#prince Aemond targaryen

[stelliumh3arts]

He's so pretty, MY SHAYLA.

EWAN MITCHELL as AEMOND TARGARYEN House of the Dragon S2E2 (requested by anon! <3)

[hisfavegirl]

One Mistake - Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Jace Velaryon.

Summary : You, the daughter of Alicent Hightower, once married to Aemond Targaryen, find yourself in a marriage born out of duty rather than love. The relationship with Aemond has always been a battleground of lies and heartache, and the arrival of a child born from his affair with Alys Rivers only deepens the chasm between you both.Heartbroken, betrayed, and feeling utterly alone, you escape the suffocating walls of King’s Landing, seeking solace in Dragonstone with your half-sister, Rhaenyra. In this new chapter of your life, you begin to heal, finding peace in the company of those who truly care for you. Among them is Jace, the son of Rhaenyra, whose quiet affection and steady presence begins to rekindle the spark of hope in your heart.

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist.

HOTD Masterlist.

The tension in the air was thick, and your grip on the dagger tightened with every passing second. Aemond stood before you, unnervingly calm, his cold, piercing gaze meeting yours without a hint of fear. His posture remained relaxed, almost as if the weapon at his throat didn’t even faze him. But you couldn’t hold back the wave of fury that surged through you.

“Aemond,” you hissed, your voice laced with venom, “you’ve crossed a line this time.”

Aemond’s gaze shifted, his lips twitching with an almost imperceptible smile. “You always knew who I was, my love,” he replied, his tone ice-cold. “Did you really expect me to be loyal to you when the world has so much more to offer?”

Behind you, you could hear your mother, Alicent, and your sister, Helaena, desperately trying to intervene, pleading for you to put down the dagger. Their words were mere background noise to the storm inside your chest. The rage that had been quietly simmering for so long had finally boiled over.

You had tolerated his affairs, his coldness, his absence, but this… This was unforgivable. Alys River, the woman from Harrenhal, had come to your doorstep, a newborn in her arms, declaring that Aemond was the father. The mere thought of him being involved with someone else, and now with a child, was enough to break you.

“Is this your child, Aemond?” you spat, the words dripping with anger. “Are you really that heartless? Alys River, that harlot… You never cared about what you did to me, did you?”

Aemond’s eyes flickered, a trace of something—guilt, regret—flickering in them for a moment before he schooled his features back into their usual icy mask.

“I never wanted this, you know,” you said, voice shaking with a mixture of hurt and fury. “I’ve tried, Aemond. I’ve tried to make it work. But you… you’ve made a mockery of everything.”

Your breath was ragged, and the dagger trembled slightly in your hand, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to step back.

Aemond finally spoke, his voice as cold and detached as ever. “Put the dagger down, sister,” he said, his tone almost bored. “You’re not going to do anything.”

But you were done listening to his calm and calculating words. The betrayal had cut too deep, and the anger was too overwhelming. You didn’t care if he thought you were weak or if you would never see him the same way again. You couldn’t forgive him for this.

In a brief moment of clarity, you heard your mother’s voice, soft yet urgent, trying to calm you down. “Please, my child, think about what you’re doing.”

But the damage was already done. There was no coming back from this.

With trembling hands, you dropped the dagger, the metallic clang echoing through the room as it hit the floor. You stepped back from Aemond, his gaze unwavering, his silence deafening. The image of Alys Rivers holding a silver-haired baby replayed in your mind, each recollection stabbing your heart anew. Despair consumed you, the weight of your shattered marriage pressing down on you like a crushing wave.

Without a word, you turned and fled the room, the voices of your mother and sister calling after you lost in the whirlwind of your emotions. Tears streamed down your face as you ran through the halls of the Red Keep, seeking solace, but finding none. The pain was overwhelming, the betrayal unbearable. After what felt like an eternity, your feet led you to the door of your old chamber, the sanctuary you once called home before your marriage to Aemond.

You pushed the door open, only to find Alys Rivers inside, cradling the infant in her arms. Her presence in what was once your refuge felt like a dagger twisting in your heart. She looked up, her expression calm, almost smug.

“Aemond asked me to stay here,” she said, her voice soft, yet cutting. “He wanted me to be comfortable.”

The finality of her words shattered whatever remnants of hope you clung to. Rage and grief intertwined, fueling your steps as you slammed the door shut and stormed back to your marital chambers. The hallways blurred in your vision, your emotions a chaotic storm.

Once inside your chamber, you shut the door and locked it, leaning against the cold wood as your breath came in ragged gasps. The room, once a symbol of your union with Aemond, now felt suffocating.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts, followed by Aemond’s voice, calm and composed.

“Let me in,” he said.

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. “Why should I?” your voice broke, laced with anger and sorrow. “You’ve made it clear where your loyalties lie.”

There was a pause, then his voice came again, quieter this time. “You are my wife. This is your home.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “A wife you’ve betrayed, a home you’ve filled with deceit. How can you stand there and speak of loyalty?”

Aemond’s silence spoke louder than any words. You turned away from the door, wrapping your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the emptiness of the room. The weight of his betrayal pressed on you, each moment more unbearable than the last.

You isolated yourself for days, the world outside your chamber fading into a blur. The persistent knocks at your door, the gentle pleas of your mother, the worried whispers of your sister—they all went unanswered. You sat by the window, gazing down at the sharp iron spikes below, their menacing points gleaming in the pale light. The thought crossed your mind, a fleeting, desperate idea, but you dismissed it just as quickly. You were heartbroken, but not mad.

The whispers reached you even in the silence of your solitude, the rumors carried on the wind like a cruel taunt. They spoke of Aemond visiting Alys Rivers’ chambers, cradling his illegitimate son with pride. Each word felt like a dagger twisting in your chest, a fresh wound on top of the ones that already bled.

You thought of the promises Aemond had made to you, the soft words of love whispered in the dark, the vows of loyalty and devotion. They felt like hollow echoes now, every one of them a lie. How easily had he cast aside those vows? How quickly had he turned to another, to Alys, and their child?

Your hand drifted to the windowsill, fingers tracing the cold stone as your mind spiraled deeper into despair. The betrayal consumed you, leaving little room for anything else. The image of Aemond, once a source of comfort and strength, now filled you with anguish. His eyes, once filled with affection, were now a haunting memory of deceit.

Each day felt longer than the last, the weight of his infidelity pressing down on you, suffocating and relentless. You thought of your love, the life you had envisioned together, now reduced to ashes. The future you had once dreamed of seemed distant, almost unreachable, as if it had belonged to another lifetime entirely.

You pulled the thin blanket around you tighter, as if it could shield you from the pain. But nothing could shield you from the truth. The man you loved had betrayed you, and no amount of time could change that.

The searing pain in your abdomen jolted you awake, sharp and relentless, unlike anything you had ever felt before. Instinctively, your hand flew to your stomach, clutching at the source of the agony. Each wave of pain grew stronger, rippling through your body and leaving you breathless. Desperation drove you to rise from your bed, to make your way to the door and seek help, but your legs gave out beneath you. You crumpled to the floor, the cold stone pressing against your skin as you gasped for air.

It was then you noticed the blood pooling between your legs, staining your nightgown and the floor beneath you. Panic surged through you, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to call out, your voice weak and trembling, barely louder than a whisper. “Help,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of fear and pain.

Outside your chamber, your mother’s voice called to you, her tone laced with concern. She had come again, hoping to coax you out of your self-imposed isolation. But this time, as she turned the handle, she found the door unlocked. Pushing it open, she was greeted by a scene that made her blood run cold.

“Aemond!” she cried, her voice echoing through the halls as she rushed to your side. Her hands trembled as she tried to steady you, her heart pounding in her chest. “Someone, help!” she shouted, her voice breaking with desperation.

Aemond arrived moments later, his eyes widening in horror at the sight of you sprawled on the floor, pale and drenched in blood. His feet seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move as he watched you in your fragile state. The guilt in his eyes was unmistakable, but he didn’t dare approach.

The maester arrived swiftly, his presence a blur as he stand beside your bed and assessed the situation. His face was grim as he delivered the devastating news. “She has lost the child,” he said softly, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. “The stress and lack of nourishment have taken their toll.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t even known you were carrying a child, and now that life was gone, ripped away before you could even comprehend its existence. The sobs wracked your body, uncontrollable and raw, as the reality of your loss settled over you.

Your mother gathered you in her arms, her own tears falling silently as she held you close, offering what little comfort she could. You clung to her, your cries muffled against her shoulder, the pain too immense to bear alone.

Aemond remained on the periphery, his face etched with anguish. He reached out, but then drew back, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He had betrayed you, and now, in your moment of greatest need, he was powerless to ease your suffering.

In your mother’s embrace, you felt a small measure of solace, but the ache in your heart was far from healed. You had lost your child, and with it, a piece of yourself. The pain would linger, a constant reminder of the love and life that had been taken from you too soon.

The days passed in a blur of pain and sorrow. You remained confined to your chambers, your heart weighed down by the unbearable grief of losing your child. The world outside your room seemed distant, muffled by the heavy fog of your sadness. Your mother, Alicent, and your sister, Helaena, visited frequently, bringing food and comfort. They tried to coax you into eating, but you could only lie listlessly as they fed you, your appetite lost in the depths of your despair.

Aemond had not come to see you since that fateful night. His absence was a bitter reminder of the distance that had grown between you. You had heard the whispers, the murmurs that he spent his nights with Alys Rivers and their illegitimate child. Each rumor cut deeper than the last, fueling your anger and deepening your sorrow. The betrayal burned in your chest, an open wound that refused to heal.

But today was different. As you lay in your bed, the door to your chamber creaked open. Expecting your mother or sister, you turned your head, only to find Aemond standing in the doorway. His expression was cold, his gaze hard as he stared at you.

“I lost my child because of you,” he said, his voice devoid of any warmth or understanding. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and cruel.

You felt your heart shatter anew, his words slicing through the fragile threads that held you together. “How dare you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow. “How dare you blame me for this.”

The pain and fury erupted from you in a torrent. You screamed at him, your voice raw with anguish. “It was you! It was your betrayal that brought me here! Your lies, your infidelity! You destroyed everything, not me!”

Aemond stood there, silent and unmoved, as you poured your heart out, blaming him for your suffering, for the loss of your child, for the broken pieces of your marriage. The tears streamed down your face, your body shaking with the force of your sobs.

Finally, exhausted and broken, you collapsed back onto the bed, your cries filling the room. The pain was too much to bear, the weight of your grief pressing down on you, suffocating and unrelenting.

A soft voice broke through the haze of your sorrow. Your mother, Alicent, stood at the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and confusion. “Why are you not resting?” she asked gently. “Why are you shouting at Aemond?”

Her presence only seemed to heighten your despair. “Because he blames me, Mother,” you choked out, your voice thick with tears. “He blames me for losing our child, for everything that has gone wrong. But it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.”

Alicent hurried to your side, her arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. She stroked your hair, murmuring soothing words as you sobbed into her shoulder. Aemond remained by the door, his face unreadable, but he did not approach. The distance between you was more than physical now; it was a chasm filled with unspoken words, broken promises, and irreparable pain.

As your mother held you, your tears finally began to subside, leaving behind a hollow ache in your chest. The pain would not disappear, but for now, you found solace in the comfort of your mother’s arms, even as your heart ached with the loss and betrayal that Aemond had left in his wake.

The pain of Aemond’s betrayal was no longer something you could endure. His indifference, the whispers of his continued affair with Alys Rivers and the child that belonged to her, cut deeper each day. You couldn’t bear to stay in the Red Keep any longer, not with the constant reminder of what you had lost. Tonight, you made a decision: you would leave. You would find peace away from the walls of King’s Landing, away from Aemond and the deceit.

The cold night air filled your lungs as you quietly made your way through the corridors of the Red Keep, your heart pounding with the weight of your decision. You couldn’t stay here. You couldn’t bear another day in that house of betrayal and lies. You had to go, and Dragonstone would be your refuge, the one place where you could find solace in the company of your sister, Rhaenyra, and her family.

With a heavy heart, you made your way to the stables. The quiet rustle of the night was the only sound that accompanied your footsteps. The guards, bribed and loyal, had cleared the way for you, their eyes flicking nervously around as they ensured no one would stop you. You quickly saddled your horse, the familiar motions of preparing your steed offering a brief distraction from the turmoil inside you.

Once mounted, you headed for the Dragonpit, the shadows of the night enveloping you as you approached the towering structure. There, waiting for you, was Sharapis, your dragon. His massive form loomed in the shadows, his eyes gleaming as you approached. You had always felt a connection to him, a bond forged from years of companionship and shared journeys.

“Sharapis,” you whispered softly as you mounted his back, the dragon’s scales glimmering in the moonlight. His wings stretched out as if eager to fly, and with a single command, you took off into the night sky, soaring toward Dragonstone.

The flight was exhilarating, the wind rushing through your hair as you felt the freedom that had long been denied you. But beneath it all was the ache of betrayal, the loss of a child you had never even known, and the quiet despair that had taken root in your soul. The journey felt both endless and too short, your thoughts lost in the vastness of the night.

As you descended toward Dragonstone, you could see the familiar silhouette of the castle looming in the distance. Your heart fluttered with a mix of relief and uncertainty. You had made the decision to leave everything behind, but now that you were here, would it be enough to heal the wounds Aemond had inflicted?

When Sharapis landed, you dismounted and quickly made your way into the castle. The cold stone floors echoed beneath your feet as you walked toward the heart of Dragonstone. The guards at the entrance saw you and immediately went to alert Rhaenyra and Daemon. The sounds of hurried footsteps soon followed as your half-sister and her husband arrived, her face filled with surprise and concern.

“Why have you come here?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice soft yet filled with urgency. She could see the state you were in, the exhaustion and pain written across your features. “What has happened?”

You took a deep breath, your eyes meeting hers. “I couldn’t stay there anymore,” you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. “Aemond… He’s with her again, and I can’t bear it. I lost our child, Rhaenyra, and I can’t stay in the place that reminds me of all the lies and betrayal. I need to get away, to heal, and I couldn’t stay in King’s Landing a moment longer.”

Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “You are always welcome here,” she said with conviction. “You don’t have to face this alone. Whatever happened, whatever you need, we will help you through it.”

The warmth of her support was a balm to your broken heart. You felt the weight of the world slowly begin to lift as she surrounded you with love and understanding. She hadn’t asked for details, and she didn’t need to. You could see in her eyes that they understood.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t hold them back any longer. The weight of the journey, the betrayal, the grief of losing your child, and the decision to leave it all behind finally caught up with you. In the safety of Dragonstone, you allowed yourself to break down, to grieve openly, knowing that here, at least, you would not be alone.

Rhaenyra held you tightly, offering you the comfort you so desperately needed, while Daemon stood a few steps behind, his gaze never leaving you.

“You will find peace again,” Rhaenyra whispered. “Here, with us, you are safe.”

As the morning sun cast its golden light over the Red Keep, your mother, Alicent, made her way to your chamber with a calm determination. She had come to check on you, as she did every morning, hoping that today might bring a glimmer of progress in your healing. However, as she gently pushed open the door, she was met with an empty room. Her heart skipped a beat, a sense of unease creeping in as she took in the sight of your untouched bed and the quiet stillness of the space.

Her eyes quickly fell upon a piece of parchment resting on the pillow. With trembling hands, she picked it up, unfolding it carefully. The words written in your familiar hand made her breath catch in her throat.

“Mother, do not worry about me, and do not try to find me. I have gone where I can heal and find peace. Please, annulled the arrangement of my marriage with Aemond. It is over. There is nothing left for me here.”

Alicent’s fingers tightened around the letter as a surge of emotions washed over her—relief that you were safe enough to leave a note, sadness at your departure, and a rising fury toward the one who had driven you to such despair.

Clutching the letter tightly, Alicent turned on her heel, her face set in a mask of anger. She knew exactly where to find Aemond. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the hallways as she marched toward your old chamber, the one where she knew Aemond was staying with Alys and their illegitimate child. Each step fueled her anger, her mind racing with thoughts of how Aemond had betrayed not only you but also the family’s honor.

When she reached the door, she didn’t bother to knock. Instead, she pushed it open with force, her eyes blazing as she entered. Inside, she found Aemond standing near the window, Alys seated with the infant in her arms. The air in the room grew tense as they turned to face her, Alys’s expression a mixture of surprise and smug satisfaction.

Aemond’s usual calm demeanor faltered as he saw the letter in Alicent’s hand and the fire in her eyes. “Mother,” he began, but Alicent cut him off, her voice cold and sharp.

“Do not ‘Mother’ me,” she snapped, holding up the letter. “Explain this. Explain why my daughter, your wife, felt the need to flee from her home in the dead of night because of your actions.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his gaze flickering briefly to Alys, who remained silent, cradling her child.

“You have disgraced our family,” Alicent continued, her voice trembling with controlled rage. “You have broken her heart, her spirit. And now, you will face the consequences. I will see to it that this marriage is annulled. She deserves better than this, better than you.”

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he did not argue. The weight of his actions hung heavily in the room, and even Alys seemed uncomfortable under Alicent’s furious gaze.

“I will not allow this to continue,” Alicent declared. “You will leave her be. You will not pursue her, and you will not bring further shame upon this family.”

With that, Alicent turned on her heel, her grip on the letter unrelenting as she strode out of the room. Her heart ached for you, for the pain you had endured, but she was resolute. She would do everything in her power to protect you and to ensure that you found the peace you deserved.

Almost two years had passed since you left the Red Keep behind, finding solace and a new beginning in Dragonstone. The pain and betrayal you once felt had slowly been replaced by the warmth of your family, especially Rhaenyra and her children. Your days were now filled with laughter and peace, and the exchange of letters with your mother had become a comforting routine. She had informed you that the annulment of your marriage to Aemond had been finalized, a message that brought a profound sense of relief. You were free, truly free, from the chains of a past that had once broken you.

Life in Dragonstone had become your sanctuary. The walls, the sea, and the skies felt like home, a place where you could breathe and live without the shadows of your past looming over you. In this haven, you had grown close to Jace. His kindness, his understanding, and his gentle presence had slowly woven their way into your heart. He had been a constant source of support, offering you companionship and care as you healed from the wounds Aemond had left behind.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the castle, Jace asked you to walk with him along the cliffs. The salty breeze played with your hair as you strolled side by side, the silence between you comfortable and familiar. Jace had always been thoughtful, but tonight there was a certain tension in the air, a nervous energy you hadn’t felt from him before.

He paused near the edge of the cliff, the crashing waves below providing a soothing backdrop to the moment. Turning to face you, he took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours with a mix of hope and vulnerability.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “You’ve been through so much, and yet, here you are, strong and resilient. Being with you these past two years has been the happiest time of my life.”

Your heart began to race, a mixture of anticipation and surprise swirling within you.

“I know you might think it’s too soon, or that you’re not ready, but I need you to know how I feel,” he continued, reaching for your hands and holding them gently. “I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

His words hung in the air, filled with sincerity and love. You could see the earnestness in his eyes, the way he waited anxiously for your response, hoping you felt the same.

For a moment, memories of the past flickered in your mind, but they were quickly overshadowed by the warmth of the present, the life you had built here, the love that had grown between you and Jace. He had been patient, never rushing you, always understanding.

A soft smile spread across your face as you squeezed his hands. “Yes, Jace,” you whispered, tears of joy welling in your eyes. “I’ll marry you.”

His face lit up with relief and happiness, and before you knew it, he had pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. In his arms, you felt safe, loved, and ready to begin this new chapter of your life, a chapter filled with love, hope, and the promise of a future together.

As you and Jace walked hand in hand back into the castle, your hearts were light with joy and anticipation. The corridors of Dragonstone felt warmer tonight, the stone walls echoing with the soft whispers of your shared future. When you reached the great hall, Rhaenyra and Daemon were seated by the hearth, engaged in a quiet conversation. Their attention shifted as you both entered, Jace leading you forward.

Jace’s hand squeezed yours gently as he addressed his mother. “Mother, we have something to share,” he began, his voice filled with excitement. “We’ve decided to marry. She has agreed to be my wife.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes lit up with happiness, a broad smile spreading across her face. She stood and stepped forward, taking both your hands in hers. “This is wonderful news,” she said, her voice warm with genuine joy. “I am so happy for both of you.”

Her embrace was tight and filled with love, as if welcoming you fully into her family. It was a moment of acceptance and celebration, her blessing clear and heartfelt.

However, as your eyes shifted to Daemon, his expression was more reserved. His jaw tightened slightly, and though he didn’t speak immediately, you could sense the conflict within him. The legacy of your mother, Alicent, and the tensions that had long simmered between their families were not easily forgotten. Yet, he held his tongue, his gaze meeting yours with a guarded intensity.

“Congratulations,” Daemon finally said, his tone measured, but his words carrying a hint of reluctance. He rose to his feet, standing beside Rhaenyra. “I trust you will make each other happy.”

Though his words were polite, there was an underlying tension. He didn��t openly oppose the union, but it was clear he harbored reservations, likely due to the history that bound your families in strife.

Jace, sensing the unease, stepped closer to you, his arm wrapping protectively around your waist. “We understand this isn’t easy,” he said, addressing Daemon directly. “But we love each other, and we want to build a future together. That’s all that matters.”

Daemon’s eyes flicked to Jace, then back to you. After a long moment, he gave a slight nod, perhaps acknowledging the sincerity in Jace’s words, or perhaps choosing to set aside his reservations for the sake of peace.

Rhaenyra, ever the peacemaker, placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, a silent plea for understanding. “What matters is that they’ve found happiness in each other,” she said softly. “Let’s celebrate that.”

Daemon exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Very well,” he conceded, though his tone was still tinged with reluctance. “Let it be a union of love.”

Relieved, you smiled, feeling Jace’s reassuring presence beside you. Rhaenyra’s enthusiasm and Daemon’s begrudging acceptance were enough to make this moment a hopeful beginning. The path forward wouldn’t be without challenges, but together, you knew you could face whatever came your way.

The day of your wedding dawned quietly, the morning mist wrapping Dragonstone in a serene embrace. Unlike the grand, ostentatious ceremonies you had once known, this day was intimate, marked by simplicity and the presence of only those closest to your heart. The small gathering was a reflection of the love you shared with Jace, a quiet yet profound celebration of a new beginning.

As you prepared in your chambers, Rhaenyra stood by your side, her presence a comforting anchor in the swirl of your emotions. She watched as you adjusted the delicate fabric of your gown, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You’ve been through so much,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “But today is about you—your happiness, your future. You deserve this joy, and I’m so proud of you.”

Her words were a balm to your nerves, and you felt a wave of gratitude for her unwavering support. She had been more than a half-sister; she had become a true sister, a confidante in your darkest hours. Her hand found yours, squeezing it reassuringly. “This is your moment,” she whispered. “Take it, and let yourself be happy.”

When the time came, you walked towards the small altar where Jace awaited, his eyes fixed on you with a mixture of love and awe. His presence was calming, his steady gaze promising a life of mutual respect and affection. The warmth of his smile as you reached his side steadied your racing heart, and the nervous flutter in your stomach eased as he took your hands in his.

The ceremony was brief, the words spoken simple yet heartfelt. Rhaenyra and Daemon stood beside you, their presence a testament to the new family you were building. Alicent’s absence was felt, but her blessings had been given through her letters, and you carried her love in your heart.

As the vows were exchanged, you felt a profound sense of peace wash over you. This was not a union born of duty or political gain, but one of genuine affection and shared dreams. Jace’s hand in yours was a promise, a symbol of the partnership you were forging together.

When the ceremony concluded, and you were declared husband and wife, the small gathering erupted in soft applause. Jace leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that sealed your new bond, a gentle reminder of the love that had brought you to this moment.

Later, as the day faded into night and the candles in the great hall flickered softly, you found yourself beside Jace, the simplicity of the day leaving you content. The weight of the past began to lift, replaced by the promise of a future filled with hope and love.

Rhaenyra’s words echoed in your mind, a reminder that you had earned this happiness. And as Jace’s arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer, you knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter—one where you could finally find the peace and joy you had longed for.

Time seemed to slip through your fingers like grains of sand, each day blending seamlessly into the next. It felt as though only yesterday you and Jace stood before the small gathering, exchanging vows. Yet, here you were, sitting in the sun-dappled garden with Rhaenyra, her laughter mingling with the soft coos of little Aegon in her arms. The gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and you rested a hand on your growing belly, feeling the life stirring within.

Rhaenyra’s teasing smile was as radiant as ever, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” she began, a playful lilt in her voice, “Daemon and I couldn’t sleep for weeks after your wedding. The walls here are not as thick as you might think.” Her laughter was infectious, and you felt your cheeks flush with warmth as you looked away, embarrassed yet unable to suppress a giggle.

“Rhaenyra!” you protested, your tone a mixture of shock and amusement. The memories of those early days—filled with love, passion, and whispered promises—were vivid in your mind. The bond between you and Jace had deepened quickly, the love you shared blooming into something even more profound.

“But look at the result,” Rhaenyra continued, her gaze dropping to your rounded belly. “It seems all that…enthusiasm bore fruit.” Her hand reached out, covering yours as it rested on your stomach. “You’re glowing, and soon you’ll have a little one of your own.”

The thought filled you with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The prospect of becoming a mother, of bringing a new life into the world, was both thrilling and daunting. But the support of Jace, Rhaenyra, and the family you had found in Dragonstone gave you strength.

Rhaenyra’s voice softened, the teasing edge replaced with genuine warmth. “You’ll be an amazing mother,” she said. “This child will be so loved, surrounded by a family that cherishes them.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as you felt a kick from within, a gentle reminder of the life growing inside you. The future was filled with promise, and as you sat there, surrounded by love and laughter, you felt a profound sense of peace.

“Thank you, Rhaenyra,” you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. “For everything.”

Rhaenyra squeezed your hand, her expression one of sisterly affection. “We’re family,” she replied. “And we take care of our own.”

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the garden, you leaned back in your chair, contentment washing over you. The journey had been long and fraught with challenges, but now, with a new life growing within you and a family that stood by your side, you felt ready to embrace whatever the future held.

Jace had grown into a devoted and attentive husband, always watching over you with a protective fervor that bordered on overbearing. His love and concern were palpable, and while you appreciated his attentiveness, there were moments when you wished for a bit more freedom. Today was one such instance.

As you sat in the garden with Rhaenyra, basking in the afternoon sun, you heard Jace calling your name. His voice, laced with a mixture of worry and relief, reached you before he did. You turned to see him striding towards you, his brow furrowed, still slightly sweaty from his training session with Luke.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his tone gentle yet firm. “I looked for you in our chambers, but you weren’t there.”

You offered a reassuring smile, hoping to ease his concerns. “I was just spending some time with your mother in the garden. I didn’t want to disturb your training, and I felt like getting some fresh air.”

Jace knelt beside you, his hands gently cradling your face as he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort or distress. “You should have told me,” he murmured. “I don’t like you wandering around alone, especially not now.”

His gaze flicked to your growing belly, a tender smile tugging at his lips. The worry in his eyes softened, replaced by the gentle adoration he always showed when thinking about the child you were carrying.

“I’m fine, Jace,” you reassured him, placing a hand over his. “Rhaenyra was with me the whole time.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly from her seat, watching the exchange with amusement. “Jace, she’s perfectly safe here. You don’t need to hover over her every moment.”

“I can’t help it,” Jace admitted, his cheeks coloring slightly. “I just…I worry.”

You squeezed his hand, appreciating his concern but also wanting him to understand. “I know, and I love that you care so much. But I need you to trust that I’ll take care of myself too.”

He nodded, sighing softly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll try. But I’ll always worry about you.”

Standing, Jace offered his hand to help you up, his protective nature not allowing him to let you rise on your own. “Come on, let’s get you inside. It’s getting cooler.”

With his arm around your waist, guiding you carefully back to the castle, you felt a sense of warmth and security. Jace’s love, though sometimes overwhelming, was steadfast and unwavering. It was a love you cherished, knowing that it came from a place of deep devotion and care.

As you entered your shared chamber, Jace guided you gently to the bed, urging you to sit and rest. He knelt before you, deftly removing your shoes, his fingers tenderly massaging your ankles. His touch was soothing, filled with care, as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your growing belly. His hands caressed your abdomen, his lips following with a whisper meant for the baby you both eagerly awaited.

“You’ve been so good to your mother,” Jace murmured, his voice full of affection. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

You smiled down at him, your fingers threading through his hair as you basked in the warmth of the moment. The quiet intimacy was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and a servant entered, carrying a sealed letter. The servant handed it to you with a respectful bow before retreating.

Curiosity piqued, you broke the seal, recognizing the familiar handwriting of your mother, Alicent. The contents of the letter were an invitation to return to King’s Landing for a grand celebration in honor of King Viserys’s birthday. Your heart skipped a beat as you read her request, knowing the importance of the occasion. It was not just a celebration for the realm’s ruler, but a family gathering—a chance to reconnect with your roots.

You looked up at Jace, who had been observing your reaction closely. “It’s from my mother,” you explained, handing him the letter. “She’s inviting us to King’s Landing for my father’s birthday celebration.”

Jace’s eyes scanned the letter, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered the implications. “Do you want to go?” he asked, his concern evident. “I know things are… complicated with your family.”

You sighed softly, placing a hand over his. “It’s complicated, yes. But it’s also important. Rhaenyra and Daemon will likely want to attend, and it’s a chance for me to see my family, despite everything. I think we should go.”

Jace nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If that’s what you want, we’ll go. But I’ll be by your side the whole time. I won’t let anything happen to you or our child.”

His protective nature reassured you, easing some of the anxiety that had begun to creep in. “Thank you, Jace. I feel better knowing you’ll be with me."

As the two of you sat together, contemplating the journey ahead, a sense of anticipation mingled with the lingering tension of old wounds. The road to King’s Landing would not just be a physical journey, but an emotional one as well—a step towards confronting the past and embracing whatever the future might hold for your family.

The towering spires of the Red Keep came into view, casting long shadows over the bustling port of King’s Landing. You stood at the edge of the ship’s deck, the sea breeze tugging at your gown as you gazed at the familiar yet distant city. Jace was at your side, his arm a comforting presence around your waist, his hand resting protectively over the swell of your belly. His touch was a constant reminder that, no matter what awaited you in the capital, you were not alone.

You turned your head slightly, catching sight of Rhaenyra and Daemon nearby. They, too, were watching the city approach, their expressions a mix of resolve and nostalgia. For them, like for you, this was more than just a visit—it was a return to a place filled with memories, both bitter and sweet.

Leaning into Jace’s shoulder, you allowed yourself a moment of quiet respite, closing your eyes as his arms encircled you. The journey had been taxing, especially given your current condition, and the looming prospect of facing your past weighed heavily on your mind. Yet, in Jace’s embrace, you found a sense of peace and strength, a reminder of the life you were building together, far removed from the shadows of King’s Landing.

Jace pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice soft and reassuring. “We’ll get through this together,” he whispered. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here.”

You nodded, clutching his hand a little tighter. The city grew larger, its walls drawing closer as the ship made its final approach. The sight of it stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you—anticipation, dread, hope. As the Red Keep loomed ever nearer, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the days to come. You had left this place as a broken woman, but now you were returning stronger, with a family of your own to protect and cherish.

Whatever awaited you within those stone walls, you knew that with Jace by your side, you could face it.

As you stepped down carefully from the carriage, the bustling courtyard of the Red Keep greeted you with its usual cacophony. Servants scurried about, arms laden with decorations and provisions for the grand celebration planned for King Viserys’s birthday. The air buzzed with excitement, yet you felt a weariness settle over you, the long journey from Dragonstone taking its toll.

Jace was immediately at your side, his hand steadying you as he helped you out of the carriage. His eyes searched yours, concern etched across his face. “Are you all right?” he asked gently, his voice barely audible over the din around you.

You nodded, though exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders. “Just tired,” you admitted softly.

Rhaenyra and Daemon approached, their expressions a mix of anticipation and something else—perhaps trepidation—given the complex dynamics that awaited within the Keep. As they prepared to make their way toward the throne room to greet King Viserys, you turned to Rhaenyra with a small, apologetic smile.

“Would it be all right if we went straight to our chambers?” you asked. “I need to rest.”

Rhaenyra’s face softened with understanding, and she nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Take your time. We’ll see you at the feast later.”

Daemon gave a brief nod of agreement, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned to follow his wife into the heart of the Keep.

With Jace’s arm firmly around your waist, you made your way through the familiar halls of the Red Keep. The grand corridors seemed both unchanged and yet different, imbued with memories that felt like they belonged to another life. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice the way the servants’ eyes widened in shock at the sight of you. Whispers followed in your wake, their astonishment clear as they took in the sight of the daughter of Alicent Hightower, once married to Prince Aemond, now heavily pregnant and walking arm in arm with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

Jace’s grip on you tightened, a silent show of support against the unspoken judgments that hung in the air. He leaned in close, his voice a low murmur meant only for you. “Let them stare,” he said, a hint of defiance in his tone. “They don’t know your strength, or ours.”

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite your fatigue. His unwavering support was a balm to your frayed nerves, and you found comfort in the steady rhythm of his steps beside you.

As you finally reached the familiar doors of your chambers, Jace opened them for you, ushering you inside before closing the door firmly behind you. The quiet of the room was a welcome reprieve from the noise outside. He guided you to the bed, helping you sit before kneeling in front of you, his hands resting on your knees.

“You’ve been incredible through all of this,” he said, his eyes full of admiration. “Rest now. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. As you lay back against the pillows, Jace settled beside you, his presence a reassuring anchor in a world that still felt uncertain.

As you turned, the door to your chambers slowly creaked open, and there, standing in the doorway, was your mother, Alicent, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Beside her stood Heleana, your sister, who looked at you with a mixture of concern and love. They both stepped inside, and without a word, they enveloped you in a warm embrace.

The familiar scent of your mother’s perfume and the comforting presence of Heleana brought a sense of peace you hadn’t realized you longed for. You felt a lump form in your throat as your mother spoke, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her hand gently brushing through your hair. Heleana joined in, wrapping her arms around you, her voice soft but filled with affection. “We’ve both missed you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, not just from the pain of the past but from the sudden realization that despite everything, they were here, with you now. You had built a new life, but the love of family—those who truly cared—was something that always remained.

Your mother, pulling back slightly, gazed at Jace, who had stood silently by your side, his protective arm still around you. She took a deep breath before speaking again, her voice steady but laden with regret. “I… I want to thank you, Jace,” she said, her words sincere. “For giving her what she truly deserves. For loving her the way she should have always been loved.”

She paused, her gaze shifting to the floor briefly before lifting it again to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she continued, her voice now tinged with sorrow. “For everything. The way I treated you, and your family. You did not deserve that.”

Jace, ever the steady presence, simply nodded, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. “It’s in the past,” he replied gently. “We move forward now.”

A brief silence followed, the weight of the past few years hanging between them. But in this moment, there was understanding, a step toward healing. Your mother’s apology, though not easy for her to give, had an undeniable sincerity. You could see it in the way her hands trembled slightly as she clasped her own in front of her.

Heleana, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up, her voice gentle. “You deserve happiness, both of you,” she said, her eyes filled with warmth. “I’m happy for you. For the family you’ve created.”

Her words were like a balm to the wounds that had been left untreated for so long. And as the room settled into a peaceful silence, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It wasn’t just the apology or the reconciliation—it was the simple truth that, despite everything, you had a family that still cared for you, and that love was worth rebuilding.

Your mother’s gentle hand traced your growing belly, her touch warm and tender, as she smiled softly at you. “You look radiant,” she said, her voice full of affection, her eyes glimmering with love. She kissed your forehead, a motherly gesture that made your heart swell. “I’m so proud of you,” she added quietly, her voice filled with emotions she didn’t often let slip.

Rhaenyra, who had been moving around the room, paused to look at you. Her expression softened, a knowing smile curving on her lips. “You should rest,” she said, stepping forward to help with your things despite your protests. “Let us do this. You’re carrying the future, after all.”

You tried to decline, wanting to take care of things yourself, but Rhaenyra was insistent, and her tone was kind but firm. “It’s not about what you can do—it’s about what we can do for you now.” With that, she motioned to her attendants, who began to unpack your belongings and arrange them carefully.

Despite your desire to remain independent, there was something comforting in the care they showed you. Rhaenyra’s presence felt like a reminder of the family bonds you had begun to rebuild, and your mother’s soft touch was a reminder that, despite everything, love had endured.

You sighed, a sense of peace settling over you as you allowed them to help. It was clear that both your mother and Rhaenyra wanted to support you—especially now, during this delicate time. Their kindness, in its simplicity, was more than you had ever expected. It was healing in its own way, allowing you to finally feel at ease, even amidst all the changes in your life.

As the room began to take shape with the items that had been moved and arranged, Rhaenyra smiled at you. “You deserve this happiness. You deserve to rest, to be cared for.”

Your heart swelled with gratitude, and you reached out, squeezing Rhaenyra’s hand gently. “Thank you,” you said softly, knowing that no matter the journey you’d been on, this moment—this sense of family—was the true gift.

You let out a small, frustrated sigh as you looked at the dresses hanging before you. The reality of your growing belly settled in as you tried on one gown after another, only to find that none of them fit quite like they used to. Each attempt left you feeling more disheartened. The grand celebration tonight, your chance to present yourself to the court and your family, was approaching, but the idea of not having anything suitable to wear only made you feel more exposed.

You muttered under your breath, cursing softly at the fact that none of your formal gowns fit anymore. “Why did it have to be tonight?” you mumbled, feeling a growing sense of annoyance. The last thing you wanted was to feel like you were drawing attention to the changes in your body—something that had already been the source of too many complicated emotions.

As you stepped out of the gown you had just tried on, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. For a moment, you stared at yourself, unsure of how to feel. The weight of everything—the pregnancy, the marriage, the responsibility—had taken its toll. And yet, beneath the surface, there was a flicker of excitement. Tonight was about celebrating, about reclaiming some sense of joy after everything you had been through.

You shook off your frustration and took a deep breath. You needed to find something, something that would make you feel confident. After all, this night was not just about appearances—it was about embracing who you had become, and all that you were carrying with you, literally and figuratively.

Just as you were about to give up, a familiar voice called out from the door.

“Need a little help?” Jace stood there, leaning against the frame of the door, his usual warmth and concern written on his face.

You smiled softly at him, despite the frustration bubbling inside. “I can’t find anything that fits for tonight,” you admitted, your voice tinged with exasperation.

You blinked in surprise as Jace gestured toward one of the servants. “Please bring the dress I’ve prepared for her,” he said with a smile, his voice carrying the tone of someone who knew exactly what was needed. You watched in confusion as the servant returned with a beautiful gown in her hands.

The gown was a striking combination of deep red and black, the colors of House Targaryen. It was unlike any of the dresses you had worn before—bold, yet elegant, fitting for the occasion. You could hardly believe it when Jace explained.

“I knew the formal gowns wouldn’t fit you anymore, so I had something made for you,” Jace said softly, walking over to you with a small smile on his lips. “I wanted you to feel like yourself tonight, regardless of… well, everything else.”

As the servant helped you into the gown, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude and warmth toward Jace. It was so thoughtful of him, and it showed how much he cared. The fabric fit comfortably, accentuating your form without being too tight, and the colors seemed to shimmer in the soft light of the room.

Jace stepped back, eyes scanning the gown with a proud glint in his eyes. “What do you think? Does it fit?”

You twirled around in the gown, the fabric flowing gracefully with each movement. It felt different from the gaudy or tight dresses you were used to—this one felt like it had been made just for you, a perfect blend of your strength, your heritage, and the love that surrounded you now.

“It’s perfect,” you said, smiling at him with genuine appreciation. “Thank you, Jace. This means more than you know.”

He grinned, the light in his eyes soft and affectionate. “Anything to make you feel special tonight,” he said. “And I think you already do.”

Your heart fluttered with a mix of emotions, but above all, you felt a deep sense of peace. With Jace by your side, you could face whatever the night held. And for the first time in a long while, you felt ready.

You stood before the mirror, gazing at your reflection, the elegant gown hugging your growing form. The deep red and black fabric seemed to hold your essence, a blend of strength and grace. Jace stood behind you, his arms wrapped gently around you, his hand resting on your swollen belly. The warmth of his touch grounded you, and a sense of peace settled in your chest.

As you stared into the mirror, you felt a small sigh escape your lips. The life you once knew, with its chaos and heartbreak, felt so far away now. The man behind you—Jace—was all you had ever wanted in a partner. He loved you not because of duty or obligation, but because he truly saw you. The love he gave was not a burden; it was a gift, something you’d never known you needed but now couldn’t live without.

Jace’s voice, soft and tender, broke the silence. “You look beautiful,” he whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

His words made your heart flutter. There was no resentment, no bitterness in his tone—just pure love. You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror. His eyes were full of warmth, tenderness, and sincerity. His fingers moved slowly over your belly, caressing it as if holding your unborn child in reverence.

“I love you,” Jace whispered again, his voice a soothing melody that filled your heart with warmth. “More than you’ll ever know.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of his embrace. It was so different from the cold, harsh reality you had once endured. With Jace, there was no fear, no uncertainty—only love, acceptance, and a future that felt brighter than anything you had ever imagined.

“I love you too,” you murmured back, your voice thick with emotion. “You make me feel safe. Happy.”

The moment stretched between you, both of you simply holding each other in the silence. It felt right—like this was where you were always meant to be. Aemond’s betrayal, the heartache you had suffered, seemed distant and small now, swallowed by the love and comfort that Jace had given you.

“Tonight,” Jace said softly, breaking the quiet, “We’ll celebrate our new life. But for now, it’s just you and me. I’m so grateful for this—grateful for you.”

You smiled, turning in his arms to face him completely. He leaned in to kiss you, a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed everything words could not. His love was overwhelming, and in his arms, you felt whole again—no longer the broken woman from before, but a woman who had been healed by the love of her true partner.

In this moment, nothing else mattered. Tonight, you would share the joy of your new beginning, but for now, you were content in the stillness, with Jace by your side, loving you like no one ever had before.

As you walked side by side with Jace into the grand hall, the sounds of laughter and celebration filled the air. The atmosphere was lively, but as soon as you entered, a hush fell over the room. All eyes turned toward you. The weight of their gaze was undeniable, but it was Jace’s presence beside you that steadied your steps, grounding you amidst the scrutiny.

Your heart fluttered with nerves, but Jace’s hand held yours firmly, his reassuring touch offering you solace. You walked confidently toward your father, Viserys, who sat at the head of the table. A smile spread across his face as he looked at you, his eyes softening as they landed on your belly. He stood to greet you, his voice warm and welcoming.

“Congratulations,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to your swollen belly before returning to meet your eyes. “I am so happy for both of you.”

You smiled back, the words of your father bringing a small sense of comfort. Jace squeezed your hand, his pride evident in the way he stood next to you. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you and your new beginning.

But as you made your way forward, you couldn’t ignore the intense gaze from across the room. Aemond sat at the far end of the table, his cold eyes locked onto you and Jace. His expression was unreadable, his lips set in a tight line as he stared without saying a word. Next to him, Alys sat silently, her child resting in her lap—an image that seemed to freeze your heart.

The sight of Aemond, his gaze piercing and distant, brought a tightness to your chest. You could feel his disapproval radiating from him, a silent accusation in his eyes. The child in his lap, a reminder of his betrayal, only added to the tension that pulsed between you.

You could almost hear the silent words between you and him, unspoken but heavy in the air. But you refused to let it affect you. You had moved on. You had found a new life, a new family in Jace, and no matter how Aemond looked at you, it didn’t change that.

Jace’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, a subtle reminder of his unwavering support. He could feel the shift in the air, but he said nothing. Instead, he simply stood tall beside you, his presence a shield against the coldness from across the room.

You walked toward your father and took your seat, the weight of the moment settling over you. Aemond’s gaze never wavered, but you refused to meet it. The past was behind you, and you were no longer the woman who had let herself be trapped by his coldness and betrayal.

Tonight was about celebration, about the new life growing within you and the love you had found with Jace. The past—Aemond, Alys, the hurt—had no place here, and you wouldn’t let it ruin your joy.

As the evening unfolded, the lively chatter and the sounds of the celebration filled the grand hall, but your attention was entirely on Jace. He had insisted you eat, even though your plate was still full. His worry for you, for the well-being of the child you were carrying, was evident in every gesture.

When the manservant brought forward a plate of sweets you particularly enjoyed, Jace smiled proudly and handed them to you, not noticing the amused glances from Rhaenyra and your mother, Alicent, seated beside you.

“I told you I’m fine,” you laughed softly, lightly pushing the plate of sweets away, already feeling full from the rich meal that had been served. “I haven’t even finished my dinner yet.”

But Jace was unperturbed, his eyes filled with concern. “You need to eat more, for the baby. Mother and your mother both say you should eat plenty, and they’re right,” he said, his tone unwavering.

Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged glances, their laughter echoing softly across the table. You could tell they were enjoying the sight of Jace’s earnestness, the way he was fussing over you like a doting husband. It was both endearing and a little frustrating, especially when your stomach had no room for any more sweets.

“Jace, I really don’t need any more,” you said, gently pushing the plate further away. “I’m already full. Really.”

But Jace simply smiled, oblivious to your protests. “Nonsense,” he said. “A little more won’t hurt, will it?”

Your mother’s laughter rang through the air. “He certainly is determined,” she teased, her gaze softening as she watched her daughter and son-in-law interact.

You sighed, a mix of amusement and mild exasperation at Jace’s overzealous attention to your needs. But despite the small frustration, you couldn’t help but smile at how much he cared, at how he always made sure you were well taken care of, whether it was ensuring you ate enough or offering constant support.

“You’re impossible,” you said with a playful smile, and Jace just grinned, pleased with his efforts to look after you.

Rhaenyra leaned in, her eyes twinkling with humor. “He does make it hard for you to say no, doesn’t he?”

You nodded, giving Jace a mock glare before turning back to your mother. “I don’t know how you put up with him all the time.”

Alicent chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s all part of being a mother-in-law. I suppose I’ve grown used to it.”

Though the playful banter continued, it was clear that your family, despite the turmoil of the past, had found a sense of joy and peace again. And that, in itself, made the night feel all the more special.You felt a slight tension rise in your chest as Alys approached, her presence undeniable as she cradled her child in her arms. She smiled warmly, offering her congratulations to you and Jace, her voice sweet and calm.

“Congratulations to you both,” Alys said softly, her eyes lingering on your growing belly.

You nodded politely, offering a small smile, but your mind couldn’t help but wander. As she mentioned her son, you glanced at the child she was holding. The little one had silver hair, unmistakably a Targaryen trait. You couldn’t help but comment, “He looks just like Aemond.”

Alys smiled, her expression gentle as she glanced down at her child. “Yes, he does,” she said, her voice filled with maternal pride. “Aemond and I are hoping for a sibling for him soon.”

Her words, though kind, hit you like a sharp pang in your heart. The thought of Aemond and Alys trying for another child, especially after everything that had transpired, was almost too much to bear. You forced yourself to maintain a calm exterior, though your stomach churned with a mix of emotions—jealousy, hurt, and frustration.

Jace, noticing the slight shift in your mood, squeezed your hand reassuringly under the table, his eyes flicking between you and Alys.

Alys, seemingly oblivious to the effect her words had on you, continued talking about her son and how happy she was with her little family. But your mind was elsewhere, struggling to reconcile the image of Aemond with his new family and the new life you were trying to build with Jace.

You did your best to smile and respond politely, but the conversation felt strained. It wasn’t that you harbored ill feelings towards Alys or her son—it was the reminder of everything you had lost, and how easily Aemond had moved on, leaving you behind in the wake of his choices.

Jace, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, gave you a subtle nudge, and you quickly redirected your attention back to him, offering a smile that was only half genuine.

“Thank you, Alys,” you said, your voice steady, though inside, a whirlwind of emotions raged. “I’m glad to see you and your son doing well.”

She smiled warmly, seemingly unaware of the tension that simmered beneath the surface. “It’s been wonderful, truly,” Alys replied before turning her attention back to her child.

As she walked away, you exhaled deeply, grateful for the brief respite from the conversation. Jace gave your hand a comforting squeeze, his silent support more than enough to help you regain your composure.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, taking comfort in the stability he provided, a stark contrast to the chaos and heartbreak of your past.

The moment Alys left, a wave of relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. The atmosphere grew tense once again as you saw Aemond and Aegon approaching, the weight of their presence undeniable. You could feel your heart race, your body instinctively tensing as they drew nearer.

Aegon, ever the charismatic one, gave you a warm smile and congratulated you on your marriage. His words were genuine, though the tension in the air was palpable. Aemond, however, had a different aura—his expression was cold, his eyes sharp as he fixed his gaze on you and Jace.

“Congratulations,” Aemond said with a forced politeness, though his voice lacked warmth. He then added with a calculated calmness, “I must admit, your decision to marry Jace is quite the surprise. How could you marry a bastard like him?”

The words stung, but you didn’t flinch. You had grown accustomed to Aemond’s cutting remarks. You met his gaze with equal intensity, refusing to let him undermine your happiness any longer.

“How could I marry a bastard like him?” you echoed, your voice steady, but a fire burning in your chest. “And how could you, Aemond, have a bastard child with the bastard girl of Harrenhal? What’s the difference between us?”

Aemond’s face tightened at your words, his lips pressing into a thin line as he took in your response. The room felt smaller, the tension thicker. He opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. He had always expected you to cower before him, but today was different. Today, you were not the same woman he had left behind.

You saw a flicker of frustration in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with a cold, dismissive look. “You’ve changed,” he muttered, though it seemed more to himself than to you.

Jace, ever protective, stepped closer to you, his arm coming around your waist possessively. He met Aemond’s stare with a challenging gaze, unspoken tension hanging between them.

Aegon, sensing the growing hostility, quickly intervened, attempting to defuse the situation. “Let’s not do this now,” he said, his tone softer. “It’s a celebration tonight. We’re here to honor our father.”

But Aemond, still silent, looked between you and Jace with a mixture of disdain and something else you couldn’t quite place. He knew the words he had spoken had hit their mark, but you were no longer the woman who would let his venom affect her.

“I’ve made my choices, Aemond,” you said firmly, your gaze unwavering. “And I’ll continue to make them. Your opinion doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

With that, you turned your attention to Jace, your hand finding his, drawing strength from him as you walked away from the tension-filled encounter. The murmurs of the room faded as you and Jace made your way to a quieter corner, where you could finally breathe freely again.

Jace, ever the calm in the storm, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his eyes soft with affection. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and comforting.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I am now.”

You had been spending more time in the Red Keep, adjusting to this new phase of your life. With your family, including Rhaenyra and your mother, growing closer, things had begun to settle. The tension between your family members had diminished, and there was a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

That morning, you found yourself sitting with Heleana, enjoying the company of her twin children as they played nearby. Their laughter filled the air, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to smile, feeling the warmth of family. Yet, beneath that smile, there was an ache—an uncomfortable pressure you couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t just physical; it was as though your body was reminding you of the strain you’d been carrying.

As the children ran around, you tried to hide your discomfort, taking slow, steady breaths to calm the mounting pain in your abdomen. You didn’t want to worry Heleana or anyone else, so you kept your focus on the children, pretending that everything was fine. But the truth was, the constant dull pain had become something you couldn’t ignore.

Heleana noticed your shift in demeanor, her sharp eyes catching the subtle change in your expression. She paused for a moment, looking at you with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, her voice laced with care. “You look like you’re in pain.”

You tried to brush it off with a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine, just a little tired,” you replied, attempting to downplay it. “I think I just need a moment to rest.”

But Heleana wasn’t convinced. She stood up and walked over to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “If something is wrong, you know you can talk to me, right?” she said, her voice warm and understanding.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to confide in her and not wanting to burden anyone with your concerns. But then, the pain flared again, sharper this time, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I’ve been feeling… off,” you admitted quietly. “It’s like there’s something not right, and I don’t know how to explain it.”

Heleana’s face softened with empathy, and she knelt beside you, taking your hand. “You should speak to someone, perhaps a maester, to make sure everything is alright,” she suggested gently.

You nodded, your heart heavy with uncertainty. You had been so focused on rebuilding your life and finding happiness that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge the possibility that something could be wrong.

“Thank you, Heleana,” you whispered, grateful for her support. “I’ll think about it.”

As you sat there, the laughter of the children faded into the background, replaced by the heavy thoughts running through your mind. Something inside you knew you couldn’t ignore this feeling any longer.

The pain intensified, each wave making it harder to focus on anything else. You clutched your stomach, unable to ignore the overwhelming sensation anymore. Looking at Heleana, you whispered, “Please, help me. I think it’s time… it’s time for the baby.”

Heleana’s eyes widened in concern, but without hesitation, she helped you up, supporting you as you staggered toward your room. She could sense the urgency, the change in your breathing, the way you were trying to hide your discomfort, but she knew you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Once inside your room, Heleana didn’t waste a second. She quickly stepped out, telling you she would get Jace and a maester immediately. The moment she left, you were left alone, walking back and forth in your room, trying to ease the growing pain with slow, deliberate movements. Each step, each breath, felt like a small battle.

Time seemed to stretch as the pain surged and receded, leaving you wondering how much longer you could bear it. You were no longer just anticipating the arrival of your child; it had arrived in the form of this unbearable, sharp reminder of what was coming.

Minutes later, Jace burst into the room, his face a mix of concern and urgency. His eyes scanned you quickly before he rushed over, his voice barely above a whisper. “Breathe, love. Please, sit down."

You could hear the panic in his voice, the way he was trying to stay composed for your sake, but it only made your heart race faster. He gently guided you toward the bed, helping you sit down, his hands steady yet trembling with concern. “Stay with me, just breathe,” he urged, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders, his presence a comfort amidst the overwhelming pain.

The maester arrived soon after, and Jace’s face softened with relief as he stepped aside to let the healer do their work. The maester checked on you quickly, muttering words of reassurance as he confirmed that the time had come. “It’s happening,” he said, giving Jace a nod before he began preparing for the delivery.

Jace turned to you then, his eyes filled with love and worry. “You’re doing great, just keep breathing, alright?” He sat beside you, holding your hand, offering whatever comfort he could as the maester worked.

The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by your labored breaths and the quiet, soothing words Jace whispered to you. The pain was unbearable, but his presence was the anchor you needed. His steady voice, his comforting touch—he was there, and that alone was enough to help you find the strength to keep going.

“You’re strong,” Jace said, his voice full of admiration. “You can do this. I’m right here with you.”

And in that moment, with his words and his love surrounding you, you knew you weren’t alone. The journey ahead would be painful, but with him by your side, you could face anything.

The sharp wave of contraction ripped through your body, and you couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from your throat. Your grip on Jace’s hand tightened, knuckles white as you clung to him like a lifeline. He was right beside you, whispering soothing words, but the pain was overwhelming, consuming every part of you.

Your mother, Alicent, and Rhaenyra were both there now, their presence adding a layer of comfort. They stood at your side, each offering soft words of encouragement, their hands brushing against your hair, wiping away the sweat that beaded on your forehead. The room was filled with a flurry of movement, the midwives and maester working efficiently, their voices calm and reassuring as they guided you through the process.

“It’s too much,” you gasped, shaking your head in desperation. “I can’t do this. It hurts… it hurts too much.”

Alicent leaned in, her voice steady and filled with a mother’s unwavering strength. “You are stronger than you think. You can do this. Just one more push, my darling.”

Rhaenyra echoed her, a determined look in her eyes. “You’ve come so far. You’re almost there. We’re all here with you.”

Jace pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice soft but firm. “I believe in you. You’re doing so well. Just one more time, love. For our son.”

Their words were a lifeline, pulling you from the depths of your despair. Drawing in a shaky breath, you gathered every ounce of strength left in your body. With a guttural cry, you pushed, the pain reaching its crescendo as you gave one final effort.

The room seemed to still for a heartbeat, and then, the sound of a baby’s cry filled the air. Relief washed over you like a tidal wave as the midwives worked quickly, bringing your child into the world. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as they placed the squirming, crying baby into your arms.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, smiling as he stepped back.

Jace’s eyes were filled with awe as he looked down at the tiny bundle in your arms. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out to touch the soft, silver hair on your son’s head. “He’s perfect,” Jace whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Just like his mother.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your son, overwhelmed by a flood of love and relief. His cries softened as he nestled against you, his tiny fingers curling around your thumb. “Hello, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice cracking with emotion. “You’re finally here.”

Alicent and Rhaenyra looked on with tears in their eyes, sharing in the joy and relief that filled the room. “You did it,” Alicent said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You brought him into this world.”

Rhaenyra smiled, brushing a tear from her cheek. “He’s a true Targaryen. Strong and beautiful, just like his parents.”

Jace leaned in, pressing another kiss to your temple, his own tears falling freely now. “I love you,” he whispered. “Both of you. You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your family, the pain and fear melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. Your son was here, healthy and safe, and your heart swelled with a love that you knew would only grow with each passing day.

As you cradled your newborn son in your arms, a wave of relief washed over you. His tiny cries filled the room, a sweet sound that marked the culmination of your pain and struggle. Jace was at your side, his eyes shining with pride and love as he gazed down at his son. Alicent and Rhaenyra stood nearby, their expressions softened with joy.

But then, without warning, a sharp, familiar pain gripped your abdomen once more. You gasped, clutching at your stomach as the pain intensified. The room shifted from serene to alarmed in an instant, the midwives and maester springing back into action.

“It’s happening again,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear and exhaustion. “What’s going on?”

The maester stepped forward, his expression calm but urgent. “You’re carrying twins, Your Grace. We must act quickly. The second child is on their way.”

Jace’s grip on your hand tightened, his face pale but resolute. “You’re strong,” he whispered, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of pain. “You can do this. I’m right here with you.”

Alicent knelt beside you, her hands trembling as she brushed the damp hair from your face. “You’ve already brought one beautiful child into this world. You can do it again. We’re all here with you.”

Rhaenyra leaned in, her voice soothing and filled with determination. “Focus on your breathing. We’ll get through this together."

Drawing on their words, you summoned what little strength you had left. The contractions came fast and hard, each one sapping your energy, but you refused to give up. The thought of your second child, waiting to take their first breath, fueled you to push through the pain

The room blurred around you as you bore down, your body trembling with the effort. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each second a battle against the overwhelming exhaustion threatening to consume you. But with one final, agonizing push, the pressure released, and the room filled with the cries of your second child.

A sob of relief escaped your lips as the midwives carefully placed your newborn daughter into your arms. Her tiny face scrunched up as she wailed, her voice strong and fierce. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked down at her, her delicate features a mirror of her brother’s.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced, a smile breaking through his composed demeanor. “Both children are healthy.”

Jace’s eyes welled with tears as he reached out to gently touch his daughter’s hand, her tiny fingers wrapping around his. “She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “Just like her brother. Just like you.”

Your heart swelled as you cradled both of your children, the weight of them grounding you in this moment of profound joy and love. Despite the pain, despite the fear, you had brought them both into the world, and they were safe in your arms.

Alicent pressed a kiss to your forehead, her tears mingling with yours. “You did it, my love. You brought two beautiful souls into this world.”

As Jace wrapped his arms around you, holding you and your children close, you felt a surge of love so powerful it took your breath away. This was your family, your heart. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that together, you could face anything.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[calirph]

𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 as 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍

[sinistersnakey]

Its so sweet and innocent in the most vulgar way. I love this!!!

Is it broken?

aemond x betrothed!f!reader

Summary: Aemond finds out just how much care you need in the mornings. 

Warnings: 18+ innocent reader testing aemond’s composure, bathing, masturbation(f), fingering, oral(f), humping, slight cum play, unintentional edging and teasing bc aemond is fighting to hold onto his control he fails every time

Authors Note: my first aem request from @jacaerysonlywife 🥹💞 apparently i’m giving my innocent readers a soft pink mood board and ykw it’s what they deserve 🤗 i put some plot in this bc i can’t help myself when it comes to this man 

Word Count: 4.4k

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Every morning Aemond has the same routine of waiting outside of your chambers for you to greet him with a smile. Today he was able to spend an extra couple of minutes training because of your morning bath. After every bath he listens to your complaints of your handmaidens not seeing to all of your needs. He’s tried to help you come up with what to tell them but you still come to him with a fresh pout. The only way he can make you feel better is give you a hug and take you to the gardens.

You’re a little later than normal, not that he minds, he hopes your handmaidens have finally gotten something right. He leans against the wall fiddling with the hilt of his dagger waiting for you to come out and join him. He sighs when he sees your company of handmaidens walk out of your chambers with red faces.They avoid his gaze and wait to the side of the door as he walks up to it before turning back to them.

“Is she ready?” he asks lowly.

“No, my Prince.” one of them whispers. 

“Why not?” he sighs.

“She’s not happy. She won’t say. She told us to come get you.” he clenches his jaw at their words. 

How hard could it possibly be to bathe you? He knocks softly on your door before stepping into your chambers and softly clicking the door shut behind him. He looks around your chambers and his eye stops when he finds you still in the tub. His steps are slow and deliberate as he watches you sink lower into the water. He stops and grabs a stool to take a seat next to the tub. You scoot closer to the lip and rest your arms on it looking up at him with a small frown. 

“Why do you keep kicking your handmaidens out?” he hums, brushing your hair back over your shoulder. 

“They don’t know what I like.” you pout when he takes his hand away from you. 

“Did you tell them what we came up with?” he tilts his head picking up the cloth that’s resting over the tub, deciding to finish bathing you himself.

“No.” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“How are they going to know what you want then, sweet girl? Hm?” he sighs, reaching for your hand to begin washing you. 

“I don’t know.” your voice small as you look up at him. “Can you tell them to get my oils and my soaps?” you grab his hand. “This is just water that’s tepid.” you purse your lips and he dips his fingers in the water. 

“Mm,” his finger trails up your arm leaving droplets and goosebumps in their wake. “Is there anything else you need?” his eye meets yours and he tries to avoid looking at your heaving chest from his touch. He knows he should leave and call your handmaidens back in but he can’t find it in himself to go.

“Milk for my bath.” you whisper. 

“I’ll tell them.” he nods. “When they come back with what you desire I’ll let them bathe you.” he presses his lips to your forehead. “Then we’ll go on our morning walk.” he starts to rise. 

“Aemond,” your voice a plea as you reach out for his hand. “Can you?” you chew your lip. 

“Can I what?” he watches as you play with his fingers. 

“Bathe me. Your touch is softer.” you bring his hand to your mouth and press your lips against it. “Please,” your soft plea is music to his ears and he nods once. He doesn’t care if it’s indecent, you’ll both be wed by the end of the month.

“I’ll be right back.” he walks to the door and cracks it open and sees your handmaidens still waiting with their hands folded and heads down. “My betrothed requires soaps and oils, not just warm water. Bring another bucket of steaming water along with some milk and petals. Surely it’s not that hard to figure out what she needs.” he hisses, watching as their heads lower even more. “Go on then, with haste.” he clicks his tongue before sealing himself back in your chambers with you. 

“Thank you.” you watch as he slowly walks back over to you. “Can you just bathe me from now on?” you blink up at him as he stares down at you. 

“I’ll tell your handmaidens what you like.” his eye trails over the length of your body and he groans as you reach your hand up for him. 

“I want you, Aemond.” you grab for his hand. “Please, please, Aem,” you pull his hand down to you and he grunts taking a seat on the stool. “Aemond, please,” you get on your knees and he inhales sharply as he’s greeted by your breasts, willing his cheeks not to flush.

“I’ll see-“ a quick succession of knocks has Aemond standing up. “Lay back down.” he nods at you before going to the door and letting your handmaidens in with the baskets and buckets. They leave the extra supplies near the tub and are out the door before you can even offer them a small thanks. 

“What did you tell them to bring?” your eyes look over the baskets. 

“Hot water.” he picks up the bucket and empties it into your bath and you lean back, sighing as the warmth licks up your body. “Milk as you requested.” he trickles it down the length of the bath and watches you squirm as the cool liquid mixes with the water. “Your soaps and oils.” he brings the basket to the side to let you shuffle through and smell them. 

“I like this one best.” you place a small jar of sweet smelling soap in his hand. 

“And what oil would you like?” he tilts his head. 

“I don’t know yet. That’s for after the bath.” you look up at him and he chuckles softly. 

“Of course, I should’ve known.” he nods his head. “I had them bring some petals for you.” he brings the small box to the bath and takes his seat on the stool again. 

“Thank you,” your soft tone causes him to internally groan. 

He spreads the petals throughout the water and watches you mix everything together in the water. He picks up the cloth, adding soap to it and slowly starts to clean you watching you lean back against the tub. When he gets to your legs you allow him to lift them out of the water one at a time. He only washes up to your mid thigh not trusting himself enough to go further. You pout when he puts both of your legs back in the water and starts washing your back. 

“You missed a spot.” you turn your head to look at him. 

“Where did I miss?” he chuckles at your furrowed brow. 

“Between my thighs.” you grab his hand with the cloth. 

“I'm not supposed to go between your thighs, sweet girl.” his eye darkens as you pull his hand under the water.

“Why not?” you pout. “My handmaidens clean me there.” his back straightens when you brush his fingers against your center.

“Okay, okay,” he steels himself. “Let go of my wrist and I’ll take care of you.” you bring your hand back up to your chest and watch his face as he slowly slides the cloth against you. Aemond can’t help but let his fingers slide up your slit after the cloth and watch your cheeks flush. “Like this?” he hums and you nod your head.

“They’re usually less- Aem,” your hand reaches for his wrist again as he abandons the cloth and slides his fingers through your slit, unable to help himself. “Aemond,” you whine as your thighs clamp around his hand and he watches you suck your lip into your mouth. “Feels so- yes,” he groans at your soft whimper when he brushes against your bud. 

“Shh, shh,” his fingers swirl around your bud and your fingers dig into his wrist. He scolds himself and starts to pull his hand out from between your thighs. He knows he shouldn’t have even been in this position in the first place but you tug his hand back down. “What are you wanting me to do?” his voice strained. 

“I don’t know,” you whimper as his finger trails down your slit once more. “Feels so good Aem,” he watches your body tremble as he brings his fingers back up to your bud. “Mm, right there, yes,” your soft pleas go straight to his cock. 

“I should stop.” he brings his lip between his teeth watching you arch out of the milky water. 

“No, please don’t stop.” you hold his arm under the water. “Aemond please,” you gasp as he circles his fingers faster making the water start to slosh. The warm feeling in your stomach coils and your hips start to roll against his hand. “Why?” you let out a soft cry as he starts to remove his hand.

“Let me finish washing your hair and get you out.” he pulls his hand out of the water despite how you claw at him. He shakes his head at himself that he allowed his control to slip and touch you so intimately before your wed. Despite that fact, he desperately wants to hear more of your noises. 

“Aem, it hurts.” you put your hand under the water to replace his and gasp as you copy his movements. “Oh,” you gasp, feeling the difference in wetness from the water. “Aemond,” his name falls from your mouth breathlessly and he readjusts himself in his trousers. 

“Leave your little cunny alone.” he tsks pulling your hand from between your legs. “Lean back and let me wash your hair.” you whine, squeezing your thighs together as you do as he says.

Aemond has no idea how to steel himself for the rest of your bath if you’re going to keep up with your pouting and whining. He slowly trickles the water down your hair and listens to your soft hums as he runs his fingers through your hair. You slip your hand beneath the water hoping to recreate the feeling Aemond was offering you with his fingers. You start to squirm and tremble as he washes the soap out of your hair. 

“Aemond,” you whine as your hips chase your fingers. He flares his nostrils seeing your hand under the water once more.

“Gods,” Aemond groans, pulling your hand out of the water. “What did I say?” he stands and you look up at him with flushed cheeks. 

“But it hurts.” you whimper and he pulls you out of the bath and wraps you in a towel. “Is my cunny broken?” you turn and look up at him as he starts to rub the towel against you.

“No, it’s not broken.” he chuckles, walking you over to your wardrobe. 

“How do you know? You haven’t even looked at it.” he clenches his jaw and closes his eye to try and collect himself but when he looks down at you once more you have your towel dropped to the floor. “Can you check, Aem?” he watches you lay back on your chaise. 

“I’m not supposed to until after we wed.” he groans as you pull your legs up to your chest. 

“But you can touch it?” you tilt your head and his eye widens. “Please. Do you want them open like this?” you spread your legs apart. 

“Gods, you’re going to kill me.” he watches your slit glisten in the morning light. 

“If you won’t check can you call someone else in? Maybe a maester? I don’t know Aem, please.” you reach out for him. 

“I’m not calling a maester to come and play with your cunny.” he shakes his head at the thought. 

“Tell me how to make it feel better then.” you bring your fingers down between your legs and trail them up your slit. “Aemond please,” you look at him with flushed cheeks. “Your fingers felt better.” your body trembles as you swirl around your bud. 

“I shouldn’t.” his voice low and he knows he’s going to give in soon. He watches your legs start to shake around your hand as you start to move your fingers faster. His name is on your lips like a prayer and he decides he wants to make you come for the first time and for the rest of time. 

“Aemond,” your plea breaks his will and he’s on his knees in front of you pulling your hand away. 

“Let me check for you, sweet girl.” he looks up at you and you nod your head quickly. “Show me where it hurts.” he watches you nibble your lip and point to your bud. “Shall I kiss it to see if that makes it feel better?” he spreads your legs more, softly squeezing the flesh of your thighs. 

“You want to kiss my cunny?” you squirm as he dips his head down. 

“I would like nothing more.” his eye flicks up to you. “But I’m asking you. Would you like me to kiss your aching cunny?” his breath fans over your center and you scoot closer to his mouth and he chuckles. 

“Yes.” you nod. “Please,” you squeak when he presses his lips to your thighs. He watches you dig your fingers into your blankets the closer he gets to your core. “Aemond,” you cry when he licks his tongue up your slit. 

He circles your bud and your breath catches when he starts to flick his tongue quickly. His lips encase your bud and you whimper above him rolling your hips against his face. He chuckles at your soft gasps and relishes in the way that you grind against him. He licks down to your core and pushes his tongue in and groans at your sweet taste. 

“Aem,” one of your hands grabs onto his that’s gripped on your hip when he licks back up to your bud and lashes against it quickly. “Mm, I- Aem, something’-“ he listens to your broken words as your body jolts. He licks faster and your whimpers become more high pitched. “Aemond please, I-“ intense pleasure washes through you and you hold onto his hands as if you're falling. He licks at you softly before moving back and looking at your heaving chest. 

“How does your cunny feel now, sweet girl?” he chuckles as you grab on his arms and pull him up to your lips. “Yeah? Did that feel good?” he mumbles against your lips slowly molding to you. His tongue slips into your mouth at the same time his fingers slide through your wetness. You whine into his mouth as his fingers start to swirl around you faster. 

“More.” you grab his hand and push it further down. “It hurts inside now.” you whine against his mouth and he groans. 

“Let’s get you dressed and see if it’ll stop.” you whimper as he lifts up from you and you wrap your arms around him, clinging to him. “Sweet girl.” he tries to keep his voice firm but it falters when you curl against him as he stands up with you. He has no choice but to hold your ass and he groans as you wrap your legs around him and bury your head in his neck.

“Aemond please,” you whine. “I think my cunny is begging for you.” his heart starts to beat faster and you squirm in his arms. 

“What about your oils? I had them brought up here.” he tries to coax you into doing something else. 

“After my oils then?” you press your lips to his neck. 

“We’ll see.” he chuckles as you start to untangle from him. He sets you down and you look up at him with a soft pout. “Enough with the pouting.” he grabs your chin. 

“Aem,” your voice dripping with need. 

“Go pick out an oil.” he turns you around and scoots you over to the basket. He’s thankful for the minute reprieve because if he doesn’t readjust his cock he’s sure it’ll split out of his trousers from how hard he is. 

“I picked this one.” you hum and walk over to him. 

“Remind me where we put this.” he plucks the jar from your fingers. 

“Everywhere.” you smile up at him. “It keeps me soft.” you step closer to him. 

“Very well.” he hums and twists the lid off. “Arm.” he holds his hand out for you. He tips the jar slightly and you jump when it meets your skin. 

“It’s cold.” you look up at him with furrowed brows. 

“It’ll warm up when I rub it in.” he nods slightly and gently massages the oil into your arm. He repeats the process on your next arm and he starts to kneel down to your legs when you stop him. 

“Aem you keep missing places.” you sigh loudly. 

“My apologies.” he chuckles. “Where have I missed now?” he watches you with a smile. 

“My chest.” his eye widens when you grab your breasts. He clears his throat and nods once. He brings the jar to your neck and slowly lets the oil drip down your chest and tries to calm his breathing. He watches your nipples harden as the oil meets them and you clench your legs. “Rub it in. It’s cold.” he can’t take his eye off your breasts. 

“Yeah, okay.” he nods, swallowing. He brings his hands to your breasts and stills. He startles slightly when your fingers wrap around his wrists and starts to move his hands. 

“Aem, you have to move your hands to rub the oil in.” you giggle. 

“Yes, I know, sweet girl.” he chews on his lip and starts to knead his hands into you. He spreads the oil up your neck and back down past your navel. His hands wrap around your waist before bringing them back up to engulf your breasts once more. He swipes his thumbs against your nipples and chuckles when you gasp. 

“Do that again.” you pant. He takes the hard peaks between his fingers and rolls them. “Oh,” you gasp. “More, Aem.” your breathing deepens as he softly pinches them. 

“No more.” he internally scolds himself for getting lost in you again. “I have to oil your legs now.” he removes his hands to grab the jar once more. He kneels down before you and drips some oil into his hands and starts to massage it into your legs. He makes sure to go to the tops of your thighs so you don’t pout that he ‘missed��� a spot. He even goes as far to rub some oil into your ass trying his hardest to ignore your pleas. “Let’s get you dressed.” he stands and leads you to the wardrobe. 

“But Aem my cunny needs-

“I need you to get some type of covering on. Even if it's just a slip. Sweet girl,” he sighs. “It’s hard for me to control myself around you right now.” you look up at him with a furrowed brow.

“Why?” you whisper. 

“Go sit on your chaise and I’ll start bringing things over to you.” he exhales shakily and walks over to your wardrobe. He grabs out a pair of stockings and stops when he hears you whine. “What’s wrong?” he prompts.

“I want my pink ones.” he nods at your whisper, not trusting himself to turn to you. He starts to pull a slip down when he hears you whine again. 

“Use your words. Tell me what you want.” he fists the silk of the current slip he’s holding. 

“I want a white slip. That pink one doesn’t match my stockings.” you chew your lip as he pulls down your white slip. 

“What color small clothes then?” he doesn’t even attempt to pick them out. 

“None. My cunny still hurts.” he closes his eye trying to find the restraint not to walk over to you and flip you over and take you. 

“Which dress would you like?” he trails his fingers across the line of dresses hanging. 

“I want to match you.” your words sink into his chest. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a black dress.” he chuckles thinking about it. “Do you even have one?” he looks around your wardrobe. 

“I do.” you get up and walk over to him. “It’s in the back there.” you point and he pushes the other dresses aside. “I had them make it for me. See it has darker blue for your sapphire and some silver because you like to train with swords. I was going to have them add some green for Vhagar but I think she deserves her own dress.” you look up at him and see his red cheeks. 

“I don’t..” he shakes his head. He never expected you to have a dress made that reminds you of him. “You’re too sweet to me.” he whispers and you pull him against you in a tight hug. 

“No I'm not.” you cup his face and bring him down to your lips. His hands rest on your waist and squeezes softly into your skin. 

“Let’s get you dressed.” he pulls back and sinks to his knees before you once more. He would never be on his knees for anyone else and the sight of you looking down upon him could send him down to his hands too if you so desired. He grabs the first stocking and taps your calf. You lift up your leg and he slides it up your leg before placing a kiss on your knee. He repeats this action with your other leg and looks over you only clad in stockings. “Gods you’re so beautiful.” you flush at his words. 

“So are you.” you whisper, brushing his hair back. He stands and grabs the slip, waiting for you to lift your arms. He slides the silk over your body and groans that seeing you like this is even more indecent than when you were bare. 

“Can I put your dress on or is your cunny still hurting?” he straightens out the neckline of your slip. 

“It still hurts.” you whisper, stepping closer to him.

“Come on.” he tugs you over to the bed. “We’re going to try something.” you nod your head quickly trailing after him. 

“Does your cock hurt too?” he stops at your words. “It’s been pushing against your trousers for a bit now.” you pout, pressing your palm against him. “Are we broken?” you squeeze your hand and he groans wrapping his fingers around your wrist. 

“We’re not broken.” he chuckles. “Go lay on the bed so we can make your cunny and my cock feel better.” he nods and watches you crawl into the center of the bed. 

“Can I see?” you prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“See what?” he tilts his head. 

“Your cock, Aem.” you push your bottom lip out. “Please,” he’s undoing his belt at your words and you sit up and scoot towards him as he pushes them down enough to free himself. “I wanna-

“No, no,” he bats your hand away. “Lay back down, sweet girl.” he smiles when you listen and he crawls over you hoping that he has enough restraint to do this properly. “Gods,” he presses his forehead to yours when his tip slides up your slit. 

“Aemond,” your hands grip onto his shoulders as he slowly starts to slide up and down your slit. “Mm, Aem- yes,” your breathless pleas have him starting to hump against you faster trying to elicit more of your whimpers. 

“How does it feel?” he presses his lips to your neck while you squirm beneath him. Your hips buck up into his every time his tip brushes against your bud. He moves his hips faster listening to the sound of your wetness coat his length. “Tell me.” he smiles at your soft sounds. 

“Feels so good- I, Aem, please,” you tremble beneath him and he starts to move his cock through your wetness faster. “Aem it feels- something like,” your voice breaks into a soft cry. “Please,” you cling to him as you start to shake from your pleasure washing through you. 

“My cock thinks your cunny feels good too.” he smiles watching your face scrunch up as he becomes more coated as your pleasure pours out of you. He moves his hips faster looking for his own release. The sounds of your soft pleas and whimpers push him over the edge and his come starts to coat your cunny. 

“What’s this?” you reach down and swipe your thumb against his tip and he almost collapses on top of you as you rub his slit while he’s still coming. 

“Oh Gods, sweet girl.” he stills and grabs your hand. “It’s what I’m going to fill your sweet little cunny with once we’re wed.” you bring your hand up to your mouth and he watches you taste your mixed pleasure. 

“Why can’t you fill me with it now?” his cock twitches at your soft words.

“Stay here so I can clean us up.” he closes his eye and slowly stands up. He walks back over to the tub and grabs the discarded cloth. He wipes off his cock and situates himself before he walks back over to you on the bed. 

“Thank you.” you say softly as he wipes up your pleasure between your thighs. “Can we still go for a walk in the gardens?” you look up at him and he presses a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Of course we’re still going to the gardens. Let me help you dress.” he helps you up off the bed and at last, finally begins to lift your dress up your body. 

“Do you think my flowers have finally begun to bloom?” you turn and look up at him once your dress is laced up. 

“Let’s go see.” he offers you a soft smile as he intertwines your fingers and leads you out of your chambers. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

i want him to take care of me in the morning 😔 

taglist ✍️

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501 @nostalgiagoth03 @multilover19 @summer-and-sunflowers

[srim01997]

Second Chance | Aemond T. x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegon II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Violence, Canon Divergence

Writer’s note: Let me remind you, dear reader, that this is a complete work in my language, translated into English. Therefore, there may be plot holes and grammatical mistakes in this work. English is my second language, not my mother tongue.

I recall the quote Mirena said to Vlad in the movie "Dracula Untold," and I decided to include it in this chapter.I also remember how old Viseara is in this story, which is why the ending unfolded as it did. She is in her late 40s and pregnant once again at this age. I promise that a special chapter will be released soon.

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Previous Chapter| Second Chance masterlist | Special Chapter

Chapter 17 The end of a story, but the beginning of a new one.

“Didn’t get my message, did you?” Her slender hand rested casually on the hilt of her sword. “I’m not dead, and...”

Before she could finish, another dragon swooped down, its massive wings kicking up a gust as it landed. Its rider descended gracefully, revealing a regal woman adorned with the crown of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator.

“Kneel,” Viseara’s voice rang out cold and commanding, “before the true queen.”

Otto Hightower and the Green Council were forcibly made to kneel by the Gold Cloak soldiers, who remained loyal to the rogue twins. The rogue princess stepped forward, her mismatched eyes gleaming as she approached the Hand of the King, who struggled to comprehend the sudden turn of events—especially the revelation that the person he believed dead was very much alive, contrary to Lord Baratheon’s claims.

“Oh, old leech...” she spoke with a sly smile. “I have an offer for you. Surrender and beg for Queen Rhaenyra’s mercy, and your children will be spared.”

“At worst, Ser Gwayne will be sent to the Wall, and Alicent will become septa—or face whatever mercy the Queen deems fit. But if you refuse?” Her tone darkened as she leaned closer to Otto. “Your son will be Vhagar’s next meal, followed by your precious daughter.”

Her voice softened into a venomous whisper. “Well? Don’t you love your children?”

Grinding his teeth, Otto finally uttered, “Please... please, Your Majesty. Have mercy on me and my children.”

The rogue princess stepped back, allowing the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to take the reins. Rhaenyra’s gaze fell on Otto with a mix of contempt and satisfaction. This man was the architect of the chaos that had engulfed her and her loved ones—the manipulator who had dragged her former friend and half-siblings into the deadly game of power while they were still children. He had contributed to Queen Aemma’s tragic death and neglected to alter King Viserys’ treatments, ultimately causing her father’s slow, agonizing demise.

Rhaenyra resolved to sever these toxic ties with her own hands, liberating everyone from Otto’s machinations. The Black Queen had already decided Otto Hightower’s fate. His name could no longer linger as a thorn in her side.

She ordered his execution to serve as a grim reminder of his wickedness. Otto was dragged away to the dungeons to await his beheading the following day. Other members of the Green Council were offered exile to the Wall, though some chose death over freezing in the North. Among them was Ser Gwayne.

Alicent, however, was placed under house arrest, confined to her chambers, with only her children permitted to visit. Helaena married Aenys to mend the rift between the two families. Aegon chose to flee to the Free Cities with Elia and their children. It broke Viseara’s heart to let her youngest daughter go so far from her, but she trusted Aegon’s promise to care for her.

Meanwhile, Daeron returned to Oldtown, yearning for the freedom he had once enjoyed. His charm won over many women, as Ser Gwayne had once teased the Green Queen, but in the end, he married Floris Baratheon.

The Hightower family, after these events, lived humbly, avoiding any action that might bring ruin or a fate like Otto’s.

Jacaerys was named heir to the Iron Throne, while Lucerys traveled to Driftmark to prepare to inherit the title of Lord of the Tides from Corlys Velaryon. Lucerys reportedly grew close to his uncles there. Rhaenyra’s remaining sons returned safely from Pentos under the protection of the Velaryon fleet.

On the day of Otto’s execution, the city square was filled with the jeers and curses of the people he had wronged. Dragged to the center, Otto was beheaded amid a cacophony of cheers. His head and those of other Green Council members were mounted as a warning to others.

The Iron Throne accepted Rhaenyra as its queen, leaving her unscathed as she sat upon it—a testament to her rightful rule. The Seven Kingdoms acknowledged her as Westeros’ first queen. With her wisdom and the support of those around her, Rhaenyra resolved lingering issues and ushered in a new era of peace.

The civil war between the Blacks and the Greens had ended with minimal bloodshed.

As for Aemond and Viseara, they secluded themselves on Dragonstone after the war, to such an extent that Jacaerys joked they might as well have disappeared. Servants whispered about how the usually stoic, one-eyed prince was utterly devoted to his wife, rarely leaving her side—especially now that she was heavily pregnant.

On Dragonstone’s balcony, Aemond gently caressed Viseara’s swollen belly and pressed soft kisses to her shoulder. She turned to him with a wry smile. “If I’d been born later, we might have had as many children as King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne,” she teased.

Aemond chuckled and leaned closer to her ear. “Or if I’d been born earlier…” He paused, clasping her hand. “Viseara, I have a confession to make.”

Viseara swallowed hard, realizing she, too, had something to confess. She turned to him. “So do I. Let’s say it together.”

They locked eyes and spoke in unison, “I traveled back in time—”

Both froze in shock. “You time-traveled too?”

“And you as well?” Aemond blinked, astonished. “That explains how you always seemed to know what would happen, even at Storm’s End.”

“Yes... though what happened with Criston was unexpected,” Viseara admitted, scratching her head. “I only wanted to save Rhaenyra and everyone else. I never imagined I’d end up marrying my own nephew.”

“But I’ve loved you for a long time, so let’s call it even,” Aemond said with a mischievous grin. His words reminded Viseara of Alicent’s jest about how he too would have been obsessed with her.

Viseara smirked. “If you were infatuated, you should have said so sooner.”

“I admit, I was too rash and hot-headed back then. It cost me your trust.” Aemond held her hand tightly, resting his forehead against hers. “This time, I won’t lose you again.”

“Just don’t kill me again.”

“I swear.”

Months later… The cries of Viseara echoed throughout Dragonstone as her labor stretched on for hours. Aemond had been sent outside to wait, his worry growing with every passing moment. Finally, the sound of a newborn’s cry pierced the tense air. A maester emerged to deliver the news to the one-eyed prince.

“You have a son, my prince, and he is healthy.”

Aemond rushed into the chamber to see Viseara cradling their newborn child. The prince gazed at the baby in his wife’s arms, noticing the unmistakable Targaryen features.

“Have you chosen a name for him?” he asked.

“Baelon… Baelon Targaryen,” Viseara said with a soft smile, though her face was pale as snow. Her mismatched eyes met Aemond’s, and she spoke again.

“Aemond, could you take me for a ride on Vhagar? Just once. With our son. I want to do what my mother once did with me and my brothers.”

Though Aemond hesitated, knowing she had just endured childbirth, he relented to her wish. He helped her to her feet, carefully swaddling their newborn son before they climbed onto Vhagar’s back. Together, the three of them soared above Dragonstone, the baby laughing joyfully in his mother’s arms.

Aemond felt Viseara’s embrace tighten as her voice, weary yet full of love, broke the silence.

“Aemond… remember when I told you I wanted to have many children with you? If only I had more time…”

“One is enough,” Aemond replied firmly. “Baelon is enough. I don’t want to see you suffer again.”

“Such sweet words… but a man like you could always find another when I grow old,” Viseara teased weakly, resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re a handsome man, after all.”

“You sound like an old woman full of doubts,” Aemond teased back. “You’re the only wife I’ll ever have. I’m free now that my half-sister is queen—I have no need for ambition.”

“Then in my next life, I’ll be born later,” Viseara whispered. “So we’ll be the same age… and we can have many children together.”

“Death cannot separate us, for one life is born from the other,” Aemond said softly.

“Where did you read that?” she murmured, her voice fading.

Aemond felt her grip weaken, but he refused to acknowledge the dread creeping into his heart. He carefully helped her dismount when they landed, cradling their son in one arm. Her delicate hand reached up to touch his cheek.

“Aemond… I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice trembling.

Viseara closed her eyes with a faint smile, her body going limp in his arms. Aemond clutched her tightly, tears streaming down his face as he carried her lifeless body back to Dragonstone for her funeral rites.

The news of Viseara’s death reached King’s Landing swiftly, prompting the family to gather. Aegon arrived with his dragon, Sunfyre, carrying his baby daughter, Elaena. Daeron joined later. The somber atmosphere weighed heavily on all present.

Daemon, upon seeing the newborn in Aemond’s arms, asked, “What’s his name?”

“Baelon. Viseara named him Baelon,” Aemond replied.

Daemon smiled, a rare moment of warmth crossing his face. He gently touched the baby’s tiny nose and said, “Be a good boy for your father, little one.”

Though the ceremony was marked by grief, Baelon’s presence brought some solace. Viseara’s older children from her previous marriage were excited about their new baby brother. Aenys cradled Baelon, rocking him gently, while Elaena played with the infant, easing the sadness in the air.

Aegon consoled Aemond, who was overwhelmed by the loss of his wife. Knowing his brother had a newborn to care for, Aegon ensured Aemond would not succumb to despair. The four siblings spent nights together in the nursery, a rare moment of unity that even brought genuine laughter from Aemond.

Aemond dedicated himself to raising Baelon, refusing to remarry. He did not want to repeat the mistakes of Viserys, who had neglected his children. He even forgave Lucerys for taking his eye, understanding that he too had been at fault.

As Baelon grew, he bonded with a dragon named Nyx, earning admiration from all, including his father. Aemond proudly recounted tales of Viseara’s bravery, saving the more shocking details for when Baelon was older.

Years passed, and Aemond lived quietly, appearing in public only for significant events like his mother’s funeral. Eventually, Baelon grew into a warrior-prince, inheriting the best traits of both his parents. He became a close companion to King Aegon III, strengthening the bonds of House Targaryen.

Aemond passed away peacefully in his bed, the same one he had shared with Viseara. His final words were a whisper: “My dearest Viseara…”

His body was cremated by dragonfire, and his ashes were laid to rest beside Viseara’s. Baelon honored his father’s memory by living a life of courage and loyalty, becoming a legend in his own right.

The Dance of the Dragons was remembered not as a war of ruin but as a conflict resolved with minimal bloodshed. Yet the Targaryen dynasty would face greater challenges in the future, as the seeds of discord sown by King Aegon IV led to the devastating Blackfyre Rebellions.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The pale blonde-haired woman startled awake on a bed, only to collapse back down due to the pain coursing through her body from fighting Baratheon soldiers. She had tried to save Rhaegar but was injured so severely that she couldn’t reach her eldest brother in time. She had watched him fall, and then darkness claimed her.

But now, where was she?

“You’re awake…” a mysterious young man who had just entered the room spoke. He had dark hair and striking blue eyes, reminiscent of the sky. In his hands was a bowl of steaming food. “I dragged you here to hide, and… well, I took the liberty of changing your clothes. Don’t worry—no one will come after you. To them, you’re already dead.”

He handed her the bowl of soup. “You must be hungry.”

The slender woman accepted the bowl and began eating while scrutinizing the man before her. “Why did you save me?” she asked, her lilac eyes narrowing.

The man scratched the back of his neck, visibly flustered. “I… uh… don’t think I’m crazy, but…” He hesitated before blurting out, “I saw you in a dream. Though you seemed… fiercer there.”

“Never mind that… What’s your name?”

“Aemond Blackwood,” he replied, his voice steadying. “I’m named after my great-great-grandfather, Prince Aemond Targaryen.” His gaze lingered on her as he asked, “And you, Princess?”

“Viseara,” she replied, her voice filled with pride. “I’m named after my great-grandmother, the rider of Nyx and the so-called Rogue Princess. I need to leave now; I have to find my mother and my siblings—”

As she tried to stand, she nearly collapsed. The Blackwood man caught her and gently guided her back to the bed. His tone became firm. “You’re not well yet! You need to rest first, and I’ll help you find them. Please, trust me.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, though her sharp eyes noticed him muttering something under his breath. “What did you say?”

“Death cannot separate us, for one life is born from another,” he stammered, blushing slightly. “I read it in a book somewhere… don’t hold it against me.”

Aemond Blackwood’s gaze softened as he gently cupped her face, as though he knew her from another time, though he couldn’t place where or how.

“We could get to know each other better, Aemond,” Viseara said, her voice carrying a teasing undertone.

On the wooden table beside the bed rested a Valyrian steel dagger that had once belonged to Prince Aemond Targaryen, along with a ruby necklace that was Viseara's signature piece. However, neither of them seemed particularly concerned with these relics of the past; instead, they were focused on the growing connection between them in the present.

THE END

[sideysvault]

𓍼ོ Ad Astra Per Aspera 𓍼ོ (PT. 6)

Knowing Evil

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

wc: 1757k

Tags: [sfw] Arranged marriage, mature themes, angst, coldness, enemies to lovers, eventual fluff and smut, family drama, Aegon being Aegon, more comedic and lighthearted than usual.

Full Series masterlist here. read part seven.

────────

Seeing him stumble out of the venue was almost saddening. He had a rather ghostly look; Sunken eyes, yellowish skin and the most greasy hair she had ever seen. The Princess did not appreciate the King, but God, was he a pitiful watch. 

The Silk Street themselves were as dirty as usual, the mixture of booze, vomit, and oil scents coming from the brothel made a rather strong contrast with the cool, light air of the night. 

Upon recognizing her, Aegon almost immediately felt a sense of shock and disbelief, what was she doing here? Was his obnoxiously righteous sister-in-law conducting an illicit affair? This exciting new prospect was immediately rendered boring once he noticed the boxes in her hands. 

Aegon was a seasoned drinker, you see, and even if he could not walk properly, he could still talk with only a small hint of his indisposition “Ah, so you are the one dressing whores and bastards in expensive silk.” 

He laughed at her, like a child would, apparently finding her charity efforts endlessly amusing. Aegon then stumbled his way out of the door to give her an unrequited side hug. The Princess, disgusted by his drunken smell, swiftly spanked his hand away from her shoulders. 

Probably too inebriated to be offended, he halfheartedly let out a “You dare put hands on me?”. 

The Princess had way more pressing matters than to entertain the drunken failure that broke her husband’s heart. So, deciding to ignore him, especially with the knowledge that this was the only night that the kind and discrete guard was on duty, she made her way to the entrance of the brothel. Even if they were not particularly close, Prince Aemond’s disheveled look and poignant sincere shame still haunted her.  

Going out of the walls in the depths of dawn had become a routine occurrence in her life. After all, she never felt like she was in any real danger, as no one ever recognized her as a member of the court, and her initial travels to the orphanage and interactions with the whores, —most of whom were the mothers of said orphans—, had always appreciated the bread, toys and garments. It made her felt secure and loosely protected. While she could not account for the actions of strange men, she felt fairly confident that she would not be violently harmed in any form. 

Nevertheless, as she was handing out the boxed goods, she felt a pinch of concern about the King being confused for someone of a lower rank and robbed. Or perhaps, even worse, being recognized as the majesty himself and causing further damage to his already crumbling image. The Princess quickly apologized to the Madam for not having the courtesy of overseeing the donation herself, but the woman cackled at Aegon’s arguably pathetic state and nodded, dismissing the situation as an understandable one. 

What the hell was he doing without company anyway? The improper behavior, being alone, clearly mentally disturbed —Although, she supposed that it was his natural state—. Would it be really that cruel to leave him to fend for himself? 

Aegon had brought it upon himself, after all. And the affair could provide further fodder for scandal-mongering pamphleteers and common folk, already keen on portraying the King as a corrupt brute. Ever since the cruel public hanging of the Rat Catchers —Which both her and her husband had vehemently opposed to—, The King had left them more vulnerable than ever. Beset by severe food shortages, weighed down by taxes, resentful of royal absolutism and inspired by the Black's enticing old world ways, people were growing increasingly vocal in their demands for change. But Gods, she could not overlook the cruelty he had inflicted upon her husband, and the unfounded mockery that mirrored the barbarian judgement she had suffered as well. But she guessed she could not have The King wandering the streets in these troubling times. Fuck. 

Having made her mind, she walked towards him and intertwined her arm with his, ignoring his disgusting state, she began to guide him towards the Walls. 

“Come on, Aegon The Magnanimous, let’s get you to rest”. 

He smirked through his teeth, but sternly spat out, “Do not mock me, woman.”

A wide smile appeared on her lips. He was even more useless than usual, and weirdly non-confrontational. 

——

“Do not tell Heleana. She will most certainly tell mother, who is even more sanctimonious than you are.” 

That is what took. The Princess decided to take him to one of the guest chambers instead of his own. She was now considerably less amused with the situation, as she had guessed that the walk to the castle would sober him up completely, but little seemed to have changed in his demeanor. 

She sighed as she pushed him to the bed. He could really become a liability. For all she knew, Aegon could choke on his own vomit and perish, just as her uncle did. And, as much as she would like that to happen, she certainly knew that it would be morally wrong to allow it. Even if he was nothing more than a white-haired bastard of a demon. 

And so she gave him water to drink, and washed his face and neck with cold water to help his mind come out of the fog. She must have made it evident on her face, or perhaps even in that shitty state he had been able to ready it from her gaze. Just as the Princess got up to fetch some clean clothes for him to change into before sleep, he said, “I did not ask for this”.

She impulsively rolled her eyes, immediately recognizing what he was referring to. Her husband had asked for it, but no one answered his prayers. And Gods, she may have been asked for it herself, if she was born a man. 

Oh Aegon, arrogant and self-indulgent man. Why was it that the sad, defeated portrayal of him managed to pander to her tender heart? Despite all the advantages of his birthright, his little self-worth and faith and self-isolating behavior would probably be the demise of him. 

“I know. I know you didn’t”. She wasn’t sure if she was saying this to Aegon, or maybe she was trying to soothe herself into accepting that he was —partially— correct. 

“I see how you look at me. You, fuck, you are just like him.” The Princess also immediately understood who he was talking about. And she knew for a fact that Aemond did feel that way about his brother. 

“That is not the case, Your Grace.”

Aegon moaned in exasperation. He grabbed the nearest pillow and sloppily threw it near her, not even trying to hit his target, a childish tantrum. 

“Stop calling me that, I feel your ridicule every time you say it”

The Princess finally found the spare clothing in a drawer, and gave it to him as she turned away to face the wall. She actually did felt a pinch of regret upon hearing his words.

While he changed, with took a painful amount of time, the girl could hear him mumbling “I have no wish to rule. No taste for duty, I will find a ship and sail away, never to be found”.

Partially worried, as soon as he said he was done, she turned around to find a poorly dressed man. Apparently, Aegon could not deal with the trouble of buttons right this second.

After giving it some thought, afraid and cautious, she got closer to him to fix the mess he had made on his shirt. He still smelled of alcohol and smoke, but the odor was mainly contained in the floor, coming from his old clothing. He looked better. She thought for a moment before saying what had been plaguing her mind ever since she saw him. 

“It is imperative for you to think of your family, of your sister”. 

He nodded, once, twice, and then a third time for good measure. Annoyed, yet again, it was Aegon´s time to slap her hands away from his chest. The Princess furrowed her brows at the sight of the remaining four buttons she hadn’t been able to fix. 

“I know. I fucking know. Do you think I am too stupid to notice?”. 

She furrowed her brows even more and turned her gaze upwards, to look into his eyes. He was angry at her now, and his eyes looked teary. The King approached her, cornering the girl into the wall. His eyes turned an even darker shade of blue, now suddenly sober; crude, as he continued “That oh, so poor, so innocent Heleana will certainly become a scapegoat for nearly everything that is wrong with the dynasty? That she will be condemned simply for being my wife?. Just as my son was?”.

She hummed. She guessed the King wasn’t as much of a brute as she had thought. Her heart had compassionate inclinations that all the Targaryen seemed to be able to exploit, after all. The mention of Jaehaerys had the power to hurt even herself, and she had known the boy for only a few months. Heleana had always told her that despite his flaws, Aegon was still a proper father to his children. He must still be endlessly heartbroken. Burning in grief. She grabbed his hands and looked at him in the eye with an honesty that made him deeply uncomfortable.

“Aegon, look, perhaps you are the most significant example in which destiny will, at times, pluck a man, and with a commanding hand, have them overstep the bounds of their capacities.”

She knew that he will always remain a fervent supporter of absolute royal power. And, of course, an unrepentant enemy of the Blacks ideals, unable to compromise.

If that is to be so, he could at least conduct himself with some sense of valor and honor.

Aegon seemed taken aback by her words, taking a few beats to process what she had just said. 

And then laughed in her face and told her to fuck off. She exhaled, irritated, and convinced him to puke into a bucket for good measure. She quickly informed him she was off to sleep for whatever was the rest of the night. 

The Princess could’ve sworn she heard a ‘thank you’ coming from The King's lips as she was leaving. But it could not have been, as she turned around and saw him quietly rest his drunkenness off. 

It must have been a particular noise produced by the wind. 

────────

Notes: Two in a row? Lets goo

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Longing (Aemond Targaryen x Servant!Reader)

synopsis: “You are wasting all this time away from what you could have.” He whispers against your lips.

“How could I so selfishly take something that will never truly be mine. For if it where it would mean you had lost everything.” You murmur back, finally caving and resting your forehead against his.

warnings: forbidden love, love confessions, afab reader

word count: 1.5k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @legitalicat

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Being a chambermaid employed by the royal family meant that you were closer to them than most low born people could say. It also meant that you were closer to them than most would ever be. You had begun your service as prince Aemond's chambermaid shortly after your four and tenth name day which was more than just a few years past now and, in that time, the initially fearful flutter in your stomach at the Targaryen prince’s presence had changed. Your palms still sweat, and your heart still missed a few beats, your muscles still tensed, and your breath still fell short. Yet the air around you feels different. Instead of suffocatingly thick, it seems charged with energy.

Still, ever aware of where you come from as opposed to his royal background, you push any of it aside and continue your service. All but too happy when you get reassigned to the princess Helaena´s chambers. Unknowing as to what brought on that change, carefully veiled by the Queen who feared her son’s infatuation with you grow, hoping it would keep the prince´s eye away from you. It wouldn´t. Nothing ever could. He had always gotten what he wanted, one way or another.

You felt the burning gaze in your neck whenever he was unoccupied by lessons, training or sleep. Every free second he is given. Though him watching you isn´t quite as hard as when he tries to talk to you.

“Have you ever known the feeling of love?” Aemond asks you in an empty hallway one night.

Gasping at his sudden, silent appearance, you stumble a step back. “A-apologies, your highness?”

“I asked if you have ever been in love.” He repeats.

Unsure if it is better to answer truthfully or not you decide for it. Just as your palms start to sweat and your stomach begins to flutter again.

“I have.” You admit with a burning face.

“How does it feel?” He implores further, taking a step towards you.

“In all truth I do not know how to answer your question.” A nervous huff escapes your lungs. “Because it is not the happy tale I assume you wish to hear.”

Aemond closes further in on you until you feel the cold stone wall of the red keep pressed against your back and his warm breath barely grazing over your face. “Tell me anyway.”

“There is nothing to tell. He is of noble birth, so I had no choice but to ignore my own feelings. Lest a confession endangered my position in the castle.” You try to push down any revealing glimmer in your eyes as he lays a finger underneath your chin to force you to look up at him.

“Have you ever considered his feelings? He might hope and wait for a confession. Your position would not be endangered if he is with you willingly, is it?” The look in the blond´s eye had seldom been witnessed to be as soft as it is in this moment.

You can barely handle the cold guilt that floods your nervous system at the prospect of it. “No, that would be an even worse fate.”

For a moment a heavy silence reigns over the atmosphere in the corridor. You are captured by his intense energy, but you know that your differences drive you too far apart to be together. Not in this life. Collecting all your strength, you free yourself of the spell.

“You will have to apologize me, your highness.” You mumble quickly before running back to your chambers.

Leaving him behind confused and displeased with his own haste having driven you away. Arriving out of breath and agitated, your stomach churns until the moment your eyes close. Yet even in your dreams the thought of Aemond won´t bring you any peace.

For the following tenday or so the two of you go back to the usual routine. You go after your duties day by day while Aemond watches. Secretly planning his next step. Careful not to drive you away any further than he already might have had. If only he knew how high the fire of passion was burning inside of you. Longing, yearning for what he was offering. Only barely contained by your insistent reminders how much there was at stake were he to pursue his feelings for you.

When he approaches you again, you are in the same corridor. Just about to prepare a bath for the princess. His steps silent as always, sending a cold shiver down your back as he calls out your name.

“You will never love anyone like that ever again. You will be like an empty vessel waiting to be filled, yet never being able to find what you are truly searching for…” He murmurs intimately.

Coming to a stand mere inches in front of you, leaning his head down to regard you with an all but reverential look from that dark, lilac eye. His hands find yours to interlock your fingers. Keeping you from running so fast again. He had thought long about how to talk to you without it, but now that he stood before you the words just broke out of him. Making your breath shudder as you take in the words. Struggling to cope with the intensity of the situation.

 “I am willing to sacrifice that, if only it means to spare him from the fate he would suffer if he chose me.” You croak.

It is wrong to be so close to him, but by the seven it feels so right. He was so unapologetic and unwavering in his pursuit, and it felt good to be wanted. Even if your body couldn´t help but be on high alert. His eye searches into your own. Longing, aching for your love.

The usually brooding facial features, consumed by the agonizing need to have you. “You cannot spare him from fate. On the contrary. You are hurting him more by not embracing your love.”

Aemond´s hands cup your cheeks, gently. You watch him come closer inch by inch, frozen in place. When his lips lay on yours in a tender kiss, you don't dare to close your eyes. The chances of being caught still ever present in your brain. Still your hands grip the leather of his doublet impossibly tight. The touch only lasts a moment, and his eyes remain closed as he hums afterwards.

“You are wasting all this time away from what you could have.” He whispers against your lips.

“How could I so selfishly take something that will never truly be mine. For if it where it would mean you had lost everything.” You murmur back, finally caving and resting your forehead against his.

“For as long as there is breath in my lungs, I swear to you that no matter who I am wed to my heart will be yours to hold only. I will worship every inch of you in the shadows of the castle and the dark of night.” He promises.

“But what are stolen moments and hidden alcoves if they do not save you from the danger of the affair. If you will never be able to not worry about the prying eyes and judgemental tongues of the court.” You argue back. Yet the intention of stopping the arising longing is far failed.

Your heart clenches with the wish to have the prince as freely as his future wife could.

“It will be whatever we wish. Our own little world.” He rasps and something inside of you breaks.

The strength you had shown all this time to stay away from him is eradicated by the sweet nothings.

“It sounds so simple.” You concede in a doleful tone.

“It can be. If you let it.” Aemond murmurs, one of his hands wandering into your hair. “I beg of you. Do not refuse what we could have anymore.”

“I will not.” You whisper.

The blond closes the infinitesimal gap between your lips anew. This time your eyes flutter close. Trusting him to be safe in your privacy. The hand still on your cheek, cradles your face as the other presses up ever so gently against the back of your head. Guiding you into the affectionate touch. His lips capture yours. Hungry for anything yours are willing to give and expressing every ounce of emotion that had been repressed for years. His tall frame presses against you, your arms snaking around his middle to splay your fingers over the cool leather covering his back. Your heart skips like never before. Your lips linger for a moment longer before you part. It could have been an eternity or just a blink of an eye and your eyes flutter open hesitantly. The air around the two of you buzzes, the energy the only sound in your ears beside your blood rushing with adrenaline.

“I love you.” You whisper. Scared to wake up and have it all be a dream if you speak any louder.

“I´m yours. Forever.” Aemond murmurs back.

[sinistersnakey]

Can he like.... absolutely destroy me?!?!?! NOW!!!!

[lizziela]

I have a type, and not even one is mentally sane (it's starting to worry me) they are all crazy and/or traumatised in some kind of way, they are all some level of twisted

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

he's so dreamy.

[zeroinetoheroine]

What is Aemond’s biggest insecurity in your opinion?

That despite becoming proficient swordsman, claiming Vhagar, and morphing himself into this ruthless paragon of valyrian supremacy - someone could still see the dragonless laughingstock kid Aemond was. That is why Aegon's "bullying" in s2 cuts so deep. He reminds Aemond that despite everything he did, others could still remember how weak he used to be.

[lionneee]

Can you make one where reader tries to leave Aemond and he is Despartly in love with reader after reader leaves him he looses his mind he started stalking her killing her every new boyfriend and always anonymously gifting her random things with creepy letters then to get her back again he made her pregnant

This is so messed up.

I LOVE IT.

Its out, baby!

[aemondapologistfrfr]

I See You As You Are

aemond x f!reader 

Series Masterlist

Summary: You are placed in marriage with a man you’ve never met. You write to him in hopes of getting to learn something about him but your letters go mostly unanswered. After arriving at court you and the Prince have already made decisions about each other that weighs down heavily on the both of you.

Warnings: miscommunication, arranged marriage, a cup of wine, both aemond and reader wanting to speak but refusing to do so

Authors Note: pls see the vision w me ik this is different from my smut smut smut smut but like give her a shot maybe 👉🏼👈🏼

Word Count: 5k

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Aemond couldn’t care less about strengthening house alliances if it meant he had to marry someone he’s never met. He didn’t necessarily see himself marrying, nonetheless being forced into one for political headaches that his mother and grandfather had caused. He even went as far to speak to Aegon to tell him he would do no such thing. After Aegon’s fit of laughter he just clapped Aemond on the back and congratulated him on the opportunity to bed a woman more than once. 

Aemond fumed and stormed out of his chambers and started to make his way down to the training yard. He walked down the stairs and threw the doors open making a straight line, avoiding the people who glanced his way. He stops on his heel when he hears the grand maester calling after him. 

“My Prince, just a moment.” the man shuffles down the stairs with a small scroll. “From your betrothed.” the maester smiles up at him before leaving him in the yard once more. 

Aemond looks down at the rolled parchment in his hands as if it’s personally begrudged him. What could you possibly need to say to him? He’s half tempted to throw it in the fire but his curiosity is getting the better of him. Sighing he steps over to the wall and breaks the seal and unrolls the parchment. 

~

My Prince, 

I must admit my nerves about coming to King’s Landing at the end of the week. I’ve never been to court and I don’t know what to expect. If you had any words of advice or encouragement I would be grateful. I look forward to meeting you. No one seems to know much about you and I’ve grown quite curious. 

Your Betrothed 

~

Aemond reads over your parchment two more times and scoffs before shoving it in his pocket. What do you expect him to say? Any words of encouragement.. he shakes his head. He has nothing to say and no desire to write back to you but he’s sure the maester has told his mother by now and she’ll insist. He clenches his fist before beginning to make his way to the training yard. 

“Aemond.” he closes his eye when he hears his mothers voice. He just wants to train. “Come, what did she say?” she swishes over to him. 

“None of your concern.” he looks down at her. 

“You will write back to her.” her voice firm. 

“What is the point? She’ll be here by the end of the week.” his tone clipped. 

“What did she say?” she tries to pry. 

“That she doesn’t want to come to court.” he turns to walk back to the training yard but his mother grabs his arm. 

“Let me see.” she holds out her hand. 

“No.” he spits out. 

“Aemond. Show me.” she steps closer and he flares his nostrils, shoving the parchment into her hand. She scans it over and shakes her head at him. “You will tell her you’re excited to meet her and ask if there’s anything she should want to be more comfortable.” his eye widens at her suggestion. 

“I will do no such thing.” he scoffs at her. “I’m going to train.” he snatches the parchment out of her fingers before making his way to the training yard once more. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

You curse yourself as you wait all morning for a raven to come. It was wishful to think the Prince would write back to you, but you couldn’t help but hope. By the time it was midday you had given up and started down the steps of the tower. You stopped and decided you were going to send him another letter. With no care or not if he answered this one, you sat at the desk and picked up the quill and ink. 

~

Prince Aemond, 

Most of my trunks are packed now. I scarcely recognize my own chambers any longer. We’re to start our journey to King's Landing the day after tomorrow. My nerves have been getting the best of me. I hope to hear from you before we leave. 

Your Betrothed

~

You fan the ink off, helping it dry before you begin to roll it. You pour a small amount of wax on and press the seal onto the paper. You hand it off to a maester and make your way back down the steps. When you make it out in the courtyard you look around with glassy eyes already missing your home and you haven’t even left yet. You quickly dry your eyes and make your way back to your chambers. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Gods above you sent him another letter. He snatches the rolled parchment and storms back to his chambers and sits at his table with his head in his hands. He had hoped this situation would just go away and maybe if he ignored you, you wouldn’t come to court. He stares at the parchment before opening it and reading. He read it twice more and memorized how his name looked in your handwriting. 

Aemond groans, rubbing his face and letting the parchment fall to the table. He leans back in the chair before picking up the parchment and reading your curt words over again. He rises and grabs a piece of parchment along with his ink and quill before sitting back down. He stares at the blank parchment at a loss for what to say. 

~

Court lacks anything of importance at the moment. My mother has urged me to offer you anything that will make you more comfortable. Make your requests and they will be done. 

Aemond Targaryen

~

He reads over his message and nods. As the ink dries he begins to melt the wax to seal it, shaking his head at sending you a raven. He quickly rolls the parchment and seals it, blowing on the wax. Walking to his door quickly he takes the parchment to the maester before he changes his mind and throws the message into the fire. The maester smiles at the small roll and Aemond waits until he sees the raven begin to carry it into the sky. 

He scrunches his brow wishing he didn’t send it in the first place. He debates whether it’d be worth it to get on Vhagar and have her burn every raven an hour out of the city. Annoyance washes through him that you even wrote to him in the first place and forced this decision upon him. Letters matter little when you’ll be here in days, it’s simply a waste of time. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

It seems as if the Prince is a man of few words. You’ve gathered he has no desire to speak with you and a pit settles at the bottom of your stomach. Nerves wash through you thinking about marrying this man. You know you have no choice in the matter so you pull out a piece of parchment and begin to write out your requests. 

You look over the parchment nodding to yourself before sealing it and sending it off with a raven. As you walk down the stairs you slow, thinking how this will be your last time doing so. Your last afternoon in the gardens of your childhood. Your last night in your bed in your home. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

This morning Aemond makes his way directly to the maester to receive the parchment he knows he received. The maester opens the door with a smile and places the roll in his hand. He turns on his heel and returns to his chamber to read over your requests privately. 

~

Aemond Targaryen, 

I see. All that I request is access to the library and garden. 

~

He has read over your fifteen words exactly that many times. His brow furrows and he has a strange feeling in his chest at your short reply. He clenches his jaw and tosses the parchment on top of the other two and pours himself a small cup of wine. Of course you would have access to those things. Do you think you’re his prisoner? Maybe being betrothed to him was like being a prisoner. He knows when you finally see him you’ll think that. 

He shakes his head and finishes the wine before walking back over to your three letters. His eye scans over them, all the while his anger begins to slowly rise. Snatching up the parchments he walks over to the hearth prepared to burn them until he hesitates. He groans and opens the drawer on his side table and shoves them in before slamming it shut. He storms out of his chambers to go lose himself to his training once more. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Aemond flares his nostrils as his mother fusses over his doublet. He bats her hands away and she gives him a warning look. He hears the doors start to groan open and his mother turns and stands with a straight back next to him. Aemond scans over every person who steps foot through the doors wondering if he’ll be able to know who you are. 

You tell yourself you’re going to keep your eyes on the ground so you don’t lose your nerve. Not that you had any nerve to begin with. You were terrified to meet Aemond and had no desire to meet him for the first time in a room full of people. Despite everything when you step into the hall your eyes snap up and you know exactly who he is. 

You look directly at him and he’s already staring at you. You watch as his eye scans you over before he raises his chin and looks away. You feel your cheeks flush as you continue to walk deeper into the hall. He watches from the corner of his eye as your skirts trail behind you as you come to stand across from him. He can feel you staring at him and he slowly turns his attention back to you. 

You look up at him and shrink under his gaze as his head slowly turns back to you. Gods, he’s so intimidating. There’s a small frown on his face as he turns his gaze away from you once more. You smooth your skirts and try to focus on the words being spoken but all you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. 

His mind is filled with the picture of how nervous you look. Your cheeks are flushed and you can barely look at him. Your hands are clasped in front of you as you keep your head down. He continues to steal glances at you until his mother elbows him and he glares down at her. 

“What?” he hisses before noting how the hall is quiet. 

“Ask to take her to the gardens.” she says through her teeth. Gods right now? He looks at you and sees you chewing on your lower lip and sighs. He clears his throat and steps forward. 

“Would you like to walk through the gardens?” your eyes snap up to him at his soft voice. You nod once and he offers you his arm. He watches you stare at his outstretched arm and clenches his jaw as the second tick by. “May I escort you?” he tries to subtly prompt. 

“Oh, yes, of course.” you mutter lightly grabbing onto his arm. 

He leads you out to the garden and you both walk in a heavy silence. You have no idea what to say and you can see him clenching his jaw tightly. He catches every small change of expression on your face. Your eyes widen as you walk into the gardens taking in their grandeur. Your mouth opens and he thinks you’re going to finally speak but then you snap it shut the next second. 

Aemond doesn’t know what to say so he continues to silently lead you down the stone path. You take mental notes of flowers and small alcoves you plan on visiting on your own and keep pace with him hoping for this walk to end. You wish to see your chambers and settle after your travels. You can tell Aemond would rather be anywhere else than with you at the moment you try to hurry your pace. 

Aemond furrows his brow at your sudden hurried steps. Why were you walking faster than before? Had you hated your walk that much? Sure it was quiet but you had requested the gardens in your letter. Maybe you hadn’t wanted to be here with him. He knew you didn’t want to be here with him. He lets go of your arm and he watches your steps falter before you continue at his side with your hands held together. 

Your face heats so thoroughly and you feel tears well in your eyes when he releases your arm. Embarrassment washes through you for holding onto his arm as long as you did. Surely you should’ve let go long before that. Maybe that’s why he was so quiet. You shake your head and wipe at your eyes as subtly as you can, willing the tears to just disappear. 

Aemond hears your sniffle before you even wipe at your eyes. His mind races trying to figure out what’s wrong and why you're crying. You must loathe the idea of having to marry him. He doesn’t know what to do so he keeps walking and looking ahead. You shake your head softly and square your shoulders as if nothing happened and continue the silent walk. 

By the time the both of you walk back into the Keep you have your composure once more. A flock of handmaidens come to your side once at the main steps and whisk you away from Aemond much to your relief. You wonder if you should’ve said goodbye but he made no attempt to say anything so neither did you. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

Aemond slams his sword down onto his opponent's blade feeling the man’s hold begin to waver. You left him in the hall without saying anything or even looking back at him. He couldn't blame you. He’s sure you're disappointed in him. You surely expected a Prince who is beautiful and gallant and you received him. He pulls his sword back to jab it at the man and he falls to the ground. Aemond looks down at him unimpressed before leaving the man in the dirt and stalking out of the yard. 

As he walks back into the Keep he spots you walking down the stairs at his mothers side. Your eyes catch on him before you quickly look away with red cheeks. He glances at his mother who is smiling at him and he groans knowing this will be no good. 

“Aemond.” she hums softly. “I was just talking about you.” his eye narrows at her and she smiles. “I was telling her how much you love the library and if anyone could show her around them it would be you.” she gives him a pointed look. 

“Or one of the maesters who work within the walls.” he mutters. 

“Nonsense.” she shakes her head. “You’re there daily.” he exhales loudly at her words and slides his eye to you. 

“When do you want to see the library?” he watches your eyes look up at him and when he thinks you’re about to speak his mother does. 

“Now.” she nods. “Then I’ll have lunch prepared for the both of you.” she smiles offering you a gentle squeeze on your arm before she leaves you with Aemond. 

“Do you truly wish to see the library?” he looks down at you. 

“If it’s not too much trouble.” your voice small. 

“This way then.” he starts down the hall not checking if you’re following or not. 

You stare after him walking down the hall before you start to follow after him. Your steps are quick until you’re at his side and he’s looking down at you. You don’t acknowledge his stare and instead take in your surroundings excited for when you’re settled and have more time to explore. As you round the next corner your face smashes into a chest. 

“Is this your betrothed, brother?” Aemond clenches his jaw as Aegon's hands hold on to your arms to steady you. “You’re quite beautiful.” you blush at his words. 

“Thank you, my King.” you whisper and he chuckles. 

“You can call me Aegon.” he brushes his fingers against your cheek. 

“Well if you’ll excuse us, Aegon.” Aemond grits out through his teeth. 

“Oh yes, the library cannot wait.” Aegon chuckles and continues on down the hall. “Lovely to meet you.” he tosses over his shoulder. 

Aemond is rigid beside you and you watch him inhale deeply, closing his eye. You go to place your hand on his arm in comfort but then remember the garden walk and bring your hand back to your side. When he opens his eye he sees you looking up at him before quickly averting your gaze. You bring your eyes down to your nails, finding them suddenly interesting. 

“This way to the library.” his words clipped as he starts down the hallway leaving you yet again to trail after him. 

You catch up to his side once more and stop with him in front of a set of massive doors. You crane your head up to the ceilings taking in the detail of the wood. Aemond watches you look at the doors in wonder and when a maester pushes the door open he hears the soft gasp from you. You peer inside before the door clicks shut again and take a tentative step towards the doorway. 

“Can we go in?” you turn and look up at him. 

“Is that not why I brought you here?” he watches your smile falter at his words and he sighs pushing the doors open for you. You step in and your eyes dance across all of the shelves. “I’ll tell a maester you're here and to help if you need.” he nods his head and leaves you. 

You watch as he walks over to a man in a cream robe curled over a desk. They exchange hushed words and the man glances your way before looking back up at Aemond. He shakes his head and stalks out of the library and the doors click shut behind him. Were you supposed to follow him? You thought he was going to show you around, that’s the impression his mother had given you. You shake the thoughts out of your head and begin at the first shelf. You go to grab a book from the shelf and the man in the cream robe is on his feet instantly. 

“This is the maesters section.” he lightly takes the book from your hands and places it back on the shelf. “Might I point you in the direction of something more comely for a lady such as yourself.”

“Oh,” you look at the ground, feeling your cheeks heat. “I’m sorry. I-“ you shake your head, wanting to flee. 

“No need to apologize.” his words are soft. “Come. Upstairs is where we house our more interesting stories.” he smiles and you feel your shoulders begin to relax. 

“Thank you. I would appreciate that greatly.” you nod once and begin to follow him. 

“Is there a particular story you were in search of?” he leads you over to the stone steps. 

You tell him of the story you were reading before you left home. You couldn’t quite remember the name but you gave him basic details and he leads you into a smaller section by the windows. You take in the plush couches and chairs and within seconds a couple servants are coming out and lighting candles for you and offering to bring you tea. 

“These shelves contain stories of such nature.” he smiles, pulling a book down. “I believe this to be the paired book to the one you were explaining.” he places it delicately in your hands. 

“They’ve made a second?” you smile opening the cover. “Could I borrow this from the library?” your eyes dart around all the shelves. 

“But of course.” he nods. “I’ll leave you to read. Your tea should be to you momentarily. Is there anything else I could assist you with?” you chew your lip wondering whether to inquire about Aemond or not. 

“Did he say he was coming back?” you want him to come back and stay away all the same. 

“He did not say.” he averts his eyes.

“Then that is all.” you nod letting your smile reappear. “Thank you again, maester.” he nods to you and makes his way back down the stairs. 

You take your book and curl up in the chair near the window. The sheer size of the library could have you lost and you’ve never been more thankful for an escape. A servant rushes over with a cup of tea before leaving you once more. You open your book and allow yourself to relax back against the chair as you start on the prologue. For the next couple of hours you immerse yourself into the fairytale that offers you promises and thoughts of sweet Princes who will kiss your hand and talk with you for hours in the garden. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The past two days Aemond shared maybe a total of twenty words with you and that is generous. He mostly just hums and nods his head before disappearing until you both have to share a meal. Tonight his mother has prepared a dinner for the both of you in the gardens in hopes that you will start to warm up to one another. 

Aemond looks down at his mother as she picks out a new jerkin for him to wear tonight. He flares his nostrils at every suggestion and his patience is wearing thin, if he had any to begin with. When she tells him to leave his dagger behind he shakes his head once and escorts her out of his chambers. 

“You are to receive her from her chambers within-

“Yes. I’m aware.” he sighs and clicks his door shut quickly. 

Aemond kicks all of the servants and handmaidens out of his chambers with a few clipped words. He walks over to his window and stares across the bay, slowly shutting his eye. He tries to calm his mind before your shared meal. It’s not the first and he’s accepted it is nowhere near your last. He digs his fingers into the stone ledge before turning and stalking over to his door. 

The halls are dim and full of low chatter that he ignores as he starts down the next hall. With every step he can just picture the horror on your face at having to sit across from him. He grips the hilt of his dagger, the coarse leather offering him a semblance of comfort. He slows his steps as he stops in front of your doors and brings his fist up to knock. You open the door quickly and tilt your head to look up at him. 

“Good evening, my Prince.” you try to offer him a smile but lose your nerve and look down. 

“Are you ready for supper?” he watches you look back into your chambers. 

“Do you know if it’s cold? Should I bring a shawl?” you nibble your lip bringing his attention to your mouth. 

“Do you not have windows of your own?” he watches you shrink in on yourself and begins to feel his chest tighten. Is this guilt? For what? “I’ll wait here while you get your shawl.” his soft words equally surprise you both. 

You nod your head once and shuffle over to your wardrobe pulling out the piece of fabric. He rolls his eye at the fact you think that would ever keep the cold away but when he watches you wrap it around your shoulders he stiffens. He pushes the thought out of his head as you walk back over to him. 

“Are you ready?” he offers you his arm and you feel your heart stop. 

He watches you stare at his arm and he clenches his jaw giving you three more- your hand grabs onto his forearm. He shuts your chamber door and begins to escort you down the hall. As you walk down the steps you feel everyone’s eyes on the two of you and you scoot a fraction of an inch closer to him. You know people won’t approach him so maybe if you cling to him you’ll both be left alone. 

He feels his chest swell when you dig your fingers into his arm and practically curl into his side. He looks down at you and sees you staring at the floor. He lifts his head back up and the people staring at the both of you quickly avert their attention. He leads you out of the main doors and starts towards the gardens. Your grip loosens once there’s a lack of people and he understands. 

“I’m sorry.” you mumble letting go of his arm and he frowns. “I know I shouldn’t hold on to you for so long. I just.. I don’t know. Forgive me, my Prince.” you shake your head and he stops and you take a couple more steps before turning to him. 

“Why shouldn’t you hold on to my arm?” he studies your face as it flushes. 

“Because you don’t like it. The first day in the gardens you let go and.. It was foolish of me. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined the evening.” your face starts to get hot and you feel your eyes welling with tears. When you look up at him with glassy eyes he feels something strange in his chest. “If you want me to go back to my chambers I’ll understand.” you quickly wipe at your eyes. 

He mulls over your words trying to make sense of them. You’re crying because you want to hold onto his arm and are nervous that he’ll send you away for wanting to do so. He shakes his head softly, deciding to think more on that later but right now he just wants you to stop crying and looking at him as if he scolded you. 

“Would you like to dine in the gardens?” he watches you nod your head once and he lets out a small puff of breath. “And would you like to hold onto my arm?” he watches you look to his arm and up to him and give him a small nod. “Then may I escort you to our table?” he holds his arm out for you and you look up at him in question. 

You reach out for his arm half expecting him to chuckle and turn on his heel and leave but instead he steps closer. He starts to lead you through the gardens once more and for the first time the silence isn’t so stifling. There is still tension but nowhere near as much the first time in the gardens. He leads you to the small gazebo lit with hundreds of candles and at the table he pulls your chair out for you. You mumble out a thanks and he nods once before taking his seat across from you. 

Servants surround the tables once you’re both settled and begin filling glasses and bringing out food. Aemond watches as you thank each servant softly before they leave the two of you. You feel his gaze yet make no move to meet it as you pick up your wine. Your eyes quickly flick to him and he averts his gaze first. He picks up his cup in place of starting the conversation he so badly wants to have secretly hoping you’ll talk first. 

As the minutes tick by the silence becomes heavier as the meal goes on. You steal glances at each other but neither of you are willing to speak. Your mind is still back at the garden's entrance when he offered you his arm once more. Something seems to have slightly shifted but you’re too scared to speak on it, nervous that it will go back to how it was before. 

Aemond watches your brow furrow and unfurrow throughout the course of the meal and he wishes you would just tell him what you’re thinking. He doesn’t want to ask, nervous that you’ll start crying once more. It wasn’t his intention to upset you, he just assumed you were upset because of him. Well you were upset with him but for completely different reasons than he had thought. 

After the meal he walks to your side of the table and offers you his arm. You look up at him and offer him a smile while placing your hand around his forearm. He walks you back to your chambers in silence once more and you both linger outside of your chambers, both wanting to say something but having no idea what to say. 

“Thank you for dining with me tonight, my Prince.” you nod your head and go to turn into your chambers. 

“Aemond.” your hand stops on the metal handle as his voice. You look over your shoulder at him with scrunched brows. “I’d prefer it if you called me Aemond.” he nods. 

“Have a good night, Aemond.” you smile softly at him before sealing yourself inside your chambers. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌

next chap tomorrow i promise x

taglist ✍️

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501 @nostalgiagoth03 @multilover19 @summer-and-sunflowers @eternalwinters @rere10

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Two - The Blackwood Bitch | Series Masterlist

Summary: In the midst of growing unrest amongst the Realm and his Council, Aemond finally meets his betrothed | Word Count: 6k~ | Warnings: mention of war, canon-divergent, post-Dance Aemond, trauma, arranged marriage

They did not have the confidence to place the crown atop his head, and yet expected him to sit here, in the stuffy Small Council Chambers, and listen to their endless streams of complaints and judgements.

He was only allowed to grace the seat where Aegon had once been because he'd at least agreed to marry the Blackwood girl.

It did not seem fair, to Aemond, as he sat pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to stay off the migraine. The voice of Tyland Lannister barely bleeding through the haze of utter boredom and contempt.

“And what of Corlys Velaryon?” Tyland pressed, his tone clipped yet cautious.

Aemond’s eye flicked open. “What of him?” he drawled.

“His imprisonment in the dungeons has not gone unnoticed,” Tyland continued, carefully. “There are murmurs among his supporters that holding the Lord of the Tides in chains is a…questionable decision. His family’s influence, though diminished, is still considerable. Perhaps the situation warrants—”

“Release?” Aemond interjected, his tone icy.  “Do you imagine me a fool, Lannister? The Sea Snake is not a man to be trusted. He knelt to Rhaenyra, swore his allegiance to her black banner. And when she fell, his silence was a weapon he wielded deftly, even as her cause crumbled to dust. No. Corlys Velaryon shall remain exactly where he is, for now.”

“And Lady Baela and Rhaena? Surely we can use them as leverage, to barter more alliances?”

“They shall remain as they are on Dragonstone, under heavy guard. I will not allow them into my court to scheme with their grandfather. Their existence in the future may prove useful, but I have no patience for deciding now and will not be pressured so.”

Tyland opened his mouth as if to argue but faltered under Aemond’s penetrating gaze. Instead, he offered a curt nod. “As you command, Your Grace.”

Aemond exhaled, as if one touch could spiral him once more to madness. “The North. Is there much news?”

“Cregan Stark is no fool. He remembers where Winterfell first pledged its loyalty, and he knows how to inspire those loyal to Rhaenyra, even after her death. Rumours suggest he may rally support again if provoked, especially given the state of the realm.”

Aemond hummed, but understood deeply the severity of what this could mean for his rule. It was not so long ago that the North had first taken its stand for the Blacks. He’d once held some measure of respect for Stark, if only for the man’s stubborn resolve. 

But respect did not soften threats, and Aemond would not allow another rebellion to fester, especially one from the cold, unyielding expanse of the North, where his control was not as fierce.

“And what of Stark’s movements?”

Tyland hesitated. “There has been little activity, yet enough to suggest he is watching and waiting. But the recent unrest, especially with the harvests diminished from war, has left the North in a precarious state. Winter is settling in sooner than expected, so it may keep them in place for now…though we must tread carefully.

Aemond leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he regarded Tyland with a calculating gaze. But Tyland’s hesitation had not gone unnoticed, and the faint unease it carried twisted like a knife in Aemond’s gut.

“Stark is waiting,” Aemond repeated softly, his tone laced with disdain. “And watching, you say. That means he is weighing his options, biding his time. A dangerous thing to leave unchecked.” 

He glanced at the map to his side, his eye tracing the lines of the Neck and the expanse beyond. “The North’s strength lies in its distance and loyalty to its own. A rebellion from Winterfell could inspire others if we do not act swiftly to secure the Riverlands and the Vale.”

Tyland inclined his head. “Precisely why the matter of your marriage must be addressed with utmost care. A match with House Blackwood has the potential to stabilise our hold on the Riverlands, drawing the house firmly to our cause. Their influence and history may serve as a counterweight to any…discontent from the North.”

Aemond’s lips thinned at the mention of his impending marriage. The arrangement had been presented as a political necessity, a means to cement his rule over the fractured realm. He understood its purpose, of course, the Blackwoods were an ancient house with deep ties to the Riverlands, and their animosity toward the Brackens ensured their loyalty could be leveraged. But the prospect of wedding a stranger, no matter her lineage, still perturbed him.

“Lady Rosaleen,” Aemond said, testing the name as though it might reveal something of its bearer. He turned his gaze to Tyland. “What do we know of her specifically? Beyond her house and the council’s assurances of her suitability.”

“She is young, but not without wit or will. A daughter of Raventree Hall, with blood of the First Men and an unbroken line stretching back to the Age of Heroes. Her mother, a Piper, ensured she carries a touch of Riverlander diplomacy, though it is said Lady Rosaleen herself is more pragmatic than demure.” He hesitated. “She is…untested, but there are no whispers of scandal or unsuitability.”

Aemond hummed again, his mind already piecing together the shape of the woman he would soon wed. Untested, perhaps, but pragmatic could mean cunning, something he might find more tolerable than blind obedience. 

“She is to arrive today, Your Grace. Queen Alicent and Lord Wylde will welcome her personally, and arrangements have been made for you to meet in the gardens this afternoon.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, his discomfort masked beneath a calm exterior. So soon. He had expected more time to prepare himself for this charade.

Larys, who had remained silent until now, shifted in his seat. “A marriage such as this will not go unnoticed by the realm. The great houses will watch closely to see how this union strengthens your hold. And should it falter–”

“It will not falter,” Aemond insisted, his tone clear that he’d had enough of what little Lord Larys had said.

A tense silence followed. No man daring to fire back. As if testing him.

When would these men tire of poking the dragon.

Aemond rose from his seat, the scrape of his chair echoing in the nearly empty chamber. “Dismissed,” he said curtly, his gaze sweeping over the two remaining men. They would conspire in whispers the moment he left, as they always did, but Aemond had no patience for it today.

The doors clamped shut behind him, the Kingsguard flanking his sides as he strolled with unknown purpose through the Keep’s winding halls. 

Would his intended be pragmatic as Tyland had claimed? Would she understand the weight of the crown he bore, the cost of the realm they had shattered and now sought to piece together? 

Would she see only the scarred dragon who had laid waste to the Riverlands, her homeland, and the monster the realm whispered of in secret?

Or would she have foreseen how much of a farce this union was before it had even been done?

One could mistake Aemond for a cat, the way he stopped in his tracks and widened his stance when his eye clocked upon a retinue he did not recognise. If he had been one, his ears would have been pricked back, fur stood high. 

His brow lowered at the black banners decorated with red, not unlike his own native sigil, but this one adorned with the sigil of House Blackwood. A pair of guards lingered near the great doors leading to the guest chambers, their armour bearing the same emblem.

She has arrived.

Rosaleen’s retinue, no doubt. He felt a flicker of something he could not name, curiosity, perhaps, or irritation at being caught unprepared. But there was no sign of her, no glimpse of the woman who would soon bear his name.

His thoughts were interrupted by a burst of feminine laughter echoing down a nearby corridor. Aemond’s steps stilled, his sharp hearing picking up the unmistakable lilt of idle gossip.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the taller figure could be Rosaleen. She bore the Blackwood colours, her hair as dark as the raven of their sigil, her bearing sharp enough to suggest wit even from a distance. But something about the way she carried herself, unguarded and unapologetic, gave him pause.

The clink of metal broke his thoughts as Ser Willis stepped to his side, his voice low and measured. “Lady Alysanne Blackwood, Your Grace,” he murmured, as if sensing his prince’s unspoken question.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line. So, not Rosaleen. But her cousin, a Blackwood nonetheless, and one who seemed to embody every tale he’d ever heard of their infamous fire and sharp tongues.

“And your betrothed’s cousin, Arianne Piper.”

He gave one nod in appreciation to Ser Willis as the man stepped back, one hand laid on his sword at his hip, always.

Alysanne’s voice carried as she spoke, her tone biting and laced with amusement. “Well, he is certainly not wasting any time. Do you think he has the gall to actually meet her without sneering?”

Arianne’s gentler voice followed, tinged with unease. “You oughtn’t speak so boldly, Aly. He is a prince, your future cousin by marriage.”

“And that entitles him to what? My silence? My admiration?” Alysanne scoffed, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “I’ll grant him none of it. Not after what’s happened to our home.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened as he listened. He stepped forward into their line of sight, his tall figure casting a shadow down the corridor.

Both women froze, Alysanne’s expression shifting to one of defiance while Arianne’s cheeks flushed in alarm. Aemond’s eye fixed on them, cold.

“Lady Alysanne,” he said smoothly, his voice low and controlled. “Your honesty is refreshing, though perhaps misplaced.”

Alysanne did not flinch, though her chin lifted ever so slightly. “Honesty is all I have to offer, Your Grace. I assumed your court would value that over flattery.”

Arianne stepped forward hastily, her voice trembling slightly as she dipped into a curtsy. “Forgive us, Your Grace. We meant no offence.”

We.

He wondered how often this flame-haired beauty felt the need to apologise for her fierce cousin’s behaviour.

Aemond’s sharp gaze flicked between the two women. Alysanne’s defiance was palpable, but it was Arianne who sought to smooth the air, her curtsy deep, her clear eyes cast downward in a show of humility. Yet it was neither of them that truly occupied his thoughts.

Rosaleen. 

She was the reason these women were here, the reason he would soon be tied to the Riverlands by bonds thicker than blood or steel. The woman he had not yet met but who would soon bear his name, his burdens, and perhaps one day, his heirs.

“Offence is not so easily forgiven,” Aemond said coolly, tilting his head toward Alysanne. “Though I suspect you care little for forgiveness, Lady Alysanne. Do you presume to speak for your cousin as well?”

“Rosaleen speaks for herself, Your Grace, when she deems it necessary. You’ll find her no less honest, though perhaps less direct than I.”

Ser Willis cleared his throat, the sound deliberate and firm, cutting through the lingering tension. It was not quite an order, but it carried the weight of one, the subtle assertion of a man who knew when a conversation had run its course.

“Lady Alysanne, Lady Arianne, it was...enlightening to make your acquaintance.”

Alicent could think of few moments in the Keep as of late that she was truly, truly at rest. Even her baths were monitored closely by maidservants. That is until she flicked her wrist, and ordered that they leave her be, which they would begrudgingly.

Even in the confines of her chambers, she never truly felt calm. Hadn't, since the day Helaena flung herself from Maegor’s Holdfast. The same day she assumed her second son had also perished.

It was one of the darkest days of her young life. Thinking she had outlived all her children.

The Dowager Queen had barely seen Lady Rosaleen off at her chambers before a knock came at hers. Three knocks, the first two close together, to let her know without words who it was.

She sighed internally, hearing it click open, pulled by some imaginary thread towards pouring herself a cup of wine.

“Not now, Lord Larys. I am weary after greeting our guest.”

The door clung shut behind him, and she heard the familiar step and drag of his two mismatched feet. “I would not disturb you without cause, Your Grace. Yet there are matters that cannot wait.”

Alicent turned to face him, her expression carefully composed, the wine momentarily forgotten. “Matters of the council, I presume.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. The realm demands much of us still. The prince remains...steadfast in his temper.”

"Steadfast, is it? A polite way of saying unruly, no doubt.”

He was neither stupid nor brave enough to respond. Offering an opinion such as that would no doubt place a target on his back, as if there were not already one.

“Rosaleen Blackwood,” he started, “her retinue are...spirited. Particularly her cousin, Lady Alysanne. The young lady has a tongue as sharp as a blade and little hesitation in wielding it.”

Alicent closed her eyes briefly, rubbing at her temple. “Yes, I noticed that myself. And the other cousin? Lady Arianne?”

“Pleasant. Unassuming. Hardly a threat,” Larys replied with a dismissive nod. “But Lady Alysanne, she may prove disruptive, particularly to Prince Aemond’s already volatile disposition. Forgive my saying so, but a prince who scorched their homeland does not yet need the bite of those who hang such crimes over his head.”

Alicent exhaled slowly. “How best do we keep an eye on them? I doubt Alysanne will respond to subtlety.”

“No, Your Grace,” Larys agreed, his tone almost amused. “But the Lady Rosaleen...she is practical, I have heard so. Influencing her may, in turn, temper her cousin’s brazenness. The girl has loyalty to her kin, yes, but she is not blind to the realities of the court.”

 “I will not have her or her kin stoking his fire.. Keep watch over them, all of them.”

His crooked form bowed slightly. Alicent had not forgotten the loyalties of a man who kept Aegon and Jaehaera safe, if only for a short time. And men such as this, expected to be praised and repaid for such acts of simple kindness.

Lord Larys nodded. “You may leave such matters to me.”

The Red Keep was as much a maze simply following a person as she imagined it would be by herself. In future, she would have to explore it with companions, she thought with distaste. If there was anything Rosaleen Blackwood hated more, it was feeling out of place, stuck seemingly perpetually in a state of not having her bearings. 

She did not know how to feel when the Dowager Queen told her that she would be occupying the former Queen Helaena’s chambers. Though the Keep in general was cold, it felt much more so in those rooms than it did anywhere else, she half expected her sweet, ghostly whisper at any second. How would she be able to sleep? The thought had just occurred to her. 

Everything in that space had smelled faintly of cloves, as if someone had been there trying to mask the stench of distress. To erase the tragedy of what had happened. 

But she as well as anyone in the realm could not escape the tragedy that had somehow squeezed itself into a mere quick war. It felt so intense and unending at the time. But now, when she casts her mind back to those moments, she realises that a mere half year felt like a lifetime, and was faster for others than some.

She wonders. Did it feel hasty to Prince Aemond? Or did he feel as if it were over in a heartbeat?

Such questions were not suitable for someone who was merely betrothed to him. She would save such conversations once she assumed the title of his wife. 

If she would ever reach those heights.

It was not lost on her how quickly Alysanne had voiced her apparent displeasure. Arianne had been quick to tell Rosaleen of their cousin’s quick tongue in the very presence of Aemond himself. She found herself rolling her eyes and wanting to cast it aside, but knew, realistically, that there was a conversation to be had with her fearsome Blackwood cousin, and how quickly her wit would have to cut ties with her mouth, especially in the presence of the future Prince Regent no less.

Such thoughts did not plague her mind yet. As she stared at the back of Lord Jasper Wylde’s head, following him aimlessly to meet her betrothed, she could not find it in herself to think of anything else but the Targaryen prince she would come to meet.

Of course, Arianne, Alysanne and a distant Piper cousin, Sarra, who was very much known even to Arianne herself, followed behind. Heads bowed, as if they felt they had already done a disservice to their future Queen Consort.

Titles, titles, titles. Rosaleen grimaced at the mere thought.

Just as she overheard Alysanne giggle when Arianne asked her in a luckily hushed manner why Jasper Wylde was nicknamed ‘ironrod’, the much rumoured Lord turned and inclined his head. 

“Prince Aemond awaits, my Lady.”

She inhaled deeply, measured. As if to fill herself with courage. Rosaleen straightened, her hands smoothing the dark fabric of her gown. She had never been one for nerves, but there was something about the idea of facing him, finally, that set her pulse quickening, despite herself.

As she stepped forward, she almost questioned herself. Lord Wylde had not referred to him as ‘prince regent’. Several times now. The deep, mysterious mist that shrouded Aemond began to become clear, if not entirely by how one member of his council had referred to him.

Beyond the threshold, where stone became grass and flowers, Aemond stood near the edge of a small courtyard, the gardens stretching behind him in a cascade of greens and blooms that stood in stark contrast to his dark, brooding presence.

So the stories were true, she thought with intrigue. Moonlight hair, tall, hands tucked behind his back as if keeping some great secret in his stance. 

The air seemed to thicken with each step she took toward him, the weight of the moment settling heavily on her chest.

Aemond turned at her approach, his violet eye fixating on her with an intensity that made her heart skip. His face was a map of old battles, his gaze unyielding but not unkind. Perhaps merely distant. She schooled her mannerisms well, trying to not flicker between his seeing eye and the leather eyepatch. Attempting to appear as if it was quite normal, and that she was not at all fascinated.

His features were chiselled, sharp as a blade, and though his expression remained unreadable, there was something in the set of his jaw that told her he was measuring her, much like she was doing to him.

“Your Grace,” she greeted, inclining her head just slightly in a respectful, if not overly formal, manner.

“Lady Rosaleen,” Aemond replied, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of authority. The way he said her name sent an odd shiver down her spine, though it wasn’t unpleasant. She couldn’t quite place why, but there was something both unsettling and strangely comforting about him. Perhaps it was the contrast of the man, so feared, so full of war, with the gentleness that lingered in his voice.

She couldn’t imagine him riding a dragon, barking out orders, with a voice like that.

His eye did one sweep of her body, before returning to her dark eyes once more.

“Shall we,” he uttered plainly, glancing at Lord Wylde, who promptly took the hint, bowed his head and turned on his heel.

His tone made it clear it was not a suggestion, so Rosaleen turned to her ladies and nodded, watching as Arianne gave her a nervous look, pulling Alysanne and Sarra back with her without words. Following twenty paces behind as the Blackwood Lady settled into step beside her betrothed.

“I thank you for welcoming me into your home, Your Grace. My greeting has been much appreciated,” she uttered, hands clasped, crimson skirts brushing the grass she glided across the blades. She could not read his expression at all, and very rarely did she see his gaze ever meet hers.

“Of course,” Aemond replied, his tone formal but distant. “It is only fitting that we should meet in person before…” 

“It is,” she agreed simply, offering no more than was required. Silence stretched between them for a moment before he, perhaps foolishly, broke it.

“And your journey?” he asked, his voice low, but the question felt oddly out of place. She saw the faint flicker of realisation in his eye as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back.

Rosaleen allowed herself a small, wry smile, though her tone remained courteous. “Uneventful, Your Grace,” she responded, “my ladies–my cousins, Alysanne and Arianne are good companions.”

Aemond’s expression did not change, though a flicker of memory stirred in his mind. Aegon had once dubbed the Blackwood daughters ‘the Blackwood bitches,’ a crude remark he’d made with a sneer while recounting the Blackwoods’ initial allegiance to Rhaenyra. Aegon’s words, though meant to be dismissive, had a venom that lingered, a reflection of his disdain for those who had dared oppose him. Aemond had said nothing at the time, but now, the memory returned with a faint, bitter taste.

“Good companions are a blessing on such a journey,” he added. “Though I imagine the roads you travelled were less than welcoming.”

Rosaleen nodded slightly, her smile never faltering. “The scars of war are hard to miss, even from a carriage window, Your Grace. But they remind us of what has been endured, and what must be rebuilt.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened slightly at her response, though whether it was irritation, guilt, or something else entirely, she could not say. He did not speak for a moment, as if weighing her words, or perhaps his own. 

Finally, he replied, “Rebuilding is no easy task. Nor one without cost.”

“No,” Rosaleen agreed. “But it is necessary all the same.”

Their conversation lingered in a strange, tense balance, both polite and edged with something unspoken. Whatever judgments they had drawn of one another, neither was willing to reveal just yet. For now, they walked on, their words measured, each step drawing them closer to a union neither had chosen but both were forced to navigate.

“It is a kindness to meet the man I am to wed, rather than relying solely on tales spun by courtiers and whisperers.”

“And what tales have you heard?” Aemond asked, his voice dipping lower, almost testing.

Rosaleen met his gaze at last, her own expression unreadable. “Stories travel, Your Grace. They tend to grow in the telling. Some speak of a swordsman without equal, a man with fire in his veins and the blood of dragons.” Her tone remained even, but her words carried a weight that suggested she had heard much more than she was willing to say.

“And others?” Aemond prompted.

“Others speak of a man who has faced more trials than most could endure. A man shaped by loss, fire, and war.”

There was a pause, her words lingering in the air between them, before she added, “but I prefer to form my own opinions, Your Grace.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, and for the first time, she thought she caught a glimpse of something behind the mask he wore, a flicker of intrigue, perhaps even approval.

“Wise,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It is better not to trust tales.”

“Or first impressions,” Rosaleen countered lightly, though not without its undercurrent.

They came to a halt before the towering Weirwood, its red leaves rustling faintly in the breeze like a thousand whispering voices. Its face was solemn and ageless, its crimson sap trailing like ancient tears. Rosaleen’s gaze lingered on the carved eyes, so stark and knowing, and for a moment, she felt herself drawn back to Raventree Hall, to the looming Weirwood there that had stood sentinel over her family for generations.

She remembered her home, the mossy stones of its walls, the echo of crows in the twilight. She felt the roots of who she was, who she had always been, stir within her. A lady of her bloodline was meant to endure, to hold fast, as her ancestors had, and that realisation warmed her.

Her blood seemed to hotten, the faint flush of color rising to her cheeks. She squared her shoulders, her chin lifting slightly as she turned her attention back to Aemond. He stood a step apart from her, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression inscrutable. 

Did he see it as she did, she wondered, or did he view it as merely another relic of the past, its significance swallowed by his Targaryen pride?

“Let us speak plainly,” she replied, tilting her chin slightly in challenge. “We are to be married, and while I may not have chosen this alliance, I intend to make the best of it. Let us not dance around the subject like nervous suitors.”

Aemond turned his head sharply at her words, his violet eye narrowing as if weighing her challenge. The breeze stirred the skin, and the soft rustle of the Weirwood leaves seemed to echo the tension between them. For a moment, he did not speak, his gaze steady and piercing as it settled fully on her.

“Plain speech,” he said at last, his tone even but edged with something unreadable. “A rarity in court, and yet, it seems, a virtue among the Blackwoods.”

Rosaleen’s lips tightened into a faint, controlled line at his response, the shift in her demeanor subtle but unmistakable. It was not anger, not entirely, but a flicker of discontent that she made no effort to conceal. 

“And Your Grace would rather I lie?”

“I do not require appreciation for honesty, Lady Rosaleen. I value its utility.”

A brush of wind came against her skirts, the crimson fabric shifting like rippling blood. “Utility. Yes, that does seem the way, does it not?” she said, “might you tell me what utility the Riverlands offered?”

Aemond’s eye darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing over his face. “The Riverlands held loyalty to my enemies. War is not fought with pen and parchment, words are wind. And such war demands sacrifice.”

“You dare school me on sacrifice, Your Grace,” she countered, “I have walked through the ruin. Have smelled the burning flesh and seen the sky darken with ash and death.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he did not interrupt, his eye locked on hers with an intensity that seemed to draw the very air taut between them.

“I am to be your wife,” she continued, her voice unyielding. “To stand beside you and call myself your queen in waiting, your partner and your ally in securing my homeland to your cause. To your realm. I have seen sacrifice as clearly as I see you now and I wish never to see it at that measure again.”

Aemond’s gaze did not falter, his expression unreadable. His hands clasped behind his back once more, his posture as rigid as stone.

“You are bold, Lady Rosaleen,” he said at last, his voice cold as the chill of a winter wind. “Bold enough to speak to me thus. Bold enough to be my wife. Perhaps that is why you were chosen. Other’s tongues cut too freely, and the court may find that less tolerable. But you tread carefully, even when you push.”

“I tread carefully,” she replied, her voice steady, “because I must. Not all of us are born with dragons, Your Grace. I merely have my words.”

“He said WHAT?!”

Rosaleen rolled her eyes as the maidservant assigned to her pulled at the fastenings of her dress. The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon, and only the dim flicker of candlelight lit the room. Alysanne sat laid back on the chaise, one cup of red wine cradled between her fingers.

Arianne was already abed in her chambers, having not slept the entire journey earlier that morning.

It seemed a lifetime ago now. Meeting Aemond Targaryen seemed to have the effect of several days worth of effort.

“He said that I was bold,” she admitted dryly. “And that perhaps I was bold enough to be his wife.”

Alysanne nearly spat her wine. “Bold?” she repeated, incredulous. “Bold enough to marry him? What does that even mean?”

She waved her hand dismissively when the maidservant attempted to plait her hair, wanting to do it herself. “Perhaps I was supposed to take it as a compliment.”

Alysanne giggled, sitting up, a bit weary and slurred from the wine, “Bold enough to be my wife,” she mimicked, her voice pitched low in a mocking imitation of Aemond. “It is typical. He burns half the realm to ash and still thinks he’s the one doing you a favour.”

Rosaleen snorted, “out, Aly. I must undress.”

With a dramatic sigh and flailing hand movements dragged to her feet, “very well, cousin. Good day.”

Rosaleen watched as Alysanne stumbled from her chamber, carrying the oak door with it with a thud. She glances over at the maidservant, who prepares the bed, noting the mortified expression on her face before she quickly lowered her eyes.

“Do not mind my cousin,” Rosaleen says softly, “she might have been a drunken widowed lord in another life.”

The maidservant’s lips twitched, though she quickly suppressed the smile, her hands smoothing over the freshly turned sheets. “Yes, my lady,” she murmured, keeping her gaze respectfully averted as she finished her task.

Rosaleen sat upon the chaise her cousin had just vacated. It was nice to have family in such a strange place like this, yes. But she observed this girl in the Keep’s employ, barely eight and ten by her eyes. So young.

“What is your name?”

The maidservant hesitated, her hands pausing mid-motion as if uncertain whether the question was truly directed at her. “It’s Lyla, my lady,” she answered softly, her gaze flickering upward before quickly returning to her work.

“Lyla,” Rosaleen repeated, testing the name on her tongue. “How long have you served here at the Red Keep?”

“Since I was twelve, my lady,” Lyla replied, folding the edge of a blanket with careful precision.

“Twelve?” Rosaleen echoed, a note of disbelief in her voice. “So young.”

Lyla’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it did not reach her eyes. “The Keep doesn’t care much for age, my lady. Only that the work is done.”

Rosaleen studied the girl for a moment, noting the faint weariness in her eyes that seemed far beyond her years. It was not so different from the look she had seen in her own reflection of late. “Do you have family still within the Keep?”

“My younger brother works with the stable hands,” Lyla said, her voice softening slightly, as though the mention of him offered her some small comfort. “But the rest of my family remains in the Reach.”

Rosaleen nodded, leaning back slightly against the chaise. “It must be difficult, being so far from them.”

“It is, my lady,” Lyla admitted, her hands stilling briefly. “But the Red Keep has its own…rhythm. You learn to live with it.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with an unspoken understanding. Rosaleen could not help but wonder if she, too, would learn to live with the rhythm of this place. Would it shape her as it had shaped this young girl, or would she remain an outsider, always at odds with the walls that enclosed her?

Rosaleen’s gaze drifted toward the flickering candlelight, her thoughts spinning with the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. Her voice, when it came, was casual, light enough to mask her true curiosity. “Tell me, Lyla… what do you know of Prince Aemond?”

Lyla hesitated, her hands brushing over the edge of the fabric she had just smoothed. “Not much, my lady,” she replied carefully, as though wary of overstepping. “I am not among his attendants, nor do I often see him.”

Rosaleen was silent, but her dark eyes spoke everything she was thinking. That she wanted to know more, even if it came as gossip. It was more than she felt she knew about the man anyway.

The maidservant hesitated again, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her apron. “Before the war, he was rarely within the Keep at all,” she admitted finally, her voice low as though sharing a secret. “He would come and go as needed, but he was…absent, for the most part.”

“Absent?” Rosaleen repeated, her brows drawing together. “And where would he go, if not here?”

“I couldn’t say for certain, my lady,” she murmured, though her tone was evasive.

Rosaleen leaned forward slightly, her sharp gaze pinning Lyla in place. “You have heard rumors, then.”

Lyla shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing faintly. “It isn’t my place to speak on such intimate matters, my lady,” she said quickly, but the words only served to confirm Rosaleen’s suspicions.

Her lips thinned, though she maintained a neutral expression. “I see,” she said evenly, though the insinuation hung heavy in the air between them.

Brothels. It was not so uncommon a practice for men of his station, and yet the thought of Aemond Targaryen, this cold, distant prince, indulging in such pleasures was oddly jarring. It painted a picture of a man more complex, more contradictory, than she had anticipated.

She was strangely unsurprised. 

Her own father had visited such pleasure houses when her mother passed, and made no secret of it. As many lords, princes and kings would do so for the rest of time.

“Thank you, Lyla,” Rosaleen said after a moment, her tone quieter now. “You may go.”

The maidservant dipped into another curtsy, clearly relieved to be dismissed. There was something about Lyla that at this time Rosaleen could not pinpoint. Perhaps it was the way she spoke. The way she stood, visibly anxious.

Rosaleen’s dark eyes lingered on the closed door, her thoughts turning over the maidservant’s carefully chosen words. What would this mean for their marriage? She doubted she would ever truly know.

Aemond’s facade was like a suit of armor, meticulously crafted and nearly impenetrable. He wore it with ease, a shield against prying eyes and unwanted intimacy. Yet beneath it, she sensed something more, a volatile edge, sharp enough to draw blood if she dared to press too hard.

Their earlier conversation lingered in her mind, the weight of his words and the tension that had crackled between them. He had made it clear, if she bared her claws, he would not hesitate to strike back.

And yet…she couldn’t help but wonder, her thoughts skimming a dangerous edge. What would it feel like, that bite? The sharp sting of his retort, the fire behind his gaze, the unspoken challenge in every measured word.

Indeed, how sharp were his claws? How violent the bite? Would he let go once he had the prey in his mouth, until he felt the blood coat his teeth and their hearts fluttering to a stop like the spasming wings of a dying butterfly?

She smiled to herself, drawing her resolve from all the Blackwood women who came before her.

She was no butterfly. She was a raven. Watchful. Patient. And she would meet his bite with her own.

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[coffeebooksrain18]

Aemond Targaryen Moonboard

"Do not mourn me Mother. I may have lost a eye but I gained a dragon."

Hotd Character Moonboards