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targaryenrealnessdarling · 13 days

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Blood of My Blood

Summary: Stuck between duty and passion, she is given no choice but to yield to the game Aemond wishes to play | Words: 4.1k~ | Warnings: a lot of talk of illegitimacy, hatefucking, dubcon, incest (character is implied to have strong features), p in v sex, baby trapping, forced marriage

Can be read as a stand-alone or as a part two for The Blood is Rare!

His fingers tightened around her arm, the pressure a mix of anger and possessiveness. He forcefully ushered her across the threshold of the chambers she once called home, back when she resided there alongside the Hightower children. The worn flagstones caused her feet to stumble, while her forearm throbbed with bruises from his grip. She shot him a glance filled with both hurt and fury.

“You cannot treat me like this,” she spat viciously.

Aemond merely stepped back, his expression unyielding. "You are to be my wife. I'll treat you as I please."

Before she could reach the double doors, they slammed shut, brass fixtures rattling as Aemond hastened to secure her inside. Despite her feeble attempts to push back against the doors, her fists bruised from the effort, he locked her in without hesitation.

“They will come for me!” she screamed in protest, “unlock this, at once!”

Locked within the confines of the chamber, her heart pounded with a mixture of fear and defiance. She paced the room, her mind racing with thoughts of escape and retribution. Outside, the distant echoes of footsteps and murmured voices hinted at the presence of guards or servants, but she knew she couldn't rely on them for help.

King Viserys was dead. And Alicent Hightower planted her son on her mother’s throne.

As the hours dragged on, her frustration grew with each passing moment. She tried every possible means of escape, but the sturdy oak doors remained firmly shut, sealing her fate within the chamber. Her mind raced with thoughts of her family, of the kingdom thrown into turmoil by the sudden death of King Viserys. And now, with Aemond's revelation of his family's plan to anoint Aegon on the morrow, she realised the true extent of the danger she faced.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing outside her prison. The door creaked open, and Aemond stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. She studied his face, and saw he looked slightly withered and tired, covered with a mask of coldness.

"We have much to discuss," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But first, you must understand the gravity of the situation."

She eyed him warily, her heart pounding in her chest. "What do you mean?"

"Aegon will be crowned tomorrow," he explained, his tone solemn. "And my family has plans for us as well."

Her stomach churned with dread as she listened to his words. "What plans?"

"A marriage," he said simply, his gaze unwavering. "In the traditions of our ancestors, to solidify our alliance and secure our place in the new realm."

Her mind reeled at the thought of marrying the man who had imprisoned her against her will. But she knew that in the game of thrones, alliances were forged with marriages as much as with swords.

A tension-laden silence filled the chamber, thick with unspoken words and unyielding resolve. her heart pounded in her chest as she weighed her options, acutely aware of the consequences of her decision. The memory of their clandestine tryst, a moment of forbidden passion she dared not admit she had enjoyed, lingered in the recesses of her mind, adding an unexpected layer of complexity to the situation.

"I will not be your pawn," she said, her voice trembling with defiance.

A flicker of anger flashed across Aemond's face, but it was quickly replaced by a cold mask of indifference.

"You have no choice," he said icily. "You will marry me, for the good of our families and the realm. Just as Daeron will wed a Baratheon girl, to secure-"

She shook her head stubbornly, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. "I will not be forced into a marriage I do not want."

Aemond's gaze narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "Do not be foolish, mandianna. You have a duty to your family, to the legacy of House Targaryen. You will marry me, and you will bear me heirs to secure our place in history."

But she refused to be swayed by his empty words. "I will not be your broodmare, and I will not be shackled to you for the rest of my days," she declared, her voice trembling with righteous indignation. "Not when you have already taken so much from me."

Aemond's expression darkened, his features contorted with anger. "Do not speak to me of what I have taken," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You gave yourself to me willingly, and now you will suffer the consequences."

She swallowed thickly, her pride blurring the edges of what she knew was the truth.

“He is no King of mine.”

A heavy silence settled over the chamber, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a shroud of defiance. Aemond's eye blazed with fury, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as if he might shatter his teeth with the force of his anger. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them palpable. The threat of declaring treason hung heavy.

Finally, Aemond broke the silence, his voice cold and menacing. "You dare to defy me," he hissed, his words dripping with contempt. "You would betray your own blood, your own family, for the sake of your misguided principles?"

She met his gaze head-on, her chin lifted defiantly despite the tremble in her limbs. "I will not betray my mother," she declared, her voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at her insides. "You speak of blood after years of declaring me and my brothers alike your sole distaste.”

Aemond's nostrils flared with barely contained rage at her words, his eye narrowing into a slit as he took a step closer, his imposing figure casting a shadow over her. "Do not presume to lecture me on matters of blood," he seethed, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the chamber. "You may share the blood of House Targaryen, but you lack the fire that defines our lineage."

“Careful, Uncle,” she whispered, her voice tinged with fury, “I am as much Targaryen as you.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Aemond's features, his gaze faltering for a moment before hardening once more into a mask of disdain. "You may share the name, but you lack the strength and resolve to wield it," he sneered, his words like a lash that cut through the air between them. "You are nothing but a weak, insignificant girl who fancies herself a dragon."

Her jaw tightened at Aemond's cutting words, her resolve hardening as she refused to let his insults diminish her spirit. "Strength is not defined by the size of one's flames, Uncle," she retorted, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.

Aemond's lip curled in a mixture of anger and begrudging admiration. Despite himself, he couldn't deny the fire that burned within her, the same fire that had characterised the Targaryen bloodline for generations. "You have spirit, I'll give you that," he conceded, his voice low and grudgingly impressed. "But spirit alone will not save you from the realities of this world."

She held his gaze, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as she felt the tension between them crackle like lightning in the air. Despite their antagonistic exchange, there was an undeniable chemistry that simmered just beneath the surface, a primal attraction that neither of them could ignore.

As if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Aemond took another step closer, his eye darkening with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "You may defy me, niece," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "But deep down, you know that we are bound together by more than just blood and duty."

She felt her throat close up, her body betraying what she wanted him to believe about her. That she recoiled at the mere sight of him. That she could not bear to be within the same quarters. That she hated him.

And all of it was a lie.

She would not have given herself so freely to him in that darkened alcove if she truly loathed him. And yet her pride marred the truth.

“You will be my wife,” Aemond stated, his voice devoid of negotiation. It was a command, wrapped in the certainty of his position, a reflection of the harsh realities of their lineage and the role they played in the ongoing struggle for power.

Her reaction was a mix of defiance and disbelief. This was not the offer of a partner, but the demand of a prince used to being obeyed. Yet, even as the words hung in the air between them, she could not ignore the complex web of emotions that tied her to this man. There was no love in this arrangement, but there was something else—something harder to define.

“You speak of marriage as though it were another battle to be won. I am not spoils of war to be claimed.”

Aemond’s eye, ever so piercing, momentarily hardened, hinting at the turmoil beneath his princely facade. His hand flew out, gripping her jaw as he had done that steamy evening, clutching her skin in his long fingers - a warning.

“Come with me, willingly or not. It is your choice, niece.”

Her eyes locked onto his with a fierceness that could rival any dragon's gaze, attempting to sear his very soul with her stare. Yet, in defiance of the forceful hand upon her jaw, she wrenched herself free, her breathing heavy with indignation. The so-called choice he presented felt like a cruel jest, highlighting the absence of any real agency she possessed.

The machinations of the Greens had cornered her into this union with Aemond, rendering any thought of escape futile from the outset.

Their wedding was a somber affair, marked more by the exchange of solemn vows and cold, resentful looks than any semblance of joy or union. Throughout the ceremony, her thoughts wandered, detached from the grim proceedings. And when the final blessings were about to be pronounced, she turned abruptly, her last vestiges of defiance carrying her away to the solitude of her quarters.

The sense of betrayal that churned within her was overwhelming, a treachery not only to her mother's cause but to herself. The disappointment her family would feel loomed over her, a burden more oppressive than the iron crown could ever be.

Moreover, the realisation that this marriage was orchestrated merely to secure an heir, to bind her bloodline to Aemond's as a political safeguard against total war, was revolting.

Standing alone, she tried to steady her trembling hands by focusing on the wine cup she held, just as Aemond's footsteps halted behind her. She braced herself for an encounter she dreaded, yet his next words took her by surprise.

“I shall bid you goodnight,” he said simply.

She spun around, half-expecting to confront a man prepared to enforce his will regardless of her consent. Instead, she met his gaze and found something unexpected—a reflection of restraint and perhaps a hint of understanding.

In that moment, a complex array of emotions coursed through her, challenging her perceptions and forcing her to acknowledge the intricate layers of their predicament.

“I will not lay with you tonight. You do not wish it.”

Her guard, so meticulously maintained, began to falter at the honesty in his words. "And what of tomorrow?" she asked, a tinge of cynicism threading her question. "When the sun rises, will your sense of duty not dictate our interactions?”

"It likely will," he conceded, the corners of his mouth turning down in a grimace. "But tonight, you've had enough battles to face. I won't add to them."

The silence that fell between them was filled with a tentative understanding, a fragile thread connecting two individuals caught in the crossfire of political machinations and familial obligations.

Yet, she was acutely aware that Aemond was not a mere bystander in the unfolding of these events. And it would be a mistake for him to assume she would quietly acquiesce to their circumstances.

Throughout the following day, Aemond's absence hung over her like a shadow, his presence felt more in his lack than in actuality. The dread of uncertainty twisted in her stomach, her mind conjuring scenarios that left her restless and wide-eyed, staring at the chamber doors until the early hours. The knowledge of her new status as his wife did nothing to ease her apprehension. It only highlighted her vulnerability, the potential for him to assert his marital rights in a way that robbed her of any semblance of control.

Yet, despite her fears, Aemond remained absent, his intentions opaque, leaving her to grapple with the anxiety of anticipation alone. The silence of the night was broken only by the distant, powerful beats of Vhagar's wings, a sound that resonated with ominous foreboding. She watched from her window as the great dragon, with Aemond upon her back, vanished into the stormy clouds that brooded overhead.

When Aemond returned to their chambers, it was not the composed prince who entered but a man storming in, soaked to the bone, his demeanor radiating tight, barely controlled anger. The storm outside mirrored his internal tempest, the rain that clung to him a testament to the chaos that seemed to follow in his wake.

His sudden appearance in the dead of night, the way he moved with a predatory grace, charged the air with a palpable tension. She could see in his expression the fracture of a man who had lost control, his ego bruised by the events that had transpired, a dangerous edge to his anger that made her heart race.

In that moment, the dynamics of their relationship stood on a knife's edge, the events of the night poised to define the course of their future interactions. It was a test of wills, a confrontation between power and vulnerability, where the choices they made could either bridge the gap between them or widen it into an insurmountable chasm.

"Aemond," she began, her voice steady despite the fear that threatened to choke her words. "What has happened?"

He halted mid-pace, turning towards her. The flicker of the candles reflected off his wet face, casting shadows that made his expression all the more inscrutable. "The game has changed," he said through gritted teeth, his voice a low growl.

Her eyes traced his movements, every nerve alight.

“What game?” She dared to ask.

Aemond's gaze was steel, the kind that cut deeper than swords. "The game we're all pawns in—the game for the Iron Throne." His words were heavy, laden with a darkness that seemed to suck the warmth from the room.

“Aemond, tell me plainly. What have you done.”

Her voice was terse, but it trembled.

There was a hardness in his gaze, a glint of something fierce and unyielding.

"Luke," he finally uttered, his tone laden with a severity that chilled her to the bone.

In that instant, clarity and horror crashed over her like a wave. Luke was gone, his life extinguished in the brutal game of thrones that spared no one, not even the innocent. A gnawing question arose within her: Had her mother been informed, or was she, too, left in the dark until now?

The realisation that Aemond, now her husband, had been responsible for her brother's death sent a shiver of fear down her spine. The man standing before her, cloaked in shadows and rain, was no longer just the prince she had been bound to in a marriage of convenience. He was a killer, capable of extinguishing a life—a life she had cherished. Luke's laughter, his teasing smile, the memories they shared, all extinguished in a moment's violence. And if Luke, then why not her?

Aemond's demeanour shifted, perhaps sensing the change in her perception. "You fear me now," he stated, not a question but a flat acknowledgement.

She took a cautious step back, her mind racing. The man before her, powerful enough to command dragons and armies, had shown he did not shy away from kinslaying. "I believe I ought to" she countered, her voice a whisper of defiance.

He paused, and in that silence, the harsh reality of their situation seemed to settle around them like a cloak. As Aemond moved closer, intending to assert himself, she couldn't suppress the instinctual urge to retreat. The space between them, filled with the unsaid and the undone, seemed insurmountable.

She could not help the stark whimper that escaped her when his fingers formed a fist in her hair at the back of her head, pulling her unyielding face up to meet his, his angered breath spilling over her face.

“You believe I would harm you.”

How could she not? She thought. He had so often shown a calm, quiet anger. And unleashed it all within a short afternoon, with Luke's body somewhere at the bottom of the sea surrounding Storm’s End.

“You dare to question this when you have murdered my brother,” she spat back at him.

Jaw clenched, Aemond raised his other hand to his eye patch, quickly ripping it off to reveal to her what was beneath it. The angry red scar extended from his forehead to his cheek, jagged, clumsy. And where his eye would have been was raw, a bright sapphire sitting firmly within the socket, forboding.

Of course, she knew what Luke had done, but she had never seen him like this. Fear gripped at her skin, and a strange throbbing between her thighs at the way he looked over her like this. Thought she attempted to now show that on her face.

Her expression must have mirrored poor Luke's mere hours before, as her new husband gazed down at her, his demeanour terrifyingly calm.

“You defend your little bastard brother after how he has maimed me?”

“Aemond, please-” she pleaded, only moving away an inch before her husband tugged her back, tighter.

“Your brother was of no use to this realm. But you,” he spat, one hand tucking up her skirts and then meanly digging at her hips, “I need your sweet little cunt for my heirs, mandianna.”

She felt her mouth go dry, unable to say a thing. She whimpered again when he used his grip on her hair to turn her body around, keeping her back towards his chest, his fingers slipped along her jaw, as if to communicate that he could wrap them around her throat at any moment.

Aemond was sitting on a knife’s edge. And she dare not tilt him in any particular direction. Equally though, she dare not admit to herself that it was exciting in a most forbidden way.

“You are my wife,” he murmured quietly, sliding her small clothes down her thigh, flourishing with gooseflesh, “and who am I to deny her her duty?”

She suppressed a yelp when her hands lay flat on the table, her breasts pressed hard against the oak as she felt Aemond's rapidly growing harness at her backside where he was rucking up her skirts.

Though she tried to wriggle free of him, one hand at the nape of her neck with undeniable strength was all it took to remind her how much smaller she was than him. How difficult it would be to resist. Does she just go through with it? Let her Uncle, her brother's murderer, take her like a common whore whenever he wishes?

She could envisage no escape, and as ashamed as she was to admit it to herself, she could do nothing but submit. At least there would be some pleasure.

She jolted as his slender fingers parted her folds with a click of her essence coated his digits, dragging his touch from her opening to her overly-sensitive bud.

“See how wet you become for me still,” he murmured, pressing his chest against her back, broad body caging her in, “though I am the greatest sinner in the realm, your body still begs for it, sweet niece. What does that make you?”

“Kepus, please-”

“A traitor to your own kin?” He whispered, exhaling shakily when he nudged her legs apart an inch and slipped the fat head of his cock between her arousal-glistened folds, disappearing into her without effort.

Her lips parted, a quiet moan slipping past at being split onto his length. And though little time had passed since their first tryst, she still felt the sting and girth of him as if it were.

Aemond groaned deeply, at the feeling of her sucking him in so willingly, her walls greedily tightening around his length.

“Or loyal to your kinslaying husband?” He added huskily.

How was she to respond when the air was incessantly pushed right from her lungs at every snap of his hips? The table legs creaked against the floor and her breasts ached from being pressed down to the oak by the tight grip of his fingers around her nape.

She wanted to say that he was brutalising her, taking what he wanted with no care for her pleasure, but even that wouldn't be true. Aemond's rhythmic grunts came hot against her ear as he rutted into her, his hand kneading the flesh of her buttock in one hand, grasping tightly to allow himself deeper access to her.

She felt as if she was betraying herself, moaning the way she was. And Aemond certainly did not miss a thing.

“Stubborn little cunt - saying you don't want it but I can feel you begging for my seed -”

The mocking tone of his voice had her clench around him, humiliation clawing at her skin the more Aemond speared her onto his length in quick rhythmic movements. Her moisture coated his shaft, his pelvis painting the inside of her thighs with it in the heat of their passion.

Aemond looked down between them, his fingers leaving red marks on her buttock the more he gripped. Both hands drifted either side, pulling at her supple flesh to watch the way her cunt took him, his lips parted in appreciation of how he disappeared into her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling so boneless that she did not attempt to wiggle away when he was no longer holding her down. Instead her fingers curled over the table for stability in a desperate plea to ground herself from the hot, tight feeling building every time his cock hit her fleshy, wet end.

And just when she was getting used to the feeling, Aemond pulled her hips back to him, elevating her hips and slamming into her at an angle which brushed against that deep, sweet place inside her.

A tingly, warm sensation fluttered up her spine, “kepus-”

“-fucking say you want it-” he murmured between breaths, pulling her onto him quicker the close the became to completion.

She bit her lip, if anything, using the last bit of her power to not give him the satisfaction of thinking she did in fact want it. So she remained silent, which only made his thrusts more aggressive and assertive.

“-I’ll give you my seed, watch you grow fat with child - and just when you think it's over, I'll fuck another one into you-”

Her nails dug into the oak, scraping painfully, lips parted in a soundless scream as she felt that wave of warmth and bliss crest, unable to control the way she fluttered around him.

Aemond strained, words caught tightly in his throat as he spilled inside of her, pulling her hips flush to him as if to mold himself to her irreparably. She shamefully felt herself tremble, her release still sending dull shockwaves through her blood as Aemond remained seated firmly within her.

She thought of her family. And how they would come to hate her for what she had become, allowing the man who had killed her brother to take her like this. She surely thought they would no longer see her the same with Aemond's child in her belly and tied to him by marriage.

Tears threatened at her eyes, two feelings at war with one another, shame and pleasure.

She whimpered when Aemond pulled his softening cock from her, a rush of warm spend spilling down her thigh in a way that only exacerbated her humiliation.

“You will write to your mother and tell her of your loyalties.”

Aemond spoke so coldly in between soft pants, it was as if he was hardly the man she had known a few moments ago. It has always been like this. But in a way, it is what made him exciting. Unpredictability was as much exhilarating as it was terrifying.

A notion she held to as she glanced at him, his good eye hooded and blown wide and black with lust and the sapphire glinting in the orange glow of the room as if bloodthirsty.

The game had to be played. And if this was the way Aemond wanted to do it, then so be it.

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buckybarnesb-tch · 1 month

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Aemond T. Yandere A-Z

(For the multiple people who asked for a Yandere Alphabet for our favorite little War Criminal)

A stands for AFFECTION: how would they show affection?

•Aemond is a gift giver to the extreme

•From the moment you found out about your betrothal to your Uncle, you had been receiving gorgeous dresses, fantastic shoes and jewelry you could never have imagined wearing. All of the jewelry you were gifted containing large sapphires in the necklaces or earrings, staking the One Eyed Princes claim on you

B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?

•He loves getting bloody on a normal occasion so getting bloody for you would be a joy for Aemond

•He would slaughter any and all men who dared even think they had a chance with his girl and he even killed a few women who thought it their place to ‘warn you’ about what he’s like and insist you needed to get out of the marriage proposal, even though you all knew that was impossible

C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?

•Aemond would avoid harming you as much as possible, he never liked to see pain on your face or bruises on your perfect porcelain skin but if you thought you were going to defy him then he needed to teach you a lesson

•Normally locking you in your rooms was enough after two days of isolation and eating all of your meals alone

•Only once did Aemond ever really hurt you and it was only after you had pushed him too far, something even you admitted he couldn’t ignore in public

D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?

•Aemond is as patient as he can be with you but if you give him no other choice, then yes, he absolutely will

E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?

•Aemond talks to you about almost everything

•One of your jobs as his wife is to listen to him and you quickly find out you’re the only person that he really tells about how he feels about everything from his mother to his brother to even his father

•He is also very open in how he feels about you, making it clear from the moment you are betrothed that you are his and he is completely obsessed with you loves you dearly

F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?

•Aemond absolutely thinks it’s funny…for about 5 minutes

•You are his wife and him your husband, you will behave as a lady is expected to behave within the confines of her marriage so ‘fighting back’ isn’t really much of an option

G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?

•You are Aemond’s everything, this is no game

•Anyone who thinks it is will get a painful wake up call sooner than they think

H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?

•Your worst experience would be the one time you made the mistake of refusing his demands in front of the small council

•Aemond didn’t want to harm you, he was trying quite hard to get you used to being his wife and doing your duties/behaving how he expected you to but you didn’t give him much of an option before you felt his hand strike your face so painfully you briefly thought he had broken your jaw

•He apologized for hitting you so hard later in the privacy of your rooms but informed you that you shouldn’t have said anything against him in front of anyone especially the small council and even you knew how badly you had messed up as soon as the words left your mouth

I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?

•Aemond’s plan is impregnating you

•That has been his plan since the moment he insisted his mother ensure you were going to be his wife

J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?

•When Aemond is jealous someone is going to die, he is a violent man when he thinks another man is getting close to his wife and he will often publicly punish any man who he thinks is looking at his Princess wrong

•You learned very quickly to talk to other men as little as possible

•However you also learned that if you wanted a man dead you had a sure fire way to make it happen

K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?

•When you and Aemond are alone he is much different than he is in public

•Aemond is usually a sweet, gentle person with you when he isn’t in a bad mood or you’re not being difficult

•Even when in public he is gentler with you than most men are with their wives, he’s just far more quiet and somber

L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?

•He made sure his mother knew he would only accept you as his wife, and that if Rhaenyra made the mistake of trying to marry you to anyone else he would steal you away before any wedding could take place and burn the Lords house to the ground, ally of the Hightowers or not

•Aemond was quite sweet to you, he always had been when you were children however he was a proper gentleman now and he ensured you were as happy as you could be…obsessively so

M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?

•He is quiet for the most part in public, and if he must say something it is usually a snarky comment or a backhanded insult

•With you he is very attentive and often needy for your attention which is actually what makes you fall for him in the end, loving his desperation for you

N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?

•Aemond locks you in your chambers until you can’t stand being alone anymore and admit you were wrong for whatever, you never really need anything more than that

O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?

•Rights?

•What are rights?

•You are Aemond’s wife. You will do what is expected of a highborn lady wife or be punished. Even so, Aemond tries to make you as happy as he can and doesn’t order you about as much as he could

P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?

•Aemond tries his best to be very patient and to his credit he does very well until you push too hard

•Compared to other men and even other Targaryen men, he is quite patient with you, wanting you to actually learn lessons and want to be a good wife for him in the end

Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?

Died: He would be a complete basket case without you and he would refuse to remarry for any reason what so ever

Escaped: He would go on a rampage until he got you back. No one would be safe until he found you and had you back in his arms

R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?

•Aemond will Never let you go

•He would only ever regret how hard he slapped you once in a small council meeting, he hated how afraid of him you were in that moment

S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?

•You had always been the only one in the family who was kind to Aemond, being his best friend as kids

•He knew you would be his wife from the moment you first stuck up for him during the pig prank to your brothers and uncle, that was the day he fell completely in love with you

•He decided that night that he would do whatever he needed to do in order to make you his wife, even though he knew his mother would want to marry him to another house and that Rhaenyra would never want you to be with him

T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?

•Anger

•Your tears brings out a rage in Aemond that is not often seen and he will slaughter whoever has made you so upset

•If he were the one to upset you however, he wouldn’t really know how to fix that. He would typically hold you until you either calmed down or cried yourself out and then get you a gift as an apology since “apologizing” isn’t really something he knows how to do very well

U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.

•In the beginning of your relationship, before the wedding was set and you were staying as far from him as you could, Aemond came up with a plan to make you dependent on him and feel safe with him to ensure you wouldn’t try and run back home to Rhaenyra and Daemon (who was the only man you seemed to trust which enraged him to no end)

•Aemond had Criston Cole hire a man to sneak into the castle with the intent to kill you. He planed it out meticulously to ensure you were never in any real danger though you wouldn’t know that

•The man entered your chambers as you were getting ready to sleep and you shrieked, backing towards the window, pleading with him not to harm you and telling him that he could leave and you would forget he was ever there. Suddenly your door flew open and Aemond ran in, he was on the man before you could blink, beating his head in as he shouted about how he would never let anyone harm his wife

•It was that night that you really began giving Aemond the chance to win your love, realizing that you were truly safe with him. The entire plot was a secret that Aemond would take to his grave

V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?

•His jealousy, 100%

•If you want someone, anyone dead, all you need to do is make it seem like they’ve been looking at you for more than a second too long, it gives you a feeling of absolute power and you love it

W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?

•Aemond would never hurt you in any kind of serious way

•If he has to he will lock you in your chambers for the rest of your life, but he won’t do you serious harm

X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?

•He definitely has a way of making you feel like a Goddess

•Especially when you’re pregnant as he worships the ground you walk on. He is constantly getting you whatever food you’re craving, fluffing your pillows, rubbing your sore feet, anything to make his precious Princess feel better while she is carrying his baby inside of her

•You are the most precious thing in the whole world to him and even when he is upset with you Aemond never lets you forget it

Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?

•Aemond has always loved you, and always had a bit of a crush on you however he has been head over heels since he was 10

•He keeps it together and hidden until he is 16 and he demands you as his bride upon hearing that Rhaenyra was considering marriage proposals for you, the idea of you being married off to someone else sending him over the edge

Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?

•Aemond doesn’t want you broken, he wants you to be his compliant little Princess and that’s exactly what you are

•You had always known what was expected of you as a women and a wife in a marriage from the time that you were a little girl (though you never expected to be married to your Uncle) but Aemond ensured that you would be exactly what he always wanted in a wife and you are absolutely Perfect to him

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

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flowerandblood · 22 days

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The Fall from the Heavens (21)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, sexual tension, smut, angst, dirty talk ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When she woke up in her chamber the sun was already slowly setting behind the walls of the Red Keep. She muttered under her breath in displeasure, twisting in her place, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and looked down, feeling a wave of disappointment and pain once again.

She sighed heavily, putting aside the already cold purse of water that had brought her great relief and allowed her to sleep for a few hours. Although she was distraught and terrified, the thought of her uncle's reaction and behaviour towards her made a warm, pleasant feeling spill over her heart.

She smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if he had just been at the Small Council meeting and would be back soon.

It wasn't long when the door to her chamber opened, and a moment later her husband walked in, pale, staring at her with wide-open eye.

Her heart pounded harder in horror at that look.

"We have received your mother's demands."

The word that she wanted to see her, to speak to her, and the fact that Aegon had agreed to it at the same time filled her with joy and horror.

She missed her and longed to hear her voice again, but she did not know what her mother was planning, what she hoped to hear from her lips.

What if she believed that her daughter had married her uncle just to survive?

That her affection for him was a lie and she would stab him in the back when she got the chance?

Her husband didn't seem pleased either as the affair became more and more complicated and there seemed to be no end to it all, no solution they could reach together.

On the second morning after King sent his response, a raven arrived in the Red Keep with word that her mother had agreed to the arrangements and would indeed be waiting with her husband in the Eyrie on the appointed day to speak to her daughter and her half-brother.

Her husband had no intention of spending a single night in the Eyrie, so he just acceded to his brother's suggestion and decided that the day before the agreed date they would travel to Harrenhal. She was not delighted with this idea, having heard many unflattering opinions about her father's brother.

Word had also reached her that a witch lived behind the walls of this grim fortress.

Still, she understood her husband's caution and anxiety, so she did not defy him, demanding something else in return.

"I will fly with you on Larax."

"No."

"If my mother sees that you did not allow me to fly on my own dragon she will not believe that anything that leaves my mouth was spoken of my own free will. She will see it as an excuse to believe that I still remain to you only a prisoner." She said impatiently; her husband turned his face towards the fire, sitting on one of the chairs at the table, licking his lower lip with his tongue in a nervous gesture, frustrated.

He did not reply.

She approached him slowly and knelt beside him on the cold stone floor, taking his hand in hers, placing a warm, tender kiss on it. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he had closed his eyelids, that he was losing the battle with himself.

"Please, husband. Give me this joy."

Though reluctant, her uncle finally gave her his wordless consent, but he remained silent throughout the evening and locked himself in his mind, tense.

It didn't help that she was still bleeding.

Not wishing to cause him any discomfort with an intimacy full of these disgusting fluids, she did not attempt to touch him, and he, apparently fearing that he might cause her pain in this state, also refrained from doing so.

The carriages filled with their belongings had long since left King's Landing when she and her uncle left the walls of the Red Keep.

She could see that he was pale, looking at her with his lips pressed together, unhappy and unsure whether he was making the right decision. He sighed heavily as she touched his cheek with her soft palm.

"I will join you in the sky soon, husband. I promise." She whispered and rose on her tiptoes, placing a moist, warm kiss on his cheek exactly as she had done that day, when he ran after her. Her husband hummed under his breath at her words and moved ahead, while she turned the other way, heading for the Dragon's Pit.

At the behest of her uncle, the servants who had been taking care of their dragons since their childhood led Larax into the main cave – her dragoness squealed loudly in despair at the sight of her, her sounds reminding her of the crying of a child.

She ran to her with tears in her eyes, feeling that the sight was breaking her heart.

She had been locked away for so long, terrified and imprisoned just as she was.

"Shijetra nyke, Larax. Shijetra nyke. Lykiri (Forgive me, Larax. Forgive me. Easy)." She mumbled, reaching out to her – her dragoness tilted her head and let her touch her, pushing against her chest, showing her how much she longed for her closeness.

As she climbed into her saddle again, as she again commanded her to move ahead, to take to the skies, and as the wind and speed blew her hair away, she felt a wonderful surge of adrenaline, freedom and happiness. She soared high into the sky, commanding her to fly in the right direction.

Larax let out a loud cry, terrified, wanting to escape, when suddenly Vhagar flew over her, her mighty wings causing a wave of air to hit them.

"Lykiri, Larax! Gaomagon sagon zūgagon daor! Sōvēs! (Calm down, Larax! Do not be afraid! Fly!)" She commanded, and after a moment she managed to regain control of her, heading after the great beast towards the fortress where her father had died.

Although she knew her husband was terrified at the prospect of letting her ride her own dragon, she noticed out of the corner of her eye his silhouette and his face staring back at her, from a distance she had the impression he was smiling.

She thought with a squeeze in her heart that he must have been dreaming of this moment since they were children.

Him and her, flying side by side on their dragons.

Exactly as it should be.

Thanks to the good weather, their several-hour journey turned out to be less tiresome than she thought it would be; she felt an immense ache in her muscles after a long break from flying as soon as they landed and she dismounted from her saddle anyway.

She had to wait for her husband, who had to land on Vhagar much further away so that no houses were destroyed, therefore she allowed herself to look around, feeling that her heart was pounding like mad.

"My Lady. What a joy." She heard the voice of Larys Strong as he strode towards her through the gates of his fortress, leaning on his staff, followed by several guards and a woman who immediately caught her attention.

Her long, straight black hair, her bare shoulders, her full breasts, her slender figure and her eyes surrounded by her dark lashes, her irises having the colour of fresh, juicy grass.

She lowered her gaze, never having seen such a beautiful and mysterious woman before in her life, finally glancing at Lord Strong, realising she should say something in reply.

She had never trusted him or had a good opinion of him.

She believed he was responsible for her father's death and she didn't want to speak to him.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She mumbled finally, forcing a warm smile, Larys Strong nodded. They all bowed as they spotted her husband approaching from the distance, his black leather coat and hair blown by the wind.

"My Prince."

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters." Her uncle commanded him, his voice as hoarse and shaky as hers from the emotion they had both apparently experienced while flying.

Her uncle and Larys Strong walked through the gate first and she moved to follow them, the woman who stood beside him, whoever she was, strolled a few paces behind her, her pleasant scent reaching her nostrils.

Lavender and cloves.

"We have prepared for you, my Prince, the most magnificent quarters in the entire fortress. I have no use for it anyway; I would get tired climbing all those steps every day. Nearby we have prepared rooms for your wife, I assure you −"

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." Her husband interrupted him, pulling his leather gloves from his hands, stepping inside the room, looking around with frustration and impatience.

Having been with him on a daily routine, accustomed to him conversing with her of his own accord, she had already forgotten how much he resented speaking to strangers for longer than necessary.

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you."

She and her uncle cast quick, concerned glances at each other; her husband hit the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, furious.

She knew the expression on his face, knew he was only dreaming of rest, but they were his guests and he was not in a position to simply refuse him.

Lord Strong looked at her expectantly and her uncle nodded at her, albeit reluctantly, to leave them alone. The woman standing beside her raised her hand and indicated with a gesture where they were to go, so she set off in that direction.

The chamber her father's brother had assigned her was smaller and more modest than that of her husband's, but it had a more pleasant view from the window, straight over the forest and the clearing where her dragoness slept.

She involuntarily smiled under her breath as she pressed her palm against the glass, seeing Larax, forgetting for a moment that she was not alone.

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, My Lady?" She heard a low, melodious, pleasant female voice behind her. She looked up at her and nodded.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked uncertainly. The woman smiled, looking at her calmly.

"Alys, my lady."

An awkward silence fell between them for a moment.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She said after a moment; the woman burst into a hearty, light laugh and shook her head.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She replied softly, her voice gentle and full of understanding, as if she were speaking to a small child. She blinked, shocked by her words, her question leaving her lips before she had time to think what she was saying.

"Did you know my father?"

The woman looked at her for a moment before she nodded.

"Yes, my Lady."

She felt her hand clench into a fist, her heart starting to beat like mad.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, the corner of the woman's mouth lifting in a grin.

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, my Lady."

She left her enigmatic response unanswered, both intrigued and terrified of her at the same time; it seemed to her that the gaze of her luscious green eyes pierced her to the core.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She spoke again with a hint of amusement from which she felt uncomfortable, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her words.

"What do you mean?" She muttered uneasily; the woman's gaze swept over her figure, as if assessing what she saw before her and combining it with her own conclusions in her head.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said in a light, low, slightly dreamy voice, looking somewhere to the side, intertwining her hands in front of her.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She stared at her in disbelief, wondering if she had been able to see such a thing being in their company for just a moment, unable to hide how pleased her words made her.

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her heart pounding like mad.

Alys helped her change into one of the gowns that had arrived in Harrenhal in the chests before them, her long, graceful fingers entwining her dark, long hair into an intricate bun of many braids surrounding her head.

She had never had a similar hairstyle before and she liked it very much.

Alys escorted her to the chamber where her husband and Lord Strong had just eaten supper, then bowed and left, leaving them alone. Her husband looked at her intently as she sat beside him at the table with a smile, Larys Strong cast her a look full of curiosity.

"Beautiful hairstyle, my Lady." He said softly, but she felt a sense of discomfort instead of gratitude, which, however, she did not give vent to in any way. She looked at her uncle, for some reason emboldened by the woman's words.

"And you, my husband? What do you think?" She asked softly, her uncle throwing her a calm, impassive look.

"I prefer it when your hair is loose." He merely replied, reaching for his goblet full of wine, taking a loud sip from it, setting it down on the table with a loud clinking of steel.

She felt like a silly little girl and lowered her gaze, feeling a squeeze in her throat as an awkward silence fell around them.

What had crossed her mind to ask such foolishness?

Did he think she asked it out of vanity?

It seemed to her that her uncle regretted the coldness in which he had expressed his opinion, for before she left to prepare for sleep he reminded her that immediately when she had finished she was to appear in his chamber.

She nodded her head at his words and pressed her lips together, only in the corridor letting a few regretful, embarrassed tears run down her face.

How could she take it so personally, expect empty compliments from him when she knew perfectly well that he loathed it?

As she stepped into her chamber she asked one of the servants to summon Alys, wanting her to help her take off her gown and to prepare her hot bath.

She had no intention of going to her husband after hours of travelling on a dragon all sticky from sweat and exertion.

Alys walked into her room with a smile and bowed, approaching her, seeing that she herself had already begun to untie her bodice.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, my Lady?" She asked softly, and she swallowed quietly and sighed, lowering her gaze.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said resignedly, as if she had failed in some way by not meeting his expectations.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, as if she were speaking of something completely obvious and natural. She blinked, feeling that somehow her words comforted her.

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She mumbled uncertainly, meeting her gaze in her reflection in the mirror, from which a shiver ran along her spine.

"Yes, my Lady."

She swallowed hard, feeling her heart pounding hard at the thought.

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked at last; the woman involuntarily giggled under her breath, finally releasing her from her gown, which fell lightly to the stone floor, leaving her in her white night gown.

Thankfully, her bleeding had almost stopped.

"Yes." She said with amusement, taking her garment in her hands and placing it gently back in one of the chests, being careful not to crumple it as she meanwhile stepped into the bath and sat in it with a sigh of relief, sinking into the hot water.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled embarrassedly, trailing her fingers along the edge of the tub, not daring to look at her in fear that the woman would mock her.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied with amusement, and she raised her eyes at her, shocked.

Although her husband had sunk his face between her thighs on several occasions just as he had the first night after her return to King's Landing, he had never expected her to reciprocate.

Before she could suggest anything he thrusted his manhood deep between her moist folds anyway.

The truth, however, was that even if she wanted to do it, she didn't know how.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, looking at her uncertainly, a smile on her face that she might have considered warm.

"I see." She murmured, approaching her slowly, startling her completely as she knelt beside her tub, gently grasping her wrist in her hand. "I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, my Lady."

She swallowed hard, feeling butterflies in her stomach and excitement, she licked her lower lip feeling it dry up with emotion.

"…How?"

Alys smiled, leaning towards her hand – she shuddered when her lips gently touched her finger, wondering with a fast beating heart what she was doing.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman showers them with gentle, tender caresses." She cooed as she closed her eyelids, running her full, moist lips up and down her pointing finger, leaving a wet trail of her saliva on it.

She looked at this sight as if enchanted, feeling an involuntary throbbing inside her imagining that she had knelt before her uncle and touched him like this.

She drew in air loudly, feeling a pleasant shiver run down her spine as the woman slipped the tip of her finger gently into her mouth, teasing it with her wet, fleshy tongue; she sighed helplessly feeling her nipples become hard, her walls clenching around nothing.

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She gasped softly between the brushes of her lips and suddenly slipped her whole finger into her mouth, starting to suck it unhurriedly with a quiet click of her saliva.

She didn't even notice when she began to breathe through her mouth, when her thighs clenched involuntarily under the water, seeking any kind of release of the tension that was building up inside her.

There was something so lewd and inappropriate about what she was seeing and feeling that she felt like a moan was about to come out of her throat.

She shuddered as Alys suddenly opened her eyes − a misty darkness in the green of her irises that she had often seen in her husband's gaze, her lips released her finger with a quiet click.

"− you pretty little thing − it's usually him taking care of you, isn't it? − he can't deny himself − I can't blame him −" She whispered, and she felt heat in her lower abdomen, her walls clenching greedily around nothing.

They both flinched as the door to her chamber suddenly opened, Alys stood up quickly and bowed, closing her eyes.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" She heard her husband's warning growl; she turned over her shoulder, looking at him with wide eyes, all red, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking shocked as the woman immediately left her quarters.

"− what is the meaning of this? − hm? −" He asked furiously standing over the tub as soon as the door closed behind her, fury in his eyes.

She couldn't find any meaningful answer in her head, her mind was completely blank.

Her uncle pressed his lips together in impatience, apparently trying not to explode.

"− can't I leave you alone even for a fucking moment? −" He hissed, and she shook her head, looking at him pleadingly.

"− I − I asked her for help −"

"− help with what, that she had to kneel beside you and hold your hand? − you are fucking bare −"

"− I − I can't tell you, it's embarrassing −"

"− gods, I swear I'm about to rip you to shreds −"

"− we were discussing embarrassing feminine matters − she showed me something…important − for you too −" She muttered, his jaw clenched in displeasure.

He didn't believe her.

"− I want to know what this brazen whore was doing to my wife −" He growled with an impatience so strong that she knew that if she didn't give him the answer he expected, her uncle was really about to explode and would surely knock her out along with her tub on the floor.

"− very well − I − I will try to show it to you − just − just don't get upset and sit on the bed −" She mumbled pleadingly, looking at him with her big eyes.

She saw that at her words his anger began to slowly fade, giving place to a slight intrigue in his gaze.

He hummed low and took a few steps back, as she requested, sitting down on her bed, looking at her watchfully.

She swallowed hard, rising from the tub with a loud splash of water, walking slowly out of the bath. He blinked, surprised when she sat on the floor in front of him, but with her back to him, reaching for the pins woven into her hair.

"− you have to help me, because I won't be able to do it myself until morning −" She muttered in displeasure, all heated up from the hot water her body had just been submerged in, her nightgown all soaked, clinging to her naked skin.

She heard her husband sigh heavily, leaning over her with a loud creak of the bed, sliding the pins out of her hairstyle, making the curls of her hair start to fall over her shoulders.

"− it was her idea too, wasn't it? −" He sneered disapprovingly and she let the air out of her lungs, tired.

"− I really liked the way I looked −" She burbled resentfully; she heard his heavy sigh again, however this time he answered nothing more.

When her hair was finally completely loose she turned to face him, already visibly calmer, his hand involuntarily went to her cheek, his thumb running over her soft skin.

His pupil narrowed as her fingers unfastened the buckles of his tunic and reached into the ties of his breeches, she felt his bulge beneath her palms throbbing hard.

"− what are you doing? −" He muttered uncertainly, coolly, as if terrified of what he had just imagined.

"− I want to kiss you there with my lips − are you repelled by the thought? −" She asked softly, releasing his swollen, half-hard erection, feeling him shudder as she grasped it gently in her hand, guiding it to her face.

"− what? – no − b-but − I − oh −" He gasped as she ran her lips over the pink head of his cock with a rapidly pounding heart; she felt satisfaction when his length twitched aggressively in her embrace.

She knew he wanted to say more as his mouth remained open, but he simply stared at her, breathing loudly, his thumb gently stroking her cheek as she mimicked Alys's cues by running her lips from the root of his manhood to the very tip of it.

She heard him sigh in pleasure, closing his eyes for a moment, his hips involuntarily began to buck, pressing his already fully hard erection closer to her face, searching for any source of friction.

"− this − this is what she showed you? − hm? −" He gasped, as if he was simultaneously thrilled and enraged by this vision.

Not wanting him to think about it too much she used her tongue, running it up to the very top of the head of his cock, feeling the veins under his skin clearly, a low, hoarse groan stuck in his throat, his hand tightening in her hair.

"− fuck − g-gods −" He muttered in a trembling voice, his breathing increasingly shaky and accelerated – she knew he was aroused, and his sounds made her feel that unbearable, intense tickling and pulsing between her thighs again.

She was wet.

In some subconscious instinct, his hand tentatively guided the pink, swollen head of his cock against her lips, and she parted them, letting him slide between them with a loud sigh of pleasure.

"− squeeze − squeeze with your hand what doesn't fit inside − and suck − oh, yes, little one, just like that −" He exhaled delighted tilting his head back as she let him deep into her palate, his tip bumping again and again with the sure thrusts of his hips against the back wall of her throat causing her to gag, tears of exertion pooling in her eyes.

"− if this is too much − hit me twice on the thigh −" He gasped, looking down at her, and she merely nodded, clamping her hand over the base of his hard length, sucking it slowly with a loud click of her saliva.

She reminded herself about her tongue and what Alys was doing with it, so she made use of it, and every time her husband thrust his erection into her its tip teased and licked him; his two hands tightened in her hair with his low groan, quickening his pace.

"− oh − oh, fuck, little one − mghm − gods −" He panted, invading her throat with deep, fast pushes, making use of her mouth as he saw fit, a high-pitched moan erupted from her lungs as she felt him aggressively pulsing between her lips, breathing hard through her nose, trying not to suffocate.

"− I know − please, please, let me − oh, fuck, yes, swallow it, swallow, swallow, swallow −" He commanded in a shuddering gasp full of pleasure and relief. She squirmed as his hot, sticky seed spilled down her palate straight into her throat; she swallowed some of it with difficulty and coughed, trying not to choke, a pearly trickle of his spend ran off the corner of her mouth down her chin.

Good gods.

They were both panting loudly and quivering, his face pressed against her hair, on which he still clamped his fingers, not letting her escape.

"− just a moment more − please, just a moment more − so warm −" He mumbled, and she swallowed hard, breathing loudly through her nose with his half soft length deep in her throat. It seemed to her for a moment that he might have fallen asleep in that position, but eventually he took pity on her and slid out of her mouth, allowing her to take a deep breath.

She involuntarily put her arms around his knee, exhausted, hugging her face to his thigh, breathing hard, not believing she had really done it.

Her womanhood pulsed all over, her thighs were all sticky from her moisture.

She sighed in relief when she felt his large hand begin to stroke her hair with a tender, calm gesture, his breathing still erratic and accelerated.

"− come − come here − your husband need to take care of you −"

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kingsanddragonsandgods · 6 months

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⁂Early life:

Princess Visenya Targaryen of Runestone was born on the last day of the year 90AC, at her mother's ancestral home.

The newborn child was named after the Conqueror Queen, Visenya, by her father and anointed by holy oils seven days after her birth at the Sept-by-the-Sea in Runesport.

Queen Alysanne, who held the child during the ceremony is noted for having remarking that ‘the girl has all of Viserra’s beauty, but Alyssa’s temper’ to which the King is said to have answered ‘Gods be good’.

As Princess Visenya grew, her parents continued to battle, using the young girl as a pawn in their conflict, with both parents appealing to the King and Queen to take their side on occasion.

During her early years she grew especially close to her natural born brother, Orys Stone, the illegitimate son of Prince Daemon by Lady Rowena Royce, Lady Rhea’s older third cousin. The young boy was brought into Lady Rhea’s household in the year 90AC, following the passing of his mother.

From the age of five, her parents’ estrangement was permanent, with Prince Daemon returning to the Crownlands and Lady Rhea and their daughter remaining at the Vale. After royal intervention it was agreed that the Princess time was to be split between living in Runestone with her mother, and between the Red Keep and Dragonstone with her father, alternating during the seasons, summer and winter was spent on the Vale, while spring and autumn in the Crownlands, special celebrations were shared.

Her education appears to have been strict and somewhat old-fashioned, thus, in addition to her studies, Grand Maester Runciter notes in his journals, she was taught spinning and weaving and had an innate talent for weaving intricate tapestry. From the year 92 forward, Visenya, who had been betrothed to her newborn cousin, Prince Aerion, was expected to become Queen Consort, and her education reflected it. Her betrothed passed away in his cradle two years later, and Visenya was then betrothed to his newborn brother, Prince Aelor.

Her tutors at the time, Maester Adelin, Archmaester Vaegon and Master Petrarca of Volantis, regarded Princess Visenya as an extroverted, lively, highly intelligent, and strong-willed girl. Prince Daemon was reported to be proud of her horsemanship and marksmanship.

Because of her outstanding intellect, and his blunt favoritism, King Jaehaerys named Princess Visenya as his cupbearer in the Year 96AC, at the age of six.

The young princess often was allowed to discuss the classics, philosophy, and the affairs of state with ambassadors and envoys visiting the court of Jaehaerys. Moreover, she was personally acquainted with the painters, musicians, writers, and scholars who lived in and around the royal court.

Princess Visenya if often considered one of, if not, the best educated women of her generation.

The year 96AC marked another milestone for Princess Visenya: on the eight moon of the year, the young princess bonded and became the first rider of a she-dragon she named Huraxes. The same dragon that as a hatchling had been brought to Princess Daenerys Targayen. Huraxes had pearly scales and iridescent wing membranes, with pale and pinkish flames. The princess was allowed to bond with the she-dragons by royal decree after falling ill with a bolt of Spring Fever that nearly took her life.

Matches for Princess Visenya started being discussed by the Small Council, brought up by the Lord Hand. Thought Visenya was heiress to the largest fortress in the Vale and to the Ladyship of Runestone, it was argued that as she was a Princess of the Realm, the matter of her marriage was a prerogative of the King, which infuriated Prince Daemon, who at the time occupied the seat of Master of Law, the Grand Master agreed that such line of thought might anger the Vale, as the Princess was highly regarded by her people and her second cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lord Corlys suggested his own son as a match for the princess, four years her junior, most likely to tie another dragonrider to his house. His Grace put down all talks of marriage for his niece, agreeing that such was the right of his brother and good sister to choose her match.

For the celebration of his niece's fifteenth nameday, the king ordered seven days of celebrations, with a tournament and grand feasts. The Queen's absence was noticed, excused as Her Grace was in the early stages of her final pregnancy, and Visenya was allowed to sit in the seat usually reserved for the consort; she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the Dornish Ser Eldric Dayne, the Star in the Morning.

Since the Princess's return to court early in the spring of 104 AC, Visenya had caught the king’s eye, and it is reported that Viserys and his niece have become very close, spending hours each day in each other's company, promenading in the gardens, hunting in the Kingswood, and dancing together during feasts and balls.

The king is said to have spoiled his niece with lavish gifts, including presenting her with a manse in King’s Landing, a country estate crossing the Blackwater Rush and later a sea palace in the Reach.

⁂Marriage and Queenship:

After the death of Queen Aemma Arryn in the Year 105 AC, Princess Visenya, aged 15, became the 2nd wife and Queen Consort of her uncle, King Viserys I Targaryen. Their betrothal was announced a month following the queen’s passing, and a private ceremony was held three months later in Dragonstone.

It was a scandal at the time, as not only the King’s new marriage was announced a moon after the late queen’s passing in childbed, but it had also been rumored for some time that Viserys and Visenya had been lovers.

More salacious tales propagated by the fool Mushroom during the Dance of the Dragons tells of the princess sitting on her uncle's lap during feasts, kissing him shamelessly, and nibbling his fingers sensually as he fed her like a beloved pet; of the king fondling her breasts in public, and announcing to his courtiers that he and his niece would retire to make love. These have no contemporary support, with Septon Eustace calling such tales absurd and slanderous.

Over the matter of his marriage to his niece Viserys claimed that the marriage was in the public interest and ordered a grand celebration for the occasion of his new queen's coronation, to happen after the end of mourning period for Prince Baelon. Visenya was the first Queen Consort crowned in a separate ceremony from the reigning King. During the occasion the apparent advanced state of the queen's pregnancy caused a new wave of rumors that Visenya had been the King's mistress while the queen was still alive and that their child was conceived out of wedlock.

In their more than two decades of marriage, Visenya and Viserys had fourteen children, all survived into adulthood, something that the maesters attribute to the queen’s management of the nursery. Visenya’s role as a mother was glorified throughout the realm, their young new queen’s obvious fertility was seen, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, as both a bless from the Mother and a sign from the gods. With the birth of her twin girls, Princess Viserra and Princess Rhaelys, coins were issued, portraying her as the Mother, an allegory that would repeat itself many times for the remaining of her husband’s and son’s reign. If in her maidenhood, as a young princess, Visenya posed as a model for sculptures of the Maiden, in motherhood and queenship, she was now the Mother.

Although it was not the norm of the age, and in fact, apart from the late Queen Alysanne, no other queen receive such a honor, King Viserys granted Visenya a seat on his Small Council, leaning on her for advice on varied subjects due to his respect for her opinion and good judgment. She became a formidable figure with far-reaching influence during this time. According to some sources, her influence was such that Queen Visenya effectively ran the government alongside the Hand of the King.

In the year 115AC, around the time of her stepdaughter’s wedding to Ser Leanor Velaryon and in the years that followed, the Queen Consort started to work and put her own trusted people in ever higher positions to strengthen herself and her sons through them.

Visenya acted as her first husband’s regent after his health decline, sat in her eldest son’s war table following Viserys’s death.

⁂Personality:

Some historians have contended that to some extent she deserved her negative reputation propagated by her stepdaughter following the death of King Viserys I, despite the inaccuracies of the claims that she was sexually disreputable or regarding the legitimacy of her children, other criticisms of her were valid: she was ambitious, proud, obstinate, and masked her cunning behind a sweet-toned voice and flawless manners.

Princess Rhaenyra described her as a woman of reckless extravagance and wantonness, who seduced a grieving man, and whom the King nonetheless loved passionately and faithfully. It is widely known that those part of the Black Court of the Princess of Dragonstone took to call the queen ‘the King’s Great Whore’ and ‘Lady Concubine’, however always away from both the queen and the king’s ears as well as her supporters, further spreading the rumors of an extramarital affair while the late Queen Aemma still lived and questioning the validity of the legitimacy of their children. Despite rumors spread on her sons legitimacy supported by the queen's supposed lasciviousness, all of Visenya’s children resembled those of her lineage.

In her youth, Visenya was celebrated as ‘the most beautiful creature in the world’ and that there was ‘nothing lacking in her that the most beautiful girl should have’. Ser Alyn of Hull would reflect later in her lifetime that regarding her appearance ‘there were few women who could compete with the Queen in her prime’.

Visenya was fiercely independent, a trait she shared with her mother. Mellos described her as having ambitions to match her pedigree. However, Archmaester Gyldayn notes that Visenya was fully aware that a woman in Westeros could not hold power in her own right. Instead, Visenya orchestrated the rise of her sons.

Capable of acts of extreme ruthlessness, she, in contrast, was also able to demonstrate uttermost kindness and charity.

⁂Issue:

At four and thirty of age by the time of their weeding, Viserys was already considered in his middle age. The union however proved itself to be a happy one, and together they had 14 children, nine sons and five daughters.

Visenya had been taught the importance of receiving an education and came to play an extensive role in her children' education, resulting in the creation of a "superior breed of princes."

Queen Visenya was know to call her children her 'precious jewels', and took great pride in all of them, she was particularly close to the princesses Alyssa and Elaena, however it is said, that from all her children, her favorite was Prince Aegon.

edited on 11/04/2024

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #it's pro team green #kinda #viserys married his own niece #so she's team red #she's the bitch people accuse alicent of being #the children are there in essence #Aemond is the same #mostly #hotd #viserys targaryen x oc #viserys targaryen x reader #tyland lannister #fuck viserys

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bl00dlight · 29 days

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This is how yall bitches got me feeling trying to find good in character Aemond fics in a sea of out of characrer Aemond x mary sue OC Strong neice smut..........we are tired...

#hotd #daenerys targaryen #targaryen #got #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond x strong niece #if i see one more fic where its that fake ass enemies to lovers trope...#he is evil #make him evil and mean #stop uwuing him #he should fucking hate you #self inserts are rotting my brain.

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targcrazies · 1 month

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Spring Wine Pt. 1

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC Premise: Rhaenyra Targaryen, referred to as Rhae by her family, is the heir of her mother, the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. In this Alternate Universe, Rhaenyra has her children with Daemon instead of Harwin and ascends the throne without an armed contest. However, tensions brew elsewhere, as Rhaenyra intends to marry her heir to her second child and oldest son, Jacaerys Velaryon.

WARNINGS: none, for this part, at least.

Part 2

P.S. this is very spontaneous, and i intend to finish off Moonless, Dark Night as well, I've not abandoned it. However, this will be a shorter series with some interesting dynamics to explore, perhaps three to four parts. Hope you all stick to it!

A dark shadow loomed over younger Rhaenyra’s heart; she could little fathom the tenseness the court had taken on. Everyone seemed terse, including her own mother, then the Queen Rhaenyra of the Seven Kingdoms. Stately matters were being dealt with in nature so abrupt that even her father seemed to raise his eyebrows Rhaenyra watched as Jace stood beside their mother, observing every action of his mother with solemnity. Her other brothers - Luke, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys - stood on one side of the court, mawkishly quiet.

“Where’s Rhae?” The Queen spoke, causing Rhaenyra’s heart to jump to her throat.

“Yes Moth- your grace?” She swallowed hard, looking up at her Mother.

“Your betrothed is only meant to be the King Consort, hope you have not forgotten, Rhae.” She looked at Jace, “What decree do we have for the Princess of Dragonstone?”

Jace looked at his mother tensely, swallowing as he unrolled a heavy parchment, “Your Grace, shall I read it aloud?”

“Loud enough for the entire court to hear.”

The boy cleared his throat, sparing his sister a sympathetic glance, “Rhaenyra Velaryon, the Princess of Dragonstone, is to be wed to the Prince Jaecaerys Velaryon on the ninth day of the sixth moon of the year 130 AC and set sail upon Dragonstone. She and her brother-husband shall inherit two dragon eggs each and a treasury of four hundred dragons as a wedding present. Upon the Princess’s taking her rightful seat, she shall, under the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Second of her name, Princess of Dragonstone. The children born from this union shall take their Mother's name.”

An awkward silence spread throughout the court like a disease. The Princess’s lips remained sealed, her mouth mute. When the rest of the court regained their courage to lift their eyes and look at the Princess, their eyes surreptitiously followed hers and landed upon a Targaryen prince. Not the one they had desired though.

The new Master-at-arms of the Iron Throne, Aemond Targaryen, stood quietly behind the four Targaryen princelings, his eye set upon the Princess in return for hers. He looked at her fervently, as if waiting to watch how she responds to the decree her mother had produced via the small council. Little could be made of his face alone, his features hardened, his posture straight, his hands holding on to two of his nephews, Joff’s and young Aegon’s.

The Princess’s lips parted as she breathed out, “Aye, your grace.”

The rest of the court aye’d in unison. The Prince Aemond Targaryen stared at his niece, his face unflinchingly stoic. The Princess looked at him with little emotion of her own, yet some could see a smidge of anguish perhaps. Or, was it fear?

—

“Father?”

“Yes dearest?”

“I do not wish to be wed to Jace.”

Daemon had stopped scribbling on to the parchment when his first trueborn child spoke what he had somewhat began to dread upon taking notice. He set aside the quill and casted his eyes toward her. She stood with her face bowed slightly, her eyes resting upon the brick ground beneath. Daemon recalled often the first time he had made love to Rhaenyra, the night before she had wed Laenor. The seed in her grew, for she claimed fervently that Laenor and she had failed to consummate. There was little room for disbelief as much was known of Laenor’s inclinations. Laenor, relieved at the prospect of a Valyrian-looking child being born to his wife, could object little. Shortly before her birth, Daemon had married Laena Velaryon, and she happily allowed the two to continue their relations so long as her brother’s reputation remained intact. She may bear the Velaryon name, and so do the other boys, but they were wholly Targaryen. Rhae was his first child, his oldest daughter. And, it broke his heart to know he could do little about it.

“You are to inherit the throne, my child. It’d be the most beneficial for you to marry your broth-”

“I want Aemond.” She interrupted, “Please, Father, you must speak to Mother.”

Daemon had seen it coming, he could little deny. He had noticed both the children taking a queer liking to each other. As children, they kept close. As they grew, their proximity came with shyness, hesitation, and lingering touches and gazes. Rhaenyra had taken notice, too. However, she chose to look past it, only ever resoundingly reminding everyone in court that her only daughter and heir and her oldest son must wed.

“Darling,” Daemon sighed, “Your Mother won’t allow it.”

“Why not, Father?” she took a couple steps closer, “He loves me, and I him. We wish to be bound together before the Seven. I do love Jace, but not like that, not at all.”

“Then where’s my nephew? Could he not come with the plea?”

“He waits outside. Both of you have… certain temperaments and I can only deal with so much at once.”

“Now, now, child, do not jape with me.” Daemon laughed, “Well, I’d have invited him in if I could be of any help here, but my hands are tied. I cannot object to the Queen.”

“But you may speak to her, Father.” She insisted, “I cannot marry Jace, it would be most unjust to him.”

“I can assure you, Rhae, that the boy knows.” Daemon stood up, walking toward the large window, looking out at the moon that shone only in half. “He is aware of your feelings, or lack thereof, for him. However, he’s dutiful. That’s required of us.”

“Father, you chose to refrain when duties were imposed upon you.” She walked closer to him, her voice lowering such that no word went beyond the door, “Mother found her way around it, having the four of us with you.”

“And, I am afraid, you must also conduct your affairs similarly, Rhae.” He put a hand on her shoulder, “Your Mother may be Queen, and I may be her hand, but Otto and Alicent Hightower are in some corner of the High Tower, perhaps planning an assault upon King’s Landing to claim it for Alicent’s firstborn son.”

“Uncle Aegon seems pleased to have his castle on the Blackwater Bay.”

“He might be, but not his grandsire. Otto is a greedy, conniving man, whose purpose has always been to have his blood on the throne.”

“You know Aemond is loyal to the Queen. When grandfather passed, he was the one who sent the raven and flew with Vhagar upon Dragonstone, to ensure that the raven was not deterred by anyone opposing Mother’s claim.” She tried to reason, her voice beginning to rise.

“And why do you think he did that?”

Daemon watched as his daughter’s face softened, “Father, he is honoured to be the Master-at-arms, but that was not his primary intent.”

Her father gently shook her head, chuckling under his breath, “You’ll make too good a Queen for the council. They’ll call you Rhaenyra the Simple.”

Her face hardened, “I do not appreciate the slight, Father.”

He put his remaining hand upon his daughter’s other shoulder and leaned closer, “Either you are a simpleton or you choose to turn a blind eye to the fact that your dear uncle Aemond might be Otto’s secondary route to having his blood on the throne.”

Her eyes followed as he drew back and walked away, she walked closer to him and retorted in a hushed tone, “Do you mean to say he does not truly love me?”

“He must like you… a bit. Perhaps, he can even tolerate you. Your temperament is mostly balanced, your tone rarely harsh, your heart kind, and your brain witty enough.”

She glared at her father, her eyes cold, “Father, I may not be as conniving as you are, but I am no simpleton. I am not a child who can be lured into marriage by someone who lusts over the throne.”

“But you are a child, Rhae, you are only six-and-ten.”

“Did you not wed a woman you called horrible names when you were seven-and-ten, to never even touch her or honour her as your wife? Shall I do the same? Would you and Mother like that?”

“Child, do not resort to threatening us.” Daemon raised his finger in gentle rebuke, “Jace is your own brother, not a political alliance we are imposing upon you with a lowly Andal. It is by the grace of your Queen that you were not skipped over and made heir. Do not return her blessing with betrayal.” He walked away from her again, his back now facing her, “The matter is settled, you shall marry your brother.”

Daemon heard closely as his daughter turned on her feet and opened the door. His ears perked when he heard his nephew’s whisper and her shushing. Daemon knew that it was unfair of him to judge the boy so unkindly, but there were incentives the boy could certainly be optimising upon, doubtlessly. Unless the boy made a genuine effort for his daughter, he saw little reason to deviate from the original plan.

—

“Daemon says a match between you and I is unlikely,” she and he sat in Godswood, under the oldest Weirwood tree, “He says it’s a duty I must perform, my wedding to Jace. His implications are laced with worry regarding your grandsire, especially.”

“I have been nothing but loyal, my grandfather has little control over my intent.”

“I communicated that clearly, however, he refuses to accede. He says he cannot even speak with Mother about it.” She sighed, letting her posture relax, “I am beginning to feel like it is all in vain. Either we shall elope, or we shall submit to our duties and commit to each other in our hearts.”

“We surely cannot elope, you have a duty to the realm, no matter what.” Aemond opined, “However, we may conduct whatever we have clandestinely. Even if it produces children, there should be little distinction.”

“Your mother’s lovely locks might make it to one of my children’s crowns. That’d be persecutory.”

“Hers never made it to us. I highly doubt they’d trickle down so far.” He laughed, “You worry so much, darling. If you have to marry Jacaerys, then so be it. I shall follow you to Dragonstone, scout for men and train them.”

Rhae shook her head, “I know Mother, she will want you here.”

“Then I can join the Kingsguard, be sworn to protect you.” She looked at him, her lips pursed,

“No… you deserve to have children in your own name. That would be rather unfair upon you. I can’t subject you to that.”

Aemond gently held her chin, drank her features in, “You’d not be subjecting me to anything. You and I will have children. You can have your heir with Jace, but the rest, we can have together.”

She bit her lip, “I have such love for you, I do not know how to pretend otherwise.”

“I cannot remember a day I haven’t loved you, truly.” He let go of her chin, with much effort, to ensure no one could catch a sight of them so fervent, “Mother kept telling me that you all were the enemies, you and your brothers. Aegon and I had little concerns of the sort. I had none whatsoever. Luke taking out my eye had had an impact, but I believed you when you told me no other harm would come to me from your brothers." He chuckled, "That's how I knew I wanted your Mother to be Queen, such that one day the Conqueror’s crown adorns you. You’d be my Queen and I’d be yours to serve.”

“I have heard little of a man so willing to be subservient to the woman they love and not have her submit.”

“The thought of you as the reigning Queen of the smallfolks and the seven kingdoms – with your heart so kind and your eyes so full – is what seems of good promise to me.”

She took his hand, despite his reservation, and kissed it, “Only if Daemon knew how you think of me.” She laid her cheek upon the knuckles of his hand, “He seems to think that your feelings are ingenuine. It pains me.”

“We might have some time before the wedding… happens. We may be able to come up with a solution by then. But, for now, if my sister asks you to agree to a wedding, you mustn’t refuse.”

“I fear if she has even so much as an inkling, she shall send you far away.”

“Do you think we could speak with Jace?”

“Jace loves me,” she admitted, “And, he also loves his duties. Even if he were to refuse the marriage, he may end up reasoning his decision with our bond to Mother and… that would defeat the purpose.”

He nodded, “Then for now, all we can do is -”

“Wait, think, and hope an opportunity springs up.”

—

Jace was no fool. He had always taken notice of the closeness between his older sister and his younger uncle. However, he had deluded himself into believing that their affections were only friendlike in nature.

Then, at court, as he read the decree and looked at his sister, he knew he’d lost the woman he loved to the man he feared. She loves him, he thought to himself. His eyes were boring holes into his sister’s skull, hoping she looked at him, once. However, she did not, for it seemed like she had forgotten of her brother’s existence. It seemed like, for all that mattered, there was only their uncle who existed in her vicinity.

Jace tried to read his sister’s face, but there was little. Was she contemptuous? Was she livid? Was she envious? Or, was she just plotting? Could the two speak without words, as lovers in lores do? Or did those two just looked into each other’s souls and scoured for words?

Little did he know that she looked at him for strength until he jerked his head in the slightest nod and a loud, strong, clear, “Aye, your Grace.” Left her lips.

He had bit into the inside of his lips and then tasted blood. His Mother, sat on the Iron Throne, showed little care toward his sister. His father walked to Rhae, enveloping her in a hug. Aemond whispered something to the children as the Queen dismissed the court. As the one-eyed Prince exitted, he looked at the Princess, his Rhae, and she at him; and it is almost as if they knew where to find each other upon a single glance.

Jace later discovered that they did. Some corner of the library, deserted and unguarded. He left the moment he heard the ruffling of fabrics and hurried whispers. His hands closed into fists and he rushed to the training grounds. One day, he thought, he might fight his uncle in a duel. If the Seven favoured, he may finish his formidable uncle off in a joust.

#game of thrones #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #aemond one eye

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darceyxx · 29 days

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STRONG BY NAME - Chapter 1

HOTD Masterlist - STRONG BY NAME Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of death, explicit language, mentions of childbirth

Before the Greens and the Blacks went to war, King Viserys Targaryen, the first of his name, intends to keep his family united with a marriage between his second son, Aemond Targaryen, and his granddaughter, Alysanne Velaryon.

Chapter 1 - ALYSANNE

Aemond could not comprehend what he was looking at. A boy of nearly four, his light eyes stared down into the makeshift cribs in the nursery. Two babes bundled up so that all you could see was their pink cheeks, their soft brown eyes, and their tufts of black hair. He had heard his elder brother, Aegon, who was nearing seven, remark that these children could not possibly be true Targaryen's or true Velaryon's. Though he wasn't sure why, he was listening to the words his brother repeated from their mother. The one that had been born first was a boy, named Jacaerys as Lord Corlys had desired it, and was said to be the heir after his own mother. The second-born child had been a daughter. After all, twins did run in the bloodline.

She was Rhaenyra's own heart. A girl to cherish and love. Her own daughter. Within just mere days of greeting her, the Realm's Delight had noticed she hardly cried, she barely bothered anyone. She was happy and content, slept like a dream, and stared up at the person who held her. Rhaenyra was almost sure that her first daughter was always to be named Visenya, after the Queen who was more warrior than lady, a fierce fighter, and a steadfast woman. When the Queen, that is Queen Alicent, had asked to be presented with the children, Rhaenyra was asked what the child's name was. "My wife has chosen Vis-" Ser Laenor began and was interrupted by said wife. "Alysanne," Rhaenyra corrected. She had a feeling that the little Princess was much like her great-great-grandmother.

There the Prince was, staring into the cradle of the young Princess, not even a week old. He felt nothing as he looked at her. Why should he? The baby was unremarkable, nothing special at all. In the corner of the cradle, he spotted the dragon egg that had been placed inside. A tradition set by Queen Rhaena, the eldest sister of King Jaehaerys the First, had been ongoing ever since she placed an egg in the cradle of her brother. The egg had a burgundy shell with bright golden marbling throughout, the gold alive against the red. The bumps over the egg heavily resembled scales. It was yet another reminder to him that his own dragon's egg did not hatch.

The King had surprised the entire room when he announced it was a good idea to betroth the young twins to their first two children, a son named Aegon and a daughter named Helaena. "It will unite our family," Viserys had announced, "Jacaerys to Helaena, and Alysanne to Aegon. In time, Helaena will be a Queen,". Aemond had heard this notion but did not know what to make of it. It did not bother him. He did not understand marriage or much of the Kingdom he was born to. All he knew was that he, as he was now, did not like babies.

As Alysanne grew, she was joined by two more brothers: Lucerys and Joffrey. Like her, they each sported the dark eyes and curls that prompted them to be known as "Lord Strong" and "Lady Strong" by many. It was speculated that all four of Rhaenyra's children had been fathered by Ser Harwin Strong rather than Ser Laenor Velaryon. They resembled nothing close to a Targaryen or a Velaryon, but more to someone of common birth. That being said, many regarded Alysanne as "pretty". She had an oval face, unblemished, with round cheeks and a porcelain complexion. Her lips were naturally full and with a pink hue, her eyes almond-shaped and such a dark shade of brown that they almost looked black. Her dark black hair reached the small of her back and was relatively straight like her mother's, pulled back into many intricate braids while the rest flowed freely. She was slim at the waist with a small frame and standing quite short.

She had learned to read at such an early age and was completely fluent in High Valyrian by the age of six. Her favourite pastime was reading books on history and lore, she could play the harp with ease, and she was graceful in her dancing. She could be both wilful and timid, knowing exactly what to say and do and when and where to do it. Alysanne was gentle and kind. But most of all, Alysanne loved to fly on the back of her dragon, Veraxes. Her charcoal grey dragon, burgundy red wings, black as night claws, all speckled with the same gold the egg once had. If you could not find the Princess, she would be found by the edge of Dragonstone with her dragon, or flying high in the sky above the fortress.

She had become motherly to her youngest brother, Joffrey; directing him during feasts and dances and other occasions. It was always said that Alysanne would become such a wonderful mother when the time came, though the prospect of childbirth frightened the young Princess after seeing her mother's sixth child born. She had been beside her mother at both Aegon's and Viserys' births on Dragonstone.

Before she had left for Dragonstone, she had lived an uneventful life in the Red Keep. Though her Aunt Helaena was five years Alysanne's elder, the former would teach the latter all about the insects she caught, and they would dance together in the evenings. In truth, she loved her aunt but had little love for her uncles. They refused to sit near her, to converse with her, to dance with her, to acknowledge her. While they openly mocked her brothers with bastardy, only Aegon would say the same of Alysanne while Aemond simply nodded his head. He didn't like girls but Alysanne was always kind, no matter what. When Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Aegon had gifted Aemond with the "Pink Dread", the Princess was sympathetic and stated that he would have a dragon one day. She felt it in her bones.

And then the year 120 AC came and with it, tragedies. The Lord of Harrenhal and current Hand of the King, Lord Lyonel Strong, had perished in a fire at his fortress along with his firstborn son and heir, Ser Harwin Strong, the man rumoured to be the father of Rhaenyra's first four children. Jacaerys confided in his sister that their mother had admitted the truth of the matter. The young Princess refused to believe it to start with before she finally saw how different she looked compared to her supposed father and her mother. Secondly came the news of her aunt's death in Pentos during a difficult labour which produced a stillborn son.

Thirdly came the loss of Aemond's eye after he had claimed the late Lady Laena Velaryon's dragon, Vhagar. Alysanne had seen nothing of the fight but later had been told that it was Lucerys who had taken a blade to Aemond's eye, that he had been defending Jacaerys and their twin cousins, Baela and Rhaena Targaryen. The Prince remained adamant that it was worth losing the eye for such a mighty dragon.

And lastly was the death of her father, Ser Laenor. It had come unexpectedly after the funeral of his sister. Alysanne had been distant from her father over the years, considering he would rather be in the training yard with his squires or on the seas on an exciting voyage. Though she loved him dearly, she began to feel more angry that Ser Harwin was gone rather than Ser Laenor.

By the end of the year, Rhaenyra had moved her four children to Dragonstone and married her father's brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, who had been the husband of the late Laena Velaryon and was the father of Baela and Rhaena. It was declared from Dragonstone that Jacaerys was to wed Baela and Lucerys was to wed Rhaena, that the once agreement of Alysanne and Aegon being wed was void for he would wed his sister, Helaena, two years later. Princess Alysanne thrived on Dragonstone, thinking fondly of her uncle, Aemond, and her aunt, Helaena, and her grandsire, the King.

Mere months after gaining her fifth brother, Alysanne and the entire family received the invitation to attend the wedding of Aegon and Helaena soon, and with an announcement to be made.

Banners/Dividers credit @firefly-graphics & @cafekitsune

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dentelledemadame · 1 month

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THE DARKEST HOUR

Relationships: Aemond Targaryen & Original Female Character

Warnings: Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Alternate Universe, Dark Psychology, Morally Grey, Nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, Religious Conflict, Psychological Torture, Personality Breakdown, Regret, Guilt, Nostalgia, Memories, Drug, Addiction, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, Sexual Dysfunction, Pre-Canon

In the darkness that gargles the abysses of consciousness, squeezing out malice and rage. In memories that have absorbed dust and blood. In chronic hatred. And in searing pain.

From hurt to hatred, from grievances to retribution, from agony to violence.

To a world that is burning to the ground.

AO3

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whereismymindnow · 4 months

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o.0

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itsladyliv · 5 months

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today i am here with a little something for @fkevin073 who is writing so beautifully a Jacaerys x OC fanfic called bury my heart next to yours on AO3 ❤️❤️❤️ (which is kind of an AU based on another amazing work of hers that you guys should really check out!) and honestly,, it's only four chapter now but it has taken over my mind and i just HAD to do something alright

this is entirely based on my 4 a.m. speculation but if anything i am right that aemond's jealousy will NOT be as cute when he grows up

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fioiswriting · 6 months

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Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew.

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded. He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt. It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation. A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges. And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled. Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders. Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it. He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell. Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost. King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you. Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor. You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back. It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead. It must have been your imagination. You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest. Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets. And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal. You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him. You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be. You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you. You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin. Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall. Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench. You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him. A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly. Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind. A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy. Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion. You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit. He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him. He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence. You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious.

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.

He doesn't let go of you.

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him. It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him. You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other. Your hands are buried in his long silver hair. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry. You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.

You need him.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears. You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him. It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting. For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth. You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie. You know you should lie. To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years. You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not."

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye. It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words. You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath.

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe. It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity. Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him. You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know." Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence. He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 3 months

Text

The Blood is Rare

Summary: Aemond has always loathed his niece, and the feeling is very much mutual | Words: 3.3k | Warnings below the cut!

Warnings: a lot of talk of illegitimacy, hatefucking, dubcon, choking, slight knife play, biting, bitta blood, incest (character is described with strong features), p in v sex, baby trapping?

There was no plate at his spot at the table. No knife to tempt him. He would not break bread with those he could not trust.

Like an animal atop high ground, he sits rigid at the head of the table, on the outside unnervingly calm. But he watches with a keen eye the prey that sits at the other end.

She shares many features with her mother. His whore-sister. Her stubbornness, her determined gaze and the nervous twisting of the rings on each of her fingers into the bargain.

Had she not the dark brown, near-black shade of waved hair atop her head and bright, clear blue eyes of the former Commander of the City Watch, his niece and his sister would look nearly identical.

Unfortunately, they both shared his hatred for them as well.

He loathed the idea of them all. The birth of one mere brown-haired bastard was enough, and yet there were three of them, sat together in unification, as if to put up defences against the opposite side of the table, dotted with the moonlight-silver of Alicent Hightower’s children.

He smirked at the thought that she came mere hours after Jace. That she was unplanned. Unwanted. And yet here she existed, sitting with her eyes fixed on a flickering candle, trying to drown out the laughs, smiles and the oddity that was all of them all gathered together, enjoying one another’s company.

He knew as well as she did. It was the only thing they had in common. That they could see through this charade.

Aemond wondered if she had always seen it. Understood it. The strife that would happen between them. Perhaps she was a dreamer and could envisage the future before it had even happened.

She was a melancholic, hateful little thing. Born with fire and fury.

He supposed if anything, she was still the daughter of a Targaryen.

Aemond swore she was a witch of sorts. For she must have felt his gaze on her, and her clear eyes were illuminated by the dancing flame as they met him. Her expression unchanged.

His smirk grew that they felt the same about each other.

He was the cunt son of Alicent Hightower.

And she was the Strong bastard of his whore-sister.

Not breaking eye contact, she raised her chin, looking down at him over her nose, huffing as she turned away to sip from the cup on her small, delicate fingers.

Stuck up cunt.

The atmosphere shifted considerably as Viserys groaned, a frail hand raised to the injured portion of his face, to which Aemond felt a sick sense of delight. The guards swiftly carried him away by each corner of his chair.

And the gap between Rhaenyra and Alicent seemed to push each side away further. Irreparably so.

His niece did not appreciate his tribute to her and her brothers.

Throughout the evening, she had said few words apart from mumbled whispers to Daemon on her right and Luke on her left. But when Aemond stood to speak, he revelled in her undivided attention. In those angry eyes, he saw not only a loathing for him, but a loathing at the truth of what she was.

A loathing that he was right, and she knew it.

She seemed almost as disappointed as her mother when Jace struck him weakly.

And before Daemon could place himself between the warring factions of their family, he watched the Strong Princess march angrily away, her skirts in her hands, flashing a stern glare before she left.

Her eyes were all he could think about, with her face anchored in the firm grip of his fingers.

He thought she was so small and fragile, that he could just squeeze and break her little jaw, her bones clattering between his fingers like pebbles. And yet she still looked at him with such fire, that only one of Targaryen blood would be able to throw.

She looked at him like he was the most loathsome creature she had ever seen.

The passageway Aemond had her cornered into was stifling and suffocating, forcing them to breathe the same humid air in anger. He saw her face redden where he had her in his grasp, her glossy lips slightly parted to breathe.

“I will extend you the courtesy of assuming there is a very good reason why you have your hands on me like this, Uncle.”

He almost wants to laugh right in her face, despite what she said not meaning to be funny. She is so frail, and yet roars so loudly.

“There is.”

Her jaw muscles tighten in frustration, shuffling backwards though there is nowhere to go.

“Then, I dare say your reason will not be good enough.”

Aemond allows his gaze to roam over her face. Up close, she really and truly is the picture of her mother, with her father's unfortunate features to her disadvantage in her colouring.

“I merely wished to see the colour of your eyes, mandianna.”

“To make some cruel jape no less, I am sure.”

He grins at the way she takes a sharp breath when he tugs her face towards him slightly. And he swears he sees the pupils within the clear blue of her eyes widen as he does, and wonders if he is having the same effect swelling at the forbidden place between her thighs.

“You wound me, sweet niece. A man cannot simply appreciate the beauty of a woman? Does there always have to be some cruel intent?”

“With you, there must be.”

He somewhat loosens his grip on her face, fingers trailing down her neck, the glint of her earrings catching his eye. She visibly shivers at his touch there.

The most venomous expression sits on her face, and she does not miss a beat. Too clever and witty for her own good.

“Do not insult my intelligence, Uncle. I know what depraved thoughts bat around inside your head, and they are not original. A family trait perhaps.”

He hums, more amused than curious, but perhaps with a smattering of both, “And what of you?”

Her perfect little lips part to speak before his thumb trails down the column of her throat, long fingers wrapped around her neck to her nape. The threat of what he could do making her go quiet.

“What depraved thoughts bat around in your head, sweet niece?”

Silence wraps around them like a rope, tightening with the fibres cracking against their skin. Hot and suffocating all at once. And all Aemond can hear is the steady rhythm of her breathing, his eye wandering down to the necklace perched on her chest as her lungs erratically suck in air.

“It is treason to question my virtue.”

She swallows as his thumb presses on the centre of her throat, as if testing if she is indeed real.

“It may be treason to question your virtue, but it is not treason to question your honesty,” he replies coolly. Aemond can feel her pulse fluttering beneath her skin, the barely-contained rage on her face hidden only by a blanket of courtesy, “a maiden does not allow herself to be alone like this with another man.”

Aemond found himself, a man who had sparred with Ser Criston Cole for a large portion of his life, a man who as a child had claimed the largest dragon in the world and a man who had dealt with the burning pain of losing his eye, and the shame that he carried alongside it, was shocked into brief silence when his niece’s small, delicate palm echoed off his cheek.

It was not the force of it that stunned him so, but rather the shock that she had chosen to do it, with his hand around her neck and his frame blocking her escape.

The little dragon had felt threatened and given him a warning clip.

Aemond felt the warmth bloom on his cheek and smirked. She had slapped him on his bad side, where she knew it would sting the most. For a split second, white, hot pain nipped at the temples of his head as he turned back to face her, and saw that look on her face.

That she knew she’d made a mistake, but was too angry or proud to admit it.

Or perhaps she was both.

Excitement wriggled and rolled in his stomach at the whimper that escaped her lips, using the force of his grip around her tiny throat to force her back, muscles and bones rolling against the stone walls where she was trapped, and those clear, curious eyes darting back at him with distaste. And he was pleased to see, a sprinkling of horror and panic.

“That was a mistake,” he mused, pressing himself closer to her, his hand firm around her throat despite her own attempting to pry them off him. His other hand reached down, shifting her up the cold wall, and gathered her heavy skirts in his palm, and rucked them frustratingly up towards her hip.

He revelled in the terror that crossed her face, a smirk winding its way to his sharp features.

“How exhilarating,” he pondered, “to take something that you are not willing to give.”

“I will scream”.

“Then scream. I will say it was you who seduced me,” he bit back, watching her face and expressions that crossed them, “And who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter of a whore?”

He could feel her breath against his face, soothing the spot where she had struck him not a moment before. Aemond blinked slowly at the woman in his grip, apparently attempting to decide for herself whether it was worth the fight.

Or perhaps something else.

Aemond grinned, “like mother like daughter.”

And he enjoyed the fire it stoked in her eyes.

“You will let me go-”

He shook her neck in his grip, as if to make her be quiet. And it seemed to shock and scare her, for she closed her eyes to steel herself, “And then what will you do? Run? Scream? Or will you do something stupid enough to give me an excuse to make everything you’ve ever said about me, truth?”

Her jaw tightened looking at him, feeling cornered, but a strange ache between her thighs.

“You threaten me, Uncle?”

His dagger sliced the very air between them, pressing the tip to the column of her throat where his thumb had branded her not moments before, tracing the shape of her skin. His niece froze, her breath trembling and her head pressed to the wall, as if to try and pull herself feebly away from threat.

This very dagger was an extension of Aemond himself. As if his hand were still touching her but with a pointed edge. And he wondered if he sliced her skin, even just a little, would she bleed like him?

There was something there in her eyes as he looked between them. Her breath came in shallow gasps. And Aemond was willing to bet that deep down, beneath the demure veil she hides herself behind, peeking through, that she is wet and ready for him between her silky thighs.

“You are clever, dear niece,” he all but whispers, trailing the blade down to the neckline of her dress, the rich fabric yielding to it, “but not as clever as you think you are.”

She swallowed thickly as his blade teased the tied bindings to her dress, playing with the double-tied knots as if they were strings of a lute, and he was playing her easily. He plucked one, and then two, watching her face the entire time.

“You believe yourself a proper little Princess, do you not?” he asks, his voice low, almost feline in nature, his face so close to hers she can make out the stitchings of his eyepatch, “hair decorated with gold. Fingers adorned with rubies. Wrapped in lavish dresses.”

She flinched as he flicked his wrist, severing the second to last tie holding two sides of her gown together.

“But pull one little thread, and you unravel -” his tone deepens, forcing her to listen to every little syllable, his gaze boring into hers, “-and all you are…is a wanton, bastard, whore.”

She attempted to push his body away, but his dagger clattered to the floor, holding her easily by her wrists, near-painfully pressing them to the stone wall behind her. It happened so quickly. Lips, teeth and tongue fought as if in battle, and Aemond held her there for him, pressing his rapidly hardening length against her clothed womanhood, rolling his hips against hers to search for that delicious, forbidden friction.

It did not seem to him that she was fighting him, but rather fighting how he made her feel.

Her lips were velvety, moist and soft as his anchored hers apart to taste her, once having a split second’s worth it was never enough. Every little breath and whimper and he wanted to make them louder, make her submit, a part of him intoxicated by her when her teeth grazed his bottom lip, and bit on him, only for her tongue to soothe the area afterwards.

Aemond thought of what would happen, if he devoured her wholly, pressed so hard against her that it was difficult to fathom where either of them began and ended.

His lips moved along her jaw. She smelled of whatever oils were combed through her hair. Camomile and something sweet perhaps. Quickly his hand left her wrist to ruck her heavy skirts up to her waist, feeling her shiver at the touch he left behind with the brief touch of his fingertips where no man had touched before.

“Fight back,” Aemond dared, a mere whisper against her neck where he left his bruise-like mark.

He met her gaze, looking into her bright eyes and allowed his grip on her to slowly relax, waiting to see if she would push away. Scream and run, as she had previously promised. And while her jaw was still tense and eyes aflame with hostility, he swore he saw her pupils dilate.

“Just get on with it.”

The surging heat in his stomach distracted him briefly from acting cocky, his fingers fumbling to untie his breeches while keeping her elevated. And it felt as if his body was thinking before his mind when he looked between them to see her hefty skirts bunched at her hip, and one smooth leg on display, pulling his achingly hard cock free and tucking himself between the soft haven between her thighs.

She could pretend she desired him not all she liked, but when their gazes met in fire and fury, finding that in all of their fighting and struggling she was soaking wet, Aemond pushed against her entrance until she welcomed him, sliding within her tight, choking walls with a low groan batted against her neck.

She whined at both the intrusion and his tight grip on her thigh, one hand elevating it so that he could begin pushing up brutally into her. Shame rose to her cheeks as she closed her eyes tightly, finding the wet smack of their skin rousing that tightness in her belly.

It was both embarrassing and hateful that she found herself enjoying this, and that she let him first of all.

And all she could see above her when she opened her eyes was him, his lips parted to breath as if he was holding some beastly form of himself back, his hair spilling like rays of moonlight over his shoulders with every thrust into her weeping cunt and the way his lone eye never strayed from her expression, not for a second.

That is until Aemond felt as if not only he wanted to own her shame and her body, but wanted to show it too, and leaned forward to graze his teeth on the skin that was now exposed by the ever loosening shoulders of her dress, and sink his teeth in to mark her.

The sound that came from her was between a grunt and a moan, as his position changed the angle of his hips and the blunt head of his cock sparking pleasure deep inside her.

“Fucking…hate you…” is all she managed, feeling the top of his canine break the skin just slightly. Her voice clung to that flat, stoic hatred, and she hated that it sounded as if she were about to fall apart.

If it were possible, he increased the intensity of his movements, pushing up into her mercilessly and drawing feminine, soft whines from her mouth. Sounds he wasn't even sure before his niece was capable of making.

“I adore your fire, sweet niece,” he muses lowly, tracing her jaw with his lips, “I adore how much you think you hate me.”

She does hate him, she tries to think. But every thought that appears is swiftly batted away by the incessant rhythm of his cock pistoning in and out of her, the depraved sounds betraying how she truly feels. An internal war Aemond can clearly see.

“Do you like this? Do you like how much I hate you? How much I want to hurt you?”

Yes.

A thought rung in her mind that she wanted him to hurt her more, so that she could just feel something from him aside from the way he stretched her walls around him so deliciously.

The soreness of his girth is something she had not expected to be a problem, a lapse of thought that she will no doubt be paying for the next morning.

But this, this was a core lapse of morals, surely. Allowing him to do this to her.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh, as if pulling her to meet his cock halfway, feeling the way his body shuddered at the closeness of completion evident on his face.

Aemond grinned wolfishly, “You like this. We both know it.”

He thrusted into her so forcefully that she had no choice but to hold onto him, clinging to his leather-clad shoulder tightly when he met her fleshy end, her insides involuntarily squeezing around him in both pain and pleasure.

His hand came to her neck, clamping down experimentally on her windpipe, and groaning deeply at the way her cunt sucked him in as he did. Forcing her chin up so those traitorous blue eyes met his, he grinned.

Hateful little cunt.

Her peak crept up her spine first, feeling as if the sensation was melting her muscles where they sat inside her body. And then her lips parted in a soundless scream, pitifully moving her hips towards his to encourage the feeling to crest until it rushed out of her with a feeble whine, “uncle…”

Not only was the feeling of her quivering, velvety walls enough to convince him, but the way she called him that while he was so deep inside her, threatening for relief, was so erotic it did not feel depraved in the slightest.

But nothing was better than that wide-eyed, colourful expression of panic, distaste, hate and anxiety when he deliberately planted his seed inside of her. Aemond was sure there was no better feeling, bad intentions or no, her blood felt good on him, his teeth and cock alike.

All he could imagine was what dynasty could be created from such a house of revulsion. To watch this hateful little creature swell with his child, a true Targaryen. Only to put on the same stoic, flat expression which he knew was untrue when he'd fuck her again, and again, and again.

What flame flickered under that expression of hers, he wondered. What stone was hidden in the centre of her peachy, soft exterior. A heart, perhaps.

She didn't have to like it, this dance between them. But when he put her down and watched his spend trickle down her thighs, he would have her come to love it.

She existed for this. Whatever it was. He was sure of that.

“Well, little dragon,” he whispered, “the bastard daughter of a whore, with another growing within her?”

She swallowed around his hand as he tugged her face closer to his.

“Or burn with me.”

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buckybarnesb-tch · 5 months

Note

Can you please write a fic for that Aemond kidnapping his niece to marry her moodboard.

His Stolen Princess -Aemond T.

(Of course I can. That’s not the kind of request my fucked up mind turns down🤣)

Aemond had always needed her, ever since they were children. She was 2 years younger than him but Y/n had always been the only one to treat him kindly, always punching her brothers for their bitchy “jokes” that she hated just as much as Aemond did.

Y/n didn’t have a dragon either, but unlike Aemond she wasn’t teased for it, neither her mother Rhaenyra nor Alicent would tolerate boys teasing a Princess in any way, and Y/n was also deathly afraid of dragons. The only one she wasn’t afraid of was ironically Caraxes, Daemon dragging her onto his back many times as a child. The Bloodworm adored the small Targaryen quite a bit, Aemond had a sneaking suspicion it was because Daemon was Y/n’s father and his dragon knew it just as well as everyone else, though no one commented on it for fear of Viserys’ wrath. The only time Daemon got to spend with her was riding Caraxes when he visits the Keep so Aemond assumes that’s why his Uncle put in the extra effort to make her comfortable with the red dragon.

Aemond had made her promise that she would do the same with his dragon some day, he would take her riding, of that he was sure! She actually seemed quite excited about it, probably more so about her Uncle getting what he wanted so badly, more than anything in the world.

The night that Aemond mounted Vhagar, Y/n had been with him (on the dunes and far from the dragon) and she was so happy for him, running to wrap her arms around him as he stepped away from the she-dragon. Vhagar seemed to inspect her momentarily before groaning and laying down to go back to sleep. She had stuck by him against her brothers and cousins when they declared Vhagar to be Rhaena’s to claim, insisting you can’t call dibs on a dragon. Aemond had been the one to shove her to the ground, away from the fighting so that she wouldn’t get hurt. She had gotten back up anyway, jumping at Luke the second after he had sliced his eye open, ending up with a deep and jagged cut along her neck as she hit him repeatedly until his face was black and blue, a guard pulling her off when Jace couldn’t.

She held Aemonds hand the entire time he was getting stitched up, barely able to ignore the adults or the maester stitching her painful injury on the side of her neck, one Aemond felt terrible about as he failed to protect her. As always she assured him he had done nothing wrong and stayed by his side, eventually drifting off to sleep cuddled into him in the oversized chair. He took the rare opportunity to wrap his arms around her and pull her small body as close as he possibly could, glaring at Jace who was the only one who seemed to be watching their snuggling.

He hadn’t been able to object when Daemon took her from him, the stern man giving him a look that dared him to wake her by making a scene, Daemon being the only person in the world that actually scared him. He hadn’t been able to object to her boarding a boat later that morning either as he had been drugged with milk of the poppy for his pain and put to bed by his mother. He raged for days about not seeing her, violently angry at not getting to say goodbye, as well as all of his letters going ignored (thanks to Rhaenyra deciding Aemond and Y/n’s relationship was over). Y/n never forgave her mother for that, or for how much (like Rhaenyra’s father had loved her the most of all his children) Rhaenyra adored her brothers more than she ever loved Y/n.

It was many years later, 8 to be exact, when Aemond was 8 and 10 that he finally heard about Y/n again, Rhaenyra apparently putting out the word that now that her daughter was 6 and 10, she was looking for a suitor. The rage that built in Aemond burned hotter than dragon fire, his blood was boiling and Alicent pleaded with her son not to do anything drastic as he stormed from the room that his mother and sister were playing with Helaena’s twin boys in. He dressed in all black, before escaping away on Vhagar that evening.

It was pitch black out, somewhere in the early hours of the morning that Aemond arrived at Dragonstone. He hadn’t spent a large amount of time there, but he knew where Y/n’s room was and sneaking around the sleeping guards after landing Vhagar on the far side of the island was far too easy. Aemond made a mental note to keep her far safer when she was his wife, not willing to risk his wife and children’s lives as Rhaenyra was clearly willing to do with her children. He briefly contemplated sneaking in and killing Luke while he was here but he wouldn’t risk causing a commotion too early and not being able to sneak away. The last thing he needed with a sleepy bride on his dragon with him, was a battle in the sky.

He snuck into her room, shutting the door quietly behind him and saw her sleeping soundly in her bed. She was beautiful, prettier than he could have imagined as he sat on the edge of the bed, stroking the side of her face gently as he used to do to wake her up for their morning classes.

‘Open those eyes Byka Zaldrīzes, your Prince has come for you.’ He whispered, leaning over her and seeing her lashes flutter before she fought through the drowsy confusion and realized who he was.

‘Aemond? Is this another dream?’ She mumbled, sitting up slightly and staring at him.

‘You dream of me often Byka Zaldrīzes?’ He wondered and she nodded.

‘I always dream of you Kepa, I have missed you for so long!’ She lunged forward, hugging around his neck and he pushed through the dirty thoughts his mind came up with as he felt her chest pressed against his in her sheer night gown. ‘Wait, what are you doing here?’ She questioned, pulling away but he didn’t let her get far as his arms still held her.

‘I’ve come to steal you away, my love. I could not allow your mother to give away my bride. After all, we’re already married.’ Her eyes widened and she giggled at the mention of their fake wedding they had when they were 7 and 5, promising themselves to each other one day when they were old enough.

‘I wish you could Kepa, but I am to be married to Cregan Stark, mother has already arranged it. I am to freeze the rest of my life away in a castle so far North I’ll never see flowers bloom again.’ He could see how unhappy she was about it and he knew he could convince her. He would take her if he had to, and technically people would believe that either way, but he didn’t want her to hate him, Aemond wanted Y/n to adore him as she always had, as he had always loved so much. ‘However, it’s my duty-‘

‘What about your duty to me? The promises we made-‘

‘Childish promises cannot be upheld Aemond, no matter how desperately we wish they could, and our Mothers would never let us marry!’

‘My mother has agreed, if you come back to Kings Landing with me, to your home, we will get married in the ways of old Valyria, like you always wanted…will the Stark idiot give you that? I think not…do you not love me anymore-‘

‘Don’t ever say that!’ She exclaimed and he shushed her quickly. ‘You are my one true love Kepa, you always were and you always will be…but I have a duty-‘

‘As do I, yet my mother sees how much you mean to me and she has given me her blessing…your mother does not care about the happiness of her daughter, which is odd considering how strongly she felt about choosing who she married, but she knows who you would choose, and so she forces you…come with me. We will be wed the moment we return and by the time your mother figures it out it will be too late, I will surely have consummated our marriage and you’ll be stuck with me. You’re mine Little Princess, no matter what they say, and I’m taking you with me.’ He had pushed her back and leaned over her in the bed as he spoke, hands on her waist while now pressing his lips over the deep scar on her neck and hearing her gasp. ‘I know I excite you…does that Stark excite you the way I do? Hmm? Does he make your heart race and your cunt drip? Do you touch yourself while you think of him like I know you do me?’ Y/n whimpered as Aemond continued kissing up her jaw, sucking on a spot that made her moan like a silk street whore, leaving a dark purple bruise in his wake before pressing his lips to hers, his nieces arms wrapping around his neck tightly. ‘You know that you’re mine. Don’t you?’

‘Kepa…’

‘You’re mine Little Princess, no matter what they tell you…and I’m taking you with me one way or another. Come willingly and enjoy your life with me, because I desperately want to wake to you in my arms tomorrow, ravaged and happy, with my son growing in your needy little womb.’ She whined as his hand trailed to her belly, pressing over where his children will grow inside of her. ‘You want that, don’t you? How many did you say we would have? 4? Imagine how gorgeous you’ll look carrying my babies, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you. Neither will anyone else, I’ll be cutting off hands left and right of the men who would take you from me…we must go, before I ruin you here and now.’ Aemond pressed his lips to hers one last time before pulling away and standing, holding his hand out to her and waiting as she stared up at him, grabbing his hand and allowing him to sweep her into his arms. He quickly grabbed her heavy black cloak and closed the door behind them silently again, getting back out of the castle and only having to avoid 2 guards. ‘You’ll be much better protected when we get home. My Little Princess will never worry about anything again in her life.’ He promised, walking back down to where Vhagar rested, waiting for her rider to return. Y/n stiffened in his arms when she saw the large dragon, nails digging into him as he approached her. ‘Relax, she won’t harm you. She knows how much I love you, she has since the moment you hugged me on the beach.’ Vhagar looked at her but didn’t seem bothered before Aemond suddenly swung her over his shoulder.

‘Aemond! I can climb myse-‘

‘Nonsense! I will not have you falling! You’re alright right where you are!’ He knew he was impressing her with just how strong he was, hauling them both up onto the dragon without even breathing heavily. ‘Now, hold on.’ He instructed, setting her in front of him on the saddle and wrapping her up in the heavy cloak to fight back the chilly wind that is above the clouds.

Upon their return, Aemond instantly had everyone ready to witness their marriage, Alicent having been prepared for exactly this. It was quick, but perfect for his Princess, and he adored seeing her smiling face through the entire ceremony before he hauled her into his arms once again and whisked her back to their chambers.

‘I’m going to fuck you so full you be dripping for days!’ He swore, dropping her onto the bed and peeling off his clothing instantly, her eyes going wide as she saw him bare for the first time. ‘You are just perfectly innocent, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am! You think I would give myself to anyone but my husband?’ He could see she was offended by the mere thought and he couldn’t stop the chuckle.

‘Never, you are my sweet little Princess, of course you are all mine.’ Aemond climbed over her and shoved the skirts up her waist, exposing her completely for him, throwing the dress away from the bed. ‘You are everything I have always dreamed of, since we were children I have craved you and that has never changed…I’m going to devour you, my sweet Dragon.’ He could feel how wet she was as he guided the head of his cock up and down her slit several times before pushing his way into her. He clenched his teeth as he heard her give a sharp gasp in pain, knowing he needed to be gentle. He had only ever done this once before and it was a terrible experience for him, his brother taking him to a brothel but Y/n was wetter, and tighter, so tight on his cock it almost hurt as he bottomed out inside of her and held himself over her, brushing her hair from her eyes and focusing on them until she was able to relax. Her arms wound around his neck as he pulled back and then pushed back into her several times. As he pushed himself into her body harder he could hear her whines in his ear, his cock twitching at the mere thought of making his Princess feel good on his cock, a feat no one but he would ever accomplish.

‘Aemond! Oh F-Fuck! Aem-I feel…’

‘Good girl Princess, cum for me! Finish with my cock thrusting into you, deeper than anything has ever been!’

‘Oh God-‘

‘Not God! No, I am your husband! Husband…Uncle…and in this room I am your King! You are going to cum all over my cock because your King demands it!’

‘Yes! Yes-Please-‘

‘Now!’ As he growled out that last demand the tight feeling that he was convinced couldn’t squeeze him harder, did, and he felt his cock twitching hard.

‘Yes! Please? Make me yours Aemond! Fill me up my King!’

That threw him over the edge. His perfect little niece that he had craved nearly their whole lives, the one that had been stolen from him, that he had to steal back in the dead of night, and here she is begging to be full of his sons and calling him “King”? He is in love!

‘You’re trembling.’ She mumbled in his ear as he collapsed against her shaking in his post orgasm bliss, face nuzzled into her neck.

‘Mine. All mine now little Niece, nothing can take you from me…all mine.’ He swore, knowing that no matter what Daemon and Rhaenyra did, they could never take her from him again.

If they tried, he would have his dragon burn their world to the ground.

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flowerandblood · 28 days

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The Fall from the Heavens (19)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of sex, manipulation, angst ]

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* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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She didn't have a clue what made her feel an unpleasant constriction in her stomach when she saw the Iron Throne out of the corner of her eye. She stopped, looking at it, standing in the half-light in the distance of the great throne room, illuminated only by the light of the torches.

She thought with pain and bitterness that everything that had happened, everything they had had to sacrifice and fight for, was only because of someone being able to sit on it and declare themselves the only legitimate ruler.

Greed flowed through the veins of Targaryens as much as fire and blood, she thought with dismay.

Sunk in her thoughts, she headed for the throne room, thinking in the back of her mind that even if her father and mother agreed to come to an agreement to build a truce on the foundation of their marriage, if she did not bear her uncle a son, her husband's faction would surely begin plotting against her mother despite the agreement.

Even if her husband remained faithful to her, she could never fully trust him, be sure that he was on her side.

The perpetual thought of betrayal was destroying her from the inside.

She knew that in a matter of days her moon bleeding should begin and she knew what it would mean.

Disappointment and danger.

This was why, every morning for the last few days, before she had even had time to truly wake up, she had sunk her hand between her thighs, feeling her insides clench with fear and terror as she sensed the moisture under her fingers, which then turned out to her relief to be only her wetness mingled with her husband's spend.

It made her draw in a loud breath and smile, for a moment believing that maybe a miracle would happen.

That the gods by making his seed take root in her womb would also indicate to the kingdom that what they wanted to do met with their approval.

Later in the day, however, all it took was for her to feel a discomfort in her lower abdomen, a slight sting or pain, a wetness between her thighs and a cold sweat would fall over her again. She would then lose her appetite and although she ate her morning meal in the presence of her husband, she would later lie that she had eaten a second meal during his training and duties.

She was unable to swallow anything out of fear.

She had the feeling that later when he took her, already as her legitimate husband, something inside her broke, all her terror, her doubts and despair spilled out of her like a rushing river.

She was afraid of his reaction, afraid of his certainty that it was impossible for them not to have succeeded in begetting an heir even though her whole body screamed that it could have been different, that it could be months or years before it happened, and they did not have that much time.

His words, however, took her completely by surprise.

You need to calm down.

Come to terms as I do with whatever the will of the heavens decides.

She didn't know why she suddenly felt burning tears under her eyelids, why her lower lip began to tremble, why her throat squeezed so tightly at the wonderful thought that he understood that no matter how much she begged the gods for their mercy, she had no control over what would happen.

He let her know that whatever would come to pass, he would not blame her.

That he would consider it the will of the gods and not her failure.

She made love to him for the second time that night in his chamber, the embrace of his strong arms tighter than usual, the touch of his hands more tender, his lips finding hers again and again in sticky, greedy kisses as the deep thrusts of his hips forced his swollen manhood into her.

Even though she was a prisoner, she felt free, even though her enemy was taking her, she felt safe, even though some part of her thought it a betrayal, she loved him deeper than ever before.

Her lover.

Her husband.

Her friend.

She hadn't understood when she was still a child how important was the bond they had created then, the long hours they spent at night in conversation, in discussions, sometimes even arguments, after which, however, they always found each other again, realizing that they didn't have to agree on all issues.

She realised, lying with her face cuddled into his naked chest, holding her hand over his lazily beating heart, enveloped tightly in his arms with her legs entwined with his, that although at the time, in the context of their future marriage, what they were doing seemed unimportant, it appeared that it was in fact the foundation of everything that had happened between them many years later.

Had it not been for the trust and affection they had for each other then, they would not have been able to find their way in this reality that faced them now.

"I am truly fond of you, uncle." She said softly, sitting in one of the chairs in his chamber facing him, similarly engrossed in her reading, swinging her legs that did not reach the ground. She realised, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, that she had never told him this and she was not sure he had ever heard such words from anyone.

He lifted his gaze to her and furrowed his eyebrows, as if for a moment he did not understand what she had said; his face expressed consternation and embarrassment, as if he was unsure whether he should respond as a man to such a confession.

However, he apparently decided after a moment that since it was not an overwhelming confession of girlish deep love, but a simple expression of affection, he could also express his opinion on the matter.

"Well…I'm fond of you too." He replied cautiously and grunted, turning back to his book, pretending to concentrate on his reading with all his might – she could see the vein in his neck pulsing rapidly, betraying his excitement.

"What do you appreciate most about me? I, for one, value in you that you know so many things and always listen to me attentively. When I don't know something, you don't mock me but explain everything to me. I like it when you teach me and when you look at my embroidery, when you choose the ones you find most beautiful. I am very grateful then." She said quickly on one exhale, swallowing loudly, overjoyed that he had responded to her words, wanting to take advantage of this and convey to him as much as possible at once, which of course overwhelmed him as he did not look at her for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line.

It seemed to her that he was trying to hold back a smile, but she didn't know why.

He did a lot of things she didn't understand and refrained from emotional statements or gestures, however, it didn't bother her.

That was just the way he was.

She heard him swallow hard, gathering up the courage to reply something, pretending to look at what he was reading, although she was sure his mind was just analysing everything she had told him carefully.

"Well. I must admit that I also appreciate in you that you never mock me and listen attentively to what I have to say. I am fond of your presence, simply put." He muttered, clearly feeling that he was drowning more and more with every word he spoke, settling back in his chair a little, lifting his book higher, not wanting her to look at his face any longer.

She smiled contentedly then, happy, and went back to her reading without disturbing him any further.

She remembered that day exactly, for when she had escaped to him as she did every night, hiding under his bedclothes, she had fallen asleep almost immediately, tired after her long day full of duties. He waited apparently for her to fall asleep, hoping she wouldn't feel it as his hand touched her cheek, as his lips pressed against hers in a warm, soft, tender kiss.

She didn't move or open her eyes, feeling the heat in her lower abdomen, her heart began to pound like mad with delight, for he had never kissed her first before, never kissed her like this before.

She thought of that night and that day as she watched him standing on the other side of the chamber in the morning, his servant helping him dress his black, leather tunic while her maid tied the bodice of her gown.

Their gazes met for a moment and she saw him sigh heavily, unhappy at the thought of what awaited them.

Borros Baratheon.

The Lord of Storm's End appeared in King's Landing at midday, accompanied by his son and his daughter, who it was agreed was to marry her husband. The King called a gathering in the throne room, at which she and her uncle were also to be present, to try to face the consequences of their somewhat joint decision together.

She and her husband stepped into a great hall with tall windows with seven-pointed stars through a side entrance. She swallowed loudly when she caught sight of the silhouette of a postured man, his beard, hair and thick black eyebrows furrowed in disapproval and rage at the sight of her, his lips clenched as much as his fists. Her gaze fled to the right, to the girl standing next to him.

Maris Baratheon lifted her chin higher at the sight of her, struggling to hide the expression of frustration and disappointment in her eyes, clearly hoping that the woman who had stolen her prince would be an ordinary and bland girl, standing in the shadow of her dragon husband.

She, however, had specifically ordered her servants to leave her hair loose, for although when she was a child its colour had driven her to despair, now she saw it as her advantage – her dark and shiny curls fall in gentle waves down her exposed back, accentuating her fair skin and bare shoulders.

Her gown was modest, black and matte, with floral ornaments embroidered in gold threads on her chest, her sleeves reaching all the way down to the ground.

Anyone looking at them from afar could have the impression that her choice of attire was no accident, even more so standing next to her husband clad in a black leather tunic.

They looked alike.

Their evidence of unity and intimacy, a wordless expression of their bond.

She wondered if she could see from a distance the previously red and now slightly purple bruise on her neck, a reminder of her husband's greedy lips, and if she was aware of what it meant.

She pressed her lips together at the thought, trying not to smile and provoke her.

Although she couldn't call her ugly or rejecting, there was something harsh in her facial expression and posture – her elaborate hairstyle with her hair slicked back was perhaps fashionable, but it didn't suit her beauty or her face shape. Her gown, though rich, did not emphasise her assets, whatever they might be.

She thought she wanted to look haughty, to show her that while she was a lady of a respectable house, she was a mere bastard, even if the child of a princess.

Everyone turned their gazes towards the main gates when one of the guards announced the King himself; her uncle stepped into the throne room confidently without bestowing even a single glance on Borros Baratheon, Aegon the Conqueror's crown shone on his head in the glare of light trickling through the stained glass filled windows.

She felt her heart pound like mad as her uncle took his place on the throne, her mother's throne, and she clenched her eyelids, reminding herself that he had extended a hand of truce and that if she wanted the matter of succession to end bloodlessly, she had to control herself and give him respect.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at her husband and swallowed loudly, seeing that he stood upright like a stone, all tense, his hands clasped behind his back, his silhouette expressing the same passive aggression she had felt from him when she appeared in the Red Keep after many years.

He was prepared for battle.

He was prepared to kill.

"My Lords. We are gathered here today to address a sensitive matter. Lord Borros Baratheon and his house have suffered an insult and have come to demand justice. My Lord." Aegon nodded, extending his hand, with this gesture showing him that he was allowing him to speak.

Lord Baratheon walked closer to the throne, followed by his heir and his daughter, her gaze full of poison and rage still fixed on her.

She did not look away.

She had no intention of giving her satisfaction.

"I have come to demand that the honourable Prince Aemond keep his mother's word and marry my daughter, Maris, according to his choice. I witnessed his arrival and that he confirmed in my presence my arrangements with the crown. Yet word has reached me that the Prince has secretly married another woman in a barbaric ceremony." Borros growled, his voice tubular and hoarse, full of strength and determination. She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her stomach, a shiver of discomfort ran down her spine at his words.

She glanced at her husband feeling him move beside her restlessly, enraged, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He tried to remain silent and not explode.

Aegon nodded at his words with understanding.

"I understand your bitterness, my Lord. Indeed, our mother forced my brother to comply with her will. However, in my presence and that of our entire family, our father, and your King to whom you vowed, during the supper before his death, announced his will to us.

He conveyed to us that he was keeping the betrothal between my brother and my niece in force, foreseeing the division that would occur in the kingdom once he left this world. After his death, my mother imprisoned my niece and ordered my brother to fly to Storm's End.

Therefore, as you understand, my Lord, the case substituted in this light clearly proves that his decision could not have been in force, for as far as I am aware, it is the King's decision, not the Queen's, which is the final one." Said Aegon with a lightness that shocked both her and her husband.

She could not believe how good a speechmaker he was, with what ease he played with facts and half-truths, creating a image in which, indeed, his brother was in a no-win situation and their nuptials were an act of honour and a fulfilment of their late father's will.

Lord Baratheon drew in a loud breath, furious, his face all red with emotion.

"Are we to accept this insult in silence, then? They did not marry in the presence of witnesses, they did not marry in the Sept, so their marriage is invalid. I demand justice for myself and my daughter." He hissed, Aegon raised his hand, ordering him to be silent.

"I understand the source of your anger, my Lord. However, you have a right not to know that last night my brother married my niece in the presence of myself and my wife before the Septon, who prepared the appropriate act, and their marriage is valid in the eyes of the realm.

I recognise, however, the injustice that has befallen you and my brother has decided to donate part of his annual income as a dowry for your daughter. In addition, you or your son, that I leave to you, will be granted a seat on the Small Council in place of my grandfather, whose decisions led to this…misfortune."

He said softly; Borros pressed his lips together at his words, looking at Aegon with piercing eyes, clearly not knowing himself what he thought of what he had heard.

He hesitated.

After a moment, however, a woman's voice echoed in the throne room.

"It is impossible, my King. No one will marry a woman who has already been touched by another man. The Prince has taken my maidenhood."

All gathered began to speak loudly, shocked by her words – she felt her heart leap into her throat, her stomach squeezed so tightly that she had trouble catching her breath.

She and Aegon looked at her uncle at the same moment, her husband standing as if stunned, his healthy eye wide open, his mouth parted in disbelief. After a moment, however, his shock was replaced by an expression of anger and fury, he took a step forward like a lion about to lash out at its prey.

"Lie." He growled, the voices of conversation and disbelief all around them even louder, the King twisted in his throne, completely not expecting this turn of events.

"How can we be sure that it was my brother who deprived you of your…virtue, my Lady?" He asked quickly, wanting to turn her confession against her, in case it appeared that her uncle was guilty, to accuse her of being able to be taken by any other man.

She lowered her gaze, breathing loudly through her mouth, feeling the cold sweat run down the back of her neck, her hands clenched on her womb quivering as much as her body.

No, he would never have done something like this.

He wouldn't deprive a woman of her maidenhood knowing he wouldn't marry her.

Was she sure of that?

Maybe he took her as his wife that night because he felt remorse after betraying her?

She felt tears of despair welling up under her eyelids at that thought, feeling that for a moment she was in the throne room with only her body, no longer seeing the proud look of Maris who grinned seeing the expression on her face.

"I ran after the Prince once he wanted to leave. He took me in one of the corridors of our fortress against my will." She said without a shadow of embarrassment, as if dragging him down behind her was more important to her than her own honour.

She wanted to become his wife, the Prince's wife at any cost.

"Maris, good gods…" Mumbled her father, looking at her in disbelief, all red with shame at her confession, shocked as the others by what had left her mouth, knowing full well that she was not telling the truth.

"Disgusting lies. I followed my nephew out the stronghold and returned to the Red Keep to fulfil my duty to my father that same night. It was not your maidenhood I took then, shameless woman." He growled, and she felt heat in her heart and a burst of pride at his words.

Even though he had used lie against lie − after all, she was no longer a maiden then − the way Lord Baratheon's daughter swallowed her saliva, the way her body shivered under the weight of his words made her lift her chin, looking at her with superiority.

Insolent whore.

Aegon raised his hands in the air, clearly amused by the situation, ordering everyone to remain silent.

"As I see it, opinions are divided on what happened. Lord Baratheon is a party. Is there anyone else who could confirm your version of events, my Lady?" He asked lightly; the girl looked at him breathing heavily, her hands clenched on her lower abdomen. Aegon looked to the side, directing his gaze to his brother.

"And you, brother, can anyone confirm your words?"

"My nephew." He answered without hesitation.

She swallowed hard, reminding herself that he had, after all, allowed her to meet her brother, and the king wasn't aware of it.

That he could be accused of treason, lose Aegon's support.

"We exchanged a few unpleasant sentences before I returned to King's Landing. Only a brief moment passed between the time he left and our conversation. Certainly not enough for even the most desperate man to possess a woman."

"Who will believe the words of a traitor? Was it not he who took away your eye, my Prince? Did he take something else from you along with it?" She asked mockingly, her father looked at her in horror, his lips forming a silent, warning 'enough'.

She heard her husband draw in his breath loudly, his knuckles clicking in his fingers as he squeezed them as hard as if he wanted to break them himself.

"You were there, my Lord. You know that she did not run after me, and even if she had, she would have gained nothing. I chose her because she was most different from my wife. Lest she might ever think that I could lust after your daughter." He replied with a cold, deep hiss that echoed through the throne room.

She felt a wave of delightful satisfaction run down her body, and though she knew her husband's cruel words might have cost them everything, the look of disbelief on Maris' face was more than worth it.

Did she really believe that he had chosen her because she was the most beautiful of her sisters?

That he could ever desire her when she, his childhood friend, his confidante and lover was by his side?

"I do not know what I saw." Borros replied, however, without his previous confidence, not looking at him or the King, apparently trying with his last strength to protect his and his daughter's honour. Her husband snorted at these words.

"Pathetic." He sneered quietly, not daring to say it out loud; it seemed to her that his whole figure was trembling.

He was furious.

"If I were your daughter, I would be wary of such far-fetched accusations without any evidence or witnesses, my Lord. Some might call it as treason." Aegon replied, spreading out comfortably on his throne.

She couldn't believe some part of her admired him for how he was playing with the situation while still keeping what was happening under control.

Lord of Storm's End did not respond to his words.

Aegon's words were the nail in the coffin of whatever plan Lord Baratheon's daughter had in her head, and after her humiliating outburst, Borros agreed to the terms set by the king himself and the amount of her dowry, which her uncle-husband would pay out of his purse.

She watched with satisfaction and an involuntary smile on her lips as Lord Baratheon and his daughter were forced to sign the terms of the agreement imposed on them by her uncle.

Borros left the throne room like a storm, furious, without even bowing to Aegon, to which he only responded with an amused expression on his face.

Maris didn't dare look at her anymore, her face pale, from a distance she could see how red her eyes were from tears.

She wished to be a princess in a beautiful castle.

She could be his Rhaenys, but she had no intention of allowing any Visenya into their lives.

Even if it was one night in ten, she couldn't bear the thought of having to share him.

Fortunately, her husband was as possessive as she was.

The smile disappeared from her face as she felt an unpleasant, familiar stinging sensation inside her lower abdomen.

She clamped her hand over her womb as something warm and sticky ran down her thigh, a whine of despair and pain stuck in her throat as she pressed her lips together.

She took a step backwards, revealing the stone floor under her feet, and noticed a few drops of crimson liquid on it.

She was bleeding.

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hs-is-loml · 2 years

Text

Bound. (a.t)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Fem!Reader (minor oc descriptions)

Summary: you didn't realize when you stood beside aemond during the night when he lost his eye would solidify your stance in the war.

Warnings: death, murder, angst, fluff between aemond and reader, betrothals, incestual relationship uncle/niece, little family drama (UNEDITED)

a/n: i wanted to get this out before i watched episode ten later. which will determine whether or not i write a part two to this.

word count: 5.5k

all translations of high valyrian come from google! english translations are in parentheses!!

masterlist - as i am yours (part two)

It was always a deep regret in your heart that you could do anything to save his eye during the fight. He never held any resentment towards you though as you stood by your place to his side. You could never fight against your siblings, and Aemond knew that. Though he continued to taunt them, you stood quietly next to him not meeting anyone’s eye.

You could recall that night so vividly. The chaos of everything. The questioning of who was right and who was wrong. Trying to decide whether you made the right choice of standing next to your betrothed in his defense. Your family might hate you now, but you got a family out of it in more ways than one.

FLASHBACK

“Aemond, this is worrying to me,” you expressed your concern as you both made your way toward Vhagar to see if Aemond could claim her.

She was a free dragon as of the death of your Aunt/Stepmother Lady Laena Velaryon, and no one has yet to take claim of her more so bond with her. You knew that your half-sister would be furious at the revelation that Aemond was to be the next rider of Vhagar. In all honesty in your mind, it was her fault thinking no one would want to claim the most powerful/largest dragon in the realm.

You knew that you were the creation of an affair between your mother Rhaenyra and your biological father Daemon. Everyone knew you were with your hair being as bright as snow and bold violet eyes with your fair complexion. Though you were legitimized by the King himself, so no one dared ever call you a bastard to your face.

Ser Laenor was also your father who raised you and brought you up. You loved him as a father and knew how hard his sister’s death hurt him. You two would visit them on dragon back with Seasmoke and Silverwing allowing you to get to know your biological father and half-sisters. Daemon had a hard way to show that he cared for someone, but you were his jewel.

He would teach you more complex High Valyrian and teach you about your ancestors. Always telling you that it was important for you to me in the knowledge of those before you when you were to take the throne. Which made Baela and Rhaena envious of the favoring of their father towards you.

Though Daemon cared for you as his daughter when you visited him, he did not pay any mind to you outside of it. Always so hot and cold. Never allowing himself to get too attached to anyone. Making you more in favor of your stepfather Laenor. Who taught you how to swim on the shores of Driftmark, unbraided your hair before saying goodnight, taught you the basics of bonding with a dragon, and took you on rides with Seasmoke when you were too little to ride Silverwing.

“There is nothing to worry about, and I would never let anything happen to you,” Aemond reassured you taking your hand as the two of you got closer to Vhagar.

“Aemond be careful, I will not lose my betrothed over a dragon claim,” you squeezed his hand before letting go allowing him to approach the large she-dragon.

“Dohaeras! Dohaeras, Vhagar! Lykiri! Lykiri!” Aemond shouted to the dragon as Vhagar growled in his presence. (Serve! Serve, Vhagar! Calm down!) “Lykiri.”

You watched in anticipation, scared for Aemond’s life. To your relief, Vhagar seemed to be accepting Aemond as she allowed him to climb to her back.

“Soves! Dohaeras, Vhagar! Soves!” he yelled out commands to the dragon. (Fly! Serve, Vhagar! Fly!)

As Vhagar and Aemond took flight, you waited for his return watching the beautiful dragon’s wings spread amongst the sky. It seemed like an eternity before you saw them rearing back to where you awaited. Vhagar landed with a loud grunt letting Aemond climb back down on her wing.

“I knew you were always meant for amazing things,” you admitted to Aemond as continued to bond with Vhagar. He put his forehead to rest against the dragon’s cheek.

“Come here.”

“Aemond, you must be joking,” you nervously let out, staying in your place.

“Come here, love. She won’t hurt you, I promise,” Aemond said as he reached out his hand to you, beckoning you to come closer.

“Rytsas, Vhagar,” you greeted the dragon, taking Aemond’s hand, and staying close to his side. (Hello, Vhagar)

Aemond took your hand in his grasp and laid your palm against Vhagar’s cheek which radiated heat. Vhagar purred at the attention both you and Aemond were giving her. You enjoyed this moment shared between the three of you. You leaned your head against Aemond’s shoulder looking up at him as he relished in the fact he finally had his own dragon.

“Maybe when we get back home we can take Vhagar and Silverwing on a ride together,” he suggested as you two made your way back inside the High Tide.

“It’s him,” they gasped at the sight of Aemond and you.

“It’s me,” Aemond mocked.

“Vhagar is my mother's dragon.”

“Your mother's dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now,” Aemond stated in arrogance.

“She was mine to claim.”

“Then you should've claimed her!” Aemond shouted in thinning patience. You stood behind him keeping your head down as your siblings continued to yell and argue with your betrothed.

“Y/N, come here,” Jace commanded to you as he saw Aemond shield you from them.

“Jacaerys, you do not command her to do anything unless it is of her free will,” Aemond defended you as your siblings looked at you with disgust for siding with their “enemy.”

The chaos surrounding you came with the overwhelming feeling of guilt of not knowing who to stand by and defend. Causing you to be frozen in your place as they started to fight. You saw punches getting thrown around and how they all ganged up on Aemond.

“Baela, Jacaerys, stop it,” you shouted as you saw them go against Aemond. “Aemond, no!” you continued as you saw Lucerys’ nose bleed profusely from Aemond’s hit.

You were paying so much attention to them that you didn’t see Rhaena coming up to you ready to strike. You only realized when you felt the slap against your cheek.

“How dare you stand next to him instead of your family,” she yelled at you in disappointment. “Father will be so disappointed in you,” she said as if it seemed like you cared so much about your parents’ approval.

Everything seemed to slow down as you heard Aemond yell in pain, you turned in a hurry to try and attend to Aemond. That’s when you saw Lucerys holding a blade and you felt yourself sink down to your knees beside Aemond taking his head on your lap.

“What have you done?!” you shouted at them. “A disgrace upon all of you,” you cursed them cradling Aemond and trying to do your best to comfort him.

Aemond continued to groan in pain as you ripped a portion of your cloak to help stop the bleeding in his eye. The others continued to scream at you and Aemond which you paid no mind to.

“CEASE THIS AT ONCE!” Ser Harrold came rushing in separating your siblings from you and Aemond.

“GET AWAY!” you screamed as you noticed them quieting down but unmoving.

“My Prince, my Prince. Let me see,” Ser Harrold approached you two. “Gods be good.”

You stayed by Aemond’s side as the maesters attended to his wounded eye. You held his hand as they stitched it together, feeling him squeeze your hand when the pain got too much for him. You stayed quiet as both families argued against each other. You noticed the look your mother gave you when she saw that you had not taken the side of your siblings.

Daemon stayed to the side watching the situation play out. Your grandfather continued to demand answers as he shouted amongst the room.

“I will have the truth of what happened. My sweet granddaughter, tell your grandsire how did this happen?” the King turned to you asking for an explanation of the situation.

“Due to the death of my Aunt Lady Laena, Vhagar was left unattended and unclaimed by a rider since. Aemond and I went down to see her and to see if Aemond could bond with her which he did. As we made our way back inside the castle, we were stopped by my siblings and cousins, and they argued with Aemond about Vhagar. In my honest opinion, no one truly claims a dragon they just bond with them as a rider, so making Rhaena's claim of Aemond stealing Vhagar from her false as she should not have waited so long to bond with Vhagar,” you started to retell the story to the King who listened closely to your words. “I did not want to fight against my betrothed or my siblings and cousins but I stayed alongside Aemond. The fight broke out between all of them when Baela threw the first punch against Aemond. I did not participate in the fight until Rhaena struck a slap against me while throwing insults towards my loyalty. I was too late to see the blade held by Lucerys and to save Aemond from the attack. It was an unfair fight as it was majorly the four of them against Aemond,” you told your grandfather letting a tear fall on the reddened cheek of yours as you look at Aemond and raised your hand to caress Aemond’s nonaffected cheek.

Your mother, Rhaenrya looked at you with repulse as you finished retelling the incident. She never realized the actual bond between you and Aemond as she only ever thought of it as you acting for your duty to the throne.

“Now how is it you are the only one to ever speak the truth? Thank you, granddaughter,” Viserys said as he laid a hand on your shoulder as he passed by you.

“Oh my sweet child,” Alicent came to you and brought you into her arms in a tight squeeze. “Thank you for being with Aemond,” she whispered into your ear as she let go to attend to Aemond more.

A couple of days had passed and you did not leave Aemond’s side for most of it. You noticed himself trying to distance himself from you and knowing it stemmed from the scar that was now embedded upon his face. He was scared of you feeling disgusted by his new appearance. You were quick to reassure him that you still kept the same feelings for him regardless of how he looked.

You were with Queen Alicent and Aemond in his chambers when the news was broken to you by Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys that your stepfather was found dead. You were holding a vase ready to set it down beside Aemond’s bedside table. Upon hearing the news you froze and the vase slipped out of your hands shattering on the ground where you fell to your knees. You felt small shards of glass against your skin, but it couldn’t compare to the pain you felt in your heart for the loss.

“Dear child, come here,” Rhaenys said with tears in her eyes as she approached you and signaled you to stand up from the broken glass. You felt stuck. Once again.

“Y/n?” Aemond questioned from his bed. He got out of the covers and carefully stepped around the glass and brought you to sit on the bed. You were silent as tears gushed from your eyes.

“How?” you managed to say through your growing sobs. Rhaenys and Corlys came to your side as Alicent and Aemond nodded to them as they walked out of the room out of respect.

“His body was found burned in the fireplace of the hall,” Corlys told you taking the space to your left and Rhaenys took the spot on your right. You were staying down on your bloodied dress and trembling hands.

“I never got to tell him how much I loved him,” you cried which had Rhaenys pulling you to her chest in a hug as you gripped her sides letting your anguish out. Corlys wrapped his arm around Rhaenys moving you to let yourself lean against the both of them.

“He knew. He always loved you and was so proud of how you have grown. Always talking about your accomplishments and the adventures you both took visiting around the realms,” Rhaenys admitted to you softly relishing in the fond memories of her son.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to both of them.

“For what, granddaughter?” Lord Corlys asked letting his hand run through your hair.

“We all know that I am not my father’s actual daughter, but do know the love and respect I held for him in my heart as he raised me as his own,” you told them in honesty but afraid to look meet their eyes you kept your head down.

“Y/n, you are his daughter through and through. He cherished you more than anything in the world and we will always accept you as our own,” Rhaenys pulled your head up to meet her gaze and more tears filled your eyes at the love and acceptance given to you at this moment.

“You hold the memories of him. You are his legacy,” Corlys confirmed to you.

END OF FLASHBACK

“Darling, your mother, and her family are coming back here to petition for the claim of Driftmark in days' time,” Alicent snapped you out of your thoughts which caused you to snap your attention to her setting your cup of tea down on the table.

“Is there a reason I was not made aware sooner?” you asked her with anxiousness crawling inside you.

“I saw no reason to worry you and the raven only arrived last evening,” she replied leaning forward to place her hand on top of yours. “It will be okay.”

“I have not spoken to them since that day all those years ago,” you admitted aloud.

After the night when you stood by Aemond’s side to explain to your grandfather about the incident, your mother and your entire family turned their back on you. Which only allowed you to keep in contact with your grandparents Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys whether it was you traveling back to High Tide with Silverwing, Aemond, and Vhagar or them coming to the Red Keep to see one another.

You did not even attend the wedding between your mother and your biological father still upset about the ending of your step-father. You learned to figure out that it was in the hands of your mother and her newlywed husband. You grew to resent them as they took the person who raised you, loved you for who you truly were, and never wanted to change you.

You stayed at Driftmark until you got sick of the ocean air, and left to return back to the capital. You were welcomed with open arms by everyone but your own family that took their stay in Dragonstone. Your time in Red Keep allowed you to be with Aemond and spent time with your grandfather until he got bedridden a couple moons ago.

“May I be excused, my Queen?” you asked.

“Of course,” she smiled at you, removing her hand and allowing you to stand and exit her chambers.

You walked in the halls of the Keep stuck in your own thoughts and worries about what is to come soon. Knowing that it could never be calm with your families. You found yourself near your shared chambers with Aemond and knocked with the hope he was in the room. Unless he was on the training grounds with Ser Cole.

“Yes?” you heard from inside the room.

“It is only me,” you said loud enough for him to hear you as well.

“Well do come in,” it was quiet but loud enough for you to open the door enough to let you slip in and shut it behind you. “Has something happened?”

Aemond notices the look on your face and knows that you are drowning in some sorrows. He gets up from his chair near the fireplace to go to you and takes your hands to lead you to the bed to sit. Both of you sit along the side of the bed, but you are staring at your intertwined hands while he stares at you. He removes one of his hands from your and raises it to your chin to lift your head up towards him. Meeting eye to eye he nods to encourage you to tell him your thoughts.

“My mother and her family are coming back to the Keep,” you muttered looking around the room trying to not meet his eye.

“Is she to bring all of them?” he scoffed at the thought of them being here.

“Yes, I assume so. She still has Jace and Luke, but I think she has another two in addition with Daemon and not to forget about Baela and Rhaena,” you answered as you thought about the family they had created without you.

“Well, we must prepare ourselves for the upcoming days,” he suggested as he let his fingers play with the sapphire betrothal ring the was worn on your left hand.

“I do not want them here.”

“No one does, My love.”

“They cannot come barging into our lives again just because they got bored of theirs,” you whine in frustration.

“They are pesky little things,” he spat which made you giggle at the tone of his voice. In which he grinned at the sound of your laughs.

You stood beside Aemond next to Aegon as the petition of Vaemond Velaryon was to be heard for who was to be the next Lord of the Tides. You felt the glares from your siblings as you stood alongside the Greens. With your emerald green dress with black lacing and your body adorned in jewels, they could not stand the sight of you standing tall with them.

Though they had no right to any opinions they create of you, that did not stop them from frowning at the conjoined hands of you and the prince to your left. It was a constant reminder for them of the night everything changed. As you did not take their side after Lucerys wrongly slashed Aemond’s face.

“I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins,” Vaemond stated to Otto Hightower who sat upon the King’s throne. As you have gotten along with the rest of the family, the Hand of the King was one person you would always dislike.

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon,” Rhaenrya said which made you scoff loudly at the statement. “If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition,” she added on.

“You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra,” Queen Alicent said from her place near you towards your mother.

“Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard,” you continued for the Queen. Rhaenrya snaps her attention to you with sorrow-filled eyes in hearing your voice for the first time in years. Her eyes travel down to the grasp you held onto Aemond’s hand and arm.

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognize it,” Vaemond scowled at Rhaenrya. “I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor to be the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.

“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Jacaerys Velaryon.”

“If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very…” your mother started.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm,” as your grandfather King Viserys arrives near the doors.

“I will sit on the throne today,” he breathes heavily. The King limps his way toward the throne before stopping to take in a heaving breath. “I said I’m fine.”

It broke your heart to see the man you called grandfather slowly wither away to bones. The continuation of his walk does not go any further as he drops his crown as leans over his cane. You removed yourself from Aemond’s side and made your way to your beloved grandfather.

“Grandfather, here,” you pick up the crown from the floor and offer your arm out to him to try and lead him to the throne easier.

“Thank you, my child,” as he takes a seat on the throne.

“My King,” you bowed your head to him as you placed the crown back on his head.

Making your way down the steps seeing everyone’s shocked faces at the King getting out of his bed rest and his granddaughter for helping him. You made your way back over to the Greens with Alicent stopping you with her arm before you were able to reach Aemond.

“Thank you,” she smiled at you softly.

“I must... admit... my confusion,” the King starts off with coughs. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is Princess Rhaenys.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark would be passed through Ser Laenor’s daughter, Y/n, but in the circumstance that she is the next heir of the Iron Throne after her mother it would be passed to Ser Laenor’s trueborn son… Jacaerys Velaryon,” Princess Rhaenys told to King as she glanced at you slightly giving you a tight-lipped smile. “His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

“Well, the matter is settled. Again,” Viserys said. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides. As well as the next change of succession.”

The crowd gasps at the statement of the king. Alicent looks to her father in gleaming hope. Aemond and you look at each other afraid for the words that might be said next as if Aegon were to be crowned heir. Rhaenyra and Daemon look at each other in worry.

“I hereby state a decree whereupon my death the Iron Throne and Crown are passed onto my son Prince Aemond Targaryen and my granddaughter, his betrothed Princess Y/N Targaryen,” Viserys stated to the crowd. “For they are the next heirs to the Iron Throne,” as he looked at you and his son with a smile.

There is an uproar with the crown and attending council members in the change of succession. Cheers were heard all around the room except for your mother and family. Alicent turns to you and Aemond with a bright smile on her face. She takes your face in her hands and tilts your head down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“You will make an amazing queen, Sweetling,” she told you as she placed a hand on your shoulder giving it a tight squeeze. “You, my son will be a brilliant king,” shifting her attention to Aemond.

“Oh thank the seven hells, it was not me,” you hear Aegon from beside you with a grin on his face which you poked at his side with a small giggle.

“Father, what is the meaning of this?!” your mother shouts from her place to the King.

“It is my wish you do not receive the crown, daughter,” the King said bluntly.

“You break the law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir then now your second son and granddaughter,” Vaemond spat at the King. “Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

“Allow it?” Viserys scoffed at the claim. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

“That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Aemond and Y/N are of my kin and as well as Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you... are no more than the second son of Driftmark,” your grandfather defended.

“You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned I will not see it ended on the account of this,” Vaemond shouted. “Her children are…”

“Say it,” Daemon said from beside Rhaenyra as Aemond pulled you behind him as he glared at Vaemond.

“BASTARDS! And she IS A WHORE. Not to mention the ward you had taken under your house,” Vaemond yelled loudly in the room allowing every person to hear his words.

“I will have your tongue for that,” Viserys countered.

“WHO ARE YOU TO SPEAK AGAINST MY BETROTHED?” Aemond shouted in anger leaving your side.

“Maybe she will end up like her moth-” as Aemond took ahold of Vaemond’s neck dragging him out to the courtyard.

Everyone followed in suit with you running out after Aemond in front of everyone. Even the king who was moved to a chair carried by guards was in attendance to see what his son will do. Alicent grabbed ahold of your hand preventing you from getting too close. Rhaenyra looked at Alicent in envy at the relationship between you and the Queen.

“VHAGAR!” Aemond yelled out to the sky awaiting his dragon. “I shall feed you to my dragon for your vile insults towards the heir.”

“You are not even the king yet,” Vaemond spat blood on Aemond’s boots.

“Ipradagon zirȳla, Vhagar!” Aemond commanded which had the large she-dragon pop her head into the courtyard and snatch Vaemond up in one piece. (Eat him, Vhagar)

“Well done, my son,” Viserys said from his chair proud at his son’s defense of his beloved granddaughter.

“ANYONE ELSE THAT MISSPEAKS A WORD AGAINST PRINCESS Y/N WILL BE BURNED ALIVE BY VHAGAR!” Aemond shouts to the crowd.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” Viserys started. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. As well as our new crowned heirs my sweet granddaughter Y/N and my son Aemond. A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed.”

“Thank you, father,” Aemond thanked Viserys while taking your hand from under the table.

“It seems that we will be planning your wedding sooner than we thought, Darling,” Alicent said from her seat next to the King. You were seated next to Aemond alongside Helaena.

“Of course!” you beamed.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world yet grown so distant from each other in the years past,” Viserys told around the table as he took off the golden mask from his face. “My own face is no longer a handsome one if indeed it ever was. But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king but your father. Your brother. Your husband and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems to walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

“To you grandfather, King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name,” you said standing up from your seat and raising a glass.

“To King Viserys!”

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

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and to your house. For our children will make fine King and Queen,” Alicent smiled warmly to you and Aemond before turning back to Rhaenyra for the toast.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies as Prince Aemond marries my dear sister. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles,” Jace remarked after he had slammed his fists onto the table from what Aegon muttered to him and Baela.

“I would like to say a few words. I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you except sometimes when he's drunk,” Helaena rose from the seat next to you. “Unless of course they are anything like how Aemond is to Y/n who worships the ground she walks on,” she finished with an airy laugh as you gaped at her wording with wide eyes.

“In speaks of her, this one goes to my daughter, who will ascend the crown and throne as well as her betrothed my nephew. For you shall have a long life and take the throne that you have taken from your mother,” Daemon mocked as he stood from his seat raising a glass to you.

“You are no father of mine. And I did not take anything from anyone. Aemond and I will allow the kingdoms to grow and prosper instead of you and Rhaenyra taking it for your own selfish reasons and burning it to the ground,” you announced as you slammed your hands on the table.

“Brother, it was upon my wish it was given to them,” Viserys told his younger brother.

“You are a disgrace to me,” Rhaenyra shouted at you.

“You murdered my father. It is you who is a disgrace to the Targaryen name!” you argued back with rising anger at the thought of the two people who planned your father’s murder to be standing in the same room as you.

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to say something but it closed with silence filling the room as tension surrounded the air. Viserys coughs loudly before groaning at the pain in his head making Alicent call the guards to take him back to his chambers. Aemond guides you to sit back down in your seat. Otto smirks at the obvious split between you and your so-called family. Aegon smirks at the entire situation. Daemon frowns at the result of this dinner.

“I believe it is best if we end dinner now,” Alicent spoke out.

“Are you okay, My love?” you heard from behind you as you took out the pins holding up your hair.

“Of course,” you replied.

Aemond remove your hand from your hair and replaced them with his own as he started to carefully unbraid your hair. Though it was a normal occurrence that Aemond undid your hair, it never seemed to stop the warm feeling you would get when he did.

“It is you who deserves to sit on the throne the most.”

“We will share it.”

“My love, it belongs to you, a true Targaryen.”

“Please do not mention my heritage as of now,” you groaned at the mention which made Aemond laugh at the thought of the dinner that just happened.

“In days' time we will be married,” Aemond said as he took your hand to motion you to stand.

“We shall be bound till our last breath,” rising from your seat to stand in front of him.

“I would never want it any other way,” pressing his lips against yours.

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