#aemond ansgt

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (22)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ 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

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He cursed himself in his head for giving in to her, for letting her fly on Larax, soaring towards the skies on Vhagar, looking out for her from afar with a clenched throat. Despite the fact that she hadn't run away with Daemon, he couldn't get over his fear that she would flee, that she would abandon him again.

That she would rip his heart out.

A sigh of relief left his lips as he caught sight of the shining, shimmering blue and silver slender figure of her dragoness in the distance, finding with satisfaction that they were heading in the right direction. He turned over his shoulder, terrified as he flew over them and heard a squeal below, Larax terrified by Vhagar's sudden presence panicked.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh when he heard his niece's commands, and after a moment her dragon calmed down and joined him, flying a little lower at his side.

He could not contain an involuntary smile of satisfaction as he felt the heat that filled his heart at the thought that here was his dream come true, and he was at last roaming the skies with his wife.

Although Aegon sometimes allowed him to accompany him on his visits to the Dragon's Pit, when he could get a close look at Sunfyre, it brought him neither joy nor comfort. He knew it was their mother who had forced him to take his little brother with him, thinking it would help him, meanwhile it only deepened his grief and sadness.

It wasn't his dragon, but his brother's, so what was he to be happy about?

His attitude, however, was quite different about his niece's dragoness when their betrothal was announced.

She was to become his wife, and as a wedded pair they were to share everything with each other, so he felt that he could also partly acknowledge Larax as his own.

When he saw her for the first time he thought that only Sunfyre matched her beauty.

Larax had blue-silver scales shimmering in the light of day, her nature gentle and docile, at the sight of his betrothed she acted and squealed in excitement like a small, happy child.

At first she hissed at him when he tried to approach her, however, when his niece took his hand in hers and placed it on her back, Larax allowed him to stroke her and from then on she accepted his presence with calmness.

Her scales were rough and sharp, yet smooth and pleasant to the touch, sparkling with various shades of blue like a gems, making him gasp in delight.

Looking at her now, he could not get out of his mind how she had grown, how wide and slender her wings were, with what lightness she swirled in the air.

Compared to her, his beloved old Vhagar was like a great flying stone fortress.

When they arrived, his wife landed by the fortress itself, but he had to find a lair for Vhagar in which she would pose no threat to anyone; he finally spotted a small grassy hill from below and ordered her to lower her flight, finally landing with a sigh of relief.

For some reason he was both joyful and terrified of what awaited them, hundreds of thoughts running through his head.

What if Rheanyra wants to kidnap her? What if she orders her to stay in the Eyrie? What if they reject their terms?

What if he has to kill them?

Despite the beautiful sunny weather and the wonderful journey at his wife's side, these gloomy thoughts consumed his mind completely. When he finally reached the gates of Harrenhal and spotted the figure of Larys Strong in the distance, he only prayed that he would be allowed to rest at least for a moment.

He glanced at his wife, who smiled at him uncertainly, tense, something about the person of Larys Strong or the woman standing next to him had obviously made her uncomfortable.

He decided it did not matter, tired and sore from sitting in one position, and directed his words to the heir of Harrenhal.

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters."

Larys Strong did indeed direct them straight to his rooms, much more modest and cramped than those in King's Landing. He pulled off his leather gloves, frustrated that the Lord kept speaking and speaking and speaking, glancing up at him only when he mentioned that he had prepared other quarters for his wife.

No, he thought.

Her place was with him.

They were staying in a nest of vipers and he had no intention of letting any of them bite her.

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." He said impatiently; Lord Strong raised his eyebrows as if genuinely surprised by his words.

"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." He said lightly, and he pressed his lips together, casting a tired, enraged look at his wife, who stared at him with her big, warm eyes full of understanding.

They were both exhausted, but nothing could be done.

He sighed and nodded, ordering her to leave them alone, leading her and the woman who had followed her away with anxious gaze.

Was this the famous Witch of Harrenhal?

What if she does indeed cast a spell on her?

What if she pours poison into her honey or wine?

Larys Strong snapped him out of his reverie by sitting down at a table standing just beside the window, leaning his staff against the back of his chair, sighing softly.

"Your grandfather has conveyed to me what matter has brought you here, my Prince, and has asked me to personally take care of everything if the matter gets out of hand." He said meekly, as if he had just been telling him about the weather or what meals would be served to them at supper.

He felt an unpleasant shiver run along his spine, a cold sweat on the back of his neck as he threw him a quick, shocked look, his heart pounding like mad.

Lord Strong seemed amused by his reaction, a smile appeared on his face from which he felt an unpleasant squeeze in his guts.

"I have my little birds in the Eyrie who chirp to me about everything that happens there. Daemon and Rhaenyra arrived there this morning − they will also spend the night there after your negotiations. If their answer is not to our satisfaction, the matter will be resolved in a slightly different way."

He swallowed loudly, trying to calm his breathing, feeling like if he moved even a little he would vomit immediately, disbelief, shock and horror vibrating through his entire body.

They wanted to take advantage of the fact that they felt safe in their kin's fortress.

They wanted to kill them.

They wanted him to betray his wife.

He answered nothing, unable to even find the words for what he was feeling as he stared blankly out the window, noticing the silhouette of Larax shining in the sunlight, his hands clenched into fists.

"It is for the good of the kingdom, my Prince. War is no one's desire." He said lightly, rising on his staff, walking with difficulty out of his chamber, leaving him alone with the cold, terrifying chill he felt in his chest.

He pressed his lips together, trying not to cry like a child.

What if Rheanyra did not accept their terms?

What option would be left for them?

He felt devastated at the thought that none.

There would be nothing that could be done.

They had to do anything to make them agree.

They had to lie.

His mind was filled with dark, gloomy thoughts as his wife stepped into the chamber where he and Larys were already seated, waiting for her to begin supper. He squinted as he saw that her hair was entwined around her head in braids, for some reason he felt frustrated thinking that this was surely the witch's idea.

What were they discussing?

What had she said to her?

"Beautiful hairstyle, my Lady." Said Lord Strong; he pressed his lips together, impatient, thinking he was a fucking snake plotting how to kill her mother while throwing her sweet, empty compliments.

He wondered, horrified, if, as far as she was concerned, he and his grandfather had their own plans too.

His wife expressed her gratitude to him with a happy smile and turned her eyes on him, her gaze bright and warm, completely unaware of what was happening around her.

"And you, my husband? What do you think?" She asked lightly, and he licked his lips, furious, horrified, devastated.

"I prefer it when your hair is loose." He replied drily, feeling however instantly remorseful at the look of sadness, pain of rejection that flashed across her face. She blinked and lowered her head, swallowing quietly as she grabbed for her cup, his heart beating harder at the thought that the wine might have been poisoned.

Nothing happened to her, however, and she did not look at him again for the rest of the supper, smiling despite her distress, exchanging courteous remarks with Lord Strong. When she rose, saying that she was exhausted and wished already to prepare for sleep, his heart pounded harder.

"As soon as you have finished, come to my chamber." He commanded. She nodded and left, leaving them alone.

There was an awkward silence between them.

"Your wife is indeed a sweet and innocent creature, my Prince." Lord Strong said, and he cast him a stern, furious look, sensing the subtext in that sentence, some kind of malicious threat from which he felt unpleasant chills running through his veins.

"If anything happens to her, I will rip out your tongue, I will gouge out your eyes, I will cut off your hands; I will cut off parts of your body piece by piece until only your torso and your head remain. Do you understand?" He asked in a low, calm, cold voice − Larys Strong looked at him piercingly, a smile on his lips from which he felt that terrible squeeze in his stomach again.

"Yes, my Prince."

When he returned to his chamber he was just a bundle of nerves, pacing around as if in a trance, terrified, confused, horrified, thinking only of the fact that he needed her, that he had to look at her face, speak to her in private, come up with some plan, anything from which he would be able to sleep a wink that night.

Should he tell her or not?

What if she decides that his family has betrayed her, that she can't trust them?

What if she panicked, if she changed her mind at the last minute, changed sides?

FUCK!

He waited and waited and waited, and she did not appear. He growled loudly, burying his face in his hands, desperate and impatient − the tension in his lower abdomen caused by the lack of their closeness for the last few days was unbearable for him.

He didn't want to make her suffer discomfort when she was already in such pain, thinking that if he waited and let her rest, he would thereby prove that he didn't just care about their physical intimacy, that he respected her and was willing to wait.

He broke from his seat, deciding that enough was enough, and walked out, heading aggressively with a quick step towards her chamber, opening the door with a loud slam. He froze in place, looking in disbelief at the scene before him.

The Witch of Harrenhal held his niece's hand close to her face, kneeling by her tub, his wife submerged in the water with only her nightgown clinging to her bare body, which was clearly visible through the thin material.

For one brief moment it seemed to him that the woman removed her free hand from under her skirt at the sight of him.

What the fuck was she doing?

Both of them looked at him in shock − the witch stood up and bowed to him, bending her head humbly.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" He growled enraged, feeling his whole body quiver in fury, his hands clenched into fists.

The woman left the chamber without a word, and he rushed towards his niece like a lion about to pounce on its prey − her large eyes widened in shock, her lips parted in a hastened breath, her cheeks all flushed in a way she looked when he took her in his bed.

The thought enraged him even more.

"− what is the meaning of this? − hm? −" He hissed, looking at her expectantly, but she merely raised her shoulders in a defensive gesture, her hand clenched on the edge of her tub.

Gods, give me patience, he thought in fury.

"− can't I leave you alone even for a fucking moment? −" He asked with rage as if he had just reprimanded a small, disobedient child. She blinked, clearly trying to get something out of herself after all.

"− I-I asked her for help −"

What?

"− help with what, that she had to kneel beside you and hold your hand? − you are fucking bare −" He burst out, not believing a word she said, her cheeks turning scarlet at his words, the innocent hot look in her eyes killing him.

"− 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 finally mumbled out, and he furrowed his brow, understanding absolutely nothing of her explanation, increasingly frustrated that she wasn't telling him the truth.

"− I want to know what this brazen whore was doing to my wife −" He growled in a cold, enraged voice, and she swallowed hard, knowing he was about to explode.

"− very well − I − I will try to show it to you − just − just don't get upset and sit on the bed −"

He was distrustful at first, but did as she asked.

And then his concerns, his fear and terror vanished, replaced by a complete dullness of his mind due to the surprising delight that the touch of her soft, warm lips on his fat, throbbing erection gave him.

When she added her fleshy, moist tongue to her caresses, licking the pink, swollen head of his cock with its tip he thought it was over for him.

He fucked her throat like there was no tomorrow, panting loudly with clenched eyelids, holding her hair in the firm grip of his hands, thrusting his hard cock deep between her sweet lips with the deep stabs of his hips, moaning helplessly as her tongue teased him with the sticky click of her saliva.

She squirmed loudly as he quickened his pace, again and again hitting the back of her throat, tears of exertion running down her cheeks as she tried to breathe loudly through her nose to keep from suffocating.

"− I know − please, please, let me − oh, fuck, yes, swallow it, swallow, swallow, swallow −" He mumbled out panting heavily, tilting his head back as his seed spilled down her throat at last. He heard her cough quietly, shocked, and swallow loudly, some of his spend trickled from the corner of her mouth down her chin.

It was the most indecent sight he had seen in his entire life.

Indecent and wonderfully beautiful at the same time.

"− come − come here − your husband need to take care of you −" He breathed out, grabbing her around the waist, lifting her lightly, sitting her on his lap. His niece sat down on top of him, cupping his cheeks in her hands, joining their lips in a hot, sticky kiss, her tongue slightly salty from his seed.

His cock pulsed hard at that thought.

He turned and threw her onto her back on the soft bedsheet, pulling her wet nightgown off of her, his swollen lips running over her sternum down her stomach leaving a wet, warm, sticky trail behind. Her body quivered all over as he took her thighs in his hands and spread them in front of him, her hands trying to stop him from doing what he wanted to do when his face leaned over her heat.

"− n-no − I'm still dirty −" She mumbled helplessly, embarrassed; he gasped at her words, looking at her swollen folds, from between which her moisture leaked, running the tip of his tongue over her sensitive, fleshy womanhood. She tilted her head back with a moan of delight and desire, her body arching like a string, her hips involuntarily pushing forward to meet his lips.

He couldn't deny himself this, he was too desperate, too terrified, he needed her too badly to stop, to stop himself from sinking his mouth into her weeping cunt, begging him for fulfilment, the tip of his nose running over her bud while his tongue teased her opening with lazy, slow licks.

"− who made you so wet? − her? − hm? −" He hummed, feeling her quickly shake her head, her hands tightening in his hair, pressing him closer, wanting more, her breathing quick and raspy.

"− n-no − I was thinking about you − about you deep inside my mouth −" She muttered, a low, throaty groan escaping his lips that flowed in vibration through her body at her words, his cock swelling all over in his breeches at the memory of what her sweet mouth had done to him as he peaked deep into her throat.

"− did you enjoy it? − the taste of your husband deep in your belly? −" He cooed, sliding his tongue deeper and deeper into her tight, puffy slit; she cried out loudly at his question, her moist walls clenching greedily around nothing.

"− y-yes − oh, gods, please − put it inside me −" She begged, repeating it again and again, his fingers digging deep into the soft skin of her thighs.

How could he deny her?

He lifted himself up on his arm, panting hard, directing his once again swollen erection at her entrance – she was so wet that he thrust into her with one deep push of his hips. They both threw their heads back, delighted at their closeness, at how shockingly pleasurable and intimate the experience was.

"− I've waited so long for this − fuck, this warm cunt is my doom −" He exhaled, despite her cries and the shudders that shook her body imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, pounding into her with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips, her insides slick with her moisture, making their bare skin slap against each other with a sticky smack again and again.

"− u-uncle − ah − mghmm −" She mumbled, clenching her hands on the material of his tunic, responding devotedly to each of his stabs with the rocking of her hips, her eyes closed, her puffy lips parted sweetly in pleasure.

He leaned over her and kissed her greedily with her sigh of delight, his tongue full of her flavour bursting deep into her throat as he pressed her to the bed, thrusting into her so deeply and quickly that he was hardly slipping out of her.

They both moaned loudly and tightened their fingers on each other's bodies as she threw back her head in wonderful fulfilment, through which her fleshy walls began to squeeze and suck him inside. He cursed under his breath and sighed in relief as the heat in his lower abdomen became unbearable and his seed filled her again, this time taking root in her womb.

They both rocked their hips for a while longer, whimpering and panting into each other's mouths, their lips brushing and teasing each other, their hands stroking each other's faces and hair as they tried to calm down and come down from their peak. He fell on top of her at last without strength, closing his eyes, nuzzling his nose into her hot cheek; he murmured contentedly as her tiny fingers combed through his hair.

"− good gods − I needed this so much −" He muttered, allowing himself to feel like a small, helpless child again in her arms, with his eyes closed, focusing only on the tender, warm touch of her hand.

"− me too, my beloved −" She whispered, and he felt the heat in his heart, the love for her that filled his members like a living fire.

And then he felt a cold sweat on his back, his heart thumping hard at the memory of Larys Strong's words.

It is for the good of the kingdom, my Prince.

War is no one's desire.

He opened his eyes, looking at her soft face, at her closed eyelids, at her lips parted in a calm breath. She murmured with a gentle smile as his fingers ran over her cheek − he felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought that perhaps he should tell her.

But what if it was necessary?

What if Rheanyra and Daemon didn't agree, what if they threatened his grandfather, his mother and his siblings?

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, not making a sound when a single, solitary tear of pain and grief ran down the side of his face onto the pillow beneath their heads.

A peaceful, deep sleep did not come to him that night.

Instead he fell into restless slumbers, during which he dreamt that for some reason his niece had stayed with her mother in the Eyrie, that a servant boy had walked into her chamber in the night and cut her throat.

That she had tried to scream his name, her husband's name, terrified and distraught, but only a grunt had escaped her lips.

He awoke with an aggressive tug, feeling his heart pounding like mad, looking down quickly at her body snuggled into his chest, entwined with his legs. His arms closed her in a tighter embrace with her silent sigh, his face sinking into her soft, fragrant hair, inhaling her addictive scent.

The next day, just before they set off to the Eyrie, he left her bed reluctantly, telling her, while she was still sunk in half-sleep, that he would only go and change into his riding attire, that she would not eat or drink anything but wait for him outside the fortress gates.

He was afraid that someone would try to poison her.

He stepped into his chamber feeling that he was shaking all over, repeating in his head the elaborate plan he had devised.

He would lie that she was expecting his child.

That they were in fact supported by the gods themselves, that his father was right when he said that the kingdom could not be divided.

That if he becomes king-regent until his child is born, his queen-wife, her mother and Daemon will be given a seat in the Small Council.

That their family will have a say in all things concerning the kingdom.

In the meantime, they might actually be able to beget an heir, he thought, trying to calm himself down, and then all their worries would resolve themselves.

He tried not to think about what would happen if a daughter was born to them, or if they did not beget a heir at all, if his grandfather began plotting again fearing that it would be Daemon and Rheanyra's children who would sit on the Iron Throne.

They had to agree.

He shuddered, turning away impatiently when he heard the door to his chamber open, wanting to ask the servant how much longer he had to wait but froze, spotting the silhouette of the woman who had driven him to such fury only the day before.

"− get out, woman −" He growled, grabbing the tunic lying on his bed, deciding that he would rather dress himself than let this woman touch him.

She was manipulating his wife's mind, perceiving her innocence, her desires, and trying to inspire her confidence, to approach her in a way that was indecent and unacceptable.

"You will betray her."

He felt his heart stop for a moment when he heard her words and he froze, swallowing hard. He looked at her over his shoulder with his eye wide open, feeling his nostrils quiver with each of his terrified breaths.

Her eyes, the colour of an intense, bright green, seemed to pierce him to the core, something in her gaze that made him both uncomfortable and embarrassed at the same time.

"You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most. You will break her. You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again. You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your despair and longing. You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death."

Tears of horror, shame and disbelief gathered at the corners of his eyes as he saw her smile full of mockery and superiority, a shudder of disgust shook his body as she bowed before him and simply walked away, leaving him alone with her words ringing in his ears like a bell.

He felt that awful, overwhelming constriction in his stomach again, from which his head spun, barely managing to grab the bowl that lay on the table before his insides twisted in convulsions.

He vomited.

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