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youraverageaemondsimp · 5 months

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Song of Ice and Fire // Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader.

WARNINGS: afab!reader, mdni, SMUT, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, tiddy sucking, breeding kink, blackmail (not directed at reader), extreme canon divergence, simp!aemond(?), aemond is lowkey manipulative, mentions of war, prophecy bs, + not proofread.

WC: 2.5k

A/N: I said a short fic of "1k words" but then I got carried away 💀💀 divider credits: @cafekitsune

“From my blood come the prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire”

Those words rang in Aemond’s ears as he flew on his dragon, when he accidentally overheard his father reciting the prophecy on his bed in a moment of absolute vulnerability.

It was one of many things on his mind as he flew to the north with Vhagar, having recently disinherited Rhaenyra by placing aegon on the throne, they planned to not worry about the starks too much, but Aemond knew how much of a threat they were, considering they rule the entirety of the north, and could easily overpower them in manpower.

Which is exactly why he took his dragon and flew north immediately, and sent Daeron in his stead to secure Baratheon's loyalty.

He was not unprepared, in fact, he knew he had an advantage, which was his relationship with Cregan’s younger sister, you, who is the apple of his eye. Aemond remembers seeing you during one of the banquets and immediately taking note of your accent, which screamed that you were from the the north and his suspicions were only confirmed when one of the guards who were sent to investigate your suspicious presence came to him with the conclusion that you were indeed from the north, what was unexpected was you turning out to be cregan’s younger sister.

He remembers being smitten with you, after all you were not only beautiful but also had impressed him with your confidence and personality, something that seemed to be the trait of starks. He knew asking for your hand in marriage would secure connections with the Starks, yet his mother declined, telling him that it would be impossible to make Cregan agree with this marriage. Which obviously soured his mood.

Yet that would not be the last of your ‘interaction’, Aemond had actually approached you before, and you took quite the liking to him, you enjoyed his company whilst you stayed at the keep, he was calm, collected yet oozed off an aura that makes every shut their mouths when he enters a room. You took a liking to him.

Though you had left the keep after the ceremonies had ended, you and Aemond exchanged letters quite frequently and privately, over the course of a few months, and sometimes even sneaking off to have a little rendezvous with him, obviously by lying to your brother, you and him have gotten closer quite significantly, and you were waiting for him to ask your hand in marriage. So imagine your surprise and anxiety when you heard the news of Rhaenyra being usurped on the morrow of a fine day, only to receive a letter from Aemond on the eve, which read that he will be coming to the north soon in a few days. You had expected his arrival, but realised that Cregan didn’t, so you immediately rushed to tell him that Aemond would be coming only to find a squire sent from the Targaryen family that did your job for you.

And so you awaited the day he finally came here, and when you heard the dragon's roar in skies, you knew he had come, you waited in your room patiently likely knowing that Aemond and your brother are discussing the matters

“You want me to support your drunken brother’s claim over Rhaenyra? Our family swore an oath to her claim, and if there is one thing the starks are known for, it is not for being turncloaks.” Cregan’s voice boomed loudly as he grit his teeth, trying not to lunge at him, Aemond knew that of course, which is why he was prepared. “Not even if I tell you that your sister has my seed possibly taking root in her womb?” Aemond crosses his leg on his sitting chair, tilting his head sideways as he watches Cregan’s eyes widen. “You’re lying, you and my sister have never interacted.” Cregan says slowly, almost as if trying to convince himself that it wasn't true rather than accusing Aemond of lying. Well, yeah Aemond was lying, but it was the only way. “Not in front of you, at least..” Aemond trails off and Cregan immediately asks someone to fetch you.

And so here you are walking through the hallways and going to the room where Aemond and your brother were currently talking. The moment you enter the room, Cregan’s head snaps towards you, “Is it true?” He asks, but you had no idea what your brother was talking about, and then you came to the conclusion that Aemond probably told your brother about your secret relationship, “Yes.” You said before your brother can ask you any more questions “Since when?” he grits his teeth, “For a while, we have been meeting up occasionally as well.” You tell your brother, and Cregan sighs heavily, you turn to look at Aemond whose gaze was already on you, he gave you his signature smirk which made you blush and look away, you were not privy to know what Aemond had actually said. “I need.. Time to process this, till then you can…stay here.” Cregan says reluctantly and Aemond nods.

Just then, the guard comes rushing in, “My lord, prince Jacaerys is to be arriving here soon, i have just received the word.” Cregan wishes the world collapsed on him right now, knowing that he’s under so much pressure.

“Escort prince Aemond to the guest chambers.” he commands the guard and the guard nods, you leave along with him as well.

The night falls quickly, the air becoming much colder than before, Vhagar has flown off into the sky, unable to stand the coldness and settled somewhere warm, while you sit in your chambers undoing your braids, thoughts filled with nothing but the interaction between your brother and Aemond.

You hear gentle knocks on the door of your chamber, you get up from your vanity and make your way towards it before opening it, only to find Aemond standing there, your eyes widened and you quickly pull him inside, making sure nobody saw him and shutting the door behind you.

He walks into your room casually, taking a look at your chambers and noting everything down, “What are you doing here this late My prince? It is unseemly.” You slightly shout at him in a shocked tone, “Unseemly? Has my lady forgotten the moments of passion we shared during our secret meetings?” He raises an eyebrow and you blush, heat rising in your cheeks, you and Aemond did share a few kisses but that was all, and that too were done in private. “No, but it was away from the prying eyes of everyone.” You interject, “We are away from the prying eyes now as well, we are alone.” He steps closer to you, his presence oddly proving you with warmth.

When he notices that you are not stepping away, he wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you closer, pushing your body against his, you place your arms on his chest to maintain balance as he stares into your eyes.

“What did you tell my brother? He didn't argue at all.” You ask him as he bends down a little to place kisses to your cheek, trailing down to your jaw, “Aemond.” You say his name which makes him smirk but he continues to kiss you, face buried in the crook of your neck, you sight sweetly when you feel him suck on your sweet spot.

“I just… told something that will be true in a few months.” He replies and you furrow your eyebrows and slightly nudge him away, causing him to pull away, “And what exactly is it?” You question sternly, your frustration now evident because of the fact that something is being hidden from you.

Aemond sighs, his hand trails down before resting on your lower abdomen, “I might have lied about you being pregnant with my child.” he whispers in your ear and you gasp, “That is not true, we haven't–”

“We have not, but I had to stoop that low, otherwise he wouldn't have even considered my proposal.” He cuts you off, “If he gets a maester to check, we are done for.” You tell him and he chuckles, “I didn't mention that you were confirmed to be with my child, just that I have seeded you with the possibility of you being with my child.” He explains and you sigh in annoyance.

“Besides, It can always become true.”

You blink, “Surely you don't mean–” and before you could complete your sentence, he cuts you off, “I mean exactly what you are assuming.” His voice goes down an octave, sounding deeper as his intentions turn darker.

He lifts you up and carries you towards the bed and places you atop it, you stare at him with your eyes wide, “Aemond, it is wrong.” You protest, “Tell me my love, do you want it or not?” He questions and you fall silent, “We are yet to be man and wife, it is against the tradition-”

“I asked whether you wanted it or not, it is a yes or no question my lady, if it is a yes, I will continue, but if it is a no, I will leave your room immediately.” He cuts you off and you swallow thickly, you rub your thighs together in an attempt to get rid of the ache that had been itching since the moment he touched you.

“Yes, I want it.” You mutter and in mere moments he's on top of you, pulling off the strings and removing your bodice, he showers kisses to each and every inch of your exposed skin as his hands make quick work of removing your clothing, you aid him in doing so until you are completely bare and vulnerable beneath him.

He presses his lips against yours, you kiss back as your lips dance against each other's in rhythm, his hands trails upwards your body before grabbing your breast and giving a squeeze, you groan into the kiss as he pinches your nipple. He pulls back from the kiss before kissing the side of your mouth, and trailing down to your jaw, to your neck before stopping at your breast to place a few wet kisses on them, he takes one of your nipple in his mouth, and swirling his tongue around the nub before he pulls back with a wet pop and continues his trail of kisses down to your cunt.

He sighs in content as the sight of your glistening cunt, coated with your essence of arousal and without any warning he dives right in, indulging himself in the sweet taste of you.

You let out a loud gasp when you feel his mouth on your warm core, mind unable to comprehend what he is trying to do, yet feeling satisfied at the way his mouth moves on you. His tongue lick a long strip from your hole to your clit before he takes your clit in his mouth, sucking on the bud and nibbling it between his teeth, this sends sparks of pleasure combined with a dribble of pain as your hand flies to grip his head, not knowing whether to push him away or pull him further in. His hands wrap around from underneath your thighs and he pushes himself further in, as if he's trying to bury himself in you.

His tongue flicks against your clit constantly and you can feel a certain something approaching, and with one last final suck from him; you are sent over the edge with a loud moan as your high hits you extremely fast. You almost crush his head with your thighs because of the intensity of your peak.

He gives few final licks before pull away and getting on his haunches, you watch he undoes his breeches in a haste, “Fuck- can't hold back anymore.” He mutters and he pulls his cock free of its confines and lines it up against your entrance, yet he doesn't push in, he instead rubs his cock and nudges your clit with his tip, coating his dick in your juices.

“Aemond- please.” You beg, aching to have something inside of you, and he looks at you before cursing and lining his cock against your entrance, you mentally prepare yourself for it to hurt.

And seven hells does it hurt so much, yet the stretch was so delicious as the same time, your toes in curl pleasure combined with pain as he stretches you out on his cock, you gasp when he fully sheathes himself inside you, feeling as if thought he had entered inside of your stomach, though it is impossible.

He gives you time to adjust, and you with a nod of your head, you encourage him to move, you had had expected him to start off slow, but his patience had run thin, so instead you were met with an almost animalistic and brutal pace, he threw your legs over his shoulders as he pounded into you, hands grabbing all the available flesh of your body.

The bed creaks from the movement happening on top of it, you grip the sheets below tightly and throw your head when his tip hits a certain sweet spot inside of you, whimpering when he repeatedly rams at it.

“Going to breed you alright? ‘m going to have you bear many of my children.” He grunts, moaning when he feels your walls clench around him, “Yes–! Aemond, do as you please– ohh fuck!” You moan loudly when another wave of orgasm crashes over you, back arching as the peak was more intense than before, making you see white.

“Fuck- I'm coming, can't wait to watch you swell with my child, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He growls loudly when he reaches his peak, his hot spend painting your walls, he waits and collects his composure before pulling out, and you sigh in content yet disappointment, immediately missing the feeling of having him inside you.

He lays right next to you in bed and pulls you close, placing gentle kisses to your forehead.

“You'll give me the prince that was promised, our child will be the prince that Aegon the Conqueror has prophesied, and his will be the song of ice and fire.” He suddenly speaks to you and you stare up at him, “Prince that was promised?” You question and he nods,

“You are the ice to my fire, and from us will come a prince that will save the realm from destruction.” He tells you and you remain silent, still not understanding all of this prophecy of the Targaryens, but nevertheless nodding, “You'll melt me, you know.” You jest and he lets out a small chuckle, “That's exactly what I did right now.” he presses a kiss to your forehead once again.

Cregan stark had no other choice but to accept the proposal, rejecting Jacaerys words, it hurt Cregan, knowing they'll forever be branded as turn cloaks, yet he couldn't let his sister suffer from the words of the realm if she did happen to be with Aemond's child.

And so, the starks supported the greens, making them win the war, but it wasn't too long before Aegon had died of alcohol poisoning, and with no surviving heirs, Aemond inherited the iron throne.

GENERAL TAGLIST !

@watercolorsky @cl-0-vr @chompchompluke @namelesslosers @snowystark @spookyaemond @sweethoneyblossom1 @this-isnt-madness @persephonerinyes @eltherevir @sidni3003 @aleidag1rly @cryingforlife @fan-goddess @hannaeditzs @grungegrrrl @thekinslayersswordhand @aemondsbabygirl

Bold is who I can't tag ; DM to be removed!

— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

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myladysapphire · 1 year

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My Lady Strong (I)

Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?

word count: 1,645

CW: childbirth, Aegon being Aegon, Bullying, child abuse, fear of the dark, refrences to torture, loving parents, oc is described to have brown hair, streaked with silver and purple eyes

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen (can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

disclamer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire charecters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all charecters are his except for my OC

When Rhaenyra fell pregnant for a second time, she knew it would be different.

For the birth of Jacaerys, her pregnancy was followed with mass celebrations, house Veleryon showering her with gifts, proud that a child with Velaryon blood would sit on the iron throne. But after his birth, the celebrations ceased. Whispers swept through the court, questioning his birth. But after a few months, many came to the agreement it was his grandmother Rhaenys Baratheon’s blood shining through, she once looked more Baratheon than Targeryen and the child was merely taking after her.

But then she fell pregnant again, and though she was once more greeted with celebrations, the court held its breath.

One child born with the Baratheon looks was one thing, genetics was a mystery and it was pure chance he had brown hair and eyes.

But if this child too had the ‘Baratheon looks’ then it would all but confirm the rumours queen Alicent spun.

But that was not why Rhaenyra felt this pregnancy to be different, unlike her first pregnancy, she had different symptoms, morning skinniness, new cravings, and where before she had always had clear skin she was getting pimples and spots. She hoped for a girl, having always wanted a little sister, and now she would have a daughter. She had only ever imagined having girls, and though she was not disappointed at having a boy when the masters spoke of their predictions of it being a girl, she got a little jump in her step.

So, when she went into labour, whilst the court held its breath waiting for the legitimacy of her children to be confirmed, she held her excitement over having a daughter.

The day of her labour was not cheerful, the skies were grey and cloudy and when her contractions began rain fell from the sky, a storm from Stormsend having reached KingsLanding.

With the wind rattling against the windows, and thunder striking down from the sky, the family waiting outside, Viserys pacing the halls. Alicent biting her nails. This labour was tough, though Jacaerys birth had been easy, this had taken double the time his had, her screams, louder than even the storm raging outside. And when it all stopped the family feared the worse.

The young prince Aemond, only eighteen moons old had awoken, screaming insisting he is with his mother. Only to arrive just in time to hear his niece's screams and his eldest sister's laughter.

He rushed into her room, not even allowing time for his father to check on his daughter, before jumping up (as well as a toddler could) and sitting next to his sister insisting on holding his niece. Tired from the labour Rhaenyra agreed.

When her father and Alicent finally entered, they were quick to approach. Alicent caught a glimpse of black hair streaked with silver.

“A girl?” Viserys questioned, smiling down at the babe in Aemonds arms.

Nodding, Rhaenyra smiled “Aemma” she declared, causing a delighted laugh to leave Viserys mouth.

“She looks just like her, the Arryn genes are strong with her it seems, she even has your mother’s eyes.” And she did, Arryn blue eyes, not violet, as she had dreamed, but perfect.

She had attempted to take Aemma back from Aemond, but he had not let go, simply smiling and babbling to his niece, his Aemma.

As the years went by Aemond continued to stay with Aemma, scarcely letting her stray from his sight, his hand always holding hers. Where one was, the other was always near. Being the only two without a dragon, his never hatching, and her own destroyed along following the storm on the day of her birth, they had the same lessons, with no dragon lessons, they were very rarely apart.

Aemma had grown into a sweet, beautiful, and intelligent girl. Her looks compared to that of her great-grandmother, Daella, alongside her sweet nature. She had an innocence around her, being the middle child and only girl of her mother, her mother wished to preserve the child-like wonder for her daughter, wishing to grant her daughter the childhood of being the heir and the only child of a king stolen from her. Aemond was all too pleased to keep her like this, wanting to preserve her wonder, her need for him. Though book smart, the sheltered life she lived kept her from the real world. She was even protected from rumours, though they still were whispered, all desired to keep her from them.

She was a kind girl and underserving of the cruelty of court, but even that did not protect her from her family. Alicent had always been fond of her, always allowing her near her children, being kind, braiding her hair and even commissioning gifts for her. She was close to Heleana, the pair, whenever Aemond left her alone, often found each other’s company. Aemma was one the few people to share her interest in insects, even going out of her way to collect any that she thought Heleana might enjoy. But Aegon and her brothers were another story. Aegon was a jealous person, envying his niece for the kindness his mother never found him, so he took it out on her.

When Jacaerys let slip Aemma’s fear of the dark, an idea struck him.

The black cells.

Aemma rarely slept alone, with Aemond often sneaking in and sleeping with her, hating the moments apart even when they sleep. When he was sick, they often slept apart, his fear of catching his illness, however little or contagious it was. And her chambers always had candles lit for when she did sleep, a reassurance that whatever lurked in the dark was stopped by the glow of a candle.

Aegon waited for Aemond to fall ill, for a time he knew she would be alone. And snuck into her chambers, her brothers by his side.

It was the dead of night, the boys aged 9 and 6 tired but willing to please their uncle, snuck into her rooms and carried her through the keep down to the third level of black cells.

Being a deep sleeper, she didn’t wake once, not even flinch when Aegon picked her up and then dumped her in the cells.

They had run off giggling, thinking it a brilliant prank, and a way to cure her of her fear, as Aegon put it.

They had thought it would be overcome morning, that she would wake in the dark before finding the door and leaving.

None of them expected her to be locked in there for a week, they did not know the doors were locked and only opened from the outside.

The keep was in disarray searching for her, neither boy spoke up, fear of their punishment keeping them.

Aemond was driving everyone mad, ordering and screaming for her to be found. He was normally a shy quiet boy, unsure of himself. But with his Aemma missing all that was left of him was a madman.

The rest of the keep was in disarray. All guards were on the lookout for the princess, searching high and low. She had completely disappeared, without a trace.

The boys were growing nervous, they couldn’t admit to what had been done and they feared the black cells too much to return and retrieve her.

Aemma had woken in complete darkness, she could even see her hand it was so dark.

She could hear screaming as if they were her own, but she didn’t notice, she didn’t even notice as she crawled forward in her small cell and pounded on the door, begging to be let out. Or as she threw her guts up after hours of screaming and pounding.

She did notice when it all went quiet. When even her screams stopped when the screams of the criminals being tortured turned quiet.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, there was no way to tell day from night.

She slept when she collapsed, her tears lulling her into a tormented sleep, her stomach empty and churning.

She had no food nor water, the dungeon master had no clue she was down here, and no one did.

Not until a week had passed and Aemond dreamt of the black cells. She had refused to rest till she was found, but collapsing from exhaustion lead to his dream, leading his startling awake, and his racing to the cells. Ser Criston Cole was quick to follow him, though he did not care for the girl he still had a duty as a kingsguard. She was found after three hours of searching, three hours of Aemond shouting and ordering guards to search every cell on every level.

Ser Harwin Strong found her, he and her mother had, like Aemond, not stopped, fearing the worse, had not rested. When he found her she was sitting in the corner, head between her legs, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face. She was thin, with chapped lips, her face red and puffed with her never-ending tears.

She screamed when the light poured in, shuffling back into her corner.

“Aemma” Harwin breathed, before alerting the rest of the guard, Aemond came running over, taking her into his arms.

“Aemma” he cooed, taking her hand, she had flinched back from Harwin when he took her hand, but with Aemond she took it, and jumped in his arms, tears falling from her eyes once more. “it’s ok…it’s ok… your safe now” he spoke softly, stroking her hair.

Maesters were quick to attend to her, she was weak and dehydrated. And her mind was still in a panic. She refused to let go of Aemond, using him as a shield when her brothers and Aegon paid her a visit.

She never said who had done it, but her distance and new timid nature around her brothers and uncle was proof enough for Aemond.

But he couldn’t do anything, he was a victim of their bullying. Though they never did something similar or remotely as cruel again, Aemonds crazed state was enough for them to leave Aemma and him alone, at least until the pink dread.

a/n more of an intro chapter, half edited

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humanpurposes · 8 months

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Sour Switchblade

No sooner has she landed in the courtyard of Storm’s End, she knows her mission is doomed // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (daughter of Rhaenyra)

Warnings: 18+, smut, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, Targcest (uncle and neice), threats of violence, bit of blood, dub-con, breeding kink

Words: 4100

A/n: Also available on AO3. Inspired by my current obsession with this song.

She knows where she is the moment she reaches the skies above the Stormlands; this part of the world was not named in irony.

She clutches tightly to Silverwing’s reigns, dragon and rider fighting through the fierce winds and heavy rain that stings the skin of her cheeks.

Lucerys and Arrax would have never made the journey. They are both too small, too young to take on such a burden as messengers on the eve of war. Jacaerys should have the more arduous task ahead of him, to fly to the Eyrie and then to Winterfell, to earn the support of the Arryns and the Starks to their mother’s cause.

She has one destination, one objective, one Lord to win over. But no sooner has she landed in the courtyard of Storm’s End, she knows her mission is doomed.

She hears Vhagar’s call, or rather feels it reverberate in her chest, before she sees her. She is a monstrously large dragon, the oldest of her kind. Only her head and neck loom over the battlements, but it is enough to terrify the Princess.

Because with Vhagar comes Aemond.

He had hardly spoken so much as a word to her during the petitions for Driftmark, but his eye never left her.

She pushes aside any childish ideas of hope for a civil encounter with her uncle. Any love between them was severed the night he claimed his dragon and Lucerys claimed his eye in the tunnels below Hightide.

Her name is announced to the Round Hall as she trails in behind an escort of guards. Rain drips from her soaked leathers and hair, the braid she wore long blown apart by the wind. She clenches her jaw, determined not to shiver in the presence of the Lord of Storm’s End, or the one eyed Prince who lurks at the edge of the room.

Aemond stands with his hands clasped behind his back. For a moment she sees surprise in his gaze, but it soon settles into a smug smile, his single eye positively gleaming through the miserable light of the hall.

Beside him is a young woman, dressed in all the finery of a Baratheon Lady. Her suspicions are confirmed when Lord Borros mentions a marriage pact.

She can’t stop herself. She looks to Aemond, knowing full well she is doing nothing to hide the fury in her face. And he stares back, like a hunter stalking prey.

She has nothing to offer Lord Borros, nothing that could compete with such a match. Her brothers are either betrothed or too young.

But she cannot fail, not when Rhaenyra has lost so much already these past few days.

Aemond’s eye remains fixed on her, vaguely amused, but still alert and intent. Perhaps he believes he has found a weakness, perhaps the shark smells blood.

If memory serves correctly, Lord Borros’ wife passed some years ago.

“I offer my hand to you, my Lord,” she says. “Pledge your banners to the true Queen, and your sons will be Princes.”

Lord Borros brings his fingers to his beard, muttering into the ear of his Maester and nervously glancing towards his other royal guest.

The amusement has faded from Aemond’s face, his moment of triumph snatched from him. Even the mere consideration of her proposal undermines him.

His chin is tilted down now, his eye dark and lips pressing together to withhold a sneer. She revels in it, taking a breath to stop herself from smiling.

“I will need time to consider,” Lord Borros says. “I will make my decision known on the morrow.”

Aemond takes one step towards her before she is whisked away by the eldest of the Baratheon sisters, Cassandra, and no less than four guards. Cassandra takes her arm in hers and leads her through the castle to a guest chamber, in a tower that overlooks the courtyard and Shipbreaker Bay beyond that.

A bath is drawn for her and a gown of black with gold embroidery laid out of her to change into. It seems unusual to see herself in these colours, but then again, her grandmother, Rhaenys, is half Baratheon.

Dressed in her gown and with her hair newly done, she watches Silverwing seek shelter from the Storm under the battlements. Vhagar is apparently sleeping, with her wings cradled over her body to keep out the rain.

Silverwing would be miserable here, she thinks. A dragon needs clear skies, they cannot always fight against the wind and rain.

It’s hard to tell exactly when the sun sets. There are no warm colours in the sky, no streaks of orange or gold. The sky beyond the storm clouds fades from grey, to indigo, and then to black.

Lady Cassandra escorts her to the Round Hall for supper. It is a modest affair. Lord Borros’ advisors and bannermen sit at tables in the heart of the hall, while a high table is set before the Stone Throne. Lord Borros sits at the centre, with two empty spaces either side of him. She might guess who they are for.

She sits between Lord Borros and Cassandra, and finds just enough time to steady her nerves with a sip of wine when Lady Floris enters with Aemond on her arm.

She swallows her mouthful wine thickly, meeting her uncle’s gaze for only a moment out of courtesy.

He takes his place beside Lord Borros and the meal commences. Servants bring out whole roasted boars, and given Aemond’s reaction to the suckling pig at dinner in the Red Keep, she refrains from moving her mouth or looking in his direction. In fact she hardly has an appetite at all. She sits with a stiff spine, glancing down at the plate of potatoes and greens placed in front of her.

Lord Borros asks her a question which immediately slips her mind. It occurs to her she’s supposed to be winning him over, to prove to him that she will be a good and dutiful wife. A better wife than Aemond will be a husband for Floris anyhow.

The thought churns her stomach and leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

She allows herself another glance to Lord Borros’ other side. Aemond’s head is close to Floris’. The light from a candle on the table flickers over his chin, his jaw, the top of his neck underneath his collar. He leans in closer to mutter something in her ear.

He was always so softly spoken as a boy, subdued, even in moments of frustration. He still seems subtle, but in a different way now, a quiet kind of arrogance, a silent threat with the smallest of gestures. The few words he had spoken at that dinner, though aimed as insults towards her brothers, had ignited a thrilling sort of intrigue within her.

And now Floris gets to sit beside him, gets to feel his breath on her ear as he whispers in that low, chilling voice–

“Princess?”

“Y-yes?” she stutters, turning her eyes back to Lord Borros.

Only she seems to have caught the attention of Aemond and the other Baratheon girls now.

“I said our union should be a plentiful one, if your mother’s talent for producing sons is anything to go by.”

The only thing that stops her from reaching for her knife and jamming it into Lord Borros’ neck is the quiet huff of a laugh coming from Aemond.

She shoots him a deadly glare but his cruel smile does not waver.

“The man who eventually claims my niece’s hand will have Strong sons, there’s no doubt about that,” he says, reaching for his cup.

She watches him drink, the way he pouts his lips, how his throat bobs as he swallows.

“What a kind compliment, uncle,” she says, “though not one I could extend to you.”

Aemond sets his cup down gently. “Meaning?” he asks, not looking at her.

“It took you a decade to claim a dragon, did it not?”

His head snaps towards her. “Yes, and I claimed the largest dragon in the world.”

“An impressive feat,” she says, “one your father was proud of, I’m sure.”

He wants to lash out, she can see it, his fist clenching on top of the table, his lips pursing together, his eye going wide, his nostrils flaring as he takes a few breaths to compose himself.

The rest of the table has fallen to an uneasy quiet. She simply reaches for her wine and takes a generous sip that slips over her tongue with a delightful burn.

Lord Borros calls for music, and his daughters, Cassandra and Ellyn find partners to dance with. Maris remains seated, with her arms folded over her chest and a sour look on her face.

Floris seems hopeful, sitting up and trying to catch Aemond’s eye from his blind side. It is a hope he will not entertain. He keeps one hand on the table, tapping a long, slender finger against the wood.

“You will forgive me,” Lord Borros says to her, “I am too old to dance now.”

She tries to smile to hide her repulsion. What an endearing match she’s managed to find for herself. But this is for her mother– her Queen, so that the throne might pass to the rightful heir and not a usurper.

In the corner of her eye she sees Aemond is watching her, and she does not shy away from his gaze. His lips curl into a smirk but she can see the calculations and strategising behind that piercing, violet eye.

What lurks on the other side, she wonders, underneath the leather eyepatch and the scar slicing down his face?

A bloody mess of flesh flashes before her eyes. She remembers how he cried out in pain, how he clutched his hand to his face, how the thick, dark blood seeped from between his fingers and spilled onto the floor as he fell. She had only watched dumbfounded, as Lucerys dropped the blade, as she and the other children were ushered into the Hall of Nine, as the gash in Aemond’s socket was sewn and their mothers both called for justice.

Could she have stopped her cousins from confronting him? Could she have defended him from her brothers? Would he have at least felt some of her sorrow if she had gone to him that night or wrote to him in the years that separated them?

Those possibilities mean nothing now. Aemond looks at her with no warmth, no fond memories of their shared youth.

He’d be handsome without the scar– he still is, but it is a severe kind of beauty.

The moment she manages to finish the food on her plate, she excuses herself, declaring that she is tired from her journey and will need to recover before Lord Borros makes his decision in the morning.

Lord Borros presses a kiss to her hand, and she winces at the way his beard feels against her skin. When she looks to Aemond, he is suppressing a smile by bringing a cup of wine to his lips.

She walks quickly through the halls, towards the guest chamber, already taking off the heavy gold earrings and necklace she had been adorned with, and sighs at the relief of their weight. The sooner she can get to sleep, the sooner the morning will come, then the sooner she can finally leave, either a success or a failure, but she will be free of him. Free of the tight, restless feeling in her chest.

The enduring storm does not help her nerves, the rain beating down and the wind howling against the castle walls. Her heart leaps at every irregular noise, anything that might be mistaken for a voice, a breath, a footstep. She glances over her shoulder repeatedly, but all she sees are the empty hallways she leaves behind.

Two guards wait outside her chambers. They do not move to open the door for her, as they would on Dragonstone. She huffs and pushes it open herself, falling against the door once it is closed.

Borros Baratheon is hardly a man of principle. He has no love for Rhaenyra, and is only considering offering his support out if pride. She has no friends here.

She quietly turns the lock on the door.

She heads to the vanity to set down the jewellery and release the pins from her hair, watching it fall around her shoulders.

Outside the window, she hears Silverwing’s lamenting coos through the clashes of thunder. She reaches behind her back to undo the laces of her gown as she goes to the window, but she cannot spot her dragon through the dark and the heavy rain.

“We’ll be home soon,” she whispers into the night.

She nearly screams when she hears the door rattle.

The wood clashes against its frame, but the handle does not budge, for now.

She barely has a few moments to run to the vanity, hand outstretched and eyes fixed on a long, sharp hair pin when she hears the door burst open. It slams and heavy footsteps thud against the floor, towards her.

A hand clasps over her mouth before she can make a sound. An arm wraps tightly around her waist, keeping her arms by her sides, before she can reach the closest thing she has to a weapon.

She thrashes, squirms, tries to call for help or graze her teeth against the intruder’s flesh but nothing deters him.

She looks down at the arm around her waist. She recognises the black leather sleeve of his jerkin, the wide palm pressing down on her stomach, veins and tendons running underneath pale skin.

He rests his chin on her shoulder, so his long, silver hair falls around her face. He smells of smoke and lavender.

He lets out a frustrated huff as she unsuccessfully tries to jerk her elbow into his side. “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” he hisses against her ear.

She squeals in fury against his palm, trying to twist her way out of his grip. She manages to drag him with her until their sides collide with the vanity. Pieces of priceless jewellery and bottles of perfume fall to the floor, and shatter.

She has a mere second to wrench herself from his grip, only for him to grab her again, turning her to face him as he pulls her into his chest.

Aemond’s expression is deadly, his eye wide, lips pressed together in a scarcely contained rage.

“The throne belongs to my mother,” she says through the drumming in her chest, with all the defiance she can muster. “She is the one true heir. King Viserys–”

“Viserys is dead!” Aemond bellows, pushing her back against the vanity. “His word means nothing now that he can no longer enforce it.”

With her hands suddenly free she attempts to strike him, but he sees her intention before she even moves, pinning her wrists to the wood, keeping her body in place with his own.

She clenches her fists, only able to dig her nails into her palms. “What is it that you want from me?”

Lightning ignites the sky behind her. The white light dances over his scar and the shape of his mouth. His expression is softer now, lips slightly parted.

“I will have what I am owed,” he says.

Her eyes flicker to the eyepatch and the edges of the scar it cannot conceal.

Aemond hums a small laugh at her presumption. “Fear not, dear niece, that is not your debt to pay.”

His gaze trails over her face, then lower, to her lips, along her neck, to the gown slipping from her shoulders and the bare skin at the top of her chest.

“Do you remember what you said to me, the day you left?” he says softly.

The children they were are almost half a lifetime away.

She remembers standing under the weirwood tree in the Godswood of the Red Keep, a warm breeze rustling the red leaves above their heads, the sun shining through the branches.

She remembers holding Aemond’s face in her hands, wiping away the bitter tears as they fell from his eyes.

He had begged her not to leave, but they were powerless then.

He is the one to bring his hand to her face now, running his thumb over the lone tear that spills from her eye.

“I said I loved you,” she utters. “I said my heart was yours, and it always would be.”

Aemond hums softly. “You made a promise to me,” he says. “Do you intend to keep that promise?”

How can she? She would have to forsake her mother, her Queen, her brothers, the realm, her own dignity.

“It was a childish infatuation,” she says.

“Not to me,” he says, fury creeping into his voice once more, his grip on her hand tightening.

She pushes her one free hand against his chest but he does not budge. “Aemond, please, you’re hurting me…”

He presses his body into her, forcing her further against the vanity– a warning, a command for obedience. He trails his thumb over her cheek, to her lower lip, taking her chin in his fingers. When she tries to look away he brings her eyes back to him.

He leans in gradually, pressing his forehead and his nose against hers, before he takes a steady breath and captures her lips in his. His kiss is starved but slow, bruising, deep and desperate. The hand that was on her chin comes to her neck, angling her head precisely where he wants her.

His hands trace down the back of her neck, between her shoulders, to pull at the laces of her gown. They fall apart between his fingers and, barely breaking away from her, he tugs it down until the black and gold fabric falls to her ankles. He lifts her out of it, seating her on the vanity, raking the hem of her shift up to her thighs so he can place himself between them as he continues to kiss her.

A dazed sort of warmth pools within her. She can feel her senses and her sanity slipping.

But he cannot best her, not after everything that has happened in the days since the King’s death.

She grazes his lip with her teeth, and when he seems to welcome it, she clenches her jaw as hard as she can.

He tears himself away from her and staggers back, bright blood dripping from his mouth. She can taste it on her tongue.

“Little cunt,” he hisses.

She slips the hairpin into her hand and runs for the door. Aemond catches her in a few strides but she’s ready for that, turning to drive it into his blindside.

Even then he misses nothing, holding her wrists behind her back with one hand and snatching the pin from her grasp. She hears it clatter to the ground as Aemond drives her forwards, towards the bed.

She lands face down and tries to lift herself up, only to feel his forearm pressing into her neck to keep her down.

“You were always stubborn,” he says, planting a delicate kiss to her shoulder, “and as exciting as that is, I want you to be good for me, dōna riña.”

The iciness in his voice sends a shudder down her spine.

“Say it, say you’ll be good.”

Hit tears prickle in her eyes. She shifts underneath his hold, but her urge to fight is already fading. “I’ll be good, qȳbos,” she whispers.

Aemond’s chest hums with a groan. At last he relents, releasing her neck and her hands. But no sooner is she free, he turns her onto her back and slides his hands up her thighs, hooking his fingers over her smallclothes and bringing them down her legs.

“Up,” he says, dragging her by her hands to sit, so that he can pull her shift over her head.

She cannot be sure why she’s shivering, the cold air, the noise of the storm, or the hungry look in Aemond’s eye at the sight of her bare body.

She keeps her hands on his shoulders as he lays her down and trails his fingertips down her stomach, to the obvious arousal at her core.

With a lingering kiss to her cheek he presses a single finger inside her. She gasps at the sudden sting of it, digging her nails into his skin.

But he reaches deeper than she’s ever been able to, stroking against the flesh within her, until she starts to melt. He edges her closer and closer to bliss until she comes undone around him with a whimper.

“Sȳz riña,” he coos against her cheek. “That’s it…”

She tries to cling onto him as he moves away, but he is not gone for long. He swiftly undoes the buckles of his jerkin, followed by his shirt, boots and breeches. His body is lithe and lean, harsh angles and soft skin.

She glances at his eyepatch again.

Aemond lets out a low, irritable “hmm,” as he looms over her. His hair falls around his face, tickling the skin of her collar. He leans on one palm placed by her head, as he drags the tip of his cock through her folds, teasing between her bundle of nerves and her entrance. The sensation burns brightly and has her hips bucking, but it’s not enough.

“Beg me for it,” he utters.

“Please,” she whispers, cupping his face in her hands, feeling her thumbs along the sharp edges of his cheeks. “Please…”

He pushes into her with a single stroke, filling her to the hilt with a soft sound of skin against skin.

She winces at the stretch, throwing her head back against the bed and trying to steady her breath as he rocks into her.

He’s gentle at first, but before long he is restless.

“I knew you fucking wanted this,” he pants, gripping at her waist to pull her in with every snap of his hips. “You little whore, I can feel you getting wetter.”

She should hate him for it. There is so much she should hate him for, but she cannot think past the pleasure tightening and rising within her, the sound of Aemond’s laboured breaths or the lewd, wet sounds of their coupling.

His hands grab at her legs, positioning them against her chest so he can fuck her harder and deeper.

“Oh gods,” she whines as he pushes against a spot that makes her feel weightless.

“Take it bastard,” he hisses, pressing his forehead against hers and wrapping a hand around her neck. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to know it could. “Fucking take it.”

She is sure it’s too much, his hold on her neck, his breath over her lips, his body pressing against hers as he pounds into her without mercy.

“I’m going to fill you up,” Aemond rasps, “return you to King’s Landing with a Prince in your belly.”

His promise sparks a new feeling entirely, her cunt clenching around him as her voice becomes a slur of desperate, wanton moans.

“Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, ilībõños? Want your uncle to give you a silver-haired babe?”

“Please,” she mewls, placing her hand over his, “please, qȳbos,”

With a few sharp, brutal thrusts, her body erupts with her climax, until she is a moaning, quivering mess.

Aemond’s jaw hangs open as he fucks into her through his own release, until every last drop of his seed is buried within her.

He keeps himself nestled within her, positioning them properly on the bed, hooking her leg around his hips, keeping her body and her head close to his chest.

Her eyes flutter closed, lulled by the soft sound of his breath and the gentle thud of his heartbeat.

But the pleasant glow of her peak cannot last forever.

“I can’t go back to King’s Landing,” she whispers against his skin. Not now that Aegon has claimed the throne, not now that her mother is amassing her banners and the Greens are doing the same.

Aemond takes her chin his fingers, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Did you think I’d ever let you go? You’re mine now, dōna riña. That is what you've always wanted, is it not?”

She helplessly traces her fingers along the muscles of his arm, held tightly around her.

Perhaps she did want that, once.

“What of the Stormlands? What of our duties to our families? What of the war?”

Aemond silences her with a delicate kiss to her lips. She lets it soothe her, for the sake of a love once lost, for a moment of bliss in a world unfurling into chaos and bloodshed.

“Lord Borros will pledge his banners to Aegon or I will burn Storm’s End to the ground,” Aemond mutters between their kisses. She can already feel his cock beginning to harden once more inside her. “And no one will keep you from me, my sweet, strong girl.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x ofc #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #Spotify

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drakaripykiros130ac · 3 months

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I just have to say this: Aegon the Usurper flying off like an idiot in battle while Rhaenyra does not, doesn’t make this guy a hero, nor does it make Rhaenyra a coward.

We need to set the record straight: Women don’t have to be warriors in order to be worth something.

This is just another proof of classic misogynistic thinking of TG stans. But they also prove to be highly subjective since they give “poor sweet innocent” Helaena a pass for doing absolutely nothing and being less than relevant even as a dragonrider. And as the ringleader of the Greens, I don’t think Alicent sat on a horse and rode off to battle in order to further her own ambitions. She started the whole mess and then hid behind her sons. Even after Rhaenyra took King’s Landing, the only thing Alicent could say was something like “Just wait till my son Aemond returns bla bla bla.”

Rhaenyra is a girl’s girl. Those who read the book understand that. The canon version of her never wanted to be a son (unlike the stupidity induced in that show). She was very feminine: always choosing to wear the best dresses with the finest silks, many pieces of jewelry, and she is highly interested in men. She was always proud to be a woman. She embraced it. She never tried to act like the opposing gender as a way to make others look at her as worthy of the throne.

I repeat: Rhaenyra was a girl’s girl and she was proud of it.

She was not a warrior. She never trained with a sword in her life, unlike her idiotic half-brothers. She was not even the type (unlike Princess Rhaenys). Rhaenyra spent her time doing girly things and riding Syrax.

Shortly before the war started, Rhaenyra suffered a miscarriage which greatly affected her health. She needed months to recover. This is the reason why she didn’t ride Syrax in battle, as confirmed in the book. It was not because she didn’t want to or because she refused to fight her battles herself (as I hear many TG stans claim in spite).

And even if flying hadn’t been detrimental to her health, why would she fly into battle? You think that is a smart idea? It’s brave, but it’s also stupid, and the usurper himself proved that.

Aegon the Usurper rode his dragon into battle to show that he’s a man’s man, and what did that get him? Injuries which prevented him from being able to move well enough in order to sit on the throne he stole. The only battle he actually won was against a baby dragon, Moondancer. A baby dragon who inflicted deadly wounds on Sunfyre and caused his death.

So tell me again how ‘intelligent’ the usurper was to fly off into battle himself and what exactly he has accomplished with that. What exactly is so “heroic” about that? The fact that he shows off his masculinity on a big bad dragon?

And of course do forgive a poor woman for not flying her dragon into battle like a crazy person after a miscarriage and several psychological blows in one go like her father’s death, her daughter’s death, her son’s death and the usurpation through which a faction of snakes stole the throne that belonged to her.

Do forgive her for lacking any combat experience because you know…she was raised a girl and has a girlish personality!

And do forgive her for not being an idiot and getting herself disabled, like her half-brother did.

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daenerysies · 5 months

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Rhaenyra's Usurpation and the Dying of the Dragons

There is nothing that Rhaenyra Targaryen could have done to prevent the Dance of Dragons from happening.

Let me repeat; There is nothing that Rhaenyra Targaryen could have done to prevent the Dance of Dragons from happening.

It was set in stone the minute that Jaehaerys heeded the words of his son Vaegon and held the Great Council of 101. It was set in stone when Viserys was named heir over Rhaenys and Laenor. It was set in stone when Viserys decided to name Rhaenyra as his heir, marry Alicent, and have more children, specifically sons. It was set in stone when Viserys allowed the children of his second wife to claim dragons. It was set in stone when Viserys kept Rhaenyra as his heir and failed to prepare her and the realm properly for her rule. It was set in stone when Viserys allowed the seeds of discourse to run among the children due to his wife and her faction. It was set in stone when Aegon usurped the throne. It was set in stone when Aemond murdered Lucerys despite guest rights and terms of peace.

Rhaenyra could have been the picture-perfect heir, ‘Jaehaerys himself come again’, and still would have been usurped. Rhaenyra could have not had ‘bastards’ as her heirs, and she still would have been usurped. Rhaenyra could have remained at the Red Keep, rather than the heir’s seat on Dragonstone, and she still would have been usurped. Rhaenyra could have been at the Red Keep when Viserys died, and she still would have been usurped.

There are many themes in this book series that GRRM has chosen to bring to light and criticize, but the Dance of Dragons' main theme is that Rhaenyra was usurped because of her gender. Had she been born a man, there would have been no basis for any of Alicent’s children to have a claim to the throne, beyond being spares. They would have garnered no support, and Team Green as a whole would not exist. The excuse that it is because of her ‘bastard’ children, which, legally, they aren’t, is just that: an excuse. In GRRM’s original draft about the Dance of Dragons, Rhaenyra was married to Harwin from the get-go, and all of her children were undeniably legitimate, yet the war still took place.

A gender-based succession crisis was inevitable, so it is no small wonder that it did occur under one of the weakest Kings’ in the Targaryen’s rule. Jaehaerys set the wheels in motion, and Viserys drove full-speed past the stop sign. He almost single-handedly led his daughter, and their dynasty, straight to their deaths. Otto and Alicent wanted power, and the only way they were going to continue to have any was if Aegon was on the throne. Their scheming began when Rhaenyra was 9-10 years old, what could she have possibly done at that age to prove she wasn’t worthy of the Iron Throne?

Rhaenyra’s biggest crime in Westeros was that she dared to be a woman; a woman who wanted her inheritance. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. If the war didn’t happen then, it was going to happen at some point, further generations down. It is no coincidence that after Rhaenyra’s death dragons ceased hatching, save for small, weak creatures that would not last long. The magic died with her. Her story’s resemblance to the Amethyst Empress all but confirms that. The equilibrium of Ice and Fire is put into shambles once again upon her and the dragons' deaths; the Long Night is now inevitable.

Rhaenyra was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Her story is meant to be a tragedy. A tragedy whose meaning seems to be getting lost along the way in this fandom.

#asoiaf #fire and blood #bookverse #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #queen rhaenyra #pro rhaenyra #pro team black #anti team green #hotd #anti aegon ii targaryen #anti viserys i targaryen #anti jaehaerys i targaryen #dance of the dragons #the amethyst empress #the bloodstone emperor #the long night

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 14 days

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A little wicked (Dark! Aemond x reader/rhaenyras daughter) really dark aemond. 18+ MDNI

Aemond x reader x Aegon

Tags: Showsetting, au MAJOR SEASON 2 SPOILERS

🔷Summary: After your husband dies, his brother claims his throne and also you.

🔷Author's note: Dark. I don't throw that label around lightly. you know the drill, dead dove? do not eat.

🔷Wordcount :4939

🔷Warnings: Smut, p in v, mention of loss of virginty, dubcon loss, death, misgony, misogny- aemond hates rhaerhae. Dark aemond, gore, blood.

You await your husband’s arrival, back from the battlefield. Today is the Battle of Rook’s rest. A battle that would go down in the History books of Westeros, Essos, all realms that ever were or will be. Unaware to you, of course. You are miles away from the battlefield, preparing for the return of your beloved husband, King Aegon II Targaryen.

You have prayed, for the first time in years, actually. Your mother didn’t believe much in prayer, more in action. You think her relationship with Alicent Hightower forever caused a deep religious wound. Religion is something that reminds your mother too much of her lost friend. So therefore, it wasn’t important in your upbringing.

Soon, you’ll be crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and finally take your rightful place beside Aegon. You have the foolish hope that you, as Rhaenyra's daughter, maybe can mend the wound. Maybe your mother can be swayed to bend the knee, to give up her claim to the throne. If only it was that simple.

You await news. Any news. At first you are positive that Aegon has made it back unaltered. He has to. He is the king, the fierce warrior you know and while he is nowhere as good as Aemond, he has more experience than those Rook Rest soldiers. It has to be enough. He has to be enough.

However, as minutes turn into hours, and the sun and the moon dance and circle one another in the sky, you become immensely worried about the fate of your loved one. You are thankful for when the doors of the throne room are pushed open and Prince Aemond enters, at long last.

Recently, the young Prince switched from dark black leather to green dark leather, to fully show his support for his family. You remind yourself you are a hostage to these people, stolen. The corners of the prince’s lips lift mere inches, as if smiling. Yet he quickly brushes that away, as if he cannot be seen that way.

Cole follows, his face sorrowful and full of pain. The sort of pain you see on a father’s face when he loses a son. You feel your smile die as the world seems to slow down, to fade, and to darken instantly. Cole steps forward.

Aemond walks to you. Your feet rush, but your legs are frozen, causing you to stumble and to almost fall flat on your face. Aemond pretends to walk to you, but instead walks past you, to the big Iron throne that looms over you as a dark curse.

You watch in silence as he sits down, confirming your worst fears. You hear yourself gulp, as tears stream down your face. Your Aegon is no longer alive. King Aemond now sits the throne, and he sits it as if it took him too long to begin with. He smiles down at you, mocking and almost patronizing. Cole speaks, as first. ‘’All hail his grace, King Aemond of house Targaryen, first of his name, king of the Andels, and the first men, Lord of the seven kingdoms, and protector of the realm!’’ The words hit you like blows.

Aemond lifts his chin as all soldiers around you and all knights, servants, everyone with working legs falls down to their knees, respecting and vowing loyalty to their new monarch. Everyone but you, that is. Aemond waits quite a while before he tells everyone to raise again. Likely enjoying everyone on their knees for him, and him alone. As a cat toying with a mouse.

After that the servants are rounded up, to be informed of the King’s fate. ‘’My dear people. It is with great sadness and immense pride, that I announce the death of my brother, King Aegon II. He shall be known to history as King Aegon the Brave, for he slew the traitor Princess Rhaenys. Had it not been for her treasonous acts on battlefield, our king would be alive today.’’ He waits a moment as gasps and relieved words cross the hall. ‘’It is with great pride that I shall now serve you as King, until my younger nephew, Prince Maelor comes of age. You may all now either bend the knee, or remain standing.’’ He gestures to the guards, and on his sign, they all draw their swords. A clear choice.

You watch as the one after the other servant drops to their knees, swearing loyalty to the newly crowned King. After that is done they are all dismissed. ‘’Y/n. Please stay here.’’ The use of just your name makes your hair stand up. It is intimate, almost familiar.

You freeze.

Aemond finally rises from the throne, a smile on his lips. You wait and remain where you are. He does not beckon you closer, so you remain there. He walks closer to you until he is in front of you. He looks at your gown, taking in the details of the bodice. ‘’My condolences on the loss of your husband.’’ He whispers, gently.

You blink back tears. ‘’Can I go home now? We must write to my mother that the war is over. She can come collect her throne.’’ You look over to the ugly iron thing. Aemond chuckles, adoring your naivety and your good righteous heart.

He even reaches out to touch your face, gently caressing it and wiping away a few tears with his thumb. He brings his thumb to his mouth, sucking on it, tasting your tears. You watch, speechless. He grins. ‘’My gentle hearted sweet girl.’’ It sounds like a compliment and also an insult. ‘’I have no intention to stop the war. Your mother will sit on that throne when your brother Lucerys finds his head again. You will leave her in a coffin or when I am dead.’’ You scoff, insulted and step away, ready to leave.

He grabs you firmly by your arms, dragging you closer. You are pinned against his front, where you can still see blood on his shirt. His smirk only grows as you lower your head, avoiding his eye. He lifts your chin, forcing you to look up to him as you silently cry. ‘’I haven’t lost, you see. I have the crown, the throne, and you.’’ He does the unspeakable and leans in for a kiss, leaving a soft peck on your lips. He moans softly against your lips. ‘’My darling, my sweet precious thing.’’ He murmurs.

You give him a weak push against his chest, barely moving him. But it gets the message across. Aegon is not even cold yet. “I’m your brother’s widow!’’ You yell in righteous fury.

He laughs at that, capturing you easily with your hands again, and you hate yourself that you like how warm and fast his hands act. ‘’That means nothing in our family. You are my captive, Lady Strong. Remember? From the moment I first captured you at Storm’s end, until your very last. You are meant to be mine, so you will be.’’ He promises you. He is calm and collected about it as if is stating a fact.

He reminds you of the day when this all started. You don’t want to think back of that day. You tell yourself it is because of Luc, who Aemond fed to his dragon. But it is because of Aegon. You miss Luc, of course, but that wound had time to heal. Aegon’s loss is so sudden and just as painful, but fresh. ‘’I am not yours, you monster!’’ You raise your hand, striking Aemond on his scarred cheek.

He finally acts, grabbing your hands tighter and dragging you close until your noses touch. He is trembling with fury and his one eye is full of hatred, lust, obsession and cold blooded plans. ‘’Striking your king, is a act of treason.’’ He chuckles. ‘’I am allowed to punish you. I could take your hand for this, little lady strong.’’ You huff.

You roll your eyes even. Aemond hates the silent treatment more than any insult you could have hurled at him. Instead of making it clear what he intends, he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder, marching you back to the empty throne. You kick and slap his back, trying to break free of his iron grip. He places you in the hands of a nearby guard, who all have been silent on this treatment of their rightful princess. Aemond sits on the iron throne and what he does next shocks you.

He grabs you by your hips, bending you over both his knees, as if you don’t weigh anything. He pets your hair lovingly and even gives your shaking body a kiss. ‘’I do this because I love you. You are in luck. You will always be able to defy me.’’ He whispers. ‘’All men who do so will meet horrible ends that Maesters will write about for centuries, but you, my special girl, you will be able to defy, rebel and upset me.’’ He whispers. ‘’Because I enjoy punishing you. And I bet you enjoy being punished.’’ You feel his hands on your butt, as he starts finding the beginning of your gown. You hear the sound of fabric ripping, and panic, bolting on his lap. He simply holds you down tighter, smirking as you begin to whimper. He calmly hums and with one brutal movement, rips your skirts. You remain on his lap, vulnerable and in your small clothes. Aemond sits up straighter, as if he wants to fully take in this view. Embarrassed, you lower your head in his lap, allowing him to caress your hair once more. ‘’Such a beautiful girl. You were wasted on my brother.’’ He speaks. ‘’You belong with me. You always have.’’ He then turns to his guards. ‘’Leave me and the Princess. She will pledge her loyalty to me in a private event.’’ You whimper as you hear iron footsteps leave the room.

When he is alone with you, he pulls your small clothes down fully, yanking them until your ankles, exposing you for all you are. It seems to awaken a certain hunger or desire in him, and he rips your corset and sleeves next. He fully admires your naked body, panting as he looks at you. He seems to calm down and finally he does what he promised. He hits you on your ass, spanking it harshly. You hiss in pain, in disbelief that he is subjecting you to this. ‘’Aemond, stop this.’’ You beg.

‘’You have no right.’’

He scoffs. ‘’I have every right. I am the King now. You were naughty, today. I don’t like naughty girls. Well, not as much as I like a good girl.’’ He says, talking to you as if you are a stupid little girl. Fresh tears fall. ‘’I like naughty good girls, who know what they want. But you aren’t there yet. You aren’t broken enough yet.’’ He says, joyfully as he spanks you. You give soft whimpers.

The spankings only become harsh when you remain silent, so you fake moans and whimpers to please Aemond’s dark desires. He sometimes groans too, as he sees how much damage your body is taking thanks to him, and how you take it.

“Aegon told me something before he died. He told me he never consummated the marriage. Is that true?” You wonder why Aegon told him that.

But it is the truth. You nod. “He knew when we first were forced to lay together I didn't want it.”

Aemond only chuckles to that comment, dealing another hurtful smack, almost as if to punish you for still loving his brother. “He raped plenty of women. I suppose you weren't special enough to make the effort.”

“Aegon loved me.” You argue, and you regret it the moment you’ve said it. Because Aemond slaps so hard that your flesh burns.

He groans now not of arousal but of pure hatred. “He didn't.”

“There's one man for you in this entire world.” You huff at his words.

You are grabbed by the throat, lifted from his lap and forced to stand as he chokes you. You are choked, tears stinging your eyes as he looks at you with the crown slightly slipping from his hairs and his one eye bigger than usual, focused on you, the object of his obsession. You fight for control but lose the fight. “It is me.” He reveals.

“No,’ You croak out weakly. “I can't. You killed my brother-”

He sighs, almost enjoying the view. His cold fingers finger one of your nipples, enjoying the reaction your body gives by hardening for him. He chuckles. “Such a beauty. Now. Defy me again.” You shake your head. He sighs, putting you over his knee again. You whimper against the cruel treatment, feeling the spot he struck. Aemond smirks, challenging you to speak out again. “I ought to keep you around like this. Just as the gods intended you to be. Pure, naked, unspoiled…” He feels the skin he struck. And you feel yourself clench your cunt, ignoring the waterfall he caused down there with all cost. It is true, Aemond is a handsome man. But this is wrong, isn’t it?

“May I please dress?” You ask, wiggling on his lap, enjoying when his thigh briefly rubs your cunt. That hits the spot.

The King laughs. “Such an obedient girl for asking me first.”

“The answer is no, however. You struck me, remember? That is treason.” You are embarrassed to speak. He laughs at that, rubbing your legs, drawing circles and kissing your skin. You ignore the butterflies. You can’t.

‘’Stand.’’ He barks suddenly. You obey, standing on your shaking legs, exposing yourself now fully to him. He leans back in the throne, grinning brightly as he takes in your body, toe to head. ‘’You can defy me as many times as you like. I will gladly put you on my lap and spank you.’’ He whispers. ‘’But if you say something regarding the whore that mothered you, I’m afraid we must do a different type of punishment. Am I clear?’’ You nod, hating how frightened you are.

He softens his face. He beckons you closer. You come closer until you stand in front of throne, your cunt barely touching the iron. ‘’I wish to feel your wares. I must see myself, If you and Aegon kept your word.’’ Without a warning, his fingers sink inside your wetness, inspecting you as you stand on your legs, almost falling over.

‘’Please, make me sit.’’ You beg.

He grins, forcing his finger to go deeper, penetrating you at the right speed. “No, you'll stand, tall and proud. I bet this is just what a dirty bastard like yourself likes. ‘’ It takes a while but sadly, he discovers what is happening. ‘’Oh, just as I suspected. A wet, warm and wonderful little place for my seed to crawl inside of.” You wail at those words, aroused as he fucks slowly, taunting you with his fingers.

“Stop talking as if we are going to -” Your talking is interrupted by a smack on your cunt by his free haunt, causing you to cry out in pain and anticipation.

He glares at you, shaking you as if you aren’t awake yet.

“As if? You think I'd kept you as a pretty cup bearer or something? I plan to make good use of you. Every hole is stuffed, until you can't even crawl forward.” He promises.

“What if I will have a child?” you whisper. ‘’That would complicate your status.’’

He sees that differently, mad with lust and obsession.

“That is part of the fantasy. Breeding you makes me happy. Seeing your belly swell makes me happy. You know why?” He asks, softly patting your belly. You shake your head.

“No.”

He leans in, gesturing vaguely down to his legs.

“It proves my seed is strong, powerful and well. It proves I have the power to make you, a stunning powerful princess to a good for nothing whore, carrying a bastard inside of her womb.” You sniffle, hurt and insulted. “Judging your wet and warm cunt, you have been thinking about me too. Why don't you admit that you want this?”

“Because I loved him. I loved Aegon. That means something to me.”

Aemond growls. “Shame he didn't love you. You know it deep down. He didn't mention you at all when he died-” You push him off you, taking off to the doors, not caring he ripped your gown or your poking breasts begging for touch.

“Where do you think you'll be going?” He demands, his voice booming.

You raise your head as much as a princess and dignity as you can. “To my quarters until you decide to trade me for peace.”

“Peace?” He laughs. Then that laugh dies. “Peace!’ It scares you how quickly it became an almost command. “You have exactly 3 seconds to get over here and to kneel at my feet and to beg me for forgiveness-” You don’t let him finish and take off running. But he is faster.

He simply drags you back by your hair, giving your behind hurtful smacks as he drags you to the throne. ‘’Ungrateful bastard. I can make you my queen.’’ He growls. ‘’Why won’t you accept that you want this? Look how wet you are for me.’’ He thinks as you remain at his feet, sitting there as a dog. ‘’I know something. We must train you, to ensure you are a proper pet.’’ He grins. One of the servants is allowed in, to bring Aemond a piece of rope.

You are worried he is going to tie your hands. But his plans are far worse. He ties the end around your neck, and holds it, as a leash. “Such a stubborn girl.” He chuckles. ‘’Now if you try to run, you’ll feel it.’’

“Please untie my neck.” You whisper, softly.

“Why? You can't behave, clearly. I must make the rules clear somehow.”

He has gone insane.

“Untie my neck, I'm worried I'll choke.”

“You know, when the right person is doing it, choking, taking control of another person's breath, nay, life, can feel…amazing.”

In response you spit at him.

“Spitting at me, you are a vile dirty minded thing, are you not? I bet you just ache for someone to pin you down against the floor and to have his wicked way with you. Don't you, bastard?” He growls, handling you.

“I want Aegon…” You whisper, half a beg and half a prayer.

He almost slams your head against the throne in pure rage. You can tell he is close to losing it. “Why? Why do you want that disgusting raper. You have me. You have all you will ever need.” He says. Then he sniffs your breasts, his long nose and hair disappearing between your breasts. “Fuck, you smell so good. So inviting. I can smell that needy cunny of yours.”

He stands up, keeping the leash in his dominate hand. ‘’I bet if I took my cock out you’d be fucking it before I could even ask you to.’’ He grins. ‘’You are your mother’s daughter after all.’’ To prove his point he lowers his trousers, revealing his manhood to you.

You are caught off guard. You never saw one before and it looks so strange yet familiar. “Look down.” He pushes your head down so you can properly.

It is red and swollen and evil in all ways. You try to glance at Aemond but your eyes are almost glued to his manhood. He snickers amused at your virginal response. “You'd like to feel this down your legs, little bastard?” He asks, and you are shocked when his fingers find your entrance once more, and now your soaked little cunt can’t even handle this. You moan, crying of shame and desire.

Aemond grins, taking it as a sign of encouragement.

“Get on your knees.” you obey, eying his cock. You wonder if it’ll hurt. But part of you wants to just feel good and happy for a moment. “On all fours.” He adds, groaning in frustration.

“What is expected of me?” You whisper soft as you kneel for him in the throne room. Aemond finally leaves his throne, so he may join you.

Silence. “I can't…I'm a princess. My virtue is everything to me-”

He laughs. “I can't wait to fuck you, so you for once and for all will shut up about your prestige and your privileges. You will learn, my sweet that I decide what your worth is now. Now, I am going to ask.”

You shake as his fingers brutally Bury themselves in your untouched tight cunt. “Do you want me to be the bad man today, little Maella? Do you wish to get your cunny raided by me, here, in the throne room, on your knees, as a little dirty harlot?’ You fall to your knees, crying out as the penetrating reaches a hight, as does your pleasure. You touched yourself but never like this. Not like he does. And his dirty naughty talk..

“Do you want to feel my cock take root and to feel me penetrate away at your innocent soft rings as they wrap and tighten around my cock as I take you on the stones, your knees bloody and your vision blurry as I bring you close?’

“Do you want that?”

You begin to doubt and he knows it. So he softens his voice, for show. “It can feel so good, Maella. You know I've won. You know it. You are already naked. You are already kneeling. All I need to do is put my cock……” He parts your legs. He rubs your needy cunt causing friction as you frustrated cry out. “here…’’

You nod pleasure winning. ‘Yes.’’ You say, consenting at last. He does not need long. He drags his finger nails in your hips, bringing you closer to his front. He sits on both his knees, as he slams inside of you, fucking you with a brutal war cry. You gasp as the cock pierces through your maidenhood, ruining you for any other man. Aemond groans in delight at your gasps, fucking you harder for every bit of sound you make.

“Oh, you're deep…” you mutter, a bit foolish.

He chuckles. “You'll handle me just fine. Any woman is a bit as a frightened stag, wishing to bolt off when a man climbs her. It is his task to smooth her back into submission so the ride may be…pleasant.” You wonder if he enjoys it the way you do. But when you hear his grunts and moans you know he does.

“Just as much of a slut as your mother.” He whispers and quickly gives you a kiss to avoid your anger. “Taking it all so well. You're a natural love.”

The fucking reaches a height your innocent body cannot handle, as Aemond comes closer to, and the fucking becomes violent, with him choking you as well now. “Meant and made to be on your knees, cock deep inside of your cunt and getting fucked until you can't crawl out of your bed tomorrow.” You gasp, your cries and soft moans filling the throne room, high on pleasure. “Agree.” He hisses, suddenly. For someone who claims not the care about others, he sure seeks a lot of approval.

You know you must obey. You know it deep down. So you swallow your pride. “Y-yes Aemond.” You say, obediently.

He spits at that idea. “You will call me King Aemond or your Grace.’’ He smacks your ass, sinking a finger deep there too. You buck your hips to him, eager for more.

You need to feel good, more than anything, you need to feel alive. ‘’Aemond, your grace, please..”

That pleases him greatly. “So fast, little girl? This is just the tip of the mountain, dear. There is so much more for you left.” He promises, planting dark desires in your head.

“There is?”

He nods. “Hmm,” He smacks your butt in a playful manner. “This is fun, but this is not the way a baby is made. I must stuff you properly for that. And there's your face…” You turn to face him, cock slightly sliding out of you in the process.

“What of it?” You ask, worried there is something stuck between your teeth.

You aren’t prepared for the answer. “It looks so clean. A nice, white and shimmering substance would look amazing on it. Something like my cum?”

“O, I don't know…” you stutter, foolishly.

You do know. But you won’t tell him that. “That is the beauty of your new life. You no longer need to know. I do. I'd love to see your cunt, breasts, belly, cheeks, chin, butt and hole covered in my cum.” He confesses. It is taking so long.

So you buck your hips to his front, hoping he mounts you soon once more. Aemond merely watches, grinning. “Taking me now, aren't we?”

“I do what you want. Just…give me…” You are at the breaking point. You are close.

Aemond slams inside of you, fucking you up and down the tiles as you scream it out in pleasure and he hisses, likely near too. “This?”

You roar in approval as pleasure explodes and you cry out in a soft voice. Aemond can be heard chuckling. “That's it, beauty. You keep being good, and I'll give you that and more.”

“Please, my King…” you whimper. “I can't…I can't handle it anymore. I need to ..I need it now.”

The King laughs, enjoying your suffering and your pleasure.

“Such a demanding little brat, demanding to come before your king.” The Spanking you get now is not punishment. It brings you pleasure and therefor shame. You nearly whimpered at it, but at the same time you enjoyed the smack on your naked ass.

And he bows your head down, and gives you the one after the other hard rough trust that only raises your pleasure. As the fucking increases, your needs reach a height unfamiliar to you and you stop, waiting for it to fade as you usual do when you touch yourself. Aemond sees this as the moment to strike, fully claiming you with a rough war cry and a trust. You fall down from your pleasure and come, all over his red swollen cock as he rides his own orgasm out on your spent body. The King is not happy yet, and fucks your body two more times after you are done with it.

When he is done, he finally removes the rope. You sit up, watching the tiles you fucked upon, sweaty and stained with your blood. Aemond cheekily grins, dressing himself again quickly. You look around for anything to cover yourself with. He throws his leather bloodied coat your way. ‘’Here. Cover. I don’t wish you to catch a cold.’’ He says. You think back of Aegon. And guilt washes over you.

The door is opened and a soldier rushes inside the room. You attempt to cover yourself but it is too late. ‘’My king.’’ He begins but Aemond does not allow him to finish.

‘’You saw my lady naked.’’ He says, instead of listening to his trusted soldier. The soldier blinks.

‘’I,I didn’t!”’ He quickly blurts out. Aemond does not even bother to explain his motivates, you can only watch as he takes his sword and chops of the head of the soldier. Blood and flesh come free as treat and paint painting the Throne room. You are horrified that Aemond murdered a man for looking at you.

You scream in horror. Aemond walks to you next, sword still dripping with blood. He levels the sword at his lips and takes a lick, before kissing your forehead. ‘’He had to die. Only one eye may look at your body. Mine.’’ He says, kissing you again as if it calms you down. It only makes you panic.

He sighs, taking you back to the throne. He makes you sit but this time there’s no spanking. Only sweet kisses and heartbroken mutters. ‘’What can I ever do to compare to Aegon? I want your love, my love. I want you to weep over my dead corpse.’’ He whispers. ‘’I want you when we marry, to become so madly in love with me, that when they find my corpse on the battlefield, you become mad and consumed with grief and you carve off one of my fingers to keep it close to you and you never think of a marrying another. I want you to die from a broken heart.’’ He whispers. ‘’I offer you the world, my love. It is ours. From Westeros to Essos and from the Dothraki grass sea to the useless kingdom of Dorne. It will fall at our feet, crumbled into dust. Thousands will die at our command, and their bones will become your crown and throne. Their blood will be your gown and their flesh will feed our love. Whoever offends you, shall die first. Let me be your King, and you will never need anyone else again.’’ You know you don’t have a choice. Once you cared about innocents. But you don’t have the luxury to care about them anymore. You must survive.

You play along for now.

Be Aemond’s Queen.

His second in command, the mother of his children, his lover and his bedmate.

To him you will be bow…

At least for now.

One of the days soon coming…

You’re going to take that boy’s crown.

//Not even therapy can fix this im afraid.

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crimsonbastard · 27 days

Text

That's it. I've had it with these brain-dead takes

Rightful Queen:

Firstly, what the fuck do you mean when you say Rightful? There's no "Rightful" monarch in ASOIAF. There are only the ones who are elected as per the laws in which the Realm Functions. So There's only Lawful Queen or Lawful King.

Daenerys: Wasn't the Rightful Queen by blood, but by conquest (mass murdering an entire city that surrendered), but even then, she had contenders to the Throne in the form of her nephew. Her family was deposed through rebellion and they were in exile.

The throne no longer belonged to her unless she forcefully claimed it back. After Robert's death, the crown goes to Stannis, the next in line, followed by Shireen, considering Robert's children aren't his. But since all the legitimate Baratheons died and Gendry wasn't legitimized yet, the Lannisters covertly took the crown by continuing to pose Cersei's children as true borns (the children atleast took after one of the parents, making the argument for their legitimacy somwhat strong, Unlike Rhaenyra).

Daenerys took Kingslanding by force, decimating the city and it's populace with Dragon Fire and seated herself on the Throne. So yes, she has become the Lawful Queen by right of Conquest, all that's left is to eliminate the equally Lawful Contender to the throne, it being Jon.

Rhaenyra: Despite Viserys i (who was the younger of the two candidates, but got elected over Rhaenys who was older than him) naming her as his heir after Aemma's and Baelon's death he never really prepares her to rule in the future. He doesn't teach her the ways of Politics, nor does he reinforce the line of succession. He instead puts his daughter's claim in jeaprody and remarries, and sires THREE LEGITIMATE SONS. As unfair as it sounds, Westeros follows Male Primogeniture, the very system that made Viserys i heir to the throne over Rhaenys. As long as Aegon ii, Aemond and Daeron lived, Rhaenyra would always have challengers to the Throne.

"Half-Blooded" Murderer named Aegon:

Funny how TB thinks just because someone's Half-Targ (half inbred), It automatically makes them less of a claimant to the throne. Paternity goes a long way in Westeros.

Aegon ii is the first born son of King Viserys ii Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower. He's the result of a legitimate marriage between two ancient and powerful houses. He was anointed by a Septon of the Faith, crowned with thousands as a witness. As shitty as his character is in the show, he's a more legitimate claimant to the throne compared to Rhaenyra and her illegitimate children.

Jon Snow (Aegon) being confirmed to be R+L=J in the show doesn't make him a "half-blood" by any chance. He's the Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. The show states that Rhaengar annulled his marriage with Elia Martell, making Jon a "legitimate" (as per TB) contender to the throne.

There's also the implication of the term "half-blooded" used in the post. Just because Jon and Aegon ii are half Targaruen doesn't make them less of a claimant. It also sheds light on the Targaryen Exceptionalism that TB drinks like kool-aid. Anyone who's non-targ or is half-targ and isn't on the Targaryen side is automatically treated as lesser.

#anti team black #anti rhaenyra stans #pro alicent hightower #anti team black stans #pro team green #anti house targaryen #pro house hightower #aegon ii targaryen #pro jon snow #anti dany stans #anti daenerys stans

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year

Text

the aftermath

Aemond Targaryen x f!Reader

part four of the prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series

part one: don't you love me? - part two: and what of your love? - part three: the flames that divide -- part five: never tear us apart

themes: injury, violence (choking/assault), language, dragonrider!reader (her house is not stated)

word count: 3.7k ▪︎ masterlist

The reader is left comatose after the curse inflicted by Alys Rivers. Daemon and the rest of the Blacks are determined to set things right. Aemond finally learns of what happened, and makes sure that the guilty pays the price.

The gillyflower lies on the round desk in the middle of your chambers.

It has been three days since its arrival, and devoid of the solace of its earth, it has inevitably began to wilt.

Rhaenyra had been the one to pull it from the box in which it arrived, for its intended recipient lies unconscious on the bed. She comes back to check on you each day, opening the windows to let the morning air in. The ladies-in-waiting tend to you, running warm cloth over your face and body, cleaning and replacing the healing ointment on your injuries.

It has been nearly a week since the tragic incident, which still remains unexplained by everyone. You had sustained treatable injuries, including a broken leg and wrist, but you were also left comatose, after hitting your head in the fall. Thankfully, in a desperate effort by your dragon Fyraxes, the blow was softened as she did her best to minimize the impact in her final moments. She is afflicted with a similar condition, yet to wake again, just like you.

The door to your chambers flies open, and in enters Daemon followed by the maester. He has also been a steady visitor, making sure that all measures are taken toward your recovery. He had been the one to take you back to Dragonstone on Caraxes. Jace stayed behind with Vermax in Horn Hill to watch over Fyraxes, awaiting Baela on Moondancer to help carry her back on makeshift mesh netting.

Daemon’s rough hands carry an ebony box, and he need not open it to determine its contents. It’s the usual one, sent by your lover. He sets it down on the desk. It is left adjacent to the one previously sent, the contents of which have already grown much fainter in vibrance.

Gillyflower. Yet again. In its usual shades of red and violet. A secret call, another attempt to coax you back into his arms.

He knew nothing of what happened. If he did, it would only be reasonable to assume that Alys Rivers would take the brunt of his wrath.

If Aemond only knew, then there is nothing in this world that he wouldn’t burn to reach you.

Daemon’s low spirits intensify as he observes you, lying supine and unmoving in the room. He hates not understanding your affliction. This never should have happened; something clearly isn’t right. Both you and Fyraxes showed no sign of any ailment prior to the incident, and nothing could have overtaken you that quickly. You were laughing one second, and gone to the world the next.

He is determined to see this right. Daemon needed you to be well, as he’s grown to see you as a kind of younger sister, someone he would protect at all costs. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t even fucking fly his dragon fast enough to save you from the fall.

“Well?” Daemon irately questions the maester who looks over you, yet again, “you wanted to say something? Speak it plainly, then. If you have any idea at all as to how we can help her, hold nothing back or I will make sure you regret it.”

“My prince, it is hard to say-”

“Say it.”

“It is only a matter of possibility. A mere assumption. I, myself, do not claim to have any determinate method to confirm this, but the lady y/n may have been targeted with dark magic.”

Daemon pauses, not expecting those words from the maester. Dark magic? “Do make it clear how exactly you arrived at this assumption.”

“Well, if I may show you,” the master lifts your hand, palm upwards, beckoning to Daemon, “if one has been targeted by a spell or an incantation of sorts, it tends to leave a mark.” He traces the lines on your palm, “As you can see, the creases on her palm have been tinged with a shade of maroon. It is almost hard to distinguish, unless studied closely.”

Daemon lowers his head to detect the traces of this on your palm, as the maester continues, “There are records of similar traces from victims of such witchcraft in our histories. One being a lord who was seemingly branded with a murky red contusion on his back, and another lady whose iris morphed into a similar colour. A telltale sign of the work of someone who practices the religion of R’hllor. A disgrace to the one, true religion of the Seven, if I do say so mys-”

Daemon straightens, a fit of rage starting to resurface, "This must be the work of someone from the fucking Greens. It has to be. We must question any known priest or priestess from this Red religion. Anyone who might have any idea about the doings of these bloody witches," his lips curl in distaste, "Immediately."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Aemond sits at the edge of the bed. The very same one that you shared nearly a fortnight ago. In this familiar cabin, in your secret field, he waits. He has been waiting for several hours, as he had waited several days ago.

And yet, you are nowhere to be seen.

The gillyflower must have reached you. He made sure that it would not be intercepted on its way to Dragonstone. It must have arrived in your chambers, for your immediate notice.

So where are you? When you did not arrive several days prior, Aemond tried to let it pass. You must have been preoccupied with other pressing matters. You are a trusted ally in the Black Council, after all, with your own duties to fulfill.

But again, you have yet to make your presence known. You have yet to come home to Aemond’s arms, where you belong. He tries not to worry, not to let it get to his head. Perhaps, it’s the same case. You must be occupied, or sent on an envoy to one of your allies. There must be a reason that would justify your absence. Surely, you would not choose to simply ignore him, ignore the constant arrival of gillyflower to your chambers.

He lets his fingers drift across the sheets, going over the memory of the both of you entangled in them. It’s been too long, and he’s just gotten you back. There is no way in seven hells that he would let another separation linger between you and him.

Perhaps it’s time to leave. His entire being pulls him toward staying in the cabin, perhaps just a little while longer. Just another minute, or another hour even. Maybe then, maybe you…

Out in the hills, Vhagar huffs impatiently. She feels distraught, struggling to maintain a sense of calm, mirroring her rider’s exact sentiments. Vhagar and Aemond have always been attuned to each other in this way, which has also led to the largest dragon’s affinity for you. She watches Aemond walking back to her, stone-faced and looking downcast. He certainly did not get what he came for. Silently, he clambers up onto Vhagar, and sits back, assessing the field and the skies. Trying to catch a glimpse of your arrival. Anything at all. Even a raven that holds a letter to explain your absence.

He's not certain how much more time passes, as he sits atop Vhagar. The dragon shuffles slightly, pulling him out of his thoughts. In a huff, he makes a split decision, voice sounding agitated, “Ivestragī's jikagon. Sōvegon.” Let’s go. Fly.

The field is enveloped in a massive gust of wind, grass and gillyflower whipped about in a flourish. Gravel and dirt are spread out from where Vhagar took off. Back in the cabin, candles are left lit around the room, casting a warm glow in the emptiness. The entire place - the field, the cabin, the skies above – seems to have lost its wonder, its defining spark, without the star-crossed lovers who have made it their home.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Rhaenyra Targaryen’s sworn knights escort a woman into the great, looming hall in Dragonstone. The elderly woman walks with dignity, her head held high, her modest red dress billowing slightly as she strides. The queen and Prince Daemon finally take notice of her, as the maester walks forward to announce her arrival.

“My Queen, my Prince, might I present the Lady Cerrah. She hails from Essos, but she currently resides in the Riverlands, in the employ of our ally, House Tully.”

“They have a fucking witch in their employ?” Daemon doesn’t mince his words, as always, eager to get on with the interrogation.

“My queen,” she bows her head in obeisance, before adding in response, “I am a respected healer in House Tully, Prince Daemon, and I do not appreciate your tone.”

Rhaenyra gives her consort a sideward look, advising him to take caution, “We welcome you to Dragonstone, Lady Cerrah. I suppose you have been informed of why you have been summoned?”

“Summoned?” The lady’s voice is shrill, disbelieving, “I was plucked out of my chambers in the middle of the night and dragged out here in a pathetic carriage-”

“You should consider yourself fortunate that you weren’t put in chains, witch.” Daemon snaps, “This is a matter of urgency, so the sooner you answer our questions, the sooner we can be rid of each other’s presence.”

Lady Cerrah doesn’t recoil at Daemon’s tone, already accustomed to men approaching her in a brutish manner, without any effort made to hide their prejudice. “The maester has already informed me of the Lady Y/n’s condition, and I’m afraid he is not mistaken. This is the work of a priestess, and quite the powerful one, might I add.”

Rhaenyra proceeds in a practiced, diplomatic manner, “We have reason to suspect that this might be the work of someone from the Greens. Perhaps they too, have a priestess such as you, my lady, in their company.”

The priestess does not appreciate having to be a mere tool, her religion clearly viewed as lesser by these nobles, “And? What do you require of me? The name of everyone who might potentially be a priestess who sided with the Greens?”

“Just one name would suffice. The name of the cunt who put a curse of Lady Y/n and her dragon,” Daemon fiercely says, matching Lady Cerrah’s derision, “Whoever they are, they’re likely to be under the command of the Hightowers, or any of the traitors in King’s Landing.”

Rhaenyra interjects, “Daemon, we can’t be certain-” but her husband does not cease his tirade.

“It must be. Do you know of any priest or priestess who may currently be in King’s Landing?”

“We followers of the Lord of Light know better than to be under the direct control of any of you Targaryens,” Lady Cerrah sneers, “You only seek to bring about the downfall of the Seven Kingdoms, simply because you wage war amongst yourselves.”

Just before Daemon angrily speaks up, Rhaenyra is quick to implore, in a comparably calmer tone, “I do not wish to antagonize you, my lady, and if you felt as if you were not properly treated as you were brought here, then I offer my apology. But the Lady Y/n is quite dear to me, and to all of us. She is more than just an ally; she is my family.” At that, Daemon can’t help but sullenly nod in agreement. Rhaenyra continues, “If you know of anyone who might be rightfully suspected of harming her, then speak their name.”

Despite Lady Cerrah’s resistance, the queen’s genuine sincerity was something she could not ignore. She speaks again, her voice softer, “In King’s Landing, you say? Well, I suppose there is someone who is close enough to the royals, that it is likely her faith is being utilized to their advantage,” she pauses, making up her mind, “You must have heard of Alys Rivers. The consort…well, former consort of Prince Aemond Targaryen. She is the daughter of a devout follower of the Lord of Light, a true priestess who devoted her life to the faith. I came across her mother several times in our youth, before she was impregnated by the late Lord Strong.”

Daemon’s blood runs cold. He mouths slowly, “Alys Rivers is a fucking witch.” If she had anything to do with this, then it must only be at the behest of his nephew, and Daemon knowingly let you go to him. I let her go to him, to that fucking traitor, and now she lies unconscious, her fate uncertain.

Rhaenyra and Daemon share a knowing look, both aware of your history with Prince Aemond.

“Thank you, my lady,” Rhaenyra says, “That will be all for now. You will be given your own chambers during your stay here. Clear the room,” she hurriedly commands her loyal knights.

Before she is ushered away, the priestess adds, moved by the queen’s grace, “My queen, I wish to express my regret for what happened to the Lady Y/n. I shall look over my texts, and see if there is anything I can do.”

The room has just been emptied, before Daemon angrily speaks, "That one-eyed cunt shall pay for what he's done to her. He clearly has not learned his lesson after-"

Rhaenyra stops him with a single look, and Daemon knows better than to bring up the subject of her second son.

"If this is all Prince Aemond's doing, then why does he persist in sending gillyflower to her, in hopes that she might meet him? It does not seem like he's aware of her condition."

"It must be a trap," Daemon asserts, "or a diversion. To make it look like he's innocent in all this-"

"Daemon, you said so yourself that you believe them to truly care for one another. This is why you let her go to him. If that is true, then Aemond would not have done this."

"Well, perhaps I thought wrong," Daemon hissed, "If Alys Rivers is a priestess, then her connection with Aemond would deem her most likely guilty of the fucking curse our Y/n was put under."

Rhaenyra reaches for Daemon's hand, attempting to ease his agitation, "She will make it through this, Daemon. She's a fighter, always has been."

"I know she will," Daemon mutters, "but Alys Rivers must be dealt with, and I know just the way to see this done."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Aemond absentmindedly plays with the sapphire-blue stone ball in the symbolic round dish set before him. His mind is elsewhere, fixated on you. The other members of the Green Council drawl on, and his mother Alicent’s expression grows dimmer as she sits at the head of the table. The proclaimed King himself is once again absent from the council meeting, no longer a surprise to anyone, for it was always clear that the Hightowers have been the ones to maneuver the plans of war. Figureheads in the shadows who are actually running the Seven Kingdoms.

Ser Tyland Lannister drawls on about the need for more resources in some battle, which of course, Casterly Rock would be more than happy to provide. Not unusual of their House which constantly leeches off of the power of the Iron Throne, through favours and self-serving flattery. Tyland poorly hides his annoyance when Jasper Wylde interrupts, who claims to have good news from the Greens’ network of spies.

“Word has reached us that a very important player in this game for the Blacks has suffered a grave injury. As luck would have it, her dragon is in the same condition. The Lady Y/n is rumoured to be lying unconscious, and it is uncertain whether she will ever wake.”

Aemond freezes completely. His stomach twists and a sense of nausea threatens him, his eyes widening in shock. Rage quickly follows, when he replays what Jasper has just reported, his increasingly grating voice a mere echo in the background.

… suffered a grave injury… rumoured to be lying unconscious… It is uncertain whether she will ever wake.

“Wonderful news, dare I say!” the bumbling Lannister exclaims, unaware of the inner turmoil about to be unleashed from the Targaryen prince across the table, “And she rides one of their largest dragons, doesn’t she? A true loss for the Blacks, so this should…”

Alicent grows aware of her son’s distress, of his fist turning bone-white, tightening around the blue stone ball, “Aemond,” she implores, “Aemond, don’t-”

Tyland Lannister drones on, “…be a cause for celebration. But we should also make haste in considering our next-”

Gasps erupt around the table. Silence falls. Tyland Lannister’s speech was effectively halted by the same symbolic sphere, that shining blue implement, hurled from Aemond’s fist to his mouth.

The council members look from their prince to the Lannister, who stands in shock. His quivering hand covers his mouth, but blood has already begun to seep through his fingers. He makes a gurgling noise, and keels over, spitting a heavy clod of blood and several of his teeth on the stone floor.

“Fuck!” Tyland yells, muffled by the damage done, “You…you utter cunt…”

“Careful how you address your prince, Ser,” Ser Criston threatens from the side of the room.

Aemond stands tall, dominating the room with his silent, burning wrath. Lips tightened, jaw tense, fists curled at his sides. The very image of a dragon prepared to bring about destruction with his fire. He makes no move to excuse his action, and does not offer any semblance of an apology, both in word and in his expression.

Alicent is quick to act, fearing further escalation into violence, especially due to her son. “My lords, I must declare this council meeting over. We shall discuss any proceedings on the morrow.”

“What of… of what’s been done to me?” Tyland wheezes, blood still spilling from his lips, “I demand justice!”

Aemond’s head whips to him in a fury, “Justice would warrant that I have your head mounted on a spike, for levying insults against my-” He pauses. My love? My consort? My... my life.

The air is thick with anticipation and intrigue. The intrusive thought of Prince Aemond and Lady Y/n settle uncomfortably within their minds.

“Ser Criston, see everyone out,” Alicent instructs, “and have the maester see to Ser Tyland straight away.” Everyone shuffles out of the room, apart from Alicent and her son. She takes one of his fists, squeezing it gently between her palms, beseeching him to meet her gaze.

“Speak to me, Aemond,” Alicent pleads, “Why have you acted in such a way? You swore to me that you would never let your anger take over you again. Do you still care for the Lady Y/n?”

“Mother, I-” Aemond whispers, words failing him, “I…” He sits back down, leaning forward on one arm to steady himself. His hand is still curled tight, fingernails digging into his palm. Alicent sits beside him, pulling his fist close. Prying it open, she is saddened to see familiar, bloody crescent marks on his palm, from where his nails dug too deep. A memory flashes across her eyes, a sensation from her long lost girlhood, her hands defaced in a similar way. Of her own doing. And now her son has to suffer the same, and whatever pains have led him to this, she only wishes to take it away.

“Was this our doing?” Aemond says lowly, “Was this an attack orchestrated by our allies? I must know who dared harm Y/n.”

“I am not certain of this at present, Aemond. However, I will have Ser Criston report every detail he can collect about this incident. Rest assured, you will have your answers.”

Aemond envisions you, hurt, and he feels powerless to do anything to remedy it. His chest tightens with a pain he is sure he has not felt in a long time, not since he lost you the first time. Now, he could lose you for good. He refuses to entertain that possibility; he fears the monster he will become if that ever came to be.

He forces himself to nod to his mother in acknowledgement, before striding out of the council room, every step he takes bearing heavy. He was never a devout man, only playing the part of the dutiful son who upholds his mother’s beliefs. But a prayer repeatedly races through his mind. By the old gods and the new, let her be well. Let her recover completely. Let her return to me.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Aemond walks the halls determinedly in apparent calm. His face does not betray what simmers within. After Ser Criston Cole left his chambers, having reported everything he had gathered about your condition, Aemond sat transfixed by the flames. The amber flickers drew him back to one dark-haired bastard girl. The one who worships these flames. That witch.

It had been her. She was the one whom the Blacks have apparently determined as the likely cause. Aemond can’t help but concur. You had been allegedly been afflicted with a curse, the doing of someone who practices the religion of R’hllor. And who else would have reason to target you? Who better to suspect that his scorned former consort.

The door to Alys Rivers’ meagre chambers flies open. She had been sitting in front her mirror, running a comb over her long tresses, when she felt a cold gust of air from behind. She turns, finding the object of her fixation. The one-eyed prince, the love that had been promised to her by the Lord of Light. She was sure, he was meant to be hers.

She stands, excitedly at first, until she manages to observe him entirely. His entire demeanour is dark and menacing, his regal, austere face taking on a cruel edge.

“My Aemond,” she tentatively whispers, her hands reaching out to touch him. She lightly grips the sleeves of his tunic, but he remains unmoving. A long, torturous moment passes.

Then Aemond snaps, springing into movement, too quick for Alys to comprehend. His fingers tighten around her neck, cutting off any air in her windpipe. His fingernails dig into her skin, and her eyes widen alarmingly, begging him to cease his assault.

His seemingly dead eyes look right through her, numb to her pain. For once, the witch’s heart is stricken with fear caused by her true love. She can barely recognize the man in front of her.

“Ae..mond,” a desperate croak, her slender hands scrambling and failing to urge him to release her neck.

Aemond finally speaks, voice dripping with menace, “What the fuck have you done?”

-----------

Sorry that you did not make an appearance in this chapter, dear reader. 🙃 I wanted to emphasize the gravity of the situation, and we simply can't have you just gallivanting around right away, if you're meant to have suffered a great blow from your nemesis, now can we?

I hoped yous understand the reference to the symbolic stone balls used during council meetings. No, Aemond does not have a blue ball he just brings around and plays with. (Lol)

And that's right, no smut in this one. This is kind of a filler chapter + you're in a bloody coma so simmer down for a while 😂

What to expect in the next chapter: you'll finally wake, Aemond will attempt to come see you (risking his head because Daemon will surely be out for blood the moment his nephew sets foot on Dragonstone), you might see Aemond in a new light (you'll be more distrusting, because it was his fooling around with that witch that led to your affliction after all) ...

the taglist continues in the comments, I sincerely apologize if I missed anyone. There must be nearly 200 of you that asked to be tagged so it's been insane! (in the best way) thank you all for reading!!! 🖤

taglist: @schniiipsel @thelastcitysposts @angel6776 @huntycola @sanguinalia @just-a-harmless-potato-05 @outundertheocean @dazecrea @ladystardvsts @afro-hispwriter @dudfahsn @poohkie90 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @lilostif16 @deeeeexx @nephitis @minicikasworld @livimulati @the-orions-belt @stillinracooncity @lawlerek @missusnora @wickedbutlovely @umavvitch @claudie-080102 @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @puredicks @crazylokonugget @lj127 @icarusignite @mandyki @darylandbethfanforever9 @highexpectationsgurl @whitejuliana1204 @caught-in-the-afterglow @witchmoon @meilikki @carlottalhn @xcinnamonmalfoyx @writer-lee5 @solacestyles @noneedtosearch @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @vensidia @xinyourdreamsx @mikariell95 @cryztalline @fairaardirascenarios @aemondswh0re

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fanfiction #ewan mitchell

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

Note

Well for a part two I was thinking it could happen a few years later or something like that. Daemon and reader are married, she is pregnant but she doesn't know that yet. I was thinking it would be sweet for Daemon to figure that out. Maybe Caraxes gets extremely overprotective of reader. They could have a small argument wholr caring for Caraxes and it would turn in the dragon growling at Daemon when he would rise his voice at the reader. It all becomes real when she faints one morning after getting out of bed so Daemon calls the maesters and they confirm that she's pregnant. and maybe the moment of the birth, Daemon holding his first child and getting to place a dragon egg inside the crib. Just general sweetness. I would be very pleased if you'd like to write this ! If not it's perfectly fine ! Thank you !

I love your brain! It’s filled with fascinating ideas. Also I love protective Caraxes. It’s just perfect.

Newsflash: I’m shit at writing birth scenes cuz I’ve never done it by I tried my best despite some possible inaccuracies.

Reader is female per request. Just letting ppl know beforehand before I forget.

Here’s part 1 for those who haven’t read it.

Your love for your Daemon has often left you blindsided to his darker impulses that you had soon became repulsed by your sudden faux ignorance to his crimes you’ve long kept silent about. Yet you found yourself still in love with him as the day you understood the word and shown said love in a multitude of ways that you probably shouldn’t have; so when news of Rhea Royce -Daemon’s bronze bitch of a Lady wife before you- having passed away on a hunting trip, the cause having that been of her horse being frightened by some means, crushing and as an result paralysing the poor woman. Those minor details didn’t catch your eye but what was added onto it oh most definitely did; apparently it was said that her head had been caved in and along with the apt timing of Daemon’s visitation at the Vale almost corresponded perfectly to the time of Rhea Royce’s death also too perfectly to be ignored by the public.

It fell together so seamlessly that it was no longer thought to be an outlandish accusation to assume that Daemon Targaryen, your husband, had killed Rhea Royce out of cold blood. You found yourself at a loss for words, torn between creating a false narrative to save face and protect Daemon’s ‘innocence’ and going mad within your denial of the truth presented before you as clear as day. It was obvious that to live someone was one thing but to defend their unjust cruelty towards others was another. Maegor was called ‘the cruel’ for good reason, given the how history written him to be; as it seemed history held an eternal grudge against house Targaryen and was willing to bury those who bore the name as repercussions for the wars they’ve waged and the homes, families and kingdoms that now laid to ruins because of them. It was only a matter of time before Daemon received similar treatment long after his passing, have his history written through venomous words and accounts from those who only ever spoke ill of him in life and death. It was also a matter of time before history treated you just as equally horrid as it would Daemon, Rhaenyra and Viserys.

Unfortunately you knew that many of the cousin members and even the king would already be privy to whom the most likely culprit was, given how eagerly Daemon was of disgracing Rhea’s name and insulting her beauty by claiming that the sheep of the Vale were prettier then her in front of an audience. You also knew that you’d sooner be caught in the crossfire unwillingly as a means of tarnishing your name along with his for keeping dark secrets concerning the kings brother for as long as you have in hopes of toppling you both and be done with it once and for all. No matter how much you wished to fight by Daemon’s side you have found yourself unable in your current state as of late; you know naught of how or when it came about but it is believed that it had started the first morning after you and Daemon consummated the marriage. Only then did it seem to linger longer then you had hoped days prior and have yet to speak a word of it to Daemon never less the Maesters but that could wait as there were more pressing matters to confront your beloved on firstly.

“Is it true?” Daemon’s ear picked up at your voice as he lowered himself from Caraxes back, “my spouse, you look as radiant as ev-“ “silence your silver tongue husband and answer me, is it true?” You cut him off venomously, not particularly in the mood for his honeyed words. “Why don’t you cease speaking in riddles and tell me what ales you so much to bare the vipers venom on your words.” Daemon began to hate the fact that slowly and surely enough your eyes were beginning to open and see him for whom the seven kingdoms truly saw him as. No longer were you carefree kids anymore and sooner or later uncomfortable realisations would have inevitably been made. Yet Daemon didn’t think that they’d poisoned your mind so quickly as they have and for which he would have their tongues for so they would never speak a word within your presence to doubt his character ever again; because to Daemon you were merely voicing the accusations that the kingdom have made against him, that it was the Seven kingdoms and his own brother that were forcing you into thinking him, your beloved, a villain in means of causing a rift between you too.

Daemon has fought tooth and nail to have you and he wasn’t planning on letting you slip over to their side so easily. Yet when the words flew from your lips and into his skin, Daemon could feel the prickling feeling of ice flooding his once fiery veins. “That you killed Rhea Royce as a means of selfishly securing yourself of the royalties of Runestone.” The air between you felt as though at a boiling pit and a subzero zone simultaneously as it only became increasingly difficult to breath in either conditions. Caraxes seemed to physically stiffen at your words as his eyes shifted from you to the back of Daemon’s head who’s silence didn’t help his case nor hinder; feeling as though you were in danger the Blood Wrym moved to shield you until he practically eclipsed the entrance to the cavern like stable of his. No matter how good natured his actions may have been they didn’t simmer the unease within your chest when Daemon looked at you like a stranger.

“Your believing them too now?“ he says eerily, lingering in the air to further build upon the unsettling feeling within your stomach as everything within you screamed, urged you to run from the one person who sworn to keep you safe since a young age. So when you didn’t and his hand laid upon your cheek felt as cold as ice as your breath hitched at the contact and instinctively pulled yourself away from his grasp and in the the broad front of Caraxes who towered over you silently in thought. “They’re poisoning your mind my beloved, they’ll say anything to cause conflict between use because they are jealous that what we have is real in comparison to them. We made our own choice whilst they did not in they wanted to spend their putrid lives with; they want to see us fight, the want to see us collapse so they may move in and claim whatever they want as their own. What evidence do they even hold over me to stake their claim?” Daemon’s eyes searched your tearful ones only to find that deep down you were at war with your heart. “Your visitation to the Vale is enough evidence, you snide comments is enough evidence, your eagerness to bed another whilst still in relations with her is enough evidence to be made against you Daemon. They have everything you have ever said against Rhea Royce and had it engraved in their memory for moments like this. Your carelessness has brought about your own end my beloved and in due time everyone will know. If they don’t already.”

You felt yourself fighting hard to remain able to withhold your ground during your squabble as your consciousness wavered in and out of focus as Daemon’s words only sounded muffled in your ears as though you’ve been held underwater; yet it didn’t take a fool to not notice the enraged look upon his face as he closed the distance between you two, gripping your wrist a tad too tightly for your liking and along with the anger in his eyes made you all the more fearful that in your moment of weakness, Daemon would take the life of his second victim, his sweet childhood friend, out of fear that you’d betray him like everyone else did. It scared you to think that the one person you’ve loved more then anything held the ability to kill you right then and there without any witness nearby to oversee the curfuffle nor come to your defence. Instead you closed your eyes and awaited the worst when Caraxes leaned his long next over you to shove Daemon away, causing his hand to loose grip of your wrist as he fell on his backside harshly. “Caraxes! What is your issue! You’ve been like this for awhile now!” Daemon yelled up at his dragon who merely roared in his face, silencing the Targaryen quickly.

Neither you nor Daemon were quite certain what had caused Caraxes sudden change in personality because in recent memory the dragon had always been seen more so by your side then Daemon which raised some rumours that have long since been forgotten by mostly everyone. In reality however Caraxes was merely protecting you and the unborn babe within your womb and in turn had be growing protective of you ever since he could sense the additional life next to yours. So when Daemon exuded a threatening presence towards you and in extension his kin, was Caraxes final straw. Daemon had ruined everything in his life thus far and the dragon didn’t want the only consistent in his life since he was a babe himself to face because of his human’s impulsiveness; To Caraxes you were just as much apart of him as Daemon was and to be apart from you was akin to loosing a limb, all though it maybe gone, you can still feel it’s presence episodically.

Whenever moments like the one between you and Daemon were to ever arise, Caraxes felt the need to protect you, his mother, and going against his Targaryen counter part to ensure your safety even if it means harming another to achieve it. “Caraxes.” You whispered faintly before allowing the dragon to encouragingly nudge you out of the stables, allowing you to rest your full weight against him as he escorted you back to the castle, where he’d await to see you from the windows of your chambers before clambering back to the stables to whack Daemon upside the head with his tail for good measure before forcefully shoving him out also. Still angry at him for threatening yours and your child’s safety.

The next morning became a struggle for you in particular. The mere act of getting out of bed had become a difficult task as you heaved with all your strength to push yourself in to a sitting position before trying your luck once more to push yourself to you feet when all suddenly became black and your body slumped to the floor; causing a great thud that alerted Daemon, who had long since calmed down from your argument, to quickly take to his sword and rush up to your chambers in perpetration to fight off whoever sneaked into your room whilst you were in your most vulnerable state. Only to find your body pressed uncomfortably against the cold chamber floor, unmoving, fearing the worst; Daemon threw away his sword to one side as he rushed to your aid, cradling you in his arms, his face a mere contrition of all the emotions he was feeling in that moment. Guilt over never apologising to you for his heinous actions against you, anger over his own need to protect his pride when he swore to protect and defend you just as much, sadness for how your dream life seemed to have taken for the worse then he promised you and an overwhelming feeling of being lost without you guiding him like the light he knew you were.

Daemon wasn’t the only one who heard your fall as several servants rushed not too long after the prince to check upon you but not out of your safety but only out of fear of what Daemon would do to them if they had left you in such a state. However as much as they prayed to be spared of any punishment, it seemed to have gone unheard as when they opened the door to witness Daemon hold you in his arms so crushingly tight; they were met with fierce violet eyes that pierced through them and into their souls in hopes of sparking a fire that would kill them from the inside out. “What are you idiots standing there gawking like seagulls?! Fetch the Maesters!” Daemon roared in anger, watching as they scrambled, shoved, pulled one another behind the other as they raced to get out of the room to evade Daemon’s wrath. The prince scoffed in disgust but his features quickly soften as he looked down at you with all the regret one man could ever bare upon his face; the day of your argument haunts him so but nothing haunted him more then the look of fright within your eyes at his sudden outburst, almost as though you were anticipating a repeat of his actions at the Vale.

He didn’t care what anybody thought about him, he couldn’t care less if in their eyes they see a monster but he couldn’t stand to be viewed the same in yours. As children he swore to protect you from all those who’d dare chase you harm but he didn’t know that there would come a day where he’d be the one bringing harm to your front doorstep. Now he wasn’t certain he was going to be given the time to repent for his actions as he held you close against his chest, refusing to let go even as the maesters came through the doors, tried their might to pry you from his arms only for him to tighten his hold before giving in to their pleas to check you over under the circumstances that he were to stay by your side. “My prince,” the Maester began after checking you over thoroughly before coming to a resolution, “it seems that your spouse is with child and has fainted but luckily has not sustained any injury that would cause her highness nor your child any prolonging issues.” Daemon’s eyes never left you face as the news struck him. All this time you’ve been with child and he has the nerve to place you in a stressful situation where your emotions would be tested to their limitations; He grasped your hand tightly in his, “thank you, you may leave us.” He dismissed the Maesters who bowed and left your chambers so the prince could shed his tears in peace. “We’re going to have a child.” Daemon muttered to himself, resting his head gently against your stomach, “we’re going to have a child. Oh gods bless this day and the many more to come until their arrival. I promise to better myself not only for you my love but for myself, Caraxes and our unborn child.” He promised.

The day of your child birth came swift and soon though not without excruciating pain. Though it was all the more rewarding when you got to hold your child within your arms with Daemon by your side. “Healthy as a horse your highness.” The midwife claimed before handing you the child that clutched to your fingers, cooing. You looked to Daemon who only stared down at the child with love, reaching a finger out to stroke his cheek and smiling when the child’s smaller fingers grasped onto his longer nimble one like a life line. “Have any thoughts on what we should name them my love.” You asked softly as to not disrupt the baby form their slumber. “I believe it is in your right to name the child as only one of us had bled to give them life my beloved.” Daemon said, kissing your slightly sweaty forehead gingerly, never breaking his gaze from the babe bundled in the blooded cloth. “Rhaenar.” You concluded post haste, smiling when the child cooed at the chosen name, giving their incoherent approval. “Rhaenar it shall be.” Daemon replied, holding you tightly against him as you both looked at your child, taking in the features they inherited from the both of you from Daemon’s facial features to your eyes and so forth. The silence lingered for as long as you allowed until Daemon removed himself from your side to elsewhere in the room, leaving you albeit confused until you saw him return with a pitch black dragon egg within his hands. You were aware of the Targaryen customs for when a new child under their house is born, they are gifted an dragon egg that will hatch into their bonded dragon; So to bare witness to it for your own child left a warmth within your chest knowing that for good or for bad, you were a Targaryen as much as your child was.

“I handpicked this myself,” Daemon explained as he placed the dragon egg into the crib with care, “may I?” He asked, gesturing to the child. “Of course they are your child as well Daemon.” You chuckled as you handed Rhaenar over to him, watching with love and adoration in your eyes as he cradled the child to his chest, smiling brightly when the child reached for his face to which he leaned down for the child to poke and pull lightly at his platinum locks. “I shall protect you and your mother from all harm but that also means that when you get older you must uphold that same promise also.” Dameon spoke softly to the child before angling them so they were facing you on the bed, “your mother is the most beautiful in all the seven kingdoms, even if she does bite my head off from time to time.” You scoffed playfully, “I do no such thing Rhaenar, don’t listen to your fool of a father. He tripped over his one feet when I said yes to being his.” Daemon covered the child’s ears as he glared at you playfully, “don’t want you ruining my reputation in front of our child now or else he’ll think I’m soft.” “You are soft though Daemon, hate to break it to you.” He chuckled in response as he placed the baby down in the crib though not before pressing a kiss to their forehead and a quick ‘I love you’ to join you in bed. “Such a tragic fate to befall a man to unconditionally love his child and lady.” He joked, stealing a kiss from your lips. “Yes how unfortunate indeed.” You joined in, snuggling against his side as you both watched over your child protectively.

Bonus:

Caraxes strained his long neck to the window of your chambers to get a look at the child, cooing softly as he watched the two newly made parents snuggle up in bed whilst watching over their child. The babe would grow into someone extraordinary under you and Daemon’s parentage the dragon concluded. Though he’d soon smack Daemon once more for claiming that he chose the dragon egg when in actual fact it was Caraxes who had chosen the egg. Daemon was going to gift an ugly mishmash of a brownish-red egg before his dragon pointed him to a more suitable egg. If one squinted however not only would you be able to see that while it was an entirely pitch black egg there was hints of fiery red here and there. Caraxes was happy to see his family grow slightly larger, though more so he was happy that his Targaryen decided to grow up for the sake of you and the family. He couldn’t be more prouder…now how was he going to explain that he practically demolished some architectural structures just to bare witness to the childbirth…

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darklinaforever · 6 months

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To the excuse of "Alicent wasn't there when Aemond lost an eye, she doesn't know what really happened" that her fans come out to try to justify her excessive rage (because nothing justifies the claim of Lucerys' eye for an accident between kids) the stupid things she says during the scene and her anger against Lucerys... Thank you for confirming that she was not there and therefore did not not what happened and as a result, she told a huge lie by saying that Lucerys purposely waited for Aemond to try to assassinate him. Seriously. Stop defending this bitch. She literally uses the fight that escalated between the children to further try to push Rhaenyra and her children down. Think about it. Her son has just lost an eye and she uses it to try to take down Rhaenyra and her children for the umpteenth time. Basically what she's been doing for 10 years. Stop making this scene seem like a mother seeking justice for her son. It's nothing more than a scene where Alicent tries to turn the situation to her advantage and is angry that she can't do it.

#house of the dragon #hotd #anti hotd #anti house of the dragon #anti alicent hightower #anti team green #anti greens #anti greens stans #anti aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #the realms delight #team blacks #team black #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon

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bbygirl-aemond · 1 year

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why was alicent so upset that rhaenyra lied about her virginity?

i know that i love rhaenyra's gaslighting gatekeeping girlbossing era, but i wanted to touch on a time where she gaslit a little too hard and i think irreparably fractured her relationship with alicent.

i am, of course, talking about the brothel/sex rumors and how rhaenyra responded to them in private. alicent comes to her and asks about it, admittedly fairly judgmentally, but i think there's still an element of concern on rhaenyra's behalf, a "why aren't you protecting your reputation? don't you know how precarious your position is?"

alicent's reaction is for sure a result of her conservative upbringing and internalized misogyny. i just think it's also at least in part an acknowledgement of the political reality that rhaenyra is as of that moment ignorant to: that because she is a woman, rhaenyra is going to be held to unfair standards as viserys's heir and that she needs to be smarter or she's going to get hurt. that her claim to the throne is already in jeopardy because of the patriarchy and that she really cannot afford to weaken it further. i've spoken before about how i think viserys raised rhaenyra to be very sheltered and privileged, while alicent as a woman with a far less powerful father was always forced to confront the hard truths of politics in westeros. she never had the privilege of rhaenyra's false sense of safety.

anyways, alicent's motivations aside, what does rhaenyra do? she swears on her dead mother's grave, and she lies.

now, i don't blame rhaenyra for not trusting alicent enough to tell her the truth. she's likely still reeling from her best friend marrying her dad. i see alicent as very much a victim of viserys, but rhaenyra is still hurt and it's understandable that she'd feel tricked, even if it's not alicent's fault. their friendship isn't what it once was by far. and obviously the potential consequences if the rumor was confirmed would be catastrophic, so it would honestly have been a bad move to tell alicent the truth.

but bringing aemma into things was unnecessary, and it was a mistake. we see alicent and rhaenyra bond over their dead mothers earlier in the show. alicent opens up to rhaenyra about her grief in the wake of her own mother's death to try to comfort her after aemma dies. it's a very vulnerable moment for alicent and she shares this part of herself selflessly, for rhaenyra's sake.

rhaenyra brought up aemma for a reason. she knew alicent had lost her own mother. she remembered what alicent had told her and how seriously she took her own mother's death. she knew that if she made it about her dead mother, alicent would respect it and would believe her.

and alicent does, enough to stand up to her father for rhaenyra during a time when she really has never gone against otto, ever. she feels helpless to disobey him when he orders her to viserys's rooms, but she musters up that strength to defend rhaenyra to his face, and i think that's notable.

this is why alicent isn't just upset but devastated when criston tells her the truth. it's not fully because rhaenyra isn't a virgin or whatever, though for the aforementioned political and ideological reasons i acknowledge that's a part of it. but i think her very visible, emotional reaction is because alicent realizes, in that moment, that rhaenyra has manipulated her grief for her dead mother. this marks the first time alicent realizes she is truly alone.

we see throughout the show that alicent has been manipulated by everyone around her that she should trust. her father, who should love her, pimps her out so he can fulfill his own ambitions. viserys, who should be a pseudo-father to her since he watched her grow up, grooms and assaults her. alicent never thought rhaenyra would be like them. but in that moment, she is.

by swearing on her mother's grave, rhaenyra proves herself to be just another person who took alicent's honesty and kindness and used it to manipulate her for her own ends. again, not saying that rhaenyra could or should have admitted the truth here. but did she really have to bring aemma into it?

no.

and it costs her alicent's trust, which as we all know has massive ripple effects that will cost her far, FAR more than just a friendship.

#hotd #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra #alicent hightower #alicent #otto hightower #otto #viserys targaryen #viserys #viserys i targaryen #viserys i #criston cole #criston #ser criston cole #ser criston #hotd meta #meta

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lemonhemlock · 1 year

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Rhaenyra v Cersei: Battle of the Bastards

Lo' and behold, looks like I'm not done with bastardposting after all. For this piece, I would like to compare and contrast the two main situations that the general public has been exposed as far as the issue of illegitimate children is concerned within the ASOIAF-verse: Rhaenyra v Cersei.

The parallels are obvious. Rhaenyra has three bastard children, Cersei has three bastard children. Let's see how they handle it.

Rules

According to Westerosi law, bastards can't inherit. It doesn't matter if they're the husband's or the wife's, the King's or the Queen's. Children born out of wedlock to any spouse are explicitly excluded from the line of succession.

Only the King can legitimise bastards via a royal decree. Enough of these "Roose legitimized Ramsay" lies. It's patently untrue. Tommen legitimized Ramsay.

In order to be legitimised, the children in question first have to be declared bastards. You cannot legitimize trueborn children. You cannot secretly legitimise bastards. "Viserys claimed Rhaenyra's children were trueborn, ergo he implicitly legitimised them." No, he didn't. He never admitted they were bastards.

Why does this matter? Because it is unclear where legitimised bastards fall in the line of succession. If they maintain their place by birth order or if they are relegated to the back of the line, behind any and all other trueborn claimants.

There are no genetic tests available in Westeros. People have to prove adultery or rely on common sense.

1. Cersei has a distinct advantage over Rhaenyra, since her children look like her. She can very easily argue that they favour her, as their mother, and this is exactly what everyone believes for years, including Robert. Since Jaime is the male version of Cersei, Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella can look like no else. Catelyn's kids look like Catelyn and no one bats an eye. Only Arya and (to Catelyn's irritation) Jon look like Ned. However, Ned doesn't ever doubt his children are not his.

Rhaenyra's kids look nothing like Rhaenyra and nothing like Laenor. They, instead, share distinct physical traits with her sworn shield, a man seen very often in her presence. People are not idiots. There is no plausible deniability here. You can bet your bottom dollar that if Cersei's kids were, say, Dornish-looking, people would be calling her out for her bullshit.

There is a way you can reasonably get away with passing over your bastards as someone else's, but that is 100% not Rhaenyra's way. This is why Cersei is chilling in the Red Keep, living her best bad bitch life, while Rhaenyra is running away to Dragonstone when the rumours are nipping at her heels. They are not the same. There are no paternity rumours to quell Cersei's girlboss vibes. She is sly enough that even Robert is convinced he inseminated her (gross).

2. I'm not going to get into the intricacies of Ned Stark's Scooby-Doo, Hercule Poirot mystery plot of unraveling Cersei's misdeeds. Ned has his own beef with the Lannisters and is convinced they are up to no good. He investigates them like the meddling kid he is and comes away with a suspicion. He knows nothing (heh) for certain until Cersei verbally confirms it for him. yOuR bRoThEr Or YoUr lOvEr. boo!

Had Ned not been on the Lannister trail from the very beginning, a fair assumption can be made that he never even would have suspected anything untoward. He never questions the children's paternity when they visit in Winterfell.

Again, this is distinctly different from Rhaenyra's situation. No one believes Cersei's children are bastards,* whereas no one believes Rhaenyra's children are trueborn. Pretending otherwise is very, very strange.

*at the beginning of AGOT, at least

3. Robert claimed Joffrey all his life and specifically named him his son and heir in his will, under dictation, to Ned. In turn, Ned deliberately changed Robert's words and wrote them down as "my rightful heir".

This is a parallel to show!Alicent, who misunderstands Viserys' dying words and him naming his son Aegon as heir. If Alicent didn't have the right to muddle the King's meaning, then neither did Ned. However, no one in their right minds is arguing that Ned is a traitor to the Crown. I wonder why is that?

I have already pointed out the circular logic in arguing that Robert only said that because he didn't know the children weren't his.

4. So what does this mean? Can anyone just accuse anyone they don't like of being a bastard and, thus, endanger that person's entire social status?

No, of course not. But, unfortunately for Cersei, Ned and Stannis aren't just some randos in a tavern. Ned is the Hand of the King. Stannis is Lord of Dragonstone and on the Small Council. These two men have a stalwart reputation and are renowned for their obsession with justice, duty and, in Ned's case, honour.

If Ned Stark stands in front of the Iron Throne and proclaims Joffrey a bastard, risks his daughters' lives and literally ends up losing his head as a result of this,

if Stannis Baratheon sends letters throughout the realm claiming Cersei's children are illegitimate,

the people of Westeros are going to pay attention.

These two very important men using their public platform to denounce Joffrey and starting wars over this? Say what you will about them, but they are not oathbreakers and they are not liars. No, they don't come with DNA tests, but for a lot of Westerosi, this is enough. They believe it.

Is this foolproof? No, of course not! But it convinces enough people that they are willing to band together to support rival claimants to the throne, thus igniting the War of the Five Kings. Speaking of political headaches, this is a huge one!

That being said, while Cersei is playing in the Champions League, Rhaenyra is fighting for her life in the relegation zone. She doesn't even need a Ned or a Stannis to cast doubt on her because no one believes her kids are not bastards.

Moreover, Vaemond obviously parallels Ned in this story. He tells the truth in open court and loses his head for it. In the show, Daemon and Viserys play the same role as Joffrey. In the texts, Rhaenyra and Daemon are stand-ins for Joffrey. This is not meant to be a triumphant moment of girlbossery. This is an abuse of power and an act of terror.

All in all, I'm sorry to say, but Cersei wins this hands down. She is savvy enough in her choice of sperm donor and can maintain plausible deniability without looking like a goddamn clown and the entire circus to boot. She holds the capital and has access to all the emblems of state after Robert dies. In contrast, Rhaenyra is floundering across the Blackwater Bay, yelling at the dragon gargoyles that her children are trueborn.

Why is this issue important in the story?

a). No one has a problem with Jace being King.

If people had a problem with Joffrey being King, enough to go to war over it, it would be narratively inconsistent for them to just accept an obvious bastard as King. It would contradict the internal logic of the fictional world we're talking about. That's quite some level of suspension of disbelief just because some fans like Jace. This isn't about him being amiable or a good kid.

b). They're still Rhaenyra's sons / it's a Targaryen internal matter and concerns no one else / the concept of Jace being King doesn't personally affect anyone else, so why does anyone care?

Because it's the freaking law! The name of the crime Rhaenyra commits is high treason! Punishable by exile or death!

No, the crime is not adultery, it's not having bastard children, it's specifically putting said bastard children in line to the throne. In that, Rhaenyra is as guilty as Cersei is.

It absolutely does affect others, since Rhaenyra actively steals the inheritance of House Velaryon for Luke. How is that not a crime? I would even go so far as to say that Laenor and Corlys are complicit in it and should be punished as well.

Contrary to bafflingly-popular erroneous beliefs, the monarch can't just do whatever they want. Even in absolutist monarchies, the sovereign serves the vital social role of upholding the law and the rights of their subjects. Rhaenyra breaks said law by committing theft, murder, high treason and destabilizing the entire system of inheritance.

c) Rhaenyra breaks the social contract

Jock Locke argues for the "right of revolution" in the Second Treatise of Government. He writes that when the government acts against the interests of its citizens, then said citizens gain the right to overthrow it and replace it with an authority that will protect their interests.

I am not trying to impose 'progressive' understandings of the political process anachronistically, in a medieval fantasy; my thesis-statement is that we have already seen this concept at play within the world of ASOIAF: the Faith Militant uprising against Aenys I and Maegor due to their practices of incest and polygamy and Robert's Rebellion, caused by Rhaegar kidnapping a noble lady and Aerys II carrying out executions without due process. The people of Westeros are not unfamiliar with opposing monarchs who don't abide by the law.

The question of Rhaenyra having bastards is framed in a lot of commentary through the lens of her right as a woman to have extra-marital sex and not be demonised for it and to find fulfilling love within the constraints imposed on her by her station. While debating the personal individual freedom of women in a patriarchal feudal society is not to be side-lined, her fundamental fault is that she is demanding rights and exemptions for herself, while the rest of the country have to abide by an entirely different set of rules.

The laws of inheritance, as unjust as they may appear to our modern eyes, are in place to prevent crises of succession, violent conflicts or even large-scale wars from starting every time someone's estates are passed on. Illegitimate children suddenly gaining access to inheritances threatens the political and economical calculations that predicate many Westerosi marriages.

Imagine paying a handsome dowry for your daughter, just so her husband's bastard birthed by some high-born mistress to make use of his maternal family's resources and cheat your legitimate grandchildren out of theirs.

Imagine being married to some lord and now his random bastards threaten the inheritance of your lawful children. Because, hey, the Queen acts like this is fine! This is Catelyn Stark's worst nightmare.

You think you can just sue your husband? What a silly notion. You think you can sue the bastard claimants after your husband is dead? Tough luck, your liege lord may rule in their favour by taking a leaf out of Queen Rhaenyra's book. You think you can appeal to Queen Rhaenyra? How are you going to travel all the way to King's Landing? Good luck with that, maybe you're built different and don't die during this dangerous and expensive journey.

Is this fair for the illegitimate children? Hell no, but Rhaenyra and Viserys are not planning on reforming family law in any meaningful way, because they know what a hassle it would be and how much opposition it would meet!

It reeks of rights for me, but not for thee and I, for the life of me, don't understand the stronghold she has on the liberated feminist brigade.

and finally

d). The Green Coup is not dependent on the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's children.

No. But her committing high treason earns her an automatic disqualification from her right to rule, rendering her claim null and void.

#anti rhaenyra targaryen #cersei lannister #house of the dragon #asoiaf #anti team black #team green #stannis baratheon #hotd meta #bastardposting #ned stark #cersei is the one true queen of westeros don't let anybody tell u different #forgive me queen for dragging u thru the streets like this #u remain the no1 messiest baddest bitch in my heart

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be-lovas · 8 months

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Serendipity- part 2

How can I apologize for these months of inactivity??? omg guys i'm SO sorry....... I spent the whole summer working on my master thesis so I got carried away from this but I am back now!!! I've tried to tag everyone who asked me to do so, tell me if something's wrong with the tags <;33

Warnings: some men being dicks (but what's new), loose proofreading (I really suck at this I'm sorry), reader's bit sad, helaena being a sweetie

(Flashbacks are in italics) previous part - next part

"Tell me it is a farce, Aemond. I beg of you."

Alicent is on the verge of tears: she thinks of Rhaenyra and how she must be feeling. The loss of a child. She also feels sad for the boy himself, because although he was a bastard, he was merely a child. A feeling of regrets washes over her as she recalls that night in Driftmark, when she wanted to claim his eye for Aemond's lost one.

Aemond does not say a word. He does not feel the courage to do so. He never killed someone before. He has always thought that killing someone wouldn't do anything to him. Yet, to take someone's life,despite the someone being the boy who took his eye, procures him no satisfaction and no sense of justice. All he can think of is his nephew's body hurtling into the sea foam.

Aemond solely waits for everyone's anger, but not everybody seems angry. His mother definitely is, but his Grandfather and Aegon do not seem furious. Otto Hightower seems worried, because he has known Daemon for a long time, and he knows having him against you is not a luxury. Aegon is simply trying to supress a smile at the corner of his lips.

"Well done, brother," he comments.

"We need to secure Aegon's position," Otto eventually says, ignoring Aegon's comment.

Alicent lets out a histerical laugh, unable to control her nerves. "I believe Aemond just did that by killing one of Rhaenyra's heirs, Father."

"By marrying Aemond and Daeron off to great houses from the Realm."

"I chose Floris Baratheon," Aemond intervenes. "I intend to perform my duty."

He does not want to marry her, but he always promised himself to do his duty regarding his family. He has always seen Aegon minimizing his and wandering around the Silk Streets as he has always had the heavy duty of potentially becoming King someday. Aemond hates the fact that his brother tarnishes this honor, and he does not intend to do the same.

"We must find someone else," explains Otto.

"Perhaps the Dornish Princess? They might send troops in exchange," Alicent offers.

"They would rather die than openly take part in this war," Ser Criston comments, stepping up into the conversation for the first time since they entered the Great Hall.

"The Lannisters do not have any female child. Same goes for House Tyrell."

"What of the North?" Aegon suggests, and everyone goes quiet.

The North is ostracised. Its people may be a part of the Realm, but they do not identify as the rest of the Country. Otto Hightower has always seen them as a group of savages that attempt to appear civilized while hiding their gods in forests. However, Otto Hightower has always granted them their blinded loyalty towards each other and their considerable army.

"Rickon Stark swore loyalty to Rhaenyra," Alicent hastens to say. "He would never break his oath."

Her voice is unequivocal. She does not appear to acknowledge what she just suggested, but Otto does and gives Ser Criston a sidelong look.

"Rickon Stark is dead, My Queen."

You slowly emerge from sleep and keep your eyes closed, afraid not to recognise the ceiling of your chambers in Winterfell and to have the confirmation that you are indeed into your personal purgatory. You're feeling uncomfortable, and you remember that you're still wearing your wedding gown from yesterday. Worse, you realise you are alive. You thought that you would be dead by sunrise, but your husband finds it was not an express necessity to get you executed for mocking him.

A soft knock on your door startles you, and as if you were scared to be caught doing something wrong, you quickly get off your bed. You allow them entering and when the door opens, you are relieved to see that it is just a young servant.

"Good morning, my Lady. Queen Helaena and the Dowager Queen would like you to join them for tea," she indicates.

You rub your hands on your gown, looking at your dress before glancing back at her. None of you says anything, but you are positive that she has definitely understood your husband and you did not fulfill your marital duties last night.

"I will fetch a maid to help you get dressed, my Lady," she bows and leaves without expecting a reply, and you feel sick at the hearing of the way she adresses you.

As your feet obediently follow the maid who came to wake you up this morning through the dungeon's hallways, you gradually realise where you have been taken: in some of the books of the Winterfell library, the fortress is described as being so high that not even the three original dragons could penetrate the walls. The stone that built the tower was more refined than the stone of Winterfell's walls: in the North, everything is more raw. Here, everything seems shaped and moulded.

Your feet mechanically come to a full stop when your eyes spot something very familiar: an heart tree. You think of the leaf your brother gave you before leaving Kings Landing, claiming that the gods will travel South in order to protect you. For the first time since you got here, you somehow still feel close to home.

Just as you were expecting to have tea in the Dowager Queen's chamber (which you know too little about), Anna, Queen Alicent's servant, takes you to the court garden, which you did not know existed until now. When you arrived, you thought you would have to live within four walls and never see vegetation as far as the eye can see again. To your great surprise, you find the garden delightful and it is, in your eyes, a breath of fresh air in this fortress that seems far too anxiety-provoking.

When you see the Queen and her mother sitting at the table among the flowers, you force yourself to smile and slowly approach, a servant pulling the chair out for you to sit on. Before doing so, you make a brief curtsy to greet them.

"Good morrow, goodsister," Helaena is the first to greet you.

If you have prejudices about all of Aemond's family and Aemond himself, you have none about his sister. On the contrary, she seems very kind and gentle. It doesn't surprise you that you've heard that she is very popular with the people of Kings Landing.

"Your graces," you reply, verbally greeting Alicent simulteanously.

On her lap sits a small boy with silver hair. The child is eating a sweet without caring about what is going on around him.

"Did you sleep well?" Alicent asks, and you see her eyes drift to her maid for half a second.

Anna must surely have told her that she found you in the same dress as yesterday when she came into your room this morning. If she hasn't already, she's probably giving her a little nod, letting Alicent know that things didn't go as planned.

"Uh, I—"

"I was told you bled last night. Do not worry, it is completely normal. It means the wedding has been accepted and granted by the gods," she smiles, cutting you off. "You were saying?"

Words struggle to come out of your mouth. No one has checked your sheets because the only people who have been in your room have guessed that you were not deflowered by your husband last night. Or maybe it's just a set-up by the Queen Mother so that people around can witness her words, and thus seal this marriage. Whatever it is, you don't stand in her way.

"I slept well, thank you," you evasively reply while nodding your head.

"I have not yet seen Aemond. He usually stops by to greet the children before starting the day. Do you happen to know where he has gone?" Helaena asks you, wiping off some crumbs from the boy's mouth. "Maelor has been asking for his uncle since he woke up."

In all honesty, you do not care about Aemond's whereabouts. You'd rather not have to see him. Given the short but heated exchange the two of you had last night, you feel it would be better for both of you if you two come across each other as little as possible, it will make this marriage easier to bear.

"He has not spoken to me about it. I—"

Maelor's voice prevents you from finishing your sentence. The little boy flaps around on his grandmother's lap while babbling words you don't understand.

"Aemond!" Helaena stands up quickly, almost running towards her brother. "Where have you been?"

If Helaena looks excited to see her brother, the Queen Mother's features cannot say the same thing. Sitting across from you, you see the Queen's features harden, which tingles and causes you to turn around to see what could the cause of such a change in Alicent's humour.

Opposite you is Aemond accompanied by a woman. Not a young woman like you. A mature woman.

You analyse her without shame: slender, with hair as black as berries and an unmatched beauty. She is incredibly beautiful. You feel her gaze on you with an air of competitiveness, as if she is trying to challenge you.

Then it strikes you, and you find yourself wanting to laugh, feeling foolish for not understanding Aemond's words last night.

My heart will never be yours.

It can never be yours because it belongs to someone else.

Somehow, you find the empathy to feel bad for him. You did not want this union because your heart did not choose it and it was forced on you. Aemond did not want this union, or the union originally planned with one of Borros Baratheon's 4 daughters, because his heart belongs to her and as strong as his words were towards you yesterday, you feel some semblance of sorrow for him.

"Mother," Aemond greeted his mother with a nod. Then, just like a child afraid to be grounded, he glances at you. "Wife."

It still sounds off to hear this word. It still seems odd to consider yourself married, you do not really feel married. But that is only because all your life, you've pictured marriage in a very different way.

"Husband," you mutter as you swivel around on your chair to get back into your original position.

Facing you, Alicent's features harden even more as she keeps her eyes on her son, who sits silently at the table. The mysterious lover imitates him, searching for the Queen Mother with her eyes.

"Would you have the decency to tell me who this woman is?" Alicent's tone is cold and firm, and she doesn't bother to address the main interested party.

Alicent Hightower is known as far north as Westeros for her dexterity in matters of good behaviour. She didn't experience love during her marriage, but she always put on a good show. Inviting a lover to the royal table does not seem to be a decision she considers wise.

"This is Lady Alys Rivers," Aemond introduces, Alys reacts with a gentle smile. He's now playing with Maelor on his lap, the boy running to his uncle as soon as he saw him.

You level up your eyebrows at the mention of her name. Rivers. A bastard of House Strong. You exchange glance with Helaena, not that she realises the gravity of her brother's action, but she seems as uncomfortable as you are, and it selfishly soothes you.

Then all eyes set on Alicent as she lets out uncotrollable giggles, which makes her grandson laugh. "Lady Alys Rivers," she says, more to herself than anyone else.

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, your Grace."

Her voice is smooth and seductive. If Aemond wasn't a Prince, you would have wondered how she could have laid an eye on him: not that Aemond is a bad-looking person, but his personnality is not attractive at all. He is not a talkative person and does make you feel uncomfortable if your presence is not wanted. While Alys Rivers seems to be a very seductive woman, both with men and women.

She knows she does not fit in whatever plan the Queen Mother has planned for her son, but she tries her best to earn the lesser part of respect Alicent could someday accord her.

Alicent forces a thin smile before adressing Aemond once again: "may I speak to you?"

Not waiting for Aemond's answer, she immediately gets up and vaguely excuses herself, Aemond on her footsteps.

The life that has forced itself to you does not seem real. You feel like you are watching a play where the plot evolves around people close to you, but you do not intervene in any part of this plot.

"Aemond spoke a lot about you, your Grace," Alys tries to reach Helaena, who is far away in her thoughts. In fact, she simply reacts by smiling slightly, her eyes focused on the lemon cake displayed on the table.

Maelor, who seems to feel his mother's anxiety, surprisingly reaches out for you and for a moment, you do not really understand how the boy has grown fond of you, but you eventually let him sit on your lap, whispering some words to his ear.

"The whole North heaps praise on your beauty, and I now see why," she says, and you do not look up right away, focused on Maelor's babbling and truthfully thinking that the compliment was meant for Helaena. But when you do, you see that she is staring at you.

You do not really how to respond. Should you compliment her as well? Strike up a conversation? Ask her why is she complimenting the wife of her lover?

"Thank you," you timidly say, not really comfortable with the situation. The only thing that makes your anxiety lessen is Maelor, not having any idea of what is going on right now and eating his lemon cake slice.

You feel imprisoned in the middle of a play. Someone else's play.

Your days are very similar to one another: you get up, get dressed, join Queen Alicent and Helaena in the gardens where you eat, you wander in the gardens for the whole afternoon and spend some time near the heart tree before getting supper, where Aemond and his lover sometimes grant you the privilege to eat with them, before going back to your chambers.

Not that your days in Winterfell were very special, but it is home. Was home.

Your mother and brother are still not back in Winterfell. The trip is difficult and long, but your mother keeps you informed whenever they stop by in a place that she considers safe for them.

The rare moments when you have to get out of your chambers, you do your very best to avoid everyone from the Greens, except for Helaena and her children. Helaena is very often lost in her own thoughts, but she is very nice to you when she tries to have a conversation. As for the children, you appreciate their unawareness and their innocence as you watch them play together.

Maelor has turned out to be your favorite one out of the three children: not that she intends to, but Helaena's favors for the twins is undeniable, and the youngest Prince seems almost naturally to seek comfort in your presence. In truth, you somehow seek comfort in the boy's company, too: you've grown fond of him, and he is now following you for the most part of the day, for the greatest pleasure of Alicent.

Alicent has been plotting to remove Alys from the court since the day she arrived, but it does not seem to be effective. Whenever she leaves, Aemond leaves with her. Your relationship with Aemond consists of avoiding each other, and greeting the other by a timid nod when the encounter becomes inevitable.

But now, as you are wandering in the streets of Kings Landing hiding your clothes under a cloak and you just happened to chance upon your dear husband, he too hidden under a cloak but easily recognizable with his eyepatch, you are both surprised to meet the other one in such a place.

"My Prince," you eventually say, growing uncomfortable with the heavy silence between you. You discreetly hide the ink you just bought below your cloak.

This is the first time you go outside the walls of the Red Keep. You have grown curious about the City after watching it from your window and just as you wanted to send a letter to your brother in all discretion, you have decided to take the plunge.

"What are you doing here?"

The bluntness of his question catches you offguard. You let out a humourless laugh.

"I could ask you the very same question."

You do not consider yourself arrogant, not at all. You would rather say confident. But Aemond carries a certain look on his face that irritates you as soon as he lands his eye on you.

You expect him to answer with a vile comment about whatever thing he can hurt your feelings with, but he simply replies: "I live here. This is merely a morning walk."

Your eyebrows raise at the reply, noting that Aemond does not even try to sound convincing. He simply does not wish you to know about his whereabouts around the streets of Kings Landing.

"Is there a piece of advice you would give to someone who has never been to Kings Landing before?" You ask him, feigning innocence, too.

Around you, people cross the street without even giving a second glance to the two of you, too busy in trying to find the suitable item among the many street merchants.

"Avoid Flea Bottom at all cost," he tells you, "unless you wish to end up dead or raped."

"I meant advice about the shops," you specify, remembering you were speaking to Aemond Targaryen.

"I think you do not need my advice, as you already found what you were looking for," he nods at your cloak, and you cannot help but frown. You quickly try to hide your ink more astutely under your cloth, hoping that he is bluffing and that he hasn't seen the item like he pretends.

"There is no need. I saw you coming out of that bookseller, and a book wouldn't have fit under that cloak," he points out, attempting to soothe the smirk forming on his lips without much success.

You think of something to say to persuade him this isn't what he thinks it is, but quickly surrender when you spot the way his lips twitch into a smirk.

"Are you following me?" You ask, struggling to hide your growing anger.

"I wasn't, but the gods seem to be protective over some Northern newcomers."

You snort slightly, doing your best not to roll your eyes. His gods would certainly not protect you. On the opposite, they would gladly send you to their supposedly hells: you wonder which one you would belong to.

"By sending you?" You raise your brows, displaying your doubts.

This is the longest exchange your husband and yourself have done since the two of you were married, and Aemond's clenching jaw and your growing impatience for his lack of response show how you aren't a matching pair: you're asking too many questions and his answers are to evasive.

"My Mother would like to speak with you," he announces, stepping forward and you stumble lightly at the move. "I shall make sure you join her in the Sept."

The second you were told that you would marry him and therefore move to Kings Landing, you knew your beliefs would be jeopardized. Indeed, the folk on the southern part of Westeros isn't fond of the old gods, especially with a Dowager Queen who venerates the newly seven. You knew your love for the old gods wouldn't be welcomed here, but you still kept them close to your heart by paying a visit to the weirwood tree in the fortress.

"The Sept?"

Aemond stops in his tracks as he hears the sound of your voice, and even though he is standing with his back to you, you can see the top of his body slowly rise and fall, probably because he is sighing.

"Come," he simply tells you, though it is rather a command.

You reluctantly follow him through the crowd piled up in the different streets of the city. He seems to know it like the back of his hand, and you wonder how many times he wandered throughout it for him to know every single corner of every single street.

Aemond does not need to inform you that you have reached the Sept when you are in front of it, as the tall and imposing building speaks for itself.

You wonder why Alicent wishes to see you, and especially why it cannot wait until she's finished praying to her gods. Will she force you to pray with her? Does she want you to admit that you do not believe in the same gods as herself and her son?

As Aemond grips the door handle of the Sept, the movement allows you to have a glimpse of the underside of his cloak and you notice some sort of herb sachets underneath. Yet, you make no comment and enter the building silently, your husband holding the door for you.

"Lady Stark," your hear Alicent's voice echo through the sept, and you spot where she is knealing. She is in front of an imposant statue where candles are lit all around. You would lie if you say that there isn't something comforting in the silence emaning from the Sept. Outside of these walls, Kings Landing seems to never be quiet: including when you couldn't sleep during the hours of the night, you could hear the wandering guards trying to speak lowly outside of your doors.

You carefully walk towards the Dowager Queen as you see she does not move, waiting for you to come over.

"Your Grace," you slightly bow your head, hands clasped in one another.

"Join me, please," she smiles at you, and you see her hand patting the empty space next to her.

You attempt to hide the discomfort you feel towards her invitation: you do not wish to get on your knees to pray the Seven, but this is clearly an invitation in order to test the waters.

Having her on your side is essential if you consider leaving this place someday: from what you have understood since you arrived here, she is Aemond's safeguard from madness. She would be the one reasoning him if he tries to put your life at risk, not because she is a decent person that took a liking of you, but because she is a good manners woman.

You reluctantly kneel beside her, your eyes wandering around the ceiling before staring at your knees.

"Do you often pray, my dear?" She asks, handing you a votive candle that isn't yet lit up.

"I do, your Grace," you respond, moving the candle nearer the fire of those already burning. Once your candle catches fire, you delicately set it down next to the others. As you catch Alicent setting her gaze on you, you do your best to keep your composure and to prevent your hands from shaking.

Then she lets out a sigh. "I've always wondered about the religious habits of people from the North. It is said that many still believe in the old gods."

You're tempted to say something, but the end of her sentence does not sound as the end of a speech, so you let your sentence die and keep silent.

You see her smile, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. "They are proud and loyal people. Loyal to their roots and to their oaths."

"Indeed," you answer, not sure where she wants to lead this conversation.

"You see, I fear for those people," she lets out a sigh. "Have you heard of the Shepherd?"

You say no with your head. "See, this man is out there, trying to persuade the people of Kings Landing that the King does not represent the Faith of the Seven."

You listen carefully. Aegon is indeed not a very accurate representation of the Faith: marrying his sister and therefore breeding incestuous children is a sin, whether in the Faith of the Seven as in the eyes of the Old Gods. You also learned that he was very often visiting the most luxurious brothels of Kings Landing: his bastards must be running freely around the streets of the city.

"He is setting the common folk against its ruler," you comment, getting where she wants to lead you.

"It is our duty, I as the Dowager Queen and you as the King's good sister to show the people our devotion to our gods."

This is why she wanted me here, you think. So that you could be seen entering the Sept.

"People are everywhere. Around the streets, outside the gates but also within the Keep," she explains, and you understand her innuendo.

No more visit to the heart tree.

"We must be irreproachable. You must seem beyond reproach," she cautiously says, softly gripping your arm. You glance at her hand on your arm, and all you can see is her bitten and chapped fingers. "Do you understand, my dear?"

The Targaryens are in danger, but so are you. You're all threats in the eyes of this Shepherd.

"I do, Your Grace."

Since the Queen Dowager has expressly asked you to be convincing in your role as follower of the new gods, you thought you'd start by paying homage to the Mother, reason why you're currently heading to the Tower of the Hand to discuss the idea with the man.

However, your good brother has decided otherwise as he comes the other way, flashing a smile as he takes you in.

"Lady Stark," he calls out. "We haven't got the time to discuss yet."

"Your Grace," you bow, returning a shy smile. "Sadly we have not."

You would have been happy not to change the course of things, but you've noticed that Aegon likes annoying people and does not prevent himself.

Aegon Targaryen is a strange man. You sometimes see him wandering through the halls of Maegor's Holdfast struggling to walk straight, a cup of wine in one hand. He is not the man crafted to be King, you would even say that the crown he is wearing does not even fit around his many white curls.

"Is Kings Landing to your liking?" He asks.

"Though it is not very similar to Winterfell, I find myself liking it, Your Grace," you lie.

"I am content you're happy here," he says, dismissing his guards by a handwave. You look at the two guards retreating, leaving you and the King alone. You instinctively look down, somehow uncomfortable with the mere thought of you two alone.

"What of my brother?" Aegon questions and you look up to find him taking two steps forward.

You do not really know how you should respond: given the undeniable satisfaction your marriage to Aemond gave to Aegon, the two brothers do not seem to get along.

"What of your brother, Your Grace?"

"Is he kind to you? Is he treating you well?"

"He is, Your Grace," you lie. "We are getting a-"

"Do not lie to me, goodsister," he interrupts, his eyes boring into yours as you feel his hand grazing the skin of your cheek. "Lying to a king is not a wise thing. Don't you think?

You feel your face flashing red. He can sense your uncomfort, but does not seem to care.

He wants to make you feel uncomfortable. He wants you to know he has the upper hand and could do anything he wishes to you.

"There is no need to be ashamed, Lady Stark. Perhaps I could show you how-"

"Your Grace."

The voice calling out Aegon instinctively makes you close your eyes, relief invading your whole being as you hear footsteps approaching.

"Brother," Aegon's hand beats a hasty retreat from your face and he smiles, but his smile does not reach his eyes. "I was just discussing with your dear wife."

"The Lord Hand is waiting for Lady Stark and myself in his study."

Not without some courage, you slowly step backwards until you are nearly standing next to Aemond. He does not look at you, he is staring at his brother in silence. You could almost find the silence uncomfortable: turns out you're to stunned to notice the uncomfort of the scene.

"Of course, he probably wishes to speak to you about Casterly Rock," Aegon explains and you furrow your brows, displaying your ignorance. What is it to know about the Lannisters' home?

"Please do give Daeron my regards, will you?" Aegon says to his brother.

Aemond does not make any comment but simply bows and you imitate him, a breath you didn't know you were holding escaping your lips when you see Aegon going backwards and eventually turning around.

Aemond seems to finally notice your presence and turns to you. His eye is scanning your face, searching for any trace of harm Aegon might have left. Only when he hears you sighing of relief do his features slightly soften.

Then, without being aware of the words leaving your lips, you whisper: "I am sorry."

You do not really comprehend the reason of your apologises. Perhaps it is for your recklessness. Perhaps for his affair with Alys Rivers that will never flower the way he wants it to do so, or even for your mere and arranged marriage. You do not actually know, but you feel the need to say so.

Nodding his head, he simply responds: "come, my Grandsire wishes to speak to us."

You have quickly noticed that he isn't a very talkative person, so you aren't surprised when you don't receive a formal reply. But for the first time since your marriage, you almost feel at ease standing next to him.

Tags: @yentroucnagol @tempt-ress @crazymusicgirl104 @unclecrunkle @brie-annwyl @pax-2735 @castellomargot @bellaisasleep

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