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nonalie · 2 years

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Is This What You Wanted: Part 3 | Aemond Targaryen

Summary: You are wed to Aemond Targaryen, but you swore to yourself that you would never love him. Inspired by the song Is This What You Wanted, by The Last Shadow Puppets (and ofc episode 8 of House of the Dragon!)

Words: 2.1k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Masterlist

AO3

A/N: Part 4 (the finale!) will be out around Thursday! I’m also taking requests!

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You felt your shoulder brush against Aemond’s chest as you stepped through the arch that he had created above you, his arm holding the door open over your head. The gold around your neck suddenly felt ten times heavier, weighing your feet down into your uncomfortable shoes even more. You tried to wiggle your toes to ease the pain as you stood in the center of the chamber, taking in the entire room. Every single piece of fabric seemed to either be a black or deep red velvet, shrouding most of the room in a darkness that daylight probably wouldn’t help either. Except the only uncovered windows were the ones facing east, letting the light of the full moon shine in, the heavy curtains pinned on the sides. You noticed that he kept the space somewhat tidy, at least there wouldn’t be much convincing on your end to keep the room clean. You laughed to yourself, but soon remembered that was your reality, and all your things would be here by tomorrow morning,

The door had shut loudly behind you, and you turned around him to see that he had been observing you that entire time. Not knowing what to say, you cleared your throat and clasped your hands together a bit louder than you meant to, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet.

The corners of Aemond’s mouth turned up as he took in the sight of you, you couldn’t tell if he found joy in your pain or if he genuinely was just happy that you were there.

“Come, sit.” He said and approached you just to gesture towards a chair lingering right behind you, which was pulled away from the table, as if you standing in this spot was part of some bigger scheme that he had concocted.

You awkwardly sat down, the gap between chair and table too small as you tried to fit all your skirts underneath you. He sat in the chair opposite you, and leaned his right arm on the table. His piercing blue eye now faced you, and you instinctively brushed your sweaty palms over your dress, half attempting to dry them and half to smooth out the wrinkles that had now appeared. Again, the corners of his mouth turned up as he watched you sweat under his gaze.

“I went ahead and had the remnants of our cake brought up.” He said suddenly and reached his long arm to the center of the table, lifting up the metal dome and revealing the final layer of cake. It had started melting after the few hours it had spent in the humidity of King’s Landing. Droplets of moisture speckled the black fondant, and the decorative red glaze had begun seeping down the sides onto the matching mirrored platter. “You seemed to enjoy it during the feast. I saw you taking multiple portions,” he added.

You watched as a drop of red slowly slid off the side of the cake and landed on your reflection’s forehead. Shuddering, you looked up at Aemond and finally found your voice to respond. “Thank you, my Prince. It was most appetizing.”

To be completely honest, you didn’t even remember what the cake tasted like. You just preferred to stay busy with the food in order to not have to socialize. But hopefully now you could actually enjoy a piece of the grand meal that had been prepared for the two of you.

You moved to stand up, in order to reach the cake knife and cut yourself a piece, but he held up a hand before you could even push your chair back. Instead, he waited for you to sit back down, and then called for a servant. And you watched in silence as a young boy rushed in, cutting two pieces of the cake and placing them on both of your plates, before running off again. Aemond’s eye was on you the entire time, the smirk never disappearing from his face.

You slid your fork into the smooth cake, cutting off a piece that was stained with red glaze, and gently placing it on your tongue. The spongy texture of the chocolate melted as soon as you closed your mouth around it. Relishing in the taste, you held the fork in your mouth as you let out a groan of satisfaction, before catching yourself and remembering that you’re not sitting alone in your chambers enjoying sweets. Aemond’s smirk grew wider as he watched you, and you covered your mouth with your hand as you chewed the cake quickly.

“Have some cake, my Prince.” You said from behind your hand, running your tongue across your teeth to make sure there were no specks of chocolate stuck between them.

“Gladly,” he said. But the smirk didn’t fall from his face as he looked down at his plate. “I don’t seem to have a fork, my Lady. Could I use yours?”

He definitely planned all of this.

Narrowing your eyes, you spoke. “Sure, my Prince.” You flipped the fork around in your hand and reached your arm out across the table. Shaking it gently when he didn’t reach his own hand out to accept it.

“Hasn’t your Septa taught you that it’s rude to reach across the table like that?” He asked, leaning as far away from the hovering fork as possible.

You sighed as you pulled your arm back, chair scraping loudly against the stone floor as you stood up from your seat. You walked over to his side of the table and gave him your kindest smile. He was lounging in his chair, long legs spread wide, and an elbow balanced on the table as his fingers caressed the side of his face. He was clearly very amused by this, and you very much weren’t. Normally too close for comfort, you leaned down as close as possible making sure your assets were in prime viewing position, before turning your attention towards the plate and gently stabbing the fork into the slice of cake. You walked back over to your chair, satisfied, and sat down heavily in your chair, swiping back the curls that fell onto your face in the process.

The smirk was still wide on his face, and you caught yourself smiling too. “Enjoy, my Prince.” You motioned your hand towards the slice of cake, and then clasped your hands together in your lap.

“Mmm,” he made an agreeable noise, raised his eyebrow, and took a bite out of the chocolate cake. You watched him chew as he did before. “I must say, they’ve really outdone themselves this time.”

You nodded, genuinely agreeing with him, and a small laugh escaped your lips. In three more bites, he ate the rest of the slice.

“How about some more then.” He hit his hands on both of his knees, and before you could argue he had already gotten up from his chair, crossing over to your side of the table in three long strides. He picked up the cake knife in his right hand and wiped it with a cloth, looking at his own reflection. He spun it in his hand before leaning his left hand on the back of your chair.

You watched his hand grip the delicate handle of the knife, spinning it around a few times. You were worried the gold would shatter in his hand. The smile had erased itself from your lips, and you cleared your throat.

“You laughed along with the others when we were younger,” he said, still not looking at you. “And yet you fear me now, why is that?”

You gulped, watching the reflections of candlelight as he spun the cake knife in his hand. Silence coated the room, and you thought for a moment in order to choose your words wisely. ”If I may speak freely, my Prince. This marriage doesn’t have to be out of love—no one expects it to be” you said. ”But why did you agree to it if you despise me so?”

You looked up at him to see that he was staring deep into your eyes again.

“I never said I despised you, Y/N.” You felt your heart beating fast, and you worried for a second that he could hear it. “I just want to know why you fear me.” Your eyes immediately dropped down to the knife in his hand, and he looked down too. You didn’t realize how close he had gotten to you, leaning forward a few inches from your face, until he straightened back up again and placed the knife back down on the platter.

He walked towards the open window leading onto the balcony, and placed his hands on the stone balustrade. “Lady Laena’s funeral on Driftmark,” he began. “You tried to follow me when I went after Vhagar.”

“I did,” you said. That was one of the last days that you were actually able to have a conversation with him, it only got worse after that when he started growing distant.

“I thought you were going to stop me.”

“Why would I do that?” You asked, confusion in your voice.

“The dragon was promised to Rhaena,” he said. “I thought you would have sided with the rest of them.”

You stood up, trying not to make a sound, but the chair scraped against the stone again. Yet Aemond was unfazed, still looking out into the night. Slowly, you approached him. “I also knew that you were seeking a dragon, my Prince. But you never gave me a chance to explain that before you pushed me into the sand and ran off.”

He let out a short laugh, and you were sure that was the first time you’ve heard him laugh in years, which brought a smile to your lips. Finally, he turned around, but the surprise didn’t show on his face when he saw that you were standing right behind him.

He leaned back casually on the balustrade and you dared to step even closer. Taking in his frame and features more clearly now, your smile dropped when your eyes landed on the eyepatch that adorned his face.

“I’m so sorry,” you began. “About what happened to you that night.” Gently, you reached your hand towards his left eye, but left it hovering in midair before starting to move it back towards you.

You weren’t expecting him to reach out and catch your wrist, the sudden contact making your heart skip a beat. He stood up straight from his spot on the balustrade and pulled you closer to him. You held your arm tightly to your chest until he softly pulled it towards himself again, but this time up towards his face. He placed your hand where you had intended to lay it before, on the left side of his face, your thumb gently caressing the line of the scar that ended on his cheek. His hand was still clasped around your wrist as you dared to move your thumb, following the outline of the eyepatch that stayed firmly in place.

“It’s not your fault—you weren’t there when it happened.” He finally responded.

“Maybe I should have been,” you said, your hand still firmly in place. Nervously, you turned your gaze back to his good eye. “So I could have proved to you how much I cared about you even then.”

His signature smirk was nowhere in sight now, and the genuine smile that grew on his face made your heart flutter. You knew he had changed since you were both just children playing in the Godswood, but you knew that that caring soul was still there inside him, just hidden behind years of bullying and an eternal wound that had been carved into the soft features concealed under it.

You hadn’t spoken in years until your mother told you that it would be best for your two families if your houses were joined in matrimony. You shrugged and nodded until she sat you down and explained that you would be the one getting married. Soon after that, you were strolling around the Godswood again like you did ten years earlier, except you and your prospective husband would barely speak two words to each other.

And yet here you were, your hand caressing the scar that he refused to let you tend to over five years ago. As if you had skipped those five years, with your friendship not being put on hold.

“I could never love him.” Your own words repeated in your head, but quieter now.

Erased entirely when you felt his hands caressing your face, and he leaned down to kiss you.

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