#aemond the kinslayer
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The Fall from the Heavens (35)
[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, swearing and being a bitch ]
[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]
The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.
Characters & Series Moodboard
Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
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Never before in her life had she felt so fulfilled, so free, as in the fortress of which she was now lady. Harrenhal, though at first grim and grey, when the sun peeked out from behind the clouds seemed to her to be some ancient keep. By her and her husband's orders, their belongings from King's Landing and Dragonstone were brought to the stronghold in great carts.
She ordered new furniture made of wood for them − great ornate oak bookcases to fill with their books, desks and chests for their garments, and something that filled her with particular joy − a cradle for their child, something that reminded her and her husband every day that they were expecting their offspring.
To her delight, she found that although in the company of Baela, the guards and the servants, her husband was harsh, the moment they were left alone in his quarters his demeanour and voice softened.
He no longer closed his mind, exchanging his thoughts with her as he had when they were children, discussing with her current affairs.
She felt that at last there was no resentment between them − their frequent and intense intimacy was proof to her that they both wanted this marriage and what it brought with it, that being next to each other was in itself an aim for them.
Her husband began to see the pleasurable value of her achieving fulfilment − he took delight and satisfaction in her moans, in driving her to the brink of madness, in knowing every bit of her naked body perfectly.
His closeness, him deep inside her, his mouth licking and sucking her puffy bud, his fingers invading between her tight slit had become something natural to her, something craved, and each fulfilment in his arms calmed her.
Encouraged by his openness in these matters and the fact that his attentive approach was helping her to discover her own femininity, she decided not to remain indebted to him, wanting to know that she appreciated his efforts and was able to repay him.
The echoes of Alys' words about what men desire deep down had taken root in her heart as a significant piece of advice. She decided to slowly explore how her husband and his body would respond to her touch, to her caresses, to her involvement.
At first, she merely brushed and sucked the skin of his neck as he lay on top of her in the tight embrace of their bodies, moving lazily inside her with his face snuggled into her hair. She felt a shudder run through his body, his breath became heavier, his cock pulsed inside her greedily betraying what he was thinking.
"− ah −" He breathed out, sinking his fingers into her cheek, pressing her closer, encouraging her not to stop, her hands squeezing his firm buttocks making goosebumps appear on his skin.
She discovered, to her amazement, that his nipples were also very sensitive − the first time she licked them and clung to them, sucking on them with a hum, letting him pound into her with deep, sloppy thrusts, she heard him gasp, surprised and bewildered.
"− what − mghm − fuck −" He muttered, a helpless, low groan of pleasure escaping his throat as the tip of her tongue swirled around it. He became more vocal, panting hard, clenching his fingers in her hair, pressing her to his chest as his painfully swollen cock opened her little cunt with the impatient, sharp pushes of his hips.
His fulfillments were longer and stronger than ever before − he moaned and panted exactly as she did, ashamed in a way of his helplessness and what he was letting her do to him.
He pretended when it was all over that nothing had happened, and she didn't discuss it with him, letting him keep up the pretence that everything was as it had been before.
Their intimacy was simply pleasurable and natural to them, so they each pursued it relentlessly, treating it as a wordless expression of their affection, the eternal longing and closeness they needed.
Much to her husband's displeasure, Baela decided to stay in Harrenhal longer after what had happened.
"I sent a letter to Dragonstone. I described to father what had happened." She said, looking at her fingers thoughtfully − the two of them were sitting under one of the trees near the fortress, wanting to get some fresh air during the sunny day.
While her husband did not approve of her leaving their chamber in his absence, fearing for her and their child, he did agree that she should do so in the company of Baela, which she did.
She looked at her cousin, horrified.
"What? Gods, was that necessary?" She muttered, imagining in the back of her mind how horrified her mother would be at the word that someone had tried to poison her, and that she would surely insist that she return to Dragonstone. Baela sighed heavily.
"I promised my father that I would be there for you and I will keep him informed of what is happening here." She explained, shrugging her shoulders.
She looked at her with a smirk, stroking her slightly rounded abdomen with her palm.
"Are you his spy?"
The corner of Baela's mouth lifted in a smile.
"Yes. He told me to watch how your uncle treats you, and though I have no sympathy for him, only a fool would fail to see that his intentions towards you are sincere." She replied, her face sad and tired. She blinked, seeing that something had been bothering her for some time.
She figured she wasn't returning to Dragonstone for more than just her reason.
"Has something happened? You can tell me."
"Should I complain to you about your brother? That doesn't sound fair." She muttered, taking a small white stone from the ground, turning it between her fingers.
"He's my brother, but I know his nature. You can tell me what troubles you. I will not judge you." She assured her, wanting her to know that she had no bad intentions.
Baela pressed her lips together and nodded − her eyes reddened as she swallowed hard and looked away, shrugging her shoulders.
"I have a lover here. One of the guards."
She blinked, looking at her in disbelief, not knowing for a moment what to say.
"Oh."
"We promised each other we'd both stop doing this before I came here. But I can't. I don't love him. Not in that way. I mean −" She choked out and fell silent, swallowing hard, trying with all her might to stay calm and not cry.
"− I mean − we don't fit together − he's important to me, close to my heart, but − I've only now realised, looking at you, that it's impossible to change a man's nature −" She said and clenched her eyelids, bitter, hot tears of shame running down her face, which she covered with her hands, as if she was terrified by what had just come out of her mouth.
"− gods, what have I done −" She mumbled out, whooping with her crying − her hand quickly rose to her back, stroking it reassuringly.
She didn't know what to say, what to do, what she could advise her in such a situation.
She swallowed hard, feeling the discomfort and pain, understanding in a way what she meant, yet feeling pity in her heart for her brother, not knowing if he would be able to take any more rejection.
"− did − did Jace −"
"− he did the same thing − in Winterfell, with that Snow girl, that whore, that fucking bastard −" She hissed, wiping her cheeks hot with rage.
"− I lied at the time that I was also having an affair with a guard to hurt him − to make him feel what it's like when someone fucks someone else behind your back −"
She only blinked at her words, horrified at how it looked like, that neither of them were faithful to each other.
Baela looked at her quickly and shook her head, as if she only now realised what she had said.
"− forgive me − I didn't mean − I didn't mean to offend you −" She muttered quickly, looking at her with big eyes.
"− no, no − I just − you surprised me − I mean − I didn't suspect it was that bad −"
"− me too − until I flew here and was left alone with my doubts and thoughts −" She stated after a moment of thoughtfulness, wiping her nose with the top of her hand, trying to calm her breathing.
"− I realised − watching you throw yourself into his arms when we arrived here − he didn't even see me − your husband − it was your moment, your reconciliation − and I don't even miss him − I don't think about him, even though I should − I feel really free and lonely here at the same time − I just would like to love and be loved like you −"
Her cousin whispered, and she embraced her and hugged her forehead to her temple, stroking her back reassuringly − Baela broke into tears and cuddled her face into her neck, trying to hide from her thoughts and what she herself was feeling.
For some reason, her words had ripped her heart apart.
Her thoughtfulness and despondency did not escape her uncle's attention when they were left alone after their supper together. Finally only in her nightgown, she lay down on the bed and sighed − his gaze immediately followed her.
"What is it?"
She looked up at him, snapped out of her reverie.
"Hm?"
"What are you thinking about?"
"About Baela."
He blinked and hummed under his breath, looking towards the fire, spreading himself comfortably in his chair.
"Why?"
She didn't know how much she should tell him, but she needed advice.
She had no idea what to do.
"She doesn't love my brother and I don't think he loves her. Not the way one loves a wife or a husband."
"Mmm."
"I don't know what to advise her."
"Don't advise her anything. Don't interfere in their affairs. Your intervention will only make things worse. Let them resolve it between themselves. In your condition, you should not focus on such matters and take on someone else's infidelity." He replied dryly, and she looked at him surprised, furrowing her brows.
"How do you know about infidelity?" She muttered, and he threw her a long, bored look.
"I caught them in the act. He fucked her instead of guarding your chamber in my absence. I wanted to shame him and reprimand him, but when I saw Baela, I gave up. The humiliation was punishment enough for both of them." He sneered, tapping his index finger against the armrest, sitting in profile to her.
She felt a cold sweat on the back of her neck at the thought that he had not shared this knowledge with her.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Her husband looked at her sternly.
"Because I don't play in spreading rumours in the court. Other people's promiscuity is not worth burdening my wife, who is expecting my child, with it. She is a grown woman. If her father or her mother couldn't raise her properly, you won't be able to either."
"Do not speak of her like this. She is suffering deeply."
"And she is finding comfort." He replied coldly. "I don't want to hear it."
"If your mother had forced you to marry Maris Baratheon instead of me. Would you have taken me into your bed?" She asked, looking at him expectantly.
He threw her a quick, surprised look, not expecting this question completely.
"− I −"
"− answer honestly −"
"− I don't know the answer to that question −"
"− your answer according to good manners should be: no −"
"− it's not the same thing −"
"− it's exactly the same, Aemond − I understand what you mean, but judgements have no power when we can't judge ourselves as harshly −"
"− I wouldn't be fucking proud of it or brag about it to my cousins −"
"− she didn't brag, she despaired − she regrets it but doesn't know what to do −"
Her husband clenched his jaw and bowed his head, burying his face in his hand.
"− I will not concern myself with her betrothal and I expect her to stay away from my marriage − I advise you to do the same −" He said dryly, rising from his seat, undoing the buckles of his emerald tunic with an impatient motion.
She swallowed hard, playing with her fingers, feeling her heart pounding like mad, her stomach clenched in discomfort.
She knew that part of her heart was agreeing with him, but she didn't want to admit it.
When he finally lay down beside her, putting his eye patch down on the table beside the bed, they were both silent for a long moment. She didn't push him away, however, when his hand went to her lower abdomen, a tender, calm, circular motion of his fingers stroking the place. She sighed quietly, placing her hand over his, feeling her anger slowly begin to leave her.
"− isn't that what you expect from me? − honesty? −" He asked in a hoarse voice. She looked up at him, meeting the calm, warm yet dark gaze of his healthy eye. She nodded and moved closer to him, their foreheads touching.
"− yes −" She whispered. As his hand slid to her waist she let him to embrace her, his arms snuggling her into his body, allowing her to take refuge at his side from the gloomy thoughts that flitted through her head.
However, the next day something happened that she had not anticipated.
Her brother arrived in Harrenhal at the behest of their mother.
The mood was tense, to put it mildly. The distance between Baela and Jace was palpable and, as they were not married, her uncle had assigned them separate quarters.
He was furious.
"I don't want him here. Let him take his betrothed and get the fuck back to Dragonstone." He hissed in her direction, walking around their chamber like an enraged lion, breathing heavily.
She stood watching him with her heart in her throat not knowing what to do.
"We can't just send him away, my mother might become suspicious. Let him stay a day or two and then…"
"− good gods −" He breathed out, burying his face in his hands at her words, as if trying not to explode. He finally sat down in the chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staying in that position for a moment.
She approached him slowly and knelt in front of him with a quiet rustling of her gown, grabbing his upper arm, exposing his face − she met the look of his eye, frustrated and tired.
"− I know − I know, my love − I'll try to resolve it somehow, but give me time to think −" She muttered, wanting him to understand that all this was not her desire, that also all she dreamt of was holy peace for them and their child.
Her uncle sighed heavily, looking away, clearly inconsolable by her words. She knew he wanted to add something else, but fell silent when he felt her hand on his knee, traveling up to his thigh. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, tense, his lips parted slightly.
He shuddered as her fingers slid between his legs, stroking gently and teasing what was beneath them. His manhood pulsed hard in his breeches under her touch, and then again and again, swelling and hardening from those gentle, innocent caresses.
She heard his breath become heavier, his hand slipped into her hair, stroking her head, betraying what he was thinking about what was about to happen.
How she wanted to compensate him.
Her nimble fingers untied the material of his breeches, spreading it to the side, revealing his half-hard, throbbing erection. She leaned down, stroking it in her palm, placing soft, butterfly kisses on the area where his veins were clearly outlined, barely brushing his bare skin.
She heard an exasperated sigh escape his lips, his hips involuntarily bucked towards her, pressing his twitching, long cock against her face, searching for the source of the rubbing.
She knew he was looking at her, and that he derived an unspeakable satisfaction from the sight before him.
She gasped at the thought, wanting to give him everything he could possibly want, and following Alys' instructions, she decided to take her time − the tip of her tongue traveled from the base of it to the very tip of his length, swelling more and more in her hand, she heard him tilt his head back, feeling and seeing it.
"− fuck −"
Her hand clamped down on the base of his root, giving him a few encouraging, soft squeezes, meant only to tease him, its tip turning all pink and hard, moist from his own wetness.
"− warm me up −" He muttered. "− it's a chilly evening −"
She felt her walls clench greedily around nothing at his words, sticky from her moisture, knowing what he wanted.
She directed the fat, glistening head of his cock against her lips, sliding it in a little, licking it encouragingly − his two hands clamped down on her hair, the soft, gentle thrust of his hips sliding it deep into her mouth, its tip bumping against the back wall of her throat.
"− so eager to taste my seed − ah − barely fits −" He exhaled, keeping his fingers clenched in her hair, thrusting between her lips as he saw fit, slowly and reverently, making her feel safe even though he was in complete control of what was happening.
Each time he slid deep into her throat again with a lewd click of her saliva, she teased his entire length with her moist tongue, licking it and sucking it inside, squeezing it so that a low, throaty moan came out of him again and again.
"− I could watch it all day − your pretty mouth full of my cock −" He gasped, and she hummed, squeezing the base of his erection that didn't fit in her mouth with her hand.
She moved her head up and down, feeling the tears of exertion begin to run down her cheeks each time the tip of his manhood hit the back of her throat, making her gag, breathing loudly through her nose to keep from suffocating.
"− fuck, you are too good at this −" He mumbled as if he were in pain, the chair he was sitting on began to creak loudly as his hips quickened their pace, his breath raspy and shallow. His manhood began to twitch and throb between her lips betraying that he was embarrassingly close to fulfilment as her hot tears rolled down her cheeks one by one.
"− don't stop − please, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop −" He panted, gripping her hair tightly in his hands, not letting her escape the deep, greedy thrusts of his hips, making her whimper with exertion.
Something in the sounds he was making, boyish and charming, in his helplessness, in how much he wanted to feel vulnerable at least for a moment, made her feel her sticky wetness running down her thigh, her swollen slit pulsing around nothing.
"− I know − I know, please, I know − uh,gods,fuckkk −" He gasped, a low groan mixed with a sigh of relief broke from his lips as his body went breathless all over and his warm spend spilled deep into her warm throat. She swallowed the first wave with difficulty and jumped up along with him as the door to his chamber opened suddenly, startling them.
She slid his manhood out of her mouth with a loud splat, covering her face to avoid screaming and choking at the same time, some of his seed staining his breeches.
Her figure kneeling before him was covered only by the ornate oak desk standing before her.
"Your Grace. Shall supper be prepared in this chamber with Prince Jacaerys and Lady Baela included?" The servant asked, and she swallowed loudly, trying not to make a sound, feeling her heart pounding like mad.
"− I − yes −" Her uncle muttered in a shaky voice, trying to keep his voice cool and hide the fact that he had just came, and his wife was kneeling in front of his untied breeches.
When the servant left her husband closed his eye and breathed out loud, leaning his head against the backrest, pale. She pressed her lips together at the sight, wiping her cheeks wet with tears of exertion, trying not to laugh.
He looked at her after a moment with resentment, as if it was her fault and sighed through his nose, frustrated to see the look on her face.
"− you and your wise ideas −"
"− don't you wish your wife to reassure you in this way? −" She asked softly, placing her chin on his knee, smiling contentedly. Her uncle sighed heavily − clearly something about the sight he saw before him made him content, because his hand rose to her head and stroked her soft hair in a lazy manner.
"− make sure the door from my chamber is locked next time −"
Even though she knew he was still unhappy about her brother's arrival, her treatments, whatever he thought of them, calmed him and made him accept his presence temporarily.
Baela and Jace walked into the chamber in silence and took their seats at a distance from each other − Baela sat opposite her as usual, with her uncle to her left, but her brother did not take the seat next to her − he sat on the opposite top of the table, facing her husband.
She knew this was some kind of challenge to him, her uncle's lips pressed together in a thin line, in his gaze something she knew perfectly well.
Impatience.
The servants tasted all the food and drink in their presence before the table was set. Her husband let them go when everything was ready, wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible.
"How are you feeling, sister?" Jace asked, putting the roast on his plate and tearing a piece of bread, but not giving it to Baela, who held out her hand to him.
She threw a quick glance at her uncle, who was watching her with a look that told her he was thinking the same thing she was.
Something was about to happen.
She swallowed loudly at the piece of pate she had just had in her mouth and sipped it with the apple juice the maester had prepared for her, telling her that she should avoid wine until after the birth.
She grunted, correcting herself in her seat.
"I am well, brother." She replied softly.
"I hope your daughter is born healthy." He said lowly, taking a sip of wine from his goblet.
She felt a cold sweat on her back at his words, looking up at her husband in horror, seeing on his face exactly what she had feared − a wide, dangerous grin not reaching his eye, his gaze cold and frightening.
"− Jace −" Baela hissed.
Her brother shook his head, frowning his eyebrows, feigning surprise, taking a bite of the roast into his mouth.
"− what is it, my love? − wouldn't my uncle love his daughter? − or would he be afraid that he would do to her what he did to his own niece? −"
"− how dare you −" She asked in disbelief, wanting to tell her brother that he was an insolent fool and that he should leave at once, however, her husband forestalled her.
"− your betrothed told you that she fucked one of my guards? − is that why you are acting like a cunt? −" He chuckled in a way from which a cold shiver ran through her, her heart in her throat. She glanced at Baela, who froze, staring dully into her plate, breathing heavily.
A terrible, uncomfortable silence fell around them that seemed to last an eternity − she didn't even know when she clenched her hands into fists.
"− yes, she did − but how could you know this, uncle? − did she lie in bed with you too? −" He asked mockingly, she and Baela cast quick, terrified glances at each other.
"− that's enough −" She hissed.
"− no − my nephew deserves the truth −" He grinned, and Baela rose from her seat, knowing what he wanted to say.
"− SIT THE FUCK DOWN −" Her husband growled in her direction. They both threw him shocked glances, his gaze expressing, however, that he was completely serious and if she left, blood would be shed.
Baela sat back in her seat, all quivering.
"− I caught her in the act − she was so preoccupied with him, or, I beg your pardon, with what he was putting into her, that she didn't notice me at first − I just wished to reprimand my guard − he was supposed to keep my wife safe, not −"
"− I said enough, husband −" She said, looking at him warningly.
He knew that look and what it meant.
That one more word out of his mouth and he would spend the night in his chamber alone.
He turned his head and fell silent, looking involuntarily at her brother with a smirk of satisfaction on his face.
"− did you know? −" She heard Jace's voice pointed in her direction and she looked at him, surprised.
Her brother was looking at her all red, something in his gaze that surprised her.
"− did you know about this? −"
She felt an overpowering, deep, hot shame at the thought that she could not deny.
"− you're my sister − we promised each other we'd both end this − she deceived me − why do you forever let to make a fool of me? − why do you never stand up for me? −" He muttered in a voice filled with regret.
She was horrified by the realisation, which came upon her suddenly, that he was partly right.
If her husband had betrayed her with another woman, wouldn't she expect her brother to tell her?
That he would have shown her concern, warned her, protected her from the pain?
She lowered her gaze to her plate, feeling tears under her eyelids herself. Jace got up and walked out, followed by Baela, who only muttered a brief, tentative apology.
One by one, tears began to run down her cheeks as soon as the door closed behind them − she had to hide her face in her hands to keep from bursting into sobs.
She heard her husband sigh heavily, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, the pleasant sizzle of a fire burning in the fireplace behind him. She heard him pick something up and move it towards her − when she lowered her hands she noticed it was a tray of lemon cakes.
That summer day when she came to comfort him, a lemon cake tucked into the pocket of her skirt.
"− eat −"
"− I don't want to −"
"− eat − these are your favourites − I ordered them to be prepared with you in mind −"
"− I don't want to eat lemon cakes now, Aemond − I −"
"− it's easier for him to blame you than himself − to accuse you in his mind instead of taking responsibility for his actions −"
She snorted, shaking her head, looking at him with regret.
"− didn't you also behave similarly to him until recently, uncle? −" She asked in a trembling voice. Her husband swallowed hard and closed his eye, remaining silent for a moment. When his eyelid opened, his gaze was already calmer.
"− I did −"
As he placed his hand on the table top, extending it towards her she felt a squeeze in her heart, because even though he had made so many mistakes and hurt her so much, for her he had truly made an effort.
There was no reason for her to pretend otherwise.
She lifted her hand uncertainly and placed it on his. Her husband hummed under his breath, stroking her skin with his thumb, pleased apparently that she had not rejected him, that after moments of anger they were able to calm and speak with each other.
Something in that thought touched her.
"I love you." She muttered, looking up at him from under her lashes on which her tears shone.
Her uncle looked at her with wide-open eye, as if snapped out of his reverie, shocked even though he had heard these words from her mouth before.
"I mean it. I really do. I'm not speaking of the cloying affection described in the books I read as a child. What I feel is painfully real."
She saw his nostrils twitch at her words, his jaw clenched, his eyebrows arched in a way as if he was trying to fight what he had just felt.
His lips parted, but nothing came out of them for a long time.
"− I didn't reply to your letters because I didn't want you to move on − because I didn't want you to forgive yourself − because I didn't want you to forget about me − because I couldn't move on − because I couldn't forgive myself − because I couldn't forget about you −"
He said, looking at their hands, stroking her soft, warm skin with his fingers, at the same time being somewhere far away, as if he had returned with his thoughts to that evenings when he had read her letters.
Her heart filled with heat and pain at his words, at his confession, which was proof to her that both of them had only been pretending all along, trying to preserve their dignity by not accepting their longing, grief and desires all these years.
Only when they were left in the darkness of his chamber could their true reconciliation have happened.
There was something beautiful to her in the fact that they only hugged each other that night. Her husband, lying behind her, embraced her waist, their fingers entwined together lying on her womb. She felt safe sensing closeness of his body, his warm breath enveloping her bare neck.
Though with others he remained the same cold, cruel, mocking man, with her he became who he had been eight years ago, being the husband and companion she had always seen in him.
Baela set off on her way back to Dragonstone the next morning, informing her that she and Jace had broken off their betrothal. She wished to inform her grandmother and father about it, knowing that they would not force her to do anything against her will.
They said goodbye as if they were friends, hugging each other tightly, however, apart from her, neither her husband nor her brother came out to bid her farewell.
To her husband's frustration, her brother remained in their fortress. He ate his suppers separately and hardly left his chamber, but his mere presence made her uncle lose patience.
Although she didn't want to do it, she had to act.
With a heavy heart and trepidation, she went to his quarters, however, to her surprise, she did not find him there. She left, looking around the corridor and stopped one of the servants.
"Where is my brother?" She asked, the young boy turned behind and pointed his finger at the other, less frequented part of the stronghold.
"In Alys Rivers’ chamber, Your Grace."
She looked at this young boy wondering if she had misheard herself.
What?
"By what right does anyone visit Alys Rivers without my knowledge?' She hissed, feeling a squeeze in her throat at the thought that, apart from her guards, no one was to cross the threshold of her quarters until she left Harrenhal.
Her cousin had delayed answering her letter, surely still feeling humiliated after the way he had learned that their betrothal was not in force.
However, she knew he would eventually succumb and intended to send Alys away to the Eyrie anyway.
The boy swallowed hard at her words, surprised.
"− I − the Prince said you personally gave your consent, Your Grace − how would I question his words? −" He muttered, and she clenched her eyelids and nodded.
"− go for him and bring him to his chamber − tell him that I will be waiting for him there −"
Indeed, not long after, her brother joined her in his rooms, closing the door behind him, looking at her uncertainly, his brow furrowed.
"− what's it? −"
She stood up from her chair, turning her face towards the window, trying to calm her breath, her hand on her womb.
"− Alys Rivers − I didn't allow you to see her −"
"− she's my aunt − I don't need your permission, sister −" He replied dryly.
She looked at him angrily, walking up to him, looking him straight in the eye.
His gaze seemed distant and empty to her, filled with bitterness, sadness and pride.
She knew that look because she had seen it sometimes in their uncle's eyes.
He was broken.
Something in that thought made her close her eyes, trying to regain her composure.
"− she's a dangerous woman − I value her, but she manipulates others easily −"
"− I know I am easily manipulated − I have found that out painfully on my own −" He said calmly. "− is that all? −"
"− is that why you are not returning to Dragonstone? − because of her? −" She asked, turning to follow him as he moved ahead of her and spread out comfortably on his bed, taking an apple in his hand from a silver bowl standing on the table, tossing it thoughtlessly.
"− maybe −"
"− why? −"
"− she tells me about our father − about Harrenhal − about her dreams −" He muttered, staring blankly at the ceiling, playing with the fruit between his fingers, thoughtful.
Something in his words, in the fact that, like her, he longed deep down to understand where he came from, made her heart fill with compassion and empathy towards him again.
She approached him slowly and sat beside him on the bed, bowing her head. For a moment they remained in complete silence.
"− forgive me − for not telling you − Baela despaired greatly and regretted what she had done, but it could no longer be taken back − I am not going to defend her − she did, however, tell me that you had not remained faithful to her either − that you had lain in bed with another woman in Winterfell −"
Jace pressed his lips into a thin line at her words, tossing the apple high into the air, catching it in his hand again with a loud smack.
"− did she also tell you that she had a lover herself at the time? −"
"− she told me that she lied to you at the time so that you wouldn't see how much you hurt her −" She whispered, her brother throwing her a quick, horrified look. She saw him swallow hard and close his eyes.
"− it doesn't matter anymore −"
Silence fell between them again.
"− I want to admit, however, that there was a grain of truth in your words − I want to support you, but I feel that whatever I don't do, you will reject me −" She muttered.
"− you are the one who has always rejected me −"
His words stabbed into her heart like a dagger.
"− forgive me −" She said.
Her brother let out a loud breath, his eyes red.
"− I want to take her to Dragonstone −"
"− who? −"
"− Alys Rivers − I want her to see something beyond Harrenhal −"
His words surprised her so much that the obvious question crossed her mind.
"− Jace − did you and her −"
"− if you desire the truth so much, let's call a spade a spade − I'm a bastard, just like her − I live in a great fortress, eating from silver trays, while she is locked up here like some prisoner − how is she different from us? − what did she do to deserve a fate so worse than mine or yours? −"
He asked with a fury that startled her, his words, so direct and bold, made her feel overwhelming shame.
How is she different from us?
What did she do to deserve a fate so worse than mine or yours?
She swallowed hard, not knowing what to answer, how to react to his words.
"− but what will our mother say? −"
"− I will gladly introduce our father's sister to her −"
"− Jace −"
"− I've decided − I, not you − I take responsibility for this −"
She lowered her gaze, feeling that her hands were trembling all over with terror, her brother, however, seemed confident in his decision.
"− I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm taking our aunt with me −"
______
Author's note: No, Jace did not sleep with Alys, lol. In case this is not clear from the chapter, I would like to add it so that you do not panic unnecessarily. The next chapter will be Alys' POV, so you'll find out everything there!
#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#aemond smut#aemond angst#aemond fic#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#aemond x female#aemond x female character#aemond the kinslayer#canon aemond#aemond x niece#aemond x wife#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fic#hotd smut#hotd angst#ewan mitchell fanfiction#ewan mitchell fanfic#aemond x oc#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character
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Kiddo
Chapter eight
Kiddo masterlist
English is not my first language, be kind.
Modern!Older!Aemond x Modern!Younger!Reader
•Chapter warnings: obsession, kissing, manipulation•
Two months and three weeks after the encounter.
“Jenny is trying to steal my phone every time, I think she wants one too, but our mother doesn’t want to buy her one yet.” She said as she played with the string of grass. “She opens my messages, look at the gallery” She sighs.
Aemond looked at her, half lying on the grass beside her.
“She did?” He didn’t like it, he didn’t like the idea of her foster sister looking at their chat. “Remind me, how old is she?”
“She’s seven.”
He understood pretty early the reason why she was so naive and innocent. She lived in a house full of kids that knew nothing about relationships or sex. She had told him how she basically babysits them all the time when she’s home, because their foster mother is always at work.
“Do you have a password on your phone?” He asked then.
“No, I never thought I needed one.” She smiled at him.
What he didn’t like even more, is the idea that Jenny would tell their foster mother who he was, if she’d ever find out.
He was sure their foster mother would try to separate them, because while his girl didn’t understand how inappropriate their friendship was, her mother would know it.
She would try to talk some sense into his girl, make her understand that he was too old, that he was probably using, and manipulating her.
Half of it was true.
But he was doing it for her.
Since they reconciled, he had been able to think with a clearer mind, and he understood that he struggled to control himself when he was around her, but if he would have been without her, he would definitely lose it, to a point where he realized how dangerous he could be.
He leant forward and grabbed her soft tiny hand in his. stroking her palm with his thumb.
“We are sticking together.” He states. She looks at him surprised by his comment out of contest.
“Of course. We are best friends, Aem.” She smiled, blushing as she squeezed his hand.
Best friend.
He chuckled and nodded.
She really was something.
“I know, kiddo, I know. Just making sure.” He smirked at her. “Come here.” He pulled her to him, so she could snuggle in his chest as he hugged her thigh, both now laying on the grass.
He needed a fine dose of her to keep himself calm. He started to have her close to him, a bit of her every day, a slight touch, a hug, a small innocent peck.
Something.
Not enough to make him explode, but enough to sedate him.
Enough, to not fuck her raw on every surface they where whenever they met.
“Aem…” Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
“Yeah, kiddo?” He fixed her head under his chin, the pleasant smell of her hair reaching his nose.
“Your phone is ringing, it’s the fourth time now…” She told him softly. He let out a low groan, realizing she was right, and that his phone was indeed ringing in his pocket
“It’s okay, let it ring.” He said, letting out a sigh as he started playing with a string of her hair.
“Why don’t you answer it?” She asks curiously, looking at him.
“Nothing important.” He responded calmly, rubbing her hair between his fingers.
“Are you sure? Who is it?” She kept asking further, but despite he usually never liked people asking of his own business, he didn’t mind her curiosing.
“My mother.” He admitted.
“Your mother? Then… it’s probably important, Aem, you should pick up the phone.” She told him concerned.
“No, she–” He sighed. “She wants me to hire my brother.” He explained in annoyance. He did tell her he’d think about it, but he actually never changed his mind, he would never hire Aegon.
“What’s the problem with that? Wouldn’t it be nice to have him at work?” She smiled, as if she had the image in her head.
“Let’s say my brother is a lot like… Colin.” He looked down at her, smiling amused, comparing Aegon to one of her little foster brothers, Coling, was a chaos in particular, and she struggled a lot to keep him in control.
“Oh–” She chuckled a bit. “I’m sorry then.” She looked at him, caressing his arm in comprehension.
“Yeah, I can’t really trust him to work with money.” He looked to the side, sitting back up leaning back on his hands and bending his knees, making her sit as well. She crossed her legs and leant back on her hands. Her wavy cream dress covered her to her knees.
“You could take him, I believe. Your brother… you mean the older one, right? He’s an adult, I believe you could teach him some sense and responsibility.” She suggested as she took a string of grass to play with it.
“Teach Aegon?” He laughed. “You can’t understand, kiddo, he is a lost hope.”
“I believe in you, I think you could make it.” She smiled at him, excited.
"You trust me that much, mh?” He looked at her. He knew she did, but it felt so good to hear it.
“You know I do. You just have to make him care about what he does.” She blushed, refusing to look at him.
“Alright then, I guess I’ll do it.” He said then, making her raise her head surprised, looking at him with her eyes widened.
“Really?” She said happy. He nodded, smiling amused at her silly excitement over something so futile. She sat on her knees to get closer to him, and let the string of grass fall on the ground to take his hand in hers. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, but you know what? I just got an idea.” He looked down at her hands caressing his own.
“What?” She was looking at him with those big eyes of hers, and God, he loved to have them on himself.
“I just found what you can do to make me forgive you.” He looked at her as he said that. She immediately furrowed her eyebrows and blushed violently.
“I– I thought you already forgave me.” She says as she starts biting her lower lip. He glanced at her lips for a brief moment, even if she was looking at him and she noticed. She blushed even more and looked down at the ground.
“Yeah, but it has to be more official.” He explained as he leant closer and raised her head by moving his hand under her chin. She nodded slowly, her teeth still nibbling her lip.
“Alright then, what can I do?” She looked up at him.
“Two things, but one is more for you actually.” He smirked, proud of his plan.
“Really?” She asked, confused and surprised. She moved closer to him.
“Yeah, you want to hear them?” He liked to see her so eager to know what he was thinking. He knew he had to go slower with her, and not repeat what happened at his apartment to not scare her away again.
“Yeah, I’m all ears.” She smiled.
“Well, one, I’ll keep you company after you babysit, yeah? You tell me when the kids will be asleep, so you won’t be alone. I’ll leave before your mother will be back.” She immediately smiled at his proposal.
“Yeah, that’s sweet.” She said softly, looking at him with gratefulness.
“But what will get you forgiven is…” He pulled her closer, not being able to resist the occasion of having her near, and so he could look at her face.
“A kiss, whenever I ask you one.” He looked down at her, studying her reaction.
“A kiss? We already kiss!” She chuckled, as Aemond looked at her amused.
“Not those kisses, kiddo. I want them on my lips.” He whispered as he leant even closer, caressing her cheeks softly.
Her breath hitched and she had some trouble finding something to say.
“A– A k–kiss on t–the lips? A–Aemond I..” She stuttered as she shook her head in confusion.
“It’s not that bad, kiddo is it? Does the idea of kissing me disgust you?”
“What?! No! No, Aemond–” She immediately answered, but he interrupted her again, as he gripped both of her cheeks in his hand.
“Then you don’t want to be forgiven?” He asked then, his grip on her cheeks tightening slightly.
“No! I– I want to be forgiven, Aem, I’m really sorry for how I’ve behaved, I never meant to hurt you and… I–” Her eyes started to get filled with tears as she started panicking.
“Shh, shh, kiddo I know.” He pulled her to sit between his legs, hugging her close. “I know you’re sorry.” He repeated soothingly as he tightened his embrace and caressed her back. She immediately hugged him back, holding on to him.
“I’ll do it.” She mumbled with her face hidden in his neck. I’ll do it, please forgive me.” She sobbed.
“I will, kiddo, I will.” He raised her head and wiped her tears away. “Stop crying, I’m staying here. Okay?”
She looked at him and nodded, sadness still evident in her eyes. He smiled at her as he moved her hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ears and he pressed a kiss on her forehead.
“Why don’t you kiss me now, so you’ll find out if you like it? Mh?” She moved her head to the side, but he used his hands to turn her back to him. “Maybe you’ll end up loving it.” She looked at him and nodded. He smiled as he kept caressing her face. She put her hands on her higher thigh, as he sweetly kissed her temple.
Gently. He had to do it gently.
He kept kissing her face from her temple to her cheek, leaving a wet trail behind. He heard her discontinued breathing as she clenched her hands on his thigh.
“Put your hands on my shoulder kiddo.” He suggested her as he pulled back enough to see her eyes. She nodded and moved her hands to his chest then placed them on his shoulders, squeezing them lightly. He smiled at her as drew her closer.
“Do you like this? Do not lie.” He asked her as he rubbed her back and kissed her chin.
“I–I never lie…” She pouted for a moment, making him chuckle. “I… I like this.” She admitted blushing again.
He crushed his lips against hers.
He wanted to go softer, gentler, but how could he, especially after she finally admitted she is enjoying his attention?
She gasped and leant back her head, surprised by his sudden gesture. He slipped both his hands in her hair, keeping her close, as she tightened her grip on his shoulders.
“You're addicting, kiddo.” He whispered so lowly, he almost wished she couldn’t hear his slip.
He pulled back and smirked as she saw her with her eyes closed, trying to reach his lips again, before she opened them and looked at him, her head turning red tomato.
“Was it bad?” He smirked and pulled her immediately back as she moved to sit further from him. He wrapped one arm around her back as his other hand caressed her cheek again.
“Tell me, kiddo, did you like it or not?” He asked her again, looking at her as she shied away pursing her lips, not wanting to answer his question.
“Don’t you want to let me know if I did well, mh?” The hand on her cheek slipped again in her har, as he massaged her scalp with his fingers.
“I– I did…” She mumbles softly, embarrassed. He smiled even more as he pressed his forehead on her temple so he could whisper in her ear.
“Do you want more kisses?” He asked her, feeling her shiver at the idea. “I don’t mind, we can, kiddo, we are free.”
She turned her head towards him, so that they were face to face, forehead against forehead.
She pressed her lips together, thinking hardly, as she stared at his lips.
That sight of her, could make his cock hard in a moment.
But he contained himself. He gave her her time, waited for her to move first.
“Free?” She repeated, wanting to be sure that he was telling her the truth. He closed his eye and pressed his forehead against her.
“Free, kiddo.” He opened his eye again, and saw her look up at him, leaning forward a moment, but then going back. At last, she decided, and she pressed her lips against his, like if she was giving him a peck on his lips. Aemond smiled and moved his lips to make her open her mouth so that he could finally slip his tongue in her mouth, tasting her again after a week. He groaned and pushed himself more against her, making her back up.
“My sweet kiddo.” He groaned as he pushed her back even more, he wanted to make her lay on the grass, and get on top of her.
He wanted to touch her, but he restrained himself.
He wanted to take all of her on the grass, under the sunset, here in the open air where no one could hear them, and he could make her yell as much as he wanted to.
That would be such a sweet way to take her virginity.
But he did not allow himself to touch her, or he was sure he would have not stopped at her request, and as much as appealing all of his thoughts were, he couldn’t.
Once they were both lying, he rested one of his arms over her head as his other arm took her hand and intertwined their fingers, hoping to resist the urge to touch her body.
He kept kissing her like a mad man, biting her lower lip slowly, just like he wanted to do when he saw her earlier bite her own lip. He nibbled it between his teeth, pulling it slightly, making her moan. He smirked and let go of her.
“Make that sound again for me.” He kissed her again devouring her, as he kept squeezing harder her hand, in a way he knew was starting to hurt her, but he couldn’t stop kissing her, so he tried to not squeeze her hand too much.
She suddenly pulled away from him, making him furrow his eyebrows, he pulled her back into another kiss, but she turned her head again, rolling or her stomach.
“I lost track of the time!” She explained, worried, reaching her phone on the grass close to them. Aemond groaned, letting her go but keeping still on top of her. He leant his head down, resting her forehead on the back of her head, as at her every move her bum brushed dangerously his crotch.
“I gotta go, Aemond, my brothers and sisters will be back in a few minutes…” She explained to him, saddened, looking back at him.
He growled and kissed her shoulder, rolling on her side then getting up.
“Yeah, let’s go, kiddo, I’ll drive you home.” He gave her his hand and she grabbed it to lift herself up as well, so he pulled her against his chest again kissing the top of his head, making her chuckle embarrassedly and blush.
He smirked, amused by her ever consistent shyness and rubbed the top of her head as he started walking to his car, a few meters from them.
They walked to the car in silence, but it was fine, they always had a comfortable silence between them. Sometimes when she called him during work and he was in his office, they talked for a while, then they just stayed on call in silence, just enjoying knowing that the other was there.
They got in the car and she watched outside her window, mesmerized by the sight of nature.
“How’s your little garden, kiddo?” He asked as he glanced at her.
“Colin took half of the tomatoes off before they were ready.” She sighed. “But I managed to stop him in time. My lemon tree is about to give me three lemons, I think I’ll make some jam or a pie.” She smiled at him. ”I’ll surely bring you some of those.”
“We’ll eat it together.” He nodded as they quickly arrived at her house. He stopped the car and looked at her, then he quickly got down and went to open her door.
She got out chuckling and jumped up in front of him.
“My mother will be working late next week…” She blushed as she looked up at him. “I’ll text you the day and the time?” She looked at him, hopeful. Aemond smirked and caressed her cheek.
“Of course, kiddo.” He assured her, and she smiled happily.
“Alright then…” She looked to the side for a moment, then she suddenly turned and gave him a quick peck on his lips, leaving him stunned as she ran away chuckling.
“I’ll text you!” She laughed as she ran smiling toward her house, looking back at him.
He’ll never let her go.
He would get rid of anyone who might try to get between them.
There was no way someone would ever steal such a sight from him.
Her hair swayed at every step she took, her dress skirt moving in waves.
He stared at her until he was no longer able to see her. He lit himself a cigarette and turned, acknowledging a person standing a few meters from him.
“Are you looking for someone?” A woman, over middle age, her hair a mix of blonde, white and gray strings.
“No.” He said coldly, annoyed to have been caught. “Just looking for a holiday farm, guess I picked the wrong turn.” He gave a quick, plausible explanation, enough to not make her suspicious about him.
“Yeah, it happens a lot.” She turned and pointed to another house, distant but visible from where they were. “You’re probably looking for that holliday farm? You take that way, then you turn left, then all straight.” She explained to him. He nodded in comprehension.
“Thank you, have a good night.” He got in his car and quickly drove off, looking at the rearview mirror to see if the woman stood there looking at him.
She got back in her car, and drove home.
Her home.
She was her foster mother.
Now she knew what he looked like.
He just lied to her, and if she was ever to find him around again, she will immediately remember.
“My mother will be working late next week… I’ll text you the day and the time?”
He didn’t want to say no.
But if her mother saw him…
“Fuck!” He yelled as he hit the steering wheel. It was not going as he planned, and he hated it.
If her mother saw him with her daughter, she would immediately think of this night, and scare her away from him.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
He will not let that happen.
He could make her disappear.
Fuck, that was… an idea, but not a good one.
All he knew was that he couldn’t lose her.
Ever.
He’ll find a way.
One way or another.
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#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond x reader#aemond x you#modern aemond#aemond#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x y/n#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond targaryen#house of the dragon aemond#prince aemond#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond one shot#aemond targaryen angst#dark aemond x reader#hotd aemond#aemond the kinslayer#aemond fluff#aemond targaryen fluff#hotd x reader#hotd season 2#hotd fanfic
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1x08 | The Lord of the Tides | Gifs!
#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#prince aemond#aemond the kinslayer#house of the dragon#ewan mitchell#hodtedit#got#game of thrones#a song of ice and fire#aemond targaryen edit#aemond edit#house of the dragon aemond#edits#edit#my gifs#aemond hotd#house of the dragon edit#1x08#house of the dragon 1x08#asoiaf#gif#gifs#aemond gif#aemond gifs#tv gifs#hodt gifs#hotd aemond#house of the dragon gif#my edtis
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A Cure For A Bad Day
Summary: Aemond has one of his worst days ever, nothing seems to go right. At night, at least, he gets the company of his new wife as he bathes.
Based on Ewan Mitchell's and TGC 'Scene Reactions' when he says "When we did that scene, when he had the rain machine going in, the dye on the eyepatch... it just stained the wig"
✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader
✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, p in v sex, bath sex, breeding kink, overall very sweet, aemond discovering feelings.
✧Word Count: 5.2k
✧ Ao3 link: here
✧gifs: by myfandomprompts
Aemond is known for many things. He is fierceless, perfectionist, well trained with the sword, and bold. Those things he was proud of.
And all those things, he was not today.
He trained by morning, and Criston Cole was waiting for him. The sword felt slightly different on his hand, weird, but he just took it that he slept badly and that's why his arm felt numb.
Now, after losing his eye, he had to learn things differently. He had a considerably big blind spot, and so he learned how to keep it aware of his surroundings as training with the sword. Yet, those things do not have in mind the little rocks on the ground, which he stepped on and twisted his ankle as he tried to defend Ser Criston’s attack.
And with that, he twisted his ankle and slightly cut his hand.
He was annoyed, but he tried not to pay attention to it. A silly mistake. The rock was on his blind side, how could he notice? It was a rookie mistake, and it burned his cheeks to remember it.
By the evening, after eating, he decided to ride Vhagar. His girl liked long rides, not so fast but more calm, and prowling around the crownlands skies.
He did not anticipate the rain.
For some reason or another, Vhagar was as grumpy as him, and she did not seem to want to go over the clouds in the rain. No, she wanted full on take a bath on the rainfall.
And Aemond had to bear it. But what was worse was when he realised that his eyepatch had dyed his hair. He just picked the worst eyepatch today.
His hair was slightly silver auburn, and just in some parts. He hated it, and it made his day ten times worse as he realised the eyepatch had been too tight, and it had been suffocating his scar without him realising.
He had trouble with the sensibility on his left side of his face, and just today he put his eyepatch too tight. It made him furious.
And he decided to make it everyone’s problem.
He was laying in the bathtub, next to the fire as he had a horrible headache. He came in, demanding a bath as the servants had to rush to get him hot water.
He took his own clothes off, kicking his boots away, refusing any servants touch as he undoes his own leather jerkin, he unties his breeches, grunting and mumbling in frustration, hating each instance of this day. He thinks a bath will help him to relax even a bit. He just wanted to sleep, and end up with this horrible day.
His scar itches, and it drives insane. It was as if the itchcame from the deep parts of his cheekbones and it drove him mad. He was at the edge of peeling his own skin to scratch his damn scar.
Only in his undergarments, he ignores the chilling cold from the chamber, and he walks barefoot as the servants fill the bathtub with hot water. As hot as possible. He walks over the chimney, and throws the eyepatch in, hoping it burns in hell.
His loose hair, tinted with the dye of the eyepatch. If he only knew who was the mastermind behind it, who decided to spend coins on it; he would kill them. And they better hope this stupid dye can get off with the bath, or head will start rolling.
The water was hot, but he paid no mind. He liked boiling hot, and he sat against his as he let the attendant boy prepare scents and the oils to put on the water, and to wash him. Aemond didn’t allow him to wash him; yet. He wanted some moments of peace in the hot water, so he remained a good amount of time still.
“Bring me the ointment that Maester Orwyle prepared for my eye” Aemond’s voice is low, yet demanding as the boy gets out, not without bowing to the prince.
He waits, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that would calm his nerves, his headache. He believes it works, so he is focused on it, as he accommodates his legs on the water, trying to be relaxed.
Time is a bit dizzy, and when he hears the door open, he can hear the servants speaking hushedly, as if wanting him not to hear. Good, because he didn’t want to listen to them either.
He can hear the little taps that the shoes do as the maid leaves the oils for his hair on a near table, and takes his hair on her hands, gently. He doesn’t turn to face her; he just wants the damn dye to get off.
Hands wash his hair, and if he wants to relax, this is making it impossible. The little tugs and the awful way that scrubs his hair to take the dye off, and the weird caresses on his neck from time to time.
“You are not doing correctly" he grumbles to the servant with closed eyes as his migraine is persistent. "Learn how to wash a prince's hair" he adds, sharply.
“Apologies” The voice comes as a murmur, a bit strained if even, as the hands go to his neck, and all the way up.
“My prince” He adds sharply, he cannot believe his luck today. “When you address a royal member of the Targaryen House, you use their title. My prince” he says, patronisingly and even angry.
“Yes, my prince” a little cough at the end, he either thinks the maid is trying to hold back a laugh or embarrassment. Not that he cares, as he has his eye closed and a hand on his temple, his head resting on his hand, that caresses his forehead trying to get that awful headache away
Aemond's face was scrunched up in pain, as his eyes were closed. "Are you new at this? I swear... I am starting to believe that they are just sending me incompetent maids to attend to me..." the young prince groaned.
His body stiffens, as arms go to wrap his neck from behind, and before he can sit up properly, he feels the maid kiss his cheek lovingly as she giggles. “Apologies, my prince…”
The voice is clear as day, and if his hand was going to fetch the little dagger on the table by his side, it stops.
He turns his head to his right, seeing your wide smile as you wait for his reaction. He groans, rolling his eyes, which causes you to laugh loudly.
His new wife, she always liked to tease him and cling to him, always hugging him, taking his hand in hers or kissing him all over. He didn’t mind; he always allowed her even at court. But he won’t admit that he likes it too.
“Wife” he greets you as he sighs, and he feels your hand rubbing circles in the back of his neck.
“I know, I do not know how to wash hair. You’ve made it completely clear”
“I thought you were a servant” he says, looking at her. “You are a highborn lady, you don’t need to know how to.”
“True…” you say, moving some of the wet hair out of his face, and squeezing it so it isn’t dripping. “I heard that my prince had a horrible day, and he was in a bad mood. Servants do talk, you know…” you say looking at him with a smile “Wanna tell me about it?”
Aemond sighs and looks at you, as you take the sponge to wash his body. He sighs as you pour some of the water in his chest and start scrubbing softly.
“"A terrible day... I stepped on a rock, and twisted my ankle and cut my arm in the process... Then i wanted to relax with a ride on Vhagar, but it started to rain, the fucking dye of the eyepatch got all over my hair and eye.. I have the worst migraine now..." his voice is rough, and he seems annoyed at the memory of it. “And I haven’t seen you as much as I’d like”
It wasn’t the worst day he has ever lived. Maybe. When he lost his eye it could be the top one. He won Vhagar, at the cost of his eye. It was an amazing thing, traded for the worst thing that has ever happened to him. He was still living the consequences of it today, as his scar stinged on his skin.
“Not your best day, I see” you say softly, scrubbing his chest. He enjoys it, as he looks at you, leaning back in the bath as you scrub his chest. “I’m sorry to hear it”
“I don’t need pity”
You chuckle “It is not pity” you say softly, looking at your husband. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
Aemond stays silent. He is not used to someone caring about him like this. Sure, his mother cared for him, and so did Helaena But not like this.
“Be by my side”
The silence is a bit comforting, as you wash his body. He looks at you deeply, and he cannot help but think how stunning you are. You didn’t find any discomfort in washing him, in caring and tending to him. You never once seem disgusted by his lack of eye, by his empty eye socket, or his ugly scar. Never once you discarded him.
It was more than often that you placed the ointment prepared by maester Orwyle on his eye, his scar, where his nerves were permanently damaged and they brought discomfort to him. You never once complain.
“You look different” he says, looking at you in the dim lights of the room.
“Different how?” you ask, as you finish brushing his hair, making sure the dye is almost completely getting off his wet hair. He has little curls, which makes you smile like an idiot.
“I do not know. Shining. Radiant. Lovely.” He murmurs, moving one of his wet hands to tickle a strand of hair on your ear. “Different”
“So I usually do not look radiant or lovely…”
“Not what I meant” he groans and you chuckle softly. “You were sick. Now you look much better in… spirits.”
“You look different too” You say looking at him with a smile. Your eyes fall to his chest, and you smile. He notices how you get flustered at the sight of his nakedness.
“More wounded” he says ironically, leaning back with a sigh.
“Stronger” you correct him smiling. “More… mhm. I’d say more… Hot”
“You think I am hotter when I'm wounded?”
“Not what I meant” you say chuckling under your breath, “I meant… I like seeing you like this... Leaning back is so... manly, and hot…"
“Oh, do you?” he asks slightly amused, leaning back still as he looks at you, nodding and smiling. Aemond frowns a bit, and he hisses then you accidentally hit his new wound on his wrist.
“Sorry, love” you say, kissing his hand, and smiling. “You know, when I was little they cured my wounds like this. With a kiss”
“Did they?” He asks, trying to remain interested even with his headache.
“Yes. Like this” She says kissing near his wound, a very feather-like kiss. “See? Does it feel better?”
You look at him with an adorable expression, as if you truly think that this would make him feel better. Aemond blinks, as he looks at you.
It ticks him the wrong way that you care about him. Why would you? Perhaps it is a womanly thing. He wasn’t so sure. Perhaps as his wife, it is your burden, having to make a maimed man feel better.
The prettiest maiden in court, chained to a maimed man, deformed and always wounded, stuck in the pain of his eye to see beyond. Wasting your best years with him.
And he cannot decipher why.
“Aemond?” You ask as he trails off.
“Yeah” he clears his throat, awkwardly, and he moves his legs a bit. “I guess so”
“Where else does it hurt?” You ask sweetly.
He sometimes hates how kind you can be, he doesn’t know what your upper intentions are, but after all, you are his wife even if he can’t decipher you.
“Well, my eye, obviously…” he says a bit embarrassed “And… my left foot, I guess. And my arm, because I slept on it… and…”
You nod, looking at him as he speaks. He is intimidated, he realises. You make sure to hear all of what he has to say, with your sweet eyes.
You move to the end of the bathtub, and move to kiss his ankle softly, no complaints, no hesitation. Nothing… odd, about it. Only out of tenderness. You kiss his shoulder, and his left cheekbone, softly, to make sure it doesn’t burn on his skin. He just lets you, because it makes you happy, thinking that it helps.
And he doesn’t realise that it actually helps him, in a way. The smile on your face makes him smile too, and he sighs.
“Better?”
“Mhm” he hums in agreement, looking at your face. “Better when you're with me, yes”
He is utterly head over heels for you, even if he isn’t good with feelings. He loves you, even when he seems slightly annoyed by you.
“And you?”
“And me?” You ask curiously.
“You were sick. Coughing like crazy, and all your body ached.” he says softly, “in confinement, away from me… Do you truly feel better?”
“I am better. Lady Westerling got all of us sick” you say with a slight smirk. “my body still aches a bit, but it’s…” you hesitate a bit, slightly nervous.
“Then join me” he interrupts, moving to try and get you in the bathtub with him. "The hot water will do good to you..."
"It will burn my skin, I hate how hot you take these baths..." you protests, moving his hands off your waist as he tries to pull you in.
"The Blood of the Dragon, wife" he says smugly, smirking. "It is cold, anyways. It is barely warm"
"You like it boiling hot" You say smiling to him, and he presses a kiss on your jaw.
"I do, indeed." He admits "Come on, get in with me"
“Aemond, my nightgown…” you protest, and he rolls his good eye.
“You have others, let it get wet” You seem to give in, as he helps you get in, holding your hand as you enter the bathtub. “It will do good to your aches.” He insists, taking your waist in his hands to place you on his lap.
“I think it is an excuse” you say, blushing a bit as you accomodate on his lap.
“A good one, you must admit” he says looking at you, and he passes his hands all the way up to your back. “But an innocent one, I must admit” he says, and you tilt your head as if asking him to elaborate “I don’t think I am up for anything, I am too tired for it”
You hum, his still wet hair made him look almost cute. His little curls...
“The dye came off” you say, as he leans to kiss your neck a bit. “I can go to the tailor and ask them to make another eyepatch one for you. More fancy. With real leather. Maybe add some fancy dragon scales in it”
“Hm. Fine” he says looking up at you, smiling at how delicious you were. He places a kiss on your hand, and he smiles. “What is bothering you?”
You stay still, blinking a bit. “Court. Ladies… at court. They don't seem to like me much. I mean, they like me but I always feel excluded. Like I am doing too much for them to like me”
Aemond looks at you, a bit surprised by it. He places his hands on your waist, and he certainly was thinking about how to comfort you. He wasn’t a court charmer either, so he hummed.
“I thought you had friends.”
“I do… I guess. They just never seem to think of me when doing things. They do not hate me, no… I am the new one…, and so they just…. Don’t include me”
“I’ll include you” he states nodding. “I’ll bring you with me everywhere. Training, riding Vhagar, in the library, all of it.” He proposes softly.
“Hm. It would be pleasant.”
You smile softly, your hands, now wet and in the water, move from his abdomen all the way up to his chest.
Your husband was well fit. A prince of the realm, training with the sword since he was little. He practised almost every day, and was very detail-oriented in his field. And that paid off, as he was lean; yet muscular.
You two were still newlyweds. Maybe three months since you two married, and things were a bit awkward still. You tried to decipher his odd behaviour and he tried the same with yours, starting to know each other personally, yet there was a bond, a silent affection you both shared for the other.
His body felt warm. He had stayed at the bathtub for Gods know how many hours, and he was all wet and shiny. You hand caressed his muscles, going up from his abdomen to where his wispy chest hair were.
“What is in your mind?”
You hum, and smile “How handsome my husband is” you murmur “How good he is to me…” you add “How much I truly like you…”
Aemond raises his eyebrows, and he looks at you as your hand caress his torso up and down, slowly, as if you were tempting him.
“Oh?”
You nod softly, and even if he doesn’t know you too well; he knows this face.
You move to kiss his neck, your arms wrapped around his torso as you leave little kisses all over his skin. He chuckles a bit, at your little desperation for the demonstration of love, you were such a physical person for him.
“Darling, what are you-”
“I just missed you” You say, and he can see in his head the pout you would form if you weren’t so eagerly kissing his neck.
He chuckles as his hand holds your waist firmly on his lap, and he leans his head back, facing the ceiling as you two spoke. “Very eagerly, I see”
“You are tired. But let me…”
Your arms wrapped around him, holding him as you press gentle kisses there, and he smiles, starting to feel the boiling arousal in his abdomen, looking at the ceiling as if it could distract his mind.
“Very well”
His arms went to the edges of the bathtub, as he felt the fabric of the nightgown against his chest, and he certainly was starting to enjoy the constant nibbling and wetness of your kisses.
Aemond lets out a quiet groan, enjoying the gentle bites at his neck, as he feels his neck a little warmer. “You little minx- Did you just give me a hickey?”
Your giggle tells him all, as you move your lips to the start of his clavicle. His good eye closes as he enjoys the way your mouth feels against his sensitive skin.
“You are simply… delicious” you murmur, your kisses going lower to his chest, before stopping a moment.
“Do not tell me you want to leave a hickey there…” He says, moving his head down to look at you.
As he imagined before, your mouth turns into a pout as you frown; most adorably he must add.
“Oh, please! Let me try” You ask him “It is a way to show you that I missed you” You add, trying to convince him as he chuckles, making a mocking sound.
Aemond rolls his eyes as he feels your eager mouth sucking the skin of his chest, as if he was some kind of… not even he knew. It felt strange. Worshiped and feral. That’s how it felt, at least for him.
Once you separate, you look at your work, your thumb moving along the bruised skin with a satisfied smirk.
“Looks so good on you” you swear, as if it was a matter to be known.
“If it makes you happy” he says, accommodating on his seat, the water moving along with him. “My turn, then?”
You shake your head with a giggle “You always make it a mess!”
That he did, and he smiles a bit, seeing the lack of lovemarks of your neck.
It is you who eagerly kiss him, and press your body to his, as if needing him. He isn’t one to complain, as he feels your eager lips pressing against his and your tongue invading his mouth. Rather bold, to his taste. But he likes it.
Your hands on his shoulder make their slow way down, passing temptingly slow from his chest, to his abdomen. He gasps in the kiss, as if he was some kind of maiden, when he feels your hands underwater on his crotch and touching his cock.
He frowns a bit as he separates, trying to demand an answer. “Wha-” he tries to ask before you shut him up with a kiss, not even letting him speak.
Rather eager, aren’t we… He thinks, but he isn’t one to complain, as your touch is like magic to his dick. In the water is odd, he has to admit, but his member thinks otherwise as he gets aroused from your eagerness.
You smooch him with kisses, and he feels… intimidated, in a good way. You don’t even allow him to breathe without going for another kiss, desperate. Feral.
He has a feral wife, it seems.
“Darling, what are you…” he asks amused as you break the kiss, just to move your wet skirts all the way up, but he can’t see much of your pussy in the water, which he dislikes a lot.
“I missed you” you repeat “A lot.”
“It isn’t as if you were confined in a tower for years. It was barely two days. And I visited you-”
“I need you, husband” you state impatiently, as your knees move to the sides of his hips. “so, if you are tired, I’ll do it”
He blinks, surprised and taken aback. He is rather amused and aroused, at his bold wife.
“Alright” he says, looking at you as you can do the work alone.
He isn’t tired for sex, not at all. He can certainly get the energy, maybe not perform as usual, but he’ll do it if you ask. You didn’t even need to ask for it. But seeing you in control is better than that.
You rode him once, for later to admit that it wasn’t your favourite position, because you grew tired quickly. He didn’t mind, but now he thinks he’ll have you riding him at least once a week.
The way your dick enters your body is slow, as you slowly lower yourself on it. He can see your face contoured with pleasure, how you shut your eyes, and your hands grip on his shoulders as you whimper on it, you open your mouth and he leans to kiss your neck a bit, as if wanting to give back the affection you give him.
More than bounce on it, you find it more practical to grind on it. Your hands, that move between his waist and his shoulders, as if you didn’t know where to hold him to help you grind against his cock.
“That’s so good…” you whimper as you grind on his cock.
The water moves around, the harder you grind, the harder it moves on the bathtub. He is even sure that some of it has overflowed the bathtub, as he looks at your pretty face, as you moan needily. His hand moved to pull down your nightgown, just enough to expose both of your tits in the firm fabric. He pulls it down to expose your shoulders a bit, and it is a sight that only arouses him more.
“It’s so good, baby?” He asks looking up to you, and he leans his head to kiss your nipple, gently.
He knows you missed him. You are not rough, or a mess on his cock. You are doing it so prettily, so sweetly, he knows that you truly have missed him and his touch.
“Yeah, so-so good.” You babber a bit, nodding as he kisses your other breast softly. He does not hold you, he has his hand on the back, trying to keep him firm as you ride him.
His right hand holds your waist, as he notices. Your arms are on his shoulders as you whimper and moan, grinding him, not even minding the water around.
He has to admit, in the bathtub isn’t as comfortable as outside of it. The water doesn’t help to be smoother, if anything, he has the impression it does the contrary. It may be just him, as you don’t say anything against it.
“So eager, baby…” he says amazed, and now he feels like the one worshipping you. He just adores you, he realises, as he sweetly talks you through it “You just needed me, this badly?” He asks, kissing your jaw.
The little nods you give him are enough to get him moving his hips slowly up to meet your little grinds and bounces.
He kisses your breast again, and the other, and the other. He adores you, how the little mewls from your mouth are so arousing for him as you clench your pussy around him.
“Aemond…” you whine. “Feels.. amazing, so good...” you repeat, as if you couldn't think of anything else, as he looks up to you.
He is just surprised you have gotten this far without begging him to take control. They way he’d take your waist and flip you around, to make you hold the other edge of the bathroom, just to take you from behind, again, and again, and again. The water would overflow the bathtub completely, and his seed would be securely in your womb.
But you don’t ask him, and he doesn’t do it. He likes the sweetness of it. He likes how you look at him needily for both of your lips to meet on a kiss, passionate as your bounces and grind are slightly weaker.
“My special girl…” he murmurs, kissing you again and again, not minding if they are pecks or if he has the opportunity for his tongue to play with yours. “I love you”
You nod, whimpering and whining as you say it back. I love you, I love you, I love you. Again and again, as if it was some prayer.
“Aemond” you moan into his mouth,
“I know. Can you feel how good you take me?” He asks softly, kissing your chin, as he holds your waist to help you bounce on his cock. The splash of the water amuses and arouses him, and he groans at the sight of your nightgown fully soaked, glued to your figure.
“Mhm. Yes, yes, Gods, yes” you said, probably numb and already cockdrunk, just enjoying the feeling of his cock so deep inside.
“You want me to fill you, hm? To make you round with my seed, baby?” He asks, looking at you, moving to kiss your neck.
He is also rambling at this point, as you squeeze him in the perfect way, asking to be filled with cum. He ignores how the water splashes his chest and back, how it is practically soaking the carpet under the bath, and making a mess. He has to remember how wet it might be so you two don’t slide on the floor.
“Aemond, I… oh, Gods, Aemond!”
You little moans are music to his ears, as he holds your waist to move you down to his cock, to his taste. Not as rough as usual, but certainly desperate enough to want to cum.
“Will you cum for me, darling?” He asks, as he feels your hips grinding more desperately on him, and he throws his head back on the edge as he feels his balls tighten as well. You did wonders on him. “Cum for me and I’ll fill you up as you so much like” he promises, almost feral for you to cum.
Your release made him moan, loudly, as he held you tight on his cock as he cums as well. He looks lazily at you, panting and whimpering still, which only serves to fuel the last remains of arousal on his abdomen, filling your womb with his cum. He hopes it takes root and to see you grow pregnant as moons pass by.
“Thank you” you say, breathless against his chest, kissing his cheek sweetly.
He smiles a bit, by how pleasure drunk you obviously were. He moves you slightly, to pull out from you and accommodate you on his chest, which you take comfort in. “Nothing to be thankful for. I thank you. Having sex is rather… good for when one had a bad day” he says smiling.
You smile, and look at him, caressing his chest as you remain in this position, calmly breathing as he tries to stop panting.
“Have I made it better?” You ask, softly, looking up to him.
He chuckles softly, almost amused by how ridiculous the question was.
“Just by having a sight of you, you make my day better” he says.
Even if he was new to this whole marriage thing, even if sometimes he didn’t know you that well as your ladies-in-waiting and sometimes just allowed you to be even if it bothered him. He didn’t understand you most of the time, but he certainly adored you, very dearly.
“I can make it even better” you say almost proudly, and he raises his eyebrow, looking at you laying on his chest. The water wasn’t even hot anymore, but more cold than he could bear.
“Oh, how so?” He asks amused. “Did you claim a dragon? Only that can top the amazing moment that we just-”
“I am with child” you say simply, looking at him with a smile.
He stops on his tracks, and looks at you as he takes in what you said. He blinks, looking at you, and you smile awkwardly at him. Was he happy? The prospect always puts him in a good mood. But maybe it wasn’t as you thought? One thing was words, and other actions.
You watch his eye as he seems to have hundreds of thought per second, his face slight confused as he frowns a bit, before his lips turn into smile full of disbelief.
“Are you joking?”
“No... Maester Orwyle informed me this morning” you say softly. “He says that probably our wedding night was fruitful. I don't know. I don't look that pregnant, after these months. We have to figure it out in these days, so we can see when the birth is due... It's funny, because at first we thought it was from the sickness, that I got the worst part… but I just happened to be sick and pregnant”
That's why Maester Orwyle looked at him with a slight smirk as he helped desinfect his arm after training. You probably asked him to keep the secret so you could tell him.
That's why there was something off about you. He couldn't get exactly what, but something was off. It made sense, how nervous you were and how you tried to tell him before, but he was a fool to not notice it.
“Oh, my love…” he says, as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly to him. “Oh… I don’t… I... What can I even say to that?”
He is surprised, and he can’t believe it. You were pregnant. You actually were. His little offspring, growing in your womb right at this moment. Your stomach was not firm by any mean, he couldn't decipher it even if he liked so.
“That is… That is the best thing anyone has ever told me” he admits, chuckling a bit in surprise. “You are going to be a mother. And you are going to make me a father”
"We are, indeed" You say smiling to him. "In some months, it will be me, you and a weeping babe"
He can feel his nose burn as he smiles, the image on his head as he forces himself not to cry of happiness, a weird chuckle comes out of his mouth.
"You are right" he says looking at you. "So, you are definitely moving to my chambers now, aren't you? No more personal chambers, no more confinement when sick. You are not leaving my side, not you or our little dragon" He states nodding, not for discussion. He can't have you just wandering around without him near to protect both of you.
He smiles, as you giggle. His day certainly got better, all thanks to you. His hands caress your back soothingly, as he is just... happy. He forgets about his horrible day, how his ankle still hurts or how his scar stings on his cheek and forehead as he smiles. What is that compared to the joy of knowing that he will be a father? A father to your children as well?
“Now, how come Lady Westerling got my pregnant wife sick?” he teases you as you roll your eyes. “She is in so much trouble, who does she think she is? Both my wife and my sweet baby? Oh, she is not going to see sunlight ever again-”
“Aemond!” you giggle, but he smooches your cheek with kisses that only makes your giggles grow louder.
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Mother Knows No Bounds
prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.
pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader
technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose
fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon
word count: 5.7k+
note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote
warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother.
descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?
please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content:
descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.
you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!
The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.
Women skinny dipped.
Children ran around without their clothes.
Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.
The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.
The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.
It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.
For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.
Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.
You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.
21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.
Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.
However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.
The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.
The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.
Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.
Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.
Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.
Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.
You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.
"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."
"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.
"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"
"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.
He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"
"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."
"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.
"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."
"I've asked you why."
"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."
"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.
"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."
Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."
"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."
Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."
"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.
"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.
"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.
"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."
You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."
You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.
When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"
"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."
"Mother, it's too hot for - "
"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.
"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."
"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "
"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."
Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."
So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.
Sweat bulleted on brows.
Pale cheeks flushed with heat.
Legs started to shake from stress.
Clothes dampened and clung to skin.
You were all of the above and then some!
The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.
Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.
Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.
Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.
This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."
"What 'bout the li'l one?"
"Pardon?" Otto blinked.
"The Queen's last son?"
"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.
Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...
"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."
"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.
"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."
"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.
"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."
Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.
The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.
"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."
"We're almost done - "
"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."
You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.
The hall was too hot.
Stifling hot.
Suffocatingly hot.
Stuffy sort of hot.
Overwhelmingly hot.
Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!
Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!
So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!
However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.
"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"
But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.
"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"
"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.
"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"
"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.
"What happened?" Otto demanded.
"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."
"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."
"You saw the Grand Maester?"
"We did."
"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.
"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.
When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.
When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"
"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"
"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.
"Mother didn't demand you stay?"
"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."
"He was?"
"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.
When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.
The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.
He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.
You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.
Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.
"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.
"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."
"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.
"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."
Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."
With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."
"I-It was a girl?"
"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."
"But my body - "
"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."
"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"
Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."
"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."
"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."
When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."
"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"
"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"
"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"
"How was I to know - "
"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"
"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."
"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."
"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"
"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.
"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."
It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.
Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."
Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."
"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."
"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."
"Just lay with me," you requested.
He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."
"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"
"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."
Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."
"I do not deserve a woman like you."
"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"
His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."
A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.
You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.
You didn't move, staring into the flames.
Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.
King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.
For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.
requesting rules and masterlist
HOTD masterlist
#aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond one eye#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x f!reader#hotd#hotd imagine#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen angst
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My Dragon ~ Aemond x wife!Reader
warnings: mentions of Aemond's eye injury, some angst & fluff
word count: 1.0k
note: pure fluffy dad!Aemond goodness! was stuck on this idea for a while, hope you enjoy this little piece!
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You returned to your chambers after a long day, desperate for nothing more than a long, hot bath and the soft furs of the bed you shared with your husband. You had spent the day with your good sister Helaena. Though once only sisters through friendship, you were truly sisters now after the marriage to her younger brother.
As you opened the doors to your chambers, it was unusually quiet. You closed the door behind you, listening to the crackling of the hearth. You spot the back of Aemond’s head, seated on the settee facing the dancing flames. His head is angled downwards; no doubt he has stayed up late with his nose in a book as you often find him.
Though he never admits it after the fact, you’d caught him on more than one occasion fast asleep on the settee or in his chair, a book open-faced in his lap.
You smile softly as you approach, careful not to startle him.
“My love…” you call softly, to which Aemond turns his head.
He purses his lips slightly, bringing a hand to his mouth shushing you. Your eyebrows concave together in confusion, which ebbs as you walk closer. Aemond has forgotten his usual book this evening; instead, your sleeping daughter rests her head on his lap, fast asleep, her small chest rising and falling with each breath.
Her silver curls are splayed every which way, her nose whistling with every breath she exhales.
“It is late my love,” you playfully tease, keeping your voice a low whisper so as not to wake her.
“I know,” Aemond says, his voice just as soft, “We lost track of time.”
You smile, walking behind him to place your hands on his shoulders. Though only in her fourth year of life, your little dragon has the Targaryen prince wrapped around her little finger. Aemond brings a hand to rest on top of yours, pulling it from his shoulder and pressing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.
“Did you have a nice time?” he murmurs against the back of your hand, his breath causing gooseflesh to appear.
You hum in response. “I did. You know how I enjoy spending time with Helaena. Though I must admit, my legs do ache.”
You had spent most of the day walking through the gardens with the princess, helping her add to her collection of curious creatures and oddities. You loved Helaena’s hobbies and were more than happy to indulge her. But the day was long under the hot summer sun, and it left you eager for bed.
“Shall I call for someone to draw you a bath?” Aemond asks as you lean to rest your chin on his shoulder.
“It tis alright,” you assure him, “Do not trouble yourself.”
“It is no trouble, you know this,” he insists, glancing at you sideways. You made sure to rest upon the shoulder where he can see you with his functioning eye.
You remove your hand from him, caressing the leather eyepatch he wears.
“You must be uncomfortable,” you tell him softly, stroking the worn leather. It begins to irritate him on days such as this one when the heat causes the leather to chafe the skin of his cheek.
The weather is strange these days, getting so hot during the day and then dropping significantly during the night. Aemond’s violet eye flickers down at your sleeping child. How perfect she looks, the perfect combination of both of you. A miracle made of your love. You sense his hesitation.
“She shall not be afraid, my love,” you assure him.
“How can you know?” he says, looking down away from your comforting gaze.
Aemond had always been fearful of how others reacted to his injury. You remembered in your youth before he had begun courting you, how you’d learned of why he wore the patch. It was Helaena who informed you that Aemond wished to not frighten the ladies of the court.
“Prince Aemond should not wish for a weak stomached woman anyhow,” you had snapped, as other ladies had snickered at his injury. “Women say they wish to marry a warrior, then faint at the scars from battle. How distasteful.”
Helaena had told Aemond how you’d come to his defense. You’d been the apple of the Prince’s eye ever since. Well, until the birth of your little one. Two women now completely owned the dragon prince’s heart.
“A mother’s intuition,” you assure him, moving to remove the patch. Aemond freezes for a moment but relaxes into your touch as you place the eyepatch on the table, revealing his magnificent sapphire.
You stroke your finger along the scar, admiring how the sapphire reflects the light from the hearth.
“My dragon,” you murmur, cupping his sharp chin in your hand, and pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred tissue.
Aemond sighs, his chest rumbling. You can see a flicker of desire in his violet eye at your praise. Your daughter stirs then, perfect face scrunching as her pale lashes flutter open. She looks up at you with wide violet eyes before throwing her small arms around your neck.
“Muña!” she says sleepily, arms heavy around your neck.
“Hello my love,” you softly croon, pulling her completely into your arms, “How was your day?”
She buries her face into the crook of your neck and you inhale the lilac scent of her hair. How you enjoy the moments with your companions, but oh how you miss your daughter by the end.
“We went exploring all day! And we went flying on Vhagar,” she chatters away, “Sunfyre even joined us! Kepus flew right next to us!”
“Did he now?” you ask with a chuckle. Aegon was a surprisingly delightful uncle.
Aemond stands then, still facing slightly away. You reach for his hand, pulling him closer. Your daughter looks at him, the smile never leaving her face. Aemond turns his head slowly, revealing the scarred tissue and brilliant sapphire. You hold your breath, waiting for your little girl’s reaction.
She stares, unblinking, before reaching out to touch his face.
“Blue is my favorite color,” she informs, turning back to you, “Did you know Sunfyre likes to sing? I don’t think Vhagar enjoys singing, her songs are rather deep. It shakes the windows of the Keep! Muñāzma was quite cross with her!”
You glance at your husband, watching his cheeks turn red. You smile so brightly that your cheeks begin to ache. There was never anything for him to fear. She adores him all the same.
As do you.
#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x fem!reader#aemond fluff#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#prince aemond#house of the dragon aemond#dad!aemond#dad!aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond x fem!reader#aemond fanfiction#aemond stannies#aemond the kinslayer
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Enchantress
Reader x Aemond Targaryen
Summary: You would guard your throne from vultures no matter the cost and so the games begins. In which Aemond Targaryen regrets making an enemy of his wife.
Aemond is a cheating hoe. No one wanted this I just really wanted to write some angst. As always your features and ethnicity is not mentioned, background is not specified but you are a highborn. After the Serpentine series I wanted something spicy.
Word count: 8.1k
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By nature you were a patient person, taking great diligence in ensuring emotions doesn't overcome your judgment. But as the hour grows late your forbearance for your husband had begun to wear thin. It nears twelve and you had been waiting for Aemonds return for well over three hours now. With every passing minute you find yourself drowning in madness as you draw a blank on where or what he was up to. Succumbing to the ill thoughts on your mind as the flickering dance and crackle of the fire floods your senses. You're tired, you're anxious and your ears are ringing yet you still sat unmoving. Why?
There was no doubt that the man in question confused you to no end, nevertheless you still made sure to act accordingly and play the part of his wife. Although you're finding it increasingly hard to upkeep the role of his good little lover when the man is hardly in your presence. It was true that your marriage with Aemond was one out of political leverage, but you still did your best to care for him. Always making sure your relationship was fostered and tended to in the hopes of something blossoming.
You had faith that he would grow fonder of you as the years went on, but with every passing day that thought was challenged. It had been a long journey but without fail you acted kind and loving towards him no matter the expense. Valuing your relationship with Aemond a great deal, you were willing to do anything for him.
Even endure his callous behaviors towards you.
It was no secret that the prince was rather displeased with your union. For a man that preached the importance of preforming duty, he was awfully bad at it. You had been wedded for almost half a year now and have yet to consummate the marriage. Not that you weren't willing to, the problem lies with your husband. It was plain to see behind closed doors that he did not take you seriously.
In his eye this marriage was a joke, you were but strangers at best due to his lack of effort. Now you know not of the origins of his distant behavior but you've tried your best to minimize them. Dragging Aemond off to accompany you on walks around the castle, asking him to join you for lunch; everyday without faltering you tried.
But to no avail, your attempts does little to dull the wall between you two. He doesn't interact with you unless it was mandatory or for show, displayed little emotions past cordial. And god forbid laying a hand on you was the end of the fucking world. Was this who Aemond Targaryen was? Cold and cynical? Deprived of all that makes a person human. Every time you looked at him he was a ghost, fading into the background slipping from your grasp. He was untouchable, invisible. His self-righteous aura creating a vortex around him.
The distance between Aemond and you had started to become apparent to the ladies in court. Everyday without fail they would voice their concerns, asking you if you were being mistreated. Of course you lie, a task that comes easy to you, easier than you thought it would since you had little ties with your husband. Though it makes you wonder if Aemond also found it easy to lie to you....
The thought gets lost on you as an intrusive sound rings through your chambers. Brows furrowing at the disturbance, why would Aemond feel the need to knock on your shared room? The train was rather absurd so it leads you into thinking that it wasn't him paying you a visit. Much to your disappointment. With confusion in your voice, you call out to the visitor.
"Come in." Anxiously bringing your palms together on your lap. Your fingers locked themselves in a manner of worry, squeezing tightly as you prepare yourself. Soon the door opens and in follows Ser Larys Strong. His pronounced way of walking evident as the cane hits the ground harshly. The sound announcing and intrusive, almost counting down the seconds before he reaches you.
"I am sorry to intrude on your private time my Lady, especially when the hour is so late but I fear this matter cannot wait till dawn." He smiles sympathetically although you do not like implications behind it. You notion for him to sit across from you, watching the scene carefully. You don't utter a word as he moves to take his place. Ser Larys's visits are always prompted.... And by the look on his face it reads that he knows something you don't... That fact slightly unnerved you...
"I thought this news would be best heard if it were from me.... From a friend..." Bullshit. Larys always had an ulterior motive, he liked cultivating favors from the court only for them to owe him in return. No doubt that he was a sick man that enjoyed manipulating others, finding power in mind games in a way that he cannot with the sword. You were far from friends but played the game together. He only viewed you so highly because you were one of the only people the didn't fall for his lures and cryptic words.
"I take it this news is not pleasant." Lifting a brow at him in question, you kept your manner strong and imposing. He swallows and nods his head briefly, averting his gaze from you to look at the floor.
"Earlier today.... Prince Aemond was caught indulging a servant girl in Harrenhal." He says the words carefully though no amount of safe keeping can withhold your anger. Larys words were vague but you understood clearly what he meant. Shaking in your seat, you calm yourself. Or at least tried to....
You were going to fucking kill him.
"Ah.... I see... Who else knows?" Your words come out strained. Tone cut and tense, implying that you were holding back an outburst as tears of anger slowly clouds your gaze. What did you honestly expect? Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, vision tunneling as rage began crawling up your center. For a moment your breath stills, the abyss captivating you before you snap out of it and focusing on Ser Larys once more. He says nothing as he watches the fire burn, avoiding your venomous stare.
"Just you and me." He nods slowly, finally looking at you, only to drop his gaze soon after. He was uncomfortable beyond measure... His mouth opens to say something once more but stops to take in your shape. You clutched at the chair with a murderous grip, nails digging into the stained leather. Slowly he met your unmoving eyes, taken aback by the poison swimming amongst them. Gods be good... That look never meant well. The tension was heavy and for a moment Larys feared for his own life. You were not sad nor disheartened, instead you were seething in hatred. The room fogs with something unpleasant as the walls welcomed the illness like an old friend. Such atmosphere was suffocating as he watched you shake in retribution, no doubt planning your next calculating moves.
Vengeance. That was all you wanted. Many questions plagued your mind, had you not been good enough for him? You've done all that you could to please him and yet he disrespect your name with his adultery. You honestly didn't know what to say, it wasn't like this was much of a shock to you since a part of you always had suspicions. But you dismissed those thoughts as nothing but intrusive and toxicant. Yet to hear the words out loud coming from a reputable man such as Ser Larys Strong was much different than you telling yourself. Larys was many things but he was not a liar. His words always had claim and a backbone, despite how distasteful the intentions behind them may be. You could not care less about what he wants to get out of you, what you want to know is what else he's keeping locked away. And what will it take to get him talking.
"The servant that caught them and sent for a raven was found killed under.... suspicious circumstances... I only received both letters now, of the girls retelling and of her death.... A dagger through the mouth what an awful way to go..." Larys speaks when you don't, watching the way you thought in silence. He wondered what you were thinking, for he was one of the only people that knew your true nature. You were a murderous woman, manipulative, vigilant, and vengeful... Behind those stupid smiles and shy fronts was an enchantress, turning the tides in her favor. And now an outsider trespasses on your waters. Larys knows more than anything that you were willing to guard your throne from vultures at any cost.
You didn't like coming second to anybody, and for a moment he prays for the prince...
"I understand that this must be difficult for you, but if you are ever in need... I'll be sure to be of service in this trying time..." You scoff at that, the sound reverberating through the room. There it was. The bait he dangles so tempting in front of foolish fish.
"At what cost Ser Larys, I am no fool. I know everything from you must always come at a price." Holding your chin up high, you crossed your arms and leaned back into your seat. Having calmed down a little, you plan a rainstorm of hell fire.
"Not this time... You see, this girl that had somehow managed to enthrall the prince.... She is a nuisance on my side so you can insure my allegiance is with you. As Lord of Harrenhal I make it a point to know everything and anything going on in my own castle, even if I'm not present. I can ensure you that I have eyes everywhere." You ignore the way your stomach turns at the thought of someone else captivating Aemond as you thought on his proposal. It would be quite useful to have someone with such connections on your side. Shaking your head as you corrected yourself. There were no sides nor factions, you were not at war with Aemond. Yet.
"Can you tell me the name of this girl?"
"She goes by Alys Rivers, you may know of her...." It was almost comical enough to force a laugh.
A bastard Strong... How truly ironic and cliche. It would seem that the very vendetta he had against his own nephews would be the cause of his own demise. The pain that rushed through you didn't burn anymore, instead it courses through your veins in bittersweetness, fueling your vengeance and need for revenge. You didn't care all that much about closure, instead looking for all the ways you can induce the same pain onto Aemond. You were patient to a fault, all the unwanted emotions manifesting into pettiness and spite.
To hurt Aemond Targaryen you must be precise and conniving, you couldn't afford any spill ups. In truth the stature he built of himself was great; intimidating, undying, a menace. But beneath all that you knew he was still the same little boy that got bullied for not having a dragon. Scars like that cannot be grown out of, especially when they've left such permanent imprints on him. You were not going to evoke One Eye Aemond who rides the largest dragon, but rather the young little boy he held so dearly to his heart. That was the Aemond you wanted to hurt. Not the man that gave you blank stares and barely spoke any words to you. Not the man that dares call himself your husband when he has not deserved the name. The neglected outcast freak, that was who you were going to murder.
How dare he choose her over you. Suddenly it clouds your vision. All the violence, the fire, the insecurities. Your inability to think clear, the pride and pain of being his wife. Your lust and distaste for the man that caused you such pain. It ruptures your heart. You would trade love for greed just to induce the same feelings onto him. Oh how you wanted to ruin him. Ruin her for him. By the end of it you wanted him begging at your knees, crying apologies. Who does Alys Rivers think she was to steal your husband away from you. And who does Aemond think he was to assume you wouldn't retaliate. Or perhaps he knew and simply didn't care... That was a common theme in your husband, not caring about you. He was more of a fool than you thought of if he thinks you were just going to stand for this and take it.
No. You wanted an eye for an eye. Or more plainly, a heart for a heart.
"Her existence threatens you." Speaking lowly as you projected your thoughts onto Ser Larys. You aren't the only one to have a reason to hate the aforementioned wench. You may be hazed with hatred but you are not blind. There was a reason Ser Larys chose to come to you instead of Aemond with this information. Without him you wouldn't have known anything, and surely the favor of a prince would be worth more than you could ever give him. Yet he came knocking at your door.
"I am the sole heir to my fathers title, if that bastard had somehow managed to persuade the prince then my very seat is challenged. An outsider amongst the natives. I need to ensure my status, my lady. Can I trust you on this." His words were frantic almost, his long brown hair falling over his face as he leaned in close. Ser Larys was pleading, in his own way...
"You can. Now, my friend... what will you have me do?" The smile that spread across your face was sinister as you prompted his guidance. Though it was more rhetorical, you knew what had to be done.
"Seduce Aemond. Capture his attention enough so that he begins to question his love for her." Love? Was that burned between them? Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you thought on it more. It wasn't a bad design, far better than you stabbing a knife through Alys in front of Aemond. Only one minor flaw.
"And how shall I manage to do that!? The man can barely look at me!"
"To the unseeing eye it appears that way. Though the amount of times I've caught his gaze lingering longer than it should is great. You are a smart woman y/n, I'm sure you can figure out a way to break through his barrier."
Could it be that all this time you just hadn't noticed him looking at you? Regardless that was irrelevant as you pondered your first move. You and Larys had the advantage, Aemond doesn't know that you knew of his infidelity. And as far as you're aware your image as his good little wife was still intact, so perhaps you would play into that role more. Aemond’s betrayal made you realize that you've grown stiff as a board. It dulls you as you realize that you've come to be the very woman you pray for. Desperately lost in their marriage. Endlessly dreaming, hoping one day Aemond would come around and play pretend with you. He was taking advantage of you without you knowing it. He sees your very being as something he can twist and turn in his palm like one of his daggers.
At a certain point he was bound to get cut.
To hurt Aemond Targaryen you must hurt that little boy. It had been weeks since your night with Ser Larys and silently you had been scheming. So far you remained indifferent, trying hard to make sure you aren't faltering by acting the same. It was a hard task that you've come to dread as you knew the cold truth behind his behaviors. At day he would be with you, by night he would be deep in her. You only began to notice the missing hours in your days and curse yourself for being so foolish. You thought long and hard about how you were going to approach the situation. Dissecting your husband under a magnifying glass whilst hiding behind timid smiles. And soon enough your praying and mute jealousy had manifested into the form of a golden haired beast bearing red and gold.
Ser Tyrin Lannister...
A handsome, charming young lord that has come to pay the crown a visit... Though you saw him for what he truly was, a prideful and egotistical man that's blinded by arrogance. The perfect pawn for your game. Truthfully, you only picked him out because he beared such acute resemblance to prince Aegon. The only difference in appearance was instead of the famed silver hair his was pure gold. You hoped that your choice of companion would strike a nerve with Aemond, seeing that he's spent so much of his youth being tormented by the image of the man.
And by the way he was glaring daggers at you and Tyrin, your expectations fall true. It was easy to manipulate the Lannister with sugar coated words and flirtatious giggles, the problem lied with Aemond taking the bait. Up until this point you were basically going off theory, but now you can trust that Aemond was a possessive man.
Your laugh rings through the room as you giggle at something Tyrin whispered in your ear. The man was indeed charismatic which made talking to him easy enough. If you hadn't diluted him to nothing but a playing piece you would have found yourself actually enjoying his company. You had been acquainted for quite some time now, ever since his first arrival, and everyday without fail you were with him. Slowly but surely you had began replacing Aemond with Tyrin in your life. It was him you went on walks with, it was him you dinned with. There was no doubt that Lannisters had vanity and he was aware of it, he was aware of how his gracious gifts won you over and softened you. Or so he thought. In weeks time you had managed to accumulate a collection of gold and ruby jewelries from the man himself.
Something Aemond has not taken kindly to, seeing the way his jaw would clench everytime you adorned the treasures. At this point you had purposely made a show of it, parading in a red and gold gown with massive ruby earrings dangling from your ears. All while you showcased a brilliant ruby and gold choker around your neck. You looked more like Tyrin's wife than Aemond's and perhaps that was your goal. Though honestly your endgame gets lost on you as you're having so much fun toying with him. No doubt Aemond had begun to pick up on your absence and it was hilarious to see. His worries and insecurities must've gotten the best of him because now you can't go anywhere without him trailing behind. He was always there, watching in silence, perhaps judging you but you did not care. The fact of the matter was, whatever you were doing was working.
"If you stare any longer I'm sure a fire will start to burn." Aegon says dryly from beside his brother, looking down at his empty chalice before placing it down all together. The elder rolled his eyes at the familiar 'hmmm' that escaped Aemond as he opens his mouth to say something but he turns mute. Instead he narrowed his eyes at the sight.
Contrary to popular belief, Aegon was not a complete fucking asshole. Well... sometimes he wasn't... He sensed his brothers discomfort greatly and although he didn't want to pry, he wanted to know what laid within the inner workings of Aemond's mind. Call it care or intrigue, but he loved gossip like an old widowed wife. Fact of the matter was, Aegon Targaryen was painful self aware and it didn't take much to figure out that Tyrin Lannister was him in lions clothing. Of course Tyrin was him if he actually tried and excelled at things. His drunken habits aside, he wanted to know why his sister in law was so taken by him with golden hair....
"He looks like me..." Aegon turns to his brother only to notice him swiftly walking away at his words. He turns to the man once more, brows pulling in contempt. Maybe he should have been born a Lannister....
To say that Aemond was irritated was an understatement. It was all so ridiculous. The fact that you were throwing yourself so carelessly for a man such as that imbecile. All Lannisters were dazzling armors with nothing truly potent inside. They were blinded by shine and glimmer just as much as everyone else was from their looks. He wouldn't admit it out loud but the resemblance Ser Tyrin had to his brother was uncanny. And he wouldn't dare admit that these unbecoming feelings were derived from that fact alone. Call Aemond what you will, a bitter husband, a possessive man, but he did not like what was playing out in front of him.
Over the passing weeks you had devoted your attention to that man and him alone. From the moment you awoke you were dressed in red and gold, throughout the day you were by his side. He no longer saw you and you no longer sought for his attention. He thought it'd be nice, to finally get you off his back but everyday he grows increasingly impatient. Were you not his wife? He knows he doesn't have a proper claim over you especially with how he's been acting but he still owned his emotions. And he was allowed to feel however he wanted to. Although he doesn't speculate any infidelity from your end, mainly because you weren't the type in his eye, it was plain that you were taken by a lion. Whether you knew it or not, you were dancing with a beast and Aemond would not take such defeat.
In all honesty, he's certain you aren't fucking Tyrin. Now perhaps that was just wishful thinking fueling his denial but you weren't exactly the type. All your marriage he's known you as nothing but dull... The perfect embodiment of who his parents wanted him to marry. Kind, respectable, a push over... In his opinion you were devoted to a fault. Seeing you as nothing but mindless doll who had no other choice but to fall in line and agree with whoever owned them. Hence why when seeking companionship he purposely chose some the exact opposite of you. Alys was older by a few years and had all the experience he craved. It was no question why that he sought for her instead of you. Word around the castle was that you were thought to be too pious to succumb to sins of temptation unless duty was in order.
He hadn't meant to grow so attached to Alys but she was exhilarating. Everytime they were apart he yearned for her body. She was captivating and alluring in all senses, intoxicating him. With long brown hair and a figure that could make the gods envious, she held him with a death grip. His Alys. Aemond knew that what he had with her wasn't love but more so addiction, but he didn't care what it was just as long as he got to have more of it. The differences between you and Alys were stark to see, you were at polars end. But what drawned him to her was the fact that she was so aware of her touch. He liked women that knew how to wield a weapon, and he quite honestly couldn't picture you doing the same. They called her many names for her beauty, searing her as a witch for her dominion over man.
If he wanted an enchantress you would give it to him. You would be better than Alys in every way imaginable. If he wanted someone who can satisfy him then you would drive him into the brink of madness with your touch. You wanted to suffocate and flush out Aemond Targaryen till he was no more than a shell. It started off slow. Switching your clothing in favor of another, something more hugging and accentuating. Your old gowns so colorful and modest were now replaced with darker tones that showed off your body well. It was an odd switch but you felt more comfortable this way strangly enough.
Then you traded innocent stares for something more bidden, your once doe eyes turning siren as you realize the effects of you had. Perhaps Aemond cheating on you was a blessing in disguise. You only now realize how good it felt to be wanted. All throughout court, men and women a like would fall in line for you. They would bow if you commanded so. You looked like someone to be taken seriously and not so much like a walking virtue. Everytime you entered a room eyes would be on you, the silent respect your new aura demanded was intoxicating. You knew who you were and what you were capable of, it was time for them now to know too.
It was empowering. You felt Immortal and unchallenged. To have them speak so nervously to you, the shy stares and permanent blushes. Your new change had prompted many curiosities but what captures people so was your attitude. Cunning, sly and quick witted, all the aspects of your being that you suppressed. You had never felt this in control all your life, like the tides were moved by your will.
All your life you've been taught to be one way despite your true wishes. You painted yourself as the image of what a lady was supposed to be without understanding why you were doing it. Or who you were doing it for. Perhaps this is why the change was so liberating, because you no longer chose to hide yourself. Maybe this was who you were all along and just needed a push to embrace it. You no longer felt like you were wearing a mask and truthfully you don't think you could ever put it on again. Not when they all doted around you. Not they all craved for you. Not when you had such power over desires.
They all fell into line... all but Aemond.... but you had something special for him. For now you let his judgment cloud him. You doubt that he's picked up on your facade faltering. It was quite strange to embrace the very values your teaching went against. Sensuality, unkept emotions, temptation. Having been guided to act one way only to realize that people yearned for the other more. To switch from being subdued to domineering. You no longer let people tell you what to do and how truly inebriating it was.
〄
"You are intoxicating...."
You know not how much time has passed, only consumed on Tyrin's lips as he grasped your body all over. Laughing when his teeth grazed your neck, you threw your head back in bliss. Maybe this was what the Septa was trying to keep you away from, the overwhelming sensations of sex. It rushes through you, sending your skin on fire in it's wake. God, he knew how to please you so. Giggling into your ear as his golden locks curtain the sinful things he whispered, Tyrin's fingers expertly yanks your skirt up. You let him pin you to the bed, a stupid smile spreading across your face. If such an act was so bad then why on earth did it feel so good?
How exhilarating it was to be desired, to be wanted and fondled with care. And to think, all this time you had spent rotting away in your bed chambers waiting for Aemond. If he would not satisfy you then you would satisfy yourself, fulfillment taking the form of a rogue lover. Perhaps it was messy to set your eyes on the men of the court but maybe that's what you wanted. You like the thrill of getting caught, liked the rumors that murmured through the halls. Although you hadn't slept with anyone but Tyrin, you couldn't contain yourself from teasing the occasional lord and lady. Naturally, word got around of your effects and of you and Tyrin's speculated affairs. And not so long after, word finally traveled to your dear stupid husband. Though it wasn't until he caught you in the middle of the act did he finally take it seriously. Up until this point they were but toothless claims, not believing his tight laced wife would ever be capable enough to find her own back bone.
"Faster.... faster..." You say through half lidded eyes, blurry vision locked onto the man in between your legs. Your fingers intertwined with his golden hair as you guide his head at your will. Body heaving and grinding up against his mouth. You pull at your skirts more to get a better view of his face.
All was falling into place and you would make your first strike as footsteps approached up the hall. You were nearing ecstasy as your eyes stay trained onto the door. You had perfectly timed everything and in a manner of seconds you would land such a blow so harsh that it would shatter Aemonds views of you. His boring and dull, obedient little wife coming undone by a man that was not him. You suppress a moan as Tyrin slips his middle finger in you, fucking you in and out as his lips wrap around your swollen clit. Almost there, almost there....
Oh it was all too much yet not enough at the same time. It floods you, sending you over the edge as you desperately grasp onto the bed covers. And at the sound of the door opening you let out a series of gasps turned moans as you lock eyes with the cause of your downfall. The look on his face was satisfaction enough, but you wanted more. Eyes closing in bliss as your head falls onto the bed, a laugh so sinister rings through the room. You pull your skirt over to hide your exposed skin as you smile up at Tyrin. Drawing him close to place a long loving kiss on his lips, you nod your head out the door, whispering empty promises of later. Aemond watches the whole exchange, mouth clenched and fists balled. As the man walked past him and out the door Aemond had to physically stop himself from mauling him and setting him on fire.
There was no doubt about it, he was angry. Shaking in place much like you had in your seat weeks ago. He didn't know what these emotions were blossoming in his chest but he didn't like it. It burned in a way so violent he fears that a hole may form in his chest. He does nothing for a few moments, simply standing in place eyeing you like a predator to it's prey. You do the same, putting all your body weight on your elbow as you laid on the bed unmoving. If he expected a stream of desperate apologies to fall from your mouth then he was not going to get it. You looked at eachother with much venom and alcohol. The gratification you got coursed through you as the image he had witnessed stayed forever burned in his brain.
Good. You wanted him to remember that forever. Much like you'll remember his actions towards you for eternity. Suddenly you were angry. Angry at him, angry at his fucking Alys, angry at Ser Larys. Snarling in hate as your gaze hardens you force yourself to speak.
"Get out." The words were cold, and for a moment Aemond flinches as it echoed through the walls. He does what you command, harshly shutting the door behind him and you fall onto the bed once more.
What had you done?
You were getting even. You wouldn't be here if he hadn't have provoked you first. Truthfully, you didn't know what scared you more, the fact that you could have potentially ruined your marriage or how absolutely addicting it was to inflict pain onto him. One things for certain though, you weren't done.
Aemond didn't know what to feel. He was a mess of emotions, lashing out at anything and everything in his way. A part of him knew that this was only fair yet why did it hurt him so bad? He thought he didn't care about you, thought you were a mere pawn in this game but it appeared that all this time you were playing him. All of it is a mystery to him as he begins to think on your relationship more. What parts of you were actually real, which was really you and which was his wife? Were your affections for him true and had he hurt you so? All this time he thought you were playing a role, or maybe you were. Because the girl laying on that bed laughing like the stranger was not his wife.
No, she was a demon. A succubus getting off on his pain. All of it is so confusing, the bruises you left dragging him down into the depths. Yet why did it excite him a little... Watching you like that.... Aemond feels as though he couldn't breathe, the remaining fragments of his heart shriveled at the thought of falling victim to weakness. He would not allow this, he wouldn't allow a man like Tyrin Lannister to best him and steal you away. The sorrow he felt was akin to an old friend, the bittersweetness that plagued his soul reminded him of his youth. This was a feeling he promised himself he would never endure again. The feeling of being less than and not enough. He had failed you. He had failed you so bad that you had to go seeking for another. Now he knew that he was being a hypocrite on that but he was vulnerable.
Being vulnerable was not something Aemond Targaryen was used to.
〄
"You aren't to see him again." Aemond yelled, trailing after the girl as you entered your shared chambers. The space thankfully empty as you ignored his impending attitude. Your breath quickens as you find yourself caught in a rather unpleasant situation. It had been merely an hour since that gurly sight with Ser Tyrin Lannister, and Aemond finds himself losing all remaining composure he had left with you.
"Huh?" There was something rather vexing about your tone that proved to be daggers in Aemond's ears. The way you expressed such profound boredom and taciturn, as if this conversation was an inconvenience to you. You displayed an tired exposure that puzzled him to no end because the confrontation has yet to begin. Your slack demeanor and annoyed undertone was both riddling and infuriating to Aemond.
"Ser Tyrin Lannister, you aren't allowed to see him again!" Deciding to forgo any avoidance, Aemonds tone was cut clean. He told you how it was, and he did not care about preserving feelings when you were showing such childish behavior. You would either accept never seeing that man, or any man for that matter again, or Aemond would turn to more extreme measures.
"Well... who knew it was possible to evoke such emotions from you. And here I thought you were incapable." Aemond's eye widen in shock as you put on an uncharacteristic display of theatrics. You scoffed and silently berated him with your inflection. This was a side of you he's never seen before. It was a tiny probe that was meant to provoke him by angling into his worries in a brash and unnecessary way. Aemond didn't know whether or not you were intentionally trying to anger him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care if it was deliberate or not.
"...I beg your pardon?" His words wry and barren with any emotions, genuinely taken aback.
"Well then kneel and start begging." You turn to him sharply, backing him against the door as he looked down at you in shock, yet you don't back down.
"You can't tell me what to do. But if you wish to keep believing that you have some sort of power over me, I will try my best to be more discreet with my partners." You wave your hand at him, as if done with this conversation but he was far from finished.
"I will not have you acting like a whore y/n! You are my wife and mine alone!" Aemond did not mean to call you that but as the words slip from his lips he soon finds himself regretting it. Watching the way you hesitated for a moment, a flash of hurt gleaming on your face before turning angry. He knew men have called their wives much worse but not him. His mother had always made sure he knew how to treat women. If only she knew how that back fired...
A whore....
He thought that you were a whore......
Normally you wouldn't let such meaningless words effect you so but that was exactly it, it wasn't meaningless. Not when it came from the mouth of the person you once thought the world of. Aemond used to be everything to you, and to hear that coming from him was disheartening to no end. Yes you knew that he was just angry because you pushed him so, but that fact became irrelevant as you begin to feel claustrophobic from your emotions. You felt frail, burning with a thick blanket of insecurities and rage constricting you, like a greedy serpent, ready to prey and corrupt you whole. You felt like Alice, falling into a dark rabbit hole of anxiety and panic, despair beginning to pull you down. It was all too much, and you suddenly began to feel so small. Your once defiance now subdued and replaced with the image of a shaking girl maddened. You felt afraid... not of Aemond but of your emotions...
Compose yourself, you were not going allow such disrespect and you were not going to fall into your old ways again.
"Don't play the fool, Aemond. You started this. Quite honestly what did you think was going to happen?" You yelled firmly in his face, trying so hard to push your emotions away. But thoughts of Alys tainted your mind. He would never speak to her this way. He would never act this way around her. You let the bitterness hug and empower you. The same need to hurt him reignited.
"I am simply playing the game that you started." You were reticent but in a prolix and unnecessary way. You would not reveal that he had hurt you so. Aemond opens his mouth to say something but doesn't for a few moments.
"What prompted this change..." He sounded desperate, his words breaking as he desperately searched for an answer.
"I don't know! Maybe now I don't feel the need to hide behind a mask anymore." You say to him honestly. This need for revenge and affinity for spite and pettiness, it had always been there. Aemond just didn't look at you long enough to notice it.
"I'm tired Aemond. I'm tired of doing my best to please you only for it to not be good enough!"
It wasn't just about you or Aemond being possessive anymore, it was the fact that you had reached your end. Was it so wrong to want a partner that actually loved and cared for you? Was it so wrong to want to be loved? The more you thought the more empty and hollow you felt. You can feel your soul decaying all together as anxiety crept up on you. He didn't want you.... The little voice in your head spoke. He thinks Alys is better than you..... stop... Why do you try so bad? because I must... You don't deserve to be with him... yes I do... No you don't... The voices in your head taunted, feeling feverish and flushed, you took a step back from Aemond. Suddenly afraid to be too close to him. But it did no help to calm the mean words the whirlwind through your brain. It picked at you, in a way that the thought of Alys couldn't but funny enough it was the personification of her plaguing your mind.
He doesn't think you're good enough...
I don't think you're good enough...
He doesn't think you're good enough...
We don't think you're good enough...
It's not just her anymore, the voice that invades your head is your parents speaking to you..... Then it's the King and Queen screaming... And after that it's Aegon and Helaena laughing at you...
It's Aemond talking down to you, —it's everything, it's everyone, all at once, all-consuming, suffocating and demanding. And suddenly the ability to hear is ripped from you; it's nothing. You're forced into a pliable mass being sullied, your body isn't yours anymore. It's a vessel of flooding anxiety and negative thoughts.
"I want somebody that loves me...." You say, looking at the man with such betrayal.
Be strong....
"I want a happy life with a husband that can actually stand to be in my presence. I want children of my own to fill the hole you left." You spoke after a short minute, your voice small and fragile, pleading... Aemond watches you shake and cry from where you stand. He had done this to you...
"I have spent so long loving you but that love has never served me..." Your words were soft, a timbre of spite concealed with broken confidence. You hated this... hated how you got in your own head and ruined your own self esteem... Pain feeding off your scorched heart and the embers of your love for Aemond. It was agonizing... agonizing to watch him look at you cry like this. But perhaps he needed to see you this way.
He had hurt you so badly and the moment he finally got a taste of his own medicine he ordered you to stop. It was the consuming fear of not being enough for him that killed you so, the thought of not being able to live up to the expectations. And for Aemond to stand there and call you a whore when all you ever did was try to love him.
"Forgive me my dear wife... I did not know that you have been suffering so badly all this time. Had I known...." He softens for a moment, trying to get you to understand whilst failing to consider that you didn't need to, he did.
"But you did! You knew and you still went off in search for something I cannot give you. Had you have known would it have changed anything?" You scream in broken anger and despair.
"No..."
You never learn, hearing it in your own head was a lot different than hearing it out loud. It will never be the same, it will always be ten times worse. Aemond had just confirmed your words. Of course you knew that he thought this way but it hurt a lot more. Just like that night with Ser Larys. Your shoulders slump in defeat, frowning as tears began to prick at your eyes. Aemond takes notice of this, swiftly cupping your cheeks with his large hands and forcing you to look him.
"No, because either way you would have been discontent. I cannot give you the life that you wanted." Yet you can give it to her?
"Why not!?" You yelled with such anger and rage, ripping his hands off you. Your voice echoing through the room as you cussed the boy out. You were frustrated beyond measure and above all else heartbroken. Was it truly too much to ask for? You would lying if you said it wasn’t nice having him treat you like this. Maybe weeks ago you would've swoon at the thought of his hands caressing you. But that was then and this was now.
"I am not made for love..." You fear that you can slay Vhagar with the great efforts it takes you now to remain calm. That was his excuse? A pitiful one at that. He had you standing there.... sad and broken... and all he can come up with was that love wasn't in his nature? Pain is the perfect word to describe this sensation oppressing your chest at those words. This doesn't stop you from peering up at him in question. You felt a calling to yell at him but you couldn't, no matter how badly you wanted to you. Staying baffled, every cry dying in the back of your throat. Your visage contorting in somber at Aemonds blasphemy.
"I don't believe you!" You yell at him, pushing at his chest when he tries to hug you. You break down in his arms, collapsing onto the floor as you weep into him. Aemond desperately held you close, oh what has he done to you.... He felt a myriad of emotions wash over him. Guilt, sadness, shame... He was ashamed he pushed you to this point. So he held the woman he barely knew well enough to call his wife.
"Tell me Aemond! Does your heart belong to another? Tell me now, please and I'll stop." You didn't know what you meant by stop. Stop trying? Stop loving? But if he said the words you would end it so. Aemond looks down at you, hugging onto the portrait that was once his wife.
"No! No one has captured my heart, those who came second to you, they mean nothing. They are nothing..." He says quickly, his words ringing truthful. He didn't know what prompted this new change but he panicked at the thought of losing you.
"Prove it to me." You whispered slowly. Uttering the words in a tone so cold and firm, your gaze locks onto Aemond's. Your wide eyes morphing into something else as a small smirk pulls at your lips. Distraught gone from your face as the water flow of tears halt.
"Bring me the head of Alys Rivers."
"How do you know..." He looks at you in shock for a moment, your expression ridden of distress and replaced with something sinister.... Watching his expression carefully, you place your hands on his shoulders and leaned into his ear.
"Do it and I will be yours again." It came out as a pur, a tempting whisper urging him, and Aemond found himself liking the way it sounded. That was Aemond's cord. He was as possessive as he was jealous. Much like you, he didn't like being second to anyone, but would that be enough. Turning your head to meet his gaze, it would be so easy to kiss you but he keeps a firm hold on your waist.
"If not then I will take it myself." Nodding your head briefly, you remove his arms from around you. Standing up, you walk over to your shared bed, wiping away the rogue tears before sitting down. Aemond's brows furrowed in confusion, you were much more composed now and hidden behind your eyes was a sense of coldness.
"It appears that I have much to learn about you my lovely wife. But If it will please you then as you wish." Aemond stands soon after you, nodding his head as he planned to make amends.
"You're willing to kill her just like that?" Turning your head to him slightly, you questioned where his loyalty lied.
"I told you she means nothing to me... Did you think otherwise?" His sly expression displayed a certain vainglory that caused you to turn away. So maybe you had thought otherwise but your insecurities had to come from somewhere.
"If you're lying to me Aemond I will have your other eye." Threatening may not be the answer but you liked the hesitancy it triggered from him.
"I suppose this is my fault.... you don't trust me." Nodding his head as he walked slow steps towards you, Aemond kneels down in front of the bed and takes your hands in his.
"You have given me every reason not to trust you." With a stiff lip, you turn from him.
"I know... But let me make it right." Guiding your chin with his fingers to make you look at him, you noticed a hint of regret and shame swimming in his eye.
"The road to forgiveness will not be easy." You tell him firm.
"I know... my love." You ignore the butterflies that awoke from that title and watch as he rose to grab his riding coat. And so it begins...
༺━━━━━━━━━༻༒༺━━━━━━━━━༻
Autho's Note:
Let me know if you guys want more! There's more to this story but I chopped it up into two parts because I wasn't done and I wanted to have something out for you guys. I swear to god I drop fics unannounce then dissappear for months lmao.
- Armoni
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond imagine#aemond one eye#aemond scenario#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen fluff#prince aemond#aemond fluff#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#aemond angst#aemond and alys#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen scenarios#aemond x you#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#helaena targaryen#alys rivers#hotd aemond#house of the dragon aemond#house of the dragon#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic
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Claimant
summary: you've been betrothed to jace and aemond simply can't have that
pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, reader is described as looking like alicent (coppery hair, wide eyes) but no other descriptors are used, dark!aemond, targcest, incest, knife play (aemond has a thing for knives idk), knife fucking? she fucks the handle idk, no blood/injury, slight coercion, slight degradation, a very viserys (GoT) coded aemond, slight dubcon but the reader is here for it, fingering, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 2.3k
a/n: i genuinely don't know what to say about this. i got inspiration from this last night and became a woman possessed!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
creds to @tomblythsgf for the gif!
Your skin prickles, the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end as you feel his gaze on you yet again, making your heart hammer in your chest as you nod along to whatever Lord Tyland is saying, your lips stretched into a polite grin while he drones on and on about something or other. The sweet, heady taste of Dornish wine fills your mouth as you sip from your cup and your eyes flick up as you chance a quick glance to the other end of the great hall.
A small gasp leaves your lips as your eyes meet his, one lilac and one veiled sapphire, both filled with barely contained rage as he sulks in a darkened corner by the doors.
“Are you feeling well, princess?” Tyland questions and it’s only then you realize how hard you’re breathing, chest heaving as you pant.
“Of course,” you manage a tight-lipped, courteous smile, “The excitement of the day must be getting to me, if you’ll excuse me.” Quickly, you make your way back to the main table in the center of the room, smiling gratefully as you lay your eyes on your husband-to-be.
“Prince Jacaerys,” you smile, setting your cup down on the long wooden table, “Would you do me the honor of joining me for another dance?”
His dark eyes light up as you approach and he quickly nods, “How am I meant to say no to my future bride?” He chuckles, standing and offering you a hand, which you gladly accept.
You try your best to focus on the music, the crowd, the loud hum of the conversations that fill the hall – anything but your older brother’s gaze that still bores into you. You can practically feel his rage multiply tenfold as the brunettes wraps an arm around your waist, your throat dry as you grasp his shoulder, fingers digging into the fine silk tunic he wears.
“Are you enjoying the feast, princess?” Jace asks as the two of you move gracefully across the floor, the steps of the dance thankfully long-since committed to memory.
“How could I not?” You smile as he twirls you, your long auburn locks swaying against the satin of the cloak that flows down your back before they settle across your shoulders once more, “This is a most joyous day for both of our families.”
“Of course,” the prince nods thoughtfully, though you can’t help but notice his tawny eyes are clouded with a certain sadness, “What I mean to say is, are you happy to be marrying me?”
Your lips part to answer, though you don’t manage to get a word out before a strong hand clasps your shoulder, your steps halting immediately. You don’t need to turn your head to see who it is, although the sour look on Jace’s face clears any lingering doubt you may have had in an instant.
“Nephew,” Aemond speaks lowly over your shoulder, standing so close to you that your back is nearly pressed against his chest, “Could I borrow my sister for a dance?”
The prince steps back with an annoyed sigh, shooting you an apologetic look before nodding at your brother, “Of course, uncle,” his voice is monotone as he speaks, though his eyes brighten once more as they land on you yet again, “Until later, princess.” He whispers, dipping his head down to press a soft kiss against the back of your hand; Aemond all but growls behind you.
Your older brother sweeps in as soon as Jace’s back is turned, tightly wrapping an arm around your waist as the two of you continue the dance from where you’d left off. “You know I hate seeing you with him,” Aemond rasps, threading the fingers of one of his hands together with yours, “You belong to me, sweet sister, no one else.”
Your heart twists in your chest and you know deep within yourself that his words are true, not that it matters. “There is nothing I can do, brother,” you whisper, your eyes flitting over to where your mother and grandsire sit, “I had no choice in the matter, you know this.”
Aemond hums lowly in his throat as the two of you sway to the soft orchestral music, his hand untangling itself from yours to grasp your chin, tilting your head up to face him. His lilac eye all but burns with fire as he gazes down at you, “You should be mine, you are mine,” he seethes, words hissed through clenched teeth, “Our fool of a mother should’ve known better than to shackle you to some bast–”
“Do not speak ill of mother,” you admonish, shaking your head free of his grasp, “You know she had as little say in the matter as I did.”
He huffs a quiet laugh out through his nose, teeth gleaming dangerously as he smiles ruefully, the hand at the small of your back tightening still. “You don’t actually want the Strong bastard,” he whispers, careful to hardly breathe the treacherous words in the crowded hall, “Do you, little one?”
Little one. You shiver at the name, one he had called you since childhood, blushing as he smiles knowingly. “Of course not–!”
“Do I need to remind you who you belong to?” He whispers hoarsely, eye flitting to your lips before he can stop himself, “Of where your true loyalty shall always lie?”
Before you can answer, he’s leading you from the hall and you willingly follow, his dutiful shadow as always, grasping tightly to his arm as he leads you through the familiar winding corridors of the keep until you come to his chambers at last.
You gasp as he all but pushes you through the entryway before slamming the heavy wooden door closed behind you. Your wide eyes follow him as he circles you like a shark circles its prey, smirking as he looks you up and down, his intense gaze igniting a fire within your belly.
“Tell me, sweet sister,” Aemond rasps as he comes to a stop before you, one hand grasping your jaw as his lips skirt over your neck, “Does the Strong bastard still believe you to be a maiden?”
You whimper softly, the feel of his soft lips against your skin sending you into a tailspin as they have so many times before, “Yes, brother.” You answer simply through a gasp, shivering as his teeth graze against you.
Aemond chuckles lowly in his throat as his hands make quick work of your gown, his deft fingers undoing various buttons and ties until the fine silks sink to a pool at your feet, leaving you bare before him.
He takes a second to appreciate you, his eye roaming over the soft curves of you he hasn’t seen in so long — ever since your mother had gotten wind of the maids quietly bringing moon tea to your chambers.
Without a word, he leaves you and saunters over to his bed. You watch him curiously as you stand on the soft rug spread over the floor in front of the fireplace, a cold shiver running down your spine as he pulls his dagger from his belt and traces the long, silver blade of it as he turns back to you.
“I cannot be so bold tonight as to claim you with my cock, little one,” he whispers, grinning at the blush blooming over your cheeks, “But I will have a piece of you even still.”
“Aemond,” you start, voice shaking even as you feel slick beginning to coat the insides of your thighs as puzzle pieces snap together in your mind; you haven’t played this game with him in a very long time, “Pl—“
Your words are cut off with a shriek when the sound of fabric ripping echoes throughout his chamber as Aemond pierces his plush mattress with the dagger, leaving the dark leather hilt protruding from the fabric.
“Come,” he beckons you over with an outstretched hand, “Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl.”
Your lower lip wobbles slightly at the double meaning of his words, the fire within you burning bright as you move to him without a second thought, determined to show your brother where your loyalty still lies.
Aemond laughs softly as he helps you onto the bed, always stunned at how easily you give into him. He holds you steady, his warm hands on your bare hips as you kneel over the knife’s hilt. “You have always been mine,” he murmurs, one hand trailing up your body until it’s cupping one of your breasts, “After tonight I’ll make sure it remains that way.”
Before you have time to question him, he presses you lower and a whimper leaves your lips as your center brushes against the handle of his blade, the smooth leather gliding seamlessly against your slick folds as you move your hips over it.
“Oh, Aemond,” you squeak out, eyes fluttering shut as your pearl moves against the hilt, a whine leaving you as you move your hips, trying to position it at your entrance despite yourself, “Please, brother.” You whimper, growing desperate to be filled, even with this part of him.
Aemond shushes you softly and abandones your breast to grasp at your hip again, pressing soft kisses to your neck as takes heed of your pleas and helps you lower yourself down. His cock stirs within the leather of his trousers, already straining against the fabric as he watches your sweet cunt swallow the hilt of his precious dagger.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, guiding your hips with one hand as the other snakes up to your throat, smirking as he feels your moan vibrate against his palm, “There’s my strong girl.”
Your eyes flutter shut as you lower yourself down fully, sheathing the dagger within you. The smooth leather of the hilt presses against your walls deliciously, the various curves and bumps pressing into each sweet spot within you with dizzying precision.
You cannot help the whimper that tumbles from your lips at Aemond’s words, your walls clench at the leather shaft as you begin to move, impaling yourself on the stem again and again as your brother’s lilac she watches you with awe, his own chest heaving as he notices the way your slick shines against the leather, glowing in the soft candlelight of his chambers.
“Our sweet nephew will never have you,” he says, shaking his head as his eye once again meets yours, “I’m the only one who should see you this way, writhing and wanting.”
You nod your head as you lean against him, fingers bunched in the fabric of the black tunic he wears. “Only you, brother,” you whisper, capturing his lips in a frantic kiss as your movements grow quicker, “I don’t want anyone else.”
Aemond gasps against your lips as you grasp his length through his trousers, rubbing over the bulge before desperately pulling at the laces of his breeches. He helps you, taking pity on your shaking hands, and groans lowly into your mouth when your hand wraps around his length, quickly stroking him from root to tip.
One of the decorative curves of the handle brushes perfectly over the sensitive spot within you each time you buck against the dagger and you melt against his chest as you swirl your hips, grinding yourself on it.
Aemond is all but animalistic as he groans and growls and licks into your mouth desperately before pulling away from you with a sigh, only to press hot kisses to the column of your throat; one hand once again cups your breast, his thumb teasing over your pert nipple, as the other leaves your neck to tap over your aching pearl.
“Gods!” You gasp loudly, stroking over his thick, pulsing cock with one hand, keeping time with your hips as you sink over and over onto the handle of his dagger, your other hand weaves into hair at the nape of his neck, eager for something to anchor yourself with.
“I would sooner gouge my eye out than let him take you,” Aemond groans, his own hips rutting into your touch as the head of his cock leaks steadily between your bodies, “You are mine, I will not stop until it is so.”
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pant, the fire in your belly threatening to consume you as your brother’s fingers firmly circle your bud, “Aemond, I—“
“Let me have it,” he grunts, determined not to finish until he sees you breaking apart in his arms, “Give yourself to me, little one, let me have it.” He coaxes, doubling his efforts on your sensitive pearl.
All at once, your high washes over you and go limp against him, a high keening sound escaping from your lips as your walls pulse over the hilt of his blade, pleasure zapping you like lightning as you coat the leather with your release, your slick dripping onto the mattress below you.
You’re so lost in the fog of your own pleasure that you hardly hear Aemond grunt against your throat, muting his own sounds of pleasure as he bites into your soft skin. His cock twitches between you, his thick seed coating both of you as it drips down your hand.
The two of you remain still for a moment, your brother holding you protectively against him as he smoothes a hand up and down your back. His kisses you softly as he helps you pull yourself off of his dagger before he lays you on his bed, his fingers combing through your coppery hair as it splays around your head like a halo on his pillow.
“Stay,” he commands softly, rising from you and plucking his knife from his mattress, groaning appreciatively at the way your juices still shine on the handle, still warm against his palm from where it had been so deeply pressed within you, “I will be back shortly.”
“Where are you going?” You question, watching as he sheaths the dagger once more into the small scabbard hanging from his belt before he tucks his softening cock back into his trousers, agile fingers quickly re-tying the laces.
“To make you mine.”
tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0, @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @demirunner @eponaartemisa, @trshgyn
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#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond targaryen smut#aemond smut#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fic#house of the dragon#hotd#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon smut#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#fanfic#fanfiction#smut#my writing
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EWAN MITCHELL as AEMOND TARGARYEN in the House of the Dragon Season 2 Greens Trailer
#YESSS LOOK AT HIM#crying screaming climbing the walls#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd#house of the dragon edit#houseofthedragonedit#hotdedit#aemondedit#prince aemond#aemond#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#< hehe this tag oop#dailyhotdgifs#gameofthronesdaily#targaryensource#hotd greens#hoosbandewangifs
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❛ ♡. header credit. ⎯⎯ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲. ❜
★ ⎯⎯ aemond targaryen has always wanted someone as his own; and with him already having claimed his vicious mount vhagar, the queen of dragons herself--- what is there to stop him from claiming you, too?
author’s note᛬ heey! 🍓 so……this is my second time posting this particular story--- however, it was a long time ago & someone anonymously requested to read it again. happily, i offered to repost it for them (with the exception that i re-edit it since my style of writing has changed / improved!) … anyways, reblogs & comments are deeply appreciated. ♡ + both aemond & reader are equally unhinged. <3 mwuah !
warnings᛬ mdni! smut, dubcon [kind of… but trust me, it’s wanted], dark!aemond, profanity, she/her pronouns, afab reader, innocence kink, corruption kink, coercion, manipulation, pussy whipped!aemond, breeding kink, cunnilingus, fingering, obsessive & possessive behavior, pet names, romance, fluff. any grammatical errors are my own--- in advance, i sincerely apologize.
word count᛬ 2.5k
𝐎𝐇, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼, 𝐈’𝐃 𝐃𝐎 𝑨𝑵𝒀𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮.
aemond targaryen has always thought of her as his--- his to protect, his to care for, his to love; ever since he’d met her, he surrounded himself in her feminine presence, around her sweetness and innocence, keeping her close by and never letting her trail very far out of his sight.
unless, of course, it was absolutely necessary, and even then, he’d have one of his most trustworthy guards (loyal only to him) follow her around all day--- discreetly, of course.
however, during their short time apart, the one-eyed prince would be on constant edge; irritable and in a foul mood throughout the time that they were apart, not being able to trust anyone to truly protect his lady the way he knew he could.
oh, how he missed his dearly beloved so--- so much so, that the wayward prince was known for his brutal lashings and merciless beheadings (all a gift to his love) to all of those who merely breathed the wrong way in his proximity.
or simply, sweet gifts of pretty, sparkling sapphires and pearls.
still, he knew that she thought his temper and rage was charming, as she had once told him in that sweet, gentle little voice of hers, soothing his fiery temper as if she were the maiden reborn.
like his own little angel, so delicate, tender-hearted and mine, aemond thought.
sometimes, most of the time, aemond would just simply gaze at her, at her beauty, longingly; like she was the center of the universe and held all of the twinkling stars in the night sky.
most people wouldn’t dare to believe such a thing, but aemond thought it was cute when she learned something new in philosophy, excitedly wanting to share the new knowledge she’d learned from her septa with him--- even if he already knew, just to be able to listen to her sweet, angelic voice.
oh, and on those simple days, content to just listen to her babbling on about whichever subject she deemed of interest; he would lovingly hand feed her fresh strawberries, one by one; the ripest, juiciest and sweetest ones, listening as she breathily moaned in content as each one entered her pouty mouth.
meanwhile, as his little darling continued on about whichever subject interested her at the moment; the one-eyed prince watched in delight as the red juices dribbled down her chin, allowing him to quickly swoop in and kiss it delicately away, causing him to hum in content at the sweet taste.
whether it be from the strawberries themselves or the sweet taste of her skin, it mattered not to the prince--- because the next moment, he would drop to his knees and feast on her delicious, drooling cunt; burying himself right beneath her fluffy skirts as he heard her girlishly moan and whimper for him, as he continued enjoying the taste of her maidenhood.
on lazy days, the prince will sit with her in his lap, one of his strong, lean arms wrapped snugly around her waist, most protectively; meanwhile, his free hand would slip beneath her fluffy skirts and play with her virgin, soaking cunt, teasingly stroking his long, calloused fingers through her wet, puffy folds.
seven above, and the sounds of her soft, breathy little moans, almost luring him to bend her right over the wooden table in the back of the library and rut into her like some wild, depraved beast, claiming her maidenhead as his.
‘twas almost too much to bear for the prince, knowing she was already his in body, mind, heart and soul.
he always imagined what she must taste like that day, right before he would feast on her cunny, almost to tease himself--- like freshly baked sweet tarts, spoonfuls of honey, strawberries…
late at night, while in the privacy of his own chambers, he’d furiously fuck his fist to the thought of burying his face between her smooth thighs once again, wanting nothing more than to taste and fuck her cunt with his tongue greedily; before he’d come so fucking hard in his hand, his seed coating the skin of his taut abdomen and dripping down his fingers--- sticky and messy and entirely spent.
sighing heavily, aemond would barely resist the temptation to exit his chambers and go straight to hers, knowing she’d welcome him with an open heart and open legs.
…fuck, what a waste of his seed, he thinks, for he could’ve pumped her empty womb full of his seed; fuck load after load inside of her, and come by morning, she would already be carrying his son in her belly.
rightfully so; she’s be so beautiful, so fragile, so obedient, a perfect little wife she’d be for him, indeed.
meanwhile, back in the library, aemond would continue teasing her little cunny, occasionally dipping the very tips of his fingertips into her little virgin fuck-hole, feeling how fucking tight she was for him, causing him to harden almost painfully inside of his leather breeches, right below her squirming, little ass.
like his very own wanton, silk street whore.
she continued to moan and whimper repeatedly; making him gently shush her with delicate kisses across her neck, spreading her dripping arousal all around her swollen bud, hearing her mewl his name like a prayer and grip the polished library table forcibly, watching her blissed-out face until she came all over his fingers.
when he made her come so hard with just playing with her little bundle of nerves, he had to slap a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries of pleasure and whisper sweet praises into her ear, knowing how sensitive and needy she was in his arms, just after coming down from her peak and making her come so hard on his fingers.
of course, the more time he spent with her, the harder it was to resist her--- and so, most nights, when aemond could no longer resist being away from her; the need to see her being just too much for him to bear any longer, he’d eagerly seek her out, knowing she’d be in her chambers, awaiting his arrival.
just as eager and wanton as he was, it seemed.
smirking, aemond chuckled softly, embracing her; “my sweetest, my darling, my little love--- fuck, i have missed you.”
he couldn’t control himself anymore, he needed to see her, to be with her, to have her.
always.
specifically, in the late hours of the night, wanting to be as close to her as physically possible; fuck, he loved her so much, he didn’t ever want her to doubt his love for her--- he stripped them both of their evening clothes, his amethyst eye dilated and wild at the sight of her nude form.
during those private evenings, aemond had convinced her for him to claim her as his… fully, in the ways only a man could claim a woman.
with his persuasion, his silver tongue easily convinced her into saying yes; causing him to release a purr and claim her body multiple times that night, until she was a shaking, sobbing and sweaty mess beneath him, full of loads of his seed, while he held her tightly against him in his arms--- possessively.
uncaringly, the prince left all sorts of love marks all across her skin, kissing every inch of her soft, glistening skin that he could reach, suckling on her swollen, puffy nipples, knowing her plush breasts would soon grow heavy with milk for their many babes that’d come someday soon.
selfishly, just maybe; he could persuade his little darling for a taste for himself--- fucking hells, he couldn’t wait for her to grow round and fat with his sons!
insatiably, he would fuck his already hardening, leaking cock back inside of her sopping cunt, his and her own moans of pure love and ecstasy echoing off of the walls of her chambers.
however, even with all of the bliss and pleasure and love; still came her doubts and worries.
his sweet lady, his precious love, his only girl--- was utterly terrified of someone finding out about their affair.
however, the fearsome, bloodthirsty dragon prince would always reassure her; whispering sweet words of his love and devotion into her ears, calming her by kissing her love-marked skin before he would fuck her squelching cunt once again with his cock, ploughing into her mercilessly, filling her with another load of his seed, until tears would stream down her blushy cheeks.
unable to stop herself, she’d let out the most feminine moans for him, not being able to control her sweet mewls from escaping her kiss-swollen lips, sobbing out deliriously as he continuously fucked her ruthlessly, uncaring of who heard them; for the one-eyed prince was too addicted to the taste of her and the pretty, precious sounds she made just for him.
it wouldn’t matter anyway, if anyone were to find out about their love affair--- aemond genuinely honestly couldn’t give a fuck if someone were to tell her lord father that her maidenhead was claimed by him anyone.
if anyone would dare to question his lady’s virtue or purity, he would cut out their tongues, before mercilessly killing them and feed their mutilated corpse to his mighty beast, vhagar.
aemond had always been a possessive man, especially when it concerned his sweet little lady, to the point that most of the noble lords and ladies of the court started to take notice; however, the fearsome prince paid them little attention--- nowadays, his only concern in life was his darling little bride.
some days, when the weather was warm enough and the sun was shining brightly, aemond would take his lady on long walks around the red keep’s royal gardens, right after he finished his morning training session with ser criston.
as always, it was just the two of them, together; and while he watched her instead of admiring the pretty flowers that she seemed so smitten by, he couldn’t stop the tiny grin from spreading across his face at just the mere sight of her.
her, her, her.
his--- his lady, his woman, his wife.
there was a secret, hidden alcove surrounded by various cherry trees and gorgeous pink peonies, which aemond would often bring her to visit; it was almost as if it was their special spot.
then, without warning, aemond would gently press her back up against one of the trunks of the pretty, blossoming cherry trees, kissing her so sweetly, so passionately, so tenderly; it made her swoon and see constellations on the backs of her fluttering eyelids.
“marry me.”
suddenly, she felt as if her heart had suddenly stopped beating and she felt rather faint--- for a moment, her heart felt as if it had skipped several beats, because surely… her sweet aemond did not just ask the impossible of her?
again, aemond spoke.
“marry me,” he murmured against her soft, perfumed skin (that smelled of the lavender oils they’d previously bathed in that morning together) trailing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive neck, causing a breathy whimper to escape her pretty, pouty lips.
instantly, aemond’s ears had perked up to the sound of her breathing that was quickening, his large hands roaming and grasping at her sides as if to soothe her sudden panic, enjoying the feeling of her womanly curves against his big hands, even through the silk fabric of her pretty, sapphire colored dress.
“hmm…no,” she drawled lazily, though her sweet voice was teasing, “—my father is suspicious enough already about all of the rumors going on about us…he doesn't ask, of course; i’m afraid it’s because he is too frightened of you,” she giggled softly, batting her long eyelashes up at the handsome prince.
aemond smirked, amused by his little darling.
“besides,” she continued softly, her usual sweetened voice saddened and aemond watched as his lady’s heart was visibly breaking right before his own eye, “—my father… he will arrange a betrothal for me soon and i must do my duty, as is expected of me,” she whispered, while gently twirling a few strands of her lover’s long silvery hair around one of her fingers, her face sullen--- like a little girl having her favorite treat taken away from her.
aemond hummed; a soft, dangerous sound as his face remained stoic, not displaying a single emotion that he was currently feeling--- his natural-born eye on the other hand…was a raging storm of a dark, angry violet, screaming promises of fire and blood.
“that'll never happen,” aemond murmured softly, his voice a raspy baritone, completely unbothered, “—if your father even dares to try and take you away from me, he'll suffer a most painful death; i assure you, my sweet lady.”
her heart fluttered, both of her cheeks heating up and her head began to feel fuzzy, a dreamy expression forming on her pretty face; though she wasn’t sure if it was from the warm weather or by his loving, murderous words.
“you're so sweet,” she cooed dreamily, smiling up at him as she wrapped both of her arms around his neck loosely, her fingers gently brushing through more of his long silvery hair, feeling how silky-smooth the strands were--- curtsey of the queen, his darling mother; a sweet gift of scented oils she had gotten for her favorite son all the way from pentos.
“only for you, my beloved,” the prince promised, tenderly brushing his knuckles along one of her rosy cheeks, bending down towards her shorter height and capturing her rouge-stained lips in a sweet, deeply passionate kiss--- a deep, throaty sound of lust escaping from him.
ah, she tastes of the sweetest of innocence and strawberries.
his favorite.
‘twas as if the prince could never get enough of her taste, of her.
sweetly, she releases a little whine, high-pitched and so needy for him; the sweetness of a poisonous kiss--- oh, how he wants to love her forever and bathe in all of the glorious love she had to offer him.
gods, he loved her… only, only, only her.
“my angel, so soft and pure, so innocent; and your precious heart… it is mine,” he growled, deepening the kiss against her lips--- his large, warm and calloused hands began trailing down to cup her sweet, little ass through her skirts, bundling the silky, sapphire colored fabric in his greedy hands to fondle and squeeze the soft flesh of her asscheeks; pinching and clutching possessively.
grinning wolfishly, aemond trailed his open-mouthed kisses down her delicate neck, suckling freshly new love marks into her fading, bruised skin--- all across her neck, jawline, collarbones and the very tops of her soft, perky breasts.
“marry me,” he asked once again, sounding impatient, though he wouldn’t mind begging, if it only meant claiming her for himself.
she wrapped her arms around his neck more snugly, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him sweetly, all across his chin and the corners of his mouth, feeling his hands roam freely all over her once more before settling still, giving her backside a loving squeeze.
“be my wife,” he pleads once more, his tone of voice more desperate than ever before, sweet as sugar and the burning flesh of corpses.
she released a small sigh, moving closer just slightly so that she could brush her saliva-coated lips softly against his own, “yes,” she breathed lovingly, feeling as he visibly shuddered against her just from her mere acceptance of his begging proposal.
“i’ve always been yours.”
fin.
#꒰ ⋆ ♡⃘ 𝗇𝗈𝖺’𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌. ꒱#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond the kinslayer#aemond one eye#prince aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond fanfic#aemond smut#aemond fluff#hotd aemond#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#hotd season 1#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#unhinged!aemond#ewan mitchell
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Who from Team Green would be your emergency contact?
#helaemond#ewan mitchell#helaena targaryen#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond x helaena#helaena x aemond#cast gifs#helaena the dreamer#aemond the kinslayer#aemond one eye
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Confess the longing you are dreaming of
summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly.
pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N)
warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;)
author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨
words: ~8000
song inspo: Hozier — Better love
>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.
He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.
“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.
His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:
“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”
The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:
“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.
His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.
But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.
“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”
“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.
The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.
He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.
He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.
“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”
“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”
“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”
He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.
As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.
>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.
He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.
“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.
The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”
“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.
Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”
He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.
>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.
Aemond is not excited in the slightest.
He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.
The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.
Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.
“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”
“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”
A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.
“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”
“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”
“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”
This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —
her laughter enters first.
It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.
She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.
She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.
He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”
“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.
“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.
She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”
“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.
“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.
She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”
“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”
“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”
“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.
Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.
She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.
Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”
“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.
“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.
She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.
“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.
She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”
“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.
“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.
“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.
She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.
“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.
Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”
“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.
“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.
“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”
“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.
Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”
“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”
“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.
It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).
She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”
But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.
>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.
The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.
Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.
“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.
“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”
Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.
“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.
His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.
Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.
>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.
And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.
“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.
“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”
“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”
There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.
“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”
Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.
Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”
His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.
“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.
He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.
“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”
She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.
It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.
“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.
“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.
He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.
He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.
“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.
And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.
“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.
He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.
He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.
He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.
>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.
More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.
He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.
He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.
But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.
>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.
What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.
Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.
He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.
He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.
He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.
He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.
“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”
“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.
“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.
When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.
For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.
He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —
out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.
“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”
“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”
Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.
“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.
Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).
He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —
Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.
But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —
he wakes up painfully aroused.
He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.
And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.
He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.
>>> It doesn’t.
Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.
Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.
Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.
Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.
It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.
>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.
Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.
Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.
Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).
He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.
“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”
“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.
“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”
“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”
And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.
“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.
She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”
“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)
“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)
“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.
And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.
She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.
“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.
“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”
Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”
He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”
He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.
“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.
Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”
“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.
“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.
“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”
“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.
“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.
The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.
“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.
He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.
Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.
“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.
He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”
Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.
“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.
“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.
She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”
He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.
“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”
Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —
she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.
And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.
She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.
“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”
“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”
“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”
He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.
“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”
“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”
She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.
“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”
Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.
“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.
“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.
With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”
She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.
“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”
Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”
She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.
Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.
“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.
She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.
Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.
It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.
“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.
He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:
“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.
He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.
Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”
That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.
It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —
but she pulls back.
She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.
She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.
The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.
Desire, it seems, has come to stay.
But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.
✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works!
✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me
✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;)
✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration
✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥)
✧ my masterlist
thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)
English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!
#aemond targaryen#I was supposed to post this LAST friday but chickened out for whatever reason idk pls give me a chill pill (((#my stuff#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x reader#hotd fic#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#aemond the kinslayer#aemond one eye#aemond one eye x you#aemond one eye x y/n
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What is Broken III (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)
The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers
Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity.
Point of View: Limited third person omniscient
Author's Note: Definitely a good thing I split the last chapter into two, this baby is 13.3k lol
Taglist is done via reblogs
What is Broken
Aemond was still holding her when she woke, his arms wrapped around her chest and his face pressed into her neck. Though the bed was little more than creaky slats and the blankets rough and worn, it had been months since she had been so comfortable—longer still since she’d slept so well, even if it was for only half the night.
As furious as she was with Aemond, her body still craved him. So much so that she could not gather the strength to pull away from him, much less stand from the bed. It felt so right, even if they weren’t in their own bed. Even if they hadn’t shared a bed for more than half a year. And even if they were only in thisbed because they were traveling north to reach the very place where her husband had betrayed her.
When one of Aemond’s arms fell to cradle her belly, she tensed. Was this how he slept with Alys beside him? Did he hold her this tenderly? In his dreams, was he holding his wife or his mistress?
Warily, she looked at his hands. Like his face, the features she was once so familiar with had changed. There were new callouses, new scars, and new veins and tendons that had not been visible before. He’d always had the hands of a skilled swordsman, but now he bore the hands of a battle-hardened warrior and commander.
Curious, she tilted her head as she examined one scar, which started on his palm before passing through the space between his forefinger and thumb and cutting across the back of his hand like an angry slash of a whip. She was so focused on examining the wide red line that she did not notice when her movement stirred Aemond awake.
Not until he spoke with a rough, sleep-heavy voice, his breath fanning the side of her neck. “Did you sleep well, ābrazȳrītsos?”
She did not want to admit it, for doing so felt like conceding some kind of battle. But to argue would take more strength than she was willing to give to something so small. “Yes.”
“As did I,” he pulled her tighter against him as he had once done each morning. How well she had once loved waking up in his arms. She could sense his soft smile and braced herself for what she knew was likely coming next.
But Aemond did not press a lazy kiss to her neck as he once did. He lightly trailed his hand over the swell of her belly until he reached her chest. She tensed, thinking his aim was for her breasts, but his hand stilled atop her ribs.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked as he traced the length of the protruding bones. “That you were still sick – that you were suffering like this.”
She grabbed his hand, pulling it away from the evidence of her illness. While she waited to answer, she again studied that new scar, so bright against his pale skin. It wasn’t like his other scars, which were faintly pink and smooth. This one was red as blood and rough like worn stone.
Aemond let her study the scar without protest and without pressuring her for an answer. She knew he was nervous with anticipation – she could feel how his body stiffened – but she didn’t care.
“How did you get this?”
He made a soft sound of confusion. “Ābrazȳrītsos, please – ”
“Why do you not want to tell me?
“It is not a pleasant story, I…” An exasperated sigh. “I see.”
Holding his hand steadily in front of her, he began his answer. “It is new. I got it during my battle with Daemon.”
Gods, she had hardly thought about the battle. About what had happened to him and Vhagar. Did he have any other injuries? Did Vhagar?
“Caraxes was dying,” he explained, a hint of remorse in his voice. Not for Daemon’s death, she knew, but for his dragon’s. A mount should not perish for the crimes of its rider, especially when there were so few dragons left. “He was falling toward the lake. He’d tried to bite Vhagar’s throat, but she sensed him coming from behind the clouds and struck him instead.
“Daemon knew he had lost and would likely die. But he wasn’t going to just accept it. As Caraxes fell past us, he leapt from the saddle, Dark Sister drawn and… pointed at me. My eye. My good eye.”
Even with her anger, panic seized her heart as she realized how close Aemond had come to death.
“Vhagar angled herself, so instead of going through me, the sword embedded itself into her side. She’s fine,” he assured her after she tensed with worry for the old beast she loved so well. “Even a great sword like Dark Sister is hardly more than a pinprick to Vhagar.
“Daemon lost his grip on the sword but managed to grab my leg before he fell. His weight began dragging me down,” he said, turning his palm toward her. The rein bit into my hand. The maester said it was like a burn.”
Yes, she could see it clearly now. The size and position of the red mark looked precisely as though the rein was still in his grip. Not a scar, then, but something that would possibly become one. One of many.
Aemond did not continue his tale. But she knew what came next – Daemon realizing he was doomed and telling Aemond with his last words that he’d sent a letter exposing what he’d done.
He had still told the tale, knowing that it would again remind her of that damned letter, renewing her ire. After that, she knew he deserved an answer – for this at least. Her health was bound to that of his children, after all. They had been at risk, too.
“Mother and I wanted to tell you. She was distraught.” Her breath hitched as she remembered how her mother had wept and screamed, swearing that she would not lose another daughter. “But Grandsire forbade it.”
Aemond huffed, his body trembling with rage. But he held her no tighter.
“The Small Council agreed with him—that it would distract you too much, that you would return the moment you read the message no matter the cost to the war.” In truth, she understood the logic behind the decision, but her need to have her husband there to comfort her far outweighed her rational mind. “Mother and I tried to send a raven in secret, but Grandsire had anticipated that and had the Rookery watched. The raven carrying the message was shot down.”
After that, she fell silent. There was nothing more to say than that. Only a fortnight later, Daemon and Rhaenyra seized the city and executed Otto, among many others. Daemon had half-heartedly suggested killing her, too, to “send the kinslayer a message” he couldn’t ignore. But Rhaenyra refused without explanation. Perhaps she still extended the same forgiveness to her as when the conflict first began, or she did not wish for the sin of kinslaying to weigh on her, too.
Whatever the reason, she was grateful. For herself and her children. And for all those who would have suffered and died as a result of Aemond’s rage.
The rage was building in him now. “Were he not already dead, I would kill him myself,” he hissed. “And I would not be so merciful as our sister was to kill him quickly.”
“Does it really matter now?” She sighed, dropping his scarred hand.
He flinched as it hit the bed. The wound still hurt, then. “Of course it matters! If I’d known, I – ”
She was glad she couldn’t see his face as she shut her eyes and buried her face in her pillow, pulling out of his grasp. “No more ‘if,’ Aemond! It does not matter what you would have done, because you didn’t do it. The past is past, and you cannot change it. You cannot change what you’ve done, no matter what you say now.”
Silence fell, interrupted only by muffled noises from the awakening town beyond the window.
“I know I cannot change the past,” Aemond said, his voice cracking as if he were near tears. “But I don’t know… what can I do? What can I do to show you how much I love you? How much I have always and will always love you. How much I regret what I did, and how much I wish I could take it back? I don’t know what to do, ābrazȳrītsos. Please. Tell me what to do.”
She said nothing, and Aemond wrapped his arms around her again. “Please, raqiarzītsos, tell me what you want.”
What did she want?
She wanted to pretend nothing had happened. She wanted to be able to forgive him. She wanted their lives to go back to the way they were.
She wanted to scream at him until her voice failed her, then tear him to pieces with her bare hands. She wanted him to suffer for eternity for what he did to her.
She wanted every trace of his betrayal erased entirely. She wanted to have him burn what remained of Harrenhal to ashes with his mistress inside. Better yet, she wanted him to kill the whore himself and mount her head above their children’s cradles.
No, not that. Never that. Even the thought required a prayer to the Father for forgiveness. She did not want blood on her hands or more death. She just wanted to understand everything that happened so she could decide whether she could forgive Aemond – if she wanted to.
“I just want this journey to be over,” she whispered, “so we can go home.”
Aemond’s arms went slack, but he did not let her go. “I… yes, I want that too. I want to go home – with you. Everything will be better once we’re home.”
It was a lie, she knew. But it was nice to let herself believe the lie, if only for a moment.
It was easier, she decided, not to fight.
Easier to let Aemond help her dress, his fingers skimming lightly on her skin in a cruel imitation of past worshipful caresses. To let him serve her food and to eat it all to please him and avoid his pleading for the sake of her and the babes. To let him arrange the pillows and furs in the wheelhouse until they were just so before he sat beside her, holding her in his arms so she could find comfort and rest.
So much easier to not constantly be on guard, ready to snap at his every word. To not constantly fight over every little thing. To find some measure of peace, despite the circumstances.
It was a peace as fragile as spun sugar, but it was peace nonetheless.
At the very least, she could sleep again—without waking to be sick, without fumbling in the sheets to try to find comfort, without reaching across the bed only to find it cold and empty.
After again fussing over her at supper, Aemond would help her prepare for bed. While a bath was being drawn, he would help her disrobe and remove the braids in her hair, brushing out tangles with the singular focus of a holy man studying his texts. When he led her to whatever bathing room their accommodations provided, he did not touch her more than absolutely necessary – a hand to help her stand, a gentle grasp on her elbow as she walked, and his arms around her when she stepped into the bath. Then, he left her alone.
Before, he would never have done so. He would either join her in the bath, touching and teasing her so much that the water went cold by the time they actually washed themselves, or sit beside it while he read to her.
It was odd to bathe alone, with neither husband nor servants to attend her. The quiet made the room seem infinitely larger. And lonely, even with the babes in her belly. She made a point of bathing as quickly as possible so she did not have to endure it for too long.
When she called for Aemond, she would listen to each of his footsteps before he paused at the door, knocking softly. He would not enter unless she allowed it and affirmed it twice. When he helped her out of the bath and dried her, he hesitated before moving to certain parts of her body – her chest, her face, between her legs – and his touch grew even gentler, like he was afraid she would break if he pressed too hard. She was both grateful for it and incensed that it had become necessary.
He brushed and braided her hair once more and dressed her in her nightgown before tucking her tightly into bed and crawling in beside her. He took her in his arms and pulled her close, softly singing Valyrian lullabies into her ear until she fell asleep.
On the twelfth night after leaving King’s Landing, neither acknowledged aloud that their peace would irreparably shatter the next day – when they arrived at Harrenhal at last.
Night had long since fallen when the towers of Harrenhal appeared over the tops of the trees. Aemond brought his wife closer to his chest, careful not to wake her. He knew that with their arrival, the relative harmony – the precious near-normality – of the last few days would soon end, possibly forever.
He dreaded seeing her at Harrenhal. It was too broken, too dirty, too dark for her. She would stand out like the moon against the night sky. And when she looked at those ruined black walls… he would have to see the pain on her face as she looked at each room and alcove, wondering if it was one of the places he’d been with Alys.
That would be the worst – seeing her face Alys. Each time he tried to convince her not to meet the witch, she refused, saying she wanted ‘answers.’ It wounded him deeply to hear her say that, but he understood. He had betrayed her trust. Destroyed her trust in him as thoroughly as he had all those towns and villages during the war.
Still, he would not give up trying to change her mind. He would not push her, but he would say whatever he must to protect her.
As the walls of the fortress loomed taller and taller, Aemond knew he needed to wake her soon. But he wanted to savor their last moments of peace, for it very well could be the last they would ever share.
He leaned down to kiss her temple, lightly brushing his knuckles over her cheek. She stirred slightly but did not wake. “Avy jorrāelan, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered. “Mīvojughilās jāla dōrī. Ao mirro rȳbilun.” I love you, ābrazȳrītsos. Never forget it. Whatever you hear.
She did not wake until the wheelhouse rumbled over the uneven stones at Harrenhal’s gates. The moment they passed through the thick black walls, she pulled away from him as if his touch would burn her. He felt sick, and forced himself to look away from her.
The fortress appeared just as Aemond remembered, yet it had changed monumentally in the mere days since he had last been within its walls. The towering palisades of melted stone had once seemed strong and imposing but now struck him as decrepit and hubristic. And its inhabitants – now standing in a line to greet the closest thing they had to a lord and master – he had once seen as a mighty and determined army, people he was proud to lead. He saw them for what they truly were now – tired, hungry, and desperate.
As he scanned the crowd, looking for a face he knew would enrage him, he recognized the wide-eyed look he once thought was reverence as something far different. It was fear. These people were afraid of him. He couldn’t allow himself to think too hard on that, not when he still had not seen those sickly green eyes.
Part of him hoped she wasn’t here so his wife could sleep well for one more night. Part of him hoped she was so he could strike her down in front of this crowd of hundreds and prove that she meant nothing to him. Though the babe she carried…
Those eyes weren’t there. Alys wasn’t there. He gave a prayer of thanks for it despite his bloodlust. His ābrazȳrītsos wanted to meet her, yes, but it shouldn’t be here. Not in front of so many people, not when she was exhausted from a long day on the road. And displaying such violence before her, when he knew how she despised it, would break her forever.
He glanced at her and fondly remembered how she had clung to his hand throughout their wedding tourney. What they had done each night after the games to help her forget the violence she’d seen.
It seemed she felt his gaze on her and turned to him. His smile faded. Her eyes, which he had always thought to be full of light and warmth, like a burning hearth, were dull and cold, like the very stones of Harrenhal.
“Is she…” She swallowed thickly. “Is she here?”
She did not face any of those gathered, as if afraid to accidentally look at the witch. He stepped toward her, subtly blocking them all from her view. “No, raqiarzītsos.” He raised a hand to cup her cheek, as he had so many times in the last few days, but now, she moved out of his reach. “She’s not.”
“Can we go inside, then? I’m tired.”
“Of course,” he said as he took her arm – grateful that she still allowed that, at the very least. “But you should eat something before you retire for the night. You have not eaten since midday.”
She blinked, though her face showed no emotion. “I am not hungry.”
Aemond sighed as he guided her to the keep’s entrance. “That may be so, but the babes need you to eat for their sake if not yours.” She gave no reply, but before he could press for an answer, they came upon Ronnel Cratter, the slight, anxious man Aemond appointed to serve as Steward of Harrenhal after Simon Strong had met his fate alongside all others of their line… almost all.
“My prince, how wonderful it is to see you returned!” The poor man was already sweating. “And to at last meet your lovely lady wife. Your husband has always spoken very highly of you, princess.”
She lifted her head to examine Ronnel, her eyes sad yet appraising. Her lips parted slightly but closed again as she inclined her head. He understood the flicker of wariness that passed over her face. She wondered whether the man in front of her knew what her husband had done—if he was complicit in it.
He needed to turn her mind to something else, quickly. “Is everything prepared for the negotiations?”
“Oh, um… yes, they are,” Ronnel stammered.
“When will Stark arrive?” Aemond asked, thankful to have not seen the Northman or any of his forces among those that came to greet them. Their absence would give him time to sort out what to do with Alys before the negotiations demanded his full attention.
Ronnel winced, his rough cheeks turning bright red. The man had never been able to conceal a lie—it was the reason Aemond chose him as steward of Harrenhal. “Lord Stark arrived three days ago, my prince.” He shrunk into himself slightly, rightly anticipating his master’s anger at his words. “He claimed it was too late to greet you and the princess and asked that I tell you he looks forward to meeting you at the negotiations tomorrow morning.”
The sheer fucking disrespect. To be in what was his keep in all but name and refuse to greet him upon arrival? Somewhere in his mind, Aemond knew why Stark had done it, to establish his dominance like the pissing dog he was. But he could only truly think about the insult of it. His very bones sang with bloodlust, negotiations and peace be damned.
But then, a gentle hand on his arm. Warm, even through his thick leathers. Her hand. Her graceful, soft, beautiful hand. She looked at him, gaze never wavering.
“I’m tired, Aemond.”
Only she could have stayed his hand. He had grown so accustomed to bloodlust in the months he’d been here that any other solution seemed folly. But to kill or even maim Cregan Stark would likely reignite war and, worse, deprive him forever of his wife’s love. If he hadn’t lost that already.
So, Aemond turned to Ronnel and fought to control his breathing. “Take us directly to our rooms.”
As they followed the steward through the dark stone halls, his wife looked at him from the corner of her eye but swiftly looked away. Her eyes roved every hall, alcove, and doorway, fear and hurt in her eyes. Did she think she could somehow see where he had been with Alys? Could she see the lingering ghosts of his betrayal?
He was certain he could—he would. That is if he were to enter any part of the keep where he had been with Alys, and he certainly had no intention of doing so. He had sent a raven to Ronnel with specific instructions to prevent it, although his ābrazȳrītsos’ request to meet Alys might require it…
“Here we are, my prince,” Ronnel said as he opened the door to a well-appointed, if somewhat small suite in the guest’s wing. “And princess!” he added hastily. “Forgive me, princess. I have become quite used to only addressing your husband…”
She ignored him entirely, walking to the center of the sitting room as she surveyed the space. The rooms were less than half the size of those Aemond had occupied before. But he could not bring his wife to those rooms or that bed. Perhaps he would have them burnt.
He watched as she crossed the room, headed directly for the bed. She brushed a hand against the blankets before recoiling as if the bed would bite her. Slowly, she turned to face him with such a look of desperation that he came to her side immediately.
“What is it, my love?” He crossed the room and took her hands in his own, holding them close to his chest. “What’s wrong?”
Tears formed in her eyes as she looked from him to the bed and back again. “Is this…” She took a shaky breath. “Was she in here? With you?”
Ronnel’s eyes went wide before he made a hasty, silent exit.
“No!” Aemond answered nearly before she finished her question. He leaned forward, pressing their brows together. “Of course not, ābrazȳrītsos. I promise, I – never, in this room. I swear it on my life.”
There was still mistrust in her eyes, but she nodded. “I don’t like it here.”
Once, he did. Once, this was his domain, his kingdom. Now, it was a barren wasteland occupied only by regret and shame. “I do not like it, either.”
She looked at his chest, but he knew she was somewhere far away. “I want to sleep.”
“I know,” he pulled away, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Though it had only been thirteen days, he was sure he could see a new fullness to her cheeks, a new softness around her waist, and a renewed light beneath her skin. He would not allow that progress to falter. “But you must eat, remember?”
She sat at the foot of the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. “I really am not hungry, Aemond.”
“You needn’t eat much,” he countered, sitting next to her and trying not to flinch when she angled herself away from him. “Some broth? Perhaps with a little bread? You must have something.”
He watched as her hand cradled her belly, stroking softly as if to soothe the babes with her touch. Resisting the urge to put his hand over hers was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he understood full well that to do so was a privilege he did not deserve.
“Very well,” she said at last. “But just a little.”
“Of course.” Aemond held his hand out for her to take, but she hardly glanced at it. “Is there anything else I can do, ābrazȳrītsos?”
She thought for a moment. “I would like to bathe before I retire.” Aemond immediately rose and positioned himself to help her stand, as he had for days now. “Can you summon servants to help me?”
A simple request shouldn’t have wounded him so deeply, yet it did. The bond they had begun to reform was gone, perhaps forever. Being denied this – the mere pleasure of helping his wife – felt like a mortal wound.
“Yes, I will fetch them now.” His voice was wavering. He could hear it as he could feel his composure teetering ever closer to breaking. He lingered a moment longer, hoping she would say something more, that she would change her mind and let him help her, or that she would say something to suggest that she still trusted him, still cared for him.
She said nothing.
Aemond almost wished she would scream and rage and roar at him as she did that first night in King’s Landing. It was better than this, the half-life she seemed to be living. The exhaustion and indifference. Let this be because of her pregnancy, he silently begged the gods. Let us finish this, go home, and be well again. Let her be well again.
“I love you,” he whispered before exiting the room.
He did not expect her to say it back, but the silence still stung.
The servants arrived before Aemond did. It caused no small amount of unease in his wife’s chest. As the servants he sent undressed her and prepared her bath, all she could think of was where he could have gone and why he’d left her for so long. Had he gone to fetch food himself?
It didn’t help that the servants were utterly silent. It wasn’t like the light quietness that sometimes settled over her own servants at the Red Keep. This was a heavy, cloying silence. None could hold her gaze for more than a moment before looking sheepishly away.
They know, she realized. They all know what Aemond did.
Her mind started to race. They probably even helped him. Alys is likely their friend. After all, she was a servant before. When they leave here, they’ll probably run straight to the witch to tell her how pathetic she is and how Alys is far more beautiful than her. They’d –
She could stand their presence no longer. As one of them brought a dampened cloth to wash her shoulder, she flinched away, splashing water over the edge of the copper tub. “Get out!” Her voice was foreign to her as she screamed, cruel and hoarse with desperation. “All of you, leave! Now! Get out, get out, get out, get out!”
She continued shouting, covering her ears with her hands and scrunching her eyes shut. The babes protested, kicking frantically against her stomach. But she could not stop screaming.
How could she do anything other than scream? And cry? And rage? She was trapped in the very place where the worst thing to ever happen to her had occurred.
This was hell. It had to be, for being in these walls was torture. What had she done to deserve such a thing? What grave sin had she unknowingly committed? Why was this happening? Why? Why? Why? Wh –
“Ābrazȳrītsos!” Aemond’s voice was accompanied by the feeling of his large hands wrapping around her wrists, gently prying her hands away from her ears. “Ābrazȳrītsos, look at me! Please, my love, you must calm down.”
His words did no such thing; she barely even registered that he was speaking to her or touching her. This was just another torture, to be constantly with the man she both loved and loathed.
“Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos, kostilus.” The words, now spoken in their mother tongue, finally began to slip through the whirling thoughts in her mind. “Āmāzin. Tolvȳn sȳri issa. Ao ȳghāpa iksā, jemot kīvio ñuhe tepan. Yn ao lykemās bēvilās, iā jāla riñari ōdrikōt.” Calm down, ābrazȳrītsos, please. I am back. All is well. You are safe, I promise. But you must calm yourself, or it may harm the babes.
“Kostan daor,” she pled. I cannot.
Aemond tightened his grip on her. “Ao bēvilās, kostilus!” You must, please!
She shook her head as her entire body began to tremble, and a chill numbness crept into her fingertips. “Jeme gīmīt, Aemond. Jeme līr nyke istan gīmīt.” They know, Aemond. They know what you did.
“Gīmin, ābrazȳrītsos, drējī usōven.” He leaned closer to her, his elbows now resting in the bath, water creeping up his sleeves. “Drējī usōven.” I know, ābrazȳrītsos, I am so sorry. I am so sorry.
She curled in on herself as tightly as she could. “Ao ōdrittan yne. Ao qrimpāletan yne.” You hurt me. You betrayed me.
“Gīmin. Jāle hegnīr daor jaelan. Tolikta mirroso.” He was half in the bath with her now. I know. I regret it. More than anything.
“Istan aōha riñari nevīlen,” she cradled her belly protectively, “se vasīr toile ābroma ēdan ojenille hēnkirī.” I was pregnant, with your children, and you still fucked another woman.
“Gōntan.” I did.
“Ao yne pirtra ivestretan, avy hen yne hēdrȳ ruartan.” You lied to me, hid her from me.
“Gōntan.” I did.
“Ao īlē nevīlen aōha ilībōño gōntā. You let her carry your bastard.
He flinched then. Unlike before, seeing him hurt didn’t make her feel any better. “Gōntan.” I did.
“Lo Daemon ivestretaks yne gōntē daor, nyke dobotēdāvī iemnȳ glaesilun. Ao yne ivestrilū gaomilū daor.” If Daemon hadn’t told me, I would have lived forever in ignorance. You were never going to tell me.
“Istan.” I was.
“Skorȳso?” Her voice failed her, morphing into a wordless cry, and it became painful to speak in the language of their ancestors – yet another thing she and Aemond shared. Had it been tainted by Alys, too? “Why? Have I done something to displease you? Am I not enough for you? Do you not love me the way I love you? Do you hate me?”
“No! No, my dear, I – ” He swallowed a choking sob as he stammered. “I love you. I love you more than anyone has ever loved another. You are my very soul, ābrazȳrītsos.”
There was no hint of falsehood in him. But how could that be true? How could he love her so much and hurt her so deeply? She lifted her head to face him. She had never seen him so distraught, even the night his secret had been revealed. “Then why?”
“I…” He dropped his head, his brow coming to rest on the edge of the copper bath. “I don’t know. I cannot explain it. I was foolish. And weak. But know I will do anything to show you how sorry I am. I will be your eternal servant. I will go into exile if you ask it of me.”
He pulled away from her, drawing his dagger and positioning it before his heart, the tip biting ever so slightly into his leather surcoat. “I will end my own life if that is what it takes to make you happy.”
“No!” Her reaction was immediate, a tug on some unseen string that connected them soul to soul. What would she become if that line was cut? “I don’t want that. I just – I want to sleep.”
Aemond’s dagger clattered to the stone floor. She didn’t know if it was relief or regret that painted his face. She didn’t know which she would prefer.
“Let’s get you out of the bath and dry first,” he sighed as he stood to fetch a towel. It was somewhat irritating that he did not ask if she wanted his help. But even if she had, she would have said yes. She would much rather endure his presence than the servants who looked at her as if she were a freak in a mummers show.
With the towel slung over his shoulder, Aemond extended his hand to help her stand. His touch was again hesitant and respectful. His eye turned as far away from her as he could allow it while still being able to help her.
“Where did you go?” Her question caused him to freeze with his hands on her shoulders as he softly dried the lingering water from her back. “After you summoned the servants, where did you go?”
He sighed. “I was waiting in the hall, ābrazȳrītsos. I thought you would not want me to intrude while you were…” another sigh. “I was only in the hall, I promise.”
Begrudgingly, she believed him. He had arrived quickly after she started screaming. But knowing he had not sought out Alys made her feel little better. She did not know why.
A dark seed of mistrust had been planted in her heart, strangling it with thorns of anger and spite as it grew and grew. Would that it were only a plant, she would tear it out of her chest with her own hands with no thought to the blood and thorns that would shred through her. It would still be better than this.
That terrible, unnatural silence again fell upon them as if it were a specter haunting their every thought and movement—a shadow larger and more terrible than Vhagar herself that turned each glance into a piercing shard of ice and each touch into the grating pain of fingernails digging into stone. It vanished only when Aemond slid into the bed beside her and moved to embrace her.
“No!” she hissed as she pulled away. “Not… not tonight. Not while we are here.” She felt Aemond’s hand pulling back as if the limb were her own. Felt the shifting of the bed as if it were the earth quaking and rending beneath her.
“I understand, ābrazȳrītsos. Drējī usōven.”
She could see him in her mind’s eye, lying next to her like a corpse prepared by the Silent Sisters – his legs straight and arms folded over his ribs. She could see the pain on his face, the tears likely spilling over his temples and into his hair. She could see his fingers trembling as he fought his body and soul’s command to touch her, hold her, love her.
Cruel visions sent by the ghost Aemond had created the moment he took Alys to his bed.
They followed her into her dreams.
Aemond did not sleep.
Though he lay in bed, he found no rest. From the moment his wife closed her eyes, he was haunted by demons of his own making – memories and visions of his sins.
He saw the first night he fucked Alys. Saw how weak and small he looked as he sat before the fire in his chambers, staring at the black sky outside the window. Saw the fear and doubt on his face as he thought about leading men into battle when the sun rose. Saw himself as a pathetic little boy, not a prince or the rider of the largest dragon in the world, certainly not like a man who could win a war.
He watched as his attempts at resisting Alys became quickly feeble. That night, he was desperate for anything to tether him to himself, and his Ābrazȳrītsos was so far away… he was little better than an animal. He was an animal. The way he touched her, clawed at her, bit her was no less than beastly.
Everything that made him a man – made him worthy of his wife – vanished the moment he touched her. To gain it back would not be so easy.
It would begin with the peace negotiations. Putting an end to the war that had driven this wedge between them would be the first step, not only in saving his marriage but also in healing what would soon be his realm—their realm.
He turned his head to look at his Ābrazȳrītsos. His queen- his dārītsos. It was a pleasure he had not allowed himself since lying beside her.
She was so beautiful. She would always be beautiful. Even when she was so thin, and her brow was creased with sadness, she was beautiful. How had he ever thought that he deserved such a perfect wife?
Perhaps it would be best if he agreed to what Aegon had threatened. Exiling him and Vhagar would undoubtedly put many who supported Rhaenyra at ease. Then, she would marry Aegon and become the queen she deserved to be, at least for a while. None could protest the legitimacy of their babes’ claims to the throne if she were the crowned queen.
In his exile, Aemond could travel to the ruins of Old Valyria to let whatever horrors his ancestors left behind mete out the judgment for his sins.
But Aegon would die soon, leaving her a widow. A widowed queen could never remarry. She would become little more than a decoration, the poor dowager queen forever standing in the shadows. And she would not be allowed to serve as regent for their heir – nor would their mother, despite having governed the realm for years while their father was infirm.
Who would speak on behalf of their child? The Small Council was filled with vultures seeking their own advantage. Larys Strong and his ilk slithered like snakes into every and any ear they could to try and advance their positions. Traitors who had only sworn loyalty to Aegon when it became clear Rhaenyra’s claim was doomed.
The only people he trusted to guide the children would be Grand Maester Orwyle, newly freed from the Black Cells, or Tyland Lannister. But that wasn’t enough. Who would protect her from those who would seek to take advantage of her?
No, he could not leave her. Despite her feelings toward him, he was the only one capable of keeping her safe. He had to stay, for her sake, he told himself.
Though in his heart, he knew the decision was selfish.
Aemond stared at her until the first rays of sunlight shone through the eastern window, imagining her perfect features on their children. Her dark eyes, the curls in her hair, the soft innocence of her smile. He nearly wished that he would see nothing of himself in the babes.
Then, those dark eyes opened, looking blearily at him. He swore there was a flicker of unabashed joy and love in them before they again went cold. At least the rising sun still gilded them with gold. Yes, the babes should have those eyes.
She turned away from him and tried to stand.
“Don’t wake, my love.” He said gently, a hand hovering just above her shoulder to stop her from rising. “Stay and rest, please.”
“No, Aemond.” She frowned, that sweet mouth set in a hard line. “I do not want to sleep. I wish to go with you today.”
She had been so upset by his leaving the night before. Had she not believed him when he gave his answer? Did she want to monitor him to ensure he did not betray her again? He shook his head. “I promise I am not going to see – ”
“I know you aren’t.” She sat upright, facing away from him. He wanted to embrace her, to hold her against his chest, but she hadn’t wanted that last night. He had resisted touching her since then. He could remain strong. “I wish to accompany you to the negotiations with Lord Stark.”
That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. She had never shown an interest in such things before. “Whatever for?”
She pouted in response. “If I am to be your queen, I must be prepared. Mother ruled alongside Viserys. I intend to do the same.”
Their mother had not only advised Viserys but ruled in his stead when he was too ill to sit the throne himself. It made sense that she would want to follow the path Queen Alicent had made. She knew little of what it took to rule a kingdom, but she was smart, she would learn.
“Very well.” He nodded as he stood from the bed to help her stand. His heart almost burst when her hand touched his. “I must admit that to have you beside me will fortify my resolve.”
He expected that would make her smile – hoped it would.
She dropped his hand. “And after, you will take me to see Alys.”
Damn it. Damn it all, especially that witch.
“Ābrazȳrītsos…” she scoffed and turned away from him, ignoring his outstretched arms. He followed her into the dressing room. “Raqiarzītsos, please. I beg you, do not insist on this.”
“I need answers, Aemond.” She hid her face in the mass of dresses that now hung on racks, but he could still hear the wavering determination in her voice.
He understood well what she was too polite to say plainly. She needed answers from Alys because she did not trust that Aemond told the whole truth. Even the implication stung deep in his chest. On that, he knew he could not change her mind.
“I understand,” he said carefully, remaining in his place by the door. It was the truth. “But Ābrazȳrītsos… can it not wait until you are stronger? Until the babes are born and you have recovered from the hell they’ve put you through? Then I can fly you back here on Vhagar so you don’t have to stay here and wonder…”
Only once had she acknowledged her curiosity about where in the keep Aemond had been with Alys – when they first arrived in their rooms. But he had seen it from the moment they passed through the walls. That uncertainty made her seem even frailer than she already was.
Her hand tightened on the velvet of a green dress. “I don’t want to come back.” He took a step forward, but she faced him. The tears in her eyes halted him immediately. “I don’t ever want to come back to this place again, so it must be now. Today.”
Aemond’s heart had shattered days ago, but the pure agony in his ābrazȳrītsos’s beautiful eyes then trampled the remaining shards to dust.
“Today it will be, then.” He could not banish the worry from his face, but she smiled anyway. “Tomorrow, we will go home. If Stark still has anything to say, he can follow us back to King’s Landing.”
Cregan Stark was already in the great hall when they arrived, along with what seemed like the bulk of his forces. Of course he was. After his absence at their arrival last night, Aemond was a fool to think he’d do anything else.
The Lord of Winterfell was every bit a wolf.
He certainly smiled like one as Aemond walked through the doors, standing to bow only his head. He seemed to think his prideful displays of irreverence would somehow give him an advantage in the negotiations.
But a wolf was nothing to a dragon.
“My prince,” the lord’s voice was anything but respectful. Perhaps he still held a grudge for the death of Jacaerys. Not that anyone was to blame for that but the bastard himself. “You have joined us at last.”
Aemond adopted a similar arrogant countenance. His was far more deserved. “Alas, my wife’s comfort was of greater importance to me than your patience, Lord Stark.”
Stark’s eyes slid behind Aemond to his ābrazȳrītsos, the feral glint within them softening, then sharpening in something like concern. “Princess,” he said with a deep bow—far deeper than what he gave Aemond, his Prince Regent. “I was not expecting to meet you, but I am very glad of it. I hope you are well?”
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, quiet yet confident. “The journey was long, but I fared well.”
“That is good news.” Cregan arched a thick black brow as he thoroughly examined her, his eyes landing on her belly. “I hope your condition is not giving you too much trouble.”
“She is perfectly well,” Aemond snapped before she could even open her mouth. He did not like the way the wolf looked at her like she needed protection. She was his wife, his to protect. He would not endure the suggestion that he had failed in that duty. Despite what he’d done, she had remained safe.
Her eyes found him, then turned to Stark. She nodded primly, the barest remnants of a smile on her lips. Even as he recalled her old smiles, wide, bright, and perfect, seeing her lift her lips made his heart swell with affection. Perhaps one day, he would see her truly smile once more.
“Let us begin, then.” He led her to the table, seating her at his right hand before taking his place at the head of the table. Stark regarded him with barely disguised disdain but was silent as he continued. “You have been chosen to represent those who foolishly supported my half-sister. By my brother, King Aegon’s grace, you have been granted your lives despite your treason. But our concern now is not revenge, but peace.”
He glanced at his wife, his reason for peace. He would do anything he could to ensure she and their children never again faced war—even this. “What is it you and your allies require to ensure peace?
Stark again donned that wolfish smile, though it faltered slightly when he, too, looked to Aemond’s wife. “We thank you for your… generosity, my prince. But, before we begin any negotiations, I would ask for assurance that whatever terms we agree to will be upheld.”
The nerve to ask for such a thing as the defeated traitor was astounding. Aemond had half a mind to simply kill the man. It would send a message to those who had supported Rhaenyra. Scare them away from further rebellion.
Though perhaps it was not the message he wanted to send. Not the way he wanted to begin his reign.
Not something he wanted his wife – his queen – to witness.
So, he took a deep breath and summoned a matching cocky grin. “You have the assurance of the crown and throne, Lord Stark.”
“And how am I to trust that?” Cregan said, tipping his head so far it rested against the back of his chair. “With your brother… as he is, you are the crown and throne, Prince Aemond. I expect you will have them for yourself soon rather than borrowing them from Aegon. How am I to trust you?”
Cold suspicion crept up Aemond’s spine as Stark again looked at his wife, something like an apology on his face.
It disappeared when he again looked at Aemond. “How am I to trust that you will uphold your promises to me, when you cannot even be trusted to honor your vows to your wife?
He fucking knew. Somehow, he fucking knew.
Aemond would kill him.
He would sew that wolf’s smile shut so he could not scream. He would tear out his eyes and rip out his fingernails. He would use every method of torture he had ever learned of – through his books and his own practical experience – to kill Stark slowly. He may even invent some new techniques of his own.
He would find the person who told him – likely one of the servants in the keep he’d bribed while waiting for Aemond’s arrival – and do the same to them, as he would to anyone who ever spoke a word about it in his wife’s presence. He would –
The burning rage inside him cooled in an instant, as if smothered by a northern wind. But it was not a cold wind that brushed against his hand – it was the warm, smooth skin of his wife.
While he had become blinded by his anger, she had reached across the table to entwine her fingers with his. Her grip was stiff and too tight, and he could feel her shivering, but she had done it.
She had touched him.
Of her own free will.
Even with all he had done, all the ways he had wounded her, she was still there – still with him, offering her support.
He did not delude himself into thinking it was forgiveness or even a gesture of love. There was no hint of affection in her eyes. For all he knew, she may never touch him again.
But she still stood by his side as his wife. His future queen.
And that simple gesture was enough that the corners of Stark’s mouth turned down, and his swaggering lessened. Aemond beamed at his wife, letting her see all his gratitude and love. She nodded, and he decided that was enough, at least for now.
He turned back to the wolf at the end of the table. “State your terms.”
The negotiations were still a battle, though they never again came close to physical blows. An agreement was reached, with the crown conceding more than Aemond wanted but less than Stark wanted. No one was happy—a perfect compromise.
When it was over, and Stark rose to leave, Aemond turned to Ronnel, who sat at his left, to make preparations for their departure tomorrow. He wanted everything ready so they could depart at dawn and leave this wretched place behind. But a low voice began murmuring to his right.
Cregan godsdamned Stark was whispering in his wife’s ear.
She did not smile, but her cheeks were flushed. When Stark finally closed his bastard mouth, she whispered something back. The thirst for murder slowly crept back into Aemond’s heart. But then Cregan was walking away, and his wife held his gaze.
“He was only apologizing,” she whispered cautiously. “For what he said, and how it hurt me.”
Of course, Aemond received no such apology. He didn’t want one anyway. He would much rather have Stark’s head on a spike while his body was fed to Vhagar. Fulfilling that wish could wait, if it would ever be possible. Now, she was his only true concern.
“I’m sorry as well, ābrazȳrītsos. You should not have been put in that position.” He reached for her hand, but she stood—without aid, he noted.
She tried and failed to smile. “It wasn’t me he was insulting. Can we go now?”
Ronnel laughed slightly, a paltry attempt at ridding them of the tension. “I’m afraid the horses and wheelhouse won’t be ready until tomorrow, my princess. I can – ”
“That is not what I mean.” He could see her breath quicken as she looked directly at him. “Aemond, I’m ready.”
“Are you sure?” He couldn’t help but ask, couldn’t let this one last opportunity pass him by. “You don’t have to, love.”
Her mouth tightened, and her brows set. “I know, but I want to.”
There was an open door at the end of the servants’ hall, a fire flickering within.
Alys was expecting them. Had she seen it in a vision, or had the servants from the night before told her?
It didn’t matter, she knew. This would be unpleasant either way. But the thought of Alys knowing how pathetic she’d been the night before still haunted her.
When they were mere paces away from the open door, Aemond said his first words since leaving the great hall: “You do not have to do this, ābrazȳrītsos. We can still turn around.”
She didn’t reply. She had already locked eyes with her husband’s whore as she stepped into the doorway.
Alys was beautiful. Of course she was beautiful. And so different from her.
There was not a single similarity she could find other than the swell of their breasts and bellies from carrying Aemond’s children. Where her hair was pale as the moon, Alys’ was as dark as the night surrounding it. Where her eyes were a warm, deep brown, Alys’ were the cool green of fresh grass. Where she was but a little girl of 17 pretending at womanhood, Alys’ was a woman, with wisdom in her gaze and elegant, dignified lines framing her face to prove it.
Most men would have slighted her in favor of Alys. She just wished Aemond had been stronger than most men.
“My prince,” Alys curtsied as well as she could with her in her state, then turned her eyes to her. “My princess, what a joy it is to meet you at last.”
“Alys,” Aemond growled, stepping between the two women. He began whispering to his mistress so softly that his wife could not understand. It angered her.
“I said –” her voice came out louder than she intended, and the distant noise of conversation from the other servants quieted. That, she had not intended, but at least Aemond and Alys now faced her. “I said I wanted to talk to her, Aemond. Not you.”
His mouth tightened, but he nodded, retreating to stand behind her, still close enough to defend her. Alys smiled at her—not a viper’s smile, leering and poisonous. It was open and kind, as if she were a dear friend rather than the woman who’d slept with her husband and destroyed their marriage.
“Please, come in, princess. I know you must be more comfortable sitting than standing in a hallway.” Though she hated that the woman would dare to make assumptions, it was accurate. Her legs and back were already aching from the walk from the great hall.
Alys opened the door further, ushering them inside. It was a quaint room. Unusually well-appointed with a hearth and seating area, but still obviously a servant’s quarters. Perhaps it had once housed the steward until Alys had become so important to Aemond.
Aemond led her to one of the two stuffed chairs by the hearth, extending a hand to help her sit. She recoiled, eyes flitting to the bed. Had they…?
“Not here,” he whispered, his mouth curling into a frown. “I never… she was always the one to come to me.”
He called her to him like any other servant. He had not sought Alys out himself. It made little difference—he had still summoned her. But it was enough that she accepted his hand and sat, pulling away from him the moment she no longer required his aid.
Alys sat in the chair opposite her, again with that same kind expression. “You have questions for me, yes?”
She nodded, unsure of how else to answer. Alys was not at all what she expected. This was Aemond’s mistress. She had expected a cruel, vain woman who would laugh at her, mock her, and boast that she’d stolen Aemond from her. That was the image she saw when she imagined asking her questions, not this.
“That is quite understandable, dear.” Alys reached out, placing her hand on the arm of the opposite chair, their fingers nearly touching. “I will answer your questions. And I swear, by my own life and that of my child’s, that I will answer truthfully.”
Aemond scoffed quietly, his hand wrapping protectively around the back of the chair. Rage radiated from him, hotter than the fire they faced. She ignored it, and him, entirely.
She believed, once, that she could always trust Aemond. The woman across from her proved otherwise. If the world made so little sense that she could not trust her brother, her husband, her soulmate, then why couldn’t she trust a whore and a witch when she swore on the life of her bastard?
All her questions, all the loose threads she plucked from the story Aemond had woven for her, raced in her mind. Her head began to pulse under the pressure of the storm of anger, devastation, and sadness that raged within her.
But one question returned, over and over again, until it at last reached her lips.
“Did you know about me?”
“I did, my dear. Everyone in the realm and beyond knows of you. The ‘Little Princess,’ they call you.”
“You knew I was – I am – Aemond’s wife?”
Behind her, Aemond stepped forward to stand at her side, a hand extended in question and offering. Offering his support, the strengthening knowledge that he was there for her. The same thing she had given him only hours ago when the peace of the realm teetered on the edge of war.
This time, she did not take his hand.
Alys’ soft smile fell, and what looked to be genuine regret passed over her perfect face. “I did.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“After Aemond gave the order for every man, woman, and child carrying Strong blood was to be killed, my choices were to die with the family who had only ever done precious little for me,” Alys scoffed, as if the possibility was utterly ridiculous, “or to save myself by being whatever your husband wanted me to be. Can you truly fault me for wishing to save my own life?”
No, she couldn’t. If she had been in Alys’ position, she may well have done the same. Had considered it, even, when Rhaenyra and Daemon had taken King’s Landing. To save her children and mother, and to survive until Aemond could rescue them. Fortunately, her uncle had shown no interest in her. Still, she’d been willing to give up that part of her – if it meant keeping the people she loved safe.
“I understand your motivation to save your life,” she said slowly, wetting her lips with her tongue as she glanced up at Aemond, who looked at Alys like he was only barely holding himself back from strangling her. The hand he had not offered her was fisted at his side, knuckles white as bone.
Did hearing how he had been so easily manipulated humiliate him? Did it sting to know that Alys had only truly desired her freedom, not him? That she had used him as much as he had used her?
“I will assure you that I did resist. At least at first.”
In the story Aemond told, Alys was the one who pursued him. He said he spared her because of her visions, not her beauty or any lust for her. Alys was implying she only lain with him because he wanted it, that he was the one who began the affair.
Which was true? Was Alys lying, or Aemond?
Something in Alys’ keen eyes made her think the witch knew her thoughts. “Was he not satisfied with using your powers to aid him in winning the war?”
“My visions can provide guidance, but they are not infallible. And they are not always pleasant. I needed assurance that I would not be killed if the future was altered or if your husband was displeased with what I told him.”
“Surely you could have simply explained this to him,” she mumbled. Aemond was a reasonable man. He would not blame someone for something out of their control—or at least, he had been once.
Alys laughed, quiet and cackling and full of pity. “Oh, my poor dear, you have no idea what your husband became within these walls, do you?”
Aemond stepped forward, a hand on his sword. “Alys…”
She ignored him pointedly. “I know he didn’t tell you in his letters – I was there when he wrote many of them.” A small smile and a smug hum pointed at Aemond as she revealed a piece of what he’d hidden. “But I assumed since he’s now told you about me, he would have told you everything else.”
“Stop, Alys.” Aemond’s voice had grown lower and angrier than she’d ever heard—the voice of the man who had won the war nearly single-handedly, not of her beloved husband and brother. It frightened her. Even when he put a hand on her shoulder, she could not face him, fearing what she would see in that once familiar face.
There was a sickly glint in Alys’ eyes and a curling grin on her full lips. She looked only at Aemond as she spoke. “Did he tell you that he not only gave the order for the entire Strong bloodline be wiped from existence, but that he killed them all himself? Old men, women, and children all died by his sword. No matter how much they begged to be spared or how much they screamed and wept. He was wholly without mercy.” Her mouth hung open, ready to say more, but she glanced back at the princess and quieted, seeing the pain in her eyes.
No, she wanted to say as her stomach turned to burning cold lead. Aemond isn’t so cruel as that. He told her violence was only ever a necessity, not something to be enjoyed. At their wedding tourney –,
Aemond was silent. No rebuttals or denials. Not even an attempt at explanation. He slowly lowered his hand from his sword, as if ashamed to touch it.
That may have been the worst of it, for it meant what Alys was saying was the truth.
Pulling herself out of his grip, she ignored his small grunt of hurt and disbelief, blinked away tears, and fought to keep her voice steady. “Yet he spared you. Because you offered him your visions?”
“Yes, dear.”
She chafed under the seeming affection in Alys’ gaze. This was the woman who had seduced her husband, shared his bed for months, and carried his bastard. Why was she being so godsdamned kind?
“Was it true, then? Your vision about his first battle? That he would need to be fearless going into the battle.” She could feel her entire being trembling with fearful anticipation and guttural rage. “It was because of that vision that you convinced him to bed you, wasn’t it?”
Alys’ eyes flicked to Aemond for the first time since she’d sat down. He tensed behind her with a soft gasp, then a growl.
“It was,” Alys finally said.
“And all the times after?” She heard leather creaking behind her and knew Aemond had dropped his head. “Were there visions for those?”
“I wish I could say there were, if only to spare you from this pain,” Alys sighed, pity practically dripping from her, “but no. I still had visions and shared them with your husband, but none required continued intimacy.”
The stinging tears in her eyes began to fall, and Alys winced at the sight. “I am truly sorry, princess, for the hurt we have caused you. But I cannot regret what I’ve done, for I do believe it saved my life.”
Saved Aemond’s life, as well, if those visions had indeed kept him safe. She again felt that slight tug of gratitude in her chest, only for it to be swallowed by the raging deluge of anger and grief. It threatened to choke her. “And the babe?”
Alys sat back in her seat, absentmindedly stroking where that babe lay. “An unexpected, but not entirely unwanted consequence.”
“You did not drink moon tea?” It was a stupid question, she knew. The evidence that she didn’t was quite visible.
“Such things are luxuries when living in the heart of a war. Those herbs were better used for those who needed them to survive.” Alys’ gaze dropped to where Aemond’s other babes lay. “It took some time, after your wedding, for his seed to take, yes?
Aemond growled again, little better than a guard dog at this point.
Her cheeks flushed. It had taken nearly two years, so long that the maesters began to worry, and the court started whispering. She knew that their grandsire had brought it to the Small Council more than once, and was thankful she was not present – the gods only knew what solutions those men had devised.
“It takes longer for some women than others,” Alys said through a grimace. “It is no shame, merely the unknowable will of the gods.”
“It happened very quickly for you.” In the end, the bastard only proved that whatever had prevented her and Aemond from conceiving was her fault, not his. Perhaps the gods had seen the man he was to become, and those two years were their attempt to push them apart.
Alys thought for a minute, her gaze drifting to the fire between them, turning her eyes into something that did not seem quite human. She frowned, “A stroke of fortune. Good or ill, I cannot decide.”
The witch – for she was indeed a witch, those eyes proved it so – continued to stare into the flames. Aemond again set a hand on his wife’s shoulder, and she wondered whether he considered the bastard to be good fortune. He had not said anything to suggest he was glad of it, but there were memories that suggested he was.
He had learned things from Alys that he tried to use on her. How to hold her to relieve the weight of the babes, and how to cushion her belly when in the carriage. She was sure there was more, perhaps he had done them, and she just hadn’t noticed. But he had held Alys and taken care to protect her child.
It was intimate in a way that suggested they shared more than just sex.
“Does Aemond love you?” Even the crackling of the fire seemed to quiet as the words left her mouth unbidden. But this was the most important question. How deep did Aemond’s betrayal go?
Alys’ answer was just as sudden. “No. Nor I him.”
Her heart pounded to hear those words. Alys had taken so much. Half a year of their lives. Aemond’s touch. The trust between them. But she hadn’t taken Aemond’s heart. That belonged only to her.
Even if she wasn’t sure she wanted it.
She fell silent, considering all she had learned. Aemond fucked Alys, but he didn’t love her. He called her to his room, but her comfortable quarters suggested she didn’t stay with him. He spilled his seed inside her, but took no precautions against siring a bastard. He knew he was to have a child by Alys, but planned to return to his wife. He…
He kept her and the child secret. He had commanded that all those who knew of the affair remain silent, if Ser Willis’ words could be trusted.
Why would he go to such lengths to uphold the secret if he knew he was coming home rather than staying at Harrenhal?
A chill wind passed through her despite the heat of the fire, numbing her, body and soul.
“Did you know Daemon was going to tell me?”
“Ah,” Alys looked ashamed for the first time she had seen. “No. That escaped my vision. It was likely a decision he made just prior to departing for the God’s Eye after I had my initial vision of Aemond’s triumph. And oh, what changes that decision has made.”
That meant… “You believed I wouldn’t find out?”
“Until Aemond returned from the battle, yes.” A humorless laugh. “I was nearly as shocked as him.”
“Then you saw a future where you and your child remained hidden from me.” A statement, not a question, as the truth began to take shape in her mind.
“Yes.”
“Alys, stop.” Aemond had gone entirely still and silent since she asked if he loved Alys. Now, he was frantic and panicked.
She paid him no mind. The truth was in hand, and she would not let it go. “What would have happened? If Daemon hadn’t written that letter?”
“Many things, little one, be more specific.” Alys seemed amused by the turn the line of questioning had taken, almost like a parent helping their child with a logic puzzle.
“Would Aemond…” The words burned in her throat, not the hot burn of anger, but of deathly cold of impending heartbreak. “With you…” she was going to be sick. She could have asked anything else and been fine, but this? She would rather ask how well Aemond had fucked her. “Would it have continued?”
“Ābrazȳrītsos —” He was begging. The man who had slain dragons and burned entire villages was begging, but he did not beg for long.
“Your husband would have taken me back to King’s Landing and brought me into the Red Keep’s household as a wet nurse. I would have nursed your babes and mine, and Aemond would be able to know all his children.” There was no trace of pride or gloating in Alys’ voice, just the truth. The horrible, horrible truth.
Her tone turned reassuring. “Though, our physical intimacy would not have continued. "When he was finally by your side again, he’d have no use of me in that.” Alys paused, looking once at Aemond. “He does love you, princess. Very much. I’m sorry that I have made you doubt that.”
The bastard would have lived with them. Drank the same milk as her own children. Perhaps even played with them, learned with them. It might even look like them, if it took after its father.
For the first time, she was truly glad for what Daemon had done with his final breaths.
“It was just for the child,” Aemond whispered, his voice utterly broken. “I swear, I… I just wanted to know my child.”
She faced him, feeling nothing at the horror on his face as he fell to his knees beside her. “What about our children? What about me?”
“I thought…” he shook his head as if he did not believe his own words. “I thought that I – ”
“I don’t care, Aemond.” A lie. She cared so much. For him and the love they shared. For the family they were soon to have. For herself. She cared so deeply it felt like a star in her chest, burning with how much she cared.
That star blinked out.
“I don’t care,” she said once more. Then she stood and left the room.
“You lied.”
“Did I?” Alys’ veneer of benevolent politeness was gone the moment they were alone. She looked at Aemond with cold eyes, not a hint of the affection he once saw, feigned as it was. “Your little wife – ābrazȳrītsos, I believe is the term? – is such a charming little thing. I swore to her that I would tell her the truth. Why would I lie to such a sweet girl?”
This was insufferable. She was insufferable. “When you told her about the vision – your first vision. About Darry. I didn’t notice it when you told me then, but I know you better now.” Fear rose to match the anger in his veins as he stood. “That was a lie.”
Alys looked away. The bitch looked away from him to hide the twist of her lips as she looked into the fire. “You won the battle, didn’t you?”
It was a lie. A lie that had destroyed him. Destroyed his life. Destroyed his ābrazȳrītsos. And it was all a godsdamned lie.
He would never have pursued Alys himself. She pursued him, told him that he needed to be relaxed and without fear to win the battle and spare the bulk of his men. When he had not been able to calm himself, it was she who offered her aid.
He had not known what she meant by that, pushed her away when she first tried to kiss him. He’d wrapped a hand around her throat when she first reached out to touch him. He was going to choke her, kill her.
“It won’t mean anything, my prince,” she said when she snuck her hand between his legs. His body trembled at the touch—it had been so long since he had been touched this way. His ābrazȳrītsos had been too ill from the babe she carried, and he would never force her. He had to admit the pleasure cleared his mind. “I merely wish to help you.”
She only ever meant to help herself, not him or his men. And he had been the fool who fell for her act. Again and again.“How many of your ‘visions’ were lies?”
Alys didn’t even play at coyness. She outright grinned as she poked the fire. “Perhaps half. Perhaps more.”
“You vile whore,” he spat with all the venom he could summon.
“Careful what you say, Aemond,” her tone remained sickeningly sweet, her eyes fixed on the fire. “After all, you are the man who fucked this ‘vile whore.’ Over and over again, while that sweet thing,” she pointed her chin at the door, “was frightened and alone.”
Aemond’s breath left in a rush. “You knew she was sick?”
Alys scoffed. “She’s not sick, you stupid boy, just pregnant. It is more difficult for some women than for others. Although the stress of the war likely did not help.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” If he had only known… if, if, if, his entire life reduced to two letters. Damn the word.
“You would have left if you knew, leaving me to fend for myself.” She shrugged casually, but it did not belie the slight sagging of her shoulders. “Besides, I knew she would be well again.”
“A vision?
She smiled wistfully. Any other man would find it a beautiful sight. It made him want to kill her slowly. “Oh, what a lovely vision it was. You arrived home late in the night while she was brushing her hair. I’ve never seen such happiness as when she saw you in the mirror. Your presence alone restored her vitality. When I saw her again after she’d birthed your sons, she was strong and radiant. From Maiden to Mother.”
A crushing in his chest, pain and joy joined as one terrible whole. “‘Sons?’”
Alys looked at him then, no malice or disdain in her gaze. “Yes, she will deliver you two sons.”
Two babes. Two sons. Two heirs.
Their line would be secure with two trueborn princes. The people would take it as an omen that the gods had blessed them, and few would dispute their rule. There would be no need for further children unless something should happen to the boys. Aemond would never let anything happen to them.
There would be no need for his wife to remain in his bed.
It was his punishment, he supposed. He would have the throne and the family he always coveted at the cost of his wife’s love.
“Will they be healthy?” It was good, he told himself. He deserved this punishment, after all, and she deserved to be free of him, as much as a queen can be free of her king. So long as their sons – their bloodline – were strong.
“They were in my vision, but now that future is changed,” Alys looked back at the fire, poking at it as if searching for something. “I have not seen what will now be.”
“Try.” The babes had to be healthy after all they’d put their mother through. She must not suffer any more than she already had – at their hands or Aemond’s.
She could not bear the loss of a son. Neither could he.
“You know it doesn't work like that, Aemond. I swear, if I could see it, I would tell you.” Again, she scoured the wood and ash and flame. “But when I looked into the fire after you flew south, all I saw was smoke.”
“You lied then. You could be lying now.” He knew she wasn’t. He prayed she was.
“I give my word that this is the truth.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Aemond, this only means I cannot see what will happen. It doesn’t mean that they will not –”
“Do not speak to me!” He roared as he hadn’t since he was told Daemon and Rhaenyra had taken King’s Landing. It felt like fire was trying to burn its way out of his throat. “Do not speak to me ever again or show your face before me. If you do, I…”
Alys laid a hand on her belly, and he recoiled in shame. To banish her would also be to banish her child—his child.
He shouldn’t care for a bastard, he knew. It was a stain on his honor, a permanent reminder that he was not the man he hoped he would be, the man his ābrazȳrītsos deserved. But it was also his child—his blood.
His eye burned in such pain he could hardly feel his zaldrīzītsos squeezing his hand while she wept. But it was nothing to the gaping hole in his chest where he once hoped his father would lay.
The old man would not even look at him. He appeared as if his greatest concern wasn’t the damage to his son but that he longed for his bed. When Aemond’s mother begged for justice, his father looked on her as if she were mad.
“He is your son, Viserys. Your blood.”
Aemond swore he would not be like his father. He knew what it was to be neglected by those he shared blood with and couldn’t stand the thought of doing it himself.
Yet he had also sworn to do anything for his ābrazȳrītsos’ happiness.
“I will send funds for the child’s care,” his voice was weak now that his inner fire had faded. “But I forbid you from naming me as the father to anyone on pain of death.”
“You would condemn your child to fatherlessness?”
The fire roared back to life, as large as the swaths of destruction he had laid across the Riverlands.
He approached Alys with his dagger in hand, unaware of when he had drawn it. “It is only because of the child that I do not slit your throat here and now. Be grateful for what I am giving you. It is well beyond what most whores receive for their bastards.”
Aemond stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He shut his eye and breathed heavily. In. Out. In. Out. Only when he had calmed – enough that he was no longer on the precipice of violence – did he look down the hall, only to find it empty. “Ābrazȳrītsos?”
There was no reply. Until –
“Aemond!” Her voice was strained, desperate, and, worst of all, followed by a long moan of pain.
He screamed her name as he ran toward her voice. Why was she in pain? Was she ill again? It had never happened before night fell, as far as he knew. Had someone hurt her? Alys? Stark? He’d kill them – slowly, painfully, without mercy. He’d –
She was slumped against the wall. Her sweet face was flushed and scrunched with pain, her mouth open as she moaned. But there was no hint of injury. She looked whole.
Then, Aemond saw it.
There was a steadily growing pool of liquid surrounding her. Not blood, thank the gods, but… Alys once said there was a release of fluid when a woman began her labors.
No. No. It was too early. The babes were not ready yet. If they were born now, they would not survive. They would be like Rhaenyra’s daughter Visenya – weak and deformed. They would have scales or horns or tails or talons, perhaps even malformed wings.
They couldn’t come now. They couldn’t. Not only for their sake, but if they had those horns or talons, they could kill their mother as they ripped their way out of her.
Aemond couldn’t let it happen. There had to be something he could do, some way he could –
She screamed.
It was the worst sound he’d ever heard. It tore at his chest like a storm ravaged a ship. He could not move, not until he saw her legs wobble as she braced herself against the wall. She was going to fall. He ran forward to catch her, screaming himself.
“Ābrazȳrītsos!”
#aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond imagine#aemond fluff#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#hotd#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#ewan mitchell#what is broken
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Secret teamwork
a request from my lovely @slytherincursebreaker ♡ thank you so much!
Summary: Having a non-commited relationship with Aemond is hard, but as you find yourself pregnant, it might just be harder.
✧Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader
✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, MENTIONS OF ABORTION, p in v sex, pregnant sex, dom and sub undertones, fingering, boss/secretary adventure, slight degradation kink, slight praise kink.
✧Word Count: 6.02k
Aemond placed his own hand around your mouth, to keep your little squeals and moans away. Your pencil skirt all the way up to your hips, it was almost funny, as Aemond kept you seated atop of one of the broken tables in the storage room of the building.
“A-Aemond!” You press your hands on his chest, moving the hand on your mouth. “You are… going to be late!” You whine.
“Let them wait” he says softly, his hand pressing against your mouth as his right hand is between your legs, tormenting you as he likes.
He is knuckles deep in your pussy, and he watches your expression as you mewl, holding on his shoulders for dear life. This is probably one of the things he enjoys most in life; tormenting you to his delight. Having you drool and moan like a wanton whore, and how your cheeks get red from the effort to be quiet.
Your pussy might be one of his favourite things, how warm and wet it is for him. Gives him a sense of power as he knows that he can have you melting on his arms just by fingering you.
He knows the effort you put to look nice, your face of makeup, your hairstyle, your little outfit. He loves to mess it all up. If it wasn’t for the presentation with affiliates of the company of his family, he’d probably be fucking you with no problem.
But he cannot risk not being presentable as he is the main speaker during the conference. He has a lot of things to explain, and he prefers not risking his image.
“Shh, shh, moaning like the little whore you are” he says, smirking, as he tries not to allow any little scream to get out loudly. “Come on, baby, delight me. Cum on my fingers” he says, saying sweet nothings in your ear along with it.
Your big nervous eyes, looking at him as he covers your mouth, is a sight that he doesn’t want to forget, truly.
He is hard, and he hates how he can’t do anything about it. He just looks at you and tries to give you all the pleasure he can’t get.
“Wanna show me your little moans, baby?” He asks as you nod, and he can picture your pout as your eyebrows go up in a needy way.
You feel his thumb, going in circles around your clit. It is probably the most delightful thing he does, because it is always precise and pleasurable, as if he has perfected his technique to be at its very best.
Your grip on his shoulders, as he liberates your mouth from his palm, and you let out a sob of pleasure, trying not to scream so loudly, because if you did so, it was over for you and him.
He relishes himself in the little moans and whimpers, in the way your pussy clenches around his three fingers, and he kisses your lips; his hand on the back of your neck is firm, keeping you in place as he kisses and plays with your tongue.
“Open your mouth” he whispers, and you look up to him, knowing exactly what he is up to.
You love how he can dominate you so easily. Most men had to make an effort to try to look dominant. Aemond had it naturally.
He spits on your mouth, making sure to look at you as it falls on your tongue, and the way your pussy clenches as you swallow.
Gods, you are soaking wet. He knows you are close by how loudly your wet pussy sounds as he fingers you, and the little mewls you let out as you press your forehead on his shoulder lets him know that you are losing composure, and your legs are becoming numb.
“I need it, you know that… Give me good luck, baby…” he says softly, and as you let out a loud moan, your thighs squeezing his hand, he leans down to capture your lips on his.
He knows how you need tenderness after cumming. You are prone to become sensible, and more these days, when you always need reassurance.
He kisses you, sloppy and a bit urged, but not too messy. His tongue makes its own way on your mouth, and he can feel how you are trying to keep up as you let out a muffled loud moan, and he can feel how your walls involve his fingers as you cum.
As you rest your forehead on his shoulder, he takes his fingers out, just to suck them to enjoy your taste, even if it is just a bit. It drives him wild, but he has to restrain himself and nothing makes him more frustrated.
He rubs your back, as you pant loudly, holding the edge of the broken table, which luckily didn’t break further. He moves to watch the hour on his expensive clock, and he still has twenty five minutes to arrive. He sighs, knowing that he cannot put it on hold any longer.
“We have to go” he says softly, and you whine, not wanting to.
He moves a bit back, and you let your head fall down as you try to relax your breathing. He makes you lean slightly back, your hands hesitantly going back on the table to hold your weight.
He moves your panties, which he moved and made sure they remained on the side, so it doesn’t bother his work. He places himself between your legs, as he looks down and both of his hands move to accommodate your panties gently, without a hurry. His fingers tentatively caress your clit, but don't press their luck.
“Come on. We can go to the bathroom and get presentable again” he whispers, grabbing your hand, pulling you to your feet.
The heels you wear are probably uncomfortable, and he sighs, suppressing the urge to roll his eye. He pulls down your carefully ironed pencil skirt, and he tries to make it presentable again.
“You didn’t bring other heels?” He asks softly.
“No” you murmurs, looking at him with tired eyes.
“Gods, woman.” He says rolling his eye “I am going to start to buy you comfortable shoes and leave them in my office, so you don’t have to wear those things”
“It is protocol” you say looking at him, as he takes your purse and hangs it on your shoulder.
“I am the boss. If I want you to walk around naked or in pyjamas, it is my call to make” he states softly, and he leans to kiss your cheek lovingly. “Come on”
He grabs your hand, and you follow him quietly, as he makes sure no one is around as you two walk, hand in hand to the bathroom.
He goes into the men’s bathroom and you to the opposite.
He is quite meticulous, and so your appearance isn’t messy or ruined. If something, you look exhausted. You reapply your red lipstick, and put a bit more mascara. Not too much, you don’t wanna look vulgar either.
You place some loose hairs back into position, and accommodate your clothes again. You sigh, looking at yourself in the mirror.
The secretary and her boss. You think, as you press your lips together, nibbling the inside of your mouth.
Once you go out, Aemond was outside waiting for you, using his phone to probably answer some texts.
“Ready” you say, and he looks flawless once again. If he had an erection, there is no trace of it. He is truly surprising, like a little box of mysteries.
“Let’s go then” he says as he looks at you, hesitating before walking away and pressing the elevator button.
The way to the auditorium is silent. He checks his phone, and you check the little agenda where you write down everything he has to do.
“Westeros' investors group will be here” you remind him. “And so will the Yi Ti’s empresarial boss, as you know…”
“Uh huh” he agrees. “Will my half sister…?”
“Yes. Rhaenyra will make her appearance as the heir of…”
“Don’t”
So you don’t. “Edyr Karstark will be as well” as the lift doors open, he walks out and you follow him. “Coryanne Dayne and Morgan Martell as well, from Dorne…”
You walk with him as he stops, and you see his mother and grandfather waiting for him at the door.
Aemond looks at them, sighing. He turns to you, and you have to take a moment to move your gaze away from them.
You see the posture of Alicent straighten as she looks at you, as if squinting her eyes slightly. She holds her arms, her green dress is elegant and she looks intimidating. Otto Hightower makes no effort to hide his disgust, and he looks at you as if his eyes could throw daggers at you.
“Don’t mind them” he whispers to you “They just…”
“Hate me” you finish for him, accepting the fact.
“They… It’s just complicated”
“I am the whore who lies with my boss for his money.” You say the words that his family thinks but never say out loud.
“You are not… You are more than that” he says softly.
You walk behind him, as he goes to greet them. You always follow him everywhere, most of the time. You take care of the tiny details of his work life that he didn't care about. Learning names in meetings, learning the interest of the people to help him. Reminding him of his busy schedule.
“Aemond” his mother greets him, a kiss on both sides of his cheeks.
You two becoming closer was just natural, you’d told your friends. You two were single, and you spent more time with him than in your own home. And otherwise.
It was not long ago when his sister and brother found out about you two, and so his mother knew naturally, and so did his father, grandfather, half sister… It scared you to death.
Alicent had talked to you about quitting, how easier it would be than a scandal. You never could realise if she was saying this from the goodness of her heart or to keep you away from his prestigious son.
Otto Hightower was more direct, as he presented you with a letter of dismissal, which Aemond had to defend you. It was embarrassing, but you just… liked him, to endure his odd family.
“Hello, miss” Alicent says, and Otto greets you as well. You force a smile, and nod a quick greeting to her. “They are all waiting for you” she murmurs, and looks at him. “Your father has come for this, as well”
“Ah” he says, you can see how his mouth turns down in disgust.
“It is well prepared” Otto adds “It is fine work. If your project is approved, those months in Yi Ti will be all for you”
You look at your hands at the reminder. You won’t be going along, and it was a bit odd. On purpose, if even. But you have never said it outloud, less to Aemond, because it was truly an amazing project.
“If you could bring me a glass of water…?” He asks you, and you nod.
You walk to the presentation table, looking at the people around, chatting and greeting, no one really watches you. You take some of the bottles and pour it down in a glass for him, walking to the door, as you almost stumble against Alicent and Otto.
“I wanted to thank you” Alicent says, and you stop a bit confused, looking at her. “He wouldn’t have done it so smoothly. You two do a great teamwork”
It is half a compliment, you guess. She is trying, at least to be cordial. “Thank you”
You are quick to escape, and you watch Aemond at the door waiting for you. He doesn't seem too nervous, he never reveals his feelings so easily.
“Thank you” he says, in a softer voice. Drinking a bit of water, leaning out to see the people inside “I’ll remember those names you said. Any particular… thing you recommend me to say?”
You look at him, and say “Well, a greeting is much more welcomed than just starting speaking.” He looks back at you, and he nods softly “And look at them in the eyes”
“It is them who don’t see me in the eye.” He says trying to be funny.
“I am serious” your lips curl up, and add “Don’t be nervous. No one here knows more about it than you. And try not to fight”
“You know me too well, for my disgrace” he says smiling. “How do you feel about that great bonus in your next check?” He asks slightly amused.
“Feels like the Gods have take mercy on my soul”
You move to take a little lint on his shoulder, dangerously close in public. He isn’t one for public displays of affection, less with you.
Perhaps that’s why his mother and family disapproved more than if you two were something. You were his secretary, and him your boss. Not partners, no compromise.
It makes you anxious, sometimes. How could you even ask him? Not that he would take advantage of his power position over you. It wasn’t about asking your boss what exactly you two were. It was about asking him, Aemond Targaryen, what he truly felt about you.
You could find another job, but you couldn’t find another him, another Aemond.
“You’ll do fine. I made sure there is water, and those mint sweets” you tell him. “The control of the presentation is ready, and there are no cables for you to stumble on. The table is seated so your blind spot doesn’t face the public. It is rotated so you can read the presentation as well, so don’t worry.”
Aemond looks at you, looking inside for a moment before wrapping one arm around your body, pulling you both out of sight as he leans to kiss you passionately, for a few seconds.
You kiss him back, if anything a bit surprised about his bold action. As he pulls away, he is quick to recomposture himself, and smirk.
“I don’t have lipstick on?”
“No…”
“Good” he says with a smirk. “Go and take a seat. You have earned it”
With that, he walks inside. You blink, a bit flustered and surprised. When you look inside, you see Alicent Hightower watching you, all tense up, sitting next to her husband, who is talking to Rhaenyra. She saw you.
You were about to be sick. You turn around as a gag comes out of you, covering your mouth, yet you don’t feel the disgusting feeling of something coming up your throat. Perhaps because you have not eaten anything today.
You try to act normally, as you walk to sit at the side of the window, looking at the cars in the street passing by, as you hear how the conference is to start.
“Where is he, again?”
“Probably Yi Ti right now” you say, sitting on the kitchen counter as Amanda prepares the lasagna.
“And he got funds for this? Like his rich family couldn’t just… allow him to borrow money?”
“Doesn’t work like that” you say amused.
“Ha. I know” Amanda says, chuckling. She was one of your ex coworkers, and you used to have lunch with her everyday, before she quit for a better job. “How is he?”
“In what sense?” you ask, looking at your margarita yet you haven’t drink any of it yet, too occupied in the chatting.
“Happy, I mean. I don’t think I have ever seen him… Happy. Or smile. Have you?”
“Yeah” you say smiling at how silly that question is. “Duh.” You say rolling your eyes.
Amanda turns on the furnace as she waits for it to get a bit hot before putting the lasagna, and she looks at you.
“And did his family was there? His mum? The Alicent Hightower?”
“All of them. Viserys, Alicent, Otto, even Rhaenyra. Helaena went for moral support” you say chuckling.
“And what about the mistress?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes.
“Alys Rivers?” You ask her. “I think she was there…”
You try to shrug it off, but it boils your blood the thought of her. More with her story with Aemond, how intimate they had been. It makes you gag.
“Oh, it burns you from the inside!” She giggles, and she places the lasagna inside the oven. “Is the Margarita good? I haven’t tried it…” she asks, moving across the kitchen to take a sip.
“I will try it…” you say, moving your straw around, and you are hit by the hard scent of alcohol.
“It is good for a drink bought in the supermarket, you know? I waited for…”
“I am going to throw up” you say standing up from the seat, as you make your way to the bathroom of her house.
Aemond has been gone for maybe two weeks at this point, and you keep on gagging at smells, of any disgusting kind. There were only four things you relished on; the smell of the mints that Aemond liked, gasoline, hot dogs and coffee.
Throwing up is not nice; the first time is because of the sickness, and the rest is purely out of disgust for the vomit.
You wash your mouth, and try not to leave her bathroom with the scent. Once you come back, you see that Jasper, her fianceé, has arrived.
“Are you okay?” Amanda asks, as she walks over to you. “You love Margaritas, are you not sick? Oh! Is that restaurant where you went with Aemond to the triumph meal?”
He made you accompany him, with his family and associates, to a dinner that his grandsire organised, in an expensive restaurant, after the triumph of having his project accepted and founded. You vomited all the food at night, probably because of the lobster.
“It was over two weeks ago” you say, shaking your head. “I always get sick when I am about to get my period. Being irregular has its disadvantages ”
“Oh, I get that feeling” she chuckles, going back to the kitchen as her finaceé is drinking her margarita.
You stand still for a few moments, and you realise the possibility. Probably the reality, as you had all the symptoms... it made total sense, and you stood frozen as you realised.
You were pregnant.
It is two months later when Aemond comes back. Half of his project has been completed, a total success. But his business in Yi Ti was more than done, and the oriental atmosphere was too much for a Westerosi man like him.
He was not surprised with your resignation letter as he came back to the office, which was why you wouldn’t answer any of his texts or calls. Three weeks into his journey, he got your resignation letter, accepted by his grandsire, which only needed his signature.
He called, and called. And nothing. You probably ghosted him, and he called Helaena to check on you. He didn’t trust his mother or grandsire.
According to his sister, you just needed to let go of some things of the past as you realised you had more ambitions than being a secretary.
On Friday, he is in your apartment. The building was old, and it had barely four floors, and you lived at the end of it. He has stayed in your apartment once or twice, but mostly he just passed when he dropped you off.
Luckily, he comes at the time where the old lady of the first floor is getting inside with all the supermarket bags.
“Let me help you” Aemond says as the lady is struggling between managing the heavy bags and opening the door.
“Oh, thank you, young lad” the woman says, as he takes all the bags from her arms. He enters first, and waits for her to walk, very slowly.
The woman opens the second glass door to enter the building, and she stops at the mailbox, checking for her apartment number.
“You want me to grab yours too?” The sweet lady asks, and Aemond hesitates.
“Uh, sure. Thank you” he says, and in the silence he realises he has to say the number “41” he remembers the number of your apartment, and the lady grabs the mail for today.
They make an exchange, where he leaves the bags in her house, and she gives him the mail. She is sweet and Aemond has a smile as he has to go all the way up to the fifth floor.
He is not one to spy, but you have a lot of mail. Mostly about some subscriptions you made, he is curious to see if you have anything from your new job.
He stops, mid stairs as he watches the pink envelope. A woman’s choice.
He hesitates a bit, before he pulls out his phone. He remembers that. Helaena and Rhaenyra both made a contribution for that clinic, didn’t they? It was the woman’s building of the hospital in Visenya’s Hill. He walks slowly upstairs, he is midway the third floor, as he walks up slowly.
He searches for the name of the clinic, and he hates how bad the signal is. He sees the three dots moving, loading the page slowly.
His stomach drops as he reads. Pregnancy termination clinic.
He doesn’t understand anything.
He stands frozen, with phone on one hand as he holds the envelope behind. His mind is racing. He knows you are not subscribed to it just because. He hasn’t heard in months about you, and he doesn’t know what to conclude about this information.
It feels an eternity before he knocks on your door. Once. Twice. Nothing.
He doesn’t hear the wood crack under your weight. It was painfully obvious when someone stepped on it, he remembers one time when he dropped you at your house, drunk, and you both laughed at how silly it sounded at every step you both took.
He missed you, he realises. Scratch that. He knew that he missed you, but not that much for his heart to ache like that at the memory. He misses you. He feels incomplete.
You open the door, obviously expecting anyone but him.
You are wearing a black hoodie, using a face mask, probably orange scented. You always made sure to be well looking in the sense that you took care of your appearance.
You look different. He blinks slowly, as he looks at you, frozen in his place. He isn’t normally so stiff, he is usually more straightforward, a man of business.
“Aem– Mr. Targaryen” you say, a bit surprised. The way you refer to him stings.“You are back. To what I owe the pleasure?”
It is at the same time that you realise that he was holding your mail, as his eye trails down to your hidden stomach. Your clothes are too big to realise, which only makes him more confused, and suspicious. He can’t see anything to confirm, but it is unusual, you don't like to wear these kinds of clothes.
“You… quit” he says, dumbfounded.
“Yes. Nothing personal” you say tapping your fingers on the door. You were anxious. “I am sorry if it came at a bad time.”
He looks at you, as the lie comes naturally to you.
“Can I come in?”
Your place is a bit messier. He knows something is up. You move your hands to take off that stupid face mask, and your face is all shiny from it.
“I am not really… I was not expecting… visitors”
He was more than a visitor, and you knew it. You missed him. He looks as handsome as you remembered. You didn’t go to the airport, but you kissed him farewell in his office.
“Are you… pregnant?”
You blink at your boss. At your something. At your baby daddy. At Aemond Targaryen.
He can see the little panic in your eyes, and he lets a scared sigh. He covers his mouth as he looks at the side.
“I should have been with you” he says regretfully, and his heart feels at the floor. “I was away, and you…. You should have been so…” he doesn’t know if it is useful to say it, it was probably traumatic to you. “Forgive me. If there is anything…”
You hear his heartbroken words, still holding the door as you blink. “ thank you…”
“We are still a team” he says, looking at you. “We… we always had been. I would have dropped everything to be with you at that moment”
He looks at you, so calm and collected. He feels like losing his mind, and he feels pure guilt. He wants to ask you. Why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you? He knows it is selfish to ask, but it was also his mistake. He would have helped you, held your hand and all of it. He would have been prepared, read about it, to comfort you in the grief, all of it.
“And forgive me for… spying on your mail, I just wanted to see if you had a new job…” he says, extending the mail, embarrassed and vulnerable. You have never seen him like this, it is almost scary.
You take the mail, and you see the pink envelope first, among the white ones. It was atop, and you looked at him.
“Maybe you should get inside” you say, moving to let him in.
He sits on the couch, and you sit by his side. The silence was crushing, and so you speak.
“I should have told you..”
“I understand-”
“Let me speak” you say, and he shuts up. He looks at you, and you keep talking. “I… I didn’t get an abortion, Aemond” you say softly, looking at him, at how his expression changes, trying to get the words in.
“What?”
“I just… It was an option. I was… I was scared. I am still, a bit. But… I want this baby” you admit softly, not looking directly at him, as you so shyly admit your feelings to him.
He is confused. “You… You didn’t?”
“No…”
He leans back on the couch, breathing hard at the realisation. He might faint, he has gone through many emotions in little time.
“So you are…”
“Still pregnant. Very much” you confirm, and he lets out a sigh. “And… you are the father”
Aemond bites his lips on the inside of his mouth, and he looks at the ceiling, passing a hand over his face.
“Oh”
“Yeah…” you say, at how stiff he is. “Three months and a half.”
As you stand to grab your wallet, he thinks. Three months and a half back, it was probably the time when he had so much work left, that he fucked you in his office. Or was it the time where you two fucked over the cabin?
“Here” you say showing him the ecography picture.
In the middle of the black part of the ecography, he could see the curled up little figure. He looks at it, as if it would disappear if he moved his gaze away. It is wonderfully diminutive, yet it fills him with pride, seeing something so little that makes him feel so many things.
He missed it. It was the most important ultrasound, and he missed it. He wasn’t there to hold your hand either, when you took all the exams to determine any genetic syndrome. He should have been, right at your side, to be part of it as well.
“It is… wonderful” he says, with a small chuckle. “You think, I could… get a copy?”
It is the subtle confirmation that you didn’t expect. He wanted this, as you did. You never talked about having kids, less so when you were never anything serious.
“Keep it” you say softly. “I already took like hundreds of copies, you can keep it.”
It is a surprise that he sobs, and he looks at the image.
“You… Oh, gods..” he says, feeling utterly hopeless as he watches the little paper. He is going to be a dad, it was so… odd. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have left..”
“I didn’t either” you say.
He looks at the image, he doesn’t even cry on purpose, just some tears falling naturally. His thumb moves to caress the paper, as if it was a soothe for him and the baby.
“You quit, how are you… affording all of…?” He makes a gesture. Everything, he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to be invasive.
“I have a part time job at a friend’s coffee shop.” You say with a nod “And a fair bit of savings”
He looks at you, shaking his head as he feels his tears dry. He was thinking so many things. He is going to be a dad. He has not contributed anything. He has to take care of you. And the baby. He has to help you. He was going to be a dad.
“you shouldn’t have quit. It was a stable, good paid job, and the office has great maternity leaves.”
“And would they give me more months because my boss is my baby daddy?” You ask, not from malice, but he bites his lip.
“They told you to quit, didn’t they?”
“Nobody told me” you assure him.
“They paid you.”
“They didn’t. I wouldn’t have accepted it”
“Why didn’t you tell me, then?” He asks, almost heartbroken.
You look at him, nervous, and you don’t dare to look him in the eye. “I did the maths, Aemond. You didn’t seem the type to… you know. Compromise”
He looks at you. It was right. He wasn’t one to show his emotions. It was probably the first time someone saw him cry, since he was like twelve, and he always made sure to keep a distance between him and the rest.
“I am not.” He says softly, looking at the image, and he sighs. “But… you and I are a family” he says, licking his lips. “and we will always be a family, with… them” he adds, pointing with a tilt to the ecography.
It is a haunting truth, that you knew. You’ll always be bound to Aemond. A scary thought.
“We will. But I want to know, what are we?” You finally ask him. Decisively, you need to know.
“You have my body and soul” He admits softly, and he bites his lip. “Both of you. I am committed to you two…, always. Always, of course. There is no one else I want, that I choose.”
You truly don’t know how or when you end up in his lap, kissing softly as he holds you on it. It is different from his dominant demeanour.
He is almost rewarding you with caresses and kisses, holding you gently. He would do anything you ask him to, and he is so afraid to lose you two. He almost did, both of you, and he doesn’t want it to happen ever.
He holds you as if you were fragile, and to this moment you are; he holds both of his most precious things, and you carry his baby.
“I am not going to break” you say against his mouth, pressing a little tighter. “I need you” you add, your hot breath on his mouth as his hands presses in your back.
“I need you too” he admits, as he accommodates on the sofa to hold you. “Here or on the bed?”
“Wherever…”
The bed it is.
He held you all the way there, which was not a long way either, but it is good to be in your bedroom, where it smells like you, and some strange mint scent that reminds him of the mints he eats.
“Look at you, baby” he says as he takes off your clothes, eagerly, and desperate. “So beautiful as always, dripping wet for me” he says, and you blush slightly from his compliments. “aren’t you?”
“yes. i am”
“how am i even going to go on with my work when you are not there to indulge me a bit?” He asks, as he is the one to desperately take off his clothes, as you lean against the pillows, watching him. “When the idea of leaning you on my desk was enough to make me finish all of it quickly, and call you to my office.”
He accommodates behind you, both of you laying as he kisses your shoulder, and then your nape, and leaves soft love bites, not meant to last long.
“But now you’ll just wait for me at home, hm? In my own bed, all for me” he says and you search his lips and share a sloppy, messy and wet kiss, needy and primal.
You missed him. You needed him.
The pregnancy hormones drove you insane. And missing Aemond was something your little babe was sure to make you feel it at all times.
“Yes, yes, I need you inside” you feel his hand, moving to wrap your waist, and he moves behind you, holding your leg with his other hand.
He cannot wait to see you heavily pregnant. You have a little belly, which is adorable. He supposes that, as he was, the baby will be small too.
But he craves for when you’ll need his help to do anything. And he’ll delight himself in it.
“you missed me?”
“So much” you turn your head, for your arm to be around his neck. It is probably a twisted position, but he is not one to complain.
His lips capture yours as his cock finally slides into you, you moan against his mouth, and his grip on your body tightens a bit. He is going insane.
He is ruthless at every thrust he gives you, and you surely are more tender at each movement of his cock in your pussy. The time apart, or your hormones, he didn’t care, as he immerses himself in pleasure.
“So big” you moan against his mouth, and his hot breath hits your mouth as well. “I love it”
“I love you too” he says, his face nuzzling your cheek as he doesn’t think too much about what he just said, and just focuses on the way your cunt clenched around him, warm and soaked, a very warm welcome.
He holds you as precious as you were to him, but firmly, tightly. His hips swing as his cock moved and makes it’s way in your pussy, the little way his cock throbs inside, leaking the precum inside.
“You already marked me. Everyone will know that i am yours– so fucking yours…”
The thought makes him moan. He always loved that, making you go out of his office full of hickeys and love bites, sending you back to your desk all flustered and shaky.
“Hm, you love that, don’t you? They can’t fuck you like I do” he adds smugly, as he presses open mouthed kisses on your neck.
You moan as his fingers search your clit, and are quick to find it, and he groans at how receptive you have become.
“I’ll fuck you so hard, baby. So, so hard” he promises, for the future. For now, he just needs you. “Such a good girl. Always a good girl”
The way you squirm, and your whimpers drive him into release as well. Your legs always do that thing that he knows very fondly, they shake and your muscles tense up when you are cumming, in a very certain way. It is almost always the same, and he has grew to find it endearing, everytime he fucks you he waits for that moment.
He thinks he is much simpler, he holds you closer to him, as if forcing you to remain there, as his balls tighten and he cocks throbs before cumming deep inside. He lets out a loud groan, rolling his eye back as he holds you.
The way you two remain naked, yet laying together it is something he never does usually. With you, a few times. He always tends to you, and made sure you were relaxed. But you never did pillowtalk after it, you usually were exhausted and he was tired too.
“You know what? It is almost unfair” he says, moving to search his pants.
“Oh?” You ask curiously, as your eyes follow his frame. You don't get what he means exactly, but you wait for him to elaborate.
“I brought you a present. Well, I brought two things–” he finds it in his pocket and extends it to you, and you smile upon the realisation.
“oh, Aemond…” you say looking at the bracelet, and you smile at him. “It must have been… so expensive”
“It is your favourite colour” He points out “Isn't it?”
You nod, as he moves to leave it in your nightstand, just to pull you closer to him.
“You have given me more… expensive gift” he adds, moving to your side again, and he wraps his arm around your waist, leaving one of his hand to rest atop of your belly, firm and growing. “Thank you”
You see the gratitude in his eye, and you smile softly. “Well, to be fair it is a product of very extensive teamwork…”
“It truly is, hm?” He asks, smiling as he moves to your side again. “We truly do make an remarkable team”
#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader smut#aemond modern au#house of the dragon#aemond smut#hotd fanfic#aemond targaryen x you#aemondtargaryen#aemond targaryen#ewan nation#aemond the kinslayer#hotd#prince aemond#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#ewan mitchell#modern aemond#modern aemond targaryen x reader#modern aemond#aemond one eye#aemond#request#⁀⊹requests
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You Might Think It's Foolish
prompt: meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you.
or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.
pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x female!reader
fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon
word count: 3.1k+
warnings: short and to the point, angst, hurt and no comfort, drama, relationship angst, stand alone, cursing, toxic family, toxic relationship...? barely edited, author's tired of her drafts.
browse Clingy Baby collection masterlist here
Fall. Autumn. A time of shedding the old and preparing for the new. Perhaps that was why this happened - the universe was trying to shed what was unwelcome in your life. Yet you wouldn't see it this way for several long months.
The trees grew over the winding backroads in a curved canopy; creating a golden tunnel for visitors to pass through on their way to remote destinations. You were no exception, cruising at a leisure speed while taking slow, deep breaths to attempt to soak in the beauty autumn in the Northern Hemisphere brought. It was impossible not to feel enraptured by the serenity of the country roads, music set so you could hear it but still have a conversation if you wanted.
Your passenger princess told you it was the next right.
"I can't believe we're late," you whispered, sighing in strained stress. "This is a horrible first impression, Aemond."
"We won't even be the latest," he smirked.
"Doesn't matter, it's still rude to show up when the party's already started."
"We were busy."
"You were getting a new tattoo," you deadpanned.
"Exactly as I said - busy. And you got your third ear piercing, so, I don't want t'hear it."
You swallowed, making the right turn. "That's the house?" You gawked.
"Mhm," he gazed out his window, "welcome to the Targaryen Manor, princess."
"I forget you're from old money," you muttered, finding a suitable parking space and pulling in. You gathered your belongings, including the flowers from the backseat you insisted on bringing for his mother, and vacate the car.
"You're gonna be fine," Aemond smirked, tossing his arm around your neck as you moved up the walkway. "Just be yourself, laugh at their jokes - you'll fit right in."
"I feel like I can't even afford to be here," you whispered, approaching the front door. He chuckled and took your hand, letting you squeeze it tight as he opened the door and lead you inward. "Jesus, Mary Mother, and Joseph," you gaped, eyes bugging wide as the interior.
The term "fancy" didn't even begin to cover it.
And Aemond just smirked at you, amused by your response; knowing your family grew up without money and the nicest thing you owned for years was a Wii that had been purchased from a family-friend for a third of the price. So to see you here, amongst luxury and money, was an absolute treasure to him.
However, that was short lived, because the next thing you noticed was the amount of people milling around. There was at least 13 different people in sight, and for some reason, you knew there was likely many, many more. Aemond lead you into the kitchen, and from there, you could barely keep up.
First, you met his mother, Alicent. She was a kind woman, but stoic and calculating; observant with a quick wit. She intimidated you, made you feel small, burned you under her stare; and since you were dating her favorite child, you knew she was scrutinizing you. You felt desperate for her approval, and when you offered her the large bouquet of flowers, she actually let her lips twitch in a small smile. She thanked your generosity and consideration, making you feel like you had some kind of breakthrough with her.
When Alicent went to put the flowers in water, Aemond assured he thought his mother "adored" you before introducing you to his father - the birthday boy. He was sweet; soft spoken and bright-eyed; all too happy to have a conversation with you. He asked how you and Aemond met, then what you were studying in university, if you liked it, what you wanted to do with your degree. He asked what food was your favorite, if you played sports, about your family, and if you had any hobbies. Viserys Targaryen had a kind soul, making you wonder how he and Alicent remained married.
Though they say opposites attract.
Aemond showed you around the house, stopping to introduce family members; then heading to the backyard where you were drug around to meet the hundred other family members. You were close to tears the whole time, knowing it was his father's birthday, but not knowing how bloody big his fucking family was - and that they'd all show up today. You felt blindsided, it felt like a deliberate withholding of information to convince you to come. You were under the impression it was a family dinner, but now, you understood, it was an actual celebration.
There was people everywhere you looked, everywhere you turned. Voices spoke over one another, children ran around playing tag or jumping on a trampoline; babies cried and screamed, the grill was loud with sizzling meats, and a radio played through intermittent static. Multiple dogs ran around, trailing mud everywhere, even going as far as to shake their coats out to shower bystanders. The smell of charcoal, smoke, and chlorine mingled with that tangy-good scent of BBQ; but it made your eyes sting.
It was a sensory overload.
It was a miracle you hadn't burst into tears yet, but you remained anchored to reality by maintaining a close proximity to Aemond.
You held his hand in a vice grip. You held his bicep with a curled-grip that left fingernail indentations in his skin through the fabric. You held his waist, belt loops, anything you could grab onto in a possessive grip. You constantly touched him to reassure yourself he was still with you; being your anchor to reality, tangible and real since your anxiety drowned you in a sea.
You didn't think it was an issue. Didn't think anyone would notice, so you obviously didn't think anyone would care if they DID notice. You liked touching Aemond, it kept you grounded; if someone had an issue with that, it was 100% just a personal problem. However, plenty of people did notice, and when you sat down for dinner, you were unprepared for the ambush.
Conversation was flowing; food passed around and utensils scraped plates. Drinks sweat into the table cloth, citronella candles twinkled, and laughter was in an abundance as each person found merriment in their family. You were feeling more relaxed, but the truth was, there was so many people here that you felt nauseous enough to only take a few small bites from your plate.
Aemond noticed and met your eyes, subtly opening his hand to you in an offer for comfort. You all but snatched his hand into yours, smiling in thanks as he only smirked broadly and continued eating. You tried to sample what you could, but it was impossible to stomach much of anything. You reached for your water, took a sip, and heard Alicent question your name.
When she had your attention, Alicent asked, "Have you had many boyfriends, dear?"
"Oh, no," you answered honestly, "no, I've gone on dates but Aemond's," you laid your free hand to his bicep, sliding down to take his hand with yours, "my first boyfriend."
She hummed and stabbed her fork into the salad set in front of her, muttering in a lower tone, "Then I guess I can overlook it all."
You cocked your head, setting your glass down, wondering, "Overlook what?"
"The clinginess," she shrugged, reaching for her wine glass. "You've been stuck to his side all day - never even parting to go to the restroom, it seems. So, because he's your first, I can overlook all this... For now."
Your head began to spin like in a bad cartoon. You felt your heart cement and drop to your stomach; throat swelling to suppress either sobs, vomit, or both. The entire table was quiet. "I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Targaryen," you offered in confusion. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, but it's not with malicious intent."
"No?" She mocked.
"No," your head shook vehemently. "I did not realize my actions could be interpreted negatively, and I assume you, it was not my intention to create tension."
"Oh, spare me. You haven't let go of Aemond once all night, and even now, as we all sit for family dinner, you hold his hand hostage; preventing you both from eating. Don't you think he'd like to spend time with his family without needing to make you feel included in every single thing he does or says today?"
You gulped, "I did not mean to offend you nor your family."
"It's not offensive," Helaena Targaryen, Aemond's only sister, tried to intervene. "If you feel uncomfortable in any situation, why not seek out that in which you already know helps comfort you?"
How had it come to this?
"I am not offended," Viserys croaked, "I find young love refreshing."
But this made Alicent rage, "It is offensive when you prevent Aemond from actually visiting with his family. It's his father's birthday for God's sake! We don't have an infinite number of them left! If you want to hang all over him when you're at university, fine, but when you're here? In public? Around family or elders? It's not acceptable behavior, especially when you prevent my son from participating as a member of this family."
Your mouth went dry as you remembered your parents did not raise you to ever tolerate disrespect. If someone offered insult, sure, walk away, but they also taught you to stand up for yourself in particular fights. This felt like one of those fights.
There were also vivid memories long since repressed that flashed you back to your own parents telling you, you were clingy. They didn't want you hanging off them, distracting anyone, being an overall nuisance; so they started fighting your fire with their own. They became verbally aggressive, constantly ridiculing and belittling you; attempting to keep you humble by insulting your character - saying nobody (be it man or woman) would want someone like you. Your baggage was too heavy and you knew it, your parents telling you it was why you felt the need to cling in the first place.
If you held on tight enough, the weight of your trauma would eventually anchor your person in place. It'd be too late to swim away once that anchor sunk.
You looked at Aemond, thinking he'd tell his mother to quiet down, but he never did. He just stared at the table, so, you tossed his hand into his lap - feeling disgusting by his physical touch right now.
It was evident he wasn't going to defend you, so, you defended yourself, "I know you might think it foolish, but the reason I was 'all over' your son was because I was caught off-guard by the number of family members who attended today. I was lead to believe this would be a small, intimate affair so I could properly meet his nuclear family, and when I realized that was not the case, yes, I held onto Aemond because I felt incredibly anxious. I cannot control what makes me uncomfortable, but I was expecting under ten people - not close to a hundred. So, truly, if me seeking solace with my boyfriend upsets you, I am sorry, but I will not apologize for feeling blindsided and misdirected - I will not apologize for feeling anxious and nervous amongst such a large family that I've never met before, and - "
Aemond snapped your name, silencing you instantly out of sheer shock; your eyes widening a fraction. He growled, "That's enough, do not speak to my mother like that."
"So, she's allowed to call me clingy, but I can't - "
"I told you to watch your mouth," he seethed, "and not speak to her like you just were. She made an observation - an accurate one - not out of spite, like you want to do in retaliation."
You scoffed, while glancing between mother and son, nodding slowly. You mutely used your cloth napkin to blot around your lips, swipe your tongue over your teeth as you pushed your chair back and slowly stood. "You know what? I don't need this shit. I refuse to sit here and let you speak to me as if you're holier than thou," you told Alicent, then looking to Aemond, "nor will some mama's boy gaslight me."
Helaena giggled behind her hand as you swiped your purse and phone, turned on your heel, and walked away. Aemond sighed and called your name, standing from his own chair, still trying to slow you down by calling out to you. "Aemond," Alicent snapped when he meant to move after you.
"You've done enough," he told her, jogging after your retreating form while calling your name.
"Nice one, Mum," Aegon scoffed. "That's one way to make sure he doesn't knock her up - just break them up."
"Aegon," Daeron groaned.
"What? Isn't that what she was afraid of? Aemond getting too serious with her?" Aegon snapped. "He's finally happy, and you what? Had to implode that?"
Aegon's words sunk into his mother's heart as Aemond rushed after you, nobody untouched by the things he said.
Outside, you rushed for your car while fumbling with your purse and keys. Aemond followed, still. He finally caught up when you made it to the car, his hand whipping you around to face him.
"I didn't fucking mean it," he rushed, holding you securely in his grasp. "Hear me? I didn't fucking mean it, I-I just wanted the arguing to stop, I know how Mum can get and I didn't want it to escalate. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my love, I didn't mean it at you - I just - I panicked - I don't know why. Perhaps we're both still very green to this whole relationship thing."
"Oh! Fuck you," you snapped, pushing him off you.
"Listen to me - "
"No, you're done talking," you raged with your manicured pointer finger jabbing the air between you in a dramatic fashion. "Your mother fully insulted me in front of everyone - your entire family, whom I wasn't even aware I was meeting, nor was I even ready to meet!"
"What?"
"I was willing to meet your parents and siblings. Not your entire extended family! You meet the nuclear family first and when ready to level-up, you bring your significant other around your aunties, uncles, cousins - whatever. You ambushed me," you snapped. "You totally caught me off guard - but instead of apologizing and acknowledging my discomfort, you just carried on on your high horse. You let me hold onto you - yet there was no word about being clingy - and you even reached for my hand a few times! Yet I was the one being slandered and labeled as 'clingy'!? But you know what? That's cool, really fucking cool, that's fine. Like I said before, fuck off. I don't need to be with someone who crumples like a wet piece of paper when Mummy Dearest starts to huff and puff. I need someone who's going to tell their mother to cut it out when they're trying to wrongfully insult me - your girlfriend. Better yet? I need to be with someone whose mother doesn't start on that bullshit! That has respect! Decency! Now get the fuck away from me!"
You shoved him back a few steps to give room for you to open your car door and get in - immediately hitting the automatic locks. You started the engine, put your seatbelt on, took one last look at your first love as he tried to plea with you through the rolled up window, then shifted into gear and pulled away.
You felt your anger boil to a new height when you replayed the entire day. How dare Aemond? How dare he try to manipulate this situation? He had no right to ask you to shut the fuck up while his mother was free to run her mouth! Well, first and foremost, how fucking dare Alicent insult and challenge you in such a public setting? How in the Seven Hells had Helaena been the only one to defend you? What the hell did you even need defending against? Why did you showing affection and needing reliable support upset Alicent that much?
Your phone began to ring, and when you glanced at it, you saw Aemond's contact photo displayed on the screen. You ignored it and put your phone on airplane mode, leaving it on for now. However, after a few long moments of stressful thinking, you turned the setting off and called your sister - knowing no matter what, she'd be your rock. When she answered, you told her a simplified version of events, and at the end, your tears had been triggered and she was encouraging you to come over to her house.
You agreed, shut your phone off this time, and drove to your sister's place. When you arrived, you were shocked to find her waiting in the driveway, opening her arms with a pout when you got out of the car. "C'mere," she cooed, enveloping you in her arms when you stepped into her embrace.
"Why do boys suck?" You whimpered.
"Because that's just how they were programed," she sighed.
"Sh-She called me clingy," you managed through your tears, "his mom called me clingy, a-and Aemond d-didn't defend me. So, when I had to defend myself, he just told me to be quiet 'cause his mother wasn't wrong - or what-the-fuck-ever."
"I know, honey," she sympathized, giving you a squeeze. "What're you thinking?"
"That I can't trust someone like that," you admitted. "And if I can't trust them, why be in a relationship?"
She nodded, "I think you know what you need to do next."
"I don't want to."
"Nobody really wants to, but it's necessary," she held your phone out for you after pulling it from your back pocket. "Don't let him or his mother disrespect you - especially in front of his other family members. I mean, shit, how're you supposed to face any of them again after that?"
"Exactly, his mom didn't exactly do it in private..."
"See?" She stared at you while you sighed, shaking your head. Your sister encouraged, "Make the call. This isn't a sustainable relationship, and Aemond shouldn't have to choose his mother and his girl - so, let's just make it easy on him, and you choose. Wanna be with someone who lets his mother say shit like that to you? Who tells you to be quiet, instead of shutting down his mother's insults?"
You frowned, whispering, "I don't think this is enough to break us up. It shouldn't be, right? This shouldn't be the end-all, be-all, should it?"
"No, honey, but the disrespect cannot stand, either," she shot back. "If he felt so comfortable to say that in front of his family like that, you don't wanna know what he's gonna get comfortable doing in more private settings." Tears filled your eyes as she reminded gently, but firmly, "Make the call."
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Pretty Little Thing
summary: After finding yourself at a holiday party you hadn't wanted to attend in the first place, Aemond Targaryen makes it worth while.
pairing: modern!Aemond x Reader
warnings: 18+/NSFW/MDNI - smut, oral fem receiving, fingering, spanking, praise, slight dirty talk, overstim, kissing, love bites, hand over mouth, titty play, allusions to Aegon being a creeper, alcohol, smoking, langauge
word count: 7.2k
note: im back! grad school didn't kill me! hope you enjoy!
link to other stories from me!
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—
Be there soon.
Alysanne had texted you nearly an hour ago, and with each passing minute you became more doubtful she’d be making an appearance at all.
You hadn’t even wanted to come. It’d been her idea and now she was blowing you off.
“We’re just exchanging the last of our things,” she’d promised on the phone several hours earlier, “You go on without me and I’ll meet you there.”
Yeah. Because it takes three hours to give your ex-boyfriend his stuff back. Totally.
Alysanne and Cregan Stark had been on and off again since you’d known her; this time was no exception. You knew from her first running later than I thought text that the night wasn’t going to go as you’d hoped.
You decide to like her most recent message instead of replying, unable to stop the wave of annoyance cresting inside of you.
You hadn’t even wanted to come.
An end-of-semester holiday party. Thrown by the elder Lannister siblings; twins Jason and Tyland. The kings of Casterly Rock are well known for their extravagant get-togethers and the unimaginable generational wealth that funds all their exploits.
They’d long graduated from King’s Landing University, but you and Alysanne scored an invite courtesy of Cerelle Lannister, their younger sister, whom you’d been trying to avoid since you arrived. If Cerelle didn’t see you, perhaps you could escape the party unscathed.
That hope proves too good to be true as your name is called from across the room. You slide your phone back into your pocket as Cerelle approaches you. Her blonde hair hangs in effortless curls down her back, the emerald green top she wears accentuating its golden hues, along with her bright green eyes.
You’re not exactly close with Cerelle, though she appears to enjoy your friendship, at least on a surface level. She’s part of the weekly book club you attend. Her grin widens as she reaches you, eyes drinking you in.
“Darling!” she muses, pressing a kiss against your cheek.
“You wore it!” she says, fingers ghosting across the cashmere cardigan you’d chosen to wear that evening. Cerelle had bought it for you a few weeks ago, though you’d begged her not to; the price was more than you made in a paycheck.
Alysanne once referred to you as Cerelle’s Polly Pocket.
“She pulls you out of her pocket and plays dress up. It’s fucking weird,” she’d said.
Cerelle’s lips curve upwards in a Cheshire cat grin as she slings an arm around your shoulder, bringing her glossed lips next to your ear.
“Stop moping in the corner like some dreary wallflower,” she purrs, brushing some hair behind your ear, “Have some fun! It’s winter break!”
Goosebumps break out on your skin at her affections. You laugh breathlessly shrugging away from her touch causing her to frown.
“You haven’t had enough to drink,” she insists, reaching for another glass, “You’re much too antsy.”
“Alysanne was supposed to be here,” you tell her and she nods understanding, looping her arm through yours and giving your forearm a comforting pat.
“Fashionably late as always, I suppose,” Cerelle drolls, pointing across the room, “There are lots of fascinating characters here who’ll distract you. Shall I spin a bottle to decide?”
“Hilarious,” you tell her, shaking your head.
“I never joke about a good shag,” Cerelle argues, gaze flickering about the room, “From the looks of it you could use it.” She turns back to you, matching your pout. “Don’t frown, you look too lovely.” She places her hands on your cheeks, thumbs tugging the corner of your lips upwards.
“Much better,” she praises as you hold the smile she’s decorated your face with, “Come on let's find you someone…don’t look at me like that! Someone to flirt with, that’s all. A bit of harmless fun.”
You roll your eyes earning a pitch on the arm and you swat Cerelle’s hand away.
“There’s no one here I want to flirt with,” you insist, following her gaze around the room, “Let alone shag.”
“You’re too picky,” she muses, tapping a manicured nail against her chin as she scans the room, “What about Greyjoy?”
A shiver rolls through you, “No thank you.”
“Heard he’s good in the sack.”
You’d heard a lot of things about Dalton Greyjoy. None of which made you want to spend an extended period of alone time with him. You glance at Cerelle giving her a firm look. She sighs, returning to her mission.
“You need someone,” Cerelle insists after you shoot down several more options, “You haven’t been with anyone since—what was it again?”
His face flashes through your mind before you can help it.
“Unimportant,” you quip, “Cerelle, I just want to—” Your words die as two new guests bound up the stairs into the main hallway.
Suddenly, it’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room, your heartbeat echoing in your ears the only sound you can hear. You tug Cerelle closer, eyes wide.
“You invited them?” you hiss, as Cerelle frowns, following your gaze.
“Not me. Jason must have,” she answers, “It’s not a party without Aegon. Jay swears he has the best coke on this side of the Keep.”
Aegon Targaryen is relatively harmless as long as you keep your drink close. You’re more concerned with the tall figure who lurks closely behind him. Though the younger, Aemond Targaryen towers over his brother; his presence makes the room feel smaller, colder than it was moments ago. He’s dressed in all black, as he usually is, the silver chain around his neck the only other color. His long snow-white hair is braided down his back, an eyepatch securely covering his left eye.
He never takes it off.
Aegon pushes by his brother making a beeline for the kitchen where most of the chaos is localized. You can tell a new drinking game has begun by the sound of cheers and the echo of glasses clinking together. Aegon’s eyes lit up as he disappeared down the hall, eager to join the miscellaneous fun.
Aegon loves a good party.
Aemond watches his brother but lingers behind in the living room leaning against a wall. He extends a long arm to the bookshelf retrieving one with his long fingers. He flicks open a few pages, lips pursing. He glances up, violet eye meeting yours for the briefest moment.
Your lips part and you look away, warmth flooding your cheeks. You had shared a couple of classes with Aemond, nothing more nothing less. He was quite mysterious.
“Anyway,” Cerelle says, her attention wavering with each passing second, “Back to you drinking. I’ll get you another glass. Loosen up, pet.”
—
You try to, you really do. No matter what her intentions are, Cerelle has been nothing but nice to you, so you allow her antics. An hour has ticked by and Alysanne has yet to respond to your latest text message. Squeezed between Cerelle and Sabitha Frey during another round of quarters you decide to plan your escape.
“I’m going to get some air,” you tell her, rising from the couch. Cerelle rolls her eyes, “I’m not leaving, I swear!”
“You better not!” she says, perfectly sculpted eyebrows knitting together, “I’ll come to fetch you if you’re gone too long—you know I will.”
She’s telling the truth.
“Five minutes,” you insist, forcing a smile.
Cerelle’s nose twitches but she lets it go and nods, returning her attention to the game.
Weaving through the sea of people you make your way outside letting the door shut behind you as you walk down a few steps of the front stoop. It’s colder than you expected, you can see your breath in front of you.
You stand shivering, trying to decide what to do next. Reaching into your pocket, you check your phone for the time. You could leave, make your escape down the steps, and catch the last bus back to Maegor’s Holdfast.
If you stay any longer, you’ll be forced to spend the night or dip into your savings to splurge on an Uber. It’s always crazy expensive on this side of town as if the drivers know the neighborhood is full of rich kids.
The door opens and noise from the party fills the cool night until it slams shut once more. You roll your eyes expecting Cerelle as you turn your head.
Only it isn’t her.
Aemond Targaryen lingers on the top step, reaching into his jacket pocket and placing a cigarette between his teeth. He finds a lighter a moment later, a nice expensive one, flicking it open with a sharp click. Fire blooms in the palm of his hand and you can just make out the three-headed dragon branded on the side of the silver lighter before it disappears into his pocket again.
He releases a cloud of smoke into the air, mimicking the one your breath makes. You turn away as he walks down a few steps, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
“You were in my class,” he says suddenly, his head tilting to the side, “History of The First Men, right?”
You force your lips together. “Mhmm,” you answer, surprised he recognized you.
Aemond Targaryen didn’t seem the type to remember a random girl in his class. Smart as hells, he focused solely on his grades, paying little attention to the rest of the student body. He seemed to be the antithesis of his elder brother. Though incredibly different, supposedly they had similar lustful appetites.
One for pleasures of the flesh, the other for academic validation.
Aegon Targaryen was a known party boy and ran in multiple social circles. He didn’t care about class or popularity; if there was sex, liquor, and drugs around, Aegon Targaryen would be there.
However, there were stories about Aemond too that made their way around campus.
“You alright?” he pressed, the silence laying heavy between you.
“I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now,” you breathe, chuckling slightly as you rub your arms as the frigid air bites into your exposed flesh.
Aemond quirks a brow at that, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Why’s that?”
“You’re sort of a banned topic at book club,” you admit, causing his lips to curl into a small smirk.
“Am I?”
“Mhmm.”
Another moment of silence goes by before his curiosity gets the better of him. “Because?”
“Maris runs it,” you tell him, and he clicks his tongue, nodding to himself before taking another drag of his cigarette.
Maris Baratheon, the elder of a pair of Irish twins. Floris Baratheon, once the object of Aemond’s affection for about a half second, was royally screwed over when he left her for none other than Alys Rivers. Adjunct Professor. It was quite the scandal at the time.
You’re not exactly friends with Floris; closer to Maris if you had to choose. But it's the principle of things—girl code.
“Floris and I were never exclusive,” Aemond comments.
“Yikes.”
So maybe Aemond Targaryen is just like every other guy. Though, you’re mostly sure he’s telling the truth. The story you’d heard was that he ghosted her.
“She shouldn’t have assumed,” he continues, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.
You roll your eyes, blood boiling at his statement as annoyance begins to quicken in your belly. Aemond Targaryen seems more like his elder with every word that leaves his curved lips.
“Right, of course not, how dare she,” is your sarcastic reply.
Aemond tilts his head toward the sky, speaking around the cigarette.
“You seem rather upset,” he accuses, “Funny, Floris never mentioned you.”
You turn to face him fully and he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. Folding your arms across your chest you jut your hip out. “We’re not friends. It’s the principle of it all. I don’t like assholes.”
His perfect lips curl slightly. “I’m an asshole?”
“Mhmm. At least Aegon owns up to his behavior, he doesn’t pretend he’s some suave guy doing nothing wrong.”
You swear a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he plucks the cigarette from between them.
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Sure seems like it.”
Aemond takes a step closer then. You have to tilt your head to look him in the eye. Something about being this close to him is almost unnerving, your stomach drops slightly as you focus on his prominent cheekbones.
“It’s not my problem if a girl gets her hopes up after getting fucked properly,” he counters.
Your breath hitches in your throat and you back up, slightly slipping against the icy railing. Aemond reaches out, his hand curling around your bicep to steady you. It’s warm, almost hot; the heat seeps through your thin sweater in the shape of his fingers.
There’s a tension between you as he holds your arm for a second too long, before the door opens and several partygoers stumble down the steps, forcing you to break apart. Aemond takes another drag of his cigarette from across the stairs as they laugh tumbling into the street. You’re grateful for the distraction, taking a moment to slow the frantic beating of your heart, and the slight flutter in your stomach.
“So,” you begin, trying to break the awkward silence the partygoers left behind with their departure, “How do you know Cerelle?”
Aemond looks at you quizzically.
“How do I know Cerelle?”
You jerk your chin up in a hasty nod. Aemond chuckles, shaking his head and taking another drag.
“Family friend,” he answers, “Old money likes to stick together.”
You nod again, unsure of how to answer as he observes you.
“Surely you’ve heard of the Westerosi Seven?” he asks.
You haven’t.
“The what?”
“The seven families,” Aemond says, his tone indicating that this is somewhat common knowledge, “Generational wealth that can be traced back to medieval times. The higher lords and ladies. Near royalty.” He takes another drag.
“And you’re one of them?” you ask, crossing your arms.
“My family, yes,” he answers, “And Cerelle’s. The Baratheon girls. Stark. They’re all quite close.”
“Interesting,” you tell him, glancing down the street again, “You sound like the mafia.”
Aemond holds your gaze, not denying your allegation. You release a breathless laugh, but unease settles in your gut.
The door opens as if on cue, and Cerelle pops her head out.
“Darling! Come back inside you’ll catch your death,” she calls, waving you forward. She spots Aemond out of the corner of her eye, and you don’t miss the look of interest that gathers in her green eyes as they flicker between the pair of you, “Targaryen.”
“CeCe,” he politely greets, choosing to use the nickname Cerelle often kept reserved for her family only. She doesn’t comment on Aemond’s choice.
“Hope you’re being nice to my girl,” she says, the words clipped.
“Of course,” Aemond comments and you can’t help but feel like you aren’t there.
Cerelle glances back at you, a smile decorating her face once more.
“Come on, pet! In the kitchen.”
Her blonde hair disappears in the door. Aemond walks down the remainder of the steps tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it beneath his heel.
“Best run along,” he muses, not turning to face you, “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Annoyance prickles under your skin.
“She’s my friend—”
“You have got a very generous friend,” Aemond comments, turning to face you. He motions at your sweater. “Myrish, isn’t it?”
You cross your hands over your chest.
“Mhmm,” Aemond hums glancing up at you from the bottom step, “I’d just be careful if I were you. Accepting gifts from rich strangers is a lot like Persephone eating the pomegranate seeds.”
You scoff at the implication before turning away and heading back into the townhouse. Aemond does not follow; you don’t hear the door open as you hurry back up the stairs.
The party has since moved completely to the kitchen, sans a couple making out on the living room couch. You enter the crowded space and crane your neck to see what everyone is cheering at.
It’s something happening on the marble island, but you don’t see what—that is until Cerelle sits up, her blonde curls cascading around her face, a lime between her pearly white teeth like a cat with a mouse.
She smiles curling her finger, beckoning Aegon Targaryen forward. He leans against her, bringing his mouth to hers and stealing the lime. The juice flows down his chin before he lets it fall, pressing a sloppy kiss to Cerelle’s lips, earning several cheers.
As she breaks away she notices you, eyes lighting up as she slips off the counter.
“Good, you didn’t leave!” she says giggling, “It’s your turn.”
“My turn?” you ask, heart dropping into your stomach.
“Mhmm,” she says, dragging you forward, “Up now!”
“Cerelle, I don’t—”
“Hush! Qyle Martell is doing it,” she says biting her lip suggestively, “Let the sexy Dornishman take a shot off you, alright?”
Your cheeks darken as he appears before you, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you onto the counter like a lamb for slaughter. The crowd cheers and your eyes widen as you meet Qyle’s warm brown eyes.
“Your sweater,” he says, motioning to it with his hand that clutches a bottle of tequila.
You glance at Cerelle and she nods encouragingly. Over her head and in the doorway you spot Aemond. He didn’t leave after all. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, observing the chaos with a curled lip, as if the entire thing is beneath him.
Qyle whistles, drawing your attention back to him. He motions to your sweater yet again.
“Oh,” you tell him, moving to unbutton it.
Thank goodness you wore a tank top underneath. Your fingers slip with nerves as you struggle to unbutton it. You’re the center of attention, peers cheering and chanting around you as you struggle with the bottoms.
Quite the sacrificial lamb you are.
“Here, can I help?” Qyle asks, reaching toward you, his fingers bumping against your own. The bottle of tequila sloshes.
“No—no I’ve got it—oh!”
You’d moved wrong, done something wrong—or perhaps someone pushed him you’re not sure. Your head is buzzing with the noise of the room and suddenly the front of your sweater is doused in tequila. Qyle’s eyes are wide as Cerelle pushes him to the side as the smell of alcohol fills your nose.
The room quiets momentarily until Cerelle’s bell-like laugh pierces through the silence.
“Qyle you idiot,” Cerelle sneers, nose wrinkling with playful distaste, “You’re supposed to wait till she’s laying down—”
“It was an accident!”
“—and her sweater!” Cerelle growls in annoyance, “Go upstairs, pet, my room. Pick anything you like.”
You slide off of the counter, hurrying from the room, leaving the sound of music and chanting behind as you move deeper into the labyrinth of the Lannister home.
—
Cerelle’s room lacks color and warmth.
You’d spent the night once here before, crawling into the white feather bed after too much mulled wine. Cerelle had stroked your hair until you’d fallen asleep, only to awake the next morning with a severe headache and a churning belly.
Popping the rest of the buttons, you peel the soaked sweater from your body and throw it in the hamper. You then walk over to Cerelle’s closet—double doors—and open it. Expensive. Perfumed. You’ve already ruined one pretty thing. Though Cerelle could hardly care about the expense, you do. You sigh, gently pushing through the soft fabric.
“Playing dress up?” a voice calls, and you turn to Aemond at the door.
You close the closet door. You’ll just have to survive in your thin top. Aemond holds a glass of whiskey between his long fingers.
“Well, I suppose that was a given,” you answer him, sitting down on the bed.
Aemond watches you from the doorway, his arm raised above his head, fingers tapping nonsensically against the frame.
“D’you want to see how you’re supposed to do it?” he suddenly asks.
“Do what?” you question, tilting your head to the side.
“What Qyle was going to do,” he answers, and you understand his meaning.
Aemond walks over to you, the ice rattling against the glass he lazily grips between his fingers, coming to stand in front of your legs. You’re not sure why he’s asking, what interest he has in you. But something in your belly tightens the closer he gets.
“Alright,” you give him a quiet answer, the word barely slipping past your lips.
Aemond purses his lips, glancing down at your legs.
“Spread them,” he says softly, motioning with the cup. Warmth creeps up the back of your neck and blooms on the apples of your cheeks. You lock eyes with him, focusing on the ring of violet that surrounds his pupil. You do as you’re told, knees parting; his gaze hypnotizing. “Wider.”
Your skirt tightens against your thighs as you do so, but you spread your legs wide enough for him to stand between them. He takes a step forward and you’re forced to look up at him.
“Lean back,” he instructs. You’re beginning to notice how easily he slips into the domineering role. Again you follow his instructions, cheeks burning as you lean back, propping yourself on your elbows.
You’re much more exposed without your sweater, the tops of your breasts visible in the thin top you wear. Aemond steps closer, looming over you, heat radiating from his tall form.
He reaches out, fingers caressing your cheek. You hope he can’t feel how warm they’ve become, feel your pulse fluttering against his fingers as they trail underneath your jaw and down your neck until they reach your collarbone.
“You’re to put salt here,” he murmurs, pressing against the dip of your collarbone for emphasis, “That’s first.” He leans down then, fingers trailing over your shoulder and down your arm leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Though we’re without.”
You swallow as his fingers continue to trace your collarbone. His violet eye watches you carefully before he pulls his hand away. He brings them lower, ghosting down your ribs until they reach your waist.
“May I?” he asks, fingers at the hem of your shirt. You give him a wordless nod, not able to trust your voice. Aemond pushes the fabric up slightly, revealing your navel. He holds the glass above your stomach; a drop of condensation falls causing you to flinch at the cool sensation.
Aemond flicks a brow at the constriction of your abdomen, “You’re quite sensitive.”
“It’s cold.”
“Mhmm,” he agrees, turning the glass so more condensation falls; little raindrops begin to adorn your skin, “The liquor goes here.” His fingers ruin the pattern he’s created, rough fingertips swirling the dew drops around your navel, “Tequila.”
“We haven’t got any,” you breathlessly tell him, his touch leaving a scorched trail across your belly.
Aemond brings his glass closer, pressing the edge against the beginning of your belly button, letting some whiskey pool there. Your hands clenched into fists as the cold liquid fills you up; you watch as it shakes slightly, overflowing. Aemond leans forward, catching the spill with his mouth causing a gasp that sounds more like a moan to leave your mouth. His mouth covers your navel and you can feel his tongue swirl around, collecting the liquid he poured there with hot, calculated strokes.
His violet eye peers up at you from behind silver lashes, half-lidded as he hollows his cheeks sucking harshly. He reaches toward the side table, mouth never leaving you, to place his glass on the edge freeing his hand. You can feel his tongue circling your navel, gently probing the sensitive skin. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at the ticklish sensation. Aemond presses his hands against your obliques before releasing you with a pop, his chin and lips shining.
“That’s how it's supposed to be,” he murmurs, not moving from the spot between your legs. Some of his silver hair has fallen across his brow, and on instinct you reach forward, brushing it from his eyes.
“There’s one more part,” you tell him, fingers grazing the beginning of the scar that mares his left brow before disappearing behind the patch.
“What’s that?” he asks, his gaze revealing he knows the answer.
He just wants to hear you say it, you realize.
Your lips part, fingers still somewhat tangled in his hair; the strands soft as silk between your fingers.
“There was a lime,” you tell him, “The person….holds it in their mouth.”
Aemond pushes up then, his hands sliding up your sides until they’re pressed into the bed on either side of you, his face inches from your own.
“Have you got a lime on you?” he asks, his breath warm on your face, the scent of whiskey strong between you.
“No,” you murmur, not knowing where to look. He’s so close you can see the flecks of blue and gold in the lilac iris of his eye, count his silver lashes, and notice the small indentation on the tip of his prominent nose.
He hums again, his eye dropping to your lips.
“Pity,” he says, lips down turning into a pout.
Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest with the way it's pounding incessantly against your ribcage. He’s so close your chests are practically touching; your nipples straining against the fabric of your top. His chain peeks out from under the collar of his shirt and your resolve crumbles. Your eyes flicker to his lips, tongue darting out to wet your own and he leans forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.
Your hands wrap around his neck as he kisses you; his lips so soft and firm against your own, skilled tongue parting them with ease to deepen the kiss. A moan doesn’t make it out of your throat as his hand cradles your jaw, the sound of soft kisses is the only thing you can hear besides the muffled hum of the music playing downstairs.
Aemond pulls away then, the look is his eye ravenous as he lowers himself between your legs once more. For a minute you think he may grab his glass and do the party trick all over again, the kiss just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Instead, he pushes your skirt up, fingers digging into the flesh of your inner thighs. You realize a moment too late what he’s doing.
Riiiip!
“Aemond!” you squeak, as he rips the seam of your tights, “These were a new pair!”
“I can buy you another,” he says, pressing a kiss against the smooth newly exposed flesh, “Or perhaps CeCe can. You’re her favorite plaything, aren’t you?”
Your cheeks burn at the statement, your mouth pressing together in a tight line. Aemond grins, nimble fingers undoing the zipper of your skirt and wiggling it down your legs along with your ruined tights.
“Oh she doesn’t like that,” he says, clicking his tongue, “But it’s true, isn’t it?” His hands are roaming higher now, grazing against your clothed center. You’re certain he feels the evidence of your arousal but he stays quiet about it. “That’s what you are, aren’t you? A pretty little plaything.”
“Fuck you,” you hiss, humiliation seeping into your veins, though it does little to quell the desire pooling in your belly.
“No shame in that,” he says, shaking his head, “I understand Cerelle, entirely.” His fingers tug your panties down your bare legs, exposing your wet center. Aemond’s eye locks on it, lips quirking upward. “I like pretty things as well.”
“So I’ve heard,” you quip as Aemond’s second-hand joins the first. He swirls a finger low against your entrance and you clench as he drags it upwards.
“Have you?” he muses, circling your clit with minimal pressure, “And what have you heard?”
“That you’re as insatiable as your brother,” you manage to choke out as his thumb continues to tease your clit, “You just hide it better.”
Aemond cocks his head to the side in silent agreement before pressing his face against you. A sharp cry leaves your lips as his tongue explores from your entrance up to your clit, the tip circling the sensitive button.
Eyes rolling back in your head, Aemond nuzzles his face against you, tongue slipping down and pressing into your clenching hole. He hums in approval as you make another desperate noise as his tongue curves upwards inside of you.
Seven hells, how is anyone’s tongue long enough to do what Aemond’s is doing? Your toes curl as his tongue hooks upwards against the front of your pelvic bone, thrusting against the sensitive patch of nerves that resides there.
“Oh gods—fuck—fuck!” you cry as he continues the repetitive movement of his tongue, waves of pleasure lapping up your spine, sending shivers through your whole body. “Hells Aemond…”
His nose presses against your slippery clit, rubbing against it in a way that stokes the pleasurable fire burning in your belly. His hands hold your thighs open and you throw your head back against the bed as the pressure inside you builds and builds and builds. Your back arches and your thighs tremble in his bruising grasp.
You lean up on your forearms to watch him, his violet eye intently watching your face, studying your reaction. You can tell he’s smug at the effect he’s having on you. He would often get that same look in his eye in class after he proved someone wrong or made a more intelligent point. How you must look to him now; all spread out before him, flushed and slack-jawed, dewy-eyed and pretty.
You’re a pretty toy to play with. Just want he wanted.
His tongue leaves your fluttering pussy and you whine at the loss of contact. He mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like needy before two fingers sink inside your warmth to replace what he took away.
Aemond’s tongue returns to its place around your clit as his fingers curve upwards replaying the motion from before. The stimulation now is much harsher, the pads of his fingers dragging effortlessly against your spongy walls, curling with brutal intention; relentlessly pressing against the swelling spot inside of you.
His warm, wet tongue against your clit only hastens the tightly winding ball of pleasure in your gut and you feel your walls swelling around his fingers as your release knocks the wind out of you.
You come with a strangled cry, hands gripping the bed sheets as your abdominal muscles contract to the point of pain, all your muscles going taut as warm waves of euphoria rush through you.
Aemond releases a choked chuckle of appreciation as he feels you tighten around his fingers. He fucks you through it, stretching out the wave of your orgasm until your legs are trembling and the overstimulation causes you to hiss at him.
“Stop, stop, please.”
“Alright…shhh,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your mound and gently pulling his fingers from your fluttering walls, “There you go, that’s a good girl. You did so well for me.”
You can’t help but warm at his praise, the ringing in your ears fading as your chest swells. Aemond is on you once more, lips pressed to yours the mingled taste of whiskey and you hot on his tongue.
“Are you going to let me fuck you?” he murmurs between sticky kisses, “Hmm?”
“Aemond…” you breathe into his mouth, hoping that is enough for him.
You can feel him smirk against your lips and know instantly it's not. He tuts disapprovingly, pushing you back against the mattress, his face dipping into the crook of your neck.
“What would Floris say?” he teases, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers digging into his scalp. His braid is all but ruined. “I thought you said something earlier,” he continues, nipping and sucking at different spots on your neck, humming with pleasure when he locates a spot that has your back arching.
“I don’t—”
“Loyalty, I recall,” he purrs, his hand snaking down your side, gripping the meat of your thigh and hoisting it around his waist, “Something like that.”
“Aemond,” you whimper helplessly as he grinds against you, the feeling of his hard cock concealed by his trousers driving you close to madness, “Aemond please.”
“You’re going to have to say it,” he insists, kissing your cheek, “Come on, say it.”
“I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, “Please Aemond—gods.”
“They can’t hear you,” he taunts, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, “You’re all mine.”
You frantically nod, nose bumping against his as his lips curl into a greedy smile. He removes his shirt with one hand before he rolls off of you and onto his back, motioning to you with his hands.
“Go on then,” he says, “Take what you want.”
With shaky hands, you undo his belt above the sizable tent in his pants before dragging the zipper down and releasing his cock. He’s bigger than you expected, both in length and girth, the reddened tip already weeping in anticipation. You stroke his velvety shaft once before he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward him.
His hands pull your shirt from your body as you straddle him, his cock nudging at your folds. Aemond’s hands slide up your back, undoing your bra and freeing your breasts.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, hands cupping the sizable mounds, “Gods, you’re so lovely.”
Your face burns at his praise as you raise your hips before gripping him in your hand and guiding him inside of you; gently letting yourself slide down his length, inner walls fluttering around him at the new sensation. Shuddering on top of him you whine at the stretch. “Gods—”
“You can take it,” he murmurs, squeezing you softly in encouragement, “Come on baby, that’s it, just like that.”
Slowly you let him bottom out in your warmth, happily seated on his cock feeling incredibly full. You brace your hands on his chest as he pinches both of your nipples, your jaw slacking in response. Aemond lifts his hips slightly, gauging your reaction as your eyes screw shut.
“That feel good?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper.
“Yes,” you breathe, slowly starting to ride him, hips lifting and returning to his with a soft smack.
“There she goes,” he murmurs, hands dropping to your hips, squeezing, “Take what you need, gevie.”
A breathless moan escapes you as you ride him, his hands guiding you through the movements. The hum from the music downstairs matches the ringing in your ears.
Aemond drops his hand from your waist bringing it to the apex of your thighs. His lips part as he watches you rise and fall on his cock, his length coated with your arousal.
“That’s it,” he coos, his tone bordering on one of condensation, “Just like that—there’s a good girl.” His thumb brushes against your clit as he says it, a broken moan leaving your lips as pleasure ignites your veins.
His movements are soft, tantalizing, and brutally calculated as he circles the sensitive button; his other hand clings to your waist, hard enough to bruise. Surely they’ll be memories of his touch when you wake; dark purple petals blossoming on your soft flesh at first light. He guides your movements as they become sloppier the closer you get to your release.
It sends tingles up your spine, your chest and neck growing warmth as you edge closer to the precipice of pleasure.
No other man has made you finish before.
“Are you close?” Aemond murmurs, never stopping his attention to your clit, the subtle movement of his hips thrusting up into you, “I know you are—can feel you clenching around me.”
Your head falls back, mind foggy as you desperately grind against him, trying to ignore the burn in your hamstrings. Aemond’s hand leaves your hip crashing down against your ass with a loud smack. You yelp in surprise, head jerking forward, nails clawing into the hardened muscles of his chest. Aemond’s hand remains where he’d spanked you, fingers curling into the meat of your ass as he releases a breathless laugh; his eye flickers to where your nails dig against his pale flesh, leaving a trail of red behind as they scrape down his chest.
“Answer me,” he demands, and you quickly nod earning another stinging slap, “With your words gevie. Use those pretty lips.”
“Yes,” you practically gasp, “Yes, Aemond I’m close—”
“And you want to cum, don’t you?” he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk, “Do you want me to make you cum?”
“Yes, Aemond please—” the sentence dies with a moan as he plants both feet on the mattress, bucking his hips up against yours at an inhumane pace. Your eyes screw shut, mouth hanging open in ecstasy as all the muscles in your body tense followed by a sudden burst of euphoria pulsing through you.
Aemond hums in satisfaction as you ride your high, blood rushing in your ears as you shake on top of him, clenching around his thick length. He’s careful to pull his thumb away from your sensitive clit as your eyes flutter open, eyebrows scrunched together at the overstimulation. But his compassion is short-lived as he hooks his arm around your waist, flipping you onto your back and slotting his body on top of yours.
His cock is removed for merely a moment at the switch of positions before it’s stretching into your once more earning a sharp gasp. Aemond’s hand covers your mouth in an instant, his face buried in the crook of your neck once more.
“Shhh,” he coos, placing a kiss under your ear, “Hear that?” he asks, thrusting gently into your warmth causing your eyes to roll back in your head. “Listen.”
His hips continue their gentle roll against yours, slowly stoking the pleasurable fire that is reigniting in your belly. Limbs still tingling from your previous orgasm, you blink rapidly trying to focus on what he’s asking.
The music downstairs has died.
“Everyone’s going home,” he murmurs, through another kiss, “We’d best be quick. Would hate for lovely Cerelle to find her pet in such a position.”
Embarrassment burns your cheeks and he chuckles, keeping his hand over your mouth as he slings your leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle of his thrusts. The head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot almost lovingly as he drags his cock in and out.
“Keep quiet,” he murmurs, the sound of silence deafening with the lack of music, “Can you do that?” He’s rather cruel with his question, delivering a particularly harsh thrust as he asks, then clicking his tongue in disapproval at your muffled moan. “Thought not.”
So his hand remains as he plows into you, the sounds of your pleasure muffled but still desperate as you claw at his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he encourages, “Cum for me again, just like that.” His pelvis grazes against your clit, the friction only aiding in his efforts of making you reach your release once more. His violet eye scans your face before he dips to your collarbone, nipping the sensitive flesh with his teeth and you cum with a desperate cry against his hand.
“There you go,” he coos, the words breathy and broken his hips faltering as your walls clamp down around him, “Squeezing me so fucking tight—fuck.” He regains his pace with renewed enthusiasm as your walls continue to flutter around him. Aemond removes his hand from your mouth pressing it into the mattress beside your head.
Nerves raw from the continued stimulation a tear rolls down your cheek as he chases his own release. Aemond leans forward, hot tongue darting out to catch the salty stream as he hums in satisfaction.
“We’ll have more time next time,” he whispers the promise against your cheek, “I want to explore what other pretty noises you make.” His lips capture yours then, swallowing the whimper you release.
“I’m very curious,” he murmurs against your lips, slinging your other leg over his shoulder, pushing your knees back beside your ears. “And I’m very thorough.” A silent scream leaves you as he slams back into you, toes curling as you cum again, vision going white with the force of it.
Aemond’s hips meet yours a few more times and then you feel his cock pulsate inside of you before the warmth of his release fills you to the brim. You’ll need to make a trip to the pharmacy, but you’ll think about that later. He stays like that for a moment, buried to the hilt inside of you as you both try to regulate your breathing.
Aemond lowers your legs gently from around his shoulders and brushes some sweat-soaked hair from your forehead.
“Are you alright?” he asks, and you nod as he kisses you sweetly.
“Just fucked out,” you assure him, a pleasurable ache radiating down your thighs. Aemond hums, carefully pulling his softening cock from your warmth.
The emptiness takes your breath away as he stands. “Wait here,” he orders, walking towards Cerelle’s bathroom. He returns a moment later, washcloth in hand. You push yourself onto shaky forearms as he carefully cleans the mess between your thighs.
“Thank you,” you tell him, face burning from his attention.
“No need for thanks,” he insists, “It’s the bare minimum.”
“For you maybe.”
Aemond flicks a brow toward his hairline, his violet eye meeting yours. His expression is curious, but you sense he’s not going to push you to elaborate. You hold his gaze.
Not tonight.
“Are you staying here?” he asks, standing when he’s done, handing you pieces of your clothes.
“I think I have to,” you answer, putting your skirt back on and glancing at the clock, “The last bus is long gone.”
Aemond frowns, reaching for his phone.
“I’ll have my driver take you,” he says, unlocking his screen.
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s no trouble,” he insists, placing the phone against his ear, “Cole. Ten minutes. Thank you.” He hangs up quickly leaving no time to argue.
“Thanks,” you mutter awkwardly while finishing dressing. You walk to Cerelle’s large mirror and attempt to fix your sex hair. Your eyes widen in horror as you tilt your head to the side, leaning closer to get a better look.
“Aemond,” you hiss, fingers pressing against the three red marks sure to bruise, “I look like I’ve been mauled by a bear.”
Aemond walks up behind you dragging his fingers down the curve of your neck and over your collarbone. Goosebumps appear in their wake. Three more red marks lead a path down to the top of your right breast. Several sizable mouth-shaped love bites.
Aemond rests his chin on your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror.
“Think of them as a gift,” he tells you, the curve of his lips pressed against the skin of your neck.
His hand curves around your waist, the other slinking up to turn your face towards him. He hums appreciatively, kissing your lips, then your cheek. Down your neck to your shoulder. You glance in the mirror once more, catching his eye.
There’s something new there. Almost possessive.
His grip on your waist tightens and he presses his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder.
Outside, snow begins to fall.
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