#aemond x oc
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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!
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Of Dragons and Maelstroms
Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Chapter Eighty-One
Before her mind could fully process his presence, Maera’s body reacted. She gently set aside the dragon egg and carefully rose from her seat, her rounded belly leading her movements. Her eyes never left Aemond as she stood, a mix of wariness and longing etched on her face.
Aemond had been gone for five weeks, and Maera could immediately tell he was changed. His face bore the marks of age and fatigue, likely the aftereffects of battle. She had seen it before in some of her oldest brothers—an unmistakable weariness that came from enduring the horrors of war. His meticulously neat silver hair was now curled at the ends, with knots forming throughout, a testament to the hardships he had faced.
Despite her injuries, Maera cautiously limped towards him. Each step was a challenge, yet she pressed on, her heart driving her forward. Aemond strode towards her purposefully, his eyes locked on hers. They met in the middle of the room, capturing each other in a long embrace. The moment was filled with a complex blend of relief, sorrow, and unspoken words, as they held each other tightly.
The Princess squeezed her husband’s waist desperately, as if she never wanted to let him go again. She buried her face in his chest, and tears began to flow freely. The sobs that wracked her body were silent but profound, each one a release of the pent-up emotions that had built during his absence. She inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar smell of dragon smoke and leather, grounding herself in the reality that he was truly back.
Aemond's hand gently combed through her hair, offering a soothing counterpoint to her grief. He pressed kisses on the top of her head, each one a tender affirmation of his presence and his relief at their reunion. His breathing was short and shallow, mirroring the intensity of the moment, as he too was consumed by the emotion of finally being together again. They stood entwined, both finding solace in the embrace, a fragile yet powerful connection rekindled amidst their shared pain and love. But then the facade cracked.
“Ahhhh!!”
Aemond attempted to hold Maera even tighter, but in doing so, he accidentally knocked the healing wound on her upper arm. With a yelp, she jumped back from him, her other hand instinctively coming up to cover the wound. She shoved his chest away in the process, her face contorted with pain as she breathed deeply through her nose, trying to stave off the wave of nausea that the sudden pressure had caused.
After a moment of regaining control, Maera looked up to find her husband staring at her with deep concern. His single eye roamed over her body, searching for any other signs of distress or injury. The worry etched on his face was unmistakable, a testament to his guilt and fear for her well-being. Before he could ask any questions, Maera gestured for him to join her seated at the hearth. He nodded in agreement and allowed her to lead the way, his gaze following her every movement. He watched as she limped and grasped tightly onto the furniture for support, each step a visible effort.
As the pair sat together, a hushed silence enveloped them, broken only by the crackling of the hearth. The warm, flickering light cast dancing shadows across the room, creating an almost intimate cocoon of peace amidst the chaos of their reunion. Maera turned to look at Aemond's face, the flames casting shifting shadows across his sharp features. His expression was a mix of concern and remorse, his violet eye focused intently on the flames.
Within Maera, a confusing concoction of feelings churned. She was grateful he was alive, thankful that he had returned to her relatively unscathed. The mere thought of receiving news that he had come to harm filled her with dread. The relief of his presence was palpable, a balm to the wounds of worry that had plagued her during his absence.
Yet, even amidst this relief, the anger within her continued to simmer. She could not forgive him for what he had put her through, the betrayal and the pain still fresh in her heart. The conflicting emotions battled within her, gratitude and love warring with hurt and fury, leaving her in a state of numbness overall.
The One-eyed Prince was the first to speak. “Are you well?” He asked.
His wife did not answer him. She feared that responding might unleash her fury, and once started, she wasn't sure she could stop. She was exhausted, as she so often was nowadays in the late stages of pregnancy, and she did not need him adding to her weariness. Not tonight.
Maera's green eyes wandered over his form, taking in his attire, which struck her as different. He wore a black leather belt and an eyepatch, and his boots gleamed in the firelight, polished to a high shine. His tunic, however, was not the black she was accustomed to seeing him in; it was a rich, deep green.
This confused her. All of Alicent Hightower’s children had traditionally donned green attire, but never Aemond. He had always stood out from his family, consistently clad in black leather. She couldn't help but wonder about the significance of this sudden change, a small but unsettling detail in the midst of their already fraught reunion.
Her eyes continued to explore his body, eventually landing on his gloved hands, where she then noticed he was holding something. In Aemond’s grip was the Conqueror’s crown, the Valyrian steel and ruby gemstone glinting in the hearth’s light.
“Why do you have that?” She asked him meekly, her voice tinged with concern. Aemond looked down at the crown, his expression distant as he turned it in his hands, examining it closely. His single violet eye held a depth of sorrow.
“He is gone,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with melancholy.
“Gone?” Maera asked, her brows furrowing in confusion, the implications slowly dawning on her. “Oh Gods.” Her hand flew to her chest as if to steady herself, and her breathing became erratic. The shock of the news hit her like a physical blow, leaving her momentarily breathless.
What she felt was not sadness for Aegon’s demise. In truth, she would not miss her brother-in-law. But with the King dead, she knew that things were about to get a lot more complicated. The stakes had just become much higher, and the already precarious balance of power was now on the brink of upheaval.
Panic crept into her voice as she realized the gravity of the situation. “What happened?” Maera's eyes filled with tears as she awaited her husband's response, her heart heavy with dread.
Aemond took a deep breath, his jaw tensing as he stared into the flickering flames of the hearth, lost in his thoughts. “The original plan was for me to meet Meleys in the sky once Cole ordered the scorpions to fire,” he explained bitterly. “But Aegon just had to be there, had to be a part of it and claim the glory for himself.”
Maera listened in stunned silence, her heart sinking with each word. She could see the pain etched on Aemond's face as he continued. “Sunfyre was so much smaller than Rhaenys’s dragon. What the fuck was he thinking?”
Aemond then turned to look at his wife, his single violet eye burning with intensity. “Meleys had Sunfyre’s neck. There was fire…and so much blood.”
He paused momentarily, his hand gesturing in a slow, deliberate motion, mimicking the descent from above. “I attacked from above and managed to get them to the ground. I knew it was a risk but…”
The Princess’s heart ached for her husband. She had never seen him like this before—a crack in his usually stoic manner, revealing a scared little boy beneath the hardened exterior. Maera initially reached out with the intention of laying her hand atop his, which still gripped the Valyrian steel crown. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that everything would be okay.
“Aemond…” Her hand hovered just above his, the warmth of her intended touch almost tangible.
But then she hesitated. How could she be sure that everything would be alright? Their marriage was far from alright, and the outside world seemed to be descending further into chaos. Doubt and the weight of their unresolved issues clouded her mind. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand back to rest in her lap, choosing instead to quietly listen as her husband continued to speak, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability that tugged at her conflicted heart.
“Sunfyre and Meleys had killed each other. Rhaenys, or what was left of her, was burnt to a crisp on the ground. And Aegon…”
Maera covered her mouth in shock as her husband detailed the horrific scene. “He was still alive. Gods, he looked awful. His armour had fused to his skin.” Aemond paused, his face contorting with disgust. “The smell. He was missing one of his legs…he was crying. Scared.”
Maera took a shaky breath, her heart heavy. Aegon was despicable, but she would never wish such a fate on anyone. She watched as Aemond clenched his jaw, his single violet eye filled with unshed tears. “I stayed with him until he passed, until the light left his eyes. Cole found me shortly after.”
The Princess clenched her fists in her lap. “I am sorry, Aemond. For your loss. And all that you went through.” Aemond looked up at her, his face softening slightly. “Why did you not come back? Why did you not write?” she questioned him.
The one-eyed Prince shifted in his seat, looking down. “I wanted to tell my mother myself.”
A wave of sadness washed over Maera. That could not have been easy for Aemond; to tell his mother that her eldest son, her firstborn child, had died horrifically. She could only imagine the pain it caused him to see the grief in Alicent's eyes, knowing that Aegon's death would spell further complications for the Realm.
Maera knew Alicent would be heartbroken, but her thoughts quickly turned to Helaena. Aegon was a tyrant, her abuser, and yet he was still her husband, her elder brother. Maera hoped that the news would not further worsen Helaena’s already fragile mind. The prospect of another emotional blow to Helaena worried her deeply.
Aegon had only one son, two-year-old Maelor. The little boy was just beginning to form sentences and was still in napkins. With the death of his elder brother Jaehaerys, who had been murdered so easily, the news of Aegon's death would spread quickly, leaving little Maelor even more at risk of harm. Maera's heart ached for the innocent child, now thrust into a perilous position in an increasingly dangerous world.
As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Maera felt the crushing weight of the uncertain future pressing down on her, intensifying the already profound sense of dread that had settled in the room.
“What happens now?” She asked her husband meekly. “Maelor is just a babe…”
“Cole will take my place as Hand,” Aemond declared, his voice steady. “I will regent for Maelor until he comes of age.”
She winced. Her husband was an ambitious man, driven by a lifelong hunger for power as the second son. Now, with a glimpse of authority over the Realm, her unease grew. The thought of Aemond wearing the Conqueror’s crown, combined with Criston Cole as his Hand, made her stomach churn.
Maera could feel his gaze burning into her, almost as if he was expecting a reaction, or possibly words of congratulations, but nothing came out of her mouth. “You have been through a lot husband. It is time for you to rest.” She stood from her chair, smoothing out her gown as Aemond watched. She hobbled to a nearby table, picked up a bell, and rang it. The young maid who always served her appeared immediately, her presence a silent, efficient comfort in the tense atmosphere.
“Prepare a room and a bath for the Prince.”
The serving girl nodded, scurrying away and shutting the door behind her.
The One-Eyed Prince rose from his chair, his expression confused and ever so slightly hurt. “You would not have me in our bed?”
Maera almost felt bad, seeing the raw emotion in his gaze, but she stood her ground, her resolve unwavering. “I require the bed for myself.”
Aemond walked slowly towards her, his hand reaching up to cup her face. She flinched initially, her mind telling her to recoil from his touch but her body immediately relaxed as his calloused palm touched her face. There was silence as Aemond searched her forest green eyes, looking for an explanation or a reason for her conduct that evening, yet Maera bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to budge.
After a moment, Aemond merely nodded. As the door shut behind him, Maera’s heart clenched. She mourned for the relationship they had once shared, a connection now marred by betrayal and pain. Although she was grateful he was back, she also felt a sense of relief that he was now out of her sight.
The next morning, Maera’s rooms were quiet, save for the soft clinking of her cutlery against the bowl. The chambers were filled with the gentle morning light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the array of breakfast items on the table before her. Fresh bread, sliced fruits, cured meats, and cheese were laid out, but her attention was drawn to the raspberry tarts and custard that she now craved with every meal, a particular indulgence of her pregnancy.
Maera smiled to herself as she took a bite of the tart, savoring the sweet and tangy flavors. The babe within her kicked out, causing her to rest her hand on her stomach with a tender expression. The small moment of connection with her unborn child brought her a fleeting sense of joy amidst the surrounding turmoil.
Aemond did not join her to break fast, for which Maera was honestly thankful. The bright light of the day would have made it difficult for her to maintain the illusion of a demure and polite wife. The solitude allowed her a brief respite from the complexities of their strained relationship and the looming responsibilities that weighed heavily on her.
Today would be a good day. Once the maid had cleared Maera’s table, she assisted the Princess in bathing. The warmth of the bath enveloped Maera, providing a soothing comfort that eased her tired muscles. As the maid gently washed her hair with soap, Maera’s fingers danced across her gigantic belly, tracing the stretch marks that decorated her skin. Each mark was a testament to the life growing within her, a visible reminder of the miracle she carried.
When Maera got out of the bath, she sat at her dressing table, wrapped in a robe, as the maid carefully combed through her hair. The blend of brown hair with Maera’s distinctive silver streak shimmered in the morning light. As the maid’s gentle strokes continued, Maera found herself lost in thought, wondering about the baby within her. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would they inherit her brown hair or Aemond’s silver locks? Green eyes or violet eyes? The anticipation and uncertainty of what lay ahead filled her mind, intertwining with her hopes and fears for the future.
The Maester arrived shortly after to re-dress Maera's wounds. As he worked, Maera noted how much stronger she felt on this day. The sharp, shooting pain that had once plagued her thigh and arm had subsided to a dull ache, which she welcomed as a sign of healing. Maester Cain’s gentle and practiced hands made quick work of the bandages, and with a few encouraging words, he departed, leaving Maera feeling more hopeful.
She was then dressed in a loosely fitted black gown that accommodated her growing bump. Her hair was divided into multiple braids before being joined together with a golden ribbon, adding a touch of elegance to her appearance. As she stood from her dressing table, Maera took a moment to admire herself in the mirror. Her body, as well as her mind, had changed so drastically these last few months. The physical transformation was evident, but the internal growth and strength she had gained were even more profound.
Walking through the castle on the arm of Ser Willard was tense, but Maera could not bring herself to care. She had not seen the knight since reprimanding him and his soldiers, and it was clear that he was not happy to be around her. His stiff demeanor and lack of conversation made the tension palpable, but that mattered little to Maera.
As she walked, she noticed that her leg felt stronger, able to bear the weight much better than in previous weeks. The scars on her thigh and arm were still unsightly and would no doubt be with her forever, but she saw them as a testament to her resilience. They were marks of survival, symbols of her ability to endure and overcome.
When they reached the gardens outside Harrenhal, Maera paused to take in the scene. The once scorched lavender field was beginning to show signs of life. In the earth, tiny green buds had started to sprout, a hopeful promise of renewal. The sight of new growth amidst the scars of the past resonated deeply with her, mirroring her own journey of healing and strength.
As Maera walked on the cobblestones, her dragon Ebrion lifted his giant black and blue head and trilled to her, a deep, resonant sound that echoed across the field. Ser Willard was visibly shaken, still haunted by his previous encounter with the beast. Seeing his discomfort, Maera kindly dismissed him back to his post on the edge of the field. This would allow him to keep watch while also giving her some much-needed alone time.
Maera hobbled over to Ebrion, embracing the beast and rubbing her face against the smooth scales of his snout. The warmth and familiar scent of her dragon brought her comfort. She then sat beside him, taking in her surroundings. The sounds of running water from a nearby brook filled her ears, and the wind carried the smell of wildflowers and dragon.
Although it was delightful to see that the earth was healing from Ēbrion’s fire, it did not erase what had happened to her. The scathed body of Alys did not remain, likely consumed by her dragon later. The thought caused Maera to wince, a grim reminder of the brutality she had faced.
Her gaze dritted to the tree where Alys had pinned her, the place where her own blade had sliced through her arm. The wound throbbed at the memory, a dull ache that brought the horror of that moment back to the forefront of her mind. She instinctively covered it with her hand, trying to soothe the pain and the memories it brought.
Maera huffed to herself, frustration bubbling up inside her. She was sick of looking at the place where she had almost died. She was sick of looking at Harrenhal with its ridiculously high walls and towers, the oppressive stone fortress that seemed to trap her in a constant state of dread and sorrow.
Her world felt so small. She only knew the Stormlands and King's Landing, and now the entirety of Westeros was at war. The people she could trust were few and far between, and her marriage was also falling apart. The once solid ground of her life had become a quagmire of uncertainty and betrayal.
She longed to get away from here, to escape the suffocating confines of her current existence. Maybe she could start anew. After all, she was a dragon rider now. She could fly to the Summer Isles, explore the exotic lands of YiTi, or be completely removed from society altogether and venture to the Grey Waste. Anything to get away from here—the war, the constant threat, and her husband.
The thought of freedom, of soaring high above her troubles on Ēbrion’s back, filled her with a sense of hope. She imagined the wind in her hair, the endless horizons stretching out before her, and the possibility of a life unbound by the chains of her current reality.
The Princess rose from the grass and limped slowly towards Ēbrion’s side. She was not dressed for flying, but the loosened robes she wore in the late stages of her pregnancy would be much easier to manage than the elaborate gowns she had previously worn. The fabric billowed around her, giving her the freedom of movement she desperately needed.
Ēbrion raised his massive head, his eyes narrowing with concern. He emitted a low growl, a rumbling warning that vibrated through the air. Maera, determined and resolute, paid no attention. Reaching his side, she reached out and tested the weight of the rope in her right hand. She took a steadying breath. She had done this many times before. She could do it again. Today, she felt stronger.
With a firm pull, Maera lifted her right leg and secured it onto the rope. She smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Then came the tricky part. She reached up with her left arm and grasped tightly, preparing her left leg, hoping that if she made the movements in quick succession, she would be able to haul herself up.
As she pulled, her arm gave way, pain shooting up through it and forcing her to let go. She fell backward onto her backside, her left leg tangled in the rope. She attempted to free herself, but her giant stomach prevented her from reaching her foot. Struggling, she felt a mix of frustration and helplessness.
“Urgghhh for fucks sake!”
Ēbrion leaned down, his large eyes filled with worry as he nudged her gently with his snout, trying to help her up. Maera took a deep breath, calming herself, and tried again to untangle her leg, before a smooth voice cut through the air.
“Do you require some assistance?”
Maera turned her head sharply, expecting to see Ser Willard looking down at her pitifully like the helpless princess everyone seemed to think she was. Instead, she was greeted by the sight of her husband, looming over her.
Aemond had bathed, his silver locks back to their usual straight style. Despite his refreshed appearance, a dark circle under his single eye indicated his lack of sleep. He wore a leather doublet, the torso black but the sleeves dark green and patterned like dragon scales, a testament to his Targaryen heritage and loyalty to the Green’s cause.
He was hiding a small smirk on his face at the sight of his wife tangled in the ropes, which further enraged her. The combination of his amusement and her own frustration fueled a fire within her. She glared up at him, defiance sparking in her green eyes as she struggled to untangle herself from the ropes.
Maera sighed, deciding to put her pride aside for a moment. She blew a strand of brown hair out of her face and angrily gestured towards her foot, indicating she needed help. The Prince nodded, stifling a chuckle as he gently untangled her foot from the ropes. Once her leg was free, he offered his hand to help her up. Maera batted it away, instead using Ēbrion’s nearby foot to push herself to her feet.
After attempting to mount her dragon, Maera looked red-faced and exhausted. The effort had left her breathless and frustrated, angered by her inability to climb onto her dragon’s back. She felt foolish for even trying, her cheeks flushed with both exertion and embarrassment.
To make matters worse, her husband stood in front of her, attempting to act like a chivalrous gentleman. His demeanor, as if trying to return to how things were before, only fueled her anger further. The juxtaposition of her struggle and his composed, almost mocking presence, made her feel even more enraged.
An awkward silence set in. Aemond searched Maera’s face, his eye seeking a glimmer of the warmth they once shared. Her face, however, remained hardened, her expression a mask of resolve and anger. He attempted to reach out, his hand moving to stroke her cheek, but she took a step back, her eyes narrowing, putting a deliberate distance between them.
The Prince returned his arm his side, frowning as he muttered, “Something has changed.”
His wife scoffed, shaking her head. “Everything has changed, Aemond.”
Evidently tired of the games his wife was playing, Aemond's jaw tightened as he closed the gap, his eyes reflecting frustration and confusion. "Since I have returned, no one can give a straight answer," he lamented, his voice strained with emotion. "I have asked the Lords and Maester why you are limping, if anything of note has happened since I have been gone.” He paused for a moment. “If Alys has given birth."
Maera's nails dug into her palm as she suppressed a surge of anger at the mention of the witch's name. Ēbrion growled in response, flaring his nostrils as a puff of smoke escaped, the air around them thickening with tension. The dragon’s agitation mirrored her own, the bond between them so strong that even her suppressed rage resonated with him.
“Jātās,” Go, she commanded him, her voice firm and commanding, unsure if she could trust herself not to lose control and have her beast pick up on her desires to absolutely obliterate her husband. The dragon, sensing her command, rose to his feet and stomped away, the ground trembling beneath them.
As Ēbrion retreated, Maera turned back to her husband. Her eyes were cold and unyielding, reflecting a mixture of hurt, anger, and defiance. She gestured around the desolate field, the remnants of the once-vibrant lavender offering a stark contrast to the present scene. "Look around you, husband. Do you remember what was once here?"
Her gesture was a silent invitation to acknowledge the devastation that had unfolded in his absence. Yet, before Aemond could respond, Maera preempted his words, her tone tinged with bitterness. "It was lavender, so bright and fragrant. I was hoping to use some of it in my labors when my time grew close. But now I cannot stand the smell."
Maera’s gaze shifted to a scorched tree in the distance, her voice tinged with scorn. "I saw your whore, laboring near the elm tree. I stupidly went over to see if she was ok." A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Do you know what she told me?" Aemond remained silent, his expression unreadable. "That this so-called prophecy she revealed to you…was wrong. Specifically the part I played in it."
She watched her husband’s face. His face was a mix of frustration and resignation, the weight of their strained relationship evident in the way his shoulders slumped slightly.
“So what do you think she did next, my Prince?” Maera questioned sharply, her eyes boring into Aemond's. His confusion spread, evident in the flicker of uncertainty across his features, but he remained silent, awaiting her explanation.
Maera pulled down her sleeve, the fabric of her black robe falling away to reveal the bandaged wound on her arm. With deliberate motions, she removed the bandage, exposing the reddened skin adorned with stitches and dried blood. Aemond's eye widened in shock at the sight. “First she stabbed me in the arm,” Maera growled, her voice edged with bitterness. She then swiftly rolled up her sleeve before bunching up her skirts, revealing another bandage on her left thigh, which she ripped off to reveal an even larger wound. “Then she stabbed me in the leg.”
His gaze locked on the gruesome injury, Aemond remained speechless, his mind undoubtedly racing to comprehend the extent of Maera's ordeal.
Maera's eyes pleaded with him as she continued, desperation lacing her words. “Do you know where she set her sights next?” Still met with silence from her husband, she pressed on. “Our child. She tried to kill me and our child. With my own. Fucking. Dagger,” her voice cracked with emotion, the pain of her trauma palpable in her tone. “It was thanks to Ēbrion that I managed to survive.”
Taking a shaky step forward, Maera reached out to touch Aemond's leather-covered chest, her finger tracing a line across the fabric. “And your whore? Your bastard in her belly?” Her voice lowered to a whisper, her breath ghosting over his lips. “Gone.” The single word hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their shared loss and betrayal.
Aemond recoiled slightly, the weight of Maera’s words hitting him like a physical blow. He struggled to find the right words to express the depth of his remorse and regret, but the damage had already been done, leaving a chasm between them that seemed impossible to bridge.
She had never seen her husband speechless before, and had it been any other situation, it may have actually been amusing. After a minute of silence, Aemond finally stumbled over his words. His brows furrowed, his violet eye darting around Maera's face as he searched for the right words. “Maera, I did not know-”
She intercepted his attempt to speak, her tone sharp and mocking. “That what? That she would try and hurt me and your child?” She laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “Then you are truly lacking in common sense.”
Every muscle tensed with suppressed rage as she began to lay into Aemond. Her finger jabbed sharply into his chest with each pointed accusation, her voice a mixture of pain and fury. Her chest heaved as she breathed deeply, attempting to control the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Her eyes, normally so vibrant, were now filled with a mixture of betrayal and hurt.
“Thanks to your delusional belief in that witch, she gained power here. The guards, the Lords both feared and listened to her. All because of you!” Maera's voice wavered with exhaustion as she confessed her regrets. “I should have left Kings Landing on Ēbrion when I had the chance,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the ground.
“Do not say such things,” Aemond retorted sharply, his expression hardening.
“Why? Because it will hurt your feelings?” Maera mocked him, her words dripping with disdain.
Aemond’s face hardened as he grabbed her by the wrist of the hand that was jabbing him. He sharply yanked her forward, maintaining a fierce grip as he stared down at her, his single eye blazing with intensity.
“You think I give a shit what that whore did or didn’t say?” Aemond growled, his fingers digging into her skin. “You are mine. You have always been mine. I have always known-”
“Since Alys told you we were bound in order to save her own skin?” Maera interjected, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Aemond's expression softened, the ferocity in his gaze giving way to something more complex, almost pleading. “Since we were children,” he declared, his voice firm, as he loosened the grip of her wrist slightly, the pressure easing but still firm.
His other hand moved with a surprising gentleness, tangling his fingers into the hair at the base of her neck. “Since you first came to Kings Landing as a girl of nine.”
He pulled sharply, forcing Maera to look up at him, the proximity of his presence overwhelming. The feeling of his fingers in her hair, the closeness of his body, sent an involuntary shiver down Maera’s spine. “And I have been yours since I first laid eyes on you.”
Despite the anger and hurt, the familiarity of his touch stirred a conflicting sense of longing within her. Her breath hitched, the intensity of the moment leaving her momentarily speechless. The air between them crackled with unresolved tension, the depth of their connection evident even in the midst of their turmoil.
Aemond brought his head down, pressing his forehead to hers. Maera could not help but lean into his touch, the closeness a balm to her turbulent emotions. His sharp nose bumped against hers as their breaths mingled, creating an intimate cocoon that momentarily shut out the world.
“I do not wish to fight,” he murmured softly.
In that moment, Maera longed to forget everything that had happened between them, to surrender to the comfort her husband's presence provided and move on.
“I do not either,” she whispered sadly. She craved the solace of his embrace, the familiarity of their bond, and the fleeting hope that they could find their way back to each other. But the memories of betrayal and the scars on her heart were too deep. Her heart could not take it.
With a heavy sigh, Maera flattened the hand she had against his chest, slowly pushing him back to create some distance. The gesture was gentle but firm, a silent declaration of her need for space. Aemond's grip on her wrist and hair loosened, and he reluctantly let her go, the warmth of his touch lingering as a reminder of what once was.
“Allow me to explain how things will go from now on,” Maera declared, her tone resolute. The statement caused her husband to frown. “I cannot leave this marriage. Not just because I cannot stand being around you after everything you have done, but because of our child.”
Maera brought her hand to her stomach, a protective gesture. Her babe was the only reason she was acting with civility and goodwill. She would not allow her child to not know their father.
“I will do my duty to you and our House. I will birth your heirs, my dragon will contribute to your war, and I intend to be involved in the Council.” She then closed her eyes and shook her head, her voice filled with sorrow. “But beyond duty…I cannot offer you anything more.”
She glanced up at Aemond, who had a look of devastation on his face. “Maera, please-”
“You drove away my chances with another noble lord because of your possessive nature,” she spat, her eyes flashing with anger. “You murdered my family in the name of a prophecy. You bedded a witch and got her pregnant because of your ambition.” Maera threw her hands up in frustration, her movements sharp and agitated. “You abandoned me here, with the witch having free rein, thus allowing her to try and kill me and our child.”
She felt wet tears begin to roll down her face, but she did not bother to wipe them away. “No. There is nothing left for me to give.”
Aemond, who famously did not know how to handle his emotions, reacted instead out of anger. His jaw clenched, and his eye blazed with a mixture of rage and disbelief. His hands, which had just moments before been tender, now balled into tight fists at his sides. “I will not allow you to do this,” he declared firmly, his voice rising as his nostrils flared as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions brewing within him.
“You are my wife, my Princess. The mother of my child and the love of my life. You cannot simply cast me aside and have us live together in a sham of a marriage.” He took a step forward, his posture aggressive, as if he were ready to physically challenge the reality she was imposing on him.
Maera's face twisted with disdain yet she remained rooted to her spot. “If you need a reason as to why things must be this way, I suggest you look in a mirror,” she sneered at him, her words dripping with contempt as she stared defiantly back at him.
A part of her wanted to cave in, to take back her words and soothe his anger. But she couldn’t forgive and forget. It was as if her heart were made of glass, and every time she entrusted it to Aemond, he would shatter it. No matter how much he tried to piece it back together with apologies or acts of kindness, fragments still remained missing. Even though those pieces were minuscule, it meant her heart could never be whole again.
“I need to go back inside, and have the Maester re-dress these wounds,” she said through gritted teeth.
As she hobbled away, making her way back towards the castle, Maera cast one last look at Aemond. He looked even worse than the day before. His face was a mask of anguish and defeat, the dark circle under his eye more pronounced, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled. The sight tugged at her emotions, but she steeled herself, knowing that preserving her heart and their child’s future was paramount. Her decision, though painful, was necessary.
“I will have the servants move your belongings to a separate chamber.”
Notes: Sorry updates are slow, it’s been a busy week in the Blue household. My son has decided to climb out of his crib, so now he’s having to sleep in a proper bed as well as potty-train himself all in the same week (despite my attempts to previously train him but the kid is so fucking headstrong everything has to be his way and on his terms 🤣) This was so sad to write though 😢
Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9
Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤
#maera wylde#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#aemond fanfiction#chapters#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#house targaryen#house wylde#hotd helaena#ewan mitchell#aemond fanfic#house of the dragon season 2#house of the dragon#hotd season 2#hotd
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A Vow of Blood - 82
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….
Chapter 82: The Coward's Heart
AO3 - Masterlist
TW: Self-harming tendencies/suicidal ideation.
15K Words
As Aemond traversed the shadowy expanse of the throne room, he felt the oppressive gaze of the past kings tracking his every step. Their faces, emerging from the enveloping darkness, seemed to scrutinize him, their eyes a silent jury casting judgment. This phantom court stirred a deep-rooted dread within him, a chilling sensation that something menacing was skirting the fringes of his awareness. It felt like an icy claw were delicately poised at the edge of his mind, ready to tear through the veil of his thoughts.
Aemond’s gaze was drawn to one of the statues, its face not just obscured by the surrounding darkness but intentionally concealed beneath a hood carved from stone. It was a deliberate mark of shame, an eternal condemnation of a king whose reign was stained with terror and bloodshed. A kinslayer who had sealed his own damnation in the eyes of both gods and men–and whose death was delivered by the very thing he had killed so many for.
Shadows stretched across the vast expanse of the stone floor, clawing up the walls and deepening the sense of dread that filled the room. The sparse torches along the walls flickered against the encroaching darkness, their flames casting a weak, trembling light that struggled to penetrate the overwhelming gloom. And somewhere in the distance, outside in the obsidian sky, thunder rolled ominously, each boom seeming to herald the feeling of impending doom.
His gaze settled on the Iron Throne, its silhouette menacing in the flickering torchlight. Shadows coiled around the jagged steel, which thrust upward from the stone floor like a cluster of fangs poised to pierce flesh. The throne loomed ominously, each twisted metal bar and sharp edge appearing to twitch in the dim light, as if alive and eager for the taste of blood.
A chill ran down Aemond’s spine, the fine hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end as a disquieting rustle filled the throne room. It sounded like the billowing of sails or the beating of wings against the wind, the sound echoing through the darkness.
Whirling towards the source of the noise, Aemond narrowed his eye, attempting to penetrate the shadows. The darkness around him seemed to pulse, its movements malevolent and fluid, echoing an unnerving rhythm that seemed almost alive. His hand instinctively found the hilt of his dagger, gripping it tightly, ready to confront whatever might emerge from the consuming blackness.
“Who’s there?” Aemond demanded, his voice cutting through the creeping silence. His challenge hung in the air, unanswered, until the room seemed to shudder under the sudden crack of thunder outside. The windows vibrated as if in response to his query, the glass humming with the force of the storm, threatening to break inside. Rain pelted the panes relentlessly, as if the heavens themselves were enraged, the wind wailing as it swept across the castle’s ancient stones.
In the moment, nestled between the crack of thunder and the flash of lightning, a cruel laughter unfolded–its sound twisting through the air with a malicious glee that seemed almost tangible. The eerie laughter seemed to swirl around him, carried by the shifting shadows that danced and deepened, clawing against the dimming light. It echoed through the vast, darkened hall, reverberating off the stone walls and filling the space with an oppressive sense of dread.
“Show yourself!” Aemond demanded, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. His heart hammered against his ribs as his eye darted through the thickening shadows, seeking the origin of that sinister cackle.
“Vengeance hungers,” a voice murmured from the darkness, chilling and cruel. “You have fed the beast; now, it shall feast upon you.”
Suddenly, a pale hand appeared, pressing against the cold stone of a nearby column. Thunder boomed overhead like a war drum, and a sharp flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the room, casting ghostly shadows that flickered and danced. In the brief light, the hand vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Aemond staring at the empty space where it had been, the sound of crashing waves blending ominously with the storm’s wrath outside the windows.
“Show yourself, you coward!” Aemond shouted into the darkness, his voice tinged with venom as his gaze darted through the encroaching shadows. He felt the chill run down his spine, an ominous sensation akin to a cold draft sweeping across his neck. The sound of crashing waves melded with the howling wind, intensifying around him like the beating of distant wings.
Whirling around, his fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger, seeking solace in the familiar weight of the weapon. Nothing. There was nothing.
And then…
“I am right here, uncle,” the chilling reply came. “The object of your ire…”
Aemond spun towards the voice, his eye locking onto the figure standing at the base of the Iron Throne’s steps. Lucerys’s figure emerged from the shadows, framed by the menacing blades of the throne that jutted out like fangs of a monstrous beast. His skin was deathly pale, almost merging with the dark, shifting shadows that surrounded him, but his eyes shone with a malevolent gleam, bright against the gloom.
Aemond’s heart plummeted as Lucerys appeared before him, his voice a tremor of disbelief, “You’re dead.”
Lucerys responded with a smile, chilling and distorted, that seemed to make the surrounding shadows stir menacingly. As his smile receded, the shadows dispersed slightly, revealing more of his youthful features–his thick curls a testament to his bastardry. He cocked his head, mimicking the inquisitive tilt his sister often used when observing Aemond.
The gesture twisted a knot in Aemond’s stomach. His voice came out flat and hard–a dry accusation, “Have you come to haunt me then?”
“A man unburdened by guilt wouldn’t be haunted by his actions,” Lucerys answered, his voice calm and eerily confident as he took a step closer.
Aemond instinctively retreated, pulling his dagger halfway out of its sheath, a clear threat, yet Lucerys advanced without apparent fear.
“I bear no guilt,” he spat, firm in his conviction–he refused to be swayed by guilt; in his eyes, the death of Lucerys was nothing more than the scales of justice finding their rightful balance.
“Are you so sure?” Lucerys challenged, his voice a whisper against the howl of the wind outside.
“You got what you deserved.”
“You lost an eye, I lost my life,” Lucerys remarked calmly, his gaze piercing “Does that seem fair to you?”
Aemond’s response was cold and immediate. “You know nothing of what is fair.”
The thunderous crash of rain against the windows set a dramatic backdrop as Lucerys’ voice hummed through the growing chaos, “I thought you said it was a fair exchange. An eye for a dragon. And yet, you demand more–you claim I owed a debt.”
Aemond’s fury surged like the storm outside. With a fierce step forward, a single drop of rain struck his face, as he thundered, “It wasn’t a fair exchange!”
He closed the distance between them, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Lucerys watched him with a disquieting calmness, his gaze unwavering as Aemond vented, “I never should have paid a price for claiming what was free to claim! Vhagar chose me, and accepted my claim! You took my eye for that–how was that fair?”
“You think it was fair, killing me?” Lucerys’ question sliced through the din of the storm. “You think it was justice, killing me?”
“It was justice,” Aemond sneered, his voice filled with conviction. As his words hung in the air, the thunder boomed menacingly above, the storm’s fury echoing through the high arched ceilings of the throne room.
For a fleeting second, a lightning flash illuminated his figure, revealing a grotesque visage–eyes hollow, flesh torn, limbs missing, his dark hair matted against his ghostly pale skin, as if ravaged by the grave. The horrific image vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the lingering shadow of his figure in the dim light.
Another flash of lighting briefly lit up the throne room, casting stark, flickering shadows across the vast stone walls and the Iron Throne itself. But as quickly as it exploded, darkness swallowed everything again. Silence pervaded, oppressive and thick. Lucerys was gone–vanished as if he had never been there to begin with. Aemond stood alone amid the chilling darkness, his heart racing, the echoes of Lucerys’ voice lingering like a cold draft that slipped through the crevices of the ancient walls. Rain slipped down his back, sending a shiver through him as he searched the dark corners of the room, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and dread.
“You hunted me down like an animal,” Lucerys’ voice echoed suddenly, disembodied and haunting, swirling around Aemond in the tempestuous darkness.
Lightning flashed violently, slicing through the thick, clouded darkness, casting intermittent, ghostly illuminations on the solemn faces of the kings who had ruled before–each one silent and judgmentail in their eternal watch.
Aemond whirled around, his hand instinctively drawing his dagger entirely. As he drew the blade, lightning illuminated the steel, casting sharp glares that flickered menacingly in the gloom. The subsequent clap of thunder was so loud it seemed to shake the very walls of the throne room, its vibrations resonating deep within Aemond’s chest.
“You could have ended it by giving me your eye!” He roared above the storm’s wrath. “I wouldn’t have pursued you if you had paid your debt!”
Lucerys’ form reappeared amidst the jagged swords of the Iron Throne, a specter bathed in the transient light. Rain plastered his dark hair against his forehead, his cheeks flushed with a vitality that belied his ghostly nature.
“Even an eye wouldn’t have quenched your thirst for vengeance,” he retorted, his voice cutting through the rumbling echoes. “You wanted more than reparation–you wanted my life. Your chase wasn’t for justice; it was a hunt for blood.”
Aemond’s chest heaved, breaths ragged as the storm raged around him. “No–”
“You pursued me relentlessly!” Lucerys berated him. “You sought my death! You did this!”
Aemond’s anger flared, and he jabbed the dagger towards him accusingly, “You attacked me first!”
Lucerys moved among the Iron Throne’s menacing blades, his voice sharp as he countered, “I was defending myself. You were the hunter, and I the unwilling prey. To you, it was a game, a cruel hunt. I was nothing but a terrified child–”
“So was I!” Aemond’s voice broke, raw with past grievances and present turmoil.
Lucerys met his gaze, the rain streaming down around them, his expression chillingly composed. “But you are a boy no longer. Nor am I.”
In the wake of another blinding flash of lightning, Lucerys vanished, his presence dissipating yet lingering palpably in the air. The storm continued to unleash its fury around Aemond, who turned slowly, his gaze piercing through the shadows and the pouring rain, searching for any sign of the boy he had condemned. Aemond stood alone yet he felt watched, haunted not just by the ghost of Lucerys but by the weight of his own actions, now irrevocably defining his path forward.
“You taunted me,” Aemond declared, his voice thick with accusation. “You humiliated me.” His fingers tightened on the blade, rage flaring within him, a familiar and relentless flame fueled by years of resentment. “You and your cohorts ambushed me–you attacked me, gouged out my eye. I thought only to claim a dragon, to claim something for myself for once, and you punished me for it.” A bitter sneer twisted his features as the rain streamed down his face, soaking his hair. “Do you have any understanding of how I’ve suffered? The relentless pain? The insults? The humiliation?” Aemond spat. “I wear the constant reminder of it on my face!” He paused, his gaze sweeping the gloomy expanse of the throne room, haunted by shadows. “No matter my learnings, no matter the knowledge I acquire, no matter how I refine my swordsmanship or compose myself, I remain trapped in that moment–that profound injustice.”
Lucerys’ ghostly voice broke through, soft yet insistent. “I apologized–”
“That’s not enough!” Aemond spun, his blade slicing through the air. It would never be enough–not for what he did to him, not for all he’s suffered and faced because of it. He glimpsed flickers of movement just out of sight, always skirting the edge of his vision, taunting him. “It will never be enough!”
“And so, you killed me.”
“I wanted you to feel as helpless–as utterly powerless–as I did,” Aemond growled lowly.
“You’re a coward,” Lucerys’s retort was sharp, his voice like a blade skittering across stone. “You wanted me dead.”
“Yes, I wanted you dead!” Aemond’s response was a roar, his voice rising with his fury. “I wanted you to fucking die for what you did to me.”
Lucerys’s words came with a chilling calm, his voice seemingly echoing around the throne room. As he spoke, a macabre trickle of water and blood seemed to pour from his mouth, pooling ominously on the floor. “Vhagar was merely an instrument of your deepest wishes. She exacted the vengeance you were too cowardly to claim yourself. This was never about justice–it was always about your need for revenge.”
Aemond clenched his jaw, the harsh truth reverberating around him as he swung his blade through the chilling air, desperate to silence the specter. “Yes, It was revenge.”
“And yet, you remain too much of a coward to face the consequences of your own cruelty,” Lucerys concluded, his tone dripping with disdain. “You understood the consequences when you demanded my eye, and yet, you pursued it relentlessly.”
His form blurred slightly in the shadows, his voice rising over the sound of the storm. “You chased me through the tempest, fueled by nothing but rage and a desire for vengeance. You know full well the devastation my death will bring upon her, and yet you’re too cowardly to confront the aftermath…”
Aemond’s voice was thick with scorn as he responded to Lucerys, clinging to his justification amid the swirling accusations. “I granted her the mercy of one more night believing you were alive.”
His words were laced with forced conviction as he struggled with the reality of his actions. His sneer masked a deep-seated fear, the acknowledgement of his cowardice for not facing her immediately. Each word was a feeble shield against the truth that Lucerys laid bare–the truth of his own weakness.
“You’re a hypocrite, Aemond ‘One-Eye.’ You are pathetic and weak.” The voice of the boy he murdered echoed in the darkness–chasing after him as he spun trying to confront the boy, haunting him. “You are a coward and a kinslayer.”
A guttural growl erupted from Aemond as he continued his frenzied spinning, his blade cleaving through the empty air where Lucerys had just been–a ghostly figure always out of reach, his form dissipating like mist before he could ever really catch a glimpse of him. Each accusation from Lucerys bore into him, the words burrowing deep, festering like barbs under his skin. With every slash and turn, the inner beast of wrath within him thrashed against his ribs, desperate to break free.
“That’s all you’ll ever be,” Lucerys’s voice haunted the cold air, reverberating off the stone walls. “That lonely little boy–without a dragon, without a rightful place in this world, destined to walk this path alone.”
Bitterness coiled around Aemond’s throat like a serpent, the inner beast clawing at his heart, ripping through the old wounds of feeling lesser, sidelines, mocked, and lonely. Anguish from his youth surged, fueling his rage.
“And you are a fucking bastard that got what he deserved,” Aemond hurled back venomously, his boots thudding against the stone as he pivoted, his dagger slicing through the relentless downpour.
“Could she ever truly love you after what you’ve done?” Lucerys’s words sliced deeper, making Aemond’s breath hitch, his heart tearing into pieces. “How could she ever look upon you and see anything but the monster you are? How could she ever take your bloodstained hands–that crimson guilt–and place it tenderly upon her face?”
A chill ran through Aemond, the weight of Lucerys’s words sinking deep, twisting together resentment and fear into a choking tangle that felt as if it might rip his heart apart. A bitter, piercing ache swelled in the back of this throat, like swallowing jagged shards of sapphire–each as large and merciless as the one filling his eye socket–scraping painfully against the tender flesh as they embedded themselves deep within him.
A deep, menacing growl erupted from Aemond’s throat as he roared, “Come out and face me!”
“Why should I, when you can’t even face her?” Lucerys’s voice slithered through the air, dripping with taunt. “You’re terrified of what she’ll see in you. Afraid of the revulsion in her gaze. Afraid she’ll recoil from you.”
Aemond’s sneer deepened as he lunged at the disembodied voice, his blade slicing through the thick air.
Lucerys’s words continued to lash at him, relentless as the storm within the walls. “You once vowed to destroy her–to ruin her… How right you were…”
Aemond’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger, his movements driven by a visceral rage–a visceral fear–as he lunged forward, aiming to strike the ghost that tormented him. The blade cut through the air, diving upwards–
And suddenly the relentless rain ceased.
Her eyes, as blue as cornflowers, widened in utter shock–those beautiful eyes now clouded with pain. His gaze dropped sharply to the dagger, its cruel blade buried mercilessly in her flesh just below her ribs, angled upwards in a brutal attempt to pierce the heart. The steel shone ominously, slick with crimson, as it protruded from her, a silent testament to the violence it had wrought.
Daenera gasped, a small cry escaping her lips as she staggered backwards, pulling herself free from the cold embrace of the steel. Her hand trembled as it reached to touch the crimson that stained her, her expression transforming into one of confusion and betrayal as she looked up at Aemond, her eyes searching for his explanation.
The sound of the dagger hitting the floor reverberated through the throne room, its clatter loud in the sudden stillness as the storm’s rage subsided and the echoes of thunder faded into a heavy silence. Aemond, gripped by a sudden surge of desperation, lunged forward to catch her as she stumbled backwards. Her descent was abruptly halted by steps leading to the throne, just short of the menacing swords jutting from the cold stone.
He dropped to his knees beside her, his hand–stained with her blood–pressing desperately against the wound in an effort to slow the bleed. Her eyes, widened with shock and fear, locked onto his.
“A–Aemond?” Her gasp was faint, her hand weakly clutching his, her nails scraping against his skin, clawing with fading strength, as if trying to push him away–as if trying to pull him closer.
“Please,” Aemond’s voice broke, trembling as rainwater trickled from his brow, dripping off his nose to mingle with the tears on her cheek. “I didn’t mean to do this–I never intended…I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I love you, please believe me.”
Desperation tore through him, a silent, inward plea for a different outcome, for anything but this calamity–He could endure her anger and withstand her hatred, but the sight of her suffering was unbearable. His hands shook as he tried to stem the warm flow of life slipping between his fingers.
A cruel laugh sounded, “My apology wasn't enough, why should yours be?”
Tears burned in Aemond’s eyes–tears that had always remained unshed.
“Everything you touch, you destroy,” Lucerys’s voice echoed with chilling disdain, as he appeared beside him, sitting cruelly upon the throne, accusing and untouched by the storm–dry and boyish looking, eyes dark and cold. “You are a monster. A kinslayer. Damned. Cursed. You don’t know what love is.” His whisper was venomous, almost intimate. “She could never love you. You will never hear the words you so desperately want fall from her lips. She will always see you as nothing more than the monster who killed her brother.”
Aemond broke the eerie silence, calling out in anguish as he cradled her closer, drawing her onto his lap. His plea was frantic, carrying across the stormy silence. “Help! Someone, please! Save her!”
“What is a little more blood?” Lucerys hummed, rising from the throne, that damned seat seeming to crown him with its iron teeth.
Aemond tenderly brushed Daenera’s hair back from her face, feeling her body grow disturbingly still in his arms. His heart seemed to cease beating, mirroring the slow stillness of hers. Desperation laced his whisper,” No, no, no, Daenera. Ñuha jorrāelagon. Please, I didn’t mean to–don’t leave me…”
He caressed her face gently, wiping away the tears that mingled with his own, pressing his forehead against hers, begging for her to stay. When he finally pulled back, her eyes stared back at him, empty and void of the spirit that had once burned brightly within them.
“Perhaps it is a mercy,” Lucerys’s chilling voice sliced through the thick air as he stepped forward into view, his appearance more ghastly than before. Soaked and grotesque, his gray skin a patchwork of missing flesh, leaving chilling trails of water on the otherwise dry floor .“For both of you. Her without the sting of betrayal, and you without a heart. To end her would be a kindness.”
Aemond sneered at the apparition of the dead boy, clutching Daenera tightly, as though by sheer force of will, he could keep her from fading into eternity. “Lucerys wouldn’t say that.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Lucerys agreed, his voice low and haunting. “He won’t be saying anything ever again.”
Crouching to meet Aemond’s eye, Lucerys stare was icy and relentless. “You set this in motion. An eye for an eye. Blood for blood. A life for a life. Vengeance hungers, and now it shall feast.”
A horrifying scream shattered the silence of the throne room–
Aemond’s eye snapped open, his heart hammering against his ribs, a painful throb that resonated in his ears. The scar on his face felt as though it were aflame, and the wetness on his cheeks–tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed–stung bitterly. Confused, he ran his fingers across his damp face, shocked to find them slick with tears–tears he had never allowed himself in his worst moments of pain or fury.
Glancing out the window, he noticed the sun perched high in the sky, much later in the day than he anticipated. It was nearing noon.
Then, another scream, raw and harrowing, echoed down the hallway, dragging over the stone with the harsh grating of steel against rock. It was a scream drenched in despair, a scream he recognized all too well. His stomach dropped, a sense of dread coiling tightly around his heart as he realized what had happened.
Aemond surged from his bed, his movements rushed and ungainly as if his limbs were still entwined in the remnants of sleep. His body felt sluggish and unwieldy, muscles sore and protesting from the relentless hours atop dragonback in the recent days. His body was tense and fraught, a testament to the prolonged vigilance he had maintained–even in his sleep. Grasping a fresh pair of trousers, he shed the ones worn through the night, dressing swiftly. He yanked a new shirt over his head, roughly shoving it into the waist of his trousers, and then wrestled his feet into his boots.
The haunting echoes of her cries lingered in his ears, raw and piteous like those of a wounded animal. The remnants of his nightmare clung to him, seeming to claw at the edges of his being and at the fringes of his consciousness–prickling at the very tip of his fingers. They slowed the world around him as he fought through a fog, each movement and thought muddled as if he were pushing through water.
With a swift–deliberate–motion, he cinched his belt around his waist, and ran his fingers through his tangled, unruly hair. There was no time for his usual grooming rituals, no moment spared for vanity as he pushed through the chamber doors into the corridor beyond.
As Aemond advanced towards her chambers, the cries and clamor of destruction grew more distinct and harrowing. With each step, his heartbeat thundered unevenly in his chest–forceful and strained–echoing his mounting dread. He had justified his actions as a mercy, allowing her one more night of peace, shielded from the grim news of her brother's death and his role in it. Yet, the ghostly accusations of Lucerys haunted him, murmuring accusations of cowardice that gnawed at him.
The air was filled with her screams, each one piercing the false serenity he had tried to preserve. These sounds, stark and vivid in the daylight, tore through the veneer of clam, imbuing the air with a palpable despair that belied the brightness of the day. Her cries resonated through the corridor, each one a sharp reminder of the heavy costs–both of his duty and his thirst for vengeance.
As Aemond strode down the hall, he was acutely aware that the news of Lucerys’s death had leaked into the realm, just as he had anticipated. He disregarded the judgmental stares directed at him, letting the whispers and mutters of ‘kinslayer’ burrow under his skin.
So what if he was? It was not anywhere near the worst he had done.
Aemond approached Daenera’s chambers to find a small, agitated assembly gathered outside. Lady Mertha was briskly brushing off her skirts, while a young maid and a guard stood by, their expressions drawn in shock and apprehension. The chamber doors barely contained the chaos within: the sound of objects crashing to the ground, steel scraping across the floor, and items being hurled against the walls and shattering. Amidst this tumult, Daenera’s screams of rage and torment resounded, interspersed with guttural snarls and growls as she wreaked havoc within.
“She is behaving like a rapid animal,” Lady Mertha hissed venomously, her face contorted in a scowl of disdain. “Were she truly one, she would be put down–”
“Prince Aemond,” the young maid interrupted, her voice trembling as she noted his approach, drawing the attention of the others to his presence.
Lady Mertha’s eyes snapped to Aemond, her mouth briefly parting in a gesture to speak before halting as her gaze inadvertently drifted to one side of his face. Aemond caught the fleeting expressions of shock, revulsion, and discomfort flit across their faces as they struggled, and failed, to avoid staring at the sapphire filling his eye socket and the jagged scar tissue surrounding it. He realized then, that in his haste, he had forgotten to wear his eyepatch, revealing the unsettling replacement that often drew such reactions.
“The girl has lost her senses,” Mertha declared sharply, her voice thick with scorn as she gestured towards the door, then clutched her reddened cheek, which showed the beginnings of a slight swelling. “She struck me and threw me out! Look at what that wretched girl did to me! And now she’s gone completely mad–”
“You told her?” Aemond interrupted abruptly, his voice heavy with anger. The irritation surged within his chest, and a dreadful anxiety coiled in his stomach, fraying at his patience. He was indifferent to the fact that Daenera had struck Mertha; he was almost certain that Mertha had made herself deserving of it. What truly irked him was the contemptuous tone Mertha used to describe Daenera.
“No, my prince,” the young maid replied hastily, her body tensing visibly as Aemond’s gaze fell upon her. She flinched again as another crash sounded from within the chamber, her youthful face creased with worry. “We haven’t told her–we were told you would–”
Her words were abruptly overshadowed by the sound of glass shattering, followed by a furious roar that melded a growl, a hiss, and a guttural scream into a single horrifying outcry.
“The princess insisted on one of her daily walks,” Mertha assumed, her mouth tightening with disapproval. “We intended to visit the Sept, but the Lord Confessor approached us before we could get there…”
Aemond’s hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, and he gritted his teeth forcefully averting his gaze as he fought the urge to turn on his heels and seek out that cripple, Larys Strong, to pummel him half to death with his own cane. Larys should have known better than to be the bearer of such news; he should have understood that Aemond was to be the one to tell her–and that was precisely why he did it.
It was far simpler for Aemond to cast blame on Larys for stepping in, rather than confront the truth that he himself had faltered. He had stood outside her doors the previous night, hesitating, too overwhelmed by his own cowardice to face her then.
He had called it mercy–intended it as such. But it was far from it.
Now, as he stood there, the harsh truth of his own failure gnawed at him.
“The wretched girl will destroy everything. We should send for more guards to help with subduing her,” Mertha declared harshly, looking towards the one guard there. “She should be confined to a more secure place where she can’t wreak such destruction.”
“No,” Aemond interjected sharply before the guard could leave, his gaze fixed on Mertha with an intensity that bordered on steel. “You will summon a master, and you will stay here. I will see to her.”
He did not linger for her to acknowledge his command. Striding forward, Aemond reached the doors to Daenera’s chambers. His hand hesitated momentarily on the doorknob, bracing himself for the scene that awaited him inside. The chaos had given way to an eerie silence, more daunting than the sound of her prior outbursts.
A cold shiver of dread washed over him, mingling with a deep-seated fear of what he might discover. Clenching his jaw, he took a steadying breath and pushed the door open, stepping inside and shutting the world out behind him.
The devastation within her chambers were staggering, resembling the aftermath of a storm–a storm similar to the one he had flown through when he had pursued her brother with a heart full of rage and a taste of retribution on his tongue. It mirrored the storm that had plagued his nightmare, the very one that had seemed to have spilled into the throne room, echoing thunderously between the columns and under the arched ceilings–now it seemed to have poured in here as well.
With a sinking heart, Aemond observed the path of destruction. Shelves had been upended, their contents strewn across the floor. Every surface had been swept clean, its former decorations now shattered remnants at his feet. Tapestries that had once adorned the walls were now torn and tattered, lying in disarray. Feathers were scattered like a macabre snowfall, and the crunch of broken glass and porcelain shards under his boots punctuated his every step as he ventured deeper into the chaos with apprehension twisting in his stomach.
A dreadful sense of foreboding coiled around Aemond’s heart as his eye finally settled on her, her figure nearly obscured by the settee placed before the hearth in a small sitting area.
There she sat, arms wrapped around her knees, her gaze fixed intently on the dancing flames. Her hair cascading wildly around her form–a dark shroud that contrasted sharply with the bright light pouring in through the windows. In that light, she appeared diminutive and fragile, utterly consumed by the depths of her despair–her eyes empty and unseeing.
With cautious steps, Aemond moved through the chaotic remnants of her fury, the crunch of broken objects under his boots echoing in the quiet room. His gaze remained on her, unwavering even as he treaded over the debris. He did not sidestep the scattered ruins; instead, he walked straight through them, forging a direct path to her. His heart pounded within his chest, each beat echoing a painful rhythm that seemed to amplify his trepidation.
As he drew closer, he noticed the disturbing smears of blood on her hands, which streaked up her arms and marred her pale skin, tainting the white chemise she wore. He approached her cautiously, as one might approach a startled animal, careful and with bated breath, wary that any abrupt movement might send her spiraling into further despair or provoke a sudden outburst.
The sight of the blood unnervingly echoed the visions of his nightmare–the horrifying moment when her blue eyes had widened in shock, the ease with which his blade had plunged into her flesh without any resistance, the way she had gasped and stumbled backward, removing herself from the cold steel as blood blossomed like a terrible flower. He could almost feel the warmth of her blood on his hands again, that all too familiar stickiness–could almost feel the dead weight of her body in his arms.
Aemond crouched down beside her, bringing himself to her level. As he did, his mouth became dry, his throat constricting with emotion. Yet, he summoned a tenderness that ached in its depths, and he whispered her name, his voice dreading through the heavy silence like a delicate whisper. “Daenera…”
She did not react to her name, her gaze fixed on the flames before her. Her body remained still, save for the subtle tensing of her muscles. As the orange light flickered in the blue of her eyes–like a burning sun against a night sky–Aemond felt a falter in his heart, a deep, unsettling stir of emotions.
“Daenera…” Aemond murmured again, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind her ear, an attempt to coax her back from the distant recesses of her mind. Her lips parted slightly in a soft exhale, her face turning a little before her eyes finally followed, meeting his.
Carefully, he cradled her head, his touch tender, meant to offer some measure of comfort–if he could even do that. He couldn’t discern whether it was for her benefit or his own, but Aemond felt that familiar prickle in his fingertips when he touched her, a fluttering of weakness in his heart that made the darker part of him want to withdraw solely because it was all too much–because it made him vulnerable to whatever poison she may impart him with.
Daenera neither withdrew from his touch nor leaned into it as she usually did. Instead, she remained unnervingly still, her eyes red and puffy from tears, the tracks of her weeping still etched clearly on her cheeks.
Aemond held her as if she were something delicate and precious–and by the gods, she was. He held her the way one would hold a bird with broken wings, gently. And he felt that horrible beast within him clawing at his chest–felt that awful need for her that softened his heart, making him weak and more susceptible to the savage grip of his inner turmoil, threatening to rip it apart.
“Tell me,” she murmured hoarsely, her voice raw and scratchy from crying. A tremor passed through her lips, the corner of which turned downward even as she fought to suppress it. “Tell me it isn’t true…”
Aemond maintained a carefully neutral expression, fearing that any crack in his composure, any slip of the mask, might worsen the situation. Her words pierced him like a slow, excruciating blade, weaving through his defenses and aiming straight for his heart.
Unable to provide the comfort or the denials she desperately sought, he remained silent, his expression enough to reveal the grim truth. It was clear in his eye–he had done it. And he knew she’d see it on his face.
“Tell me it isn’t true,” she implored him, her voice thick with desperation as she begged for him to lie to her. “Tell me that what they said isn’t true–that you didn’t do it.”
Her head shook slowly in disbelief, her eyebrows arching in an expression of utter devastation. Yet, she seemed to cling to a sliver of hope, a desperate plea for him to refute the truth.
“It’s true,” Aemond confessed, his voice soft yet laced with the rawness of an open wound–bleeding with honesty. He could not bring himself to lie, not when no falsehood could adequately shield her from the truth of what he had done.
Brutal honesty was the only offering he had left for her–and that had no mercy at all.
A choked sob ripped through Daenera’s throat, and she turned her face away from him, as if to shield him from the devastation that his confession swept over her. Yet, even in her attempt to hide, he saw the clear signs of her anguish–the way her shoulders trembled, the way her hand twisted and clutched at the fabric over her heart as if trying to reach in and hold her breaking heart together.
When she faced him again, her eyes blazed with accusation and pain. “What happened?!”
Aemond welcomed her scorn like a sinner might accept his penance. He would have gladly knelt before her and begged for forgiveness if he believed it would relieve her of her grief. Yet, he knew that forgiveness would not come from her–not justly so–and he could not bring himself to ask for it.
Forgiveness seemed like a double-edged sword–it would be selfish of him to seek it, fully aware that granting such absolution was beyond her heart to forgive. By even contemplating absolution, he would only cut himself open–would only leave him to bleed.
His action had been those of monstrous retribution, and monsters, by their very nature, did not seek forgiveness for their deeds. Instead, they swallowed the decay of their actions and carried the burden silently, festering within them like a relentless rot.
“How could you do this? Why would you do this?!” Daenera’s voice crackled with fury as she sneered at him, her features contorting with scorn. Abruptly, her hand shot out, seizing him by the shirt with such force that Aemond nearly lost his balance. She clung to him desperately–as though fearing he would slip away like smoke between her fingers–her grip anchoring him in place as a vicious snarl parted her lips.
Through the storm of her anger, Aemond couldn’t help but think she looked beautiful–her eyes ablaze with fury, lips curled as if ready to rip his throat out with her teeth, tears streaking down her anguished face, her eyebrows arched in a poignant mixture of sorrow and rage. She looked both devastated and hauntingly beautiful–a vision he knew would torment her to his dying days.
“Why would you do this?” She repeated, her voice teetering on the edge between a soft demand and a raw accusation. “How could you do this?” As her voice broke, her eyebrows knitted together, and a steely hardness settled into her gaze as she hissed, “You killed him.”
Aemond had to look away, unable to withstand the sting of her hatred as it slipped beneath his armor and cut into the tender flesh beneath. He swallowed hard, gritting his teeth, before forcing himself to meet her gaze once more. Her eyes searched his face incredulously, flickering across his features as if trying to pry open his expression and expose the truths hidden within–even those he refused to face himself.
The urge to reach out to her prickled at his fingertips. He longed to cup her face in his hands, to gently wipe away her tears–or even taste them if she would permit it. He yearned to press his lips to hers, to feel their dry, soft touch, and to bury his face in the crook of her neck, losing himself in the warmth and scent of her. More than anything, he wanted to lay his head against her chest, to listen to her heartbeat–strong and steady, so alive and vibrant, unlike the lifeless echo in his nightmares.
And yet, Aemond wanted nothing more than to rid himself of such vulnerabilities–knowing that they would only expose and cut him open, making him more susceptible to a world that regarded him with disdain.
With a sudden, forceful shove, Daenera sent him staggering backward. He lost his balance, tumbling to the ground and bracing himself with his hands on the cold stone floor. He winced as shards of glass embedded into his palms with a sharp sting. Righting himself, he met her gaze once more, finding horror etched across her features as she stared back at him with a mix of revulsion and disbelief–and utter betrayal.
“I presented your brother with a choice,” he began, his voice even and collected, though he tasted the bitterness of his words on his tongue. “I demanded he put out his eye as payment for mine–that he repay the debt he owed.”
As he spoke that familiar bitterness surged within him, the ache of a festering wound that no act of retribution could ever hope to heal.
Killing Lucerys had not restored Aemond’s eye; instead, it had taken something deeper from him–leaving him as incomplete as before, perhaps even more so. This only deepened that festering resentment. If only Lucerys had complied, had cut out his eye as demanded, Aemond wouldn’t have pursued him. He wouldn’t have killed him, and he wouldn’t be tormented by this festering, weeping wound within him that no act of vengeance could heal.
Yet, a cruel, boyish voice whispered from the dark recesses of his mind, mocking his justification. Even an eye wouldn’t have quenched your thirst for vengeance.
A pain that began as a mere prickle wove its way through Aemond’s scar, burrowing deep into the socket, settling somewhere behind the sapphire. It curled cruelly within his eye, intensifying into a searing agony that forced him to grit his teeth. This pain, both familiar and merciless, was unknown to Lucerys; he had never felt how it honed Aemond into a sharp, cold blade, how it made him cruel and unforgiving–how it had planted a seed of a beast within him that yearned to destroy and lay ruin to everything around him.
“He refused–” Aemond ground out through clenched teeth, swallowing thickly as he was cut off.
“He was a child,” Daenera spat, her voice thick with accusation–he felt it sting along the curve of his scar, felt it like a slap to the face. The corners of her lips pulled downward, her head shaking slightly as a pained expression crossed her face. “He was only a child.”
“So was I,” Aemond replied, his voice maintaining a strange evenness despite the surge of that familiar, burning resentment curling within his chest like a serpent poised to strike. He felt the relentless beast within him pace, its claws scraping at his resolve, the urge to lash out growing stronger. And even then, his voice came out soft, almost sad. “Everyone seems to forget that I, too, was a child when he gouged out my eye.”
Why was it always him who had to rise above? Aemond’s thoughts churned with these questions, his frustration palpable. When would it be his turn to receive justice? Why was he expected to endure suffering while the one who had wronged him had remained unpunished?
“Your brother permanently disfigured me,” Aemond stated, his voice growing cold and hard, as he felt the flames of that burning resentment lick at his heart. “And for years, he faced no consequences for his actions–years during which the injustice remained unpunished.”
His pursuit to right the wrong done to him had been an attempt to balance the scales. Yet, those scales had bent under the weight of his will, tipping more towards vengeance than justice–but it had been meant to be justice.
“For years, I’ve endured insults and humiliation, years of enduring pain and torment because of what he did… You may think he only took my eye, but he took so much more than that.”
Every slight and affront had only fueled the festering darkness within Aemond–he absorbed each stinging comment, endured each humiliation with a stoic mask. He had borne the excruciating pain, experienced every invasive treatment, he had weathered it all, and for what? For the wrong to remain unpunished?
“I wanted him to understand the full extent of what he did to me, and so I demanded his eye in return,” Aemond rationalized.
It seemed only fair, didn’t it?
He had been told by Viserys to let it go, to forgive and forget the harm that had been inflicted upon him without any real remedy–there had been no apology or acknowledgement of the wrongs that had been done to him, so how could he ever let it go? How could he ever forgive? How could he accept an apology when his assailant could never truly comprehend the depth of his suffering?
Daenera’s gaze fell on him with such despair that Aemond felt as if shards of ice were piercing his heart. Her eyebrows drew downward, intensifying the blaze in her blue eyes–a blaze that mirrored the flames dancing in the hearth but seemed to stem from a deeper, more ferocious inferno.
“And that justified you taking his life?!” Daenera hissed, her voice dripping with disdain as her chapped lips were tightly drawn over her teeth and her brows furrowed deeper in rage. “He was defending his brother–protecting him from when you went to cave Jace’s head in with a fucking rock!”
Aemond wanted to say that he wouldn’t have killed Jace, but that would have been a lie. He didn’t know his true intentions when he had lifted that rock; all he knew was that he was defending himself after they had attacked him. Was there a part of him that, in that moment, had wanted Jace dead? Yes. But would he have gone through with it? He didn’t know, he hadn’t had the chance to decide. And they would never know. All Aemond knew was he had a right to defend himself.
Any sharp retorts that formed in the fire of his resentment, died on his tongue as he witnessed the despair on her face–her tears overflowing, tracing paths down her cheeks.
“Did you know,” she choked out, her voice trembling with emotion, “that he’d sneak into my bed at night, tormented by guilt for cutting out your eye? Even when it was in defense of his brother?”
Aemond stared at her, absorbing her words as if they were something rotten and poisonous. He had never witnessed any sign of guilt in the boy, never detected a trace of remorse for what he had done–and to hear now that Lucerys might have felt guilty only hardened something within him. He struggled with disbelief, finding it impossible to accept that the boy who had mocked him so brazenly would have felt guilty for what he had done.
No, Lucerys apology had been nothing more than mockery–just as he had mocked him with the pig. The apology had been insincere and hollow, devoid of any real acknowledgement or genuine remorse for the harm he had inflicted, for what he had done to Aemond–for what he had made him into.
And Aemond refused to harbor any guilt for killing him. He refused.
Aemond’s gaze stayed fixed on her, observing the trembling of her lips and the tears that shimmered in her eyes. He saw something vicious stirring within the deep blue of her gaze, reminiscent of a storm brewing beneath the ocean’s surface. This tempest seemed poised to shred sails and splinter any ship upon its sea, dooming those onboard to the merciless whims of a hungry sea–and he was no different, he felt that he too would break apart on unforgiving waves.
Her face twisted into a vicious sneer as she lashed out at him with piercing words. “If only he had aimed lower. If only he had slit your throat.”
Her words shot through the air like arrows, each one striking him with cruel, unyielding force. Aemond fought against the instinct to flinch, instead straightening his back to carry the weight of them. The beast within him stirred, provoked by the sting of her accusations. It clawed at his chest, urging him to retaliate, to inflict wounds as deep as those she had carved into him. Yet, he battled this urge, striving to maintain the mask of cold detachment he wore, restraining the tempestuous emotions that threatened to break free–to lay waste to all he held dear.
Aemond resigned himself to her cruelty–after all, what else had he expected? Did he imagine she would take his bloodstained hands and gently place them upon her cheek? Did he hope she might caress his cheek and press her forehead to his, offering a moment of solace?”
As sharp as her rage felt as it slipped beneath his armor, he didn’t expect anything less. He would endure her cruelty, withstand her disdain, as long as she lived, as long as her heart continued to beat–however dissonant it was with his own.
“I never meant to kill him,” Aemond found himself murmuring, his voice not entirely his own. The confession emerged on its own, not entirely a conscious choice–they slipped from his lips like those of a sinner seeking absolution at the altar of the gods.
Yet, he did not truly seek repentance, for he knew that there was none to be found. Indeed, he was a sinner, a monster–but a monster that was made, not born. And now, sitting before her, watching his words settle over her like snow upon a desolate landscape, he saw her eyes widen, tears flowing freely, her face painted with utter betrayal and despair. In that moment, he felt less a monster and more a boy–a boy who yearned to hold something gently but had never learned how.
“I only meant to scare him,” Aemond confessed softly, his voice barely above a whisper as if fearing that his words might shatter her further. His heart thudded erratically within his chest, each beat a painful reminder of what he had done. He needed her to understand what had driven him, why he had lost control. “I wanted him to feel the same fear that I felt when you all ambushed me. I wanted him to feel as scared and powerless as I did when he cut out my eye…”
Truly, that had been his only intention, hadn’t it? Yet, that dreadful, boyish voice in the back of his mind clawed at his soul, demanding recognition of a darker truth. He had wanted Lucerys dead. And Lucerys had died. What more was there to say?
A pained expression etched itself across Daenera’s face–an expression wrought with despair, heartbreak, and betrayal. It distorted her features into a cruel mockery of their usual beauty, mirroring the haunting visage he had seen in his nightmare–when she had staggered away from him, her hand brushing against a fresh wound only to come away stained with blood, and she had collapsed, he had cradled her desperately, pleading with her not to leave him.
Yet, despite the torment reflected in her eyes, Aemond found himself unable to halt the harsh words that drove a blade into her heart.
“So, I chased after him,” Aemond murmured, his voice sounding distant, even to his own ears–and so awfully cold. “So, I chased after him. I just wanted him to experience that fear and powerlessness… I never set out to kill him. I didn’t intend to–”
“You…” Her voice was clipped, and she drew in a desperate breath as if his words had stolen the air from her lungs. Her eyebrows knitted together in a mix of confusion and pain. “You never meant to kill him…”
Aemond closed his eye for a moment, unable to bear the sight of her pained expression–unable to watch as her gaze shifted from him, her confusion deepening. Slowly, that bewilderment transformed into disbelief. She inhaled sharply, her expression hardening into one of betrayal. Her hand rose to clutch at her chemise again, gripping it tightly. The fabric twisted under her grasp as if she were trying to reach inside her own chest to hold her breaking heart together with her own bare hand.
“I lost control–” Aemond began, attempting to bridge the chasm that had opened between them, standing precariously on the edge of an abyss. “Arrax attacked Vhagar–”
“You chased after him,” Daenera interjected sharply, her voice tense like a bow pulled too tight, the wood cracking beneath the force of it. “You pursued him with your dragon. You.” Her words were edged with a fierce snarl, her teeth bared in a display of raw anger. “What did you think was going to happen?”
Again, each word struck him like an arrow, piercing through his armor and embedding itself into his flesh, tearing at him with a pain as vivid as when the blade had sliced through his eye. And yet, as he had when they had stitched his wounds, he endured it with a steely resolve.
“Don’t you dare blame Arrax for trying to protect his rider. He would have sensed his fear,” Daenera sneered at him, her fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, her anger palpable and ever so pointed. “I’ve witnessed the bonds they forge with their riders. It was your anger, your resentment that Vhagar reacted to. She would have felt your hatred, and she acted upon it–acted upon your desire for revenge. You didn’t lose control, Aemond, you wanted to kill him. The moment you choose to chase after him, you made your decision.”
Aemond watched her as her temper flared–watching her like one might watch an approaching storm, bracing for its inevitable impact. He knew what was coming, and in some dark part of himself, he welcomed it, ready to face the full force of her wrath.
And the force of it, he felt as she shoved him roughly, her movements sudden as she shifted onto her knees heedless to the shards of glass on the floor. She straddled one of his outstretched legs, rose up in front of him with a sneer on her face. Aemond could smell almost her wrath emanating from her–a metallic tang of blood that clung to her skin and the heat of a crackling fire, and something else, something sweeter that seemed almost incongruent with the moment.
“You killed him! You did,” She accused, the sharp sting of her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, the muscles taut beneath the touch.
Aemond tilted his head back to look up at her, her words slicing through him as sharply as the shards of glass that dug into the skin of his palms. He could feel the glass grinding between his hand and the stone floor beneath them. Swallowing thickly, his heart twisted painfully inside his chest, the taste of wrath and resentment lingering on his tongue. Inside, he felt the beast of his darker impulses strain against his control, threatening to break free under the weight of her words–it writhed to sink its claws into something, to tear at someone mercilessly, to ruin and destroy.
“You wanted him dead,” Daenera sneered, each word an indictment–a condemnation of his soul. “You wanted revenge. And now you’re too much of a coward to admit it–”
In that heated moment, Aemond cloud almost hear the crack of thunder and the echoes of Lucerys’s voice haunting the back of his mind, accusing him relentlessly; you hunted me down like an animal.
Even an eye wouldn’t have quenched your thirst for vengeance.
You wanted more than reparations–you wanted my life.
You pursued me.
You sought my death.
You are a coward.
You wanted me dead.
You are a coward.
You’re a coward.
You’re a–
“Yes!” The word erupted from Aemond with the same ferocity as when Vhagar had burst forth from the stormcloud, her jaws clamping viciously around the boy and his dragon, consuming them whole. The beast within him bared its bloodied teeth at her, seeming to break free from any semblance of restraints. It unleashed itself upon her with the force of his words, raw and merciless. “I wanted him dead–I wanted revenge for what he did to me. I wanted to kill him for it… and I did. I killed him.”
How many times had Aemond imagined ending Lucerys’s life? How many years had he harbored such thoughts? How long had he contemplated it at night before falling asleep? For how long had he longed Lucerys’s death, foolishly believing it would make him whole again, that it would return that which he had lost?
But he wasn’t whole–and it seemed, he never would be.
Instead, the act had taken even more from him.
It left him feeling empty and disappointed, if not lost–and fearful, terribly, terribly fearful and alone.
Had he always been a monster?
Aemond had been the one to give chase through the storm, his desire for Lucerys’s death a smoldering ember that had perhaps ignited fully the moment he mounted Vhagar. The dragon had merely acted in accordance with her nature–responding to his own dark desires. Was this cruelty not embedded in his very nature? It seemed all he had ever known, all he could comprehend even now he couldn’t help but be cruel, couldn’t help but admit to it.
“I’m not sorry that he’s dead–”
In the brief space between heartbeats, in the mere blink of an eye, the chilling sound of steel being drawn slicked through the air between them like a discordant melody. He felt the cold press of metal against his throat, an eerie familiarity to its touch. It bit into his skin, not deeply enough to draw blood, but sufficiently to leave a stinging reminder of its presence.
The sheer wrath and devastation etched across her face burned fiercer than any flame, her eyebrows furrowed deeply, the corners of her lips trembling, and as she towered over him, resembling a fiery goddess of fury and vengeance, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity, he couldn’t help but find her strikingly beautiful–even with the blade pressed against his skin, even amidst the looming threat of retribution and bloodshed. It was a terrible realization, recognizing the beauty in devastation, finding allure in the midst of violence.
Her lips trembled as they parted for a ragged breath, and his gaze was irresistibly drawn to them. Despite their dryness, they appeared incredibly soft. Her chest heaved, the fabric of her chemise hanging flatly around her, subtly revealing the familiar contours beneath–the gentle curves he knew so intimately, the fullness of her breasts, the softness of her skin that he had once felt against his own.
To steady himself, he pressed his palms harder against the shards of glass beneath him, grinding them into the floor as he sought control over his frayed emotions.
Aemond tilted his head back slightly more, bearing his neck to her. He felt the tremble in her fingers, the way her nails dug into his shoulders as if to steady herself. His eye locked onto hers as her expression shifted from a sneer to bewilderment, then hardened into determination. He felt the blade’s cold edge graze his sin; it burned, and a trickle of blood began to run down his neck.
Aemond could see the conflict raging within her–the intense desire to slit his throat and exact her vengeance, to take his life as he had taken her brothers. This impulse to draw blood and finde justice in his suffering was palpable, tasted like copper on his tongue. Yet, alongside this raw, vengeful desire, he saw another force play within her, something equally as devastating but far more bittersweet.
In that moment, a resigned thought crossed his mind; kill me now, as long as it is by your hands, and come find me in the seven hells.
Oh, how she had poisoned him.
Love was a poison, wasn’t it? Terrible and devastating with its sweetness, and yet he had willingly drunk her poison, becoming hopelessly dependent on the taste of it. He would accept her poison in any form–on the edge of a blade, if not her lips.
“You’re a monster,” Daenera hissed, her voice laden with both accusation and a need to reaffirm the truth to herself as much as to him. “You’re a fucking kinslayer.”
Aemond made no attempt to deflect her condemnation. Instead, he allowed her words to pierce him like sharp claws, cutting through the armor he had constructed around himself. They tore into his flesh, cracking open his chest to lay bare his heart–vulnerable and pathetically soft–ready for her to devour. There was no denying the cruel truth; he was a kinslayer–a monster condemned by both the gods and man. He had become exactly what he had been shaped to be.
If she despised him, every decision he made henceforth would be easier, he thought. Yet, buried deep within the shredded, tender confines of his heart, Aemond harbored that dreadful yearning for her love–a love for the connection that his actions had mercilessly severed. He was pathetically in love with her, and he loathed himself for it as intensely as he wished he could despise her for igniting such feelings.
A monster shouldn’t know love, nor should it crave being loved.
Yet, he did.
Just as he bore the constant pain within the scar over his eye, he would carry this–a scar upon his heart, an unhealable wound. He wondered whether this, too, might fester like the enduring resentment tied to the loss of his eye.
Aemond let Daenera’s fury envelop him, hoping it might purge him of the sin of loving her or steel him against the hatred burning in her eyes. He would not deny her condemnation–he was a monster, he was a kinslayer. “I am.”
Despite his intentions, he found himself irresistibly drawn to her. Compelled by a force he could neither fully control nor understand, he reached out and placed his hand gently on her hip. He neither pulled her closer, as his heart desired, nor pushed her away, as his mind urged. His touch seemed to surprise her, causing a reflexive jerk that made the blade nick his skin, drawing a thin line of blood.
The frown on Daenera’s face deepened, with a line etching itself between her brows, her eyes aflame with disgust and resentment. “I should fucking cut your throat and be done with you.”
Her sneer carried a profound bitterness that seemed to cling to her tongue as much as it did his, and there was a palpable agony in the way the corners of her lips trembled.
“You deserve it,” she hissed, pressing the blade further into his throat, her body weight bearing down on him as if to compel her own hand. “You fucking deserve it!”
Aemond bared his throat to her, a defiant challenge in his eye as he dared her to end the wretched existence she had forced upon him. “Do it.”
But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
And as if to twist the knife of their shared misery, he taunted her with that familiar ease of cruelty. “Make a kinslayer of the both of us.”
Her face contorted with a painful realization then, and she recoiled from his touch as though it had seared her skin. Scrambling back, she withdrew from him, settling onto the cold stone.
Glass chimed against the floor, scattering from her bloodied and bruised knees, while the sound of steel scraping over stone filled the air as she curled in on herself. A scream erupted from her, tearing through the room and slicing through Aemond–a sound he knew would haunt him in the dead of night. It cut deeper into him, inflicting a wound more profound than the blade had ever delivered.
She gasped for breath as if surfacing from underwater, as if she’d been drowning, and a strange emptiness settled over her. Her gaze dropped to the blade in her hand, and Aemond saw a flicker of something dark within her expression–a terrible resolve taking root. His heart plummeted as she lifted the blade to her own throat. Reacting instinctively, Aemond lunged towards her, wrapping his hand around hers to steady the blade and prevent her from doing any real damage.
His heart pounded painfully and erratically within his chest, his brows furrowing deeply as he stared at her with indignant fury. The mere thought that she might consider harming herself–that she might slit her own throat and bleed out in his arms while he desperately pleaded for her to stay with him–enraged him.
Daenera’s hand clamped down on his wrist as he attempted to pull the blade away from her neck. Her nails dug into his flesh, painfully prying her hand from his grasp. Her skin, already marked by scrapes, suffered further as the shards of glass embedded in his skin caused superficial wounds on hers.
With force, she pressed the hilt of the blade into his hand, making his fingers curl around it. The glass dug deeper into his skin as she cruelly guided his hand–and the blade–back to her throat, pressing it against the delicate column of her neck. A trickle of blood emerged where the blade nicked her skin, streaming down her neck as she struggled to hold his hand there, while he fought to pull it away without hurting her.
Deliberately, she tilted her head back, exposing more of her neck to the blade, and challenged him with a haunting demand, “Murder me like you murdered my brother.”
Aemond’s breath caught, halting as he stared at her. His heart ceased beating for a moment, then began to pound painfully against his ribs, threatening to cut itself open on her words. Fear clawed at the back of his throat, his gaze locked on her, utterly dismayed by the cold expression on her face.
“Go on,” Daenera said flatly, her voice void of emotion,” murder me like you murdered my brother…”
Aemond’s head shook in disbelief, dread filling his veins.
“Kill me,” she urged “You wanted to kill bastards. Slay me as you did my brother, Kinslayer.” Her grip tightened on his hand, her movements forcing the blade to nick her skin further. “Murder me like you murdered my brother!”
“I can’t!” Aemond’s voice erupted furiously. The admission felt as if it had been wrenched from the depths of his soul–against his will. Part of him longed to be rid of this agonizing, pathetic weakness she had kindled within him–a part of him wished to rid himself of her as if it might purge the tortuous ache pulsating in his heart, the yearning for her love that itched in his veins.
“Don’t you see?” His voice cracked, laden with desperation. Couldn’t she see what she has done to him? Couldn’t she see how she possessed his heart, defying all reason? Couldn’t she see the extent to which she had poisoned him? “I love you.”
Her eyes widened, a flicker of shock passing through them, and he felt the pressure on his throat lessen as his confession hung in the air between them. Her brows furrowed, her head shaking slightly in disbelief, and then her features twisted into something cold and vicious.
His heart beat furiously against his ribs, enveloped in dread–and terror, it seeped into his blood and poured into his body like poison. He knew his admission was cruel, but she needed to know–needed to understand the depths of his turmoil.
“Daenera,” Aemond barely managed to utter, her name escaping his lips as a desperate plea, imploring her not to force his hand, “Please, let go of the blade…”
His voice was thick with emotion, each word soaked in a mixture of fear and plea, begging her to step back from the dark precipice she teetered upon–the narrow point of a knife's edge.
A trickle of blood etched another path down her neck, meandering over her collarbone to disappear beneath the edge of her chemise, staining the fabric. His gaze followed the crimson line, then lifted to meet her eyes–cold and vengeful, a sneer curving her lips. “Kill me now, Aemond. Or I swear, I will take from you that which you have taken from me.”
Aemond recognized the venom in her threat– a dark, binding vow of vengeance. He saw within her the same festering darkness that had driven him, the relentless force that had propelled him to chase her brother through the storm in search of something darker than justice.
Blood for blood.
A brother for a brother.
The threat against his family–against his brothers–should have instinctively driven him to press the blade tighter to her throat. The need to defend and protect his family was deeply ingrained in him, both an inherited duty and a learned one. Yet, he found himself unable to do so. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
Her voice was as chillingly cold as the look in her eyes, her words delivered with an almost gentle cadence, “It would be a mercy, wouldn’t it? What is a little more blood on your hands?”
A crack of thunder echoed from the dark recesses of his mind, sending a shiver of dread up his spine. For a fleeting moment, something ghastly caught in the gleam of the blade–a spectral image with pallid skin, dark hair plastered wetly to its forehead, milky eyes, and patches of flesh missing. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, yet the whisper of that voice lingered hauntinly in the back of his mind; what is a little more blood? Perhaps it was a mercy. For the both of you. For her without the sting of betrayal, and you without a heart. To end her would be a kindness.
With a furious sneer, Aemond wrenched himself away from her, forcefully pulling the blade back from her neck. In his abrupt movement, the blade grazed her skin slightly, a trickle of blood marking the path down her neck. The blade clattered harshly against the stone floor as he pinned it down with his hand, struggling to hold himself upright. The sting of glass embedded in his skin had become a distant sensation, overwhelmed by the surge of anger and bitterness that consumed him.
How could she ask this of him? How could she even harbor such a desire?
It was cruel. She was cruel.
Daenera released a humorless chuckle, her head shaking as a smile played across her face–a smile that pain and betrayal quickly twisted into something grim and mocking. “I will make you regret this.”
Aemond closed his eye, feeling her words sear into his very bones. He swallowed hard, struggling to contain the tumult of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, fighting to control the devastation that echoed through his heart.
“I will make you regret letting me live,” she vowed, her voice steely. “I will take from you that which you’ve taken from me.”
Aemond rose to his feet and sheathed the blade. His response was a solemn acknowledgement, laden with the weight of inevitably, “I know.”
He observed as the fiery intensity in her eyes slowly extinguished, replaced by a colder, more distant expression. Her gaze shifted from him to the flames crackling in the hearth, dismissing his presence and letting a heavy silence envelop the room. She sat before the fire like a specter, her skin pale, marred with scrapes and bruises, and her chemise stained with smears and dots of blood.
An intense urge to reach out to her prickled at his fingertips–to brush her hair back, to assess and soothe her wounds, to clean her hands of glass and blood. But he knew he couldn’t offer such comfort, and even if he could, she wouldn’t accept it.
As he turned to leave, her voice halted him–small and strained, it carried an anguish that seemed to rise above the destruction on the floor, crawling up his spine and clawing into his very being.
“I love you too,” Her words, barely more than a whisper, resonated with a poignant intensity that pierced the thickening silence.
His heart stilled, and he turned back to her. Pain prickled behind his eye as his throat constricted, suffocating his breath. His chest tightened painfully as he absorbed the words he had yearned to hear–words that had always seemed just beyond his grasp.
She could never love you, Lucerys had taunted. You will never hear the words you so desperately want to fall from her lips.
Yet, here they were.
And how terrible it was.
These were the words Aemond had always longed to hear from her, but receiving them now, amidst the ruins of their love, felt almost unbearable–it was almost better not to have heard them at all.
“I loved you. How terrible is that?” She continued, her voice heavy with pain. “I hate myself for loving you. I wish I didn’t…”
Aemond clenched his teeth and balled his hands into fists, finding a twisted comfort in the pain that bit into his them. Any physical pain was preferable, easier to endure than the raw emotional torment her words inflicted–and yet, he remained still, heart bared for her to sink her teeth into.
“You made me love you, and you killed my brother…” A sob shook her as she inhaled sharply, her breath ragged, tears streaming down her cheeks. “And still, there’s some terrible part of me that loves you, as if it’s yet to understand what you’ve done…”
Despite the warmth of the sunlight streaming in from the windows and the heat emanating from the fire in the hearth, a chill coursed through Aemond’s veins, the weight of her words chilling him to the core.
“What does that make me?” She asked with a quivering voice. “To still love the man who murdered my brother? Does that make me a monster too, or just a fool–a stupid, naive fool?” The words were laced with contempt. “You are a kinslayer… and I…”
It was almost unbearable to hear–too overwhelming as she offered him the very words he had longed for, only to snatch them away again, like some capricious and cruel god. He loves her–he had loved her when he had demanded her brother’s eye. He had loved her as he pursued him through the storm. He had loved her even as Vhagar had closed her jaws around the boy, swallowing him whole. He had loved her when he had become a kinslayer. His love persisted, tainted with blood on his hands and a beast raging in his chest.
Yet, now that love would never suffice.
Love would not redeem a monster, and he was undeniably that–a monster.
But still, he loved her.
Desperately.
Painfully.
Monstrously.
He loved her, deeply and irrevocably.
“You didn’t even have the courage to tell me yourself–to face me as you ripped my heart to pieces with your vengeance,” Daenera said, her voice laden with accusation and heartbreak.
“I meant to grant you one more night with your brother still alive,” Aemond said, maintaining an even tone despite the strain of the words catching in his throat, threatening to turn into something entirely different. He swallowed hard, pushing down both the words and the swell of emotions they brought, forcing them down beneath the surface of his cool composure.
“What you meant doesn’t mean anything,” Daenera said coolly, her tone dismissive and edged with bitterness. “It doesn’t matter now. The only thing that matters is what you’ve done… You are a coward… And I, the fool that loved you.”
Daenera curled in on herself like a withering flower, her face buried in her knees as she closed herself off to the world around her.
Aemond swallowed thickly, sensing a hot trickle down his cheek. Reach up, he brushed it away with a finger, his frown deepening as he looked down at the mixture of water and blood from a cut on his finger, the stinging sensation sharp. He quickly wiped his face with his sleeve, a surge of disdain for his own perceived weakness washing over him.
He had cried out years ago when the blade had sliced through his eye, when the hot blood scorched down his face. Since then, he hadn’t shed a single tear–not through the countless stitches, not through the painful procedures to remove scar tissue, not even when he had replaced his eye with a sapphire. Since then, he had not allowed himself the release of tears.
And now, the prickle of tears burned behind his eyes–both the real and the sapphire one. He swallowed them bitterly, finding within himself a gentleness he didn’t feel moments before. “Let the maester tend to your wounds.”
Then, turning away, Aemond moved through the destruction and stepped out into the hall. There, he was met by Lady Mertha, impatiently wringing her hands, the other serving girl, and Maester Orwyle.
“Mother have mercy, what has she done to you?!” Lady Mertha exclaimed, her voice laced with shock as she took in his disheveled and wounded appearance. “That wretched girl is more animal than human. First, she strikes me and forces me out, then she thrashes the place, and now she’s attacked you! The girl has lost her senses. We must confine her somewhere more secure where she can’t harm anyone–or herself–”
“You will not move her,” Aemond interjected sharply, his voice icy as he glared at Lady Mertha, a blaze of annoyance and anger burning within him.
“But, my prince, she poses a threat to everyone around her!”
“You will do as I command,” Aemond snapped, his patience worn thin. “Clean her room, tend to her needs, and keep her comfortable. She is a princess and soon to be my wife. Is that understood, Lady Mertha?”
Lady Mertha clenched her teeth, her frustration evident, but she acquiesced with a curt nod. “Yes, my prince.”
Turning his attention to Maester Orwyle, Aemond cordered, “See to her wounds.”
“You should have someone look at yours as well–” Maester Orwyle started to suggest, but Aemond cut him off by turning and walking away.
As he stormed in, the room’s tension spiked; the servant tending to the water basin startled visibly at his tempestuous entrance. The servant’s eyes widened, a flash of fear passing over his face as he hastily made his way out of the room, avoiding any confrontation with Aemond who was too consumed with his own turmoil.
Aemond paced his room, his heart seething with a tumult of rage and bitterness, the pain of a fresh wound on his heart throbbing deep within. It felt as though Daenera had ruthlessly laid him open, her hands cruelly digging into his chest to wrench at a heart he had believed had turned into stone when he had killed Lucerys. Yet, to his dismay, he found it still tender, easily shaped and squeezed by her will.
What a cruel and burdensome affliction it was to own a heart, Aemond thought bitterly. And how terrible it was that it remained irrevocably bound to her.
Aemond despised the vulnerability Daenera had exposed in him. He believed he shouldn’t be tormented by conflict over Lucerys’s death. He shouldn’t feel the desire to fall to his knees before her, like a penitent sinner begging for absolution, nor should he crave punishment from her hands as a means of purging his sins. Yet, the shameful truth was that he would crawl to her if she merely hinted at the desire.
This realization gnawed at him, branding him as both pathetic and weak in his own eyes.
In a surge of frustration, Aemond grabbed the water basin and hurled it to the floor. The metal clanged against the stone, water splashing out in a reckless display. It was a childish outburst, he knew, and it filled him with shame.
Just then, a soft voice called out, “Aemond.”
He turned, weary and tense, to see Helaena standing in the doorway. Her presence, poised and concerned, momentarily stilled the room. Her expression softened as if she understood the turmoil he was in, and she quickly instructed someone outside.
“Bring me a new basin of water and some cloth.” She then stepped inside, moving gracefully to the table and taking a seat before turning her gaze upon him with an expectant expression, her eyes then subtly gesturing towards the chair opposite her, inviting him to sit.
Aemond felt his rage twisting within his chest, threatening to become something pitifully weak. He shifted on his feet, swallowing back the sharp retorts teetering on the tip of his tongue, words that would undoubtedly wound her if he spoke. He craved solitude, yearning to stew in his misery and rage–and sadness–alone.
Despite his reluctance, he moved to the table and took a seat across from Helaena just as a servant entered, setting down a bowl of water and some fresh cloth next to a small jaw and a pair of pinchers that Helaena had brought with her. She placed her hand openly on the table, her gesture expectant, silently prompting him to offer his own hand to her to tend to his wounds.
He almost wished she wouldn’t.
“She hates me,” Aemond confessed in a raw, low voice once the servant had departed, somehow needing to tell someone. His words carried the weight of his turmoil, hanging softly in the quiet room.
Reluctantly, Aemond extended his hand, placing it in Helaena’s open palm. His hand was a testament to ruination: blood smeared across his skin, some cuts superficial, other’s deeper. Jagged shards of glass were embedded in the flesh of his palm, particularly in the softer, more vulnerable areas devoid of calluses.
“Love and hate are two sides of the same coin,” Helaena murmured contemplatively as she picked up the pincers to gently remove the glass from his palm. She worked with precision and attentiveness, much like she would when handling one of her insect specimens. “One is rarely without the other.”
Aemond clenched his teeth, bracing himself as she carefully extracted one of the larger shards embedded in his flesh. His heart thudded painfully against his chest, each beat a heavy discordant trump that felt disjointed from its usual rhythm. The sound of glass clinking as she dropped the shard into a small blow next to the water basin punctuated the heavy silence that filled the room.
“You’ve always been better at enduring physical pain than emotional,” Helaena observed quietly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she worked to remove a stubborn piece of glass from his palm. Each failed attempt caused a sharp sting, aggravating the wound further, yet the pain in his palm was bearable–a mere discomfort to the deeper, more insidious pain lurking at the edges of his mind.
“Do you regret it?” Helaena asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she successfully gripped the stubborn piece of glass. With precise movements, she extracted it, letting it fall into the bowl with a tiny clink. She then washed the pincers clean of blood before returning to his palm to remove another shard.
“I have nothing to regret,” Aemond replied, his voice flat and devoid of emotion–echoing with the hollow numbness that began to settle within him. “He deserved to die for what he did to me.”
Helaena’s eyes lifted to meet his for a moment, her expression a mixture of incredulity and a deep, sorrowful understanding.
“I regret the pain it is causing her,” Aemond continued, his voice low, almost blending with the subtle sounds of the hearth as he braced against the pinch of the pincers on his skin. “I never meant to…”
His words trailed off, faltering as he grappled with the contradiction. How could he claim he never meant to hurt her when he so clearly desired her brother’s death? He was acutely aware of the pain it would inflict on her; he knew the depths of grief it would cause. Though he had sought revenge, perhaps he had not envisioned the consequences unfolding exactly as they had–not as a chaotic, uncontrollable act, but the intent had always been clear in his mind. He had always wanted her brother dead, and that desire for vengeance had driven him. What was left to him now?
“He was her brother,” Helaena murmured gently, her tone soft but carrying an underlying weight.
“I’m not sorry he’s dead,” Aemond admitted, his gaze fixed on the blood that welled up on his palm as Helaena carefully removed another shard. She dabbed at the wound with a cloth, her touch gentle yet methodical. “I only… I only wish the circumstances had been different. Had I met him on the battlefield, had it been a matter of first blood already drawn…”
His voice trailed off as his throat tightened. He swallowed hard against the constriction, his teeth gritted as a wave of bitterness gripped his heart.
“Had it not made you a kinslayer,” Helaena concluded, her voice tinged with a melancholic sadness. Her touch remained gentle as she moistened a cloth and brought it to his palm, washing away the blood. She tended to his wounds with such care, as though she believed she could cleanse not only his skin but also wash away the deeper stains–the blood that would forever mark his hands, his name, and his soul. “There will be more kinslayers by the end of this war…”
“It’s different,” Aemond responded firmly. His expression hardened slightly.
And it was different. They had been in the initial stages of war–a war waged with ravens and diplomacy, however foolish he thought it was, a time of making preparations and gathering allies. These beginning stages had come to an end when Vhagar’s maw had closed around the boy and his dragon, when Aemond had spilled the first true blood of the war–when he had earned the title of Kinslayer.
“It is all I’ll ever be now,” Aemond muttered solemnly as Helaena continued to extract glass from his other hand. The bow beside them slowly filled with shards of bloody glass. “It is all I will ever be to her.”
Helaena hummed thoughtfully, her head tilting as she carefully removed another shard from his palm. “It is not all you’ll ever be. It is not the only thing you’ll ever be… You’re a kinslayer, and nothing will ever erase that stain, but you mustn’t let it define you. You mustn't allow it to be the only thing you are.”
“I’m a monster,” Aemond said, words laden with disgust.
“Are you truly a monster or a beast who obeys its own nature? Or a boy who is neither and both at the same time?” Helaena mused aloud, carefully removing the last shard of glass from his palm and gently cleansing it with water. “There is certainly a beast within you, as there is within all of us. We are all capable of monstrous deeds, but does that alone define us as monsters?”
“I don’t have the answers to your questions,” Aemond replied wearily, his voice trailing off as he lacked the energy or inclination to engage in philosophical debates.
Meeting his gaze with her pale blue eyes, Helaena spoke in a voice that was both firm and gentle, “You have fed the beast, Aemond. Vengeance is insatiable, and once it has tasted blood, its appetite only grows. She, too, will feed it, offer it names and blood. Cursed twice over by deed and desire… There’s a debt to be paid…”
“The debt has been settled,” Aemond asserted, lifting his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, signaling his frustration and exhaustion. He was not in the headspace for her riddles.
“Has it?” Helaena challenged softly, taking his hand and placing it back on the table. She then opened the lid of the small jaw, releasing a herbal aroma into the air that made his heart twist. “A son for an eye–is that a fair exchange?”
“It is,” Aemond responded sharply, his teeth clenched as he struggled to maintain the gentleness he always tried to extend to his sister, despite the irritation kindled by her probing words.
“The seed grows strong; it will continue to grow until it breaks through the darkness into the light,” Helaena murmured softly, a sad frown marking her features. Her gaze remained fixed on his hand as she carefully applied a bit of cream to each wound. “It will flourish and grow–one turn, two turn, three–fueled by love and hope. And in its growth, it might offer reconciliation.”
The cream, a concoction of Daenera’s making, delivered a wonderfully sharp sting that made him wish it was her applying it.
“She’ll never forgive me for this,” Aemond said, his voice drawn out with weariness.
“Do you seek her forgiveness?” Helaena challenged, securing the lid on the jaw before she began to wrap his hand in cloth. As she finished, her eyes met his once more, reflecting a sad yet understanding shade of blue.
“How could she forgive you?” Helaena spoke gently, her words laden with empathy but unflinching in their honesty. “Forgiving you would be akin to condoning her brother’s death. You can’t ask that of her; it would be selfish and cruel. Seeking her forgiveness might ease your conscience, but it wouldn’t alleviate her pain but only deepen it. Don’t do that to her.”
Aemond’s heart wrenched painfully inside him, and he felt that all-too-familiar prickling behind his eyes and tightening at the top of his throat. Turning his gaze away, he curled his hand on the table, his jaw clenching as he gritted his teeth, struggling to swallow her words.
With a soft sigh, Helaena stood up from her chair, her hands briefly running through his hair in a gentle, rare gesture of affection. Her touch, though fleeting, seemed to convey an understanding of his deep-seated pain–the heavy, insistent thud of his heart beating against his ribs.
“Will you see her?” Aemond asked, forcing his gaze back to her. His company wouldn’t offer Daenera any comfort, but he hoped that his sisters might.
Helaena offered a small, knowing smile as confirmation, then paused at the threshold, and gave him one last meaningful look before she disappeared through the door. “The council has called another meeting. You should attend.”
Aemond let out a weary sigh, forcibly pushing down the ache in his heart, transforming it into something cold and hardened. Methodically, he reassembled the mask of composure, resigning himself once more to the role he was expected to play.
#a vow of blood#hotd#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond one eye#aemond smut#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond x oc
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Pearl of The Realm
Aemond x wife!reader | HOTD Big Bang!
Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.
Word Count: 9,240 (oops) | Warnings below the cut~
A/N: My fic for the HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @solisarium for the artwork! 🥰 Please also support all the other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, and thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organising this event ❤
Warnings: arranged marriage, virginity loss, p in v sex, domination, corruption kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, canon typical sexism, aemond has a breeding kink (obvi), dark!aemond (ish)
Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.
To the realm. His title. But most of all, his family.
As a Prince of the Realm, he had many duties.
For most of his adult life he had trained relentlessly with the sword, striving to become better than his own teacher.
He had buried his nose in books, absorbing information from them, willing them to stick to the insides of his head to obtain intelligence unmatched by any other member of his family.
And, most of all, he had upheld his faithful relationship with his mother, whom he cherished dearly, and his sister equally.
He'd always felt close to the women in his life. But his mother had a special place in his heart. She had been through such hardships, such sacrifice.
And when she'd exploded that night in Driftmark, as inexcusable as she seemed the behaviour to be, he had felt such utter devotion towards her that she would be so angry on his behalf. At a time when he had felt so vulnerable, and felt that his own voice as well as hers had been ignored by the man in their lives.
A man who had so repeatedly, let them down.
He would never admit it out loud, but a part of him sought pleasure in the fact his father was largely bed-bound these days. Even more so that his own father had lost an eye as a result of his worsening condition.
It felt like the Gods were looking down on him and validating him.
But there was one duty he had yet to perform.
Taking a wife.
Unfortunately for him, that time was upon him, and he had no interest in it whatsoever.
As much as Alicent tried, and she really did try, she could not get her second son interested in courting the ladies at the Keep.
As soon as Aemond clapped an eye on the opposite sex, he would retreat in the opposite direction. Not even bothering to engage in conversation, surmising perhaps that he had little in common with them.
He'd never met a lady before who shared the same interests, why start actively seeking them out now?
Alicent's son was in his prime, rooted in adulthood, and she knew it was time, like it or not, that he was wed.
Aemond stood stock still, hands behind his back curled into fists, biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to show his mother the annoyance on his face. Her words were those of truth. He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.
What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned.
That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.
Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.
He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court.
And mercifully, Aemond sighed with relief that she was not.
Something struck deep within his chest. His mother spoke of her so wonderfully, as if she were a star plucked from the sky, and Aemond pondered if such attributes could be proven correct by simply meeting her once, as Alicent had. What woman, and of what standing, deserved such praise, after only meeting for a short time?
What would she look like? Her mannerisms, her stature, her smile? He found himself haunted by these thoughts without even knowing the woman’s name. Much less, her appearance.
He feared that she might share the same sentiments as the other ladies at court once they were due to meet, chaperoned by her ladies and tainted by their company. Perhaps they had their own opinions that they instilled on her also. She might be afraid of him, he thought. Maybe it is not so bad if she feared him, he allowed himself to think.
Aemond could not find it in his heart to expose himself so willingly to a stranger he was due to wed, and so when word reached the Keep that she had arrived and made her pleasantries, he thought to have mercy on the poor thing, stay clear and not dim her supposed ethereal presence with the darkness that followed at his back since the day he lost his eye.
There was some power in not allowing her to see him until their wedding day.
While a small part of him felt empathetic to the poor girl, that her betrothed chose not to greet her on arrival, another part of him was somewhat self-assured that he had made the right decision. It was the little power he felt he had.
When one thinks of a wedding, they might imagine the Sept beaming with joy, crammed with people all eager to feast their eyes on the new royal couple. But as Aemond stood before the Septon, with the extended feeling of nervousness at the fact she had yet to arrive, he could hear nothing.The Sept was dead silent. The people, the lords and ladies, as well as his family, were in attendance, watching with wide, curious eyes, too terrified to make a sound.
His hands were rigid behind his back, dressed in his finery, feeling the tightness of his clothes against his chest where his heart was hammering underneath.
For duty. For family.
He did not see her at first, as she was on his blind side, but once she’d well and truly stepped beside him, he spared a glance at her and felt his mouth go utterly dry.
Her dress, which he presumed were her house colours, was a light pastel, almost dream-like when combined with the translucent silky fabric graced atop it. He watched with curiosity as she let go of her father’s hand. Her gaze and almost undetectable smile was warm and inviting, as if the space around her was simply alight with her presence. Her father peeled the cloak from her shoulders, and it reminded him that he had the cloak with the Targaryen colours fisted in his grip.
Her hair was pinned up in a series of braids, all varying in size, and he was ashamed to admit that the first thought that came to mind was not that she looked beautiful with them, but that they must be uncomfortable. He was allowed to have his hair loose around his shoulders, whereas this woman, and he supposed others like her, were prodded and poked to look their best to the detriment of their comfort.
Aemond found it impossible to stare ahead and listen to the Septon, and he could’ve let a heavy breath loose when he was asked to cloak her. He swallowed over the lump in his throat that had formed and lifted his gaze to look down at her. Her bright, warm eyes looked up at him, revealing nothing about what she was really thinking, and her lips were full and looked soft, forcing him to think what they would feel like when they would sign their marriage with a kiss later.
He took a breath and placed the cloak on her shoulders, half thinking that such a heavy, large thing would swallow her whole, for her form was smaller than his, and therefore more delicate. Placing his hands on her, but not directly, still felt somewhat intimate, especially in a room of so many people watching. But something stirred deep within when he stepped back and observed that the colours complimented her, like she was meant to be his and belong to him.
They faced each other as the Septon spoke.
Aemond watched every micro-movement. The fluttering of her eyelashes, the deep intakes of breath through her nose and her thumb brushing over her hand, in what he could only assume was nerves, though she was hiding it well on her face.
It was only here that he noticed she wore a dainty pearl necklace, not at all gaudy in size, but small and delicate, like he perceived her to be.
A feeling he didn’t know hummed in his blood. And it showed when both of them were asked to conclude the ceremony with a kiss.
“With this kiss I pledge my love.”
Aemond had to be the one to lean down to meet her in the middle, and he felt his blood thrum when their lips met, excited to find that her lips were as soft as he had imagined. He could not help the lewd thought that passed through his mind, and wondered if the rest of her was as supple and luxurious.
Curse the wedding feast, he wanted to find out right after the ceremony.
He was not overzealous with the kiss, not wanting to frighten her. But he was equally delighted when they parted to the applause of the lords and ladies, to find that her cheeks were faintly bloomed with warmth. His lips pulled into an indistinct smile at the idea that he was the first man that would have made her feel that way, and it pulled a possessive string in Aemond’s body towards her.
He took her hand in his and led her away from the Septon, through the line of people, and relished in the fact that she was now his. Aemond felt somewhat ashamed when his manhood began to harden within his breeches at the mere touch of her hand, and wondered what hers would look like wrapped around it. If her fingers could barely encircle it, and if she would be good and pliant, do as she’s told, and please him.
The wine during the feast surprisingly did nothing to quell the hardness between his legs. He yearned so desperately for her, sat right next to him, posture straight and proper like a good lady wife, with her hands clasped so delicately in her lap. She had yet to say a word to him and he thought she must have been raised very strict, not speaking to her betters without being spoken to first, and now that person was her husband.
It was difficult not to look unimpressed when the various lords and ladies all queued up to provide their congratulations to the intimate little table he and his wife were seated at during the feast.
He watched his mother beam with joy, though he and his wife had not spoken. Aegon had snickered, clearly thinking something inappropriate. And Otto had bowed, offering congratulations as if he had not been involved in the match behind the scenes along with Alicent the entire time. Did he think he was stupid?
Not even his father had managed to pull himself from his bed to offer his congratulations. But, Aemond thought then, he was glad he didn't have to see his face.
At times he could suppress his sheer boredom and impatience, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could fuck his wife and see what pretty sounds she could make. With the absence of her voice, it only made him more impatient to find out.
Surely, the girl might not have been afraid of him? He thought.
Aemond almost regretted hoping she was afraid of him, but there was some dull excitement in thinking she was, even now, with how beautiful she looked. When he takes her maidenhead, as he was sure she was entirely pure, would her soft eyes look up at him in fear, or in pleasure, or both?
He found his gaze wandering over her for several quiet moments, watching her profile as she scanned the hall, observing everyone else enjoying themselves. Whilst he appeared somewhat indifferent to her to anyone else’s untrained eye, he was otherwise calm and collected. Her lips glistened against the warm amber glow of the candles adorning the table, and he could not hide his delight in seeing how she swallowed nervously. She must have felt his gaze on her, he thought. And as he watched her throat bob, he was drawn to her chest, where the pearls lay, and watched as her breathing pushed her breasts somewhat over the bust of her dress.
He imagined those pearls dancing while he fucked her, her breasts moving with the rhythm of driving his cock into her sweet wetness. Her lips parted with hurried breaths as she struggled to gain it while she appeased him with the sound of her soft moans.
“Are the celebrations to your liking, wife?”
He smirked, testing the title on his tongue.
The insides of him glimmered in excitement when she turned, her posture still perfect and straight. Her wide, innocent eyes met his with curiosity, and also fright that he had spoken to her in such a way. She almost seemed to flinch at the new title he’d referred to her as.
She gave an almost indistinguishable nod, her grip tightening on her hands, “Yes, husband, thank you.” She replied with a wavering voice.
She studied him for a moment, watching as he gave a lopsided smirk, adoring the way she seemed so nervous in his presence, and speaking to her husband. He drank slowly, continuing to watch her squirm under his gaze. Her breathing had hastened, evident by the way she struggled under the tight confines of her boned dress.
Her voice was smooth, like the sweetest honey, and he couldn’t wait to hear how it would translate, echoing throughout their marital chambers, with his flesh pressed against hers.
He never imagined merely envisioning power over something so delicate could be so exhilarating.
Aemond had to hide how elated he was when their leave was announced. He stood, and therefore she did as well, like a delayed little shadow.
She was an obedient little thing, he surmised, as she followed quietly, willfully ignorant to the leering glances and smirks of the lords and ladies who parted a path for them. Every single one of them was curious, as to how such a quiet, soft girl could tame someone so fearsome and chaotic as a dragon prince, who could not be caged in as mere mortal men could.
The chambers seemed too grand, too clunky, to house such a perfect thing as her, he thought. She stood stock still in the middle of his chambers, which he would now share with her, and watched amused as she looked around and took in her surroundings as if she were in some kind of danger. Her pupils flitted about the darkened room, lit only in a warm glow from various candlesticks placed most deliberately.
Her pale dress cast a glow against the grey of the room, as well as her aura, which seemed to lift all the tension from his body and direct it to the place he had needed her the most since he laid his eye on her.
The glass decanter clinked as he poured himself a cup of wine, his back to her.
Aemond turned and extended the decanter only slightly, asking wordlessly if she would like one as well.
But she simply wringed her hands and shook her head, her body wracked with nerves.
Aemond only chuckled, cup of wine in hand and looked upon her, standing so diligently, where he’d left her.
“Wine might dull your nerves, my lady wife.” He mused, watching the way she looked down in embarrassment at being able to see inside her head so clearly.
Every now and then, she would peek over at the well made bed, like it was an inevitability, and not a place where she would share her most intimate and passionate moments with her new husband.
There was a dark red blanket held taught atop the pale sheets.
A warning.
There were never such dark, stark colours atop her bed sheets at home, and she wondered silently why they would choose such a menacing colour to adorn a place where you may lay your head to rest.
A peaceful night’s sleep. A moment’s passion. The birth of a child.
She thought, beds are where we are born, where we sleep, where marriages are made, where women give birth, which is often their last. And where we die. Not necessarily in that order.
Her husband may have thought a bed a peaceful thing.
But to her, many dangerous things may take place in a bed. And she had heard the stories of a dragon’s temper. Of lords, not necessarily of royal standing, taking their wives on their wedding night, whether their wives were willing or not. And this, is what she feared.
“You need not be so afraid.”
He tore her from her thoughts. And she blushed and felt warm all over realising he had caught her staring at the bed, her body betraying how nervous she felt.
When he looked at her, he felt his manhood throb. He wondered if the blood would rush to her cunny the same way it rushed to her cheeks, and how her flesh would cover her delicious curves beneath the softness of her gown.
He felt excited when she opened her mouth, forcing the air into her lungs like it took all her effort.
“May I ask for your assistance with my gown, husband?” She asked sweetly, with her eyes downcast.
Husband.
He felt his cock become impossibly harder.
He poked his cheek with his tongue in amusement, pushing himself off what he was leaning on and made towards her, watching the way she shrunk the closer he got. She turned slowly, showing him her back, where the laces of her dress were tied so tightly, he was surprised she had not asked him sooner.
While he worked on them, loosening the fabric around her middle, his breath hitched when he saw the shift underneath. She moved her hands to her hair, pulling several pins from it where the braids had been twisted together. She visibly shivered under his touch when the laces were undone and he pushed the stiff fabric apart across her back.
Her hair fell to her shoulders, and she used the sharpened tip of the pins to undo the braids into delicate wavy strands, all while unaware how her new husband marvelled at her out of sight.
She walked away from him for a moment to the vanity, never meeting the looking glass with her eyes, but simply placing the pins in a trinket bowl. With the gown loosened around her shoulders, the fabric lifted when she reached up to unclasp the necklace.
“Leave that on.”
She met his gaze in the mirror, questioning. Her cheeks alight with what he was suggesting.
But he didn’t say anything else.
So instead, she cleared her throat quietly, and pulled the heavy dress from her shoulders, folding it lengthways and draping it over an armchair. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, anxious. Aemond merely watched, his doublet feeling tight and hot against his chest. He could make out the silhouette of her form beneath the thin cotton, the candlelight illuminating her, as if her body was the soft and gentle morning sun, peeking over the horizon to set the day alight.
He heard her shuddered breath and allowed himself to think about what it would feel like against his neck while he rutted into her. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer to her, to sink deeper into her hot insides.
“I do hope that…I please you…with my appearance.” She murmured, turning with her body to face him from a distance. She sounded embarrassed, and shy.
Aemond furrowed his brows.
“Why do you say such a thing?” He asked, colder than he had meant to sound. And it’s clear that the tone of it made her shudder more, which he didn’t intend.
“I only meant that…I hope I am pleasing to the eye…and that I shall be obedient and supportive, as a good wife should be.”
He fought the urge to smile, not wanting to embarrass her further. His silence towards her had clearly given her the wrong impression. That he didn’t approve of her, and perhaps she thought that she wasn’t suitable for him because of his reaction.
“Come here.”
She did as he asked, albeit slowly, until she stood right in front of him.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Does my appearance scare you, he thought with curiosity, and panic.
Does my ailment make you uneasy, as it does the other ladies?
She shook her head softly, “No.” She answered quietly, “It’s just… my Septa said…that the night of consummation would be…” she trailed off, speaking too quietly for him to hear.
“It is alright. Speak again, without fear.”
She swallowed as she looked at him, having to crane her neck.
“She said…the night of consummation would be painful…and that it must be endured. As wives are to be submissive and obedient to their husbands.”
She spoke as if she were speaking from a line in a book. And Aemond thought she must have had this idea stamped into her brain from a very young age. It both concerned and irritated him to think that a young child, forming into a young woman, would be forced into being so terrified of such intimacy by a caregiver who ultimately knew little about marriage.
“There will be some pain.” He replied simply, watching the way she flinched at his words, “But I do not wish for you to endure it simply because you have been told to.”
His fingers came to the tresses of hair that hung on her shoulders, threading his fingers through them and revelling in their softness. Her eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted, absorbing his words, and he could see behind them that he was challenging everything she had ever been told.
“If there is pain, you must tell me.”
She inhaled slowly, gathering her nerves, and nodded simply.
“Come. Lay on the bed.”
Though he spoke softer, there was still a coldness to the way he gave his demands. But nonetheless, she did as he said, and stared up to the canopy of the bed, feeling her heart going so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest.
All she heard was the rustling of leather, the unlooping of his belt, and the clinking of his silver clasps.
She felt the mattress dip at the end of the bed and saw her new husband, without his doublet, but with his breeches only untied halfway, so she could not see a thing. But even so, the sight of a man naked on his torso had her heart still in her chest, and warmth crawl up to her cheeks. Aemond chuckled slightly, not wishing to embarrass her.
“Have you seen a man bare before, little one?” He asked, laying down beside her. She tried with the utmost effort to not stare at him, fearing that in some way she would anger him. His chest was well-muscled and pale, shimmering in the low light of the chambers and littered with many tiny scars that had silvered with time. His hair ran like milk over his shoulders, so silky it seemed to stick to his smooth skin.
She shook her head, and mouthed ‘no’. His manhood throbbed in his breeches at the thought that she had not even seen a man beneath his clothes before, and that he would be the first.
“It is alright, there is no need to be embarrassed.” He gave her a soft smile, trying his best to appear comforting.
But it could not be ignored that they were strangers, and it was his fault that he had not gone to see her before marriage and get to know her better. And on top of that, she was afraid, not of him, but that he might hurt her and that it would define her expectations for the rest of the marriage.
She flinched noticeably in shock, not out of fear, but at not having been touched so intimately, when his palm ran softly up her leg, taking her shift with it.
“Relax.”
She tried to do as he said.
She was so jumpy and nervous, Aemond wondered for a brief, funny moment, if she had even spoken to a man before today.
So he asked a question which he thought was almost silly to ask.
“Have you ever touched yourself?”
His question was answered immediately when she flushed and her face went all warm, and suddenly she was unable to meet his gaze. She shook her head softly. And instead of feeling bad for her, a devilish grin split across his face, all the blood going south.
She was so pious, and so devoted to the Seven, that she had saved any part of her inner desires for her husband to be.
He would be the first to give her pleasure of any kind.
To touch her intimately.
To make her feel as beautiful as he thought she was.
“It is alright. I shall show you.” He added softly, his voice like the purr of a cat.
She dared to look back at him as his hand trailed higher, dipping beneath the hem of her shift to touch her smooth skin beneath, “How will it feel?...”
“It may feel strange at first,” He answered honestly, “But after that, it should be pleasurable.”
She seemed to accept his answer, but her legs were pressed together almost instinctively, like her body was telling her it needed to appear smaller. His sharp nose pressed into her hair, inhaling her pleasant, female scent. His breath against the shell of her ear, hot puffs of air landing against her neck, where he began to place one, and then two open-mouthed kisses.
His eye wandered over her from this angle. Looking down her body, he could see the shadow of what lay beneath her shift in between her breasts as they moved with her breathing, which was slow and calculated. He could see how her hands held the bedsheets below her in her palm, not tightly, but prepared to pull on them if she needed.
She shivered with a shuddered breath when he kissed her, trailing his lips lower to her collarbone, past her string of delicate pearls, and he could see that beneath the cotton, her nipples had reacted to the chill of the room, but he liked to imagine that it was because of the way he was touching her so lovingly.
His hand completely slipped past where her hip met her leg, not touching her womanhood just yet, but close enough to feel its warmth. He felt the gooseflesh on her tummy as he trailed upwards, the shift bunched against his arm when his palm slid over her breast. She gasped softly as he squeezed tenderly, testing the weight of it in his palm and kneading it, and when he looked up to her briefly, she had closed her eyes.
He would tell her to open them later, after he did what he planned.
Her hips moved towards the mattress when his deft fingers dipped between her legs, the tips parting her folds to her entrance first, where Aemond began to feel the slick, as little as there was, gathered around it.
She was beginning to feel aroused even if she didn't know it.
She whimpered, pressing her lips together when she felt his fingers in such a strange, forbidden place. Her eyebrows furrowed in discomfort.
"Shh…" He cooed, the air brushing against her cheek, "Relax, dear wife."
She swallowed thick, and relaxed her thighs so that they weren't pushed together as much. The title he'd given her making her head feel as if it were full of air and nothing else.
A part of her felt bad. For she was supposed to be an obedient, pliant little wife, and he was taking care of her so diligently and she was still afraid.
"I apologise-"
"Do not apologise." He replied quickly, and her eyes opened, glistening with a new expression of understanding, "Only feel."
Her breath quickened.
Feel?
"Feel how I touch you here -"
He drew his fingers from her entrance to her pearl, drawing little soft circles using her arousal for ease. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes glued to him, a near-indistinguishable gasp falling from her lips. She began to feel a sort of ache, deep in her stomach that felt strange. And her hips began to move in micro-movements.
"This is where you feel the most pleasure." He whispered, his fingers moving sometimes directly and then indirectly over her pearl. At others, the anticipation of them being close to it had her hips searching for the touch.
"How does it feel?" He asked.
She struggled to think of a word, having never felt this dull and yet pleasurable rush to her core.
"Strange…pleasantly so."
He continued to move slowly, not making a direct effort to make her peak like this, just allowing her to feel what the touch of a man, the touch of her husband, could feel like.
"I will prepare you like this, so that there will be as little pain as possible."
Maintaining eye contact while he said things like that, while he did things to her like this, felt so intimate and so painfully domestic. As if nobody had bothered to care for her so much in her life. Her eyes curiously flitted between his seeing one and his eyepatch, not in fear, but wondering what he might be hiding beneath it.
It would not be removed this night. Or perhaps many to come.
Aemond's fingers moved over her womanhood with ease, more slick began to pool there and lubricate her puffy folds, swollen with arousal. She was wet, but he thought not prepared enough for his cock just yet.
He shifted his body down, his cheek grazing over her still clothed form, as if he was teasing himself. He could easily have asked her to be naked for him. But there was still trust to be gained.
Her eyes were questioning where he might be going. And she truly had no idea.
Using his knee, he settled between her legs, seeing the gooseflesh still there. His hands rucked up her shift, just pausing at the point where it would reveal her womanhood, all slick and ready for him. Her cheeks bloomed as she looked down at him, but didn't have the courage to question.
"Keep your eyes on me." He whispered lowly, his fingers pushing the fabric up so that he could see her cunt, so close to his face. And he was hit right then with the invigorating scent of her, like the sweetest perfume. He felt ashamed that even the scent of her aroused little cunny made his cock weep with arousal.
She looked more embarrassed than anything to have her new husband's face so close to her intimate area she had been taught to keep hidden. And it was hard for her to keep her legs apart. But she couldn't close them for fear of clamping on his head, and his hands were tenderly keeping them spread, his fingers only slightly indented in her supple flesh.
He looked down upon her, his thumb grazing her pearl again and watching with delight as her hips moved again, accompanied with a breath. It was simply too tempting, the idea of tasting her and the sweet nectar that leaked from within.
Holding her thighs, he leaned forward and flattened his tongue against her womanhood, and something primal was awoken inside when he finally tasted his new, little wife. He moved around her folds, and whenever he had to take a breath he placed an open-mouth kiss to it. He spared a glance up at her, and he hadn’t even heard her hurried breathing or tiny whispers of moans, so engrossed in tasting her for the first time.
Her cheeks were alight, her eyes torn between settling on his gaze and what he was doing to her. He had already told her to keep her eyes on him, and Aemond felt pleased that despite how embarrassed she was, she was obeying him.
Aemond redoubled his efforts, using his tongue to part her folds and nuzzling deeper against her, his nose rubbing gently against her pearl and using his wet muscle to dip against her entrance. It’s here that she gave some semblance of a proper moan, slipping shakily out of her throat, her hands tightening on the bed sheets.
He all but moaned against her cunt, delving into the deepest parts of her and dragging his tongue against the top of her velvety walls, trying to find out why she was the way she was. What made her feel the best. How he could make more of those pretty sounds tumble past her lips. He thought he could have spent all his life between her thighs, lapping at her arousal, and he would die a happy man.
In his grip, her thighs began to shake, and her brows furrowed like she didn’t understand what this feeling coursing through her veins was, this fire ablaze in her blood. Pride flooded his head, and he dragged his tongue from the inside of her to her pearl, where he drew circles over it. She jolted in his hold, as if he’d scared her, but he knew that it was because of the overwhelming feeling that was beginning to crest over her, and the uncertainty of it.
With his attention and efforts on her bud alone and she was suitably wet, he looked up at her when he touched her entrance with the pad of his finger. He heard her gasp when he slowly sank one digit inside her, he himself struggling to keep his composure once he realised just how tight she was around his finger alone. And he could barely think straight thinking about how she would feel wrapped around his cock.
He could forgive for the time being that her eyes were closed and brows furrowed, for the new sensation must have been strange for her. Something akin to a strangled whine rumbled from her chest when he was sank all the way inside, curling upwards. And when he brushed against that spot at the top of her walls, gently caressing the slick ridges, her back arched slightly off the mattress, and he smiled against her womanhood.
It appears his little wife was becoming emboldened in her movements by what he was doing to her.
As he continued to please his wife in two separate ways, almost instinctively, her hand came to his bare shoulder. To pull him close? To push him away? She wasn’t entirely sure herself.
He could tell she was on the precipice of something she was unable to comprehend, and was embarrassed to show herself in such an open way.
“What is it, sweet wife?” he asked, drawing his lips from her, now covered entirely in her arousal when he licked at it.
Through her loud pants, she regained her breath as he continued to tease that deep spot inside of her, “What is…” She breathed, her grip closing around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh, not meaning to, which made him smirk.
“Shh, it’s alright.” He cooed, pulling out slightly to slide a second finger inside, using the girth of his fingers to stretch her cunt around him, “I am just making sure you are ready for me.”
He began to pump his fingers inside her like he would fuck her, curling them up to focus his attention and pressure against the sweet spot at the end of her. She was so tight around him, already trying to suck him further inside and clenching hard. He felt his skin stretch around her grip on his shoulder, like she didn’t realise how hard she was holding him.
“ - Aemond - I’m - ”
Aemond.
The way she called him by his name.
There was no shame now in how hard it made him, and he felt as if he would spill right in his breeches and not inside her if she was going to say things like that.
A breathy whine made its way from her mouth, her eyes tightly shut as her face twisted in pleasure, feeling all the pressure leak into her limbs in bliss while Aemond kept pleasuring her, loving how her body was uncontrollably trembling with the force of her peak. He could feel the rush of slick coat his fingers and hand, so he slowed down the pace of his movements, allowing his sweet wife to savour the feeling she’d experienced here for the first time.
“That was your peak, little one.”
Her eyes opened to focus on him, feeling her body erupt in shivers as he pulled his digits from her and smeared her wetness over her thighs, thinking that as erotic and lewd the action was, that is excited her at the place where her husband had just been caressing with his fingers and tongue.
Her pupils were dilated only a bit larger than before, and Aemond felt pride in being the first to make her feel such things, awakening a part of her that had remained dormant for a long time. And while she had been emboldened by what he’d done to please her, her cheeks still bloomed with a faint embarrassment that he found endearing.
His hands traced her sides, taking her shift with it, and her breath hitched at the idea she would be entirely bare before her new husband, who had just given her the first experience of female pleasure. But alongside the trepidation, there was excitement.
Once he pulled her shift over her head and raked his gaze over every inch of her body.
It was a fucking crime that she’d been hiding herself under that gown all evening, he thought.
He thought she was perfection, with her soft and supple curves, and he hadn’t even realised his calloused hands had been kneading her breast until she let out a breathy sound. But she didn’t protest. She just appeared somewhat uncomfortable, as this was the first time she had shown herself so openly to the opposite sex.
“You are beautiful.”
She seemed to calm at least when he said that, relieved her husband found her attractive.
He saw her eyes flit from his one seeing eye to the eyepatch covered one, curious. But she simply swallowed thickly and didn’t say or ask anything. And he too was relieved that she hadn’t asked him to remove it.
He was not sure if he would be ready for that, for some time.
She still wore the little pearls around her neck, and now with her entirely naked with the exception of that, it felt erotic and arousing.
They were the same.
She wore the necklace, he wore the eyepatch, keeping a tiny piece of themself while they joined in matrimonial bliss.
He unlaced the rest of his breeches, watching her breasts move up and down as she breathed in anticipation of what was going to happen and the irreversible fact that she would never be the same afterwards.
“Remember what I said?” he asked, pulling his breeches over his hips. His achingly hard cock sprang free, standing proud and aroused against his stomach.
She took a moment to reply, trying not to stare too much at his member as he stroked himself slowly, the ruddy tip, weeping with arousal, poked out of his fist with every languid movement. She’d never seen one before. But all she knew was that she wondered how on earth it would fit inside her, he looked so thick and long, slightly curved to one side. Was there empty space inside of her she didn’t know about where he would place himself?
Her eyes met his, all glazed over, and she nodded.
“If there is pain, I must tell you.” She repeated what he’d said earlier. Her skin bloomed, for that moment was here right before them.
She tried to relax her body, numb from the force of her very first peak, as the mattress dipped either side of her where he’d leaned on his forearms, his knee brushing the inside of her legs as he nudged them apart so he could place himself there.
“Yes, you must.” He added tenderly, “It is not my intention to hurt you.”
The affection in his words made her stomach roll.
“You are my wife.”
She confirmed with delight that she was. And she nodded, not knowing what to say in response to his statement, but Aemond could see the subtle glimmer in her eyes.
He saw her glance at his manhood with something akin to a mix of fear and curiosity, and she took a sharp breath in as Aemond leaned forward, not pressing his weight on her, and placed several open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, neck and collarbone, teasing her with his teeth, while his cock kissed her puffy folds.
She felt his breath at her skin, her grip loosening on the sheets as he made her feel a little more relaxed.
When he leant forward, parting her folds easily with the aid of her slick, the first thought she had was that it felt strange, but nothing else in particular. It was only when his cockhead had disappeard inside her and he speared her upon his length that she began to tense up, her stomach tightening somewhat unpleasantly. Her hand came automatically to his chest, to try and push him away and make him stop.
He raised his head from her neck, his eye hooded down in concern. He felt her soft, almost-hummingbird-like touch on his chest and felt something fluttering inside of him at the tenderness of it. She was in some pain, not dramatically so, and yet her touch was so gentle.
Nothing was said, and only the utmost patience was offered. And it was difficult to do so for Aemond, with the way her core was holding him so tightly, to stay still and not move an inch. But for the sake of making her feel safe, he did it.
After a moment, she made an effort to relax her muscles for him. Her hand trailed over his muscled chest, as if taking this small window of opportunity to do so. Her fingers ran over the scars he’d gained on his lithe form, wanting to commit every ridge, every little piece of him to her memory as if it was the last time she’d ever see him.
Her eyes shifted to him once he sheathed himself inside her all the way, bottoming out with a low groan. He felt her walls fluttering around him, stretching her to accommodate this size, having not felt anything like this before. Her lips parted to let a soft pained sound past her lips, but that was all, and she felt the worst was behind her.
It felt only slightly uncomfortable, but she was willing to do it for this marriage. To please him.
It was intimate, looking right at her while he was deep inside her, and she gave the faintest of nods, telling him without words that she was alright. She thought she'd never felt more full in her life, nor more connected to someone as she was right at this moment.
It hurt at first, yes, but he had prepared her, waited for her and cherished her like she was precious. And the pain, the sting of losing her maidenhead, was a small price to pay for how full her heart felt, by giving a piece of her to him.
Closing his eye, as if to concentrate, Aemond moved almost entirely out of her to push back in as she gasped below him, the same feeling the second time had a spark licking at her insides that didn’t stop as he began his slow and careful pace. He wanted to tear his gaze off her, desperately, but couldn’t.
It was just as he imagined. With every soft thrust inside her, the pearls at her neck danced, and her cheeks were flushed, eyes shimmering. It wasn’t as animalistically lustful as he envisioned. Before he imagined an innocent thing like her, bending to his will, corrupting her in any way he saw fit.
But now more than anything as he listened to the gentle moans come out of her, he wanted to protect her, to nurture and watch her flourish. The pearls clicked against each other at her neck, her breasts moved, nipples pebbled with arousal, and she’d raised her legs only slightly to wrap around his waist, blinking slowly up at him.
The whore Aegon had gotten him to fuck on his thirteenth nameday was overzealous, large-breasted and older, perhaps more experienced. She had bounced on top of him, her loud moans bouncing off every surface in the room, her hands planted on his chest as she moved her hips up and down on him with loud slaps. He remembered feeling horrified that this is what intimacy was. That this is what men would desire so relentlessly.
It didn’t feel good. And he remembered feeling sick.
But here, with her, looking so lovingly up at him. No hysterical moaning, no pathetic whines to boost his male ego. Just unapologetically everything she was feeling, she was giving to him.
It felt like a gift. To experience real intimacy. And with the person he was due to spend the remainder of his days with.
As if realising he was daydreaming, his hips still moving against her with wet slaps of skin, her hand cupped his face, on the unmarred side, and her thumb stroked over his cheekbone. She touched him so softly he could have wept.
She had seen some kind of thoughtfulness on his face, and in the throes of consummation, was supporting him.
“Aemond.”
When she said his name with such sincerity and care, he blinked slowly and reached his hand up to hers, encircling his fingers around her small wrist, and turned his face into her palm, to kiss the inside tenderly. One kiss to her palm, and one to her wrist. And it felt more intimate than kissing on the lips, which he only now realised with shame, that he’d not done for her yet.
“I am alright.”
He looked at her when she said that. It was as if she could see all of his inner thoughts, and had been able to all evening.
She saw that he had been holding back.
He had been afraid of frightening her, and yet she was allowing him what he wanted.
Her breath caught in her chest with a kind of excitement as his fingers wrapped around her wrist and forced it down to the bed beside her head, his other hand joining her other to keep her pinned tightly under him to the mattress. Her eyes glimmered as she looked up at him, watching his expression change to something more possessive.
“Put your legs around me.”
She did as he asked and raised her legs around his waist, causing his length to brush that same spot inside her that he’d pleasured just moments before. And with an iron grip on her wrists and easier access to her, he dipped his head into her neck, her scent swirling around him and fucked her as he had wanted to the entire evening.
Skin slapped against one another with the moisture of her slick on his pelvis, his stones hitting against her repeatedly with every rough thrust into her wet cunt.
"Does my innocent little wife like to be properly fucked, hm?" He grunts, watching how she blushes and turns her head away out of embarrassment.
"I think you will continue to surprise me, little pearl."
She felt her insides clench at the name he gave her.
Little pearl.
Aemond smirked, increasing the intensity of his driving into her, constantly spearing her open onto his cock, and watching at the way he disappeared into her.
"I can feel you tightening around my cock. Did you like that? Little pearl?"
Her breath was sucked from her with each devastating thrust, and that same pressure was beginning to build in her belly, from when he'd pleasured her before.
"Answer me.”
"Yes - yes, husband - " She replied, breathlessly and gulping for air, throwing her head back against the bed sheets.
He smirked, leaning back and watching how his cock was being covered in her slick everytime he pulled out of her.
He pulled her hips onto his lap, and the angle had his cockhead bullying her tender and sensitive place deep inside of her. Her eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, feeling utterly at his mercy.
Feeling proud of the reactions he was getting, his hand slipped from her hip to her bud. Her pearl. A grin splitting across his face at the lewd thoughts he was having. He circled her sensitive bud tenderly, applying just enough pressure that she clenched around him again.
If she wasn't careful, he would cum right there and then.
"Does that feel good, little one?" He teased her in a low tone, not ceasing his endless pace, pushing himself as far inside her as he could.
"Do you like it when I touch you here?"
She couldn't deny she liked it. The way her back arched, being pleasures in two ways. It was nearly overwhelming. And it took her voice from her.
"Perhaps we should name you Pearl of the Realm." He smirked, increasing both his pace and pressure, "Prim, proper…a good little obedient wife to her lord and husband."
He leaned over, changing the angle yet again.
"But in here, with me, it is this pearl I shall be paying special attention to, dear wife."
His words made her tighten around him, coupled with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving her. She felt her entire body get hot, the pressure in her belly set to explode at any moment.
His delicate and careful ministrations to her bundle of nerves was almost too much, and her hips began to move forward towards his in rhythm with his cock stretching her open, meeting him halfway.
She didn't imagine such lewd words would have an effect on her.
"Husband - "
"I think I will keep you like this. All night if I have to. Paying special attention to this precious pearl you have been neglecting for so long." He mused, his words were strained, as if set to explode himself.
"I will give you my seed. Over and over. Until I am done with you." He breathed through heavy pants, his eye slipping shut, "I will watch you swell with my child. Would you like that?"
She could only whimper in response, fisting the bed sheets as she had nothing else to hold onto, her mouth dropping open as her climax began to crest.
"I would like that. To see these perfect tits all round and full."
The idea of bearing his children was only a fantasy that appeared right at that moment.
"Gods - you are so tight - such a perfect little cunt - fuck - "
She fell apart around him, her entire body filled with such eternal feeling bliss that she felt as if she were floating, her husband's deft fingers still pleasuring her bud.
Her limbs felt numb, her blood like fire under her skin and her lips dropped apart so that a shattered moan could escape her, the only proof that her peak was decimating every nerve in her body with blinding, white hot pleasure.
She tightened impossibly around him, and the pistoning of his cock into her sex was only stilled when he slammed inside her one last time. His length throbbed within her, his spend warming her core at the end and filling her, completing this sacred, intimate ceremony.
They both gulped down air desperately and when Aemond had caught a moment to himself, he spared a look down at his sweet wife, her delicate skin covered in a soft sheen of sweat, eyes shut, breasts shifting erratically with her breathing.
She must have felt his gaze on her, because she turned her head to look up at him. In her once innocent and naive gaze he once saw fear and trepidation. And now her pupils were blown wide and glimmered with lust and a kind of pride that she'd pleased him, and they'd done this together.
Aemond still had a grip on her hips, noticing the red marks where his fingers had been. Her body was littered with them, where he'd been too tempted to nibble at her, to make sure she bore the marks of his passion for her.
He looked down where they were joined, pulling out of her and watching with a lustful curiosity at his spend that leaked from her entrance. It was instinctual, the way two fingers scooped up what had come out, and he gently plunged it back into her as far as he would go.
Overstimulated and tired, she winced, bucking her hips slightly.
Aemond only smiled down at her.
"I can hardly wait to make you a mother, little one."
She laughed a little, exhausted, "You speak of children. We have only lay together once."
Aemond took her reply and smirked, pulling her thighs close to him again.
"In that case - might we try again? I dare say I have already forgotten the first time."
His little pearl smiled tenderly up at him. A safe smile. One of utter adoration. It was like he was being seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. She had been so good to him in the short time he'd known her, and cared enough to let him see her as well.
He felt fulfilled in a way he never had before. Something exciting ran through his blood, like how he felt whenever he trained. As if a new challenge were upon him.
Challenging the notion that had been placed upon him his entire life, that marriage was about ownership. As a wife should belong entirely to her husband.
And while he felt that sheer possessiveness before he really knew her. Knew her properly.
Now, he questioned if marriage was more about respect than anything else.
The fabric covering his eye now felt so heavy. And one day, he thought, he hoped to be able to show himself so openly to her, as she had done for him.
Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.
And he would pay his little pearl all the attention she so deserved.
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Muña (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)
Summary: At the start of the Dance of the Dragons, you host a familiar face. But it is not your husband who darkens your doorstep. It is his nephew.
Warnings: Daemon haunting the narrative. Smut. Body image issues, self-esteem issues. Tully! Reader (Reddish undertone hair) Implied mommy issues. Vaginal sex. Breeding kink
A/N: I got no explanation for this. Might end up writing a part 2 if this does well.
“THERE IS a dragon at our gates.” One of your guards announces. You get up from your seat, a wave of nausea already beginning to make herself known. You would rather not face your husband. Not today. Not ever, if you are being truthful with yourself.
You have gained weight. The slim figure that you flaunted at sixteen is long gone. There is more weight in your hips and chest, a bit of softness around your middle. You know he will mock you for it.
“Open them.” You order, bracing yourself for the uncomfortable encounter. You can’t bar him entrance to what is his home too, despite him not visiting in years. “Tell him to leave the dragon there. I’ll send it some food.”
The guard bows and exits the room. One of your companions, Lady Whent, starts to pace the hall. She fears what your husband coming here might mean for you. The rumors said he had loudly proclaimed he would deal with you himself.
Your choice to keep the Riverlands out of the war effort is controversial, but predictable. Surely, no one in their right mind thought you would aid your husband install his Queen. Not even him. Not after he had left your shared home and started living in sin with her, shaming you in front of the whole realm. Yet again, no one would have called Daemon Targaryen the epitome of saneness.
You go sit on your throne, placing your embroidery aside. Your tenants are happy enough that you don’t hold court as often as the other lords. And when they are not, they still refuse to bring their problems to you unless absolutely necessary. No one wants to burden their poor lady more.
You wish they did. The days would seem less empty that way, rotting away in this castle, your house’s sigil mocking you from every corner. Family, Duty, Honor, they had promised you. None had come.
The guard comes back. You remain sitting on your throne, the one you hardly use. You intend to receive your husband from a position of power, not allow him to cower you. But when you look at the man next to the guard, your breath catches.
This man is not your husband. This man is not even one of Rhaenyra’s men.
“Lady Tully.” He says, taking a deep bow. Very respectful, which would make you doubt his relation to your husband were it not for the fact he shares his silver hair.
“Prince… Aemond.” You say, looking at his face. It’s your best guess as to his identity, considering he has a green banner and an eye patch. He wears all black, the color of House Targaryen. You stand up, and curtsy.
“My lady.”
“My husband is not here.” You say, hurriedly. It’s your first instinct. You do not want that dragon of his torching your tenants.“You are welcome to check the castle and my lands, but there is no love lost between us. I assure you I am not hiding him.”
“I know.” He answers, lips twitching into a smirk. You find nothing humorous about it, but you do not dare voice it. You do not understand what he is doing here, if not chasing after Daemon. “I understand your people… Resent him.”
“It is not our place to judge.” You say, voice firm. This man is at least ten years your junior, you will not allow him to intimidate you. No matter how he towers over you, no matter how menacing and mean his features seem. He is no Daemon Targaryen, this green boy. Your husband is the only man you had truly feared. “Only the Seven are perfect, and thus, entitled to judge others' actions.”
“Very devout.” Aemond steps closer to you, his smile widening. The way his face contorts, sharp and with too many teeth, reminds you of one of the piscivorous fishes you have seen swimming up the stream during summer. The look in their eyes is the same he sports now, right before they decide to feast on an unaware trout. “Just like us. Seems like we have a lot in common.”
You gulp. You wish you were less easy to intimidate.
“We do?”
“We do. I don’t like your husband either. The tales of his prowess have been overly exaggerated. And I do not think you are too keen on bowing to Rhaenyra, considering your marriage will be annulled.” A pair of his fingers pluck a stray curl from your up do, twirling it between his fingers. The slightly copperish undertones of it glint under the candlelight.
The threat looms in the air, uncontested by you. Both Prince Aemond and you know that Queen Rhaenyra would be dissolving your marriage as you speak, were it not for the fact that your husband and her need your lands and men for her war. Annulment in exchange for your life would be a much less cruel punishment than whatever they are cooking.
If you were a quieter woman, a less brave one, you would accept your fate. You would say your marriage had been unconsummated, that you will aid your new sovereign and your ex-husband in their war. But you won’t leave your people to their tender care. With the privileged position your lands have, they are also in the privileged position to be amongst the first to burn.
You are not so craven as to save your life in exchange for the ones of your subjects. Hence, neutrality. Hoping it will spare you. All of you.
“Do you think I want to still be married to him? After all this?” It is not enough, you see it now. With the green banner inside your hall, with the one eyed prince himself sent to rally you behind their cause. Neutrality won’t save you. You need to resist Daemon, not just sit praying he won’t attack you. The Seven know he has no such qualms.
“Perhaps we can make a widow out of you yet.” Aemond says to you, a hint of a smile making his expression turn even more menacing.
Tasting freedom on the tip of your tongue for the first time in years, you smile back.
YOU ARE on your side, Aemond thrusting into you from behind. His hand envelops your hip, greedily grasping your flesh. His other arm is under your head, serving as a pillow. For once, you are not self-conscious.
How could you be, when he had practically begged for entrance to your bed? He wanted you, and the thought of that was as thrilling as it was foreign. You hadn't broken your marriage vows ever since you took them. No man had dared voice interest, considering who your husband was.
Aemond had to convince you to get you here, and you had fumbled like a maiden every step of the way. You didn’t dare defy Daemon either. Despite your loneliness over the years, you had never taken another to your bed. No matter how tempted you had been.
When you had seen Aemond, you weren’t planning to, either. He was your good nephew, Daemon’s family. It was utterly scandalous, yet here you were.
You weren’t too sure how you had ended up into this predicament, though. One second the two of you had been making plans, your Lord Commander eager to be at his service, and the next, Aemond was crowding you against a wall and kissing you with unparalleled hunger. Your doubts had been quieted by his warm hands and eager mouth, as he forced you to writhe on his arms and try to divest him of his clothes. Perhaps he had carried you to your room then. You can’t remember, you just hope no one saw you.
“Did he fuck you like this?” He mouths at your ear, lightly biting. No matter how much you want to banish the thought of Daemon from your mind, Aemond doesn’t let you. It makes you feel guilty, breaking your self-imposed celibacy with your nephew in law, but he seems to get a secret thrill from it.
You don’t have the heart to tell him Daemon and you have only gone to bed together once. The night of your wedding.
You stay silent. His hand slides over your stomach, down to your mound. A single, long finger, slips through your folds and starts to rub circles on your pearl.
“Did my uncle ever make you peak?” Aemond asks you, still rubbing those maddening circles. You can’t think. All that is on your mind is a cloud of pleasure, warm and shameful. You shouldn’t be in bed with Daemon’s nephew. Nor should you be breaking your vows.
Aemond bites at your nape, sharply. Just like his uncle, he doesn’t take kindly to not being the center of attention.
“I asked you a question.”
“No.” You tell him, closing your eyes. Your face burns with your shame. Perhaps it is the embarrassment at your husband hating your bed so much he never visited It any longer, or perhaps it is the fact that you are breaking a vow you had really believed in. But Aemond doesn’t seem to like it, pressing soft kisses into your shoulder in an attempt to relax you.
“I'll give you one.” He promises, rubbing your pearl. His thrusting slows down, allowing the head of his member to hit deep inside you. “In my bed, you won't want for anything.”
The way he says it startles you. Dark, possessive. As if he doesn’t intend to let you go after one night, as if he intends to keep you.
“I don't belong in your bed.” You moan, trying to resist the pleasure that seems so sinful in your eyes. You clench around him despite it, not wanting him to leave your body. His free hand, the one serving as your pillow, grabs at your hair, the auburn mane as a bracelet in his pale arm. The pain of the tug only heightens your pleasure, making your body soar above the wave that threatens to crash and drag you under on the pools of hedonism.
Never before had you felt like this. In your encounter with your husband, as he huffed and puffed over you, you had only felt a quick pain and a vague feeling of shame. He had focused on his pleasure first, kicking you out of bed as soon as he was done.
But Aemond. Aemond stares at you, proud of how you unravel in his arms. He encourages you to do it, taking great delight in watching you fall apart.
“You do. With your gorgeous hair and your delicious cunt, I won't allow you to go elsewhere. You are a gift from the Mother herself.” He whispers, darkly. “I’ll worship you how you deserve, Muña.”
The last word seems to amuse him greatly, for it prompts a chuckle out of him. It’s an odd sound to hear coming from him. He seemed the kind who took himself too seriously. He licks at the shell of your ear, at your face, slobbering all over you.
It should disgust you, yet you can’t help but sigh in his arms. Surrender tastes cloyingly sweet in your mouth.
“I… Married.” You repeat, trying to get Aemond to see reason. You claw at his hands, trying to stop him from bringing you this overwhelming ecstasy that makes your body tense, and your thighs quiver. Your mind feels foggy, your wit reduced to half whimpers and softly spoken words.
“I'll wed you, and place my son on your belly.” He grins against your nape, contemplating his final triumph against Daemon. “My seed will take, where his never could. He is weak.”
“I am already married.” You repeat, a bit more firmly. Aemond laughs, rubbing at your pearl once more.
“Shhh, quiet. Quiet, Muña.” He whispers, pulling you to lie under him. He enters you in a single thrust, not giving you a moment of respite. You cry out, nails raking down his back. “I'll kill him. He is just an old man.”
You mutter something. Maybe a reply. Your lips move, incoherent, and you are screaming, the wave of pleasure finally crashing and pulling you under.
“That’s a good aunt. Squeeze your tight little cunt for me.” He grins, and you think this is it. The two of you are going to the Seven Hells.
#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond x reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x you#prince aemond x you#aemond x you#aemond targaryen smut#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x oc#aemond x original character#aemond x y/n#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd fanfic#hotd#asoiaf fanfic#asoif/got
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Behind the Scenes— masterlist
| actor!aemond × fem!reader completed |
summary: Due to your work as a make-up artist and wardrobe assistant, you meet Aemond, a very successful young actor with whom you work and all professional relationship breaks down and a secret relationship arises, until you get pregnant and decide to run away from him so as not to ruin his successful and promising career. After almost two years, you and he unexpectedly meet again.
i do not own any character from the book "fire and blood" or the series "the house of the dragon" except my own character included. all rights reserved to George R. Martin and HBO.
warnings: a lot of angst, language, heartbreaker, sex content, mention of abortion, mention of depression.
chapter one: behind the reencounter
chapter two: behind the revelation
chapter three: behind the negotiation
chapter four: behind the acceptance
chapter five: behind the success
epiloge: behind the evolution
#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x oc#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#aemond one eye#aemond x y/n#modern aemond
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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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"𝑨𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒚" (Aemond x Reader)
A/N: I want to first say. I STRUGGLE with writing dialogue in different periods. So if I make this into a fic it is going to take me so long because I will have to read other people's stories and rewatch the show so the dialogue can be somewhat realistic. Hopefully, I do well...If not. Don't tell me shit. I don't wanna hear it. // Divider by @firefly-graphics
Summary: You return with your family to King's Landing to defend Lucerys against your uncle Vaemond but he is not the uncle you worry about. Your mind is filled with the man you were once betrothed to what he will say when he sees you, and how he will act. You worry about how your Uncle Aemond will treat you after all this time.
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Tw: Oral Sex (f receiving)
Word Count: 5.4k (an absolute fucking monstrosity written in a couple hours)
"Would say it's nice to be home but I scarcely recognize it." Daemon hums slightly before walking around looking at every bit of the wall in disgust. Rhaenyra turns to you and your brothers. "I trust you three will stay out of trouble while we go visit your grandsire?"
Your brothers nod their heads as you all take your turn to look over what was once your home. It feels...darker than it did when you lived here, almost abandoned. If it was not for the servants walking around you would think it was.
Rhaenyra and Daemon walk away leaving you and your brothers.
"Come on. I want to see if that hole is still in the wall in the training yard." Luke rolls his eyes at the stupid memory which makes you smile. You follow after them as they try to recall the way there.
You don't listen to their conversation as Jace points out the hole that still remains. You can barely pay attention to anything anyone is saying. Your brain has been in panic mode since the moment you were told you would be returning here.
Scared to face your previous betrothed. You feel someone's hands wrap around yours and snap you out of your thoughts.
"Are you alright?" Luke says softly and looks at you worriedly. You nod and ruffle his hair with a smile.
"Im fine. Just...feels weird being back." He doesn't let go of your hand. You notice as he looks around at all the people staring at him and Jace. It had always been like this, people often compared you to your brothers in how different you looked. How you carried Targaryen features while they resembled Harwin Strong.
Unknown to you or your brothers at the time Rhaenyra and Laenor did truly try to conceive at least one trueborn child. But in the end, it was all too uncomfortable for them. It was only on their second try did they attempt it in another way. Laenor at first stayed in the room alone getting himself just before his peak so that when Rhaenyra came in all he had to do was empty himself inside of her. That one time resulted in you. The only child related to Laenor in both blood and name.
Jace comes and pulls Luke away to watch a fight you couldn't care less about. You walked around the yard looking at the various weapons laid out. You knew that you could fight far better than most of the men here, having been trained by Daemon himself.
Bored by the dusty swords and daggers you turn to watch the fight from the other side. Your heart dropped into your ass as you see the man before you.
He was tall...you always thought he would be. His hair sadly no longer carried those curls that once coiled around your fingers as he read to you. An eyepatch sat over his eye breaking your heart as you recalled the night.
"Get off of him!" "Stop it, Jace!" "Don't hurt him!"
You clamped your eyes closed wanting to fight off the painful memory. You were weak then, unable to help. You couldn't protect him in any way that mattered.
The claps of everyone around you had you opening your eyes once more. You watched as Aemond bested Criston in a duel.
"Well done, my prince, You'll be winning tourneys in no time."
"I don't give a shit about tourneys. Nephews...have you come to train?" You see the look on Luke's face and you feel bad for him. He and Jace had spent most of their time trying to learn High Valyrian and barely picked up a sword unless forced to. Aemond had clearly spent all his time training since the accident.
"Open the gates!" Everyone turns to watch as the guards open the gates and men carrying the banners of Velaryon walk in. You walk over to your brothers and hold onto Luke's hands as Vaemond passes by staring Luke down. Vamond's expression only softens as he looks at you and he offers you a warm smile.
The same smile he had given you at Laena's funeral as he took the opportunity to call your brother's bastards in such a sad time. You hear Luke audibly gulp and you try to soothe him by running your fingers over his knuckles.
"Let's go inside." You place a hand on Jace's back to calm him down as you notice the look of anger on his face at the sight of Vaemond.
As you turn to enter the Red Keep your eyes automatically land on Aemond who now wears an expression you can't quite place. His eyes are only on you and for a moment it feels like there's only you two but Jace is quick to step in front of your view and to give Aemond a look you can't see. Whatever it is has him turning around in anger and returning to sparring with Criston.
You walk with Rhaenyra and Rhaena towards Rhaenys.
"Grandmother" Rhaena calls out and basically runs over to her. You follow behind her.
"Rhaena..." Rhaena stands before her as Rhaenys holds her hand. You step beside her and Rhaenys looks over to you. She steps forward and places a hand on your cheek. "You two have grown beautifully." She kisses both of your cheeks.
"Baela said you might be here." Your mother comes closer, each step wary. "She's done well as your ward. You've um... raised her admirably." Rhaenys doesn't look over and keeps her eyes trained on both you and Rhaena.
"You honour me, Princess." Rhaenys smiles softly at Rhaenyra.
"Might I speak to the Princess alone, girls?" Rhaena looks to your grandmother almost for permission. She nods and lets go of both of you.
"Princess." Rhaena begins to walk away. You give your grandmother another kiss on the cheek before leaving.
Rhaenyra smiles at you as you walk away to join Rhaena.
"What do you think they're talking about?" You both look back once more before heading inside.
"I have no idea." You look at your mother who steps closer to your grandmother. Rhaene takes your arm and you turn to her. "Come. Let us go find the boys."
That night it rained and the sound of thunder filled your old chambers. His face filled your memories. His voice echoed in your ears.
"Can I kiss you Aemond?" Your fingertips ran over the dip of his lips as you imagined what they would feel like on yours."You never have to ask Princess."
You touch your lips at the memory of your first kiss. The only kiss you ever got to share with him. How soft his kiss was, how gentle he was. Your lips yearned for another kiss. Your body begs for his warmth and your heart breaks. It breaks at the memory of when your betrothal was cancelled when you knew the future you both talked about would never happen.
"How many children will we have?" Your head lay in his lap as he read a book, his fingers twirling your hair as you pick the petals of a flower. "As many as you are willing to bear me, Princess." You blush brightly which only brings a smile to his face. But your brain always knows how to ruin the moment as a new thought plagues your mind."Would you be angry at me if I had a girl first?" Aemond closes his book and looks down at you. "I could never be angry at you."
You sat up in your bed to the sound of a knock at the door. Your hands roughly smooth over your head pushing your hair back as if it wipes away the memories and dreams.
How can one live like this? How can one continue on in life like this? He is in every breath you take, every time you close your eyes his face decorates the darkness that you simply wish would consume you. You are reminded of him in every waking moment of your life.
Another knock comes to your chamber doors and you know you have no choice but to start your day. You sweat at the thought of seeing him again.
Will he keep to his words? Will he not be angry with you for being gone for so long? For not sending any letters? You did not want to find out. In truth you just want to stay in your chambers all day and sleep, but for the sake of Luke you would attend the hearing.
"The crown will now hear the petitions." Otto sits on the throne as his voice echoes throughout the hall. "Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon."
Vaemond steps forward as everyone looks towards him. Everyone but Aemond. You can see him in the corner of your eye his gaze is focused on you. Never looking away, never taking a break.
You stand next to Daemon looking forward. Knowing that if you even willed your eyes to move it would land on him. And you couldn't bear to look at him.
"My Queen. My Lord Hand." Vaemond then goes on to talk about the history and the days of Old Valyria. You can't hear him, you can't hear anything once more over the beating of your heart.
"Iksis bisa iā qogror iā elekor?" [Is this a class or a hearing?] Daemon whispers to you. He notices your rigid stance and how you're taking in shallow breaths. He places a hand on your elbow and you look over to him. He gives you a look of "Are you ok?" to which you nod.
He returns back to staring Vaemond down hoping he will eventually burn holes into the side of his head and will fall dead where he stands but not everyone is that lucky. It is only then that he notices a one-eye fucker staring in his direction. He shifts his gaze and notices Aemond staring at you. Aemond can feel someone looking at him and looking towards Daemon before pressing his lips in a thin line and giving Vaemond his attention.
"As it does in my sons and daughter, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon." You are snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of your mother's voice. You look over to her. "If you cared so much about your house's blood Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful hair." Vaemond holds a look of anger towards her. "No, you only speak for yourself. and for your own ambition."
"You will have a chance to make your own petition Princess Rhaenyra." You look towards Alicent. "Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard." Next to her, you see the smirks of both Aegon and Aemond. You know they enjoy this, seeing Luke be openly called a bastard.
Why are your brothers blamed and dragged through the mud for what your mother has done? Are they not innocent in their own conceivement?
Vaemond gives Alicent a slight nod before turning towards your family.
"What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?" He speaks to your mother in a condescending tone. "I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn't recognize it."
Your heart twinges for your mother. You feel conflicted all the time. On one hand, your brothers are indeed not blood-related to your father. But he had accepted them as his sons publicly no doubt. What could he have done for people to recognize them as his children? On the other hand, Vaemond proves a point in matters of blood. But is it not the last names people remember?
They both ride dragons, and they learn the tongue of the dragon. They are everything Targaryen but in matters of looks and blood. But that is more than enough for people to shun them. You want to side with them with your full heart, but how can you when you understand the opposition's points?
"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
You look up in awe as you watch your grandsire slowly walk into the room. The only sound was the tapping of his cane against the floor. You had not seen him in so long, he looked so old and different. Hunched over and in pain.
You watch as he makes his way up to the throne and Daemon aids him. Otto moves over to stand next to Alicent and you can see the confusion and anger on his face. His plans are ruined and whatever chance he had at getting the Velaryons on their side is squandered.
"I must...admit...my confusion." Your grandsire breathes quickly as he tries to regain his strength. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." You listen as he calls for your grandmother to speak.
You feel hot. This room feels hot. You pull repeatedly at the band on your wrist. A coping mechanism you developed when you felt so far away from everything. You snap the band against your wrist as you listen to your grandmother who only further pushes for Corly's wishes for Lucerys to be the next Lord of the Tides. You miss her announcing the marriage between your brothers and cousins.
You can't focus. He is still staring at you. You make the mistake of closing your eyes cause when you open them they are on him. You take in a sharp breath and stare back at him. Your heart feels as though someone is squeezing it, your chest heavy as if a dragon sits atop it. You want nothing more than to go over there but you keep your feet planted.
"That is no true Velaryon." You jump slightly looking towards your uncle as he angrily points at Luke. "and certainly no nephew of mine." Your mother tells your brothers to head to their chambers before attempting to silence Vaemond.
"You can not all be blind surely? To look upon both my grandniece and her sons and think they share the same father?" Everyone looks at you and for a moment you wish you could shrink into the walls, fade into the people behind you. "She even skips her daughter so that her son could inherit Driftmark when it belongs to my niece. She wishes to cover her tracks and erase my niece's future." You've never felt that way. You were never upset at your mother's decisions. Maybe you always assumed you'd end up with Aemond. "Gods be damned...I will not see it ended on the account of this-" Your eyes widen as you realize what he wishes to say.
You feel a heat radiate beside you and notice the body language of Daemon has changed. A hand rests on his sword as his head is cocked to the side.
"Say it." He whispers softly. Vaemond gives Daemon a smug look.
"Her sons...are BASTARDS! And she...is...a whore." Everyone gasps and you notice the heat beside you is missing. You watch as King Viserys unsheaths his dagger and calls for your uncle's tongue.
You then hear a thud and turn and see Vaemond's body hit the floor. His head was cut off at the mouth, his tongue still attached. Much happens in those moments but your eyes stay on Vaemond's body. It is only when your mother places a hand on your cheek you look away.
"Go with your grandmother. She might need comfort."
You stand next to Rhaenys, holding her hand as the silent sisters work on your uncle.
"Did you ever feel that way, little ocean?" You look over to her as her eyes are trained upon his seperated head. "As if your mother was trying to erase you?"
"No, grandmother. To be honest. I had always imagined myself living here, in the Red Keep." You looked around the room watching the sisters move slowly and carefully.
"Married to Aemond." Your quick to look back towards her she offers you a faint smile before turning to you. "Come back with me, to Driftmark. Your grandsire would love to see you and I have missed your presence." You nod, not caring to say that you should ask the permission of your mother and father.
The Grand Maester walks over and speaks. You stare at the body of your uncle once more. Is this justice? He called your mother a whore and your brother bastards...but was he wrong?
"The Stranger has visited me more times than I can count, Grand Maester." You feel her squeeze your hand. "I assure you, he cares little whether my eyes are open or closed." You watch as he leaves. "You should go, little ocean. Your grandsire wishes for you to eat with your family."
"Will you not dine with us?" You brush your fingers against her hand.
"I fear I have lost my appetite." She kisses your head. "We will take our leave on the morrow." You nod before leaving the room with a final look towards your uncle.
As you enter the dining hall your family is already there. The table already has its sides. On the right sit your mother and your family and on the left sit the Queen and hers. The separation hurts you and you wish you could do something about it. Mend it in whatever way possible. You would give your own life if it meant uniting your family.
Jacerys offers his seat so you can sit next to Baela and he moves to her other side. The switch puts you next to Aegon but you do not mind. He has never been one to bother you before, and only ever makes small jokes, which you would never admit to his face, can be funny.
"Mother?" Rhaenyra turns in her chair towards you.
"Yes, my heart?" She places a hand on your arm you smile at the name. Each one of you had one, Jace was often referred to as her love, Luke as her sweet boy, and you her heart.
"Grandmother has requested I return with her to Driftmark... I'd like to. To see grandsire, if that is all right with you." She smiles softly and brings your hand to her lips as she kisses it.
"Of course." You hear the doors open and see your grandsire being carried in. "We will talk more later. Go sit." You walk over to your chair and stand until he is placed in his spot.
As you walk over you look up and see his eyes on you once more. He stands at the head of the table watching you. You sit only when you notice everyone else does and clasp your hands together when Alicent calls for prayer. You've read about the Seven and know only as much as books taught you. You hear Alicent's prayer but you pray your own. You ask The Warrior and The Smith to give you strength, you beg for forgiveness from The Maiden for your thoughts and acknowledge The Stranger, for you both feel like outcasts in this world.
"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena." It is only then that you feel the weight of his gaze lift, as he looks at your brother on the other end of the table. Your grandsire calls for a toast to your brothers. He calls for another toast for Lucerys as the future Lord of the Tides.
"I also want to say. How beautifully my granddaughter has grown." You feel the eyes of everyone turn to you, and your mother smiles. Even Alicent gives you a genuine gentle smile. "Im sure by your next nameday we will have found a suitable match for your hand. Let us toast in hopes you will find someone deserving of you." Everyone raises their glass.
But it is only Aemond who does not. You watch as Aegon leans over you towards Baela.
"He does know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"
"Let it be cousin," Baela responds clearly annoyed. Jace responds but you don't hear it whatever he says has Aegon sitting back down fully in his seat.
You stare forward as King Viserys makes a speech. You return to snapping the band against your wrist as you again feel the heat of his stare. Words are shared between the Queen and your mother before Aegon gets up and sets himself in between Baela and Jace.
"I, um I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask-" Jace bangs his hands on the table before standing up which leads to Aemond standing up as well ready to protect his brother if need be.
Aegon sits down quickly next to you. More speeches go on, too many speeches. You wish everyone would just shut up so we can all be done with this dinner. Either that or let us remove our masks and speak the truth. You have grown tired of this tension and fake genuineness.
You remain next to Aegon as food is brought out and Jace takes Helaena to dance. You can see the look on his face. He looks over your family with a sort of longing. Everything he has ever wanted on display in front of him.
"Would you care to dance uncle?" He looks over to you with a surprised look on his face. He puts down his cup and is about to put out his hand when someone clears their throat. You look over to the noise and see Aemond staring at the two of you.
"Not if I wish to lose my head." He picks his cup back up and returns to watching everyone. You look over to Aemond who only stares at you with no emotion.
You watch as guards walk over to your grandsire and take him away. You make a plan in your head to go visit him tonight to speak to him.
The mood is only spoiled as a pig is placed in front of Aemond. You hear the light chuckles of Luke and curse him in your head. You flinch as Aemond's hand bangs the table and he stands up picking up his cup.
"Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace...Luke...and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise..." And in that pause alone you feel that separation between families grow. "...strong. Come...let us drain our cups to these three strong boys."
"I dare you say that again." You tense as Jace speaks already being able to tell where this is going.
"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond lowers his cups and walks over to Jace. "Do you not think yourself strong?" Jace punches Aemond...or...attempts to. Aemond still stands unwavering and not a drop spilt from his cup.
Aegon grabs Luke who tries to walk over to help Jace and slams his head on the table. You stand up and walk over to Aegon and pull his hair, yanking his head back. He releases Luke and only smiles up at you. You put him in the same position he had your brother in, slamming his head against the table and holding him down until guards come and step in between you two.
You remain standing at the chairs as the sides are made once more. You stand somewhat in the middle. Jace attempts to run back over to Aemond but Daemon steps in front of him.
"Go to your quarters. All of you go now." Your siblings and cousins leave but you remain still standing in your spot. You watch as Aemond and Daemon stare at each other silently. Aemond then turns to you and so does everyone else, he looks at you and then hums to himself as he walks out of the room.
"Come little rogue." Daemon puts his arm out for you. You take his arm, your mother pats your cheek and you follow him out of the room.
You sit in your mother and Daemon's chambers caring for young Aegon and Viserys along with a couple of maids.
Your mother walks in and takes a seat next to Daemon.
"I will see the boys home. Then I will return on dragonback." She holds Daemon's hand.
"Just the boys?" He asks looking over at you.
"Grandmother has asked me to return with her and Baela to Driftmark." He nods.
"Head to bed rogue." You nod and stand up walking over to your parents. You kiss your mother's cheek and place a hand on her stomach before walking past Daemon and pulling on the small ponytail in his hair softly and leaving the room.
Daemon watches as you leave with a smirk on his face and waits until the door is closed to speak.
"Did you see the way he looked at her?" Rhaenyra is taken aback by Daemon's tone. He stands up and paces.
"Who, my love?" She rubs her belly as she watches her children play.
"Aemond." He scowls. "He's been looking at her since we arrived as if he wants to take her where she stands. Which is impressive since the fucker only has one eye." he sits back down.
"They were once betrothed Daemon. Before that, they were closer than any of the kids. They spent all their free time together." She smirks at her husbands's protectiveness. It didn't take long for him to see you as one of his own daughters.
"We should discuss her future marriage. Maybe it's time we start looking for a husband for her." Rhaenyra nods.
"We will speak to her about it when she returns from Driftmark. Vaemond was right about one thing...she is being erased...I had not realized I was doing that." Daemon took her hand and placed the other on her bump.
"That fucker didn't know what he was talking about. You are a great mother to her, and she has had no complaints about her inheritance." She knows he's right.
"Nonetheless. If there is one thing I can give her is a choice. She will decide who she marries. I would feel better knowing it's a man of her own choosing."
Your handmaids leave the room once you're finished being dressed for bed. You sit in front of your vanity staring at yourself.
When had you become someone you didn't recognize? When did you begin just walking the earth instead of living on it? When had you become so...lonely.
You walk over to the balcony and step outside. Pulling your robe tighter to your body against the cold air. You close your eyes and though you aren't sure who it is you are speaking to you beg them to help you. To bring you happiness and peace.
"Mandianna" You hear him from behind you. You turn around slowly and see him standing inside your room. You slowly walk in and close the balcony doors behind you, locking them.
"...Aemond..." You move to take another step to him but he raises a hand.
"For as long as I can remember you...Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of you." You take a deep breath as he speaks. "And now that you're here...I'm in agony." He takes a step towards you. "The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you...I can't breathe." He stops in front of you a hand on your cheek. "I'm haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that that kiss will not become a scar." He lowers his head so he hovers just above your lips. "You are in my very soul, tormenting me...what can I do? I will do anything you ask."
You stare up into his eyes and feel drawn into them. You drown in them putting up no fight. Wanting to feel that darkness that has followed you all these years surround you.
"Kiss me." And he does and it is everything you've imagined. You give him full reign and kisses you with the same intensity that a drowning man comes up for air.
When he finally pulls away he admires your bruised lips and brushes the tears from your eyes.
"Aemond...I have grieved for what we could have been...so much time has passed. And our families have only grown farther apart." He kisses the side of your cheek.
"But what is grief if not love persevering?" He wraps his arms around your waist pulling you right against him as his eyes meet yours. "I have yet to meet another soul who is fluent in my language..but you? You are fluent in me." You place your hands on his chest. "Marry me. In the tradition of our ancestors. Let my blood become yours, and yours mine." You see the hope in his eyes.
"And what of our families?" They would never accept this." You try to pull away but he holds you tight against him.
"I refuse to sacrifice the one person who sees me for who I am for a family who barely sees me for the mask I wear." He leads you towards your bed and sits you down at the edge of it before sitting before you on his knees. "You are mine. You were always meant to be mine."
His hands trail up your legs as a smirk spreads over his face.
"Aemond. We can't." He pushes up your nightgown while kissing his way up your legs.
"I will not spoil you. I will only wish for a preview of what will be mine." He pushes your dress up all the way and pulls down your small clothes. He pulls your legs over his shoulder as he lowers himself in between your thighs.
He wastes no time drinking you up. His tongue tastes whatever he can, his nose brushing against your bud softly. His tongue stiffens inside of you as he finds that place his brother had told him about. It has you lying down covering your mouth.
"Ae-Aemond..." He moans against your cunt in pleasure at your moans of his name. "Please..." you're unsure of what it is you are begging for but whatever it is you know you need it.
He brings a finger to better rub your bud as he fucks you with his tongue. He can feel you clenching and watches as you're soon arching off of the bed holding on to his hair.
The feeling is unlike anything you've experienced. A large opposite from how dark you have been feeling. You feel lighter as if pent-up energy has been released.
He gives your bud one last kiss before walking away and returning with a wet cloth. He wipes his face first before gently cleaning you. When he's done you sit up and he sits next to you pulling you into his lap.
You feel how hard he is below you and move so your legs are wrapped around his torso. You grind down on him and he looks up at you holding on to your hips. The friction against your bud only builds back up that feeling in your stomach. You kiss Aemond as he continues to guide you so you're grinding down on him. He picks up speed his mouth agape.
Without saying anything you reach and pull the eye patch off of him. Aemond stops and looks away hiding his face. You place a hand on his cheek and turn him back to you.
"Gevie." You kiss his scar gently and admire the sapphire that replaces his eye. He returns to grinding you down on him lewd thoughts fuelling his actions. His breaths become louder and you even hear a gentle moan from him.
"Fuck~" you feel him stiffen beneath you. He presses his forehead against your chest pulling you flush against him.
"I will speak to my mother and even my father. If they say no. I will come for you and only then will I fuck you and mark my name into your wet cunt so that they will have no choice but to marry us."
He kisses you again. You taste yourself on his tongue.
"You say that as if the breaking of Princess' maidenheads has not been hidden before. They could easily give me to someone who would not care."
"To that...mandianna. I tell you that idiots are highly flammable...and we ride dragons..." He kisses your exposed chest.
"I say...let them burn."
A/N: This was for the girls who dream of marrying a prince and end up falling for the misunderstood villain.
I have thought of doing another part or turning this into a mini-series at least. But for now, this is just a one-shot.
Shoutout to the Star Wars Anakin monologue that fueled me to write this anyway.
Taglist: @thought--bubble @valeskafics @dixie-elocin
#ewan mitchell verse#ewan nation#ewanverse#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell fanfic#aemond targaryen smut#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#aemond fanfiction#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader
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Why am i ready for stalker aemond that has slow burn and is super angsty? like someone who isnt afraid of his scar in preschool then moves away but he found her in either social media or a sports meet and started stalking from then on and then he goes to the same college and remembers her schedule, which dorm shes in and trying to get in her room at night or is in the dorm across from her and ugh i could start a fic tbh
Never Ending Obsession -Aemond T.
If you do start a Fic, 100% tag me in that sh*t! I would LOVE to read it, but because you sent it to me imma give it a go for you cause it sounds delicious! I hope it is everything you want it to be!
Yandere!Aemond. Major Stalking! You’ve Been Warned!
DD:DNE
Aemond considered Y/n to be a miracle from the day he met her.
It was the first day of Pre-School and he wanted to be anywhere but there, surrounded by other students. He wanted to be at home with his mother, or even his big brother, anyone just to get away from the staring children.
Aemond had learned almost as soon as his cousin had sliced his face open that while adults would stare, they would at least be discreet about it, children were not. Aemond, while being a child, didn’t consider himself one, and it was something most adults found amusing as he would much rather spend time with his mother or the adults in his family than with his siblings or cousins. He would rather read than play with toys, rather watch movies his mother liked than ones his siblings enjoyed, it’s just the way Aemond had always been…until her.
All of the children stared at him from the moment he walked in and said “goodbye” to his mother. The staff tried to direct the children away, told them it was rude to stare, but they weren’t always paying attention and trying to get a bunch of 4 year olds attention when they’re locked onto something is…difficult at best. Around lunch time the staff had left all but one in the room to prepare food for the kids and suddenly Aemond found a boy much larger than him to be holding his eyepatch in his hand, the children around him laughing and teasing immediately. The teacher was on the other side of the room and oblivious as Aemond tried to grab his eyepatch back, the other boy shoving him to the ground before he was suddenly laying right beside Aemond holding his crotch and wailing in pain. A blonde girl that Aemond could only describe as beautiful was standing above him with an angry look on her face.
‘What did he ever do to you?! Huh?! Leave Him Alone!’ She snatched the eyepatch from the portly child’s hand and moved to hand it back to Aemond who strapped it back on immediately. ‘Are you okay?’ Aemond nodded quickly, opening his mouth to speak but finding no words that would come out. ‘I’m Y/n, you’re Aemond, right?’ He nodded again, mouth hanging open dumbly and looking like an idiot he is sure. ‘I’m sorry he did that, No one should be mean like that for something you can’t help and you don’t have to tell no one nothing…I’m sorry, you want to be alone.’ She turned to walk away when he finally got his voice box to work…sadly it had been muted so long that the sound he finally made was a bit too loud.
‘NO!’ He exclaimed and she jumped, turning back to him instantly. ‘I’m sorry…I mean, no, I don’t want to be alone…it’s nice to meet you Y/n…do you want to sit with me for lunch?’ She smiled, a red tint to her cheeks and Aemond decided he absolutely adored her pretty smile.
‘Yeah…that sounds fun.’ She grabbed ahold of his hand and pulled him over to a table, handing him a place mat and some crayons to decorate it with. Coloring was never something Aemond had really enjoyed, Art wasn’t his thing, but if Y/n enjoyed it then so did he.
Aemond and Y/n spent the rest of the day together before pick-up and as soon as he said “good-bye”, leaving with his mothers driver and climbed into the car beside his mom, he was talking about her. Alicent was thrilled that her son had made a friend his own age, while it’s entertaining to see her 4 year old boy so grown-up and mature, she didn’t want him to miss out on being a child just because he didn’t have any friends.
At the end of the week, after learning that Aemond and Y/n’s friendship wasn’t going anywhere, Alicent stood outside to pick her son up rather than wait in the car for their driver to get him. She watched her son run outside, hand in hand with a girl a bit shorter than him and they looked truly adorable. ‘Mom!’ Her son exclaimed, excited to see her waiting for him herself and deciding she should do this more often to see that smile so rare on her baby’s face.
‘Hello, my sweet Little Dragon! How was your day?’ She asked, watching the girl run to a women a few feet away and take her hand.
‘It was so good! Y/n and I made pictures of our families for the wall-wait! You need to meet her! Y/n!’ Aemond exclaimed, the girl stopping and her mother looking back as well, slightly irritated. ‘Mom, this is Y/n, she’s my best friend!’ He grinned and so did Y/n who hugged him at that deceleration.
‘Well, if she’s your best friend then you must have her over for a play date. Would that be alright?’ She asked the girls mom.
‘Oh, yes, of course. Anytime.’ She spoke, writing down her number on a piece of paper. ‘I’m Marie, it’s nice to meet you, Y/n talks about your boy all the time.’
‘Mom!’ The girl whined, the mothers sharing a side smile at their kids evident first crush on each other.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, I’m Alicent. How about tomorrow? She can come by and spend the day with us, I’ll drop her at home after dinner?’ Her mom looked surprised.
‘That’s perfect actually, I have work all day. Text me your address and what time to drop her off, she will love spending the day with Aemond rather than the neighbor. I’m sorry to say I’m in a rush to get back to work, it was nice meeting you Alicent, and you too Aemond. Come on Y/n, let go.’
‘Bye Aemond!’ Y/n waved, her mother dragging her off. She didn’t strike Alicent as rude, just in a bit of a hurry. You could clearly see the difference in their status in life, if not just from the fact that Y/n’s mother was wearing a waitress uniform and Alicent was wearing a Versace dress and Gucci shoes. She finds herself wondering how the women pays for the fancy daycare at all.
Alicent had married rich, Viserys happy to give her anything she wants as long as she doesn’t bother him at work, and he’s always at work. When he’s not however he is spending time with his daughter from his first marriage, Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra is 24 now, Viserys being significantly older than Alicent but she didn’t mind, he was a good, gentle man and that was hard to come by now a days. She had 2 sons, Jace who was 5 and Luke who was 3 (a child she detested for being the one who had sliced her baby’s face open 6 months before as he ran around the mansion with an old dagger from Viserys’ office and didn’t pay attention to her son sitting on the ground), though Rhaenyra was also pregnant with another child, none of which are her husbands clearly but that’s not her business… Alicent has 3 children of her own, Aegon who was 7, Helaena who was 5 and Aemond who had just turned 4, though she also suspected she was carrying a child that she hoped was a girl if not just to keep another boy from the chaos and bullying that goes on between the siblings and cousins.
‘Y/n is gonna spend the whole day with me?!’ Aemond suddenly exclaimed, knocking his mother from her thoughts.
‘Yes, she is. You’ll need to plan what you two want to do for the day and I’ll make sure Aegon doesn’t disturb you.’
‘Jace and Luke either?’ He asked…begged is more like.
‘Jace and Luke either, I’ll make sure they have something to do when they come tomorrow.’ The family always came to the house on the weekends as Viserys took that time for his family…part of it anyway.
‘Yay! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!’ Alicent was thrilled to see her son so happy…she had no idea it would be so incredibly short lived.
Y/n had begun spending the day with Aemond every day, coming to their house in their car after school, her mother coming to get her after work to take her home looking more tired than the night before. Alicent had tried to help the poor women. It turns out her husband had cheated on her while she was pregnant and gotten another women pregnant, divorcing her for his mistress and son. He’s the one who paid for the fancy preschool while her mother worked 3 jobs to keep everything afloat in their one bedroom apartment, since he paid for such a nice school he only paid 200 in child support leaving Marie with everything else and all the debt he had left behind in her name.
Alicent was happy to watch Y/n whenever she needed, it made her son happy and that’s all she wanted in the world. She had been so scared for him before he met Y/n that he would end up going down a dark path, the bullying at home and at school having been hard for him as well as his father clearly loving the child who had butchered him more than his own son.
That all came to a grinding halt however when Y/n’s mom was evicted from her apartment leaving them homeless, forcing them to move in with Marie’s ex-mother in-law who lived in New York. Aemond had tried to promise to visit every weekend before Alicent was forced to explain just how far away New York was from California, to say the children were upset was a huge understatement. The teary good-bye nearly broke the mothers hearts as they swore to write to each other every day, and they did, they both learned to write faster than any of the kids their age just to write to each other and it lasted about a year. Y/n’s grandmother had found out she was writing to a boy in California and cut it off, threatening to take Y/n away from her mother if her mother didn’t stop the interaction. Marie wrote Alicent and explained what had happened leaving her to break her baby’s heart all over again.
Aemond became cold after that. He had no more friends, detested his cousins, tolerated his brothers and only loved Helaena though she was with friends everyday of her life. He took his schooling very seriously, taking several extra curricular’s on the side to take up his time which consisted of Jiu-Jitsu, Tae Kwon Do, and oddly enough, sword fighting which Alicent didn’t support right away until he promised to start with fencing. It turned out that he was really good at it and his father hired a trainer, Criston Cole, to teach him sword fighting, paying to transform a room in the mansion into a training room.
Once Aemond got to middle school, no one was bullying him anymore after breaking 3 kids noses and 2 of their arms. When he turned 14 and moved up to high school he had finally broken down and created an Instagram account. Aemond hated social media, he found it annoying and pointless, but he quickly found a use for it once he looked up Y/n and found her account. It wasn’t private, making it easy to look through all of her pictures, finding out that she still lived in New York with just her Grandmother now as her mother had passed away in a hit and run with a drunk driver when she was 9. She had many pictures with her and another girl who seemed to be her best and only friend and nowhere could Aemond find anything about a boyfriend which gave him an instant sense of relief. He had spent the last almost 10 years obsessing over her, though he kept it to himself. He had sent her a letter a few years before, hoping that maybe now that they had grown a bit she would be able to write him back but it was returned unopened with a note that told him to never send anything again or her grandmother would file a restraining order.
For the next 2 years he was as content as he could be watching her life through social media, until their junior year that is when he decided to pay a man to hack into her computer, actually watching what he did and figuring out how to go about doing it himself. He read all of her emails from then on, finding out what colleges she was applying to and applying himself, knowing he would obviously get in with his incredible grades and extra curricular’s. Her grandmother was forcing her to go to college, wanting her to be a physical therapist despite the fact that she wanted to be an artist. Aemond had found she had a separate, secret Instagram account that her grandmother didn’t know about that held all of her paintings and sketches, and she was honestly incredible.
Aemond had decided that when she was his she would drop out of college and move in with him, she would have her own little art studio to do whatever she wanted in. He would buy her anything she wanted, give her everything in the world if she only asked for it, Y/n Y/L/n was going to be his wife…whether she knew it yet or not.
At 18, Aemond moved out to New York for the year, deciding not to go to college but convincing his father to open a branch of his publishing business out there and let him set everything up for him. It wouldn’t be hard, honestly Aemond would pay others to do everything and just oversee the company while he watched over his Princess. He had already been stalking her online for over 4 years and in her own computer for 2, this was hardly a step up.
Alicent knew of course, she knew that her son had become more than a little obsessed with his childhood friend and she knew that that’s why her boy was going to New York, she had been the one to talk her husband into letting him go. She wanted him to be happy, by any means necessary after all this time of misery and if he needed Y/n to make that happen then she was more than happy to welcome the sweet girl into the family. Even if she knew what her son was doing was wrong, she couldn’t change his mind, and she didn’t want to. Alicent loved Y/n and she knew that if there was one person in the world that her son would never hurt, it was her.
He watched from across the Quad as she arrived at the school, unpacking her things from the car and moving it all into her dorm room, a room which Aemond had made sure was a single for only her, he also made sure he had acquired a key for himself. He felt horrible that he couldn’t help her move things, especially the heavy things, but he knew there was no way she wouldn’t recognize him, and she clearly remembered him. She had several old pictures uploaded to her Instagram of the two of them together, one of them at a Carnival with their faces painted (which she had made him do, even forcing the painter to paint over the eyepatch since it would wash off), one of them carving pumpkins on Halloween, and Aemond’s personal favorite, a picture of the two of them snuggled up in his bed as she had slept over the night before, she was snuggled into his chest with his arms around her and his face in her hair which covered the scar completely. He knew she had plenty of pictures of the two of them without his eye patch on but she never put them online and he loved her for that, even if she didn’t know it yet. Next to his mother, she was the only person who really understood how sensitive he was about his scar and she never made him feel less than because of it, he knew she would never betray him, not even having shown her mother the pictures without the eyepatch.
He followed her to all of her classes, often watching them through the security cameras he had hacked into (becoming quite good at it) to see her during class, he had always loved her look of concentration as her eyes narrowed and she looked like she was scowling at you, she was adorable. He had placed several cameras in her room as well, watching her whenever he could, all she really did was school work and he realized how overwhelmed she was by college life, school was never her environment, it was too stressful for her and her free spirited mind and he knew it. He also knew that her Grandmother had threatened to kick her out onto the streets if she didn’t go to college for what she told her to, he had plans for that women, she will get what she deserves.
On several occasions he was witness to moments that he knew should be private, whether that be her stressed out crying or more…intimate moments. He couldn’t help but watch as her fingers touched her pretty little pussy, rubbing her clit and listening to the sweet sounds she made trying to be quiet, he couldn’t help but wrap his fingers around his length and edge himself right along with her, imagining those fingers in her cunt were his cock, desperate to feel her soft, warm pussy squeezing him as tight as it could as he made her cum again and again until she couldn’t take it anymore. He had fantasized about making her cum on his cock since he was 13 years old and by now he was more than desperate for her.
There were a few nights he actually snuck into the dorms and into her room, watching her sleep up close, trailing his fingers down her body, hating that he can’t just crawl into the bed beside her and hold her tight while he shoves his cock into her and makes her fall asleep with it as deep as it can get.
2 months he watched her before knowing he needed to make her his now, before it was too late. She had been asked out on a date by a Frat guy, begging to take her to a party and Aemond knew he couldn’t allow this.
The Frat boy got a visit from him later that night, waking up to Aemond sitting on the edge of his bed and realizing he had been tied down so tight that the ropes were cutting off circulation to his hands and feet. ‘Hello Chad, so sorry to wake you but this is a very important matter you see. Scream, and I will bash your brains in before anyone can even find out the door is locked, got it?’ He nodded quickly, terror in his eyes and Aemond found that he loved it, he loved scaring people that would hurt his Princess, she doesn’t deserve the kind of treatment this idiot would give her and Aemond knew that party wasn’t anything more than to make fun of his girl. The Frat assholes all getting a freshman girl to come to the ‘party’ and whichever guy could get their girl to put out first won some bullshit prize.
No. His Princess would not be humiliated like that.
‘You see Chad, you are bringing a girl back here tomorrow night, her name is Y/n, yes?’ He nodded again.
‘I didn’t know she was your girl, she didn’t say anything like that! I would never-‘
‘Yes you would, don’t lie to me Chad, boyfriend or not you would happily have brought her back here and made her a part of your little game.’ His eyes widened, unsure how Aemond could possibly know about that. ‘You’re not going to pick her up tomorrow Chad, do you understand? I will not have my Princess hurt and humiliated by an idiotic asshole who realistically couldn’t make a girl smile let alone cum. Now, this is just a warning of course, if I find out you went anywhere near her after our little conversation here, I would have to do something far worse than break into your disgusting Frat house and break your eye socket, do you get me?’
‘Yes! Yes, I-wait…break my wha-‘ quickly Aemond brought the bat he had picked up from the floor, down against the jackasses face, shoving the edge of his blanket into his mouth as he went to scream.
‘Secretly, I hope you do try something just so I get to have an excuse to come back here and break every one of your ribs before I ensure no women will ever say yes to a date with you again.’ He flicked open a blade, holding it against Chads face and hearing him whimper like a bitch. ‘It’s okay Chad, I’m not going to hurt you as long as you do what I’ve said here tonight. Are we on the same page?’ He nodded quickly and Aemond stood, walking out of the room and leaving the house, deciding on taking the bat with him, just in case.
The next night Y/n waited in the Quad at 9 o’clock, cursing out the asshole who didn’t pick her up and feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. She had been so alone here all this time, in a place she didn’t want to be at in the first place and just when she thought someone might be interested in her, even an asshole Frat jock, he stands her up. She felt like she couldn’t hold it in anymore, trying to muffle her cries with the sleeves of her hoodie before hearing someone speak to her.
‘Are you alright Princess?’ Princess? No one had called her Princess since-
Her head snapped up and she saw a very tall man standing about 5 feet away, he was lanky but still covered in muscle that you could clearly see through his tight henley shirt, he wore jeans and heavy boots with his silver hair tied in a bun at the back of his head. They black eyepatch sealed the deal for her though, if she didn’t already assume who this is, now she knows. ‘Aemond? Is that you?’
‘In the flesh…why are you crying Princess?’ He moved to sit beside her on the edge of the fountain and she just stared at him in shock.
‘I…I got stood up-what are you doing here?!’ He smiled sweetly and she couldn’t help but think how handsome her best friend had become…he’s a panty dropper!
‘I’m in New York setting up a branch here for Dad, the school however, my father has recently become a benefactor of, Daeron wants to come to school here for a year to start his doctorate in 2 years, you know dad, start bribing them as early as possible.’ He joked and she giggled, remembering exactly how Viserys used to be. She never had seen him much, which she understood was Aemond’s experience too, but he was always very sweet to her, bringing her gifts and sweets with all of his other children since she was there almost 100% of the time.
‘Did you know I was here?’ He nodded and she glared half heartedly at him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?!’ She raged, punching him in the arm.
‘We’ll mostly because I sent a letter a few years after you left and your grandmother wrote back that I would receive a restraining order if I ever contacted you again. That’s why I never reached out online either, I didn’t want to get you in trouble if she found out.’ Her face fell as he told her that and her tears began streaming again. ‘No more tears Princess, please? Such a gorgeous girl should never feel the need to shed a tear.’ He reached up, taking her face in his hands and wiping her tears with his thumbs tenderly.
‘I’m sorry she did that to you! I wanted to talk to you so badly, everyday! She was so awful to my mom and I thought maybe I would be able to talk to you when we were older but she kept tabs on everything I ever did and now I’m being forced to go to this shitty fucking school and live on campus all alone, and suffocate under a course load that I didn’t want in the first place…I just wanted to paint…and the first time I think maybe I could actually not be completely alone here I get stood up by an asshole Frat jerk!’ Aemond had pulled her to his chest as soon as she started ranting, knowing she needs someone to be there for her and he was determined to make sure it was him. ‘And now I’m ranting to you when you clearly have places to be, I’m sorry!’ She tried to pull away but he didn’t let her, lifting her into his lap for good measure and smiling at the squeak that came from her when she was sat down on him.
‘None of that Princess, you have always been and will always be most important, and I finished my meeting. I’m all yours.’ He said it in a way that he hoped she would hear his dedication to her, and she did, she heard it and couldn’t help but hope he meant he really was all hers. ‘Do you have classes tomorrow?’ She shook her head, resting it against his chest and he felt his entire body heat up as he held her to him firmly, determined that no one would ever take her away again. ‘Okay, then here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go back to my place, you’re going to borrow some clothes and we’re going to order dinner-‘
‘No, you have things to do, you’re working here, I can’t-‘
‘No, I can’t! I can’t leave you like this, and I won’t, I will take care of you…you’re mine Princess.’ She looked up at him shocked and he tried his best to convey how hard it’s been without seeing her for the last 14 years. ‘I let them take you from me once, I won’t do it again now that I’ve found you…don’t make me let you go back to a dorm all alone…I won’t do it Y/n.’ She nodded her head quickly, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.
‘I missed you so much Aemond, if you’re sure you’re not too busy-‘
‘I will never be too busy for you. My weekend is yours, come on.’ He helped her stand up but didn’t let go of her, keeping his arm around her waist as he took her bag and led her down to the parking lot where his car is waiting. Aemond opened the door and lifted her into the car, hearing her gasp as he man handled her in, not once complaining about it. The drive was quick back to his home, it was an apartment in a high rise building and he loved watching her eyes slowly widen as she watched the numbers on the elevator go up and up, all the way to the top.
‘You have a penthouse apartment?’ He nodded, smirking down at her and she shoved him playfully.
‘Surely you can’t forget how we live Y/n, you think my father would let me stay anywhere else. Even if I am the least favorite, he insists on a certain condition of living for his family…he would be appalled by your state by the way, and I’m sure once I tell him he will be fixing it-‘
‘What are you talking about? I’m already in a single dorm, I have everything I-‘
‘You shouldn’t be living in a dorm room with God knows how many other women all sharing a bathroom, you’re basically family-‘
‘But I’m not.’ She cut him off and he looked at her startled as he opened the door. ‘Look at this place Aemond! It’s an apartment and I could never afford something like this! I love that you think of me as a sister and your parents think of me like an honorary child but I’m not, I am a peasant compared to you and that will never change, we live in 2 different worlds Aemond.’ He stared at her, trying to calm himself before opening his mouth.
‘You loved being a part of our family…you never judged me for how I lived before-‘
‘I’m not judging you-‘
‘But you are! I don’t like the idea that you think we’re in 2 different worlds, because I never want to exist in a world where you are not beside me, you will never live like that again, not now that I’ve found you. And the fact that you think I ever thought of you like a sister…well it’s just disgusting.’ He explained, leaning down and brushing his lips against hers as lightly as possible before moving to the kitchen, putting her bag on the couch. ‘Now, what would you like for dinner? Are you still a pizza girl, or would you like Chinese? We can get burgers too.’ He offered, pulling out a burger place menu, knowing that’s what she would pick and she quickly did, her whole face red in a heavy blush.
They ordered dinner and Aemond had a man go and pick it up for them while they chose a scary movie to watch. Aemond had loaned her one of his Henley’s before getting her a pair of his boxers from the drawer and letting her change, throwing her clothes into the wash and not being able to stop the creepy stalker inside of him from smelling her panties before putting them in. He had to stop himself from jumping her the second he walked back into the room, seeing his Princess wearing his clothes and sitting in his bed clearly waiting for him.
He set the food down, handing her her chocolate milkshake before stripping to his boxers and climbing into the bed beside her. He saw her try to hide her reddening cheeks as she looked at him, staring at his muscular chest before tearing her eyes away. It wasn’t until he noticed her rubbing her legs together that he felt his cock begin to twitch. She was just as effected by him as he was by her and he was going to have her!
They talked through the movie while eating, getting to know each other, mostly her getting to know him but he asked questions to things he knows the answers to but shouldn’t, and he loved that no matter how personal, she never once lied to him about anything. After all this time she still felt completely comfortable with him.
‘Oh! Mother will be so excited to see you! Come here!’ He held up his phone and pulled her to him, taking a picture of them quickly with her back to his chest as his arm wrapped across her shoulder and torso, his face nuzzled against her hair. It smelled like mangos and pomegranates, everything about her was just perfect.
‘Wait! You’re shirtless! She’s gonna think-‘
‘What?’ He asked, smirking down at her, humor written all over his face as he waited for her to say it. ‘What is she going to think, Princess?’
‘Nothing, never mind.’ She rolled her eyes, leaning against him as the movie finished, Aemond now laying down on the pillows with her head on his chest as if they were children at a sleepover once again.
‘I really did miss you Y/n…there wasn’t one day that I didn’t think about you.’ He willed his cock to stop twitching as she traced her finger around his stomach.
‘I missed you too, I never forgot about you Aemond. You know, I often wondered how someone who had been in my life for such little time could be such a big part of it but you were…you are. I never stopped loving you.’ He took hold of her chin, turning her head to face him and traced her bottom lip with his thumb lightly.
‘I am never leaving you again…tell me you’re mine.’ She gasped quietly, hesitating only a moment before nodding. ‘I know you want me…tell me you’re mine Y/n…tell me.’
‘I’m yours-‘ He cut her off instantly, lips crashing to hers hard and pulling her against his chest firmly. One arm held her waist firmly while his other hand buried his fingers into her hair. He licked her bottom lip, his tongue instantly exploring her mouth as she parted them, sucking her tongue between his lips and making her giggle. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling the hair tie out and tugging it firmly prompting him to bite down on her lip roughly making her squeal.
‘Such fun noises you make, you’ve no idea how long I’ve wondered what you would sound like for me!’ He rolled on top of her, hauling her legs up around his waist and grinding his crotch against her.
‘Oh! Oh Fuck Aemond! Feels so good!’ She whined as he ground his hard cock down against her.
‘You have no idea Princess, I’m going to make you see stars.’ He swore, grabbing ahold of the bottom of his shirt and pulling it up and off of her. ‘So fucking perfect baby, perfect fucking tits!’ His lips wrapped around her rosy nipple, sucking hard and chuckling when her back arched up into him as he did this. He switched tits, pulling her hardened peak between his teeth teasingly before beginning to kiss and suck his way down her stomach, fingers catching on her boxers and pulling them down, throwing them off to the side of the bed. He took a pause, leaning back and looking down at her…Finally seeing his girl on his bed laid out for him…nothing could be sweeter. She closed her legs awkwardly, unsure why he stopped but he quickly caught them, yanking them apart again roughly. ‘No you don’t gorgeous! You’re mine, all mine. I’m allowed to look at what’s mine. All fucking mine.’ He growled, leaning back down and shoving his face between her legs, tasting her for the first time. Aemond lifted her legs onto his shoulders, sucking on her clit and grinning as he heard her loud, needy cries.
‘Fuck, yes! Please? Please Aemond, don’t stop?!’ Stop? Stop? What is Stop? He couldn’t define that word right now, it didn’t fucking exist to him as he flattened his tongue and traced it down to her hole, pushing into her and moaning at how tight his little cunt was for him. He peeked up at her as he began fucking into her with his tongue, his nose brushing against her clit and making her squeal. ‘Oh God!’
‘No!’ He cut her off, fingers rubbing hard at her clit as he looks up at her and she tries to pull away from the almost painful attention on her body. ‘Tonight, I am your God. Do you understand me? Tonight you pray to me while I worship this body. Yes?’
‘Yes! YES! Please God, Please?!’ She sobbed, tears falling from her eyes now as she teetered on the edge, so close and needing one last push.
‘Yes Princess.’ He moaned, pushing his long fingers into her and shoving her over that edge just as she needed, watching her face contort in ecstasy as she came, hips lifting off of the bed as she screamed.
‘Fuck Aemond!’
‘There’s my good girl! Cumming so good for me.’ He kissed his way back up her body, removing his boxers as he did and leaning against her, taking his thick cock in his hand and preparing to push himself into her. ‘How do you feel baby?’ She just moaned, nodding her head and pulling him down to kiss her and as she did he pressed his cock against her hole, driving his hips home and finding her cute little squeal completely adorable. ‘So good!’ Aemond groaned, pulling out and pushing into her again. ‘So fucking tight on me, aren’t you?’ She nodded, her mouth hanging open as if screaming but no sound was coming out. ‘Yes you are, so good to me, this little pussy loves my cock so much, feel how she’s pulsing around me? She knows my cock is the only one that can make you feel like this. The only one that ever will again.’ He had picked up his pace and was now slamming into her over and over again. ‘You’re mine now Princess, all mine! Mine to care for, mine to love, mine to fuck! Isn’t that right?’
‘Yes! Yes Aemond! All yours! Please, please never stop! Oh Fuck!’
‘No need to beg Baby.’ Tears were now leaking down her cheeks and he knew he had her just where he wanted her. He could get her to agree to anything he’d like. He felt her cunt tighten around him and watched her eyes roll up as she came around his cock, squeezing so good he could make a case for why this wasn’t Earth anymore but Heaven that they were tethered to. His thumb found her clit as he sat back, thrusting into her at a rapid pace and feeling his end approaching quickly, throwing her into another orgasm before allowing himself to finish, burying his cock inside of her as deeply as he could and filling her up. ‘That’s it. Good Girl, taking all of me so good. I’m gonna take you home, back to where you belong with our family. No more school you don’t want to be in, no more grandparents you despise, just you and me and all of the babies that I’m going to fill this body with. How does that sound?’ Y/n’s responding moan was answer enough for him, whether it was meant to be or not. ‘All mine now Princess…all mine.’
Stalker Aemond Moodboard
Aemond Targaryen Masterlist
#house of the dragon aemond#house of targaryen#house of the dragon#house targaryen#hotd dragons#hotd season 1#hotd aemond#hotd x reader#hotd imagine#hotd smut#hotd#aemond oneshot#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x reader#aemond x oc#aemond smut#stalker!aemond#Stalker!Aemond Targaryen#ewan mitchell#modern!aemond#modern!Aemond Targaryen
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Rhaenys's Letters
The Fall from The Heavens Universe Chapter
[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: description of discomfort associated with menstruation, symptoms of depression ]
[ description: The messages Rheanys sent to Aemond in The Fall from the Heavens over eight years. These are Aemond's favorite letters, to which he returned most often – her letters, which appear in the main chapters, are also added. ]
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
My other works: Masterlist
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The First Letter
One day of separation
My dearest Prince,
know that my heart is torn by despair and disbelief. I pray for you and your health every day. I hope that as soon as you feel better we can meet. I am sending you books that I thought might interest you.
Your Rheanys
The Second letter
Five days of separation
My dearest Prince,
I am writing to you to ask what is your state of health. I imagine that you must suffer terribly and that is why you have not found the strength to answer my letter. I promise to wait patiently for a word from you so that I may see you again.
Your Rhaenys
The Third letter
Two weeks of separation
My dearest Prince,
Your silence worries me. I know that you are certainly angry with me and my brothers and I understand that. I want you to know that I am immensely, immensely sorry and I will do everything I can to ease your pain and suffering, if you will only let me. I miss you very much.
Your Rheanys
The Fourth Letter
Two months of separation
My dearest Prince,
my mother is about to remarry, which will mean that we will be moving to Dragonstone permanently and will probably be visiting the Red Keep very rarely. I ask you for this grace to be able to see and embrace you before we set off on our journey.
Your Rheanys
The Sixth Letter
Six months of separation
My dearest friend,
I've been practicing breathing fire with Larax today. Looking at her, I remembered how you visited her with me in the Dragon's Pit. I am convinced that my dragoness misses you as much as I do. I would love to know what your training with Vhagar is like.
Your Rheanys
The Eighth Letter
Ten months of separation
Today I heard a powerful storm outside the windows of our fortress. Lightning flashed through the sky as if it were the gods in their anger wanting to show their fury. It reminded me of a legend you once told me about, that it is the enraged Warrior who throws them in fury at men who bring dishonour to their fathers.
The Ninth Letter
One year of separation
It has been a year since I saw you for the last time. Gods witness to me that my heart breaks at the very thought.
The Tenth Letter
One year and two months of separation
Although I smile, my insides do not feel joy. It seems to me that I am no longer capable of it. The days flow through my fingers and I don't even notice it.
The Eleventh Letter
One year and four months of separation
Me and my family are heading to the Eyrie to pay a visit to my mother's relatives. I've never been there before and I'd be delighted to share my thoughts on the place with you when we return.
Rhaenys
The Twelfth Letter
One year and six months of separation
The Eyrie is a beautiful fortress seeming to reach for the sky. The legendary Moon Door we both once read about are terrifying and, indeed, leaves the doomed with no chance of survival.
My cousin, on the other hand, is a very emotional boy, even more so if something doesn't go his way. I assume this is due to the fact that he only has a sister whose opinion he does not value. I suspect he wouldn't arouse your sympathy either.
The Fourteenth Letter
One year and ten months of separation
Larax is growing so fast. Daemon says that one more year and I can try to ride her. I can't wait to fly to the heavens on her back.
The Fifteenth Letter
Two years of separation
The Septa says that a lady should never hold a blade in her hand. I must admit that I do not understand this reasoning. What if there is no man beside her to protect her? Is it better to be dead but full of dignity than alive and worthy of condemnation? I regret that I never asked you to teach me how to wield a sword.
The Seventeenth Letter
Two years and four months of separation
I reminded myself that in a few days it will be your Name Day. I hope my letter will reach you along with my warmest wishes. I ask you to take care of your well-being and your health.
The Eighteenth Letter
Two years and six months of separation
Today, something terrible happened, and although I know these things don't concern you or may even cause you disgust, I can't confide in anyone else about my suffering. My bloody flower has blossomed. My mother says that I have now become a woman, but I feel nothing of the sort. I feel dirty, I feel pain, I feel ashamed. I don't want to be a woman. I don't want to be a wife. I don't want to be a mother.
The Nineteenth Letter
Two years and ten months of separation
I feel terror, uncle. When I wake up and fall asleep, when I embroider and eat, when I take a bath and read. I have a feeling that something is about to happen, but only a sullen silence surrounds me.
The Twenty-second Letter
Three years and two months of separation
Does it sometimes seem to you too that you are living in a half-sleep? That the people around you are a smudge, that what they say reaches your ears but not your mind, that you feel and experience nothing?
In the presence of my family it seems to me that this is just a figment of my imagination, but staying alone in my chamber I find that I put on a mask in front of them, under which there is nothing but silence.
The Twenty-third Letter
Three years and six months of separation
I have been reflecting on our childhood recently. How charmingly naive we were then, how simple our lives seemed to me, and what the future held for us. It was always safe in your arms. It was a feeling I had not experienced for three years and would never experience again. It was not your strength or bravery that caused this, but your words, how perfectly you always understood me.
Your rejection is a torment.
The Twenty-fifth Letter
Three years and eight months of separation
Do you think we were really in love with each other then, when I kissed you for the first time? I have often wondered about this. I remember that day exactly, your emerald tunic, the smell of the lemon cake I brought you as a consolation. The taste of your lips, moist, full and warm, your heavy breath, your trembling hand that touched my cheek and your later request.
I felt as if, without the presence of the Septon, we had become husband and wife in that moment.
The Twenty-sixth Letter
Three years and ten months of separation
My mother gave birth to a healthy boy today, who was named Aegon. I thought the heavens had mocked me and my brothers when I saw his snow-white hair. I hope you feel satisfaction, uncle.
The Twenty-seventh Letter
Four years of separation
Ever since Dragonstone resounded with the squeal of an infant, a little hope has risen in my heart. Little Aegon is growing fast and is very loud.
The Twenty-ninth Letter
Four years and two months of separation
Today me and Daemon took a walk among the cliffs. I'm glad that he treats me like an adult and speaks to me about important things. Apart from him, only you have never treated me like a child.
The Thirty-second Letter
Four years and eight months of separation
It's been four years since I haven't seen your face. It makes me wonder how much you've changed. Are you tall like Jace, have your hands, your arms, your stature changed. I try to imagine you often, but I catch myself with horror that your face is blurred in my memories and I cannot see it clearly.
The Thirty-third Letter
Four years and ten months of separation
Today I flew on Larax for the first time. It was a terrifying and wonderful experience at the same time – my heart was pounding like mad as we took to the skies together. I didn't know it would be so loud, the wind and speed completely stunned me, but for the first time in months I felt free. As I flew I thought of you and your Vhagar.
The Thirty-sixth Letter
Five years and four months of separation
I recently read the reflections of a philosopher that I wanted to share with you. He writes that every human being is like a fortress. The more walls we put up around us, the more secure we feel inside, but also the more isolated we become from the world. If we don't take the threat and leave it, no one sees us as we are and we become like the stones of which it was built – without feelings, without desires, without hope.
The Thirty-eighth Letter
Five years and eight months of separation
I can't believe it's been almost six years since I've seen you. I'd like to say I'm in despair, but that's not quite true. I feel a great emptiness, as if I have a hole in my heart. It's not painful, but it's a bit like a tickle that makes it impossible for me to have peace of mind. My desire is to stop feeling anything at all.
The Fortieth Letter
Six years of separation
I am sending you a piece of poetry that made me think of you:
and though she did not know why,
her heart remained turned towards him
her body went forward, and an emptiness lingered inside her
as if it was no longer a part of her
The Forty-third Letter
Six years and six months of separation
Baela asked me if I had ever desired someone, and I didn't know what to answer her. What is desire? Is it a purely physical sensation or something that happens in the mind? I craved your kisses because they were warm and soft, because they made you as close to me as possible, joined with me by your body.
I craved all of that, not just the touch of your lips.
The Forty-sixth Letter
Seven years of separation
I was reflecting today on what duty is. The duty of a husband to his wife, a wife to her husband, a son to his mother, a daughter to her father. I always wanted to be faithful to our family because I thought it was one. Now that it has been cut exactly in half, I feel that although I want it to be united, I am contributing by my very existence to its further disintegration and destruction. We control the dragons, but we cannot control our own vanity.
The Forty-seventh Letter
Seven years and two months of separation
Have you ever wondered what Essos and the temples of Old Valyria looked like? How powerful was the kingdom of our ancestors? And what remains of it? Balerion is a mere skull, the temples are ancient ruins.
Ashes and dust.
The Fiftieth Letter
Seven years and eight months of separation
I'm being affected by that terrifying emptiness again, uncle. I thought maybe it was simple melancholy, but this is something else, more disturbing, as if someone is sneaking up on me in a dark room. My mind is constantly vigilant, constantly sharpened. Even when I sleep, I don't rest, I wake up in the morning more tired than the evening before, and my mouth, though many words would like to leave it, remains closed.
The Fifty-second Letter
Seven years and ten months of separation
Sometimes I think I have gone deaf. My mother or brother say something to me, I look at them but I don't hear them or understand them. I respond with anything, I don't know what myself, and I return to my mind, locking myself in. I get distracted too easily and I don't know what it is caused by. Even when I read, I catch myself looking at a certain point for many minutes, being on the same page over and over again. I am in my chamber with my body but not my soul – I eat, drink, sleep but I experience nothing, nothing pleases or saddens me. I exist in a world that is nothing but an unpleasant disappointment to me, and whose strict rules I have long since come to terms with.
The Last Letter
Eight years of separation
Dragonstone appears to me like a prison, like a black coffin, the sky above me full of clouds. I can’t remember the last time light dawned in my heart − when I wake up I wonder for a moment about the meaning of it all, only to realise that thinking about it is pointless, it only sinks me further into the darkness.
It seems that the more I move away from what surrounds me, the greater the silence that settles in my head.
After what happened something inside me died.
Not in the aspect of my body, but in the sense of a conviction that something is missing, like when you look in a mirror reassembled from hundreds of pieces and, even though it is whole again, you can clearly see its cracks.
I wonder, are you sleeping well, uncle? Are you having nightmares again? I often return in my dreams to that night. I see you and although I want to say something, I can’t get anything out, just as I did then. I wake up with the conviction that I am still a child.
I pray a lot, although I don’t know myself to which gods anymore. I guess to any of who would be willing to listen to me. They don’t answer me, just like you.
#aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#aemond x niece#aemond x wife#aemond x female#aemond x female character#aemond one eye#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#aemond fanfic#canon aemond#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fic#ewan mitchell fanfic#ewan mitchell fanfiction#aemond x oc#aemond x original character#aemond x original female character
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Closer
Summary:
Lucaela is a strong bastard-the twin sister of the boy who maimed him with a blade, but she's also the sweetest Omega he's ever scented, and Aemond soon finds himself unable to fight against the primal urge of the Alpha inside him, who has chosen his neice as the perfect mate.
Warning(s): Language, Angst, Masturbation, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, P in V, Knotting, Mating Bites.
AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C LUCAELA VELARYON
INSPIRED BY - 'NINE INCH NAILS - CLOSER'
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Word Count: 4569
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.
Aemond strode across the training grounds of the Red Keep, his sword in hand, the sound of steel slicing through the air as he practiced his swordsmanship. His movements were fluid, each strike precise and powerful, a testament to years of training and discipline.
As he paused for a moment to catch his breath, a sweet fragrance wafted on the breeze, the scent of ripe peaches teasing his senses. Aemond's nostrils flared as he instinctively turned his head, searching for the source of the delightful aroma.
And there she was, emerging from the shadows like a vision—Lucaela, his niece a recently presented Omega. Her presence stirring the Alpha within. She was the twin sister of Lucerys, the boy who had took his eye when they were children. Aemond harboured a deep-seated hatred for Lucerys, but he couldn't deny the magnetic pull he felt towards Lucaela.
"Lucaela," greeted Aemond, his voice low and tinged with a hint of something he dared not name.
“Uncle” replied Lucaela.
A wave of desire swept over Aemond like a tempest, igniting a fire within his soul that threatened to consume him whole.
Lucaela was the epitome of beauty, her long, dark wavy hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of silk, framing her delicate features with an ethereal glow.
Her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of light purple, she was the only one out of her strong siblings that had inherited the Targaryen eyes.
And then there was her peach scent that enveloped him like a cloak, sending his senses reeling with its intoxicating allure. It was a scent he could never forget, a scent that awakened the Alpha within him, urging him to claim the omega as his own.
With every breath he took, Aemond could feel the pull of Lucaela's scent drawing him closer, igniting a hunger deep within him that refused to be ignored. The Alpha inside him roared with a primal need, demanding dominance, craving possession.
“What brings you to the training grounds?” asked Aemond, the point of his sword digging into the ground as he rested his weight upon it.
“I found myself drawn to this part of the castle-I was watching you train” replied Lucaela.
“-And did you like what you saw?” rasped Aemond smirking.
“Your skill with the sword is impressive-you’ll win many tourneys”.
“I don’t give a shit about tourneys-nephews have you come to train?” quipped Aemond as Jace and Luke came to a stop beside Lucaela who scowled.
“Open the gates-“
Aemond smiled at Vaemond Velaryon made his way inside the Red Keep, flanked by a retinue of guards.
Alone in the dimly lit chambers, Aemond sat upon a plush chair, his mind consumed by thoughts of Lucaela.
The sweet scent of peaches still clung to the air, haunting him with its intoxicating allure. Aemond's fingers clenched tightly around the armrests of his chair as he fought against the primal urges stirring within him.
The petition for Vaemond to seize control of Driftmark had failed, his sickly father had miraculously roused himself from his stupor and came to the aid of Rhaenyra-his favourite child.
Viserys had steadfastly upheld the bastard strong boys claim to Driftmark and Vaemond had lost his head for it.
Now he would have to endure spending more time in the presence of Rhaenyra and her brood of bastards, his presence would be expected at dinner, and he would have to be in the same room as Lucaela.
Never in his life had he been this tempted by the scent of an Omega, just thinking about her was enough to make his cock hard. He’d already fucked his fist three times since their encounter in the training yard and it had done nothing to satisfy his desire.
Aemond closed his eye, trying in vain to banish her from his thoughts, but her image remained etched into the depths of his mind. The soft curve of her lips, the warmth of her gaze—each detail a tantalizing temptation that threatened to unravel his self-control.
For an Alpha, the scent of an Omega, especially a newly presented one, is like a siren's song, weaving its way through the air and captivating their senses with its intoxicating sweetness. It ignites a fire within them, awakening desires that they struggle to contain.
The Alpha within him surged with a primal longing, a desire as ancient as time itself. It whispered to him in the depths of his soul, urging him to claim Lucaela as his own, to make her his mate, and to sire pups with her.
In the quiet solitude of his chambers, Aemond wrestled with conflicting emotions, torn between the responsibilities of his station and the yearnings of his heart. His Alpha instincts raged, demanding dominance and possession, driving him to seek out Lucaela and bind her to him in an unbreakable bond.
He imagined her taking his knot, his fangs sinking into her neck, forever claiming her as his. He pictured her belly swollen with his pups. The Alpha within him growling with satisfaction, his cock hard again.
“Fuck-“ groaned Aemond as his hands moved to untie his breeches once more.
Not even a day she had been back in the Red Keep and already he’d been reduced to hiding in his chambers fucking his own fist.
He briefly considered finding another Omega or perhaps a Beta female, perhaps if he could find one that looked similar to-
NO-the Alpha inside him would not accept a substitute, it had to be Lucaela.
His cock as hard as steel, already leaking precum and he began to move his hand up and down.
“Fuck-“ groaned Aemond his hips moving back and forth.
His mind a wash with vivid images of Lucaela, under him, on top of him, of him behind her, fucking his knot into her sweet wet warm cunny.
Gods he felt like he was in rut, his hips and fist moving faster, he was close-so close.
The scent of peaches-fuck he wondered if she tasted like a ripe peach, one of his favourite fruits.
Soft-sweet, perfect for sinking his teeth into.
“Lucaela-my Lucy-MINE” roared Aemond as he erupted, his seed spilling all over his fist and lower abdomen.
Aemond collapsed against the back of the chair, his heart pounding in his chest, the knot at the base of his cock throbbed continuously.
Then a soft knock at the door, broke Aemond out his reverie.
“Dinner is ready Prince Aemond-your presence is expected”.
“I’ll be there in a moment” replied Aemond, tucking his cock back in his breeches and reaching for a cloth.
God this dinner was going to be hell. But he must endure. He must do his duty. He supposed he could always hold his breath, that way he would smell the Omega’s scent, but that would also lead to his untimely death, and he couldn’t hold his breath all night.
His cock stirred once again at the thought of Lucaela and Aemond shook his head in disbelief.
“Fuck sake-not again” snapped Aemond as he ran a hand over his face.
No-he couldn’t indulge himself, otherwise he’d be late. So, with a deep breath he left his chambers and made his way to the dining room.
Praying to every fucking one of the seven that he could restrain himself.
The scent of roasted meats and spiced wines filled the air, mingling with the chatter and laughter of his relatives, yet beneath the facade of familial camaraderie, Aemond's inner turmoil raged like a storm.
Seated alongside his kin, Aemond struggled to maintain his composure, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet as he forced himself to focus on the conversation swirling around him. But try as he might to distract himself, his thoughts kept returning to Lucaela.
The Alpha within him clawed desperately at the confines of his self-control, yearning to claim her as his own, to dominate and possess her in a primal display of dominance. It whispered seductive promises of fulfilment and satisfaction, urging him to seize what he desired most.
But Aemond knew he couldn't succumb to those urges, not here, not now, surrounded by his family so, Aemond gritted his teeth against the tumult of his inner turmoil, his facade of stoicism masking the turmoil raging within. He cast furtive glances across the table, his gaze lingering on Lucaela, who sat beside her brother Lucerys, her expression a mask of serene composure.
Each glance only served to fuel the fire burning within him, the Alpha's hunger growing more insatiable with each passing moment. He longed to reach out and claim Lucaela, to mark her as his own and brand her with his scent—a symbol of their bond forged in the crucible of desire.
Not even his father’s desperate rambling were enough to distract him, not even the toasts, or even his sister Helaena dancing with Jace.
She was Aegon’s wife, but obviously the drunk cunt could only sit and stare as the bastard strong boy twirled her around in time with the music.
After his father had been escorted from the dining room, Aemond prayed for the night to come to a close, he had to get back to his chambers, his cock was throbbing with need, and he was sure the scent of his arousal was becoming more and more obvious by the second, due to the looks that Lucaela was giving him and the faint blush that dusted her cheeks.
Then the roasted pig was placed in front on him, and that bastard boy had the audacity to laugh at him.
His fist colliding loudly with the table, and he rose to his feet thanking the gods that his leather jerkin was long enough to hide the bulge in his breeches.
“Final tribute” said Aemond picking up his goblet “To the health of my niece and nephews-Lucaela, Jace and Luke-each of them handsome, wise and strong-“
“Aemond” warned Alicent.
“Come-let us drain our cups to these three strong-“
“-I dare you to say that again” challenged Jace.
“Why, it was only a compliment. Don’t you think yourself strong?” challenged Aemond, as Jace’s fist collided with the side of his face.
The dining room erupted into a cacophony of noise, Lucerys who had rose to defend his brother Jace had been slammed headfirst into the table, Lucaela had then slid her hands into Aegon’s silver hair and wrenched him away from her twin brother-and Jace had been shoved to the floor.
Aemond’s blood was growing hot as he watched Lucaela defending her brother, he didn’t give two shits about Luke, but it was the way in which the Omega had fiercely risen from her seat and thrown herself into the chaos.
The hard slap she delivered to Aegon’s pale cheek had the Alpha inside Aemond growling with delight.
But Jace had hauled himself of the floor and was charging towards Aemond, who braced himself ready to fight.
“Wait-wait-“ snarled Daemon, stepping in between the two.
“Go to your chambers-all of you go now” ordered Rhaenyra.
Aemond watched as Lucaela bowed her head to her mother and followed her brothers from the dining room.
As he watched her leave Aemond suddenly became very aware that Daemon was watching him with intrigue, following his gaze.
The older Alpha raised his non-existent eyebrows at Aemond who decided it was for the best to stand down, challenging Daemon wouldn’t do him any favours, not with Lucaela anyway.
So, he left the dining room, not bothering to deal with the aftermath of his actions as there was something else that demanded his attention.
Aemond’s footsteps echoed softly as he made his way through the corridors of the Red Keep, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows along the stone walls, casting an eerie glow upon his determined features.
He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't succumb to the forbidden desires that tugged at his soul like a riptide dragging him under. But the scent of Lucaela lingered in his senses, a sweet intoxicating fragrance that called to him with an irresistible allure, driving him ever closer to her chambers.
As he reached the door to Lucaela's quarters, Aemond hesitated for a moment, his hand poised to knock. His mind raced with a thousand reasons why he should turn back, why he should resist the primal urges that threatened to consume him.
But then he caught another whiff of her scent, carried on the breeze like a whispered promise, and all rational thought fled from his mind. With a shaky breath, he rapped his knuckles against the door, the sound echoing through the silent corridor.
The door creaked open, revealing Lucaela standing on the threshold, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him.
Aemond's gaze locked with hers, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to find the words to express the tempest of emotions raging within him. But before he could speak, the scent of Lucaela enveloped him like a tidal wave, washing away his doubts and fears in a flood of primal need.
“What do you want?” asked Lucaela.
“You know what I want-“ replied Aemond as he stepped inside the dimly lit chamber.
“No, I don’t-“
“-Sure, you do” said Aemond.
“You can’t want me-“ muttered Lucaela, lowering her gaze to the floor.
“Why not?” snarked Aemond.
“I thought I was a bastard-you said it yourself. Handsome, wise and strong”
“When it comes to you I was wrong, I should have said pretty and perfect for birthing my pups” growled Aemond as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a single stride. He could feel the heat of her body, the softness of her skin, beckoning him closer with each passing second.
And then, without a word, he crushed his lips to hers in a searing kiss.
His Alpha roaring with delight, at the sweet taste of the Omega.
Breaking away from the kiss, Lucaela gasped for breath, her eyes meeting Aemond's with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. "We mustn't," she breathed, her voice trembling with restraint. "We should court properly, earn the blessing of the King and our family.”
Aemond's brows furrowed, a shadow passing over his features as he shook his head in disbelief. "You know as well as I do, Lucy," he murmured, his voice tinged with bitterness. "My mother and grandsire would never allow such a match to take place. They would sooner see us wed to strangers for political gain than grant their blessing to our union."
“Aemond” whimpered Lucaela as he reached out to gently cup her cheek, his touch sending shivers down her spine.
"You can feel it, can't you?" he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "The pull of my Alpha scent”
Lucaela's breath caught in her throat at his words, her heart pounding with a mixture of longing and apprehension. She wanted to deny it, to cling to the remnants of her resolve, but the undeniable truth hung heavy in the air between them.
"I-I shouldn't," she whispered, her voice barely a breath as she fought to resist the primal urges that threatened to consume her. "We mustn't give in to temptation, Aemond. We must honour our duty and our family."
But even as she spoke the words, Lucaela could feel the last vestiges of her resistance crumbling beneath the weight of Aemond's presence, his Alpha scent wrapping around her like a velvet cloak, suffusing her senses with a heady intoxication that left her dizzy with desire.
Aemond's lips curled into a knowing smile as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You cannot deny the pull any longer, Issa dōna," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "Our desires are too strong, too primal to be ignored” (My sweet).
With a soft gasp, Lucaela closed the distance between them, her lips meeting Aemond's in a searing kiss that left them both breathless and wanting more.
Lucaela had lost most of her senses the moment Aemond had pressed her onto the bed and knelt down between her open legs.
“Issa dōna Omega” whispered Aemond (My sweet Omega).
Lucaela’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.
Lucaela bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.
“Ivestragī issa rȳbagon ao issa dōna” growled Aemond (Let me hear you my sweet).
“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Lucaela.
Aemond pressed two fingers inside Lucaela, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake.
“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond.
Lucaela arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.
Aemond crawled up Lucaela’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.
Lucaela blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.
“Calm yourself my little strong girl” murmured Aemond.
“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Lucaela.
“Relax and let Alpha take care of you”.
Almost as if he could read Lucaela’s mind, Aemond smiled and began peppering gentle kisses all over Lucaela’s face.
“You can take it. Ao istan vēttan syt issa” whispered Aemond as he began rubbing his hard cock along Lucaela’s wet folds (You were made for me).
Suddenly Aemond rolls his hips forward and the entire hard length of him is buried inside Lucaela.
“A-Aemond” shrieks Lucaela at the sting of her maidenhead being taken.
Aemond stills for a moment, almost as if he is savouring the feeling of Lucaela’s tight wet heat being wrapped around him.
After a few mintues, Lucaela begins to writh against him.
“M-Move please Alpha. I need you” begged Lucaela desperately.
Aemond rolls his hips gently at first, allowing Lucaela the time to adjust to the feeling of his cock moving back and forth inside her, but when his sweet Omega begins issuing pleas of ‘Harder and faster’ Aemond loses it and begins fucking Lucaela into the mattress.
Their hips pound together as Aemond thrusts hard and fast, his movements brutal and precise.
“Lucaela. My Omega” moans Aemond as his cock begins to thicken at the base.
“Yes. Yes. Oh, it’s feels so good. Alpha don’t stop. Fuck me harder. I can take it”
“Going to fill you up with my seed. I want to see you swollen with my pups” hisses Aemond.
“Yes. Alpha breed me. I want to grow round with your pup. I will give you as many pups as you desire” exclaimed Lucaela.
“Y-Your neck. I need too-Claim you” growls Aemond.
“Yes, Alpha claim me. Make me yours” begs Lucaela.
With a low growl of desire, Aemond tilts Lucaela's head back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck to his hungry gaze.
His cock throbbing with anticipation,
Lucaela's breath hitched as she felt the heat of Aemond's lips brush against her skin, his touch igniting her blood. Then, she felt the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into her flesh, a mixture of pleasure and pain flooding her senses.
Aemond's Alpha scent enveloped her, swirling around her like a whirlwind, as Lucaela surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. With a gasp of ecstasy, she arched against him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt their bond solidifying, the mating bond that would bind them together for eternity.
But even as Aemond claimed her as his own, Lucaela's own Omega instincts surged to life, driving her to reciprocate the gesture. With a fierce determination, she bit down on Aemond's neck.
Whilst her teeth are not as sharp as Aemonds, they still manage to puncture his mating gland. Sealing Alpha and Omega together forever. Their bond snapping into place. Their hearts as one.
The blood from their bites running down their bodies, as they moved together. Her Alpha fucked her hard and fast, his hips pounding against hers. The sound of skin slapping together echoed around the chambers.
As Aemond gives one last thrust and forces his knot inside Lucaela, spilling rope after rope of his seed inside his Omega, which made Lucaela throw her own head back and scream, as she reached her peak, clenching around her Alpha’s pulsating cock.
It didn’t stop there, Aemond only needed a few moments of rest before growing hard inside of his Omega again.
As Lucaela’s legs relaxed and let go of her hold on Aemond, his knot had deflated enough to allow him to move backwards, and he raised himself to his knees between Lucaela’s legs.
The loss of her Alpha inside her made Lucaela whimper as the ache quickly returned.
“Roll over” ordered Aemond. It was a command, an Alpha command, and Lucaela whimpered as she felt it take control of her body, she had to obey, she had to please her Alpha.
She was now on all fours in front of him, ready to be mounted again. Her waves of scent and slick made Aemond almost stagger. He pushed his cock into the whimpering Omega once more with shaky hands and proceeded to pound her even harder and quicker than before, snapping his hips against her while grunting loudly, driving needy moans out of Lucaela.
Aemond was gripping her hips so hard that his nails were digging into her skin, leaving marks everywhere, the pain drove Lucaela wild with need and she needed to feel more of it.
Almost as if he could sense what she needed, Aemond reached forward and grabbed Lucaela’s hair, making her head shoot back. Lucaela cried out to her Alpha in pleasure, making Aemond growl.
His knot started to slowly push inside Lucaela, and she let out a feral cry as the knot made its way deeper and deeper inside of her.
It swelled up so much, it hurt, it hurt so good.
“A-Aemond-yes-yes-please” babbled Lucaela as she peaked, her slick dripping onto the sheets.
“I will have you dripping with my seed my sweet Omega. I can’t wait to see you swell with my pups, everyone will know your mine-“ moaned Aemond.
Aemond thrust one, two, three more times before growling once again, shooting his seed deep inside Lucaela, filling her up. He grunted out Lucaela’s name chasing the pleasure of his own peak. He then let out a deep, satisfied breath before collapsing onto his Omega.
Aemond moved his face to Lucaela’s neck again, and lovingly nuzzled her.
Lucaela laid trembling underneath him, his knot had swelled and locked together,
“ñuhon” muttered Aemond (Mine).
In the depths of the night, shrouded in shadows cast by flickering torchlight, Lucaela made her way down to the skull of Balerion, the ancient relic looming over her like a silent sentinel of the past. She paused before the massive skull, her heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and resolve.
As she waited, Lucaela reached up to the fresh mating mark on her neck and grimaced at the dried blood lingering on her skin.
At the sound of footsteps, Lucaela took a deep breath and turned to face Daemon.
"Is it done?"
Lucaela nodded, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning within her. "Yes," she replied, her words echoing softly in the cavernous chamber. "Aemond has claimed me as his mate. His seed has filled my womb."
A slow smile spread across Daemon's lips, a flicker of satisfaction dancing in his eyes. "Well done," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the darkness.
“Thank you-father” whispered Lucaela.
"You must lay with him as many times as you can to ensure that you carry Aemond's pup," he said, his tone firm and commanding. "No Alpha would ever turn away from their own child and with Aemond on our side, your mother's path to the Iron Throne is clearer than ever."
"I-I understand," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper as she met Daemon's gaze with a mixture of resignation and determination.
Daemon nodded; his expression unreadable as he regarded her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "Good," he said, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the chamber. "With his pup in your womb, our position will be secure”.
“What of those who conspire against mother?” asked Lucaela.
“Otto Hightower isn’t the only treasonous cunt involved, soon the others will reveal themselves and when they do-justice will served” replied Daemon his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister.
“Perzys se ānogar” said Lucaela (Fire and Blood).
Daemon's eyes softened as he looked upon Lucaela, a sense of pride swelling within him like a flame dancing in the darkness. Of Rhaenyra's three children from her first marriage, Lucaela was his favourite—the embodiment of everything he believed a Targaryen should be.
"You have done well" he said, his voice carrying the weight of his admiration. "But now, it is time for you to return to your mate and get some rest. Thanks to you, the war will be won before it even begins”
As Lucaela made her way back to her chambers, her mind drifted back to Daemon's plan.
Her presentation as an Omega had marked a turning point, her scent at its strongest—a heady concoction of sweetness and allure that had the power to captivate even the most stoic of unmated Alphas. It was a scent that could drive men to madness, igniting a primal hunger that could not be ignored.
Whispers had reached Dragonstone of Ottos plans to usurp the Iron Throne when Viserys passed and have Aegon crowned, and Daemon knew they had to play it smart at least for now and he had seen the potential of her power as an Omega and recognized the opportunity it presented.
Aemond and Vhagar were Otto’s biggest asset, and without them he was nothing.
So, Daemon had suggested that she deliberately place herself in front of Aemond, play coy and let her scent drive him wild with desire until he could resist her no longer.
Lucaela pushed open the door, the soft light of the moon casting a gentle glow across the room, illuminating the seed and blood-stained sheets that bore witness to their passionate union.
Aemond was still asleep, his features softened by the embrace of slumber, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
As Lucaela slipped beneath the covers and nestled against Aemond's side, his arms instinctively wrapping around her and pulling her close, a sense of warmth and contentment washed over her like a wave crashing against the shore.
And as she lay there in the darkness, wrapped in Aemond's embrace, Lucaela couldn't help but wonder if perhaps being mated to him wouldn't be so bad after all.
The fervour in which he had taken her to bed had been unlike anything she had expected, growing up the septa’s had always told her of a woman’s duty, that she existed for a man’s pleasure and not her own.
But Aemond had shown her that there was much pleasure to be had, and she couldn’t wait to experience more.
#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#hotd fanfic#aemond fic#aemond x oc#aemond x original female character#hotd fic#aemond one eye#aemond#aemond smut#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#alpha omega#hotd smut#hotd
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The Winter Formal - Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Summary: Forced to be your annoying, arrogant academic rival’s date for your university’s Christmas Formal was already a nightmare in itself. Getting drunk? Now that was just a recipe for disaster.
Pairing: Modern! Aemond Targaryen x AFAB! Reader
Warnings: profanity, angst, some talks of drunk violence, academic dumb idiot rivals to lovers, lovesick Aemond, p in v sex, degradation, face sitting (f!receiving), tiddy play, use of 'atta girl' (pls let me know if i missed anything)
Word Count: 6.92k words
A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) MAY THE AEMOND NATION PLS ARISE, bcuz this is for you guys ;)
lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !
For as long as you could remember, you had always hated Aemond Targaryen’s guts.
Maybe it was a hatred programmed in you since birth, but it made little sense, since your mother and Aemond’s mother, Alicent Targaryen, had been inseparable companions since high school. It was your mother who supported Alicent throughout her marriage, acting as a close, trusted confidant during her clashes with their old friend and Alicent’s new stepdaughter, Rhaenyra, and throughout her miserable marriage. They had even gotten pregnant at around the same time, your mother with you, and Alicent with Aemond, and they were sure that their children would share the same strong bond as they had.
So, it had been quite unfortunate, and ironic, when you and Aemond ended up being each other’s number 1 enemies.
You disliked plenty of things about him: how he always thought he was the best in the room, and actually had something to show for it - always coming in at the top of the classes you shared. History, geography, mathematics, english…bloody hell. It hurt worse when he always flaunted the results in your face.
Got a 98 for English? Aemond would get a 99, shoot you a taunting sympathetic grin and said: “Better luck next time.” He knew you were always actively seeking a chance to beat him, and he found a certain sort of thrill in it, in taunting you.
That little fuckhead.
It was a nigging thorn in your side, since you always strove to be the best that you could at everything. And you were always so, so, close.
Yet not close enough. As you were made to watch Aemond on stage every year at your school’s academic awards ceremony, a smirk on his face, looking like an overly self-righteous pufferfish as he lifted his first place trophy in the air. Like he had just won some fucking world championship. Meanwhile, you had to stand backstage, gritting your teeth and fisting the fabric of your uniform in your hands as you waited to be called on stage to receive your award as second place in your whole cohort. Not close enough as you were forced to be designated as salutatorian at the end of your senior year in high school, while Aemond shot you the most self-satisfied grin ever as he deliberately brushed past you to give his valedictorian speech.
You swore, if your diploma was not at stake that day, you would’ve pummelled him right in his smug, grinning face.
That year before you were due to start at King’s Landing University, however, Aemond had suffered a horrible accident in a brawl at a bar during Christmas along with his younger nephews, Jacaerys Velaryon and Lucerys Velaryon. He had come out of it with one eye permanently scarred from the glass shard of a broken beer bottle, and a colder, more sullen attitude. Despite the offer of a prosthetic eye by his step sister, Rhaenyra, Aemond had refused, instead putting on an eyepatch to hide his scarred right eye.
When your mother had recounted to you the incident with much solemnity, you had felt a strange sense of turmoil in you. You didn’t want to feel sorry for Aemond Targaryen, of all people, but it was a tragic incident that no one deserves to have befallen on them. So you could only shift uncomfortably in your seat, as your mother made meaningful eyes at you, trying to elicit some sympathy and concern from you.
Because of that incident, Aemond’s admission to university had to be put on hold, as the professors at the university were unsure if Aemond’s plans to double major in law and history would be impeded by the loss of his eye, and he had to take additional exams to prove that his studies would not be affected in any way.
So you were surprised when on the first day of classes, during your first class of the day - Constitutional Law - you caught sight of a familiar figure seated at the front of the class. Dressed in an expensive black cashmere sweater and tailored trousers, his long white hair neatly bunched up at the top of his head in a bun, eyepatch slung over his right eye, Aemond Targaryen sat there with an impassive look on his face, browsing through his lecture notes. Like some dark shadow the Seven sought to inflict upon you. You wanted to groan in frustration when the only seats left at the front were both next to him - clearly no one had summed up enough courage to sit next to the imposing Targaryen. Gripping the strap of your backpack a little tighter, you stalked up to the front, taking a seat at the right of him.
He barely looked up as you slid into your seat - a surprising change. Usually back when you were in high school, he would always greet you with that infuriating smirk on his face, one that screamed superiority at every turn. Gods, how much you had hated that. Yet, you felt a strange sense of emptiness at not being greeted.
Ignoring that, you pulled out your own textbooks and self-made notes, tying your hair up into a neat ponytail as you began reviewing your notes. From the front, you could hear very clearly what the rest of the class were gossiping about, and the whisperings about Aemond were unpleasant. You paused as you listened to them, gripping your highlighter a little tighter as you shot side glances at Aemond - still studying, not letting anything give. Was he truly not bothered by them? When he was younger, he always had something to prove whenever someone gossiped about him, having been bullied in the past. Why was he so silent? Who was this phantom?
“Are you going to keep staring?” Aemond’s cool voice broke through your thoughts, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you realise you’ve been caught. You sniffed haughtily, turning away. “Who said I was staring?” Aemond scoffed, not turning to look at you still, for whatever reason. “You were. Don’t try to deny it.” He paused for a while, eye fixed on a passage.
“I don’t want your pity, you know.” You bristled, startled. “As if I ever would.” You waited for Aemond to retort with a snarky remark, but you were surprised when he kept silent, and responded coldly. “Good. keep it that way.”
You shot him a discerning look, but before you could say anything else, the professor arrived, and all thoughts of Aemond Targaryen’s new unapproachability had vanished into thin air.
You soon came to learn that while Aemond had ceased the taunting of your youthhood, it was like losing an eye had made him even more driven somehow. You found you and him falling into old patterns, restarting your fierce rivalry. Only this time, you managed to succeed in getting the best of him in certain modules, such as for Civil Law modules, much to your delight. It only served to make Aemond more steely, however, and the both of you often found yourself partaking in the same student committees, always competing for the top spots in planning school events.
Like now, in the meeting called to discuss the planning of the school’s Winter Formal.
“I think that that’s a shit idea,” Aemond’s blunt words took everyone aback, but few dared to oppose him, too intimidated by the tall man.
And the few who dared were mostly you, anyway.
You raised your eyebrow, tapping your pen on the planning document in front of you. “It’s a winter formal, Targaryen. And white and gold is the traditional theme used for most formals. Isn’t it nice to spruce things up a bit?”
“You’re proposing to reinvent a winter formal that has been steeped in centuries of tradition,” Aemond remarked sarcastically, glaring at you. “Do you know how many distinguished alumni and guests are on the guest list? I doubt they would find your ‘Christmas Wonderland’ theme proposal charming in any way. Most likely, they’ll think it gaudy and it’ll reflect badly on the school.”
You snorted, wanting to toss the pen in his fucking infuriating face. Him and his know-it-all voice. “Yes, but you forget, Targaryen, that I am the head of this project. Not you.” You turned to the other members of the planning committee, who all look like they would rather be anywhere other than here, in the midst of you and Aemond’s bickering. “All of those in favour of revamping the winter formal theme, please raise your hands.”
Your reputation as a tenacious leader clearly had an effect, as most of the members tentatively raised their hands. Shooting a triumphant grin at Aemond, you smugly noted it down and began drafting up the students in charge of decorations.
One for you, and zero for Aemond. At long last.
Aemond had reluctantly gone along with the Christmas Wonderland theme, and even he had to admit, a little bit of colour certainly didn’t hurt. White and gold were such dreadfully boring colours, and many of the school’s faculty had expressed their praise for the changed theme this year, much to your delight.
However, so busy were you with the planning of the winter formal, that you had neglected to do a few important things for yourself.
Buying a dress and getting a date.
You paced back and forth in your dorm in panic, two days before the night of the Winter Formal, as your roommate, Rosina, looked at you with increasing frustration. “How could I be so stupid to have forgotten about those things?” You groaned, slumping down on an armchair and putting your head in your hands.
“The dress problem can be easily solved,” Rosina said bluntly, leaning back against her pillows. “I’ll just lend you one of mine. And who gives a flying fuck about not having a date? A lot of people don’t.”
“Yes, but I’m the head of the planning committee for this event!” you griped, as Rosina rolled her eyes. “I still don’t see the problem, apart from your stupid fucking dignity getting in the way as usual.” Usually, you loved Rosina’s deadpan, take-no-bullshit nature, but it wasn’t really helpful now.
“Anyway, from what I've heard, Targaryen doesn’t have a date either, so you don’t need to stress. He’s second-in-charge after you, anyway, so if he doesn’t have a date, you should be fine. It won't be that humiliating.” You slowly lifted your face up, looking at Rosina urgently. “Targaryen doesn’t have a date?”
“Yeah,” Rosina wrinkled her nose. “He’s hot, sure. But literally everyone who had the courage to ask got rejec- where the fuck are you going?” You were putting on your bra, and brushing through the tangles of your hair. “This is so fucking stupid, but I’m going to ask him.”
“Are you crazy?” Rosina came to stand next to you, hands on her hips as you roughly used a hairbrush to comb out a tangle. “You know you both hate each other right?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” you bit out. “Wish me luck!” You blew a kiss to Rosina as you left the dorm. “Good luck, you crazy bitch!” You could hear Rosina holler as the dorm room closed behind you.
You took a deep breath, eyes resting on the dorm door before you. Right. You didn’t know what exactly had possessed you to come here. Maybe it was sheer panic, or stupidity, or both. You knocked lightly, but it seemed no one was in, which made you come to your senses a little bit. “This was a stupid idea,” you muttered, retracting your hand, wanting to just scurry back to your dorm.
Turning around, however, you knocked into a hard chest. “Oof! I’m so sorry!” You gasped out, before your eyes met a familiar lilac one, an indifferent expression etched on his face. Fucking hell.
“And what are you doing at my dorm this late, little bookworm?” His voice was raspy, and you couldn’t help but shift your weight from one leg to the other. Was it too late to run?
You were never a quitter though. And like you said, desperate times called for desperate measures.
“The winter formal,” you reluctantly gritted out. “I wanted…to ask you to be my date.” Aemond raised an eyebrow, and for a split second, you could see that self-satisfied boy from your youthood again. “You know, you’re supposed to say please, little bookworm.”
You bit your tongue, wanting to snark him and be done with it. ‘Calm down, calm down, you really do need him. Play nice, Y/N.’ you told yourself sternly, sighing.
“Please, will you go to the winter formal with me as my date?” Aemond smirked, looking down at you. Your head was bowed, and he could hear you grinding your teeth a little. You were just too cute sometimes.
“You should look up at someone when making a request of them, you know,” Aemond said blandly, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Your mouth dropped open, was he serious right now? This dickhead-
“You know what, fuck it,” you sniffed, beginning to walk away. “If you’re going to be a dick about it as usual, then there’s no point in continuing this conversation. Good fucking night, Targaryen.”
Aemond watched you walk away, the smirk never leaving his face. You went back to your dorm, immediately burying your face in the pillow, ignoring Rosina’s exasperated sighs of ‘I told you so’. All night, you tossed and turned in frustration, but when morning broke, Rosina shook you awake, ignoring your grumbles.
You got out of bed grumpily to see what the fuss was about, only to find a note sitting on the table, in a familiar scrawl.
“Go to the address written below and pick out a dress for tomorrow. Knowing you, you definitely didn’t have time to find one. I’ve already made payment arrangements, so just find one that you like. See you tomorrow.
Your date,
Aemond Targaryen.”
Rosina snorted, bumping your shoulder as you scanned the note for the third time, trying to make sure he wasn’t pulling your leg. “He so likes you.” You looked askance at her. “That’s bullshit.” Rosina chuckled, “Yeah. it’s not, and you know it too.” The conversation abruptly ended when you snatched up a stray cushion and began hitting her with it, ignoring her squeals as she tried to escape. It was impossible.
And yet?
A warm feeling burrowed into your stomach, and stayed there for the rest of the day.
On the night of the Winter Formal, you were frantically scrabbling around your dorm, affixing the final pins to your hair, putting on your final touches of makeup. Rosina was still in classes, but as the winter formal started at 7:30, you, being your endlessly worrying, perfectionist self, had to go at 6 to make sure everything was in order before the guests poured in.
A knock at the door sounded, and you yelled in response, putting on your lipstick. “Give me a second!” As you swung open the door, your breath momentarily stuttered in your throat.
Oh dear.
Aemond stood outside the door, looking like he had just stepped out of the fucking Met Gala or something. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, black with red lapels, with a few shimmers of silver scattered here and there, like he was coated in a layer of stardust. His suit jacket wasn’t really a normal jacket, but a sharply cut cape coat, which made him look a little imposing, but handsome all the same. It was embroidered with small dragon insignias, and you remembered Aemond’s family’s crest was a dragon or something. Of course he would find a way to incorporate that into his outfit. His family were one of the biggest donors of the university, after all.
You gave him an appraising look, one hand on your hip as you surveyed him. “You…look nice.” Aemond smirked, tossing some of his white-blonde locks over his shoulder haughtily. “I can dress myself, you know. Don’t need to act surprised now.” You rolled your eyes, and Aemond took the chance to scan you from head to toe as well. Dressed in a gorgeous strapless gown of midnight blue, your bodice was streaked with silver as well, shining like starlight among the deep blue of your dress. The skirt flared into elaborate ruffles of tulle and black lace that were almost invisible against the backdrop of the dress, and small silver sparkles twinkled among the ruffles of your gown.
You narrowed your eyes as you realised the both of you were matching, did he do this on purpose? From the way Aemond’s eye was shining in mischief, you were most certain that he did.
“You look…breathtaking,” his next words took you aback, and you regarded him with a look of unease, unsure of how to respond. Was this truly the Aemond Targaryen you knew? The one whose only language was taunting or disagreeing with you? You somehow managed to recover some semblance of sanity, nodding stiffly. “Thanks…I guess.”
A self-satisfied smirk appeared on his lips again, as he offered you his arm. “Shall we get going, then? I’m sure you will want to inspect the venue and get your nose into every single little crook and cranny to make sure that it’s perfect.”
You rolled your eyes, your arm, which were clad in silver silk gloves, slipping into his gingerly. “Spoken like someone who wouldn’t do the same.”
The formal had been progressing smoothly so far, apart from the few drunken incidents here and there, which you discreetly handled and made a note to provide less alcohol at these events. Much to your delight, your professors had introduced you to some attorneys whom you deeply admired, commending you as one of their finest students in the year. You had taken the chance to network and mingle with them, eagerly seeking out internship and shadowing opportunities for your upcoming holidays, particularly in the field of civil litigation, and many of them had given you their contact details for you to contact them should you wish to work with them.
Aemond stood by you like a silent shadow, watching but not saying much, but your professors also praised him, introducing him to many esteemed alumnus. And once they had learnt that Aemond was from the prestigious Targaryen family, many of them immediately took to flocking Aemond, asking him many questions about his family, his plans for studies, and so on. A slight burning sensation of envy rose in your heart as you watched Aemond disinterestedly converse with them. Why wasn’t he taking it seriously? Had it been you, you would be seizing the opportunity to network with them.
‘He's a Targaryen,’ you sighed internally. ‘Of course he wouldn’t. It’s been pretty much handed to him on a silver platter his own life anyway.’
Sullenly, you slipped away, making rounds around the party to ensure that everything was progressing smoothly. Still, it couldn’t curb the irritableness you were feeling, so you snatched up a bottle of whiskey from the drinks table, pouring yourself a glass. Then two. Then three. Then four turned to seven and seven turned to thirteen glasses. Your surroundings blurred as time seemed to slow, and you sighed, feeling a heady pounding in your head.
“Are you serious?” A gruff voice interrupted you in your fifteenth? Twentieth? Glass of whiskey, and you looked up from where you had sunk into a plush armchair, a glazed over, slightly cantankerous expression on your face.
“Well, well,” you hiccuped, lifting the glass to your lips. “If it isn’t Mr Bigshot Targaryen.” Aemond sighed in annoyance, knowing you were picking a fight again. He made a quick assessment of your surroundings, noting two empty whiskey bottles and a third one that was almost drained. Seven fucking Hells, you were drunk.
You let out an indignant yelp as a hand plucked away your whiskey tumbler, setting it down with a definitive clink. “Hey, I was drinking that!”
“You’re fucking drunk out of your mind, little bookworm,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. “I’m taking you back to your dorm.” You hiccuped again. “You’re not my dad, Targaryen. So why don’t you just run along and socialise with those schmoozy lawyer friends of yours, hmm? They were all eager to have a piece of you. Or have you grown tired already?”
Aemond wanted to smack you in the forehead. Oh, this godsforsaken woman. “I may not be your dad, yes,” he rumbled, snatching away the whiskey bottle that you were reaching for and making you curse at him. “But I would be damned if I let you get drunk on your first Christmas Eve spent away from your family.”
You gave him a confused look. “Is it Christmas Eve?” Aemond frowned. He put a hand on your forehead, to check for a fever, which you promptly batted away. “Have you lost all your senses? The winter formal was scheduled on Christmas Eve, remember?”
“Oh.” was all you could say, lamely. “I…I was so busy. I didn’t remember.”
Aemond sighed, taking a seat in the armchair next to you. It was good that it was late and most of the guests had already left, so the both of you had some privacy. The vast hall was empty now, save for a few cleaners. “You know, you have got to take more time for yourself. You take on too many commitments.”
You hiccuped, snorting softly. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, but you felt a strong inclination to vent out all your previous frustrations on Aemond right now. Who the hell did he think he was, criticising you for your decisions?
“Yeah, and it’s all your fucking fault.” Aemond’s eye widened incredulously, his mouth dropping open. “My fault? Pray tell, did I ever tell you to overwork yourself that you forget to keep track of when Christmas was?”
“It’s because of you that I have to overwork myself!” you blustered out, a tidal wave of emotions overtaking you. “Because you’re always so fucking perfect, and smart, and good at every single goddamn thing under the sun. Meanwhile, compared to you, I’ve always had to work twice as hard. And yet, I never come close to beating you. Despite how many fucking extracurriculars I have, how many A’s I get, how much praise I get for being ‘one of the best students in the grade’, it’s never fucking enough! Because you’re always the best! And I’m so sick of it!”
After your tirade, you deflated like a balloon sucked clean of its air, collapsing back against the armchair. You felt hot wet streaks cascading down your face, but you didn’t care anymore. You were just so tired…it wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be so perfect?
The touch of a hand on your shoulder startled you, and the next thing you knew, Aemond Targaryen embraced you, gently stroking your hair as if you were a lost child, and he was consoling you. Despite your mind screaming at him to let go, it didn’t translate to your physical actions. You just…stayed there, sobbing in his arms. “I hate you so much, you know. You’ve always had everything handed to you on a silver platter, and it’s like you don’t even care. You always treat things for granted,” you continued rambling on, the dizzy sensation in your head gradually increasing.
Aemond was silent for a long time. He never anticipated you to feel this way, and the shock from your revelations sent his head reeling. He sighed, how could he ever tell you that he had a stupid crush on you since you were little kids? That his attempts at teasing you, riling you up, were all so you could just look at him for a second longer, even if it was with a scowl? How could he tell you that none of his A’s or first place trophies could make him feel the same fuzzy way he felt whenever you looked at him? He opened his mouth to speak, debating on whether to comfort you, or tell you all his feelings. “Y/N-”
With a start, he realised you were asleep in his arms as you let out a snore, body slack in his arms. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Wonderful. This was just the Christmas Eve he wanted.
The sound of an alarm jolted you from a deep slumber. You flung off the blankets covering you, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. “Ugh…” the pounding in your head was overwhelming, it was like there were a party of elephants having a fiesta in your brain right now. “What time is it…” you reached for the alarm clock to turn it off, only to freeze when a hand reached for it before you did.
You and Aemond Targaryen stared at each other, wide-eyed, in the dim light of the dorm, while the red digits on the clock read, “6a.m.”
You were the first to react, frantically struggling as you scooted to the far end of the bed. “Aaaahhhh!” you screamed, clutching the duvet closer to you for protection. “What the fuck are you doing in my dorm?”
“Wait, we didn’t-” you looked down at yourself, noting with palpable relief that you were still in your winter formal attire, though you stank of alcohol. Thank the Seven.
Aemond rolled his eyes, grumbling as he switched off his alarm clock. “No, we didn’t sleep together. And this isn’t your dorm. It’s mine.”
“Then what in the name of the Seven and all that is holy am I doing here?” You hollered at him, the confusion coupled with the pounding in your head making your surroundings spin. “Ow…my head.”
“Yeah, it’s called a hangover,” Aemond snided, taking a seat on the bedspread. “You know, for drinking nearly three bottles of whiskey last night.”
Your eyes went wide in horror. “Last night…” You weren’t the type to forget what you did while drunk, so your memory quickly raced through last night’s events, where you got drunk, and…fucking shit.
You squeezed your eyes shut, muttering curses under your breath as you remembered what had happened last night. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. An awkward silence had lapsed in the room, as you struggled to find words to acquit you of this predicament. ‘Me and my big mouth while I’m drunk.’
“I’m sorry,” you both blurted out at the same time, before breaking off, staring at each other awkwardly. “Wait, why are you sorry?” you questioned him, looking dumbfounded. Aemond sighed, smiling wistfully. “Isn’t it obvious? For making you feel that way. I…I had no idea you did.”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off brusquely, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers as the duvet slowly slid back down. “It’s all just fucking stupid, anyway. Let’s just let it go-”
Suddenly Aemond seized your hands, holding onto them with some sort of restrained anger. Startled, you stared up at him, as his one eye glazed over with pain and sorrow. “Of course it’s not fine. Don’t brush aside your feelings like that.” you stared at him, stupefied. What had gotten into him?
Aemond inhaled deeply, looking down at your hands. “You know…how I lost my eye over the break last year right?” You nodded warily, not sure where this was headed. Aemond’s voice shook a little as he recounted that incident. “It was because Luke was drunk, really. He wanted to pick a fight with this guy because he had stolen his girlfriend. And then next thing we knew, his goons surrounded us. Then, I think maybe it was the heat of the moment, or adrenaline…but Luke had a glass shard in his hand, and he accidentally attacked me.” You felt your heart plummet to your stomach. “What?”
Aemond smiled, a contortion of pain and feigned impassivity. “He was drunk out of his mind, he probably thought I was one of the goons by accident. By the time Jace pulled him off, it was a little too late.” He sighed. “You know, the drunk part I can forgive, but the worst part was that my father didn’t even care to hear my side of the story. He just said that we should’ve been more careful.” His voice hardened, “I was angry, because he just chose to brush this under the rug, pretend like we were still one big happy family, like Luke didn’t slash out my eye in a drunken rage. He didn’t try to comfort me, or understand my situation. And I just…” he shrugged helplessly.
You bit your bottom lip, looking at his scarred eye. “I’m sorry…that must have hurt. A lot. Your dad is a dick.”
The ghost of a smirk lingered on Aemond’s lips. “Yeah…he is. I’ve made my peace with it though, and Luke has never stopped apologising since that day. So it is what it is.” He hesitated, before reaching up tentatively, taking off his eyepatch. A gasp sounded from you as you took in the sapphire crammed into where his right eye should’ve been. “...does it look scary?” Aemond asked you, his voice small. You shook your head, unable to tear your gaze away. “It’s not. It’s…quite beautiful, actually. Even though it’s a bit macabre.”
Aemond chuckled, gently brushing aside a strand of your messed up hair. “My point is, don’t try to just brush things under the rug, okay? It never did anyone any good, and it won’t for you as well.” You shifted, a faint sense of discomfort prickling your skin. “But why…are you telling me all this?” ‘Why are you being so nice? I hated you.’
Aemond barked out a rough laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? I have a crush on you, little bookworm.”
You blinked. Once. twice. Thrice. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I have a crush on you. Since we were kids." Aemond repeated himself, his voice light with amusement, but tender. “Did you know why I always teased you? Why I always wanted to make you frustrated? It was because I wanted your attention. I didn’t care if it was negative or positive, which in hindsight, didn’t seem like a good choice.”
You stared at him, mouth agape. He-he can’t be serious, can he?
“You don’t have to say anything,” Aemond said quickly, releasing your hands. “I just wanted you to know how I felt. No brushing things under the rug, you know.” Still, Aemond could feel his heart breaking a little at your silence. He had shot his shot, even though you made it clear that you disliked him. He shouldn’t expect much. “Little bookworm?” he asked carefully, observing your expression.
“For someone so smart., you’re a real idiot, you know that?” Aemond opened his mouth to answer, but before he knew it, your lips were on his, as you launched yourself at him. Aemond’s eye widened, but then you mumbled, “You’re supposed to kiss me back, you know.”
Then, with a choked laugh, Aemond did, reaching up to cup your cheeks and stroke them with his thumb as he returned the kiss from the girl of his dreams. Your lips moved in perfect tandem to one another, filled with tender, sweet desperation. “I’ll be an idiot, an annoying pest, anything you want.” Aemond murmured, his lips breaking away for a moment. “As long as you keep tormenting me, as long as you’re still here. I would be your anything.”
You laughed, feeling slight tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. “You’re such a doofus, you know that?” Aemond flipped you over, making you land on your back with a yelp, as he hovered over you, smirking. “I know. But I’m your doofus.”
Aemond continued kissing you, his hands roaming across your body sweetly, carefully. “This is probably the best Christmas of my life,” Aemond muttered softly against your lips. Your eyes widened, “Shoot, I completely forgot again.” Aemond laughed, sitting up and looking down at you with a naughty grin on his face. “Well, I actually have a present for you, you know.”
You raised your eyebrows, looking up at him. Even in nothing but an old, faded sweatshirt and some sweatpants, he looked like a vision sculpted by the Seven. “Oh? And what might that be?”
“Me, of course,” he said smugly, leaning down to kiss you again. You let out a few whimpers as you felt his hands slowly sliding up your dress, creeping up your thighs…into your panties.
“Oh!’ you gasped out, as Aemond found the spot between your wet folds. He grinned devilishly, “Already wet for me, hmm?” You rolled your eyes at him, groaning as he teased your wet slit with the pad of his finger. “Just shut up already.’
Aemond wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, “Why don’t you make me?’ You blinked, not quite comprehending his point. “I want you to sit on my face while I eat your wet little cunt,” he delineated bluntly, looking at you hungrily. “It’s a victory for you, no? You get your pussy eaten out, and shut me up at the same time. Hell, if I wasn’t so eager for a taste of your pussy, I would’ve grumbled at the unfairness of it.”
You stared at him incredulously, but you felt the slow rise of arousal in your abdomen as he continued looking at you challengingly whilst teasing your folds, and you decided, why the hell not? “Game on, Targaryen.”
He grinned, putting his finger in his mouth and groaning as he tasted your essence. You clamped your legs a little tighter at the sight. “You taste so fucking good already. I can’t wait to feel your cunt on my mouth.” Deft fingers helped you out of your gown, and you tossed it away carelessly, moving to take off your underwear. Aemond’s eye trailed over your naked form shamelessly, and he planted a soft kiss on your neck. “Beautiful.” he murmured. You felt your cheeks heat up, but decided to sass him a little. “Well, are we going to wait here all day, or?” Aemond grinned, a handsome, wicked expression that made your stomach do flips. “Definitely not. I need to taste you now.”
He laid back on his pillows, gesturing at you. “Come here. Now.” You swallowed, crawling towards him, angling your cunt to his face. “Don’t suffocate or anything, okay?” You quipped as a joke, but Aemond only smirked. “No promises, sweetheart.”
He pulled your hips down towards him, and you let out a pleasured gasp as his tongue flicked across your clit. Moaning, you dug your nails into the wooden headboard of his bed, writhing and shaking slightly as Aemond devoured your pussy. When he pressed the tip of his nose up your slit, you let out a mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
You rode Aemond’s face eagerly, as he pleasured you without much regard for his own safety. A few times, you were so concerned that Aemond had not come up for air in so long that you tried to move your hips off his face, only for him to firmly grip you by the hips and pull you back down again. With Aemond’s insistent licking and sucking, you felt a coil beginning to form in your stomach. “Oh, god, I’m cumming, Aemond-” you moaned, but your moan was cut off when Aemond lifted you off his face, smirking at you smugly with his face coated in your juices. “Why’d you stop?” you whined, pouting.
Aemond chuckled. Oh, you were just so adorable sometimes. “Because I want your first time cumming with me to be on my cock,” Aemond explained, looking eerily calm, like he hadn’t just nearly drove you to climax with his tongue. “On your hands and knees.”
You gave him a scolding look, but Aemond only repeated himself, sterner this time. “Now, princess.” The nickname earned a shiver from you, and you found yourself obeying, shifting on your hands and knees. You heard Aemond dispose of his own clothing, and your legs quivered in anticipation as he came up behind you.
He chuckled darkly, landing a few gentle spanks on your ass. “Gods, this ass is magnificent. I’m going to have to spank it someday.” You had to bite back a moan as he leaned over you, whispering sweetly into your ear. His other hand wandered to your chest, pinching and then rubbing your sensitive, hardened buds, releasing a shaky, shuddering moan from you. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Having my hands all over this perfect ass of yours? Leaving red handprints over it? Hmm?”
You nearly choked on your saliva as you fought to answer, “Yes, daddy.” He groaned, smacking your ass lightly for a few more times. “Good fucking girl,” he punctuated each word with such raw intensity it made your cunt ache for him. Oh, how you craved him.
As if he could read your mind, Aemond began to enter you, groaning as he did. Inch by inch, he sunk in, watching his cock disappear inside your warm, wet folds. “Gods, you are so fucking tight,” he swore, his hands gently going around to pinch your nipples. You yipped, which brought a smile to his face. How could someone be so perfect?
Your legs were quivering at this point, and you were barely hanging on by a thread as Aemond sunk into you slowly, reaching places so deep and so pleasurable. You moaned, just how big was he?
“All in, princess,” he whispered affectionately, stroking your hair gently. “You okay?” “Yeah…” your voice was slightly raspy from the pleasure. “Good.” Aemond kissed down your spine gently, making goosebumps rise up on your skin. “Do you want it hard and fast, or slow and gentle?”
Biting your lip, you managed to stutter out, “Slow, please. Need to get used to you.” Aemond smiled, hands trailing down your abdomen. “Anything you want, princess.”
Then, Aemond began to move, and the world dissolved into a fuzzy nothingness as he did. He was so careful, taking his time with you, thrusting so deep inside you it elicited the most delicious, deep sighs and moans from you. “Oh…that’s the spot,” you murmured as Aemond’s cock hit your g-spot, making you see stars. Aemond chuckled darkly, one hand moving to play with your hardened nipples, watching as you arched your back into him. “I’m going to go faster now, alright, princess?” he murmured, the other hand soothingly trailing down your spine. You barely managed to gasp out the words “yes” before Aemond began to thrust harder and faster in you, hips ramming into yours as his cock stroked the most sensitive spots inside of you.
You moaned, panting needily as he did, feeling your ruined orgasm beginning to creep up again. “Aemond, am gonna come-” A guttural moan torn from Aemond’s throat as he heard that, his hands moving to flip you over as his movements slowed. “No.” He nearly snarled, turning you around to face him. “You come looking at my face, princess. Understood?”
You nodded, too desperate for your orgasm to object, as Aemond wrung moan after moan out of your pliant body, mouth kissing and biting everywhere on your neck and shoulders, leaving his marks all over you. He groaned as he began laving his attention on your perky tits again, mouth sucking at them harshly, teeth grazing over the nub. You shut your eyes, too lost in the pleasure as Aemond continued pounding into you, gripping your hips tightly.
“Eyes open, darling, or I won’t let you come,” Aemond’s rough sounding command made your eyes snap open, and he grinned roguishly as he saw your eyes fixed on his face. “Atta girl. Are you close?”
You nodded, pleading, “Please let me come, Aemond. Can’t last much longer…”
“I know, darling. I know,” Aemond groaned, leaning in to kiss you again. “You’re just a needy little slut for me, aren’t you?” You nodded frantically, anything to make him let you cum. He chuckled, “Thought so. It’s alright though, daddy likes needy little sluts like you, so long as they’re obedient. You’re a good girl, aren’t you, princess?”
“Yes, yes, I am,” you cried out, hands moving to grip at the sheets tightly. “Oh god, I’m going to come, I’m coming-”
Aemond’s fingers moved downwards, and his thumb rubbed over your clit, coaxing you towards your orgasm. With a loud cry, you came all over Aemond, eyes squeezing shut in unadulterated pleasure. Aemond’s thrusts didn’t slow a bit, as he chased his own high, groaning. “Do you want me to come inside, or…”
“I’m on the pill, don’t worry,” you reassured him, looking up at him, smoothing his white-blonde locks back from his forehead. He looked like an angel, all sweaty, his expression filled with pleasure and hunger and affection as he looked down at you. An angel of lust.
Aemond moaned at that, feeling his dick twitch before he spilled inside of you, hands going to grip at the headboard tightly, as he rode out his orgasm.
Aemond collapsed onto the bed next to you, taking you into his arms. “I should probably get you cleaned up,” he murmured softly, “But I just want to be selfish for a while, and cuddle with you a bit. That okay?” You nodded, leaning your head onto his chest. A content sigh burst from your lips. “More than okay. We can just shower together later, anyway.”
Aemond hummed in approval at your proposal, kissing your forehead gently. The both of you stayed in each other’s arms for a while, basking in the afterglow of sex and in each other’s company.
“Hey, princess?”
“Hmm?”
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Aemond.”
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The Blood is Rare
Summary: Aemond has always loathed his niece, and the feeling is very much mutual | Words: 3.3k | Warnings below the cut!
Warnings: a lot of talk of illegitimacy, hatefucking, dubcon, choking, slight knife play, biting, bitta blood, incest (character is described with strong features), p in v sex, baby trapping?
There was no plate at his spot at the table. No knife to tempt him. He would not break bread with those he could not trust.
Like an animal atop high ground, he sits rigid at the head of the table, on the outside unnervingly calm. But he watches with a keen eye the prey that sits at the other end.
She shares many features with her mother. His whore-sister. Her stubbornness, her determined gaze and the nervous twisting of the rings on each of her fingers into the bargain.
Had she not the dark brown, near-black shade of waved hair atop her head and bright, clear blue eyes of the former Commander of the City Watch, his niece and his sister would look nearly identical.
Unfortunately, they both shared his hatred for them as well.
He loathed the idea of them all. The birth of one mere brown-haired bastard was enough, and yet there were three of them, sat together in unification, as if to put up defences against the opposite side of the table, dotted with the moonlight-silver of Alicent Hightower’s children.
He smirked at the thought that she came mere hours after Jace. That she was unplanned. Unwanted. And yet here she existed, sitting with her eyes fixed on a flickering candle, trying to drown out the laughs, smiles and the oddity that was all of them all gathered together, enjoying one another’s company.
He knew as well as she did. It was the only thing they had in common. That they could see through this charade.
Aemond wondered if she had always seen it. Understood it. The strife that would happen between them. Perhaps she was a dreamer and could envisage the future before it had even happened.
She was a melancholic, hateful little thing. Born with fire and fury.
He supposed if anything, she was still the daughter of a Targaryen.
Aemond swore she was a witch of sorts. For she must have felt his gaze on her, and her clear eyes were illuminated by the dancing flame as they met him. Her expression unchanged.
His smirk grew that they felt the same about each other.
He was the cunt son of Alicent Hightower.
And she was the Strong bastard of his whore-sister.
Not breaking eye contact, she raised her chin, looking down at him over her nose, huffing as she turned away to sip from the cup on her small, delicate fingers.
Stuck up cunt.
The atmosphere shifted considerably as Viserys groaned, a frail hand raised to the injured portion of his face, to which Aemond felt a sick sense of delight. The guards swiftly carried him away by each corner of his chair.
And the gap between Rhaenyra and Alicent seemed to push each side away further. Irreparably so.
His niece did not appreciate his tribute to her and her brothers.
Throughout the evening, she had said few words apart from mumbled whispers to Daemon on her right and Luke on her left. But when Aemond stood to speak, he revelled in her undivided attention. In those angry eyes, he saw not only a loathing for him, but a loathing at the truth of what she was.
A loathing that he was right, and she knew it.
She seemed almost as disappointed as her mother when Jace struck him weakly.
And before Daemon could place himself between the warring factions of their family, he watched the Strong Princess march angrily away, her skirts in her hands, flashing a stern glare before she left.
Her eyes were all he could think about, with her face anchored in the firm grip of his fingers.
He thought she was so small and fragile, that he could just squeeze and break her little jaw, her bones clattering between his fingers like pebbles. And yet she still looked at him with such fire, that only one of Targaryen blood would be able to throw.
She looked at him like he was the most loathsome creature she had ever seen.
The passageway Aemond had her cornered into was stifling and suffocating, forcing them to breathe the same humid air in anger. He saw her face redden where he had her in his grasp, her glossy lips slightly parted to breathe.
“I will extend you the courtesy of assuming there is a very good reason why you have your hands on me like this, Uncle.”
He almost wants to laugh right in her face, despite what she said not meaning to be funny. She is so frail, and yet roars so loudly.
“There is.”
Her jaw muscles tighten in frustration, shuffling backwards though there is nowhere to go.
“Then, I dare say your reason will not be good enough.”
Aemond allows his gaze to roam over her face. Up close, she really and truly is the picture of her mother, with her father's unfortunate features to her disadvantage in her colouring.
“I merely wished to see the colour of your eyes, mandianna.”
“To make some cruel jape no less, I am sure.”
He grins at the way she takes a sharp breath when he tugs her face towards him slightly. And he swears he sees the pupils within the clear blue of her eyes widen as he does, and wonders if he is having the same effect swelling at the forbidden place between her thighs.
“You wound me, sweet niece. A man cannot simply appreciate the beauty of a woman? Does there always have to be some cruel intent?”
“With you, there must be.”
He somewhat loosens his grip on her face, fingers trailing down her neck, the glint of her earrings catching his eye. She visibly shivers at his touch there.
The most venomous expression sits on her face, and she does not miss a beat. Too clever and witty for her own good.
“Do not insult my intelligence, Uncle. I know what depraved thoughts bat around inside your head, and they are not original. A family trait perhaps.”
He hums, more amused than curious, but perhaps with a smattering of both, “And what of you?”
Her perfect little lips part to speak before his thumb trails down the column of her throat, long fingers wrapped around her neck to her nape. The threat of what he could do making her go quiet.
“What depraved thoughts bat around in your head, sweet niece?”
Silence wraps around them like a rope, tightening with the fibres cracking against their skin. Hot and suffocating all at once. And all Aemond can hear is the steady rhythm of her breathing, his eye wandering down to the necklace perched on her chest as her lungs erratically suck in air.
“It is treason to question my virtue.”
She swallows as his thumb presses on the centre of her throat, as if testing if she is indeed real.
“It may be treason to question your virtue, but it is not treason to question your honesty,” he replies coolly. Aemond can feel her pulse fluttering beneath her skin, the barely-contained rage on her face hidden only by a blanket of courtesy, “a maiden does not allow herself to be alone like this with another man.”
Aemond found himself, a man who had sparred with Ser Criston Cole for a large portion of his life, a man who as a child had claimed the largest dragon in the world and a man who had dealt with the burning pain of losing his eye, and the shame that he carried alongside it, was shocked into brief silence when his niece’s small, delicate palm echoed off his cheek.
It was not the force of it that stunned him so, but rather the shock that she had chosen to do it, with his hand around her neck and his frame blocking her escape.
The little dragon had felt threatened and given him a warning clip.
Aemond felt the warmth bloom on his cheek and smirked. She had slapped him on his bad side, where she knew it would sting the most. For a split second, white, hot pain nipped at the temples of his head as he turned back to face her, and saw that look on her face.
That she knew she’d made a mistake, but was too angry or proud to admit it.
Or perhaps she was both.
Excitement wriggled and rolled in his stomach at the whimper that escaped her lips, using the force of his grip around her tiny throat to force her back, muscles and bones rolling against the stone walls where she was trapped, and those clear, curious eyes darting back at him with distaste. And he was pleased to see, a sprinkling of horror and panic.
“That was a mistake,” he mused, pressing himself closer to her, his hand firm around her throat despite her own attempting to pry them off him. His other hand reached down, shifting her up the cold wall, and gathered her heavy skirts in his palm, and rucked them frustratingly up towards her hip.
He revelled in the terror that crossed her face, a smirk winding its way to his sharp features.
“How exhilarating,” he pondered, “to take something that you are not willing to give.”
“I will scream”.
“Then scream. I will say it was you who seduced me,” he bit back, watching her face and expressions that crossed them, “And who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter of a whore?”
He could feel her breath against his face, soothing the spot where she had struck him not a moment before. Aemond blinked slowly at the woman in his grip, apparently attempting to decide for herself whether it was worth the fight.
Or perhaps something else.
Aemond grinned, “like mother like daughter.”
And he enjoyed the fire it stoked in her eyes.
“You will let me go-”
He shook her neck in his grip, as if to make her be quiet. And it seemed to shock and scare her, for she closed her eyes to steel herself, “And then what will you do? Run? Scream? Or will you do something stupid enough to give me an excuse to make everything you’ve ever said about me, truth?”
Her jaw tightened looking at him, feeling cornered, but a strange ache between her thighs.
“You threaten me, Uncle?”
His dagger sliced the very air between them, pressing the tip to the column of her throat where his thumb had branded her not moments before, tracing the shape of her skin. His niece froze, her breath trembling and her head pressed to the wall, as if to try and pull herself feebly away from threat.
This very dagger was an extension of Aemond himself. As if his hand were still touching her but with a pointed edge. And he wondered if he sliced her skin, even just a little, would she bleed like him?
There was something there in her eyes as he looked between them. Her breath came in shallow gasps. And Aemond was willing to bet that deep down, beneath the demure veil she hides herself behind, peeking through, that she is wet and ready for him between her silky thighs.
“You are clever, dear niece,” he all but whispers, trailing the blade down to the neckline of her dress, the rich fabric yielding to it, “but not as clever as you think you are.”
She swallowed thickly as his blade teased the tied bindings to her dress, playing with the double-tied knots as if they were strings of a lute, and he was playing her easily. He plucked one, and then two, watching her face the entire time.
“You believe yourself a proper little Princess, do you not?” he asks, his voice low, almost feline in nature, his face so close to hers she can make out the stitchings of his eyepatch, “hair decorated with gold. Fingers adorned with rubies. Wrapped in lavish dresses.”
She flinched as he flicked his wrist, severing the second to last tie holding two sides of her gown together.
“But pull one little thread, and you unravel -” his tone deepens, forcing her to listen to every little syllable, his gaze boring into hers, “-and all you are…is a wanton, bastard, whore.”
She attempted to push his body away, but his dagger clattered to the floor, holding her easily by her wrists, near-painfully pressing them to the stone wall behind her. It happened so quickly. Lips, teeth and tongue fought as if in battle, and Aemond held her there for him, pressing his rapidly hardening length against her clothed womanhood, rolling his hips against hers to search for that delicious, forbidden friction.
It did not seem to him that she was fighting him, but rather fighting how he made her feel.
Her lips were velvety, moist and soft as his anchored hers apart to taste her, once having a split second’s worth it was never enough. Every little breath and whimper and he wanted to make them louder, make her submit, a part of him intoxicated by her when her teeth grazed his bottom lip, and bit on him, only for her tongue to soothe the area afterwards.
Aemond thought of what would happen, if he devoured her wholly, pressed so hard against her that it was difficult to fathom where either of them began and ended.
His lips moved along her jaw. She smelled of whatever oils were combed through her hair. Camomile and something sweet perhaps. Quickly his hand left her wrist to ruck her heavy skirts up to her waist, feeling her shiver at the touch he left behind with the brief touch of his fingertips where no man had touched before.
“Fight back,” Aemond dared, a mere whisper against her neck where he left his bruise-like mark.
He met her gaze, looking into her bright eyes and allowed his grip on her to slowly relax, waiting to see if she would push away. Scream and run, as she had previously promised. And while her jaw was still tense and eyes aflame with hostility, he swore he saw her pupils dilate.
“Just get on with it.”
The surging heat in his stomach distracted him briefly from acting cocky, his fingers fumbling to untie his breeches while keeping her elevated. And it felt as if his body was thinking before his mind when he looked between them to see her hefty skirts bunched at her hip, and one smooth leg on display, pulling his achingly hard cock free and tucking himself between the soft haven between her thighs.
She could pretend she desired him not all she liked, but when their gazes met in fire and fury, finding that in all of their fighting and struggling she was soaking wet, Aemond pushed against her entrance until she welcomed him, sliding within her tight, choking walls with a low groan batted against her neck.
She whined at both the intrusion and his tight grip on her thigh, one hand elevating it so that he could begin pushing up brutally into her. Shame rose to her cheeks as she closed her eyes tightly, finding the wet smack of their skin rousing that tightness in her belly.
It was both embarrassing and hateful that she found herself enjoying this, and that she let him first of all.
And all she could see above her when she opened her eyes was him, his lips parted to breath as if he was holding some beastly form of himself back, his hair spilling like rays of moonlight over his shoulders with every thrust into her weeping cunt and the way his lone eye never strayed from her expression, not for a second.
That is until Aemond felt as if not only he wanted to own her shame and her body, but wanted to show it too, and leaned forward to graze his teeth on the skin that was now exposed by the ever loosening shoulders of her dress, and sink his teeth in to mark her.
The sound that came from her was between a grunt and a moan, as his position changed the angle of his hips and the blunt head of his cock sparking pleasure deep inside her.
“Fucking…hate you…” is all she managed, feeling the top of his canine break the skin just slightly. Her voice clung to that flat, stoic hatred, and she hated that it sounded as if she were about to fall apart.
If it were possible, he increased the intensity of his movements, pushing up into her mercilessly and drawing feminine, soft whines from her mouth. Sounds he wasn't even sure before his niece was capable of making.
“I adore your fire, sweet niece,” he muses lowly, tracing her jaw with his lips, “I adore how much you think you hate me.”
She does hate him, she tries to think. But every thought that appears is swiftly batted away by the incessant rhythm of his cock pistoning in and out of her, the depraved sounds betraying how she truly feels. An internal war Aemond can clearly see.
“Do you like this? Do you like how much I hate you? How much I want to hurt you?”
Yes.
A thought rung in her mind that she wanted him to hurt her more, so that she could just feel something from him aside from the way he stretched her walls around him so deliciously.
The soreness of his girth is something she had not expected to be a problem, a lapse of thought that she will no doubt be paying for the next morning.
But this, this was a core lapse of morals, surely. Allowing him to do this to her.
His fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh, as if pulling her to meet his cock halfway, feeling the way his body shuddered at the closeness of completion evident on his face.
Aemond grinned wolfishly, “You like this. We both know it.”
He thrusted into her so forcefully that she had no choice but to hold onto him, clinging to his leather-clad shoulder tightly when he met her fleshy end, her insides involuntarily squeezing around him in both pain and pleasure.
His hand came to her neck, clamping down experimentally on her windpipe, and groaning deeply at the way her cunt sucked him in as he did. Forcing her chin up so those traitorous blue eyes met his, he grinned.
Hateful little cunt.
Her peak crept up her spine first, feeling as if the sensation was melting her muscles where they sat inside her body. And then her lips parted in a soundless scream, pitifully moving her hips towards his to encourage the feeling to crest until it rushed out of her with a feeble whine, “uncle…”
Not only was the feeling of her quivering, velvety walls enough to convince him, but the way she called him that while he was so deep inside her, threatening for relief, was so erotic it did not feel depraved in the slightest.
But nothing was better than that wide-eyed, colourful expression of panic, distaste, hate and anxiety when he deliberately planted his seed inside of her. Aemond was sure there was no better feeling, bad intentions or no, her blood felt good on him, his teeth and cock alike.
All he could imagine was what dynasty could be created from such a house of revulsion. To watch this hateful little creature swell with his child, a true Targaryen. Only to put on the same stoic, flat expression which he knew was untrue when he'd fuck her again, and again, and again.
What flame flickered under that expression of hers, he wondered. What stone was hidden in the centre of her peachy, soft exterior. A heart, perhaps.
She didn't have to like it, this dance between them. But when he put her down and watched his spend trickle down her thighs, he would have her come to love it.
She existed for this. Whatever it was. He was sure of that.
“Well, little dragon,” he whispered, “the bastard daughter of a whore, with another growing within her?”
She swallowed around his hand as he tugged her face closer to his.
“Or burn with me.”
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Behind the Scenes (01/05)
Behind the Reencounter
pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader
summary: Due to your work as a make-up artist and wardrobe assistant, you meet Aemond, a very successful young actor with whom you work and all professional relationship breaks down and a secret relationship arises, until you get pregnant and decide to run away from him so as not to ruin his successful and promising career. After almost two years, you and he unexpectedly meet again.
word counter: 7.6k
series masterlist • next part
hello! i'm back with another mini series! yay!
god, i'm so excited about this, it's nothing like what i've written before but the excitement and inspiration got the better of me.
also i must say that i had seen stories with this plot about daddy aemond and i wanted to make my own, adding angst, which i know you like and a story that i came up with that i really hope you like a lot:)
without more to say, enjoy beautiful people, I look forward to your comments, don't leave me without knowing what you think please!
warnings: angst, language, sexual content, smut
Your state of nervousness and anticipation is not much of help when it comes to the first day of your new job.
The film studio is a world of constant activity and you know that just on your first day it's going to be hectic. At least in your area which is Wardrobe and Makeup, it's a completely active area and you have to be available almost all the time.
You let out a long breath and before you leave, you stop in the studio's small nursery where your son, Aenar, barely a year old, spends his day while you work on set.
You can't help but watch him with adoration, a certain sadness and longing, for nothing would make you happier than to stay here with him, but you know you can't afford it.
These last few months have been hard, your income has been complicated and you need the money from this new job to be able to survive and make sure nothing is missing for him, your little boy.
Aenar crawls on the floor, exploring the world around him, while the woman in charge keeps her distance from you and him, taking care of other children. And when his big, curious blue eyes look up at you, he lets out a giggle of joy and stretches out his arms to you.
You bend down with him and take him in your arms tenderly and adoringly.
"You don't want me to leave, do you?" you murmur fondly as you leave a kiss on his cheek.
He babbles excitedly, unable to formulate coherent words, but his smile completely lights up your insides and you respond with giggles and smiles.
You take advantage of the little time you have before work to play and laugh with him for a moment. But eventually your time to leave arrives.
You leave a kiss on his forehead and with a sigh of defeat, you say goodbye.
"Mommy has to go but she'll be back soon, okay, my little dragon?"
His little hands explore for a second all over your face, making you laugh and you leave a couple more kisses on both of his chubby cheeks, loving to hear his laughter and loving to see the huge smile he places on his pink lips.
"I love you, sweetheart."
You leave one more kiss on his forehead and make sure one last time to cover his head well with his cap, taking advantage of the fact that it's November and Winter has arrived to hide his straight hair.
You distract him with all the colorful toys that are distributed on the floor for all the children and take the opportunity to leave, otherwise he will cry if he sees you leaving. You exchange a look of understanding with the woman in charge and finally head back to your workplace.
The trailer door opens with a soft creak as you enter, feeling the mixture of excitement and nervousness run down your spine. You had been looking forward to this moment with anticipation, but also apprehension.
For you knew that your past would come back to haunt you.
But you know you need to be here.
The first thing you see are the lighted mirrors with their respective chairs and vanities in front of them, where makeup and wardrobe experts hurry to prepare the actors for the day's filming.
A scent of pressed powder and beauty products fills the air, creating a familiar atmosphere. And when you barely have time to absorb the scene, a brown-haired girl approaches you with an enthusiastic, warm smile.
"Hi! Y/N, right? The new makeup artist."
She points at you with her index finger and a thoughtful look, without wiping away her smile.
"Hi, yes, it's me," you nod to her, as you return the small smile.
"Perfect! I'm Jess, the wardrobe assistant," she extends her hand to you in a friendly gesture, "Nice to meet you and welcome!"
You can't help but be relieved by the friendly reception, then shake your hand with hers.
"Nice to meet you too, Jess. Thank you for having me."
"Oh we're so excited to have you here, I've been looking forward to your arrival," she confides, "Let me show you where you can drop your stuff off and then I'll give you directions, okay?"
Again you nod, grateful for the kindness of Jess, who leads you toward a row of lockers where you can store your things, then gives you directions.
"First, let's go over the schedule for the day," she tells you, opening a folder with the itinerary for the shoot. "We have this first scene where we need to make sure every detail is perfect. And you'll be in charge of the wardrobe for the main characters today."
She indicates without losing the kindness in her tone and you nod, understanding.
"So, take the wardrobe list for each actor and check that we have everything in order."
He hands you a detailed list, making sure that you with your new addition are aware of every detail.
"After that, we'll move on to makeup," she instructs you, "Sam, our talented makeup artist, will give you a brief orientation on the look we're going for. Don't worry, she's amazing and will guide you through the whole process."
Jess grabs a pair of robes and hands them to you.
"Now, let's get to work on the wardrobe. When you've gone through everything, head over to the makeup area, okay?"
Again you nod, understanding the directions perfectly and dive into your tasks with enthusiasm, getting off to a very good start and feeling completely comfortable.
Besides, this is nothing you haven't done before, as way back when you used to work for the BBC television network right here in King's Landing as well, this was your job, so there's nothing new or complicated for you.
When Jess, frantically going through her checklist, looks up at you.
"Oh, Y/N, we need more pins for costume fixes. Could you go to the prop depot and get a package, please? I'd really appreciate it."
You nod with a small smile.
"Sure, I'll be right back."
With a determined pace, you step out of the trailer and head to the depot which isn't far away and start looking for the package, which you didn't think would take you some time since there are so many packages of different things mixed up.
You search through many huge boxes, until you finally find the package of pins and let out a relieved sigh.
You leave the huge room and close the door behind you, walking back. And as you walk, as you pay attention to your surroundings, you feel a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness, as these hallways, permeated with the buzz of film activity, take you back to memories you've been trying to bury.
You let out a long breath, not wanting to think about it now, and concentrate on your work.
As you enter back into the trailer, everything is immersed in a constant murmur of conversations and the activity of preparations, at the same time as the trailer door closes with a soft click behind you.
You are about to enter the area where the tables and chairs and mirrors and everyone else are when you hear a somewhat familiar voice in a distant echo in the middle of it all, completely stopping your footsteps.
"…they said at the training scene I wasn't supposed to look any different in particular."
You frown, thinking that maybe you're mishearing and are mistaking that voice for someone else's.
But still you advance just three steps, sharpening your hearing with a wary face, waiting, wanting to make sure.
"And which one of these for that scene?" you hear one of the girls in charge of wardrobe.
You wait for the answer from that attentive and completely cautious voice, thinking that it must probably be a figment of your mind that wants you to believe things that aren't.
"I think the brown one," you hear that voice say back to the girl.
Your heart stops completely in that instant.
No.
It can't be.
You think completely incredulous and terrified.
You stand completely paralyzed and with a face of total shock as the sound of that voice continues to echo softly throughout the interior of the trailer, flowing conversation between him and the makeup artist.
The pulse in your throat beats with a mixture of surprise and anxiety, suddenly losing strength in your body, so you lean against one of the walls as you feel an emotional vertigo begin to emerge.
All those buried memories, suddenly resurface, as it is no imagination of yours and you know it is him because his voice has not changed and you could recognize it anywhere.
It is him.
He is here.
You close your eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of your emotions, but you can't, and you can't believe this is happening right now, on your first day of work.
Completely cautious, you slowly peek out, wanting to be even more sure and wanting to see that it's all just your mind making it up.
But as soon as you catch a glimpse of that signature flash of platinum hair, your heart rate begins to race faster than normal.
And there he is, with his hair pulled back in a small low bun as he discusses the details of the scene with the makeup artist, a scene that resonated with similarities to moments you and he shared in the pass.
Disbelief completely invades your eyes and your entire face as you watch him, surprised to see him after exactly one year since that day. You notice every gesture and every feature that is still etched in detail in your mind.
He, oblivious to your presence, continues the conversation, but something in your expression begins to tremble.
You go back in time to the spark you both shared in the corridors of that studio, the looks of complicity, the many nights you shared together and the whispers in the dim light of the dressing rooms.
But you also remember that day, when you saw him completely frustrated but willing to be there for you, where his manager and his entire team talked to him about the consequences and you also remember everything he promised you, on hidden, which is why you decided to run away when you were only three weeks pregnant with him.
A lump forms in your throat and standing there, watching him, after so long, tears begin to invade your eyes.
But Jess announces your presence as she emerges from the back where the dressing rooms are, watching you at the entrance completely static and with a look she can't instantly identify.
"Y/N! There you are! Did you get the pins?"
And that's when it happens.
Saying your name loud enough for everyone inside the trailer to hear, it catches his attention, who confused and attentive watches where Jess is heading and that's when the gazes meet.
And in that instant, a spark of recognition crosses the face of Aemond, Aemond Targaryen, the man you decided to run away from so as not to ruin his career and the father of your child.
His healthy eye opens wide and surprise and disbelief overcome him as he sees you, right there, less than five meters away from him, the woman who carried his child with her and whom he sought so much after she disappeared completely from his life.
Silent, with the urgency of tears threatening to overflow, you step back, watching him cautiously and fearfully, at the same time beginning to tremble all over.
"Y/N," he utters your name with a tone of surprise and longing, as if he can't believe it, beginning to slowly rise from the chair.
You recoil further, as all the sadness, pain and anguish wash over you as you remember the past and think at the same time of your son, your sweet little boy.
However, your first instinct is to run away. Again.
Without a word and without looking back, you turn around and exit the trailer quickly before you could no longer hold back and tears involuntarily flow from your eyes, taking with you the image of Aemond and the echoes of a past you cannot escape and forget.
You don't care about your job, you don't care that you left everything just like that, you only think about running away and going quickly for your son, crying and completely terrified.
Aemond watches you walk away, unable to move and unable to speak, with a look of deep disbelief, surprise, bewilderment, regret and remorse while the people around him do not understand anything.
He knows that he made many mistakes in the past and he knows that you have a right to feel upset and hurt. But he also knows that you also made mistakes and you recognize that too.
But for now, you run away and he stands still, losing strength, where you both barely process what just happened and at the same time travel to the past, where it all started and where it all ended.
ALMOST 2 YEARS AGO.
At just twenty-one years old, you barely graduated from college and landed a great job opportunity with the BBC television network to work as a professional makeup artist and wardrobe assistant.
And now at the age of twenty-two and having been working for the network for two years, your life couldn't be better.
You have the job of your dreams, you have achieved so much despite the fact that your parents had no faith in you for choosing to study something that didn't guarantee you a future, and now your income is enough to allow you to live an independent life where you lack nothing.
When then, a new project comes up, a new TV series where you participate full time and where you are passionate about what you do.
That's when you meet him, one of the main actors of the show, Aemond Targaryen, a young, successful twenty-four year old actor who has already attracted the attention of the show business in his early days with a very promising future.
But it was not only for his incredible talent, he was also recognized and attracted a lot of attention for his unusual appearance, beautiful bright blue eye and a peculiar long platinum hair.
In his interviews he explains the origin of the genetic descriptions of him and his family, which is what causes a lot of doubt in every interviewer and also in his fans, wanting to know his origin.
That's why when they tell you that you will be assisting him in his makeup and wardrobe, you can't help but feel nervous but also a little excited to work with him.
And when the day finally arrives, Aemond Targaryen is actually quite a nice and accessible man to work with.
In the first few weeks of working and shooting the show, your interaction with him was completely professional.
You take it upon yourself to bring out the best in his image for the screen, where he does his part, always being friendly, willing and cooperative with you to follow directions and achieve the perfect look.
Always both of you at the beginning had normal and casual conversations to start forming trust, where everything becomes routine.
And it's not until he would say anything silly to make you laugh and where you both got to the point where you allowed yourselves to talk completely freely without being judged.
The shared laughs and casual comments created a comfortable and relaxed atmosphere, where the relationship started to become more friendly and slowly stopped being so strictly professional.
And when you least expected it, you looked forward to working with him, doing his makeup and wardrobe, enjoying his company.
Even when he would arrive first at the trailer to get ready, he would look forward to your arrival.
And when you arrived, you couldn't help but smile a little shyly in his direction because of his intense gaze on you through the mirror, making you feel a little nervous.
As you carefully applied his makeup, Aemond couldn't help but notice that attention you paid to every detail on him, having you so close to his face, being a moment he also longed for it to come.
And as the days passed, accidental brushes and gestures that went beyond professionalism began to emerge.
During makeup sessions, the glances became more intense and prolonged, as if you were looking for something beyond the superficial appearance, where you noticed how he was looking at you beyond the professional surface.
But it wasn't something that bothered you, on the contrary, it made you feel inexplicable sensations that at the same time pleased you, knowing perfectly well that he wasn't like that with anyone else in your area, only with you.
And you both also made sure to act that way only when it was just the two of you or to do it subtly when you were around other people.
But you also knew the dangerous game you were both playing.
However, it was too late, you really started to like him too much even though you knew that the idea of him and you could not be possible.
In the film industry, relationships between colleagues are technically not allowed or frowned upon. Rumors and speculation about romances can alter fan perceptions and, in some cases, affect job opportunities.
In addition, you both have studio contracts and other projects in progress. And acting in such a way, where the intention of both is more than clear, can affect casting decisions and the perceptions of directors and producers.
And for Aemond, being an up-and-coming young actor with a solid fan base, the revelation of an affair can bring negative criticism to his public image.
His manager and team have told him that maintaining the coveted bachelor image may be convenient and commercially advantageous for him in his projects to attract audiences, as he is attractive and very talented.
Even though he had an accident as a child where he lost his left eye and now wears a prosthesis, that attracts more attention from people and they want to know more about him, causing him to be more relevant.
But all this mattered little to Aemond as he shared more moments with you.
As the relationship became more enjoyable, his feelings and emotions became more and more evident and so did yours, starting to overcome the barrier imposed by the entertainment industry.
And one day that line of professionalism that both were trying to maintain but was becoming increasingly difficult, finally broke down completely.
On a filming afternoon, you and Aemond meet in the wardrobe area, where you make sure he looks perfect in his required clothes for the day and he stands completely still, cooperating and watching you at all times.
The conversation between the two of you flows naturally, as it has so many times before, but this time, something in the air seems different, like a gentle tension.
"After we finish this final scene, we should go celebrate, don't you think?"
He suggests with a soft little smile, but his eye reflects an intensity and that desire he can't hide when he's with you.
"Sure," you say with a willing little smile, still securing his clothes, "With John, Rose and Lana?" you mention your partners.
"No," he murmurs, shaking his head softly, "Just you and me."
You look directly into his eye with a slightly surprised and bewildered look, not expecting to hear that, beginning to feel nervous at his words and also at the proximity of the two of you.
"But…" you look at him a little incredulously and with a small sad and disappointed smile, "We can't."
"Yes we can," he tells you softly, "We just have to be very careful and not tell anyone."
You watch him with a small spark of amusement on your face, smiling softly in his direction, not believing he's serious.
And it is at that moment that the looks on both of your faces makes it clear that the connection you both share is deeper than you both believed and where Aemond, more than anything else, makes his true intentions clear and wants to put them into practice, after so long.
A complicit silence surrounds the two and it is as if time stands still for an instant.
Aemond, with a soft expression, unable to contain himself any longer, gently takes your face in his hands and you let him, because you want him, even though you shouldn't.
"There's something I've wanted to do for a long time," he confesses, his voice laden with sincerity.
You, intrigued and captivated by the intensity in his eye, his beautiful blue eye and the closeness of the bodies, look at him with attention and desire.
"What is it?" you murmur, almost in a whisper.
And without another word, Aemond leans toward you and closes the distance between you, bringing his lips together with yours in a needy but slow and deep kiss that you reciprocate instantly.
It all happens in an instant of surprise, followed by a sweet surrender to the attraction that had grown between the two of you.
Time comes to a complete stop as you both sink into that first kiss, where Aemond's hands gently grip your waist and you respond with the same intensity by locking your arms around his neck and clinging to his lips.
You don't want him to stop, you don't want any of this to end.
Everything feels perfect and just as you imagined in your fantasy mind of wanting to live this moment.
And the moment doesn't end, as he pulls you further into the dressing room while still kissing you, leaning you against a vanity and pressing your body completely against his, making you gasp and respond to his needy kiss in kind.
Unfortunately, the kiss doesn't last as long as you would have liked, as a voice screams throughout the trailer.
"Next scene in five minutes! Everyone to the set, please!"
You and Aemond part abruptly, with surprised and terrified looks on your faces, instantly keeping your distance and pretending nothing has happened.
You head along with him toward the set, trying to hide any trace of the intimacy you both shared moments ago. And as you immerse yourself in the frenetic pace of the shoot, the complicity between the two of you manifests itself in small gestures and stolen glances.
And that's when the little relationship secretly begins.
Keeping the relationship a secret became a balancing act for both of you. As the connection you and he shared intensified, the need to hide the relationship became more and more crucial.
In the trailer and on set when you were around more people, as he did you had to learn to act as naturally as ever, carefully concealing any trace of intimacy.
Encounters became completely secret, kisses and caresses behind dressing rooms or in the trailer when you were alone, always alert to the possibility of being discovered. Even in the dressing room, it became a meeting place, where they could enjoy a moment alone.
You could also talk freely by call or text, but both he and you preferred to see each other in person.
That's why on days off, which were few, Aemond always took you to more private places. One night, for example, he took you to dinner at a small restaurant outside of town.
If it wasn't a restaurant, it was to invite you to a small coffeeshop and more discreet places, out of the reach of prying eyes, where he still had to go covered by his characteristic hair.
And when neither of them had the spirit to be always alert, you went to his apartment or he to yours, where they could act with total freedom and even go further.
In Aemond you found a friend, an accomplice and practically the perfect man for you, not because of what he possesses and who he is out there for everyone to see, but because of who he really is, inside.
You simply couldn't help but fall deeply in love with him and that fortunately he reciprocated as strongly as you did, wanting you and only you.
And although the fear of discovery added a touch of dangerous excitement to the relationship, the weight of keeping it all a secret was beginning to generate emotional conflict.
The strain of keeping up appearances and the constant need for vigilance began to wear on you. And as the relationship progresses, you can't help but wonder if there will ever be a chance to be free with Aemond.
But you both know it's not possible.
Much less will it be when one day, Aemond lets you know the news.
"I need to talk to you about something," he says in a serious and defeated tone, taking your hands in his.
He has come unexpectedly to your apartment and that seemed strange to you, but now that he is telling you this and behaving like this, you know it is for a reason and it is not a good one.
"Is everything okay?" you ask him intently and with your brow furrowed.
He sighs before answering, looking sad.
"Production and my manager are pressuring me to fake a relationship with my co-star in a promotional campaign. They say it will help generate more interest in the show."
And there are the consequences of having this relationship on the quiet with him.
Aemond's face contorts in anguish as he sees the expression on your face of mild surprise and definitely not expecting to hear that.
"I promise you that I refused and did everything in my power not to do this Y/N, but I didn't accomplish nothing and…. I-It shouldn't take more than three months, I swear."
He explains, but the sharp pain in your chest is already there and remains, as you begin to imagine what this is all going to be like.
You press your lips together in a thin line and not knowing what to say or what exactly to do, you let out a long breath and watch your hands with his, processing what he is telling you and what he will have to do next.
Even though you understand the demands of the industry and everything about marketing, still the idea of Aemond faking a relationship with someone else makes you feel weird and uncomfortable.
But what can you really do? Nothing.
This is his job and you're not going to get upset with him when you know it's not his fault and that this is what he does in order to make a living.
"When?" you ask him watching him with your soft gaze but with a slightly sad expression.
He lets out a sigh.
"I don't know, I just know that they are already setting everything up," he tells you frustrated with his low and serious voice, "But I need you to be okay with this, Y/N," he looks at you worried, "I know it will be hard for both of us but I don't want this to affect us when you know the truth behind everything and why I do it."
You watch him for a few seconds without saying anything, as you feel a lump in your throat and also feel the helplessness he conveys for all of this, as he really doesn't want to do this.
But he must meet the professional expectations of the production company and you have no choice but to support him.
"Well," you say softly, trying to hide your hurt look by forcing a small smile to reassure him, "These are the production company's decisions and you must do it. And you don't need to worry about me, you know I'll support you."
He takes his gaze away from yours for a second, letting out a longer sigh than before, then takes your face gently in his hands.
"Of course I worried about you, sweetheart," he murmurs with tiredness, then draws you into a tight, tender embrace.
He leaves a gentle kiss on your head and even though he is relieved that you understood, he still feels remorse and anguish because if he were you, of course he would disagree and it would hurt quite a bit.
But this is work and he really doesn't have much choice.
And when you least expect it, the moment arrives.
The next few weeks are a complete whirlwind of emotions for you as you watch the fictional relationship of Aemond and his co-star, the famously gorgeous actress Cerelle Lannister, prepare to come to light.
Joint promotions take them both to photo shoots and interviews where they must show complicity and affection. And seeing Aemond sharing moments that used to be just yours and his, now in the public sphere with someone other than you, becomes a painful test.
One evening, you see photos of Aemond and Cerelle having dinner at a famous restaurant downtown and all the photos show the complicit smiles and affectionate gestures.
And even though you know it's part of the act, you can't help but feel a knot in your stomach seeing them together. And even worse, seeing how the public is fascinated and in love with their relationship.
It is for all this that you no longer see him frequently and there is only communication by messages.
And when he finally has a space in his schedule, he takes the opportunity to see you, where you at all times try to look as if you are not affected by all this, so as not to worry him and frustrate him when you know he has a lot of weight on his shoulders.
He still apologizes and tries to make it up to you, but in the midst of your soothing words, the pain is reflected in your gaze.
And that's what you do for the next few weeks, you continue to support him from the shadows while he and Cerelle put on a show and are the center of attention.
At first you had told yourself not to see anything about them on the internet, but you can't help it and you see the pictures, read the headlines in the magazines and with each new performance, you feel a slight sharp pain in your heart.
When the day of a big awards event arrives where directors, producers, script writers, the academy members, the press and of course the actors and actresses attend, where precisely Aemond and Cerelle attend together as a couple officially in front of all public eye.
Images and videos of the two sharing laughter and affectionate gestures spread through every social network, while you, from your apartment, watch the scene with a mixture of pride as this is important in Aemond's career but also feel a deep sadness that threatens to overflow.
You wish it was you instead of her.
It's been months since you and Aemond started this relationship behind everyone's back and you want that, to be able to touch him and be with him in public.
But you can't.
And you can't stand this anymore either.
You decide to watch movies and change the channel, not wanting to focus on them anymore, trying to ignore your emotions and your wounded heart, not wanting to do anything else tonight but just forget and stay in the comfort of your bed.
After two hours, your phone starts ringing, indicating an incoming call and when you look at the screen, Aemond's name appears, but you decide not to answer.
You don't feel like talking to him, you don't want to get upset with him when he is not to blame for anything and start an unnecessary fight, so you prefer not to talk.
But after that call, Aemond insistent calls you a couple more times, in which you decide not to answer as well.
At your lack of response, he can't help but feel worried, thinking that you must be feeling bad because of him even though you understand why he's doing all this. And once the rewards are over, he in covered takes his car and drives to your apartment.
As he drives, his mind is filled with thoughts of how to talk to you and find the right words to ease the tension in both of you. But the nervousness doesn't let him think clearly nor has he forgotten the overwhelming awards he had to attend to.
Once he arrives at your door, he just hopes you're okay, even though he knows you're not and knocks three times.
"Y/N? It's Aemond," he says cautiously and hopeful that you will open the door, wanting to speak and see you.
The silence lingers for a few moments before you finally open the door, where the slight surprise of seeing him here at this hour is reflected in your gaze, not understanding anything. And he just sighs, feeling guilty.
"You didn't respond to my calls or messages and I got worried," he explains to you briefly and in a soft voice, "I needed to see you."
Despite all the emotions you're feeling, the fact that he's come looking for you shows you that he really cares about you and wants to do everything he can to make you okay.
You watch him silently for a moment and nod slowly in his direction with a look of understanding.
"I'm fine," you reply softly, wanting to convince him as well as yourself.
"No, I know you're not," he insists, concerned, "I-I… I know this is all very difficult and I don't want you to feel pressured, but…" he lets out a frustrated sigh, "I'm here to talk if you need to."
Appreciating his sincerity silently and seeing how terribly worried he is, you let him in.
The two of you have a difficult but necessary conversation, where neither of you have any intention of ending this thing you have together and where he's willing to show you that he doesn't care about Cerelle, just you.
"I only want you, baby. You and no one else," he murmurs lovingly and with desire in his gaze, closing his eye and catching your lips in a needy, deep kiss.
You respond in kind, gasping into his lips and bringing your hands to stroke his hair, clinging to him completely as he brings his hands to your waist and ass, squeezing the soft skin of both your ass cheeks.
"Do you mean it?" you ask in the middle of the kiss, beginning to feel the wetness between your legs.
"Yes, I fucking mean it," he replies against your lips, biting and sucking on your lips again.
You moan as he begins to leave a trail of kisses all over your neck, biting and leaving little marks on your sensitive skin, making you shiver all over your body and begin to feel the hardness in his pants against your pelvis.
Absentmindedly he brings one of his hands up and caresses one of your breasts over your shirt, making you moan and continue kissing him as he brings his hands back down to your thighs.
"Oh, Aemond," you whine.
"Fuck," he murmurs in delight, making you wrap your legs around his torso and feel directly on your needy clit, his cock hard and in need of release, "Such a needy little thing, arent you?"
His mouth roams and kisses every exposed part of your skin, as he pulls you along with him towards your couch, making you sit on top of him and you desperately begin to seek relief as you cause friction between your bodies.
He groans into your mouth, feeling his cock throb and ache.
"Can I take this off?" he grabs the edge of your shirt and you nod desperately, needy.
You are not wearing a bra and when your breasts are out in the open, Aemond lets out a curse as he stares at your breasts fully aroused to take one of your nipples into his mouth, making you arch and bring his face closer to your breasts.
Not long after that he too takes off his shirt and you free his cock from its confines and then start riding him, unable to wait a moment longer.
"Shit," he hisses, "You feel so good, baby. So fucking good."
You moan loudly as he brings one of his hands to your already swollen clit and starts massaging it with two fingers, making you moan and making you move your hips with more fervor on top of him, as your skin slaps and rattles with his beneath you.
That night, not only does he fuck you on your couch, he fucks you on your bed too, not being able to get enough of you, loving to see your whole face contorted in pleasure as he fucks you against your bed hard, his cock continually thrusting in and out of you, the sound of skin against skin being heard.
You bite down on his shoulder and wrap your legs around his torso again, feeling him deeper, as Aemond kisses you and draws his eyebrows together in concentration and pleasure.
"Are you going to let me fill this pretty pussy with my cum again, baby? I want to feel you fucking cum all over my cock."
He brings his hand to your clit again and begins to massage it furiously, wanting to watch you crumble and feel you do it around his cock, while you moan and bite his shoulder and neck.
"Oh y-yes, Ae-mond,"you moan.
You close your eyes, escape a quiet moan, arch your back fully and feel the whole wave of euphoria wash over your entire body, seeing stars behind your eyes.
And with one last hard thrust, Aemond cums inside you letting out a grunt and hiding his whole face in the curve of your neck, leaving a couple of wet kisses once you both come back to earth and melt into each other's arms.
A few weeks later, you're back at work and Aemond starts filming a new movie for Netflix, so you don't see each other as often as you used to.
Aemond's schedule is very tight and he still does everything he can to be able to see you and spend time with you, while you in comparison to him have more free time but can't spend it with him because of his work.
And it is in that same time that you start to feel strange, but you hadn't connected the dots until the signs became too obvious to ignore.
One day, while working on set, fatigue suddenly overwhelmed you and a persistent nausea made you realize that something was going on. Suddenly lack of appetite appeared and seeing things too sweet or chicken or meat meals made you sick to your stomach.
Or also weird cravings started, which your mind started to scare you with possibly confirming what you were thinking.
During a break in the filming, you discreetly retreat to the bathroom, feeling the need for a moment to yourself. And as you look in the mirror, you notice the pallor on your face and the different glow in your eyes.
Completely terrified, you wait for your break from work and rush to the pharmacy, buying three pregnancy tests of different brands and supposedly the best.
And once at home, everything is silent, as the seconds tick by and you feel like you are drowning in your own thoughts.
You're not ready to be a mom, in fact the thought of having children was never something you wanted or wanted in the long run, because you're still young, you have your dream job at only twenty-two years old and to stop focusing on your dreams and goals to focus on those of a child… it's not something you want.
But the pregnancy test you hold in your trembling hand confirms your suspicions, as do the other tests, all positive.
Fear totally grips you, not only because of the fact that you are pregnant, but because of the implications this brings to your life and also to Aemond's life.
God, Aemond.
You think completely terrified, starting to cry, feeling the pressure in your chest.
You know this will stop and totally ruin his career.
You imagine yourself facing the critical gaze of the media, the headlines of magazines and news websites, as well as the constant speculation about your personal life.
You feel completely scared and hopeless, having no idea what Aemond's reaction will be, but you know this is not good, a baby, right now is not good, not for you and certainly not for him.
But you must tell him. You know you must. Regardless, how could you keep something like this from him?
It takes you two days to finally get up the courage to tell him and as you wait for him in your apartment, the pregnancy test rests in your trembling, sweaty hands, feeling completely frightened amidst all the silence around you.
Your eyes burn from crying so much, you feel like you have no strength, you feel weak and you haven't been able to sleep well and you don't even want to imagine how you will be later when Aemond finds out and everything between you will probably go wrong.
The sound of the door makes you jump nervously, knowing it's him.
You feel more fear and uncertainty flood you but you force yourself to get up from your couch and head to open the door, feeling that you will burst into tears at any moment.
As you open it, Aemond's handsome face and his usual smile was nothing like your face, being quite the opposite, so noticing your state his smile drops and he looks at you completely distressed and worried as you let out a few tears silently.
"Hey, hey," Aemond holds your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. His concern is palpable in the way his eyes search yours for answers. "What happened, baby? Are you okay?"
You sniffle your nose, inhale deeply and keep your eyes closed for a moment, only causing Aemond more unease when you don't utter a word.
"Y/N, what happened?" he insists, his tone laden with anxiety and seriousness.
"I'm really sorry," you murmur sadly to him, feeling each word weigh heavy in your chest and a sense of hopelessness creep over you.
"You're sorry, for what? What happened?" he asks again, completely confused and uncomprehending.
"I'm… I-I'm pregnant," you mumble in a broken voice, as if uttering those words would make reality more concrete.
Aemond's face remains completely static, his eyes wide open, watching you as tears slide down your cheeks. The gravity of the news is reflected in the tense silence that appears between the two of you.
"What?" he mutters under his breath, barely audible but laden with disbelief.
You nod slowly, reaching out to him for the proof you hold in your trembling hand. And every second that passes as he analyzes it feels like an eternity as you wait for his reaction.
But he barely processes the information, takes the evidence between his fingers and the seconds stretch out like hours as you feel your heart beating too fast.
But Aemond's face shows neither anger nor joy.
And finally he reacts by bringing his hands to his hair, his eye fixed on the evidence for a moment and then looking at a spot in your living room, beginning to see frustration and surprise invade him more.
He lets out a sigh and turns his gaze back to you in a desperate manner.
"Hey, baby," he says to you now nervously, "Are you absolutely sure?"
You nod slowly.
"I did three tests, all three came back positive."
He brings a hand to his forehead, averting his gaze from yours for a moment. His eyes reflect tumultuous thoughts, a mixture of thoughts ranging from disbelief to concern.
"But how?" he watches you blankly, still with surprise painted in his gaze.
"You didn't use a condom and I took the pill, but it didn't work," you tell him in a hopeless voice, trying to explain the inexplicable.
"Oh, fuck," he murmurs, biting his lips and bringing a hand to his chin.
"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean for this to happen either," you admit to him, your tears streaming down your cheeks.
You feel the need to apologize as if this burden is something only you should carry, the vulnerability clear in your tone of voice and on your face, which worries Aemond more at seeing you in such a state.
"Hey, no, don't, don't do that, don't apologize," he says instantly, turning back to you and placing a hand on your cheek, "We're both part of this, you understand me? You're not to blame for anything and I'm not going to leave you alone," he assures you, completely honest and determined with his words.
And despite the gravity of the situation, you feel a huge relief come over you knowing that you are not alone in this, as he looks at your sad face, with your dry tears and red eyes.
And then he places a soft kiss on your lips and encloses you in a comforting embrace that is all you need at that moment.
You knew that Aemond would eventually have to tell his manager and his team as well, however, you didn't expect him to do it on the same day you let him know the news and you didn't expect all his people to start working so soon on this, on your pregnancy.
You call his agent and in an instant he, along with his publicist and his team of public relations people, invade your apartment.
And his agent, Criston Cole, doesn't have time to start reproaching him for having had a secret relationship with you all this time, although the anger is there but the important thing is the baby on the way, where he can't do anything either because it's already in your womb.
So he only talks about solutions.
And it is precisely because of these painful solutions for you that you decided to run away and disappear from his life to save his career and also your child.
#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x oc#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen smut
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Fool Me Once (pt 2)
Pairing: Aemond targaryen x reader (wc: 3.6k)
Summary: Despite learning about Aemond cheating on you, life has never been sweeter. Who knew being so bad could be so good.
Warnings: manipulation, mentions/allusions to pregnancy issues, mentions of self harm
A/N: first, I just have to say thank you for the response to part 1. I truly had no idea it would get the reception it would. Thank you to everyone who followed me as well. I hope I can continue to produce stuff y’all like. I’m hoping to write more hotd stuff, Aemond and non Aemond related. I plan on taking a small hiatus but will be back around thanksgiving weekend. I will be writing on/off during that time but just away for a trip/the holiday. If you have any hotd requests my inbox is always open. I would try to get them out either before my hiatus next week (11/16) or after it ends (11/26). I’m pretty open to writing any character, though I will warn you I’m way more fascinated by the greens so they just come easier to me. Anyway please reblog, like, and follow if you read anything you enjoy 🫶🏽🫶🏽. And some housekeeping: in this Aegon is not r*pist who enjoys watching children fight (the hotd are truly…. not right for the cartoonishly evil way they wrote Aegon). He’s just petty and neglected. Also the timing of this is different from the books bc Aemond meets Alys pre dance.
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A bastard Strong. The irony is not lost on you. Your straight-laced husband fucking someone who is the complete opposite you. Older, no kids, no title, and no duty to uphold. At this point, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Instead, it makes your blood boil in the most delicious way. Aemond’s betrayal made you realize how you’ve been going through the motions; endlessly sleepwalking, hoping one day Aemond would come around. It woke you up to how much he’s taken advantage of you. He sees your kindness, and aversion to standing out as a weakness. Something he can manipulate and twist like one of his daggers.
The both of you must have forgetten where you came from. A rich, well respected house. The only daughter of smart, albeit conniving, family that knows how to get what they want. Your family didn’t have dragons or absurd ideas of exceptionalism to help you gain power. You’ve learned that inflated egos and prideful indulges can cloud Targaryen judgment. A trait you hope skips your children.
Shame on you for thinking Aemond would be different. Shame on him for the carefully curated facade.
All you do after Larys Strong comes to you the first time is think. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had this many options in front of you. Your mother’s words about patience run through your head. Keeping your wits is key. Play your hand too quickly, and you lose all leverage. You have Daella and the babe in your belly to think about. You stood pat in the beginning; Lord Strong simply relaying messages to you. You make sure Alys gets the letter Aemond wrote, and the ones after that. Lord Larys makes sure you get the details of each letter exchanged.
When the days grew lonely, and your body aches because of the babe in your stomach, you think about the letters. The declarations of love and recounts of lust filled meetups simmer in your head, but it’s the mentions of you that makes the anger sizzle and crackle. It makes the guilt you feel wash away.
You question if the rumor is true. That his Alys is a witch. Does her magic allow her to see the way Helaena can? Fuzzy premonitions and dreams that only make sense after they happen; a gift and a curse. A part of you wishes it to be true. You hope while your stomach stirs with untold truths, hers stirs with regret. Maybe the pain that runs through you leaves an unfamiliar taste in her mouth. That she can’t quite put her finger on it, but she feels you.
You wonder if when Aemond prays, he asks the Father to protect him… to protect her. The same way when you pray, you ask the Warrior to help you find the courage to destroy him.
It started with a bruise. A bruise that you don’t even remember how you got. Maybe one of those things you just wake up with. But it’s there, on the inside part of your left arm. It’s starting to fade but an otherwise noticeable bruise that stands out when you wear something with shorter sleeves.
The idea doesn’t come to you till you see the curiosity in Alicent’s eyes when you absentmindedly rub the bruise while asking if she’s seen Aemond. It’s only you two in the walkway; an unusually quiet day at the Red Keep. Her eyes go from it to the far away look in your eyes. It makes her tilt her head in thought.
“No dear, I haven’t,” her eyes go back to the scratch. “Are you doing alright? I know for some, the second babe can be even harder than the first.”
You look down at your arm, and something just clicks.
“I’m fine,” you start, then you make your voice tremble a bit. “I will be fine. I think I’m just tired.”
You give her a strained smile, and she returns one that tells you she doesn’t believe you. You can feel her big brown eyes burning into your back when you walk past her towards your chambers. There could be two thoughts in her head: you did this yourself or someone else did it to you. Either way, her son’s sweet pregnant lady wife is not doing well, and her son is nowhere to be found. Queen Alicent is one of the smartest, if not the smartest, person you know. She sees the change in her son; the change in the dynamic between Aemond and you.
It hits you. It would be too easy to physically harm Aemond. Though the idea of taking the blade that hangs from his hips and putting it to his throat has crossed your mind more times than you’re proud of. It would be too easy to get Larys to kill Alys. You don’t want to give Aemond the satisfaction of having his whore’s blood on your hands.
Where’s the fun in killing when your rage could be channeled into something more… methodical.
Under all that false bravado is the little boy who got picked on for not having a dragon. To break the man means bringing out that little boy. A truly broken man can’t love anyone. Isolation, and self hatred. What a gorgeous combination for your dear husband.
If this is going to work you need to up the ante.
So, you write. If Aemond and Alys can document their love, you can document your pain. You sent your lady in waiting out to get a blank book from one of the maesters. The color dyed cow skin feels smooth under your hands. There needs to be a slow build. Each day you grow closer and closer to shattering. Whoever reads it needs to know Aemond brought you to this place. He is the villain in the story of the poor, innocent wife that did nothing but carry his children and try to love him.
It will read like a diary, but to you it is a creation. A mixture of truth and imagination. A manifestation of pent up feelings. Purging and revenge all rolled up into one. You make sure to mention how terrified you are for your safety, and for you children’s safety. How an angry or disenchanted Aemond is nothing to toy with, especially if he has a bastard witch on his side. How maybe life would be better for Aemond if you just weren’t around.
But this fading bruise isn’t enough. Neither is just having a diary that will be discovered in due time. A deep cut, a dark bruise, half hazardously placed hand prints.. now that could work.
There’s something cathartic about the pain you feel when the dagger slices through your skin. The blood is so red and warm. It smears so smoothly on the page. Blood on your dress, cloth pressed to the wound, and wandering the halls is how Ser Criston finds you. You notice the worried, confused look in his eyes when you stutter out an ‘I don’t know’ when he asks what happened.
As the maester tends to your wound, you notice how Alicent and Criston stand in the corner of Alicent’s quarters. They occasionally glance at you while they whisper to each other. You recognize the familiar crinkle she gets in her forehead when she’s upset. All her children do it too.
“Sweetling, we both think it might be a good idea to give you your own knight of the kingsguard,” she sits next you. “Just to help you and… keep an eye on you during this vulnerable time.”
You blink. Not one mention of her son. But it’s clear to see how Ser Criston is with his queen. Submissive, and utterly devoted. Having someone like that is an asset. So, you smile weakly and nod. The more people who see you in this way, the better.
Ser Quinton Throne was quiet in the beginning. As if he was scared to be in your space. A far cry from the rambunctious knight his brother, Rickard, is. Moving past the initial shyness, he is attentive and even indulges Daella’s fascination with him. Despite you telling her not to, she would always run up to him, tugging on his white cloak to get his attention. She likes having someone around just as much as you.
The distance between Aemond and you had started to carry over into his relationship with Daella. Kids are more intuitive than adults give them credit for. Your throat felt tight when you daughter finally asks where father goes. You lie; it comes easy to you, easier than you thought it would. It makes you think if this is how easy it is for Aemond to lie to you. Or for everyone to not gloss over the clear problems in your life.
You would lying if you said it wasn’t nice having a man around, even if it was his job. It was Aemond’s job to do right by you, and he couldn’t do that. A man carrying out his orders with a warm smile was welcomed. The comfort of having someone who sweared his allegiances to you, and only you, and intended on keeping them.
You look from your embroidery loop to see Daella and Ser Quinton sword fighting with wooden swords. It’s an uncharacteristically sunny day. Perfect to get much needed fresh air, and apparently going to battle.
“She’s gotten quite good.”
Like a storm rolling in to ruin a sunny day, your husband’s tone is ever cold and distant. You hate the uncomfortable energy that radiates when he sits next to you.
“Yes, she has,” you stare at the Lysene lilac flower starting to come to life on your loop. “He’s good with her as well.”
You know he won’t like you saying that. He hates Quinton being around, and he especially hates how Daella taken a liking to him. Aemond scoffs and mumbles something under his breath you can’t make out.
“It’s just lovely having real protector around,” you continue to push your luck. “Someone so attentive and… strong.“
You look at with his a sickening sweet smile. He opens his mouth to say something, a complaint or rude comment since those seem to be the only reasons he talks to you, but he is interrupted by Daella yelling out for him.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he mutters to you, getting up.
“Oh you’ll actually be here long enough for that?”
The words slip out your mouth and it makes him turn to glare at you. It reminds you of the gossip you heard about him when you first arrived at court. How cold the king’s second son can be. It should’ve been a warning to you.
Quinton takes it as his cue to leave them be; you know he can sense how much Aemond doesn’t appreciate his presence. You watch as Daella clings to her father. As selfish as it sounds, you patiently wait for the day she too realizes he can’t be depended on.
“My mother used to make me embroider,” your knight’s voice breaks you out of looking on. “Something about being dangerous with a needle is just as great as being dangerous with a sword.”
You take a good look at him. If Aemond is the moon - ethereal, mysterious, and always changing, then Quinton is the sun. Bright, forward facing, and shines brighter with time. His choppy black hair, beard, and warm standing in contrast to your husband’s Targaryen features.
“Sounds like a smart woman,” you smile as he sits next to you.
His eyes linger on your embroidery work before traveling to you right arm. The blade wound was just starting to scab and scar over. His first day on duty was marked by seeing your husband give a long lecture on safety and ‘using your brain’ after Aemond saw your wound. The blade cut wasn’t under pure circumstances, but the look of resentment on your face was real. He saw that. He’s never asked what really happened to your arm.
“How are you my lady,” he whispers. You told him he can address you by your name, but he still insist on the formal names especially around others. “Is the babe giving you trouble.”
Ser Quinton, Helaena, and Alicent are the only people that seem to care about your well being, on top of the babe’s. Aemond concern went making sure the babe was fine to just not asking all together. It’s better that way, you think. You don’t think you’d be able to take fake concern about your little ‘mistake’.
“My bladder is being pushed on, I’m finding clumps of my hair on my pillow, and Maester Oliver told me this baby will weigh more than Daella did,” you reply lightly. “But other than that I’m doing fine.”
This pregnancy had knocked you on your ass. You’re sure the stress and thoughts that consume you don’t help. You know how it feels to come into a fracture family; it makes you feel awful for the babe in your stomach. Your parents tried hard, frankly too hard, to pretend things were good between them. Trying to prove their union was more than a duty for their houses. Till this day, you don’t know what’s worse: knowing they didn’t share that love or the years you watched them fake everything. They had ambitions, and to carry them out there needed to be an appearance of an united front. You took your father’s lead, knowing he always tried to have your best interest. The relationship you have with your mother often ebbing and flowing, especially since your marriage.
When you ravened your mother about your pregnancy troubles, she tells you that this is your responsibility to your husband. Harsh and utterly true. You don’t know if your father ever had indiscretions like Aemond, but you know she’d never plot the way you do. Her calculating nature showing up in different ways. Instead of going after him, she chose to focus on elevating you.
Her and Queen Alicent remind you of each other. Devoted to a fault. A victim who had no other choice but to fall in line.You pray for the both of them. Pray that they find peace with the sacrifices they’ve made. Pray that you never get that far. A shell of yourself. Duty, responsibility, cleaning up others’ messes - what a dull way to live.
“Once he’s out, I’m sure it will all be worth it,” says Ser Quinton, voice not wavering.
He’s trying to be kind, mentioning the working theory in the castle that you’re having a boy. You try to smile at the thought. It’s hard to believe that. Plan or not, you still have to know the truth about the father of your children. There is hole left in your heart about that. Him disrespecting you is one thing, but his words pertaining to your unborn child is another. A sudden spurt of anger rushes over you thinking about everything. It makes you stand abruptly.
“I’m feeling tired,” you watch as Daella pretend to stab her father with her sword. Her giggles ringing out when he reaches to pick her up. The dichotomy of Aemond Targaryen will always fascinate you as much as it terrifies you. How he manages to smile in her face, and lie to yours is quite a sight to watch. “I’ll send Margret out to get Daella.”
Waiting for the perfect moment is not going to work. There no time like the present.
The stiff upper lip of this family is something you noticed the moment you stepped into their presence. It’s seeped into the way they gatekeep a dying Viserys. Alicent is cold and collected in the most beautiful way. A sharp glittering icicle. A pretty rose littered with thorns to keep you admiring from a distance. Even Helaena, who you consider a friend, keeps certain things close to the chest. It’s better to keep the full truth away from her.
But there’s Aegon.
Pitiful, and lonely Prince Aegon. A drunk with a bad attitude. But he’s also the most painfully self-aware person you know. There will be times that you and him exchange looks, as you are in on the joke. That everything is a farce. One day someone will just come up and say it’s all been a bad dream. You think it’s the reason why he frustrates Aemond so much. The teasing on top of him never taking the Targaryen name seriously. Aegon spends his days trying to drink and fuck his way out of thinking about his life. Stuck in a royal cuckold. The first born son of a king with nothing to show for it.
He’s messy, nosy, and so openly brash. He’s your missing chess piece. The perfect pawn.
You leave the diary around places in the castle you know he will be. It’s not until you conveniently leave it in the play room where all Daella, Jaehaera, and Jaehaerys all frequent that you know he’s taken the bait. His lilac eyes seem to follow you whenever you two are in the same room. It takes days for him to confront you; book in hand and wry look on his face.
“Is it true? Everything you wrote?”
You stroke your belly while looking at him, a small smile on your face.
“Does it matter that if it is,” you tilt your head, and his eyes glitter with something you’re not used to seeing.
He mirrors your head tilt with a full blown smile on his face this time. It’s like a bright light after weeks of darkness. A person who also sees through the bullshit that enraptures once you call yourself a Targaryen.
“I greatly underestimated you my good sister,” he whispers. You know he’s thinking about his own words. ‘Pretty but horribly dull’.
“That’s fine,” you motion to the seat next to you. “You can make it up to me.”
Queen Alicent stands facing the fire. Aegon, Helaena, and Ser Quinton off to the side. All of them standing across from where you sit. Aegon gives you a knowing look while Quinton’s eyes are filled with pity and anger. Pity for his princess, anger towards his prince. Helaena looks like she wants to say something.
“I… do not know what to say,” her voice is strained with pain. You know this hurts for her. The image of the perfect son being destroyed. The pedestal she put him on crumbling before him.
You’ve gotten better at crying after Aegon told you tears will be necessary to sell it. It’s an automatic response now. The perfectly timed emotion that breaks like flood gates when Alicent holds out the diary. You say you’re embarrassed. That you never meant for anyone to read it, especially not anyone in the family. Aegon gets to be the concerned good brother. He rubbed your back, while his mother called for Helaena. She needed to know who else knew about this.
“I can say what everyone is thinking,” Aegon pipes up. “He’s a fucking cunt.”
“Aegon.”
His mother turns to glare at him, but it doesn’t deter him.
“Walking around with that self righteousness just to fuck a Strong,” he scoffs. “Calling his child a mistake?”
The words makes Alicent sigh, and squeeze her eyes shut. Helaena continues to play with her fingers with a quizzical look in her eye. If Aegon of all people can judge, the actions must be bad.
“This all my fault,” you decide to take it up a notch. Your breath catches. “I must’ve done something to deserve this.”
“Oh my sweet girl,” Alicent walks over and sits next to you, pulling you into her chest. “None of this is your fault.
“I just don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you continue. That part is true; what the seven hells did you do to deserve this marriage? “This, and the baby, and missing my family. I’m just so unhappy here.”
Alicent strokes your hair. You can feel her heart thumping in her chest. You can tell she’s upset and scared. Scared for what your unhappiness means. You’re a risk now.
“Maybe… my father can come and visit. He hasn’t been here since Daella was born.”
After you got married, your parents left court to tend to your house. They felt their work was done. That the marriage was as far as their political ambitions can go. They visit from time to time to see their granddaughter but normally you’re the one who has to make the trip.
“Of course,” you can see the wheels turning in her head. “I’m sure the Hand would love to pick his brain on some things. Your father has always been so kind and helpful”
Queen Alicent is as predictable as she is smart. Your dad thought your marriage would help him get a seat in the small council. When no offer came, his ego was bruised. If your marriage couldn’t, maybe a desperate Alicent can. The idea of sending a raven about the news makes you have to bite back a smile. An ally in an castle full of strangers.
“I’ll speak to Aemond about this,” she nods to herself. “You don’t need to be worrying about this in your condition.”
The disappointment is clear in smooth voice. Before you can reply with a thank you, Helaena finally piped up.
“A baby’s green eyes spurs brighter skies.”
She mutters it before looks at you curious. You look down at your swollen belly, feeling confused. Neither Aemond or you have green eyes. You try to push the sinking feeling out of your stomach. Even Aegon, who normally ignores Helaena’s cryptic language, has perked up a little.
You take a look at Ser Quinton… his eyes as green as spring grass.
Ok this is my first one doing a tag list, so I’m sorry for those I’ve missed. It only let me do 50??? Idk it’s it’s different on desktop or I’m doing something wrong. Hopefully I can find a more conducive way for this. I also only tagged people who specifically asked: @afro-hispwriter @crispmarshmallow @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @its-sam-allgood @lol-im-done @grey-water-colors @sassysaxsolo @justsumstufff @lilithskywalker @dc-marvel-girl96 @bekky06 @claudie-080102 @cloudroomblog @shelbythequeen @crazylokonugget @solacestyles @instantpeachpeace @katyadenauer @nsainmoonchild @deeeeexx @iwanttohitmyself @rosa-berberifolia @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @princessmiaelicia @bregarc @castellomargot @thesadvampire @chaosmagiq @icarusignite @happinessinthebeing @flavorofsalt @wishfulwithwine @slut-for-eddie-munson @rosaryos @mistalli @inana-mm @winxschester @papery-maniac @nolongereviliwantlove @fultimefangirl @missusnora @skinmittensgoblin @duckworthbean @b00kdiary @chiyausu @alexandra-001 @tachibubu @juneisreading @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @verycollectivecreator
#aemond x oc#hotd imagine#my writing#sorry for the delay.. the tagging kicked my butt 😭#also if there’s typos I’m sorry 💀💀#also sorry for once again leaving it ambiguous… couldn’t help myself#aemond targaryen x reader#black!reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#Aemond targaryen
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Storm's End 2
HOTD Masterlist
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader
Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you
Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, rape, non-con, minors engaging in sexual activities, mentions of a minor in a pleasure house, maiming, blood, violence, victim blaming, self blame, and other very dark things.
+18 MINORS DNI
Wordcount: 4,7 k
Notes: Ufff It seems I can’t do one shots anymore, I think this required another third part because I didn’t want to make it so long.
They say that when you are dying, all your life passes right through your eyes, making you relive all those moments, and the way you felt
Now you are able to say, that it wasn’t that accurate
Because all you could see was HIM
His head on your lap while you read to him in High Valyrian under the heart tree
You turning to him with a smile on your face the first time Karnax obeyed your command, the way he smiled back
The time you grabbed his hand and patted Karnax’s snout making him purr
But suddenly you were that frightened little girl in that tunnel in Driftmark
“no! stop it!”, you screeched, as Aemond had your older brother grabbed by his vest and he held a rock in his hand
“stop it!”, you begged him again, he threw his hand back to gain momentum and he hit you in the face with the rock
You wailed and cried, your face burning, a warm liquid filling your mouth with a metallic taste, blood pouring from your nose
Because of you your brother grabbed the knife, to avenge you, because of you baby Lucerys jumped at Aemond and slashed his eye off of his face
Soon you were not the only one crying bitterly
Soon some gloved, adult hands grabbed you and lifted you from the ground and took you to a maester
Soon you were seated across from Aemond, as the maester sewed his missing eye shut, his remaining eye didn’t leave your face, his mouth twisted in a dark mock
He didn't even blinked, he barely reacted when the needle pierced his skin over and over
While you only got a bloody nose.
Deeper into the night, after the maester sneaked you a bit of milk of the poppy, you woke up when you could no longer breathe, feeling a weight over your chest, when you opened your eyes the first thing you saw was Aemond’s scowl, the slash on his face still bright red.
“Aemond?”, you called, then he took a knife off his belt, you screeched but he placed his hand in your throat, “what’s happening?”, you cried, “I want my mom”
“Why was I the only one who lost something?”, he asked bitterly, “the only one scarred”
“You have Vhagar”, you whined
“I didn't stole her”, he clarified
“I know”, you said
“perhaps I should scar you too”
“You mom scarred mine”, you whined, a tear falling down your cheek, “please don’t”, you cried
Aemond looked down at you, you didn’t know what he was thinking, you only stood still, afraid. Your uncle seemed to ponder about something, thinking, analyzing, and then , with the hand that hold the dagger, he grabbed the covers and retired them, you were sleeping only in your loose nightshirt,
You were eight and he was ten, he grabbed the dagger, you were so scared you didn’t even move, you only cried and whined when he carved an “A” into your thigh
“Now you are scarred like me”, he said with an even voice, and an uneven stare, looking down at you like he was bored.
Even though you thought the Red Keep was your home, you were so relieved when your mom told all of you that you were going to live in Dragonstone from now on. You were now scared of your own uncle, of your friend, and therefore you managed to conceal your mark, never showing it to your parents
The next part of your memories were only a few weeks back, when you return for the first time to the Red Keep, to defend your own right to inherit Driftmark
You were lucky you were the only one that looked like a Targaryen
But Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s words still hurt
As he screamed bastard and whore to the entire court, you couldn’t help but look up at your uncle, feeling his gaze on you.
And before that in the training yard
That is when the uneasiness began, his gaze on you, that same smirk, like he was mocking you, and Jace, you were barely a year younger than your brother, he was only a year younger and yet, it seemed like Aemond was ages your senior, in abilities, in knowledge, in maturity, in everything
Perhaps that is why he was so amused
He seemed to mock you, to pity you, to be amused of how much of your childhood you still carried with you
You hugged yourself as Vaemond cursed you and your mother, and you felt his gaze on you the entire time
But then Daemon slayed Vaemond in front of all of you, Jacey, before you could see anything, he grabbed you and hid your face on his chest, to prevent you from looking at your now dead great uncle
Soon the impression on Aemond passed, as he watched in anger that bastard touching you, protecting you
He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else other than him.
That’s why he asked his mother, to ask Rhaenyra for your hand that very afternoon, right before the dinner
You couldn’t even eat, not with his gaze on you, you kept looking up at him, as he drank you in your black leather dress at the same time he drank from his cup. He didn’t not even for a second, let his gaze off of you.
You mother saw this, and grabbed your arm gently, and whispered to you what he wanted, that he asked for your hand
When your face twisted in fear and anguish, your mother’s changed to that of concern, then you both looked at Aemond across the table, and he could see in your faces, what the answer was going to be.
So fueled by anger and resentment, he stood from his chair and toasted to the health of his Strong nephews, and he looked directly at you when he said this.
“To the health of my nephews and sweet niece, my the gods keep them handsome, wise and Strong, she will need her strength, to bear my children after we are married”, he said with a smirk, and the entire table shared concerned looks
“WHAT?”, growled Daemon, looking at Rhaenyra
Whole hell broke loose
You tried to stop Jace, but he wouldn’t hear of it, he went for Aemond to defend your honor and he pushed him away like he was a doll
“Stop it!”, You begged him, after helping Jace on his feet you put yourself in between them Aemond walked towards you and grabbed you by the neck, he didn’t squeeze, he didn’t choke you, but you could see the anger in his eye
“You think you have a choice?”, he whispered to you, “I think you should see the scar in your leg to remind yourself of who you belong to”, But a leather hand grabbed Aemond’s arm roughly, you looked to the side and there was Daemon
“Get your hands off my daughter”, he whispered dangerously, and in the background, you could hear everyone screaming in desperation, specially Alicent
You were already crying, but he released you, smiling wickedly.
He had a face to face with Daemon, who put you behind him to protect you
“Over my dead body you will marry her”, he promised, Aemond only looked at you, and then he exited the room
Your mother send you home with your siblings that very night, scared of her own brother
And then as you took to the skies in the night you were suddenly transported to the last time you saw him
Aemond standing in front of you,
You were still in Storm’s End Hall, but there was no one else besides the both of you, you were alone. You wanted to speak, but couldn’t
“My beautiful, bastard, niece”, his words made you wince
You didn't know why you were here, is this what it was like to die? it felt like you were dreaming
“Why?”, you whispered, he tilted his head, amused, “Why do you hate me so much?”, you manage to ask, “I never did anything to you”
“I don’t hate you”, he said simply, “I’m just treating you like you deserve to be treated”, you frowned, “you are just a bastard, mine to toy with, mine to torment”
“Nobody deserves to be treated like that”, you fought, “is not my fault”, you whined, he only smirked, with a smooth movement he retrieved from inside his leather vest the dagge
“You are nothing, only the bastard daughter of a pretender who will never be Queen, strutting around the keep, with your bastard siblings”, a tear fell down your eye
“Is not my fault”, you cried, you believed him, a sadness taking a grip on you, you gasped for air as an inexplicable sorrow took a hold on you, “is not my fault!”, you cried, soon you couldn’t breath, you felt someone had a tight grip on your throat, you couldn’t breathe
You gasped for air, but something was preventing you from taking the oxygen you needed, you dried heaved, until you managed to throw up
Your body convulsed trying to expel the water from within your lungs, you tossed and turned until you finally manage to turn in the sand and threw up the salt water from within you
That is how you came to your senses again, disoriented, feeling sick, and clouded, and cold
So so cold
“So cold”, your voice sounded like a broken bagpipe, you tried to grab onto something, but your hand grabbed rocks and sand, you could barely see around you, it was all dark, it was late, and it was cold
You were soon aware that you were back in the land of the living, if you were dead, you wouldn't be in pain, you wouldn’t be so aware of your numb extremities, from the cold, the adrenaline, and the fact that you felt like you had been ran over by a herd of horses
You took your time to gather your bearings, to take deep breaths and expel the salty taste from your mouth, so sharp it clouded your mind even more
For some reason, even the stranger had forgotten you
once you managed to regain the mobility of your arms and legs, you turned around
“Karnax?”, you called, as you whimpered, feeling your loss in your chest, making it tight and hurt, as memories of the last moments coming back to you
“KARNAX?”, you called desperately, but you knew it was of no use, your dragon had been ripped apart by Vhagar, and it was a miracle that you were still alive
Then you stopped, maybe shouting and drawing attention back to you, wasn’t the brightest of ideas. But as you looked into the stormy sea, bitter tears fell down your eyes
Your baby dragon was gone, the one who had been with you since you were born.
You couldn’t stand on your own legs, you tried to, but failed.
You shivered, and tried to hug yourself
it was some miracle that the waves and current had dragged you to a small piece of beach with dark sands, rather than the rockery all around you
But you soon realize it wasn’t a miracle
You saw something, someone moved in your peripheral view, and you got a feeling…
Aemond walked towards you slowly
It had stopped raining but he was still wet as you were, his wet silvery locks stuck to the edges of his face and his clothes, all leather, protected him from the rain, he had taken off his eyepatch, and the sapphire gleamed even in the dark
You haven't yet recovered the feeling to your legs, but scared out of your mind you tried to crawl back, away from him. he smiled, wickedly, as he walked towards you
“Get away from me!”, you whined, but he stopped on your leg meanly, preventing you from advancing away from him. He only hummed, entertained
He looked like a creature that had come from the bottom of the ocean, front he pits of hell, he had resurfaced just to drag you back with him. He had come from your deepest nightmares
He leaned down towards you, you tried to fight him off, but he wouldn’t budge, he grabbed you tightly, roughly, tears fell down your eyes when he dragged you to him in a wicked embrace
“NO!”, you screamed squirming, trying to get away from him, “Why would you do that?”, you cried, bitter tears that burned your cheeks fell down your eyes, “My Karmax, my dragon, he was gentle, fair tempered, he never hurt anyone! He was good! Why did you do this? HE LOVED YOU AS HE DID ME! YOU KILLED HIM!”, you screamed, desperately fighting against him, to release yourself from his grasp
“He was weak and small, so are you”, he mocked in your ear
“WHO CARES ABOUT THAT?”, you felt physical pain in your chest, “he was my soulmate”, he manhandled you until he was face to face with you, he grabbed your jaw forcefully
“You have other things to worry about”, he growled, and you whimpered in his hold, trying to get away from him, but still you couldn’t, he was stronger than you, and you were completely destroyed
“please”, you whimpered, “you killed my dragon…”, his eye darkened even more, his expression was now the one of a man enraged
“Don’t you dare to even think we are even”, he growled, he then smirked darkly, “but after this we might”
The night was awfully calm, strangely so, and it was ridiculous you would think about something like that in a moment like this, but here you were
Because you knew what was about to happen
You only cried when Aemond threw you on the sandy floor, the hit numbing you partially, more than you were already. Aemond looked down at you for the very first time, in all this years, you saw him smile, he didn't smirk, he smiled widely, openly, you could see his teeth
“Please”, you begged him, to just leave you alone
“I love it when you beg”, he ceremoniously removed his long leather jacket, and left it gently on the floor
“I never did anything to you”, you whined, tears kept falling from your eyes and he finally jumped you, like a lion to his prey.
You tried to fight him off but you were so tired, so drained of all your energy, you couldn’t
You whined against him, but he didn't care, he never did, why would he do now?
He took the dagger off his belt, and for a fraction of a second you felt relieved, he was going to slice your neck and be done with it, but no, he sliced your riding pants instead, you tried to kick him, but barely moved him.
He got tired of your antics and grabbed you by the neck roughly
You whined and trashed, but he wouldn’t let go, soon the inability to breathe make you dizzy, losing the little strength you had left
“Please Uncle”, you managed to let out, cheeks wetted with your tears, the salty air making your skin burn
But he wouldn’t let go, he looked down a you with a sick satisfaction that make you whimper once more, as you were bare from the waist down
You never had high expectations regarding your first time with a man, you had heard from the Septas that it was your duty as a wife to please your husband in that matter, they had also said that it won’t be pleasant, that pleasure is not something you must seek
That the act of bedding was only to produce heirs
But with your sibling, Jace in particular, you had seen and read things, fueled by your curiosity, and you found out that it was quite pleasurable, for people that worked in the skin trade anyways…
You knew you had no expectations, but still
You never expected this
He undid his pants, releasing his manhood, it was big, thick, long, the tip red and angry, and even looking at it make you cry even more
“No please”, you managed to say, Aemond could see you were running out of air, so he released you just a little
He needed you conscious
“Please don’t do this, please”, you begged and begged, and he rebelled in it, he placed himself between your thighs, making you hurt
But the worst part was yet to come
“Why wouldn’t I?”, he mocked
While he still had you by the neck, the other went between your legs, yout thighs shook when you felt him, trying to introduce one of his fingers, it was uncomfortable, and it burned
You were dry
And he seemed to enjoy it
“Noooo”, you babbled, as you started hiccuping because of your distress, he only hummed. Pleased, with the situation, with you, or whatever
He fisted his cock only a couple of times, and gave you no reprieve.
He give you no space to move, no space to escape,
You shrieked in pain, the burn felt like nothing you had experienced before, you cried out as he ripped you open for him
“No! it burns, please”, you begged, “it hurts!”, you cried, you scream bloody murder
“Fuck”, he cursed, a sick smile on his lips
“Why?”, you cried, tears falling, whimpers being drawn, “Why?”, he paid no mind to you, only retrieved yourself and you almost thought that he was going to free you from this torment
Only for him to thrust into you even more roughly than before
You shrieked, as Aemond looked down for when your bodies were united and smiled when he saw the blood pouring from you. But he almost caught a glimpse of the mark he had drawn in your skin all those years ago.
“Now you are just a whore”, he said, satisfied with himself, again thrusting into you, “do you think Cregan Stark will want you now?”, he mocked
He kept fucking you, raping you, and the only thing in your mind to distract you from the pain was… why? Why did he hate you so much? if your dreams were to give you any clarity… which you doubted
“I’m sorry uncle”, you whispered, as he retrieved himself from you and then pushed again inside you, making you cry out
“I don’t care”
“I’m sorry”, you repeated again, and then again, like a mantra while he defiled you, while he took you against your will in that beach
“Come on, come for me, like the little wanting whore I know you are”, but you were far from it, you were still in pain, and your body reacted accordingly, trying to soothe you, lubricating itself to help you cope. He found your clit, pinching it and rubbing it roughly, too rough to be pleasurable, but it still helped.
Your head fell to the side, looking at the waves, so far yet so close, you wanted to get lost in them, as the rough sway of Aemond against you, you saw the waves coming and going with almost the same speed.
Until he grabbed your jaw and make you look back at him
The unhinged look in his eye, his growls and gasps
You grabbed the wrist of the hand that had you by the neck and you looked into his eyes, almost defiantly, and what you found in them scared you even more
You felt him deep in your belly, your insides were on fire you wanted to throw up, but the salty taste of all the sea water you drank was still present, giving you no reprieved
“Please stop”, you begged one more time, “please uncle, it hurts”
“Shh”, he only shushed you, he leaned in and kissed you, for the very first time, ever
His wet lips were a welcoming distraction, but not even in the kiss you felt relief, feeling only dread, desperation and anger
He bit on your lower lip, apparently the blood of your maidenhead wasn’t enough, he needed to taste it in his mouth too
You thought it was never going to end
Until finally his movements became sloppy, his eye rolled and he grabbed your neck even tighter
You felt him, deep inside you, ropes of his seed filling your womb
You cried even harder, moving more than before
He stood planted deep inside you for endless minutes, looking down at you, analyzing your face, and every expression on it, you only cried softly, your body tight with pain and trauma.
“i have to make sure it takes”, he mocked, and your shrieked shortly, “I told you I was going to give you my bastard”
You looked away from him, barely imagining how it was going to be like to bring shame to the family in that way.
Weak
You had let him do this to you
If only you were stronger
He finally released you, you whispered one more time when he took himself off of you
You felt a thick substance leaking off of you, and you could only imagine what it was
Aemond stood up, as he fixed his pants, you barely could roll to the side, hugging yourself, to look at the waves
You felt dizzy, nauseous, in pain and cold
And if you had something in your stomach you would have throw it out
But you didn’t
You felt his gaze on you again, you tried to ignore him, thinking faintly on how you are going to survive this, how you were going to go back home
To your family
They were going to love you no matter what, you knew this, and if Aemond tried to say the opposite, you were not going to believe him
Aemond didn't move, he only looked at you, the soft, musty wind hit your face, making you whimper in cold, but still, you laid there, unmovable, you could feel him moving, placing his jacket back on him, taking his time, and yet, you didn't move. Then he leaned in, and you tried to squirm away, but he grabbed you easily
“You either come with me, or I leave you here”, he whispered in your ear, you didn't move, you just stayed there, laying in the sand, he came into your frame, as you stared down at the beach. You were not an idiot, if he left you here, it is probable you were not going to make it, you were far away from everything, you had no dragon, another storm was coming
But going with him is unthinkable
Yet you didn't move
You saw his boots walking away from you, and then, they stopped
He looked back at you
You were stubborn
“Your Grace”, greeted the woman shakily, bowing to the Queen. Rhaenyra had unshed tears in her eyes
Daemon barely managed to get her out of her chambers. They had no news of you, and that is what scared them, they assumed the worse
“You are Lady Alyne Felwood, are you not?”, she asked, she did not mind to present herself like this, she hasn't brushed her hair, she hadn't even bathed, she wasn’t wearing her crown, still crying in front of that woman, a woman whose family was of the Stormlands, sworn to House Baratheon
“I am, indeed”
“Are you not sworn to House Baratheon?”, spitted Daemon by her side, looking as imposing now that his sweet wife couldn’t
“I was”, you whispered, “I was a part of the court of House Baratheon, and I was there that day when…”, Rhanyra’s gaze that had been on the table looked up at her, alarmed
“You were there?”, she asked, tears falling freely, the lady barely nodded
“I was”, she whispered, she looked within herself, to tell the tale as softest as she could, she did not want to bring her more pain, “I was there when the princess entered the Hall, unfortunately, Prince Aemond…”, she stopped to see their reaction, Daemon grabbed the pommel of his sword tightly, and Rhanyra whimpered, “had been there for hours when she arrived”
“It was him?”, she asked, Alyne barely nodded
“She made her case to Lord Borros, but one-eye had already made his own, offering his own, or his brother’s Daeron’s hand in marriage”, she said, “Lord Borros mocked the princess when she had nothing of the sort to offer him, and that is when…”, she paused, she might lose her head for this, in a “kill the messenger” situation, but she came her for a reason, “Aemond interrupted”
“What was said?”, asked Daemon impatiently, tired of the pauses
“He said that her brother had a debt to pay, that he wanted her to pay instead”
“What debt?”, she asked
“He said that he wanted a payment of blood”
“He slayed her…?”, cried Rhaenyra, but the lady shook her head
“He said he was going to take her maidenhead, and send you their sheets with her blood in it”, Rhaenyra whimpered, grabbing onto the painted table, “he tried to go to her but lord Borros intervened, he commanded her to be taken back to her dragon, she exited hastily, but so did he…”
“He demanded her maidenhead? And they let him go after her?”, she cried
“The guards on the battlements told Lord Borros that they have heard shouting, laughs and screams, and… a shriek of a Dragon”, Rhaenyra covered her mouth in an attempt to swallow her cries
“my little girl”, she cried, and Daemon hugged her tightly, hiding her face on his chest
“Why?”, asked Daemon, angry at this woman, who brought Rhaenyra sordid details about that day
“I’m a mother to a girl too”, she whispered
Then she was dismissed
“My girl!”, Rhaenyra cried, when they were alone, “my little girl”
“Shhh, my love, we will get her back, whatever it takes”
Taglist!
@lightdragonrayne @immyowndefender @aemondswifeisme @twobluejeans @toodlesxcuddles @sassysaxsolo @thearchitectoflove @maidmerrymint @floralsightings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @glendarollitkatharinesanders @ruhjkie @starkjedi @baconturtle
#misguidedhotd#misguidedhouse#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#targaryen!reader#house targaryen#hbo house of the dragon#aemond x reader#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction
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