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marthawrites · 2 years ago

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SOOOO EXCITED FOR PT 3

Omgomgomgomg! I've already chatted your ear off in the replies but I'm reblogging too because you truly write so lovely!! I just wanna roll around in it!

Denial

by @flower-cage

Ao3 | Masterlist | Part 2 to Scratch That (but can be read as a oneshot)

Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary: He could never deny you anything.

Words: 6,250

Warnings: 18+ only; Targcest/incest, explicit sexual content, dry humping, wet humping, mutual masturbation, purity culture, smut, a lot of fluff, and a little bit of angst because I decided to create a plot for it.

A/N: Again, this is self-indulgent, unedited, and cursed.

Minors do not interact.

He could never deny you anything. It had been this way ever since you were children and he lacked things of which to deny you. It had been this way regardless of whether you demanded anything of him, for he yearned to give you the world regardless.

“You spoil her rotten,” your mother would often chastise him. “We’re fortunate she does not have a single evil hair on her head.”

For every drop of the blood of the dragon in his veins, in yours, you carried instead a holy nectar. If he burned with rage, you only ever burned with love. And it being so - you being entirely made of good - how could he ever neglect to treat you accordingly? How could he find it in his heart to ever give you anything short of everything?

And how could he neglect the preference you awarded him? For, in truth, he only ever repaid your care and gentleness. You loved him wholly, unconditionally, and despite that which made him feared and often hated. No amount of attention, servitude, or devotion would ever suffice the gratitude you deserved - the gratitude he had for you.

So when you had asked him for more of his touch, for more of him, he did not deny you. When you had confessed your grievances, he did not dare deny you treatment.

But he did force himself to finally leave the temptations of your luscious lips, to lay by your side in the afterglow of your lovemaking. And he pulled you along so you could bury your face in your favorite hiding place on the crook of his neck. There you stayed for long minutes, sweat drying on your skin. He held you as firmly as you clung to him, and you breathed in one another and reacquainted yourselves with the warmth of your embrace. Your silence did not trouble him, for satisfaction glistened your skin and tugged a smile on your lips.

“How do you feel?” he whispered against your hair eventually.

You graced him with loving eyes, a loving smile.

“Happy,” you whispered back, saccharine voice flavoring his mind too soon with the memories of your lubricious sounds. “Cared for... Loved.”

“You are,” he kissed you, sucking on your lips minutely if only to hear your breath hitch. “You are so loved, my little darling.”

“I missed you dearly, Aemond,” your words wavered as your eyes glossed over.

“I am here now,” he whispered, shushing you quietly in a kiss. His lips couldn’t be satisfied now they had tasted yours.

Adrenaline thrummed in his flesh still. He sensed his elation elevating him, transcending the sensorial limits of the mortal and into the realm of the Seven, where they had granted him almighty euphoria. And yet, distantly he felt the icy grasp of reality, reaching to steal him back with its sobering claws. Reactively, his hold on you tightened. He wasn’t ready to let go.

“Will you spend the day with me?” he asked against your lips when they disjoined. He felt your smile before you uttered your answer.

“Mother will request your company, too.”

He groaned, then, pulled you yet closer and buried his face in your neck, where his lips proceeded to abuse its sensitive skin. He wished to keep your tastes on his tongue until his very last breath. He wasn’t ready to let go.

“Request a bath and breakfast,” he instructed, “then dismiss your maids for the day. I will go and appease mother for a bit.”

Reluctantly, after engaging you in one last fervent embrace, leaving your eyes dark with desire, he left you in your immodesty: supple, warm, and delectable in the tangle of silk and feathers that had played field to your love.

When he made his way to his mother’s apartments, when she invited him to sit with her and break his fast, he told her that he must tend to his dragon, that he must take her to the skies and bond with her some lest she becomes too aggrieved by his prolonged absence. He gripped his hands firmly behind his back, feet planted wide and strong against the ground - her keen eyes would have observed his fidgeting too easily otherwise, and hold him yet longer until he confessed his wishes for hastiness.

“Do you know who is most aggrieved by your prolonged absence?” she looked at him poignantly over the rim of her teacup. Her unusually slow drawl irked him, and he wondered if she could still see his unwillingness to remain, if she amused herself with his torment. “Your youngest sister,” she answered her own question.

Often she inquired about the time he spent with you or sought excuses to include your name in conversation, watching carefully for denouncing reactions. Had he been a lesser man he would not notice the mildly ominous tone, the inquisitive gazes that accompanied these enunciations, or the travesty of curiosity that attempted to mask her true intentions.

Though he perceived that your closeness was strange to her, and perhaps to the entire court, never had she made her accusations too apparent, nor her smartly-concealed investigations too intrusive. Too greatly she trusted his dutifulness and, most of all, her own success in nurturing such quality. And you… your loyalty to him surpassed that which you reserved for your mother. He knew she had never attained a single damning remark from the mouth of her purest, sweetest little girl. He had made sure of it.

“Brother,” you had looked up at him one day, “why is it that we must hide our affections?”

A torrential tempest had brought unusually icy weather and heavy clouds which enshrouded the entire city for nearly seven days and seven nights. They shielded the light and the warmth of the sun, and only scarcely could day be told from night. During those days, he could not train with the sword, you could not share your tea in the gardens with your ladies, and neither of you could fly off on dragonback. Instead, you had bundled up in his chambers for many hours each day, studying your shared subjects and drinking honeyed wine. He read you obscure myths of the ancient North, dark tales of giants and skinchangers, until you became too scared to continue, begging him for lighter reading.

When you expressed your curiosity, mellow voice breaking him from his light rest, he had his back against the settee in front of the fireplace, keeping you on your preferred seat: amid his legs, against his chest, within his embrace. He leaned closer silently, and silently he littered your exposed shoulder, your neck, your cheek in devoted kisses.

“It is not proper, little love,” he purred against your soft, soft skin. Not unless we wedded, he wished to say, to entice you with such reflections.

“But why?” You giggled when he persisted in keeping his lips on your most ticklish spot, squirming away vainly.

“It is just the way things are, my love,” he ceased his torture, tilting your chin backward to secure your attention, “and you are not to speak of it either, understand? To no one. It is exceedingly vulgar to do so.”

When you nodded, wide eyes watching him gravely, adoration crept up his chest and his gut to leave fiery, fluttering sensations in its wake. Only the endless stream of kisses and caresses that followed as you rolled around on the plush carpet could have subsided it. He pressed his lips to your plump bosom, ran his eager fingers up your thigh, under your slip, eliciting giggles and gasps that boiled his blood with lust.

“Good girl,” he purred close to your face, his loose hair cascading around his face to enclose you, to make you his sole focus, the center of his entire world. He watched your giddy eyes, your juvenile smile, your lashes as they brushed the top of your flushed cheeks so delicately. “This is for our eyes only.”

When you dug your fingers into his hair and pulled him down gently to seal your lips together, he had to unite all the strength of his fimble character not to sink his cock inside you and drive you to the brink of insanity with the pleasure you deserved.

“I shall make sure to stop by her quarters, then,” he anchored his countenance in its stony preset, “sometime today.”

She watched him with those skeptical eyes for a heartbeat longer, nearly breaking his unimpressed resolve, before a saddened nod gave him leave.

He found you already sitting neck-deep in hot water, hair bound away from your shoulders, and absent-mindedly playing with the waning foam floating on the surface. He would never tire of how you lit up when your eyes first landed on him, whenever he walked into a room.

“I want to wash your hair!” you exclaimed, hands rising from the water to beckon him in urgently, splashing drops onto the ground in your excitement.

His clothes went quickly, for he loathed to deny you of anything, to join you in the steaming scents of your bath. And you were quick to bury soapy fingers into his silver strands, coarse still with the salt of the Narrow Sea.

He delighted in your attentive touches, only partially listening to your prattling about the time you had spent with your sister Helaena in his long absence. Each gentle pull of his hair, each glide of your naked thighs against his, and the delectable sight of your breasts resting against the tightly-bound surface of the water held his attention too fiercely.

His gaze remained locked on your nipples as they pebbled in the cold air above the water. He watched as a drop slid too slowly down the curve of your breast to gather at the very tip of your little darkened button. His tongue tingled as it wished for that same fate. His subsequent hunger flooded his mouth, parted his lips so that he nearly drooled like a mindless beast. His fingers ran up your slippery legs of their own accord, squeezing the supple flesh of your hips to hear your breath catch, fondling your behind to hear your speech falter. They ascended along your torso, turning your skin rough with goosebumps until his thumbs poked through the water to find your wanton buds. He smiled when a gasp was ripped from your lips, as his thumbs traced the most sensitive encircling of your breasts.

“You like how I touch you, my little love?” His gaze locked onto yours to take in your desperate lust.

You nodded rapidly.

“Tell me,” he purred, inching closer to suck on the warm skin beneath your jaw. Again, your breath caught in a gasp.

“I love your touch, brother,” you whimpered, squirming on his lap at the continued, delicious abuse to your pulse point, to your plump bosom, nearer and nearer to where he wanted to taste the most.

“Kiss me?” you pleaded, hands pulling on his wet hair as you struggled against your own hunger.

He could never deny you anything.

Gladly he took your tongue in his, languorously gliding one against the other, each sensual stroke leaving in its wake a stream of sparking sensations that translated into pleasure as it traveled down your bodies, only to pool between your legs. Lost in the daze of your desire and in the steam of your affections, you embraced for long minutes whence time seemed not to pass but hang around, permitting you the pleasure of each other’s passions.

“I have dreamt of loving you in this way many a night,” he panted roughly when you broke off, staring into your lust-darkened eyes and wishing for you to see the depth of his desire, “but not even my most nefarious fantasies conjured the satisfaction you gift me.”

Your lips, wet and bruised from his devoted kisses, parted in awe of his confessions. And your eyes, as they often did, glistened as your emotions overcame you.

“And yet,” he pulled you flush against his chest, grunting when his achingly rigid member pressed against your stomach, “I crave you only more.”

He groaned again when your mouth collided with his, your inexperienced tongue all too eager in exploring his mouth, learning how to please. But too soon you deprived him of your succulent lips, breaking away to look at him with trepid determination.

“Will you teach me,” you whispered abashedly, glancing quickly down between you, where the tip of his cock hid underneath a few inches of water, “how to satisfy you? How to… how to pleasure you?”

His hands squeezed your supple flesh in desperation, then, pulled you impossibly closer, drawing the most wanton moans from you as his fingers moved from your waist to your thighs, to your hips and your buttocks, then back again. Biting kisses assaulted the delicate skin of your breasts, the flat of his tongue finally rolling your sensitive nipples vehemently, lips trapping them in deliciously lewd sucking.

“You wish to touch my cock, little sister?” he murmured against you, making you shiver, hardened nipples grazing against his lips.

Again, you nodded, biting your tongue in shame of your cravings.

“Tell me, my little love,” he purred, watching you with an adoration much more appropriate for less lascivious interactions, “my little darling…,” but your free deliverance to him, to your desires, amazed him too greatly. “Tell me what you yearn for so I may give it to you.”

“I wish to touch…” your voice waned as your bravery to break boundaries faltered minutely, “I wish to touch your cock,” you whispered finally.

The very object of your desires twitched beneath the waters, under the decadent want etched in your words.

He could never deny you anything.

He blessed each of your knuckles with his lips before he guided your pliant hands toward where he burned for you the most. Through the rippling surface, his swollen tip could be seen slowly dripping his precocious pleasure, pulling tight at the encircling skin and leaving it exposed.

He led your fingers down his shaft, hissing, nearing the threshold of his composure, wrapping them around the very base to encase him fully.

“Move them all the way up,” his voice was laced heavily with arousal as he instructed you, noses touching, lips tempting one another.

Your wide eyes glanced quickly between your task and his own eye before you acted on his commands. He exhaled shakily when the tight ring of your hands brushed over the head.

“Now all the way down.”

His hips bucked up when your hands pulled at the skin. He knew he would finish soon. For many years he had fulfilled his urges with the mere thoughts of sharing with you this carnal bliss. Now, the very connotation of your actions, the implication that you craved him in return, that you wished to pleasure and be pleasured by him, elicited a thrill, an arousal he suddenly did not know how to tolerate. It brought him so close to the brim of ecstasy, your touches could too easily push him over.

He watched, entranced, your arms encasing your breasts, jostling them most appetizingly as you stroked his pulsating member until he could no longer bear it. His head lulled backward to meet the edge of the tub when his vision blurred, when his pleasure turned excruciating, when his cock burst undone finally, peaking his arousal and releasing him into blissful relaxation. Groaning, he gripped onto your plump hips while his own twitched with the final waves of his arousal.

You peaked fast, too, when he brought his fingers to slide between your slick, sensitive folds. He swirled your sweet, swollen pearl of pleasure until you squirmed against his chest, whimpered against his neck brokenly, whined his name like a mantra, accepting the release he granted you.

“Was I… Was it to your liking, dear brother?” You mumbled timidly when he helped you out of the cooling water.

His sweet little sister - always concerned with pleasing him, loving him. It never failed to evoke a sensation like the bursting of bright light in his chest, nothing alike the Dragonfire of his rage, but pacifying and liberating like flying. He smiled despite your worry, his warm hands cupped your face and his lips met yours in an imitation of your very first kiss.

“You were entirely perfect,” he murmured. He brushed your noses together before he took your lips again, and his kiss was full and passionate until he tasted salt dripping onto his lips. “I love you more than anything, little darling.”

After wiping tears from your cheeks, he dressed you in his gift left abandoned on your bed. You had unwrapped it eagerly to reveal a lavender satin slip and robe, and he was all too eager to watch the fabric slide along your soft skin.

In his arms is where he kept you until the sun rose again the next morrow, where you shared your meals, where you heard the stories he brought from abroad, and where you finally drifted off in the dead of night.

He had not known what to expect of you when he finally introduced you to the wonders of carnal affections. Too long he had been too careful of releasing his entire devotion onto you, had been too controlling of his cravings in his consideration of your trust and, perhaps most primarily, your innocence. So long, in fact, he failed to perceive when you had slipped away from the limitations of your minority and into the sensorial complexity of womanhood. Your persisting girlish disposition, too, masked the maturity which developed in ways he was slow to perceive.

No longer did the youngest Targaryen opt for sweet teas to accompany her meals, preferring instead to share with her siblings a jar or two of strong red wine. A couple of times, even, he had retrieved you from Aegon’s apartments, where you stumbled on your feet and around your words after an evening of too much indulgence. No longer did your Septa chase you around for your lessons in womanly courtesies, and neither had you any interest in plush dolls, preferring instead to collect elegant jewelry. Sure, your eyes glistened still at his professions of love and simple scoldings alike, but your smile now turned devilish when his hands ventured into intimate territories.

He sat in his study one night shortly after his journey to the Dornish capital, working diligently on too many tasks left unattended. The future King had continuously failed to pick up on his responsibilities, choosing instead to pick up his cups and his whores and leaving to him the kingly duties whose concessions he would never reap. Although it sometimes irked him immensely, he had long learned from his own mother that those unprivileged in the familial hierarchy - the women, the second sons - had to shield themselves with knowledge. In her hypocrisy, however, she had kept you from that notion for the same reason he had concealed from you the true decadence of your affections, the true necessity for secrecy - so that she may make use of your naiveté.

Although, he reminded himself often, he had so far only brought you love and pleasure. Had only ever failed to deny your every whim.

He was most intrigued, then, when you had walked in late that night, wearing still your court-appropriate dressing gown and missing the jolly skip you often carried in your feet, to reveal your most recent occupations. When you plopped down silently on his lap, tucking your feet between his thighs and your nose under his jaw, he held you close in his arms.

“And where have you been off to?” he asked, burying his nose in your braided hair to breathe in your lovely scent, allowing it to wash away the tension that had stiffened his shoulders.

“Hm? I haven’t seen you all day,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, descending his lips to the side of your face and your neck, littering your skin with soft kisses. “And you were not there when I came to your chambers to kiss you goodnight. I’ve missed you.”

His intimate confession made you sit up in his embrace, smiling at him sheepishly when you pressed your lips to his.

“I’ve been helping mother write letters to the entire Realm,” you pouted at him, jutting out your bottom lip. The gesture is one of many that often had him forget how much you have grown.

When you raised your fingers to show him ink stains and raw skin resulting from your efforts, he took them to his lips, kissing away the pain with as much gentleness as he could muster in light of his rough nature. Yes, he thought to himself once more, whereas his mother abused your generosity, he only ever reciprocated.

“My poor, sweet girl,” he pecked your pouting lips, willing them to upturn once more, but they stubbornly remained the same.

He reached for a vial of ointment he kept on his desk, warming the viscous substance between his fingers before massaging it onto your aching joints. You hummed appreciatively, hissing only when he pressed against the most sensitive spots, melting back into his embrace, and nuzzling back into the crook of his neck. Blindly you reached for the leather band that covered his sapphire eye, freeing him from its binding to reciprocate his affections, rubbing the angry red dents the rough material always left behind when he neglected to remove it.

“And grandsire has made me sit at small council meetings in your absence.”

He stilled beneath your touch. Your sudden inclusion into court affairs was most unusual, and his mother and grandfather's intentions were seldom not part of greater schemes. He tilted his face into your palm, planting a kiss there to mask his uneasiness.

“Do you know why?”

He felt your attempt to bite down a mischievous smile against his neck, but soon you broke into delighted giggles, sitting up with the force of them. His worry was alleviated momentarily, warmed by the return of your high spirits, even if they had come at his expense. He had missed your angelic aura terribly in the long nights he had endured in the kingdom of endless sand. The sight made something burn within him, made him want to give you everything. His own smile broke out on its own accord.

“Come here,” he pulled you back to his chest when your incessant giggling threatened to topple you off his lap. “Are you laughing at me, you impish little girl?” he asked playfully between gritted teeth, eliciting more laughter to fall from your lips.

“No!” you exclaimed, hands framing his face. “I merely wished to keep it a secret a while longer… make it a surprise…”

“Make what a surprise, my love?” He pecked your lips, squeezed your sides to hear you squeal. “C’mon,” he hummed.

“We are going on a procession across the Kingdoms, you and I!”

He frowned, and with it, his amusement faltered.

“It is why I’ve been helping at court,” you mumbled, fiddling with his shirt collar as you noticed his vacillation. “Mother said it would do me well to know the Realm better,” you continued, worry pulling a pout from your lips again, flooding your eyes with the threat of tears, “and to impress the great Houses when we pay them visit.”

To know the Realm better. To know the lords of the Realm better. Icy dread filled his gut as his heart dropped to his stomach. Of course, as he failed to acknowledge your maturity, your mother had been quick to take advantage of it, planning to sell you off in exchange for political preference at your first signs of womanhood. He didn’t want to wonder how far negotiations had gone during his absence - how soon you were to be taken away from him.

“And I requested that you join as my protector,” you explained, moving your hands from his jaw to wrap around his shoulders, breaking him out of his misery. “So that we may see the Kingdom together, see all the places we always read about.”

He met your eyes again - kind, hopeful, loving. You were his. You chose him. You loved him. No one would take you away, he wouldn’t allow it even if he had to burn the entire world to secure it. He couldn’t allow it, for no one would ever love you as he did, no one would bring you such happiness. He took your lips in his desperation to assure himself you were entirely his, fingers digging into the thick layers of your dress as if you were about to bolt out the door, never to return.

“Will you accompany me, then?” you asked him when you broke apart, panting, lips glistened, eyes hooded. “Will you protect me?”

“Of course, my love,” he whispered where you shared your breaths. “Always.”

He would never deny you anything.

He had not known what to expect of you when he finally introduced you to the wonders of carnal affections. And he certainly did not expect you to match his desire, to crave and demand him. But you did all of that. And he reveled in it.

You were the first to pull away from his lips, to lean over and run your tongue and teeth over the spots on his neck that shot pleasure downwards, having it pool on his stiff member. You ground yourself against it as it speared up easily against his cotton pants and all that he could do was hiss and cant his hips to meet yours. It drove him wild, your free exhibition of pure want, and he was left panting, moaning shakily, and simply waiting to see what else you would request of him.

You brought his hands to your thighs, to the edges of your bunched-up skirts.

“You want me,” he begged even though he hadn’t posed a question, “you love me.”

His voice trembled as he whispered into your parted lips, amidst kisses so deep they threatened to reach for his soul and bare it before your eyes along with every sin and weakness of his frail, mortal character.

“I do,” you whimpered, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as a plethora of emotions inundated you from within, “I love you, Aemond.”

It was his turn, then, to draw shaky moans and pleased gasps from you as he brought his hot, wet tongue to your jaw, your neck. He gripped the flesh of your hips from beneath your skirts, rolling you against him. With each movement, his shaft bumped your swollen pearl and pressed along your most sensitive inner lips, even through the remaining layers, slowly leading you both into ecstasy.

He brought his lips to your ear lobe, sucking on it before moving on to dip his tongue in the shell of your ear, nipping at it and loving the way your body shivered violently against him.

“I love you more than anything, little darling,” he purred.

Fervently you squirmed on his lap, whimpering unabashedly, tits pressing onto his hard chest, fingers gripping too tightly onto his hair, hips uncontrollably delivering your weeping cunt onto his pulsing cock. As his eyes drifted shut he could easily imagine himself sinking between your slick lips to be enveloped by your tight, virgin walls, reaching the spot which would provide you with the utmost pleasure.

Your renewed vigor drove him yet again too close to the limits of his sanity. He reached for your smallclothes to tear them apart, undoubtedly leaving bruises where they snapped open on your skin because he couldn’t bear the idea of separating from you for even a second. And he could not control his urge to slip his fingers into the slippery mess you made for him, its heat burning the tip of his fingers. He refrained, however, to bring your juices to his lips, for the first time he tasted it he wanted to have his face buried in your eager cunt.

Lifting your hips from his momentarily, he freed his cock from its cloth trappings - aching in his immense arousal, head angry red where it swelled and pulled tautly the skin around it, dripping continuously down his thick shaft. He watched your lips fall apart, glistening with his own spit when he stroked himself earnestly to relieve him of his bestial appetite. Your eyes trained on his member as he abused it, and he wished for nothing more than to sink it between your soft lips, and have you moan around him as his taste dripped onto your willing tongue.

“See anything to your liking, little sister?” he groaned, then chuckled when your eyes met his, widening in shame. “It’s alright to think so, my love,” he reassured.

“It looks hurtful…” your widened eyes returned to watch his vigorous fisting.

“Does it hurt when I do it to you?”

Before you could shake your head in denial, he released his hot shaft to bring his fingers instead to your button of pleasure, wet and swollen with want.

“Oh, oh, oh,” your little gasps tumbled out uncontrollably as his fingertips flew against you, merely grazing your little button, but the touch so fast it vibrated it into excruciating euphoria.

The wet sounds of his rapid ministrations were exceedingly obscene in the silence of his study. Your whines turned into yelps as you bent forward with the intensity of your bliss, and even though it didn’t allow you to sit still, his relentless fingers never detached from your cunt as you squirmed continuously. Your pleasure crept up and up into your little pearl, gathering there and making it increasingly sensitive until it finally burst out in long, tortuous waves. Each electrifying discharge undulated throughout your body, tingling your skin in its wake and jostling you forward against him. You clung onto him desperately as he forced pleasure to overtake you.

No sooner had you reached your peak did he bring the tip of his cock to continue the abuse to your sensitive, little button. You whimpered against his neck in your overstimulation, but he pulled you by your hair to reconnect your lips and, with great patience, he dragged you back to the precipice of intoxicating arousal.

“Aemond,” you whined against his lips, and he took the moment to appreciate you in all your debauched, ethereal beauty: lips puffed, eyes glossed over, hair coming undone from its binding to stick to your sweaty face and neck, eyes impossibly wanton.

“Do I make you feel good, little darling?” he grunted, hand flying once more along his shaft. “Will you give me another one?”

He moved his thumb to your pleasure button, swirling your stickiness diligently.

“Yes!” You exclaimed around startled gasps when he lodged his dripping tip into your cunt, pressing and teasing against the thin barrier that kept your maidenhead. As he fisted himself furiously, his engorged head quivered against it, threatening to push further, catching on the edges of your entrance deliciously.

“Be still,” he grunted behind gritted teeth as you attempted to throw your cunt backward and take in more of him. Lest I break into your innocence, he thought mournfully.

You chanted his name again and again at the cresting of the foreign, delirious sensation as it amounted to the shocking pleasure of his thumb against your pearl. And when you peaked you did so violently, wailing and trembling, hands grasping onto wherever part of him you could reach for support. And it was the fluttering of your little opening, squeezing the very tip of him that sent him tumbling over the edge with you. He shuddered as he did, as he watched his spent paint over your swollen cunt, trickle down your thighs.

A muffled chuckle brought him out of his reverie as he held you and delighted in the scorching warmth you shared, in the bliss of your impassioned embrace. At his gentle pull on your hair, you sat up to regard him, blinking slowly as fatigue took over.

“That was…” you sing-songed, playing with the ends of his hair, “lovely.” You graced him with a mischievous smile, not as ashamed of your lewdness as you once were.

“Hm?” he teased back. “I thought it was fantastic.”

You broke into a fit of giggles yet again, dropping yourself back onto his chest. He held you through it, allowing you to ride the wave of delight he had caused you, grateful for the lightness of your spirit. When it dwindled, at last, you sighed heavily.

“Tired, my love?” he whispered.

“Incredibly so.”

With his remaining strength, he lifted you in his arms and carried you over to his bedchamber, connected to his study. He helped you into your night slip and unknotted the remaining braids on your hair. And it was much later as you drifted off between his arms that he felt your lips move against the column of his throat.

“I hoped that you would enjoy the idea of us leaving court for a while…” you mumbled, “just the two of us… I think we will have a lot of fun.”

“You are right, little love,” he whispered back, allowing himself to imagine a world where neither of you was bound by your duties to the Realm or to your family, where you traveled on dragonback collecting stories. “I think we will have fun.”

“So I have been debased to parading our little Princess around the Realm, for the pleasures of noblemen?”

He confronted his mother the very next day when she broke her fast in her apartments. He kept his anger to a subject comfortable to her - his humiliation - rather than revealing his true hatred. She merely sighed heavily for a moment, fixing on him a gaze as steady and unbreakable as his own. She let out as little as he did in her countenance, and they fought a silent battle for a while before she sighed again.

“She was the one to request your company,” she waived her hand dismissively, pausing to sip her strong tea, “and never have I known you to deny her anything. So yes,” she argued, “I assigned you to protect her.”

He looked away in his annoyance, unwilling to admit the loss, humming pensively.

“But if you wish not to do it,” she continued, “I can easily assign instead a member of the Kingsguard-”

“You know none else would protect her as well as I,” he was quick to cut through her reasoning.

“Good,” she stated, breaking into a piece of bread, “because that is not your sole mission for this procession.”

She wiped her hands on her napkin before reaching into a hidden pocket in her skirts and pulling out a small roll of parchment. He was hesitant to open it, but she urged him with a raise of her brows that left no room for argument. Its contents halted the easy passage of air into his lungs.

Jason Lannister. Wilfred Westerling. Edwyn Tully. Joffrey Arryn. Daenal Darklyn.

The list went on and on.

“Those are the lords your grandsire and I have deemed most worthy of your sister’s hand,” she added casually as if she had no intention to give his entire life over to some petty lord far away. “And who have made the largest bids… so far.”

“Most are much too old for her,” he managed to spit out, his throat constricted at her implication that, in the end, the highest bidder he could find would be allowed the privilege to purchase you… to marry you.

“She is of age,” his mother argued, picking at slices of apples and oranges on her plate. Her continued casualty in the matter boiled his blood. She seemed untroubled, even eager to rid herself of you. He could not bear the mere thought.

“Barely,” he countered.

Finally, she desisted of her meal to regard him gravely again, sighing as if the weight of the Realm rested on her shoulders.

“You know what is coming,” she muttered, mindful of the few servants who walked in and out of her chambers. “Each day your father’s health declines and we approach the day when the line of succession will be contested.”

It was his turn to sigh, then. He knew this.

“You know this will happen regardless of whether we place Aegon on that throne,” she carried on. “The Realm will rather burn than bend the knee to a woman who sired only bastards.”

She rose from her seat of comfort to take his arms in hers, holding his gaze steadily, gravely.

“We will not survive unless we have strong supporters,” she whispered, her voice wavering.

His grip on her tightened as he matched her vehemence. He knew this.

“I will ensure we come back with great allies,” he determined. But I shall do it my way.

Satisfied with his answer, she turned and walked back to her dining table, and he turned to take his leave.

“Make sure you find yourself a wife in the process, will you?” Her tone was casual again, as if her previous intensity was but a mask meant for manipulation. “It is past the time you, too, wedded.”

He hesitated at the door shortly, with a hand against the wood, and did not look back as he answered.

“Yes, mother,” he hummed, “I shall come back with a bride.”

A/N: there will be a Part 3.

#other peoples writing #aemond targaryen #mind the tags #seriously love this so much #its gross

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