#Daeron Targaryen - son of Aegon V | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

e1e4n0r5 · 9 months

Text

Twisted Love

Summary: You always expected to marry your twin brother, Daeron. However, when this does not come to be, you find comfort with your siblings. As only Targaryens could.

TW: Targ!cest, canon-typical incest, canon-typical age of consent (I did age up a little but the first s*xual encounters begin at 16), kind-of-I guess-sort-of grooming (Targs gonna Targ!), explicit s*xual content, oral s*x (m receiving, f receiving), p in v, anál play, group s*x

Notes:

I did change ages a little in this, just to make it somewhat less seedy.

Aegon is NOT a r*pist (honestly, why would the showrunners put that in if they wanted the audience to sympathise with him??)

Given that this will basically be PWP, there’s no Dance

Few uses of Y/N, only when needed

I haven’t written in ages, so this is probably 💩

This is FILTH. Pure filth. Heed the warnings up top. What’s listed there is what you will find. This is filthy, sordid, devious SMÚT.

You weren't meant for Aemond. As Daeron’s twin, the entire realm had expected news of your betrothal for years. Growing up, you were never far from your twin brother. Wherever one of you went, the other was never far behind. He would walk with you through the gardens; you would read with him in the library. You would watch him train with your brothers and cousins – or rather, listen to his protests about training – whilst you sat on a balcony above, your embroidery on your lap. You would both insist on taking your history and Valyrian lessons together, not wishing to be apart even for those few hours.

You pictured your wedding, together. You would sketch your wedding dress, and Daeron would practice draping your family’s cloak over your shoulders. You would have practiced your vows together, if only either of you had known the words. You both thought of your future children, agreeing upon names for your future sons and daughters. You both liked the names Maelon for a boy and Daela for a girl, and both hated Jaehna and Raenor. You both wanted them to have the traditional Targaryen colouring – white hair, violet eyes – but did agree that perhaps one or two with the Hightower colouring could be nice as well.

This lasted until you were twelve, then Daeron was sent to Oldtown. You begged and pleaded for him not to go, but your mother and grandsire ignored your pleas. After that, you asked to go with him. After all, you could not be apart. This, also, was refused. You would stay in Kings Landing and become a shining example of a Targaryen princess, and your brother would go to Oldtown to receive an extensive education.

Watching Daeron sail away was the most painful moment of your life. You cried, and screamed, and wailed at the top of your lungs. Fuck dignity and decorum; you felt like your very heart was being ripped right out of your chest. It was unbearable. Your mother ordered Aemond to take you back to your room, humiliated at the scene you were causing. That was when it started.

You and Aemond had certainly been close before Daeron left, there was no denying that, but the whole castle knew who your favourite brother was. However, with your twin gone, Aemond seized the opportunity to take the place of your closest sibling. Just two years older than you, you started spending more time with your one-eyed brother. He trained every day, unlike Daeron who practically had to be dragged to the training yard by his ear, so you got a lot more embroidering done. He came to the library with you, content to sit in silence whilst you both read. You would make recommendations to one another, expanding both your knowledge bases. You became more versed in politics and military history; Aemond expanded his horizons with languages, histories of the Westerosi kingdoms, and even the occasional fictional piece.

Aemond corrupted you. There is no other way to describe the changes that occurred in you after Daeron was sent away. Aemond was the antithesis to Daeron, everyone knew that. Daeron was sweet, soft; a kind-hearted and devoted brother. Aemond was not exactly unkind, but it was inevitable that his darkness would eventually spill over onto you. It was so subtle, you didn't even notice. Not until your sixteenth year.

Aegon and Helaena were married, their twin children a few months old. You had been in your rooms, reading later than you normally would, but the book had sustained your interest strongly enough to carry on into the night. At one point, you heard angry voices in the corridor outside your rooms. Your brothers: Aegon and Aemond. You couldn't clearly hear what they were saying, so you put your book down and headed over to your door, opening it just enough to look outside.

Your brothers were just a few feet from your door, arguing in hushed tones.

“How could you do this, Aegon?” Aemond snarled. “To disrespect not only your wife and sister, but our whole family too! Those filthy whores from the Street of Silk-”

“Aem, for fuck sake!” Aegon slurred, clearly drunk and swaying where he stood. “I just needed some relief. Helaena has the babies and is never in the fucking mood, so I just went to the Street-”

Aemond catches your eye from your hiding place behind your door. He cuts Aegon off, his eye darkening as a devious plan formed in his mind. “There is another option available to you, Aegon.”

“What? Mother threatened to cut off my cock if I did it with another maid-”

“Not a maid, you fool. Have you forgotten; we do have another sister.” With that, Aemond looked you in the eye. “What do you think, hāedar (little sister)? Would you help our dear Aegon with his problem?”

The eldest brother looked over his shoulder, pausing when he saw you. He looked back at Aemond. “You don't mean-?”

“What say you, brother? Surely your maiden little sister is more enticing than a common street whore?”

Aegon looked back at you, smiling as he looked you up and down. “Well, I suppose we are Targaryens, after all,” he smirked.

Suddenly it all made sense to you. The lingering kisses on your cheeks and foreheads; holding you close if you reclined on a chaise; admiring how you looked when you tried on new dresses, Aegon jokingly suggesting the necklines be a little lower; scaring off any men who tried to dance with you at balls; kissing your neck when they held you close… Despite your mother’s insistence on keeping you away from your ancestors’ ‘queer customs’, sometimes Targaryens just needed to love another the most.

You smiled at both your brothers, cracking open your door a little wider.

That night you learnt about the pleasures hands and mouths can provide, learning all your brothers had to teach you. How to move your mouth up and down a cock, how to touch a man's balls, how to use your hands to stimulate the parts your mouth couldn't take, how to swallow their offerings. You started on your knees between Aegon's legs as he lay back on your bed. Aemond took charge and instructed you how to please a man's cock, at some points holding your hair and slowly moving your head up and down for you to understand the desired depth and pacing. Aegon sat helpless on the bed, leaning back on his hands with his head thrown back, lost in the pleasure of having his youngest sister’s mouth. At one point he asked Aemond where he should finish; Aemond told him they would be gentle with you on your first try. You didn’t understand what that meant until Aemond pulled your head off Aegon’s cock just as he cried out and spurted all over his stomach. Still holding your hair, Aemond guided your head towards the white sticky fluid.

“Try it,” he ordered. “Next time you’ll swallow.”

You tentatively licked up some of Aegon’s fluids, holding it on your tongue for a second before swallowing. It didn’t necessarily taste bad; it was the texture that threw you off. Aemond kept hold of your hair until you had cleaned all of Aegon’s stomach. ‘Can’t leave any evidence,’ Aemond explained. After all, you were an unwed maiden. The castle would be rife with rumours if your handmaids discovered a man’s seed on your sheets.

When you were finished with Aegon, you expected both brothers to leave. They did not.

Aemond turned you to him, still on your knees, and began opening his leather breeches. “Show me what you’ve learnt, sister,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. So, you did. You used your hands and mouth just as they had showed you with Aegon. Your jaw soon began to ache, unused to these movements. Aemond was longer and thicker than Aegon (who wasn’t exactly small), requiring your hands to help work him faster when your jaw was threatening to give out. Aemond hit the back of your throat more than Aegon did, and he held your head still as you coughed.

“Take it, take it,” he grunted, as he began moving your head back and forth. “Oh, sӯz riña, sӯz riña (good girl),” he panted, thrusting faster into your mouth, until he climaxed with a loud groan. He held your head to his pelvis, ignoring your coughs as he flooded your mouth. “Swallow it, hāedar (little sister),” he ordered, “Or else you won’t get your pleasure from us this night.” You had obeyed as best as you could, still coughing in between swallows. When Aemond was satisfied you’d done as you were told, he pulled out of your mouth, a thick trail of saliva and semen lingering on his cock. “Lie back on the bed.”

You had done so, and he had promptly bestowed on you the most exquisite pleasure imaginable with just his mouth. He pulled your thighs over his shoulders, holding your hips against his face. Aegon had gotten his second wind, pulling your nightgown over your head and laving attention on your breasts. You didn't know they could be so sensitive, pushing your chest into Aegon’s mouth and hands as you fisted his hair. You moaned and mewled almost continuously as your brothers pleasured you, writhing atop your sheets.

Aegon eventually pulled away and moved up to your face. Taking hold of your chin, he pressed his lips to yours. It was your first kiss. You sighed against his mouth, his lips soft against yours. His thumb stroked your cheek as his other hand stroked over your hair tenderly.

Aemond looked up from between your legs when your sounds became muffled. “Aegon!” he protested.

“I'm sorry, brother,” he apologised with a smirk. “You were right; our little sister is just too enticing.”’ He smiled down at you, “I've wanted to kiss you for so long.”

Aemond was not happy at all with the situation, but returned to his work between your legs. He licked and sucked at your pussy, whilst Aegon kissed you deeply and ran his hands all over your breasts. Everything soon overwhelmed you, and you climaxed loudly into your eldest brother’s mouth, your thighs gripping Aemond’s head.

Throughout the night, the three of you pleasured each other a dozen times over, not stopping until you were all on the verge of exhaustion. Your brothers helped you put your nightgown back on, then put you to bed, slipping out of your rooms in the early hours, undetected by anyone.

No-one was any the wiser about what the three of you had done. However, you insisted that you had to tell Helaena. The elder sister would no doubt be thinking her brother-husband was out walking the Street of Silk, instead of spending his nights with his other sister. To a Targaryen, it was the better option.

And Helaena had been grateful. She had indeed been thinking that Aegon was out in the city, spending each night in a different brothel, sleeping with all manner of whores; it was a relief to know it was their younger sister on her knees for him. And Aemond too. And, after a few more months, Helaena herself joined in. Her months postpartum had been rough on the Princess, leaving her with no desire for intimacy – the very situation which had led Aegon to contemplate whoring as a solution – but when her desires had returned, the first thing she wanted to do was thank her sister for attending to their brother whilst she could not.

Over the next two years, the four of you engaged in your illicit activities in the dead of night, using hidden passages between your rooms to conduct your affairs. You and Aegon; you and Aemond; Aemond with Helaena; you and Helaena; even Aegon and Aemond at times. The only rule you all had was that you were not to be penetrated. You were still unwed, and you all wanted your maidenhead to remain intact. After all, Daeron would be your husband. And although he could not be with you all for your delectable and sordid acts, you still felt like he was owed something as your husband.

But it was not to be.

It all came to a head on your eighteenth name day. Your mother had been telling you for months that Daeron, your beloved twin brother, was finally going to be returning from Oldtown, and a betrothal would be officially announced. You were elated at the return of your brother; you and he had not seen each other for six years. What if he had changed in the years? What if he felt you had changed? What if he disapproved of your relations with your other siblings? You had a profound love for Daeron – you grew inside your mother together, you were born only minutes apart – but you would not let him dictate private matters between you and your other siblings. He would join in on those matters, preferably, but who knew what kind of man he had grown into, separated from his Targaryen family and surrounded by books for so many years? But none of that mattered, your brother was returning.

Except he didn't.

The tourney for your name day was well underway, the midday meal had been eaten, and there was still no sign of Daeron.

“His ship must be delayed a little,” your grandsire Otto theorised from his seat behind you. “He’ll be with us soon, Princess.”

“Yes,” you agreed absently, “delayed.” Your disappointment was plain for all to see.

It wasn't until the tourney was over, the winner bestowed a great gift by yourself, that your mother told you there was a large storm over Oldtown, halting any ships from departing until it passed. She had also forbade Daeron from flying on dragonback, not wanting him to get caught in the same storm.

You felt your heart break. You and your twin would not be together on your name day. Yet another occasion you were kept apart.

Aegon and Aemond kept you company in your rooms that night. Helaena was too tired after the tourney and chose to retire to bed, so your brothers spent the evening on their knees, comforting you over your twin’s absence. Aemond at your front, Aegon at your rear. The eldest sibling was more than happy to settle himself between your cheeks for hours at a time, never seeming to get bored of your back passage. You never let him or Aemond enter you properly, only with fingers, tongues, or toys; you wanted Daeron to be there for that.

They slipped out of your rooms just before daybreak, allowing your maids to wake you in the morning. After you dressed and broke your morning fast with your brothers – Helaena was allowed to take breakfast in bed, as a married woman – Ser Criston Cole came by and told you your mother and grandsire wished to speak to you. Certain it was about Daeron and your impending betrothal, you almost skipped after the knight.

You arrived in your mother’s quarters, observing her standing by a window. She was picking at her hands, as she always did. Your grandsire stood tall a few feet from her. Although he carried himself with more confidence, there was an odd air about the both of them.

“Y/N,” your mother greeted, somewhat stiffly. “How are you, daughter?”

You hesitated. This would not be good news. “I’m well, thank you, mother. Ser Criston said you wished to speak to me?”

She nodded, her eyes flitting between you and Otto. “We didn’t want to tell you yesterday,” she admitted nervously.

Otto twirled a scrolled-up letter in his hand. “It’s from your mother’s cousin, Lord Ormund Hightower. He has asked that Daeron stay in Oldtown a while longer. He’s most pleased with Daeron’s service and is reluctant to replace him.”

You felt your blood begin to boil. “So, my twin brother and I are kept apart for even longer, because my mother’s cousin can’t be bothered to find a new boy to carry his cup?” you demanded, unable to hide your anger. You refused to accept it. You had been apart from Daeron for far too long. To have a reunion with him be cancelled so suddenly and with such a piss-poor explanation, was unacceptable to you. “And you chose to hide this from me?”

“Don’t take that tone, young lady,” your grandsire scolded. “A lord’s cupbearer is a good position for Daeron.”

“He belongs here! With me! With us,” you protested. “Have you no desire to have all your children together, mother?”

You watched your mother pick at her fingers. “It’s not that, Y/N-”

“Then what is it? Daeron should have returned by now. We were supposed to be betrothed years ago! Helaena married Aegon at five-and-ten; I am now eight-and-ten and there’s only ever been whispers of a betrothal for me. People will talk, mother; they will say I’m undesirable or unwanted, by my own family!” You wept. You wept hard, all your emotions pouring out. “Why can’t Daeron come home and be my husband?”

Otto and Alicent both looked uncomfortable. “It was never promised that you and Daeron would marry,” he explained. “Alliances may be required; that is why you are not betrothed.”

“And that is why Daeron is not here,” you accused. “It’s not some stupid lord wanting to keep his cupbearer; you don’t want Daeron and I to have the chance to marry, in case you need to sell me to the highest bidder.”

“Go on with your day, Y/N,” Otto ordered firmly, dismissing you and ending the conversation.

You had returned to your rooms and wept. After a while, Aemond, Aegon, and Helaena had all crept into your rooms via a secret passage from Aemond’s own room. They held you whilst you cried, comforting you as best they could. Then you had an idea. A wicked idea, one that could threaten to break apart your family or have you disowned.

You looked at Aemond.

“Marry me. Now. In the manner of our house. Our mother and grandsire wish to keep me unmarried, in case they need to strike an alliance. I won’t allow it; I will not be sold off into some strange family with people I don’t know and who don’t love me! I will marry, now, and I will marry only a Targaryen,” you insisted. “You can marry me now, Aemond, or Aegon can take me as a second wife.”

Aemond needed no convincing; it was exactly what he’d always wanted. He had loathed your loyalty to Daeron, having wanted you for years. Your two handmaids were called into your rooms, to serve as witnesses (they were too shocked to protest, merely standing in front of the locked doors as silent and still as statues) whilst Aegon performed the rites. Although you didn’t have the traditional Valyrian wedding robes, you followed the traditional ceremony in every other way. You exchanged vows and blood, anointing each other’s foreheads with your bleeding thumbs, and kissing passionately at the end. You swore your handmaids to secrecy until the next morning when you would announce to the whole kingdom that you were wed, and dismissed them, so that you may start your wedding night.

Aegon went to your drinks table and began pouring all four of you wine. By the time he had finished and turned around, you were moaning with Helaena kneeling between your legs as Aemond unlaced your dress from behind.

“Don’t waste any time, subyss (siblings),” he laughed. He set the tray down and picked up two cups. He handed one to Aemond and took a sip of his. He fisted Helaena’s hair gently, pulling her away from your pussy. Tilting her head back, he trickled the wine from his mouth to hers. She moaned softly and swallowed obediently. Aegon tapped her bottom lip, and she extended her tongue. He spat a small glob of saliva on her tongue, then nudged her back to your pussy. “Get our little sister nice and wet for her new husband, ābrazȳrys (wife).” Helaena went straight back into your pussy, spreading your lips wide and sucking on your clit. Your legs shook and Aemond held you upright, now naked behind you.

Aegon moved forward to give you wine as he had done to Helaena, but Aemond stopped him. “I’ll feed my wife for the first time, brother,” he protested, holding the cup to your mouth. Aegon smirked and held his hands up in mock-surrender, running his free hand over your breasts. He tweaked your nipples exactly as you liked; just a little too hard, just enough to cause some discomfort. You drank from Aemond’s cup, swallowing until he took the cup away, almost empty. You gasped suddenly.

Aegon looked down. “Helaena! You know the rules, no fingers!” he snapped, pulling his sister-wife backwards gently until her hand fell away from your pussy. “Her cunt’s for Aemond, you should have asked.”

“I’m sorry, Aemond,” she pouted. “I just wanted to start preparing her.”

Aemond shakes his head. “Ask first next time, sister. As Aegon said, her cunt is mine now.” It made you throb how he was speaking about you. He kisses your cheek, “Get on the bed, dōna (sweet).”

With slightly wobbly legs, you hurried over to the bed, reclining back. You waited. Aemond walked over to Helaena, still on her knees, and lifted her finger to his mouth. He sucked deeply, savouring your taste. He nudged her onto her feet, leading both her and Aegon to where you lay on the bed.

“Help me, mandia (older sister),” Aemond smiled at Helaena, slipping a finger inside you. She smiled back, slipping in one of her own fingers back inside her little sister’s cunt. Aemond looked to Aegon. “Lēkia (older brother), you too.”

You moaned loudly on top of the sheets, feeling a third finger enter you. All three felt different inside you, moving at different angles, varying depths, contrasting speeds. You forgot about everything outside of the room, closing your eyes and basking in the sensations provided by the fingers. One was slow and gentle, exploring you sweetly; Helaena. Another moved a little deeper and more firmly; Aemond. And the final finger moved in and out of you at speed, curling at just the right angle; Aegon.

The three older siblings all looked down at your cunt together, watching in amazement how well you took three fingers for your first time. It was a glorious sight. Aemond leant down and dripped some spit onto your hole, Helaena followed by example, and Aegon finished with a grin. The noise your now slippery cunt was making was enough to have you blushing harder than you ever had before.

“Finish for us, wife,” Aemond commanded. “Show us how obedient you can be.”

Aemond and Aegon took an ankle each and spread your legs, leaving you helpless beneath them. You looked up at all of them, overcome with pleasure and submission. The three-headed dragon standing over you smiled down at you, waiting patiently for you to reach your peak. You did with a loud cry, making Helaena shoot her hand forward and stick the fingers of her free hand in your mouth.

“Quiet, sister,” she whispered. “You may be married in this room, but you are still unwed to the rest of the Keep.”

You nodded dumbly, closing your mouth around her fingers. As she always did when she had her fingers in your mouth, she moved them in and out shallowly, shivering at the feeling of your tongue tickling her digits.

“It’s time, wife,” Aemond announced, and Helaena and Aegon withdrew from your cunt. You moaned at the loss, but quickly settled as you watched Aemond stroke his cock between your legs.

Your sister climbed up onto the bed next to you. “Finally, Y/N, you won’t be a maiden any longer, sister,” Helaena whispered with excitement. “We can spend our days all together now, there’ll be no more hiding,” she smiled, so happy there would be no more need for secrecy. Well, not complete secrecy. You smiled around her fingers, even as you choked with tears in your eyes.

“Hel, let up, she’s choking,” Aegon chided, pulling his sister-wife’s fingers out your mouth. You coughed a little but kept smiling at Helaena regardless. “If you really want her mouth, give her your tits. You both love that.”

“Oh yes,” she said absently, removing her own garments. She soon settled back next to you, pressing her breast to your mouth. You latched on quickly, humming happily as your sister’s creamy milk started to let down in your mouth.

Aemond moved your knees forward to your chest. “Hold your legs, wife,” he commanded, sliding the tip of his cock through your soaking folds. You moaned around Helaena’s breast, holding yourself open for your husband.

He slid in slowly, groaning low at how deliciously tight you were. He’d never sampled a cunt like it, squeezing his every inch. You sighed softly, feeling fuller than you ever thought possible. Aemond slid slowly in and out, feeding you a little more of his cock every time he slid back in. Before long, he hit an end inside you and you whimpered, gripping your thighs.

“Here, Y/N,” Aegon leant down and rubbed your clit slowly, helping you relax into Aemond’s thrusts. Such a kind big brother.

Helaena took her breast out of your mouth after a few minutes, laying down beside you. She spread herself in front of Aegon, who happily gave her his cock. As you and Helaena lay on the bed, side by side, your husbands pounded into both of you. Your hands closest to each other reached over and rubbed each other’s clits. It was wonderfully deviant.

“Mayhaps we both conceive children tonight, hāedar,” Helaena smiled sweetly at you. You smiled widely back at her, leaning in and kissing her deeply. All four of you moaned loudly and climaxed simultaneously.

That night was long, exquisite, and sordid. You could finally be fucked, properly and thoroughly by your brothers and sister, there was no need for anyone to hold back. Helaena even ran back to her and Aegon’s rooms at one point, retrieving a thick leather phallus secured to a harness and bending you over the bed. She explained dreamily whilst thrusting into you that she had had it made a year or so before, just waiting for the day she could use it on you. After you had squirted release over the both of you, she had thrown you onto the bed, put the harness on you, and ridden you wildly. Aegon even fitted himself into her ass from behind. You blissfully watched your sister ride you, whilst getting fucked in the ass by your brother, until Aemond gripped your hair and thrust his cock into your mouth.

Aegon and Helaena removed themselves from your room at dawn – you were all so exhausted, you must all have passed out at some point – and you and Aemond curled up together in bed, secure in each other’s arms. Your maids had tentatively knocked you awake, not knowing what they would encounter. Seeing you and Aemond in bed together could not have been too surprising; they witnessed your wedding, after all. You told them to bring you and your husband breakfast in bed. Given that you were now married, you were also entitled to that luxury. They did so apprehensively, but obeyed.

Word had obviously gotten back to your mother that you had not dressed for breakfast, so she knocked on your door a short while later. “Y/N? Are you well? Your maids told me that you are breaking fast in here?”

You and Aemond smirked at each other on the bed. You’d put your robes on, but had chosen to eat your bread and fruits atop your ruffled bed sheets. “Come in, mother.”

Alicent entered, looking around the room for you. When she saw you, she froze. You could see her heart stop beating. “Y/N, what—what is the meaning of this!”

You smiled back at her. “Well, seeing as Daeron won’t be returning to Kings Landing any time soon, I took it upon myself to find my own husband.”

“Husband?” she gasped.

“Indeed, mother,” Aemond nodded after sipping his tea. “Y/N and I wed last night, in the Valyrian tradition,” there was still evidence of the blood on both your foreheads, “with our brother and sister, and Y/N’s two maids, as witnesses.”

You smiled back at the Queen. “Wedded and bedded, mother.”

“Bed…” Alicent looked faint, your maids pulling a chair over quickly. She plopped down onto the seat, no grace in the movement, staring back at you both. “How could you do this, Y/N! We told you why you had not been betrothed yet!”

“I know, and I refused to be sold off to a stranger. I have taken Aemond as my husband, and I am his wife. The union was witnessed and has been consummated. It’s done, mother.”

Otto had been livid, a hair’s breadth away from disowning you and dissolving the union. But when Aemond had moved his hand to his sword, a clear warning not to insult or threaten his wife, the Hand of the King relented. It was announced to the castle at evening meal, with the formal ceremony for the Faith of the Seven held the next morn.

And sure enough, three moons later, you and Helaena were both with child.

So this will definitely end up a series 🤣 Let me know your thoughts!

Chapter 2

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #helaena targaryen #twisted love

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arcielee · 1 year

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The Past and the Pending

Summary: Aemond will find you and bring you the fuck back to Westeros. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 3790 Warnings: Smutty smut, possessive Aemond (you know you love it, I do too, no judgement) dubcon, oral (female receiving), fingering, p in v, all the goodies. Author's Note: We are coming to the end of this depravity and there is one last part after this. I cannot express enough thanks to @f4ll-for-you for all of her help! I literally posted, “Hey, this is my first ever Reader Insert attempt, does anyone wanna read it?” And she was the only one willing and the friendship that has blossomed has absolutely changed me for the better as a writer. Thank you from the bottom of my heart ♥ lēkia - brother Tags (kindred spirits): @glitterandgoldfinds @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @fan-goddess @welcometothelioncage @hueanhdang @sahvlren @heavenly1927 @missusnora @lemonivall (I have never had a taglist before, but if you are bold it is because Tumblr has betrayed me and it will not allow me to tag you, I’m so sorry) Series: Call It Dreaming

Prince Aemond Targaryen was a quiet force that would sweep through the Red Keep, his dark presence engulfing every room he entered into. His temperament would be described as obsessional, almost consuming, whenever his meticulous mind was set on something or someone. His traits and his drive would have been admirable in a firstborn son, but instead he learned early on his fate was predetermined, understanding that his title would forever be superseded by the fact he was only a second son.

On the night he returned from Storm’s End, he came to realize that his power dynamic had shifted. Aemond was ushered away into the small council chamber, not even able to change from his clothes that hung heavy from the rain. He saw the change in the expressions around the table, the disappointment in both his grandsire and mother’s expressions, but Aegon did not share their concerns and found optimism within his err, boldly stating how his brother had, “the true blood of the dragon.”

Aemond was grateful his brother stood at his side with the new alias Kinslayer tacking onto his legacy and, in return, he devoted himself to serve his king, no matter the personal opinion on his drunken addled reign.

He was a formidable ally to Aegon, quick to push his grandsire and his self-serving counsel aside, while suggesting for Daeron to return to the Red Keep at once, which would allow Tessarion to be added on the battlefront.

Aemond then turned his focus to the retaliation he knew would come from his sister, pouring over tomes and books to scrutinize battles past and best predict the impending. It did not prepare for the attempt made, but the gods showed favor as Daeron happened to be visiting with his mother when two brutes slipped into her quarters by one of the many ingresses that lined the castle walls. The prince’s yells were quick to bring the attention of Ser Criston Cole and together they were able to subdue the would-be assassins.

The two men with the monikers Blood and Cheese were beaten until they were unrecognizable, until the needed confession spilled from their broken teeth and bloody lips: that they had been sent by Daemon.

An eye for an eye, a son for a son.

The outrage for the attempt on the little Targaryen princes allowed the uproar needed amongst the seven realms to capture and bring Rhaenyra and their uncle to trial. They were convicted and their execution was a show for the smallfolk, thus ceasing any more murmurs of who Viserys had wished to be his heir.

This led to present day, with the seven realms now under the unquestionable rule of his brother, King Aegon II, who proved to be an insipid drunk with access to the royal funds, which was used to throw extravagant revelries that allowed him to wag his cock at every woman within Westeros.

Yes, he was the king and he was kin, but Aegon was still insufferable.

His brother’s incessant celebrations left Aemond numb to their victory, with an emptiness that replaced the consuming vengeance he had felt since that fateful night on Driftmark. He always assumed when it had been rightfully served, that a sense of peace would take over but instead he found a gnawing want for something more.

“You need a woman, lēkia,” Aegon had told him with a giggle.

In that regard, Aemond had an insatiable appetite but only once it had been awakened. The last woman he took to bed was when they first claimed Harrenhal and slaughtered every Strong within, save for a bastard who served as a wetnurse.

Their chemistry was explosive, burning bold and passionate until the inevitable end of the wick. Alys spoke often of her purpose, stating the gods have given her a new destiny to fulfill, whereas Aemond was respectful of the old gods and the new, but found he often preferred the process of coming to a conclusion with thorough research, as opposed to an unseen deity’s say-so.

When he told her this, she clucked her tongue and touched his cheek. “My prince, I know your destiny and you just need to find her.”

Instead, Aemond returned to the Red Keep and fell into the mundane routine of small council meetings, training with Ser Criston, and riding Vhagar. The only time he felt a sense of purpose was backside the massive she-dragon, allowing her freedom to soar over the seven realms and trusting the gentle pull of the reins and a word utterance would return them to King’s Landing.

To return to nothing.

He had always preferred seclusion, but it wore on him as of late. His sister was busy with the twins and her new babe, a young princeling named Maelor, while his mother was devoted to breathing down Aegon’s neck and upholding his royal reputation. Daeron found his purpose within the Citadel and was forging his chains and Ser Criston allowed time to train with him, but he was dedicated to the shadows cast by his mother and brother.

So when his day’s tasks were done, he would retreat to his room and allow himself to remove his eyepatch and the façade it held, choose a book from his growing collection and seat himself in front of the fire to read.

This was how you found him.

His agitation was apparent by the rush of color to his cheeks; he could not fathom how you managed to enter without him realizing. He watched as you made a soft noise of surprise, your backside was to him and he knew, from what you wore, that Aegon had picked some whore from the Streets of Silk and slipped her in.

His tone was sharp when he questioned what you were doing and he saw you jump. Aemond was in a sour mood and he knew he was projecting, but his temper flared and he glided across the room to take hold of you by the throat, though he was careful with his hold.

What he had not expected was the beauty that seemed to glow from you, your look so exquisite and unlike anything he had seen before within Westeros. The embarrassment of you seeing him so intimately tightened his expression and you returned his look with an unabashed regard that held no tremor of fear, but your eyes seemed to brim with a sort of adoration.

His gaze rolled over your shapely legs that peered below the hem of your queer clothing and the gnaw of lust began to form in the pit of his stomach. He watched with rapt attention when you removed that flimsy piece of clothing to show the small clothes that fit with your figure with the most delicious flattery to your curves.

His passion had been awakened; he had to taste you, he had to touch you.

His fingers trailed your skin, soft like silk to his touch, and your scent warm and subtle. Your body fit so well against him and the noises that spilled from your kiss swollen lips was a sound he always wished to hear. The moment he finally sheathed himself inside your wet warmth, you mewled so pitifully and he shuddered from how your cunt molded so perfectly around his cock. Aemond struggled to pace himself, but your tightness clutched so sinfully and he swore the world anew when he spilled inside you.

Aemond pulled you beneath the covers, unwilling to have you return from wherever his brother dragged you from. He loved curling against your soft backside and how you felt pressed against his chest; there was pleasure from watching you sleep, with the subtle rise and fall of your bare chest with your every breath, while cradling his arm between your breasts.

He regretted falling asleep, for when he awoke you were gone and all that remained was the queer clothing you had arrived in, your fragrance still lingering on the thin fabric.

Aemond went to find his brother and confront him about you, only to learn that Aegon had been bedridden since late the day prior with stomach pains. “You swear you have not left this bedchamber, lēkia,” he questioned.

“Speak softer,” Aegon moaned, dark circles that amplified the purple of his eyes. “I swear to you I did not leave my room for anything last night, save the bucket.”

But if she was not his, where did she come from?

He called for Ser Erryk and together they searched every brothel within the city, questioning every madam and giving the description of your beauty. There was no lead and they tried to entice him with what they had available, but Aemond did not want the touch of anyone but you and you alone.

You had become his new sense of purpose, consuming his every thought.

It was weeks before he saw you again; there was the familiar soft gasp falling from your lips and you were back, flesh and blood, in his bedchambers. His temper flared and you were coy with your reply. There was the question that had tormented him for weeks, “Where are you from?”

“I cannot say.”

He wished for an answer, but his body betrayed him and the ache he felt only began to subside once he grabbed onto you, feeling your soft flesh and enveloped in your warm aroma. He pulled you close, appreciative of the black, simple dress that complimented the curves of your body; your nipples peaked beneath the fabric and your body arched, the soft flesh of your ass pressing into his crotch.

You were intoxicating and he was mournful with his words, “I imagine you will leave me again.”

“I will need to,” you replied, your eyes doleful. “But I will stay as long as I am able to.”

As long as I am able to.

Your words remained with him, a soft echo in his mind as he returned to the monotonous tasks of his every day. They rolled away and one night, in the quiet of his bedchamber, he laid back and stared at his canopy above his bed. His gaze held nothing, but beneath his pillow he held a grip of his dagger, the fabric of your shirt touching his knuckles.

He ached for your touch, the clothing left behind had lost your smell, and he mourned that he did not hold onto you, refusing to allow you to return from wherever you had come from.

Aemond did not remember falling asleep, but he felt the shift at the edge of his bed and the realization he was not alone in his room. He had an automated response, only to fully awaken once he saw the hold he had around your neck and your wide eyes.

The passion remained the same and how perfect your body was against his own. A sense of ataraxia washed over him with you wrapped in his arms, a comforting calm until he felt your body tense every so slight. “What is it?” He was quick to ask, wanting to resolve whatever vexed you in this intimate moment.

You turned to face him, your eyes glassy and the tip of your nose red with your words, “I only wish I was able to stay longer with you.”

Morning came and his bed was empty again, but he now understood what must be done. He returned to Harrehal and sought out Alys. When he entered the throne room, he looked up at her and she wore a wicked smile on her painted lips, but her focus was on the mortar in her hand. “What do you seek, my prince?” She asked with the lilt of her Riverland accent.

“Who,” he replied, his gaze watchful as her hands continued the motion in front of her. There was a collection of mason jars, marble bowls brimming with herbs from all over Westeros, and the wispy smoke of sage hung heavy in the air.

Alys lifted her kohl smeared eyes, a twinkle to the blue that bore into him. “You finally found her,” her tone was playful, almost teasing. “You know that I need something of hers to locate.”

He handed over your vintage shirt.

“The White Duke,” she grinned. “Is this dear to her?”

“I hope so,” he answered.

She tsked and took just a shred of the fabric, dropping it onto the marble slate in front of her before sprinkling a powder on top. A flame sparked and it reflected in her eyes. “Fate is peculiar,” she began, her tone still teasing. “She is not of this world, my prince.”

Aemond remembered your reply, I cannot say, and he asks, “Am I able to get to her? Would I be able to bring her back here?” He swallowed. “She has visited me before.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Alys continues. “I can create an access that will allow you to retrieve your destiny, as well as a potion that you must give her so she can return with you, with whatever she carries.” Her eyes focused on him, her lips drawn into a thin line. “We cannot traipse back and forth this plane of existence, my prince. I can give you two days, but after that the portal will be closed so on one else can cross.”

She paused for a moment. “This, of course, will cost you, my prince.”

But no cost could compare to the opportunity to see you again. Aemond returned that evening and noticed a chalk symbol on the cobblestone. Alys handed him a small vial with a soft purple glow emanating from the glass. “This is what she must take to be able to cross over and stay within Wetseros,” she instructed. “Where you arrive will be the same way you must return.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched.

“I will close this portal in two days, whether you return or not,” she repeated and she gave him a kiss. “Good luck, my prince.”

Aemond Targaryen found himself in your room.

Where he stood was a soft, iridescent glow beneath where he stood and it faded away. A purple lucent light remained, casting from your bedside and allowing enough light for him to look around. It was apparent the space was intimately yours, an almost chaotic cleanliness and your fragrance touched everything. He noticed a velvet chair with clothes folded on top and to his right, by the door, were your shoes neatly lined up. Aemond bent over and removed his boots, placing them alongside.

He saw a shelf that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, littered with literature and small trinkets; on the wall were pieces of artwork that hung. His gaze then fell towards the bed where you were sleeping; you were wearing a thin, white tank top and the blanket was halfway down your hips, your lips slightly open with the soft breaths of your slumber.

There was the curl of his lips as Aemond took slow steps around your bedside, his eye taking in your relaxed form in the sheer top, and he reached to gently pull the quilt back further to show the black cotton underwear that hung on your hips. His hand reached out to you, his fingertips pressing into your soft skin and his touch elicited a sleepy moan from your lips, your nipples pebbling in response.

He felt the tightness in his trousers and he pulled back to remove his tunic before moving to climb into your bed, pressing closer, his nose trailing from your collarbone to the curve of your neck, his mouth opened slightly as he took in your smell.

You shift beneath him with a sigh, goosebumps spreading over the skin that shows, and he was quick to place his palm to cover your mouth; your eyes widen and it takes a moment to recognize it was Aemond Targaryen, bare chested and pressing up against you. He relaxes his grip and your hands move to touch his face, your fingers soft on his jawline, “Aemond-?” Your voice is a harsh whisper and he moves forward to take your mouth with his own.

You moan into the kiss as his tongue massages against your own, shifting himself to move on top of you and brace his elbows on each side of you, caging you in. You move to open your legs and cradle him against your hips, your hands tangling in his silver hair.

His lips move downwards, tracing your jawline to your neck and kissing your chest. He shifts his weight to one side, reaching to grab your neckline with one hand and pulling to allow your breast to spill. His hot mouth suckles and bites into your soft flesh and you moan louder, grinding your hips upwards for friction.

You see the curl of his lips as he reaches for your stretched neckline and tears it down the center. “Hey,” you push to your elbows, your voice low. “I would have taken it off if you just asked.”

“I do not ask for what is mine,” he replies and pushes you back into a bed with a kiss that removes the air from your lungs and all thoughts from your mind until all you can think is the sensation of his lips trailing lower, his kisses sprinkled over your chest, your breasts, your ribs and lower.

You lift your hips and peel off your underwear that is soaked with your anticipation; Aemond moves to your center with a greedy lick of your silky folds, the sensation sending shivers throughout and your clit blossoms in response. “Vok,” Perfect, he praises into your cunt and you shiver again with his Valyrian.

You feel his slender finger curl into you, a tentative touch to your velvety walls until you clench in response. He hums his satisfaction before adding a second finger for a come hither motion to massage that spot within you; you mewl pitifully and bring your hand to your mouth to smother your noise.

He pulls back to look at you and you are quick to whisper, “I have roommates,” he probably does not know what the fuck that is, “I live with others here, they have their own rooms… I-I don’t want them to hear me.”

“I do not fucking care,” he growls and he dips lower until his mouth is on your cunt. You gasp at the simultaneous ministrations of his mouth and his fingers within you; your thighs begin to shake and you nearly cry when he quickens his motion, the pleasure crashing over you and your cunt clenching desperately around his fingers as he coaxes you through your orgasm.

There is a wet squelch when he pulls his hand back and you weakly look, face flushed, as he brings his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean, his grin wicked. “As sweet as last night,” he says and he moves to unlace his trousers before returning to nestle in the cradle of your hips.

Your eyes are glazed and you sigh with the pressure of his chest to your own, his hard and warm and still somehow molds so perfectly against you; he moves his hips and you feel his cock pressing against your slick slit, tantalizing your swollen lips. “Aemond, please,” you beg, your nails biting into his toned shoulders.

He reaches his hand to line himself with your entrance, the gentle thrusts of his hips to fill you and you moan at the stretch of your walls as his cock sheaths into you. He begins to rock against you, hitting deeper within, and the soft pants of pleasure spill from your lips with his every thrust.

Aemond leans forward, his mouth finding yours with a gentle kiss that does not match to the powerful pace of his hips. “Wait,” you breathe and he pauses, his expression curious as you push him back and he follows you lead to lay back onto your bed.

You take care to prop your pillows behind his back and his gaze watches as you climb on top, your touch gentle to guide his tip between your wet folds. He reaches to grip into the softness of your hips, lifting to ease the entirety of his length into you; your head tilts back with a cockdrunk grin to your lips and you slowly begin to rock against his hips, while Aemond presses to meet your motion.

You look down at the prince and his gaze is intense in return, one sapphire eye and one lavender eye that bore through you. The lighting of the room gives him an ethereal beauty and your eyes admire how the shadows spread across the rivets of his chest and abdomen when he flexes to meet you with the motion of his hips. His silken hair spills on both sides, a contrast to your dark sheets, like a silver halo for this deity clenched between your thighs.

“Aemond,” your voice is so low, but he is rapt to your attention. “Jenigon nykēla.”

Touch me.

He releases one hand and reaches between your thighs, his thumb gentle with his touch until the slick on your cunt coats his tip. He finds your pearl and moves in circles to match the rhythm of his hips, his touch igniting the passion that coils in the pit of your stomach. Your nails bite into his chest, leaving creases of red crescent moons on his pale skin; you bite your bottom lip, quickening the movement of your hips.

Aemond returns your passion, rutting upwards until your breath hitches and your velvety walls begin to clench around him, coaxing his own release with a guttural groan from the back of his throat; his arm pushes himself upright and the other moves to slip around your waist, burying his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, soaking in your scent.

He falls back and pulls you with him, his arms wrapping around you and you nestle against his chest; your smile is unable to leave your face as you press a kiss to his chest, moving to press your lips to his neck. He hums, his cheeks dimpling with a closed lip smile, and you whisper, “Aemond, how did you find me?” Your voice is soft. “This has to be a dream.”

He hums again, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I will tell you everything in the morning,” he promises, nestling with you beneath the quilts on your bed.

Your fingers trace the hard planes of his abdomen, the softest touch to test if he was really there. But in the morning you will be gone, you don’t say and, instead, his steady breathing lulls you to sleep.

#the past and the pending #Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #thanks for reading #and thanks for all the love #♥

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humanpurposes · 1 year

Text

Come So Close That I Might See, part i

Desperate to secure her position, Aegon's wife turns to Aemond for help // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Warnings: 18+, language, infidelity, smut (p in v, female receiving oral), breeding kink (kinda), and also a bit of fluff.

Words: 4800

A/n: this is my first oneshot! I've been sitting on this for literally months and finally got round to editing it. Also available to read on AO3.

Every breath Lucia took was like ice in her throat.

Her fingers came to toy with the Valyrian steel band around her ring finger. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Five years of whispers behind her back, agonising audiences with the Queen, the Hand and her Westerling and Lannister uncles. “The realm needs a son,” they all said, as if she hadn’t known that the moment she had said her vows to Aegon fucking Targareyn.

Her husband knew what he was doing. He had all but confessed countless times how he resented his position, how he did not wish to be crushed under the weight of duty despite the ambitions of his mother and grandsire.

She knew her duty, to give King Viserys another grandchild to dote upon, give the Hightowers the heir they needed, and secure her own position as the wife of a future King.

For Aegon, a child would be a burden, another duty to squander. He demanded use of her hands and her mouth of the few occasions he bothered to visit her bedchamber, but otherwise he was content to pounce upon the nearest serving girls or fuck his way through Fleabottom.

Five years of humiliation.

She anticipated what talk might stir with the arrival of the King’s guests at court. A great feast had been planned, to celebrate the new additions to their family. Helaena and Martyn Hightower were due to arrive from Oldtowen to present their daughter, Rhaella, while Princess Rhaenyra had delivered her second son with Daemon, another silver haired Prince, named in honour of the King.

She delighted in seeing Helaena again and could hardly contain her excitement when she saw a flash of cobalt blue in the sky that marked the arrival of Daeron and Tessarion. The Prince and Princess had been both sent to Oldtown so soon after Lucia’s marriage to Aegon, but she missed them more than she did her own siblings in the Westerlands.

Then came the party from Dragonstone, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their small army of children. Aemond had tested her memory before their arrival; Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela, Rhaena, Aegon and Viserys.

Aegon was nowhere to be found when they were welcomed into the throne room. Lucia half hoped the captain of the city watch would come to her with news that his corpse had been found on the floor of a tavern. Instead she stood between Queen Alicent and Prince Aemond.

When the three boys with Velaryon blue cloaks and unruly dark hair bowed before the King, Aemond leaned into her ear. “That’s the bastard I have to thank for my sapphire,” he whispered.

Aegon eventually made an appearance at the feast later that night, sauntering in as the main courses were brought out. He already had a glazed look in his eye and dark purple stains in the corners of his mouth. Lucia shared a pointed glance with Aemond as her husband took his place beside her.

She did not have to suffer Aegon for long. Once the music picked up and the dancing began, Daeron was the first to lead her to the floor. Then, from the other side of the table, Jacaerys took Baela’s hand and joined them, the four of them dancing, twirling and laughing together, regardless of the scowls that came from Prince Daemon and Otto Hightower. Then came Lucerys and Rhaena, and after them followed Helaena and her husband.

After a few exhaustive rounds, Lucia thought she might need a glass of wine to recover her strength, until her eyes fell to Joffrey, looking a little abandoned. She took his hands and led him through a dance, which mostly involved them spinning in circles rather than following the steps. The boy looked up at her in awe as she twirled them around the floor.

“The Strong boys” were not so bad, she thought, they were gracious and lively, but in the back of her mind she couldn’t quite forget the terrible scar that slashed across Aemond’s face. She looked back to him as she danced. She expected to see that stoic, silent fury she had become so accustomed to, instead he looked rather… she settled on amused. His eye was softer than usual and his lips curled ever so slightly into– not quite a smile but it was hardly a frown either.

And each time she turned her head he was already looking at her.

She felt the whole thing had been a success. Until Lord Tyland came to her the morning after Rhaenyra’s departure for Dragonstone.

He barged into her chamber, standing over her as she took her breakfast. “We cannot delay any longer.”

“Good morning to you too, uncle.”

“How often do you share a bed with your husband?” He hissed.

Lucia swallowed her mouthful of blackberries. “Not often.”

“Speak plainly,” he demanded. “You are the wife of the King’s oldest son, you are not entitled to privacy.”

Clearly. She took a breath. “He will not come to my bedchamber, if he can help it, only if he is too drunk to remember he despises me. And then he… is never able to fulfil his marital duties.”

“This cannot go on.”

“And yet it has been the case for four years, uncle. Aegon simply does not wish to make me a mother. You may seek to ask the Queen to lecture him, but I am not the one at fault.”

“That is simply not good enough.”

“So what would you have me do?”

“Whatever it is you must do. You have seen how disputes of succession cause instability, and without an heir, Aegon’s position, our position is not secure.”

She knew little of the arrangement between the Hightowers and the Lannisters. Perhaps her family thought her too young to understand when the pact of loyalty was made, and yet they were happy to let that alliance rest upon her shoulders. As long as her womb was empty, she would remain a Westerling orphan to the eyes of the court.

“She will never give Aegon a son,” she had heard one of the Tyrells say, “the King should cast her aside, make her a septa and marry the Prince to one of our girls.”

She spent the rest of the day in the gardens, walking for hours until she came to the rose garden. There was a bench, concealed amongst bushes of red, pink and gold flowers, looking out over Blackwater Bay.

Had the small council truly been so startled by the very presence of Princess Rhaenyra in the capital? Even with the rumours surrounding her three eldest sons, her extensive family was a show of strength and stability, something she and Aegon had so far failed to provide.

The sun seemed to go black for a moment and there came a colossal roar that shook the foundations of the city. She looked up to the sky to see Vhagar soaring out over the water. She couldn’t make out much of her rider, save for a small glimmer of silver hair.

An idea came into her head.

She tucked her knees into her chest and began to gnaw at her lower lip until she tasted blood. She sat there, frozen in thought until the sun began to set and a chilling evening breeze swept in from the sea. Her gown was relatively thin, a day dress for Spring, but she did not shiver and she did not flinch.

As twilight approached, she heard footsteps crunching against the gravel path.

“You’re expected for dinner,” Aemond’s voice came from behind her.

She rose from the bench and came to stand before him, close enough to smell the leather on his jerkin and the faint scent of smoke in his hair.

He frowned and brought his thumb to her bruised and bloodied lip. She watched his eye as he inspected it, gently swiping and tugging. “What’s this?” He asked in a soft and scathing tone.

“It was my own fault,” she muttered, “I didn’t realise I was doing it.”

He pulled back with a dissatisfied “hmm,” but his gaze soon softened. “The Queen was getting rather worried.”

Lucia weaved her arm through his and began to lead him back towards the castle. “We should not keep her waiting then.”

Aemond followed Lucia into the dining room and settled in the seat across from her, beside Daeron. Helaena and Martyn Hightower were not present, apparently Rhaella had managed to come down with a cough and they would not leave her side.

The King had decided to dine with them this night, a rarity. Mostly they sat in silence, the Queen occasionally attempting to make conversation. She asked Aemond how Vhagar had been that morning. He said “very well mother,” and drew his fingers along his knife. She turned to Daeron and asked how his studies were progressing. He said “very well mother,” and went back to eating.

“Sunfyre is well too, dear mother,” Aegon added sarcastically.

Aemond caught Lucia’s eye as she tried to stifle a small smile.

“Rhaenyra is with child again,” the King said, “I do so desire a granddaughter.”

His mother pursed her lips. “You have a granddaughter, dear husband.”

“And perhaps I desire more.”

Aemond watched Lucia as she toyed with her duck breast, tearing apart the meat but never putting it near her mouth. He had watched her rather closely over the last five years, as her life had become a well rehearsed act, feigning smiles and indifference when she needed to, but he always saw right through her.

When Aegon glanced at her, she kept her gaze down and tightened the grip on her fork.

“I might ask Helaena to stay a while longer in the capital,” the Queen said, “so we might spend some more time with our grandchild.”

“Do you presume the presence of my sister’s babe will offer us some encouragement?” Aegon sneered.

The table paused. No one dared to breathe, except Aegon, who took a long draw from his cup and finished it with a gasp of satisfaction. He glanced around at the bewildered faces of his family. “Is something the matter?”

Aemond kept his eye fixed on Lucia as she drew her lip between her teeth. Her cheeks glistened in the low candlelight as tears began streaming from her eyes. She stood quickly and calmly, and was out of the room before Alicent could even utter a single word.

The room fell to silence.

Until Aegon decided otherwise. “Do you think I upset her?”

Aemond made a point of hitting his fist against the table as he followed her.

She was in the corridor, standing with her back against the wall and her hands clasped behind her. At the sound of a single footstep her eyes darted to him.

He came to stand before her. Her cheeks and eyelashes were still damp, but she had stopped crying.

The Queen’s furious shouts began to bleed into the corridor.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

Lucia nodded.

He offered his hand. “I’ll walk you to your chambers.”

She looked up at him with those wide and glistening eyes as she placed her hand in his. His heart ached to feel her skin, their fingers curling over each other, his thumb settling against her knuckles. She felt cold, but he would have been content to stay within her hold, as long as she would allow him to.

She stayed close as he led her through the stillness of the Red Keep, her skirt brushing against his leg with every stride.

Ser Arryk Cargyll waited outside her chambers, and she slipped from his grasp as easily as she had accepted it. She stopped as the guard opened the door though, and turned back to Aemond. “Would you stay with me?”

Aemond held his breath, hoping neither she or Ser Arryk would somehow notice his heart drumming furiously in his chest.

“Not for long,” she added, “but I wish to speak with you.”

“Of course,” he said, and followed her inside.

The Princess’ chambers were not entirely unfamiliar to him. With Aegon’s elusive nature and Helaena and Daeron’s absences, it only felt natural that he and Lucia often found themselves in each other’s company. She enjoyed the library as much as he did and as she had developed interests in riding on horseback and marksmanship, he was all too happy to entertain her. Her chambers were not a place he visited often, not unless he wished to return a book, or take her on a walk through the gardens before dinner.

The room was immaculate, and it smelled like her, bittersweet and warm.

She stood before the fireplace. The glow of the flames flickered across her face and caught the faint strands of gold in her dark hair.

“Aegon will not give me children,” she said.

He kept his expression soft. “What makes you think that?”

With every word she spoke, the gentle facade began to fade, the light and shadows of the fire only added to the look of fury on her face. “He knows a lack of an heir undermines his position. He will happily fuck whores and sire bastards but he will not fulfil his duty to me, his wife. He is a coward.”

Gods, she was beautiful when she was furious.

Her lip was still red and swollen. Before he knew it his thumb was against it again, hypnotised by the way her lip moved under his touch. His eye drifted up to hers. “On that much we can agree,” he muttered.

She took a slow step into him, bringing her hand around his wrist, gently pulling him away.

His heart stopped. Perhaps he had overstepped a line.

But she leaned in further, until their noses touched and all he could see was her. He felt her other hand settle against his jaw on his blind side. She leaned in further still, and pressed her lips into his.

He froze for a moment, but as her lips moved over his, he found himself unable to tame his impulse, the impulse that he’d been fighting for little less than five years. He allowed himself to melt into her softness, her warmth, the bittersweetness and the sharp taste of her tongue.

His hand snaked down to her waist, and only when he squeezed her flesh through her gown did he realise what he was doing.

He knew what he should do. He should leave her, lock himself in his chambers and forget her. Forget her smile, her wit, the way his heart felt brighter when he watched her dance, the way he craved her sparse touches and her eyes finding him across the chaos of a crowded room.

Everything about her was perfect, his brother’s wife.

In his hesitation he retreated slightly. He could hardly think, hardly breathe…

And her voice cut through the fog of doubt in his mind. “You could help me.”

“How so?”

Keeping her hand on his jaw, she brought the other to trace the highest silver buckle on his jerkin. Her thumb stroked against his cheek, featherlight over his scar.

And suddenly he understood.

He clamped his hand over hers. “It would be treason, Lucia.”

Her eyes were longing, pleading. “No one would need know,” she whispered, “there would be no question of parentage.”

His heart felt heavy. It would be a complete and utter betrayal of his family, not just Aegon, but his mother, his grandsire, and a risk to everything. They’d be no better than Rhaenyra, trying to pass a bastard off as an heir, and yet, there would not be much room for doubt, so long as the child had silver hair.

But suppose he gave in, bent to the will of those pretty eyes and perfect lips, only to stand aside for Aegon to claim what he would never deserve.

He could feel himself on a knife’s edge, to stop, or to linger and let his desire consume him. He wasn’t sure what scared him more.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he breathed, but with every moment he felt himself leaning deeper into her touch.

“Aemond,” she said his name like a spell and brought their foreheads to rest against each other. “There is hardly an aspect of my life which is under my control. If I should have some choice in this matter, then I would choose you.”

“Over him?”

Her breath echoed over his skin as she whispered, “above all else.”

His grip of her waist tightened, noticing the way her breath hitched as he traced his thumb over the fabric of her gown.

“Aemond,” she whispered, bringing her lips to the corner of his mouth, “I want this, please.”

He caught her lips between his, kissing her with all the want he had spent years trying to suppress.

His sudden urgency seemed to take her off guard but she met his efforts with just as much fervour, now with both hands cupping his face and fingers teasing over the soft skin of his neck, pulling him in further and further.

Lucia began to groan, falling into him arms and grinding her body against his.

He pulled away and took her hands in his. “Patience, Princess,” he hummed, and led her to stand at the foot of her bed.

Her eyes trailed over his jerkin while she ran her teeth over her lip.

“Turn around,” he ordered and she followed.

Cautiously but effortlessly, he undid the braid keeping her hair from her face. He ran his fingers through it, until he gathered it over her shoulder, exposing her neck to him.

He breathed in the bittersweet warmth as his hands traced over her body, over her torso, along the curves of her waist, the soft pouch of her stomach.

“Tell me,” he whispered, grazing his lips over her cheek, “how does my brother fuck you?”

“He doesn’t,” she uttered, watching his hands as they roamed, “he takes his pleasure in other ways, but never in such a way that would lead to a child.”

It was a dangerous confession to hear. If he wanted her before he was almost ravenous now, starved and fulfilled by every breathless gasp, every little twitch of movement in her body, desperate to feel her, claim her.

He hummed hungrily, and began to drag a hand further down, skimming over the fabric that covered her centre. “And would you like to be fucked, Princess?”

She nodded.

“I said–” he pressed his hand firmly between her legs– “would you like to be fucked?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, writhing and leaning against him at the friction, “please, I want you to fuck me.”

He smiled into her. How could he ever deny her when she asked so nicely?

His fingers traced over the laces of her bodice before he began to pull them apart, agonisingly slowly, but he relished the anticipation and the little hitches in her breath. Once it was off, he moved to the clasps and drawstrings of her skirt, letting it pool around her ankles.

He offered a hand so she could step out and went to lay her clothing over a chaise. When he turned back to her she had removed her shoes and stockings, left only in a corset and a linen shift.

He allowed his eye to rake shamelessly over her. He had never seen her in such a simple state, without the ornate gowns or the jewellery, her hair loose and tousled about her shoulders, the bare skin of her arms as she held her hands behind her back, her teeth running over her lip– a nervous habit, he realised, one that had somehow managed to evade his notice after all this time. He was the same with his hands.

He came closer and drew his fingers through the laces of the corset, while her eyes looked up to him. He made no protest as she reached up to slide off his eyepatch.

She looked between his violet eye and the sapphire, and smiled dreamily. “My beautiful Aemond.”

His heart was shattered and welded back together. Hers.

He watched her as she began to undo his belt and the buckles on his jerkin. Once it was off he pulled his undershirt over his head, leaving his chest bare. She traced her fingertips from his collar, over the hair of his sternum, the lines of his abs, until she let her fingers snag at the waist of his breeches–

He grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her to lie down against the mattress. “All in good time,” he promised with a glimmer of a smile. He released his hold of her wrists. “Keep your hands where they are.”

He dragged his hands down over her scarcely covered body, to gather the hem of her shift and bring it past her waist. He almost growled at the dampness of her small clothes, and pulled them from her legs, uncaring of where they fell. He gripped her thighs, prising her legs apart to reveal her glistening cunt to him.

He brought his thumb through her folds in slow, upward strokes, swiping over her bud just enough to make her squirm before he withdrew again.

“We can’t be too loud,” he whispered, “can you keep quiet for me?”

She hummed impatiently. “Yes, Aemond but oh–”

Her voice faded into a sweet moan as he licked through her. He liked the teasing, dragging his tongue to her entrance and savouring her taste before he moved up, flicking over her clit until her hips were moving against him. He pressed a wide palm over her stomach to keep her in place while he brought all of his attention to where she needed him most.

When he slipped a finger into her she groaned, pressing and biting at her lips to keep herself quiet, but her breath betrayed her pleasure, haggard and heavy.

He could already feel how tight she was, stroking slowly against her tender flesh while his tongue circled over her pearl. And through it she kept her hands in place, just as he had asked.

The hardness in his breeches was starting to strain now. He couldn’t wait to feel her around his cock, soft, wet and warm.

Her hips started to buck again and her cunt twitched around his finger.

“Are you going to come for me, Princess?” He muttered against her.

Her voice was breathless and hazy. “Yes… I want to, please… please…”

“Not too loud,” he muttered, pushing a second finger into her, “you don’t want your husband to find out, do you?”

She clasped her hand over her mouth, shaking her head as he pushed her further and further towards her high, until her body tensed at her release. He stifled his own moan against her flesh as she clenched around him.

She was utterly breathless, sprawled before him, drenched and dripping onto the mattress. He thought he could have kept her like this for hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm from her, savouring the sound and the taste of her pleasure.

But he had already stayed long enough, and he had no intentions of giving the guard something to be suspicious of, especially not when his family had seen him chase after her from the dining room.

Another time, he promised himself. For now he knew what she needed.

He finally rid himself of his boots and his breeches, freeing his hard and weeping cock. With her wetness still on his fingers he began to stroke over himself.

She watched him with wide eyes and parted lips, coming to sit up with her palms behind her.

Suddenly he stopped. “We don’t have to,” he said quietly, “are you sure this is what you want–”

Lucia came to her knees before him, silencing him with a soft and gentle kiss to his lips. Her hand brushed down his front to replace his hand around his cock, sending white hot shocks of pleasure rippling through his body.

“I want you, Aemond.”

His restraint snapped. He tugged her shift up over her head and then his hands were everywhere, gripping at her breasts, her hips, her rear, while she continued to tug at his cock.

Somewhere in the mess of hunger and lust his mouth moved along her jaw, teeth, tongue and lips grazing over her skin. “Lie down.”

Lucia stared back at him, resting her hands against his chest.

“I said, lie down.”

The darkness of his voice had her shuffling back until her head fell against the pillows.

He came to kneel on the mattress and hovered over her, his silver hair falling around her face and brushing against her breasts. Finally he lifted one of her legs and hooked it around her waist, lining his tip against her entrance. “I’ll be gentle,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

With that he began to press into her. He immediately felt how resistant she was to him, even with her slick, but inch by inch, he buried himself into her.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, “so tight for me, my sweet girl.”

Her back arched against the mattress as her eyes fluttered close and her face began to twist.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said, his voice rough as he fought the urge to fuck her quickly, thoroughly. She’d suffered enough these last years married to his cretin of a brother, he wanted to be the end of it, he wanted her to feel safe and adored, as she should have always been.

She brought her arms around his neck and her other leg around his waist. “Deep,” she whined, “so deep… so good…”

“Open your eyes," he pleaded, "let me look at you."

She pulled her face from his neck and opened her eyes, those perfect eyes, as deep, dark and endless as the night sky, glazed slightly with tears of bliss.

He could feel her easing into his size now, and he was getting restless, still gentle, but pushing in and out at a heightening pace.

He’d been wondering what she might be like longer than he cared to admit, dreaming of having her skin against his, his name on her lips, clawing at the memory of her when he entertained his carnal desires with his cock in his hand. And now, holding her, fucking her, having her beneath him and begging for her pleasure was beyond what he could have ever imagined. He felt euphoria with every thrust in her, so tight, so perfect, so willing.

While one of her hands gripped the side of the pillow she lay against, he guided the other down between them. “Stroke that pretty clit for me,” he said, “I want to see you cum again.”

Her voice was a slur of moans and curses. “Please, Aemond, please.”

“I’ll give you what you need,” he hummed, “my perfect girl, I’ll always give you what you need.”

She came with a pleading cry, milking him of his own release. He kept thrusting until he had spilled himself completely inside her, biting down on her shoulder to muffle the sound of his pleasure.

He pulled away to watch his seed drip from her twitching cunt before he dove in with his tongue again, pushing it back into her.

He felt her fingers in his hair and glanced back to her dazed expression. They stayed there for a moment, gazing once again into the eyes they each craved.

Until he crawled up the bed to lay beside her, pulling her into him, bodies intertwined under the bedsheets.

She traced a finger over his scar. She had never known him without it, never known the weak, naive child he was before Driftmark. “I used to be terrified of you,” she said.

He hummed a small laugh. “You hardly spoke to me for almost a year.”

“I always thought you were formidable, always absorbed in your studies or your training. That and the eyepatch.”

“It is better than what lies underneath.”

Her fingers came down to his cheek, turning him to face her. “No, I think I prefer you like this.”

He held her a little tighter. He knew he’d have to pull away, eventually, but for now he was content to have her in his arms, the girl who hadn’t cowered when he had finally shown her his scar. The girl with wide brown eyes, who looked upon him as he was, broken, marred, damaged, and had managed to find beauty.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond “pussy eater” targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #my fics

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kckt88 · 29 days

Text

The Lost Dragon XIV - Lingering.

Summary:

Aemond and Vaelys have returned to Kings Landing to attend a celebration in honour of their son's birth, Aemond takes an instant dislike to Cregan and later he reveals his deepest fear.

Warning(s): Nightmare, Angst, Apology, Language, Insults, Jealousy, Possessive, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut -Breeding Kink, Lactation Kink, P in V, Proposal.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 5788

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.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

The skies ablaze with dragon fire and the air thick with the scent of death. Aemond watched helplessly as Vhagar, burst through the clouds and devoured Lucerys.

His heart heavy with sorrow, Aemond watched as Helaena Targaryen, was forced to make an impossible choice— Jaehaerys or Maelor? His heart breaking at his sweet sisters scream of anguish as her son was killed.

The scene shifted, and Aemond found himself standing in the courtyard of the Red Keep, surrounded by the sound of the desperate pleas from prisoners. His hands, slick with blood, trembled as he carried out executions with ruthless efficiency, each blow a painful reminder of the cost of war.

The funeral of his nephew, his body wrapped in the shroud hand stitched by Helaena, his little hand clutching his favourite dragon toy.

His own decent into darkness, the cold grip of ruthlessness had seized him and refused to let go.

And then, the fall of Princess Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys at the Battle of Rook's Rest—the gruesome bloody show of the dragon’s severed head paraded through the streets of Kings Landing.

His brother Aegon, injured and vulnerable-as Aemond found himself being crowned Prince Regent, tasked with ruling in his absence.

Alys Rivers, the witch of Harrenhal-her eyes dark and inscrutable as she beckoned to him with a knowing smile. Aemond was drawn to her, unable to resist the magnetic pull of her presence.

As they drew closer, the nightmare twisted into a grotesque parody of intimacy, with Alys wrapping herself around him in a macabre dance of seduction. Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he watched himself become ensnared in her web, his every instinct screaming for him to break free, to flee from the darkness that threatened to consume him.

But in the nightmare's cruel grip, Aemond was powerless to resist, his will subsumed by the allure of desire and pleasure. And in the throes of passion, he surrendered to the darkness, his actions driven by impulses he could neither comprehend nor control.

As the nightmare continued to unfold, Aemond watched in horror as Alys grew round with his bastard-a son with no name.

Then he saw her-Vaelys, her eyes wide with fear as he stood before her, his own hands wrapped around her throat. He watched in horror as his grip tightened, squeezing the life from her with a brutality that tore at his soul.

The dark version of him, had no love for her-in this world she had been responsible for the death of his brother Daeron, unflinching as she bathed him in dragon fire during the second battle of Tumbleton.

"No-" Aemond's voice broke, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he recoiled from the sight before him. But in the depths of his nightmare, there was no escape, no respite from the anguish that consumed him.

As Vaelys' lifeless form crumpled to the ground, a primal scream tore from Aemond's throat.

His nephew Maelor torn apart by a mob of common folk, the decent of his siter into madness and her fall from the window’s of Maegor’s Holdfast.

In the skies above the God's Eye, the air crackling with the energy of impending battle. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline course through his veins as he soared through the clouds astride Vhagar.

But his exhilaration was tinged with dread as he spotted the silhouette of another dragon, its massive wingspan blotting out the sun. It was Caraxes, ridden by his uncle Daemon, a formidable adversary with a reputation for ferocity and skill.

As the dragons clashed in a deadly dance of fire and fury, Aemond felt a cold knot of fear tighten in his chest. The air rang with the deafening roar of their flames, the ground below a blur as they circled each other in a deadly game of cat and mouse.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he urged Vhagar onward, his mind consumed by a primal instinct to survive at any cost. But as he looked up, his eyes widening in terror, he saw something that chilled him to the bone-a flash of steel glinting in the sunlight, the deadly point of Dark Sister, his uncle's legendary Valyrian steel sword, aimed straight at him.

With a strangled cry of horror, Aemond tried to veer away, to escape the deadly trajectory of the blade. But it was too late, he felt the sharp point of Dark Sister pierce his remaining eye, driving through flesh and bone, agony engulfing him as the blade tore through his skull, its tip emerging from the back of his throat.

With a gasp, Aemond jolted awake, his heart racing in his chest as he struggled to shake off the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. Beside him, Vaelys stirred, her presence a comforting anchor in the darkness.

Trembling, Aemond reached out to her, his fingers tangling in the soft strands of her silver hair as he pulled her close, seeking solace in the warmth of her embrace.

As the dawn's light filtered through the windows of their old chambers in Kings Landing, Vaelys watched with a heavy heart as Aemond stirred fitfully in his sleep. She could see the lines of worry etched upon his brow, the restless toss and turn of his body betraying the torment of his nightmares.

With a sigh, Vaelys reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from Aemond's forehead, her touch light and soothing against his skin. "Aemond," she murmured softly, her voice a gentle caress in the stillness of the morning, "You haven't been sleeping well. Your nightmares-are troubling you."

Aemond's eye fluttered open, the weariness evident as he gazed up at Vaelys with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. "I'm sorry, my love," he whispered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I can't seem to escape them, no matter how hard I try."

Vaelys' heart ached at the sight of her husband's anguish, the weight of his nightmares a burden she could scarcely bear. "You don't have to face them alone, Aemond," she reassured him, her voice filled with quiet determination. "I'm here for you, always. We'll face them together."

With a tender smile, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close in a comforting embrace. "We'll find a way to ease your troubled mind," she promised, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Whatever it takes."

"Aemond, perhaps the maesters could offer something to help with your sleep," she suggested softly, her voice laced with a mixture of hope and apprehension. "Maybe some dreamwine, to ease the burden of your nightmares."

Aemond's expression softened at her suggestion, a flicker of gratitude crossing his weary features. "It's worth a try," he conceded, his voice tinged with a note of resignation. "Anything to find some relief.”

"I'll speak with Maester Garrick, when we return to Dragonstone-but for now you must try and get some rest" said Vaelys, her voice filled with resolve.

Aemond turned to her, his gaze filled with gratitude and weariness. "I'll try, Vaelys," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But the nightmares-"

Vaelys shook her head, her eyes filled with determination. "You don't have to face them alone," she assured him, her voice firm yet gentle. "Let me be your anchor in the storm”.

With a sigh, Aemond nodded, allowing himself to relax into her embrace. As Vaelys wrapped her arms around him, she felt the tension drain from his body, his breaths slowing as he surrendered to the comfort of her touch.

Gently, she began to stroke his hair, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against his scalp. "Close your eyes, my love," she murmured, her voice a tender lullaby in the darkness. "I'll be right here beside you, every step of the way."

As Vaelys continued to stroke Aemond's hair, she felt the tension gradually ebb from his body, his breathing growing slow and steady against her chest. With each gentle caress, she whispered words of comfort and reassurance, her voice a soothing balm against the turmoil of his troubled mind.

And then, gradually, almost imperceptibly, she felt Aemond begin to relax into sleep's embrace. His eyelid fluttered closed; his features softened by the peace of slumber.

Vaelys held him close, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the man who had captured her heart. She pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, silently vowing to stand by him ,to be his rock in times of storm and his beacon of light in the darkest of nights.

As Aemond finally succumbed to sleep's gentle embrace, Vaelys felt a sense of profound relief wash over her. In his arms, she found solace and strength, a sanctuary from the cares of the world.

And as she held him close, nestled in the warmth of their shared embrace, she knew that together, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead, united in the unbreakable bond of their love. With a whispered prayer for peaceful dreams, Vaelys closed her own eyes.

As Aemond watched Vaelys gracefully slipping into her light red gown, his breath caught in his throat, stunned anew by her radiant beauty. The delicate fabric hugged her curves, the colour complementing the warmth of her skin, and he found himself unable to tear his gaze away.

"Vaelys," he murmured, his voice tinged with awe, "You look absolutely breathtaking."

Vaelys turned to him, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips as she caught the admiration in his eyes. "Thank you, my love," she replied, her voice a melodic whisper. "I wanted to look my best for the celebration."

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle at her modesty, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her. "Well, you've certainly succeeded," he said, his tone affectionate.

Vaelys laughed, the sound like music to his ears as she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to trace the line of his jaw.

Aemond's heart swelled with love for the woman before him, his fingers intertwining with hers as he drew her into his embrace.

And as they shared a tender moment together, bathed in the soft glow of their love, Aemond knew that there was no greater treasure in the world than his wife.

Vaelys met Aemond's gaze with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, her lips curling into a playful smile. "And what of your beauty husband" she teased, her voice laced with affectionate sarcasm, "I know there are ladies at court who will glance at my husband. With his long flowing silver hair, his reputation as a great swordsman, and let's not forget, the rider of the largest dragon in the world."

Aemond chuckled at her jest, a warm glow of pride spreading through him at her words. "Ah, yes," he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone, “They can look all they want but they'll quickly learn that my heart belongs to only one."

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "And she's standing right in front of me," he added, his voice filled with sincerity. "The most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms."

Vaelys' cheeks flushed with colour at his words, her heart swelling with love for the man who had captured her heart. "Flatterer," she teased, but her eyes sparkled with genuine affection as she leaned into his embrace.

As they made their way through the quiet hallways of the Red Keep, Aemond couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at him. He could feel the tension radiating from Vaelys beside him, her usual poise marred by the weight of their surroundings.

He stole a glance at her, taking in the furrow of her brow and the tightness of her jaw, and he knew without a doubt what troubled her. This was the first time she had set foot in King's Landing since the argument with her mother, Queen Rhaenyra—a rift that still lingered between them, a wound not easily healed.

But this celebration, in honour of their son Aemon, demanded their presence, and Aemond understood the necessity of putting on a united front for the sake of their family. Still, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the discomfort it caused Vaelys.

"Are you alright, my love?" he asked softly, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. "I know this must be difficult for you."

Vaelys offered him a small, reassuring smile, though he could see the tension still lingering in her eyes. "I'll manage," she replied, her voice tinged with resignation. "For Aemon's sake."

As Aemond and Vaelys entered the grand throne room of the Red Keep, the opulence of the surroundings seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the warmth and joy that filled the air. Aemond cradled their son, Aemon, in his arms, the babe’s amethyst eyes wide with wonder.

Vaelys walked beside him, her hand intertwined with those of their other children, Sovia, and Daevyn, who beamed up at their parents with excitement.

The room was alive with music and laughter, the sound of lively conversation mingling with the strains of a cheerful melody. Tables laden with sumptuous food and drink lined the walls, inviting guests to partake in the feast laid out before them.

“Vaelys-over here” said Helaena brightly as he patted the empty chair next to her.

“Hel-where are the children?” asked Vaelys as she sat down.

“Daeron has taken them to visit my mother-“

At the mention of Alicent, Vaelys looked at Aemond who busied himself with making sure Aemon was covered with his blanket.

“She keeps asking for him” whispered Helaena.

“It’s Aemonds choice-” replied Vaelys.

“I know-“ muttered Helaena softly.

“Sovia-please don’t do that” scolded Vaelys as she caught her daughter pulling at the ribbons in her braided hair.

“But mama-” complained Sovia pursing her lips together.

“Listen to your mother byka grēges” said Aemond (Little bug).

“Daddy-nyke ȳdra daor raqagon ziry” replied Sovia (I don’t like it).

Vaelys smiled slightly as she took a sip of wine, any minute now Aemond would cave in and undo the braids in their daughters hair. Her silver curls had always been wild, and she barely tolerated anyone even brushing her hair.

Rider of the mighty Vhagar weak for his daughter.

“Let me take them out then” muttered Aemond handing Aemon to Helaena so he could lift Sovia onto his knee.

“Avy jorrāelan” whispered Sovia (I love you).

“Softie” whispered Vaelys as Aemond rolled his eye as he began undoing Sovia’s braids.

As the revelry filled the throne room, Queen Rhaenyra rose from her seat at the head of the room, her presence commanding the attention of all who gathered there. Her gaze swept over the assembled guests, her expression one of regal pride and affection.

"My lords and ladies," she called out, her voice ringing clear above the din of conversation, "I would ask you to raise your glasses in honour of a joyous occasion—a celebration of new life and boundless hope."

As the room fell silent, all eyes turned to the queen, their attention captured by her words. With a graceful flourish, Rhaenyra lifted her goblet high, the golden liquid within catching the light as it sparkled in the dimly lit room.

"To Prince Aemon Targaryen, my grandson" she declared, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity, "May his future be as bright as the flame of his ancestors, and may he bring honour and glory to House Targaryen for generations to come."

With that, Rhaenyra took a sip from her goblet, the sound of applause erupting around her as the guests followed suit, offering their own toasts to the newest member of their family.

As Rhaenyra's toast echoed through the grand hall, Vaelys raised her goblet with a strained smile, her eyes flickering with a mixture of emotions. The weight of the past argument with her mother still hung heavy in her heart, casting a shadow over the joyous occasion.

Sensing her discomfort, Aemond reached out beneath the table, his hand finding hers in a comforting gesture of solidarity. Their fingers intertwined, a silent reassurance passing between them as they shared a moment of quiet understanding amidst the revelry.

As the festivities continued to swirl around them, Vaelys felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, drawing her attention to her brother, Jace, who stood beside her with a warm smile.

"Vaelys," he said, extending his hand to her, "Would you do me the honour of sharing a dance with your dear brother?"

Vaelys returned his smile, her heart lightening at the sight of him. "Of course, Jace," she replied, placing her hand in his with affectionate familiarity. "I'd be delighted."

Together, they made their way to the centre of the room, where couples twirled and spun to the music. Jace guided Vaelys with practiced ease, their steps falling into rhythm with the lilting melody that filled the air.

Vaelys smiled up at her brother, grateful for this moment of connection amidst the whirlwind of the celebration.

As they danced, they talked about their children, Jace giddy with excitement as he spoke of his daughter Laena, a precious little thing she was, the pearl of his world.

Out of the corner of her eye, Vaelys spied their brother Luke reclined lazily against his chair, he looked rather exhausted, but given the fact that his wife Rheana had recently birthed twin girls, it made sense.

“Mayhaps Luke should retire for the night” laughed Jace.

“Oh, come on brother-you know what the nights are like with a babe” replied Vaelys smiling.

Jace returned her smile, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "I think you look beautiful tonight, Vaelys," he said, his voice filled with brotherly pride.

Vaelys' heart swelled with love for her brother, her own smile widening at his words. "Thank you, Jace," she replied, her voice soft with emotion.

As the music swirled through the grand hall, a familiar figure caught Vaelys' eye—Cregan, his tall dark form standing out amidst the throng of guests. With a warm smile, he approached her, his gaze earnest as he cleared his throat.

"Princess," he began, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of nervousness, "Would you do me the honour of sharing a dance with an old friend?"

Vaelys' smile widened at the sight of him, her heart lifting at the prospect of dancing with Cregan once more. "Of course, Cregan," she replied, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'd be delighted."

As they embraced in a brief hug, Vaelys felt a surge of happiness at seeing her friend again after so long. The bond they had shared during their time together had always held a special place in her heart, and she was grateful for this chance to reconnect.

Together, they stepped onto the dance floor, their movements fluid and graceful as they moved to the rhythm of the music.

As Vaelys danced and conversed with Cregan, a sense of lightness and joy enveloped her, temporarily shielding her from the weight of her worries. However, as she glanced over her shoulder towards Aemond, her heart sank at the sight of his furious expression.

Aemond's gaze was fixed on her, his features contorted with anger. Vaelys' stomach churned with apprehension as she felt the tension radiating from him, a sharp contrast to the warmth she had felt dancing with Cregan.

Concern etched into her features, Vaelys excused herself from her conversation with Cregan, her steps faltering slightly as she made her way towards her husband. She approached him cautiously, her heart heavy with worry.

"Aemond," she murmured softly, reaching out to touch his arm, "Is everything alright?"

Aemond's jaw clenched visibly as he tore his gaze away from her, his anger palpable in the air between them. "Was that Cregan Stark?" he demanded, his voice low and tense.

Vaelys swallowed hard, her throat dry with apprehension. "Yes-“ she replied, her voice tinged with unease.

Aemond's expression darkened further at her words, his fists clenched at his sides. "I don't like the way he was looking at you," he growled, his voice barely more than a harsh whisper.

Vaelys' heart sank at the realization of Aemond's jealousy, a pang of hurt piercing her chest. She had never seen him like this before, consumed by such irrational rage.

"Aemond, please," she pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation. "There's nothing between us. He's just a friend."

But Aemond's fury remained unabated, his gaze unwavering as he continued to glare at her with undisguised resentment.

“A friend that you were almost betrothed too”.

"Aemond, please," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "Cregan was a good friend to me while you were in exile. He offered me support and companionship when I needed it most. There was nothing more between us, I swear."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. "Oh, I'm sure he was a good friend," he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But just how good of a friend was he, Vaelys?"

His words struck her like a blow, and Vaelys felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces. The insinuation that she had been unfaithful to him cut her to the core.

"Aemond, how can you say that?" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You know that I would never betray you. You are the only one I love."

But Aemond remained unmoved, his expression hardened by suspicion. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," he retorted, his voice laced with bitterness.

“You know what believe what you want” snarled Vaelys as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the throne room.

After entrusting the care of the children to Ceci, Aemond went to find Vaelys.

Lost in his thoughts, he rounded a corner and nearly collided with Cregan, who stood before him with a cool expression. Aemond's jaw tensed at the sight of him, his possessive instincts flaring to life in an instant.

"What are you doing here?" Aemond demanded, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his demeanour calm but tinged with a hint of challenge. "I could ask you the same question," he replied evenly. "But I suppose it's none of my concern."

Aemond's grip tightened on his fists, his jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. "Don't play games with me, Stark," he growled. "I know what you're up to."

Cregan's gaze hardened, his own temper beginning to fray. "And what, pray tell, am I up to?" he shot back, his voice laced with frustration.

"You're trying to come between me and Vaelys," Aemond accused, his words laced with venom. "But let me make one thing clear—she's mine, and I won't let anyone take her from me."

Cregan's eyes flashed with anger at the implication, his own temper flaring in response. "I have no interest in your wife, Aemond," he snapped, his voice sharp with indignation. "But if you can't see past your own insecurities, that's your problem, not mine."

The tension crackled between them, a palpable force that seemed to fill the corridor with its intensity. Aemond glared at Cregan, his chest heaving with fury and frustration, while Cregan met his gaze with unyielding defiance, refusing to back down in the face of his aggression.

As Aemond's anger simmered, he glared at Cregan, his possessiveness over Vaelys flaring to life with renewed intensity. "Don't try to deny it," he spat, his voice thick with resentment. "I know you were close to her when I was in exile. You think I don't see the way you look at her?"

Cregan's expression hardened, his jaw clenching with frustration at Aemond's accusations. "You're mistaken, Aemond," he replied evenly, his tone firm. "Yes, Vaelys and I were friends during your absence. But our relationship was purely platonic. I care for her deeply, but not in the way you seem to think."

Aemond scoffed, his disbelief palpable. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You were practically betrothed once. What's to stop you from trying to steal her away from me now?"

Cregan's gaze softened, his frustration giving way to pity. "Aemond, you don't understand," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "Yes, Vaelys and I were once almost betrothed, but that was long ago. We've both moved on since then. I befriended her during your exile because she needed support, not because I had any ulterior motives."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his jealousy still burning bright despite Cregan's assurances. "And yet, here you are," he shot back, his tone accusatory. "Hovering around her like a vulture, waiting for your chance to swoop in."

"Do you realize what you've done, Aemond?" he demanded, his tone biting. "This celebration was supposed to be for your son, a joyous occasion to celebrate his birth. But your jealousy has ruined it."

Aemond's jaw tensed, his own anger flaring at Cregan's words. "I am not jealous," he shot back, his voice defensive. "I just-I want to protect what's mine."

Cregan scoffed, his disbelief evident. "Protect what's yours?" he mocked; his tone laced with scorn. "From whom, exactly? Me? The truth is, Aemond, your insecurity is what's driving a wedge between you and Vaelys. And frankly, it's pathetic."

Aemond's fists clenched at his sides, his temper flaring at Cregan's taunts. "You have no right to judge me," he retorted, his voice sharp with indignation. "You don't know anything about our relationship."

Cregan's lips curled into a sneer, his contempt for Aemond evident in his gaze. "Oh, I think I know plenty," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all, when one has to kidnap a woman in order for her to marry him, then your insecurity can't be helped."

Aemond's eye widened in shock at the barb, his face flushing with embarrassment and rage. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself speechless in the face of Cregan's cutting words.

With a final look of disdain, Cregan turned and walked away, leaving Aemond seething with anger and humiliation. And as Aemond stood alone in the empty corridor, the weight of his own insecurities pressed down upon him like a leaden cloak.

As Aemond stormed through the corridors of the Red Keep, his heart heavy with regret and determination, he searched frantically for Vaelys. Every step echoed in the empty halls, a stark reminder of the chasm that had opened between them.

Finally, he found her in the library, her form illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. She was engrossed in conversation with her brother, Luke, their heads bent close together in whispered conversation.

With a sense of urgency, Aemond approached them, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Vaelys looked up as he drew near, her expression guarded as she met his gaze.

"Aemond," she greeted him coolly, her tone betraying none of the warmth he had grown accustomed to.

"Vaelys, may I speak with you privately?" Aemond requested, his voice strained with emotion.

Luke's eyes narrowed at the request, his lips curling into a sneer as he glanced at Aemond. "And why should she speak with you, after the way you've treated her?" he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain.

Aemond's jaw clenched at the implication, his frustration mounting with each passing moment. "This is between Vaelys and me," he replied evenly, struggling to keep his temper in check.

Luke chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head in disbelief. "You truly are an idiot, Aemond," he remarked, his voice filled with contempt as he brushed past him.

Aemond's fists clenched at his sides, his heart heavy with despair as he watched Luke leave the room. He turned back to Vaelys, his gaze pleading as he searched her face for any sign of forgiveness.

But Vaelys remained silent, her expression unreadable as she regarded him with a mixture of disappointment and resignation.

As Aemond stood before Vaelys, his heart heavy with remorse, he took a deep breath, steeling himself to apologize. "Vaelys, I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft with sincerity. "I shouldn't have said those things, and I shouldn't have doubted you. I let my jealousy get the best of me, and I regret it more than anything."

Vaelys looked at him with incredulity, her eyes flashing with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. "You're sorry?" she scoffed; her voice tinged with bitterness. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound, Aemond? How could you even for one minute think that I would ever look at another man? I'm married to you, Aemond. I've birthed three of your children. And yet you still doubt me?"

Aemond's heart sank at her words, the weight of his own insecurities pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket. "I know, Vaelys," he replied, his voice tinged with desperation. "I know I messed up. But please, you have to believe me. I love you more than anything in this world, and I would do anything to make things right between us."

As Aemond stood before Vaelys, the weight of his insecurities pressing down upon him like a heavy burden, he took a shaky breath, steeling himself to confess his deepest fear.

"Vaelys," he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, "I-I'm afraid."

Vaelys' brow furrowed with concern as she gazed at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. "Afraid of what, Aemond?" she asked softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. "I'm afraid-that you only love me because of what happened between us," he confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush. "That somehow, our love isn't real. It's-it's almost like an illusion."

Vaelys' heart shattered at his words; the pain evident in her eyes as she took in the depth of his insecurity. "Aemond, no," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "That's not true. Our love is real, I swear it. It's not based on what happened in the past. It's based on us, on who we are together."

Aemond shook his head, his gaze filled with self-doubt. "But how can you be sure?" he pleaded; his voice laced with desperation. "How can you know that it's not just some twisted result of me kidnapping you?"

Vaelys reached out and cupped his face in her hands, her eyes locking with his as she spoke with unwavering conviction. "Because I know you," she declared, her voice steady with determination. "I know the man you are, and I love you for it. Our love is real, Aemond, and nothing will ever change that."

Tears welled in Aemond's eye as he looked at her, his heart overflowing with emotion at her words.

As the tension between them began to ease, Aemond mustered a small smile, his eye twinkling with mischief. "Now that we've finished arguing," he quipped, "Does that mean we get to make up?"

Vaelys couldn't help but laugh at his cheeky remark, her heart lightening at the sight of his playful demeanour. "Given the severity of our argument," she replied with a teasing smile, "There needs to be a lot of making up done."

Aemond's grin widened at her response, his gaze filled with warmth as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "I'm up for it if you are," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire.

Vaelys' cheeks flushed pink at his suggestive tone, her heart fluttering in her chest at the promise in his words. "I think I can manage that," she replied, her own voice tinged with anticipation.

“Aemond” gasped Vaelys her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it ābrazȳrys, take every fucking inch of me-let me fill your sweet cunt” (Wife).

“Oh, please Valzȳrys. I want it. I want all of you” moaned Vaelys (Husband).

“FUCK” roared Aemond as he hauled Vaelys away from the bookcase and placed her the edge of a desk.

“Yes-Yes Aemond, Oh gods” breathed Vaelys.

“I love you-I love you so fucking much” growled Aemond as he mercilessly fucked his wife, filling her over and over again with sharp penetrating thrusts.

“Aemond-yes, right there. Don’t stop-don’t stop” cried Vaelys the tears running down her pale cheeks.

“That’s it Issa jorrāelagon. Come on daddy’s cock” rasped Aemond lurching forward and wrapping his lips around one of his wife’s erect nipples.

Suckling greedily as her mother’s milk flooded his mouth, he reached down and began expertly circling her pearl with his long fingers.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaelys her entire body seizing before going slack and pliant.

“FUCK-I’m going to come-“ groaned Aemond.

“I want it-fill me with your seed Issa dārys” gasped Vaelys (My King).

“FUUUUUCK” roared Aemond, his head thrown back as rope after rope of his seed spilled inside his wife’s cunny.

“Aemond” breathed Vaelys as her husband collapsed on top of her.

“I love you so much-“ replied Aemond.

“-And I love you. I never want you to doubt my love, no one will ever compare to you-my soul mate”.

“Issa idañnykeā perzys” muttered Aemond (My twin flame).

“Husband” breathed Vaelys as she slid her hands into his long silver hair and pulled his face towards hers.

“Wife” replied Aemond as he pressed a kiss to her soft lips.

As they basked in the warmth of their reconciliation, an idea began to form in Vaelys' mind, a way to prove to Aemond once and for all that their love was real and unshakeable. With a spark of excitement in her eyes, she turned to him, her voice filled with determination.

"Will you marry me?” asked Vaelys.

Aemond's brow furrowed in confusion. "We’re already married," he pointed out, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Vaelys shook her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I know, but marry me in the ways of old Valyria," she explained, her voice soft but determined. "On Dragonstone. On our beach"

Aemond's eye widened in surprise at her suggestion, his heart swelling with love and admiration for the woman before him.

With a trembling voice, he finally found the words to respond. "Vaelys," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "I-I would be honoured to marry you-again”.

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