Eventually your sobs subsided to sniffles and you pulled back, staring up at him. He used the bottom of his cloak to dry the lone tears that still rolled down your cheeks, the coarse material helping ground you enough to properly take in the sight of him. He looked expectedly older than you remembered, more worn down, but at the same time the lines of worry on his face seemed less deep than before, like he was happier, more free somehow. His silver hair was a lot shorter, having foregone the dreads and letting his natural curls take over.

“H-how… how are you-?!” you hiccuped, still not fully understanding the situation.

“Tis’ a long story, mayhaps better suited for another time.” he spoke delicately “Your mother can explain it to you in the future.”

“But what are you doing here?”

The grin that spread across his face was as bright as you remembered, so mirthful and full of life.

“You did not think I was going to miss my little girl’s wedding, now, did you?” he poked your ribs, another nod to simpler times.

For a moment you panicked, holding tightly onto his forearms as if he would disappear if you let him go.

“No, you can’t!” you stammered, fearful “If someone sees you at the sept-”

“No one will see me,” he shook his head, running a hand over your hair in hopes of soothing you “for I am not going to the sept.”

“Then how…?”

Your mother finally stepped forward.

“Tis’ why we are here tonight.” she spoke for the first time since you arrived at the beach and it was then that you figured out what she was holding.

A traditional headpiece.

And everything started making sense. You might not have remembered the clothes but you could never forget the headpiece worn by your mother during hers and Daemon’s own wedding. You had been too out of it to truly pay attention to what was happening, for the death of your father and the whole ordeal with Aemond on Driftmark were still fresh and weighing heavily on your mind, but you remember looking at her and thinking how well the piece suited her, making her look like the most beautiful woman in the realm in your eyes.

It made sense, the robes, the cleric, the decorations.

It was a valyrian wedding ceremony.

“Getting Caraxes to accept him as a passenger was quite the task.” Daemon jested. So that’s where he had been the previous days, he had gone to fetch your father.

Rhaenyra and Daemon had organized the whole thing in order for you not only to have a wedding in the traditions of your roots, something they knew both you and Aemond cherished deeply and bonded over, but also to give the opportunity for your father to witness it.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Laenor continued, cupping your cheeks “You are my first born and my only daughter, no matter what anyone says.”

The smile that took over your features threatened to split your face in half from how large it was, a new wave of tears pooling in your eyes as you hid in his arms once more. It didn’t matter if you were his by blood or not, he was your father. He was the one who had cared for you, who soothed you when you were sorrowful, who held you when you were frightened. He was the one who had started teaching you how to fight, how to defend yourself against a world that would certainly try to bring you down. He was your father and you loved him as such.

A set of footsteps approaching had you pulling back from him, turning to face whoever had intruded in your moment, only to come face to face with Aemond. He was wearing similar robes to your own, the clothing complementing his figure and making him appear even more handsome to you.

He stared at you in bewilderment, his eye moving rapidly between your father next to you and your mother who now stood next to Daemon. She placed the headpiece in her husband’s hands as she walked towards Aemond, and as she approached him, Laenor gently grasped your shoulders and turned you away from them, starting to style your hair.

You tried not to eavesdrop, you really did, but Rhaenyra wasn’t being very subtle either way.

“This is me trusting you.” she spoke with conviction, not wavering in front of a man seemingly feared by the whole court “If this got out, it could be my ruin. I am trusting you to keep this secret, valonqar, as I am trusting you with her.” there was a pause in her speech before she continued “Should you break my trust, for any reason whatsoever, either by betraying me or her, I will take her away from you. You will never see her again.”

It was silent for a moment, her words striking fear even in your own heart, before you heard Aemond’s quiet answer, his voice almost a whisper.

“Kostā pāsagon nyke, mandia. Nyke kivio.”

A warmth spread through your chest as you took in his words. Laenor seemed to notice your giddiness for he chuckled at your antics.

“Does he make you happy?” he spoke after a moment, his tone more serious than before.

“He does.” you answered without hesitation.

His hands settled on your shoulders, his voice lowering so only you could hear.

“And do you love him?”

Turning around you noticed the pleading look in his eyes, hidden behind the wall of sterness, and you noticed how much your joy mattered to him, even after all these years.

“I do.”

His worry melted away as he smiled brightly again.

“Tis’ all I could ask for.” he pulled a few strands of your hair, giving it its finishing touch “There, now you are the prettiest princess in the realm.” he spoke softly, reciting the words he would always say when helping you style your hair as a child.

With a kiss to the top of your head, your father turned you back around towards your husband to be, who stood next to Rhaenyra, and something made you stop dead in your tracks.

He was no longer wearing his eyepatch.

Sometime between the moment he arrived and now, while you had your back turned to him, he had bared his face for all to see. The force of the realization of what he did, of what this meant to him almost brought you to your knees. This was him, trusting in your mother, like she trusted him before. By trusting her enough to show her the most vulnerable side of him, one he had admitted once to having never shown anyone other than yourself and the occasional maester before, not even his own mother, he was proving to her that the faith she had placed in him wasn’t unwarranted.

In this very moment you knew you never wanted to spend another day apart from him ever again.

Rhaenyra stepped forward then, the headpiece back on her hands and, as you walked closer to the two of them, she placed it on your head, straightening your clothes. She didn’t have to speak, for her smile revealed everything she was thinking.

I am so proud of you.

“I know, mother.” you whispered and you could swear she blinked a few times too fast, trying to keep her own tears from falling. She took a step back, going to stand between Laenor and Daemon behind you as you finally turned to face Aemond fully.

He looked beautiful, perhaps more than you’d ever seen before. The light cast from the pyres shining on the sapphire, glimmering like the night sky, made him look almost celestial, the red of the robes contrasting against his pale skin and under the white strands of his hair. As you stood before each other, so close you could feel the heat emanating from him, all your thoughts were silenced, none of them mattering now that you were about to be united in fire and blood.

“Shall we begin then?” your mother gestured for the man, who you now realized was a dragon priest, to step forward and stand besides the two of you, handing Aemond a small blade made of dragonglass.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va sȳdronti vāedroma.” the man spoke in a measured cadence, almost as if he was reciting a love poem or singing a ballad.

Blood of two, joined as one

Aemond raised the blade to your lips, cutting a small line across the middle of your bottom lip.

“Mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr.”

Ghostly flame, and song of shadows

He brought a finger to your lips and tenderly, almost reverently, dabbed his finger in the speck of blood that had formed on your skin. He traced a line in the middle of your forehead, right between your eyes, branding you with a mark, his mark.

“Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteski.”

Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires

You, in turn, did the same to him, reveling in the softness of his lips as you slashed his skin. Like he had done, you gathered the crimson liquid and marked him as inherently yours.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, qēlossa ozūndesi.”

A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness

The dragon priest then handed you a larger dragonglass blade which you used to slash a line across your palm, handing it to Aemond so he could do the same, none of you minding the sharp sting. Then the both of you took each other’s hand, perfectly aligning the fresh cuts as your fingers intertwined almost on instinct.

“Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳ k��via mazvestraksi.”

The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light

With a goblet placed under your joined hands, collecting the dripping crimson of your mixed blood, the priest wrapped an embroidered ribbon around your hands, uniting you for eternity.

Once he was done reciting the vows, the man then handed you the chalice and Aemond’s eye followed your every move as you brought it to your lips. The coppery taste didn’t bother you, warmth filling in your chest at the comfort the thought of consuming the merge of both your essences elicited in you.

Aemond did the same, taking a generous gulp from the goblet, and you couldn’t help the flush that took over your cheeks as you watched the way his throat moved as he swallowed or how his tongue peeked out of his mouth as he licked his lips, not letting one drop go to waste.

Only after the dragon priest had taken the chalice from his hands did Aemond step even closer to you, toes almost touching. He placed a finger under your chin, tilting your head to look at him, thumb delicately tracing the line he had cut on your mouth. Then slowly, gently, he pulled your face towards his and placed a soft albeit passionate kiss on your awaiting lips. He kissed you with devotion, with a sureness of a man who knew exactly where he wanted, no, needed to be. He poured all of his feelings into that one kiss, sealing your fates forever now, tying it to one another.

He reluctantly pulled back, although he did relent to one final tender peck as your lips chased after his own, resting his chin on your shoulder as he embraced you.

“I have longed for this day for as long as I can remember.” he whispered, like he was bestowing upon you his most well kept secret “And now you are mine.”

“I am yours.” you cupped his cheek as you pulled back, running a thumb over his scar like you had come to learn soothed him “As you are mine.”

“I am.” he nodded as he nudged his nose against your cheek, causing your head to turn to the side, facing your family “I have always been.”

As you stared at your family, Rhaenyra no longer trying to hold back her tears as both Laenor and Daemon tried comforting her, you felt loved and adored and safe and content in the arms of your husband. In this very moment, you couldn’t help but thank whatever gods were listening for giving you this, everything you could have ever dreamed of. You’d cherish it greatly from this day, until the end of your days.

High Valyrian translations: - ‘kepa’ and ‘tala’ - father and daughter (meant here affectionately, not by blood, as there are no terms for step-relative in High Valyrian) - valonqar - younger brother - kostā pāsagon nyke, mandia. nyke kivio - you can trust me, (older) sister. i promise

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