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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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@sacredmachine @belcalis9503

The Impossible Choice (45)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • fem!reader]

[warnings: violence, character death]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He spent the last hours before marching off snuggled in her womb, from above his head surrounded by her arms and breasts, from below her thigh placed on his torso. He lay with his eye closed thinking of nothing, feeling only the pounding of her heart, concentrating on the gentle touch of her hand stroking his hair.

He felt safe.

He tried to pretend he couldn't hear his wife's struggling to stop spasms of crying, her whole body trembling around him. Once in a while he kissed her almost invisibly rounded abdomen, hugging his cheek to it again a moment later, and began to wonder what their child might look like.

Would it have his silver hair, or would it be dark like his mother's? What would be the colour of his eyes? The shape of his nose? Would it have a calm, gentle character or explosive and fiery? Would it be a son or a daughter?

He felt a tightness in his throat at the thought that he might not know the answers to these questions.

With his eye closed, he imagined their child in the arms of his beloved wife, singing him a lullaby to sleep. He imagined that he lay with his face cradled in her neck, his hand, his fingers capable of such cruel violence and brutality stroking infant's tiny hand clenched into a fist.

He felt tears under his eyelids at this wonderful vision of the ordinary, peaceful evening where it was just them, the only thing that mattered to him, his wife and his offspring safe in the shelter of his arms.

He wanted that vision to become a reality. He wanted to come back to her. He wanted to see their child.

Part of him regretted his decision, the fact that he had decided they would set out, make the first move. Part of him wished he could wait for the inevitable, not be aware of when it would happen and enjoy her closeness for as long as he could.

He prayed that the time to leave would not come, but finally a servant entered their tent. He immediately looked away embarrassed to see them completely naked and informed him that everything was ready. He heard his wife sobbing loudly, burying her face in her hands.

She was unable to look at him as the boy put on his armour, and he felt pain like he had never known before in his life. He couldn't chase away the thoughts of death, of never seeing her, their child or his mother again. Thoughts of how Daeron might have died with him, without really experiencing any of the joys of life.

When he was ready he ordered a servant to tell the commanders that he would join them immediately. He looked at his wife and saw her looking at him, pale, her eyes and nose red and puffy from crying, her swollen lips parted slightly in heavy breathing.

She was terrified.

He approached her slowly and knelt before her, gripping her cheeks in his hands.

"Remember what I told you." He whispered and placed a warm, sticky kiss on her forehead, then turned and left, regardless her silent cries from which his heart was breaking.

When he came out he was overwhelmed by the sight of so many troops, all the warriors ready to march, in full armour, looking at him uncertainly. The sun was just setting. He merely nodded at Lord Baratheon then looked at his younger brother and the two of them set off for the hill where their dragons rested.

When he saw Tessarion, the blue, slender dragoness lying next to Vhagar she seemed tiny to him and he tightened his lips at the thought.

He thought he was taking his brother to the slaughter.

In a clash with Caraxes, he didn't stand a chance.

He had to protect him at all costs.

He stopped his brother with a hand gesture, placing a hand on his shoulder. Daeron was all pale and looking somewhere in the distance.

"Look at me, brother." He said to him, forcing himself to be calm, but he felt his own voice tremble, betraying his fear as well. His younger brother glanced at him uncertainly, swallowing loudly.

Aemond walked over to him and grasped his face in his hands.

"You are to be my support and stay back. Observe the situation. If more dragons appear than we anticipated, if you realise that the battle is lost, you will withdraw. Do you understand? You will flee. To King's Landing or anywhere else." He said lowly, looking him straight in the eye. Daeron shook his head, swallowing loudly.

"What are you talking about?" He asked in a trembling voice, and his lips tightened.

"Don't try to be a hero. Promise me." He said firmly, looking at him with his lips tightened. Daeron swallowed loudly, and for a long moment answered nothing.

"I won't let you down, brother." He said with a childlike certainty from which his heart fluttered. He leaned over and kissed his hair, his first affectionate gesture towards his sibling that he could remember.

"You're meant to survive." He said and let him go, his brother looking at him in disbelief and horror.

"Let's go." He ordered turning towards Vhagar, climbing with difficulty onto her back.

After a moment, they both lifted themselves into the air with a tremble of earth, complete darkness already falling around them. Aemond saw his army from below, moving behind him, Vhagar and Tessarion gliding across the night sky in complete silence.

They had to maintain the effect of surprise. They couldn't be loud, they couldn't move too fast. The attack on the Eyrie was going to be brutal and merciless, burning everything around it and those inside. He wanted Daemon to feel what he felt when he watched his uncle burn Harrenhal.

When, after several hours, he finally caught sight of the outline of the fortress of House Arryn he glanced distantly at his brother, who nodded to him.

They moved between the hills so as not to be spotted from afar, however the Vhagar was so large that it required great effort and concentration for him to guide her. He could feel the sweat running down his back, his heart pounding in his chest like mad, the bright moon and clear sky over his head.

Suddenly the high fortress seemed at his fingertips, he had the impression that he saw a stir, that several of the guards saw their death approaching silently in the sky.

It was now or never.

"Dracarys!" He heard his own earsplitting shout and then saw Vhagar open her maw, the night flashed with the light of a wave of fire that erupted suddenly from her throat, heard the screams of the guards and the people who were probably inside the fortress now from afar.

Daeron moved to follow him, both of them burning everything they saw around them, tents of the opposite army, their soldiers, their horses, their supplies. The wails and sobs of the people were like music to his ears, the conviction that they had just been slaughtered.

That they had really managed to surprise them.

They were burning not just to destroy the enemy.

They were burning to clear a path for their army, so that they could see what was going on around them and so that they could take advantage of the confusion surrounding them.

Aemond glanced over his shoulder, panting heavily, and saw the cavalry under the command of his uncle and his wife's father moving forward, killing men along the way who had not burned.

Slaughter.

Fire and Blood.

He thought with a beating heart that his plan was working. Daemon really did think he was a coward, had underestimated him and was now paying the price. He glanced quickly at Daeron, wanting to be sure he was safe.

And then he heard it. A loud roar of Caraxes in the distance, her silhouette moving nimbly across the sky in the moonlight. He spotted out of the corner of his eye behind her two other figures of smaller dragons and pressed his lips together.

He ordered Vhagar to turn back, Daeron retreated with him and began circling over his army, which was just crushing their assembled forces of Northern Lords, Velaryons and Arryns. He swallowed loudly when he noticed that Caraxes was accompanied by Vermax and Moondancer.

Jace and Baela.

He smiled at the thought that Rhaenys was not with them. She had stayed in Dragonstone with Rhaenyra, waiting for the sign from Daemon to attack King's Landing when he and his men attacked their army with their new dragon riders.

Not going to happen, he thought.

Several things happened suddenly and his mind could barely keep up with what was going on. Caraxes opened her maw and breathed fire, but Vhagar did the same, the two pillars of fire colliding in mid-air. He only heard something fly past him and turned his head.

Vermax and Moondancer moved on their army, as Borros had predicted one of them would try to distract Vhagar so he could not protect them. He watched with a pounding heart as Daeron came out to face them with courage despite his dragon being much smaller, waves of fire burning in the sky around them.

He wanted Vhagar to turn back, however, she angrily pushed against Caraxes who did a backward turn and retreated, pulling him away from the battlefield at the same time.

"Dohaerās, Vhagar! Rȳbās! (Serve me, Vhagar! Obey!)" He shouted, pulling at the ropes in an attempt to turn her back, but his dragoness went into a fury, chasing after his uncle's dragon with such ferocity that Caraxes could barely keep up to take evasive action against the subsequent flames.

He looked to the side and saw his brother fighting a hopeless two-on-one battle trying with all his might to draw Jace and Baela away from their troops.

Suddenly Caraxes rose high into the air and twisted like a serpentine, turning, and he saw his uncle fly over, leaping down along with his Dark Sister straight at him.

He thought it was over.

There was no way he could have avoided his blow.

He would not keep his promise.

He was going to die.

He grabbed his sword, and then he saw it.

He saw his uncle's neck cut by a crossbow arrow, his face expressed surprise, his body involuntarily beginning to fall to the ground.

He heard the mighty roar of Caraxes, who rushed after her rider's body as if to come to his rescue, however, his body fell from such a height onto a stone hill that he could not have survived.

Vhagar moved down behind her while he looked to the side, trying to retrace the flight of the arrow, and spotted Lord Borros looking up on him on his horse, crossbow in his hand.

Although my mother treats my wife as her daughter, you do not treat me as your son.

He felt a tightness in his throat and an ache in his heart.

He felt like a little boy who wanted to cry with happiness that his father had arrived on time.

As if his father had managed to come to his aid before Luke took his eye from him.

A feeling poured over his heart that he had not known before, though he so painfully craved it.

A feeling of awe, a feeling of gratitude, a feeling of filial love for a father who had stood up for him.

Who had protected him.

And then he heard Baela's scream so loud and heartrending that it echoed throughout the valley.

"DRACARYS!!!!!!"

He saw Borros disappear in a wave of fire and shouted loudly, clasping his hands on his saddle, leaning forward, an exasperated "Angōs!" ripped from his throat.

Vhagar's snout opened, and the screech and howl of Caraxes echoed around him as her fangs literally crushed part of her body, turning back, releasing what was left of her. Beala rushed at him with a yell and ordered Moondancer to breathe fire towards his dragon, but he only laughed out loud.

This fucking bitch.

He thought she would pay him for that.

She would pay him for killing their father.

Moondancer was fast and agile, but she was frightened by the size of Vhagar and turned back despite the desperate cries of her rider.

She had stopped listening to her, he thought with amusement bordering on madness.

Vhagar's snout opened again as he commanded her to breathe fire, but a loud screech caught his attention.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Vermax's maw clamped over Tessarion's throat, wrestling with each other through the skies. He could only watch helplessly as the dragoness, along with his brother, fell from the heavens crashing to the ground.

His heart stopped.

No.

Not him.

Even though he had Beala at his fingertips he changed his direction of flight and thrust at Jace with a furious roar, a pillar of fire left Vhagar's mouth from which Vermax barely managed to dodge. His nephew was sure he had escaped and soared upwards.

And then suddenly a third dragon appeared in front of them.

Sunfyre.

Aegon.

It was his answer to his letter.

Vermax panicked finding himself suddenly between two dragons, he heard Jace shouting, ordering him to dive down, but it was too late, Lord Strong disappeared into the jaws of Sunfyre, whose jaws clamped down on his dragon, tearing it in half.

He could feel it ringing in his ears.

Daemon and Jace were dead.

From that moment the battle was a foregone conclusion. Baela had disappeared between the hills, probably flying to inform the Black Whore of the death of her husband and first-born son. His heart was torn by such extreme emotions that he felt like screaming.

He ordered Vhagar to land where he noticed Tessarion had fallen. He saw that her corpse had crushed body of his younger brother, who was lying beneath her.

He slid down from Vhagar's back, above him again and again the night sky was lit by the glow of Sunfyre fire, burning the remnants of the Black army that had fled.

He fell to his knees feeling that his legs refused to obey him, panting all over and struggling to run up to his brother. He saw that Daeron was breathing, his eyes wide open, his body from the waist down crushed by the dead body of his dragoness.

Aemond tried with all his strength to slide her body off him and when he finally succeeded he saw that his body was broken, blood pouring from under his armour. He stared at this sight as if stupefied and touched his face, his brother still staring ahead.

"Brother. Brother, look at me." He said pleadingly, but he did not speak, a snarl came from his throat.

He saw a ripple of blood come out of his mouth, which he gulped down from his throat as tears trickled from his eyes.

He lifted him higher, holding his head so that he did not suffocate, but the blood did not stop pouring from his mouth. He cried out loudly, not knowing how to help him, so he just pressed his face against his temple, holding him close, feeling his body convulse, and then suddenly he was silent, his body going limp and sprawled in his arms.

He could feel his heart pounding hard, feel his uneven breathing, feel his body panting.

"− Daeron? − brother − please −" He whispered, but it seemed to him that it was not his voice, so squeaky, high-pitched, trembling. He stroked his cheek, his brother's empty eyes looking somewhere to the side. His whole hands were dirty from his blood.

"− brother, wake up −" He said quietly, shaking him slightly, as if he had entered his chamber in the morning and wanted him to get up.

He could not be dead.

He could not.

He combed his soft hair, looking at the boy's face, the child's face, and felt pain, felt shame that it was he who had cooled his cruelty, advised him in his letters with the wisdom of an old man, always ready to support him, always offering his love and devotion.

And he had never told him how much he meant to him. He seemed so small to him now in that great, cold armour.

"− little brother − please −" He called out loudly, helplessly, from deep in his throat. He pressed his fingers to his face and burst into sobs, unable to look at him, at the dead face of his beloved younger brother, the most innocent of them all.

"− forgive me −" He whispered in his ear, cradling him in his arms like a small child. "− forgive me − forgive me − forgive me − forgive me − forgive me −"

He did not know how long he sat like that, did not feel the ground tremble as Sunfyre landed beside Vhagar, Aegon shouting to him, informing him about their triumphant victory.

He did not see how he froze suddenly, standing over him, did not hear him say their brother's name, did not hear him growl and whine like an animal, falling to his knees beside him, pressing his face against Daeron's armour.

In that moment, they were nothing more than brothers.

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17 @queenofshinigamis @rae-seri @dark-night-sky-99

#taglist 3

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one-track-daily · 7 years ago

Audio

Ike Yard (featuring Tropic of Cancer) Tear Drop (2017)

From the EP: Sacred Machine (Noiztank)

#ike yard #tropic of cancer #tear drop #sacred machine #noiztank #ikeyard #tropicofcancer #teardrop #sacredmachine

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wonkiki · 8 years ago

Photo

#fanart #thecortoftheair #lacortedelaire #JackelianSeries #steampunk #novel #illustration #Mollytemplar #sword #sacredmachine #artwork

#novel #sword #fanart #steampunk #sacredmachine #illustration #jackelianseries #artwork #mollytemplar #thecortoftheair #lacortedelaire

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vanfleeter · 4 months ago

Text

My Love - Sneak Peak

Full chapter is coming to you Sept 7th, but in the meantime, here is a little snippet. (For those who would like to wait until the day it gets posted, do not past the cut/page breaker 😁)

Warnings: Blood and brief mention of sexual content.

tag list: @watchingover-hypegirl @losfacedevil @ignite-my-fire @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @writingcold @jaketlove @mackalah @lexii-nv-c @em-gvf01 @katiegvf @joshkiszkaenthusiast @takenbythemadness @jakekiszkasmommy @objectsinspvce @gvfmarge @heckingfrick @bluemeadows77 @laneygvf @sacredmachine @gvfpal @killerqueengvf @jaketlover @jordinlkiszka @alwaysonthemend @hellowgoodbye @anythingforjtk @hi-hi-hello11 @anthemofgvf @gretasfallingsky @songbirds-sweet @wildbluesorbit @klarxtr @stardustsecret @sunandthemoontwinflames @everyglowinthetwilightknows @devilat-thedoor @sparrowofthedawnsworld @josh-iamyour-mama @dannys-dream @peaceloveunitygvf @dayumclarizzel @thetroublegetssoloud71 @jakebrainrot @gretavanfleetmichelle @hollyco @its-interesting-van-kleep @tinydancer40 @edgingthedarkness @i-love-gvf @thewritingbeforesunrise @katuschka @sammysstolenbirks @asendingtothestarsasone

I can hear the pumping of her blood as I near the mansion. Slow and calm, she must be asleep already. Parking the car, I slide out and into the cold, October air, wrapping my coat tighter around my body. Stalking up the walkway to the steps, I climb each one delicately and slowly as I listen to her heart still beating. It beats like a drum in my ear and her blood rushes through like a river flowing rapidly by. I clench my fists, willing the urge to go away.

I’ve been craving her all day, needing relief so I wouldn’t tear into an innocent person’s throat. She is my source, my lifeline and I seek to drink from her and her only. Unlocking the door, I push it wide open before stepping inside the large foyer and closing the door behind me. The candles that line the staircase are the only things giving the slightest illumination as I slip out of my shoes and shrug off my coat before placing it all inside the closet closest to the stairs.

I make the trek up the stairs to the second floor, her heart beat growing increasingly louder the closer that I get to our shared bedroom. I can feel my fangs piercing the inside of my bottom lip. The urge to not drink her blood growing increasingly harder with each step that I take getting closer and closer to her.

Gripping the door handle, I quietly push the door open and peer into the room. More candles are lit, the flames casting a warm glow. Her body is stretched over top the covers, the sheer nightgown leaving little to the imagination.

Quietly I move through the room and undress as I go, unhooking my necklaces and placing them delicately inside the jewelry box on my dresser and sliding off my rings and placing them neatly beside the chains. Next I work on sliding off my blazer and tossing it into the red, velvet chair placed strategically in the corner of the room, followed shortly by my trousers leaving me in only my briefs. My semi hard cock protruding ever so slightly beneath the fabric as I continue watching her sleeping reflection in the mirror. The way her chest rises with each breath she takes and falls gently as she exhales.

I have an inkling that she did this on purpose.

Looking away from the mirror for only a brief moment to close the jewelry box, I feel her hands slide over my hips and across the front of my abdomen. For a mere human, she’s quick and stealthy. I can feel her body radiating through the thin fabric of her nightgown. There’s a stark contrast between our bodies. Mine always being cold and hers always being warm. Warm and delicious.

“I thought you were asleep..” I say, keeping my head facing forward.

I hear her hum before she presses her lips to the back of my shoulder. “You and I both know that I was not asleep.”

“Your pulse said otherwise.”

“Hmph, guess I just got better at controlling it.”

My lips curl upwards and I place my hand over hers. “I see that I’ve taught you well..”

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #gvf #vamp!jake #my love

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vanfleeter · 8 months ago

Text

Matched (sneak peek)

When I met her, I found myself immediately attracted to her. Pathetic, I know. There was just something about her that drew me to her. Her eyes sparkle when she’s happy but show utter despair when she’s not. I fear if a flower were to look upon her sadness, it would wilt. But the life that shines through when she’s happy is like bathing in the sunlight, warm and comfortable. Her smile is contagious, you can’t help but smile when she does. Her laugh is melodious, like a song you want to listen to over and over again and never tire of hearing it. Her hair, long and dark as it flows over her shoulders and halfway down the spine of her back. Her skin lights me on fire in the best possible way. I crave to feel her skin against mine, tracing my fingers along her skin, tracing every curve and goosebump that raises as I make my mark on her.

I thought I was shit out of luck when I found out that Sam liked her too. Pursued her in every possible way until he finally got her to agree to go out on a date with him. I kept my distance whenever she came around, looked away when he’d kiss her. I tried to keep myself distracted from her, dated around–but no one compared to her. No was like her. I thought of her whenever I had myself buried inside of another woman. She consumed my thoughts at every waking hour, she even infiltrated my dreams.

Seeing her with Sam physically pained me. Did she make him feel the same way she makes me feel? Did he get butterflies whenever he saw her? Did his heart pound in his chest when she was near? Would his palms get sweaty? Did he ever stutter over his words when he spoke with her because of how nervous she makes him?

I would do anything to have her–but she’s with my brother. I can’t do that to him. I can’t be selfish, wanting her all to myself. He seems to genuinely like her, her him. He’s happy, and I don’t want to be the one to ruin that.

Fate, though, seemed to have different plans.

general tag list:

@watchingover-hypegirl @losfacedevil @ignite-my-fire @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @writingcold @jaketlove @mackalah @lexii-nv-c @em-gvf01 @katiegvf @joshkiszkaenthusiast @takenbythemadness @jakekiszkasmommy @objectsinspvce @gvfmarge @heckingfrick @bluemeadows77 @laneygvf @sacredmachine @gvfpal @killerqueengvf @jaketlover @jordinlkiszka @alwaysonthemend @hellowgoodbye @anythingforjtk @hi-hi-hello11 @anthemofgvf @gretasfallingsky @songbirds-sweet @wildbluesorbit @klarxtr @stardustsecret @sunandthemoontwinflames @everyglowinthetwilightknows @sinsofstardust @sparrowofthedawnsworld @josh-iamyour-mama @dannys-dream

Want to be added to my general tag list? Please reach out and I'll be happy to add you! ♡

If you are missing from the list, I do apologize--I may have missed you or tumblr won't let me tag you! But please reach out and let me know if you do not see yourself and I will work on getting that fixed!

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fic #gvf #matched #sneak peek #new series coming soon

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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Taglist 2:

@dreamymoomin @thedamewithabook @dc-marvel-girl96 @zillahvathek @tssf-imagines @heavenly1927 @hiatuswhore @it-is-getting-better @linkpk88 @luna-salem @toodlesxcuddles @happinessinthebeing @siriusblackrunmeover17 @ladybug0095 @barbieaemond @whoknows333 @moonmaiden1996 @cloudroomblog @sacredmachine @belcalis9503

The Pearl and the Sapphire Epilogue

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • fem!reader]

[warnings: sex content, smut, angst, oral sex, sexual tension, trauma]

[description: As a representative of a large family-owned gemstone business, Aemond is attending a major jewellery event where jewellery makers from all over the world are exhibiting. One of them is the Baratheon family. Aemond is tasked with focusing on attracting new customers, but his attention is diverted by the youngest daughter of the eminent maker Borros Baratheon. Slow burn, bitchy, possessive and obsessive Aemond, lots of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request + my sweet @valeskafics)]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in modern times. The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Baratheon House + Vhagar

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He couldn't help the strange kind of satisfaction he felt as he packed her suitcase into his car. She was only going to stay for the weekend, casually, to explore the city - at least that's what they told her father, even though they could tell Borros didn't believe them.

However, he noticed a change in him after his visit to the therapist. He thought that Borros considered his gesture to be an expression of true affection towards his daughter.

He didn't dare ask him if he was going to go to another appointment, and he wasn't going to tell him yet that he was supposed to talk to his therapist remotely in a week and continue their conversation.

Even though what he was talking about was difficult for him and he felt ashamed, on the other hand he finally felt relief. Whoever this man was, he was able to accurately assess the reasons for his behavior, justifying his theories with mechanisms that he was only now beginning to notice in himself.

He didn't feel judged either.

The thought that he did some things unconsciously, trying to fill the emptiness and deficiencies he felt in himself, made him look differently at what he had done in the past, what he was looking for in Alys.

The need for closeness without emotional involvement to avoid being hurt, objectification of oneself and the other person to maintain an appropriate distance.

It all made sense.

His therapist asked him what he felt when he first saw his friend and why, what he thought about her.

He was ashamed to admit that she had aroused his desire from the very beginning, but there was something about her that attracted him for other reasons - some kind of warmth, understanding, tenderness, sensitivity and joy.

The doctor said that it was interesting that he called her right away his friend and not, as is usual in such vague physical relationships, his lover, acquaintance or colleague. He said that friendship is a stronger foundation that is based on trust and mutual care.

He realized then that returning to his city scared him so much not because of what awaited him there, but because she wouldn't be with him. That he won't be able to sleep again, he'll start smoking huge amounts of cigarettes again, he'll lock himself in his apartment again.

He wanted more than sex.

He wanted her to stay with him, at least for a while.

He wanted her to know that he cared.

She agreed to spend the weekend with him very willingly, and for the next few days her face showed only joy and excitement. They both had increasing difficulty not touching each other during the day, and one afternoon he simply took her on her desk in her workshop even though Borros and Royce were working in the room next door.

It was Friday afternoon when they reached his apartment. He threw the keys on the shelf in the hall, Vhagar immediately ran happily to the corner where she always lay, waiting for him to put her bed back there. He heard her giggle behind him.

"Someone's homesick." She said, amused. He hummed at her words and nodded. Even though Vhagar tended to avoid strangers, in her case she was more understanding, allowing her to be walked on a leash.

He noticed that Vhagar was showing some kind of care towards her. Every time she made a louder sound or made a sudden movement, his dog would run up to her to see what was happening. Vhagar sniffed her then and only came back to lie down next to him after she had licked her hand, making sure nothing had happened to her.

Vhagar had been with him since childhood. She was his gift of comfort from his mother after losing his eye and one of the best things that ever happened to him.

She laid with him as a puppy and licked his face when he cried all night long. It didn't matter to her whether he was ugly or beautiful, whether he had a scar or not.

Sometimes he thought with pain that he had received more tenderness from her than from his own father.

He wasn't prepared for the fact that he would return with someone from his trip, so he had to prepare a shelf for her clothes and make some space on his desk for her laptop so that she could also work if necessary.

Alys never stayed with him for a few days because he didn't want to. He couldn't rest or concentrate around her, so she usually went to her apartment after breakfast. This time, however, he felt excited.

"I'll have to go shopping because I don't have anything in the fridge. If you have specific requests for dinner, just tell me." He said calmly, unpacking his suitcase next to her as she was just putting her clothes on the shelf in his closet that he had prepared for her. She pursed her lips at his words.

"You don't have to cook for me, we can order something." She said hesitantly, as if she was afraid that he was only saying it out of courtesy.

"Do you think I'm so inept that I can't cook a good dinner?" He murmured, glaring at her, and she swallowed softly.

"We just came back from a long trip, you don't have to..."

"...I want to. Just tell me what."

It ended up that they both liked spaghetti bolognese, so they decided that there was no point in trying to prepare something more fancy. He told her to make herself comfortable while he went shopping and bought everything.

When he returned, he saw her sitting on the floor next to Vhagar's bed, stroking her head, Vhagar lying with her eyes closed and purring loudly, moving her paws in delight. Something about this sight, warm and happy, captivated him.

His apartment suddenly didn't seem so cold.

When they heard him, they both got up, and Vhagar ran over to smell the nets he had brought. He placed them on the kitchen counter and started unpacking the products one by one.

“Can I help you?” He heard a soft, pleasant voice behind him and smiled to himself.

So this is what it could have looked like?

They ate dinner together, drinking glasses of semi-sweet red wine that he had bought, very similar to one she had ordered at the hotel.

He couldn't get over how easy it was to talk to her. Even though he usually didn't like long discussions with Alys, which were tiring for him, the conversation with her flowed spontaneously, unforced.

"My father developed Alzheimer's symptoms very quickly, but I'm not sure if he paid me much attention before that anyway. My mother was more of his caregiver than a wife, and my grandfather sensed an opportunity in this marriage. He convinced her when she was 18 that he and she will benefit from this, just as their company will gain gemstones for half free." He shrugged and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She looked at her empty plate thoughtfully while sitting cross-legged in a chair, her hands involuntarily playing with the fabric of her sweatpants that she had changed into for her own comfort.

"It's terrible. You know... my dad had a hard time after my mother's death. She was 34 years old when she was diagnosed with a malignant tumor. Back then, there were no medical treatments as reliable as they are now. Me, Royce and Cassandra tried for years to convince him to undergo therapy because he couldn't cope with it. He often became furious and was verbally aggressive." She said, speaking more to herself than to him, and he swallowed softly, tapping his finger on the counter, remembering Borros' words.

I realized that what I poured into my therapist, I had previously poured into my children.

He saw her suddenly shift in her seat, looking at him uncertainly. He felt uncomfortable as he sensed what she wanted to ask.

"And have you…have you thought about talking to someone?" She asked, deliberately avoiding the words "therapist" and "therapy" so as not to scare or frustrate him. He looked to the side as he grabbed his glass, taking a deep sip of wine from it.

"I have a remote interview with a therapist recommended by your father next week." He said indifferently, not looking at her, involuntarily feeling ashamed and tense at the thought.

He never asked anyone for help and didn't like to admit it. He was missing one eye and people took pity on him anyway, against his will. She moved suddenly, the disbelief and joy on her face surprising him.

"Really? That's great, I'm so happy! I know it must have cost you a lot." She said, lowering her eyes, glancing at him uncertainly after a moment. They both looked at each other in silence.

"So...where will I sleep?" She asked, and he smiled in amusement at how she tried to pretend she didn't know what he was planning, wanting to get any words out of him to confirm her suspicions.

"Together with me, in my bed, as we have been for the last week. Doesn't this solution suit you?" He asked with a hint of mockery, drinking everything that left in his glass, he saw her blush and look down.

“It suits me.” She mumbled quietly.

"We can see if it suits you." He said nonchalantly, getting up from his chair, she gave him a surprised look, setting her glass on the table. "Let's make sure my bed is comfortable."

No more than ten minutes had passed and the two of them were lying naked in his bedroom behind the closed door, wanting to make sure Vhagar wouldn't interrupt them hearing their disturbing, loud noises.

Now that they were no longer in her house, he wanted to hear her.

He assured himself of this pleasure by sinking with delight between her thighs, she smelled of soap and perfume after the short shower they had taken a moment earlier, tired and hot after the journey.

His tongue slipped tentatively between her folds, teasing her with just the tip of his tongue, and she whimpered, leaning back, sensitive to his slightest movements.

"That's right. I want to hear you, baby. I want to hear how good you feel." He hummed, his hot breath enveloping her womanhood, the tip of his nose teasing her clit, making her sigh loudly, her hands tightening in his hair.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled, completely helpless, at his mercy, his hands gripping tightly on the soft skin of her thighs, preventing her from escaping.

"– it's okay – I will take care of you –" He whispered, his tongue aggressively pushing into her hot core, causing a loud, surprised moan to escape her throat, her thighs quivering in his hands, trying to escape.

He listened with satisfaction as her sounds became louder and more pathetic with the increasing intensity of his tongue movements, he got to know her body well enough to know where he should touch her to give her the greatest pleasure.

He pulled away from her and she squealed softly, looking at him with almost pain and accusation in her eyes. He smirked with satisfaction at the sight, his hand running lightly over her entrance, all wet and sticky with her moisture and his saliva.

"Do you want me to stay or sleep on the couch?" He asked gently, softly, his thumb began to press her clit with smooth, confident circular movements. She sobbed at his words, the pleasure numbing her so much that it was difficult for her to form a complete sentence.

"– no – please – stay –" She muttered, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. A shiver ran through him at this sudden, innocent, tender gesture, his cock throbbed hard, all swollen. He involuntarily licked his lips at her words.

"– you don't sound convinced – you seem uncomfortable with me –" He hummed with mock regret, his middle finger sliding deep into her hot, fleshy core, her head tilted back in a helpless moan.

"– please –" She mumbled and he sighed heavily, shaking his head.

"– what a messy little girl – so desperate to come, huh? –" He chuckled, leaning over her again, hearing her weak "mhm".

"– how could I fucking say no to you? –" He panted, aroused by the sight of her in complete disarray, craving only his attention, just his touch.

His tongue slipped deep inside her right away, his nose pressed against her clit. He heard her cry at the sudden stimulation, the tip of his tongue began to deliberately tease her sweet spot hidden inside her.

"– Aemond – oh, God –" She mewled, leaning back, finally reaching her fulfillment, her body convulsing beneath him. He licked her through his orgasm, cleaning her with his tongue of everything that flowed from her, satisfied by the intensity of her pleasure.

He licked his lips and rose on his knees when he felt that she had calmed down a bit. He positioned himself between her thighs, wanting to move on to his own fulfillment and just slide inside her, but she placed a hand on his chest, pushing him away a bit.

"I can try to please you in a similar way if you want." She said after a moment, embarrassed, lowering her eyes as if she couldn't bear to see his reaction.

He blinked, both aroused and terrified by her proposal, remembering what she had told him about in the hotel.

"You don't have to, I know it's uncomfortable for you. I just want to feel you, little one." He purred, leaning over her and placing a long, lingering kiss on her lips, letting her taste herself as he guided the tip of his cock to her entrance.

He shuddered when he felt her hand squeeze his length timidly, the pleasure rushed through him and he stopped mid-movement. He wanted to say something but she raised herself and kissed him, closing his mouth.

For a moment he simply moved his hips in rhythm with her hand, panting against her lips, their kisses loud, sticky, hot. She broke away from him after a moment, looking at him with warm, sleepy gaze.

"Let me take care of you." She whispered softly and he swallowed hard, feeling his cock throb hard at her words in her hand. He slowly lay on his back and she raised herself a little, looking shyly at his face. He involuntarily touched her cheek with his fingertips.

"I don't expect that from you. I don't want to hurt you." He said softly, his voice quavering slightly at his last words. She smiled at his words, as if that was exactly what she needed to hear right now, and kissed his hand.

"I know. That's why I want to try. But you have to close your eyes." She said pleadingly and he sighed heavily.

He didn't want to miss this view, but he decided to respect her request and did what she asked. He felt his heart pounding as he heard the mattress creak next to him, her body settling between his thighs.

He flinched when she brushed her lips against the inside of his thigh, feeling embarrassed by this delicate, intimate gesture, his hand involuntarily reached out to her and stroked her hair. He pursed his lips as he felt her fingers timidly grab his throbbing, swollen manhood.

He couldn't help but open his eyes immediately as he felt her lips kiss his sensitive skin, a pitiful, quiet moan escaping his throat, a sound that had never escaped his lips before.

The sight of her leaning over him, her lips trailing over his cock, her hot breath against his skin made him involuntarily breathe faster, his trembling hand involuntarily caressing her hair.

He was afraid to say anything for fear of scaring or distracting her, so he just stared at her with his heart pounding.

He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned again, louder this time, as he felt the tip of her tongue slide upwards over him, just teasing him, as if she wanted to taste him.

"– fuck –" Slipped out of his mouth when she did it again, he wanted to just grab her face and sink into her mouth, watch his cock disappear down her throat.

But he knew that would hurt her, that he would only scare her, that he would be no better than Cregan, whom he despised so much.

He saw her look up at him and immediately blushed, pursing her lips, ashamed of what she was doing. He caressed her face, looking at her with slightly parted lips.

"– don't stop – feels so fuckin good, little one – let me look at you –" He murmured in a low, shaky voice, and she nodded, swallowing loudly.

He sighed and tilted his head back as her tongue moved more confidently along his length, all the way to his tip, her hand gripped him tighter at his base and began massaging him again with confident, slow movements.

He felt like his cock was about to explode with desire.

"– God – have mercy, little one –" He gasped, trying not to force her to open her mouth.

She blinked at him in surprise, pursing her lips in satisfaction at the state she could get him into.

Normally he would be embarrassed and insecure, but now, with her, he wanted to be vulnerable, wanted her to take care of him, wanted her to make him feel good.

He inhaled loudly when he saw her point his tip at her pink, full, wet lips, parting them slightly, putting him into her mouth as if she wanted to taste a lollipop. He groaned involuntarily as he felt her lips tighten on him, his cock throbbing hard.

"– fuck – fuck –" He panted loudly, his whole body tense, his hands gripping her hair with the last of his strength refraining from sudden, strong thrusts that would have pushed him deeper into her throat.

"– breathe through your nose –" He muttered, seeing that she swallowed hard, obviously struggling with this new sensation herself. He heard her inhale loudly and relax, as if his advice had actually helped her.

He couldn't stop the low sounds of pleasure that escaped from his throat as she slided him deeper into her mouth, pulling him out with the soft click of her saliva, her hand firmly gripping his base.

He couldn't help himself, his hips began to move slowly inside her mouth, holding her by her hair, not letting her escape.

"– fuck, can you bear it if I speed up a little? – it feels so fuckin good, baby, please –" He panted helplessly and she nodded with difficulty. He groaned loudly as his length hit the back of her throat, she gasped loudly and almost choked, so he slowed down again.

"– I know – I know, baby, please –" He mumbled, feeling that he was on the verge of fulfillment, the sight of her with his cock in her mouth seemed so perverse and pornographic that his hands were shaking.

He groaned embarrassingly loudly as he felt her speed up at his words, allowing him to reach for her throat, squeezing him tighter with her hand, his orgasm approaching terrifyingly fast.

"– fuck – m' gonna – god, swallow as much as you can –" He choked out with difficulty and opened his mouth wide, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt that he simply cummed inside her mouth, his cock throbbing painfully hard.

She almost choked in surprise, swallowing some of his release with difficulty, a trickle of his semen flowing out the corner of her mouth.

He looked at the sight, at her beautiful, warm, innocent face filled with his manhood and his seed, and he thought that he had never seen anything like it before in his life. Alys' mouth could do wonders, but she had never made him come as hard as he did now.

He pulled out of her quickly, panting loudly, taking her into his arms, holding her to his chest like a small child. She was breathing quickly, her whole body was shaking, tears of exertion on her face.

"– are you okay, little one? – look at me –" He whispered, lifting her chin, wiping the remnants of his semen from the corner of her mouth, looking straight into her eyes, her gaze blurry, scared, and warm at the same time. "– did I hurt you? –"

She shook her head and he breathed softly, kissing her forehead with a loud click.

"– it felt so good, baby – I never came so fuckin hard just from suckin –" He murmured delightedly, stroking her hair, his lips placing a tender kiss on the top of her head again and again.

He realized that he had never behaved like this towards Alys after sex.

He had never felt such a need for tenderness and closeness, for reassurance that everything was fine with her, that she felt safe.

He sighed softly as she snuggled into him, exhaling loudly as if in relief, a sleepy, proud smile on her face.

"– should I do this more often? –" She asked in such an innocent tone that he chuckled at her words, hugging her naked body.

"– I'm afraid that now that I know what your sweet lips are capable of, I will use them more often –" He hummed softly, and she snuggled closer to him, which was answered by another long kiss on her forehead.

He didn't know it could be like this.

He didn't know he was capable of such caring.

The next day they ate breakfast together and then he went to the gym. In the meantime, his grandfather called him, demanding that he finally show up at the company even though it was Saturday.

Embarrassed, he had to call her and ask her for a favor. He was grateful that she had promised to take Vhagar for a walk while he was gone and make something for dinner in the meantime.

Almost as if they were together.

Almost.

When he entered their company's building, he was greeted by surprised, uncertain looks from his employees. He thought with frustration that everyone thought he had escaped, that he had admitted defeat and disappeared with his tail between his legs.

His grandfather was talking to one of the office managers, but when he saw him, he immediately stopped the discussion and moved towards him.

"Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my calls?" He asked irritably and he looked at him dispassionately.

"I needed a break and I see that the company didn't go bankrupt without me." He said coldly, his grandfather snorted at his words.

"If you're suggesting that the company can cope without you, then yes. We're at war, and you disappear and probably fuck some girl again..."

"I'm going back to college."

Otto looked at him in surprise, and after a moment he put his hands behind him, sighing heavily, as if he was searching for the last of his patience.

"I thought we were done with this topic. History is not a course that will help you find a job, it's just your whim." He said as if he were explaining to a child why he couldn't eat candy before dinner.

Aemond looked at him indifferently. He thought, looking at him, how surprised he was at the emptiness he felt standing in front of him compared to what he felt for the girl he had only known for a month.

He felt ashamed at the thought that she aroused more affection in him than his own family, and he wondered if he was the reason for it. However, one thing said by his therapist just before leaving gave him no peace.

"Children who receive too little attention from their parents assume that the problem lies in them, because the parent as a role model cannot be fallible. We base our values on their behavior, so the child must be missing something, the child must prove that he is worth their attention, work for it. However, when these children become adults and realize that their efforts have not been effective, they are left with an unfounded sense of failure because they failed to meet expectations, while wasting their lives trying to be who they thought their parents wanted them to be."

He felt a coldness in his chest and sadness at the thought of how accurately those words described him.

Only with her he could relax and rest.

She expected nothing from him.

She just wanted to be with him.

He felt like an intruder in his own company. People thought he was a pathetic moron who for years had not noticed that his lover had been reporting him to the press.

This whole time he pretended that he didn't hear his workers talking about his mummy issues, that he was probably crying like a baby in front of her or begging her to let him come.

He was surprised to find that these words no longer moved him.

He felt no frustration or anger. He thought he didn't care about these people or their opinions. He realized that he had never respected them or himself.

Until he saw her then, during the show.

She and her family were not like them. They did not prey on their clients, nor did they flaunt their wealth at large banquets.

Being in their house he felt warm, every corner and room was filled with their photos and family souvenirs, wood and old furniture everywhere, creaking panels under his feet.

He thought painfully that he would rather go back there with her and live with them. Go back to college and start his life again. He wasn't an idiot, he saved most of his wealth and salary on deposit.

He had a lot of savings, he could simply quit, competing companies would welcome him with open arms. But he knew who he would become in the eyes of his family.

Traitor.

"From what I know, thanks to your wise decision, Rhaenyra decides who stays in the company and who doesn't. Is that why you called me? I have better things to do." He said, frustrated, that he was wasting time he could have spent with her when she was leaving in literally a few days. His grandfather snorted at his words.

"I don't recognize you. I once thought you had ambition, but I see you're just a spoiled little brat like your older brother. You never..."

"Aemond. Can we talk in my office?"

Rhaenyra asked, standing in the hall with her briefcase, her blond hair tied in an elegant bun, wearing a white, feminine granite. Aemond pursed his lips and nodded, moving around his grandfather, ignoring his concerned look.

Rhaenyra invited him to the office that once belonged to his father and sat in his chair. He looked at it tense, feeling it was wrong, but he couldn't help it.

He sat on the other side of the desk, looking beyond the large glass wall that was also a window straight to the other skyscrapers surrounding them. Rhaenyra cleared her throat.

"I heard you worked remotely for a week and took a little vacation." She began calmly, and he felt his hand involuntarily tighten into a fist.

"Yes. I decided that I devoted enough time to this company and not enough time to myself." He hissed, wondering if she would fire him for his words, saying that she would find ten people much more committed than him to replace him. She was silent for a moment.

"You did the right thing. I know that the last time has been exceptionally difficult for you and I want you to know that I appreciate your commitment and experience. I know that we have had many differences in the past, but I want you to understand that you can rest as much as you need while working outside the office until all customer matters are resolved."

Aemond didn't know how he felt about what he heard. He was frustrated, he didn't want mercy from the woman who had done him such harm, who had shown him no sympathy when he suffered as a child because of an accident that her own son had caused.

So what if Luke cried and he didn't? That Luke was younger and he was older?

He was the one who lost an eye, who was disfigured for the rest of his life.

He was the one who had fucked up head and had to go to a therapist, reveal himself to strangers to start living a normal life. And she graciously told him that the job he had worked hard for so many years would be waiting for him?

He returned to his apartment and flinched when he smelled food, for a moment thinking about all this he forgot that he was not alone.

He closed the door behind him, trying to shoo away Vhagar, who was jumping on him with joy after several hours of separation.

He walked into the living room and saw her bustling around his kitchenette, apparently baking chicken legs and potatoes in the oven. She turned to him and waved at him, a wide smile on her face.

"Hi! What did they want from you at work?" She asked suddenly, and he wondered who she was to him to answer such a question.

He didn't know why his mood suddenly changed.

An hour at the company was enough for him to go back to his state from a few weeks ago when he was sitting smoking a cigarette on his balcony.

"Nothing." He replied dryly, briefly, not wanting to talk or think about it.

She blinked and pursed her lips, immediately feeling that something had happened, that something had changed.

She lowered her eyes and nodded, returning to the oven as if she understood that they were strangers and she had no right to expect more from him than he was willing to give.

He immediately felt remorse.

He looked at her, at her lips, at her eyes, at her grimace as she stood sideways to him, pretending to check if the meat was already cooked, trying not to show how much she wanted to cry, how much he hurt her with his behavior.

He slowly approached her from behind and grabbed her hair gently, running his fingers through it, brushing it off her shoulders only to lean down and kiss the bare skin of her neck.

"It's hard for me to speak about it." He whispered painedly into her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. He felt her warm hands on his arms, stroking him soothingly.

"I want to go home." She said softly and he froze. He felt his heart begin to beat rapidly, the air stuck in his throat as he swallowed with difficulty.

"Why?" He mumbled in terror, his whole body screaming at him not to let her go.

He had the impression that he would die in moment the door closed behind her.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I can't be your friend and a lover, a friend with benefits, I don't know what it's called today." She whispered with difficulty, wiping away the tears that began to flow down her face with her fingers, her whole body trembling with convulsions. "I know you didn't promise me anything, but I can't go on like this. I think it'll be better if I go home."

He felt like he had been silent for too long, his head was aching, his heart felt like it had stopped, his nose was pressed into her hair.

"No." He said quietly, coldly, terrifyingly. He felt her swallow thickly and sniff, her hand stroking his fingers as if to soften his response.

"Please. Please, let me go." She whispered imploringly in a hoarse, trembling voice, and he pursed his lips, feeling as if his whole body was shaking.

"I can't. Please...I...fuck!" He cursed loudly, hugging her painfully tight, burying his nose in her hair, her pleasant scent filling his lungs.

"That's not what I want. I just... I've only just started figuring it out in my head. It's so fucking hard. But I know that what I feel for you is something more, something more than I've ever felt for anyone." He spoke quickly, as if he felt that he had literally seconds, that he would really lose her, that he would never see her again.

"I think about it constantly. About what's next. With me. With you. With us. I think about crazy things, you can think I'm a fucking idiot, I don't care. I was thinking about selling this apartment and buying a house in suburbs, smaller but similar to yours, for you and for me. We would create a large workshop for you, you would have everything you need there. I would work more remotely, only with regular clients, I would only do what I have to do. I would continue therapy, I would try to be a better person. To make it all up to you.” He whispered in a trembling voice, feeling like a little child again, begging his parent not to reject him and knowing once again that he would fail.

That he would be alone.

He felt her breathing calm down, but she remained silent. He swallowed loudly as she turned to face him, her eyes wide, full of fear and something else he couldn't describe.

"Are you really thinking about it?" She asked quietly, uncertainly, her face red with tears.

She thought he was just saying it to keep her from leaving.

He swallowed loudly at the thought.

"Yes." He whispered in shame, pressing his lips tightly together.

He gasped as she suddenly embraced him and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her soft cheek into his T-shirt. He immediately tangled his fingers in her hair, his face pressed to the top of her head.

"I want to be with you. I think only about you. I want only you. Please." She whispered in a shaky voice and he sobbed softly at her words, feeling the overwhelming relief flow through his body as his lips began to kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her nose.

"Me too. God, me too." He gasped as if he was just now realizing, as if it was only now dawning on him that he had fallen in love with her the moment he saw her dancing with her brother.

He wasn't sure he'd ever had sex like this before, panting so loudly, shuddering so much, kissing so deeply, so shamelessly, so hungrily. His cock throbbed hard inside her every time their tongues touched and licked, his thrusts intense, fast, violent.

Their hands gripped their naked, sweaty bodies and hair, holding each other as close as possible, her bare breasts pressed against his chest, her legs entwined around his waist.

"– my beloved –" She breathed into his mouth and he groaned lowly, picking up the pace, her words sending a shiver down his spine.

"– say that again – please – m' fuckin need it –" He mumbled between dance of their tongues, teeth and lips, her fingers tightening on his buttocks, helping him push himself deeper into her with each thrust.

"– my beloved, sweet men – so good to me –" She cooed, and he felt that what she was saying was bringing him dangerously close to fulfillment.

Even though he wanted to wait for her, he felt that he needed it like never before, to finally find relief and fulfillment in knowing that he loved her and was loved.

"– m' gonna cum, okay? – please –" He exhaled, his hands clenched tightly on the soft skin of her thighs, moving his hips with loud, wet slaps, fucking her with all his might, his eyebrows arched as if in pain.

"– it's okay, baby –" She whispered softly, and he came suddenly, hard, with an almost animalistic, painful groan, surprised by the intensity of the sensation, her lips never leaving his throughout his high.

"– that's it – so good –" She hummed with warm contentment and he sighed at her words, purring lowly as he collapsed onto her helplessly, his cock still throbbing inside her hot interior.

He laid like that for a moment, letting her stroke his hair, knowing that she wouldn't rush him or judge him, that she would be patient with him, that she would understand.

A few long minutes passed before he started moving inside her again, turning with her on his side, placing her thigh on his hip, his length beginning to swell and throb inside her again. She mewled at the feeling, burying her face into his sweaty chest, her walls clenching on him tightly.

"– it's okay, little one – gonna take care of you now –" He murmured, his hand sliding between her thighs, massaging her clit in circular motions, he felt her whole body shudder.

These caresses alone were enough for her to come after a while with a long, surprised moan, seeking refuge in his arms, falling and rising on his cock. When he felt that her orgasm had passed, even though he was completely hard again, he didn't move inside her.

He just wanted to feel her.

They both embraced, running their fingers over their naked, hot bodies, he felt her soft lips press against his chest from time to time, placing a tender kiss on it. He kissed her hair, feeling it, then pressed his cheek against her head, exhaling softly.

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days." He whispered the vows the bride and groom exchanged in church, and she swallowed loudly, hugging him tightly in surprise. She was silent for a moment, as if she didn't know what to say.

"...I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days." She whispered, her voice trembling, and he smiled involuntarily, closing his eyes.

He felt at peace.

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @ahristata @menaosama @queenofshinigamis @dark-night-sky-99 @kate-to-the-ki @travelingmypassion @summerposie

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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Taglist 3

Daughter, Lover, Sister (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • fem!reader]

[description: Aemond is sent to Storm’s End by his father to be trained in the nature of battle and warfare under Borros Baratheon eye, in preparation for his future role as commander of his brother’s army. He is to choose one of his daughters as his future wife, but Borros only allows him to choose between four of them when his true desire is awakened by his fifth and youngest child.]

[warnings: masturbation, angst, sexual tension, rape attempt, violence, kind of incest but not actually]

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond’s words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm’s End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This chapter tells the story of what happened between the events of the Brother, Lover, Son oneshot, which is from the same AU.

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm’s End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

_____

When the first year had passed since his father had sent him to Storm's End to train in the arts of warfare under the tutelage of Lord Baratheon, he himself did not know how he felt about it.

On the one hand, the anger and sadness that had been churning in his heart when he had arrived at their fortress was still alive in him, but on the other hand, he was catching himself thinking that he had become used to this place, to its sounds, its smells, his bed and his chamber.

He had become accustomed to training daily with Royce under Borros' guidance, usually accompanied by his youngest daughter learning archery alongside them. When their sparring was over and Aemond went to rest Royce would stay with her sometimes, training her in sword fighting.

He had also become accustomed to her presence.

If he had to describe her he would say she was wild and bubbling with energy, everything pleased and excited her, Royce said she had the nature of an explorer and he partly agreed with him.

He was surprised to find that she remembered exactly what he said to her, including when he talked about something concerning King's Landing or his heritage, and sometimes she would ask him about it, wanting to know more.

"Who chooses the dragon's egg for the newborns?" She asked one day as she lay on the floor of the library next to the table at which he sat, she had scattered sheets of parchment in front of her on which she had drawn various characters and scenes with coloured pastels in sweeping, sure movements.

He looked down at her from his book, wondering where the question had suddenly come from.

"Parents." He replied dryly, returning to the paragraph he had finished on.

"And how do they know that the one they chose is the right one?" She asked further without even looking at him, wiggling her legs, wondering which shade of yellow would best match the colour of Cassandra's hair, which she had just portrayed with straight lines.

She finally decided on a warm, sunny shade and with intense movements began to apply the colour around her head, not caring too much about the accuracy of her hairstyle.

He looked at her, thinking about this question. He had never given it much thought and found it actually quite an interesting issue. He shifted in his seat and grunted, embarrassed that he couldn't give her a confident answer.

"I don't know. They just have a hunch." He muttered finally, deciding that was the best explanation.

He tried not to think about the fact that perhaps if his father had chosen a different egg for him, a dragon would have hatched from it. However, that was no longer relevant.

Now he had Vhagar.

He heard her mutter with curiosity, turning her head, considering his words.

"From your egg hatched Vhagar?" She asked finally, leaning over her pastel box again. He pressed his lips together at her words, frustrated; he had been pretending to read for several minutes, involuntarily focused on their exchange.

"No." He said coolly, turning the page with a sudden, aggressive movement.

He felt her glance at him, sensing his frustration, and she spoke no more, all around them only the sound of pastels rubbing against parchment.

When his Name Day had come, he hadn't expected anyone to know about it. As usual, he got a gift from his mother, who gave him some new books, he also got a new leather belt from Ser Criston.

He was surprised, however, when Lord Borros summoned him to his chamber. He had never been in his quarters before.

As he entered, Borros rose from his chair standing right next to the window and commanded him with a movement of his hand to come closer. Aemond saw that there were five daggers of various lengths on the table, each with a different handle, but all containing a dragon motif. He blinked, surprised to feel his heart pound hard as Lord Baratheon began to speak.

"Each of these daggers symbolises something. The qualities every boy must have to become a true men. Honour. Courage. Wisdom. Justice. Humility. May each of these daggers remind you of these things. They are my gift to you." He said in a low, throaty voice, and he swallowed loudly, stepping closer to the table.

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen such beautifully crafted weapons, the dragon-like figures wrapped around the handles in different ways, but when he took each one in his hand they were comfortable and light, he spun them easily between his fingers.

He didn't know what to say, so he simply thanked him.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he had been looking at them all day, enthralled by their detail, watching them closely. For some reason he felt proud, he felt noticed, seen. He had no idea how he knew that today was the day, but he felt grateful that he had shown him some kind of fatherly affect and interest.

He was surprised once again at their evening feast, in addition to the usual hot dishes he saw large platters of cakes, Borros thundered that today they were celebrating Prince Aemond's Name Day, and then each of his children came up to hand him gifts.

He did not open them, accepting them only and laying them down beside him, embarrassed and confused, not knowing what to say or where to look, never before had anyone celebrated this important day for him so pompously.

At the very end, Borros' youngest daughter approached him, a large piece of paper in her hand. She took a chair that stood not far away, moved it with a loud sound of wood rubbing against the stone floor and sat down next to him, evidently recognising that she had to explain to him exactly what he was about to look at.

She placed a sheet of paper in front of him which was all filled with drawings. He recognised himself in the figure with the blue hair and the eyepatch; he was in each of the scenes.

"Here you are flying through the skies on your great dragon burning your cruel enemies." She said pointing her finger at his figure riding dragon in such a tone of voice as if she had just been explaining war strategy to him, something very serious and requiring focus. He felt his lips involuntarily twitch in a smile, but tried not to laugh.

"Here we are you, me and Royce, here you are when you are sword fighting and you are very focused then. Here are you and me when I jump on you suddenly and you get very angry, oh, and here, here are us as you read to me in the library about dragons that time." She spoke quickly and paused after a moment, reminding herself that she had to swallow her saliva.

"And here is all our family." She finished her explanation and looked at him proudly, a wide smile on her face. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, and although he felt amusement at seeing these naïve, simple, childlike drawings, he also felt a tightness in his throat at her words and the way she introduced him.

Here is our whole family.

She didn't position him sideways in the drawing, he was standing among them, next to her and Royce, and although his face was the only one that didn't express contentment, he felt some kind of warmth from this portrayal, he knew that she had put all her effort and abilities into it, wanting to give him something of herself.

He thought with surprise that he was somehow touched.

"Please, do you mean that you want to give our prince these scribbles? Give it to me, forgive her, my prince, don't laugh at her, she's just a child." Cassandra said impatiently, as if she had just chastised her own child, her sister pressed her drawing to her chest crumpling it, horror in her eyes and tears at her words.

"No, I drew it and it's my gift!" She mumbled in despair, hurt by what she had said and that she thought her present was unworthy of him when she had clearly put her whole heart into it.

Borros told Cassandra to sit down and leave her little sister alone. Aemond looked at her uncertainly, but she didn't give him back his gift, just took it and ran out of the hall with a loud, distraught sob, Royce stood up with a loud sigh saying he would follow her.

He ate his cake to the end and then said he would retire to bed. He returned to his chamber with all the rest of the gifts he had received and began to unwrap them.

From Royce he received a war-themed book, from Cassandra an embroidered handkerchief, from Maris an ornate wooden box, from Ellyn new black leather gloves and from Floris a lock of her hair.

He wondered if Royce had already reassured his little sister.

He heard a quiet knock and, fearing it was Floris, answered nothing, but heard Royce's voice a moment later on the other side of his door.

"May I come in?"

He got up from his bed, putting the book he had got from him aside and opened the door, letting him in. For a moment he seemed troubled and didn't know how to put into words what he wanted to say.

"Listen. I know it's her childish invention, but she's been excited about drawing it for you for days. She threw out some of her drawings saying they weren't good enough and that this one was perfect. I understand it's probably just a scribble to you, but right now she's suffering terribly thinking you share Cassandra's opinion, but even if that's the case, just accept it, put it away, do what you want with it." He said, shrugging his shoulders, and he sighed heavily, rolling his eye.

As Royce left he moved towards her chamber and knocked loudly.

"Go away, Royce!" He heard her angry mumble, clearly still reliving her painful humiliation.

"I came for my gift. It's rude to give and then take away." He said loudly and coldly, heard her get up suddenly and run quickly to the door. She opened it, her big eyes looking up at him, her face all red. She looked at the piece of paper she held in her hands with an expression of hopelessness.

"I crumpled it up a bit…then, at dinner and…I'll draw a new one, alright?" She muttered, and he held out his hand with an expression of impatience on his face.

"I want this one. Give it back or I'll take it from you by force." He said angrily. She whined in despair and gave him back her work, starting to cry loudly again, closing the door in front of his face with a loud slam.

He returned to his chamber and sat on his bed, looking at the crumpled sheet of paper with representations of his figure. He folded it in half and tucked it under his pillow, sometimes looking at it when he missed King's Landing, feeling a kind of comfort then.

A few years passed and his Name Day was always celebrated in a similar way. It frustrated him that he was then required to interact more than usual, nevertheless there was something pleasant about the fact that they always remembered about him. Especially as he was no exception, the Name Day of each of Borros' children, including himself, was celebrated.

However, when the Name Day of his youngest daughter arrived, when she had finally reached an age where she could attend feasts and dances organised by her father, and young boys could vie for her hand, Borros organised several days of hunting, which would end with a great feast and revelry.

Although he had witnessed how she was changing, how she was slowly ceasing to be a child and becoming a woman, it was only at this point that it occurred to him that this transformation had already happened.

He was surprised to find that her shape had already become girlish, the outline of her breasts had become clear and full, her hips wider. Although she still looked like a child next to her sisters, it was from her that he could not turn his gaze away.

During the hunt, she ran up to him when she saw that he was going to pour himself some water in the stream, joining him, apparently wanting to say something to him in private.

"I have an idea what gift you could give me for my Name Day!" She called out cheerfully, smiling from ear to ear, contentment and warmth in her gaze. He raised an eyebrow, putting his beaker in the water.

"Indeed?" He asked ironically, rising, taking a few deep sips of water. He wanted to avoid her, but she moved behind him, speaking further.

"I want to fly on Vhagar's back into the skies!" She said lightly, as if she was talking about what she was going to eat for dinner.

He choked in surprise and started coughing loudly, covering his mouth with his hand, looking at her in disbelief. She wanted to pat him on the back, but he moved away, shaking his head.

"You've gone mad. What kind of insolent demands are these?" He asked frustrated, but she didn't seem to care about his reaction. She stepped closer to him, her eyes shining.

"It's not a demand, it's my dream. And when is a better time to fulfil it than on my Name Day?" She asked softly, and he shook his head and snorted, chuckling under his breath in disbelief.

"I'm not here to fulfil your desires. I'm surprised you're not embarrassed to ask for something like that." He growled, sidestepping her by bumping his shoulder against hers, her quiet hiss answered him.

What was she thinking?

Who was she to ride his dragon with him?

Her sisters had begged him for years to take them to her liege, but he had never agreed, and she thought he would let her fly on her back?

She saw that she had upset him and stayed away from him all day, talking to her father and her brother. He felt a sense of frustration, however, seeing her stopped by one of the tents by a lord who had been watching her all day.

A cocky young lad whom he remembered well from Borros' feasts in Storm's End.

He knew he had a similar attitude to women as Aegon, and she was innocent and naive, unable to see the subtext in his words and gestures.

He felt shivers of discomfort pass through him every time the boy leaned over her, whispering something in her ear. She looked at him puzzled and laughed, clearly not knowing herself what she thought of his words.

Only after a moment did he realise that his hands were clenched into fists, that he had been looking at them for a long time like an imbecile.

He figured it wasn't his problem, turning away, reminded of how much she had taken him out of balance, taking a deep sip of wine from a metal goblet.

However, he felt a tingling in his fingers when he heard his laughter, his hand on hers, saying something to her quickly, pulling her towards the fire, clearly wanting to show her something.

He clenched his teeth, feeling anxious and uncomfortable, tense, as if something was about to happen. He thought he wasn't her brother, but the idea that this boy could do to her what Aegon was doing to his servants made him feel a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

He was immensely relieved when he saw her move towards him, leaving the boy alone, apparently figuring out his intentions at last.

He grunted loudly, taking another sip of wine greedily, pretending not to feel his fingers trembling, his heart pounding like mad as she sat down beside him on the large wooden bench at the huge oak table, her father's vassals on the other side drinking wine.

He swallowed quietly without looking at her, feeling a surprisingly pleasant shudder when her thigh pressed against his, her arm against his shoulder. He figured there wasn't much space on the bench and that was why she'd done it, that there was no undertone to it, but he felt a painful pulsing in his trousers anyway.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to offend you." She said quietly, and he hummed under his breath with his gaze fixed ahead.

He didn't dare to look at her.

"Will you forgive me, my prince?" She asked softly, using the right phrase at last, usually calling him simply her brother.

Satisfied with this change, he nodded and felt her body move closer to his.

He did not move away.

He fought the strenuous urge to place his hand on her thigh and cursed in his mind, wondering what the hell he was thinking, what right he had to touch her like that.

Their relationship went back to normal, which meant that the two of them were talking to Royce at the same table. Her father gave permission for her to try wine for the first time and Royce decided that they would accompany her on this new experience. He poured her a full cup without a second thought, and Aemond looked at it with raised eyebrows.

"Isn't that too much?" He asked uncertainly, Royce laughed out loud.

"After all, if she doesn't want to drink to the end, she won't. Nobody's going to make her. Here here!" He said, raising his cup, Aemond and she also took a sip, both of them watching her reaction curiously.

She coughed, wrinkling her brow, uncertainty on her face as to what she thought of the taste that had just melted in her mouth.

"Tart. And I feel like it's warm in my stomach right now." She said in surprise, looking questioningly at her brother, for the first time feeling the intoxicating effects of alcohol. Royce took another deep sip from his goblet with amusement.

"Oh, you're going to get very warm." He laughed and indeed she did.

Although she didn't drink much, her tongue soon began to tangle, Aemond watched from the sidelines as she danced with her brother by the fire along with other couples to the music of local musicians and fiddlers.

She seemed more joyful and happy than ever, sweat droplets on her face from exertion, she and Royce complemented each other perfectly in the dance, moving with energy and vigour.

She said something in Royce's ear and pointed to the woods, Royce laughed and nodded, clearly understanding that she had to go there to settle her needs quickly.

Royce asked one of her cousins to dance and Aemond, meanwhile, led her away with his eyes. He pressed his lips together as he saw the same boy she had spoken to earlier following her into the darkness.

He stood up suddenly, furious, the alcohol bubbling in his head, making the figures around him seem indistinct. He walked off into the forest, walking between the trees and looking around, hearing the sound of a river not far away. After a moment, someone's mumbling reached his ears.

"− oh, I can manage on my own − no − please don't −" She muttered wearily, he saw her silhouette and above her his, trying to untie the fabric of her trousers, her hands clenched on his wrists in a helpless gesture of defence, she was barely holding herself up.

Aemond walked up to him and slammed his head with all his might against the tree trunk she was leaning against, he heard her loud squeal of terror, she looked at him with big eyes. Only now did he realise that she was breathing loudly, shaking all over, looking at him in horror.

"− I didn't − I swear I didn't − it's not what you think − he −" She mumbled out, and he felt a tightening in his throat at the thought that she believed he'd accused her of wanting it, of being guilty.

She squealed as the material of her trousers began to slide off her hips and she caught it quickly, almost falling over, barely catching her balance through the alcohol.

He caught her with his heart pounding, feeling a strange kind of pain in his chest, seeing her so vulnerable, helpless and terrified, her breathing uneven and loud, on the verge of crying.

He helped her tie back her trousers and readjusted her chemise. Pushed by some sudden, hot feeling he blamed on alcohol he pulled her close and snuggled her into himself, sinking his hand into her hair, her fingers tightening on the material of his leather jacket.

"Did he touch you?" He asked in a trembling voice, and she shook her head.

She sniffed with her nose, drawing in the air loudly, he could hear her crying, her body soft and warm, smelling of her scent and the wine that made his head spin. His manhood pulsed hard feeling the closeness of her body, his semi-conscious mind wondering if she felt it.

He looked with a cold, indifferent gaze towards the boy, who began to rise from his knees with a quiet hiss, clutching his head.

"Lord Baratheon will find out about what you were trying to do." He hissed, lifting her up by her hips, allowing himself to be embraced by his neck, heading towards the camp.

The boy behind him exclaimed that he hadn't done anything and that she was the one encouraging him, but he decided he would deal with it later, feeling her all quivering in his arms.

"− don't tell father − what he will think of me − please −" She whispered helplessly in his ear, her cheek nestled against his face, he was hot, pleasant tickling shivers ran through his whole body.

He headed towards her tent from behind, walking in the shadows between the trees so that no one would notice them. He waited until the guards had passed to the other side and slipped inside.

He walked with her to her bedding spread on the soft grass and slowly laid her down on it, but her arms still held him close, wrapped around his neck.

"− you have to let go of me − I have to leave −" He whispered, but at his words she hugged him even tighter, his nose against her cheek, he could smell the pleasant aroma of her soft hair.

They both breathed through their mouths, he could feel their bodies trembling. He knew they were both drunk, however he couldn't help what he felt, the fact that he had become completely hard lying like this between her thighs, feeling the warmth of her body beneath him.

Her grip finally eased, her hands falling inertly on either side of her head. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked at her, her face far too close to his, her pink, glossy lips parted slightly, her gaze dreamy, tender, warm. He thought it was the alcohol and that he should get up, but instead he looked at her fighting with himself and what he desired.

"− sleep −" He said coolly, getting up at last, deciding that no one could find them in such a position. He rose, her gaze watching him vigilantly, her chest rising and falling slowly, her hair scattered in disarray around her head.

He thought with pain that she no longer looked like a child, but like a woman, a lover, gentle and soft, he imagined how warm she must have been inside, that her kisses would have been sweet and hot, moist with her saliva.

He felt ashamed of his thoughts, anger and frustration building up inside him. She was one of Borros' daughters, he could have chosen her as his wife.

So why did it seem inappropriate to him?

Everyone expected him to choose Ellyn, she was his equal, beautiful and clever, humble and sweet, perfectly mannered, she would certainly fulfil the role of his wife with full devotion.

But Ellyn was too fragile in his eyes, too delicate, she was afraid of his harsh answers and cold disposition, she thought he treated her that way because she had done something wrong or he wasn't fond of her, when in fact that was his way of being.

It was her youngest sister who really understood him, she could read his expressions accurately, guessing when he was content, tired or frustrated. She reacted to his anger with laughter, she wasn't afraid of him despite the fact that he was much taller and stronger than her.

His stern, harsh words didn't impress her and didn't seem to hurt her because she knew they didn't stem from his feelings for her but from his nature.

He was not a pleasant, cheerful or talkative person and he did not want to be. He knew that Ellyn would live in the hope that she would change him, that with her he would become a gentle, laughing, joyful man. He realised that this would never happen, that they would both tire of each other.

He felt nothing for her, except a kind of brotherly concern.

This stood in stark opposition to what he felt now, looking at her, completely drunk, standing in her tent, watching her face, her gaze fixed on him, yet there was something in him that he had not seen before, something he was hot from, some kind of desire and affection that he wanted so badly to see.

He turned and walked away, feeling that he was on the verge of doing something very bad.

He did well to do so, for he ran straight into a terrified Royce, his eyes wide open.

"Have you seen her anywhere? I've been looking for both her and you, but she's nowhere to be found…"

"She's in her tent. She felt worse and I led her there. She's sleeping." He said lowly, turning his face away, trying to sound indifferent, his fingers rubbing against each other nervously.

"I'm worried about something else, though."

He couldn't hide a mischievous, dark smirk of satisfaction when Borros burst furiously into the tent of the boy's father, who was trying to insult and abuse his daughter.

Borros as far as his children were concerned was like a great, enraged bear, capable of tearing apart anyone in his path. He ordered them to leave the hunt immediately.

He said that he would remember this insult forever and that they had nothing left to look for in his fortress.

When it was all over he surprised him by coming up to him and patting him on his shoulder.

"Thank you for going after them, for protecting her. I've never been more proud of you, son." He said lowly, somehow touched, and he looked at him wide-eyed, not expecting those words at all, completely frozen. He merely nodded and returned to his tent when Lord Baratheon told him to rest.

He thought Borros would have killed him if he had known what he was thinking about as he fucked himself with his own hand lying on his bedding.

That he imagined he had not left her tent then, but stayed with her, that he had kissed her, that he had touched her neck with his lips, her soft breasts, that he had touched her with his fingers, down there, and then sunk between her thighs and listened to her sweet moans that ripped from her throat with each of his thrusts.

He came hard panting loudly, his semen spilling down his hand, his whole body trembling, sweaty and welted, filled with fulfilment and pleasure.

Never before in his life had he come so hard.

The next day, he and she avoided each other's gazes at the breakfast they ate with Borros and Royce, knowing that what had happened between them was not entirely innocent. He figured they would both blame the alcohol for sure and simply not revisit the subject.

That's exactly what happened.

The last day of her Name Day celebrations was a big feast where she was finally officially allowed to sit at a table, drink and dance like a grown woman. She entered through a side entrance and he felt his throat tighten at the sight of her.

The cut of her gown caused its fabric to hug her waist beneath her breasts, covered only by a thin white chemise, her sleeves tied to her dress with coloured ribbons had slits from under which the white fabric shone through.

He thought with amazement that at the same time it was a very daring choice, even defiant, on the other hand she looked proud and magnificent, her gown shimmered pearly and was embroidered with bright stones.

He looked away, taking a deep sip of wine from his cup.

In keeping with tradition, she was asked to dance again and again. The right of her first dance was of course with Borros and Royce, but then various lords and knights began to approach her, demanding to experience the same pleasure with her.

She accepted their hands with joy and delight, radiating happiness, dancing with verve and lightness. He tried to divert his attention from the sting of jealousy every time he looked at the hands of the men lying on her waist, touching her palms.

He didn't recognise himself, but fought strenuously against the thought of asking her to dance, even though he hadn't done it with any of her sisters and knew they would take it as an insult.

He hesitated, assuming on the one hand that he had been close with her and Royce forever, on the other hand he feared that the guests would take it as an expression of his will, his proof that he had already chosen Lord Baratheon's daughter whom he wished to marry.

He shuddered as Royce leaned over him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I ordered a beautiful dagger for her with a deer motif on the hilt. She's always dreamed of one, I'm curious to see if she'll like it." He said excitedly, running a hand over his chin, and he hummed at his words.

Gifts for her sisters were always chosen by his mother, and usually it was jewellery or gowns from King's Landing.

For her, however, he had decided to choose the gifts himself, and had ordered some interesting books for her from the Citadel about dragons flying through the centuries in Westeros, with beautiful, rich illustrations, knowing that she wanted to expand her knowledge on the subject.

He swallowed loudly when he saw that she had approached them with a smile, all welted and settled over them, warmth, contentment and fatigue beaming from her face, her breasts hidden under the thin material of her white chemise rising and falling with effort, making him unable to look away.

"I see you're not complaining about the lack of dancing, sister." Royce said in amusement, she laughed heartily and shook her head, taking the goblet from him, taking a deep sip of wine.

"No, but I'm terribly hot. I've come to hide with you, to give me at least a moment's peace." She said softly, standing between them, placing her hands on the backs of their chairs and sighed loudly.

Borros, seeing her, stood up and walked over to her, grasping her face in his large, rough hands, looking at her proudly.

"My beautiful child. When did you grow up like this? Who will you dance with now? Has our prince already asked for this honour?" He asked with joy, and he almost choked on the sip of wine he had just taken, looking at him shocked, his daughter shook her head quickly, turning suddenly pale, feeling the discomfort of the whole situation, knowing that he had never danced with anyone.

"Father." She laughed, trying to turn it into a joke, Royce pressed his lips together, turning his gaze away, not wanting to look at it. Borros blinked as if he didn't understand what she meant, that she wished him to stop discussing it.

"As I understand it then, our prince does not consider you a sufficiently worthy partner for him." He said coldly, the atmosphere suddenly becoming very heavy, he pressed his lips together at his words, feeling the tension throughout his body, his heart pounding like mad.

"Father, please." She mumbled, horrified and ashamed of his words, of the fact that he was trying to force him to do something he didn't want to do.

He stood up furiously, reaching his hand out to her, and she shook her head.

"Are you refusing me?" He asked with a sneer, saw that her eyes had turned red, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled slightly.

It wasn't her fault and he knew it, but he was furious anyway.

She placed her hand on his palm and together they descended the stairs to the stone floor, as he had feared, causing a general sensation and confusion.

"Forgive him, please, I don't know what's gotten into him." She whispered in a trembling voice, he could feel her fingers shaking in his hand, he stood before her and bowed, music echoed around them.

They took the right position, their two hands entwined above their heads, two lying on their waists, they rotated to the rhythm, changing to the opposite position every few bars, moving the other way.

She looked at him and cried, and he felt an ache in his heart, felt that he wanted it and didn't want it at the same time, she looked so beautiful and so helpless, her gown shining silvery in the torchlight.

"Don't cry." He whispered a little more softly, moving back towards her to the rhythm of the music and grabbing her again with the embrace of his arm, he felt the touch of her hand on his waist again. "Don't cry."

They turned again, this time he pulled her closer to him, so that if he leaned in more their foreheads would touch, her misty, sad gaze fixed on him, only on him.

"Forgive me." She whispered with difficulty, and he pressed his lips together, wondering if she was apologising to him for being forced to dance against his will, or for some other reason that she, like him, hid deep in her heart.

If he could, if they were alone, he would have leaned over and kissed her wet cheek, and then the other, and then he would have sunk into her soft lips, thus showing her how wrong she was, how much she did not understand the reason for his frustration and anger.

He found with some kind of despair that the music had ended too soon, too abruptly. They bowed to each other, and, following good manners, he escorted her to her seat.

She threw him one quick distraught, apologetic look, and he didn't know what he could say, so he said nothing and sat down again next to Royce, taking a deep sip of wine. Royce grunted loudly.

"Forgive our father. He…"

"Let's not talk about it." He interrupted him mid-sentence, and Royce sighed heavily and nodded, knowing that getting anything out of him would have no effect.

The feasting and dancing continued, his gaze drawn to Floris, who stood up after a moment, moving towards her youngest sister. He saw her leaning over her, whispering something in her ear, pain, humiliation, disbelief running through her face, her brow arching in shame. Whatever she said to her made her get up and leave the hall.

She did not return.

Borros became concerned when he noticed her absence and, as usual, Royce was the one who went to check on her. Aemond looked intensely at Floris, who gave him a brief, satisfied look and smiled. He clenched his hand into a fist at this sight and looked expectantly at Royce when he returned, sitting back down next to him.

"She won't open the door for me. She said she was unwell and wanted to rest, that it was because of the wine." He explained to his father, and he nodded.

Aemond knew it wasn't the wine.

As he walked back to his chamber he stopped in front of her door, listening for any sounds, but all he heard was silence. He wondered whether to knock or ask her what her sister had said, but decided in the end that it was none of his concern.

He was already about to move on, tired and discouraged, when he heard the sound of the lock clicking open and the door opened, she stood in front of him in nothing but her nightgown and she jumped up, terrified.

He stared at her with wide eyes, at the barely visible silhouette of her naked body, and was unable to look away, his voice caught in his throat, he had no idea how to explain what he was doing at her door. She seemed as shocked as he was, so for a moment they just looked at each other.

"Something happened?" She asked uncertainly, apparently wanting to understand for what reason he was still standing there and not moving. He licked his lips involuntarily, feeling that they were dry from anxiety, and swallowed quietly.

"What did Floris tell you?" He asked feigning indifference, pretending not to feel his heart pounding as he played with his fingers in a gesture of nervousness and insecurity.

She pressed her lips together at his question and tensed all over, lowering her gaze. She was silent for a moment.

"…that I'm a whore. That she heard I went with a men alone between the trees at night while hunting. And that she knows I asked my father to persuade you to dance with me." She said in a trembling voice, shaking her head. "But that's not true, I…"

"I know." He replied dryly, clenching his hands into fists, not wanting her to explain herself to him.

"Get dressed in your training attire. I'll be waiting for you at the side entrance to the courtyard if you still want to see Vhagar." He said finally and set off ahead, not even giving her time to think, not waiting for her answer.

He had no idea what had possessed him to propose this. He didn't have a clue why the words suddenly burst out of his mouth, but he realised that after what had happened between them on the hunt, what he had felt, he wanted to be alone with her, without Royce, without her father, without Floris.

Just him and her.

To see how he would feel about it.

He waited for her in his long, black leather coat. He finally heard her uncertain footsteps, she had tied her long hair in a braid to keep it out of her way, her gaze uncertain and excited.

They moved ahead without a word, the night was clear and beautiful, moonless, only stars above them.

"Do you still want this?"

She swallowed loudly, looking at him surprised, trying to keep up with his quick pace.

"What are you asking?"

"About whether you still want to ride the dragon."

She pressed her lips together at his question, tears in her eyes, though he did not know for what reason. She nodded her head quickly, in her eyes some kind of gratitude, tenderness and warmth that made him hot.

He felt her small fingers grasp his hand uncertainly, he felt that her skin was cold, so he thought nothing would happen if he warmed her, he deceived himself that this would speak well of him as a man.

He intertwined their fingers thinking that he had to keep her close, that he couldn't let her get sick or Borros would kill him. He did not look at her, thinking only of how soft her skin was.

When they finally reached the hill where Vhagar had just rested, sleeping a stony sleep, they both stopped a short distance away so she could admire her silhouette from afar.

He felt her fingers squeeze his skin tighter, she hugged his arm and he stroked her hand with his thumb, as if this reassuring gesture towards her was the most natural thing in the world.

What was he doing?

Vhagar sensed his scent and slowly raised her large head, turning towards them, warm steam escaping from her nostrils as she exhaled. She knew there was a stranger with him, and looked curiously at the small figure standing behind him, for he had never yet allowed anyone but himself to approach her.

He felt her body pressed against his side and he glanced up at her, her eyes wide, disbelief painted on her face, one of her hands entwined with his fingers, the other clenched on his arm. He thought with satisfaction that she could not get a word out.

"Lykirī, Vhagar." He said aloud, glancing at his dragoness, who was watching them vigilantly, her head raised high in the air resembling a great hill, her eyes glowing uneasily in the starlight.

"Come." He whispered to her and they moved ahead, led away by the gaze of her reptilian eyes, heading towards the ropes that hung from his saddle positioned on her back.

"You have to climb up there. Do you think you can do it?" He asked quietly, and she nodded. She grabbed one of the ropes and slowly began to pull herself up, clasping her legs against her large dragon scales.

"Won't she start breathing fire?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he chuckled under his breath.

"Not unless I order her to, so you'd better not get on my nerves and concentrate on climbing." He said dryly, and she snorted at his words, continuing to climb.

He belayed her from below, and when she finally climbed onto the seat, he climbed behind her with a few sure, quick movements, sitting down behind her. He wrapped a few ropes around her waist, sighing heavily, hoping it would be enough to keep her from falling.

"Hold on to the front of the saddle and don't scream so you don't distract her. Do you understand?" He asked lowly, trying to concentrate, gripping the ropes he was guiding her with in his hands and trying not think about how her buttocks were pushing against his manhood, which had already become hard the moment he sat behind her, the closeness of her body making it impossible for him to gather his thoughts.

She nodded, doing exactly what he had condemned, tense and excited.

"Sōves, Vhagar!" He thundered, and the dragoness rose lazily on her great paws, spreading her wings, beginning to run ahead, everything around them trembling and shaking, the wind in their hair, he saw that she curled up in front of him and pressed her face against his saddle, clenching her eyes.

He felt like laughing at the sight.

Suddenly, with a single, powerful movement of her wings, she lifted herself with difficulty into the air, then higher and higher, until finally as they rose above the clouds he commanded her to level flight and they began to glide through the skies. Only then did he realise that he had pressed his face against her neck, that his whole lungs were filled with her scent.

He couldn't help how pleasurable it was.

"You can open your eyes. The worst is behind us." He said loudly knowing that she could barely hear him over the wheezing wind around them, she uncertainly lifted her head and looked around in disbelief, breathing unevenly, her whole body quivering.

She dared to look above her and saw only stars, beautiful, luminous, spreading across the black sky.

He felt her move back, laying her head on his shoulder so that she could still look up, their wind-cold cheeks pressed against each other, their hair flowing. He felt something wet on his skin and when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye he saw tears running down her cheeks, her lips slightly parted.

"Whenever I was a child I always imagined that my mother, after her death, became one of the stars and shone in the sky." She choked out with difficulty, and he felt a tightening in his throat suddenly understanding why soaring into the sky was her dream.

She wanted to be closer to her.

"Since everyone says that good people go to the heavens and live among the gods, that means she is there." She whispered, and he involuntarily put his arms around her waist, hugged his nose to her face, and they lasted like that in this amazingly tender close embrace, the kind she had only shared with Royce so far.

Looking at them he wondered what it was like.

And now that she was so close, he only dreamed of pressing her lips to his own.

He shuddered as he felt her hands on his, her fingers thoughtfully beginning to run over his skin, shivers ran through him at her innocent, tender touch.

He had never been so close to anyone.

He had never wanted any woman as much as he wanted her at this moment.

"Thank you, brother." She whispered, looking up at him, and he felt a tightness in his throat and a rage, a helplessness at the thought that this was how she saw him, that she didn't see him as a men, just another Royce.

He imagined slipping his tongue between those wonderfully glossy, full lips, clinging tightly to her mouth and sucking on its fleshy texture, the tips of their tongues licking each other in a lewd, sticky kiss.

He swallowed loudly and pressed his forehead to her temple.

He didn't want to be her brother.

He wanted to be her lover.

_____

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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The Impossible Choice (55) (End)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • fem!reader]

[warnings: sex content, smut, giving birth, breastfeeding kink, mention of trauma and violence ]

I am touched, this is my longest story, my beloved child, my beloved couple. This story of mine was probably the most successful and brought me a lot of joy, your involvement made me want to keep writing. I feel like I'm ending at the right moment, just as I wanted, and I hope you won't be disappointed. I remind those in despair that I still have stories from The Impossible Choice AU to write. I also recommend reading Brother, Lover, Son and The Pearl and The Sapphire, because these are also stories from this universe. Thank you all for such a wonderful response!

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

She wasn't sure she'd ever been as horrified in her life as she was when she realised her husband had lied to her. After he left the wedding feast, as she waited for him in his chamber she finally asked the guards standing at her door if they knew if he was still in the Small Council hall.

They looked at her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable, one of them swallowed loudly and said it was impossible.

They did not explain to her why, but she understood that her husband had hidden something from her, that he had planned something and gone away, left her. Her head was buzzing with his question that he had asked her before he left, she could see his gaze, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"You know that I love you."

Only then did she realise it was a kind of farewell.

A farewell in case he didn't come back.

She felt as she had that night when his army had set out with her father to Eyrie only for her to suffer such a painful loss and she shuddered all over at the thought, huddled against her pillow, that the same thing awaited her this time. She began to cry loudly, terrified, unable to calm herself, her child in her womb moving restlessly, sensing her condition.

She was unable to fall asleep, but she was also too tired to think logically in the morning so she persisted in lethargy, breathing hard, recoiling at every louder sound, hoping it was him.

Finally the door opened and he stood there, his white hair, his face, his hands, his armour all in blood.

She covered her face with her hands trying not to scream, horrified at the thought that it could have been his own blood, that he was wounded, and just stared at him with big eyes, unable to get a word out.

There was a kind of emptiness and weariness in his gaze.

He approached her slowly and the door closed quietly behind him. He knelt in front of her with a loud clatter of his metal armour and embraced her gently, tenderly, cuddling his cheek against her abdomen, only then did she feel him tremble all over.

"It's done." He whispered in a hoarse, low voice while looking somewhere in the distance, and she felt a tightening in her stomach mixed with relief and horror.

It's done.

Her lip trembled as an involuntary question escaped her lips.

"Are they dead?"

Her husband swallowed hard, clenched his eyes as her hands stroked his hair, she felt him seek comfort in her arms, consolation, an escape from what he had done, what he would have to face every day from now on.

"Yes."

She didn't ask him anything else. She didn't ask him how they died, who killed them, if they suffered much.

She didn't want to know that.

She didn't want to think about it.

"You must take a bath, my love." She whispered, kissing the top of his head, and he sighed quietly, as if relieved, as if afraid that the scale of his act, the enormity of the sin he had brought with him would make her push him away.

She knew he needed her like never before.

She did not let him out of her arms, letting him snuggle into her womb as she called their servants and ordered them to prepare a tub of hot water. As they did so she combed her fingers through his hair, whispering to him that he was brave, that there was no other way, that he had protected her and their child, his family, that he had to do this.

She told him everything he needed to hear to keep him from going mad with despair.

She felt his tears on the skin of her arms, felt that his body was shaking, that the realisation of what he had done was slowly reaching his mind along with the adrenaline and overwhelm leaving his body.

"Joffrey…" He muttered and pressed his lips together in an attempt to hold back the feeling that was building up inside him, and then he burst out sobbing.

She felt a tightening in her throat at the thought of that little boy, at the thought that both he and she knew he was a child who had nothing to do with these events, was no different from Jaehaerys.

"− shhh − I know − I know − I know, my beloved − I am with you −" She whispered and leaned towards him so as to enclose him in the embrace of her body, his head pressed from the side to her abdomen and from the top to her breasts, her hands stroking his neck and wet cheeks, her lips kissing his hair.

Slowly he began to calm down, ashamed of his weakness and what he had shown her he finally grunted and stood up. She helped him take off his armour, then his chemise and trousers. He stepped into the tub of hot water and let out a loud gasp of air, as if he didn't believe he was back.

That he was alive.

Just as she had done before, just as she had done then, at the beginning of their marriage, she began by washing his head, the blood from his hair and body staining the water red. She felt him lift his hand back and run his fingertips over her arm, as if he needed to feel the touch of her body, needed to be physically reassured that she was with him, that he was not alone.

She knew he was scared, that what he had done was crushing him and that she needed to be there for him.

She tried not to think about it, to push the doubt and remorse away, knowing that she had to be his pillar, his strength, that he could not see hesitation in her. He needed to feel that he had made the right choice, that she did not despise him, that nothing had changed.

After his bath, she helped him get dressed in clean clothes. Even though it was morning and they should be eating breakfast, she led him to their bed holding his hand, and lay down with him.

"Try to sleep, my dearest. I will be with you all the time." She said softly. He hummed under his breath and nodded, laying down beside her, cuddling his face between her breasts. She placed her chin in his hair, embracing him tightly, stroking him, and began to quietly sing him the lullaby her mother used to hum to her when she was a child.

She felt his tense body slowly relax, felt him cry again, and then after a time that lasted an eternity for her he finally fell into a restless sleep.

Word of Aegon's severe burns reached her quickly and she decided to visit him with her husband, knowing better than anyone else what he was going through. As they entered his chamber Helaena was watching over him, rising from his bed and smiling at them.

Aegon's face was almost entirely covered in bandages and she felt an involuntary tightening in her heart at the sight.

Despite what he had done, she felt sorry for him.

"How are you feeling, brother?" She asked softly and he glanced at her, warmth in his gaze by the way she called him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Not only am I disgusting on the inside, now I'm disgusting on the outside." He laughed, but no one responded to his words. They talked for a while, and then Aegon surprised her with his words.

"I would like to speak in private with my brother."

She and Helaena left his chamber and moved ahead with a slow step, now that she knew it was over, that nothing threatened them anymore, she suddenly felt a gigantic relief, as if she realised that she was safe, that she could calm down at last. She looked at her companion.

"Is he good for you now?" She asked, Helaena looked at her with dreamy eyes.

"Yes. Yes, a lot has changed in him. I regret that it is only now, but… well, I am glad that after the death of our son, I and my daughter find comfort in his arms." She said quietly, looking around, distracted, immersed in her own thoughts. She involuntarily smiled at her words.

"I'm really glad."

She decided not to return to her husband's chamber, but to visit Royce and his new wife. She reasoned that since the danger had passed, she no longer needed to fear anything and lock herself in his quarters like a prison.

She stood outside her brother's chambers and asked the guard to announce her. The man went inside, and after a moment came out and said that Lord and Lady Baratheon would welcome her.

She went inside with a smile, stroking her pregnant abdomen contentedly. Royce stood up, extending his hands to her, and they threw themselves into each other's arms, embracing each other tightly.

"I've heard about what they have done. Gods, why didn't they tell me anything?" He asked, glancing at her, and she sighed heavily.

"I suspect it was all about the surprise effect. My Lady. My congratulations on your nuptials." She said softly and nodded at the young woman who stood up from the table, her dark hair braided, a grey-blue long, simple gown with wide sleeves on her body, she wore no jewellery.

Even so, she must have found the expression on her face pleasing, her mouth was full as was her shape, there was something curious and magnetising in her eyes.

"Thank you, my Lady." She answered her and also nodded. She glanced at her husband, moving towards the entrance.

"I'll leave you alone. Husband." She said lowly and calmly, nodding at him, embarrassment and something she couldn't decipher ran across Royce's face. When she left, they both sat down at the table, Royce grunting away while combing his hair quickly with his hand.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion. I just wanted to make sure you were feeling well." She said quietly, looking at him intently, unsure if he was happy or not.

"Oh, I feel fine." He said quickly, pouring himself a cup of wine and grunting loudly. She blinked, looking at him intensely.

"Are you content?" She asked finally. He lifted his gaze to her and pressed his lower lip tight. He sighed and ran his hand over his face.

"I…I've had close-ups with various women, but she…gods, I don't even know how to put it, I've never experienced anything like this. She's very experienced, I can only tell you that much." He mumbled and she saw with surprise and amusement that he was all red, he had trouble looking into her face, clearly overwhelmed by the memories of his last night.

"So… you're content." She finished at last, and he pressed his lips together and grunted again.

"I…yes, I think so."

When she returned to her husband's chamber he was already waiting for her, sitting in a chair right by the fire, his eye piercing her, focused and anxious.

"Where have you been?" He asked coolly and she sighed quietly, approaching him slowly. Her abdomen was still swelling, and she was getting tired of walking more and more quickly, but sitting wasn't any more comfortable for her.

"I visited my brother. He is pleased with his new wife." She said softly and touched his hand with her fingers. "I thought that since my husband has ensured that the danger has passed, I could visit him."

Aemond looked at her watchfully, and after a moment he hummed under his breath and nodded, accepting her words and explanation. His gaze fled to the fire again, her hand tightening on his skin.

"What did your brother want?"

Her husband was silent for a long time, his whole body as tense as a string. He swallowed loudly, running his fingers over his chin.

"He said he wants to relinquish the throne to me." He said lowly, and she looked at him in shock, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad. "That as he is now, he cannot rule the kingdom or represent it physically."

There was a silence between them full of tension, his gaze finally lifting to her, wanting to see her reaction.

"Did you agree?" She asked quietly. She had the feeling that his gaze was piercing her deeply, that he knew her enough to be aware of her every doubt, her every thought.

His silence seemed to last her an eternity.

"No."

She blinked, opening and closing her mouth, looking at him in disbelief.

She felt a sense of relief.

"Why?" She asked in shock, and he murmured under his breath, stretching out his hand on his armrest, straightening and clenching his fingers as he always did when he was thinking hard about something.

"Because I promised the gods that if they spared you I would give up my hopes for the crown. They kept you alive then, in Harrenhal, and they kept you alive in the Red Keep. I have grown to think that the gods do not want me to be king. My current role suits me. As the Hand of the King and Prince Regent, I will rule in his name until his condition improves. I told him I want something else in return." He said, entwining their fingers together, stroking her soft, warm skin with his thumb.

She felt heat in her heart at his words, at the thought that he still remembered that vow, that he truly believed that through his sacrifice the gods were watching over her.

"And what do you want?" She asked softly, and he lifted his gaze to her, a disturbing glint in his eye.

"Dragonstone."

When they finally moved to Dragonstone she moved with difficulty, the heat was unbearable for her and she demanded a cool bath as soon as they reached the place. Before their arrival, Aemond had the chamber in the underground where Luke was last seen completely cleaned and sealed.

When she finally sank into the icy water she breathed a loud sigh of relief, her husband strolling through their chamber with evident satisfaction.

She knew that he had at last won a coveted inheritance, something to pass on to his descendants that was his. She knew he had been waiting for this moment all his life. When he looked at her at last she smiled at him.

He hummed under his breath and approached her unhurriedly with his hands folded behind his back, gazing intently at the indistinct outline of her body that he could see beneath the sheet of water.

He knelt by her tub and took her hand in his, pressing it to his lips. He stroked her wet skin with his thumb and let the air out quietly through his nose.

"Just a few more weeks." He whispered, and she nodded.

She did not want to be alone at such a difficult time and asked that Cassandra come to Dragonstone to keep her company. Helaena and Alicent had also announced their passage, so that she was not as afraid.

She saw him press his lips together, looking at her stomach. She knew what he was thinking about, she knew what he feared.

He was afraid that she would die.

That she had not been taken from him by fire or by an assassin, but would be ripped from him by her labour, just as it had taken wives from husbands for hundreds of years, just as it had taken Aemma from his father.

She stroked his face, seeing his worry and tension.

"Be of good cheer, my beloved." She whispered tenderly and he nodded, kissing her hand again.

She felt her first intense contractions at the table when they were eating dinner together, as they did every day.

Her husband was telling her about a new book he had read about the history of the First People, and she listened intently and contentedly until a wave of pain went through her body. She dropped her cup and rose suddenly, catching her stomach, her husband froze in mid-motion.

"What's happening?" He asked terrified, unable to move for a moment.

"I think it's starting." She muttered, and then felt something warm run down her thighs.

She began to cry in his arms as he carried her to their chamber, for Cassandra, Helaena and Alicent were only due to arrive in two days. True, the midwives and maids were by her side, but it wasn't the same.

"I don't want to be alone." She whined quietly and he looked at her despairingly, laying her down on the bed, the women around her began to untie her gown to help her.

"…do you want me to stay with you?" He asked uncertainly, and she swallowed with difficulty and wept loudly, feeling another powerful spasm.

Aemond turned his face away, unable to look at her suffering, not knowing how to behave, not having any knowledge of these women's affairs that always took place behind closed doors.

"Get out." She said finally, grabbing her stomach, she felt him throw her a shocked, uncertain look. "Get out, I don't want you to look at this."

She exhaled, not wanting him to be disgusted with her, so that later, thinking of her, all he could see was that sight, the sight of a ripped flesh full of sweat, blood and bodily fluids.

He, however, did not move from his place, his hands clenched into fists, horror in his gaze.

He didn't know what to do.

She didn't have the strength to think about it, hot sweat was running down her whole body, she felt like she was on fire. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was finally left in just her nightgown, one of the servants put a pillow under her back and another applied a cold compress to her forehead.

The midwife sat down in front of her, parting her legs with her hands, peering between her thighs.

"When I tell you, my lady, you will begin to push. Do you understand?" She asked softly, she was a plump, blushing woman, her voice gentle and warm.

She imagined with tears in her eyes that this strange woman was her mother, and that the maid rubbing her forehead was her sister, and nodded quickly.

Without even looking at him, she knew that her husband was still standing by their bed.

She felt relief and horror, gratitude and rage at the same time.

The pain and contractions began to become more intense and followed each other faster and faster, her heart pounding like mad, her whole body in readiness for the tremendous effort that awaited her.

She wondered if she would survive it.

"Push, my lady!" The woman called out, and she clenched her eyes shut and, with a loud whine of effort, tried to force her child out of herself. She felt something move inside her and she threw her head back, panting heavily as she felt tears running down her cheeks.

"Very well. Breathe, my lady, deep, full breaths." The woman spoke to her, and she nodded, trying to focus only on her breathing, on the way the air flowed through her chest.

"Push!" She called out again, and she clenched her hands on the bedclothes around her and cried out loudly, feeling the searing pain, her baby's head trying to squeeze through her tight walls.

She fell backwards panting all over, heard a sudden movement beside her, her husband's hand tightened on hers, his gesture of support and terror, his gesture of closeness, his sign that he was there for her.

"Yes, just like that. And again. Push!"

It felt like it went on forever, she was one big sweaty, weeping mess, she clenched her fingers on his hand so tightly she felt like she was going to break his fingers, her heart pounding like crazy.

"I can already see the head, my lady! Just a little more! Push!" She squeezed her eyes shut and a whined in effort and pain as she made her body to force her offspring out.

Suddenly she felt something flow out of her, a sudden lightness and relief filled her, the midwife caught something red in her arms.

"There he is, my lady, look what a beautiful baby boy!" She said, wrapping the small creature all smeared with blood in a clean white cloth, wiping him slowly, and she laughed with joy and relief as she looked at her child's face.

Her son had dark Baratheon hair.

She turned her head towards her husband, wanting to see his reaction, his joy at the sight of their child, but she saw that he was crying without even looking in that direction, his wet cheek pressed against her hand, his fingers clenched on her skin trembling all over.

She felt her heart squeeze at the thought that he was rejoicing that she had been alive.

When their first shock had passed, when she had been changed into a clean chemise and the bedclothes had been changed, when she had lain back in bed, her son had at last been given to her, having already had his first bath, wrapped in a warm, bright blanket, his tiny arms and legs squirming vigorously when he felt her proximity, as if he recognised her immediately.

She felt a bond, a love, a tenderness, looking at his little chubby pink face, his scent was wonderful and addictive.

She looked up contentedly and saw her husband's proud look, an almost invisible smile on his face. He stood over her with his arms folded behind his back, preferring not to touch such a small creature for the time being, watching his interaction with his mother.

They had agreed that if a girl was born she would name her, and if a boy was born, he would name him. She knew exactly what name he had chosen, but she asked him anyway.

"Daeron."

It was only at night, when they were finally alone, that her husband lay down beside them in just his chemise, looking intently at the little being sleeping in her arms. She cradled him looking at him with tenderness, thinking that he was the most beautiful child she had ever seen in her life.

"He has your eyes." She whispered and he hummed with contentment at her words as he carefully put his arm around them, pressing his temple against her forehead. She felt him place a kiss on her cheek and on her jaw, felt him inhale her scent.

"You were so brave, sweet wife. I have never been more proud of you." He whispered tenderly, and she felt the heat spread through her heart. She looked up at him, brushing the tip of her nose against his and they kissed, warmly, softly, their lips moist and swollen.

They spent the next few weeks getting used to the changes in their lives. Her wounds healed slowly and after only a few days she was able to get up, much to the displeasure of her husband, who wanted her to avoid straining herself.

The cold stone walls of Dragonstone suddenly became cosier when the baby's babbling filled them, their son was loud and constantly laughing, overjoyed at their constant presence.

Aemond didn't want to be like his father, and though he was afraid to pick him up, he often looked in on him just to touch him, to make sure he was safe.

She saw him watching out of the corner of his eye as she fed their son, finding it a very intimate and private sight, his wife holding his heir at her breast, giving him life, tending to his legacy.

She knew he craved her, saw the way he gazed greedily at her breasts, but dared not demand anything of her after seeing their son tear her flesh.

However, when her wounds had healed and she was no longer in discomfort, when she told him he could touch her there, he threw himself at her like mad, his tongue deep in her throat, his hands ripping her chemise from her body.

They were both panting loudly, kissing each other greedily with a sticky, wet click, she felt him grab her hips and settle her on top of him, quickly untying his trousers, they didn't have time to be embarrassed by how much they needed it, that they just wanted to fuck.

"If I don't cum inside you soon I'll die, sweet wife." He gasped affectionately, his voice trembling with desire, and she kissed him again, clamping her hand in his hair, the other guiding his length to her entrance, slowly lowering herself onto him.

They both moaned piteously loudly, his hips beginning to impale her on his manhood again and again, filling her with himself, shivers of pleasure and heat passing through her.

She pressed her forehead against his, rising and falling against him, their bodies slapping against each other hard and fast, the lewd click of their shared juices echoing through their chamber.

"− can I taste you? − " He whispered so quietly that for a moment she wasn't sure she heard it, his hand involuntarily cupped her full breast filled to the brim with milk, she mewled in pleasure as she felt him begin to play with her nipple in his mouth.

"− yes −" She exhaled and moaned loudly, aroused by this perverse act, his lips clamped tightly around her nipple began to suckle, she heard the loud sound of him swallowing.

She clenched her hand in his hair pressing his face closer to her, feeling her walls begin to throb on his length that he pushed into her body with each of his deep thrusts, she was embarrassed by how surprisingly pleasurable it was.

"− oh, Aemond − yes −" She mewled as she struggled to fall and rise on top of him, their bodies slapping against each other with each violent movement of their flesh, his lips pulled away from her nipple with a loud plop, he licked his lips as he looked at her with a misty gaze.

"− so fucking delicious −" He breathed out and she whimpered softly, feeling his words between her thighs, not having the opportunity to answer him, his lips pressed against her other breast, repeating everything from the beginning, her nails tightened and ran over his naked back, she heard his loud purr of pleasure between the loud sounds of swallowed milk.

"− Aemond − it feels so good − oh gods −" She cried out loudly and tilted her head back, coming harder than ever in her life, he moaned low into her breast without releasing her from his mouth, she felt his hot semen spill inside her a moment later, they were both panting and moaning loudly, she wasn't sure she had ever experienced such an intense, long orgasm before.

He finally released her breast from his mouth, pressing his face to her chest, panting along with her. She stroked his hair, kissing the top of his head, purring with delight as she felt his manhood pulsing inside her in fulfilment.

"− will you let me do it again? −" He asked in a trembling voice full of embarrassment and guilt, as if he had done something lewd and unthinkable, as if he feared she would now be ashamed of him. She kissed his hair at his question.

"− yes −"

From then on, his perfect place in the world was to be deep inside her with his mouth pressed against her breast. They both knew that there was something even more intimate than usual about this act, some kind of taboo, unmistakable intimacy that could not be replaced by anything else.

She tried not to burst out laughing when one day at breakfast he asked her feigning indifference when she would lose the milk in her breasts, and she answered him that her body would continue to produce it as long as she breastfed.

She then saw the shock and the glint in his eye, he bit his lower lip involuntarily, unable to hide his expression of delight at this information.

They were closer together than ever.

The birth of their son reassured the entire kingdom, for in the event that Helaena did not bear Aegon another son, there was a young heir to the throne alive who would take over after his father.

When she spoke to her husband it seemed to her that he was made to be the Hand of the King, his advice always cool and recalcitrant. To her surprise, Aegon finally learned to use them and became a better king than she would ever have expected.

Daeron was a calm, joyful infant. He soon began to chatter, making his own unspecified sounds and syllables, bringing joy and laughter into their fortress. Her husband read to him a lot, and he stood in his little wooden bed with railings and hopped softly on his feet, delighted.

He adored him.

She had to keep repeating it to him because he didn't believe it, but his son was drawn to him, forever longing for him when he headed to the Red Keep for meetings, he would reach out his chubby hands greedily to him whenever he saw him return.

Although outwardly he was stern and cold towards the servants and guards, when he locked himself with them in their chamber he changed into a different person.

He would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, say he heard Joffrey crying from the underground and frighten her, breathing hard. She tried not to show it, hugging and stroking him until he fell asleep again.

She knew that these events would never stop haunting him.

When morning set in, the first thing after checking with a touch of his hand that she was lying next to him was to see if Daeron was asleep in his bed. He would sometimes get up in the night to check that he was breathing and, reassured, would only return to further sleep, embracing her from behind and snuggling his face into the hollow of her neck.

She was overwhelmed with happiness when her brother sent her a letter from Storm's End informing her that his wife was expecting a child.

From what she understood their marriage had been quite successful and peaceful, her character proving far more calm and composed than her brother had originally assumed. She renewed herself in Storm's End, happy to still be close to the sea.

As the time approached for her to give birth, she asked her husband to fulfil his promise that he had made to her when they were in Harrenhal and for them to travel to Storm's End.

Travelling on a dragon's back with a small child seemed too dangerous for them, so they set off in a carriage, patiently enduring the hardships and length of the journey.

When they arrived she felt a strange tightness in her throat as she watched the round throne room where her father had always sat, and now her brother sat in his place.

He stood up happy to see her, kissed her cheek and stroked the head of her son whom she held in her arms, Daeron giggled happily and began to squirm again, bursting with energy.

"I see my nephew is growing fast. How these children are changing! He was such a little baby not so long ago." He said gushing with enthusiasm, clearly delighted at the prospect of becoming a father himself. She smiled broadly at his words, glad to see him, glad to be home.

Royce looked at her husband, who was standing behind her, and nodded. Aemond reciprocated the gesture, but they did not say a word to each other.

She felt memories hit her from every direction and she was moved. She had insisted that they sleep in her old chamber during their stay even though it was small, and her husband agreed without a word.

When they went inside their belongings and their son's cot were already standing. Aemond had only been there once, on the night he returned from Winterfell and left abruptly after their argument, so he had no time to look at anything closely.

He looked through her books curiously, looked out of her windows, looked around, and she thought fondly that he had tried to imagine her life before she met him.

Before he had chosen her.

"Would you like to see my mother's crypt?" She asked softly. He looked at her and nodded.

They descended into the underworld with the torch he held in his hand. Although the web of corridors beneath the fortress was complicated, she knew this path by heart, having often gone down there as a child, asking her mother for advice from the heavens.

After a short walk among the stone statues, they arrived in front of the one she remembered so well. She felt a tightness in her throat, burning tears in her eyes as she saw a familiar sculpture, a stone female figure that was supposed to resemble her mother, but did not even partially reflect her beauty.

She approached it and touched its cold surface with her hand, her husband remained silent.

"Mother, this is my husband, prince Aemond. Forgive me for not introducing him to you earlier. He chose me against my and my father's will, but I did not know then how much I would love him. I didn't know that…" She broke off, feeling her voice break, Aemond moved beside her restlessly, swallowing loudly.

"...I didn't know we would make it, I didn't believe I would be as happy as you were with my father. Thank you for watching over me, for listening to my prayers and making the gods send me the husband I asked for." She finished in a trembling voice, choking on her own tears, feeling that only now, two years after these events, did she truly understand what had happened, what she had experienced, what she had gone through, what a long and difficult path it had been.

She heard him come up to her, putting his torch down on the stone ground and embraced her, hugging her to his chest. She felt his heart pounding fast, felt that he was unable to get a word out. He kissed her hair and pressed his face to the top of her head, standing with her like this in the warm light of the fire.

"I thought it was impossible for someone to love me. I thought it was impossible for me to love someone. I thought it was impossible for me to make a good choice when I came here on Vhagar's back..." He whispered, and she clenched her hands tighter on the material of his leather jacket, his warmth, his familiar, wonderful, calming scent spreading through her lungs.

"...and then I saw you."

______

Taglist 1

#taglist 3

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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Taglist 2:

The Pearl and the Sapphire (3)

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • fem!reader ]

[warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession]

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He had no idea what had popped into his head to suggest meeting her in this kind of place in such a direct way, embarrassment and shame got to him as soon as he entered his hotel room. He figured she surely thought he was desperate.

He decided that he would try to be professional and not to show what was hidden in his head.

He turned up at the restaurant ahead of time, informing Alys beforehand that he was going to have a meeting with Borros. He didn't want her meddling in affairs that weren't her own, and he knew that if she found out about the meeting with his daughter, she would surely pester him with messages and check when he would be back.

He sat down at a table tucked as far back as possible so as not to draw attention to himself. He waited all tense, feeling his heart pounding.

Why was he stressing so much about this meeting?

He shuddered when he heard someone's footsteps beside him and saw her above him. He swallowed loudly, seeing her black dress with a white collar, feeling with shame how his cock throbbed greedily at the sight. He stood up, not knowing how to act, how to greet her.

He felt relieved when she extended her hand to him and he shook it. He swallowed loudly feeling how soft, warm and small her hand was. They ordered wine and he started a conversation, wanting to understand why he was actually seeing her and not her father.

"My father values freedom of action. Also the choice of materials to work with. He now works with who he wants and decides for himself what is best for him. He fears that your company, with lawyers deliberating over every comma in the contract, will arrange it so as to influence his decisions as much as possible." She said, and he furrowed his brow at her words, tense.

What was she implying?

"You think we're going to try to trick your father?" He asked annoyed, and she looked at him, something in her gaze that confused him.

"Can I trust you?" She asked suddenly, and he opened his mouth and closed it, surprised and flustered.

What was he supposed to say to her?

"No." He said in accordance with what he himself thought. Seeing her hurt, shocked face he continued, wanting to explain what he meant.

"You can't trust me, just as I can't trust you. You will protect your father's interests and I will protect mine. There is no friendship in business or holding hands in the sunset light." He said with a tinge of mockery, which he immediately regretted seeing a grimace of pain and some kind of disappointment cross her face.

"I didn't know that to trust someone you had to be able to be friends and hold hands. I thought it was enough to be a decent human being." She said in a trembling voice and he pressed his lips together, feeling both rage and shame, his hand clenched into a fist.

"I'm not a decent person." He explained, not wanting to leave her with any illusions.

"Nevertheless, I have with me the terms and conditions of our company written down on paper, without paragraphs written in small print. You can look them over and determine whether you want to pass them on to your father or not." He said a little softer, sensing that something was happening to her, that his answers had broken her for some reason.

Why was she approaching this so emotionally?

His lips parted as he saw tears run down her cheeks. His heart was pounding like crazy and he had no idea what he should do.

They both flinched when her phone began to vibrate in her clutch bag. She wiped her tears quickly and pulled it out, but when she looked at the display she turned pale and shuddered, he felt like she was about to faint.

What was happening to her?

She hid the phone quickly back in her purse, looking at her hands on the table as if she had completely forgotten his presence.

"… Are you all right?" He choked out finally, horrified by her condition.

She drew in a loud breath and laughed despairingly at his words through her tears, pouring herself a full glass of wine.

"No."

She wiped her nose, swallowing quietly, trying to calm herself down.

"I'm sorry. Thank you for your honesty. Can I have these documents?" She asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

He swallowed loudly and nodded, grabbing the folder he had placed on the windowsill earlier and handed it to her.

"Go over it calmly. You don't have to rush. My grandfather really cares about this and is willing to wait and read your version of the agreement if you want to present us with one." He said in a slightly softer, calmer tone.

"All right. Thank you." She said softly. They both shuddered as her phone began to vibrate again in her handbag. She took it out, muted it and tucked it back in, her lips tightened into a thin line.

"Someone doesn't understand the word 'no'?" He asked suddenly and swallowed loudly, surprised and embarrassed by his own directness.

What right did he have to ask such things?

He saw her puzzled and confused look, and for a moment she thought strenuously about what she should answer to such a question.

"In a way." She said, grasping her glass in her trembling fingers and taking a deep sip of wine from it.

He pressed his lips together at her words and thought they both needed it.

A relaxation.

It wasn't about quick, rough sex.

He wanted something else from her, but he wasn't sure what.

"Let's move to my room." He said after a moment and pressed his lips together watching her reaction, she threw him a surprised, horrified look. "We can think together about what to answer to a man who won't let you alone."

Say yes, he thought.

I'll give you everything.

He felt a wonderful heat of satisfaction surge through his body as she nodded her head.

They drank what they had in their glasses to the end, then rose from their chairs. He took the half-full bottle in his hand, recognising that they might still need it. They headed for the lift without looking at each other, as if they were both ashamed of what they were doing.

They rode in silence to his floor and started down the corridor. He prayed that Alys wouldn't come out of her room, he didn't feel like explaining himself to her. He quickly put his card to his door and opened it, letting her in, looking around and finding to his relief that no one had seen them.

He walked in behind her and closed the door, turning on the hall light, pulling off his leather jacket and boots. She also pulled off her shoes and put them next to him, then stepped deeper uncertainly, looking around.

His room was actually an apartment with a view of the city, couches in the middle and a huge TV, a large double bed to his left. He saw her glance at it out of the corner of her eye and swallowed quietly, he felt his cock pulsate painfully hard in his trousers.

There was no way this was going to end well, he thought.

Still, he never felt better.

He moved to the kitchenette and reached two glasses from the shelves, feeling a pleasant heat in his stomach. He knew it wasn't just the effects of the alcohol.

He turned, walking to the small table opposite the sofa, placing the glass on it, seeing that she was still standing in the same place, terrified.

She was afraid he was going to do something to her.

That he would add something to her drink.

"What does he want from you?" He asked, wanting to relax her, to distract her from her worrying thoughts.

She blinked and lowered her gaze, embarrassed, coming shyly closer, her scent reaching his nose again. She sat down on the sofa and he sat beside her at the other end of it, keeping his distance, wanting to give her the feeling that he would not do anything against her will.

He saw that with a trembling hand she had taken her phone out of her clutch bag and unlocked her phone. She began to read the messages she had apparently received and pressed her lips together, tucking her mobile into her bag again.

He saw that she had shut herself in and was breathing anxiously. She swallowed loudly and looked at him finally. He felt a shudder pass through him at her words.

"Question for question."

He tapped the inside of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, wondering whether to agree. She could end up asking him something he didn't want to talk about at all. He decided, however, that it might be interesting and he would have a chance to learn more about her.

He nodded, leaning over and pouring them the rest of the wine from the bottle. He heard her sigh quietly.

"My ex-boyfriend wanted to be my friend. Months later, when I finally got myself together, he now decided he had made a mistake. That maybe we should get back together after all." She said with resignation, reaching for her glass.

He felt discomfort and a tightening in his stomach at the thought that she had been with someone before, at the thought of some men before him touching her.

That this men, this idiot, who left her wanted to take her for himself again.

"You and the woman you were with at the banquet. Are you two together?" She asked uncertainly, taking a sip of wine, leaning against the sofa, settling herself comfortably, looking at him expectantly. He pressed his lips together, looking ahead, raising his glass to his lips.

"No."

It wasn't a lie.

"Why did you break up?" He asked immediately and felt her move next to him uneasily. She swallowed loudly, pulling her legs up to her thighs, changing position.

"He wanted to have some more fun." She said quietly, as if in shame, and he cast her an anxious glance, feeling a strange tightness in his throat. He wanted to say something, but she pre-empted him with another question, from which he froze.

"Are you sleeping with her?" She asked without even looking at him, her gaze directed to her glass, which she held in her hands.

He felt his heart start pounding hard. Her question felt like a realisation of what he was doing, a realisation of who he really was. He thought there was no point in deceiving her, that she deserved at least to be completely honest with her.

"Yes." He said, immediately taking a deep sip of wine, unsure if he could bear her reaction.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and saw that she had swallowed with difficulty, sleepiness and fatigue on her face. She finally lifted her gaze to his, despite the fact that what he had said had clearly struck her, he could see no condemnation or disgust in her eyes. She parted her lips slightly as if struggling with what she was trying to say.

"Why did you want us to come here?"

Silence.

He stared at her feeling the artery in his neck pulsing hard, his heart pounding like mad, his member throbbing in his trousers. He was ashamed of how obvious his desire was and didn't know what to answer. The longer they looked at each other, the more uncomfortable and vulnerable he felt.

"You can say it. It's okay." She said softly, gently, and he felt heat spilling over his lower abdomen, his throat tightening as if in pain. There was something tender, reassuring in her voice, as if she understood him.

She was not judging.

"I want it." He whispered almost silently, his lower lip trembling as he spoke the words.

She pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze, as if his words intimidated her, though he didn't believe she hadn't expected them. He thought she would tell him that she couldn't, that she had just ended a relationship and didn't want to spend the night with a stranger whose private life was one big mess.

He twisted in his seat as she set her glass down on the table and moved closer to him, sitting in front of him on her lap. She took his hand in hers, and he shuddered when he felt her thumb run over his skin.

For a moment he didn't know if he should move or do anything, his gaze fixed on their hands, her touch gentle, safe, respectful. He set his glass down on the table and looked at her. He took her soft cheeks in his trembling hands.

For a moment they both just looked at each other breathing unevenly, asking each other wordlessly for permission. They leaned towards each other and their lips touched tentatively, her lips puffy and moist, sweet from the wine and her scent.

They both sighed quietly, gently sucking and licking their lips with a wet click, he purred contentedly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He wandered his nose over her soft face, his one hand tentatively sliding down to her thigh, his fingertips trailing over her skin.

He felt shivers run through her, her hands holding him tightly.

He wasn't sure if this was really happening or if it was just his imagination.

His face slid up to her ear, surrounding her cheek and neck with his hot, aroused, erratic breath.

"I want to taste you." He whispered. She drew in a loud breath and trembled all over, clasping her hands in his hair.

He looked at her, her cheeks were flushed, her parted lips red from alcohol and lust, she stared at him with a warmth from which he felt hot in his chest.

"Will you let me?" He asked softly and she nodded shyly, embarrassed by what they were both doing, what they both wanted.

He murmured contentedly feeling his heart pounding, his hands involuntarily sliding down to the thin material of her panties. Wanting to help him, she lay on her back, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, her whole body quivering with emotion.

He couldn't believe that this was really happening.

He slid them slowly down her thighs, watching her face the whole time, wanting to be sure she hadn't changed her mind. She swallowed loudly and pressed her lips together, placing her hands on either side of her head, looking at him pleadingly.

She pleaded him not to hurt her.

He leaned over her, grasping one of her thighs in his hand and pressed his lips to her skin in a gesture of devotion, of desire, of tenderness. He had never treated Alys like this, never felt the need to do so, knew that she just wanted him to fuck her.

But he knew that she now placed her trust in him, and even though she knew he was not a good person, all she wanted was for him not to take advantage of her weakness, not to make her regret it.

His lips with sticky, loud kisses slid lower and lower leaving wet marks on her skin, he felt her breathing quicken, her body trembling in his hands. With a soft, sure movement, he pulled her down so that he had her in the perfect position, lifting her dress up slightly, looking at what was underneath.

"− fuck −" He exhaled, involuntarily running his finger over her entrance, seeing the state she was in, already soaking wet. He heard her squirm softly, surprised by this sudden gesture, her whole body tensed and breathless.

"− you're leaking −" He said delightedly, feeling that from the mere sight of her juices running down her buttocks onto his couch he had become completely hard.

She really wanted it.

She moaned helplessly, sweetly, trembling all over under his touch, as if she was trying to escape from him and at the same time wanted to feel him harder. He ran his thumb over her clit, massaging it in circular, slow motions, spreading her wetness, holding her thigh with his other hand so that she could not move away.

She mewled, tilting her head and he licked his lips involuntarily, seeing how sensitive she was, how his slightest touch drew out reactions from her that made him hot, even though he hadn't done anything to her yet.

"− what made you so wet? − hm? − messages from your ex? −" He asked teasing her, breathing loudly, the tip of his middle finger slipped inside her hot insides and her body arched backwards, she sobbed quietly at his words.

"− answer me −" He said coolly, looking down at her, watching her beautiful, gentle face, all red with exertion and arousal, her lips parted and swollen, her chest rising and falling restlessly, her gaze hot, thirsty, fixed only on him.

"− no −" She mumbled with difficulty, trembling all over, her hands clenched into fists. He hummed with satisfaction at her words, his finger slid in and out of her with a wet click of her juices.

"− maybe we can find the answer to that question together − what do you think? −" He cooed, putting out his finger, gripping her thighs in his hands, spreading them wider, leaning over her. He heard her drew in air loudly feeling his hot breath on her womanhood.

She arched her back and whimpered when the tip of his tongue ran over her sticky entrance.

"− I fucking knew it −" He growled out, pressing his nose against her clit, his tongue slipped deeper, involuntarily wanting to taste her more, her moisture spreading over his palate like the sweetest juice. "− I knew you would taste wonderful −"

He felt her hands clench in his hair, pressing him closer, her thighs trembling in his arms, sweet moans of pleasure erupting from her lips after each of his slightest touches.

Never before in his life had he been so aroused, so thirsty, filled with such tenderness and desire.

His tongue slid in and out of her with a loud, wet click, licking her more and more boldly, concentrating on the hidden point just at her entrance from which spasms passed through her. He groaned throatily when he felt her hips involuntarily begin to respond to his movements, seeking fulfilment.

He heard her sigh of surprise when he abruptly stopped, trailing his lips between her folds and her clit, teasing her only with his hot breath.

"− so − what made you so wet? −" He asked teasingly, waiting for her answer, once in a while tip of his tongue run over her entrance, driving her insane. He heard her swallow loudly, her hands stroking his hair, holding him close.

"− you −" She whispered in a trembling voice so quietly that he barely heard it. A dangerous grin full of satisfaction spread across his face.

"− I can't hear −" He murmured, teasing her, trailing his moist lips over her hot flesh.

"− you − please − ah! −" She moaned loudly, parting her lips wide and clenching her eyes shut, her body arching as his tongue suddenly slid between her folds again, moving quickly and intensely inside her, rubbing her where she needed it.

"− that's fucking right −" He hissed out between caresses, sinking his face deep between her thighs, eating her like a starved man, the only sounds in the room were her loud moans and the sticky, perverted clicks of his saliva mixed with her moisture. He felt her walls begin to pulsate around him and he knew what that meant.

"− Aemond − oh god −" She mewled, and then suddenly her whole body went breathless and tense, a loud, helpless sob escaped her lips.

She tried to push him away from her as the orgasm violently shook her body, but he held her thighs in his hands, not letting her move away one bit, licking devotedly everything that flowed out of her.

He rose at last, wiping his chin and mouth with his hand, looking at her with satisfaction. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly, her cheeks and lips red. Her face had an expression of bliss and serenity, her hands placed idly on either side of her head.

She looked so innocent.

He looked down at her, slowly undoing the button of his trousers and unzipping his fly; she heard it and threw him a quick, uncertain look.

"You still want this?" He asked lowly, looking her straight in the eye, leaning over her, placing his hands on either side of her head. She swallowed loudly, looking at him uncertainly, and then nodded.

"Are you taking pills?" He asked, brushing his lips gently over the skin of her cheeks, wanting to remember this feeling, her hands stroking his face so tenderly, the touch of her fingers so gentle that he felt himself melting.

She shook her head, looking at him with shame. He hummed under his breath and kissed her forehead.

"It's okay. Come here." He murmured, grabbing her in his arms and getting up from the couch with her. Only then did he feel the wine humming pleasantly in his head, she seemed surprisingly light.

He set her down on his bed and reached his hand to the bedside table, pulling a packed condom from one drawer. He saw the look on her face, her eyes big, her lips parted in an accelerated breath.

She swallowed loudly as he lay back between her thighs sliding his trousers and his boxers down a little. She looked away seeing his throbbing, swollen manhood.

With a sure, light movement he put the condom on and grasped her cheek with his hand directing her gaze back to himself.

"Look at me. At what you've been doing to me since I saw you." He said spreading her thighs, her breathing sped up suddenly at his words. He leaned over her, licking his lips, feeling his heart pounding like crazy with arousal, directing the tip of his member to her entrance.

He had never wanted so much to be inside any woman before.

"Already during the show I was wondering how to get you into my bed. How tight and hot you must be inside." He murmured, hearing her breathing get quicker and quicker. They both moaned loudly as he slid into her a little, her walls clenching against him greedily.

"− fuck −" He breathed out, with another intense thrust entering her fully, feeling how warm she was, her body leaning back, tasting how much he was filling her tight insides.

He couldn't stop himself, her core was too pleasurable, too warm. Involuntarily he began to move his hips, sliding into her with ease thanks to the wetness from her earlier orgasm.

"− oh, baby −" He exhaled, speeding up, entering her with a loud, wet slap of flesh against flesh, looking at her gentle face on which dreamy delight was painted.

He was surprised to find that they both began to pant loudly, looking at each other with a kind of helplessness, feeling that they needed each other, her hand drew him close and their foreheads touched, her hips tentatively beginning to respond to his movements.

They kissed once, then again and again, uncertainly, slowly, as if they were unsure whether it was too intimate gesture. There was a tenderness and care in their soft, swollen lips that he wouldn't have suspected himself of, he'd never done it this way with Alys, never enjoyed a woman's body in this way.

"− my sweet girl −" He breathed out, moving faster and faster inside her, thrusting into her with all his strength, a whimper escaping her lips, her walls tightening on him steadily.

"− you like it when someone takes care of you, don't you? − when someone fucks you properly −" He gasped in a trembling voice, and she sobbed loudly, struggling to get the confirmation out of her throat.

He tightened his hands on her hips, her fingers entwined in his hair holding him close. He was looking down at her with parted lips, moaning and panting with her, feeling that he wouldn't last much longer, her legs entwined around his waist.

"− I'm gonna cum now, okay? − I'm gonna cum inside my sweet little girl −" He exhaled, and she nodded, shuddering beneath him all over.

"− oh, yes, please −" She mewled and moaned loudly as he slid his tongue into her lips, his hand sliding down to her swollen clit teasing her with his thumb, his cock rubbing against the point hidden inside her with each brutal thrust.

They both moaned low into each other's mouths feeling the orgasm shake their bodies, their hot, loud breaths surrounding their faces, their hands clenched painfully tight on each other in fulfilment.

"− yes − god, yes −" She whispered sweetly, writhing beneath him, giving herself over to the pleasure she was experiencing with him.

He kissed her feeling a wave of pleasure shake him, he felt an immense, overflowing relief, he purred and panted into her throat holding her to him tightly, her walls clenched against him greedily.

Never before had he felt so fulfilled, so at peace.

They both shuddered and looked at each other horrified when they heard a loud knock on his door. He felt his heart pounding at the thought that Alys had heard what they were doing while she was looking for him.

"Aemond? What the fuck? Who the fuck are you in there with?" She asked in a raised, angry and broken tone. His lover looked at him with terrified eyes, her lips quivering with despair. He shook his head wordlessly telling her to be quiet.

"Aemond!" She shouted, slamming her fists against the door, pulling on the handle, however without his card there was nothing she could do.

He lay on top of her feeling her trembling and embraced her, kissing her neck, stroking her head, closing his eye.

"You fucking bastard! Are you fucking this little girl? This little slut? God fucking damn you! How could you do this to me!" She whined and he heard her loud sobs.

He felt how she began to sob quietly in his arms, terrified and shaken, and he embraced her tighter, kissing her temple, letting her snuggle into him, wanting to protect her from what was happening. He heard her quiet, broken whisper.

"What have we done?"

____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @ahristata @menaosama @queenofshinigamis @dark-night-sky-99

#taglist 2

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

Taglist 3

The Vanity and Variability (5)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • fem!reader]

[ warnings: kissing, masturbation, sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma, character death ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother’s debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that it had all been a dream. The fact that she'd found out about his affair with Alys, which had gone on for years in London, his long, desperate letter that he'd cried over while writing it. That she had come to him, that she had said she wanted to stay with him.

That he had touched her.

He could still hear her sweet, innocent moans of surprise in his head, smell her scent in his nostrils, taste her on his lips after he placed loud, greedy kisses on her neck. He could feel her juices between his fingers, how hot she was, how intensely she responded to his every motion, exploring her body with him, her path to pleasure.

He felt like he was going to explode with arousal, that he was simply going to cum from just touching her and watching the reaction of her sweet body.

When she finally came, when he felt how much moisture flowed from inside her straight onto his fingers with the residual strength of his will, he refrained from throwing himself at her and sliding inside her, feeling how wet and hot she was inside from his treatments, how much she craved him.

When she looked at him with that hazy, beautiful gaze full of heat and affection he kissed her so shamelessly that he was surprised at himself.

And then she stood up, terrified, without letting him get a word in edgewise, announced that they could no longer be friends and ran out of his room with tears in her eyes.

He sat still for a few minutes, staring blankly in front of him, not knowing what to do. Even though he was ashamed, even though he knew he should be thinking about something else right now, about how he would convince her father to give her to him, his hand headed under the material of his trousers.

He groaned loudly as he squeezed his length in his hand, imagining that he had done what he desired, that he had slipped deep inside her, that she was lying beneath him and looking up at him with that same wonderful, hot gaze, that she was moaning just as innocently, heated with pleasure and exertion.

He began to massage himself with quick, aggressive movements, panting hard, thinking of slipping his tongue between her lips again, of giving her everything she wanted.

He came so hard that he pressed his face against his pillow, trying to drown out the sounds coming from his throat, his own semen spilling down his fingers onto the sheets beneath him. He was panting loudly in elation and thought with surprise mixed with despair that he had never before come as hard with Alys as he did now, thinking of his friend.

The thought that he subconsciously wanted her so much surprised and embarrassed him.

He thought he had to make it all right and realised that even if they had not done that he would still have chosen her.

His friend.

He realised this on one of their walks into town, during which they were accompanied by Mr Baratheon himself, longing for some fresh air. They were walking together at the front, and he was surprised when he began to speak suddenly of his late wife.

"When I met her, she was not fond of me. She thought I was immature and incapable of being a serious man. She was right. All I thought about was women, cards, alcohol and having fun with my friends without caring what other people thought of me. I had a huge fortune, but she still didn't want me. She said her husband could not be like a stranger to her, but had to be her friend. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I know that when I really started to listen to her and she saw how valuable she was to me, I myself started to open up to her. During one walk I told her about my whole life and she just listened to me. I wept like a child in front of her and thought I had completely lost respect in her eyes, but the following day she sent me a letter saying that she would marry me. It was the most beautiful day of my life." He said with his voice trembling at the last sentence, he could see from the corner of his eye that his eyes had reddened and he swallowed with difficulty as he tried to continue speaking, folding his hands behind him.

"I tell you this because I can't imagine a more unbearable thing than a wife I wouldn't even like. You must like your future wife, moreover, you should be a devoted friend to her, and she should reciprocate. Life itself is too difficult to share it with someone you don't even like." He finished his statement and grunted, turning towards Royce, who asked him something loudly from a distance, walking by his youngest sister's side.

Aemond turned towards them, and when his gaze met hers she smiled broadly and warmly, as she had always done in recent days when they ran into each other. He swallowed loudly, turning his face towards the road, feeling a strange warmth spread through his body, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

Life itself is too difficult to share with someone you don't even like.

He thought, swallowing hard, that he could have pretended to go on wondering who he would choose, which of his daughters he liked most, but he knew he had made his choice the moment he danced with her at the ball.

Some sort of understanding had developed between them, he felt relaxed in her company, even when they discussed her approach was full of openness and understanding, she never squeezed anything out of him by force, she never asked him which of her sisters he intended to choose.

He realised, however, that he had been waiting for what had happened to him when he saw Alys, for that thought that he must possess her and have her, that he would feel a sudden flame which, however, was extinguished as quickly as it had appeared.

When he thought of the youngest Miss Baratheon a small candle flame came to mind, surrounding itself with the care of his hand as he walked down a dark corridor. Its flame did not scald, but gave a sense of security and solace.

He thought embarrassedly that he would propose to her as soon as he had sorted it all in his head and figured out how he should present his feelings to her so as not to frighten her.

So that she would agree.

However, afterwards it seemed to him that his worst possible nightmare had come true and Colonel Strong had completely destroyed his image in her eyes. It wasn't until she shouted the truth in his face about who he was that he realised in the back of his mind what he had actually done, and thought with shame that it made him want to cry.

He had spent years of his life having an affair with a woman who didn't really mean anything to him just so he could feel desired by someone.

He knew that she would never want him again, but what overwhelmed him the most was the thought that she would avoid him again, that she would not forgive him this time.

He wept as he wrote his letter to her, recognising at last that if he wanted to share his feelings with anyone, it was with her, his friend. So he wrote her everything, without bluntness or hiding, admitting everything with shame and humility, hoping that she would give him a chance and at least read his explanation.

As he slipped the letter under her door he locked himself in his room, sitting down at his secretary's desk and hid his face in his hands, feeling empty and tired.

He wasn't sure he had ever cared so much about anyone's good opinion, and thought with painful amusement that he had fought all his life for attention and a good word from his father and grandfather, only to suffer perpetual humiliation from them.

She would never humiliate him.

She was warm, kind and full of joy, always finding an explanation or solution to problems that seemed to him to be lost in advance.

However, he thought nothing could be done this time and shuddered when he heard a quiet knock on his door.

Then all he could hear was the rapid pounding of his heart, and as he lay down next to her on the bed he swallowed loudly, clenching his eyes shut, keeping his distance from her just enough so that she couldn't feel his throbbing, hard erection on her.

He was embarrassed and surprised at how much he desired her.

After she left he practically didn't sleep through the night, twisting and fidgeting, thinking about what he wanted to say to her. He felt that he should ask her opinion first, rather than going directly to her father, considering in fact her decision as the most important one, without which he had no right to do anything more.

He had been ready to go down to breakfast since early morning, and when he heard the sound of the door opening he literally ran out of his room, eager to see which of the sisters had come out.

He headed for the dining room, but only came across servants preparing the table for the meal, laying out clean plates and cutlery. He heard the loud slamming of the front door and walked out quickly, spotting her silhouette walking ahead.

"Miss Baratheon." He called out after her. She stopped and turned over her shoulder, pale and terrified, her eyes wide.

He thought with pain that she regretted what they had done and he needed to make amends quickly.

He approached her breathing loudly through his mouth, folding his hands behind him, wanting to hide how much they were shaking.

"I'd like to take a moment with you, if you'll allow me." He said in a slightly trembling, throaty voice, thinking with embarrassment that he was scared like a little child.

She looked at him with big eyes, breathing hard, terrified, not saying a word, so he continued.

"I realise that what has happened over the last few days, and last night, may reflect badly on me as a man and a gentleman, to say the least. I will also understand if you have a completely understandable grudge against me for not doing what I am doing now before I dared to touch you. However −"

"− Mr Targaryen −"

"− however, I wish with all my heart to rectify my mistake and humbly ask you to agree to become my wife." He choked out with difficulty on one exhale, feeling that if he stopped speaking he would not be able to gather his thoughts again.

He felt uncomfortable when her silence answered him, she swallowed loudly, looking at him with tears in her eyes.

"I am obliged and grateful for these words, sir, but I must refuse you." She said in a quiet, trembling voice, and he looked at her in disbelief, not knowing for a moment what to say.

What?

"Why?" He growled in a more aggressive tone than he would have liked, his jaw clenched in rage, in a sense of rejection, his heart pounding like mad. She turned her gaze away, looking everywhere but at him.

"I have no intention of becoming your wife because of your remorse, sir. All my life I would only think of you proposing to me by showing me favour, not affection." She said trying to sound dispassionate, biting her lower lip, struggling not to cry in front of him.

He stared at her with his mouth wide open, breathing loudly and shook his head, chuckling nervously under his breath.

"I'm afraid I'm not following you, Miss Baratheon. Will you explain to me why you visited my room, why you laid in my bed, if you did not desire to become my wife?" He hissed in frustration, but it was only when those words left his mouth that he heard how bad they sounded.

She threw him a sudden, surprised look full of pain, her lower lip trembled in disbelief, tears that she had tried so hard to hold back flowed down her face.

"I am sorry if I have confused you, sir, and given you false hope. I am entirely to blame and hope that God will one day forgive me for what I did last night. And now, with apologies, I would like to be left alone." She whispered in a voice washed out of emotion, from which shivers went through him, and then she turned and moved ahead along the dirt road, wiping her cheeks with her hands.

He stared at her dully, watching her walk away, his chest rising and falling in quick, anxious breaths.

He covered his face with his hand and wept helplessly, thinking only that he didn't mean what he said, that he simply hoped that she came to him because she reciprocated his feelings, because she desired what he did.

That his proposal would bring them both relief and make her not feel guilty about what had happened between them.

He returned to their mansion pale, not knowing what to do with himself, where to go, not completely anticipating this course of events.

Royce snapped him out of his reverie by saying that a letter had come for him, handing him an envelope, and he opened it without thinking, staring dully at the two sentences written with his grandfather's handwriting.

Your father is dead. Return to London immediately.

He felt as if the whole world had just collapsed on his head.

He informed Mr Baratheon immediately of what had happened and asked him to lend him his horse and send his belongings to London separately, wanting to be there as soon as possible, while asking them to look after Vhagar in his absence.

He thought that after what had happened he could not bear to stay here any longer.

He set off immediately, without waiting for her return, without saying goodbye to her.

He thought that she didn't want to see him anyway.

When he arrived he had to take a bath and change immediately, and then he joined his family, gathered in his father's bedroom, all of them sitting in mourning garments. His mother ran up to him and hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear that she was glad he was able to return so quickly.

His grandfather grunted, lifting his chin high so that everyone could hear what he was going to say.

"Now that we've all gathered, it's time for the reading of the deceased's will." He said and nodded to one of the lawyers, who was holding an envelope in his hand.

He slit it open in front of their eyes, they all looked at him in suspense, Rhaenyra sitting by her dead father's bed lifted her head, looking at the man with her lips tightened.

"I, Viserys Targaryen, in this document signed and sealed by me announce my last will,

I bequeath the Yorkshire estate and a quarter of my estate to my widow wife, who may do with part of her property as she sees fit. I bequeath the estates in Harnway and Dermore successively to my first-born son Aegon and to my second son, Aemond. My estate in London I pass to my eldest daughter, Rhaenyra, along with all the family possessions located there for generations. The rest of my estate is to be distributed fairly among all my children."

An uncomfortable, long silence fell, Aegon laughed aloud, burying his face in his hands, subconsciously knowing that this was what awaited him.

He was the first-born son, but their ancestral estate was to pass to their sister.

"The law states that ancestral estates can only pass to sons or be passed down the male line. We will challenge this will as illegitimate." Said Otto in an indifferent, impassive tone, Rhaenyra stood up, looking at him with rage and hatred.

"How dare you. For years you poisoned my father's mind and pushed me away from him. You can see that at the end of his life he understood who really loved him and who was just preying on him." She hissed, breathing heavily. He decided he didn't have the strength for it and walked out, leaving the loud arguments behind, heading to his room.

He sat on his bed, looking down at his hands and laughed out loud, shaking his head, leaning forward.

He had nothing.

His only inheritance was a country manor in Dermore, unvisited by anyone for years, overgrown with mould and damp for sure.

That's how much his sacrifice meant to his father.

He squeezed his eye shut, thinking about the morning, about what he had done, what he had said, and closed his face in his hands, wanting to disappear, to simply cease to exist.

Whatever hope he had gained in recent weeks, God seemed to laugh cruelly in his face.

It seemed to him that he was destroying everything valuable in his path.

His father's funeral was a grand event, attended by crowds of aristocracy from all over England at their family estate. He felt a squeeze in his pit and a kind of discomfort when, from among dozens of people, Countess Rivers emerged in front of him, smiling at him in the same catlike way, her eyes dark with desire, her gown completely black but revealing her full, shapely breasts.

She approached him, fanning herself, looking at him curiously.

"It has been a long time since we have seen each other, dear Mr Targaryen. You do not write back to my letters. Have the country daughters of Mr Baratheon taken your fancy?" She asked with amusement, revealing rows of her white teeth.

He knew that she was teasing him, that she was convinced that he was furious about having to travel there, about having to choose among them.

Only a few weeks ago he would have told her that he missed her and locked himself in a room with her, disregarding the fact that he should be mourning his father.

Now, however, when he looked at her he felt only pain.

She was so different from her.

There was no warmth in her gaze, only an expectation to entertain.

There was no openness and lightness in her demeanour to encourage confidences, discussion, trust, only some dark, feminine licentiousness, meant to tap into his physical senses, his subconscious desires.

For some reason he felt like crying at the thought.

He turned away without answering her, disappearing into the crowd of people, startling her completely.

He wanted to be left alone.

Only she could find words of consolation for him now.

She would know what to do, she would know what he would need, she would give him comfort and reassurance, her boundless understanding.

The next few days merged into one mass for him, he didn't know when the day was setting or when night was falling. He knew he should return to Chelsfield, but he had no desire to do so, knowing that the only woman he wanted to marry did not want him.

What was he to look for there?

During one of their dinners together a few days before Rhaenyra was to officially move into their estate with her family, Aegon said something from which he froze in horror.

"Hurry, brother. If you procrastinate like this, every one of Mr Baratheon's daughters will be engaged before you return." He said softly, slicing a piece of meat. Aemond lifted his surprised, concerned gaze to him, looking at him intensely.

"What are you talking about?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to reveal how terrified he was. Aegon smiled, seeing the hesitation on his face, deliberately extending his silence.

"Apparently Mr Strong's son asked one of them to marry him and was accepted." He said reluctantly, and he felt a tightening in his throat, his hand lying on the table in front of him involuntarily clenched into a fist.

"Which one?" He asked coolly, feeling that his breathing was laboured, that his whole body was trembling with uncertainty and fear of his answer. Aegon raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, putting a bit of potatoes on his fork.

"How do I know, after all there are so many of them. Apparently one of the younger ones." He said dispassionately, lifting his eyes to see his reaction. He stared ahead with a blank gaze, trying to calm himself, then stood up and asked one of their servants to get his horse ready for him immediately.

He only arrived at Chelsfield in the morning, raspy and in complete disarray, entering their estate unannounced, guessing that they had just had breakfast.

Everyone got up at the sight of him, and he stood in the entrance, breathing loudly, some of his hair slipping out of its ribbon and he guessed that he looked inappropriate to say the least.

He didn't care, quickly finding her with his eyes, she was looking at him with her mouth wide open, all flushed, her eyes big and warm.

He wanted to ask if she did, if she said yes, but he didn't know how to do it, so they stood in an awkward silence that seemed to last an eternity.

Mr Baratheon, seeing this, grunted saying that they had not expected him so soon, offered his condolences and asked if the funeral ceremonies had gone off without a hitch.

"− yes −" He muttered, not looking at him however, just at her, in her gaze tenderness, compassion, concern, everything he needed, everything he wanted. "− yes, thank you −"

There was an awkward silence again, so he involuntarily licked his lower lip, strenuously thinking how to ask this so as not to betray himself.

"− it has come to my knowledge that one of your daughters will be getting married soon −" He said forcing himself to be calm, still looking at her, at her expression, her eyebrows arched in pain, as if she suddenly understood what he was asking.

He was asking if she was the one getting married.

He heard Floris giggle loudly, rising, showing him the small ring she had on her finger.

"Please see what I got from Colonel Strong. What excellent taste he has. My silly sister rejected his engagement, but I was smarter than that." She said and jumped up with a smile, flushed with happiness, as if this was the most joyous day of her life.

He looked quickly at Mr Baratheon's youngest daughter, her breasts rising and falling quickly in uneven breathing, her pink lips parted slightly, tears in her eyes.

He felt that he looked just like her.

He felt like crying with happiness, with relief, with joy.

She did not accept him.

Mr Baratheon suggested that, after such a long journey, he should join them at breakfast and then rest, and he nodded, suddenly relaxed and light, not quite hearing or seeing what was going on around him, nodding at Floris's words, her stories of how she imagined the whole ceremony, though his gaze kept escaping to her.

They looked at each other from opposite ends of the table far too often, drawing the attention of Royce, Mr Baratheon and Cassandra with it, but he didn't care.

As soon as breakfast was over he did not let the youngest Miss Baratheon leave the dining room, asking her straight away if she would agree to speak to him in private. She swallowed loudly and nodded, saying she had to put on her cloak.

He waited impatiently for her in the park behind their mansion and spotted her a moment later, walking towards him with an uncertain, quiet step. He felt his heart pounding hard, pleased to see her. She lifted her warm gaze to him at last, sadness and concern in her gaze.

"I have not had the opportunity to offer you my heartfelt condolences. I am so sorry." She said warmly, softly, sincerely, and he felt her words like the prick of a needle stuck in his heart. He sighed quietly, pressing his lips together, he felt like his gaze expressed everything.

Desire, affection, longing.

"Thank you, Miss Baratheon." He replied softly and they looked at each other in silence for a moment, embarrassed and uncertain.

"As I understand it, you have rejected Colonel Strong's engagement." He said lowly, lowering his gaze to his feet, swallowing loudly, wanting to hear it from her. He saw out of the corner of his eye a blush of embarrassment spread across her cheeks.

"Yes. It was probably the most miserable engagement I could have imagined." She mumbled, involuntarily smiling out of the corner of her mouth. He smiled too and snorted at her words.

"Worse than mine?" He hummed teasingly, and she lifted her gaze to him quickly, even redder, and snorted a quiet laugh, looking up at him affectionately.

"Please, sir, don't be hard on yourself. I didn't behave properly then either." She said softly, looking down at her hands, playing with her fingers, and he swallowed loudly.

"My father, in his will, deprived me of almost all my property, leaving me only a small country manor in Dermore. I wish to sell it and with those funds buy or rent an estate in this neighbourhood." He said calmly and she looked at him shocked, her lips parted in disbelief.

"You're not staying in London?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he hit the inside of his cheek with the tip of his tongue and chuckled under his breath.

"There's nothing waiting for me there. There's nothing there that I want. What would make me happy." He said quietly, looking at her, and she closed her mouth quickly, swallowing loudly, looking at him in a way that made him feel like throwing himself at her.

He smiled at the thought that flashed through his mind as he looked at her now, after only a few days of separation.

"I hope that this property will soon be filled with the laughter of our children." He said softly and she furrowed her eyebrows as if in pain, pressing her lips together, her eyes welled up with tears, her whole figure tensed in anxious breathing.

He approached her slowly feeling light, feeling confident, wonderful, for the first time in his life having the premonition that he knew what he was doing, that he knew what he wanted, that he knew what would make him happy.

He grasped her warm, tear-wet cheeks in his hands, and she didn't move away, her bottom lip trembling slightly. He ran his thumb over her soft skin and shuddered as she placed her trembling fingers on his, running them gently up and down.

"My sweet friend." He whispered, pressing his forehead against hers, and she smiled so warmly, so tenderly, that he didn't even know when their lips were pressed against each other in a soft, gentle, wet kiss.

He ran his nose over the tip of hers only to kiss her again, a sticky, loud click accompanied each movement of their lips. He felt her small, warm hands on his neck and cheeks and thought he could die now, fulfilled at last.

"Yes." She whispered to him between one sweet kiss and another, and he hummed softly at her words, involuntarily smiling. He fell deeper into her lips, knowing what she wanted to say, their hands clenched tightly on their skin.

She pulled away from him and embraced him, cuddling her cheek into his chest, and he embraced her immediately, one hand laying on her back, the other slipping into her long hair tied back with a blue ribbon, kissing the top of her head, taking in her wonderful scent.

"I need to speak to your father."

_____

Taglist 1

#taglist 3

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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Taglist 3:

The Vanity and Variability (3)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • fem!reader]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma ]

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before in his life had he been so afraid of Sunday. He knew what awaited him then, he knew that the whole town, all the people of Chelsfied would want to meet him and have a few words with him.

He knew how gossip worked, even more so in such small towns, he knew that everyone was already talking about the fact that he was bankrupt, that he had no eye, that he had come to Borros Baratheon's house like a stray dog, begging for his daughters' pennies.

He felt sick at the thought.

Worst of all, he realised, the very people who surely deep down despised and mocked him would pay him compliments, ask about his health and express their joy that someone like him had come to their town.

He knew they would do this, and then they would talk behind his back, whispering about how great his scar on his face was, how he reigned like a lord, how they felt sorry for any of Mr Baratheon's daughters who would receive the unpleasant honour of becoming his wife.

He knew this and had mentally prepared himself for it, but even so, when confronted by such a huge crowd of strangers he panicked, forcing himself out with barely a few words, leaving the whole conversation to Mr Baratheon. He felt embarrassed for himself and thought it couldn't have gone any worse.

When they were finally to be seated he waited impatiently for the youngest Miss Baratheon to take her place and sighed heavily not understanding why it was taking her so long.

"This seat is for Mr Targaryen. After all, we won't let him sit at the back." He heard Floris' words with difficulty and furrowed his brow, glancing at them out of the corner of his eye.

"There's enough room for everyone." Whispered her younger sister, impatient and tired of the humiliations that had been endless since he had appeared in their house.

"There isn't." She replied lightly, something akin to mischievous amusement in her voice.

He watched in silence as the youngest Miss Baratheon withdrew and walked to the bench behind them, sitting down resignedly, looking down at her hands, her father turned to her and asked her quietly what she was doing.

He decided that he had no intention of sitting next to this insolent girl and putting up with her solicitation or the, obviously casual, touch of her body, which she would surely cling to him as soon as he sat down next to her.

Therefore, he joined her younger sister at the back, recognising that his reputation in this place was ruined anyway, so it didn't matter if he sat in the first or last pew.

He just wanted holy peace and quiet.

He saw Floris turn to him, frowning her eyebrows, surprised and displeased by his decision, wanting to say something already, but he didn't even let her open her mouth.

"Please attend to your prayers, Miss Baratheon." He growled coolly, and she flushed with a blush of shame and turned away, correcting her hat as if nothing had happened. He felt her little sister's gaze on him and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, frustrated.

"Can't you concentrate on prayer in the house of God either, Miss Baratheon?" He rebuked her in a dry, frustrated voice, and she shook her head quickly, pulling a prayer book from her small bag.

He was relieved that he had chosen his prayer companion well, for Mr Baratheon's youngest daughter was focused the whole time and did not look at him, absorbed in her own thoughts.

He knew she was only pretending.

He knew she was thinking only of him, like her other silly sisters wanting to be princesses in a magical palace.

Even though he had told her not to look at him, now it was he who glanced at her all the time, wanting to catch her in the act, to prove to himself that he was not at all mistaken, that she was not at all different from them.

Neither Cassandra, nor Floris, nor Ellyn, nor Maris could stand it; each of them turned at least once in his direction, and he felt like laughing at the pathetic sight.

He was frustrated and tired.

He felt like a sold-out object in the eyes of his family, a way to royalty in the eyes of the general's daughters and a nobody in the eyes of the people around him who knew absolutely nothing about him.

He was alone.

As they stood up to receive the eucharist, he let her pass in front of him and drew in the air feeling her body rub up against him, her pleasant scent reaching his nose.

Had she done this on purpose?

He stood behind her in the line, looking at her intensely, hoping that when she took communion and turned back towards the pews, she would throw him a look that would reveal everything about her.

She, however, did not even turn her face towards him.

He sat down beside her, a little closer than before, watching for her reaction, but she was still staring absently ahead, her fingers wandering involuntarily over the soft material of the cover of her prayer book.

What was she thinking about so strenuously?

He opened his knees a little, just a little, so that their legs came into contact almost imperceptibly. He felt her flinch, her fingers moved in an anxious gesture as she swallowed loudly, but she did not turn her face towards him.

He pressed his lips together, glancing at her once in a while. He grunted and corrected himself in his seat, pressing his knee harder against her leg, looking at her expectantly.

Look at me.

Stop pretending.

He could see that her breathing had become anxious, that her figure trembled with uncertainty and fear, her hands clenched tightly on her book.

And suddenly he had an idea.

Why not play with her?

Alys loved it.

Subconscious, innocent coquettishness.

His hand from his knee went over her fingers, which clenched panic-stricken at the object on her thighs, and he grinned with satisfaction, knowing that she thought he wanted to touch her so directly, so indecently. At the last moment, before his hand touched her skin he grabbed her prayer book and with a slow movement pulled it from her grasp.

He took her book as if nothing had happened and began to look through it, recognising that it was really old and beautifully published, it must have been at least 20 years old by now. He felt her face turned towards him, but she still wasn't looking at him, her hands lying on her lap was trembling.

"Please, sir, give it back to me." He heard her faint whisper, and he murmured under his breath, delighted that she was finally speaking to him, taking some strange pleasure in her helplessness.

They both knew full well that this was what she wanted.

A little bit of his attention so that she had something to think about at night.

"What harm am I doing? I am merely looking at it, Miss Baratheon." He hummed softly, licking his finger, turning another page. He knew she saw the gesture, felt her whole body tense up when he did.

Come on, answer something ambiguous, play with me.

"Please. This is my only memento of my mother." She mumbled with difficulty, and he froze.

He felt his heart start pounding like crazy, his knee immediately pulled away from her body. He grunted loudly, feeling a sudden dryness in his throat, and handed the prayer book back to her.

When he felt the touch of her skin he involuntarily mussed it with his thumb barely, as if in a gesture of apology for having completely misunderstood her reaction to what he was doing.

He glanced at her with his lips pressed together and felt a tightening in his pit, a sudden chill went through his body when he saw that she was crying.

She didn't make a sound, her body and lips trembled slightly, tear after tear ran down her cheek and she wiped them away with her hands, looking straight ahead, her eyebrows twisted in pain.

He clenched his hand into a fist feeling only the shame overpowering him.

Of course she didn't want to flirt with him now.

What was he thinking?

He wanted to apologise to her as soon as the liturgy was over, but she got up at once, literally running out of the church. He looked at her with his lips slightly open, not knowing whether to stay or run after her, what he should do.

He finally left quickly, deciding that he couldn't leave it like that, that he couldn't let her tell her father about it. Heedless of Floris' and Cassandra's calls, he ran a little way, come to think of it no one of his status was likely to do so, and saw her round the bend in the village road.

She turned towards him hopefully, evidently thinking that he was her brother, but when she caught sight of him a moan of disappointment and pain broke from her lips, which for some reason made him feel even worse. Her face was flooded with tears.

"Miss Baratheon. Forgive me. I have no idea what has gotten into me." He mumbled with difficulty, not knowing how to properly apologise for what he had done, how to explain the momentary eclipse that had apparently descended upon his mind that he had allowed himself to behave in such a way.

She looked at him, breathing hard, and after a moment she shook her head, pain and some kind of immense weariness in her eyes.

"I don't understand you, sir. I try, but I don't. You are cruel. You humiliate me and my sisters knowing that we do not stand in a position to oppose you. I would like to be your friend, but I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself." She burst out on the verge of crying and despair, then turned and moved with a quick step towards her house.

A moment later, Cassandra and Floris ran up to him asking what had happened, what their sister had done again, and he did not answer them.

You are cruel.

I would like to be your friend, but I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself.

These words rang in his ears for the next few days and he felt like he was going completely mad. She avoided him, did not look at him or speak to him.

He kept repeating to himself that this was one less tiresome sister, that at least she was no longer taking Vhagar away from him despite the fact that his dog missed her and howled at her door when they returned from walks. Still, even though he pretended that this change suited him, he couldn't stop thinking about what she had said.

I would like to be your friend.

What did she mean by that?

He had never had a friend. He didn't have access to other, strange children because his grandfather considered them unworthy and feral, that he and his siblings would pick up bad habits from them.

He could not say he was friends with Aegon or Helaena, for they were never close. He loved Daeron, but he was his younger brother, not a confidant.

He realised then with amusement and embarrassment that he had no friends.

He had never needed them and did not feel that this should change now.

Nonetheless, he felt a kind of discomfort as he walked with Vhagar to the shore of the lake where she had fallen asleep with him at the time, and as soon as she spotted him from afar she got up and set off back home, greeting only his dog on the way.

He wanted to stop her, to talk to finally alleviate this tense atmosphere, but he couldn't get anything out himself.

To his despair, Cassandra, Floris and Maris had insisted for so long on organising a ball with dances at their estate that Mr Baratheon finally gave in.

He hated dancing, hated the fact that everyone was then looking at him and talking about him, his scar, his eye patch, the fact that he was poorly mannered for a man from London since he allowed ladies without a partner to have to sit.

He didn't have the strength to explain how tired he was of such entertainment, how he only dreamed during it that he could already go back to his room and lock himself in there with his dog and his books.

Therefore, he was not surprised by the surreptitious, disgruntled glances of the guests, who did not understand why instead of asking one of his future chosen ones to dance, he was sitting with his legs crossed, tapping his fingers on the table top, looking around, bored.

He knew what they thought of him and he didn't have the strength to try to change it.

He watched from the corner of his eye as Mr Baratheon's youngest daughter danced with her brother, her gown, like that of her sisters, was all white with a high waist, long gloves halfway down her arm on her hands.

In her front curls, which were arranged at the back of her head in a small bun, were pinned the white field flowers he had seen walking with Vhagar once before, the rest of her hair was loose, waving slightly with her every movement.

He had to admit that they were both excellent dancers and he could see by the joy on their faces that they were taking great pleasure in this, their figures turning with lightness and to the rhythm. He thought, watching them these few days, that they were very close to each other and he partly envied them the bond that he himself had never managed to establish with his siblings.

However, he felt a strange kind of unease, as if a tingling in his chest, when he saw her being asked for her next dance by a colonel whom he remembered from balls held in London.

Colonel Larys Strong was a strange and disturbing man to say the least in his eyes. He knew him because the affair between his brother, Colonel Harwin Strong, and his half-sister, Rheanyra, had been the talk of London.

Everyone suspected that her children did not come from her first marriage, but just from their union, which would make her children bastards, which indeed he believed them to be.

Nevertheless, it was Larys who seemed more dangerous to him, for his conversations with women, which he sometimes listened to from the sidelines, bored, were inappropriate, impertinent and ambiguous to say the least, often embarrassing them. He would pick out young, naive girls in love with uniforms and male prowess.

He thought, looking at the youngest Miss Baratheon, that he couldn't have chosen a better target, and tapped the tip of his tongue against the wall of his cheek, looking at them in thought.

He wondered if he should warn her, inform her to be wary of this man knowing what intentions he might have had for her. He hesitated, recognising that this was why she had her older brother and father to watch over her. On the other hand, he reminded himself that they did not know his nature and he felt anxious again, playing with his fingers extended on his armrest in a nervous gesture.

I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself.

He rose slowly from the chair he was sitting on, to the surprise of Floris and Maris, who had accompanied him the whole time, playing cards with each other.

They led him away with curious eyes as they watched him disappear between the crowd of guests, circling around the dancing Miss Baratheon and Colonel Strong, making sure that his hand did not slip too low or that he did not slide too close to her.

He pressed his lips together seeing that as soon as the dance was over, Colonel Strong immediately leaned over to ask her for another dance, a shadow of uncertainty flashed across her face.

He recognised that she was too young and inexperienced for him to watch idly as this man pestered her.

For this reason, he did the first thing that came to his mind. On a sudden impulse, he moved towards them, meeting the surprised stares of the conversing couple, and bowed before asking Miss Baratheon if she would honour him with her next dance.

She looked at him in disbelief and for a moment probably wanted to refuse him, but then she glanced at Colonel Strong. She lowered her gaze and nodded, embarrassed.

Colonel Strong made room for him, glancing at him surreptitiously, and he, whether he wanted to or not, now had to trudge through the few minutes of this torture and then face the critical stares and remarks that he had danced with General Baratheon's youngest daughter first, rather than the eldest.

They bowed to each other and then moved, passing between other couples, her hand on his. He decided that since it was appropriate to talk while dancing anyway, and everyone was looking at them, he preferred to divert his attention and convey to her what he had wanted to say all along.

"I would not trust Colonel Strong if I were you, Miss Baratheon." He said dryly, turning with her, glancing impatiently to the side. They made another move and her hand covered by the material of her glove was again on his, he met her gaze, uncertain and sad.

"You are quick to pass judgement, sir." She declared with a kind of resentment from which he furrowed his brow, but again they had to separate, avoiding the other couples, in those few seconds he thought through what he wanted to reply to this accusation. When her hand was in his again, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"In his case, I have very solid reasons for that." He stated coolly and she blinked, swallowing hard, clearly wondering whether to believe him. He couldn't look away from the white flowers pinned into her hair, he thought they suited her and reflected her person well.

"It seems to me that it is easy to lose your good opinion, let alone gain it." She replied surprisingly seriously for how she usually spoke, he could feel the tension between them every time they came close again, their hands on each other's arms.

"I thought I was the one who was quick to pass judgement." He mused, not taking his eyes off her, and she flushed and lowered her gaze, embarrassed that he had turned her own words against her. Involuntarily the corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk of satisfaction.

Teasing her gave him an disturbing amount of pleasure.

She glared at him, a little giving in and a little fighting, recognising that she would make one more attempt to point out to him what she thought of him. They turned their backs to each other and moved sideways, avoiding the couples who passed between them and stood at the very end, facing each other again, her fingers back in his hands.

"Why is my conversation with Colonel Strong so preoccupying you?" She asked curiously, wrinkling her brow, her cheeks red from embarrassment and exertion after another dance in a row, some of the tiny strands of her hair stuck to her face.

Her face seemed pleasantly soft in its shape to him.

"Friendly concern." He replied dryly, her eyebrows arched in pain and disbelief, her eyes large, widened in surprise, for she had completely not expected such words. She swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze, her lips pressed together.

She gave up.

"Then it remains for me to thank you, sir." She said a little more softly, lifting her gaze to him not so displeased and hurt anymore, some kind of warmth and relief was painted on her face.

"Hmm." He hummed and they stopped in front of themselves at last, the music around them ended and people began to clap.

As was the good custom he escorted her to the side, glancing at the table where Floris and Maris sat, Cassandra standing behind them had tears in her eyes. He let out a quiet breath, knowing what awaited him when it was all over.

"Don't worry, sir, I'll tell them that you danced with me just to rescue me from this intrusive man." She said softly seeing where he was looking, sensing subconsciously what he was thinking about.

He hummed under his breath again, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, measuring her with his look from top to bottom.

"Why?" He asked dryly, and she smiled at him in a way that made him warm.

"Friendly concern."

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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The Vanity and Variability

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • fem!reader]

[ warnings: angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother's debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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The Targaryen family name was one of the most famous and respected in London. His father's great-grandfather had been a duke, so royal blood flowed in them, and their family estate had been part of the kingdom for centuries.

He grew up with a sense of his own uniqueness, which his grandfather, his mother's father, Otto, constantly reminded him and his siblings of, remarking on their upbringing, their gait, the way they spoke. From an early age, everything they did was to testify to their origins and properly represent them to the world.

They were not allowed to run or shout, they were not allowed to eat with their hands, keep their elbows on the table, swear or laugh loudly. He was not allowed to play with other children, instead he was expected to keep reading and expanding his knowledge, and at the age of twelve he could already speak French and Italian as well.

And then, during one of the fencing training sessions with his nephew that his grandfather had forced him to do, he lost his left eye. Luke, enraged at his loss swung his sword as he managed to pull off his protection and the blade sliced his left cheek in half.

Having learned that he was not allowed to cry or scream, he howled and sobbed into his pillow all night, praying that his grandfather would not hear him.

Neither his position nor his wealth could change his appearance.

Although his father had a first-born son, his elder brother Aegon, everyone knew that he would have preferred the family estate to pass to his eldest daughter after his death, his only child, whom he had fathered with his first wife, who had died.

They had spent their entire lives in the shadow of his affections for her, simply existing in large palatial spaces, unsure if they were of any use to anyone at all. Knowing that he would inherit nothing, that he had only his name and his disfigured, ugly face, he hid in the world of literature, disappearing for hours in the library thus forgetting the woes of his life.

He knew that eventually he would be forced to marry a woman of similar status to himself.

When he first met the Countess Rivers, a wealthy widow much older than him, he thought she could become his wife, he even suggested it to his grandfather. He, however, laughed at his suggestion, saying that this woman had only married the Count for money and had tricked her way into his bed and then deprived him of his life for sure.

That didn't stop him, after a few grand balls in London, from locking himself away with her in seclusion and enjoying all that was female flesh and female fulfilment, feeling for the first time that he was not a repulsive child, but a man.

Life, however, made a mockery of him again when it turned out that Aegon had lost such large sums of money at cards over the years that, despite the fact that his brother was now a grown man who had a wife, Otto had beaten him before his eyes with a cane as if he were a small child again.

Aegon wailed and whimpered as he laid on the ground, writhing in pain, still drunk, and his grandfather hissed between hits that he was their ruin, their greatest misfortune.

Then his grandfather presented everyone at the evening meal with the solution to the problem they faced.

"Borros Baratheon is an extremely wealthy general with as many as five daughters ready to marry, he is known for his immense love for them, so I am confident that their dowries will be appropriate and also, if we play it right, he will give us a loan so that we can pay our immediate debts. Aemond, you will travel to Chelsfield to rest a little and choose your future spouse during this time." He said lightly, and everyone around him froze.

He heard Aegon's loud, amused laughter as he clapped his hands, the sound echoing throughout the room in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

"An excellent thought, grandfather. Right, brother? There's nothing better than to fuck a country wench." He said taking a glass of wine and raising it to his lips, their mother slammed her fist on the table, silencing him with a hiss, his wife lowered her gaze, embarrassed and ashamed.

Aemond did not listen to him or his mother. He stared at his grandfather wide-eyed, his jaw clenched, his fingers outstretched on the table rubbing against each other intensely in a nervous gesture.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" He choked out finally, deadly serious, unable to believe what he was hearing.

His whole life, everything he'd denied himself, everything he'd learned was to serve who he was, his heritage, he hadn't been allowed to marry Alys despite her surpassing them all in stature, and now he was to choose from five simpering daughters of some village general?

His grandfather raised an eyebrow in displeasure.

"Ask your brother about that. Thanks to him we have no liquidity, we are finished. We need money, and Borros Baratheon has it. Marry one of his daughters and be happy you have plenty to choose from." He said impatiently, and Aemond got up from the table, leaving the room with a loud slam of the door against the walls.

He rushed into his room like a storm, ordering his servants not to let anyone in, and circled around his bed one way and the other, feeling like shouting, feeling like throwing something or destroying something, but he knew he couldn't do it, that it wasn't proper.

He finally knelt down in the middle of his room catching himself by his hair, burying his face in his arms and crying helplessly like a baby.

How many more humiliations did he have to endure in his life for God to decide that enough was enough?

How much more could he pray?

Why didn't God listen to him even though he went to church with his mother every Sunday, prayed in the morning and before bed with attention and focus?

Why was he not a good enough son either in the eyes of his father or God himself?

He knew there was no going back from his grandfather's decision. He knew that his mother would never defy him and his father would not take any interest in the matter even if he married a strange woman from the fair.

After a week he sat in the carriage that was to take him to Chelsfield and looked out of the window at the busy streets of London, inside sat with him Vhagar, his dog whom he had received as a gift from his mother for his tenth birthday.

She was beautiful, looking like a giant snow fox with white soft fur and a long snout. She was the only one he confided in, the only one he cried with, the only one with whom he could be weak, plaintive, whimsical, cheerful or happy.

Chelsfield was not far from London and they covered that distance in a few hours. Aemond pressed his lips together as he saw through the window a quite grand, country manor house of white brick, overgrown on all sides with ivy.

He saw a man in their army uniform step out, followed by a young boy and a whole bunch of girls in long high-waisted gowns.

He felt like throwing up at the sight of them.

When the door opened Vhagar was the first to fly out and despite him calling her she ran ahead, curious about the new smells and spaces. He felt rage when one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, who also looked to be the youngest, not yet pinning her hair into a bun, but having it partly loose, partly braided at the back of her head, ran towards her, reaching out to her.

He feared that Vhagar would bite her, unused to the sudden presence of strangers, her father thought the same, for he immediately moved towards her, rebuking her, but Vhagar only barked loudly and jumped at her, almost knocking her over.

The girl laughed out loud, catching her around the waist as if she was dancing and they both continued in such an embrace, Vhagar started sniffing her and licking her face.

He had never felt so embarrassed in his life.

Lord Baratheon greeted him with a few meaningless sentences, mentioning what an honour it was for him and that his room was ready, that he hoped he would find peace here and a bit of a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

He figured the last thing he'd find in this place was rest.

He nodded at his words, pulling his cylinder off his head and following him through the main door to his house, escorted by the curious stares of his daughters.

When he finally locked himself into the room that was to belong to him for now, he sat down on the bed and grabbed his head, feeling like he was about to pass out. He couldn't imagine spending every evening with them, forced to talk to each of his daughters in turn.

He hated talking to strangers, he didn't have the gift to converse easily and he put his thoughts together with difficulty into full sentences, and the more he stressed about it, the worse it got.

He figured they'd tire him to death here, and he'd still have to choose which one of these silly girls to take with him and, horror of horrors, marry her, share his bed and his life with her. She shook her head at the thought, sighing heavily.

He didn't leave until the evening, terrified and discouraged, unpacking in his room, which was small by his standards. He looked out of the window and saw a rather pleasant view of the park, trees and hills.

He heard barking and noticed how the same girl who had let Vhagar lick her face in his presence ran across the grass with her, acting almost as if she were a second dog, laughing loudly, throwing her a long stick again and again.

He had never seen Vhagar in such euphoria before.

What kind of house was this?

When it was time for dinner he dressed himself in proper attire, adjusted the black ribbon in which his hair was tied, made sure his eye patch was fastened tightly enough, and went down the stairs feeling as if he was going to beheading.

As he entered the room, which he understood was the dining room, he noticed a beautifully decorated long table, a large fireplace at the end of the hall, lots of portraits and landscapes on the walls , tables and chairs all around.

Everyone stood up at the sight of him and nodded at him, and he reciprocated the gesture, walking unhurriedly to his seat, which was to the left of Lord Baratheon, and which should have been occupied by his eldest son. He saw with surprise that his son was seated opposite him, and only then realised that he had not seen Mrs Baratheon anywhere.

"Let's eat." Ordered Mr Baratheon in his booming, low, throaty voice and nodded to his servants, who one by one began to put food on their plates. As he expected, Mr Baratheon immediately addressed him.

"I hope you find your room comfortable and lacking in nothing, Mr Targaryen." He said lightly, without overbearing or teasing, it was more a statement than a question. Aemond nodded without looking at him.

"Yes, thank you very much. I'm not missing anything." He replied indifferently, grabbing his spoon, wanting to immediately start eating to prevent further conversation. The girl next to him couldn't resist, after a few minutes she tried to initiate light conversation with him.

"How do you find the landscapes of Chelsfield, Mr Targaryen?" She asked softly, and he turned his cool gaze on her, thinking in his head that it was the cheesiest question he had ever heard.

She was the only one with fair hair and seemed to him to be the oldest, her breasts were large and full as were her other shapes, and she had a pretty, common face, but not enough to tempt him.

"They are pleasant." He replied coolly, putting down his spoon so that the servant knew to take his plate from him. The girl beside him fell silent, discouraged.

"The day after tomorrow we will all go to church. Will you accompany us, Mr Targaryen?" Another of his daughters sitting across the table asked him, looking at him curiously, her lips slightly parted, as if defiantly, which he found displeasing.

She was trying to coquette him, to show him physically that she was attracted to him.

"Of course." He replied just as dispassionately, immediately getting down to his second dish as soon as it was served in front of him, wanting to finish the meal as quickly as possible.

As soon as he had succeeded in doing so he stood up and calmly announced that he wished to rest after his journey and retire to his room. Mr Baratheon agreed to this without much concern, watching him closely as he bowed and left without another word.

As he locked himself in his room he felt relieved. He pulled off his tailcoat, staying in just his chemise and trousers, and sat down at the cabinet, which he opened and was relieved to find stationery, quills, inkwell and ink there.

He started to write a letter to his mother, but crossed it out quickly and crumpled the piece of paper, throwing it down with rage.

Why should he lie, reassure her that he was content, that he liked it here, when it wasn't true?

He felt like he was locked in a cage with no way out, he knew he couldn't poke his nose out of his room if he wanted peace and quiet and the thought filled him with despair.

Resigned, he reached into his trunk and pulled out the books he had brought with him to somehow sweeten this awful time, these weeks he was to spend in this feral house full of simpletons.

Only after a while did he realise that Vhagar was not in his room.

He cursed loudly, running his hand over his face, devastated at the thought that surely she was still with that girl rolling around in the grass with her.

He fought with himself wondering if he should just let them stay together since they wanted to, but he felt anger because this was his dog, his closest friend, and she was taking her away from him.

As if his life had taken too little from him.

He stood up driven by rage and opened the door, looking around with a pounding heart. He heard Vhagar growling and barking in one of the rooms and knocked on it quietly, hoping to settle the matter quickly.

He heard someone run up to the door and open it quickly, Vhagar flew out and jumped on him, which had never happened before and he rebuked her immediately.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her, trying to be quiet and don't wake anyone. She sat down, breathing heavily, her tongue dangled on the left side of her mouth bobbing from her rapid breaths, her tail scrubbing the floor with joy, euphoria in her eyes.

What was happening to her?

"I was just teaching her a new trick." He heard the whisper of a girl who preferred to greet his dog first rather than him despite the fact that he could be her future husband.

He looked at her coldly, frustrated and bitter, a smile and gentle contentment on her face, she was standing in front of him in only a nightgown and a shawl thrown over her shoulders, her hair already completely loose.

He felt ashamed, it was the first time he had seen a woman in such a negligee. Even during his close-ups with Alys, he had never undressed her, simply not having the time to do so. He looked away, tightening his lips.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed, whistling at Vhagar, and she moved after him, stopping once in a while, turning towards her.

He felt furious and grabbed her suddenly by the fur on her neck, wanting to drag her forcibly to his room, like a small child who wants to snatch a toy from another child, and she began to squeal in pain and pull herself out of his grasp.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She begged and he let go of her, suddenly realising that he was causing her pain and watched, panting heavily, as Vhagar ran back to her room.

The girl looked at him apologetically and went back there, he heard her whisper to Vhagar to follow her, not to be afraid.

He stared ahead dully realising that he had just hurt the only being in the world who truly loved him.

That Vhagar would now be afraid of him too.

He felt like crying.

Miss Baratheon finally came out of her room holding something in her hand, evidently a piece of meat from the roast that she must have taken to her room after dinner and using it to train her.

Vhagar came up behind her, sniffing what she had in her hand, but when she saw him she lowered her ears and stepped back, afraid he would do to her again what he had done a moment before.

The girl approached him quickly, handing him the piece of meat she was holding.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She said to him quietly as if they were acquaintances, but he decided he would not think of that, too distraught that Vhagar hated him so he knelt before her, extending his hand to her, and Miss Baratheon knelt beside him.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered and saw his dog begin to wag his tail again, she approached him slowly, uncertainly and sniffed his fingers, then licked them and ate what he held between them.

She pressed her white head against his chest, rubbing against him, and he felt a burning sensation under his eyelids, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"− I'm so sorry −" She said softly in a voice filled with guilt.

He heard her rise and looked at Vhagar, entering his room, and she ran after her at once. He moved behind them and watched in disbelief as she sat down on his floor and Vhagar lay down right next to her, placing his paw on her thigh, letting her know that he wanted to continue playing with her.

She had never behaved like this towards him and he had no idea what he should do with a girl sitting on the floor of his room in the middle of the night.

After a moment, however, Miss Baratheon stood up and looked at him, swallowing loudly, clearly realising herself that she shouldn't be there.

"− I'm sorry for the intrusion, I just wanted her to come in here − good night −" She mumbled almost running out and closing the door behind her, Vhagar wanted to run after her but didn't make it.

He lay down on his bed, distraught, and Vhagar ran up to him, having already forgotten the unpleasant event of a few minutes before, licking him devotedly and tenderly on the face.

"Traitor." He hissed angrily and regretfully, stroking her soft fur.

For the first time in his life, he let her jump on his bed and sleep with him.

Here, there were no his grandfather or servants to report this behaviour to him, which was completely unthinkable.

He fell asleep snuggled into her soft fur, ignoring the fact that she ended up taking up most of the bedding, pushing him to the side.

He thought it was an exceptionally pleasant feeling.

When he woke up in the morning he again felt the stress overpowering him at the thought of breakfast, the fact that this girl had probably blabbed everything to her sisters, saying that he was a violent, cold and aggressive man who hurt his own dog.

However, when he came downstairs with Vhagar his dog immediately ran to her to greet her, also coming up later to her father and brother, who called out to her, eventually making the rounds around the table, getting acquainted with each in turn.

"She's beautiful." Said the second of their sisters, slightly melancholy and hearty.

At breakfast, Lord Baratheon finally introduced his daughters properly to him taking advantage of the lighter atmosphere. He nodded pretending to try to remember their names, thinking with relief only that his youngest child had apparently not mentioned to him the commotion that had taken place during the night.

"I heard loud barking yesterday in your room. Why are you taking Mr Targaryen's dog for yourself?" Asked the girl who had tried to coquette him the day before, and from what he had just learned her name was Floris.

Her younger sister gave him a quick, apologetic glance full of guilt, her gown creamy and buff, pleasantly accentuating the shape of her breasts, some of her curls pinned back, some falling over her shoulders.

"I'm not taking her away, we've just become very friendly." She mumbled, and her sister snorted at her words.

"It's not appropriate." Said another sister, Cassandra, a blonde-haired girl who tried unsuccessfully to make light conversation with him.

He watched Mr Baratheon's youngest child collapse under more and more criticism, and thought with surprise that he felt no satisfaction from it.

"That's enough." Ordered Mr Baratheon, seeing that his daughter was on the verge of crying. "My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself."

He saw her lift her gaze to him, her eyebrows arched in pain, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out finally and he swallowed loudly, clenching his hand into a fist knowing that only he and she understood the context of that sentence.

He thought with shame that he had reacted too impulsively and aggressively in front of her, even though her opinion didn't matter to him, he couldn't get the expression on her face out of his head, her cry full of pain when Vhagar started squealing.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, looking at his fingers moving in an uncertain gesture across the table top, wanting her to know that he regretted what had happened, what she had seen. Floris sitting next to him moved restlessly.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, and her younger sister pressed her trembling lips together, fighting for a moment against whatever was rising in her throat, but finally gave up and got up from the table, leaving the room before the tears had time to leave the corners of her eyes.

Her older brother followed her out, saying he would check how she was feeling, and there was an uncomfortable silence broken by their father.

"That was unnecessary, Floris." He said impatiently, his daughter snorting at his words.

"She's embarrassing us all, I just gave her something to think about."

"What a pathetic thing to say." He growled, taking a sip of tea from his cup, setting it down on the saucer with a clatter of porcelain, and only after a moment did he realise that he had said aloud what he had thought.

He didn't dare raise his eyes, feeling the pounding of his heart, feeling that all gazes were directed towards him.

"With your permission." He muttered, rising from his seat, bowing and leaving the dining room, feeling like he was going to burn from embarrassment.

How could he say something like that?

He felt that he needed air and walked outside onto the dirt road, whistling at Vhagar who ran after him, deciding to take a walk to clear his head.

He walked for a long time, going through the forest paths and then strolling around the lake, amazed at the overpowering stillness that reigned all around, the birdsong, the rustling of the leaves, the freshness of the air.

In London, everything was fast, sudden, loud.

Tiring.

He sat down on the sand by the edge of the lake and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the water, to the sounds of nature, feeling Vhagar lay down beside him, sighing heavily. He continued like this for what seemed like an eternity, and decided that he could spend hours here, simply calming and soothing himself, hiding from the world.

He shuddered as he heard someone's footsteps in the distance, Vhagar instantly rising and literally darting towards the girl he would have recognised from a mile away.

He sighed heavily, turning his face towards the surface of the water, figuring he wouldn't pay any attention to her. Just as he thought, she sat down beside him on the sand, as he did, leaning her head against a long, old tree trunk.

She didn't say a word to him, however, letting Vhagar settle down between them, stroking her head, which she laid on her thighs. When he glanced at her he saw that her eyes were closed, that she was doing exactly the same thing he was doing.

She was running away.

He relaxed at the thought that she wasn't looking for a discussion or a intimacy with him and did the same as she did.

He shuddered, looking around, unsure of where he was or what was happening, running his hand over his face. He'd never fallen asleep outside before, much less in the middle of nowhere. He looked around and saw Vhagar lying on her back, sleeping soundly, embraced by Miss Baratheon, who was asleep snuggled against her fur.

He did not know what he thought of this sight, endlessly innocent and harmless. He was afraid someone had seen or would see them, but he didn't want to touch her, so he grunted loudly. She moved suddenly, blinking her eyelids rapidly, and rose to sit down, rubbing her eyes, as confused as he was.

Feeling that what had happened was uncomfortable to say the least, he stood up and whistled at Vhagar, heading back the same way he had come, leaving her alone.

She did not follow him and he felt relieved at the thought.

Halfway through, however, he stopped, feeling anxious, wondering if he should leave her alone in the forest. He fought the thought convincing himself that since she had gone there herself, she would return on her own, knowing the area better than he did, but on the other hand, he would never let Helaena venture this far, and she was still very young.

What if something happened to her?

He cursed in frustration and turned back, coming across her after a few minutes. She looked at him surprised, clearly not expecting him to come back for her.

"Did you forget something?" She asked him uncertainly, and he rolled his eyes impatiently, turning his back on her.

"Come, for God's sake."

They walked side by side in silence, simply admiring the pleasant summer views of meadows and forests, not a living soul around them.

He had to admit that these views filled him with some strange sense of warmth, landscapes that he usually only saw in paintings now appeared before his eyes, even more beautiful, teeming with life and intense, strong colours.

They returned to the mansion together, which did not escape the attention of the household, he saw that Maris and Floris literally threw themselves at her as soon as he moved on, thinking he could not hear.

"What are you thinking? What have you done?"

"Nothing." She said impatient and resentful, fatigue and despair in her voice.

"Stop. I asked you a question. You forced yourself on Mr Targaryen again, didn't you?" He heard Floris's voice and stopped in mid-step, tightening his lips.

The youngest Miss Baratheon wanted to say something in her defence, devastated by the accusations, but it was he who spoke up first.

"How are you not ashamed?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at her, all three of them suddenly silent. "It's better to be silent sometimes than to confirm one's stupidity."

Floris probably didn't believe for a moment that he had said that, but when it finally dawned on her that he was deadly serious, she burst into sobs, running into the house, hitting him with her shoulder, Maris ran in after her.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she looked at him in disbelief, not knowing herself what she thought of his cruel words. He whistled at Vhagar and walked up the stairs to the inside of their mansion, leaving her alone with her thoughts about what kind of man he actually was.

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Taglist 1 @its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

#taglist 3

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

Taglist 3

The Vanity and Variability (2)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • fem!reader]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & VhagarMoodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When their father received a letter of marriage proposal from Otto Hightower he was furious. He thought it would be humiliating for him to give any of his daughters away to a proud, vain bankrupt who would choose any of them by grace, just for their vast fortune.

He decided to create a small domestic gathering and called her, all her sisters and their brother into their living room.

They sat at the table listening with attention and surprise to what he had to say to them. Their father was met with a completely different reaction than he had expected.

"Please, father, he is almost like a prince. I would live in a palace!" Exclaimed Maris, already imagining in her mind how she would walk through the grand chambers of their gigantic mansion located in London.

"The Targaryens are one of the most important names in our country, it would bring great honour to our family. Your grandson would have royal blood, father. What harm would it do for us to have him come here to determine if we would like him?" Cassandra asked, and their father could not find the right answer to this question, so he finally gave in, recognising that it was nothing official for now.

He replied to Mr Hightower that his grandson could come to his estate to get acquainted with his daughters under his watchful eye to decide if they liked each other.

She had no idea what she thought of the arrival of someone like him; her sisters lived only for his person, counting down the days until his arrival.

One evening they sat all together in their nightgowns in Cassandra's room, which she was entitled to as the eldest daughter and was the largest, talking animatedly. It was good custom for it to be the eldest daughter who was married first, and it was clear that she was concerned about what Mr Targaryen would think of them.

"When he arrives here, we must all behave with decorum and maintain good manners. Do you hear me?" She directed her words at her and she swallowed quietly, nodding and lowered her gaze, fiddling with the fabric of her chemise.

She was the youngest of them, standing next to them looking less like a real, full woman and more like a child in her eyes.

Although the shape of her breasts and hips were outlined under her chemise, she didn't look as serious as they did, she still tied her long hair up with a ribbon at the back of her head instead of forming it into an exquisite bun like they did.

She tried once to style her hair in such a bun, but found that it completely didn't suit her. She looked as if she was just trying to disguise herself as a grown-up woman, a wife and mother, which she was not, and she gave up sadly, telling her maid to let her hair down again.

She had never thought about marriage or love before, being far in line behind her sisters, but one day she realised that since it was not agreed that Mr Targaryen would marry Cassandra and that he could choose any of them, he could choose her too.

The thought terrified her.

"But what will I do if he chooses me?" She asked one day on a walk, walking with them leisurely into town to see the new hats in the shops, and Floris laughed out loud at her words.

"Don't bother, you look like a child and you're unkempt. You have nothing to worry about." She said lightly, and she felt burning tears of humiliation under her eyelids, slowing down and following them completely behind.

Although she did not want a husband at all, it hurt her cruelly that they thought he would despise her not only as a possible future spouse, but as a person in general.

She confided her worries to her father, standing before him and weeping, struggling to put her distress into words, and he looked at her with paternal concern, running his hand over her chin. When she had finished speaking he stood up and walked over to her, catching her soft cheeks in his large, rough hands.

"My dearest, why do you need the attention of someone like him? A man who only wants your wealth, who I am sure will not respect or value you? I hope that after his visit your sisters will change their minds and no marriage will take place, and you will pay no attention to him at all when he arrives here. Even if he wanted you for a wife, I would never give you up to him for the devouring of those vultures of London with only vanity and volatility in their hearts." He murmured lowly and leaned down, kissing her forehead, and she felt an immense sense of relief.

Her father, as well as her brother, were always able to comfort her.

When the day of Mr Targaryen's arrival came, her sisters had been dressing up all day, shouting and running around the house, accusing each other of stealing jewellery or dresses, losing something every step and crying. She watched this with amusement, dressed in her everyday summer gown, looking calmly out of the window, thinking only that this commotion did not concern her.

She had stopped feeling bad about the thought, but she was curious to see what kind of man he would be.

When his carriage finally arrived outside their manor house everyone, according to good manners, went out to meet him with their father in the lead. When the carriage door opened a large, beautiful white dog, looking like a fox, suddenly jumped out of it.

She thought it was love at first sight.

She immediately ran towards her despite her father's calls, and the animal jumped on her, putting its dirty paws on her shoulders, licking her face. She laughed, embracing her around her waist, dishevelled by how sweet this dog was.

When she finally jumped down she stroked her soft fur and raised her head, noticing the man looking at her out of the corner of his eye, pale, his lips tightened into a thin line expressing impatience and embarrassment, his gaze piercing, cool and uncomfortable, the black ribbon bow tying his almost white hair into a long ponytail.

He pulled off his cylinder, tucked it under his arm and it was only then that she noticed his famous black eye patch, the long scar stretching across the entire left side of his face.

She thought that, contrary to what she had imagined, he was not scary, but, according to her father's words, he seemed to her infinitely vain and distraught at having to be here, even though they were doing his family a favour.

She decided not to think about him and leave the conversation with him to her sisters, leaving all her attention and love to his dog, whose name, as it turned out, was Vhagar.

Taking advantage of her owner's absence, she decided to lock herself in her room with her along with a piece of roast on a plate and practice tricks with her.

"Sit." She said lowly, and Vhagar immediately sat down, looking greedily at the piece of meat she had in her hand. She handed it to her as soon as she followed her command, and she devoured it greedily, licking herself with a loud click.

She also appeared to be able to lie down and stand still on command, as well as running up to her leg.

"Give me your paw." She said, extending her hand to her, and she sat up, wagging her tail, looking with big eyes at the next piece of meat she was holding, panting heavily.

She sat down next to her on the floor, still holding her outstretched hand in front of her.

"Give me your paw." She repeated, and she began to squirm and bark, not understanding what was expected of her, what she had to do to be able to eat this delicious piece of chicken.

She took her paw in her hand and shook it, showing her what she was supposed to do, then placed a piece of meat in front of her, which she immediately swallowed.

"Good doggy." She praised her and stroked her, taking another piece from her plate, again extending her hand to her.

"Give me your paw." She said softly, Vhagar twisted in her place and barked. She repeated the command and she scratched her thigh with her paw, checking to see if this was the movement she had in mind.

"Good doggy! Such a good doggy!" She said happily, letting her eat another piece of meat, stroking her fur, praising her wisdom.

They both jumped when she heard a quiet knock on her door. She opened it and was startled to see the silhouette of their guest, looking down at her as if he was about to kill her, Vhagar threw herself at him cheerfully, longing for her owner.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her coolly, clearly frustrated, and she pressed her lips together, deciding that she would share the rather pleasant news that his dog was able to perform a new activity thanks to her efforts.

"I was just teaching her a new trick." She whispered, not wanting to wake the sleeping family members and was already about to explain to him what the trick was specifically about when he spoke directly to her, looking at her disapprovingly.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed and whistled at Vhagar, motioning towards his room.

She pressed her lips together, feeling a sting in her heart at his unpleasant and cold words, but thought she might have expected it. She saw to her surprise, however, that his dog turned towards her every once in a while, standing and apparently considering whether she felt like continuing to play with her instead of going to sleep.

Despite her owner's efforts, she refused to budge and jumped up when he suddenly grabbed her violently by the fur on her neck, pulling her forcibly towards his room, as if he had completely lost his temper, furious, she pulled in the air loudly and squealed in despair at the sight, hearing her whine full of pain and terror.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She called out pleadingly, and suddenly, as if he realised what he was doing he looked at her surprised and let go of Vhagar, who immediately ran away from him, hiding back in her room. She looked at his face and was surprised to find that he was broken, she had a feeling that he was about to cry.

What was the matter with him?

She swallowed loudly, wanting to quickly alleviate the situation she ran into her room and picked up a piece of meat, shoving it under Vhagar's nose. She immediately followed her, curious, and they both left the room, but when she saw her owner standing in the same place she panicked and lowered her tail, fearing that he would do the same to her as he had a moment ago.

She approached his stony figure, she had the impression that he had completely frozen absorbed in his own agony at the thought that his dog would now hate him.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She whispered to him pleadingly, handing him the meat she held between her fingers. They both crouched down, looking at Vhagar, who watched them with lowered ears, alert. He held out his hand to her, she could see that his fingers were trembling.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered with difficulty, brokenly, no longer resembling at all the man she had seen getting out of the carriage. He seemed suddenly human to her, full of some cruel contradiction she could not comprehend. She felt the pain pouring out of him, the fear of rejection, and involuntarily felt sympathy.

She realised that he had probably been forced to come here, exposed as if in a market to be watched and judged by her sisters, all the time in the limelight, having to make a choice even though they, in his eyes, were not worthy of him in status.

She thought he had no right to feel superior to them, coming here only for their fortune, but she couldn't help seeing him now as just an ordinary man, terrified by the vision that his beloved pup would be afraid of him.

Vhagar approached him slowly and hesitantly took from his hand what he had on it. She saw his fingers stroke her white fur with tenderness and gentleness, and then her head snuggled against his chest, his face pressed against hers expressing something like relief, his lips tightened, his eyes red.

She smiled at the sight, feeling at the same time remorseful at the fact that all this had happened because of her, because she hadn't asked his permission if he would mind if she played with his dog.

"− I'm so sorry −" She whispered softly and he looked at her, she noticed with surprise that his gaze was not cold and chilly. It was focused, uncertain, filled with feeling, suffering and loneliness, depth and emptiness at the same time.

He did not answer.

She stood up and called out quietly to Vhagar, heading for his room, and she immediately moved to follow her. She wanted to lead her to his bedroom and force her to stay there to end this whole unpleasant situation.

She sat down on the floor and reached out to her. She immediately laid down next to her and put her paw on her thigh as she taught her. She smiled and stroked her soft fur, then lifted her gaze and saw that he was standing over them, looking at them as if they were some amazing creatures, in his eyes surprise and shock that she dared to enter his room in the middle of the night in just her nightgown.

The realisation of this gaffe hit her with redoubled force and she stood up quickly, explaining that she only wanted Vhagar to go in there after her, leaving quickly and closing the door behind her, running to her room and sighing heavily, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought that this was not a good start to their acquaintance and that he probably hated her for sure now.

However, she decided that since he wouldn't consider her anyway it didn't matter, she was more worried that by her behaviour he would have a bad opinion of her sisters, and she knew how Cassandra cared about this marriage.

She was the eldest and felt time was slipping through her fingers, many men had asked for her hand because of her father's wealth, but they were too old for her or unpleasant to look at.

It appeared that she might have been too fussy, and now someone from a royal background almost their own age had come to their house and it seemed the perfect opportunity for her.

She didn't want to ruin her happiness.

However, as always, Floris was unable to restrain her nosiness even at breakfast, pestering her with questions and accusations that she did not have the strength to answer. She felt Mr Targaryen's eye on her, and if she didn't know him she would have thought she saw a hint of sympathy in his gaze.

"My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself." Her father finally said to her, and she swallowed loudly, lifting her gaze to him.

She could see that he was looking at her uncertainly, terrified of what she might say, of what she had seen, which could reflect badly on his reputation.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out with difficulty what she really wanted to say to him and saw that he swallowed loudly, lowering his eyes and hummed under his breath as if in thought, running his fingertips over the table top.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, startling her completely, and as he lifted his determined, burning gaze to her she understood that he wanted to tell her that he was ashamed of his behaviour.

She felt a warmth in her heart at the thought that he had decided to apologise to her even though the fault lay with her.

She heard Floris snort at his words, displeased that he had not rebuked her.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, looking her straight in the eye, and she felt humiliation spilling over her body, her cheeks red.

She swallowed hard, breathing unevenly, lowering her gaze, repeating to herself that she couldn't make a scene and start crying in front of him, that Cassandra would reprimand her again, saying she was acting like a child.

She felt she was losing to her own distress and got up at last, apologising quietly and left quickly, running out into the courtyard. She heard quick footsteps behind her a moment later and didn't even have to turn around to know it was Royce.

"Wait." He called out to her and she stopped, looking at him with parted, trembling lips, tears streaming involuntarily down her red face. Royce put his arm around her waist and she embraced his as they moved ahead, looking forward, saying nothing.

"Don't mind her. She can't bear the thought of not living in a grand palace. Unfortunately, I can't say she's the smartest of my sisters." He said amused, and she burst out laughing through her tears, hugging him, as usual feeling relieved in his company.

"What was he apologising to you for?" He asked after a moment, and she grunted quietly, unsure if she should talk about it.

"He was angry that I locked myself in my room with his dog. But he was right. That's all." She said briefly, figuring she would skip the details, not wanting to put him in a bad light in front of her brother, recognising that she had known him too briefly to judge him so quickly.

Royce already wanted to go home, but she said she wanted to continue her journey and walk to the lake to calm down completely. She loved listening to the quiet sound of the water sitting by the shore and had no desire to look at Floris for the next few hours.

So she moved ahead alone, taking comfort from the beautiful summer views all around her, the fields surrounding her green and full of flowers, the air clean and crisp.

She shuddered when she suddenly heard a loud barking and saw Vhagar running quickly towards her. The dog pounced on her and started licking her face, and she laughed out loud.

"What are you doing so far from home?" She asked, stroking her snout as she fell back onto her four paws, and it was only when she looked around that she noticed Mr Targaryen's silhouette sitting on the shore, his impenetrable gaze directed towards her.

For a moment she considered returning home, but realised she didn't want to go back there. Even more so if he wasn't there now, her sisters would lash out at her with questions and accusations, keeping at least a hint of civility in his presence.

Only Ellyn was being nice to her, Cassandra tried to fight the feelings warring within her, but she could see the frustration on her face.

No matter how hard she tried to stay away from him, she kept running right into him.

She thought that maybe if they had her attitude they would experience the same thing.

She sighed heavily and started walking towards him, recognising that it wasn't just his shore, that she was the first to discover this place and had as much right to sit there as he did.

She sat down beside him on the sand, a safe distance away, which Vhagar took immediate advantage of to lie down between them, laying her head on her thighs.

She was sure he would get up and go somewhere else, discouraged by her presence, he, however, seemed to make nothing of it, sunk in his own thoughts. She closed her eyes and began to listen to the sounds of the wind and water, the pleasant breeze wrapped around her face. She felt sleepy.

She opened her eyes after a few minutes, looking around as if half asleep, and saw to her surprise that Mr Targaryen had fallen asleep beside her, his head settled on his shoulder, his face unusually gentle and calm.

She thought he needed a moment of rest and solitude too, and smiled at the thought.

With some strange warmth in her heart, she lay down next to Vhagar and wrapped her arms around her, wanting to fall asleep next to them.

After they had returned to her mansion, after what he had said when Floris had assaulted her, she herself was not sure what she thought of him.

On the one hand, she felt grateful because he had stood up for her, refuting any rumours or conjecture about the nature of their walk, but on the other hand, his words were so cruel and insolent that she thought he would never have referred to a woman of his status in such a way, that he was showing how much he despised them, that he did not regard them as equals.

The next day they were all due to go to church, and as it was literally a five-minute walk from their property, they decided to go there on foot.

She wore her bonnet on her head, so she tied her hair up in a bun like her sisters to make the whole thing look right, the colour of her headdress warm cream, just like her dress.

She did not know if the form of the walk made Mr Targaryen happy or not, his expression remained invariably indifferent. He walked at the front with her father and Royce, Royce telling him something with amusement and he seemed to be partially listening to him.

Further along walked Cassandra, Maris and Floris, adding a word or two to their brother once in a while, and she walked at the back with Ellyn.

"Floris is very jealous." She told her quietly, clearly wanting to comfort her. "She teases each of us behind closed doors and says very nasty things."

She did not feel surprised by what she heard. Floris always cried when her father refused her, loving to point out mistakes to everyone but herself.

She thought that she had felt overlooked all her life and was now trying to make up for it by getting everyone's attention, the higher-ranking person it was, the better.

It wasn't long before they arrived at a beautiful little brick church surrounded by a stone wall and orchard. They went inside, their father greeting everyone, the presence of Mr Targaryen sparked great interest and everyone wanted to shake his hand.

She could see the tension on his face, the enormity of his discomfort in the presence of so many strangers, and she thought he was in constant pain, forced to be polite and courteous when he felt like running away.

One by one, they all began to sit down in the pew where their family always sat, but when she wished to take her place at the end, Floris placed her hand on the seat.

"This seat is for Mr Targaryen. After all, we won't let him sit at the back." She said lightly, and she felt a tightening in her throat, tears of humiliation filling her eyes once more.

"There's enough room for everyone." She whispered, her father leaning over, looking at her concerned, not understanding why she and Mr Targaryen were not yet seated.

"There isn't."

She looked at her with red eyes, feeling her clenched lips tremble, but there was not a trace of hesitation or sympathy on her sister's face.

So she turned back, swallowing loudly, sitting down in the empty bench behind them, her father turning his head after her, startled.

"What are you doing?"

She did not answer him, for she looked shocked sideways when she saw that Mr Targaryen had stepped into her pew following her, placing his cylinder on his free side, undoing one button from his tailcoat, sitting down beside her with his legs crossed.

Floris turned towards him, apparently wanting to announce to him that there was a place for him on their bench, but before she could open to say anything, a single, cold sentence left his lips.

"Please attend to your prayers, Miss Baratheon."

Floris turned pale and pressed her lips together, turning away, pretending nothing had happened. She looked at him sideways and swallowed loudly as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, frustrated.

"Can't you concentrate on prayer in the house of God either, Miss Baratheon?" He growled and she shook her head, pulling out her prayer book from her small pouch hanging on her hand, not daring to turn her gaze to him for the entire liturgy.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't concentrate on what Pastor Thomson was saying, thinking only of the fact that he had given up the seat he was entitled to by his status and sat next to her.

She thought he did this because he wanted to avoid her sisters, because after their nap at the lake he knew she would not torment him. That he sat next to her because he wanted to show Floris again what he thought of her.

She figured that perhaps he wanted to comfort her too, that he didn't want her to sit alone away from her family, rejected and abandoned.

The last thought filled her heart with gratitude and warmth and she found herself thinking that he was a more complicated man than she had originally assumed.

As they stood up to receive the eucharist, Mr Targaryen let her go ahead and, squeezing between him and the pew, she involuntarily brushed against his body and heard him quietly gasp through his nose, all tense.

She knew he was standing behind her in line, she could hear his breathing behind her, she could feel his gaze on her. This was a test, he wanted to see if she would get distracted again, if she would think about him, if she would end up pestering him like her sisters.

She thought he didn't deserve her treating him so objectively.

She preferred to think of herself as his friend who, understanding his needs, would not impose on him, allowing him to remain comfortable in her presence.

She didn't look at him as she passed him in line or as she sat back in the pew and they both listened to the psalms, waiting for everyone to take communion.

She swallowed loudly as she felt him spread his knees, sitting down more comfortably, his leg rubbing against hers and pressed to her barely perceptibly.

She felt a pleasant shudder and swallowed loudly, running her fingers over the book lying on her thighs, but she didn't dare to look at him, not wanting to give him satisfaction.

She gasped, her heart starting to pound like mad as he righted himself on the seat and grunted, leaning back with his shoulders against the rest of the bench, his knee pressed almost painfully hard against her leg now.

She felt herself breathing through her mouth, droplets of sweat running down her neck, her fingers tightening on her prayer book.

She felt him looking at her.

She felt his breath directed towards her, enveloping her face.

She glanced at his hand lying on his knee pressed against hers, his pointing finger tapping restlessly against the material of his trousers, as if impatient.

What did he want?

Why was he doing this, playing with her, putting her in this position?

She drew in the air in horror when his hand suddenly pulled away from his knee and moved over her thighs towards her fingers, as if he wanted to grab them.

She clutched her book, terrified, and heard him hum under his breath as he grabbed her prayer book, sliding it out of her hands in a slow movement.

She felt her whole body quiver, her fingers trembling as they lay numbly on her lap.

She knew he had seen it.

Was he deriving some kind of dark satisfaction from it?

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he looked through her prayer book page by page, even though he had his own lying on the backrest in front of him.

Hers was older, had belonged to her mother, was her only memento of her after her death, and she felt uneasy seeing it in the hands of someone else.

"Please, sir, give it back to me." She whispered quietly and heard his murmur expressing surprise or displeasure.

"What harm am I doing? I am merely looking at it, Miss Baratheon." He hummed low, licking his finger and turning the page, something about the gesture seemed inappropriate, ungodly to her and she thought he had done it on purpose.

"Please. This is my only memento of my mother." She mumbled helplessly and felt him suddenly freeze.

She didn't look at him but she could feel the atmosphere of discomfort between them, his knee pulled away from hers as he grunted, swallowing loudly, pointing her book towards her, holding it in his hand.

She reached for it with a trembling hand, and their fingers involuntarily touched, she had the feeling that his thumb had purposely run over her skin, as if in a gesture of apology, of comfort that made her want to cry, she felt goosebumps on her cheeks.

She put her prayer book back on her thighs, clasping her trembling hands on them, breathing hard, feeling as if he was mocking her, taking pleasure and satisfaction in what he could do to her, in how naïve she was.

She felt as, despite her mind's tremendous efforts, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly with her thumb, but they kept flying.

She saw his hand, which again laid stretched across his knee clenched into a fist, his fingers moving restlessly.

He knew she was crying because of him.

When the liturgy ended she stood up first and headed quickly for the door, not looking at him or her family.

When she turned into the field corner and knew no one could see her anymore she burst out into a loud sob, tired of her sisters, tired of this strange, variable men who played with her, who would never look at her or her family as equals.

She drew in a loud breath when she heard quick footsteps behind her and, thinking it was Royce, turned hopefully behind her. She turned pale and parted her lips with a sound of mournful despair when she saw him, breathing loudly, his hair in partial disarray, slipping out of its ribbon.

"Miss Baratheon. Forgive me." He mumbled, not believing himself that these words were coming out of his mouth, clearly surprised and ashamed of his own behaviour. "I have no idea what has gotten into me."

They stood before each other in silence, looking at one another with wide eyes, she struggled to calm her breathing, her trembling lips slightly parted in disbelief.

"I don't understand you, sir. I try, but I don't. You are cruel. You humiliate me and my sisters knowing that we do not stand in a position to oppose you. I would like to be your friend, but I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself." She almost wailed, shaking her head, looking at him with anguish, something flashed across his face, his brow furrowed, his lips tightened, he swallowed loudly, her words hitting something deep inside him.

She did not give him a chance to reply. She turned her back on him, seeing her family approaching, and set off towards her mansion, thinking with despair that she already felt sorry for whichever of her sisters this man would choose as his wife.

______

#taglist 3

214 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

Taglist 2:

The Pearl and the Sapphire

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • fem!reader]

[warnings: sexual tension, obsession, angst]

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Crystal EXPO was their company's most important annual event. The Targaryen family had been trading and selling precious ores and stones for decades, supplying major jewellery houses. Companies from all over the world flocked to this festival, traders like them looking for new customers and connoisseurs of exquisite jewellery looking around for outstanding makers and their creations.

That year Otto, as the head of their company's management, was to be accompanied by Aemond. Otto insisted that Aemond should also represent the family business physically and wear a sapphire exchanger instead of the artificial eye he wore every day.

Aemond felt that he would have made himself look ridiculous and attracted widespread attention, but his grandfather said he had to put it on and stop acting like a little baby.

He was furious and frustrated, but he managed to at least take Alys with him as his assistant. With her, he was able to vent his anger in different ways like when he fucked her so hard on the hotel bed, while strangling her at her request that he felt like he was going to pierce her stomach.

Alys loved the environment she was surrounded by. She loved his gifts, the sapphire earrings and necklaces she wore whenever she went out somewhere with him, to his satisfaction.

She was much older than him and he knew that their relation was her feeling that she could still please a younger man. Even after the first time he fucked her on the desk in his office, he had already specified to her what this acquaintance would be like.

She was to ask no questions and expect nothing from him.

This was not a relationship.

It was an exchange of mutual benefits that suited him. To her too, apparently.

His grandfather pretended not to see what was going on, nor did he say anything to his mother.

He did, however, warn him not to be a fool and fall in love, because this woman would squeeze all the money out of him. Aemond involuntarily burst out laughing at his words, his smile, however, did not reach his eye.

"Don't be ridiculous." He said with an amusement that elicited a grimace of embarrassment on his grandfather's face.

He felt a sense of satisfaction at the thought that it depended on his whim to decide what would happen to her, how many gifts and money she would get, whether she would feel beautiful or ugly, smart or stupid. She was a witty and bright woman, but not as much as she thought.

She knew how to fuck well, though, and she fulfilled his every whim without a word of objection.

Her presence was comfortable for him.

As always, there were jewellers exhibiting at the Crystal EXPO. They also often had the kind of shows where models presented their jewellery, which could then be admired up close at their big stands. These shows were often very elaborate and themed, with the audience sitting in a circle around them watching.

Aemond grew tired of these, usually boring and exaggerated, but his grandfather pressed him to go and see how their clients presented themselves and whether it was worth investing in someone new.

The Targaryen company worked most closely with the Lannisters, a company that mainly made jewellery from gold, which was their domain. Their small works of art cost crores, often reached for by big stars going on the red carpet or to some important events.

Their show was pompous and, for Aemond, downright embarrassing, baroque overkill circling his eye as models dressed in gold glittering gowns walked in front of him, the reflections from the columns of light falling on them making him have to turn his face away and close his eyelids once in a while.

In addition to them, the company that used the precious stones they bought from them were the Hightowers, who specialised in handling emeralds. Green was their dominant colour and, although the theme changed every year, this colour was their trademark.

After them it was time for the Baratheon family show. They were a small family business with centuries of tradition, specialising in making high-end jewellery reminiscent of the Victorian era.

Their works were a treat for connoisseurs, and although business-wise they had no interest in their family, Aemond had to admit that the pieces by Borros Baratheon and his son were some of the most beautiful he had ever seen.

He was surprised when the lights dimmed a little, changing to a warm colour, large vases of flowers placed all around. He leaned back comfortably in his chair and watched with interest as young models of essentially portrait beauty strolled around in exceptionally finely tailored attires from different eras, wearing jewellery that matched their colours, with calm music playing in the background that made him think of medieval royal balls.

He thought it was a very good marketing move on their part, he saw that he wasn't the only one impressed, the other guests were talking to each other about what they had seen with interest.

After a while, the music changed. It too sounded like something suitable for a court dance, however there was a much older sound. A couple emerged from the entrance dressed in renaissance costumes sewn with incredible for him details.

The attire of the young dark-haired, bearded and well-built men consisted of an elaborate black tunic over which was superimposed a chain with animal head motifs. He, however, could not take his eye off the girl who walked holding his hand.

Her gown was phenomenal, a brownish-blue, its bodice only beginning below her breasts, which were covered only by a thin white undershirt. Her buff-coloured sleeves were slit and tied with ribbons, with white fabric sticking out from underneath, he had the impression that the whole thing was made up of coloured stripes.

Around her neck hung a beautiful, delicate gold necklace of three teardrop-shaped pearls, complementing her sun-shaped earrings. Her dark hair was woven into an elegant braid, with the netting at the back of her head, characteristic of renaissance hairstyles, also interspersed with pearls.

There was something about her appearance, the way she gazed softly and warmly at the men standing before her, her barely perceptible smile, the glint in her eye, the lightness of her movement made him hold his breath.

He swallowed loudly when they suddenly began to dance, he felt as if he had been transported back in time and was in an italian renaissance mansion at a feast of one of the great princes of Florence or Milan, their movements unforced, fluid, graceful and respectful.

They made motions to the rhythm of the music moving in a circle so that everyone could see up close what they wore around their necks and hands. Only then did he see that there were beautiful rings on her tiny fingers, one of which had a sapphire wrapped in a gold leaf border.

The whole time he was looking at them his throat was squeezed, his heart pounding hard for some reason.

He wasn't sure he had ever been so enamoured of anything or anyone as he was of this young girl he had just seen before him.

Unlike the other models her facial expression was not indifferent or neutral, she was smiling all the way through as was her partner, she seemed to him to be really enjoying what she was doing.

There was something noble, at the same time proud and tender beaming from her person, something inviting, a kind of openness that by his nature was completely alien to him.

He wondered who she was.

Was she simply a model, or perhaps a dancer hired for a show?

Despite the fact that Alys was sitting next to him, he thought hard about what to do to make her end up with him that night in his bed.

He imagined how sweetly she would moan beneath him, how warm her gaze and touch would be, how much reassurance and tenderness he would have to put into caressing her body to win her trust and let him consume her.

He licked his lower lip involuntarily at the thought, Alys' voice leaning towards him snapping him out of his reverie.

"Beautiful costumes, don't you think?" She asked softly.

"Mmm." He muttered in reply, his eye did not leave her for a moment. And then suddenly it happened.

At one of their turns, as they shifted position and both turned their faces sideways from each other, she looked up at him.

He was sure their gazes met for a second and a great shudder went through him. He thought she must have seen the flash of his sapphire artificial eye and swallowed loudly at the thought.

Do it again, he thought.

Look at me again, give me assurance that this was no accident.

The music ended, there was thunderous applause all around him, he heard even Alys give her admiration in this way. He didn't clap, he looked at her intensely, playing involuntarily with his fingers extended on his armrest.

The men she was dancing with kissed her hand while saying something quickly to her, and she laughed and nodded, a lively joy on her face from which he felt discomfort.

Were they together?

And suddenly it happened again.

The men were speaking to her as they went to bow before the audience, and she froze in mid-answer when she saw his gaze from afar. She turned her head away, a microexpression of embarrassment passed across her face, through which she pressed her lips together and immediately went back to continuing her answer.

Aemond felt with shame that his thoughts were reflected in what was going on his trousers.

For all the shows that followed, he couldn't concentrate, staring blankly ahead, tense. He never looked forward to the opening banquet, finding it a tiring event that required talking to many people he hated.

This time he awaited it with eager anticipation.

When it was all over Otto told him about the shows he had enjoyed and surprisingly they appeared to have similar feelings.

"I think the Baratheons' idea was exceptionally apt and brilliantly executed. I'm sure a lot of their goods will sell out this year even before the event is over. His children did a great job at the end, you can see they are very supportive of their father every step of the way." He said with some kind of admiration, taking a sip of the coffee the waitress had literally brought him earlier. Aemond lifted his gaze at him, confused.

"What?"

Otto raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"That couple who danced at the end were his youngest daughter and only son. You can see right away, they resemble him, although this girl has more of her mother." He said lightly, but Aemond was no longer listening to him, looking dully at the coffee table in front of him.

This was not a model.

This was his daughter.

Fuck.

He pressed his lips together at the thought, feeling a tightening in his stomach.

He couldn't just fuck Borros Baratheon's youngest daughter.

"I have to say that their collection this year has made a special impression on me. I am considering whether to speak to Borros. He turned down my generous offer a few years ago, but I know he is conflicted with his current supplier. I admit that, despite our company policy, I would like to include him in our patronage. It would greatly enhance our prestige in the eyes of other clients." He said thoughtfully, and Aemond raised his eye at him. He answered him before he had time to think about what was coming out of his mouth.

"I'll talk to him." He said dryly and coldly in a tone his grandfather hated. He saw his disgruntled expression and continued, wondering in the back of his mind what he was actually doing.

"Since you haven't succeeded it's worth having someone else to try. I'll just talk to him and present him with options without any pressure." He explained quickly taking a sip of coffee between his words in an attempt to somehow alleviate the sudden dryness in his throat.

Otto pondered silently, looking at him suspiciously, his brow raised in indecision. He knew he found his behaviour strange; Aemond always took after the big shots and didn't deal with the lesser customers deeming them unworthy of attention.

After a moment, however, he nodded, letting out a quiet breath as he reached for his cup.

"Fine, but you can't insult him even if he refuses outright. Borros has an impulsive temper, but even if he is not our client we must remain on good terms with him." He said, looking at him knowingly, and Aemond nodded.

He was tense during the banquet. He tried to concentrate on what Alys was saying to him, dressed in a long, golden evening gown with a thigh-high cut-out, emphasising well her large, firm breasts which he had suckled so often, between them the sapphire necklace he had given her.

He couldn't enjoy the view, his gaze turned to the entrance all the time in suspense. He took a sip of the whisky he had ordered moments earlier to calm himself down. He nodded and answered "Mhm", swallowing hard when he saw her, she entered the room with her father and brother.

He was fascinated that she as well as her brother were still dressed in their costumes from the show, walking together arm-in-arm. He thought they were still fulfilling a marketing role for their father, there was no way they could show off his artwork better than on her long neck and fingers.

He watched as people came up to her and her family congratulating them on their success and wonderful performance, praising her dancing and her looks for sure. She looked around the room and met his gaze. She didn't look away this time.

She smiled.

So warm, friendly, light, as if they had known each other for ages, as if they had seen each other for the hundredth time.

There was comfort in that smile, some promise of solace and understanding, of peace. He felt uncomfortable and this time he looked away, taking a sip from his glass, realising how much his heart was pounding, his member betraying against his will what he thought of her.

He thought he should stop.

That he would hurt her.

He would use her, get bored and leave her.

That didn't stop him, after he'd fucked Alys in her hotel room as brutally as ever, imagining her lying beneath him, from finding her on every social media possible.

He had ghost accounts there, anonymous and without a profile picture, needed sometimes for private dealings. Now he felt like a regular stalker, but he decided he didn't give a shit.

He needed to find out more about her.

He easily found her on Facebook but, not being friends with her, he could see practically nothing. Apart from being relieved to learn that she was of legal age he found out very little. Frustrated, he tried on Instagram and pressed his lips together with a smirk seeing the hit.

Her account was very deliberate, consisting of photos of her figure, but usually backwards. There were also photos of her sewing and a whole host of historical gowns in which she herself posed.

He got curious and began to look through her photos reading the descriptions as well.

There she sometimes described her days, ideas or projects she was working on. It turned out that she designed and sewed costumes for producers of TV series and historical films at their request. Her father's money certainly helped her, but there was no denying that she had talent.

Her profile was satisfyingly aesthetic and thoughtful, dominated by blues, whites and pinks. As someone who read books on history and ancient kingdoms in his spare time, her interest seemed extremely intriguing to him. Like when she danced in her beautiful costume, he had the impression that she was transporting him skilfully to a particular era.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

The next day, sitting at the hotel breakfast table, talking to Alys about the day's plan and where she could squeeze his meeting with Borros in, he spotted her standing by the coffee machine.

Now he no longer had a sapphire in his eye socket, but his usual prosthetic eye, which, if it were not for the long scar half of his face at first glance, was no different from the real one. He felt more confident with this thought.

"I'll make myself a coffee." He said suddenly, rising, Alys furrowed her brow.

"I asked you if you wanted coffee when I made mine for myself." She said in surprise, but he sidestepped her and walked over to the table.

She didn't notice him at first.

She was leaning over an open box of various teas, part of her hair tied back with a blue ribbon, her body framed by a pretty, navy blue fitted strapless dress with small white flowers.

He wondered if she had sewn it herself.

Involuntarily, he reached for the free cup and set it under the machine. She twitched as she heard the clatter of dishes beside her and glanced up at him. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and saw the same warm smile on her face as when he had seen her at the banquet.

"Good morning." She said softly, noncommittally, looking down at her mug again, her choice was Earl Grey.

He lowered his gaze to the coffee machine, looking at it dispassionately, pressing the double espresso button. He felt a tightening in his chest at the sound of her voice, pleasant and smooth.

"Good morning." He replied dispassionately feeling as if it was obvious from his tense face that all night he had been browsing her Instagram account, reading and looking at all her posts several times each.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she had poured two teaspoons of sugar into her cup.

For some reason this didn't surprise him.

She looked at him and he pressed his lips together feeling as if she had caught him in the act. He felt he should say something, that watching her like that for no reason was strange to say the least, and she looked at him expectantly.

He'd been thinking about her for hours, and now that she was standing in front of him, he couldn't get anything out.

She dropped her gaze and smiled slightly. He felt embarrassed at the thought that she had seen his inner struggle, that she had noticed that she had gained his interest.

He felt like a fool.

He took his cup and wanted to walk away, but her voice stopped him.

"Your sapphire eye. It's beautiful."

He looked at her in disbelief, feeling a twist in his stomach at the thought of her taking notice, of her thinking about him, his scar, the fact that he had no eye.

That he was a fucking cripple.

He wanted to see pity and sympathy in her face, something by which he could look down on her or walk away. But her face was gentle and content, her gaze warm.

She turned her head and set her cup under his automaton, taking a few steps closer to him, his nostrils struck by her floral scent.

"Who made these for you?" She deepened her question, and he watched her alertly, coolly, wondering if he should tell her.

Did he even want to go into it.

He hadn't even told Alys about it, and she was a stranger to him.

"The Hightowers." He replied cautiously after a moment. The gaze of her bright eyes lifted to him again with curiosity, her dark lashes obscuring her irises slightly.

She nodded and did not speak again, evidently thinking she had exhausted the subject. He stared at her with clenched lips, watching as her cup filled with water, the liquid beginning to colour into shades of tea.

She would be going in no time.

He will never speak to her again.

"The jewellery you were wearing at the show. Will it be possible to see it up close?" He asked dispassionately and she looked at him surprised. She nodded with a slight, contented smile.

"Yes, of course. At our stand, they will be on display along with other works of my father and brother worn yesterday by me my sisters." She said softly, and he blinked, wrinkling his brow.

Were the other models her sisters too?

They both picked up their mugs seeing that another person had stood down in line to make their coffee and moved aside. He looked down at her and only then was struck by the height difference between them.

She was so petite.

So gentle.

It seemed to him that her skin must have been softer than velvet.

She looked up at him and smiled.

"See you later." She said lightly and he nodded practically invisibly.

She walked away towards the table where the rest of her family was already seated, and he swallowed loudly, only now feeling his throat dry up, his heart pounding like mad.

Their exchange had lasted less than three minutes and he was in a complete muddle. He returned to his table, Alys' gaze betraying that she had noticed their conversation.

"Are you being chatted up by little girls? I think she likes you." She said feigning indifference, the amusement in her voice on the edge of mockery from which he threw her a warning glance.

"What is your problem? Is menopause slowly getting to you?" He asked coolly and ironically, he didn't even have to look at her to notice how she froze.

Their age difference was the cause of her biggest complexes even though she pretended it didn't matter. He saw how she chose her make-up to cover the wrinkles that were appearing, how she chose her dresses and outfits to make her breasts distract from her neck.

Whenever she frustrated him, whenever she crossed the line he had set for her, he showed her no mercy. He knew she clung to him to make herself feel better, to have the satisfaction of keeping a young, rich, high-powered men with her to boast about.

She swallowed his words with difficulty, taking a bite of her sandwich, her cheeks red with rage and shame.

"I see she's carried you out of balance." She said inadvertently, and he set his cup down with a loud clack on the table, standing up, a cool displeasure mixed with a kind of disgust on his face.

"Send me my schedule to my email." He said and moved ahead without even turning around.

Stupid bitch.

Despite meeting clients and strolling around the stands with his grandfather, he kept looking around him nervously wondering if he would see her again.

Their conversation this morning had brought him out of his thoughts. He felt ashamed at the memory of not being able to get anything out of him, silent like a complete idiot.

When they reached their stand he was tense. He spotted her immediately, she was discussing something with some older woman showing her one of the rich ruby necklaces.

He thought he could reward her for how good and gentle she was, for the way she affected him, that when he looked at her he felt a tickling in his fingertips.

He thought he would love to visit her in her room and kneel between her thighs, see if she tasted there as sweet as she smiled.

He would drive her crazy just as she did him.

He didn't understand what was happening to him.

Why this desperation, this rush.

He stood with his hands folded behind his back looking at the showcases of rich, almost regal jewellery created with such detail that he had to consider them little works of art.

He glanced at her nervously, heard her brother with whom she had danced the day before mention her and say something to her quickly. She answered him something and he nodded. He froze when he saw that she had moved towards him, the warmth and contentment on her face.

"Come with me." She said softly as she walked past him. His legs spontaneously moved behind her.

They entered a dark small room in the middle of which stood a large illuminated table, on which lay her pearl necklace, earrings, apart form that tiaras, rings and a few other things decorated with sapphires.

She prepared a whole display for him.

"I heard that you wanted to talk to my father. He sent me away to discuss the matter with you." She said with surprising lightness as she walked around the table, looking at its contents thoughtfully.

He looked at her from a distance disbelieving what he had heard.

Was he supposed to set possible business terms with her?

The girl looked at him apparently anticipating his answer, but seeing his reaction she laughed heartily.

"Believe me, you'd rather talk to me than my father." She said amused.

His gaze escaped to the table and for a moment he wondered if they would be very audible if he sat her on it, slipped her panties off and started fucking her.

Would he have to press his mouth against her full, pink lips to silence her mewling as he stretched her tight, hot walls with his cock again and again.

He grunted, wondering what was happening to him, how he could think about such things right now.

"We'll talk on my terms." He said cooler than he wanted it to sound. He lifted a look of tension to her and met her uncertain, surprised gaze.

She waited to see what he would say.

"Tonight at 7 p.m. You, me, wine and a hotel restaurant."

_____

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The Impossible Choice (50)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • fem!reader]

[warnings: sex content, angst, smut]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

After talking to Royce, she felt much better. They hugged for the first time since their father's death and cried in each other's arms, sharing their pain at last. She felt relieved that Royce had opened up to her and not pushed her away despite his suffering, believing, as he always did, in her sincere and good intentions.

Her brother had revealed to her in shame that Lord Greyjoy and his granddaughter were to arrive in King's Landing for Prince Daeron's funeral, which was to take place the following day. Royce was apprehensive and embarrassed; he had experience with women, but only purely physical, kindly walks in the gardens were not in his nature. He feared that the woman from the Iron Islands would be coarse and insolent in her behaviour, humiliating him at every turn.

She was surprised to realise that her brother was asking her for advice in some ambiguous way, embarrassed, not knowing how he should behave. She thought long on her answer, not wanting to say anything hastily.

She thought about how she had felt when she had arrived at the Red Keep.

Like an object.

Sold to her future husband, who had the right to show his displeasure if she did not meet his expectations, having the right to possess her body even if she did not want it.

She realised reflecting on how lucky she was that her husband had such a weakness for her from the beginning. She knew that if Ellyn had been in her place, she would not have been able to stand it all and would have fallen into despair. She swallowed loudly at the thought.

"Put yourself in her place. A free woman comes to King's Landing to be enslaved and to meet her future master, like a slave. She can take three tactics: either to try to please you, or to distance herself from you, or to show you outright that she despises you and will never break. I distanced myself from my husband, wanting to show him that he doesn't have total power over me and that I don't need his affection to enjoy my life." She said thoughtfully, Royce looked at her with his lips clenched, embarrassed.

They had never discussed it.

"First of all, show her respect. Don't pay compliments or insult her with displeased looks or grimaces. Show her that you are a man of honour, strong and determined, but respectful of her boundaries. Show her that if she needs distance at first, sure as you are, you are able to offer it. Show her that you are not desperate to get her affection, but at the same time that if she desires to get close to you, you will give her a chance." She finally finished her statement by looking at him and smiled slightly. He sighed heavily, as if relieved, and massaged his forehead.

"Yes, you're right. I shouldn't be desperate. Gods, let her be at least a little pleasing to my eye." He muttered under his breath and sat back on his bureau, sighing. They looked at each other and smiled affectionately, comfortingly, as they always did.

Royce reached out to her and she gave him her hand, his lips pressed against her skin in an act of respect and brotherly love.

"My wise little sister." He said with pride and pain at the same time.

She left his chamber filled with hope for the first time in days. She felt that she had won both him and her husband back, and she needed nothing else for happiness. She looked down at her already slightly rounded abdomen and stroked herself, heading for her and her husband's rooms.

She stepped inside and immediately saw how sullen and tense he was, his healthy eye fixed on her as if to ask what she had been doing with her brother for so long. She tried not to show any amusement on her face at the thought that after a year of marriage, her husband was still jealous of Royce.

She recognised that she wanted to reward him for his trust, for trying hard to tame his possessive side for her.

"Do you wish to have a bath, my husband?" She asked quietly, and his gaze momentarily softened. This was their intimate time of greatest closeness, a moment just for them, where her attention was devoted to him alone.

He hummed under his breath and nodded practically invisibly. She summoned their servants and instructed them to fetch and fill the tub with hot water.

Her treatments worked. She saw him momentarily relax, his face expressing peace and relief as she pulled his eye patch from his head. She took her time washing his hair, rubbing it with her oils, her hands roaming his cheeks once in a while. She smiled under her breath, feeling him flinch slightly as she did so, pleasant shivers passing through him from her gentle touch.

"How is your brother?" He asked suddenly and she looked at him surprised, not expecting him to want to broach the subject. She figured she would simply answer truthfully, not wanting to give him the feeling that her attention was once again turning away from him.

She rinsed his hair with water one last time and went around the tub, sitting down next to him on the wooden stool, dipping her hand into the already not-so-hot water along with the cloth.

"He's trying to manage, but the new responsibilities are overwhelming him. He's afraid of marriage and he's afraid he won't make it as a commander. As a lord." She said quietly, wiping his arm slowly. She saw that his eye opened slowly, he looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.

"He's been preparing for this all his life." He said indifferently, however, there was no mockery or accusation in his voice.

She looked at him, wondering if he was trying to comfort her in this uncharacteristic way. She knew that getting the words out of him was difficult and time-consuming. She swallowed quietly, thinking about what he had said.

"You weren't afraid before we got married? After your father died?" She asked uncertainly, dipping her hand in the water again, and he pressed his lips together.

There was silence between them for a moment, and she was frightened that she had somehow offended or frustrated him. She wanted to add something already, but he preceded her and answered her first.

"My real father died in Eyrie."

She lifted her gaze to him, stopping in mid-motion, unsure if she had heard correctly. She analysed the sentence he had said in her head, but couldn't make out its meaning, her heart pounding like mad. Seeing her disbelief and confusion, he pressed his lips together in embarrassment, looking away. She heard him swallow loudly.

"I told him, then, when I threatened him, that even though my mother treats you as if you were her daughter, he doesn't treat me like his son." He said carefully, his voice trembling slightly at the very end of the sentence.

She felt a strong sting in her heart because she had never thought he was thinking of it that way. She was convinced that he and her father resented each other and tolerated themselves only for her sake.

It would never have crossed her mind that her husband could desire his favours, not after what he had said to him in Storm's End.

"− Aemond −" It came out of her mouth like a plea for him to stop, she felt tears welling up in her eyes again, her stomach clenched tight in pain.

She wasn't sure she could think about it now, after what had happened. Now that her father was no longer with them. Her husband, however, looked shaken, running his hand over his chin as he stared ahead with his eye wide open as if he was internally fighting something.

"Ever since that night when he saved me, I have imagined what would have happened if my father had sent me as he sent Daeron, only not to Old Town, but to Storm's End. If, after I had lost my eye, he had stated that I needed, as a future Lord Commander of my brother's army, to learn the art of war and battles, so that I could watch from the sidelines how the best army in Westeros, the Baratheon army, functioned." He muttered in one breath, as if the literal words were pouring out of him in a torrent, making her gasp completely for a moment.

She stared at him with her lips slightly parted, her hands on the edge of the tub involuntarily clenched into fists from stress and pain. She couldn't believe what he was saying, his words simultaneously rejoicing and hurting her.

"If Borros had shared with me everything he himself knew, if I could have trained in hand-to-hand combat with Royce, if I could…" He said and didn't finish, glancing at her again, as if only now remembering that she was really beside him. His gaze frightened her.

Broken, infinitely sad, deep.

"… get to know you sooner. Maybe then…" He muttered, his voice breaking so hopelessly that she felt like she was about to burst into tears.

"…maybe then I would have been a different person." He mumbled, burying his face in his hand, the way he said those words, their meaning so striking to her that for a moment she was at a loss for words, she breathed loudly through her mouth, her eyebrows arched in pain, her heart pounding like mad.

Her hand, by natural reflex, touched his shoulder, his face, stroking him, wanting to reassure him, soothe him, not expecting completely that he felt anything towards her father, that he felt something when he saw him die. This realisation came upon her suddenly and crushed her, his words and self-awareness startling her so much that she struggled to get any words out, on the verge of sobbing.

"− my beloved − I wish so much that this was true − I wish so much that I had met you sooner −" She whispered, letting her tears flow, tears of pain and relief, tears full of love for him, for the man she loved.

She wished that his dream could come true, that he could come to Storm's End when she was a child, that he could experience the comfort and affection of her father and brother, that he could truly be part of their family.

She thought it was a beautiful vision and that surely she would have fallen in love with him much earlier, that everything would have been different. Their first kiss, their wedding night, their whole life.

She squealed loudly when he got up suddenly from the water, grabbing her in his arms, getting out of the tub and heading towards the bed with her.

They were both breathing heavily, hugging each other tightly even though his body had soaked the entire front of her gown. He laid her down on the bed, kneeling over her and began to undress her, looking at her with a gaze she had never seen from him before.

He was vulnerable.

"− I would have taken you for myself sooner − I would have kissed you in the cold corridors of your father's stronghold −" He breathed out pulling her top gown off her. She felt a squeeze between her thighs at his words and immense embarrassment, she had the feeling that her cheeks had ignited with scarlet as she slipped her bottom skirt off.

She imagined them kissing somewhere in a dark alley of the fortress in Storm's End and felt moisture running down her buttocks onto the sheets beneath her.

She squealed quietly as her husband suddenly pressed his lips to hers in a pawing, possessive, desperate kiss, as if he himself was his thoughts in his imaginings.

His hands spread her thighs in front of him, he didn't even wait a moment, aroused as she was, her body trembled all over as she felt the tip of his manhood hungrily pushing against her entrance. He entered her with ease and she arched her back, a quiet mewl escaping her lips.

"− would you visit me in my chamber? − in my bed? −" He growled into her mouth, sucking and licking her lips, and she felt his question between in her thighs, her walls clenched tight against him.

He groaned feeling it, his hips sped up, fucking her quickly and chaotically with a loud slapping of flesh against flesh, bringing out her perverted, pathetic sounds.

"− yes, gods, you know I would −" She mewled embarrassed by her words, by the fact that she knew it was true, responding greedily to each thrust of his hips.

She was imagining that she had in fact come to him to take her, to give her pleasure, in secret from her father and siblings. She felt heat and a tickle in her lower abdomen.

She was humiliatingly close to fulfilment.

"− I would be your prince − brother − lover − fuck! −" He hissed, and she felt downright spasms of pleasure run through her body at what he was saying.

If someone else had said similar things to her she would have felt embarrassed, but now, with him, she wanted nothing more than for him to fuck her harder and faster, his member throbbing and swollen like never before, marvellously stretching her walls.

"− Aemond − oh gods −" She mumbled out with difficulty, feeling him speed up, sliding into her brutally and loudly, his hand clenched on her hip not allowing her to escape, his every movement rubbing a wonderful point inside her that made her head spin.

"− fuck, fuck, fuck −" He exhaled loudly, biting his lip as if what he was saying was his innermost desire, his darkest secret.

This realisation made her clench her eyelids shut and tilt her head back with a sigh, her insides began to clamp down on him frantically in an orgasm that coursed through her body like a storm, the moans and sobs that erupted from her throat were so loud that a part of her subconscious felt ashamed.

She was unable to focus on it, her misty eyes looked up at the face of her husband, who was looking down at her with parted lips, clearly having the same vision as her. She heard his throaty moan, his eyebrows arched as if in pain, and then she felt him come inside her, his hot semen filling her insides.

"− my sweetest − it's okay − it's okay −" He whispered tenderly trying to soothe her, she struggled to catch her breath, her body suddenly soft and light, numb.

"− Aemond −"

Prince Daeron's funeral was one of the most sorrowful events she had attended since her own mother's funeral. At the time, however, she had understood little of what was happening; now that realisation made her perceive it even worse. She felt sorry for her husband's family, she even felt sorry for Aegon seeing that he was unable to burn his younger brother's body.

However, in the end, he did.

She was surprised at how he addressed Helaena and how she addressed him.

It seemed to her that their relationship had warmed and she wondered if her husband shared this view.

Aegon had ordered a small feast for his family and guests who had chosen to honour his brother's death. As soon as they entered the great hall, however, her gaze was not focused on what was happening at their table, but on finding Royce.

She spotted him suddenly, seated next to some woman she was seeing for the first time, her black dress simple and elegant, her hair tied back in a simple bun, both of them drinking wine, looking ahead, but their lips were moving.

They were talking.

She thought the woman's face was pleasant and similar to their mother's, her hair and eyes dark. Her body was shapely and pleasant, she may not have been petite, however her figure was very feminine. She wondered hopefully if Royce would like her, if they would find common ground, however, it seemed that so far neither of them looked fazed or angry.

She shuddered as the door suddenly opened, one of the guards stepping inside and announcing that one of her sisters had just arrived at the Red Keep. She smiled broadly and corrected herself in her seat, confident that as the eldest daughter it was Cassandra who had taken on the role.

She felt a cold sweat on her neck and a powerful tightening in her stomach when she saw Floris, smiling under her breath, walking proudly down the stairs in a beautiful emerald gown with buff, slit sleeves, the neckline of her gown under her breasts covered by her undershirt, her hair combed into an intricate braid.

She dressed just like her.

She knew that this cut of dress had been worn by their mother and that each of their sisters had the right to wear it, that any woman could comb her hair in a similar way.

However, she was unable to stop the pain of humiliation that spread through her body; she felt that she was trembling all over. She glanced frightened at her husband, his hand soothingly stroking her lower abdomen, as if he knew what she was thinking, knew what she was feeling.

Was this how her husband felt when he looked at Luke? Was this what he felt when he thought of him?

The perpetually crushing, overpowering humiliation?

She watched helplessly as her sister, dressed shamelessly in the Hightower colours now that everyone was dressed in black wrapped Aegon around her finger, insulting her husband in the process. She watched as Aegon easily caught on to her tricks, watching her with eyes full of satisfaction. She knew what he was thinking.

She was similar enough to her to satisfy him.

She lowered her gaze at the thought, horrified. She cast an anxious glance at Royce and saw that he was looking at her too. They were both thinking the same thing.

She tried to eat something, but was unable to. She put down the spoon she'd used to take a few sips of the warm soup, clenching her lips together as she stared ahead, feeling her heart pounding as she heard Floris talking to Aegon on the side, pretending to settle with him how and when their father's body would be transported to Storm's End.

"…Of course I understand the rush, however, I want to pay your heroic father respect and a burial worthy of a king. I want to organise an entire retinue for him to escort him with you to Storm's End, my lady." He said softly and she rolled her eyes, feeling sick, frustration and tension filling her body.

She was furious.

"You are too kind, my king." Floris whispered in such a way that she clenched her eyes shut. She knew what she was doing, she knew what she wanted.

Floris wanted to land in the king's bed, and she didn't even realise how straight the road to it led.

She probably considered it her great success and achievement without even realising how many whores and servants Aegon had fucked so far, and his interest in her was because she was similar to the woman he had fallen in love with. She massaged her forehead at the thought, exhausted.

"Everything all right?" She heard her husband's low voice beside her and looked up at him, realising that for a moment she had completely forgotten about him. Her heart was pounding like mad. His gaze expressed something she had never seen before.

Concern.

"No. This is some sort of nightmare." She mumbled hiding her face in her hands, shaking her head. She saw the way Alicent looked at her sister, she knew what she was thinking about. And she was right.

They were at the young prince's funeral feast, having to pay their respects to him, and she was just seducing the king, much to his delight. She looked at Helaena and saw that she was staring blankly ahead, pretending not to see or hear anything.

She felt as if she was now feral and over-stimulated, unable to focus on anything. Her husband's hand again soothingly stroked her womb.

"Let's go to our chamber. You shouldn't upset yourself in your condition." He said remarkably softly for his usual way of speaking, having never seen her in such a state before. She wanted to deny it, to watch what would happen, but realised there was nothing she could do.

If her sister wanted to be a royal whore, that was her will.

She sighed heavily and nodded, then they both stood up, heading for the side entrance. Her husband let her go ahead, putting his hand on her back for a moment as if to let her know that he was there for her, that he understood what she was feeling.

"Brother, sister, are you leaving us already?" She heard Aegon's soft, surprisingly pleased voice. They both froze, looking at him and Floris standing a little further away, her sister looking at her with superiority. Aemond pressed his lips together at his words.

"My pregnant wife felt worse. She needs to rest." He said with emphasis on the fact that she was expecting his offspring, his child, and she immediately understood why he had done so.

Floris swallowed hard, looking down at her womb, only now noticing that indeed her abdomen was slightly rounded. She placed her hand there with contentment and smiled, feeling a pleasant wave of satisfaction.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me, sister?" She cooed, repeating words her husband had said to his brother.

She saw Aegon look at her shocked, his cheeks flushed. Floris swallowed loudly, the realisation of humiliation spreading across her face. She could almost sense how her husband's dangerous, menacing, wide grin stretched across his face at her question.

"Congratulations, dear sister. May the labour be easy." She said quietly, not looking at her just somewhere to the side on the floor, nodding.

She approached her elder sister slowly, placing her hand on her shoulder as if in a gesture of tenderness and closeness, her smile not leaving her face.

"I am sure that you too will soon live to see your child, sweet sister. From the righteous bed, I reckon." She said so softly and warmly that Floris smiled for a moment, only after understanding what her sister had actually said, the corners of her mouth slowly dropping in disbelief.

She heard behind her as her husband involuntarily snorted with laughter at her words, clearly delighted with his wife's behaviour and what he had taught her.

She threw a smile to Aegon, who swallowed loudly, clearly horrified at how easily she had guessed his thoughts, and turned, heading lightly towards the entrance, her husband walking a few paces behind her. She threw him a warm, happy look, amusement and pride on his face.

"My sweet wife can breathe fire." He muttered lowly, his eye glowing dangerously in the torchlight in the corridor around them as they walked. She looked ahead, her lips tightening.

"Fire and Blood."

_____

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