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asykriel · 1 year ago

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Love is the Death of Duty - 14.

® do not repost or translate !

☆ Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Male! Targaryen OC

☆ Status: Ongoing

☆ Summary:

“He is half of my heart.”

War made monsters of them all, but it also brought the two second sons together in a flurry of death, love, deceit and delusion. The story of Aemond Targaryen and the eldest son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, Maegor Targaryen, second of his name.

☆ Warnings: Sexual content, explicit violence, dark themes, targcest etc.

☆ AO3 ☆ || ☆ Wattpad ☆

☆ CHAPTERS: (Prologue) / ( 1 ) / ( 2 ) / ( 3 ) / ( 4 ) / ( 5 ) / ( 6 ) / ( 7 ) / ( 8 ) / ( 9 ) / ( 10 ) / ( 11 ) / ( 12 ) / ( 13 ) / ( 14 ) / ( 15 ) / (16 from now on upcoming chaps only on- AO3 || Wattpad )

☆ Masterlist ☆ || ☆ Spotify Playlist ☆

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CHAPTER 14

"You have never sheltered me all these years, why start now, mother?"

"Maegor, you almost died! You barely recovered and you want to leave again!"

"It's already settled, father gave me his blessing. You need to understand, the more you try to tighten the chain around my neck, the harder I will try to break free."

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It took a full two weeks for Maegor to reclaim his strength and fully recover after his perilous brush with the edge of the afterlife. The echoes of Rhaenyra's persistent nagging reverberated in his mind as King's Landing gradually appeared on the horizon. He couldn't help but click his tongue in mild annoyance at the memory.

By the time they reach the outskirts of the city, the sun is already high overhead, illuminating the imposing Red Keep. Despite their delayed arrival, the Princes took a detour during their journey, soaring through the clouds and relishing the freedom of the open skies. For Maegor, it had been an opportunity to reconnect with the thrill of flying on his dragon again since their conquest of Dorne. The sensation is indescribable, and he missed it just as much as he missed his uncle Aemond when they were apart.

"Tolvie run kessa sagon sȳz, ñuha jorrāelagon." Maegor's voice rings out as he brings Saagael to fly closer to Vhagar, their dragons soaring in parallel formation.

While Maegor exudes confidence and a sense of ease, Aemond can't shake his nerves. The impending reunion with their family and the uncertain reactions they might face weigh heavily on him. He despises the feeling of uncertainty, of not having complete control over the situation, not knowing how their family members would respond to both Maegor's return and his own unequivocal support for his claim.

Aemond's gaze shiftes to his nephew, a small, grateful smile gracing his lips. He hopes that Maegor could see the gratitude for his fierce support in his eyes.

As they draw closer to their destination, Maegor's unwavering confidence continues to radiate. He has faced countless trials and tribulations, fought death itself and won, and he is determined to navigate this one with the same tenacity that had brought them victory in the Stepstones and Dorne.

"Those green cunts will try to get under your skin. Walk over them. Show them why you're worthy."

He's aware that all could come crashing down in an instant, but he will control himself and keep his head held high, just as Daemon told him. Perhaps he can sway the Queen with some diplomacy and sweet talking, along with Aemond's help, but Otto Hightower would be his biggest opposition, he'll need to deal with him alone. Figuratively speaking. Although taking his head would be so much easier.

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"I don't get why he needs a welcoming party. Not like he's been gone for years." Aegon sighs in annoyance making sure to groan in protest behind his mother all the way it takes for them, as well as the rest of the procession, to reach from the halls of the castle to the main courtyard of the Red Keep.

The bells signaling Prince Aemond's return have started ringing in the towers laid out throughout the city.

Alicent watches Vhagar flying in closer and letting out a rumble, her heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. She has waited eagerly for the return of her son. His absence had weighed heavily on her, and their last argumentative interaction before he left for the Stepstones had left a lingering bitterness between them. Aemond has never been away from home before now.

Besides her, Aegon yawns, mindlessly kicking small rocks in his boredom. Until his grandfather notices his insolence and has him stop, much to his annoyance.

The Queen's breath catches as Vhagar finally lands, the ground shaking underneath her weight. She doesn't think she'll ever get used to being in the proximity of these beasts that positively terrify her.

Aemond climbs off and walks stiffly to their greeting.

"Mother." He keeps his facade stoic and calculated. The Aemond they know.

"My son, I'm glad to see you have returned safely." Alicent exhales in relief as she fusses over him, checking him for injuries. Putting up the front of a good mother under all the eyes watching her.

Aegon rolls his eyes next to her and his brother pretends he doesn't see him.

However their reunion is cut short as another distinctive rumble rings in the skies and they watch in disbelief how another dragon, black as night and almost matching Vhagar's size circles around the highest spires of the Red Keep, before landing next to Aemond's dragon in the courtyard big enough to accommodate both.

The Cannibal lets out a dangerous growl as he fixes the small gathering of people before he lowers his body, to allow his rider to climb down. Maegor glides a hand over the length of Saagael's neck, to the tip of his scarred muzzle, feeling the ripple of muscles underneath until he walks away, joining Aemond's side in silence.

It was definitely worth it putting up a show. Seeing the shock and fear on the faces of the Queen and her father, is priceless. It sends a shiver of delight down his spine

Amid the shocked reactions, Helaena's genuine delight at Maegor's return stands out. She claps her hands in joyful applause, captivated by the spectacle that has unfolded before her.

Aegon's jaw tightens as he surveys the scene, a mixture of surprise and suspicion etched into his expression. He exchanges a puzzled glance with his mother, the disbelief mirrored in her eyes. Otto Hightower, watches the proceedings with a furrowed brow, his mind undoubtedly racing to decipher the implications of the unanticipated arrival.

"Prince Maegor, what a surprise to see you, with a dragon as well." Alicent clears her voice, the uneasiness on her face is palpable as she tries to maintain her composure. Her gaze shifts between Maegor and her son, Aemond, silently seeking answers. The unexpectedness of the situation leaves her grasping for understanding.

"I came to request a hearing to be held. I'm sure you have received Prince Aemond's letter by now. Did you not?"

Judging by the evident confusion on the Queen's face and the way Otto noticeably shifts his demeanour, she did not even know about the existence of a letter.

Of course, that old snake. Still keeping his daughter in the dark to be more malleable even now.

"The Prince can make a statement during Princess Rhaenys's hearing later today. Until then he's welcomed to rest." The Hand interrupts before Alicent can question about the letter as expected.

Though she is itching to press for more information, Alicent holds her tongue, aware that the situation is not fully under her control. She is left with little choice, but to accept the Hand's intervention, despite the nagging frustration.

Ah yes, Maegor almost forgot about Rhaenys. Some days before him and Aemond left Dragonstone, the Seasnake arrived by ship - along with Vermax much to Jace's relief - to discuss and offer his gratitude to Daemon in the matter of the Stepstones. Maegor was passing by, when he overheard their conversation about Rhaenys coming to the Red Keep's on her husband's behalf, to be given claim and control over the islands.

If he plays his cards right this might be another opportunity he cannot miss.

"Very well, Lord Hightower." Maegor acquiesces, his tone masking a simmering determination beneath a veneer of compliance.

Rest is not what he needs, Aemond forced him to stay in bed for a whole week even when his body returned to its peak. He had plenty of rest. But time to think and plan in private is always welcomed.

Unfortunately, staying in the Red Keep also means keeping distance from Aemond despite being under the same roof. This was different than their stay in Dragonstone, where Maegor's side of the family all knew about their relationship and even though they did not approve, there were also no consequences. Not even when they got caught sneaking out on the beach at night or kissing in darkened corners of the many corridors built inside the castle. Even his parents stopped bickering with him over this when they realized they had no means to win against the�� stubbornness of their son.

Aemond actually came to enjoy the time in Dragonstone, despite the obvious tension, at least he was free to be himself, to act how he wanted around Maegor, not being confined and forced to be shaped into a washed down version of himself. Into the puppet his mother and grandfather wanted him to be.

Now Maegor is alone, lounging on a day bed in his guest quarters, the same ones as his last time in King's Landing, as he waits for time to pass until the hearing. Thinking and planning in private proves futile, his mind is blanked out by boredom and the irritation of having to pretend his uncle is well just his 'uncle' and the good terms between them are only due to growing up together and fighting side by side.

There's only so much staring he can do at the ceiling until he decides to wander off, at first with no real purpose in mind, until he passes by the gardens and sees the Seasnake's wife, alone, looking at the weirwood tree.

"Princess Rhaenys." Maegor greets her as he enters the gardens.

"Ah, Prince Maegor, I've heard you made quite the unexpected entrance." She turns on her heels to face him, a stern expression on her face that gradually softens as she takes in his presence.

"Given the shock on the Queen's face, I'd say so myself." Maegor lets out a chuckle, looking up at the red leaves, gently rustling in the wind.

As they exchange words Rhaenys studies him closely. She remembers the quiet, knowledge hungry child, how he always wanted to spend more time watching the dragons rather than causing trouble with his half brothers.

Their paths haven't crossed ever since and now she doesn't quite know what to make of him despite of everything the Seasnake told her about him. The contrast is intriguing; the shy young boy that was always so eager to please his parents, now stands as a fierce dragonrider and tactician, shrouded in a layer of complexity that came with age. She remains cautious, recognizing the influence of his heritage and the potential consequences of underestimating him. This is Daemon's son after all, and the apple does not fall far from the tree.

"Driftmark is indebted to you, Prince Maegor. I'm not sure my husband and the rest of our men would still be alive if it weren't for your aid." After a moment of silence Rhaenys confesses, watching how the pair of sharp eyes move their attention from the tree to her.

"Thank you, Princess. I'm relieved to hear that Lord Corlys is recovering well. I've learned much from his wisdom and experience during our time in the Stepstones." Maegor keeps his hands clasped behind his back, but his expression softens at her words, a genuine appreciation for her acknowledgment, evident in his eyes.

A small smile plays at the corners of Rhaenys's lips as she nods in response.

"However, if we're discussing debts, I must confess I have a favor to ask of you."

She was right, Daemon's son, just more sweet spoken.

"And what would that be?" Rhaenys's interest piques as she regards him attentively.

"I would like to request your support during the upcoming hearing. To stand by my rightful claim over Dorne. Aemond's endorsement alone may not sway Otto Hightower, but with your voice and, indirectly, the influence of your vassals, it could tip the balance in our favor." Maegor sighs, hoping that if he speaks bluntly and honestly Rhaenys would give in to his request.

Rhaenys assesses him carefully, her gaze unwavering. She is well aware of the political intricacies at play, the delicate dance of power that had brought them to this moment. While Daemon's influence is a big part of Maegor's identity, she also sees the sincerity in his request, a willingness to ally with those who share common goals.

"Lord Corlys has spoken highly of Prince Aemond's actions. He also spoke of his unconditional support for you in the Stepstones and how he saved your life in Sunspear."

"That he did. We've become quite closefighting side by side."

Rhaenys sees right through him. She smiles sadly as she's suddenly reminded of Laenor. Poor Laenor.

"I will vouch for you, Prince Maegor and you will consider the debt settled."

Maegor sighs in relief. This went easier than he expected. His father had warned him of Rhaenys's shrewdness, her capacity for ruthlessness, and the way she navigates the complex waters of politics.

"Kirimvose, dārilaros."

"Do not let Queen find out about just how close you became with her son."

With that Princess Rhaenys leaves the gardens, not before throwing Maegor a knowing look, leaving him to stare in surprise as she walks away.

Maybe his father was not entirely wrong about her. Maegor huffs, clicking his tongue before he walks back inside the Keep's walls. Lead by the impulse of the conversation he had with the Seasnake's wife, his legs carry him to Aemond's quarters where two guards stand by the door.

Flashbacks of his last visit to King's Landing flood into his mind as he smiles nostalgically. This time, however he doesn't hesitate when he opens the door to Aemond's quarters, eager to see his uncle again even if only a few hours passed since their arrival.

The sight of Aegon sprawled out in day bed with a glass of wine in one hand and Aemond trying to distract himself with a book in an armchair, obviously irritated, ruins all of Maegor's initial excitement.

What the fuck is he doing here.

The two must synch their thoughts with the way Aegon jolts on his feet at the sudden intrusion.

"Nephew, you're full of surprises." Aegon beams, trying to mask out his surprise and uneasiness with a nervous laugh.

Maegor curls his upper lip in annoyance, glaring coldly at his older uncle. The few occasions he has to spend time alone with Aemond in this god forsaken prison of stone and this fool has to be here.

"I should say the same thing about you." The youngest Prince clicks his tongue, obviously hinting at his unwelcomed presence here.

From behind his brother, Aemond stands up from the chair as well, his expression softening when he looks at his nephew, silently pleading him to let Aegon be. He'll leave soon, hopefully. He always does.

Whenever he breaks his routine or something unexpectedly happens, Aegon always barges into his room, pestering him while drinking and talking for hours. Obviously Aemond does not indulge him, he usually let's him hold a monologue until he gets too bored of being ignored and goes on his way or until he gets too pissed off Aegon and throws him out himself.

"Always so cold and angry, no wonder you get along with Aemond so well." Aegon feigns a pout, taking the glass of wine to his lips.

Oh how Maegor wishes he could rip it off his face.

"Finally claimed a dragon, fought a war and got poisoned or so I've heard. You've been busy Prince Maegor." The teasing doesn't relent, but two can play this game and Aegon will lose everytime.

"What was it that you always used to tell me when we were children, uncle? You'll die of old age on the back of a horse?" Maegor mirrors the tone of his voice, stepping forward to circle around him.

"Oh come on, those were jests. We all did them." Aegon shrugs his shoulders, maintaining his innocence.

But it wasn't just child play. They weren't simple jokes. Not to him, not to Aemond, not when they were the targets for all the cruel words and pranks for years.

"Do you know what he liked feasting on before I found him?" Maegor wraps an arm around his uncle shoulder, with firm grip.

The size difference between them has Maegor lowering his head to be on the same level as he leans in to Aegon's ear, smirking when he feels him stiffening and going silent.

"Other dragons."

"Enough. I wish to speak with my nephew alone." Aemond steps in, sensing the build up of tension.

In an instant Maegor, glances at him, eyes growing softer and lets his older uncle go with a light shove at the command.

"Holding secrets from your own brother, Aemond?" The older Prince sighs dramatically, but his tone is mixed with seriousness.

Even he could tell something is off with his brother. And has been off for a while now, even now with the way he tenses up at a light joke. His own mother told him that he changed after Aemond abruptly left for the Stepstones, but Aegon shrugged it off and blamed it for his thirst for power and warmongering and probably late blooming carnal urges.

"Aegon, get out." Aemond is not joking. He glares at his brother, pointing to the door with a straight finger.

Circling around them until he takes a seat on the day bed so he can calm down, Maegor watches the exchange closely, in silence, with his fingers gripping the edge of the cushion.

Why is this idiot so stubborn?

"No, I don't think I will baby brother. We should speak freely, we're family after all."

Probably fueled by the alcohol in his system, Aegon boldly takes a seat next to his nephew as if he wasn't just startled by his grim comment moments ago. Maybe the brothel whores who called him a masochist were right.

"I'm not telling you again Aegon. Get out or I'll have you thrown out." Aemond invades his space, staring him down from his feet, but it doesn't phase his brother.

The eldest Prince simply sprawls out, stretching his arms above his head much to Maegor's building anger at the invasion of his personal space.

"What matters are so important to discuss with your nephew, but you can't with me, Aemond? Or maybe you wish to bed him is that it?" Aegon mindlessly teases with perverted comments as always, not putting much thought in it.

Until he watches the reactions. His younger brother takes a step back, all stiffen up and wide eyed while their nephew jumps on his feet, fists clenched and jaw tightened, mirroring Aemond's shocked expression.

Aegon bursts out in a laugh, realization slowly creeping on to him. All the shifting in his brother's behavior, him begging his mother to go fighting in the Stepstones where he was also fighting. Showing up together with Maegor today.

"Oh gods, you're fucking our nephew!" He exclaims as he stands up and lightly slaps his hands over his face, but he's already sobered up completely by the news. In fact he's not drunk enough to deal with this.

Acting in the heat of the moment, driven by impulse and nerves, Maegor goes after him before either of his uncles can react. Wrapping one arm around his neck and using his other to secure one hand of Aegon's behind his back, he gets him into a tight chokehold.

Wrapping his arms at his chest in satisfaction, Aemond doesn't intervene - for now - despite his initial surprise. It's ought the time his brother learned to quit being a nosey pest and mind his own business.

"You spill a word to the Queen or Hand about this and I'll spill your guts, you hear me? Uncle?" Maegor growls in his ear, tightening the hold he has around his neck as a warning.

"Aemond...help." Aegon let's out a cough of distress, reaching out to grab on his brother's sleeve.

"Answer him." To his shock, Aemond takes a step back, pulling away from his touch.

"Fuck. Do you think I give two shits about who my brother fucks you twat?!" Aegon let's out a raspy groan of anger, trying to escape from his nephew's iron grip, but that only fuels Maegor to tighten the hold.

"Hold your tongue."

"Let him go. He won't tell anyone." Aemond rubs his temples with one hand, already drained of all of his energy by everything unfolding before him.

Reluctantly, Maegor obliges, pursing his lips in annoyance. He releases Aegon and steps away from him, still not quite convinced. Even if he has no ounce of trust in the drunkard he has in Aemond, and he knows his brother best.

Aegon catches his breath, rubbing a hand over his sore throat.

"If I knew you were such a prude and a maniac, I would've kept my mouth shut." He groans, glaring at his nephew.

"I think I haven't choked you hard enough. You're still talking." Maegor bites back riled up again, but Aemond's firm hand over his chest stops him from making any other reckless moves.

"Relax. Why would I tell anyone? Twas' just surprising, given that my brother acted like a shy maiden in all the years I've known him." Aegon takes a long gulp directly from the wine bottle to calm himself, instead of pouring himself a glass like a civilized person.

"I don't trust you." Maegor tells him bluntly, nose scrunching in disgust at the behavior and the continuous mockery that escapes his lips.

"That's a given nephew, I don't trust you either. But I see Aemond does, enough to let you almost kill me." Aegon pauses a moment to emphasize and glare at his younger brother. "So I guess that means something."

"Where are you trying to get at, you fool?" Aemond let's out an exhasperated sigh, beyond sick of having to put up with his brother's antics.

"At keeping your little secret between us. Although I doubt mother would make too big of a fuss if she found out you've been bedding Rhaenyra's son. She's more preoccupied with keeping me away from brothels and yapping about becoming king."

The idiot has a fair point for once. In fact it lights up a small hope somewhere in the back of Maegor's mind, but he buries the thought fast. It's too delusional.

"I'm not trying to test out your theory, brother."

"Just look at it from the bright side. At least you're fucking him and not one of the bastards. Mother would have been livid in that case." Aegon let's out a laugh and Maegor gathers up all the willpower he has left to not move a muscle. Because if he did, he'd have one less uncle to deal with.

"Aegon, enough! You had your fun and you've made your point, and now it's time for you to leave!" Aemond snaps, his voice loud and sharp as he steps forward grabbing him by the collar and pushing him towards the door, the frustration evident in his expression.

"Fine, fine." Aegon grumbles, setting down the wine bottle as he's being dragged with an exaggerated sigh. He shoots a smug grin in Maegor's direction.

"Keep your dog on a tighter leash, Aemond. He's quite feral."

Maegor clenches the edge of an armchair until his knuckles turn white and the fabric crinkles audibly.

Thankfully, Aemond doesn't dignify Aegon's comment with a response, his gaze steady on his older brother as he shoves him toward the door. When Aegon exits the room, he casts one last knowing glance over his shoulder at Maegor, before disappearing from view.

That leech.

In the quiet aftermath of Aegon's departure, the room feels like a sanctuary, a space where their connection can breathe freely once again. Maegor's thoughts are a swirling tempest, the weight of Aegon's discovery mingling with the warmth of Aemond's presence beside him.

"You didn't need to do that." Maegor finally breaks the silence, his voice tinged with frustration. "I can handle him."

Aemond's expression softens as he approaches Maegor, his eye filled with a mixture of concern and understanding.

"I know you can, but he can be relentless. It's better to put an end to his antics before they escalate further or before you murder him."

Maegor's shoulders tense as he looks away, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions. He had hoped for a quiet moment alone with Aemond before the hearing, a respite from the chaos of the outside world. Yet, Aegon's intrusion had shattered that illusion, and the revelation of their relationship had been thrust into the open.

"I never wanted him to find out like this." Maegor admits, guilty that it's partly due to his reaction that he found out. His voice quieter now, filled with a mix of vulnerability and regret.

Aemond steps closer, his hand gently finding its place on Maegor's shoulder, despite him offering reassurance, he is also uneasy and nervous himself.

As the tension gradually ebbs away, Maegor allows himself to lean into the embrace Aemond offers. Their bodies fit together seamlessly. The familiar scent of Aemond's tunic mingles with the soft leather of Maegor's attire, enveloping them in a cocoon of shared intimacy.

"Are you really certain he'll keep his mouth shut?" Maegor's voice is laced with uncertainty, his breath ghosting against Aemond's ear as he speaks.

Aemond's fingers twitch against Maegor's broad shoulders, his touch both grounding and reassuring.

"I am. He is a drunkard fool, but he has no interest in meddling into my affairs beyond jokes and pestering." Aemond replies, his voice steady and confident. He senses Maegor's lingering doubt and seeks to alleviate it, to offer a semblance of security in this precarious situation.

"And if he doesn't you can have your way with him."

That thought definitely comforts Maegor better.

After a few more lingering moments they eventually move to the day bed. Maegor sitting with his legs stretched out, resting the heels of his boots on the small table in front of them as his uncle sprawls out his body across the bed, his head in his nephew's lap while he allows himself a few moments of respite.

Aemond closes his eye almost letting out a groan when Maegor starts running his fingers through long locks, rubbing at his scalp soothingly.

"I was thinking of going to talk to the Queen before the hearing." Maegor's voice is thoughtful, contemplative, and it immediately captures Aemond's attention. He blinks his eye open, focusing his gaze on the sharp jaw above him.

Aemond takes a moment to process the statement, his thoughts racing as he considers the implications.

"I would advise you against this, but you already know this, nephew." Aemond clears his voice and his Maegor acknowledges with a faint sigh.

"Indeed. Perhaps I am a fool to think I could sway her into liking me enough to tolerate the thought of me as Prince of Dorne."

Aemond shifts his position slightly, a pang of sympathy tugging at his heart. He reaches up to place a hand on Maegor's thigh,

"She despises your mother and because of that she resents all of her children, however you might stand a chance given...your legacy." The hesitation in Aemond's voice doesn't go unnoticed.

"Given that I'm not a bastard. You can say it uncle, I'm fully aware." Maegor's response is laced with a hint of bitterness as he starts thinking if things would have been different, or even better if his mother didn't do the things she did. Performing her duties as heir and wife instead of going after knights.

"I will accompany you and offer my support in front of her as well." Aemond's fingers tighten their grip on Maegor's thigh, his touch a silent apology for the unspoken pain his words may have caused.

"Are you certain this will not raise her suspicions?"

"I can't guarantee, but I believe it's better than treating with her alone."

"You have a way of making sense, uncle," Maegor teases gently, his gaze softening as he looks down at Aemond.

"It's a gift I've honed over the years." Aemond chuckles softly, a light glint in his eye.

Seriousness reappears on Maegor's face as he takes a brief moment to gather his thoughts.

"I may have not said it outloud before. But I want you to know, uncle, that I am ready to face anyone and anything that may stand in our way. Regardless of who they may be."

His nephew's words strike Aemond's very core. The deep honesty and determination of this sudden confession makes his face flush slightly and he swallows dryly. Memories to the first time he confessed so brazenly flood into his mind. It's nostalgic. How far they have come.

After a moment of silence he takes to gather his words, Aemond sits up to be on the same eye level as the young Prince.

"Kesi laehurlion zirȳ, ñuha jorrāelagon. Hēnkirī."

Aemond leans in, only brushing his lips over his nephew's, on purpose, to see his reaction. As expected, Maegor hungrily deepens the kiss, cupping his face to pull him closer.

Despite their shared urges and frustration, kissing is the most they can do and even that feels quite risky given that anyone could barge in Aemond's chambers during the day. And by anyone that resumes to only three people who would intrude uninvited and without announcing their presence prior.

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With their unspoken agreement sealed in their shared gaze, Maegor and Aemond finally pull themselves from the comforting embrace of the day bed. A sense of purpose settles over them as they rise.

As they make their way together through the corridors of the Red Keep, the tension in the air is palpable. Every servant and guard is throwing them curious and wary looks.

They come to a halt before the King's chambers, guarded by Ser Criston Cole. The knight's stern expression revealed his reservations about their presence, particularly Maegor's. The arrival of Rhaenyra's son undoubtedly stirred a storm within the Red Keep, and a bigger one inside him.

"My Princes." Cole greets them both.

"Let us through Ser Criston. We seek an audience with the Queen. It is of utmost importance." Aemond demands, but the knight doesn't step out of the way as intended.

"My apologies, the Queen ordered to not let anyone come through." Cole's gaze shifts between the two Princes, uncertainty in his eyes.

With one hand purposely resting on the hilt of Nightbringer, Maegor stays silent, maintaining the cold eye contact with the knight who seems more focused on figuring him out, rather than Aemond's words.

"Would you disobey a direct order from your Prince, Cole?" Aegon has already thinned out Aemond's minimal patience by now. He's it no mood to deal with another nuisance.

"As the Queen's personal guard, I only take order from her, my Prince." Criston's audacity is heating up Maegor's blood as well, but he can't pull the same stunt he pulled on Aegon.

Thankfully, most likely from all the ruckus they are causing, the door behind the knight opens before either Princes escalate the situation. Maegor doesn't think seeing Alicent's face would be something he'd be grateful for.

"What is the meaning of all this noise! You are disturbing your King!" The Queen barges out, in irritation, but her scolding quickly dies out fast and is replaced by surprise seeing her son, with Maegor in front of her for a second time today.

"I wish to speak to you, my Queen." Maegor steps in keeping a stern face and a calm tone in his voice. "Away from any unwanted ears." He adds, throwing Cole a sharp glance.

Alicent blinks in astonishment, a momentary pause falling between them as she processes the unexpected encounter.

"Not here." She finally speaks, her voice carrying a blend of surprise and caution. With a decisive gesture, she closes the door to the King's chamber behind her, sealing off the space that holds her ailing husband.

Before the door closed fully, Maegor's sharp eyes flit to the interior of the room, catching a glimpse of the bed where Viserys lays. He can make out, through all the incense fumes and silk bed curtains, the form of his grandfather. A dry husk more than a man. He didn't have to be next to his bedside to realize that the King's state worsened tenfold since Maegor's last time in King's Landing. It would be just a matter of time now.

They follow the Queen to her private chambers, the sense of anticipation lingering in the air like an unspoken omen. Aemond breathes in relief that they did not bump into his grandfather on the way to his mother's quarters.

"Ser Criston, keep watch outside." Alicent commands as they enter her chamber, her tone brooking no opposition. Though Cole hesitates for a moment, the Queen's silent insistence spurs him to comply, leaving them in a tense silence.

"Heel, dog."

A faint whisper reaches the knight's ears alone when he passes by the younger Prince as he leaves the room.

Even if he doesn't bother looking at Cole, judging by the way Maegor feels a hot glare on the back of his head and hears the door slamming behind him, he reckons he understood. Maegor's lips curl into a barely suppressed smirk, though it is quickly extinguished as he turns his attention to Aemond and the Queen. He finds them standing together in the center of the room, their postures poised and their expressions guarded.

"What is it that you wish to discuss, Prince Maegor?" Alicent clasps her hands together, subtly picking at her fingers. A nervous gesture that doesn't escape the Prince's perceptive gaze.

"About the letter Prince Aemond sent and the reason for my presence here." Maegor plays it cool, and keeps a diplomatic tone, while his uncle listens carefully. If anything, Aemond is waiting to act like a buffer between the two if the situation arises. Which he hopes not.

Alicent's curiosity is piqued, her interest evident in the arch of her eyebrow. She nods silently, a wordless encouragement for him to continue.

This is Maegor's chance to sway her in as much as he can, show her honesty and perhaps she will indulge.

"I've taken Dorne after aiding the Seasnake in reconquering the Stepstones as you may have heard. I wish to show my gratitude to you, for allowing Prince Aemond to join our cause, despite the dangers involved. Without him I'm not sure we could have won and I certainly would have not been alive, standing before you today." The Prince chooses his words carefully and makes sure to leave out the detail where Aemond flew him to Dragonstone and spent two weeks with him and his family there. Otherwise, Alicent would surely lose her mind over it.

"Ah yes, I have heard you were poisoned, we are all relieved you are in good health again." The Queen fakes a smiles and a sweet voice that not even herself would believe and Maegor forces himself to return the smile, without rolling his eyes until he sees the inside of his head at her falsity.

"With Prince Aemond's generosity, he granted me the title as Prince of Dorne. Later at the hearing I will request the Crown to officially recognize my rightful claim over and the union of all Seven Kingdoms." He briefly glances at his uncle, just for a fleeting moment enough so that the Queen doesn't notice. An almost invisible gesture of affection.

Alicent turns her head to her son, all wide eyed and shocked.

"I assure you mother, there is no one better suited than Prince Maegor to receive that claim." He lets out a silent sigh but stands firmly by his words.

Warmth starts to travel to Maegor's head with every word Aemond's sharp voice lets out. He clenches his fists, itching to get just a tad closer to him.

"What about yourself, Aemond!?" She snaps without thinking and Maegor purses his lips in irritation at her, but he quickly gets distracted by his uncle again.

"The Prince conquered Dorne by himself by the time of my arrival in Sunspear. He is a great warrior and a priceless asset for our family. I stand by my decision, mother." Aemond presses on and Maegor is slowly losing his mind on the inside.

He wants to kiss him. Badly. He wants to do more than that. Shifting his gaze to scan the room with the corner of his eyes doesn't help, especially not when he spots the edge of the Queen's bed from the door to her nightroom left barely open.

All kind of filthy thoughts flood his brain, despite the stoic expression he holds on his face. What if he fucked Aemond in her bed, defile the very air she breathes until none of her seven gods can make it holy again. If that wouldn't make her drop dead, Maegor is not sure what will. Besides blades, fire and poison of course.

"My Queen, if I may, I am fully aware there is a lot of tension in our family, but my newfound alliance with Prince Aemond could be one step closer to building a bridge over that distance." He clears his voice, feeling his throat dry from getting lost in his mind for a moment and resumes his attempt at convincing her.

"I understand your perspective Prince Maegor, but I am not fully certain of your genuine intentions."

Of course she doesn't trust him, the green bitch.

"Your Grace, do you believe your son would have trusted me himself if he believed I had any ill thoughts?"

This seems to make Alicent contemplate and reluctantly realize he is right. Ever since he was a toddler Aemond was the sharpest one, she's positive he would have sniffed out the Prince by now if something was off.

"And what is it that you want from me Prince Maegor?"

"Your tolerance if I cannot get your full trust, your Grace. Your tolerance over my claim. I do not dare to ask for the Queen's support herself, but I would rather not have her stand in my way either."

Despite the Prince's smooth tone and silver tongue, Alicent isn't quite sure if the latter of Maegor's words hold a threat or not. He's cunning and well spoken. Dangerous, with the same kind of piercing eyes Daemon has.She hates his eyes. The way they look down on everyone regardless, as if everyone is just an insect to him, even now when he does a formidable job at acting like an excellent diplomat, Alicent can't help, but feel his subtle glare. Degrading her and making her feel small in front of him.

She debates with her inner thoughts a decision. It would be useful to have someone like him on their side, but at the same time she cannot trust someone she cannot bend to her will and Alicent is quite doubtful she has any chance of succeeding this with someone as unreadable and unpredictable like Daemon's son.

"Very well. I am willing to grant you that privilege, Prince Maegor." she admits, concluding that it might be on her family's best interest to be on good terms with a son of Rhaenyra's or at least pretend to.

And perhaps who knows, she might be able to sway him into doing her bidding eventually.

"However, remember even if I tolerate your claim, you are but to convince the Hand and the small council whether or not you are worthy."

Maegor would laugh in her face if he didn't have to keep up his peaceful, naive facade. Otto is next on his list, but he's not sure how long can he pretend to be someone he's not.

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Evening comes bustling with noise, the hall of the Iron Throne is filled with courtiers, nobles, and servants alike, creating a symphony of whispers and murmurs that reverberate off the grand walls. The atmosphere is heavy with anticipation as people impatiently await the proceedings. Despite the grandeur of the setting, Maegor can feel the air charged with tension as he stands besides Princess Rhaenys.

In front of them, Otto Hightower has the audacity to occupy the King's seat, a display of authority that doesn't go unnoticed by Maegor. His eyes narrow slightly, an unspoken challenge directed at the Hand's boldness. Close by, at the base of the imposing stairs leading to the throne, stands Queen Alicent and her three children, Daeron's still absent—he hasn't left Old Town, Maegor assumes.

The familiar setting triggers memories of his last appearance in this very hall, a confrontation that had changed the course of his life and brought him together with Aemond. As he recalls that memory, a surge of determination courses through him, reinforcing his resolve. The question isn't whether he's capable, for he knows his prowess all too well. The question is, what fool will he cut down this time?

Stealing fleeting glances with his uncle, Maegor loses focus on paying attention at the hearing of the Seasnake's wife. The proceeding goes swiftly and smoothly. Otto Hightower isn't a fool, he grants Rhaenys her request without demands due to the importance of the Stepstones and the control Driftmark has overseeing the Narrow Sea. Without them, all trade by water would be blocked to King's Landing. A lot of people would suffer, including himself.

"The Crown will now hear the petition by Prince Maegor of house Targaryen." The Hand announces, fixing a gaze full of scrutiny on the young Prince.

Whispers grow loud as, Maegor boldly comes forward, taking long strides full of confidence until he's next to the first step leading up to the throne. All eyes fix upon him, drawn to his commanding presence, including the only one he cares about.

"My Queen, Lord Hand." His voice rings out, carrying the well known authority of a Targaryen. "The Conqueror's dream was to unite all of the Seven Kingdoms under one Crown, he united six of them, but when it came to Dorne he failed. Along with other successors who attempted this."

As Maegor speaks, everyone else goes silent, his voice carries through the throne room, raised and steady, echoing in the large hall. He stands as a representative of history, of a legacy that runs through his veins, and he bears that with pride.

"Today I stand before you making history like my ancestors before me and finishing what the Conqueror couldn't, bringing union and stability under one rule, the one of the Iron Throne. For this I am demanding rightful claim over Dorne."

He continues, his eyes shifting from the Hand to the rest of the small council, to the Queen and finally to his uncle who gives his nephew a subtle nod of approval and support, urging him to press forward with his speech.

"Usurping a defenseless city does not give you the rightful claim over its kingdom, Prince Maegor." Otto Hightower tries to cut him short but Maegor anticipated this. The old cunt hates his guts for being Daemon's son, and the feeling is mutual.

"I shall remind the Queen and Lord Hand that house Martell of Dorne funded the Triarchy and attempted to take the Stepstones for themselves, disturb the trade routes and economy. Land which belongs to the King. Had Dorne been part of the Seven Kingdoms when they did this, it would mean treason. But since they were not, it was a declaration of war that I saw fit to uphold and see to its end, as Prince of House Targaryen and guardian of the realm's sovereignty."

As Maegor speaks, he can see Otto's jaw clench ever so slightly, his reaction a testament to the Hand's unease. Maegor's lips twitch, barely restraining a smug smile—a private satisfaction in stirring the Hand's temper.

Tension mounts within the hall. His words ignite fervent hushed discussions among the other members of the small council. Just as uncertainty prevails, Princess Rhaenys takes a step forward, captivating the room's attention.

Maegor's eyes follow her closely, his expression softening just slightly when he makes eye contact with her for a brief moment, grateful for keeping her word.

"My Lord Hand, it is thanks to Prince Maegor's steadfast support that we reclaimed the Stepstones. His commitment proved invaluable, without him we would have not been able to emerge victorious. With this, it is now my turn to offer Driftmark's support for his rightful claim over Dorne."

Hearing Rhaenys speak makes Otto wish he could have humiliated her in front of everyone gathered here today and deny the Seasnake's control over the Stepstones.

After the Princess holds her pledge, whispers started to erupt through the hall, the assembly abuzz with a renewed fervor. It's clear that this hearing has become more than a mere formality—it's a battleground of words and loyalties, where alliances are formed and tested.

And then, it's another person's turn to vouch for Maegor, the one who saved him from the embrace of death itself, the one who holds his heart. Prince Aemond, leaving his mother and sibling's side so he can take his place next to his nephew. The Hand is in disbelief, fury simmering just beneath the surface as he turns his head to his daughter, but Alicent lowers her eyes, avoiding his gaze.

"Like Princess Rhaenys, before me, I too stand by Prince Maegor's rightful claim and I wish to reinforce my decision of proclaiming him Prince of Dorne myself. I have been with him through the thick of the war, I have seen what he can do and what a formidable warrior he is. Denying him this right would be unwise, as it is he who managed to bring more stability to the realm by making it whole, doing the King an immense favor, risking his own life, when no one has asked this of him." Aemond's voice rings out, resonating with sincerity and conviction.

Hearing his uncle speak so passionately of him makes Maegor feel delirious with delight, he can hear all of his blood rushing in his ears. It was making him dizzy, but he had to stay strong until this is all over.

The Hand's frustration is palpable, his efforts to maintain control slipping through his fingers. With his own daughter's unusual silence bearing down heavy on him and his nephew's practical betrayal standing by Maegor's side, Otto Hightower's veneer of authority is crumbling as well as his self-assured demeanor.

"What of Prince Maegor's ambitions? After Dorne what will follow?!" The Hand's irritation is evident in his question, an attempt to regain control over the situation.

Maegor lets out an audible snort, his pretense of maintaining a peaceful facade finally giving way to the rawness of his emotions. The tension in the room is palpable, the confrontation between the two men teetering on the edge of eruption.

"Are you afraid I am aiming to be King next? Lord Hand?" A smug smile plays on his lips, his words a calculated provocation that seeks to puncture the Hand's inflated ego.

"This isn't a matter of fear, Prince Maegor!" Otto exclaims, but Maegor cuts him off quickly, his words laced with an undercurrent of defiance

"I have taken a whole kingdom in one afternoon, how long do you think I will need to take one throne?"

The gasps that ripple through the assembly are a testament to the audacity of Maegor's words. The room collectively holds its breath, the weight of his challenge sinking in. He has thrown down the gauntlet, and there's no turning back now.

"You dare threaten the Crown!?" Otto barks.

"I was merely posing a question, one that you surely have the answer for, Lord Hightower. Alas, no need to worry, My interest in seating the Iron Throne and bearing the weight of a crown that will imprison me, does not exist, I hold too much value on my freedom. However, the thought of a King who fights his own battles, wouldn't that be a sight?"

The tension in the throne room reaches its apex. Otto Hightower's face reddens with anger, his knuckles turning white from clenching his fists as he stands from the throne. His carefully cultivated facade of control unravels before the eyes of the courtiers and nobles gathered in the hall.

"You tread a perilous path, Prince Maegor. Your arrogance blinds you to the consequences of your words." The Hand's voice slightly trembles with suppressed fury as he retorts.

"Oh, I'm fully aware of the consequences, Lord Hand, I trust my father mentored me well. And if my words are deemed dangerous, perhaps it's time for the Crown to reevaluate its choices." Maegor's smug smirk remains intact, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of defiance and amusement.

Take the bait, fool.

The assembly is now divided between those who find his bravado compelling and charismatic and those who view it as reckless defiance. The Queen's gaze remains steady, her expression inscrutable, as she absorbs the unfolding drama with a measured calmness, recalling their earlier discussion.

"You play a dangerous game, Prince Maegor!" Otto hisses through clenched teeth, his voice a venomous whisper. "You underestimate the web of politics that holds the realm together."

Observing everything unfold before him makes Aegon slowly realize why his brother liked their nephew so much. And he has to admit, he's quite entertaining and well dabbed in putting people in their place, even his grandfather. He kind of wishes they'd be on better terms now.

"Ah, the web of politics that has left the realm on the precipice of chaos time and time again? How effective that web has been at ensuring stability?" Maegor leans slightly forward, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Watching his nephew metaphorically dragging his grandfather on the floor like this brings Aemond a new kind of joy and entertainment. It's quite amusing. He swallows the smirk playing on his lips. And Maegor's display of power using just words and his presence alone is intoxicating.

The audience watches on, captivated by the power struggle playing out before them. It's a spectacle that reveals the underlying currents of ambition and power that flow through the heart of the realm. And right now Lord Hightower is on the losing side.

As the standoff continues, Rhaenys steps forward, her presence commanding attention. Her voice is measured and calm as she addresses both men.

"Prince Maegor, Lord Hand, it is clear that this debate cannot be resolved in the heat of the moment. The Crown's decision must be made with careful consideration and consultation."

Her words cut through the tension, offering a moment of reprieve from the charged atmosphere. The room slowly begins to regain its composure, whispers and murmurs filling the void left by the confrontation.

Alicent's eyes shift from her to the Hand and then to Maegor. Her gaze is a mixture of contemplation and calculation, weighing the options before her. She rises from her seat, finally deciding to step in.

"The Crown shall deliberate on this matter thoroughly. Prince Maegor's claim to Dorne and the implications it carries for the realm will be examined by the small council. We shall take into account the arguments presented today and render a decision that aligns with the interests of the King." Alicent declares, her voice carrying authority despite the cold glare that comes from her father's direction.

Her proclamation resonates through the hall, a declaration that the fate of Dorne's rightful claim hangs in the balance of political deliberation. The gathered courtiers and nobles exchange glances, whispering among them, their anticipation and curiosity of the growing Prince's popularity stirred by the promise of future decisions.

As the tension eases, Maegor's gaze shifts to the Queen. He gives her a subtle nod of acknowledgement, still with the thought of swaying her into getting on her good terms in mind.

The throne room begins to disperse, courtiers and nobles mingling once more as they empty the hall. The echo of Maegor's words and the weight of the impending decision linger in the air.

Straying behind, among the last people to leave, Maegor makes sure to pass by Aemond when they part ways in the corridors, subtly brushing his hand against his, a faint whisper in his uncle's ear.

"Wait for me tonight."

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Under the shroud of the night, the Red Keep's corridors are cast in shadows, the only illumination coming from the flickering torches that line the walls. Maegor moves with the stealth of a shadow himself, navigating the winding corridors with a familiarity born of the memories of his childhood spent in the Red Keep. His purpose is clear—he still has work to do, and it's far from finished.

Thanks to the secrets passed down by his father, Maegor finds and navigates the hidden passageways of the Red Keep with ease. The cobwebs and dust that greet him serve as a testament to the secrecy that still shrouds these forgotten paths built by the one he was named after.

One passage in particular beckons, leading him through the labyrinthine twists of stone and mortar until he stands before a small, concealed opening. Through it, he spies upon the council chamber—a hidden observer in the shadows.

The council chamber is abuzz with heated debate, its occupants engrossed in discussions of utmost significance. Maegor's lips curl into a silent smirk as he watches the drama unfold before him. His gaze lands on Otto Hightower, whose frustration and disdain for Maegor are palpable.

"The boy is mad! His pride made him burn thousands to fulfill a dead man's failed ambition!" Otto's exclamation reverberates through the chamber.

In the darkness, Maegor's amusement grows. He can practically see the steam rising from the Hand's ears as he rallies against him. Otto's fear and resentment have become a weapon, a means by which Maegor can manipulate the Hand's emotions.

"I agree with the Lord Hand. He is dangerous and unpredictable, a clear mirror of his father. We do not need two Rogue Princes allowed to do as they please. Giving him claim over Dorne would grant him more power." Another voice chimes in, Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, his words calculated and cautious.

Ah yes, the cat pretending to be a lion.

The Lannister's voice, though measured, is laced with the underlying currents of self-interest that define the political landscape. Maegor knows the game well by now, the dance of power and alliances that shapes the destinies of kingdoms.

"Indeed." Otto agrees, his tone tinged with a mix of certainty and concern. "We give him more power until he realizes it's not enough and aims for the Iron Throne. We would breed an usurper king."

Maegor's lips curl into a wry smile. Otto's paranoia is painting a vivid picture of his own fears. The Hand is beginning to spiral into obsession, haunted by the specter of Maegor donning the crown. He understands the fear that drives Otto to such desperate measures because they both know his fate if such a thought ever became reality.

"Which is precisely why we should keep Prince Maegor in our reach. I say we give him Dorne and demand his sworn loyalty, keep him in King's Landing under our close watch, away from Daemon and his mother." The irony of the Queen's proposal is not lost on Maegor as he chuckles under his breath.

Alicent really believes she can manipulate him, bend his will to serve her own ambitions, turn him into a guard dog for the greens. Little does she know that one of the first things Daemon versed him in was the art of subterfuge and scheming.

Nonetheless, he would accept this offer, play along with their plan. It would mean being able to be around Aemond and offer intel to his father at the same time, should the Hightowers get even more ambitious than they already have.

Riled up and no longer patient enough to listen to the council's mindless bickering, Maegor decides he heard enough. Moving through the hidden way the council's voices die out as he retreats from his vantage point, he takes long strides, with a new purpose in mind.

As the entrance slowly opens into the room, a small alcove nestled within Aemond's chambers, he steps through silently, his movements fluid and calculated. Shadows danced across the walls, their movements echoing the currents of uncertainty that swirls in the air.

His uncle's quarters are a haven of familiarity, each piece of furniture and ornament a testament to Aemond's persona in the dim light of the burning candles. It was the only place in the Red Keep where they could strip away the facades they wore in the world outside, revealing the raw truth that bound them. This was where they could be themselves in the dead of the night with no one to intrude and pester them—two individuals bound by blood and history.

As Maegor moves further, entering the bedroom, his senses heighten, and a faint smile graces his lips when his eyes fall on the back of his uncle's facing him. Taking advantage of his presence still not noticed, Maegor treads lightly and silently until he reaches Aemond.

He wraps his arms around him and buries his nose in his uncle's hair, feeling how he stiffens at the sudden intrusion, but then instantly relaxes realizing it's his nephew.

"Aemond..." he whispers, his voice a low, husky rumble that filled the chamber. He nuzzles the long silver locks and taking in the pleasant smell. His uncle must have bathed before he came.

"Is sneaking around like a thief in the night one of your new hobbies, nephew?" Aemond doesn't turn around, instead he places his hands over Maegor's arms, enjoying the sudden warmth around his body.

"Only if it leads me to you, uncle." Maegor smiles, slightly increasing the pressure around Aemond's waist.

"I thought you wouldn't come anymore, where have you been, nephew?"

"Sneaking around like a thief like you said, and eavesdropping on the small council gathered so late at night."

Aemond's curiosity is piqued.

"What are they planning?"

"Your mother wants to give me Dorne, but in return she wants to tether me to her machinations while your grandfather dreads the thought of my hidden ambitions of becoming an usurper King." Maegor chuckles, leaning his forehead against Aemond.

"Hm, the image of you sitting the throne and wearing the Conqueror's crown is quite ravishing indeed." Aemond chuckles, leaning back against his nephew.

"I'm not suited to be King, not like you, uncle." Maegor brushes his lips against Aemond's ear.

His words are genuine, besides the age difference, Aemond is far more capable of being a ruler, more patient at dealing with politics and the idiots involved in them while Maegor would be much more comfortable on a battlefield than on a throne.

"But if I were, there would be no small council. You would be my Master of Coin...." He leans in, kissing along the side of his uncle's neck.

The older Prince lets out a sigh of pleasure, closing his eye and absorbing every word he hears.

"Master of War..." Hands move lower from Aemond's waist and he lets out a breathy groan.

"Hand of the King..." They slide underneath his nightshirt, Maegor's fingers gliding against the hot, smooth skin.

"King consort..." He moves his lips from Aemond's neck, going back to nuzzling his hair until he finds the knot of his uncle's eyepatch.

Using his teeth, the younger Prince pulls at the thin straps keeping it tied around the back of Aemond's head and the piece of leather falls to their feet, revealing the sapphire.

"Maegor...let's marry."

Feeling his sudden stiffness, Aemond shifts around, turning in his nephew's arms so he can face him. Freezing in place and going silent, Maegor looks at him wide eyed, not sure if he heard right or if it was just a figment of his heated thoughts.

"In the tradition of our house. No one can contest our union that way." Aemond cups his cheeks with both hands as he continues, firm on his words.

Naturally the faith of the Seven forbids men to marry each other, but not old Valyrian customs. Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men. Free to do as they please, just like their dragons.

Still stunned, instead of trying to gather his words and offer an answer, Maegor's lips claim Aemond's in an instant. A hungry and passionate kiss that reignites the blazing fire between them.

With his hands falling to his uncle's hips and his mouth never leaving the older Prince's, Maegor pushes him backwards, starved, until Aemond's back is roughly pressed against the wall next to his bed.

The kiss between them deepens, a fervent exchange of desires that have been building up for a while, the quick heated moments in Dragonstone far from enough. They both need a night like the one spent in the Stepstones. That night, Maegor's thoughts were hazy with Arbor wine, but now, he is sober and everything feels ten times more heightened than back then.

He glues against his uncle, caging him with his body while they're grinding their crotches together. They keep kissing, biting and bruising until air is no longer a vital need, not how they are for each other.

Aemond's hands find the straps of Maegor's tunic, quickly unfastening it and yanking it off his body. Slender fingers trail down Maegor's back broad back, tracing the contours of his spine and muscles over his shirt with a touch that is both possessive and tender. The younger Prince responds with more desire, his teeth sinking into Aemond's lips, his hands roaming over his chest and shoulders, rememorizing every curve and plane of his uncle's lean body while they moan in each other's mouth like they haven't seen each other for decades.

Breaking away from the kiss, Aemond's one-eyed gaze locks onto Maegor's, the intensity of his emotions and raw, primal desire laid bare for his nephew to see. Maegor's lips graze Aemond's jawline, his breath warm against his skin.

"The thought of marrying you, of claiming you as mine in every way..." Maegor groans, his voice rough with desire.

Their lips meet again in a searing kiss, their desires merging and intertwining as they lose themselves in the heat of the moment. With a deft movement, Maegor's hands move to the fastenings of Aemond's nightshirt, his fingers working quickly to undo the buttons and reveal the expanse of his uncle's bare chest.

As the nightshirt falls to the ground, Aemond's body is exposed to Maegor's hungry eyes—an alabaster canvas of strength, for him alone to mark. The sight makes him delirious and painfully hot.

Maegor gasps when Aemond finally slides his hand inside his trousers, stroking his painfully hard cock too gently, teasing him. A few ragged breaths later, Aemond can feel him grow wetter with precum against his palm.

Moaning, Maegor bends forward to bite at the side of his uncle's neck, nipping lightly and then sucking harder before licking up the bright red marks he leaves behind as punishment for the torture.

"I've wanted you since we were boys." He admits again, breathing hotly into Aemond's ear as he feels himself tremble under his uncle's torturous touch.

At the sound of those words, Aemond squeezes him harder, stroking faster relishing in all the soft keens his nephew lets out against his neck. Until Maegor grips his wrists, stopping his movements and taking out his hands from his trousers.

Aemond throws him a questioning glance but before he can form a question, his nephew is already lowering down on his knees.

His hands and mouth travel lower, kisses pressed to Aemond's firm stomach. His lips press into the warm skin with need- want . Aemond gasps, mind hazy with what Maegor is doing to him, his hands move down to his nephew's shoulders, finding thin scars here and there, and watching with satisfaction.

Maegor kneels fully before his uncle.

He finally makes eye contact with Aemond, blown-out pupils matching a single one. Illuminated by the soft lights of the candles scattered in the room, his uncle looks perfect, the scar across his cheek and the shine of the sapphire only adding more to his beauty.

It's enough to make Maegor stop and stare, drinking in the sight, hands continuing to worship the other man's body. Aemond raises a hand to push the white locks back away from his nephew's eyes. A tender moment in between their raw urges.

Maegor bows his head in silent prayer because this is worship. He doesn't need the worthless faiths or to redeem himself before a septon. Not when he has this. Not when Aemond is his god.

They look at each other in silence, a timeless moment where Maegor savors every inch of Aemond's body. At the crest of pleasure, the older Prince lets out a soft breathy groan and his hands grip Maegor's head as he opens his pants, pulling them down his ankles.

Aemond steps out of the discarded trousers, kicking them aside before his nephew starts gliding his hands along his inner thighs. Maegor leans in, nuzzling the milky skin before he bites down making Aemond's already hard cock jump and throb at the sudden surge of sinful pain.

The young Prince smirks up at his uncle, his mouth still latched against the inside of his thigh, making sure to leave a long lasting mark. Then Maegor's hand finally wraps around his cock.

Letting out a blissful sigh, Aemond leans his head back against the wall.

The combination of lust and want reaches an almost unbearable level when Maegor licks the underside of the head, tasting the saltiness, before taking in the tip of his cock in his mouth, causing Aemond to suck in a sharp breath through his teeth.

What he lacks in inexperience Maegor makes up for his devotion and determination to make his uncle feel good. To make him lose himself in the pleasure. And Aemond does that exactly.

His uncle's hands have made their way into wavy curls and Maegor soon finds out he enjoys the guidance, the pulls and tugs telling him when he needs to speed up or slow down. When he tries to take Aemond in fully, feeling the head of his cock nudging the back of his throat, he hears his uncle moan aloud, wordless and carnal.

Riled up by the sweet sounds that are melody to his ears, Maegor slides up and down, taking as much as he can, moaning around the cock with every harsher yank of his hair. Despite the tears stinging in his eyes, he swallows the precious liquid that leaks out with each thrust into his mouth.

Maegor loves how his uncle tastes.

He digs his nails into Aemond's hips, a small way of marking him while his mouth is occupied..

"Maegor.." He hears his name through a cracked groan."Stop."

Aemond scratches along his nephew's scalp as he tries to tug him away.

Maegor doesn't stop, purposely looking up, maintaining eye contact as he speeds up the pace. He tries not to choke as he struggles to take his uncle to his base . Firm hands grip the older Prince's hips keeping him in place.

Aemond's eye shuts as he leans forward, with a loud moan, no longer able to restrain himself. He comes, hands digging painfully in his nephew's hair as he pulls him closer against his hips. Maegor groans, swallowing every drop his uncle gives him, teardrops dripping down his cheeks.

If he knew he could unravel Aemond like this he would have done it ages ago.

Maegor lets his uncle go, coughing a few times as he remains on the floor to catch his breath, wiping away at his wet eyes. His head is spinning and his pants are like a vice grip around his cock.

Suddenly, Aemond grabs him by his shoulders, pulling him up and forcing Maegor to stand. His uncle claims his lips again, tasting himself on his tongue. Maegor moans in his mouth as they start pushing while they're basically devouring each other. Too lost in the fire.

They navigate blindly around the room until Aemond's legs hit the edge of his bed. Maegor pushes him, his uncle's back falls against the soft sheets and he quickly follows, climbing on top of him. Desperate and already too scatterbrained.

Sitting on his knees between Aemond's legs, he pauses, quickly getting rid of his disheveled clothes. Maegor undresses, his uncle's violet eye incinerating him with the way he observes him, sprawled out on the bed.

"Jaelan naejot emagon ao." Maegor rasps out, his throat painfully dry.

Cheeks flushed and eyes glazed with lust. He is going crazy.

"Iksan aōhon, ñuha jorrāelagon." Aemond murmurs, extending his hand towards his nephew.

Almost letting out a groan, Maegor restarts his 'attack', crawling on top of his uncle and burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Finding their way in the soft bright locks again, Aemond wraps his arms around Maegor's shoulders, closing his eye in bliss as he willingly lets him take full control.

Prior to their last heated encounters, sword oil is used, for a completely different purpose than intended. Recalling his uncle's gentle treatment in the Stepstones, Maegor tries to do the same for him, stretching him out slowly while kissing and leaving bites on his collarbone and neck. He drinks up every moan and groan of his uncle's, pressed against his ear.

When he finally gets his cock inside Aemond, self control is barely within Maegor's grasp anymore. Seeing how his uncle's brows furrows, his parted lips as he lets out silent keens while trying to adjust to his nephew's size splitting him open.

It's too much. Only the thought of not causing Aemond pain is what's keeping him grounded anymore.

Until he feels heels digging in his ass, pushing him closer until his hips buck on instinct and he bottoms out. Both of them moan in unison, Aemond fisting at his nephew's hair.

"You feel so good, uncle.." Maegor gasps pressing his forehead against Aemond's, his eyes tightly shut together.

He clenches his jaw lost in the pleasure, taking in the tightness around him before he starts moving, trying to set up a slow pace. But it's delirium, every thrust, every gasp and sound that escapes Aemond's lips are poking at a wild fire that's different from anything he felt before.

Through gritted teeth, Maegor moans as his hips buck into his uncle involuntarily, no longer able to restrain that animalistic urge that claws from the inside. To make matters worse, Aemond's words still echo so vividly into his head, adding more fuel to his inferno. This isn't enough. He wants more.

Marry me.

Cursing through gritted teeth at his urges he never imagined he had, Maegor tugs away from Aemond's hot embrace and turns him around, laying his uncle on his stomach.

Before he can react, Aemond lets out a silent scream, buried by the pillows under him. Maegor sets up a relentless pace, rough and unforgiving, his hands gripping his uncle's hips until he can see the red streaks forming under his fingers.

The sound of their voices mix up together until they can no longer tell who is who. Both loud and breathless in the dead of night. Too lost in their lust to care about being heard. Right now the Red Keep was empty and only the two of them existed.

Maegor fucks him the same way he fights his enemies. Mercilessly.

Biting and bruising as much skin as he could. Marking Aemond and Aemond marking Maegor in return, scratching his arms, sinking his teeth into the knuckles of his hands.

"Iksā ñuhon."

Maegor presses his chest against his uncle's back, growling in his ear. Keeping up his tempo, hitting up as deep as he can. Dragging the head of his cock against his uncle's prostate everytime he snaps his hips.

"Iksan aōhon." Aemond repeats, through breathless moans, eye rolling in its socket as his hand finding his nephew's hair again.

He finds the strength to sit up on his elbows, turning his head from behind his shoulder to find Maegor's darkened gaze. A response is instant. Grabbing his sharp jaw, Maegor leans forward, pressing harder and deeper against his uncle's body as he pulls Aemond into a heated kiss, all tongue and teeth. Messy and wild.

They get lost in desire and flames throughout the whole night until both of them are too exhausted, with hoarse voices, bodies glistening with sweat and cum. Eventually they fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, clinging together instinctively despite the scorching heat still emanating from their bodies.

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Bothered by the crisp morning air and the ruckus in the corridors, Aemond slowly opens his tired eye and rests his gaze on the messy clump of hair glued to him. His whole body is killing him thanks to his nephew. The exhaustion and satisfaction mingle in a bittersweet concoction as he looks down at the slumbering figure nestled against him. In his arms, with his nose buried in his neck, Maegor sleeps soundly, all of his features relaxed and defenses lowered, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

Before he is allowed to properly wake up and drink the sight of his slumbering nephew any longer, the door to Aemond's bedroom is pushed wide open and the Queen barges in, urgently seeking her second son.

"Aemond wake up! It's the King! He has died!" She pants, her voice a mix of urgency and anxiety. Her eyes quickly scan the chamber, a rush of relief washing over her as she sees the back of her son in bed, appearing to sleep.

But Aemond wasn't sleeping. Beyond startled, he jolts upright, the sheets slipping down to pool around his waist. He quickly covers himself, his eye widening as he turns to face his mother.

"Uncle, why are you up so early?" Disturbed by the noise, Maegor stirs as well. He lifts up his head from the pillows, groaning in annoyance, and rubbing at his heavy eyes.

Alicent's gasp is a sharp punctuation in the air, her eyes widening with shock as she takes in the scene before her. The sight of her son and his nephew tangled together in bed sends a jolt of realization and disbelief through her. She freezes, her mind struggling to process what she's seeing.

Fully awake by now, with his instincts on high alert Maegor makes eye contact with her, instinctively ever so defiant. All three at a loss of words until Alicent's anger simmers as she takes in the image before her.

"What have you done Aemond?!" Her voice cracks with a mixture of anger and disappointment, her emotions roiling beneath the surface as she starts advancing towards her son.

Her eyes scan over her son's bare body, curling her lips in disgust at all the bite marks and bruises scattered on his pale skin. Maegor couldn't be more proud of his handiwork. His claim.

A sharp slap across his face leaves Aemond's ear ringing and his cheek stinging. Maegor's knuckles clench, his jaw tightening. He sees red.

Reacting on instinct, fueled by the burning need to protect Aemond, Maegor leaps off the bed, a surge of anger coursing through his veins. He disregards his own lack of clothing, his focus solely on the Queen as he steps between her and Aemond, his eyes blazing as he grabs her her hand.

Alicent winces at the iron grip around her wrist, fear creeping up on her as she stares in the pair of sharp eyes glaring daggers at her.

"Touch him again." Maegor's voice is a low, dangerous growl, his tone a chilling warning that cuts through the air.

Right now their relationship getting discovered did not even matter to him anymore. Only the burning desire to make anyone who caused Aemond pain, pay dearly.

"Maegor." Aemond's voice is a mix of caution and pleading, his hand reaching out to his nephew, a silent urge for restraint.

Scoffing, Maegor's grip loosens slightly at Aemond's touch, his eyes never leaving the Queen's face. He's a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, protectiveness, and a simmering defiance that threatens to boil over.

Pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at the younger Prince, Alicent wrenches her wrist free from his grasp, a mixture of anger and unease flitting across her expression. She takes a step back, her hands trembling slightly as she steadies herself.

"All along, I should have realized." Alicent mutters under her breath, more to herself than the two Princes.

"Ah well, there's nothing you or anyone else can do. Your Grace." Maegor retorts, his voice laced with a sharp edge of defiance.

He finds his pants thrown on the floor and has the decency of covering his lower half at least before he crosses his arms across his chest. His posture unyielding while he stands his ground next to his uncle.

"For the sake of everyone, I will pretend this incident was just the curiosity of two young men and you will put an end to everything at once." Alicent's tone is laced with a mixture of desperation and authority, her gaze fixed on Aemond.

Maegor's chuckle is audible, a sound laced with bitterness and a touch of arrogance. He snorts at the Queen's attempt to quell their connection, the futile gesture only fueling him to rebel further.

"This is more than what you are attempting to convince yourself. And like I said, there is nothing you can do." Maegor's eyes lock onto Alicent's, a challenge in his gaze that speaks volumes.

What can you do? What will you do?

Before Alicent can formulate a response, a surprising and unexpected voice pierces the tense atmosphere. Aemond steps forward, as he addresses his mother as firm and determined as she always knew him.

"Wed him to me."

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Translations:

Tolvie run kessa sagon sȳz, ñuha jorrāelagon = Everything he will be fine, my love

Kirimvose, dārilaros = Thank you, Princess

Kesi laehurlion zirȳ, ñuha jorrāelagon = We will face them, my love

Hēnkirī = Together

Jaelan naejot emagon ao = I want to have you

Iksan aōhon, ñuha jorrāelagon = I am yours, my love

Iksā ñuhon = You are mine

Iksan aōhon = I am yours

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