#v. the strong heir to harrenhal ( harwin )

[becomelions]

Harwin Strong tag drop

[fan-goddess]

A Mutual Feeling Of Hate

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong!reader

Summary: As Aemond Targaryen rounds up the male Strongs, he realises one man is missing, and in his hunt for him, he finds you…

Warnings: Explicit talk, p in v smut, breeding kink, murder, talk of SA, oral f receiving, praise in Valyrian, riding, sadism and masochism, jealously sex, exhibitionism, marking, let me know if I’ve missed anything

Taglist: @valeskafics, @arcielee, @blue-serendipity,

Authors note: I’m not as happy as I’d like to be, but still here we go hope you guys like it. It was my first time writing on Google docs 😅

Harrenhal had never truly been your home. Throughout the years you were forced to live there, in your eyes it had always been your husbands. Although according to him and, in the more recent years to come it would soon become the home of yours and his children too..

Your husband, Geralt Strong, had been merely a second son when the two of you first married. Yet after the tragedies that struck Lord Lyonel Strong and his eldest son and heir Harwin, it soon hit you that your husband was only an accident away from being appointed the supposed honour of representing his house as its Lord. However, you were not the only one who noticed this predicament, as soon after Larys was appointed with no wife or children of his own, your husband decreed it was time for you to fulfil your wifely duties, and provide him with heirs of his own.

He’d been drunk every time that he tried to force himself onto you, but apparently he was too weak-souled to do it while sober. The man would become so incapacitated, that he’d pass out from overindulgence before he could even properly get off his breeches. For the first time in your life, you were grateful to be married to such a weak minded man.

Although, to play your role in the supposedly ever so slowly closing in win of his succession, you would force yourself to finish taking off his breaches, and stroke him till he burst in your hand, to make it seem like he’d actually completed his part. When he eventually spilled, you would always feel disgusted, wanting nothing more than to wash it all off and clean your whole body of his filth, and yet you found a strange joy  in it. Thinking that whenever you were forced to lick the salty taste off of your hands, you were practically eating his children, and his legacy from your very hands. In a strange way, you found honour as you played one of the gods…

Still, when your husband was not drunk, and managed to have his way with you, you still requested moon tea. A wet nurse that you surprisingly found yourself becoming close confidants with named Alys, would somehow always come to you whenever you need it, a small vial in her hand in preparation.

However, when the banners of war were officially brought out of hiding, and calls for soldiers and blood broke out amongst the land, your husband became much too preoccupied by the impending doom of Harrenhal to bother you. You can remember clearly in your mind the day Daemon and his men came for you all. It was something everyone present would remember. Ser Simon, the man who led House Strong while Larys was in kings Landing, was not a man in your eyes that day, as he surrendered easily during the assault of Daemon's attack. It was not difficult to spot Daemon Targaryen amongst the many of his men from your window, the colouring of his hair making him stand out when his helmet was shrugged off, and the wish that your husband could’ve been more like him stood out to you whenever you saw the man. You could not help but feel envious of the usurped queen whenever you saw him standing valiantly and without fear.

That however, was why It was strange, when the prince and all of his men left all of sudden in the night. All pondered over the reason, but then came the sound of a dragon's wings, and the distinctive noise of a dragon's roar, the sound of it echoed and vibrated through the air. It was not Daemon coming back, no. It was the colour green of their banners that told you who they were, and what this meant for you. It was time for you to shed yourself of that ‘Strong’ husband of yours.

Your husband in question has pushed past you to look on in horror as the men in green and gold marched closer. And while he was gawking down below at the sight, you yourself took hold of the intricately carved dagger that was gifted to you by your mother. There was no real need for you to be quiet, as Geralt's eyes remained solely on the now revealed Targaryen below, and when you stood behind Geralt silent to also get a glimpse of the sight, you were most definitely not disappointed.

It was not hard to decipher that it was Aemond Targaryen who stood there, and demanded that a sword be given to Simon Strong. The eyepatch that hung over his disfigured left eye made it easy to realise which Targaryen stood there. He uttered something to the trembling man, but sadly you were unable to hear what it was he spoke.

You were surprised though, when Simon Strong it seemed had finally grown a backbone, as he fought the prince in what was seemingly a trial by combat. However, it seemed he grew it too early, as the sound of clashing of swords was soon over, and instead the sound of a dragon's cry echoed soon after. It wasn’t until you heard the screams till you realised that the prince had fed the mangled corpse of the man to his dragon Vhagar. He made the man, who to you was undeserving of his own blood, into something as meaningless to his dragon as a common sheep. If you weren’t occupied with standing a few paces back from Geralt ready to strike him down, you most likely would’ve gone down to the prince and given him your utter devotion and loyalty, if he didnt make you into food for his dragon too that is.

The voice of Aemond Targaryen rings again, as you yourself twirl the dagger in your hand in preparation, and it booms loud enough for all to hear throughout the castle. “Bring me the rest of the men who possess the blood of House Strong!” You cannot help but feel excited at the tone the prince holds. Madness, and a type of pure unrelenting rage. It’s not hard to tell what the intention of his demand is, even the dumbest of men would be able figure out what he wants to do.

You almost miss your opportunity as you get swept up in your own excitement. Still, you make a noise similar to a yelp in an attempt to draw Geralt's attention from the spectacle below, and when he responds just how you had planned for him to act, with his body and neck turning swiftly to you in sudden alarm, you waste no time in plunging the dagger deep into the flesh of Geralt's neck. You can feel the warm specks of his blood as it splatters onto your face as you withdraw the blade, and as he staggers towards you while clutching the profusely bleeding wound in a poor attempt to stop it, you cannot help but find yourself smiling at the utterly pathetic sight. Thanks to the one-eyed prince and his hatred, there will be no more ‘Strong’ men left to stand in your way to freedom, and no so called ‘respected’ witnesses to your crime.

There’s a small series of grunts that manage to make their way from your husband's blood gargling throat. Although, soon his stumbles become too weak, and he collapses onto the hard stone floor. His movements are weak, as he seems to use all of his energy so he could look up and stare up at you. If you were honest with yourself, the sight before you feels like the greatest honour you could ever think of, to watch the life leaving Geralt's eyes. You feel like you are playing one of the Gods, because thanks to you, they are now forever immortalised with a permanent look of confusion and betrayal.

It hits you though, a thought of realisation that makes your very spine shiver in annoyance. The thought being, that there is no doubt about it, that the prince already has a list of names of those that he needs to kill in his rampage, in order to properly eradicate the house Strong once and for all. If he didn’t… Well then, the prince is more of an idiot than you took him for. Your husband was the man set to inherit everything if and when Larys Strong is to pass. So there is no doubt in your mind that he’ll be one that the prince will wish to make sure is dead at his feet.

There is a sudden knock at the door that drives you away from your thoughts, and you just know that it is the prince's men who have come to fulfil their orders. You take a moment to prepare yourself to play the role of the already mourning wife. The tears you feel drop from your eyes are fake, and yet as you open the door a fraction, the men who look at you see no difference. They’re young, only a couple name days older than you, and you thank the gods because of it, as with their inexperience they will be unable to decipher your tricks. In their eyes, you have already seen the taking of your husband, and by the blood on your face, he was taken not so long ago with some force.

They say no real words to you, other than a small grunt you presume is a type of apology, and leave you to your supposed mourning of your husband in solitude. Though as soon as you shut the door, you grab a chair and manoeuvre it to the window to watch the show below go on.

The sight of the one eyed prince successfully slaying an entire house brings a small smile to your face. He makes the man or boy say their name, and what makes them a Strong. The first to be slaughtered was Ser Simon, and soon after it was clear to all that not even the unclear bastards, with blood muddled and unknown origin, were even safe. None were spared from the Kinslayers blade.

From the balcony soon after the full-blooded men were slaughtered, you watched the beheading of an eleven name day old child. From your understanding of Harrenhal, the only reason that boy was here was because his mother was forced upon by the wrong man, and he refused to allow her the opportunity to rid herself of the child. It’s a sad sight, even you must admit, but there is truly nothing you can do other than let the show below go on.

It’s not long until the pile of corpses stops being enlarged, as the prince's men are forced to halt in their duty in bringing the men. The sounds of bloodshed are soon broken by the many sounds of high pitched women crying for their loves and their families. When you turn your head to look back at your own husband, still laying there in his own blood and filth, you can’t help but let out a scuff of disgust and disbelief, before turning back to continue to watch the prince.

You cannot help but ponder when it’ll happen. What will happen when the prince will eventually realise that no man has come forward to be slaughtered bearing the name of your husbands. Though it appears as soon as you begin to question it, the prince questions it too. “WHERE IS THE MAN THEY CALL GERALT STRONG?” He shouts. His voice somehow managed to echo over the sounds of the crying wives and daughters that resonated from their windows.

One guard steps forward, possibly one of the two who had visited your chambers earlier, but he’s too far to tell or not. He leans to whisper something into the prince's ear, and when the guard leans away, the prince looks somewhere in your direction. You can almost swear that you lock eyes with him, though he soon quickly looks away, before whispering some words to a knight, and beginning to walk towards the part of Harrenhal you reside in.

He disappears from your line of sight, and you begin to wonder if he’ll be searching all the rooms for Geralt. Though once again, It’s not long before you hear the sound of your chamber door being opened, with a loud creak of the handle. There is a sound of footsteps, although they seem to halt quickly. If you had to guess, they must have spotted the corpse. When you turn your head slightly, your eyes once more meet the single lilac eye of the princes. Although he does not make the contact last long as he breaks it to stare at the pitiful view of Ser Geralt Strong, still laying there in the pool of his own blood.

His face gives no indication of any particular emotion other than annoyance. Though you can’t help but notice an unfamiliar glint in his eyes as he looks back at you. “I thought I had ordered my men to bring me every living male strong.” It is not a question, as there is not a single inch of confusion in his tone. This was a statement.

“I know…” It's a strange feeling that resonates within you the longer the prince looks at you. One that makes your entire body strangely burn in a pleasurable sense. Not that you’d ever know what that would even feel like… “Your men followed their orders as they were told, my prince. As he was not alive before your men rounded them all to be apart of your genocide.”

You see that glint once more in his eye. It looks almost similar to admiration?

“I presume you are Geralt Strong's lady wife. Did you truly hate the man that much for you to risk your safety to kill him?” Again, this was not a real question. This was another statement and a demand directed for you. From the look in his eye, he already knew the answer.

“You are correct.” You say no more, and you don’t even need to, as the now dried blood that is still present on your face, slightly sticky to the touch you figured, and your eyes that have managed to remain bone dry with a matching expressionless face. They seem to say more than you ever could. Plus if anything, it seems the prince is the more emotional one in the room between the two of you. His own face holds in its possession a small smile, which looks much more akin to a prideful smirk, while your own is hellbent in an attempt to stay blank.

The two of you stay silent, him standing there not taking his eye of you, while you yourself continue to sit in your chair unmoving. It was strangely peaceful, until the prince began to walk towards you and took your throat in his hand, holding it firmly to not allow you head to move, but not too hard that you couldn’t breath.

“I suppose I must thank you…” He seems to muse, taking in your face as he presents it to himself. “Although-” He cuts himself off, peering down at your stomach with an almost pondering look. “How do I not know that you are currently hiding a Strong inside of your womb from me at this very moment?”

“Because I drink moon tea of course, my prince. Why would I wish to potentially burden my future children with the tainted blood that ran through my husband's veins, when there are hundreds of men throughout the seven kingdoms who easily possess blood ten times purer than his ever did?”

“And who are these men then my lady? Could you name a few so I may have an idea of your idea of pure blood?” He’s playing with you. Testing you even. And yet you must admit that it’s honestly the most fun you’ve had in Harrenhal the entire time you’ve been held practically as a captive there.

“Well there’s your brother of course, the king of the seven kingdoms…” The trail was unintentional, but you couldn’t help but let the next words die on your tongue just so you could admire the thundering glare on the prince's face at the mention of the king. You had heard about the disputes between the two, but you had no idea that this supposed brotherly hate ran so deep between them.

“Tell me who else,” He growls. The sound of it mixed with the feeling of his hand tightening around your neck sending the pure feeling of electricity straight to your already wet core.

“Why there’s many men, my prince! It wasn't like it was hard to possess purer blood than that of a Strong! There’s Dalton Greyjoy… Cregan Stark… Joffrey Arryn… I would even count your own Uncle Daemon to be possessing purer blood than my husband. He is probably one of the few men I would allow to give me my pure children…” With each man you list, the prince's face darkens more and more. You intended to play with the prince at first by making sure to name the men who appeared to side with his half-sister in regards to the throne. Similarly to how he had been teasing you moments ago. However, it seems you played too close to the flames. As when the name of his uncle, and now the name of a man seen as a sworn enemy of the crown, is mentioned from your lips, the prince pulls your face towards his own by the grip on your neck, and claims you with a fiery kiss. The warmth of him spread throughout you, and It truly at that moment felt like you were playing with a true dragon…

“What about me, sweet girl? Am I of purer blood than that of your dead tainted husbands? Am I worthy enough to overflow your womb with my seed and show the kingdoms of how worthy I am?” His whispers make your whole body burn up, as if the blood of the dragon was running through your veins.

“I cannot say my prince… I think you’ll have to show me if you truly think you are worthy enough…” It is the feral-like sound from which the prince releases from deep within, that reminds you once more who it is who is about to claim both you and your body. A dragon. That is what stands before you, and is ready to claim you and change your life forever.

The feeling of the prince's body forcibly overpowering your own as he drags you from the chair you were previously on to the bed, brings a feeling throughout you that Geralt could never have ever achieved.

“Present yourself fully to your prince.” The words drip with lust and desire, as he does not even wait for you to properly respond. Instead, he just tears the weak material straight from your body, leaving you left in only your small clothes before him. His single eye roams over your body greedily to take all of your nude self in. However, you can see it stop at the sight of your heaving chest, your shallow breaths leaving your chest to stutter slightly.

“Gevie…” He mutters before taking a hardened nipple in his mouth and sucking hard, no doubt forcing deep coloured marks to form soon after this is over. His mouth wanders even lower though, sucking and biting gently in his wake, before stopping at the skin of your inner thighs, biting softly at the flesh. The sensations make small whines to leave your mouth whenever his teeth seemingly went deep enough to leave indents of his teeth.

The prince does not appear to be in a hurry. As instead of acting like a true dragon would and just taking you, he just stares at the fabric concealing your dripping core from him with a hooded eye. He does not even attempt to move it, as a lone hand of his simply brushes over the fabric lightly. Your head tilts back at the pleasure, so you are unable to see him grinning proudly at the sound of your whines for him when he does this again, and again. Maybe this is your punishment for mentioning his traitorous uncle? Or maybe he is just simply teasing you again…

“Please my prince… show me how I deserve to be blessed with your seed…” You whine, the words must have driven some part of him, as the next thing you know, your smallclothes are being torn off you like the rest of your clothes, and a warm wet tongue is feasting on your cunt giving you the best pleasure you’ve felt in your whole life.

“Oh fuck!” You shout. There is no real need to be quiet, as who is there to hear you? While you yourself are moaning loud enough for the seven to hear, you almost miss the sounds of the prince's own groans, seemingly already addicted to the taste of your arousal that all but leaks from your quivering body onto his awaiting and eager tongue.

“Ao sylutegon se sȳrje … kesan brōzagon ao ñuha mērī ābra sir till se mōris…” He groans into the depth of your cunt, the vibrations adding that extra arousal needed to begin your push over the edge. The words themselves mean nothing to you, and you find that you don’t really care, as you feel the coil deep within you begin to tighten more and more. “Please my prince let me cum!” You shout, “Please my prince!” You try to stop yourself from releasing, you really do, but at the sight of the prince's head seemingly nodding in allowance, you feel yourself releasing on the prince's talented tongue harshly, leaving you breathless and lightheaded.

While you attempt to try and recover from your peak, you can still feel his tongue inside of you, the wet sounds reaching your ears. He acts as if he was trying to claim and taste the last remnants of your peak and arousal, before he no doubt soon rips another from your quivering body.

As the prince lifts his body up to take off his own clothing, you get the glimpse of his arousal covered face. In the current light, you can see his mouth and his chin shining, and it spreads an entire new feeling of arousal within you you didn’t even know was possible. It only worsens though, as you watch him collect some of your juices from his chin with his finger, before sucking on it with an appreciative sound as the taste glides over his tongue.

“Do not call me your prince, call me by my name. Call me Aemond.” He mutters, before he silences your response as he bends to your level to claim your lips with his own.

It’s the combined taste of your arousal on his lips, and the feeling of his erect cock touching the skin of your inner leg, that makes a pathetic whine leave your lips. You almost release another, when the prince, no Aemond, backs away for a moment to look at you with a hooded expression. He truly looks like a dragon about to devour you…

The prince's hands trail over your sweat layered skin with the kind savagery only seen belonging to a man in war. Because by technicality, he is. Aemond Targaryen has no idea when he will die in this Targaryen bloodshed, so he makes sure that he acts on his desires and takes all that you will give to him with great pleasure.

He pumps his cock a few times, to which you watch with eager eyes at the sight of beads of his pleasure coming from the tip of his cock. Much to your surprise and gratitude though, he inserts himself slowly inside of you, and the mixed sounds of his and yours groans of pleasure echo in the room, mixing as one.

Soon, the feeling of the prince's careful and precise thrusts whilst pleasurable, becomes not enough for you. Your legs hook around the prince's waist, and you take Aemond by surprise as you turn the two of you over and take no time in beginning to bounce harshly on his cock.

The deep groans that the prince lets out at the new position are easily one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard in your entire life. “Qogralbar… Konir sagon ziry… sȳz līve gūrogon aōha pleasure hen aōha dārilaros…” Again, the strange words' ,most likely to be that of Valyrian, are lost on you. But the way they sound coming from his tongue specifically, spark something almost primal deep inside. The grip that Aemond has on the skin of your thighs, will no doubt leave harsh and deep coloured bruises, and yet when you feel the sparks of pain from his actions, equally arousing sparks of pleasure get sent all the way up your spine.

Your hands grasp at Aemonds skin for some kind of stability, and your nails dig into his skin so harshly as you try to ground yourself, that you can see small droplets of blood beginning to mark the surrounding flesh. The very sight of it though does not deter you, and if anything it makes you harsher in your efforts for another peak to wash over you.

Although, Aemond surprises you by gripping at your hips and beginning to harshly thrust himself upwards into your wet heat. His cock reached the rough patch deep inside of you that you never knew existed. You were so invested in this new pleasure though, that you had no idea that at this development you had begun to practically shout your pleasures loudly and clearly into the room.

As his cock head bullies that spot inside you, one of his hands reaches to take hold of your neck similarly to earlier. But the grip he holds you now is harsher and less careful, and it makes you breathless. “Oh fuck…” You murmur as your head begins to fill with a strange fuzziness sensation. You feel like you could honestly die there and then. You’ve never felt this type of pleasure before. Never with your husband, and not even with yourself whenever you tried exploring your body as a young girl. The feelings that Aemond was giving you, made the entire world numb, and your body fucking electric.

“Will you let me shoot my seed deep inside you?” Finally, he speaks some words you can understand, other than his deep groans he was serenading you with moments ago. “Will you allow me to show the seven kingdoms the woman who carries my babe in her belly?”

The whine you let out is involuntary, as well as the imagery that comes to mind of you walking eagerly with the prince, a swelling belly officially holding the babe of a man worthy of possessing his blood inside of your womb.

“Yes my prince… show me exactly how worthy you are of me…” A devious idea comes to mind, and a smirk is present on your face as you next speak. “Show me if you truly are better than my husband, the Strong…”

Aemonds face visibly darkens with anger, and the grip that he holds your skin with tightens. His thrusts are harsh as he forcibly brings you to your peak, the feeling of it all rushing through your body at speeds you had no idea was imaginable.

Even when you feel yourself try to recover, the overstimulation begins to set in as Aemond continues to thrust up into you, even as you begin to go numb all over. Still, you’re thankful at the sound of Aemonds deep growl as you feel the warmth of his cum fill you to your brim.

As you gaze down at the heaving body of Aemond, your eyes drink him all in. The blood that you had caused to be brought up from his chest, ran in small delicate trails down his skin, and it excited you all over again to see it. 

A knock rings from the door, and to your surprise, Aemond merely sits up to hold you in his arms and tells the person to enter.

It is not a man who enters, but a boy who looks as if he was already scarred by the war he has joined. It is a pity to even look at, but it certainly looks up as you see the shock on the boy's face when he observes the room and spots the body of your former husband, now stiff and pale on the floor.

“What is it you need?” Aemond snaps, his tone making the boy's eyes snap to look at him, only for the boy's eyes to wander to you, and takes over you unashamedly. He is only able to see the nude form of your back, and yet your body still burns with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal at the situation.

“Ser Cole said that when we are sure all the male Strongs were dead, we were to await your orders my prince.”

“Now that the males are dead, I command you to tell the others to make sure that they leave no Strong alive, except this one… this one will be of great use to me…” Aemond murmurs, a single finger tracing the skin of your face to look only at him, as he gazes at you deeply.

You can hear the door shut behind you, and while the silence overcomes the room you cannot help but question Aemonds previous command. “What of the women like me?” The prince raises a single brow, as if he is confused. Yet he is Aemond Targaryen, the man who has near successfully committed a whole genocide on a single house in one day. You cannot allow him to dodge a question on the basis of fake confusion. “Women born not of house Strong, and yet sold to them to be wedded and bedded for their blood to be spread?”

“Why little one they too must die, for they have had the seed of a strong taint their womb forever more. While you on the other hand my lady, knew of the tainted blood of House Strong, and rightfully rid yourself of any opportunity to taint yourself. House Strong must die, my darling, and not only by blood, but by name as well. Surely you must understand, given out shared hatred moments ago?”

“Is my name not Strong currently, my prince?” You tease. Your face widening in a content smile as Aemond dots wet and no doubt marking kisses on the skin of your neck, high enough so your collars may not cover them, so all could see who has done this to you.

“Soon my darling… soon it shall be Targaryen. And it shall also be the name of my son who is currently sleeping in your belly…”

His hand traces your skin, and you hope he does not raise it higher in fear that he will hear the sound of your heart racing at his words. You cannot find yourself able to reply to him, as the words seem to die in your throat. Instead, you simply lay your head on his shoulder, and try to blank out the high feminine screams of your fellow women as they begin to echo on the cold castle walls. The single tear that begins to roll from your eye could easily have been from the emotional turmoil you have faced, or it could easily be sadness and regret of what you have just done. You will never know…

High Valyrian Translates Part:

• Gevie - beautiful

• Ao sylutegon se sȳrje… kesan brōzagon ao ñuha mērī ābra sir till se mōris - You taste the best… I will call you my only woman now till the end

• Qogralbar… Konir sagon ziry… sȳz līve gūrogon aōha pleasure hen aōha dārilaros - fuck… thats it… good whore take your pleasure from your prince

[kckt88]

Drowning Inside You

Summary:

The Omega daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon is to marry her Alpha uncle Aemond Targaryen.

Valaera might have been glad to be getting married, if it wasn’t for the fact that her future husband was the boy she’d maimed with a blade when she was a child.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Warning(s): Fear, Kissing, Smut, Oral (F) Receiving, P in V, Knotting.

Word Count: 2562

Author Note: An Alpha/Omega Story.

(Otto Hightower passed away shortly after he was dismissed as Hand of the King, Harwin Strong and his father died in a fire at Harrenhal and Laenor spent the rest of his life rowing to Essos with Qarl).

Inspired by the song Drowning by EMO + Melodia.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Valaera kept her eyes on the floor as she walked the length of the sept. Hoping and praying that perhaps a dragon would crash through the ceiling and end her suffering.

The marriage to her Uncle Aemond was set, another attempt at peace between their family. Valaera might have been glad to be getting married, if the groom wasn’t in fact the uncle she’d maimed with a blade when she was a child.

Valaera took a deep breath and raised her head, catching sight of Aemond standing with the septon, his Targaryen cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders. His face unreadable as he patiently waited for Valaera.

As Valaera was an unmarried Omega and the heir to Driftmark, it was her duty to marry an Alpha capable of bearing the title consort Lord to Driftmark when the time came. Whilst Aemond was more than capable, Valaera couldn’t help but wonder what her cold uncle had instore for her once the vows had been spoken and the time came for the marriage to be consummated.

Would he be rough? Would he demand an eye? Or would he simply torment Valaera for the entirety of their marriage for what had happened on Driftmark all those years ago?

Even his reaction to the news that they were to be wed wasn’t what Valaera had expected. Aemond merely nodded his head at his father the King’s demand and never uttered a single complaint. Alicent on the other hand was very vocal at her displeasure of her favourite son being married off to the ‘vile beast that had left him without an eye and scarred for life’.

Valaera’s own mother wasn’t so keen either, begging her father countless times to see reason. But Viserys would not be moved. The marriage would happen. As demanded by the King.

Finally, after what seemed like an age Valaera came to a stop beside Aemond and prayed to any god’s that were listening that they would have mercy on her and give her the strength to get through the ceremony without throwing up.

“Let it be known that Prince Aemond of House Targaryen and Princess Valaera of House Velaryon are one heart, one flesh, one soul. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal Alpha and Omega together, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

Aemond slowly turned to Valaera, and offered his hand to the Omega, who hesitated for a moment before taking the Alpha’s hand.

“I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," Aemond said, his gaze lingering on Valaera who blushed furiously as the septon bound their joined hand together by ribbon.

“I-I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," Valaera said, his heart racing furiously in his chest.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love”.

Valaera froze as Aemond leaned down and placed a surprisingly gentle kiss upon her lips.

"Ao se nyke. Issi va ñellyrty perzys. Se nyke jāhor va moriot gūrogon ziry iksos ñuhon” whispered Aemond (You and I. Are fire made flesh. And I will always take what is mine).

All throughout the feast, Valaera couldn’t get Aemond’s words out of her mind.

He’s going to carve out my eye. That’s it. I’m done for!

“You seem tense. Wife”.

Valaera jumped slightly at the sound of Aemond’s raspy voice.

“I-I’m just nervous” Valaera replied quickly.

“About what?” asked Aemond as he lifted his goblet to his lips and took a slow sip of wine.

“T-The bedding. I-I’ve never…” said Valaera quietly.

“So, you’ve never taken your brother’s knot?” asked Aemond curiously.

“J-Jace? I would never. He’s my brother” exclaimed Valaera wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Like that’s ever stopped anyone in this family”.

“I come to the marriage bed untouched uncle. Can you say the same?” asked Valaera.

“Would it matter if I didn’t? I’m an Alpha and Prince of the realm no one would care if I busied myself on the streets of silk every night”.

“So, your just like Aegon then?” asked Valaera, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“I’m nothing like my wastrel of a brother. If it would please my Omega to know that I have only had one such experience” snapped Aemond.

“You expect me to believe that. I mean look at you” said Valaera.

“What about me?” snarled Aemond, his fingers clutching at his goblet so tight they had turned white.

“Y-Your b-beautiful” whispered Valaera.

“Is that so? Even with the deformity that you so charitably bestowed upon me when I was naught but a child?”

“Y-Yes” muttered Valaera.

“Hm”

“Do you plan to hurt me uncle?” asked Valaera nervously.

“I would not hurt you. Unless you asked me too” Aemond whispered as he leaned closer, his wine scented breath tickling Valaera’s ear.

“B-But I took your eye.”

“Yes. You did. But I gained a dragon and there’s other blood that can be spilled in payment for what you took from me” said Aemond.

Oh!

This was it. The way she was going to die. Death by dicking.

Her uncle stood sharply and offered his hand to Valaera.

It was now time to consummate the marriage. Her mother of course had given her the talk just last night. She knew of sex and how children were created, but to hear her mother talking of slick and knots made Valaera want to be sick in the closest vase.

Nothing would ever prepare her for being locked together with her one-eyed uncle until his knot went away.

Valaera jumped as Aemond squeezed her hand. Ignoring the jeers from a clearly drunk Aegon who was soon reprimanded by his own Alpha husband. Aemond led Valaera out of the throne room and towards his-their chambers.

The door suddenly seemed so loud as it was closed.

I suppose I could always jump out of the window and break my legs in the process. It would hurt like hell, but it would be worth it…Right?

Valaera shook life a leaf as Aemond stood before her and slowly began removing her wedding clothes.

“Do you fear me?” Aemond whispered.

“Yes Valzȳrys” Valaera said as she quickly stepped out of the dress that Aemond had unlaced (Husband).

“Issa dōna omega (my sweet omega)”

“Alpha” gasped Valaera as Aemond leaned forward and pressed his face into her neck and nuzzled her mating gland.

It wasn’t…It shouldn’t…Why did that feel…good?

Valaera stood silent, as she suddenly felt herself growing hot. That little voice inside her head whispering. Encouraging her to get closer to the Alpha.

“īlon emagon va moriot issare bound naejot each toile” said Aemond he stepped back and began pulling at his own clothing (We have always been bound to each other).

My mother never said anything about…No…Stop…I shouldn’t even be…Not whilst Aemond is…Oh…It feels so good.

Valaera had lost most of her senses the moment Aemond had pressed her onto the bed and knelt down between her open legs.

“Issa dōna omega” whispered Aemond (My sweet omega).

Valaera’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

It was difficult to believe. Aemond Targaryen rider of the mighty Vhagar was on his knees as naked as his name day, tongue deep in her…Oh my god.

Valaera bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Ivestragī issa rȳbagon ao issa dōna” growled Aemond (Let me hear you my sweet).

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Valaera.

Her heart was racing, it felt so good. Yes. Yes Aemond. Please. Something is happening. I feel like I’m going to explode.

Aemond pressed two fingers inside Valaera, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake.

His tongue…His fingers…Oh it was heaven. Don’t stop. I beg you don’t stop.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond.

Valaera arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Valaera’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Valaera blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself my little strong girl” murmured Aemond.

“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Valaera.

“Relax and let Alpha take care of you”.

Easy for him to say…He’s not the one who…Oh my…He’s huge…Surely that won’t fit inside will it?

Almost as if he could read Valaera’s mind, Aemond smiled and began peppering gentle kisses all over Valaera’s face.

“You can take it. Ao istan vēttan syt issa” whispered Aemond as he began rubbing his hard cock along Valaera’s wet folds (You were made for me).

I want him. I want him so much. Take me alpha. Please.

Suddenly Aemond rolls his hips forward and the entire hard length of him is buried inside Valaera.

“A-Aemond” shrieks Valaera.

Aemond stills for a moment, almost as if he is savouring the feeling of Valaera’s tight wet heat being wrapped around him.

He’s so deep inside me. I can feel him everywhere. It hurts. It hurts so good.

“M-Move please Alpha. I need you” begged Valaera desperately.

Aemond rolls his hips gently at first, allowing Valaera the time to adjust to the feeling of his cock moving back and forth inside her, but when his sweet Omega begins issuing pleas of “Harder and faster” Aemond loses it and begins fucking Valaera into the mattress.

Their hips pound together as Aemond thrusts hard and fast, his movements brutal and precise.

“Valaera. My Omega” moans Aemond as his cock begins to thicken at the base.

Yes. Yes. Oh, it’s feels so good. Alpha don’t stop. Fuck me harder. I can take it.

“Going to fill you up with my seed. I want to see you swollen with my pups” hisses Aemond.

Yes. Alpha breed me. I want to grow round with your pup. I will give you as many pups as you desire.

“Y-Your neck. I need too…Claim you” growls Aemond.

“Yes, Alpha claim me. Make me yours. Forever” begs Valaera as she quickly turns her head to the side.

“I've always wanted your sweet cunny” moans Aemond as his knot begins to tug against Valaera with every thrust.

As Aemond gives one last thrust and forces his knot inside Valaera, he leans forward and sinks his teeth into Valaera’s mating gland.

Valaera screams in ecstasy as she feels Aemond throb inside of her, coating her insides with rope after rope of his seed.

Aemond suddenly moves his head to the side to display his own neck and Valaera lunges forward. Whilst her teeth are not as sharp as Aemonds, they still manage to puncture his mating gland. Sealing Alpha and Omega together forever. Their bond snapping into place. Their hearts as one.

I can feel him. My Alpha. My mate. My dragon.

“My Valaera. Always” mutters Aemond.

Valaera was married, she was mated, she had an Alpha, and she was completely exhausted.

Her Alpha had a ravenous appetite last night, kissing, sucking, licking, and fucking her well into the hours of the night. Never fully satisfied until he’d filled her with his seed another two times.

Aemond was absolutely insatiable, even just this morning he had reached for Valaera and had her once more.

Afterwards, Aemond had wrapped his arms around Valaera and held her close as the pleased purrs rumbled through her chest.

The feeling of Aemond inside her, the sound of her Alpha’s moans as he spilled his seed. Oh, gods the way Aemond had kissed her. No stop, I can’t be thinking of him-us like that not now, not when I ache so much.

B-But it was so good.

Valaera was aching and she was sore in places she never knew existed.

Even sitting at the table to eat breakfast was rather uncomfortable.

Aemond had given Valaera a quick kiss before leaving their shared chambers after breakfast, his training with Ser Crisp-Criston still of importance.

How her Alpha even had the energy for training this morning, Valaera would never know.

Must be an Alpha thing, enhanced virility, or stamina or whatever it was.

At least having some time alone, meant Valaera could bathe.

The maids of course had swiftly changed the blood and seed stained sheets and prepared a bath for the satisfied yet thoroughly debauched looking Omega.

Her skin was littered with numerous love bites, yet she was sure that her Alpha also wore the marks of their vigorous love making in the form of long scratches on his back, which of course Aemond seemed to enjoy receiving.

Valaera sighed as she lowered herself into the lavender scented hot water.

The warmth soothing the dull throbbing ache between her legs.

After Valaera had successfully scrubbed the dried blood and seed from her body, she rested her head on the edge of the tub and closed her eyes.

Again, her mind was drawn to her Alpha, just yesterday morning she’d been a nervous wreck, the very thought of bedding Aemond was terrifying, yet now the very though of her Alpha’s huge…

“Valaera”

Valaera jumped at the sound of her older brother’s voice.

“Jace, seriously. Do you even know how to knock” snapped Valaera as she covered her body.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer” replied Jace.

“So, you just thought you would barge into my rooms, it's a good job Aemond isn't here”.

“Mother was worried. So, I said I’d check on you” Jace retorted as averted his gaze and began looking around the room.

“As you can see, I’m still alive” grumbled Valaera as she quickly rose from the bath and wrapped a towel around her body.

“How was it? I mean for us Alpha’s it’s easy but an Omega-“

“I’m fine Jace. Aemond was nice, he took care of me” mumbled Valaera.

“He more than took care of you judging by those love marks on your neck” sniggered Jace.

“Don’t you have your own Omega to annoy” growled Valaera as she ducked behind the privacy screen and began pulling on her riding clothes.

“Boy somebodies grumpy today”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night that’s all” muttered Valaera.

“How many times did you guys-“ laughed Jace wiggling his eyebrows.

“Three times and then again this morning” confessed Valaera blushing.

“There was me worrying that he’d carve out your eye the moment he had you alone and instead he was too busy fucking you into the mattress” exclaimed Jace as he wrapped an arm around Valaera and hugged her.

“You weren’t the only one that though he would take my eye, but Jace he was-it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before” whispered Valaera.

Her mind yet again wondering to her Alpha and his perfectly sculpted body, his long silver hair, and that handsome face. Her husband was truly a gift from the god’s of old Valyria.

“Right before you start slicking yourself at the thought of your Alpha, how about we go flying? Your already dressed for it anyway and I’m sure Vermax would enjoy the company” said Jace smirking at his younger sister’s blushing.

“Fine, but only if we can race” urged Valaera excitedly.

“Sure we-Hey you cheater” shouted Jace as Valaera darted past him and ran out of the room, her laughter echoing down the corridor.

Jace gave an annoyed huff before he gave in and chased after his sister.

[nebulablakemurphy]

The Queen’s Hand

(Part VIII: The Black Queen)

Summary Y/N Targaryen is Princess of the seven realms. First born daughter of, Viserys I and Aemma Targaryen. Heir to the iron throne, forced to make impossible decisions to ensure peace amongst the land and the safety of those she holds most dear.

Prologue | I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII

“My Queen,” Lord Lyonel says in greeting. The room is empty, save for the two of them. Aemmia has requested him and him alone.

“Grandsire,” Aemmia chokes out. “Now is no time for formalities. I need a kind word and a familiar hand.”

Harwin’s father sighs, “what can I do, dearest?”

“Give me the truth of it. How bad off are we?”

“We?” Lyonel whispers. “Those of us on King’s Landing?”

“Start there, yes.” Aemmia nods.

“We are fortified against any attack, with ships in all directions. No one will come by surprise.”

“The Velaryons will come by sea, my family will come by dragon.” She points out.

“Aemmia,” Lyonel takes her hand in his, “if I may? Vhagar is the largest claimed dragon in all the realms. She would do much damage. Same as Aranthi and Sunfyre. But Rhaenyra has more dragons with more experienced riders. Though none of them have been to war.”

“What about man power? We have Ser Criston, Aemond can fight, along with what’s left of the King’s Army.” She trails off, “they have Daemon, a warrior in his own right, more experienced than any of our soldiers. They have my father, the strongest knight in the seven kingdoms.”

“Who does not intend to use said strength against you of all people. You are his child. He loves you, as your mother loves you.”

Aemmia nods, attempting to compose herself.

“Such love does not disappear on a whim.”

“I know I- I do not know what’s come over me.” She holds a protective hand to her belly, just begun to protrude.

“You are frightened. I have left you too often by yourself, that was not my intention.” Lyonel apologizes.

“We are all doing what we can.” Aemmia shakes her head.

“What of Aemond? I’m sure his presence would be most reassuring to you in these times.”

“My husband cares for me and I for him. But we’ve come up differently. I was taught to lean in for comfort, he learned to close in on himself for solace.”

“Perhaps you will find compromise.” Lyonel smiles, kindly.

Aemmia blinks in quick succession, he is regarding her in a way he never has. “What is it?”

Lyonel pats her cheek. “When your mother first asked for your father’s hand, I denied her. She was highly sought after, proposals flew in from right and left. I, as Hand to your late Grandsire, saw them all. She could have married into a house of higher standing than my own. But she would not marry. I believed it was her chosen path to serve the crown.

My son, had already sired a son by Princess Rhaenyra. King Viserys denied it, but everyone knew. Some say I love Harwin to a fault. Still I could not bring myself to allow Y/N the shame. Nor could I speak on the parentage of Jacaerys, it would mean exile and death for all involved. After Lucerys was born, Y/N came again. She said onto me, I will take him as he is. All he has done, all he will do matters not. I will take Ser Harwin Strong and unsully his name. I will love his sons as my own and ensure their legitimacy. I will bear him children of high status in court and heirs to Harrenhal.”

Lyonel recounts, with a far off look in his eyes. “If you had told me then that one of those children would become Queen of the seven kingdoms, I would’ve laughed. Over the years your mother has become very dear to my heart. It gives me hope to know that her legacy and my boy’s will live on in you.”

“She is much stronger than I.” Aemmia argues, “I am not suited for this.”

“What you do now will live in infamy, Aemmia. By your hand will come the rise or fall of the mighty House Targaryen.”

————————————🌱———————————

Y/N learns of their intruder by a tune. A simple melody echoing up from the lower level. Daemon ordered him locked away for later questioning, though he did not alert the Queen, nor her Princess Hand.

It has been but minutes since the return of Laenor, carrying Viserys’ crown. Passed straight from Aemmia’s hand to his own.

‘How is she, Laenor? How is my girl?’ Y/N takes his arm.

‘She is well,’ Laenor holds back.

Y/N hoped the affirmation of Aemmia’s intentions would calm her uncle. Perhaps she was wrong. The rogue prince still lives within him.

The song has passed down through Y/N’s mother, Aemma, to her children. Y/N follows the sound to the cellar. A body is hunched over on the floor, curled in against itself for warmth.

Carefully Y/N closes the distance between herself and the prisoner. “Aegon?”

He startles, “Y/N.”

“Why’ve you come?”

“By my Grandsire’s will, to plead for the life of my mother and house.” Aegon informs her.

“You seem very lax for delivering such a message.” Y/N scoffs.

“What does it matter?” He throws up a hand. “If you wish to show mercy, then we are already saved. And if you wish to collect on bloodlust then we are naught but walking corpses.”

“Why send you?” Y/N wonders. “Why not Aemmia or Aemond?”

“They are too valuable these days.” Aegon purses his lips.

“Hmm.”

“He thought I might also play into the love we once shared.” Aegon replies, flippantly. “I cant recall, but I’m sure you do.”

When Aegon was born, until his second name day, Y/N doted on her sweet brother. Bringing forth the most beautiful dragon’s egg for him. Unfortunately it was a love that could not be, although they both desperately needed it. Driven apart by jealousy and aspirations of power.

‘She will poison his mind.’ Otto told Alicent, ‘he will favor her over you.’

Y/N nods. “I would like you to return to your mother. Assure her that we are drawing up fair terms, for each and every one of you.”

“Did you love me?” He wonders, cocking his head to the side. He’s never known her to love any of them but Rhaenyra.

Y/N pauses, swallowing down all her guilt. Her heart tearing anew as she finds his eyes, hollow from the hand he was dealt. Much different from hers, and what his own might have been if only- “I did love you, Aegon.” She admits, “I loved you with all my heart.”

Aegon holds her stare, as if willing his mind to recount details it cannot. “Pity.”

“Indeed.”

“That would, however make you one of the few people who ever did.” He lifts a shoulder, “I will not exploit you for it. I do ask you spare my children at least.” Aegon whispers, “I’ve not been much a father to them, but our sins should not be their’s to account for.”

Y/N turns away. “Be a better father when you return, a better husband to your wife. Become the man I hoped you to be and do not take for granted the mercy afforded you.”

“I am not like you, I’m not cut out for this.” Aegon calls out to her. “I never wanted this.”

“And I never wanted it for you. But it matters not what we want, only what we do with the cards we are given.”

————————————🌱———————————

“Do you wish me bald?” Aemond quips, as his wife’s anxious fingers pull at his locks.

He does not mind her toying with his hair, Aemond has come to enjoy the gentle intimacy that Aemmia has brought into his life. But something is off about this.

“There is a time for tugging and a time for stroking, wouldn’t you say?” Aemond tries again. Her restless motions continue until he reaches back, catching her wrist. “Aemmia.”

“Forgive me.” She says immediately, dropping the blonde tresses. Reeling her mind back from the great unknown.

“Where did you go?”

“I was only thinking.” Aemmia presses a kiss to his cheek to reassure him.

“What about?”

“If our children take my features over yours, will you be very disappointed?”

Aemond’s mouth quirks up, “of all the things to worry about, you choose this?”

“And if it is a daughter instead of a son?”

“Then I shall have a father’s girl in your image. She will be terribly spoilt.”

“How about a dragon?” Aemmia goes about pacing the floor.

“Atara might bring forth another clutch.” Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre, said to be the most magnificent in all of Westeros, was a gift from her first.

Aemmia nods, Atara is her mother’s dragon. “My mother always said that dragons are one with our souls. They’re privy to our fears, strengths, weaknesses, our heart’s greatest desires. That’s why some are born to us while others find us later.”

“Hmm,” Aemond hums, it’s an interesting theory.

“Atara and Aranthi have never been apart.”

“Dragons are different than humans, my love.” Aemond murmurs. If Atara is in any distress it would be more likely from Y/N’s longing for Aemmia than the dragon’s longing for one of its own children.

“Did you know my father learned High Valyrian to speak to Atara?”

“Why?”

“Because she is one with my mother and therefore part of him.” Aemmia breaks off.

“You mustn’t do this to yourself.” Aemond scrubs his fingers over his forehead.

“I know that, Aemond. Only sometimes I can’t help it.”

“You miss them terribly,” Aemond says.

“I do,” she admits, staring down at the floor.

“I would like to know them.”

“You plan to stay with me then, when this is finished?”

Aemond sighs, “I do. If it’s allowed of me.”

Aemmia gives him a gentle smile. “Who knows, you may even come to love them.”

“Let’s not be overzealous.”

“My mother would like you.” The brunette presses on.

“She never did.” Aemond replies, with a shake of his head.

“She never had a chance.”

———————————🌱————————————

“It is imperative that we know the intentions of Eyrie, Stark and Baratheon. With house Stark the north will follow.” Daemon says, his tone clipped. He is irritated, to say the least, at Y/N’s choices.

‘If you are to be Hand, you must hold the Queen’s safety above all others. You must be willing to drench yourself in the blood of thousands in her name!’ He scolds Y/N.

‘Who has stood more faithfully by her side than I? While you waged wars and fathered children, free to marry as you saw fit, who was there for Rhaenyra? When you abandoned her during her labors with your daughter to raise hell, who held her? You dare tell me what it means to be my sister’s hand? I have done it all her life!’ Y/N spits back.

‘You love her, I will not deny this.’ Daemon lowers his voice. ‘But loving her and leading her are two very different tasks. You need to toughen your skin as well as your heart to succeed in both. Think of our numbers, in dragons alone. Atara, Syrax, Caraxes, Seasmoke, Meleys, and that doesn’t include the children’s dragons, three more wild reside here on Dragon Stone. We could have every Green head mounted on a spike and Rhaenyra on the throne before the fucking day’s end.”

‘I will not advise Rhaenyra to slay her own kin!’

“Send us.” Jace suggests, “dragons are faster than ravens. We’ll be there in half the time.”

Y/N would usually speak up. Say no, it is an unnecessary risk. Rhaenyra considers this, hoping to meet her sister’s eye for insight. Y/N offers none, stonewalling her. Or maybe she cannot bear to look upon her.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra agrees. “Jacaerys will take Eyrie and Winterfell. Deliver our message, see if they will stand with us.”

“I shall fly with him, my Queen.” Geniysa offers.

“Geniysa-” Harwin shakes his head.

“I’ve received proposals from members of these houses. It is past time for me to marry, we shall kill two birds with one stone.” Geniysa points out.

“You’re prepared to make such a decision on your own?” Y/N frowns at her daughter.

“I will have Jacaerys,” Geniysa slaps her cousin once on the back.

“Indeed,” he agrees. “I will help guide her hand.”

Y/N bites out. “Let it be done, we shall await your safe return.”

Geniysa snaps her mouth shut, nodding curtly to her mother.

Harwin joins his wife, near the head of the table, brushing hair away from her ear to whisper. “Are you absolutely sure about this? Once a betrothal is set in place it, ending it would be frown upon.”

Y/N turns in to him, keeping her tone hushed. “She is a woman grown. Worse still, she is a child of yours and mine, incredibly stubborn. The move is hers to make.”

Harwin gives a tight nod of acknowledgment.

“Your devotion moves me, Princess.” Rhaenyra tells her niece. “It will not be forgotten.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

“Lucerys and Viserus should take to Storm’s End. It is a short flight from here.” Rhaenyra tells the younger boys. They have always done well together, this has not changed with the years.

“I will aid in his safe passage, my Queen.” Viserus tells her.

“And I his,” Luc looks to Y/N.

“I have no doubt. You’ll do us all proud.”

————————————🌱———————————-

The days drag on, leaving Aemond in a state of unease. He spars to soothe the frazzled bits of him that his wife cannot. Though Aemmia would put him out of his misery with her lips to his; whispering the sweetest of nothings as tender hands caress his face. His wedding gift to her bouncing about her neck before the sapphire finally clings to her sweat damp skin. However, fucking his frustrations into her would not allow a favorable place for their child to grow. Only love for you.

Aemond swings his sword toward his opponent, the clank of metal is familiar. Here he has complete control.

“Brother, I have returned with word from Dragon Stone.” Aegon interrupts.

The King huffs, tossing his weapon to the ground. His head aches, radiating out from the scar around his left eye socket. He drags the heel of his palm across the patch, willing it out of his mind. “Let’s hear it.”

“They’re assembling a battalion. Not to fight, unless it comes to that. Drawing up ‘fair’ terms for the lot of us. All of which will presumably including bending the knee to Rhaenyra.”

“Hmm.”

“We should also rally allies.” Aegon looks away, eyes scanning the grounds.

“What for?”

“You would bet your life and that of your child on their willingness to accept our surrender?”

“Rhaenyra would have no reason to harm us.”

“If it is Y/N’s word she follows.” Aegon points out. “Daemon is thirsty for blood and will stop at nothing to get it.”

“How would you advise me?” Aemond squares his shoulders.

“Houses Stark and Baratheon hold the north, both of whom swore oaths to Rhaenyra. Securing them would give us a leg up, should we need it.”

“You think it will come to that?”

“They are a house divided amongst themselves…and we know how well that works out.” Aegon stares down at the dirt.

“Very well.” Aemond agrees, “I will make the journey to Storm’s end.”

“Make haste, Aemond.” Aegon warns, “their troops will be upon us sooner rather than later.”

“What has brought about this sudden sense of urgency?” Aemond asks, it seems out of character.

“Rhaenyra lost the babe.”

“Gods be good.”

“Y/N,” Aegon breathes, “she is unhinged.”

“Yet she let you live.” Aemond points out.

“You did not see her eyes.” The eldest boy’s hands ball into fists. “She is on the precipice.”

————————————🌱———————————

“He asked for what?” Surely Y/N has heard Viserus wrong.

“Stark asked first for Geniysa, then for Rhaelys. I told him no, on both counts. They are not mine to offer.” Viserus repeats.

“Well done, son.” Harwin assures him.

“Well done?” Daemon scoffs, “he has lost us the North.”

“Instead, I offered my hand to Borros Baratheon’s daughters. The youngest is around my age, a bit older, but she seemed quite taken with our terms.” Viserus smirks, “we have the North, dear uncle.”

The older man huffs, squaring his shoulders.

“You can say you’re proud of me,” Viserus jests, “it’s alright.”

Daemon says nothing, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He claps the boy once on the back as he passes.

Jace and Geniysa return a while after with good news. Rhaenyra’s oath still stands amongst Eyrie and Winterfell.

The middle two Strong children exchange stories about their newly betrothed. Geniysa’s future husband, Arnold Arryn of Eyrie, is older by a handful. “He has his own personal vendetta against a cousin for stealing his place as heir. He believes women are too soft to lead.” Nevertheless, he is willing to reside with her on Dragon Stone or King’s Landing.

“No one better than you to change his mind, cousin.” Jacaerys offers.

Viserus is to wed Floris Baratheon, “she is quiet, but I hope she will warm up.”

Y/N and Harwin are invited to dine with the Queen and King Consort. Along with the Lord of the Tides, his lovely wife and their new found friend, Ser Lynis. But as the hour grows later, the Princess has no appetite.

Rhaelys hums happily in the mother’s lap as Y/N weaves a line of intricate patterns into her silver locks.

“Y/N,” a voice calls from the entryway of her chambers.

“Your grace.” Y/N responds, turning to see her sister. Tapping Rhaelys on the shoulder. “Go, love. Angette is waiting just outside for you.”

“Aunt Rhaenyra?” The little girl peers up at her.

“Yes, Rhaelys?”

The six year old frowns, tossing both arms around the woman’s waist. “I’m sorry about your baby.”

Rhaenyra passes a hand over the crown of her head, “me too, my sweet. Run along now, your supper will get cold.”

Rhaelys dashes out the door without any fuss.

“Ser Harwin informed me that you are unwell.” The Queen comes round, closing the space between she and her sister.

“I will see this through, Rhaenyra. You need not worry.”

“I do not worry for my hand, I worry for my sister.” Rhaenyra says, firmly. Taking a seat beside her on the foot stool, leaning her head against Y/N’s shoulder.

The older girl kisses the top of her sister’s head, resting her cheek there. “I will be better on the morrow.”

“Shall I sit with you a while?”

“Or,” Y/N begins, “we could sneak down to the kitchens.”

Rhaenyra draws back to look at her sister. “And eat cake?”

Y/N nods, fighting back a grin.

————————————🌱———————————-

“Aemmia,” Alicent rushes in to the sitting room.

“Alicent.”

“Word has come, the Velaryon fleet has taken to the seas. They will surround King’s Landing before the moon turns.” She warns.

“It is time then.” They all knew this was coming.

“I can only imagine the things your mother hath told you of me, but I do not wish her dead. Nor Rhaenyra.”

“My mother never spoke an ill word about you, Alicent.” Not to her anyway. “Whatever guilt you hold over things past is your own.”

“All I’ve done is to protect my children.”

“Why do you assume she would harm them?”

“That is what-”

“That’s what you would do.” Aemmia crosses both arms over her chest. “Luckily my mother is better than that.”

“I never meant for it to be this way. We had hoped that with you on the throne, the secession would be peaceful.” Alicent eyes the younger girl, warily.

“Supplanting Rhaenyra was never going to be peaceful. Not when my mother and late Grandsire, spent their lives preparing said throne for it’s rightful heir.” Aemmia turns away from her, staring out the window.

“Perhaps this was miscalculated,” Alicent catches her elbow, “but we thought it best for everyone involved.”

“We?”

“My father and I.”

Aemmia scoffs, “Otto has no love for my mother or Rhaenyra.”

“I do.” Alicent murmurs, half under her breath.

“Then agree to their terms. I’m sure they would accept your surrender and spare your life. Trust may take a while but it would come, eventually.”

“You’ve spent a great deal of time with Helaena as of late,” Alicent changes the subject. “I like to think the two of you could’ve been friends.”

“Helaena is my friend.” Aemmia pulls away from her. “We can still right this, for all of us, with no blood shed. We still have a chance.”

The ships arrive the next morning, just after the dragons. Vhagar, Sunfyre and Aranthi have all been freed from the pit, incase they should need them. Leaving only Helaena’s dragon, Dreamfyre, within, she is a small creature. Not suited for war.

“Do I sit or stand?” Aemmia paces anxiously before the throne. Her dress suddenly too tight, constricting her breath.

Aemond takes her hand. Holding her against his side, facing the throne room doors. “Be still.”

Their army stands behind them, more just outside, lying in wait.

Aemmia’s family does appear, with Rhaenyra at the forefront. She is not alone of course, her mother is there and her father. Daemon and their children at her side. The show of force that trails after them makes Aemmia’s stomach turn.

When they finally stand opposite each other no one speaks for a long while.

Finally it is Y/N to land the first blow. “We shall hear the terms of your surrender, in hopes they align with ours. But first I shall have my daughter, and my sister shall have her throne.”

“Go,” Aemond nods, “go to your mother, love.”

Aemmia squeezes his fingers then drops them, prepared to close the gap between their two families. Before her foot touches the first step down, Otto Hightower has his dagger drawn and at her throat.

“Hold,” Rhaenyra puts an arm out, hearing the shuffle of armor behind her.

“Drop your weapons.” Otto demands, watching the enemy do so. “On your knees.”

Only Daemon fights it.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra warns, “do it, now.”

The man rolls his eyes, kneeling beside his wife. “I am growing too old for such things.”

Otto presses the blade a bit more firmly against Aemmia’s neck, tiny beads of scarlet pooling around the edge. “Here you stand, largest army in Westeros at your heels, come to take what is yours. All you’ve fought for, all you’ve bled for and yearned for; yet you cannot seize it. Instead you drop like flies to your knees. Love is your downfall. Love stays the hand.”

“Grandsire, this is not my wish.” Aemond cuts in. “She is your Queen, to harm her would be the highest of treasons.”

“In a matter of minutes her reign will end, as will yours. Your very lives will be forfeit. Is that your wish Aemond?”

“She is with child.” Aemond informs him, “my child. I wish to see her bear it, mend our houses. As my father so willed it.”

“Your father was so blind to the affairs of your family that he allowed you to be maimed. All in the name of Rhaenyra and her bastards. Sired by the same man as the whore who hath wrought these delusions upon you. Viserys did not defend you. I did! Your mother did!” Otto shouts.

He and Otto move in unison. Aemond is fast to draw his sword, using the blade of it to impale his Grandsire and drive him forward.

“Say what you will, but she has my loyalty.” Aemond seethes. I love her.

Otto’s blood soaked dagger falls to the ground. Aemmia stumbles away with a hand to her throat. Blood oozing out between her fingers, down her wrist and forearm to her elbow.

Alicent is the one to break her fall, moving the girl so that she is cradled against her on the floor. “We must have the Maester!”

Rhaenyra’s army prepares to pounce. “Stay your hand,” the Queen commands.

Aemmia’s parents rush past Otto and Aemond to their daughter.

“There you are,” Otto sputters out as Rhaenyra comes into view. “Come to sit upon your beloved throne.”

She ignores him, headed for her niece instead. Crowding around the girl like everyone else.

“Mama,” Aemmia whispers, her head is light; floating above her body.

“I’m here,” Y/N gentles her. “I’m here.”

“Papa.”

“Yes, sweetheart, all accounted for.” Harwin, pushes a bit of hair from her face. “Let me see,” he pries her fingers away from the wound. Aemmia’s head resting in Alicent’s lap. It is deep, but doesn’t appear to have hit a vein. She will live if they act quickly to seal it. Blood loss will be their worst enemy. “Not too bad, hmm?” Harwin applies firm pressure with his own hand as they wait for the maester. “Just a scratch.”

Y/N holds her daughter’s hand. Unable or willing to focus on anything else.

“For the love of the gods, let us heat up a blade and seal it. I’ve seen this a thousand times in battle.” Daemon says, feigning indifference, though clearly worried as the rest.

“I will do it.” Laenor sprints over to the corner torch lamp. Holding his knife to the flame until it burns red hot.

“Move her hair away.”

“Hold her steady, we want the edges to be clean.”

Everything moves out of time, the smell of charring flesh, the sound of Aemmia’s scream. A collective lurch of bodies, crying out in warning. Y/N turns her head just in time to see Criston Cole charging her way. Sword drawn.

The princess does not move, frozen as lords and knights alike rush to her defense. But they are too late. The sound of metal against metal startles Y/N more than the impact she braced for.

“You dare attack my sister while her back is turned?” Aegon seethes, deadlocked with Ser Criston.

“They cannot take the throne, my Prince. I will die defending your honor.” The man who helped raise him replies. Pushing back against Aegon’s hand.

“I will not kill you, Cole. You have been dear to me, but you mustn’t harm my family.” Aegon says, cooly. “Guards, remove Ser Criston and place him under lock and key.”

Perhaps they are not too far gone. Perhaps they will save each other.

Part IX

Taglist @evyiione @bubblebuttwade @hotd-fanfic@leoramage @hyperfiaxed-freak @chonisbestmistake @poemfreak306 @giulia2372 @stargaryenx @rxscpctals