#vaemond velaryon x reader

[tamayakii]

Their Angel. Yan!HOTD x Reader

I've been having so many thoughts about yandere house of the dragon x reader, how the 3 big houses (Targaryen, Velaryon & Hightower) would fight for the darlings' affection. Platonic, Familial or romantic. I feel like they would, of course, all fight over what colours you would wear, what house you represent until a very annoyed and exhausted council member suggested white.

"like an angel," Viserys adds, it was said that the gods had sent you down to bless them so dressing you in white seemed the best option... but that didn't stop them from gifting you jewellery that had the colours of their house.

The Hightower jewellery had the most expensive Jade and Emerald on top of gold, these pieces can range from delicate rings to big statement necklaces that encompass your neck. Alicent prefers to give you these gifts in person, alone, perhaps in her or your chambers. Presenting you with the beautifully engraved box as she opens it, showing you a new necklace with a beautiful dark green emerald. Otto's gifts never cease to awe you in how quiet that man is in his actions, a small indiscreet box upon your pillow when you ready for bed. Inside lays a note, upon which Otto describes the moment he found this beautiful ring and knew he must get it for you, the handwriting almost as beautiful as the peridot ring you now proudly wear on your pinkie.

The Targaryen jewellery is almost always extravagant, having connections to get you the best out of everything. Viserys gifts you capes, crowns and veils but unlike the others, he almost always keeps them in white, unless they have jewels. His favourite thing to see you in is crown veils, the jewellery hanging down and framing your face makes you seem like you stepped down from heaven's gate. When Aemma was still around, she gifted you rings and earrings, she wasn't able to give you much before she passed in childbirth. So you hold these gifts quite dearly to your heart, always sporting the dark ruby red ring on your thumb, twisting it when you get nervous. Rhaenrya, oh dear Rhaenrya, she wanted everyone to know that you belong to the Targaryens. To the Blood of The Dragons, her first gift to you was a cloak clasp that show two dragons on each side, her second gift was a crystal bracelet that had a chain connecting to a ring, it was a simple design but by the gods it made you feel exquisite. There was one gift that set the nail in the coffin, it was a gift from Rhaenrya and Aemma, a dragon that wrapped around your neck. Signifying the hold that House Targaryen has on you.

The Velaryon jewellery is often pearls or other sea gemstones as they sit on driftmark and have a hand over the trading routes, Rhaenys upon her second meeting of you, gifting you a pearl ring slipping upon your finger herself. Corlys gifted you a relic that was been with the Veleryons for ages on your first birthday with them, the beautiful necklace made with blue topaz, moonstones and blue chalcedony, wrapped beautifully with Valeryon silver. Vaemond... never was quite as fond as you as his brother and sister-in-law were, you were no Targaryen or Velaryon but for small moments he forgot that and adored your sweet smile.

I would love to draw male and female outfits of what this au's darling would look like, i can also do a part two of the other things the other characters would give you as i excluded a lot as to not make this any longer than it is. Should i make a fic with this idea? pls send me an ask if you're interested in this au

[urdeftonesgrrrl]

"vhagar and aemond are such cowards! they can only win by sneak attacking!"

literally daemon:

[alaffy]

House of the Dragon, Ep. 2x06 – Smallfolk (spoilers)

Well, this show can’t be any weirder than what’s happening in the real world today.  So, what the hell. 

Well, Daemon still is haunted.  But the lord of the Riverlands is dead and, hey, it sounds like that one chick isn’t a ghost. 

Rhaena is still in Vail, although it seems like she’s about to be kicked out, except there just so happens to be a wild dragon in the area.  Hmmm.

Aemond is going full tyrant mode.  He dismisses Alicent from the Small Council (which I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets rid of them all) and makes it very clear that he sees the army as expendable; this includes Sir Bitch.  He also doesn’t see why he needs to worry about the rumors the Smallfolk are floating around. 

Looks like Rheneyra and the White Worm may become more than allies. 

Aegon is mending, but it will be a long journey and some of his injuries will never fully heal.  This is a perfect opportunity for Lord Lrys (who’s been rejected as the Hand by Aemond); as he can teach him how to use his mind. 

So, there are two very important storylines in this episode.  First, as I mentioned, the White Worms plan to get the Smallfolk of King’s Landing on their side is going very well.  All they had to do was spread rumors that the wealthy were living large while the people starve.  And, of course, when the Smallfolk see large amounts of food going to the castle (which is probably mostly for the Dragons) they believe it to be the case. 

Which leads to part two of the plan.  Overnight, Rehneyra is able to send small boats of food to the shores of King’s Landing.  Of course, to the people, it give a message that she cares for them.  Which she does…but she’s also using them.  The food causes chaos in the streets and in the so happens to happen at the time that Alicent and Helena are at the Sept.  And, for some reason, the King’s Gard sees the trouble happening and decides that this is the perfect time to, you know, try to get the Queen’s back to their carriage instead of just keeping them inside the Sept and blocking the doors.  This leads to more chaos where someone, who was probably trying to help Alicent, has his arm chopped off and one of the Gold Cloaks beaten to death.  This, Aemond, is why you need to keep the small folk happy.

The other big event has two parts to it.  First, Vaemond does decided to become Rheneyra’s Hand.  He also decides to promote Ayran, who is his illegitimate son.  But wait, there’s more.  Ayran has a younger brother, who is also Vaemond’s son.

Second, Rheneyra is trying to see if Jayce’s suggestion works; namely, she is seeing if a dragon will accept a rider outside of the Targaryen bloodline.  It does not go well.  Seasmoke cooks the would be rider and flies off.  To the beach.  Where Seasmoke finds the younger song of Vaemond. 

And, at the end of the episode, Rheneyra is told that Seasnake has been spotted with a rider.  They fear it is someone from house Green.  Rheneyra who’s slowly realizing she can’t just let the men tell her to sit around and do nothing, decides to ride out on her dragon.   

[dahliarosebud]

- Love Is A War Series - Aemond x Reader

• Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

• MAIN-MASTER-LIST

• HOTD-MASTER-LIST

Warnings: gore, death, kissing, fighting/violence

Synopsis: You have just arrived from your morning outing only to be told by your father you have to go back to King’s Landing for court. There you see your secret lover, but more pressing matters arise - the true heir of Driftmark and when the Jace and Luke’s legitimacy is questioned tension suffocates the room.

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As I landed on the courtyard and jumped from Selene’s saddle my father stomped towards me. ”Come Y/n we are going to court.” He grabbed my wrist gently and dragged me behind him.

“What father why? I have only just gotten back surely I should change?” I rushed exasperatedly behind him as we continued onto the docks. We stopped as people were finishing up loading the ship. 

The boys, Rhaena and the nurse stood with Rhaenyra as they waited patiently. My father pulled me over and stood next to his wife. She leaned over and smiled at me in a motherly sense. She has tried to take over the role of my mother and provide me that comfort, but it wasn’t the same.

We boarded the boat the waves already softly swaying us. The wind was harsh and bitter. I stood on the deck and let my hand skim the breeze over the rails. Humming softly at the occasional splashing spray of water, fresh and awakening.

I pulled my hand back over as I heard the familiar footsteps of my cousin Jacerys. We had gotten closer over the years, forgiveness is a virtue. His hand met my shoulder with a gentle squeeze. 

I turned and smiled at him, which he returned. “I heard you’re learning the old tongue.” He looked down and I laughed. 

“Hardly. I keep forgetting or can’t get my words out fast enough,” he confessed with a frustrated sigh. “Where were you this morning, you missed breakfast and you usually join me for my lessons with the maester?”

“I just went for a ride with Selene, to get away from Dragonstone for while,” my voice was quiet as I turned back around. The boy behind me hummed and walked away back to his brothers.

I did feel guilty for keeping secrets. I mean my stomach drops every time my father catches me returning or asks where I have been. I looked down back to watching the sloshing sea. Skimming my fingers over the scar that remains on my forehead.

The boat jostled as it came to a stop and we all piled off. I stood and watched amidst the chaos of people unloading the ship, the bustle of the red keep, the chatter of King’s Landing. 

The carriage rocked as we arrived at the dreaded place. “All hail Rhaenyra of house Targaryen. Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne and her royal consort, Prince Daemon Targaryen.” Rhaenyra pushed open the carriage door. We all filed out after her and my father awaiting to be received. 

My father and Rhaenyra walked away with baby Aegon and Viserys to go meet the king. Suddenly I felt myself being pulled along again. I walked in tow with my two cousins as we ventured down to the training yard. 

I giggled as we raced down the steps. Our feet slapped down onto the all to familiar gravel ground. I remember how my day was a constant beige and grey when my father sent me here to live: I was separated from those I loved , but my heart grew to love another in the end.

People turned and looked - their burning eyes trailed the path where our feet once were. Luke and I stopped at the weapons table as Jace laughed aloud seeing the dent where Luke had once injured him self. 

He sauntered back over, shoulders still shaking from reminiscent giggles, “See? I told you this would still be here. And you thought you could swing Criston’s morning star. And you almost took your own head off,” he spoke boisterously as he ruffled his younger brother’s hair.

My eyes followed the way my finger dragged across the rusted blade. Inhaling the permeated air deeply as I remembered how we would all have to spar each other. I looked up my gaze catching the way Lucerys’s eyes lingered on the people bustling in the yard.

“What is wrong,” I spoke gently resting my hand onto the younger boys shoulder. I chewed the inside of my cheek as I felt him tense under my touch. Jace’s head popped into the corner of my eye, my concern catching his attention.

“People keep staring at us,” he whispered lowering his head in un-hidden shame. He turned to look at his brother who had jumped into a mocking fighting stance, a sword in hand. I covered my mouth as I laughed at his antics. 

I turned away from them as the peering people began making a crowd. I squinted trying to get my eyes to focus, I smiled once I saw that blonde hair. I quickly walked forward, pushing my way through the crowd. My hands clasped in front of me, a feverish smile painted on my face.

The crack of wood from his shield made me jump, my heart racing in excitement. I felt the boys join my side. Their gasps and gawking faces made me chuckle inwardly. 

He had finally swung around so we could see his face. The eye patch stuck out as a sickening reminder. I could basically feel their anxiety, the way their chest squeezed as they realised it was Aemond.

I felt pride as he dodged every blow and the way he pressed his sword into the prick’s collar bone. “Well done my prince. You will be winning tourneys in no time,” Ser Criston panted. Aemond pressed the tip of his blade further into his clothed collar bone.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he spoke clear and loud, “Nephews...have you come to train?” He lowered his sword allowing the handle to spin in his hand. I felt Jace shift uncomfortably next to me. Aemond’s eye imprinting itself into his fear.

“Open the gate!” A guard called. The old creaking wood was heaved open. The whole yard stood and watched as Lord Vaemond Velaryon walked in cockily, banner men surrounding him in a nod of his immense pride. My eyes followed him, not missing the way he stared down Luke.

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I giggled as he pulled me through the large doors. His chambers were a warm orange from the glowing fire. He gently pushed me into the wall staring deeply into my eyes as I looked at him under my lashes. 

A love sick smile on both of our faces. He leaned in closer to my faces, hesitating for a second, drinking in my presence. Finally he planted his lips onto mine feverishly, heavy and lustful. His arms bracing him, hands either side of my head. My mind swimming with the imagination of how the muscles of his back contorted at this lude position. 

His lips left mine to kiss under jaw. Continuing to trail kisses down my neck till he reached my slightly exposed collar bone, “Aemond.” I whsiperd as I threaded my fingers into the silver hair at the back of his head. He pulled away, reaching forward and pulled my necklace from under my garments. 

The cold sun pendent, dainty between his finger tips. He smiled softly as he admired the jewellery. Dropping the small golden sun, now opting to twirl a piece of my hair around his finger, enjoying the way my soft hair wrapped around him.

“I missed you,” he whispered sweetly. His breath fanning across my face. I observed the way his glowing skin passionately received the glowing orange of the warming fire . I watched the way he focused on playing with the section of my hair, to savour the moment.

“You only just saw me this morning,” I sighed contently. Brushing my thumb gingerly across the soft supple skin of his cool cheek. If you looked closely they were still splattered with freckles, not as prominent as when we were younger, but still just as breathtakingly beautiful. 

He pulled away leaning back in. This kiss was slow, something so unspoken about this kiss like if we questioned it fully we would be entering dangerous water. The loving mystery behind it was so enamouring why would I want to question it? 

We pulled apart, hardly any room left between us. My body yearning for more. His slim fingers lifted my chin, thumb pulling down my bottom lip ever so slightly. So teasing, but so good. It has me swooning.

“Come on my love, time to go to court.”

-------------

The room was stuffy as we entered the great hall. All sides of the room cramped with nobles, and those with high blood status. I ground my teeth in a slow burning annoyance seeing Otto Hightower sat on my uncle’s throne.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As hand I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters. The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Valaryon.”

The man’s heavy steps vibrated the room. HIs mean gaze ghosted across my family and I. I ground my teeth harder as vile words came to mind. Oh so many to describe him with, such a shame I must hold my tongue. 

“My Queen. My Lord Hand. The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to Old Valaryia. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Valaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became last of their kind. Our forbearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their blood lines and their name. I have spent-”

I rolled my eyes as he began promoting his claim to Driftmark as if we have all never heard it before. I tilted my neck awaiting that delicious pop. “AS it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond. you would be so bold to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition,” Rhaenyra cut in, through Vaemond’s ever so ��reverting’ speech of claim.

“You will have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.” The Queen cut-in in turn. There was such thick tension it was unbearable.  I felt my eye twitch in annoyance as I saw Aegon’s patronising smirk form across the room, and suddenly we’re eleven again and he is being cruel - like the vile cunt he is and will always be.

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?” I observed the way Rhaenyra turned her head in disgusted humility. “I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn’t recognise it. This is about the future and survival of my house not yours. My Queen, my lord hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor...the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.” 

The room was filled with a mixture of satisfied and snarky faces. My family and I stood cold and firm, yet wavering in the cold wind that brushed past us in appending realisation of who Otto will choose. “Thank you Ser Vaemond,” Hightower’s poison dripping words slipped form his lips. “Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

“If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty-years-ago, in this very...” The doors squealed open, wailing in ancient misery. We all turned to look at the disruption. 

Two metal men adorned with white cloaks accompanied the dead man walking, pausing just outside the large double doors. The right one bellowed, “King Viserys of House Targrayen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Protector of the Realm.” The room grew silent, but the echo of the rotting man’s cane haunted it falling on deaf ears. 

Otto Hightower stood from the throne in pure shock. Rhaenyra was teary eyed watching as her father descended the steps. Overall it was Alicent’s worry that painted her face that caught  my attention. She seemed scared, fearing for the King, her husband. The candles seemed to flicker more, painting sickly and ghostly shadows over the large expanse of the walls. The fires grew brighter with everyone’s impending shock, drinking it, taking it in like liquor. 

You could feel how each and everyone of us held our breaths as the crown came clattering to the floor. Only now did I notice that my father followed behind my uncle. I chewed the inside of my cheek as I watched him pick up his brother’s crown, proceeding to steadily follow behind Viserys’s haggard steps. 

With a groaning wail the king fell to his throne, mouth agape with heavy breath as my father placed the crown back onto the rightful head. Finally, everyone can breathe again. Cold air flooding back into my lungs as the intoxicated fire dimmed back down to its mellow orange. 

“I must...admit...my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present...who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’s wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.” The gathering all turned to look at my grandmother. Her held was held high, her back straight. The gracious lady I’ve always known stood tall and strong.

“Indeed your Grace,” she walked out to the front, head still held high. “It was forever my husband’s will that Driftmark, pass through Ser Laenor to his true born son...Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.” I smiled at both of my sisters with pride and happinesss at their good fortune. 

“Well...the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne and next Lord of the Tides.” My uncle wheezed and rasped out. My grandmother nodded to my step-mother quickly smiling at me as she walked back to stand next to Baela once again.

“You break law...” Vaemond piped back up, anger building and fists balling and un-balling. “and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me...who deserves to inherit the name Velareyon. No. I will not allow it.” I could tell my father was growing bored and agitated by Vaemond’s speech as he shifter from one foot to another. His fingers drumming an unheard beat on the pummel of ‘Dark Sister’. 

“‘Allow it’? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.” Viserys warned a mighty sneer on his lips. Ready to gut the man in front of him if her dare sully his family’s name, drag his beloved daughter’s name through the mud.

Vaemond turned towards us rapidly. Pointing an accusatory finger in Luke’s face, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!” He turned back to the King, rage bubbling in his voice ready to spill over at any moment.

“Go to your chambers. You have said enough.” Rhaenyra defended.

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you...are no more than the second son of Driftmark,” Viserys panted back, that same calm sneer still on him pale thin lips.

“You...may run your house as you see fit...but you will, not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And Gods be dammed,” he turned back to Lucerys, “I will not see it ended on the account of this...” he stopped him self a wicked smile growing on his lips.

“Say it,” my father practically teased, tempting fate. 

Vaemond’s gazed scanned the two young boys until finally his eyes met their mother’s, “Her children... are bastards!” he called out like a mad man, the insult echoing in  my ears, rattling in my skull. “And she is...a whore.” The court gasps as my family and I bore holes into the mad man’s impertinent head.

“I...” the ‘shing’ of the King’s blade caught our attention, “will have your tongue for that.” The King struggled, but my father had beat him to it. I felt him move quickly from my side, his mighty sword in hand.

He cleanly sliced Vaemond’s head off (at an ugly angle might I add). I covered my mouth with my hand, looking down as I tried to suppress a satisfied chuckle. The court mirrored its earlier action of their horrified gasps. I rolled my eyes lifting my head. My eyes catching Aemond’s who stood across from me, the knowing and admiring smirk on his face as he continued to stare into my eyes before flickering back to my father.

I winced at the squelch the body made as it hit the floor, not missing how Haelena covered her ears and her mother comforted her  daughter. “He can keep his tongue.” my fathers calm and collected voice filled the void. 

“Disarm him!” the guard commanded the sound of their own swords followed in pursuit.

“No need,” my father practically whispered as he walked back to his spot next to me, using his clothes to clean the blade. I looked up at his face offering a smile. His mischievous smirk returned my affections. We all turned back to the king as he groaned in pain people rushing to help him. 

I zoned out as my I watched the way the velvet crimson seeped to the floor. Tainting and staining. A mark shall always be imprinted in the ground and the people present. Always remembered as the man who dared to cross the Targaryens. Fear always following my fathers name a warning always given if it is dared muttered. 

“Y/n,” I was pulled out of my trance as Jace gently grabbed my wrist. “Are you alright?” I turned towards him, my mind clouded by death. I nodded only now noticing how dry my mouth has gotten.

“I feel as if I need to go for a ride with Selene, clear my mind of all...this. Would you care to accompany me?” I questioned smiling over to the young man. He nodded back a caring smile on his face.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

~ Stepstones ~

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warning : war , blood , wounds , emotional , death , gore , obession , fluff kinda

next chapter , masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ship with the group was rocking back and forth on the sea. The few men were either at the helm or were untem to prepare. Also the only woman at bort with her bear was at the ship. But she was looking out to sea from the direction they had come. Rhaenyra, I will come back to you, she thought, even as she felt the pain of the bite wound, her many scars that would not stop tingling and burning, and her once-broken fingers that seemed endlessly stiff. Alyssa nudged the older one with her muzzle and also seemed to be thinking. ,,It's been a long time," she said, kneeling behind Alyssa and stroking her armor.

She knew that Alyssa had survived many a battle through it, even though they both knew that in a bowl with a dragon they were powerless. The finely riveted metal with the bear and sword ornaments was beautiful and shone in the light. She stroked the dark fur of her bear before rising and looking again at the water glistening under the sun. What do the Stepstones look like? she asked herself, feeling the displeasure. She had fought in meadows, fields, mountains, snow and even in the blood of her enemies, but she had never been so far from home. And suddenly she realized how far she was from home. She missed the cold of the north sometimes, two whole years had passed and since then she had not been back to Bear Island.

Although no events had required her presence and her uncle was still alive, she could not avoid her homeland. She could not avoid missing her home. At the latest with the marriage I will come back she thought bitterly and laughed. It was ironic that the family she might marry into was designed for sea and water, and she was right on top of them. ,,Lady Mormont the princess gave us this. She insisted you take it, it's medicine from the Master," she heard one of the men say, holding out a vial. She didn't even have to touch it to know that it was the pain-killing milk. ,,Thank you," she said before taking the vial. She rolled it between her fingers and looked at the mixture. She was about to take it out and throw it away when she decided against it.

Instead she put it in a small pouch on her belt. Sorry Rhaenyra she thought and turned away from King's Landing to finally look in the direction of her destination. A few hours had passed during which she had dragged her sway, stroking Alyssa and dozing lightly before she heard a loud ,,We are here!". Detaching herself from the railing, she stepped forward and saw the aforementioned Stepstones. But what she saw made her uneasy. It was a collection of stones some larger some smaller. While on the right the war was raging on one of the islands, so they headed for the left side where the Velaryons had their troops.

Suddenly she heard a screech and a smile came to her lips as she saw Caraxes flying above them towards the camp. Daemon I see you again she thought, feeling the anticipation despite the fight. It took a few more minutes before they docked. Stones and rough grass spread out before they walked up a small footpath. While the men went ahead, she had climbed on Alyssa and flew to them. It's completely different from up north, she thought, and she could feel herself getting uncomfortable with all the sea and rocks. It wasn't really a battlefield designed for fighting ships and dragons. Something she didn't have except for a few longships that were all in the ice bay. Only when the troops arrived at the top did they hear loud voices coming from a table.

Only when the troops announced themselves did they fall silent. ,,Lady Mormont, what are you doing here?" asked Lord Corlys, slightly confused, and the other men and soldiers seemed unsure as well. ,,Prince Daemon, we bring news of your brother, King Viserys, first of his name," one of the men began before handing a letter to the prince. She saw from Alyssa how Daemon read the words with such a cold look that she knew something was wrong. He doesn't want to retreat, she thought as she recognized that determined look. Before his violet eyes lifted from the letter and looked at her. It was a brief eye contact but she recognized his hurt. Before he leaned against the table and looked out over the sea.

Suddenly he reached for his helmet and struck the younger man like a madman. Again and again until Lord Corly's men had to pull him back. The king's troops retreated to one of the fires, leaving Y/n alone. Nothing here is going according to plan, she thought before getting off Alyssa and walking over to the table. ,,Allow me to ask Lord Corlys how far you have traveled since this war started?" she asked, looking at the figures at the table. ,,Well, we were able to push them back several times, but the crabs are retreating into the cave system where the dragons can't reach them," he explained and the younger one looked over to the enemy territory. ,,Why have you come Lady Mormont, surely not to fight?" asked Corly's brother and she saw his disdainful look. ,, Lady Y/n has much more experience than you on your stone" came Daemon bitingly, who was full of anger since the news of the king. ,, To fight is my duty to the crown and the princess, but it looks like you need all the steel you can get, or you would have won already " she said, seeing the evil look of the elder.

A smirk came from Daemon before the thought continued. ,,The only thing that could be done is an ambush. Father, one of them goes in and as soon as they all come out, we burn them", the son of the sea serpent suggested. ,,Then name the madman who would do it.... or someone who thinks so much of herself" he said and his gaze remained fixed on the Mormont. ,,Don't think Lord Vaemond, I'll play the naked maiden and go there!" she hissed and her hands clutched at the wooden table. Wretched man, he has no honor she thought and looked at him with a hateful look. ,,But Lady Momront, I'm sure that even the Crabeater couldn't resist you" she said and was about to reach for her sword when a ,,I'll do it" came from Daemon. ,,My prince, are you sure?" asked Lord Corlys, but Daemon turned without a word, took his helmet and walked towards Caraxes.

Without thinking about it, she hurried after the prince, but he ignored her calls to stop. ,,Prince Daemon, why did you do that?" she asked when they arrived at Caraxes. ,,Just as you won't reveal your secret, I won't reveal it either," he said, stroking Caraxes' red scales. ,,Unless, little bear, you can give me back my dagger," he said, his violent eyes running over her armor. ,,Daor my prince" she said and looked at Caraxes who was watching them both purring. Carefully, she reached out and ran her hand over the warm red scales. ,,Who did this?" he suddenly demanded, reaching for the wrist of her right hand.

The white bandage was easily visible and seemed to worry the prince. ,,Why?" she asked, not taking her eyes off him. She felt her heart beat faster at the thought that he was worried about her. ,,Who was it?" he asked again and came a step closer to her, his violet eyes showing anger. It was the rage of a dragon waiting to burn its enemies. ,,A wolf during the royal hunt I saved a white deer from a pack of wolves," she said before pulling her arm back. His eyes passed over her arm again before he looked back into her eyes. ,,Skoryso gaomagon a tha kelinitsos ?" (Why haven't you changed?) he asked in High Valyrian and saw the uncertain look in her eyes. ,,Pa arghugon was too dangerous to be discovered" ( The hunt ) she started but stopped because she ran out of words. ,,You have the bear's house, so be the bear" he told her, tapping one of the bears engraved on her armor with his finger. ,,It would only cause problems," she said, knowing that no lord would be likely to even consider marriage if the rumor or eyewitness account of her curse made the rounds. ,,It would make you strong to show the ignorant bastards that you are above them. Besides, it would amuse me," he said after a short pause and gave her a small smile.

,, Amuse? Like a puppet who is about to strike?" she asked, not knowing how to interpret the older one. But Daemon stroked Caraxes one last time before passing her by. ,,I trust in you, my little bear!" he called before heading into the battlefield. ,,Be careful Daemon" she whispered and felt Caraxes nudging her with his snout. ,,What?" she asked the dragon, who seemed to be trying to tell her something. She also stroked the male dragon one last time before going back to the others and placing herself next to Alyssa before watching the single small dinghy translate. ,,We'll just have to wait and see," she heard Lord Corlys say as he stepped up to her. ,,Yes, we must, my lord," she replied before looking out to sea again and seeing Daemon disappear behind one of the rocks. It took only a few minutes until the troops of Lord Corlys got ready and also went to the boats. But for the Mormont it seemed to be hours.

She crossed with Alyssa and a smaller group and saw the displeasure in the eyes of the others. If the old gods hear me, have mercy on Daemon and me, she prayed silently, stroking Alyssa's head, who was also upset. Rhaenyra I will come back she thought when she heard the shriek of Caraxe saying goodbye to her. The mist drifted over the dark water as they quietly docked and disembarked. But as soon as her boots touched the sand, she felt the problems. ,,Damn," she hissed and sat down on Alyssa. She had never combed on sand before, something that could bring down any warrior. The ground was soft and hard at the same time and one wrong step could make even an experienced warrior stagger. ,,Are you alright Lady Y/n?" she heard the question from the second oldest Velaryon who was watching her. She didn't answer him, instead she steered Alyssa behind the troops and stroked her fur. She took in the smell of burning wood and flesh mixed with the salty sea water and the smell of smoke. It was oppressive.

From her elevated position, she tried to find Daemon, but saw nothing but sand, debris, corpses and ash. A completely different battlefield than in the north she thought and heard Alyssa growl. ,,Wait a little longer" she heard the sea snake say and took a deep breath. Every single part of her body was tense. Her scars were burning and her fingers were just waiting to reach for the sword. Before they hid behind a mountain of sand and waited and waited and waited. She could have vomited she was so nervous it was the wait before the storm before the warm blood of her enemies spread over her body. It was one of the worst things in a war, waiting. Suddenly Lord Corlys shouted,  ,,Attack!" and all the soldiers started to run. Aylssa knew by herself what she had to do. She ran and she roared on seeming to be just as nervous as her rider. Then she saw Daemon standing under a shipwreck and was saved at the last moment by Seasmoke, the dragon of Laenor, who burned the enemies.

But she didn't have time to think, because when she saw the first enemies she drew Longclaw and with the first blow she cut the first head of one of her opponents. Blood ran from the blade and the adrenaline of the fight had her in its grip. Now her enemies seemed to have realized that she was a woman and not a man. Something they probably hoped for in their victory. But it was all the same, she jumped off Alyssa and rammed the sword into the back of one of the men on impact. She heard the Valyrian steel blade cut through skin and bone before she pulled it out to deflect a short sword. Dodging to the side, the swords struck each other seriously and she shuddered under the effort.

Whether it was because of the difference in strength or because of her injury, she did not know. ,,Alyssa!" she screamed and within a moment her bear came running and her jaws wrapped around her opponent's torso before she tore it away from Y/n and split it in two with one bite. The cracking of bones could be heard before her bear was also covered in blood. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another group of men approaching. Looking around, she spotted a lance on the ground. Bloody but still usable, she picked it up and swung at Aylssa before throwing the lance with precision through the torso of one of the men, who went down gurgling and screaming. When she looked up and felt the hammering of her heart, the battle was raging around her.

Men were beating men to death, pulling their weapons out of their bodies and dying. It was a battle that would burn into her memory just as cih as any other. A roar snapped her out of her thoughts when she found Alyssa with two arrows stuck in her. Archers ran through her mind and she ran towards her bear. She picked up a shield from the ground and held it protectively next to her from the direction she thought the arrows were coming from. But barely seconds later, the first arrow bored into the wood and missed her eye by only a few centimeters. Throwing aside the shield, she grabbed the first arrow near Alyssa and yanked it out with a jerk. The animal roared but held still and she was about to pull out the second arrow when she cried out in pain. An archer had taken advantage of her openness and the arrow pierced through her left shoulder because of the thinner armor. ,,Skaggos" she ordered Alyssa and she stood with her shield in front of her rider before she at least broke off the arrow with a cry.

Looking around as best she could, she realized that she would not find Daemon either. She saw Lord Corlys and his brother and Laenor on Seasmoke above them, but there was no sign of the blond Targaryen. Only when Alyssa left her cover did she realize why a group of enemies seemed to have joined forces and with the help of the arrows they had separated the Mormont from the Velaryons. ,,Miserable bastards!" she hissed as she grabbed the already-braided shield and tightened her grip on Longclaw. Her body screamed at her to stop and she barely noticed how the wound on her arm was strained. The Valyrian sword seemed to grow heavier with each sword stroke she depreciated. But the arrow in her shoulder was also causing more damage and more pain with each movement. As the blood stained her clothes and armor, it dripped down her hands.

Breathing heavily, she pulled the blade of the sword out of the side of one of the men, and Alyssa kept going backwards. This is not going to end well she thought and jumped to the side to avoid a serious arrow. Only when she heard a scream did she see that men had crept up behind her. Lifting her longclaw, she tried to strike as she was knocked to the ground by an unspeakable force. The sand was hard under her and her head was seized by dizziness. After a moment of blinking, she staggered to her feet and realized that a morning star had just grazed her, but it was enough force to knock her over. She hardly noticed the pain in her arm, too much adrenaline flooded her body. Longclaw lay somewhere in the sand and instead she reached for Daemon's dagger. For Rhaenyra, she thought as she caught herself and dodged the morning star, which sent her reeling again before she plunged the dagger into the man's flesh under the ribs. He cried out and blood splattered in her face and armor insignificant and a victim of many.

But the men did not seem to want to stop. Instead, they drove the two closer and both seemed to know that if they didn't get help they wouldn't survive. The shield she had was broken long ago, Longclaw was too heavy to lift and she was too slow for the dagger, she was at the end. She felt the wet, blood-soaked fur of Alyssa, who stood next to her and roared at the men who kept her distance. You have the house of the bear, so be the bear, she heard Daemon's words echoing in her head. She knew it was the last resort, otherwise she would die here with Alyssa, away from home, breaking Rhaenyra's promise and forgetting her duty as leader. They already see me as different, it makes no difference if...I am the monster now she thought bitterly and it hurt.

The breaking of bones was swallowed by the sounds of battle only her screams as her body transformed and bent to the growth of fur seemed to alarm the men around her. They backed away and raised their shields. ,,She is a monster!". ,,A witch!" she heard the screams before her roar in her bear form silenced the men. With a leap, she and Alyssa pounced on the unprepared men and sank their teeth into the first torso. She felt the bones crack and give way under her new jaw. She felt the blood and the metallic taste. How her paw pushed the body away and she pounced on the next one. Over and over again she bit, snapped and lunged, on and on and on. She had stopped counting at some point and only survival was important. Only when something drilled into her seventh she roared and saw that someone had thrown a lance at her. I'll kill you, too, she thought and ran towards the throw. But before she reached him, a hail of arrows came at her.

Whimpering and roaring sounds came from her as the arrows hit her and only when Alyssa stood in front of them did it stop slightly. With every step she took in her new form it became harder to keep it up but everywhere she looked the men didn't seem to decrease. Only when she had defeated the archers and the group with Alyssa's help was she able to get back to the other troops. Breathing heavily and with Alyssa behind her for support, she ran to the Velaryons. She felt the lance that had broken off at the hilt, digging further into her side. Looking over the felf, she saw how Corlys did not see the man behind her. But she couldn't speak instead she roared as loud as she could before she brought down the man behind Corlys with a well-aimed jump and her teeth broke his neck.

The older man spun around in confusion and she saw that he didn't recognize her - how could he? Instead, he turned away from her before plunging his axe into another enemy. She didn't know how long the battle raged, but by now she had advanced from the middle of the field with the others almost to the rocks. But she felt her body weakening more and more. How much longer she asked herself and tore with a paw the shield out of the hand of an opponent before she grabbed his leg and divided it with a bite before she bit him in the neck. But no sooner had she killed him than she heard someone shouting, ,,He's dead, the crab-eater is dead!". Curious, she looked around and actually saw Daemon coming out of one of the caves. To her delight, he had won, dragging the torso of the crab-eater behind him before throwing it to the rest of the men. Those who were not killed fled or died under Seasmoke, but they knew that the Stepstones were safe again. They had won.

But Daemon looked no less battered than the others, his entire body, including his hair, was covered in blood, and his expression showed satisfaction in addition to the horror of the battle. Satisfaction that he could prove it to his brother. The battle was over and the troops gathered together, including Seasmoke Landette and his rider. But one question remained for the men: where was the Lady Mormont? Daemon, however, did not take his violet eyes from her bear shape. He knows she realized and the group split. Alyssa and her rider faced Daemon and the Velaryons. No one said anything because no one seemed to know what was going on. ,,Where is Lady Mormont?" finally asked Lord Corlys, looking over his men. But none of them knew, they all shook their heads. He knows I have no choice, she knew, looking at Daemon who still hadn't taken his eyes off her.

The prince, on the other hand, just chuckled and shook his head slightly. But she felt she could take no more. She cried out with a roar and the men backed away before the sound of cracking bones and shifting could be heard. Before Lady Mormont came forward and lay on the ground with the lance in her side and the arrow in her shoulder with a pained expression. Then she dared to look up, but there was realization in her eyes that brought tears to her eyes. They were not hopeful, kind or even empathetic looks. They were looks of hate, fear, disbelief and disgust. ,,Monster" she heard Vaemond say and he took a step back. A monster...that's what I am she thought painfully and it took every effort not to scream and cry in pain and sorrow. She tried to reach for her side, but Longclaw was not there.

Instead, someone threw it at her from a safe distance. Grabbing the sword, she heaved herself up, trembling, before Alyssa came to her aid. Leaning on both Longclaw and Alyssa, she took uncertain steps toward the men. None of them made the effort to help her, instead they looked at the woman like an attraction full of skepticism and fascination. ,,Here I am Lord Corlys," she said weakly, catching her just in time with her sword, or she would have fallen over. ,,We...We are returning," the elder announced and she knew that he could not take her into consideration. Daring to take another step, however, the sand gave way under her and she buckled away before going to the ground. ,,Please" came weakly over her lips but it seemed that no one wanted to hear her.

A pitiful whimper escaped her in her helplessness. ,,Come here, my bear" she heard Daemon helping her up and supporting her. ,,I can walk by myself," she protested, but his laughter and her painful hiss were the answer. ,,I am proud of you" she heard his words echoing in her head and her head began to spin. She heard the screech of Caraxe landing far away from them to take his rider and her with him.

But as she made another step, she collapsed in his arms. ,,Y/n?" came a worried voice from the prince, and he brushed a strand of bloody hair from her face, fearing she was dead. However, when he saw the slight rise and fall of her chest, he breathed a sigh of relief. ,,Al-Alyssa" came faintly from her lips as she looked to her bear who was looking anxiously to Daemon for help. ,,Don't worry little bear, you're safe," she heard his words before the world around her disappeared and she felt Daemon pick her up before she fainted.

Pressing her against him, he walked with the unconscious Mormont toward Caraxes, who bent down to make it easier for his rider and his woman. Placing her unconscious form in front of him, he gently touched her before Caraxes took off with several strokes of his wings. Before he flew a round and enclosed Alyssa as gently as possible with his claws to take her with him. ,,I will not let anything ever happen to you again, you are too important to me, my heart " he said to her whispering before they flew back over the sea towards King's Landing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[bisexualwannabewriter]

“The Great War” - Part Seven, Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary : Before Aemond Targaryen was the man he is today, he used to be a young boy, innocent and hopeful enough to  fall in love… But the years would not be kind. Not to him, his family, or the one and only love of his life.

In the previous chapter, with grief, heartache, and the Targaryens as her teachers, the Lady y/n has turned into quite the asset for the Black faction. We saw her getting older, changing, maturing, away from King’s Landing and her one true love and now possible enemy : Aemond Targaryen. She has been preparing for something to happen for a long time, and now...

You can find the previous chapters and all the chapters to come here.

Chapter Summary : ... Now, the time for action has finally come. After fighting in the Steptones, Lord Corlys Velaryon is likely dying, and this sets in motion a series of events that the Lady y/n will have to get involved in...

Lord Corlys Velaryon had been severely injured fighting in the Steptones. Lucerys had been named his heir many years ago, but Corlys' younger brother, Ser Vaemond, contested the decision, and wanted to be named heir instead. The Princess and her husband had no choice but to return to King's Landing, for the first time in years, to defend Lucerys' claim.

The Lady y/n would go with them.

The idea of returning to King's Landing after so many years filled the Lady with dread. Her departure had been so abrupt, and had felt so violent. Her father was still alive back then. She was still a child who could pretend everything was just an amusing secret or a strange rumor. A child who could pretend to be married to a handsome Targaryen Prince.

But there was a lot at stake this time; and now, as a woman grown, she was ready to fight alongside the Princess Rhaenyra for Lucerys' right to inherit Driftmark. Lucerys, the very same child who had disfigured Aemond all those years ago. The child she wanted to cripple, should he ever have the misfortune to find himself in the same room as her.

And it hadn't been lost on her that she would see him again. Aemond. Her Aemond.

What would it feel like, to exist in the same space as him again ? To just lay eyes on him ? To see how much he had grown ? To hear his manlier voice ? She would just die, right here and there, wouldn't she ? Had anyone ever died from love ? She wondered if she'd be the first. The poets would tell the tale of the young maiden who stopped breathing at the mere sight of the glorious Targaryen Prince, for ages to come.

No. Too much time had passed. Just because she was going back to the Red Keep, didn't mean she needed to start thinking like the whimsical child she had once been.

What would they even say to each other ? Would he mistake her for any other Lady when he'd see her again ?

Daemon quickly put an end to those fantasies : he had a plan. He believed that after all those years, no one would indeed recognize the Lady. She had never come back to court, not even once, and after the rumors surrounding her father, people wouldn't expect her to come back. So, y/n would arrive separately. The purpose of this quickly became clear to her : he wanted his protege to use her talent for discretion, and learn as much as she could on the real climate of things in King's Landing.

This would prove perilous, but the stakes rose even higher when Daemon asked a not so innocent question to the Lady : "You used to be quite close to the Princess Helaena as a child, weren’t you, y/n ?” This wasn’t really a question, as much as a fact. The Lady stiffly nodded, letting the Rogue Prince get to the point. He let the silence drag on for a bit too long, studying the Lady’s every reaction like a hawk. He finally continued : “And my nephew, the one with a missing eye... Him especially, right ?" Daemon hadn't been much at court as the Lady was growing up, but this intimacy with Aemond had never been a secret at all - in fact it was in plain sight for anyone to see at the time - but it was a strange thing to discuss nonetheless. "It was a long time ago, Prince Daemon. We were only children." Daemon seemed to ponder on her answer, leaning on the door frame while studying her features. "It was a long time ago. Yes." The look in his eyes felt like a warning; the message was clear : things were different now, and what happened in the past belonged in the past. She was with them now, and she’d do well to remember it.

This would be the ultimate test of loyalty indeed.

Chapter Eight is here !

[floatyflowers]

Dark! House Of The Dragon x Game of Thrones! Reader|Part 3

<<< Part 2

Jacaerys is in love with the idea of being a father.

In fact he took Aemma riding on the back of Vermax right after she was born just like his great grandmother Alyssa did with Viserys, just for excitement.

Rhaenyra, loves Aemma and teared up when you named the baby after her mother, she even thought about wedding Aegon III to her when they reached adulthood.

After arriving to King's Landing, the first thing you see is Aemond training while you stand beside Jace and Luke watching him, as you hold your sleeping daughter in your arms.

Jacearys felt jealous on how Aemond took away your attention.

Despite, the real reason why you are impressed by Aemond's skills, is because it reminded you of your uncle/father Jaime, you always loved to watch him train.

While training Aemond notices you and stops, eyeing you and the baby intensely which made you uncomfortable.

All Aemond could feel was anger and jealousy, because you were supposed to be his.

When Vaemond arrives, you prepare yourself and your daughter, you show up dressed in the colors of House Velaryon.

"Vaemond has forgotten that Lady Rhaenys descends from the house Baratheon on her mother's side, Also my daughter, princess Aemma..."

You stand in the middle of the throne room, holding your daughter up proudly for everyone to see her white hair and purple eyes.

Even if you and Jace are the children of Harwin Strong, but your daughter inherited Rhaenyra's appearance, your mother's genes skipped a generation.

Vaemond, decided to insult you and call you and your mother 'whores' as you return back to your husband and mother's side.

Of course, in a spin of seconds, Daemon sliced the Velaryon's man head in half, as Jacaerys blocked yours and Aemma's view.

However, Jace was smirking, happy at what his stepfather did.

Later that day at the feast, Jace and Luke made a promise to you that they would behave and ignore whatever Aemond and Aegon say.

When Jace asked to dance with you at the feast, you objected, insisting on him dancing with Helaena instead.

Aegon and Aemond thought that your marriage wasn't the best with your twin due to how you turned Jace down.

Things escalated when the pig gets placed on the table and Luke whispers a joke in your ear at the exact moment, making you laugh.

Even though the joke wasn't about Aemond, but Luke knew exactly what he was doing as he smirked at his uncle...taunting him.

"Final tribute, to the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, each of them handsome, wise...and Strong"

Before Jace and Luke could even think about getting angry, you raise a glass with a huge smile on your face.

"Indeed, Uncle, we are strong afterall, my brothers and I descend from the two purest Valyrian houses, Targaryen and Velaryon, my mother is also the heir to the seven kingdoms"

Your grandfather Tywin taught you how to act wisely in such situations.

Aemond wished to speak more, but one look from Daemon was enough to let him know that you are a red line.

However, Aemond only gave you one last stare, as if to make a promise.

A promise where he will have you as a wife.

Part 4>>>

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Tear Down My Reason

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader Warnings: Canon typical incest, dubious consent with allusions to no consent, smut. Word count: ~4.6k

Summary: When Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing to petition Lucerys's claim to Driftmark, Aemond is eager for revenge for the loss of his eye. However, what he does not anticipate is the object of his ire becoming his niece instead of his nephew.

Author's note: For @targaryen-dynasty's milestone celebration. Congratulations, Laura! Read the rest of the celebration fics. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Aemond sits in his chambers, beside the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other. His eyepatch is discarded on the table in front of him, his index finger absentmindedly running the length of the scar that ravages the left side of his face.

It had itched incessantly since he had learned the news that his half sister, Rhaenyra, and her family would be arriving in King’s Landing to defend Lucerys’s claim to Driftmark. His scar always grew irritated at the mention of Luke, a reminder of the boy who had permanently disfigured him and left him without an eye. It was a crime for which Luke had never been reprimanded, and so Aemond had spent almost a decade allowing his anger and resentment to fester, thinking of all of the ways he would seek revenge should he ever see him again. 

He knows exactly when they have arrived the next day as he spars in the training yard with Cole; he spots the two dark haired boys circling, and takes a moment to lean against the table of weapons before him, steeling himself. He imagines grabbing a blade and carving out one of his nephew’s eyes in exchange for his. Luke had taken his left, perhaps he’d take his right, a fair exchange.

Snapped out of his reverie by Cole beckoning him forward, he picks up his blade and advances towards him. He knows that Jace and Luke will be watching, and so he works hard to put on a display that will show he’s no longer the sullen, little boy they used to torment. He is a man grown, a warrior that they should respect and fear. He ducks and weaves against Cole’s morningstar, throwing away his shield as it splinters under impact, until finally he seizes the advantage, the point of his blade directed towards his opponent’s neck. 

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Criston tells him, “you will be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I do not give a shit about tourneys,” he utters, turning to face the two dark haired boys who stare up at him in shock. “Nephews, have you come to train?”

He is unable to stop the malevolent smirk that tugs at his lips, seeing fear in their eyes as they gaze at him. There is revenge enough in knowing that while he has advanced in training with the sword, transformed himself into a foe which any man would find themselves unlucky to cross blades with upon a battlefield, they have remained frightened, sniveling little boys that still cling to their mother’s skirts for protection. It is not enough to satisfy him though. Not yet.

Having bathed and changed, he joins his family in the throne room, as the court gathers to hear the petitions for the succession of Driftmark. He stands tall and proud beside his brother, sister and mother, as his grandsire sits the throne in his father’s stead.

His eye sweeps the hall, seeing Vaemond Velaryon, Rhaenys Targaryen and her granddaughter, Baela, standing to one side. On the other is Rhaenyra, Luke, Jace, Joffrey, his uncle, Daemon, and his daughter, Rhaena. And then he spots her.

Aemond had utterly forgotten of her existence; born a year after Jace, and a year before Luke, his niece. She is as tall as her mother now, and has her father’s hair - her real father’s hair - long, dark curls that, despite being half pinned up, fall almost to her waist. She is soft featured, with Rhaenyra’s striking blue eyes. It baffles him that a Strong bastard could be so pleasing to look upon, and he purses his lips in disgust, forcing himself to look away as he reflects back upon what she had been like as a child.

She never joined in with the relentless teasing that Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys had subjected him to. She had spent all of her time with Helaena, from what he can remember, the two of them sat side by side, Helaena holding up insects and describing them to her, as she flicked through the pages of books trying to see if records of them already existed, so that they could learn more about them.

The night that he had lost his eye, she had remained next to his sister, looking on with concern as he had his wound stitched closed. He remembered thinking it odd at the time that she was not with Luke and Jace, but his mind was so addled from the effects of milk of the poppy that nothing is clear, beyond the image of her mother bursting into the hall of Driftmark and tugging her away, back to her own family.

As the petitions are heard, even when his own father arrives unexpectedly, announcing he will sit the throne today, he finds his attention drawn to her, unable to focus on anything else. She appears to be a meek little thing, keeping her eyes downcast, seeming ashamed of her own presence in the room. A trait that all Strong bastards ought to possess, in his opinion. Yet as the moments pass by and she does not look up, he finds himself growing increasingly irritated that she won’t look at him, despite how desperately he wills her to.

“Her children are bastards!” Shouts Vaemond, before turning to Rhaenyra, his voice lowering, “and she is a whore.”

Elation spreads like a warm glow through Aemond’s body, his attention finally pulled away from his niece to look upon the horrified expressions of his nephews and half sister. Serves them right. Finally someone is saying it out loud. 

When he casts his gaze back upon his niece, her eyes are still fixed upon the floor. However, he sees the subtlety with which her bottom lip trembles, the light flush of her cheeks. She is about to cry.

Look at me.

The room falls silent as Daemon’s sword slices through Vaemond’s head, and it is only then that her head snaps up, her eyes tear filled and wide with shock, meeting Aemond’s. He finds himself smirking again, a quiet victory. Not only had the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children been brought loudly into question once more, but now he had the attention of his niece. He had forgotten her in the passing of so many years, but now she is within reach again, he will ensure she certainly never forgets him. The next time tears fill her pretty eyes he wants to be the cause of them.

Aemond groans when his mother informs him that the following evening they are to dine as a family, a request from his father to unite them all, having reestablished Luke’s inheritance. He resents the idea of breaking bread with people he does not like, that do not like him, to have to sit at the same table and make pleasantries with the boy who half blinded him.

But she would be there. He wonders where she is now. Her mother had been swift to hurry her from the throne room after the decapitation of Vaemond Velaryon, and he is unsure of which apartments within the Keep she now occupies.

He finds himself stalking the corridors of the usually unoccupied quarters of Maegor’s Holdfast, his eye scanning every closed door, wondering which is the room that she occupies. He pulls to a stop at the top of a staircase as he sees familiar long, dark curls flowing down slender shoulders, disappearing into a doorway before it closes behind her.

Her chambers are unguarded, and before he has a chance to stop himself, his feet carry him down the steps towards them, his knuckles rapping at the wooden door. It’s only when he hears the rustle of movement from the other side that his mind begins to race.

What if she is not alone?

What did he even intend to do if she was unattended?

He briefly considers turning on his heel and leaving, however, no sooner has the thought occurred to him than his niece is opening the door, startling at the sight of him, lips parting in shock. She is even prettier up close, despite her reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“Aemond?”

Despite the confusion that laces her voice, it is soft and dulcet toned. He wants to hear her say his name a hundred times over, for it has never sounded sweeter than coming from her lips.

He inhales deeply through his nose, preparing himself to speak. “You are understandably upset by that business with our uncle and Vaemond. I have come to check on you, to make sure you are alright.”

Her eyebrows raise for a moment, blinking a few times as she regards him carefully. “Oh…that is…kind of you. My mother has said I ought to rest.”

“Perhaps you might welcome some company?” He offers. “It would be unwise for you to be alone after witnessing something so bloody.”

She draws back a little at the suggestion, her mouth opening to speak before closing again, her brow furrowing.

Aemond fights the urge to smile at her hesitation. Reaching forward, he crooks a finger beneath her chin. “Do I frighten you so much you cannot bear to be in the same room as me?”

Gasping, she shakes her head fervently as his hand drops away. “N–no! It is just…it has been such a long time, and the last time I saw you, you…my brother…your eye…”

He cocks his head, pushing down the resentment that bubbles to the surface at the mention of what had happened to him. “But have you not heard? My father is hosting a dinner for us all tomorrow, to unite our families once more. There is no need for you to be so cautious, allow yourself to be reacquainted with your uncle.”

Her gaze lowers for a moment, as she appears to consider his offer. “Yes, I suppose that would be nice,” she finally says, looking back up at him.

She steps to the side, allowing him to enter.

Too easy, he thinks to himself as he steps inside. There would be almost no sport in this if the fight she means to put up is so feeble.

He strides into the room, hands clasped behind his back, noting the lack of personal effects within the space, a reminder that she is a visitor. This is his home, not hers. He has the upper hand.

“Apologies, Uncle,” she utters nervously, shifting from foot to foot as she fidgets restlessly with her fingers. “I had not anticipated your visit, this room is ill equipped for guests. I have no chair to offer you.”

“That is quite alright,” he tells her amicably, forcing a soft smile before sitting upon the edge of the bed. “We are family, are we not? Such formalities are not necessary.”

He pats the space beside him. “Come, join me, we have much to catch up on.”

She hesitates a moment, before sitting next to him. There is something about the feeling of the dip in the mattress beside him, combined with the floral scent of her filling his nostrils that sends the thrill of a shiver through his body, and he turns to look at her, eyeing her much like a cat would a mouse.

Such a pretty little thing.

“I am truly sorry, for what Luke did to you,” she begins, “I—”

He waves a hand dismissively, forcing down the anger that threatens to burst forth. “Let us speak no more of it. It is in the past. Tell me, how is life upon Dragonstone treating you?”

She chews her lip, hesitating a moment before she speaks. “Truthfully, it is lonely. I miss King’s Landing. Jace and Luke have one another, and mother is preoccupied with her pregnancy and Joffrey and the babes. Daemon pays me no mind, and while I am grateful for Rhaena’s company, I can tell she misses her sister. I am a poor substitute for Baela.”

He hums with faux concern, allowing a moment of silence to present his next words as thoughtful. “You could never be a poor substitute for anything. And I expect you will soon be away from there anyway. I can imagine you have no end of suitors all vying for your hand.”

The hint of a blush turns her cheeks pink as she casts her gaze downward. “No, not yet. I have overheard Rhaenys talking with my mother. They wish to betroth Baela and Rhaena to Jace and Luke. There are no such plans for me. What about you? Are you to be married?”

“Not yet,” he says softly, meeting her eye as she looks up at him. “I have been waiting for the right woman to capture my interest. Perhaps it is fortuitous that we both find ourselves unattached?”

“What do you mean, uncle?” She asks, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Baela and Jace, Rhaena and Luke,” he shifts his hand across the bed, entwining his fingers with hers. “You and I.”

She gasps softly, though she does not wrench her hand away as he had anticipated. “Is this some sort of trick, Aemond?”

“Not at all,” he reassures her, moving closer. “What better way to unite our family once more?”

“We hardly know each other,” she utters softly.

“And yet you have scarce left my thoughts all these years,” he lies. “Let me kiss you.”

Before she has a chance to respond, he is pressing his lips to hers. She stiffens at first, taken aback by his forwardness, but soon responds, her supple mouth moving against his. He brings his hand up to her cheek, cupping it softly, the skin soft as peach fuzz beneath his calloused fingertips.

She sighs softly as he deepens the gesture, her inexperience showing as her tongue retreats from his as it slips into her mouth. It serves only to stoke the fire that rages within, tightening  his breeches as the sensation of her saliva causes his cock to swell.

Pulling away from her mouth, he moves his hand from her cheek, sinking it into her silky curls, anchoring her in place as he places hot, open mouthed kisses to her jaw and neck, making his way down towards her clavicle, relishing the way her head tips back slightly and her eyes flutter closed.

Tugging down the neckline of her bodice, he fights to suppress a groan of desire at the sight of her bared breasts, the hardened peaks ruddy and inviting. She is putting up so little resistance that it emboldens him to press forward, capturing a rosy bud between his lips and suckling as his tongue flicks against it, causing her to arch and mewl.

A whore, just like her mother, he thinks, shifting his attention to the other and repeating the same motion. His blood feels like liquid fire in his veins as her breaths turn to soft pants. One hand massages the breast that he is currently not latched upon, while the other creeps beneath her skirts.

It is only when his fingertips ghost upon the top of her stocking that she suddenly pulls free of him, eyes wide and breaths ragged as she hurriedly readjusts her dress.

“We should not have…forgive me, I…” she stumbles over her words, flustered and looking on the verge of tears again, before hurrying from the room, leaving Aemond alone on the bed.

He growls in frustration, smacking his hand down upon the edge of the mattress. “Ilibītsos,” he mutters angrily. Little slut.

When he returns to his own chambers, he comes harder than he ever has before, such is the force with which he fists his cock, imagining the entire time that his niece is splayed beneath him, sighing softly with pleasure as she had for him earlier that day.

As his pleasure induced haze wears off, a feeling of shame settles over him. He does not quite understand how his infatuation with her has taken hold so quickly, but now that it is, he is unable to shake it. Worse still, when she ran from her bedchamber, what if she had gone straight to her mother and told her of what he had done to her? It would be a disgrace from which he would never recover if his own mother were to be privy to such information.

He hides himself away the next day, embarrassed to face any of his family for fear they will know of his transgressions, until finally he is summoned to the feast that he has been dreading.

Much to his surprise, the entire day has passed without angry confrontation or a tongue lashing from his mother, and as he enters the dining hall there are no looks of shock or disgust to be met with, simply the shy smile of his niece as she looks up at him from her seat between her two brothers.

She has not told anyone, and she does not appear to regret what had transpired between them.

Aemond settles into his seat at the head of the table with a smug sense of pride. The dinner is a tawdry affair, musicians playing tunes he does not care for are stationed in the corner, while endless trays and bowls of food are brought out to them all. 

He listens to his family toast to each other with a sneer, watching with barely concealed anger as Jace invites Helaena to dance. His only reprieve are the shy glances and smiles that his niece directs his way across the table. Perhaps all is not lost.

It is not until a suckling pig is brought out and settled before him that he is no longer able to contain his temper. Seeing Luke smirk at him, a reminder of the pig he had been taunted with in place of a dragon as a child, is too much. Is it not enough that his nephew has taken his eye, but now he continues to mock him too? He will not stand for such an insult.

Abruptly, he slams his first upon the table, halting the music and chatter within the room, as he rises from his chair, raising his wine cup.

“Final tribute,” he announces, eye scanning the room, careful not to include his niece in his speech, lest he foils the plans he has especially for her. “To the health of my nephews; Jace, Luke, Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…strong. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

The ensuing scuffle passes by in a blur for Aemond, resulting in him pushing Jace to the floor before they are all dismissed to their quarters. He hangs back, out of sight, waiting for Jace and Luke to disappear from sight, before striding after his niece.

She whips around, looking angrily up at him, eyes blazing with fury. “Why would you do that? You’ve ruined everything!”

“Forgive me,” he utters gently, taking her hands in his, “I lost my temper, but you have to know that my anger was never directed at you.”

She sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Jace and Luke’s betrothals were announced tonight. I was hoping we could announce ours too. Now my mother will never agree to it.”

Pride and satisfaction swell within his chest as he gazes down at her. He raises an eyebrow. “You wish to marry me? I had thought you were refusing my proposal, considering how quick you were to flee from me yesterday.”

“It all happened so fast. I have never been touched in that way before, and I allowed it to frighten me, I am sorry for it. But having had time to think on it, I do want to be your wife.”

He smiles down at her, seeing eye shining malevolently. “Then let the news of our betrothal be the balm that soothes all hurts upon the morrow.”

She smiles happily at him. “Then I shall bid you goodnight, Uncle.”

“So soon? I thought perhaps we might pick up where we left off yesterday.”

She flushes a delicate red. “Would it not be better to wait until we are wed?”

“I will not push you further than you wish to go,” he whispers, before kissing her deeply, walking her backwards into her bedchamber.

He is quick to cover her body with his own as she topples back against the softness of the mattress, kissing her fiercely as his hands push her skirts roughly up and over her hips.

“I thought you did not wish to push me?” She whispers breathlessly, pulling back from his lips.

“I shall not, talus,” he reassures her, his fingers absentmindedly stroking her the bare skin of her thighs, “but that does not mean I will not make you beg for it.” Niece.

Kissing her deeply once more, he shifts down her body, dragging her small clothes down and off of her leg in one fluid movement, before spreading the plushness of her thighs, his single eye drinking in the glistening sight of her cunt spread out before him.

He smiles to himself as he drags the tip of his tongue through her folds, hearing the way her breath hitches, his hands forcefully holding her down, keeping her still, as she attempts to buck her hips. He almost groans at the tart taste of her, his mouth quick to envelope her, alternating between sucking messily at her pearl and laving the flat of his tongue against her.

She writhes, pinned to the bed by her pelvis by his forceful grip, wanton sounds of pleasure escaping her as she clutches the bed sheets so tightly her knuckles turn white.

Lapping greedily at her as she falls apart against his tongue, he almost spends in his breeches taking in the sight of her arched back, tousled hair, ruddy cheeks and trembling thighs. But he is not finished yet.

The moment she settles back against the bed, her body spent and pliant, he begins his assault anew, this time crooking two fingers inside of her, rubbing urgently against the rough patch inside of her as his tongue focuses purposefully on her sensitive nub. The desperate sounds she makes are music to his ears. She is impossibly tight, he wonders how he will ever fit inside, but is all the more determined to find out as he sends her hurtling and crying out once more into the throes of another torturous release.

“Stop, stop!” She whines, attempting to back up the bed away from him, as he attempts to settle his face between her thighs a third time. “I cannot take it anymore.”

“If I am inside of you, it will not feel quite so intense,” he whispers, not moving an inch from where he lays between her legs, his chin shiny and sticky with her arousal.

“We are not yet married, Uncle, we should not,” she protests feebly.

“But we will be,” he insists, “so what does it matter? And I am afraid I have not had my fill of you, talus, so we shall have to continue as we are if you do not wish for me to be inside of you.”

“Gods…please…no…anything, just no more of that, it is too much.”

He smirks at her ruined state, bringing himself up towards her face, his voice dark. “Beg me for it.”

“Please, Aemond, please,” she cries, “put it inside, I cannot stand anymore.”

He grins wolfishly, as his fingers move to the lacings of his trousers, untying them and shucking the material past his hips.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he places the swollen head of his cock against the wetness of her opening, his eye flickering to her face for any signs of hesitation. She still looks utterly wrecked, her expression one of hazy bliss, her eyes glassy. Taking this as silent permission, he presses forward, hissing through his teeth at the resistance he is met with.

She whimpers softly, in clear discomfort, as he continues to push inward slowly, looking between her face, her brow furrowed and lips parted, and where their bodies are joining together.

He feels something give way, before he is fully rooted within her.

Her maidenhead.

Aemond fights the prideful grin that wants to spread itself across his face. His nephew had taken his eye, now in turn he had taken his niece’s virtue.

He stills, waiting for her to adjust, before moving slowly, dragging his hips back before pushing softly forward, repeating the motion. He desperately wants to snap his hips against hers, to make her cry out in pain, to disregard her comfort, but he is not a monster, he reasons. Her innocence soaking his length is payment enough.

Remembering how her body had responded so positively to his affections the previous day, he tugs down her plunging neckline with two fingers, freeing the softness of her breasts, leaning down to press gentle kisses against them, before suckling a nipple into his mouth.

She moans quietly, her body loosening up, becoming less tense beneath his, making it feel more pleasurable for him in turn. He means to be gentle with her, he really does, but feeling her grow wetter around him makes it impossible for him not to speed up his thrusts, driving into her faster, harder, causing her to whine and whimper as he trails his mouth across her chest. So lost in the sensation of her, he barely registers her delicate fingers clutching desperately at his hair and shoulders.

He knows he is done for when she squeezes around him, he knows he ought to pull out, to spill himself across the creamy white skin of her lower belly and thighs, but she is so warm, so wet, so tight around him that he cannot bring himself to leave her. He finds himself chasing his own end inside of her, his hips moving of their own accord, until finally, with a blinding white heat that tingles at the very base of his spine, he groans loudly, pulsating and spending inside of her in hot, powerful spurts.

Allowing himself a moment to settle against her, he basks in the warm afterglow of his peak, before pulling slowly out, disentangling his limbs from hers as his breath comes in shallow pants. He kneels up on the bed, pulling his trousers back over himself and fastening them. He allows himself to drink in the sight of her, her dress and hair in utter disarray, the sticky mess between her legs, her kiss swollen lips and faraway stare. Utter perfection.

It is not until he stands from the bed, smoothing over his clothing and hair with his hands that she finally comes back to reality and pulls herself up to rest upon her elbows. “Where are you going?”

“Back to my chambers,” he says coolly, “I have gotten what I wanted.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, worry lacing her tone, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Your bastard brother took my eye. Now I’ve taken the only thing that makes you worth a damn.”

Her voice wobbles, tears rimming her eyes as they widen in realisation, pulling at her dress to cover herself. “You said you would marry me…”

“I lied.”

“Why?! Why me?!”

He shrugs. “You made it easy. You might want to have the maester brew you a tea though, unless the bastard also wants a bastard.”

“I will tell my mother,” she whispers tearfully.

“Go ahead. I will deny it. Who will believe you? If you birth a silver haired babe, there is nothing to suggest that it is not a result of my brother forcing himself upon you, or perhaps our uncle. Your mother was younger than you, I believe, when he first started to show an interest in her. So if I were you, I would have the tea brewed and keep quiet, unless you wish to be branded a whore as well as a bastard.”

“You are a monster!” She spits, shoulders shaking as she sobs.

“Drīves, talus,” he utters, turning to leave her bedchamber. “Ñuha drīva issa.” Justice, niece. I have justice.

[ceoofglytchell]

Butterfly

Summary: That fateful night on Driftmark Aegon has made a promise to you, one that he has even once never forgotten, while you were gone. However now six years later you return to him and- gods be good- he is going to make that promise a reality and he most certainly won't let you leave him another time.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Niece!Reader

Word count: 4214 words

Warnings: incest, Reader is described of having Strong like features, Reader is Rhaenyra's and Harwin's second child, fluff, angst, longing, thoughts of major dubcon (it’s only a thought and does not really happen), kinda miscommunication, hurt/comfort, allusions to smut, aegon being miserable, no mention of Y/N

Notes: I was not feeling good last week, but I am back now with this piece here, but I’m not sure if it’s good. But, as always, feedback and criticism is always appreciated and please remember that english is not my native language. Enjoy 💛

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"I promise that one day I will marry you."

Never once in your life have you forgotten the promise that your uncle Aegon had given you six years ago on the shores of Driftmark. Yes, he was drunk, and yes, he knew that your families would never let a union between the two of you come to be, but a boy could dream. At least that was how he had justified the vow later on when you had to separate the following morning.

You have always wished that your beloved uncle would fulfill his very promise one day, but unfortunately the chance got slimmer and slimmer the more years passed and the more protective your mother has gotten over you, because as Rhaenyra's first and only daughter nothing was easy.

You were born with brown curls and hazel eyes like your brothers, making the sin your mother had committed all the more obvious to anyone else, a walking reminder of her carelessness. However you were born much smaller in comparison to your brothers and even as you grew you remained petite and delicately looking, which caused Rhaenyra to fuss over you like a mother hen constantly, as if she feared you to be a porcelain doll that could shatter into a million pieces with just a touch. She certainly treated you this way.

Aegon however has always seen the watchful eyes and silent warning glances of his half-sister to be more of a challenge than an actual prohibition.

The prince had always been enamored with you, his little niece, but he has always bottled up all his hidden feelings for you within himself so it was only natural that one time where he had swallowed down cup after cup of dornish wine and you sat by him and held his hand after he had been scolded by his grandsire, the words spilled out of his mouth like a river.

He had barely been able to remember it the next morning, but as he saw the flush on your cheeks when he stood before you to say his goodbyes, he knew that you knew. It was either a curse or a blessing, but even as he had watched you leave with your mother, brothers, and a few of the servants, he had known that he would see you again one day and if he did, he would take you as his wife.

You were not sure what you had imagined when you and your family returned to King’s Landing after so many years to assure yourselves that Lucery's claim to the island of Driftmark was defined and would not be contested, but no matter how easy this task seemed to be on the first look, you quickly learned that this was not the case. Vaemond Velaryon and your great-aunt Rhaenys had also come.

However, their presence brought you less out of the concept than to see Aemond beating Ser Criston during sparring on the courtyard as if the man was nothing but a normal knight and not a loyal and trusted member of the King’s Guard. His cold look, when he had seen you and your brothers, made a shiver run down your back and a spark of fear set its roots within yourself, even if you had nothing to do with the tragic loss of his eye.

On that dark night you were with Aegon when it had happened. The older prince had drunken too many cups of wine and stumbled down the stairs that led down to the beach and hit his head. You had sat with him afterwards and watched over him, while he had clung to you as if you were the very last thing that kept him rooted to this world and that kept him from loosing himself to the darkness within his heart.

And then he had given you that promise. That one terrible promise that has been on your mind every single day, which had taken a special place in the depths of your heart. He had promised to marry you and you knew that he would do it, if you would get permission, which you doubted, however, because your mother wanted nothing to do with her half-siblings whatsoever.

You were reminded of said promise when you faced him again in the throne room after six long years; He and his family dressed in Hightower green and gold and you with yours in Targaryen red and black. The difference could not be greater and the tension that lay in the hall could be felt by everyone.

You tried to stick to your mother's words, you really did, but over and over again your warm gaze found his and every time you caught him staring right back at you, an unknown glimmer in his amethyst colored eyes, which you neither could nor wanted to explain.

However, things escalated quickly and your mother quickly pulled you out of the throne room by the arm, leaving the headless body of Vaemond Velaryon behind on the cold stone floor, for which your stepfather was responsible, the word 'bastards' echoing in your ears. It was not easy to be confronted with the truth after all these years, which your mother tried to hide so convulsively, although it was obviously in everyone's eyes and the entire realm knew the truth of your parentage.

Your shocked eyes found those from Aegon before you vanished behind the doors and you immediately knew that this was not the last time you would see him that evening- and you were right.

Your maids, who were also some of your closest friends at the same time, were currently dressing you for dinner when it suddenly knocked on the heavy wooden doors to your chambers, which still looked exactly the same before you had been forced to leave back then. Without having allowed him to come inside, Aegon stepped into the privacy of your old chambers, which were illuminated with flickering candles, whereupon the servants stopped tugging uncomfortably on your hair and stepped away from you, bowing their heads as was custom.

"You may leave us," you told the other women, whereupon they all looked at you with a questioning frown.

"But princess-" "Please, I can do it."

Neither you nor the maids knew really whether you meant your hair or the prince who stared at you without having lost a word so far, which was extremely untypical for your uncle. However, the cup of wine in his right hand was familiar and you immediately became painfully aware of how much you had missed him.

The moment the doors fell shut again and you both were alone in the room and actually stood in front of each other for the first time again in six years, a bright grin broke out on his face and he slowly took a few steps to get closer to you. "Welcome home, little butterfly."

You didn't know exactly what it was; the nickname, his voice, which had matured, or the fact that you finally looked at him again after such a long time, but you couldn't help but close the distance between you two and jump right into his arms.

Aegon was surprised for a brief moment, but he immediately returned your gesture and wrapped his arms around you as well and pressed your slender body tightly against his, burying his nose into your long brown curls, which were half put together into a braid, which was not finished, because you had sent your handmaidens out of the room as soon as you had laid your eyes on him.

He could hear how a quiet, content sigh escaped your lips, whereupon he felt himself relax in your embrace and he felt his grip around his golden cup of wine loosen slightly as if you were the sole cure for the addiction he had developed. After all these years and although you both have grown and changed, you still fit perfectly against him like the last piece of a puzzle that had finally found its rightful place.

"You cut your hair," you noticed with an audible smile in your gentle voice and you immediately snuggled closer to him as if the sole thought of being parted from him for a second time was unthinkable for you.

"And you have grown- if only a little."

You hit him playfully against his shoulder and leaned back a little so that you could look him into his lilac eyes, which you noticed no longer held the same glint as they had back then. In addition, deep dark circles under his eyes adorned his handsome face and he had become even paler, which was why you feared that you needed to worry about his health. He also looked very much tired. However, these little details did not change the fact that the man in front of you was as beautiful as he had been back then if not more.

"Still feisty, I see, butterfly."

"You did not forget it," you noticed with an almost melancholic smile on your rosy lips. Ever since you were children and a small white butterfly had landed on your head in the Godswood, which would happen two or three times more over time, he called you by the name of the animal, since you were probably just as fragile and delicate, you mused. At the beginning you did not really enjoy it, but over time you wanted to hear him say it over and over again- now too.

"Of course not. I would never forget you, my darling."

"Stop it." You looked down onto the ground so that he would not see the obvious blush on your cheeks, but he did regardless. As for you, he paid attention to everything, every little detail.

"I did not forget my promise to you either." The prince said and stroked with one hand over the length of your arm, which was covered by a silken red sleeve. Actually, you did not want to wear a red dress to dinner, as it would only illustrate the fronts between the two sides of your families, but your mother insisted on it. You personally have always preferred lighter colors.

"Really? You appeared to be very much... drunk when you gave it to me, Aegon." You carefully replied while you hesitantly grabbed his hand, the contact igniting a feeling of warmth in you, which you had been longing for as well.

"I was drunk, that much is true. However, I always am and I remember very well that I said that I would marry you."

"This was so long ago-" you said with a quick shake of the head, because you knew that time did not change anything about what he felt for you and what you felt for him. A marriage between the two of you would never be agreed to, even if you could not imagine marrying someone other than him. The hatred between the two sides of your family was just too big and your love would not mend the crack again.

"No, I am serious. Be my wife, please. There is no day that I did not think of you and wanted you to be by my side." He reached for your hands and held them firmly in his own as if that alone could convince you to marry him without further ado and preferably that evening right after having had dinner. He would not allow you to get betrothed, because then he would lose the opportunity to have the only person who has ever taken care of him and who has actually listened to what he had to say. If you were not there, he was miserable- the last few years have been proof of it.

On the other hand, you were completely perplexed and overwhelmed with the situation. You wanted him. He was the only one who had never treated you like a fragile doll or a mindless duckling, but just like a girl like any other and you liked that. You did not want to be considered weak by everyone- of all the dragons you rode Silverwing, by the gods, you were not weak. It was bad enough that you were a dragon rider and your mother did not allow you to ride as much as you would have liked.

Unfortunately, the truth was that Rhaenyra and Alicent would never agree to a union between him and you. They would rather die or burn in the seven hells and you wanted to save yourself the pain that would follow if you asked and the two older women would vehemently forbid it even if nothing spoke against it and it would actually serve to strengthen House Targaryen for future generations. Unfortunately, it was more likely that at some point he would marry one of the daughters of Lord Baratheon or his own sister Helaena and that you would have to marry Lord Cregan Stark eventually.

"You don't know me anymore. If you excuse me, my prince, I have to continue preparing myself for dinner now.”

With a jerk you pulled your hands out of his and sat down at your dressing table, trying to ignore him and push him away from you, because you would not be able to allow your feelings for him to bloom now and in the end you would have to spend your life with another. You would not be able to bear it. The prince looked at you with an expression of utter disbelief on his features, until then a flicker of anger crossed his gaze and he stormed out of your chambers without hesitation, the door falling shut so loudly that it made you flinch.

You just wanted to protect him as well as yourself.

Later at dinner you watched Aegon drowning himself in alcohol and staring at his plate without touching the food at all. Aemond, who sat on the other side of the table, stared at your siblings and you at all times, not letting you out of his sight, until it suddenly escalated and a single toast made everyone become aware of how fragile the bond that held your family together actually was.

Shortly afterwards, your mother informed you that you would return to dragonstone the very next morning and you felt right in your decision to have pushed away the man for whom you had deeper feelings for. It was better for both of you. At least that was what you kept telling yourself.

You told that to yourself when you came back to your rooms and found them empty and dark, you told yourself when you sat alone in front of the fireplace and loosened your braids, when you undressed, put on a light nightgown, and you kept repeating it to yourself when you climbed in bed at last and slowly began to fall into a peaceful sleep. You would not be able to bear the pain that would follow if you allowed yourself to actually be with him.

Aegon still felt the taste of dornish wine on his tongue and its effects clouding his senses when he stood in the middle of the night in the darkness of your bedchambers and stared down at your sleeping form in your bed, the moonlight that fell through the windows illuminating your soft features like you were the very image of the Maiden. He was slightly shaky on his feet and he was well aware that he should not be here, but he just could not control himself. Your rejection before dinner and the way you refused to speak a single word to him while you had sat beside each other had robbed him of his last bit of sanity and he just had to know what you felt.

He had a simple plan; slipping inside your rooms unnoticed, tainting your honor and showing his mother the proof of it in the morning, because then she would have to agree to a union just like his half-sister, since you would ruined for any other man. His plan had been so simple, he would just have to tear the blanket right of you, push your nightgown up to your hips and take his pleasure, but when he approached the edge of your bed and saw how peaceful you looked like sleeping, he could not bring himself to do it.

The prince felt a lump forming in his throat, his heart becoming heavy and he could not help but kneel on the floor next to the bed, while he buried his face next to yours in the pillow in the hope that you would not notice the tears of shame burning in his eyes. You should just sleep on and never find out that he was even here. He was a monster for even thinking of ruining you.

He sobbed into your plush pillows, his hands fisting the silken bed sheets tightly when he suddenly felt something stirring beside him on the mattress, but he did not raise his head just yet. He did not want to look you in the eye after what he had originally come for.

"Uncle? What happened?"

Your gentle voice was like a balm for his soul, but he still continued to quietly sob into your pillows. You did not even ask why he was here, but what had happened. Even now you took care of him, although you had wanted to distance yourself from him a few hours ago for a reason that he simply could and would not understand.

"What have I done? Why are you pushing me away from you? What has changed?”

You quickly rubbed the remnants of sleep out of your eyes and you began to caress his back with your small hands, which made a shiver run down his spine and the tears on his wet cheeks slowly started to dry because no new ones fell, at least not right now. Like always, your touch calmed him.

"Why are you here?" You asked him instead of giving him an answer to his previous questions, because you could not tell him the truth. To see how the man you loved cried on the edge of your bed because of something that you had done when you had actually just wished to protect him from that very pain was making your heart shatter into a thousand pieces. You did not want to feel this pain nor did you want him to experience it. What have you done?

"Don't go," he murmured and finally raised his head slightly again to look at you with his reddened, swollen eyes, even if the room was dark and both of you could barely make each other out in the dark.

"Don't leave me a second time, please. Not again... don’t do this to me."

You sighed and sat up in bed, because this was exactly what you had not wanted to happen. His sensitivity was no secret to you and you knew how much you meant to him and how much he meant to you. Your mother had decided that you would return to dragonstone and you could not argue against her decision after what had happened today at dinner. Your house was more fragile than ever and if the others were to find out what you felt for each other, it would be the stone that would set a giant chaos into motion. It would be the end of Haus Targaryen as you knew it.

"Go away, Aegon," you murmured and sat down in such a way that your knees were pressed against your chest and your arms were wrapped around your legs as if you wanted to give yourself a hug to comfort yourself.

“No, please ... darling, don’t," whimpered the older prince and climbed next to you on the soft mattress, desperately searching for your gaze and your closeness. He wanted to pull you into him, love you and never let you go again even for a small second, because you were the only thing in this world that gave him something akin to a glimmer of hope, a light in the deepest darkness of his broken soul.

"Butterfly…"

"Don't call me that!" You suddenly spat at him loudly, which immediately made him wince and made hot tears burn in his eyes once more, threatening to spill over his pale cheeks.

You have never been angry with him before. Never.

"I love you! Don't you see that? I love you so much, but I cannot live with the pain of loving a man that I cannot call my own.”

That was it. The words and the truth were out and he had heard them. His suffering broke your heart, but he deserved to hear these three words from you at least once. You loved him, you truly did, but a miracle would need to happen so that you would be able to live out your love. It was not his fault, nor was it yours, as it was the hatred that has been burning between your mothers for years- a hatred that would probably never vanish.

Aegon was speechless. For a moment he just shook his head in disbelief, which made his white curls fall over his forehead, but it did not prevent him from looking into your beautiful face and seeing in the desperate look in your dark eyes that you were serious. "But I already am yours, am I not?"

"Aegon..." Your shoulders sagged even further down and you pushed your legs even further against your upper body, the sight of it making him miserable, because he did not want to imagine what would have happened had he actually went through with his plan and he would have taken you without your consent and made you his without warning. You would probably have shouted and fought back and he could never have forgiven himself for it and you would never have forgiven him either. No, he was glad that he had not done it.

He carefully approached your trembling shape on the bed and he tenderly wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him as firmly as he could. Now you started to sob into his shoulder bitterly and he started to slowly rock you back and forth, while he buried his nose into your brown hair like he had done earlier, because your scent always seemed to calm him down, but your hair was also a sign for everyone else that you should not exist and that you, being a bastard, would be monstrous by nature, but he could not care about that in the slightest. You were beautiful on the inside and outside and one day he would prove it to you- perhaps even tonight.

"Marry me?" Back then it was a promise, now it was a serious question and he meant it with every fiber of his body. You were meant to be his wife, even if your love would be a scandal in the eyes of the gods, but he has never been a religious man anyways.

"I can't, uncle, I can't."

Aegon started to place soft and slow kisses on the top of your head. He began his exploration on your hair, then wandered down to your forehead, brushing his lips over your eyebrows, over your cheeks, which were wet from the tears that you shed for him until he reached your own lips, which looked so soft and inviting that he could hardly hold back.

"Marry me." He whispered against your lips and he looked for your gaze to see what was going through your head. Your eyes had always been the mirror to your soul.

His voice, his pleading tone, his warm breath that stroked your face, and the sudden closeness to him was just too much for you.

You do not dare to say it, but a simple, barely noticeable nod on your part was enough and the prince kissed you as if his life depends on it, his hands wandering over every centimeter of your body while he gently pushed you to lay on your back and he hovered over you, not separating his mouth from you for even a split second.

The rest of the night you both drowned in a sea of desire and pleasure, years of wanting and yearning coming to its climax. At some point, his hands had sneaked under the fabric of your nightgown, undressed you, while you had returned the favor at the same time, whereupon he had not lost any time to show you what it would mean to be his wife and you enjoyed every single second of it.

Neither Aegon nor you really listened to the argument that followed the next morning after your maid had told Rhaenyra who she had found laying next to you in your bed and what had to have happened at night based on the red stain on your sheets. Insults got thrown around, voices became louder, but you merely snuggled closer to your lover, who protectively wrapped an arm around your waist and leaned his head to yours while a feeling of happiness flooded him.

You were his now and neither his mother nor yours could ever take you away from him ever again. It was too late for that now.

Love was often said to be the death of duty and Aegon Targaryen would not give a single shit about duty for the rest of his life if it meant he got to forever hold you in his arms like this and love you like you deserved.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (3)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.7k words

summary | calm before the storm. the queen forces you to go to the targaryen-hightower supper where you finally sit face to face with aemond, (whilst getting interrogated by prince daemon as well.)

tags | reader is just here for the targ drama tbh, fluff, small angst/but reader comforts,

note | I just realised that both rebekah and reader fall for boys that they technically watched grow up (not really, but really tho, also would you consider this pedophilic, since rebekah and reader had mere platonic feelings, while marcel and aemond were already obsessed)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

It had been a moon's turn since your return, and Aemond had taken to shadowing you through the sunlit halls of the Keep, his presence felt like a specter lurking just out of reach. Instead of confronting you directly, he observed, his violet gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Meanwhile, the currents of Targaryen drama began to stir anew, this time not over the succession of the Iron Throne, but over the shores of Driftmark and the title of the Lord of Tides.

Lord Vaemond Velaryon was set to make his case, summoned to the court to argue vehemently against Lucerys Velaryon’s claim to the ancestral seat, while the King deliberated on who would wear the mantle of the next successor.

Your mind, however, was torn asunder by the weight of the situation. It was as clear as the midday sun that Rhaenyra's three sons bore the mark of bastardy, the truth hanging in the air like a bitter fog. Yet, despite their dark hair and brown eyes, they were still Princess Rhaenrya's sons, making them true Targaryens, and as long as the crown acknowledged their legitimacy, they had every right to embrace their heritage.

Yet, the specter of justice loomed heavily. They bore no true Valaryon blood in their veins, a fact that rendered their claim to Driftmark similarly disquieting. If they were to inherit such a coveted title, it would be naught but a dagger to the heart of the Velaryon legacy, erasing centuries of honor and heritage in one fell swoop.

But who were you to cast judgment on the matter? You were, after all, a bastard yourself in your own right. With no discernible features from either your father or your mother, the only tether to the Mikaelson name was the multitude of witnesses who could attest to your mother birthing you into this world.

Soon enough, the matter erupted into a grand spectacle, as the Queen had relayed with a glint of grim madness in her eye. Viserys, frail and near death, had heaved himself from his sickbed, a ghost of his former self, to proclaim the legitimacy of his grandsons. That proclamation, laden with tension and bitter truths, secured their claim to Driftmark—an act of desperation that would surely echo through the halls of history. It was not long after this madness that the Prince, Daemon Targaryen, wielded his fury like a sword, severing Vaemond Velaryon's head from his shoulders for daring to call Rhaenyra a whore.

To your great displeasure, Queen Alicent had insisted your presence at the supper of Targaryen and Hightower—a feast destined to spiral into a night of revelry or ruin, most likely the latter. You preferred the shadows, where the light of their self-destructive feud would not touch you, allowing you to observe from afar rather than be ensnared in their political webs. Yet, refusal was a luxury you could not afford.

As the time of the supper approached, you dedicated a substantial time deliberating over your choice of attire. The vibrant hues of black and green were decidedly unfit, signifying discord and allegiances you wished to avoid at all costs. Instead, you selected a gown of soft pink silk, its flowing fabric draping elegantly over your form, a symbol of innocence amidst the clamor of tensions. You wove your hair into intricate braids interspersed with delicate pearls that caught the flickering candlelight, culminating your preparation with a cherished pendant—a family heirloom adorned with the Mikaelson crest.

Stepping into the grand dining hall, you were met with the scrutinizing gazes of the Blacks. Whispers and curious glances darted in your direction as you approached the long table, poised and unwavering, choosing to disregard Aegon's lecherous leers that felt all too familiar. A frown tightened your lips when you spied that both seats beside Helaena were occupied. Resigned yet resolute, you claimed the next available chair—seated close to Aemond.

"My prince," you intoned softly, offering a nod of acknowledgment.

Aemond's violet eye bore into you, a swirl of unspoken thoughts birthing an electric tension between you. Time seemed to stretch as he regarded you, his expression inscrutable, before he replied, "My Lady," his voice low and controlled, yet laden with something you couldn't discern.

With practiced grace, you settled into your seat, the heavy air thick with unspoken politics. You leaned slightly forward, attempting to listen as King Viserys, broken and weary beneath the weight of his crown, delivered a grand speech. He spoke of unity and the bonds of family, though in truth, all you wished for was the freedom to roll your eyes, a habit you had long restrained. His words felt hollow, a poignant irony given his role in fracturing his family as much as he sought to mend it

From what Queen Alicent had confided in you, you were painfully aware of the King's heart-wrenching choice—his decisions that saw his first wife deprived of her future and life, all in favor of the male heir he hoped for. That tragic episode echoed through the halls of the Red Keep, leading to not just his wife but both her and their son's death. And now, as King Viserys eagerly sought the son he so desperately desired, he had all but disregarded Aegon, neglecting the boy from the moment of his first cry.

As the King’s voice echoed in the hall, you caught sight of Helaena, Aegon, and Aemond—each face twisted in quiet agony, a poignant testament to the empty love their father bestowed upon them. In that moment, you felt a surge of empathy and support for them — even Aegon. With a discreet but deliberate motion, you slipped your hand beneath the table, gently covering Aemond’s tightly clenched fist.

He tensed at your touch, but after a heartbeat of hesitation, Aemond relaxed and opened his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. A small squeeze passed between you—a silent token of gratitude that spoke volumes in contrast to the empty words spilling from the King's lips.

As the evening wore on, the air thick with unwelcome tension, your mind began to drift, thoughts becoming a haze as the speeches droned on around you. It was only when Aemond's hand slipped from yours, his presence withdrawing as he rose to his feet, that your gaze sharpened. You found him casting a fierce glare at Jacaerys, who was regaling the gathering with yet another toast.

However, it was Helaena's gentle voice that truly broke through the fog enveloping you. She stood, her lovely countenance illuminated by a warm, sugary smile as she raised her glass high. "I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena," she declared, her tone carrying a dreamy lightness, "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you... except when sometimes he's drunk."

Her words pierced your heart, the bittersweet truth laced within them shattering whatever sympathy you had harbored for Aegon. With a mixture of sorrow and indignation igniting within you, you cast a venomous glare towards Prince Daemon, who, aflame with mirth, laughed at Helaena’s toast. Yet you were not as discreet as you’d hoped; the piercing gaze of Prince Daemon met yours, a knowing smirk creeping upon his lips.

“I do believe I am yet to have the distinct pleasure of being introduced to our guest,” Prince Daemon declared, his voice tinged with the kind of arrogance that could curdle the blood of the unwary. The room fell silent; all attention was drawn to you, as if you were a curious creature caged among the dragons, and you suppressed the urge to sigh at the mischief brewing in his expression.

Queen Alicent cleared her throat—a notable attempt to extricate you from Daemon’s merciless gaze. “She is one of my esteemed ladies, Prince Daemon,” she interjected, her tone hinting at a subtle warning, though the sharpness of the prince’s wit remained unyielding.

“A lady, indeed?” Daemon’s voice was laced with mockery, his eyes flickering over you as if you were an intricate puzzle, “Yet here she sits, so comfortably, as if she belongs to the very blood of House Targaryen.” Daemon replied, the cunning glimmer in his eye only intensifying. He leaned forward, every inch the contemplative predator. “What is your name, my lady?”

The warmth of the hall contrasted sharply with the coolness of his gaze, yet you met it with unwavering resolve, the remnant courage of your lineage steeling your heart as you told him your name and lied about hailing from The Reach, your voice steady, resonating amidst the stillness.

"Mikaelson?" Daemon mused, his smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. His silver hair framed a face both youthful and hardened by conflict, and his voice dripped with the playfulness of a cunning predator. "And yet you're no son."

A tight smile graced your lips, the playful banter igniting the spark of your short temper. "My father has enough sons, I assure you, Prince Daemon," you rebuffed, your tone dipped in irritation.

"How old are you? Six and ten?" he pressed, his gaze unwavering, while you caught sight of young Jacaerys approaching Helaena, asking her for a dance. If only irony were not woven into the very fabric of their fates—how you wished Queen Alicent had seen fit to unite them in a more harmonious bond than the betrothal she made with Helaena and Aegon.

But also at that moment, you recognized the precariousness of your own web of lies. Since your arrival at King's Landing, you had deceived the queen into believing you were six and ten, which in truth you were. Oh, how the centuries rolled by, yet your vampiric nature kept your visage untouched, a fragrant bloom eternally in its prime. It was a game of wit and veiled truths, and you knew well how to play.

You met Daemon’s piercing gaze anew, your expression turning steely, tinged with an edge of irritation. “No, your highness,” you replied, your voice as cool as ice. “I am three-and-twenty.”

Prince Daemon raised a silver eyebrow in surprise. “My, my, even older than Prince Aegon,” he drawled, the words rolled off his tongue like honey laced with venom, aimed to sting, "And unmarried, I presume?"

Though you longed to retort with the truth, that you were even older than him, a creature of darkness preserved by the very essence of your nature, you instead offered a demure smile, saying, “Yes. But I prefer it that way. Much more preferable than marrying whilst I was a girl." Your words, though soft-spoken, held a steel beneath their surface—a blade forged in the fires of countless unsaid anger at the world around you.

Daemon’s lips curled into an amused smirk, and he shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “And yet, that is the world we live in.” His tone was laced with the disillusionment of a man who had seen much—his own brand of charm wrapped in an air of indifference.

“Indeed, a world where old men prey upon young girls,” you countered, your voice steady and unwavering, “but I daresay you are no stranger to such tactics, your highness.” The look of amusement that had brightened Daemon’s features dimmed, his smirk wilting like a flower in winter, which you took great satisfaction in.

You jolted in your seat, when Aemond, seated beside you, suddenly slammed his fist onto the table. The cacophony of music and chatter in the hall fell silent as he rose, his goblet held aloft like a rallying cry. "Last Tribute!" he announced, a boldness in his voice that demanded attention.

You glanced around the room, and the unease reflected in the faces of his kin did not escape you. Aemond continued, "To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong."

A faint gasp escaped your lips as you caught the veiled insult aimed at the Velaryon boys' bastardy. The shocked expressions of the Targaryens around you were a clear indicator that Aemond’s words had struck a nerve. Queen Alicent, her composure straining against the affront to her family, attempted to intervene. "Aemond," she cautioned, her voice taut with concern.

But he paid her no heed, raising his goblet higher, a wicked gleam in his eye as he spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Come… let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys," he declared, the words echoing through the revelry like a distant thunderclap.

The hall fell silent, eyes turning to Jace Velaryon, whose face had flushed a deep crimson, betrayal etching lines into his young features. He advanced on Aemond with the fury of a dragon, fists clenched tight. "I dare you to say that again," he challenged, his words barely concealing the tempest of wrath within him.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond retorted with a smirk that could cut glass. "Do you not think yourself Strong?" The taunt flew from his lips like a well-bred serpent, and before the words had fully settled in the air, Jace's fist met Aemond’s cheek with a resounding smack.

Yet, to Aemond, it seemed naught but a gentle breeze, his expression barely shifting as he staggered back only a pace. His pale violet eye sparkled with mischief, unfazed by Jace's sudden fury.

In a swift motion, you rose from your place at the table, the wooden chair scraping against the stone floor as you moved to intervene. Aemond, with a dismissive shove, pushed Jace down, the young prince hitting the hard ground with a thud.

Without thinking, you stepped towards Helaena, and gently took her by the arm. “Come, boys are such immature creatures, yes,” you said softly, guiding her away from the escalating chaos that threatened to engulf them both. Her wide eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she leaned into your touch, casting a sorrowful glance back at the scene as you ushered her away.

You watched as Aemond stormed out the dining hall, his anger crackling in the air like the storm clouds that often loomed over King's Landing. As chaos settled around you, you felt an impulse, a momentary lapse in resolve, and left Helaena's side to pursue him.

He strode fiercely through the halls of the Red Keep, the glint of his silver hair catching the flickering torchlight. You hurried to match his pace, concern fluttering in your chest. "Aemond," you called out softly, "are you alright?"

The scent of his wrath surrounded him, palpable as the incense in the court. He did not glance your way, his voice a frigid whisper laced with venom. "Absolutely splendid."

Your brow furrowed at the sharpness of his words, and with a hint of naïveté, you responded, "I sense a trace of sarcasm in your tone."

Aemond exhaled sharply, quickening his steps in a feeble attempt to distance himself from your probing presence, but your determination was steady. "Did my mother send you to chastise me?" he snapped, the words like arrows loosed from a drawn bow.

"No," you responded gently, your eyes softening with empathy. "I am here of my own accord, wishing only to know if you are truly well."

His stormy glare wavered for the briefest moment, as if the floodgates within him were on the verge of breaking, as if realising it was you he was talking to. But just as swiftly, he clamped down on it, his demeanor hardening once more. Suddenly, he halted and turned to face you, the tension palpable in the air between you.

You lifted your chin defiantly, unwilling to cower beneath the intensity of his stare. "Knowing," he began, his voice low and resonant. "And yet I find I do not know you at all."

Your brow furrowed, a hint of confusion playing at the corners of your lips. "I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean."

He raised a hand, holding out three fingers as if counting off a point. "Three things," he affirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. "I now know three things about you: your name, your home, and that you have brothers."

You paused, gazing at him with wide, innocent eyes, your voice a gentle whisper, "You seem troubled by this knowledge."

He exhaled heavily, pressing a knuckle to the jagged scar that marred his skin, perhaps seeking solace from its lingering pain. A part of you longed to ease his suffering. "It is only my frustration that weighs heavily upon me," he confessed, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and longing. "You hold the knowledge of my life in your hands, yet I know naught of your story."

You crossed your arms defiantly, donning a mask of indifference, "I do not understand the depth of your frustration."

Aemond's singular violet eye bore into your soul with an intensity that made your heart race. "I suspect you do. You are well aware of the affections I hold for you."

A sharp breath caught in your throat as you shook your head, dismissing the peculiar warmth blossoming within your chest. "Those were mere whims of a boy, your grace," you retorted, attempting to cloak your uncertainty in bravado.

His gaze remained unwavering, a storm of emotion swirling within that piercing eye. "Yet here I stand, no longer a boy, and the flames of my desire for you still burn fierce."

"You mustn't speak so," you urged, desperation threading through your voice like a fraying rope.

"Why ought I to remain silent?" Aemond shrugged, a hint of defiance lacing his words. "This is but the truth of my heart."

"Which is wholly improper," you retorted fiercely, the tension between you thickening in the wake of your words.

An awkward silence enveloped you both, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Aemond cleared his throat, shifting the fragile atmosphere. "You held your own remarkably well against my uncle's incessant probing," he remarked, seeking lighter ground.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as a tendril of chill from the nearby window touched your skin, though the coolness hardly bothered you. "There is only one man who may speak to me in such a manner," you replied with a touch of defiance, "and that is my brother."

“Mhm,” Aemond murmured, his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity in his violet eye that seemed to pierce through the very air between you. “Pray, tell me more.”

You stifled a roll of your eyes, at once annoyed and amused by his insatiable curiosity. "I am the youngest of six," you said, your tone now lighthearted yet elusive, "and my favorite color is pink. Might that suffice for your unquenchable thirst for knowledge about me?"

His lips curved in a smirk, his gaze unwavering. "No," he replied, his voice low and firm. "It shall never be enough."

With a genuine exasperation, you rolled your eyes this time, a small smile betraying your annoyance. "Well, if you must know—"

But your words were abruptly stolen by Aemond’s boldness. His strong hands cupped your face, his touch igniting a warmth that seeped through the layers of silk between you. In an instant, his warm, soft lips met yours, and time seemed to freeze. Your heart raced, an unexpected firework of emotion exploding within you as you instinctively leaned into him, responding to the kiss despite the whirlwind of confusion in your mind.

Yet reality came crashing back as your senses settled, and you hastily broke away from him, breathless and bewildered. The air in the room felt charged, and you glared at him, regaining your composure and a semblance of control

The fool wore a dopey grin, that infuriatingly charming smile that only deepened your ire. You shot him a withering look. “I was speaking,” you pointedly reminded him.

His brows knitted in confusion, a flicker of surprise on his face. “What?”

You planted your hands defiantly on your hips, your indignation brewing like a storm. “I was speaking, and you interrupted me! Not only that, but you did not seek my permission to claim my lips.”

Aemond’s laughter rang like the chiming of bells, an amused glimmer in his eye as he observed your vexation. “Very well, my lady. May I kiss you again?”

Your irritation flared, your cheeks warming with a blend of anger and embarrassment. You took a deliberate step back, confusion simmering just beneath your skin. “No, of course not. You have already stolen a kiss from me, but I shall not so easily grant you another.” You held back the childish urge to stomp your foot in frustration. With a petulant huff, you turned on your heel to storm away, your voice carrying a wisp of indignation. “This is most improper and indecent! Good night, your Highness.”

“Good night, my Lady Love,” Aemond murmured, his violet gaze lingering on you until you vanished around a distant corner. His heart swelled with an unexpected mix of hope and affection, the chaotic Targaryen supper and the impending shadows of war fading from his mind. With a tender gesture, he brushed his fingertip against the spot where your lips had just brushed against his, savoring the memory.

And as you stalked off into the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the weight of his gaze lingered, leaving you with a tumult of emotions swirling in your mind, an echo of the kiss that you could neither dismiss nor desire to forget.

[thesithdiaries]

Prisoner (Part 1)

Set: Middle of season 1 to beginning of season 2

Pairing: (kind of) Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon female!reader, (platonic) overprotective!Jacaerys Velaryon x Velaryon female!reader

Warnings: typical westori violence, curse words/spoilers for both seasons but especially season 2, everyone being absolutely stupid, conversations about characters that were 💀, major character death, talks of arranged marriage, being made prisoner, bruises, scrapes, minor talk about weight and not eating

Plot: One of Viserys Targaryen’s final wishes was to see them married. To please him, Rhaenyra allowed her daughter to stay in the Red Keep alone, not knowing it would be a terrible mistake.

"Luke, what's wrong?" You asked, a sense of dread washing over your body.

Your brother sat there, looking panicked, twiddling his fingers. "Vaemond Velaryon has questioned my legitimacy… Mother said we're going to King’s Landing."

"It’ll be alright," you assured him, lightly squeezing his hands. "This matter will be settled in front of the court and nothing will come of it."

Lucerys did not believe your words. All his insecurities about his parentage resurfaced. He had tried to suppress them because his siblings never treated it like an issue; on the contrary, you seemed proud.

"What are you two doing?" Jace walked into the sitting area and plopped down beside his sister.

You scoffed, playfully pushing him away. "There are other places to sit, Jace."

"It all seems occupied to me," he laughed, but it quickly died down when he sensed the tension in the room. "What is it?"

Luke stared at the ground, not wanting to repeat it. You glanced at Jace with a frown and gave a short nod, making him sigh.

Sniffles could be heard across the room.

Rhaenyra stood in the middle of her chambers, holding a piece of parchment that had arrived by raven. Her eyes, reddened and swollen, stared at the floor, tears slowly falling down her cheeks.

You and Jace wept silently, while Luke sat on the floor, trying to process the news.

Harwin Strong had died. Their father was gone.

Rhaenyra had revealed the truth after Harwin and Lionel left for Harrenhal. You and your siblings had suspicions but were never brave enough to ask her directly. Jacaerys was the one who finally did it after they left the Red Keep.

In hindsight, it all made sense: the way Harwin visited them as often as he could, all the gifts and flowers, the affection he showered on them, even the training sessions. Even joining them to get a dragon egg for Joffrey…

… It was also clear to them that Laenor knew and agreed with the situation.

The three of them understood how dangerous this secret was. If others found out that Laenor was not their father, they would be branded as bastards, and their mother's claim to the Iron Throne would vanish.

After Laena’s funeral and Laenor’s death, you and Jace had a conversation about everything.

Viserys had protected them that night. He could have easily told everyone the truth, but he did not. Instead, he chose to threaten anyone who would dare question their parentage, including his wife and his sons.

You vowed to protect each other and your family. You knew that someday, someone would challenge their claim to Driftmark. Corlys always wanted Luke to be Lord of the Tides, but Luke did not want it. He declined the offer multiple times, content to remain a prince if it meant his family was still alive.

---

The Red Keep felt strange, unfamiliar.

Seven-pointed stars hung on the walls, while the House Targaryen symbols and tapestries had disappeared. You could tell that Daemon and your mother were not happy about these changes.

As Daemon and Rhaenyra went to see the King, you and Luke followed Jace to the courtyard. He was reminiscing about childhood antics.

"Everything will go in our favor," you promised Luke, noticing his worried expression. "Mother will not let Vaemond get away with this."

"No one would question me being heir to Driftmark if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong."

"Lucerys!" You softly reprimanded him.

"It doesn't matter what they think," Jace added.

You were about to speak when gasps and applause erupted nearby. As you walked together towards the commotion, Jace held your hand, prepared for anything.

It was Ser Criston Cole and their uncle Aemond. They had not seen them in six years, since the incident at Driftmark. Lucerys tensed, noticing Aemond's eyepatch.

"Nephews, niece… have you come to train?" Aemond asked.

"I have," you announced, stepping forward. Jace's eyes widened as he watched you pick up a sword.

Aemond, his face a mask of confidence, addressed you with a slight smirk. "Ready to learn, niece?"

You replied defiantly, "Let's see what you can teach me, uncle."

Their swords clashed, the sound ringing out across the courtyard. Aemond's initial strikes were powerful and precise, but you met them with equal force and skill.

Jace, tense and protective, clenched his fists. "She shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, stepping forward as if to intervene. Luke quickly grabbed his wrist, holding him back.

"She can handle herself," Luke insisted, though his eyes never left the duel, also scared for his sister.

You and Aemond moved with speed and precision. The intensity of the fight increased, and the crowd's murmurs grew louder. It was no longer a mere training session, Aemond wanted you to suffer.

His smirk faded, replaced by a look of concentration and annoyance. Your determination was shining through, every move demonstrating your skill and strength. As you continued, it became clear that neither had the advantage.

Finally, Criston Cole had enough and carefully stepped in the middle to stop it. You both stepped back, breathing heavily. The courtyard fell silent.

Aemond nodded, lowering his sword. "Well fought, niece."

You, equally breathless, feeling proud of yourself and the outcome. "Thank you, uncle."

Jace, still held back by Luke, relaxed and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"See? She's alright," Luke whispered.

Jace scoffed, growing angrier by the second. You were grinning as you received praise from the crowd, but your smile faded when you turned to see your brothers. Jace held your gaze, silently letting you know of his displeasure.

As everyone left the courtyard to head towards the Throne Room, you approached them. "What did you think?" you wondered shyly, even though you knew what the answer would be.

"It was brilliant," Luke admitted. "I knew Daemon was overseeing your training, but I didn't expect this."

"And you?" You asked Jace directly. He clenched his jaw.

"I thought it was foolish, exposing yourself that way and with him, of all people." You lowered her head, while Luke sighed. "Let's go. Mother is probably waiting for us."

---

You stood between Daemon and Jace in the Throne Room. Jace had briefly told Daemon what had happened outside. Although proud that you could hold her own against Aemond, Daemon did not want to let you out of his sight for fear you would do something like that again.

"You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides," Vaemond Velaryon ranted. "And gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this..."

"Say it," Daemon dared.

Vaemond smirked. "Her children are bastards! And she and her daughter are whores."

"I… will have your tongue for that," King Viserys said, standing up from the Iron Throne.

Jacaerys quickly wrapped his arms around you, holding your face against his chest so you wouldn't witness what was about to happen.

In the blink of an eye, Daemon stood behind him and sliced his head in half. The court gasped at the sight. "He can keep his tongue."

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower ordered.

"No need," Daemon said, returning to his family's side. You were shaking. Even though you hadn't seen it, the noise alone would haunt your dreams. On the other side of the room, Aemond’s attention was on you. On how your bastard brother held you close, to protect you from the bloody sight.

Part 2

[lxdyred]

By order of the King

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader, Helaena Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Possibly in the future), Aegon Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Possibly in the future)

WC: 2.4k

Summary: Amidst political turmoil and family feuds, the only and eldest Velaryon daughter, struggles through a tumultuous marriage arranged for strategic gain that quickly escalates into betrayal and tragedy. As she grapples with grief and tensions mount, she faces heartache and sorrow, she grapples with her future as a looming conflict threatens to engulf her in a web of deceit and fear.

Warnings: Mature themes, sexual content (mentioned and lightly described), power dynamics, toxic relationship, violence and death, incestuous overtones, emotional turmoil, psychological themes, character deaths, ambiguous morality.

If you wish to be tagged let me know :)

Not only was war about to break out, ready to blow everything up — including the Targaryen dynasty. Her damn marriage of convenience was also about to explode.

It was King Viserys, her grandfather, who proposed the marriage between his eldest granddaughter and his second son, Aemond Targaryen. The idea was not well-received by any of the black team's supporters, especially Rhaenyra Targaryen, but having to ensure that her son Luke was the heir to Driftmark, she had to give in and betroth her firstborn and only daughter, her dear baby girl.

Not everything was disadvantageous, since having her younger half-brother married to her daughter would bind and commit the greens to seeing her as the future queen.

Or so they all briefly thought, until the King's death.

"The rift in our family will heal, and we will be more united." This was what Viserys the Peaceful said, with difficulty, as he received Rhaenyra and Daemon, and all their progeny, at court for the first time in six years.

The wedding was held that same afternoon, privately. Only the closest to the king attended the ceremony. His children, his wife, his grandchildren, his nieces, the Hand, and Princess Rhaenys. Shortly after, he succumbed to pain, having to be taken to his quarters where he drank milk of the poppy to be able to sleep.

The Hightowers thought this would benefit their discussion about Driftmark's inheritance the next day. Without the king present, they could declare Vaemond Velaryon as heir to his brother, the Sea Snake, who was still hovering between life and death. And, in a way, they could more freely insinuate the illegitimacy of Rhaenyra's elder children. Killing two birds with one stone.

"Now you are a recognized Targaryen, despite your illegitimate descent, wife." These were the first venomous words Aemond addressed to his now wife for the first time in years. "I will make sure you do not follow your mother's path, that the children you carry in your womb are mine, and no one else's." He murmured, while caressing his wife's dark hair, a certain warmth and delicacy in the act.

"I would never think of it, my prince." She whispered, carefully watching his movements as he circled her.

As if she were his prey.

"Do you know what comes next? What is expected of you on our wedding night?" He asked, tilting his head, once he stood in front of her.

"To consummate our union, to give you an heir."

"Hm." He hummed. "I will not be harsh with you, I will be gentle. Until you ask me not to be."

There was no love between them, not even the slightest hint of the friendship that once existed in their childhood. She would be lying if she said he did not keep his word. He was not rough or harsh with her, but considerate and gentle. The union brought something she did not expect, pleasure.

She felt a lot of pleasure; he gave her pleasure. She supposed it was to keep her satisfied, so she wouldn't seek comfort in another man's arms, thus avoiding the possibility and shame of bastards.

Bastards of a bastard, it sounded ironic.

Once he finished inside her, after making her climax three times, he caressed her face, looking attentively at how her face reflected pleasure and satisfaction. Then he got off her, dressed, and left her alone in her room, without a word.

A few days later, her mother, her brothers, Daemon, and her stepsisters had to return to Dragonstone, leaving her in that place infested with snakes and traitors — without knowing what was to come.

Her grandfather died that very night, and the next day, not even a full day later, they crowned Aegon as king in the Dragonpit, in front of the entire people. Placing the conqueror's crown on his head, wielding his sword to the cheers of the people.

She could only bite her tongue and dig her nails into her skin until she bled, while averting her gaze. Not recognizing her uncle, the usurper, as king.

That night, when her husband visited her chambers to have sex with her again, as expected of him, as had been the case every night since they married, it was she who took control. It was she who set the pace and used him, leaving behind the gentleness he had previously offered her. It was she who began to be harsh.

Their encounters became rough and hard, with no room for frills or romance. After all, that was the only way she had to vent.

They did it, finished, and each went their separate ways.

In less than a month she was already pregnant.

"Blessed be the gods for this good news." Was what Alicent Hightower said upon receiving the news, while taking the hands of her young daughter-in-law. "Viserys would be delighted with this news. Finally, the Seven smile upon us."

"Do you think? I think they mock us." She whispered, tears in her eyes.

She wanted to go home, to find comfort in her mother's arms, who should be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms and sitting on the Iron Throne.

From the day they received the news, Aemond stopped visiting her at night, and she spent hours staring at her bed canopy, caressing her still nonexistent baby bump. The life growing inside her was the only thing she had in that cold place.

How she longed to talk to her mother freely, but of course, writing to her and sending a raven at that time, without supervision, without practically the entire king's small council approving it, could be considered treason. And to think of proposing to visit her, by the Seven Gods.

What a fucking mess.

Days went by, her loneliness grew, her breasts became more sensitive, her aversion to certain smells became more noticeable. Still, the only pleasant company she had and found some comfort in was Helaena and her children.

Beings of light, innocent and joyful.

"How are things with my brother?" Helaena asked while observing the cages in which she kept some insects.

"He usually asks about how I am feeling, how the pregnancy is going — but other than that, we do not... interact. We practically live separate lives."

"Does he not discuss his duties with you?"

"The bare minimum. I only know that today he is leaving for Storm's End, to speak with Borros Baratheon."

"Oh." Helaena said, looking at her with an expression she couldn't decipher.

"What is it?"

"It is just that I feel a storm is coming. I do not know, it is strange."

"But the skies are clear, Hel?"

And the storm came, just as Helaena had said.

The next morning she woke up later than usual, none of the maids who usually attended to her came to wake her, which made her wonder why no one had disturbed her until then. She tried to dismiss the thought, leaning towards the belief that they were simply letting her rest due to the lack of energy she felt because of the pregnancy.

When she left her room to meet Helaena and have breakfast with her, she encountered one of the Kingsguard, Ser Arryk Cargyll, who had been patiently waiting for her, for who knows how long.

"Did Helaena send you for me?" The young princess asked doubtfully, as it was usually not Ser Arryk who escorted her anywhere.

"No, princess." Replied the sworn knight softly. "The queen mother sends me; she is waiting for you to meet her and Prince Aemond in her apartments." He said, pointing out the path they were to take, a fleeting, small, empathetic smile adorning his face as if he were trying to hide something.

"Has something happened, Ser Arryk?" She asked as they walked towards Alicent Hightower's apartments. Uncertainty gripped her, for each time they encountered someone from the court, or a servant or guard, they averted their gaze from the young woman, as if not wanting to reveal something. "Have I been accused of treason or something?" The young woman murmured with a mix of doubt and jest, stopping and looking at the Cargyll twin.

"Not at all, princess." The man replied, shaking his head. "The reason for the audience will be revealed when we arrive, I promise."

"Has someone died, by any chance?" The young woman asked, the question hanging in the air.

Ser Arryk did not respond, simply escorting her to the queen mother's chambers. Where, indeed, she discovered that someone had died.

Her baby brother, Luke. At the hands of her own husband, ironically.

With one hand over her mouth and the other over her stomach, she shook her head, under the watchful eyes of Aemond, Alicent, Otto, Aegon, and Ser Criston. She leaned against the brick wall of the queen's chambers, her gaze passing over each of the people present, her tears welling up in her eyes, and the words unable to pass her throat, where she felt a tight knot.

Alicent tried to approach her, raising a hand to touch her shoulder in consolation. "Oh, sweet girl, this was—" she tried to speak, as she finished approaching her.

The young woman, with a slap, pushed her hand away and took a few steps back to distance herself. Now, with tears streaming down her cheeks, blurring her vision, she clumsily opened the door and briskly set off towards anywhere far from any of them.

Without a fixed direction, she turned every corner she encountered until an overwhelming urge to vomit flooded her, and she ended up clutching a large decorative urn, where she emptied her stomach. Amidst the vomiting and retching, she felt a hand rubbing her back in support.

“No, no—” she tried to speak as she pulled away from the person, slightly dragging herself on the ground, wiping her lips with the sleeve of her dress. “No, please,” she whispered through tears, her eyes closed.

“I do not like feeling sick either.”

“What— Jaehaerys…” she whispered the boy’s name, who brought his little hand to her face and wiped away a tear.

“Does your tummy hurt, Auntie?” asked the little boy, who was kneeling beside her, his head tilted and looking at her with concern. Innocence was all that reflected in the eyes of the usurper's progeny.

“A little, yes. Something did not sit well with me, little one.” The young woman sniffed and tried to smile at the boy as best she could.

“Jaehaerys.” Helaena called to her young son, and seeing how he tried to comfort the princess, she approached them, kneeling in front of the duo. “Why don’t you go play with your sister, hm? I shall stay and take care of her, yes?”

The silver-haired boy looked at his mother and then at his aunt, who was still giving him a small smile, even though her lower lip was trembling. He nodded and looked at the small wooden dragon he had in one of his hands before placing it in the young princess’s hand.

“You can keep it until you feel better.”

“Thank you, little prince.”

“Maybe playing with it will help you.” He murmured before standing up and running towards one of the servants who took care of Helaena’s children.

The usurper’s wife, whom she had adored since childhood, helped her up from the ground, and with an arm around her, while she cried silently, accompanied her to her room, where she broke into almost agonising, pain-filled sobs. Helaena sat at the foot of the young woman’s bed while she cried with her head in her lap, broken with grief.

For hours, the one considered the new queen, with a pure heart and only good intentions, stayed in the same position, doing everything in her power to calm and console her dear one, who was her sister-in-law, niece, and friend, all in one person. She stroked her long hair while trying to offer comforting words; the young Velaryon, slightly younger than her, could only cling to her waist with one arm, while in the other hand she held the wooden dragon that little Jaehaerys had given her. She kept her face hidden in Helaena’s lap, crying and crying, until finally, she fell asleep from crying and sobbing so much.

“Leave. Have you not made her suffer enough?” she thought she heard Helaena say sharply, something that very rarely happened, in the distance of her dream.

She knew that the one who was now definitely her only trusted person in the place had just thrown out her husband, the murderer of her younger brother.

Aemond did not manage to articulate a word to excuse himself when he showed up, merely mumbling under his breath, his gaze fixed on his beautiful wife, clinging to the body of his sister.

Helaena gave him a fierce, defiant look, insisting without repeating her words that he leave, which he eventually did. The slam of the door behind him woke the princess, who turned her head and stared at the door.

“Do not worry, he is gone now,” murmured Helaena, looking at her with sadness and empathy, still stroking her hair.

“I do not know what I am going to do,” whispered the young Velaryon, her voice hoarse from crying so much, as she lowered her hand to her belly, where her baby was growing.

That creature, who was also the progeny of a Kinslayer, the prince with one eye. The person she could most despise at that precise moment.

The mere thought of being responsible for giving him a child, something that was already happening, made her blood boil and filled her with deep disgust for the situation.

And indirectly, a certain rejection, towards her unborn child.

She was condemned to spend the rest of her days with him, bound to him, because of her condition. Because of the son or daughter who had not yet been born, but soon would be.

She was in that position by the decision of Viserys, her late and naïve grandfather. “By order of the king…” she murmured sarcastically, as she felt the tears well up in her eyes again.

By order of the late king, she was in that situation, but that would not stop her from making things difficult for Aemond.

A shadow began to loom over her, just as the war that was about to be declared.

Although, to be honest, they were all screwed.

So royally fucked.

[dahliarosebud]

- Love Is A War Series ~ Aemond x Reader

• Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

• MAIN-MASTER-LIST

• HOTD-MASTE-LIST

Warnings: Grief, death , sh (digging your nails into your skin), violence, ideals forced on children

Synopsis: You were taught to not cry. That warriors and soldiers should be strong, but you can’t keep holding in everything. You just want quiet and time to grieve, but Aemond and your family don’t give you that luxury. You begin to doubt wether your father is capable of love.

———————

It is solemn and cold. The sky was grey and the skin under my eyes dark I could feel my friend’s eyes on me yet, I couldn’t even bare to look at him. Baela and Rhaena clung to me in equal despair. I casted my eyes over my father’s figure he’s trying to be brave. He loved my mother.

The Valeryion house banner of Driftmark swayed with the biting breeze, the waves washing away the stone we stood on. Everyone was here, but not everyone mattered. 

Baela turned away and allowed our grandmother to comfort her as Rhaena still held my hand, soft gasps seeped from their lips as their tears trailed down their melancholy faces. 

I lifted my head watching everyone look down in ‘sorrow’. They didn’t even know my mother, not properly. Vaemond continued his speech. The old valaryian tongue.

 My mother and father taught to me in it. My Kepa opting to speak to me in valaryian and my muna the common tongue when I was only a mere child.

My father looked down and laughed. I swallowed thickly looking up to stare at him with un-shed tears. Yet he did not care. He never cared.

The agonising snap of the rope as her casket was released. My breathing shallowed some as I watched the intricately carved wood casket slowly began to descend into the water. 

The splash horrid splash of water finalising her fate - a pained reminder and memory the knowledge that she is never coming back.

I stood at the back once again watching. The bustle and chatter, the accompany of the soft winds loud in my ears. I feel sick. It’s as if she has not died. 

It’s as if my mother meant nothing. I chewed the inside of my cheek not missing the way Baela held onto Jace’s hand. The way they looked at one another, basking in the comfort they each offered.

Eventually my grandmother came to the twins hugging them tightly. Reassuring them. My father said warriors don’t cry or need sympathy or need pity and yet, here I am craving it. Ignored and the only comfort to me is the whisper of grief and the already fading memories of my mother.

But, there he was. Finally stood next to you. He took your hand running his thumb over your knuckles just like he would at King’s Landing when I missed my family and Pentos. I turned to look at him and his eyes screamed everything father told me not to want, but I needed it.

A shuddering sigh finally exhaled from my body and he hugged me. It was perfect in everywhere. Warm and sweet. It spoke volumes and put everything he wanted to say in that one action. The one thing I had wanted. 

We pulled apart as Vahgar’s grief echoed around Driftmark and I finally smiled. Watching the way his face lit up with curiosity. I looked away as my father marched past me and down the steps to the shore. 

“I think I’m going to go to my bed now Aemond,” I whispered still not meeting his eyes, not properly. He nodded understandingly giving my hand one final squeeze. I walked away my hand slipping from his.

 My hands were clamped together in front of me, my eyes downcast once again. The stone walls were dull and grey. The stone was cold and smelled damp. At least there was no hulking metal man behind me.

Finally at my room. Solitude and silence. Sickly and sweet. I picked my book back up the same one I was reading only two nights ago. The fire crackled providing light and heat. I collapsed on the chair shaky hands holding the book refusing to open the pages.

The book fell from my grip clattering to the floor. My shoulders shaking as the ocean broke free. My hands rubbing and wiping furiously at the tears that fell from my eyes. I stood up my hand now pressed against my stomach. Trying to breathe.

I paced and wondered around the room. Sobs, pleads and gasps filled the empty space. My head hurt and my cheeks were red. I leant onto the wooden desk - one hand propping me up. Breathing through my now clenched teeth.

She isn’t coming back. I’ll never hear her voice again. I’ll never feel her soft touch. I’ll never laugh with her or feel the swell of my heart as I watched her and my father smile in joyful happiness and solitude at each other. 

I scream and cry. I sob and shout. But she is never coming back. I was angry. I was angry at the Gods. I was angry at my father. I was angry at myself. You were right there. All you did was stand there. Only if you were faster.

I ducked my head down. The old wood growing wet. My legs gave out as I crumpled to the ground, gasping as the cold hit my thigh. I jumped as the doors banged behind me.

“Oh my child, My sweet sweet girl,” my grandmother ran to my side, sitting next to me. Pulling me to her. I was enveloped by her ever comforting warmth . I wrapped my fingers around her wrists as she gently rocked us side to side in time with her soothing cooing and shushes. 

One of her nimble aging hands brushed my hair from my face as she tucked her chin into the crook of my neck. Pressing her soft cheek into my damp one. I felt her eyelashes brush across my cheek as she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose.

She moved to sit in front of me. Her thumbs brushed away my remaining tears. Smiling softly and pulling me into a mothering hug. Silence filled the room again. But the fire sung it’s melancholy song.

The doors once again unceremoniously banged open, “Rhaenys!” We both moved to look at my grandfather. “It’s the children.” We both stood up and followed him rushing down the halls and stone stairs.

“Baela, Rhaena!” I called for my sisters. I opened my arms as the rushed towards me hugging me tightly. They were scared and hurt. Our grandmother crouched next to us checking them over and Corlys’s booming voice demanded answers. 

We moved to stand next to our cousins as Rhaenyra rushed in. “What happened?” Her sweet voice panicked.

“They attacked me!” I sucked in a breath - as Aemond turned around to look back at the boys - his eye was cut but it was stitched - red inflamed skin replaced to once perfect milky-freckled skin.

“He attacked Baela!” Jace called from where he stood. I pulled Baela closer to me as Aemond’s eye met mine. Baela pulled away as they all began to argue and squabble. The adults looked tired and unimpressed. 

I straightened my back as the King shouted. I looked down afraid I will meet his eyes. He was terrifying when he looked like this. Not in a menacing way but in a sickly dying way. My hands grew clammy each time he demanded for an answer. 

My ears rang as tears threatened to spill again. I hadn’t even had time to mourn and already Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent have dampened my mother’s memory. I rang my hands. my nails finding their way into the back of my hand. The pain washing over me. A painful distraction.  All of a sudden Alicent lunged.

I jumped as my grand father pushed us back and Lucerys screamed in fear. I watched as Rhaenyra held back Alicentas she tried to claw luke’s eye out. Everyone panicked shouting and screaming. Begging and pleading. Demanding and ordering.

“You’ve gone to far.” Rhaenyra breathed as she held beck her old friend.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please.” The Queen’s eyes were wild and mad.

“Alicent let her go!” Viserys cut in with a sample of fear.

“Where is duty? Where is sacrafice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again.” Alicent pushed forward with force.

“Release the blade Alicent.” Otto called from his sullen corner.

“And now you take my son’s eye and to even that, you feel entitled.” Further and further the mad Queen pushed.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are.” The blonde woman whispered. 

The blade rang as Alicent slice Raennyra’s arm. She stumbled back as my grandfather lifted her wrist to see the damage that has been done. The streams of red fell to the floor. Thus the room was split.

The dagger pierced the silence as it hit the ground. “Do not mourn me mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye...but I gained a dragon.” I snapped my head up to look at him. Vahgar? My mother’s dragon? Can no one mourn?

“This proceeding is at an end.” Viserys hobbled away. I walked towards my father as he pulled me into him, Jace and Luke following suit as he comforted Rhaenyra. 

I watched as Aemond leant on his mother, his eye flicking towards me. I felt sick. We were separated again only this time I wanted to be.

------------

I sat on the end of my bed. They were leaving today, he was leaving, my friend was leaving. There was a quiet knock at the door. I stood and opened them and there he stood. His eye looking grim the other staring at you.

 “I’m leaving today���- he paused as if expecting me to answer him- “I will still write to you Y/n I swear it, read them or not. Do you remember when we always used to talk about how we would fly to Dorne on our dragons? Well now that I have Vahgar we can do that. We will meet there every full moon, come if you want , but I’m not forcing you. I’m sorry Y/n  I never mean to hurt you” - I looked down - “ I will wait for you, however long it takes I swear it.”

He lingered for a few seconds before leaving and I could finally breathe. I pulled the doors shut and returned to sitting on the end of my bed, relaxing in the silence. I looked down breathing a sorry huff of air from nose. The crescent moon marks in the back of my hand, yet another reminder and memory.

------------

I  awoke to Rhaenys’s screams. I rushed down the stairs once again. The smell of burnt flesh emanated from the big hall. I walked in seeing my grandmother cower over my uncle’s body and my grandfather’s hand firmly placed on her shoulder. I ran back out of the room. My nose singed and tinged with the smell. Bile rose to my throat as I pressed my hand to my nose rushing back to my chambers.

I slowly got into bed resting my head against the soft pillow. Wasn’t my mother enough?  Do the Gods want me to feel pain, to cry and beg and plead? I stared at the pillow next to me. My eyes slowly growing heavy. Finally lulled to sleep by the beat of my own drumming heart.

I stood there. With the wind washing my face. Rhaena’s hand in mine. Watching as our father married another woman. My cousins stood next to us watching as their mother married another man only ours after their own father died. 

I can’t even watch let alone look at them. They smiled at each other, a genuine smile. Like the ones I would catch my father and mother exchanging. Maybe I was right maybe he didn’t even love my mother at all.

I don’t care anymore. I just want the world to be silent.

[captainamericasmotercycle]

Can I request one for Jacaerys Velaryon where Rhaenyra betroths him to his twin sister and they're both super awkward about it. You can write it as you wish.

warnings: i didn't make them twins so interpret her as you'd like, targ!cest (unintentional?), aemond and aegon taunting jace, high valyrion (i'm not fluent forgive me), takes place in 1.08 (lord of the tides), more angsty than awkward, aemond x reader if you squint really really hard?

“Her children are bastards! And she is a whore,” Vaemond Velaryon spoke with vemon on his tongue.

You and your brothers shared a glance of embarassment with one another.

Viserys hobbled up from his seat on the throne, “I will have your tongue for that.”

Before Viserys could get any further Dark Sister flung through the air, taking Vaemond’s head with her. Everyone in the room jumped back, your mother pushing you behind her, as your younger brother gasped.

“He can keep his tongue,” chaos erupted with the King’s guard.

“Disarm him!”

Daemon wiped the Velaryon blood off his sword and sheathed it, ushering you and his daughters out of the room, “No need.”

-

Later in the dining hall, you and your estranged family stood around a large table, Viserys was carried in and sat in between your mother and Alicent, “How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.”

One he was situated, all sat in the respective places, you between Jacaerys and Lucerys.

Alicent looked to her husband, “Prayer before we begin?”

“Yes,” your family was not the most religious, you looked to Jace, you looked back at you with an annoyed expression.

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Viserys was the first to speak, just barely lifting his cup, “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandson Luke, will marry his cousins Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Prince… and his betrothed! Hear, hear!”

The rest of the table rose their glasses and toasted to your younger brother.

Aegon, sitting next to Jace leaned over and spoke quietly, “Your younger brother bests you once again. Laying with a women before you.”

Viserys spoke again, “Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides. Hear, hear!”

You smiled at him, squeezing his hand, “You’ll be great.”

Aegon continued on with him, “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Let it be, Aegon,” Helaena chastised him, tired of his jokes.

“You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my sister,” Jace defended you.

Your family sat in tension, your grandsire felt the need to clear the air, “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other… in the years past.”

He takes his mask off his face and drops it on the table, “My own face… is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight… I wish you to see me… as I am. Not just a king… but your father. Your brother. Your husband… and your grand sire. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer among you.”

He breathes heavily and struggles with his next words, “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

Your grandsire sits and the room was filled with silence, your mother arose from her place next to him.

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood… more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

Alicent smiles solemnly to Rhaenyra, “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess.”

She stands and raises her cup, “We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

Each at the table took turns toasting to the family, each aggrivating Jacaerys more.

Aegon, drunkenly, rose, turning to Luke, “I, um… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Aegon smiles and turns to Jace now, “Ask me, of course. Your older brother would not know how to guide you.”

Jace stands, slamming his hands down on the table, you grab his wrist, “Jace.”

Sternly looking at him, he glances to you before raising his glass, “To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond,” Aemond’s face hardens, “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

Jace sits and Heleana stands, “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Aegon rolls his eyes in embarassment, Viserys smiles at his youngest daughter, and Daemon gently laughs.

Viserys feels ill and is taken out of the room. Only the Hightower side of the family is left.

You’ve always had a strained relationship with your uncles, but you did love Helaena, often times strolling in the gardens with her, or her teaching you some embroidery tricks.

Aemond glances at you from across the table, a dark and hungry look in his eyes. You look away from him and to your mother. She nods at you, as a way of saying that she would take care of it.

The pig comes out of the kitchens and is brought to the table, Luke chuckles at the sizzling pig. Aemond slams his fist on the table, capturing everyone’s attention.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong,” he looks to you and smirks, “And my niece, you are of age now, luck to you in finding a husband. Perhaps someone strong, maybe you will find home in the Riverlands.”

“Aemond,” Alicent warns.

You can see Jace fuming from beside you, but you gently nudge his foot under the table with yours. You keep your composure.

You hum, smirking back at him, “Kirimvose, yn nyke gīmigon nyke kostagon become tolī than sepār mirtys’s riñnykeā ābrazȳrys… Kepa.” Thank you, but I know I can become more than just someone's lady wife… uncle

“Kostilus se ābrazȳrys hen nykeā darilaros?” Perhaps the wife of a prince?

“Nyke unyishishk jorrāelagon daorun tolī than naejot sagon se ābrazȳrys hen dārys's tȳne tresy.” I would love nothing more than to be the wife of the king's second son.

Aemond’s face hardened. Only you, Aemond, your mother, and Daemon fully understood the words exchanged. Your mother and Daemon shared a look of pride.

Alicent looked at the interaction with confusion and furrowed brows.

“What are they saying?”

“Aemond has proposed a marriage it seems,” Rhaenyra speaks.

Jace looks at you almost angrily, “What did you say?”

All eyes were on you, “What she said is not important,” your mother interrupted.

She cleared her throat, “What matters is that my daughter will wed her brother, Jacaerys, heir to the Iron Throne. She will become queen one day; something more than someone’s lady wife.”

Everyone’s eyes widened. You felt heat rise to your cheeks. There is no way that your mother would have you marry your brother?

Aemond’s hardened grin turned to a smug one, “Well then, congratulations is in order to my niece and her strong husband.”

Jace stood and walked towards the center of the room, challenging his uncle, “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond stood with him, walking to him, “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment,” he leaned into Jace, whispering into his ear, “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Without hesitation, Jace swung at Aemond, getting in a good punch onto his jaw. Everyone around the table gasped, your mother yelled sternly, “Jace!”

Aemond reached for his blade, but his mother’s voice stopped him, “Aemond! That is enough!”

“Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.”

You stood and watched Jace walk out. You didn’t follow him to his quarters to check on him. You stayed in the hall and waited for your mother.

As she came out of the dining hall, you caught up with her.

“Mother!”

She turned to you, “Were you telling the truth… about me.. and Jace?”

Holding your face in her hands she stroked your cheek with her thumb and smiled gently at you, but you could not meet her eyes, “You will make a great queen one day, my sweet girl.”

She tugged at your chin to force you to look at her, “But now, you need to rest, we have quite the journey ahead of us back to Dragonstone, tomorrow.”

You nodded before heading back to your quarters. Nodding at the guards standing at your door, you pushed them open.

Jace, who was waiting for you on your bed, stood at your entrance. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Jacaerys, it is not proper for you to be in here… not anymore.”

“Please just listen.”

You walked around the room, releasing the maids of their duties, “Leave us.” The maids were quick to exit.

“I did not know she was going to say that!”

“I did not know Aemond would try to wed me tonight.”

“I’m sorry. We do not have to wed if you choose to take someone else’s hand—”

“No,” shaking your head, “It is.. our duty now, as the future queen’s eldests.”

“I promise to be a good husband—”

“Jacaerys, I do not wish to speak of this any longer.”

He spoke your name softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Leave me, Jace.”

He said your name more sternly now.

“Leave me, your grace.”

He sunk into himself, hands on his sheathed sword, nodding at you, “As you wish.”

You watch him leave, the door slamming behind him. You groaned in frustration, running your hands over your face and through your hair.

How are you supposed to marry your brother of all people?

[propheticbride]

Bastards and Dragons I

𐙚 As you return to Kind's Landing to help defend your brother's claim to Driftmark, you find yourself entangling yourself in old resurfacing feelings.

𐙚 Aemond x Reader (tw: manipulation, incest)

It had been years since you had graced King’s Landing, staying in Dragonstone along with your other siblings, at your mother's behest. The memories of your childhood stung, the castle you had left behind simply just a memory of a different time.

You were not stupid. You knew why Vaemond was questioning Lucerys’s birthright to Driftmark. Everyone did. Although you loved Laenor, you felt a disconnect from him. He was a good father, and tried his hardest to make sure you and your brothers knew comfort and love. But deep down, it didn't feel right.

You hadn't been in Kings Landing for even a day, before you and your brothers found yourselves in the training yard, Jacaerys leading the tour.

"See? I told you this would still be here." he smiles at your youngest brother. "And you thought you could swing Criston’s morning star. And you almost took your own head off."

Lucerys looks around nervously, shrinking into his form.

"What's your problem?" Jacaerys shot Luke a look.

"Everyone’s staring at us." Luke sighs. "No one would question me being heir to Driftmark…if…if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong."

"It doesn't matter what they think." you remind him.

Crowds of noise begin to cheer, as you and your brothers turn around to see all the fuss.

You find yourself staring at the man with long silver hair moving between a man you did know, Criston Cole.

Suddenly, the silver haired man turned, and the image of young Aemond was quickly replaced by a dashing prince. Aemond stood tall in the courtyard, keeping his feet moving as he swung his sword against Cole. Fast and quick in his movements, eventually besting the much older knight.

The spectators all clapped, including you and your two brothers.

"Well done, my Prince." Criston nods at Aemond. "You’ll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don’t give a shit about tourneys." Aemond's eyes find yours, not your brother's. "Nephews…and my darling niece. Have you come to train?"

You hadn't seen your uncle in so long, he had changed from the once quiet and bullied boy that you had known. You once exchanged words with him every so often when able, until your mother had moved you all so abruptly to Dragonstone, cutting off any connection you had formed with the prince.

His eyes focus on you, taking note of how curious you glanced back at him. You had changed. The soft meek girl who hid behind her mother’s skirts was now a beautiful woman, standing before him with an air of interest for him in her.

"It seems time has passed faster than I thought", he remarks with an undertone of mockery.

“I haven't seen you since...the incident at driftmark.” you smile at him, manners always first.

Aemond lets out a dry chuckle at your words, his eye narrowing. "Yes, the issue at Driftmark", he says with a bitter tone, "It seems like yesterday."

The memories of that night were never far from his mind. Every night you were gone, he had thought about how your screams alerted the guards, allowing them to pull apart the bastards that attacked him. You had cupped his face, sobbing as you took his gashed face in. Aemond had gripped your skirts so tight, almost feeling bad for bloodying your nightgown.

“Childhood must’ve been fond at times, no?” you ask, trying to search his eye.

"Fond? I suppose for some, it was...", he huffs, "But for me, you could say it was quite the opposite.”, he adds, his voice bitter as he glances at your brothers briefly before turning his gaze back to you.

You knew Aemond’s childhood hadn't been the best. Thanks to Jacaerys and Aegon’s cruel treatment of him. You remember warning Jacaerys that beaten dogs always bite back, completely sure that the incident at Driftmark was that: the dog finally biting back.

You look at Jacaerys then back to the prince, “But god you've grown so tall…I remember Aegon being the taller one.”

Aemond can't help but smile at that. It was true, he had grown considerably since he was younger, and he was now taller than Aegon. Giving him some power trip over the other man.

"Indeed, I have", he says with a smile. "I grew far more than my brother did".

“And what a fighter you have become.” Lucerys speaks up.

“Quite the fighter? And what do you know of Knights, boy?” Aemond questions the smaller one, who shrinks at his crueler tone used for him.

“Nothing. Lucerys knows nothing, but he is to learn, is he not? If he is going to be the heir to Driftmark.” you try to ease the tension you can feel building up.

Aemond laughs at the mention of Lucerys being the heir to Driftmark. "Yes, the little bastard shall be the Lord of Driftmark…” Aemond turns to look at your brother. "Though I wonder if he's truly worthy of such a title.”

“Aemond.” you say with a mixture of disgust and shock.

You weren't stupid, very obviously aware of you and your brother’s brown soft locks instead of the traditional silver hair Targaryen’s donned. But your mother had explained sometimes it wasn't the promised color, evident of Rhaenys’s brown hair.

Aemond merely smiles at your reaction.

"Oh, come now…” he says, his tone mocking. "Surely you know the truth. Lucerys is a bastard, and he has no right to claim Driftmark.”

“Then that makes me a bastard as well, does it not?” you are quick to defend your brother to his words.

The prince only glances at you before leaning close into your ear to whisper, "Yes, I suppose it does. But tell me, have you ever felt anything akin to jealousy knowing that you are to be nothing more than a mere bastard, while your younger brother will be lord of the tides? And your other one, heir to the iron throne? You could be so much more, if the opportunity would arise.”

✮⋆˙

“Mother?” you are quick to enter her chambers.

Rhaenyra looks up at you, at her feet Viserys and Aegon play. “Yes my love?”

“I ran into Aemond earlier, training with Cole..” you say, sitting beside her on the velvet chair.

“Oh you did, did you?” Rhaenyra’s face turns, not liking the idea of you with her brother. She quickly glances up at you, reading your face almost immediately. “What is it?”

“Mother, he called us bastards. For all of the training yard to see and hear."

“He did what?” she looks concerned.

“Mother, he said that Luke wouldn't inherit Driftmark, because he is a bastard. And that he's not worthy of it, like Jace isnt of the throne…” you sigh at your words. “That I would seek nothing, because I am a bastard.”

Your mother’s face softens a bit. She would never allow any harm to befall her children, she’d rather die. “Hey.” she soothes. “My sweet, do not listen to him, for he speaks lies. You are not a bastard, you are my daughter and you are everything. Do not ever forget that, hm?”

Tears form in your eyes. “I am not stupid mother. I see the way Queen Alicent looks at me, and has looked at all three of us for years. How the court sneers behind our backs for the color of our hair.”

Rhaenyra’s heart aches once again, as she reaches out, she tilts your chin up. “Do not listen to them, my love.” she speaks softly. Rhaenyra would not allow your innocence to be taken from you at such a young age. “You know the truth…you are my daughter, my beautiful girl. No one can argue that.”

“Is that why Vaemond is questioning Luke as heir?” you ask.

Your mother’s hand falls from your face and she sighs, “No my dearest. The truth of it is that he is a greedy and restless second son scorned.”

“Lots of theatrics for a second son.”

Rhaenyra gives you a small smile, “It’s the height of ambition, is it not? And foolishness.”

“Where is Daemon?” you ask as you glance around her empty chambers.

Rhaenyra pauses for a second, “Why?”

“You shouldn't be alone while we’re here.” you look back to her.

Your mother chuckles softly, cocking her head so slightly. “I’ll be fine, little one.” she assures. “I don’t need him watching me every second of the day.”

“I still don't like you being alone.” you frown, allowing her to pull you into her.

“And why is that hm?” she asks.

“Because I do not trust the queen. Not at all.” you declare.

“You too then, hm?” Rhaenyra laughs slightly. Of course you didn't. It had always worried your mother how much you truly did pick up on. “And why do you not trust her?”

“Because of how she treats us. Treats you.” you point to the scar on Rhaenyra's arm, left by Alicent years ago.

Rhaenyra pauses, recounting how you and your brothers had witnessed that moment. Alicent went mad, stupid enough to bring a knife to the heir of the throne, but to actually cut skin and cause the blood of the dragon to stain the floors, was another act entirely.

“I am so sorry you and your brothers had to witness that. You should have been in your chambers.” her voice is soft.

“Alicent should've died for that...you are the heir to the throne!” you shake your head, voice shaking slightly.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, her stomach turns from your words. She places her hands on your face, “Do not say such things.”

“Why not? Are you saying that grandfather allowing her to live was right? That she saw no punishment...no justice, was right?” you stand to your feet, almost upset at what you are hearing.

Rhaenyra stands as well, sighing as she shakes her head. “It does not matter if it was right or not.”

“Yes it does!”

“She-” your mother pauses and takes a deep breath. As if she was choosing her words carefully. “I do not want you thinking or bringing up anything from that night. I am your mother and you are my daughter, I do not wish to hear it come from your mouth. Do I make myself clear?”

“You're defending her.” your eyes widen at the realization. Your mother was defending the very woman who had bullied her for years, tormented you and your brothers with vile gossip and drove you all from your places in King’s Landing.

“I am not-” Rhaenyra huffs in frustration. “I am merely protecting you-”

“You are not protecting me from anything! Do you think when you took Harwin Strong into bed, you'd be protecting us?” you know the words will sting her, but at the moment you are too angry to care.

Rhaenyra looks at you, almost as if you were a stranger in the moment. “You-”

“Everyone knows mother, you can tell by how they stare at us.” your voice is quiet, defeated.

“Darling, look at me.” Rhaenyra demands. “There's my daughter. The one who's kind, smart and fierce. Words have never hurt you before, you shall not let them hurt you now.”

“You don't understand what it's like. When it’s all anyone can see! I am meant to be a Velaryon, yet I am barely that if that at all!” hot tears stream your face, your own frustration growing.

“I don't understand?” Rhaenyra’s voice breaks. “I wouldn't understand? What it’s like to be stared at, to be whispered about as I walk the halls? What do you think happened to me when you were born? Or the years before that?”

“It isn't the same!” you stress. “You are a Targaryen! You have the silver hair! I have the brown hair that shows proof of your-”

“Of my what?” your mother’s face falls.

“Everyone knows…that Harwin Strong is our father.”

Rhaenyra swallows, a look of hurt painting her face. “You should not focus on that. You should focus-”

“On myself, yes. The bastard of the great House Targaryen.” with your last words, you can't help but not stay for the argument that would ensue. You quickly leave her.

✮⋆˙

The door to his chambers stood before you. You knew his chambers by heart because before you were ripped away from King's Landing, they were once your chambers.

You inhale a breath, debating if doing it is really worth it. What answers could he have that your mother was not giving you. Honesty perhaps being one.

You knock slightly on his door. After some footsteps are heard, his door swings open to him standing there. As he takes your image in, his face turns into a mix of surprise and curiosity.

“Aemond. I did not wake you did I?” you ask softly.

“No, you did not.” he shakes his head. “I simply was reading.”

“Can I come in?” you give him a soft smile, hoping he takes note of your kindness.

“Very well.” Aemond stands back, opening his chamber doors to allow you in. “You may enter.”

You enter his chambers and remove your robes, leaving you in your nightdress.

Aemond raises his eyebrow as he closes his chamber door, taking in your form.

“I spoke to my mother earlier today.” you break the silence that hung between you two.

Aemond’s figure leans against one of the stone walls and simply stares at you. “Oh? What about?”

“I know Harwin Strong is my father, but she won't deny yet won’t say the truth plainly.” you look at the ground, refusing to make eye contact as you say the words.

Aemond’s only eye widens.

The rumor of Harwin being you and your brother’s true father was a nasty rumor that had circulated the court for years. Hanging shame on the crown princess, and her children as people whispered whenever they were present. A rumor he know his own mother had begun, backed by a simple ‘Just look at their hair, that is no true Targaryen nor Velaryon’

It was an open secret, nasty gossip. Never confirmed.

Not until now. You stood before him, confirming what your mother tried so hard to keep quiet.

He studies your face for a fleeting moment before speaking, “So it is true then? Harwin Strong is your father?”

You nod as tears begin flooding your face, “He is. Perhaps I always knew, but just wanted to deny it. But as I grow older I cannot. I've come to you because you know what it's like to...not belong where you are supposed to.”

Aemond watches as you wipe your tears, his expression turning soft as he pushes himself off the wall and walks towards you. He knew exactly what you meant. He had been an outsider for years, looking in as Aegon and your brothers relentlessly tortured him.

“I do not know what to do. I feel like I will not fit no matter where I am. Like a broken piece of a glass that cannot be put back.” you sob.

Aemond cups your face, bringing you to look directly at him. And in that moment the shy bastard he once knew flushed away as now all he could see was your gorgeous face, inches away from his.

When did these feelings exist? He felt butterflies as you searched his face.

“I know what it's like…to feel that way,” he admits. “It's an unbearable feeling that threatens to swallow you whole.”

You lean in, “I never hurt you, I couldn't. I knew my brothers were so cruel to you, along with Aegon...I felt so bad.”

“No, you never hurt me sweet girl.” he murmurs. “But you also never stopped them. You were the oldest of your brothers, you should've…”

“I'm sorry!” you cry. “Please do not be mad at me, I cannot have you against me as well.”

“I’m not mad at you.” he assures. “I could never be mad at you. It's just…sometimes your indifference pained me more than their cruelty.”

“I should've said something, told someone. Maybe if I had, you'd still have your eye.” you admit. Not sure you believe your words.

“Perhaps you should have.” Aemond smiles a little, the idea of your empathy towards him over taking the side of your brothers made him feel different towards you. Feelings he had tried so hard to ignore, pouring back in. He shakes his head, “No need to ponder on the painful past. What’s done is done I’m afraid, and we must live with the consequences of our actions.”

You stare at Aemond's lip, desire burning in your eyes, “Did you ever think of me? All of those years?”

Aemond nods at you, of course he thought of you. More than he'd care to admit. "Yes", he answers. “I thought of you. More often than I should have.”

“I thought of you too...would stare out from the balcony of my chambers towards the shores of King’s Landing...missing you.” your years have cleared up now, face inches from his. The tension is too much.

“You missed me?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yes uncle, I missed you.”

Aemond’s breath hitches at the use of the term, something you had called him playfully as children.

‘Yes uncle, coming uncle.’

Aemond’s restraint, all of it that he was holding back so desperately, shatters. He leans in, closing the gap and presses his lips against yours. You immediately react, holding his face just as he holds yours.

You pull back from the kiss, “what did you mean? Earlier you said I could benefit from a situation that would arise...what would you want with a bastard like me?”

Aemond’s expression changes, still caught up in the fact you willingly kissed him back. Something he only dreamed of when he was younger.

He let out a sigh, "Yes, bastard or not, I have desires. Desires that you, as a bastard, could fulfill for me.”

You weren't sure you liked his tone. “And what desires are that?”

He takes in your form again, and takes a deep breath. “Desires better shown than spoken about.”

You didn't know he had felt this way about you. Only a child’s crush that faded only so slightly when you were forced from your home.

“I cannot give you anything, but perhaps children with brown hair I’m afraid...I'm nothing.” you insist, shaking your head.

Aemond sighs dramatically, “Do not speak of yourself like that. You are much more than that whore’s bastard daughter. And as for children? I’ll give you beautiful silver haired boys to dote after.”

“You...you'd give me princes?”

He smiles at you, hands returning to your face. “Yes”, he says firmly. “I would. I'd give you princes and princesses. Legitimate sons and daughters.”

“But I am not your wife, they would be bastards.” you remind him.

His heart aches at the truth of your words, but you were right. You were not his wife. They would be bastards. But you didn't need to be married for them to be conceived.

“Make me your wife.” you whisper. “Take me the way Daemon has taken my mother.”

“The old Valyrian way is a blood oath…you would want that? I thought all princesses dreamed of fancy feasts and wedding ceremonies.” Aemond laughs a little.

“I'm not one for feasts...or for dramatic gatherings of strangers. I know your mother wouldn't allow it, nor would mine. Besides, once married, one of us would have to die for it to be void.”

Aemond’s eyes darken slightly. “Our mothers, at each other’s throats for us and our safety, yet not knowing where our hearts truly lie.”

“So you’ll have me?” you ask, desperate and vulnerable.

“Yes.” he nods. “I’ll have you…in every way.”

You kiss him, it's desperate and almost pathetic. Moaning against his mouth as you try to rid him of his clothes. He groans into the kiss as well, feeling your need for him. The need he's felt for you for years, desperate for this.

He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily. “You're eager aren't you.”

“I’ve needed you since we were younger, Uncle.” you nod.

“And i’ve wanted you.” he begins to shed you of your nightgown. “From the moment you first spoke to me when we were children. I knew you would be my wife, you had to.”

“Take me.” you beg.

“I’ll take you.” he says breathlessly. With one swift movement, he carries you to his sprawling bed.

“I love you, Uncle.” you manage out. The words are surprising, even to you.

Aemond lays you down against the soft blankets, “I love you as well sweet girl. More than I should…more than I intended.”

You kiss him again, reaching for the growing hard on you can visibly see through his pants.

He groans at your touch, growing weak in your hands. “Impatient aren't you?”

“Waited for so long...waited my whole life to be with you!” you tell him.

“I’m here now. I’m yours.” he promises.

He moans at your touch, getting lost in the pure lust of it. “Fuck.”

“Stop teasing me…haven't we both waited enough?” you cry. You wanted him now.

“You want me?” he smirks. “Perhaps I won't hold back.”

“Don't.” you insist.

“Oh you’ll have me. All of me.” he demands. He pins your wrists above your head, covering your body with his.

You both deepen the kiss as he begins to press and roll his body against yours, the small flame inside you flickering. Pure pleasure rattling you.

“You feel good,” he murmurs. “so good.”

He lifts your hips up, pinning you against him, rolling his hips harder. You moan wildly, and desperately. All of these feelings were so new to you, as you imagined they were new to Aemond too.

“Have you done this before?” you ask him.

His face riddles with guilt, and your heart drops slightly.

He nods, “I have.”

“Oh…”

“Aegon…made me. Said it would turn me into a man. It meant nothing.” he insists.

“You laid with a maiden?”

He shakes his head, “A whore.”

Your heart feels better at this. Whores were an easy outlet to the men of Aemond’s kind. You knew that. It meant nothing at the end of the day.

“I’m still…a maiden.” you tell him.

A bastard who was still a virgin.

“How intriguing. I would not have guessed-”

“You think I am a whore?” you scoff.

“No. I know you know better than that…but with your mother leading by example, one must wonder.” he corrects you.

“I wanted to save it…for someone special.” you admit silently.

His eye widened, “You saved it for me?”

Deep down he figured that in all those years, Rhaenyra had married you to your brother, Jace. And that by the time you returned you would have made Rhaenyra a grandmother. To his surprise, you weren't married to him, nor did you bear any of his children. It made him know that you simply were his.

“You did not marry Jace?” he asks.

You shake your head, “I love him, the way a sister loves a brother.”

“And me?” he stares at you.

“I do not love you the way a niece should love an uncle.” you take a sharp breath.

“And how do you love me then?” he lays his forehead against yours.

“The way a wife loves her husband.”

[vaokses]

Anger, a daughter (Pirtir, Ch.1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You return to Dragonstone after nearly two years away, having done what was expected of you and secured your mother's standing with the Great Houses. The safety that you felt after once again doing what was expected of you is taken once you learn that in your absence, your family arranged for you to marry Aegon.

Word Count: 4.5k 

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Threats of violence. The usual Targaryen incest stuff.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Reader is a bastard of Daemyra (claimed by Laenor of course), firstborn child of Rhaenyra and heir to her mother’s claim. It is mentioned she has Valyrian features (the hair). She rides Vermithor. She and Aegon had a thing when she was still in King’s Landing. How relevant or impactful that ‘thing’ was depends on who of the two you ask. I’ve stretched the timeline a bit. Rhaenyra spent a few years more in King’s Landing (making Aegon around 16/7 when she leaves, and the Reader, the eldest of the Velaryons, around 14/5). Instead of six years in Dragonstone, the Blacks have spent around three there in this story. Viserys still lives (and is rotting slightly slower), Aegon and Helaena did not marry. Mysaria left for Dragonstone with Rhaenyra, but is still the information broker of the first season, just working from afar. The Reader has spent nearly two years touring Westeros, as her mother did, in search of a husband.

A/N: No Aegon or any of the greens yet, but I wanted to set up some things, so this can be considered a prologue of sorts. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

Title is from the "anger, a daughter" by volatilepoetry (link to the piece here, I couldn't find the author's socials)

“Cousin.” You greet with a wide smile, taking the riding gloves off as she comes closer, a mirror of your own smile on her lips. 

“Sister,” Baela greets in kind in well-practiced Valyrian, at your reprimanding glare answering with a defiant one of her own. She grabs your hands in hers, smile wide and mirrored in your own face. “I thought you would return to Dragonstone, at the end of your…tour.” 

“Even I tire of politics, of playing,” You admit, linking your arm with hers and letting her guide you towards the Driftmark castle. “I wish to rest for a while, before I am to report back to f-…to Daemon. I hoped our grandmother would grant me a few days here?” 

“I’m afraid it won’t be possible,” She tells you, pulling from her belt a rolled up message and offering it to you. “A raven brought this shortly after dawn.” 

You immediately recognize Daemon’s handwriting, as well as the parting message he directs at his daughters and you in place for a goodbye. Fly, daughter. 

Your sister is needed at home, tell her to return to us at once. You must ready yourself to fly to Dragonstone at my command. I’ll send word. Sōvēs, tala. 

“So, who did you choose? Whoever it is, you made father angry.” 

“Your father.” You correct, but she pays it no mind, as she always does. 

“So, who will be the lucky man?” 

You turn to face her as you both stand in the base of Driftmark’s stairs. 

“I didn’t choose anyone.”  

Of course, a Tyrell knight caught your eye and your attention for a while, and you could use the strength of the alliance marrying Vaemond Velaryon’s son would bring, or Rickon Stark’s. You even considered the proposal of Hobert Hightower’s grandson, if only to see your mother breathe fire at the mere idea of it, were you to propose such a union. 

But the tour was never organized for the purpose of finding you a husband, this you knew from the beginning. It is the reason you agreed to such a circus in the first place. As Rhaenyra’s first-born child, heir to the Iron Throne and future Princess of Dragonstone, you were sent throughout Westeros to remind the noble Houses of the pledges they made, of where their allegiance is to lie if they hope to remain on the Crown’s good side. 

What foolish Lord you couldn’t charm with a well-placed smile or compliment, Vermithor’s presence in their city would remind promptly of the risk of turning on your House, of undermining your mother’s claim. What wouldn’t bend to your will, you would remind how quickly you could break. Such was your task, what was demanded from you, and you played your part as you have always done. 

It matters not if by the end of this tour, after twenty months away from home -though a part of you reminds you it has been much longer than that, it has been over three years-, donning whatever face was deemed ideal to realize your objective; you cannot really remember who it is you were before it all. It matters not if it has been months since you’ve been able to meet your own gaze in a mirror, in fear of seeing a stranger -or worse, a familiar face, your mother’s, your father’s, Lady Mysaria’s- looking back. 

Your eyes meet Baela’s, and you whisper, “Have you heard I am to marry?” 

She hesitates, and that is enough of an answer. You shake your head, step away, stumble over your own feet. 

___ 

You almost feel a young girl again, in the worst possible way, dragged like a dog on a leash after your mother as she departed King’s Landing, gritting her teeth at your cries and answering with soft caresses of your silver hair to your promise that you would never forgive her for taking you from your home. 

Now, over three years later, you are to be dragged back to the city that saw you be born, away from your mother’s side, from your brothers’ and stepsister’s sides. And the people responsible for arranging for such a thing are set on hiding, on ignoring you since your return to Dragonstone. 

For a time, especially since your aunt’s death and Aemond’s claiming of Vhagar, you believed your mother and Daemon kept you unmarried, kept you here, so that if war were to break out, they would have you and Vermithor to send to battle, to which he is no stranger. You believed if you would one day have to marry, it would be to defend your own claim, offering your hand in exchange for an army, to a man that would know to bend the knee before his queen and before his wife alike. 

You believed they kept you near, they let you remain unbound and unmarried, because you served a purpose while free. You believed by playing your part as was demanded from you, twisting and turning to fit into whatever face you were expected to wear, you would have some control over any of it, you would be safe. How foolish, childish, those notions were. 

Since Vermithor flew you into Dragonstone, your mother has secluded herself in her rooms, and you have only Daemon to ask for answers to the madness that brews past the safety of the island. 

“I do not wish to leave. I will not leave, unless you tell me what awaits me in King’s Landing.” 

But you know, some part of you knows, and that part of you is gnawing at you, at your composure, at your resolve. 

Daemon shrugs one shoulder, “Why? It was once your home. That shithole of a city saw you be born, after all.” 

“My home is, as has always been, Dragonstone.” Lie, lie, lie. You remember the halls of the Red Keep better than you know the halls of this very castle. 

“Then you must be used to homesickness by now. Five and ten years raised in King’s Landing, nearly two years touring Westeros. You have spent…what? A year settled here?” 

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t much care, walking past you to pour himself a cup of wine. He lifts an empty cup your way to offer a drink, but you hold your ground, and insist, 

“I detest games, Daemon.” 

“You sound like your mother when you talk like that,” He quips, with cruel humor, chuckling at a joke that only amuses him. You turn to look at him with narrowed eyes and jaw set tight, and he lets out another mad little chuckle, “You also look like her when you glare like that.” 

“I only ask that-…” 

“When in your life have you asked for only one thing?” 

“And yet you have always indulged me. Indulge me now,” You ask, walking to him, forcing the tension in your shoulders to loosen and your face to reflect the softness of the child he has always had a weakness for. What is expected, what is needed, if you are to win this particular battle. Your mother, your brothers, they are to be faced with callous strength, with a temper and a certainty you inherited from the man who made you who you are; but the man himself is to be faced with the pleading eyes of his daughter, with the docile manners of a maiden who needs his guidance, his protection. And so, you show the face required to get the upper hand. Quietly, softly, you plead, “Do not insult me or my intelligence by acting as if I cannot understand whatever game is being played.” 

“You wield lies effortlessly,” He concedes, head lolled to the side as he considers you, “But you should know better than to try with me.” 

You allow yourself a smile, despite yourself, and let go of pretenses. Even so, you aren’t sure if the face you show Daemon now is an honest one, or merely yet another mask to try and gain his favor. 

Shrugging one shoulder as you lean against one of the stone pillars, you admit, 

“It was worth a try.” 

“It is more of an instinct than a choice by now, I’d say,” Daemon corrects, taking a few steps in your direction. You don’t miss the fact that he has positioned himself between you and the door, a physical reminder that whatever he is about to say is as inescapable as this room. “A useful instinct, now that you are to marry.” 

Your refusal is immediate, “No, I’m not.” 

At his answering look, halfway between surprise and anger, you wonder absently if this is the first time you’ve denied him since he married your mother. 

“You are aware this is not a request.” 

“I’ll feed to Vermithor whatever man you try chaining me to. You are aware this is not an empty threat,” You tell him. It feels good, to admit such a thing, to promise such a thing, because it feels true. “I told you I wouldn’t marry unless the war demanded it.” 

“It does. You are to avoid war, and marry my brother’s son, Aegon,” He promises, and he knows it, you see it in his eyes, that at the uttering of a single name your threat is made null. You realize then why it is your mother hides from you. “It is done, a deal has been brokered with my brother and his wife, y-…” 

“You have no right to make arrangements in my name.” You blurt out, a desperate attempt, not unlike a cornered beast lashing out and wounding its own maws as it bites the approaching spear. Now this, shamefully, terribly, this feels yours. This anger, this desire to hurt. With all the venom of a lifetime of wasted deference, of useless loyalty, you ready yourself to speak a lie once again, “You are not my father. Whore out your sons to the Hightowers if you wish, but you have no right t-…” 

Your words die in a gasp as Daemon hurls the cup in his hand at a wall and advances towards you, quick strides until he stands before you, towering over you with quickened breath. He doesn’t strike you, never has. But it is no less of a threat. A warning not to step out of line, a reminder of what your lies protect you from. 

A twitch in his expression, a glimpse of a snarl, before he warns, 

“Careful now.” 

“We both know there are things my mother won’t forgive,” You answer, “It is you who ought to be careful.” 

“She has approved of this union.” 

You doubt it. You want to doubt it, need to. It is one thing to try and link the warring branches of the House of the Dragon by joining Jacaerys, kind and gentle Jacaerys, and your sweet aunt Helaena. 

It is another to send her only daughter, her heir, to one of Alicent’s sons. 

Still, because some part of you, small and still in the carriage as it drives away from King’s Landing, grasping your mother’s hand in yours even as you curse her and her choices, cannot stand the thought of standing corrected, of being made to face that for the security of her claim Rhaenyra would give you away to a man on the far end of the Crownlands; you do not voice an argument, and instead clarify,  

“I was speaking of what you are threatening to do with your hands,” Daemon leans back with a thoughtful hm that does nothing to hide the way he still bristles at the faintest reminder of powerlessness. Careless, you push forward, insist, “Let us wait, let me stay, and…” 

“And what, hm? Let war come to us? Let those vipers continue to undermine your mother’s claim? Let them put Otto Hightower’s pawn on the throne our forebears forged?” 

You are shaking your head before he is even done speaking, and you can only offer a sigh as an answer, a plea as a retort, 

“Let me fight.” 

“You will fight as I see fit that you do,” He answers, simply, carelessly. “You will play your part, as is your privilege, your duty.” 

“If I had been a son, y-…” 

“I have had a lifetime of hearing your mother speak the same nonsense. I will not hear it,” Daemon interrupts, before leaning closer and reminding you, cruel, mocking, “You are not a son.” 

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world, I-…” 

“Then you should find it easy to tame a smaller one,” Daemon promises, not without cruelty. “We will depart in a month. The betrothal will be officially announced then, with us all in King’s Landing. Plenty of time to say your goodbyes.” 

“There have been…whispers of a royal event for months now. I didn’t know, I-…” 

“Did you think they were setting up a tourney for one of those shits? Or that my brother had somehow managed to sire another child?” 

You shake your head, but your heart races and your breath quickens, because how could you not see it before? 

You served your purpose, without faltering, without question. You amended the bonds your mother’s carelessness and her husband’s viciousness had broken, you strengthened the claim her mistakes had weakened, you lied and charmed to protect your brothers from the fate she imposed upon them. And now your use is through. 

The reward for your deference is a noose around your neck. 

“You had me travel the entire continent, entertaining countless proposals from the most insufferable of men and breaking bread with the most boring fucks alive, while you planned on giving me away.” 

“The tour was never meant to find you a husband, you knew that. A future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, birthing children for a…a…Tyrell? Or a Stark?” Daemon asks, as if the mere idea is unfeasible, ridiculous. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, and as wretched as that little cunt is, Aegon is my brother’s. A Targaryen.” 

You do not care for his tales of superiority, you do not care for those fantasies. Instead, you merely insist, “You plotted against me, while I was far from home.” 

“No. There is a plot, but it was not against you. If anything, this was done in your name, for your benefit,” He argues, pragmatically. Daemon leans closer, head bowed to meet your eyes. “Everything I’ve done has been to secure your claim, to ensure your ascension after your mother’s.” 

“To ensure your blood sits the Iron Throne.” 

He doesn’t deny it, and you don’t expect him to. The faintest of gestures of his head towards the door orders you to walk. You follow the unspoken command, for what else can you do but obey, and walk towards the door. 

“It is settled.” He calls out after you. At the absence of your answer, of your compliance, Daemon barks a call of your name. An order, a threat, even if it isn’t voiced as one, making you stop in your tracks. “You are a loyal daughter, and you know better than to forsake your duties to your mother. You won’t betray her.” 

“What you are asking of me is betrayal,” You argue, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “To marry our enemy, to lay with him, what is that if not a betrayal of my mother, of her claim?” 

“It is a sacrifice,” He corrects, but such appeasements, such manipulations, better suit Lady Mysaria. He has too much pride for the deceit to work, and so the lie stumbles in his tongue, rushing forward a truer sentence, “And I don’t ask.” 

___ 

Lady Mysaria finds you in the eastern balcony overlooking the sea, welcomes herself into the room and walks towards you, stopping only a few steps behind you She doesn’t announce herself nor ask for permission to speak, and you know better than to expect her to do either, after years of knowing her as your parents’ advisor. 

“I’m guessing you do not come here bearing good news.” 

“What would be good news to you, Princess?” 

“A freak dragon-riding accident leaving my future betrothed somewhere in the depths of the Narrow Sea?” You ask, rueful smile curving at your lips. 

“You speak as if you wouldn’t grieve for him.” 

“I would not grieve Aegon, or any of them, for I do not know the people they have become in these passing years.” 

“Is that why you ask my spies about him when they reveal themselves to you in your travels? To know the man he has become?” 

You sometimes wonder why you bother arguing with her. Not once have you been able to hold the upper hand for more than a breath. 

“I asked once.” 

You were wary, and far from home, and the flutter in your chest when Alasdair Tyrell laid a crown of Dragon’s breath on your lap -after his victory in the tourney organized to welcome you into the Reach- had felt familiar but wrong. Nostalgia and something else, something far more stupid, overwhelmed you, and you summoned one of Lady Mysaria’s spies, sent with you as a handmaiden, and asked her to tell you what she knew about how Aegon fared, who he had become in these passing years. 

You told yourself that while you knew better than to reach for a past and a bond long gone, neither could hurt you, so many years removed from the girl you were, so many miles away from what you once called home. And it didn’t, the past didn’t hurt you. What could have been did, however. 

“I will concede that you have learned to request information more subtly, but it does not mean you don’t ask, Princess.” 

“No, your spies offer information freely. Information I do not ask for,” You argue, but she breathes a short little laugh in response. It irks you, unsettles you, and you find yourself arguing further, explaining further, “I wanted to know if he was well, long ago, a-…” 

“And my spies told you he wasn’t.” 

“And so I never asked again.”

“It is a smart choice, to feign ignorance, but you should know better than to attempt to hide something from me.” 

“I have hidden nothing, for there is nothing to hide.” 

She hums lowly, considering her words with a sly smile on her lips. 

“You must refrain from defensiveness if you are to lie efficiently, Princess.” 

You grit your teeth but refuse her the satisfaction of knowing she prodded at a still-unarmored part of you. Instead, you bow your head as you did when you were barely five-and-ten and she had issued her first lesson on how to survive a world such as this. 

“Of course, Lady Mysaria.” 

“I would have expected you to be relieved, if nothing else, at the revelation of who you are to marry,” She muses. If she understands the threat written in your eyes when you turn to look at her, she cares not for it, and presses on, “You were quite close when you were younger.” 

“I was close to all of them.” 

“I mislike repeating myself. You cannot hide things from me, Princess.” 

You take a breath that feels a tad too shallow, you grit your teeth until you hold yourself under control, you hold your tongue until you’re certain it won’t betray anger, sorrow, something else. It feels invasive, unbearable, like fingers prodding at a well-hidden wound. 

“It was nothing. A passing infatuation of youth.” 

“Passing fancy,” She corrects. “The words the Queen used were passing fancy. If you are to shield yourself with the words of others, do so properly.” 

The troubling and annoying thing about sharing a home with someone that trades secrets is that none can be kept from her, and the frustrating thing about counting amongst those closest to you the person that taught you to lie and deceive is that you find it impossible to fool her. And with no secrets, with no lies, there is no fun in playing the game anymore. 

“What is it you mean to ask, Lady Mysaria?” 

“Aren’t you at the very least relieved? Contented?” 

You shake your head. 

“I do not know who Aegon is any longer. Who I-…” The revelation stumbles in your tongue, remains sealed past closed lips. The admission that you have forsaken yourself somewhere in the road to this day is something she might know already, but you refuse to admit aloud. “I have spent the last two years on lands foreign to me, many of them hostile to me. I am…I am wary, and I do not wish to do so again. I am tired of feeling…defenseless.” 

Mysaria lets silence linger for a few moments as you both watch your brothers’ dragons at flight in the skies above you. 

“You want war,” She states, “You deem fire and blood the only future in which you are safe.” 

It is a truly horrifying talent that she possesses, that uncanny ability of hers of digging under your skin until she finds the truer face out of all you wear and brings it to light in all its ugliness and its monstrousness. 

But perhaps that is why you can allow yourself to speak in honesty now, for the first time since you left Dragonstone for a royal tour, or perhaps for the first time since you left King’s Landing. 

“In war, me and my dragon are useful here, defending my claim. In war, I remain unbound, able to fight back,” You tell her, not caring about considering your words, about guarding your back. Turning your head to look at her, you argue, “In times of peace, I am sent away. Twice over, I have lost my home for the sake of peace.” 

“Hm,” Mysaria muses, and when she walks past you towards the balcony, you cannot help but follow. Your eyes seek the horizon, while the White Worm’s linger on Arrax and Vermax playing in the clouds above you. “You will not find yourself without allies, Princess. A spider can spin a web anywhere in the world, it needs only time.” 

“Speaking of time,” You start, straightening yourself and turning on your side to face her. You bow your head, in goodbye and in something else, something closer to gratitude than your hurt and your pride let you admit right now. “I fear our time together has come to a close.” 

“Your family isn’t leaving for King’s Landing for another two days.” She argues, but she knows, you are certain she does. It is no coincidence, that she has come to find you now, that she has come to say goodbye. 

Because honesty comes easy with her, you admit, “I dislike feeling like prey.” 

You could swear there is the beginning of a smile curving softly at her lips, but Mysaria merely bows her head and whispers a wish of, safe travels, Princess. 

___ 

Daemon approaches, you know him by the cadence of his footsteps by now, as you stand on one of the cliffs near the castle. He says nothing, joins you in watching as Vermithor stands before you, proud and stubborn, head held high despite your request that he bow it to allow you to climb onto his saddle. 

“Are you two having a fight?” 

“The old brat doesn’t want to leave the Dragonmont, and thinks we have a choice in the matter!” Your last words, hissed in Valyrian as you argue with the old dragon, make Daemon chuckle. “If I ask that Silverwing fly with us, y-…” 

“You know better than to ask that from us.” 

“He doesn’t want to leave her side. Vermithor, sweet thing, I feel for your broken heart, I truly do. But I won’t go by boat, much less carriage,” Vermithor answers with a huff of steam, and flaps his wings slightly, a warning that he will shake you off like he would a bothersome fly if you attempt to mount him regardless. You heave a sigh, “Stubborn fuck.” 

Vermithor understands the Common Tongue, you are certain he does, for he lowers his head for a moment as if to taunt you to try, and the call that echoes from deep in his chest truly sounds mocking. 

“It is your own restlessness, your own fear, that make him refuse you. You do not wish to leave, and so he doesn’t want to take you there.” 

“I did not want to visit half the places we did during my tour, and yet he took me anyways.” You argue, and though for a moment you think to ask him if he will try to stop you, you refrain.  

Daemon somehow knows that you have decided to take flight to King’s Landing tonight, and he has chosen not to stop you. Perhaps he understands the restlessness that has only grown in you since you were told of your betrothal, as perhaps that same restlessness consumed him once, when he was also young and sent off to marry for duty. 

“You weren’t afraid during your tour.” Daemon argues, but you shake your head. 

“Of course I was afraid. I did it anyways, because…because it was what you and mother demanded from me, but I was terrified,” You admit. Perhaps it is the darkness and quiet of a night in the vast openness of the Dragonmont, perhaps it is the defeat that clings to your very bones like the most bitter cold, but you do not care for lies, for masks, right now. “I haven’t stopped being afraid since we left King’s Landing.” 

Daemon turns to you, but you cannot look at him. You dread to look into your father’s eyes and see disappointment at your admission; you dread to see anger at your weakness. Most of all, however, you dread to see a shadow of regret, at what he’s done, at what he has failed to do. 

For it wouldn’t change a thing. You would still be sent off, you would still be given away, you would still be left with no control over any of this. 

At your silence, Daemon turns back to look upon the Bronze Fury. 

“And yet you do not want to return. And your dragon defies you because of it.” 

“He took me there once already, you know. A month or so before the tour began,” There’s a ghost of a smile playing at your lips as you share the memory. “It was…the worst storm I can remember, and he had us fly right through it. I cursed his name until I was hoarse and once it was over, I demanded he take me home at once. He took me to King’s Landing.”

"Did you land?"

"Of course not. It is hostile territory."

“It is your birthright,” Daemon promises. It used to feel liberating to hear him reaffirm your claim and your mother’s. Now it feels heavy. The weight of a crown you do not yet wear is entirely too great, and you bow your head. Daemon continues, “It was Vermithor who called to you, who allowed you to claim him. Vermithor, a dragon who only ever bonded with Kings.” 

“But I am no King,” You argue, returning your gaze to him. “For I am not a son.” 

Thank you for reading, i hoped you liked it! I would love to hear your thoughts on this!

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