#sweet aemond

[sophie-looks-at-stuff]

The Dragon and the Dragon-less

Pairing: Aemond x Strong niece reader

Summary: The night Aemond had lost his eye, his sweet niece was the only one to provide him any sense of comfort. Many years later, when she returns to Kings Landing with her family, what should become of the two? ;)

Warnings: bad ship terminology (idk boats y'all sorry), Rhaenyra being kind of a bad mom (love her tho), Targcest/incest, softer Aemond, smut in the dragon pits, this one is kind of long haha

AN: Hey y'all! Since my first fic seemed to be received so well (thanks so much to everyone for that:) I decided to write another one! I'm staying on the Aemond train since I've never left it since day one haha. Let me know tho if there are any requests!

PS: I haven't gone through and totally edited this so don't mind the spelling or grammar issues if there are any!!

It had been awful, you remembered hearing the screaming and shouting from your chambers. The screeching having woken you up from a rather pleasant dream about eating cake–

In nothing but your night clothes, and a quilt draped around your shoulders, you padded down the chilly hallways of Dragonstone. 

“ – it was my sons who were attacked!” You hear your mother yell. Concerned you took a few more steps forward, finally able to make out the scene before you. Your mother and your brothers to one side, while Alicent and her boys on the other, the fire raging in the hearth between them. 

Your wide lilac eyes meet those of your stepfather, Prince Daemon, he reaches a hand out towards you as if to say “Come here”. Your feet did not move, rooted to the spot, eyes glancing around the room once more. You see something you hadn’t noticed before, Aemond, in the corner of the room, surrounded by maesters. A hand over his eye, thick, sticky fluid oozing from between his small fingers. Gasping, your own hands fly to cover your lips, perhaps to muffle the noise, or maybe to tame the scream building in your throat. Aemond’s healthy eye meets yours, pain, sadness but most of all fury over taking his features. 

Just then your mother turns to meet you, her gaze worried and frantic, “My sweet girl! You should return to your chambers this is no sight for you dearest,” her hand, also bloody you notice, rests above her heart.

“Mother, w-what has happened? Aemond, h-he, is he alright–” You begin to question, Daemon takes a step towards you and you take one forward into the room. Your concerned gaze flits over to Aemond once more. Despite the fire in the hearth, the chill of the room has set into your bones, causing you to pull the quilt tighter around your shoulders. 

“Come now byka zaldrīzes (little dragon) let us return you to your quarters. Aemond will be fine,” Your father attempts to comfort you. Maybe you are too tired to argue, or too shocked, your mind still attempting to comprehend what has happened. But you let your father guide you back to your chambers, the quilt trailing behind you like a cloak. 

With a lullaby and a pat on the head, Daemon bids you good night once more. Closing the door softly behind him, his heavy footsteps receding off into the distance, presumably back to your mother and brothers. It feels like hours as you stare at the ceiling, listening, straining your ears for even just a morsel of information. But the halls beyond your door remain as silent as the grave. The chill in your bones is stubborn, making you shiver. Sitting up and swinging your feet over the side of the bed, you wrap the quilt around your shoulders once again. As silently as possible, you open the door, the hall is empty save for the torches lining the walls. You’re bathed in the fiery orange glow as you step fully into the hall. 

You’re not quite sure where your feet carry you until you turn the corner and are met with Ser Criston Cole. His tall stature taking up the door frame of the young prince's room, his gold cloak behind him like an inverse shadow. It’s not until you come to stand in front of him that he addresses you. 

“Princess, you should not be here. You should return to your chambers,” He looks down his nose at you. Your knuckles turn white from the tight grip you have on the quilt.

“Please, Ser, I must see the Prince. What has happened to him? I must know if he is alright–” 

“Your brothers have maimed him. Who’s to say you aren’t here to do the same? Perhaps your whore of a –” The door behind him creaks a bit, one of the maesters appears in its place. Bloodied rags and a needle are held in his hands. He sighs “The prince says she may pass Ser Cole,”

With one last look of annoyance and a warning mumbled under his breath, the knight lets you pass. The room is dark, lit only by a few candles on the bedside table. Aemond’s hunched form lays on the bed, the blankets up to his chin. As you make your way closer you can see the true horror of what has happened this evening. Where his eye once was, now lays only marred flesh, red and angry, the stitches pull at the swollen skin. You gasp, shocked, a sick feeling settling into the pit of your stomach.

“Ugly isn’t it?” Aemond asks you, bitterness lacing his voice. As he speaks you make your way to his side, sitting lightly on the bed, next to his hip. Your small hand searching for his under the covers, to comfort him, or maybe to warm your own. 

“H-how did this happen? Who could possibly have–”

“Your brothers. Lucerys stole my eye. But an eye for a dragon is a fair price to pay is it not niece?” A proud, sad smile graces his features. While your brothers had dragons since they were but babes, you were not as lucky. Syrax had not laid a full nest, and your mother had decided it was best to give your brothers the two eggs. All the while you have remained dragonless. 

“Vhagar is now mine, and on the morrow, we shall leave this wretched place. And I will fly on dragon back to the Red Keep.” His singular lilac eye meets yours. “I promise you, sweet niece, one day I shall take you for a ride on dragon back. Show you the freedom that comes with it,” His previously bloodied fingers intertwined with yours. 

“I would like that very much uncle,” Looking down at your joined hands, a small smile of your own matching his. 

— — — — — — —

The waters of the sea lap against the side of the ship, the slap against the wood echoing around you. Overpowered only by the screeching of your family's dragons above you. Alone, you ride on this ship, well alone save for the ship hands and captain assigned by your father. Still, at the age of nine and ten, you remain dragonless, made to travel to the Red Keep by boat.

Your brothers claim to Driftmark had come into question, prompting the visit back to your old home. You hadn’t been back here since–

Your mother and father had determined it best to keep the family at Dragonstone after Aemond lost his eye. Although you had always suspected part of the reasoning for that was your mothers fear of retribution from Alicent for what your brother had done. Perhaps it was a long time coming though, your brothers as well as Aegon had picked on Aemond ruthlessly for years prior to that night. You had been spared only by the simple facts that you were a little girl, and just weren’t in there presence as much. Despite your pleas to join in the yard for training you had been denied, and turned towards the library instead to study “things more befit for your station” as your mother had put it.

“We shall dock shortly Princess,” the ship captain’s voice drifted to you from behind the wheel. You stood on the platform with him, looking beyond the masthead, you see Syrax and Caraxes land in the dragon pits. You sigh, it looks like you’ll arrive alone at the Red Keep, not expecting your mother to wait for you. Her and Daemon needed to prepare for the events of tomorrow. 

Arriving at the Keep felt haunting, the lack of a welcome only contributing to that fact. Once docked, you were met by a singular carriage and it’s driver. The captain had assured you that your belongings were to be delivered to your chambers shortly. For all your fathers faults he did have good trust and faith in those he employed. The ship’s captain had been with your families since you were a girl. He and yourself not unfamiliar with these lonesome journeys. 

The gates of the Red Keep came into view as you rolled over the bumpy roads of Kings Landing. Gold Cloaks lined the gate’s walls, closing the massive gate doors behind you, shutting you in, locking you within the castle grounds. The carriage comes to a jumpy halt, the driver offering you his hand as you disembark your ride. Your fingers slip into his as your boots squelch in the mud below you, the clanging of swords and metal meet your ears. 

“Nephews, have you come to train?” A voice says, one you could not recognize. From across the yard you see your brothers, you wave to them, hoping to catch their eye. Luke turns his head towards you, a small smile playing at his lips. Noticing this, the source of the voice follows his gaze, a singular lilac eye meeting yours.

“Niece, how you have grown–” Aemond’s lone eye takes in your figure. My how you’ve grown indeed. Last time he had seen you you barely came up to his chin, your silver locks a messs contained in small braids. The flush that never seemed to leave your cheeks remained however. You had grown taller, still standing shorter than himself, which he finds excites him a bit. More than it should perhaps. You had grown into yourself in a way that was very pleasing to his eye, your face fuller and lovely. Your curves soft and plush, inviting him to touch and caress them. 

“Uncle,” you offer him a small curtsey. You can hear Jace scoff, as if annoyed by the action. Wanting yo say more, but not knowing what, you continue to look at one another. Your own eyes take in your uncle, he had grown taller, much taller. His muscles lean and corded beneath his tunic. His silver hair almost as long as yours, is pulled back slightly in a braid. Some hanging free, escaping their confines during his sparring. His eye was now covered in an eyepatch, made of black leather, the tops and bottoms of the scar still visible even with it on. 

The arrival of another carriage turns your gaze to the left, where you yourself had arrived only moments ago. Vaemond Valaryon steps out of the carriage and into the yard, sparing a glance at the Prince and your brothers. A look of disgust crosses his face as he lays his eyes on Luke. 

— — — — — — —

The meeting to question Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark is long and dull, at least in the beginning. Mustering his limited remaining strength your grandsire had sat the thrown. Disputing Otto and Alicent in their claims. He looks horrible you think. His skin looks to be gray and sloughing off of his bones. The Stranger would be coming for him soon. It is not until Vaemond brings into question your brother’s parentage once again, that the apprehensive peace shatters. 

“And she is a–”

“Say it,” your father’s hand that rests on the hilt of Dark Sister tightens, knuckles whitening. 

“ – a WHORE!” In one swift blow, Daemon sends Vaemond’s head rolling across the floor of the throne room. Blood trailed behind the appendage like a snail’s trail. The room is filled with gasps and short screams. Your own eyes widened looking at the head on the stone floor before you. By no means are you unfamiliar with your father's violent nature, and nor should the rest of the court. 

“Let him keep his tongue,” Daemon wipes the blood off of his blade, stepping back, sheathing the sword once more. 

As if some kind of magic pulls you, you lift your eyes from Vaemonds severed head and meet those of your uncle. A smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, he looks to be well entertained by the violent display. Caught in your staring, Aemond’s gaze rises to meet your own, his smirk widening into a more sadistic smile. 

“Now, for the final order of business. A more pleasant way to end this affair,” the king says, his mellow voice carrying across the stone-lined room. “I am blessed by the Gods to have such a large family, but it appears that the Gods hope to bless us some more,” It was becoming increasingly more clear that Alicent’s love for The Seven has bled not just into the castle but its people as well.  You think maybe it gives the king something comforting in his final days. 

“My son, Aemond, a fine warrior and scholar,” Aemond stands rigid and straight, uncomfortable with the new attention from his father. “And my granddaughter, if your mother had not already claimed the title of Realms Delight then it would be most certainly passed to you.” Your cheeks flush a bright pink, warmth rising to the tips of your ears. 

“This family has been divided for quite some time, I tend to rectify that. Aemond, my son, and my granddaughter the princess, shall be married,” The reactions around the room are mixed, some people applaud, some cover their shock with their hands. Wide, prying eyes jump between you and Aemond. You dare a look in his direction, he is still staring, the smile gone from his face now. Confusion, shock, anger? You cannot tell but it is not sweet, and it is not kind.

A wave of confidence washes over you as you step forward, “What is the meaning of this? Why have I not had any indication of this until now?!” You feel your mother’s hand grasp your elbow, urging you to stand beside her, silently. “It is the wish of your grandsire, byka zaldrīzes (little dragon). He is dying, do not fight him,” Your head whips aside, meeting her eyes, eyes filled with sadness. Did she know of this? Did she approve of this? Your father would not meet your eyes, nor your brothers, Jace toeing at an invisible stone on the floor. Did they all know, except for you? 

You tear your elbow from your mother’s grasp, she opens her mouth to speak once more, but your back is already turned. Your feet lead you towards the grand door. You had to leave, you needed to be anywhere else but here. Your chest tightens, your breathing ragged. Not with sadness or grief, no, but with anger and fury. You feel as though you could breathe fire as the dragons do. An angered scream tears past your lips, reverberating off of the stone walls of the Red Keep. 

— — — — — — —

You had decided it best to skip the family feast. And a good thing too, unbeknownst to you it had gone horribly. Lucerys mocking Aemond over the roasted pig, Aemond's “final tribute” to his Strong nephews. No, instead you had taken your dinner in the library, back amongst your beloved books. The sun had set an hour or two ago now, the torches along the halls lit. You didn’t know how late it was, you had been much too absorbed in your novel Lady Coryanne Wylde, A Cautionary Tale for Young Girls. 

The wax on the candles had burned low, and your wine had turned cold. It was time to retire. Taking the book with you, you began to make your way toward your chambers, your old chambers. The last time you had slept there you had been but a girl. As you turn the corner you are met with a hard wall of warm, corded muscle. Your book tumbling to the ground. A pair of strong hands plant themselves on your shoulders, to steady you. 

“Careful niece, someone might think you are up to no good, wandering the corridors, at night–alone” The smile from earlier returns to his lips, and just then, he notices the book on the floor. His smile becoming impossibly wider, you don’t think you’ve ever really seen Aemond smile, not like this anyway. It’s nice, you think to yourself.

“What’s this dear niece,” he bends down to pick up the novel, his slim fingers sifting through the pages, his eyebrows lifting. “Well, well, who would have thought–”

“Give that back!” You reach to snatch it from him, like a child, but he just holds it higher over his head. “Tell you what, I made a promise to you. Do you remember?” Of course, you remembered, you still thought about it sometimes, but all hope of fulfilling it had left you.

“Yes–” it came out more hoarse than you had intended. Your hand frozen, outstretched, Aemond still held the book over his head. 

“Come with me to meet Vhagar, for a ride,” he leaned closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “Come taste the freedom of the skies with me niece.” He had tucked the book behind his back. Aemond wasn’t a man who typically waited for an answer, nor was he one who liked when people disagreed with him. He’d throw you over his shoulder if he must. Even though his hatred for your family ran deep, he could never seem to hate you. You had endeared yourself to him time and time again as children, but the night he lost his eye. The night you visited him, the only one not angry, the only one not repulsed by his face. He knew then that he could never hate you, no matter how hard he’d tried. 

Words had suddenly failed you, your tongue dry. You simply nodded instead. In response, Aemond straightened to his full, imposing height, and turning without a word, he began his stride down the hall, towards the dragon pits. You followed him, but neither of you spoke, the halls of the Red Keep filled with an odd sort of comfortable silence. His hair had grown longer, much longer, and he walked with a sense of confidence that hadn’t been there before. 

The night air was chill, a slight breeze blew through your hair, tousling the strands. You were glad you had worn a gown with longer sleeves, it must be chilly up in the clouds. Aemond was sporting his riding clothes, the leather over his tunic reaching his wrists. He looked good, really good, you thought to yourself. The flush from earlier returning to your cheeks, as well as the warmth in the tips of your ears. 

Aemond comes to a stop before the pits, waiting for you, the book still behind his back, taunting you. You suppose that was his insurance policy in case you had said no to joining him. You can only imagine your father's reaction to seeing you read such debauchery. You were his sweet little girl after all…

“Come now niece, no harm shall come to you while I am near,” He held his hand out to you, and you slipped your fingers between his. His hands are much smoother than the ship captains from earlier, you thought. His hand was warm, the blood of the dragon coursing through his veins. The sound of beating wings from up above drew you out of your daze. A dark shadow crossed over the pair of you, coming to land only several passes in front of you. Vhagar stood proud and strong, if not slightly tired. Her form was weathered by time and battle. It’s a blessing from the Gods that she can still take to the skies as she does. 

Aemond drew you nearer to her, your hand still held tightly in his, like all those years ago. “Give her a pat, she won’t bite, not unless I tell her to,” He chuckled a bit at his own joke, your eyes widening slightly, making him laugh all the more. “No need to be frightened, she’s quite gentle actually,” He guided your hand up to the beast's snout, his fingers had moved to circle your wrists, making the action easier. Your hand lay splayed out before you against Vhagar’s scales, her skin impossibly hot. The hand on your wrists moves to cover your own on the dragon. From behind you, Aemonds other hand rests on your waist lightly, like a whisper on the wind. Mayhaps this marriage won’t be too bad after all? Your anger from earlier was not directed at him you realize, but rather at the other members of your family. You were never pleased when things were kept from you when you were lied to. You like his hand there, you like it a lot, it provides you a sense of comfort and security as you stand before this large beast. You wonder how his calloused hands would feel elsewhere…

Aemond retracts his hand, yours following closely behind, you can still feel the heat of Vhagar’s scales on the skin of your palms. You begin to be tugged backward in the direction of Vhagar’s saddle. Aemond motions for you to begin climbing the ropes that lead to the mount, he follows behind you; prepared to catch you should the need arise. The saddle is less like a saddle and more like a small chariot on top of the dragon. It comfortably seats the two of you, and could even squeeze in a third. 

Aemond positions you in front of him, his legs caging yours, his arms reaching around the front of you to grasp onto the reigns. “Are you ready?” The question is whispered to you, his lips brushing your ear once more as he speaks. You rather like this position, the warmth radiating off of his body will surely keep you warm above the clouds. 

“Yes, yes I think I am,” Your own hands come up to rest atop his, surely just to steady yourself, and not at all because you were becoming increasingly more desperate to touch or be touched by the man behind you. 

“Sōvēs Vhagar!” Aemond pulls back and yells into the night air, sparring your delicate eardrums. The beast below you growls and jolts into action. She takes a few long strides before beginning to beat her wings, as she takes off into the crisp night air. 

Eyes glued shut you think you yell out a little yelp of initial fear and surprise. Aemond’s legs press tighter down on your own as if to reassure you that you are safe with him and his dragon. As Vhagar evens out her flying, coasting just above the clouds, you dare to open your eyes. Behind you, Aemond cannot stop the smile from spreading across his lips, he cannot see your face but he hopes it is a happy one. He’ll take you out flying every day that you are married if it will make you happy. He would burn the world down if it meant he could keep you safe and happy. To make you his. 

Truthfully he wasn’t all that surprised by his father’s announcement of your betrothal. As a boy, even before the incident, he had asked his mother and grandsire, Otto, what lords would court you, and if any would be good enough for a princess. It wasn’t until after he lost his eye that he first breached the subject of marriage to his mother. He’d told her he deserved it, that after all the pain he had gone through, it was only fair for him to spend his life beside someone whom he cared so deeply for. At the time his mother had just given him a kiss on the forehead saying “Perhaps one day, we shall see,” A sad smile had crossed her face then.

He’d given up on the hope of marrying for love after that. The ladies of court found him elusive and repulsive, opting to flirt with his brother, despite his marriage to Helaena. A few moons ago, Aegon had made a jest at Aemond’s expense, something about being tied to a Strong for all eternity. He had ignored it, deeming it nothing more than one of his brother's drunken comments. However, after the events of today, it seems he was not jesting after all.

Aemond is broken out of his thoughts by a lovely, bubbly sound. You’re laughing, your arms spread wide, fingers splayed out letting the wind rush through them. He immediately goes to grasp your waist, his legs still caged around yours, steading you, anchoring you to him and the saddle. 

“What the sweet Hells are you doing?! Put your hands back on the reigns!” He exclaims. You giggle some more, the wind drying your teeth as you smile. 

“I cannot uncle! You were right, this is marvelous! I feel as though I could rule the world from up here!” He had never seen anyone as dazzling as you were in this moment. Vhagar gave a slight jolt as she began to descend back downwards, causing you to jump forward a bit, hands grasping the reigns once more.

“I told you – “ He murmurs against your hair, placing a small kiss on your head. After another moment Aemond begins to guide Vhagar back towards the dragon pits. There’s a strain in his trousers he can ignore no longer. Years of pent-up desire and want boiling over. Ever the gentleman, he assists you in descending the beast. This time he goes first, his hand in yours as he helps you with the final jump down. 

“That was incredible, uncle that was truly –” Aemond uses his grip on your hand to tug you forward, clutching you to his chest, his lips meeting yours. You gasp into his mouth, surprised by the boldness of his actions. Before you are given the opportunity to reciprocate, he pulls away, a slight frown on his face.

“My apologies, I should not have–” 

“Yes, you should have actually. Why did you stop, I was quite enjoying myself,” You pull on the collar of his tunic, tugging his chapped lips back down to yours. Aemond uses his taller stature to guide you back up against a pillar within the pits. The two of you made only out of sight by half of a pillar, and Vhagar’s sleeping form. 

“And what if I were to take you, right here? Right now? Like a scene from your debaucherous novel,” He exclaims, his lips moving, forming a trail from your jaw down to your collarbone. Surely leaving marks, and love bites as he goes. Oh if only his brother could see him now, he thinks that perhaps Aegon would congratulate him on finally “getting it wet”. 

His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. He was everywhere, all of your senses were overwhelmed by him. The smell of the oils used to wash his hair filled your nostrils, the smokiness from Vhagar had made a home in the threads of his clothes. You’re nearly positive that you must smell similar, you’ll need to get your gown cleaned certainly. 

Your hands began to fumble with the belt of his trousers, your fingers making clumsy work of the buckle. Aemond pulls away only for a moment to assist you, then he begins to work on the strings of your corset. His movements were desperate and quick, neither of you having the patience to wait much longer. All the while his lips never left your skin. You feel him smile against your skin as Vhagar makes a slight noise of annoyance at your escapades. Somehow between your messy kisses, your skirts had been rucked up to your hips, Aemond’s deft fingers making contact with your small clothes. 

“You’re rather wet dear niece. Do I rile you up so huh? I wonder how wet you’ll be with my cock inside your sweet cunt,” He says that last bit almost more so to himself rather than you. In response, a small whimper escapes your lips. Aemond looks up to meet your eyes. A certain twinkle reflects at you from his. 

“Another night I shall spend hours ravishing you, but I need to be inside you, now.” He gives his cock a few strokes, preparing himself. Your eyes widen at the sight, his shaft long and thick, his head red and leaking arousal. It was, invigorating, knowing that you could illicit such a response from him. With a delicate kiss to your lips and one final look of permission, Aemond sheathes himself inside you. Your warm walls squeeze him perfectly, welcoming him in. Gods he could stay right here like this forever. 

“ – move. Aemond Gods move please,” You begged him, your walls had adjusted to him. Feeling wonderful and full. He began slow, his thrusts taking on a rhythmic flow. Aemond tucks his face into the crook of your neck, smelling your hair, his grunts and groans in your ear. You drag your nails down his clothed back, perhaps next time you’ll be able to fully leave your marks on his skin. Thank the Gods Vhagar had decided to remain put, it would ruin your honor should anyone find you like this; even though your virtue was promised to him already.

“Fuck– I don’t know if I’ll be able to last much longer ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved). You are just too perfect–” He cuts himself off with a grunt.

“Finish then, let go Aemond, let got for me please, I–” You beg him, you need it just as much as he does.

“Not before you ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved).” Aemond moves down to circle your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. The pace of his thrusts picked up, your hands remained looped around his neck, anchoring yourself to him.

“Aemond, oh Aemond, Gods I’m gonna–” The words that left your mouth made hardly any sense. The words and phrases twist and turn into a bizarre hymn to your betrothed. 

“Cum, cum for me Jorrāelagon (love), give yourself over to me–” Aemond begged you. His lips biting and nipping at the flesh of your neck. On his command, a wave of pleasure washes over you, like the seas crashing into the shores of Driftmark. You remember drifting off to sleep as a girl to the lullaby of the sea. Aemond’s own release follows closely after your own. Still nestled inside of you, he rests his forehead against yours, sighing contentedly. 

“You know, when I was a boy, I had asked my mother to ask Rhaenyra for your hand. I had begged her actually,” He chuckles a bit at his anecdote.

“Did you?” You laugh along with him, less at the story and more so at the ridiculousness of your current situation. You feel him nod, his forehead brushing against yours as he does so. 

“Well,” you say in response, “ I had always wanted a dragon of my own. I had begged my mother actually”, you imitate Aemond’s words, giggling a bit as you do, “but now I need not ask any longer. For I have my very own dragon right here.” You place a kiss on his nose as you say this.

“Well my love, no longer shall you be dragonless, not as long as I am around anyways,” Aemond reassures you. He supposed he had two dragons now as well, with Vhagar he would burn the world down, but you gave him a reason to do so. With fire and blood he would protect you, love you, for that is the way of the dragon, that is the way of Prince Aemond Targaryen, your beloved betrothed. 

Tag List:

@ helaenaluvr  @ anukulee

[spacerockfloater]

Aemond baby, get behind me.

[sunfyredefender77]

my girl is so done with her family

[estrangedandwayward]

Spot the difference

[n-i-m-u-e]

[gotranting]

Art and text by: Chiara Barbaccia on Ig

And for this week's dragon Chibi, a great return: our beloved granny Vhagar and her beloved One-Eyed Visenya! They're flying at sunset and returning to the Red Keep after a having a little picnic!

[mydairpercabeth]

:(

[harrenhalyuri]

ewan girlies right now

[myfandomprompts]

Ewan Mitchell signing autographs for fans in Mexico, 4 May 2024

@mchll3ie on Instagram

[cambion-companion]

whenever you have time, i NEED you to write something based on that ask you got about vhagar being super attached to aemond's girl 🥺

These requests are from November, so yes I am still working on the messages I have received! Thank you for them :)

I would love to expound more upon Vhagar bonding with the reader (you) especially after you and Aemond get married. The idea of dragons being intelligent enough to feel/recognize the bonds their riders have with other people is something I'd love to be canonized.

When Aemond could not find you within the walls of the Red Keep or honing your body in the training courtyard, he knew by now you were well outside the confines of King’s Landing, spending quality time with your newest best friend.

“I thought I would find you out here.”

You looked up with a smile at Aemond’s familiar velvet voice.  Your back was pressed against the iron dragonskin of Vhagar’s neck, a book of Targaryen history propped open upon your knees as you had been regaling the dragon with tales she would’ve been well familiar with.

“I needed to escape the stuffy sitting room for a while.” You agreed, feeling the rumbling purr growing within Vhagar as she acknowledged her rider’s presence.

You scooted into Aemond’s embrace as he took a seat on the soft earth beside you, peering briefly at the book you had been reading. “And what does Vhagar think about today’s reading material?”

You looked sideways up along the endless expanse of Vhagar’s neck to where her yellow eye watched the two of you.  You caught Aemond’s eye with a smirk. “No complaints so far.”

“Hmm.”  Aemond took the book from you, closing and setting it aside before taking your hands in his.  He leaned into your space, brushing his nose against yours before finding your lips in a chaste kiss. “One day I’m going to seek you out and find you’ve taken her out for a ride.”

Your heart stuttered in mild fear at the very thought. “That’ll be the day.”  You laughed as Aemond breathed a soft chuckle, tucking your head beneath his chin, his warm breath rustling your hair.

He held you for many moments as you basked in the warmth of his body and the continual rumbling of Vhagar as she shifted slightly at your back.

The three of you were alerted to the sound of many hooves thundering upon the earth as several riders cleared the hill.  Upon seeing the massive island-sized dragon laying before them their horses reared in fear, nearly sending several soldiers toppling to the ground.  Vhagar’s head became visible from your periphery as she growled low and deep, moving to position her snarling teeth in between where you and Aemond sat and the newcomers.

“Vhagar, gida.”  Aemond calmed the dragon with a word, though Vhagar did not move her head from its defensive position.

Aemond gave you a strange look which you mirrored right back at him. “Has she acted like this before?”

You shook your head, glancing to where you could see the sun glinting off dragon teeth the length of a man’s body.

“My prince!”  The leading rider called, unwilling to come any closer. “The king requests your presence at once!”

“Duty calls.”  Aemond sighed, rising to stand and brushing sand off his clothing. “Would you like to remain here or accompany me back to the city?”

You took his proffered hand and he helped you rise to your feet. “I’ll come back with you.”

At your movements Vhagar grumbled another deep sound of displeasure, her tail this time slithering around to block your path forward, even separating you from where Aemond stood.

“Vhagar!”  Aemond said almost reproachfully, looking to where Vhagar’s gaze was still fixated on the soldiers.  He shook his silver head in annoyance. “Seems she has become incorrigibly possessive of you overnight.”

“Vhagar.”  You called to the ancient she-dragon gently.  The yellow eye flicked briefly to you. “Nyke ȳgha.”  She seemed to relax at your Valyrian reassurance, allowing you to take Aemond’s hand again and proceed closer to where the soldiers waited.

“I haven’t a clue what’s gotten into her.”  You muttered to your husband.

Aemond shook his head in agreement as he glanced back toward where Vhagar still was growling low. “Perhaps she decided to take you on as a sort of dragonling…” He stopped mid-stride, color draining from his face as he turned to face you. “A child.”

“I am hardly her child, Aemond.”  You snickered, your smile dropping when his expression remained serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you…” Aemond shot a look to where the riders were obviously trying to listen in, he lowered his voice and leaned closer to you. “Are you with child?”

Your stomach swooped as shock coursed through you. “I-I don’t know.”

“Let’s pay a visit to the maester after dealing with whatever my brother wants.”  Aemond squeezed your hand briefly, unable to keep an excited grin off his angular face. He looked again at Vhagar, this time in mild wonder.  The grumbles and groans of the dragon faded away as the riders escorted the two of you back to the Keep.

Nine months later the kingdom welcomed the birth of their newest Targaryen princess.  

She grew to be very much like her father, in mannerisms and visage.  When she was old enough Aemond didn’t waste any time in introducing her to Vhagar.  

The old dragon seemed to already know who she was.

[spacerockfloater]

The way the fandom and the other characters treat Aemond fills me with visceral rage.

He is the only one, save Criston, who’s still fighting for the Greens? Not only does he put all of his time into defending their cause and ruling, he is also risking his life on the daily by launching himself into battle? To win a war his mother gave the green light to? The mother who now hates him? The mother who betrays him for finishing what she started? Outrageous. Fucking outrageous.

And everyone is treating Helaena as if she is this poor little sunflower that must be protected at all costs. Uhm, fuck no? Aemond is right. Who’s going to protect her when Rhaenyra comes after them with her seven dragons? She’s no fucking child. She is an adult. Why are we infantilising her? Why should her brother fight for her if she’s not willing to fight for herself and her child? And the way she’s speaking to Aemond? Holding him accountable for burning her rapist? Their common abuser? And borderline rejoicing in his upcoming death? What the fuck.

I hate how all of the Team Green characters have been redeemed one way or another and their redemption is that they’re abandoning their claim to the throne. But Aemond is depicted as this show’s main villain simply because he’s still standing his ground? And he stands alone? Fuck everything.

Aemond Targaryen they could never make me hate you.

[sunfyredefender77]

are we seeing the same person orrr????

her face card is lethal

[aemysbabyofficial]

Sweet Sixteen II; Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!OC

To be a father is to live and sacrifice. What would Daemon live to sacrifice? To leave behind and never return to--to never regret with second thoughts. The answer: his last daughter.

Warnings: cannon divergence; paternal anger; father angry towards daughter; hints of paternal violence; hints of violence; choking; heavy angst; manipulation; hints of sex; highly emotional.

Notes: Apologies for the long wait, life hit me like a truck. If you liked this or wished it to be edited up or down, please tell me! This is a heavy read (it was a heavy write for me) but I hope you all enjoy this!

Long chapter ahead!

The summons arrived on a cool morning on Dragonstone. The raven knew all were fast asleep sole for one. Cold air rushed through Daemon's nose and up to his mind as he stood next to an open window. A knight had just left his quiet chambers, leaving him in a robe with a sealed letter in hand. Daemon was written on the cover in fine letters. Each letter was straight, curved in the right places, and perfectly in line with the one before and after.

It hadn't been long since he received word from his brother, or in this such a case, his court. It had actually not been long since he last visited King's Landing. He could count by hand the weeks that passed since he last roamed his former home. The king's second daughter, Helaena, was betrothed to her older brother Aegon and as a good tiding for the girls in the family, the king invited his nieces for some bonding with the dreamer girl. Daemon was surprised Viserys held the dear such an occasion, but his eyes felt the ink's deeper meaning just from the greeting.

Dearest brother...

A preparation. A warning. Daemon wiped his nose before he moved to the next line. The hallways of Dragonstone were quiet and the children were slumbering away in their chambers. His wife lay in their bed, under the sheets and furs to keep the breeze from fanning her skin. Daemon needed the fresh morning light to read the letter clearer, to see all the meanings within the lines. His hand gripped the parchment the further his eyes descended, burned brighter as he pulled apart double meanings and hidden phrases. He glazed past the introductions and greetings and dove to the heart of the letter--the biggest paragraph of them all. His breathing grew ragged when the mention of her spilled across the letter.

....The Princess Helaena requests the presence of Lady Saela Targaryen as a lady-in-waiting for her highness court. The Princess recounts fond memories she shared with the Lady and wishes her sweet presence in her everyday to be permanent. All servants, dressings, and accommodations lay prepared for the Lady's arrival....

It was a surprise. A bold move, Daemon complimented with raised brows. But it involved his daughter, his youngest daughter. Saela was still a child hiding behind her sister's shadows, lapping against her cousins' steps, and a growing woman. From what the Maesters whispered and he forced from a handmaid, she just flowered. Daemon crinkled his nose at the thought.

Why demand his youngest child among his three?

The letter, no, the summons demanded Saela's presence in the next seven days. It emphasized the great joy and happiness the princess Helaena would feel to have her favorite niece by her side. No other daughter was to attend on her behalf.

Bullshit.

A croaky laugh cracked through the room. Daemon's chest rose with sputtered laughs and his fingers pinched his alert eyes. A wry smile stretched the corners of his lips upwards. It was too late for him to switch out Saela for one of her sisters. The days where the girls could switch places and act as the other passed long ago; the twins even grew into unique features that stood them apart from each other.

Not Helaena. Daemon shook his head. That girl could not craft such a demand. The queen.

When Daemon visited last, his daughters joined him. The three-and-a-half day travel on boat was the same duration of their stay. While the girls bonded over tea, gowns, and childish talks, Daemon joined his brother every second he could. In his free time, which was limited, he would peek into side rooms, the gardens, or separate chambers to check on his daughters. Three times out for five, Daemon spotted Saela attached to Helaena's side while Alicent loomed over them. A whisper past Baela revealed the Queen had requested all of Saela's time that day and the previous.

"She calls for her after breaking our fast." Rhaena confided to her father on their third morning. She had just caught him before he departed for a meeting. Her speech was breathy--she ran--and her eyes bled into his soul. "And she just watches her."

Daemon hadn't much time to think about Rhaena's words before he marched into the council chambers. Men dressed in their house colours either stood around the table or sat waiting for their cups to be filled. Deep laughter rolled from one fat lord as he motioned to the King with his head.

"The boy is of age, isn't he? Aegon, isn't it. It is about time he takes a wife."

"And who would that be?" Another lord across the fat one asked. Daemon marched closer to hear their voices clearly, but halted when he heard names drop against the table.

"To keep the blood pure, won't his sister be the best choice? Or how about his cousins?"

It was then when Viserys realized his brother's presence and what the lord to his far right was talking about. The King didn't need another second to decipher the emotions across his face--anger, confusion, dying tolerance. Marrying off one his daughters could help their sad hearts after tragedy, but by the look of their father, Viserys knew not now, or, now ever. With a wave of his hand, he shushed all talk. He didn't a man leaving his a broken nose, animosity for a Targaryen, or dead.

When Daemon found his daughter later that day, the queen stood behind her with arms wide and eyes twinkling.

In his room with the letter, Daemon had time to think whilst Rhaenyra kissed him on the shoulder. Did dawn pass by so fast? The prince casted a glance to his wife skimming her eyes across the letter. The furrow of her brow marked she got the same place to.

"Are you going to do it?" Her brows raised in question. Are you going to send your youngest child to a den of vipers?

Daemon let his mind wander into dark clouds at the thought of leaving his daughter here. Laena left him with three children--girls, the realm's mightiest tools in times of diplomacy and wagers. Were he to leave one under his brother's nose, Sweet Old Saela, no one would blink an eye. She was the sweet, quiet child. He already has twins, leaving him still with the weight of raising girls. Saela was the perfect child, always abiding to rules and governance. Slip her a note on what to do, the girl will be a man's best soldier. Whisper her a scolding and she will bend her every value not to mess up again. Hells, when he begged his daughters to stop crying at a dinner one evening, Saela never talked for the rest of the night.

A soldier?

The fact Rhaenyra has a younger living brother threatened her established claim as heir. No one had to say it out loud: a son was all the king wanted, and even if his daughter stood in line behind him. A son would rally much more support than a woman with the Conqueror's crown.

Daemon cocked a brow. Saela could be his soldier, his extra eye in the Keep. While he converged his forces on Dragonstone, Saela would stay there, cozying up with his brother's wife. She was never the girl who liked rolling in mud or dallied in listening to Council meetings. No, she deserved the best linens and gowns and court. The girl could act as his extra pair of personal eyes and ears. She could get under her skin, worm her way into her mind. The prince knew no one stood a chance against his daughter's smile. She inherited from her mother. With Saela submerged into the Green mess that spilled across his home, Daemon needn't worry about a thing.

Saela would be his perfect soldier.

"I will." Daemon nodded. Rhaenyra peeked at the glint in his eyes.

That night following dinner, Saela cried at the news, but nevertheless prepared for the trip. Her sisters begged for her to stay, but as Daemon predicted, Saela took on her mission without complaint with an I will be fine. In their last pure moments together, Daemon prepared his mighty soldier for the battle she would face ahead. He knew she was prepared. Her emotions were in check beyond her years and she hadn't lived in Dragonstone for too long to grow too attached to the palace or its grounds. Unlike Baela or Jacaerys who obsessed over flying, Saela was a novice in comparison to them--her dragon had barely hatched and refused to show signs of flight.

The skin of a father was shed for Daemon to bare the armour of a soldier. For hours past the hour of the owl, he drilled passages and commands to Saela--from dining, to walking, to presenting her head. She was going to leave her home a measly girl and enter the capital, her arena, her battlefield, as an armed soldier and mighty weapon.

And a soldier Daemon saw his Saela become. When she greeted them for their tea, she stood tall, unwavering under his eyes, and proud. She nearly resembled the frigid woman Rhaenys became. Whenever he caught sight of her, Saela was the paradigm of his success--of her upbringing under him, trained knowledge of note-passing, and dining with the enemies. Daemon knew out of all his daughters, Saela won't crumble easy.

She overcame her mother's death faster than her sisters and won't let a thing brother her. To Daemon, she was mentally stronger in keeping her emotions and personal life out of politics or power moves.

His girl even overcame the disaster that was that dinner announcing new betrothals. Whereas Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Baela sprung for Aegon and Aemond, Saela was quiet. Like he, she calculated the scene next to Helaena. But where she had gone with her aunt, Daemon had not the slightest clue. The cool ocean air fanned his skin while he walked through the exposed halls of the Keep. The wine, unbridled emotions, and lack of sleep for some riled everyone out of the dining hall to separate corners of the castle. To keep his mind at peace, Daemon walked the paths above the garden to feel the clouded moonlight fan him.

Rhaenyra, before he departed their chambers, planned to cut their trip short and haul the family back to Dragonstone the following morning. The short notice gave him little time to make sure Saela was all right. Rhaenyra knew better. To make sure her allegiance is all right, to her, or her father.

"Where is my daughter?" Daemon asked a passing knight. His voice rose barely above a murmur. The dark-haired man shrugged his shoulders and tumbled out an I'm not aware.

After their meals, it was their own tradition to find each other hiding in secret passages. It was a game Daemon introduced to Saela a random night. (He and Laena had argued over something trivial and he was bored for once). One night each, either he or Saela would rush out following their meal and hide in any place that would fit them. Spots ranged from false walls, behind hanging banners, inside knights armours, to underneath the biggest skirt one could find. Every time an argument broke out or someone got in trouble and just breathing was a challenge in the hall, Daemon and Saela would whisk themselves out to play their game.

The idea Saela was playing again struck something cold and dull in Daemon's heart. She had escaped under his nose and was hiding all-too well.

To a passing handmaid, he asked the same thing. Two girls carrying basins of water quickly shook their heads. "If not in her chambers, she must be in the gardens, my prince."

Daemon hadn't bothered to give the servants another word before he marched to the nearest staircase. He had just descended the stairs when he saw her. Saela's head and her tightly-wound bun of silver curls rested on the shoulder of a woman. No, a handmaid. Two walked on either side of her, locked in arms with their backs to him. His practiced steps were silent against the stone path. Even though his daughter and her servants were several paces ahead, none would hear him.

So, she's not playing the game, but going for a walk.

In his silence, Daemon planned what to say. Hello, dear daughter. My good soldier. Have you kept those notes from years ago? Where I told you to watch and listen?

A wry smile cracked his face as he practiced. "I hope all is, my good daughter--"

"Stop."

Daemon froze.

"What is wrong with you?"

Saela had turned a corner before speaking to someone. The prince rose a brow as he prowled to the corner. He was about to step out and draw a weapon at the sound of a threat, but he quickly retreated.

"You just had to open your mouth? The boy is ten-and-five, a child!" Saela's voice seethed. Daemon narrowed his brows when the voice spoke clearer. Louder. It burned his blood when he matched the tone and depth of the man Saela talked to.

"He is a fool and a bastard." Aemond scoffed. Daemon didn't have to see his face to calculate the prince's anger.

"A boy, Aemond! He is a child, a fool, nothing he speaks is serious. Why did you let that...Lucerys get to you like that?"

Saela raised her voice before covering her mouth. Aemond's frame hid the girl from Daemon's sight, but he could see the One-Eyed cradle his daughter's face. In plain sight for anyone to see were Saela and Aemond talking like lovers. It took every muscle in Daemon not to laugh, or to scream. The glances Saela failed to hide at dinner made sense. Her hidden smile behind her cup. The twitch in her lips.

Why? Daemon asked himself, both to why Saela's and his own actions. Why did she react to Aemond like that and why didn't he confront them? Why was she allowing him to hold her, to whisper to her, to invade her space and not--

"The dinner..."

Daemon hadn't meant to whisper out into the night, but light clouds of his breath floated in the air above his lips. His mind pulled him back an hour ago, before the mess of drinks spilled and food wasted his brother left behind. Saela and Aemond watched each other lasciviously across the long table. Over their cups, as they cut their food or talked with the person on their right, they somehow managed to eye the other down. To calm his mind from jumping from his skull, he fooled himself into not believing what he saw. But he was a boy once--a man now--and could pick at the signs of lust. As he drank wine to calm the storm in his mind, Daemon could see Aemond undress his daughter with his one eye; he licked at her exposed chest and laughed at her open neck. In the moments he felt like hurling his meal or flipping a table, Daemon drank himself silly.

The drunk he wished for pooled to nothing now.

"What can I do to make it up to you, hmm?" Aemond hummed against Saela's skin. Although Daemon looked at the pair, his mind buffered in registering their actions. The fact Saela smiled as Aemond frisked his hands around her was like a dart to his glass mind.

No. Daemon looked away. Saela wouldn't allow herself a second to fall for a man like that. A crippled second-son would do nothing for Saela. She deserved someone stronger, fiercer, and--

"You don't get to kiss me."

Daemon straightened at his daughter's words. Kiss? Who is his daughter kissing? When he peered around the corner, his body tensed. Aemond had Saela pinned to the Keep's cold walls with one hand on her cheek and the other caressing her thigh. The handmaidens backs faced him, allowing him total freedom to see Aemond fondle Saela's skin between her legs. Although she disallowed Aemond entrance into her with her words, her hands toyed his hair and her lips ghosted his red cheeks.

"Do you know how much stress I've dealt with by myself?"

Saela's voice went soft, but it ached with raw pain. She spoke only for Aemond to hear. The prince muted the racing of his heart to hear his daughter's confession, but all he could see were her lips flapping and hear the tough drags of her nose. Whatever Saela revealed to Aemond warranted her a kiss. The sound of lips smacking made Daemon cringe. He slammed his back to the wall. Between the wet kisses, pants, and shuffles of fabric, Daemon picked up a few words and phrases.

"....Ilaena was horribly, sick, Aemond." Another kiss. Daemon noted the hard knot between her brow.

"..red in the face.." Kiss on the neck.

"...you didn't bother asking if she..." a loud moan soared from her lips. "Helaena and Alicent were the only ones to..."

The unbuckling of a belt and light laugh set Daemon off. "I'll make it up to you, my love." The One-Eyed Prince laughed in the night. In the dark, he saw red. The raging thump of his heart broke his eardrums, muting him to the moans around the corner. It took everything in him not to spear Aemond with Dark Sister. The sensual cry from Saela chased the prince away.

His boots stomped holes into the ground as he marched down the hall. If a knight or simple handmaid crossed the wrong path at the wrong time with him, their shoulders bore wounds of their collision. Daemon couldn't care less about a whining annoyance. All he could focus on were the shadows he saw dance outside; their hushed voices, kisses, and pants fogged his mind harsher than any storm. This itself was a storm, the hardest he faced both on land and on dragonback.

No guard stopped Daemon from pushing his way into Saela's bedchamber.

He waited. Without making a sound, or even a breath, the bedchambers were lifeless. It was like Daemon never stood in the middle of it all. Proof of his existence was the fire. The fact he could feel it proved his life at that moment was true--that what he witnessed was true. The crackling of wood reminded the prince his hearing was perfect. It told his mind he could not misjudge a thing, even if wished it was wrong.

Daemon's eyes glossed to life when the door opened. The hushed giggling erupted into frigid gasps. Saela must have jumped when she noticed him.

"Wait here," she said to two other voices.

"Leave." Daemon commanded. The hand holding the wrist behind his back clenched his skin worse than any chains or armor. The figures at the door made no move to leave. Either they were confused or they wished to meet his blade.

"I said leave."

"No, they can stay." Saela whispered something to the women. Palina, Arah. The names echoed in Daemon's mind. It dawned on him when he finally recognized who they were. In a letter addressed to him right after Saela settled into the Keep, she told him of the handmaidens assigned to her.

Palina and Arah are at my beck and call...it is fun having maids at your command. Now I know how you feel with your soldiers.

The same handmaidens she wrote about years ago were still at her side? Daemon lodged the thought deep into his skull. His shoulders squared straight when he stood tall. He hadn't turned around, but could see and feel the contemplation dancing on the women's faces.

"Defy me again and I'll slit your throats. Leave."

Not even the fire could cool Daemon's skin when the moans and kisses echoed in his mind. His lip curled at the smacks he heard, at the licks and spits he could feel across his skin. The slam of the chamber doors reaped the man from his nightmares.

"You didn't have to chase them away like that. They are loyal servants." Saela sighed before moving towards her father. He heard her smooth down her gown, probably rumpled from the mess she was in. "I wasn't expecting you so late, father. Is there something you want to talk about?"

Daemon needed time to breath. His back heaved with a heavy weight and his mouth dried before he could speak.

"Where were you?"

"For a walk. Did you want to come along--"

"With whom?" Daemon heard Saela move. Side steps, a nervous dance. She rubbed her hands against her gown with a long breath.

"With Palina and Arah--"

"You call your servants by name? What are they, your friends?" The shadow haunting Daemon's frame reigned over Saela's against the stone wall. The flames from the fire could be his own, heaved from his tongue.

"They are lovely girls, father. We are not far in age--"

"Do you think me a fool, Saela?" Daemon moved to feel the fire against his back. His head teetered down while his gaze bore to the left at his youngest daughter. "Why would a lady like you go for a walk at this hour?"

Saela's chest rose high. The chain around her neck tightened. It was a rope of Daemon's lashes tightening around her neck. Slowly and steadily did it rise to choke her.

"T-that is what--"

"I know you are smarter than this, Saela. Why would you do this to yourself?"

The tone in the prince's voice fell to a sympathetic level. He sounded sad, mournful, even. His shoulders fell when his body finally turned to face his child. He wanted her to see him downed, to see his pain. He wanted her to know he knew and she could do nothing but admit it. He wanted to hear it from her.

"Why would allow someone like that to do that to you?"

Saela felt her eyes sting. Her father had that power over her, hurting her eyes before anything else. It was only him that could make her cry before she felt the heavy pain in her chest. It was only Prince Daemon that scared her so much she couldn't breathe.

What he said tore through her. How could she let him do that to her? The Heart of the House, her uncle, the king, would call her. The sweet Heart that everyone adored, everyone thought pure, allowed something so vile inside her. She allowed herself to be tainted by a dark hole everyone tried to cover, to shield--no, to ignore. The last of Prince Daemon's daughters, the girls that would honor their father with honorable acts, was the most dishonorable of all.

All those thoughts swamped Saela's mind until she was breathless, crying mess. Her father was a blur of black leather and silver details, a monster she couldn't understand nor defeat. Saela could only bare herself honestly in front of the soldier that stared her down.

"How old?"

"W-what?" Saela was breathless, her voice airy and shaky. Faith in her voice crashed to the ground when Daemon towered his head over her own. She had to brace her muscles to not let her body drop.

"How old were you when he--"

Daemon bared his teeth. He couldn't finish the question nor formulate the words on his tongue. Claimed you. Fucked you. Took advantage of you. Tormented you. The words spat around in his mind, assaulting him from all angles and it could have made the man sick. But he stomached it down and shook his head. As a father, the thought of asking his daughter when she was deflowered sickened him. Why should he, a man of his stature, ask a lady--his daughter, at that--such a question?

"How old were you, Saela?"

The way Daemon spoke her name scared the girl into confession. It was fatherly, courageous, or kind. It reeked of grimace, of...of disgust.

He thinks me disgusting.

The girl silently balled as she answered. "Three-and--" The deep chuckle Daemon let out from the depths of his throat silenced Saela's whispered words. Of every conversation she imagined, this way, this manner, never came to mind. Saela never wished to spill her life's truths and secrets to her family like this, shrunken in a cowardice, crying mess.

"P-please father, don't--"

"Don't what? Don't kill him?"

"Please, no!" Saela screamed. Her watery eyes noted her father's light touches to Dark Sister. She knew her shaking bones and crumpled gown were Aemond's only defense between life and sudden death. "Please, don't hurt him."

"Why? Do you love him?" Daemon to hear it. Hear the name. Hear her guilt.

The mind of the Targaryen girl spiraled. After everything--her new life in court, building a new life with her cousins, growing close to allied and enemy houses, building her own life--it came crashing down in one night. No lie, no distraction, no escape was offered to her.

"He is using you, Saela, for his own selfish needs. He does not love you, no one here does. No one will ever truly appreciate you here."

Saela's fingers dug themselves into her sleeves. Spools of lace trickled to the floor as she cried. No one will ever truly appreciate you here. But they do, Saela yelled at herself. When her one and only family left her in King's Landing she visited a handful of times, Helaena, Alicent, Aemond, and even Aegon took her in as family. Come nights she dreamed of her mother's vanishing hand, Alicent was there to rub her back and sing her songs. Come days she missed dragon riding with her sisters or walking the mountains with the Velaryon boys, Aemond and Aegon joined her without tell.

Daemon watched time pass through his daughter's eyes and he shook his head. "Do you truly believe they love you?"

"W-why would you...?" Saela couldn't lift her head.

Were all the times she spent dancing, embroidering, reading, sleeping, and playing with Helaena and Alicent a lie? No. They love me. Helaena and Alicent replaced the times she lost with her sisters and mother.

And Aemond. O, the prince was her shield from days she remembered horror times. He was the saving hand that pulled her from nightmares--when she lost her mother and the brother she never got to know. He shielded her from nightmares and dances of attitudes. Aemond was still the boy she found in the library in Driftmark that would listen to her ramble--still the boy that protected her mind from thoughts of darkness and doom.

Aemond was the bed her tightened heart and head could explode on.

"I...I..."

"What, Saela?" Daemon narrowed his eyes. Past the tears, tear stains, and messy hair, he could see growing fires in his daughter's eyes. They were flames of resolve and passion. They were flames he had to snuff out. "Don't you say--"

"I love him, father. I love Aemond and you cannot do a thing about it."

She said it. Silence fell between the pair. A mixture of sneer and grin crossed Daemon's face. It resembled a dragon's smile before it devoured its prey. The look on her father's face revealed the rage he didn't shame himself in hiding. Saela caught the lighting of a wildfire when she caught her breath. It was too late.

"I...no..."

Saela felt her heart beat slower and slower. I said it and Daemon waited for me. Her body didn't realize it shook in the presence of dragon's flames. She shook her head before she could say another word.

"You love fucking Aemond Targaryen?" Saela jumped at the tone of her father's voice. "Why? Because he's your cousin? Because he fucks you in the garden for everyone to see?"

He saw. The girl's stomach dropped. Everything she's done in the past years to perfect her secret were ruined once her family came back into her life. The shell Alicent crafted around her, for her, as a second mother, cracked with every yell Daemon released. Then something festered within her. A toil of anger and resentment. How dare he lie to me? Her life was perfect. Walks with her cousins were always lovely. Long walks with her uncle where they talked about everything he could remember filled her life's missing gaps. Only now that her sisters, father, and step-brothers enter her home, her life, everything she's created is slowly come to ruin.

"Tolī mirre eman gaomagon..."

Saela closed her eyes with a long sigh. Her hands covered her face as she shook her head. Daemon stepped closer to hear her words, but she side-stepped him to pace her room.

After all I have done.

"What?" Daemon cocked a brow. His shoulders twitched.

"So now you care about me? Now, after all these years, you think to care about what I'm doing or who I'm with."

As Daemon peered over his daughter, he lost sight of her. Yes, she stood in front of him, but she wasn't crying or apologizing like she always would have. This wasn't the Saela who would wipe her face and vow to never disobey her father again. No, the woman in front of him bore tears of anger. The previous knot between her brows fell and she stood tall to match his height.

"In this house, these people were the only ones to stand by my side. I know they care about me--"

"I am your father, Saela. I know they don't care about you--"

"Shut up!" The girl screamed in defiance. It was a child's way of building their truth, but as an adult, Daemon could crush it. He saw the plans in her mind race when she shook a hand.

"I said not a word when you married Rhaenyra. I said not a word when you took in Jace and Luke and Joffrey as your own. I was the nice daughter and accepted them as my brothers."

"This has nothing to do with--"

"I said nothing when Rhaena cried to me saying you ignore her! I said nothing when--"

"You are not listening, Saela!" Daemon marched forward. His chest bumped the woman back, but she didn't stumble.

"I didn't say anything after mother died and you married her--"

"He is your cousin!"

"And she is your niece!" Saela screamed. Sweat crawled across their skin in the room. Be it fatigue, wine from earlier hitting them, or unresolved tensions from the years, neither Daemon nor Saela took a step back.

"Have we not fulfilled our family's fucked-up customs?" Daemon lowered his chin at the exasperated sigh. He leaned his head forward so his eyes could level Saela's wide stare back at him. Her body didn't shake anymore and if he didn't seethe in a cloud of anger, would have admired his daughter for the strength she carried. "You settle your cock deep into your niece's cunt while I warm up by cousin's bed. We are pure-blooded Targaryens, father--"

"Shut your mouth."

Daemon hadn't raised his voice, but the bass of his tone silenced Saela. Her mouth wavered shut, but her eyes burned with thousands of unsaid words. A scratching quiet surrounded the pair, forcing them for words. The crackling of the heat had died in comparison to their ferocity.

Saela cracked an odd smile before she bowed her head. When she looked up, it didn't reach her eyes for miles.

"Was she not eight-and-ten when you claimed her in a brothel?"

Red burned in Daemon's eyes. All he saw was blood rushing through his vision.

"Aemond had the dignity of a man to fuck me lovingly in his chambers."

Daemon's blood boiled higher than any power. No wine or ocean could muddle or cleanse his brain. HIs mind didn't react to his body moving across the cold floor. The prince's eyes were nothing but drops of black as they stared down at Saela choking. His grip around her throat was loose enough for her to breath freely but tight enough his fingers brushed each other around her neck. His other hand was raised but frozen in the air.

When Daemon blinked next, Saela was crying and his hands dropped without question. In front of her was a dragon, not a man. Heat of dragon's flame burned around her neck so much, she cringed at the burn, then laughed.

What stood before Daemon wasn't his daughter. It was a creature from another world. Possessed, a Maester would say. Magic, a skeptic would claim. This is not Saela. Daemon's brow fell, his heart dropped, and corners of his mouth ached. His daughter that would laugh at his failed jokes and dance with her sisters whenever she could was gone. The person before him had her face, but not her soul.

"You are no more clean than I am, father."

In slow waves, the girl walked away. Backward steps forced him to watch her face morph from laughing to a blank slate. Step. Step. Step. Her hands braced each furniture she bumped into, but she never turned away. Slowly, slowly, creepily, Saela's face turned again and Daemon could see her return. The dying flames calmed her mind to understand the madness she unleashed in her chambers. The wandering of her eyes and quick rise of her chest simmered whatever heat and anger she reached for. Before she could fall onto the couch, Saela whipped around to wipe her face.

It was now Daemon remembered he was a father. Her father.

"Who is Ilaena?"

Saela stopped short of the door. Daemon let his arms hang by his sides after relaxing his shoulders. He hadn't realized the knot he forced his body in until he felt like melting into a pool of body mass. Daemon asked again when silence was delivered with his daughter's back.

"A-a friend." Saela drew back snot.

The lie was a thick as a morning yawn. Daemon heard the gasp she let out when he spoke the name and could hear the hesitance Saela spoke with.

"Iksan aōha kepa." I am your father.

A reminder to them. Second by second, Daemon's voice warmed to the tone he always spoke to her with. It was like the dragon from before never existed, never threatened her. He spoke like he was never disgusted by her.

“I am a father and husband, Saela. Who is--"

"Some call her a whore." The little voice trembled. It was muffled between Saela's frame and the thick doors, but it bounced to Daemon's ears.

"The Lannister's say the vow to Rhaenyra wasn't made by them...House Wylde would suck a man's cock if anything..."

Saela sniffled, but the end of her words hinted at a laugh. Her voice no longer had the edge from earlier--the venomous bite Daemon worried he would catch. It resembled the call of a small child who raced for her father. The girl reached up as she spoke, but could never reach the hand that pulled back from her.

"But it's Otto who, who masters everything."

The heavy chamber doors slammed behind Saela after her confession, leaving Daemon in her cold chambers. In the dim silence, his body melted to the floor. The girl he hugged tightly years ago that one fateful night was unrecognizable just now. The sweet child he sent instructions and guides became something he never imagined. Saela became a soldier--a woman obedient to order, instruction, and command. She now joined the war that consumed their family but Daemon wasn't sure which side she fought for.

His Sweet Saela was a girl no more, but a woman cracked, and soldier worn.

Taglist: @malfoycassimalfoy

[spiderliliez]

RHAENYRA on HELAENA The kindest and gentlest Targaryen in all the books

[+] EMMA D’ARCY [GIF Collection] ✨ [+] PHIA SABAN [GIF Collection] ✨ [+] ..more on “House of the Dragon” 🎬

[m1ndbrand]

Aemond: We’re having a baby.

Helaena: Oh, congratulations!

Y/N: *slamming down adoption papers* It’s you, sign here.

[persephryne]

Parading Meleys’ head through King’s Landing streets was indeed stupid, because while it was thought by Cole as a way to showcase the Blacks’ weaknesses, it made the smallfolk think that dragons « are just meat » which in the end will turn against the Greens as well. After all, their dragons are just meat too.

BUT that’s why I think Jacaerys and Rhaenyra decision to look for Dragonriders who are not « pureblood » Targaryens is a terrible idea (if they succeed) in terms of reaffirming their strength. The fact that the Targaryens are the only ones able to tame and ride such creatures is why they are both feared and admired. As Targaryens they are « closer to gods than men » mostly thanks to their dragons. Sure, having more Dragonriders will make them look stronger, but only for a while.

Daemon himself said « If the King isn’t feared, he is powerless. If you are to be a strong queen, you must cultivate love and respect, yes, but your subjects must fear you. ». Perhaps he wasn’t wrong.

The realm will come to the realization that 1. Dragons can be defeated and 2. Dragons can be ridden by other houses as long as they have a drop of Targaryen blood in them.

That would make both the Blacks and the Greens appear weaker. Entitled. Cruel even because the smallfolk and the others houses suffer from this intestine nonsensical war. But should they really fear them, if their dragons are just meat and others can ride them ? Meleys’ parade and the dragonriders search might even eventually lead to the storming of the Dragonpit.

In the end, the Blacks and the Greens come from the same (family) tree. They’re two sides of the same coin. Whatever they do to tarnish and undermine the other side will ultimately fire back. No side can prevail, either they all win, which is impossible or they all lose, which is inevitable.