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sugarprincessbitch · 1 year

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Targaryen men x Targ! Wife Reader

(Reader suffers the same death as Laena)

Warning ⚠️ (Angst).

Maegor Targaryen x reader, Aegon Targaryen x reader, Aegon II Targaryen x reader, and Aemond Targaryen x reader

Aegon II

The king's council was pressuring you and Aegon to give the throne a heir, despite being pregnant three times none of each were a boy, instead you had three beautiful daughters.

Now you were in your fourth pregnancy. Wanting to be near your mother, princess Rhaenyra, in your labor, your little family decided to move to Dragon stone.

The labor started early than expected, but that wasn't saw as a problem because the pregnancy developed normally.

Your mother and the maester were inside the room with you, meanwhile Aegon was walking impatiently outside your birthing chambers with the fear of something going wrong. Daemon and the boys tried to calm him down, reassuring him that you were at the hands of the best maester and midwife's they could found and you where going to be fine.

Hours passed and you were still fighting in that room to bring your child to the world, wrenching screams could be heard in all Dragon stone, but none of a child, only yours.

Suddenly the door open, and the pale face of the master came into view, he told Aegon that the baby was stuck inside of you and the only way of get it out was to cut you open.

Angered by the maester words he was ready to strangle him right there, but your anguished callings stop him before doing something.

You were bedridden, pale as a ghost and sweating a lot, the baby was slowly killing you each passing hour.

Rhaenyra was at one side of the bed, trying to calm you down by whispering sweet things in your ear, but by the look of her face she was also deeply worried by your state.

when he was finally at your side you told him to help you get up, and ignoring the pain you stubbornly start to walk outside the room despite the pleadings of the others.

Aegon start to follow you, calling and pleading that you will be fine and there will be another way. You still didn't want to listen to him and continue walking.

He found himself outside, inside the dragon pits he found you. You were in front of your dragon saying something that he couldn't comprehend, his panic calls were covered by a roar and you were engulf by flames.

Aegon started to scream horrified by the view as his legs gave out and he stumbles against the hard floor. He felt his heart tear apart. A river of tears run along his face at the sight of your body, your burnt body.

After that horrible night Aegon was not the same, he was a shell of the man he was with you. For his family pity, he returned to his old habits, ignoring all his responsabilities in court and as a father, neglecting your daughters.

His mother and grandfather force him into a new marriage, saying that he still needed a heir.

Poor the unlucky woman that married Aegon, because the shadow of your memory will be always there to haunt her.

Maegor I

You were the only wife that had given him children and pure blooded too, due to being his half sister. Because of that you were the most dear and important wife of Maegor, treating you with a fondness that was rare of him.

The maester had warn him to not try for more children, your health was fragile since having many children without repose, another pregnancy could cost you not only your life but also the one of the baby.

Maegor didn't listen to it and stated that his wife should do their duty to him as a woman without caring if she wanted or not. That was the end of the discussion.

The new pregnancy developed progressively worse as months passed, debilitating the mother day after day.

Visenya was the only one that had permission to attend the pregnancies of the queen, due to the fact that Maegor wasn't fond of maesters, believing them to be useless for caring correctly of her sister-wife.

In the middle of the night you went in labor, Visenya and the midwife's were the only ones present with you. Maegor was on one of his campaigns battling the faith, so he couldn't be present.

It passed a long time and the baby didn't wanna come out, there was blood everywhere and the women in the room shared with each other worried faces.

Due to the pain pleadings of the queen, Visenya decided to call a maester. The maester tried without effectiveness, stating that the only way the baby would come out is by cutting you open.

Knowing the end was near, you pleaded to Visenya that if you were going to die you wanted to do it at the hands of your dragon, not of the maester "From fire I was born, from fire I will die" you said.

When Maegor landed in kings landing the news of the torturous labor and death of his wife reach his ears.

He immediately saw red, mad with fury he grab his sword and went to search for the one or ones guilty of your death.

That day it was told that the fury of the dragon rain upon the people of kings landing, no one was saved from Maegor's want for blood.

He burned, tortured and killed everyone that was in charge of your well being. When no one was left to appease his Mad pain, innocents were also slay. But no killing or torture could fill the hole in his wrenching chest, the one you and your unborn child left behind.

Aegon I

They say that Aegon married his three sisters for different reasons. He married Visenya for duty, Rhaenys for love and you for devotion.

You were his twin, the half of his soul, the mother of his only daughter. His sweet Daenerys.

Your second pregnancy came as a glad surprise for the two of you and the kingdom, after the tragic death of your little sister at the hands of Dorne, in the castle there was only days for mourning or sadness. So the unexpected new was a ray of hope for everyone, specially Aegon who desperately needed a little hope to grab on to.

All different types of maesters were pestering you day and night all along the duration of the nine months, this was a direct order of their king and their queen, your older sister Visenya. The two of them worried about the fragile state you were in.

Because of you being a little pass your prime, the announce of you being pregnant was a miracle on itself, and the dangers of having a baby at your age was of their over protectivness.

You were now two days in labor, since your contractions starting in the early morning of the first day and continuing in the night of the second day, you haven't stop pushing.

Everyone was in distress and the tension was burdensome in the air, Aegon vigilant gaze and your sister angry commands were not helping at all.

That second night Visenya nor Aegon could be with you, an important meeting regarding the next attack to Dorne was held, and you found yourself all alone in a room full of strangers.

The pain was now unberable, each passing day with your baby stuck in you was agonizing, you knew death was in the horizon although Aegon didn't want to acknowledge it, extending your suffering.

In one of your moments of consciousness you got up of bed. Shoving the maester and servants aside, you got out of the room.

A terrified servant abruptly interrumpt the meeting and told them about your current disappearence. For a second Aegon was shock in place by the horrifying news, that hesitation was enough time for Visenya to start screaming commands to the guards to inmediatly find you.

They found you in the dragon pit, screaming to your dragon, pleading him for mercy. Aegon was the last one to get to there. Seeing you in just a dangerous situation send him on edge and without thinking it he tried to run to you, but the fire was quicker and reached you first.

A part of Aegon died that day in the fire with you, his hope was lost, everything was lost without you by his side. He attached himself to the only part of you that was left, your daughter.

Your loss was the final drop for the strain relationship between Visenya and Aegon to broke beyond repair. Dividing the family, creating resentment not only between the parents but also, between the children.

When Aegon's last days were near, he went in and out of feverish deviations, the only thing that calmed him was the milk of the poppy that the maesters gave him.

In his death bed his last words were pronounce again and again with a trembling and a voice full of anguish "My sweet y/n, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Until he finally took his last breath the prayers didn't stop.

Aemond I

Your family, specially your mother, wasn't fond of your sudden marriage with Aemond, she had other plans for her younger's. Being Haelena and Aegon the ones married as the Targaryen tradition dictates, she didn't needed more than one. But love seal by fire couldn't be stop.

For the first time Aemond felt joy, the gods heard his and his wife prayers and gift them with a child, the one that were dessesperately hoping for.

The pregnancy went normally without much of a fuss, the two of you were expecting with excitement the day your baby will come into the world. Aemond didn't care if it were to be a girl or a boy, as the second son, he didn't have the burden to produce a male heir.

During the later stages of your pregnancy the tensions between the blacks and the greens grew increasingly dangerous. When the high septon crowned your brother as king everything explode. Due to this, Aemond had to fly away to Storm's end as a negotiator for the greens, leaving his much pregnant wife at home.

An urgent letter from her mother came in the second day he was staying there, telling him to come home as soon as possible, his wife started labor hours ago.

Only one thing retain him for some time before going back to his dear sister, the bastard that took his eye, Lucerys.

When he arrived at the pit in Kings landing the storm had long passed. Without changing his wet clothes he inmediatly went to the birthing chambers, in the rush he didn't notice the commotion of the servants and guards of the castle.

Entering he found the room empty, except from his mother who was in the floor, with her hands covering her face, crying unconsolable. Ameond silently reach her, and with a pang of fear in his chest ask "Mother, were is y/n... Were is she?".

Alicent gasp and cried more, he grew desperate and ask in a more forceful tone this time "Mother, stop crying and answer me, were is y/n?" Finally she answered him "I'm sorry Aemond, I'm so sorry I couldn't stop her... Oh god how horrible!" For a moment everything went silent, the pang in his chest grew and stab him with more force this time.

His mother rose her head and look at him with tears in her puff eyes "Th-the pregnancy went wrong, the baby, the baby wouldn't come out"

She stop and shed more tears "She killed herself Aemond, she command her dragon to kill her..." Stoping for a moment she screamed "OH GOD HOW HORRIBLE!"

Upon hearing this Aemond block himself out of the room, unfocusing his gaze he hug his mother that continue to cry in his shoulders. His face was still as a rock, solid, without a feeling. Only a treacherous tear falling slowly from his good eye, showing the emotion behind the empty gaze.

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fairysluna · 3 months

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MASTERLIST | Maegor Targaryen.

SINNERS. (angst + smut)

After Maegor finds out his beloved niece is to be wed to her own brother, he absolutely loses his mind. He can't just let her go.

Nothing yet.

Fucking in the Iron Throne. (smut)

Being Maegor's favorite wife. (smut)

Taking a bath after a battle. (fluff)

Maegor touching you in the bathtub. (smut)

Maegor breeding his niece. (smut)

Asking for his niece's favor in a tournament (fluff)

#maegor targaryen masterlist #masterlist #maegor targaryen x you #maegor targaryen x reader #maegor targaryen x y/n #maegor targaryen smut #maegor targaryen fluff #maegor targaryen angst #hotd #house of the dragon

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dreaming-for-an-escape · 1 year

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Okay so here’s an Aurelia & Maegor drabble. 18+ only please. There is major dub-Con. It’s Maegor Targaryen...so...yeah. BE WARNED.

Aurelia hated his smell, the way his coarse hands felt on her body, she hated everything about Maegor Targaryen. The hatred she felt for him was hidden now, for she learned what would happen if she made it known. She could still feel the phantom aches throughout her body when Maegor did his husbandly duty on their wedding night many months ago.

Since then he hadn’t been as violent with her but he wasn’t soft either, not really. A man like Maegor could never be like that, not even to Aurelia who was his favorite out of his wives…or so he would say. He had a funny way of showing favoritism.

The ruby gemstone necklace he’d so generously given her felt more like a collar. She wasn’t allowed to take it off, which had been an order from him. He always wanted her to have it on, especially when he took her to bed. Tonight would be no different.

Her cruel husband wasn’t even supposed to visit her tonight. It was Tyanna’s turn to entertain Maegor but during dinner he made a brisk announcement that he would be visiting Aurelia instead.

Aurelia hadn’t missed the way Tyanna’s face twisted, the hold on her goblet tightening so much she was surprised it hadn’t cracked. Everyone noticed her anger, aside from Maegor who instead had his hungry eyes on Aurelia.

That same look in his violet eyes was there when he barged into her chambers. He said nothing to her as he practically threw her onto the bed, turning her so that her hips were up and her face rested on the pillows. She heard him take off his clothing before he ripped apart her dress.

Then without properly preparing her, Maegor shoved himself inside her. Aurelia’s scream was a silent one, and the few tears that did escape her were absorbed by the pillows. It seemed tonight her husband was too eager to get inside her, as shown by his uneven and speedy thrusts that were being guided by his large hands on her hips.

Thankfully for Aurelia it only lasted as long as counting to forty in her head. Foolishly she thought that was it but to her horror he turned her back around to face him. She much preferred when he took her from behind, at least that way she wouldn't have to see his face.

“Say you love me.” Maegor growled, staring down at her with his violet eyes. He eyed the ruby gemstone that lay above her breasts before looking into her eyes. Unfortunately for her, he didn't give her time to answer and he started thrusting inside her. His hands pinned her own above her head, making her feel more defenseless. His thrusts were fast, deep, and overall brutal. Though it was nothing like her wedding night it still pained her.

Aurelia held back tears as she gave him a smile she perfected over the months since marrying him. “I love you.” She falsely declared. It was convincing enough because he was then smashing his lips to her own, biting her lower lip until it bled. She told herself a bloody lip was better than him choking or slapping her.

Aurelia looked up at the canopy while Maegor continued rutting into her. His groans made her want to frown but she fought to keep the smile in place. There wasn’t much else she could do but hope he’d finish soon and that he wouldn’t want to bed her a third time tonight. She was already sore, and although his seed hadn’t taken root in her yet after all these months she still didn’t want to risk it.

Maegor was desperate for an heir, but Aurelia didn’t want to be the one to bring an innocent child into this mess. However if she did end up pregnant she’d do more than give fake smiles and falsely declare her love for Maegor. She’d leave this hell of a place. Somehow Aurelia would leave because no child should grow up knowing Maegor as their father.

Aurelia kept thinking this even after Maegor finally spilled his heavy load inside her.

#my heart my body my soul #aurelia martell #maegor targaryen #smut #dub-con #angst #I hate Maegor even more after this #oc

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asa-do-your-thing · 10 months

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Hi! Here on your blog for the first time!

I saw your fic idea list and I am amazed by the range of your ideas.

I would like to know more about the following fics -

• Aemond falling in love with a female ghost

• Criston x greek mythology reader or was it Criston x reader but make it greek mythology

Sorry, my memory is too short!

Thanks for writing and sharing your fanworks with us!

Hi dear! Thank you so much for your kind words! Sorry for the delay, we're currently in an intense heatwave and I couldn't bring myself to write. Here's the first story - keep your eye on my blog and the second one should appear soon as well. I'm sorry if it's OOC or feels weird - I have never been able to master the craft of writing scary stories.

"Princess of Sorrows "

Aemond Targaryen x F! OC - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: death, supernatural beings, ghosts, slight angst, mentions executions, mentions suicide, also MAEGOR (although not explicitly).

The room was hollow yet imposing, as if the walls were made of solid stone and stretched for leagues. Flickering candles illuminated its contours, adding an eerie quality to the opulence of the mahogany furniture and heavy tapestries. In areas where shadows lurked deepest in the chamber, mythical creatures seemed to move like ghosts in a faint fog, ever out of reach. At the far end, an ornate fireplace filled the room with warmth, while in the center lay Prince Aemond Targaryen's bed. It was large and majestic, boasting fine silk sheets and a down-filled mattress, surrounded by exotic objects that glowed like spectres in the night.

A painting of a woman with long white hair and crown stars perched atop her head hung on the wall like a menacing reminder of days long gone. She was draped in a rusted wine gown and stared out from the painting with an emotionless, yet weary gaze. Her white eyebrows were knitted together as if she were about to unleash some indescribable fury on whoever had painted her. He had never heard any tales about the painting; but he swore, it seemed to have been there even before he was born. It watched him intently, like a dark sentinel guarding his chamber. He had taken to referring to the woman as the "Princess of Sorrows".

As he sat there in the shadows, pouring through ancient books telling the Targaryen family's stories, Aemond felt a frosty chill ripple down his spine. Occasionally he had the sense that secretive eyes were watching him, and then he'd have to hold his breath until the sensation faded away. Even though his dread was mounting, Aemond never spoke of it out loud. He feared doing so would only manifest its presence further. It was on one of those nights when the moon shone brightly, that Aemond swore he saw a silhouette in the corner of his eye turning the page of a book. His heart skipped a beat as he jumped to his feet armed with a sword, but the figure had suddenly vanished, leaving behind the whisper of skirts. He stayed still waiting for its return, but nothing stirred. Was it all just his overactive imagination? No one could tell.

The next morning, he hesitantly dispatched one of his guards to scour the palace. But not a single one among the thousand women living there resembled the figure he thought he had seen. He was now more certain than ever that his chambers were haunted, yet still afraid to accept it and acknowledge his fear of the dead. Evening after evening, he sent the guard back again and kept his hand firmly grasping his sword. Days passed, yet nothing changed: Alone in the chamber, the Princess of Sorrows seemed lost within her thoughts...and then suddenly, as soon as he started feeling at ease, he'd catch a glimpse of her again. He was determined to unravel this mystery that was plaguing him, but didn't know how to proceed. He kept his guard close by and searched for any other signs of her presence - all in vain.

Finally, after weeks of haunted nights, Aemond had had enough. He gave the silent command and all his guards began their search anew, combing every inch of the palace for any sign of something out of place. But nothing emerged. Defeated and discouraged, they returned to Aemond but he seemed unfazed by the lack of results. He still felt that something was lurking in the dark shadows, hidden from his sight. He kept a keen eye on every corner as he patrolled with his sword, when suddenly one night he spotted something strange darting away from him. Instantly he leapt into action and charged after this mysterious being, running through the darkened halls in pursuit.

As he ran, he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He had no idea what he was chasing, but he was determined to catch it. The sound of his own footsteps echoed through the halls, and he felt the cool night air whipping past his face. His mind was racing, trying to anticipate his prey's moves. It was then that he saw her again: the Princess of Sorrows, darting ahead of him like a wraith, her crimson gown fluttering behind her.

He took off like a raging bull, stampeding through the castle without regard for consequence. She ran with grace and agility, always managing to stay one step ahead of him. His lungs burned and his heart pounded as he pressed on, determined to catch her this time. Time seemed to stand still as he lurched around corner after corner, hearing nothing but her echoing laughter in response. Eventually, she came to a dead end near his chambers and before she could turn tail and flee, he had her cornered.

He charged towards her, sword swinging. Stopping just short of her, he could feel the heat radiating off her. Her long white hair framed an angelic face, illuminated in the orange light of the torches. Her eyes were like galaxies, dark and deep with a sorrow that seemed to tear through him. She wore a gown of blood-red silk, and in her hands, she grasped a rose as white as snow. Aemond stood frozen in time; mesmerized by this beautiful apparition.

Aemond stood there, his breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon her beauty. He had been taught to fear this entity, but she seemed almost...human. He reached for the sword at his side and found it forgotten. "My... Lady?" he said, not sure what title would be appropriate for such a mysterious figure. The Princess of Sorrows met his gaze with a small, yet pained smile before disappearing back into the mist. Anger boiled within Aemond's veins as he marched back into his chamber, eyes fixed on the portrait of this wretched princess - her face still contorted in pain and anger.

The days seemed to fly by in a frenzied fever, yet the nights crept past with an agonizing slowness. Aemond yearned for the darkness; unable to sleep as he waited for her to appear. He was up before the sun, lost in thought in the shadows of his chamber, desperate for any sign of her presence. Though scared and uncertain, she had him in an unbreakable spell - he couldn't shift his gaze from her as they shared their clandestine tete-a-tetes.

He started to notice delicate shifts in her gestures - the way she'd linger in front of a painting as if it were speaking to her, or gaze out of the window with an enigmatic expression. He realized then that this mysterious creature had feelings like his own, and emotions and thoughts he could barely comprehend.

Aemond found himself captivated by the woman's delicate figure, her perfectly coiffed hair and petite features. Every time he saw her from afar, his heart raced as he walked closer to her in order to get a better look. He opened his mouth each time, but his courage failed him and she seemed to sense it; she quickly faded away like a phantom into the shadows, leaving Aemond perplexed and dejected.

In desperation, Aemond ventured out into King's Landing’s most notorious street - Flea Bottom - seeking out mystical knowledge from an old witch who gave him a spell that will trap any ghost in place if used correctly. Armed with newfound knowledge Aemond returned back to his chambers determined to get closer to the Princess of Sorrows and uncover the secrets that surrounded this captivating creature who had stolen his heart without even uttering a single word.

Aemond cast the spell within his chambers and sure enough, the Princess of Sorrows appeared before him looking less translucent than she had been previously. Her features were clearer, her skin more visible and her eyes filled with a mysterious and deep emotion. Aemond was taken aback at this new transformation; he had never seen the ghostly figure looking so lifelike. She stood there in her usual red gown and her touch was cold and clammy. It made Aemond's skin crawl whenever she got too close to him.

The Princess turned to Aemond, her gaze filled with sadness as if something inside of her was crying out for help "Why did you trap me?" she asked him. He could not bring himself to answer, instead he asked: "Why are you haunting me? What do you want from me?" The princess’s expression softened and she replied: "Your death is near, I only wanted to warn you."

Aemond felt his heart break at those words - the ghostly figure seemed almost too familiar now. He took a step closer to her, desperate for answers yet still wary of what he might uncover. The Princess watched him curiously but said nothing - it was clear that she would not offer any more information until Aemond answered her own question first.

Aemond inhaled sharply, his face grim. "I trapped you because I wanted to find out your secrets," he uttered darkly, his voice like a whisper in the night. His hungry gaze bore into hers and her heart raced. Slowly she nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes," she murmured softly. "There is much more hidden underneath my surface than meets the eye - mysteries only time will unravel. But I cannot tell you now."

Aemond felt his heart breaking as she uttered the words. He had been so certain that she would be able to bring him the answers he so desperately sought. Yet here she was, still refusing to tell him what it was that she seemed to know. How could someone be so secretive and why? His voice betraying his emotion, Aemond asked again, "Please, just tell me what you're keeping from me! What are you hiding?"

The Princess of Sorrows sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging, tears welling up in her eyes. "There are things in this world that are better left unsaid," she replied cryptically. "Things that would only bring more pain and heartache if they were revealed."

Aemond frowned, not satisfied with her answer. He took a step closer to her, his eyes searching hers. "Please," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Help me understand. I am willing to listen, no matter what the cost."

The Princess of Sorrows hesitated for a moment before finally nodding her head. "Very well," she said, her voice eerily calm. "But be warned, you might pay dearly for it, dear Prince."

Aemond felt a shiver run down his spine at her words, but he didn't falter. He was determined to learn the truth, no matter what it might cost him. "I'm ready," he said, his voice steady.

The Princess of Sorrows sighed as she prepared to tell her story. "We had a love that was forbidden," she said, her voice quivering with emotion. "It was passionate and fiery, yet we managed to keep it hidden from those who would have forbidden us. But our luck did not last. They found out and I was forced into marriage while he...he was put to death." Her voice trailed off as tears spilled down her face.

Aemond listened in stunned silence, his heart breaking for the pain and suffering this woman had endured. He could see the pain etched into her features, the sorrow in her eyes. "Who was your husband?" he asked softly, knowing that he was treading on dangerous ground.

The Princess of Sorrows hesitated before finally replying. "He was your ancestor," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He was a Targaryen prince, just like you."

Aemond felt his world come crashing down around him. He had always been proud of his family's history, of their legacy. But now...now he felt tainted, stained by the sins of his ancestors.

"Who was he?" he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Princess of Sorrows looked at him with a sad smile. "Maegor was my brother," she said softly. "And my husband."

Aemond felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

He stumbled back, his mind reeling with the revelation. "How...how could this be?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "And what of you?" he asked, his voice soft. "What happened to you after you were forced into marriage?"

The Princess of Sorrows let out a bitter laugh as she wiped away her tears. "I was never truly alive after that," she said, her voice hollow. "I tried to make the best of my situation, but every day was a struggle. My husband was cruel and abusive, and I spent most of my days trying to avoid him. But eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to be free, to escape the pain and suffering that had become my life. And so, I did the only thing I could do - I jumped from my dragon and ended it all."

Aemond felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to her tragic tale. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her, to have lived through such pain and torment. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I had no idea."

The Princess of Sorrows gave him a sad smile. "It's alright," she said softly. "You couldn't have known. But now that you do, you must pay the price."

Aemond felt a chill run down his spine at her words. "What price?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Princess of Sorrows looked at him with a steely gaze. "You must be my lover," she said, her voice cold and firm. "And you must die."

Aemond felt his entire being freeze. Time seemed to stop as he heard her words. He couldn't process the meaning, but before he could act on his confusion, he felt the Princess of Sorrows grab him and pull him close. Her eyes were intense and mesmerizing, trapping him in their embrace. Slowly, she leaned towards him and pressed her lips against his. Aemond felt an indescribable sensation course through every inch of his body. It was a strange combination of pain and pleasure, as though something was being taken from him, some essence that he had never known existed until now, flowing gently from him into her.

Early next morning, two guards stumbled upon the lifeless body of Aemond on his grandiose bed. His mouth was agape, his eyes still open in horror as if he had seen a ghost. The maester pronounced him dead due to a mysterious heart failure that was brought about by some unknown force. Despite performing several tests, the maester could not find any clarity as to what had caused Aemond's demise.

Viserra's portrait hung above them, no longer frowning angrily but grinning widely instead. Despite the cheerful canvas painting, the mood in the room was somber as they all mourned Aemond's death; a death that had brought about by one woman's hard-fought desire for freedom after years of agony and servitude. No one noticed the strange smile cast down upon them or how it seemed to cast an ominous feeling around the gathering. Shrouded in grief, each person gathered in this chamber lost in their own sorrow and despair; unable to comprehend what had happened and why it had been allowed to occur.

#fanfiction #house of the dragon #prince aemond #asas fics #prince aemond targaryen #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond angst #maegor #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #aemond x oc

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roselibrary · 1 year

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REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Send in asks and requests for the Grishaverse and House of the Dragon!!!

Currently writing for any character and have no limits on what you can request.

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librosamarillos · 1 year

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passed down like folk songs

chapter 2: relief

Maegor Targaryen x OC

Also on Ao3

< previous chapter index next chapter >

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI

Let's see some daddy issues friends! Hope you enjoy! (and that this shows in the tags this time)

Maegor grew to enjoy King’s Landing, but he still much preferred his home in Dragonstone. The city had a lot to offer, Rowan seemed to enjoy it plenty, always out and about with her father. And yet he could not say the same about his own father. The King barely saw his second son, once or twice a year if he was lucky, and he didn’t act like he missed him at all. He was always so formal around him, but so fatherly toward his half-brother, Aenys. His aunt was no different, she seemed very hesitant and awkward interacting with him. But he didn’t care about her, it’s not his aunt whose attention he craved, it was his father’s. He outperformed Aenys in every sense imaginable, in combat, in his studies, in strength and height and yet all he received was an impersonal “good job”. He barely even called him son. Hell, Lord Evergreen was more encouraging than his own father was.

He hated how much it got to him. He had understood why his mother insisted she raised him on Dragonstone alone, she wanted to protect him. But he was going to figure it out sooner or later wouldn’t he? He noticed how his mother, the one they could not have conquered the seven kingdoms without, the one who had planned and sacrificed so much, the one who should be the true and only Queen, be cast aside, by the people, by her sister, and even worse, by Aegon. He treated her like a commander, like a coworker, like someone he wanted to get out of his hair, but was polite about it. Even when they were talking about him, about his own son, he spoke more as if it was all a report on a piece of paper, to just check how he was doing.

But Aenys? Never like that with Aenys. His half-brother received their father’s undivided attention. He was his heir after all. Anywhere Aegon went, so did Aenys. He always had his praise for doing the bare minimum, his mother singing him praises for being so beloved by the people. Since he was the son of the beloved Queen Rhaenys, the lords and ladies fawned over him. But Maegor, being the son of the feared and clearly less favoured by her own husband, Queen Visenya, was looked at with suspicion. Even fear. Maegor seemed to like it. If they couldn’t love him like they did the others, he’d show them they had every reason to fear him. For he refused to be a pathetic weakling like Aenys, always eager to please, waiting for people to sing songs of their love to him, looking to everyone for approval.

It had been a rough day. The King and the Queens were watching the two Princes spar, along with other lords and ladies of the court. Aenys was five and ten, while Maegor only ten, his one and tenth nameday in a few moons. And yet Maegor was giving his older half-brother hell. All the resentment that had built up, always came out while he was sparring, and now? Now that one of the people he resented the most was his opponent? He’d show him, he’d show them all who the rightful heir should be, who had the skills of their father, the strength to rule. Aenys could barely keep up with him, desperately trying to not make a complete fool of himself, but failing. Maegor wanted to taunt him, to yell at him that he was pathetic, undeserving, that the thought of him wielding their father’s sword filled him with a rage that could barely be contained. Aenys had fallen down for what must’ve been the twentieth time, calling out to him to stop, as he yielded completely.

Maegor huffed in annoyance, wanting to call him a coward, but his father’s voice coming closer to them pulled him from his thoughts.

“You held on your own well, I’ll train you tomorrow myself, go get some rest, son. You’ve done well.” he patted Aenys on the shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

“I’m proud of you, my son!” his aunt Rhaenys grinned, grasping the embarrassed boy’s face to kiss his forehead.

“What of me?” Maegor asked, before he could stop himself. “Father?”

His voice seemed to startle Aegon and Rhaenys. Did they seriously forget he was there? How ridiculous were they? At least Aeny had the decency to look ashamed, he wasn’t sure if it was because he so clearly lost, or of the way their father was acting. Either way, he looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole rather than to be there in that moment.

“What do you mean?” he asked, sounding confused.

Maegor clenched his fists, squeezing the handle of the wooden sparring sword, since the King insisted they don’t use real blades. Because he knew.

“How was my performance?” he asked, feeling humiliated that he had to pry a compliment out of his own father.

“You did well, as always.” Aegon said, as if it was so obvious he didn’t even have to say it. “Now, let us all go prepare for the feast.” he patted Aenys’ shoulder once more and led him back inside.

Maegor threw down his sword and turned to leave, before catching the eye of his mother, a solemn understanding look in her eye.

He felt like a million wildfires lit up inside him, like he could burn down anything he touched, anything in his way. He shut himself in his chambers, finding solace under the writing table in the corner. He never felt so small before. He was a warrior, and there he was, hot tears falling from his eyes while he hugged his knees tightly.

He barely heard the soft knock on the door, before yelling at the person to go away. Much to his annoyance and embarrassment, the door opened and closed quickly. He looked up, with a sigh of relief when he saw the familiar face of Rowan. She gave him a tiny smile, before joining him under the table, wrapping her arms around him completely.

Something in him just broke, letting out all the sorrow and anger in the form of tears, and even sobs. He only felt safe for her to see, nobody else would understand, nobody else could truly see him. They stayed there for what felt like hours before he could catch his breath again and calm down.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered.

“Why? It’s not your fault.” he whispered back.

“I’m sorry he’s such a jerk to you.” she said, wiping the remaining tears off his face with her handkerchief, before offering it to him to blow his nose as well.

He took it gladly, and stared at the ground. He wanted to stop hurting. He turned to his friend again.

“Where were you today?” he asked curiously.

Surely if Rowan was there, she would’ve been cheering him on, much more than his father did for Aenys. Her father would as well.

“We went to the sept with father, then we stopped for sweets. Which reminds me,” she pulled something from behind her, something he didn’t notice her set down before. “Here, I chose these just for you.” she gave him the box with a soft smile.

Maegor was stunned for a moment, looking at the box, delicately wrapped, in her hands, before taking it. She thought of him? She thought of him enough to get him something? He felt his cheeks get warmer, as he unwrapped and opened it, a small smile making its way on his face at the contents. It was full of his favourite apple cakes. The smell alone made the pain dull a bit. He went to grab one, before Rowan stopped him.

“You should wash your hands first.” she said, pulling him up from his hiding spot, dragging him to the bowl of clean water.

Maegor tried to not blush while she so carefully washed his hands, and then dried them with a towel. He stilled for a moment, before pulling her back under the table he’d spent the last hour crying under, but this time to giggle and eat the delicious snacks she brought him.

“What do you do all day at the sept anyway? I thought prayer was only in the morning.” he asked while scarfing down an apple cake.

“It is, but it’s open all the time. My father works with the septon there to help the orphans of the city, to give them all clothes once they grow them out.”

“Why do you have to go with him? You shouldn’t have to.” not when you could spend time with me, he thought.

“I love to go. I love the kids, they’re so nice, the septon even said I could help their septa with their reading! I got to help today, and it was so fun.” she smiled.

Maegor huffed, earning a raised eyebrow from Rowan. He crossed his arms.

“Yeah, but you missed watching me throw Aenys to the ground over twenty times! Wouldn’t that be more amusing to you?” he huffed.

Rowan giggled.

“Sparring isn’t exactly my favourite form of entertainment, but it seems I've missed your show. I’ll watch you tomorrow then?” she asked.

“Tomorrow… I think my father would prefer he trained his heir alone.” he frowned.

“Then the day after. And if you wish to laugh, you could even spar with me! I can imagine no bigger challenge!” she smiled, even more so when she saw a smile make its way back to his face.

“Careful,” he said, “I might just take you up on that offer Lady Evergreen.” he smiled.

“It would be an honour, my Prince!” she laughed.

Aenys was a coward. He knew it. He hated to see his little brother so angry, so defeated, even when he was the one winning. He wished he had the courage to go after him, what kind of big brother wouldn’t? The one afraid to let his father down? The one who felt crushed under his father’s hand on his shoulder. He felt guilty that all their father’s good graces fell on him, but every time he brought it up, his parents shut him down. So he didn’t push the issue, hoping it would fix itself somehow.

If he was honest, Maegor frightened him. Five years younger, yet had they been sparring with real blades, Aenys was sure he’d be dead. He was glad he barely saw him, the anger in his eyes was enough to frighten the bravest of knights. And then there was his aunt. Another person that frightened him greatly. Ever since he could remember, she looked at him with disgust. He never could figure out why that was, his parents urging him to pay her no mind, but as he was getting older, to ignore her seemed most unwise.

He shook his head, focusing back on his mother who was getting ready to mound Meraxes. She had kissed her husband goodbye, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll bring you something back once I’ve brought Dorne to its knees.” she smiled sweetly at her son, ruffling his hair.

“I’ll miss you.” he admitted, hugging his mother tightly.

“I will not be gone for long, do not fret. I love you.” Rhaenys smiled brightly, before letting go of her son and turning to her beloved Meraxes.

He worried a lot, seeing his mother fly off to their sworn enemies. His father patted him on the shoulder, a look of reassurance on his face.

“She’ll return soon, my son.” he added.

Queen Rhaenys would never return from Dorne.

He shook his head, focusing back on his mother who was getting ready to mound Meraxes. She had kissed her husband goodbye, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll bring you something back once I’ve brought Dorne to its knees.” she smiled sweetly at her son, ruffling his hair.

“I’ll miss you.” he admitted, hugging his mother tightly.

“I will not be gone for long, do not fret. I love you.” Rhaenys smiled brightly, before letting go of her son and turning to her beloved Meraxes.

He worried a lot, seeing his mother fly off to their sworn enemies. His father patted him on the shoulder, a look of reassurance on his face.

“She’ll return soon, my son.” he added.

Queen Rhaenys would never return from Dorne.

He shook his head, focusing back on his mother who was getting ready to mound Meraxes. She had kissed her husband goodbye, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll bring you something back once I’ve brought Dorne to its knees.” she smiled sweetly at her son, ruffling his hair.

“I’ll miss you.” he admitted, hugging his mother tightly.

“I will not be gone for long, do not fret. I love you.” Rhaenys smiled brightly, before letting go of her son and turning to her beloved Meraxes.

He worried a lot, seeing his mother fly off to their sworn enemies. His father patted him on the shoulder, a look of reassurance on his face.

“She’ll return soon, my son.” he added.

Queen Rhaenys would never return from Dorne.

It had been a week and Visenya was not sure that time was real. Rhaenys, her little sister, was gone. She was in so much pain, but shed no tears. She should be in inconsolable grief, but she didn’t know if she was. Aegon was beside himself. Aenys, well, he took it as she expected him to, terribly. But there’s no other way to react when losing a mother, is there? She sat blankly on her bed, unsure. She did not wish to be seen in court, nor by her brother. When the news reached them, the pained look in his tearful eyes said it all. It should have been you.

Rowan had insisted she brought her something, anything to eat. She did not even notice the girl come in, let alone sit beside her. She took her hand in hers, without saying a word. It helped to feel some warmth. Everyone flooded around her husband and nephew, offering their condolences, asking to help in any way. No one did for her. She was sure Lord Duncan would, but he was in Oldtown. And little Rowan’s company was more than enough.

“Did you hear what they say?” she broke the comfortable silence.

“Of what, your grace?”

“That it should’ve been me. That it’s a shame that Aegon had to lose the wife he loved and is stuck with the one he barely tolerates.” she repeated the words she heard.

“That’s so awful of them, I’m sorry they said that.” she tried to comfort her, rubbing circles on her hand.

“I’m not sure if I’m upset. I’m not sure what to make of all of this.” Visenya confessed.

“How do you feel?” Rowan asked.

Visenya wanted to hug her. Such a simple and innocent question from a child, yet such a difficult answer, with years of complicated emotions.

“Grief. But…” she trailed. “I’m not sure what else.”

She thought back to their childhood on Dragonstone. Back when she struggled everyday with training to win her father’s approval, how she was always bruised and sweaty and her mother would scold her. Back when Rhaenys took up all their attention, leaving her to fight for scraps. Rhaenys was the apple of their eye, but all the responsibilities still fell on Visenya as the eldest. She hated her, she did not deny it. But she was her sister.

She knew she’d be wed to Aegon, they’d known since they were small, it was no secret. In Aegon, Visenya finally found a friend, someone who seemed to understand her. Though stoic and cool, she could not help but feel excited to call him her husband. She finally had someone, someone all to herself, someone she wouldn’t have to fight for their attention. Or so she thought.

Visenya still remembered the very day her heart was shattered completely. It was the sixth and tenth day of the fourth moon. It was early spring, but the winds still made the island cold. With their wedding approaching soon, their father wished to see them. In that very drawing room, Aegon demanded they don’t go through with the wedding, that they wed him to Rhaenys instead. Then it was a blur of the nastiest fight her brother and father had ever gotten into. And all of this as if she weren’t there. As if it wasn’t her heart shattering. She feared to open her mouth, for all she wanted to do was scream.

Not only did yet another person in her life choose Rhaenys over her, he wanted to take her title away too. Without a care in the world. She still remembered her father’s words, that it was Aegon’s duty to marry Visenya and it didn’t matter if he hated the idea. It was final. His duty. Visenya was his duty that he had to swallow like poison. She cried that night. No, she wept, far from them all, on Vhagar’s familiar warmth, up in the clouds.

Her wedding ended up being a solemn affair, not the joyful one she wished for, with her groom looking like he wished to be dead instead of in front of her. To his credit he did apologize before. He gifted her a sword, Valyrian steel, as a wedding gift, and as an apology. Dark sister. That’s what she was to him, wasn’t she? In that heartbreaking, desperate moment, she didn’t care. She knew once their father passed, he’d take Rhaenys to wife, whether she approved or not. So she wanted to enjoy the moons they’d have together, while she could still call him hers and hers alone, for it wouldn’t be forever.

Visenya wasn’t sure how much pain she’s had to swallow, ever since her youth. She had to, for if she was not strong, she’d be nothing. She didn’t realize how hard she had been griping Rowan’s hand.

“I think I know what else.” the little girl whispered.

“What?”

“Relief.”

Visenya paused. Relief.

Her sister was dead. Her little sister who she loved dearly and wanted to scream at almost daily. Her little sister for whom she’d do anything, her little sister who took everything from her and kept taking and taking until she had nothing left to give. Her little sister that she wanted to shield and protect and also throw in the fire. Her sister that made the room shine and that she wished was never born. Her little sister that she loved fiercely and wanted to rip her hair out as violently as possible.

She was gone.

And Visenya broke down in tears of relief.

taglist:@heartstalked@stupidocupido@discowizard88

#maegor targaryen #maegor targaryen x oc #maegor the cruel #visenya targaryen #visenya targaryen x aegon targaryen #angst

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starryrosebud · 2 years

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*Luke just after entering in the afterlife(without realising that), extremely scared that Aemond would hurt him again*

Prince Viserys,son of Aenys*holding his hand and saying*: it’s okay he can’t hurt you here, no one can hurt you here, we are finally safe.

#angst #asoiaf #hotd spoilers #viserys son of Aenys #prince Viserys #lucerys velaryon #luke velaryon #fic ideas #fire and blood #viserys and Lucerys the Martyrs #fuck you aemond #fuck you Alicent #fuck you Maegor #and fuck you visenya #hate the child abusers!

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humanpurposes · 2 months

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You Want This, You Need This

The only daughter of Rhaneyra Targaryen is firmly devoted to her mother's cause, and yet she finds her way through the passages of the Holdfast, to the bedchamber of a Prince she should hate // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (daughter of Rhaenyra)

Warnings: 18+, smut, enemies with benefits, hate sex, degrading, angst, Targcest (uncle and niece)

Words: 3.7k

A/n: Me making a poll then doing whatever I want 🫶

There’s no use in waiting for sleep to come to her, she’s too restless for sleep.

Her bedroom is full of alcoves and adjacent chambers, good for hiding and keeping the room cool during the summers. In one of the alcoves is a mural. If she presses a particular space on the wall with much force, she can push it to reveal an entrance into the hidden passageways of Maegor’s Holdfast.

Light is lost beyond the threshold. A gentle but piercing breeze washes over her, through the thin and billowing fabric of her night shift. There’s always this lingering excitement when she opens the doorway. She equates it to the thrill of flying, cutting through the wind on dragonback. Only she’s not in the sky, she’s staring into darkness, daring herself to take a single step.

As children she and her brothers had found many of these hidden doors throughout the castle, the perfect sort of places to hide in when they were in trouble, the perfect place to eavesdrop and move through the keep undetected. When their mother found out she had discouraged them from venturing too far, lest they end up like the piles of bones left by rats and other rodents that had never found their way out.

The paths within the walls are treacherous, but she knows some of the routes by heart. She knows how to head down to the kitchens, she even knows a way which leads past the dungeons, to a chamber which houses the skull of Blaerion, the Black Dread, out to a beach along the shore of the bay, out of reach by any other means.

There is one particular room she has in mind tonight.

She treads carefully, tracing her fingertips against the wall so that she does not lose her way. When she comes to a series of steps she takes even more caution. She counts twenty steps, then turns another corner and keeps walking until the stone underneath her fingers turns to wood. It is a door, one which appears as part of a panelled wall on the other side. She pushes it open, hoping he has left the latch undone, and he has.

The room’s warmth is a welcome sensation. She makes as little noise as possible as she enters and closes the door behind her.

He’s sitting by the fire, turned away from where she stands, head lowered slightly and his silver hair spilling down the back of his chair. She almost always finds him like this, practising one of his self righteous rituals. He reads until the hearth and the candles have burned out because it enforces his own belief that he is a more dedicated son than Aegon, more intelligent and more worthy than the Velaryons– than her and her ilk.

His shoulders stiffen as the soles of her slippers tap delicately against the floor, moving towards his bed. She imagines him frowning, or perhaps smiling to himself as he closes the book in his lap.

She perches at the edge of the mattress, pushing her shoes off and letting them fall to the floor. “That was quite the display in the training yard this morning,” she says in a clear voice.

Everything he does is agonisingly slow. He grips the arms of his chair as he rises, slots the book back onto a shelf, and finally turns to face her. He is dressed in a simple black shirt and the breeches he usually sleeps in. His hair is half tied, his leather patch secured around his head, over the space where his left eye should be, sliced out by her own brother’s hand.

The low light of the hearth casts shadows in the sharp edges of his face, the lines around his mouth, the curve of his lips, proud but restrained. His remaining eye is trained on her, glaring at her like a hunter approaches prey.

“You were there to watch your brother, I thought,” he says in that softly threatening voice of his. He comes close enough to loom over her, though just far enough that their legs do not touch. “Or did you find your eye wandering?”

Jace’s first mistake had been to go down to the yard early. Aemond was always there in the mornings after flying Vhagar, to train with Ser Criston Cole until noon. His next mistake had been to succumb to Aemond’s goading. Their uncle is never one to use violence at first, not like Aegon who would brawl with a gull if he thought it offensive enough. Aemond likes to use his words to tease and probe, to lure an opponent to action, and Jace almost always falls for it. The moment her brother had challenged Aemond to a sparring match she knew what the outcome would be. Jace was a promising fighter, but he simply could not match Aemond’s height, strength, speed or skill.

Her heart sank for her brother, but it couldn’t force her attention away from Aemond. He moved like a dancer, all fluidity and control, like he already had the entire performance planned out in his head. He toyed with Jace, kept his defence up, only to knock his sword from his hands and place his own blade at his throat in a sudden flash of silver and steel.

She’d had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from smirking.

“You humiliated him, before spectators,” she says.

Aemond frowns in mock sympathy, taking her chin between his finger and his thumb to tilt her gaze up. “I would do it a hundred times over, for my own pleasure if not for anything else.”

She tilts her head. “And what of my pleasure?”

He hums cryptically. The corners of his mouth flicker upwards. “Your pleasure is only my concern within the confines of this room.”

He’s looking at her like that again, like he wants to devour her.

He traces his fingers down her throat, her collar, the neckline of her shift. His touch is sparse but familiar, exploring the curves of her body through the fabric, patterns she’s felt before, spaces he already knows and seems to have mapped in his head.

He leans in closer, his other hand pressing into the bed, invading her space, infiltrating her senses with the scent of smoke and lavender. She could drown in it, the scent of him.

She shudders as he runs his nose over her neck, following the heat of his breath with a lingering kiss against the sensitive spot of her skin. “What is it you want from me tonight?”

She has an idea in her mind, one she’s been toying with since she had seen the look of pride in his face in the yard.

“Lie down, on your back.”

He stands straight. Eye still fixed on her, he does as she says, making himself comfortable against the pillows.

She draws out every movement, just as he likes to do to her. She straddles him, settling her hips against the growing hardness in his breeches. She rests her hands against his chest, runs her fingers over his skin and the patch of silver hair revealed when she pulls on his shirt.

His hands are on her immediately, running up her thighs, gripping at her waist, bringing up the hem of her shift and tutting as though it has caused him some personal insult in hiding her body from him. He pulls it over her head and surges up to kiss her, capturing her lips with the desperation of a man starved. His kisses are always like this, slow and consuming, pulling her in closer and closer like he expects her to try to escape, like the only air he wants exists in her lungs.

It’s fast and overwhelming, and at first she’s content to just let it happen, to let herself be carried away in the currents of his wants and not her own, but once she’s a little more settled, she pushes him back against the bed.

He stares up at her, blood rushing to his cheeks, lips parted and panting. For all the times she’s seen his stoic exterior at court, she thinks he looks best like this.

“I thought you were concerning yourself with my pleasure?” she says, not bothering to contain her smile.

“I thought you liked it when I take what I want,” he retorts.

“I want you to do as you’re told.”

He huffs a laugh, but his gaze softens and his tongue wets his lips, his eye roaming appreciatively over her bare body, until he stops at her small clothes. All it takes is a few gentle rocks of her hips before his jaw tightens and his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of her waist. She swears she feels his hips twitch beneath her, but he makes no move to take what he wants.

She leans back on her haunches as she drags his breeches below his hips. By the sight of him, hard and reddened at the tip, she knows he at least finds something about this arrangement appealing.

She discards the rest of their clothing, his shirt, her small clothes, the leather eyepatch on his head. She pauses when she reaches for it, waiting for him to protest, but he doesn’t. He gives her a small nod and she slides it up to reveal the true extent of his scar, the twisted red flesh around the sapphire wedged in his socket.

She has seen it countless times before. She needs the reminder of who he is, how much he must hate her.

Now that they are both bare she resumes her position, pleasure like a flame licking up her spine as she traces circles over her centre. Aemond grinds himself against her, breathing with a strain in the back of his throat. The sound only makes the wanting feeling in her gut tighten. She can feel herself clenching over nothing, her body begging for more friction and the release it promises.

She feels she is wet enough to take him now, and her stomach drops in anticipation.

When he whispers her name, she knows she has him exactly where she wants him.

She closes her hand around his cock, giving it a few half-hearted strokes and lining it up to her entrance, only to hesitate. “I hear your mother is intending to invite Borros Baratheon to court,” she says.

Aemond catches his lip between his teeth, staring at the space where their bodies almost meet if she would only lower her hips.

“Might he bring one of his comely daughters? He has four, doesn’t he?”

Aemond huffs and meets her eye. His hands are still on her waist, his thumbs tracing circles over her belly. “Where did you hear this?”

She tries to pretend such a simple touch from him does not excite her or tempt her to relent.

Daemon has spies in the Queen’s household, not that she knows the specifics. Her mother had discussed the matter with her, expressing concern for the Hightowers’ intentions. It has been decades since a Lord of Storm’s End has stepped foot in the Red Keep, and Daemon believes their rivals are trying to close ranks, amass allies outside of the capital. Perhaps such a deal may be sealed with a marriage pact.

“What,” she breathes, trying to smile, “that his daughters are comely? I can only assume, for I’ve never met them you see–”

In the blink of an eye she’s beneath him.

Aemond brings a single finger to her lips. “I thought we had agreed not to discuss political matters in private,” he says.

“I did not realise the matter was political–”

He cuts her off when he snakes his hand down her body and pushes his thumb against her pearl. She hisses, her hips bucking to meet his touch.

“Are you trying to bait me, niece? Hmm? Is that what you came here for?”

She shakes her head as he circles over her. For such minimal effort on his part, it sparks something frustratingly bright in her, back arching, warmth settling between her legs and beneath her skin.

“Is that really what you want me to be thinking about? Wondering which one of the Baratheon girls is the prettiest?”

His fingertips tease over her entrance, but he doesn’t push them inside, instead they’re replaced by the head of his cock. She presses her lips together, determined not to make any kind of noise he could take for weakness, for wanting, but she feels it all the same.

“Presently, I’m only thinking about what I can see, and what I see is a spoiled little Princess, laid out beneath me. Poor thing, she’s trying to look smug, but I’m not sure I’m convinced, not when I’m about to fuck her tight, little cunt.”

Her pleading is mindless, falling from her lips as effortlessly as her breath. “Please… please… please…”

She wonders if it is her want or his own he eventually succumbs to. He pushes in slowly, delighted at the slight moan he elicits from her, sharing her air as she gasps at the pleasurable ache of being stretched out around him.

“I’ve heard rumours too, that Rhaenyra has been sending ravens to Highgarden,” he says as he starts to snap his hips against hers. “What business would your mother have with the Tyrells, I wonder?”

Rhaenyra has her own plans for a marriage pact, plans she’s known about for months. “What indeed?” she says, trying to smile as he ruts into her.

Aemond almost growls, burying his face into her neck. As his voice is harsher so are his thrusts. “My sister will sell you to a sickly little boy, is that it? Why would Rhaenyra want an alliance with the Reach?”

Because the King is little more than a breathing corpse and who knows how much life he has left in him. Because eventually, he will die, and they both know what will come next.

She’s always known her part in this, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her brothers may well fight in battles to defend their mother’s claim, but wars cannot be won without the necessary support. The Reach, The Riverlands, The Vale, The North, they must all be secured one way or another.

With his face hidden from hers she allows herself to admire the way his muscles move and flex under the smooth, pale skin of his arm. Since leaving childhood behind, he seems to have this idea of efficiency, with no tolerance for excess. His arms are slight, but defined where he trains with his sword each day, where he hauls himself onto Vhagar’s saddle and steers her around Blackwater Bay.

“It’s always been expected of me,” she says, tracing her hand over his skin, almost perfect, save for a few marks: a burn after an unfortunate encounter with Vermax when he was just a hatchling, a scar above his elbow where he fell from an apple tree, and crescent shaped indents from their last tryst. “I will do my duty.”

“Duty?” He stops, grabbing her by the neck so her breath hitches in her throat. He leans into her, pressing his forehead against hers, caging her between his body and the bed. She sees nothing but a single eye and a sapphire, nothing but contempt. “You’re the antithesis of it, crawling to your uncle’s bedchamber every night, begging to be fucked.”

Anger flares in her blood. She clamps her hand around his wrist and digs her nails into his skin, hoping it will mark him. “I have never begged for you,” she spits, teeth bared, lips grazing over his, “and I never shall…”

Her words fade on her tongue when he resumes a punishing pace, urging her closer to oblivion with every thrust.

“Oh there you go,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?” He’s on his knees now, one hand still on her throat, the other on her thigh, forcing her legs further apart, fingertips pressing painfully into her flesh.

She tries to pull away from his grip, pushing herself further into the bed amongst the pillows, but Aemond has always been stubborn and does not relent. She has nowhere to go, no other option but to take it.

“You’ll be sent off to some castle in a miserable corner of the world, live the dull life of a Lady. Your Lord husband will trade swords and shields for you like a brood mare and fuck his children into your belly each night.”

She feels her peak building within her, the weightlessness rising and rising, she can hardly take much more. “Do you believe I will think of you?” she says with a grin, “as he touches me, as he spills inside me…”

Aemond grunts, folding his chest over hers, brushing his lips over her cheek as he hisses, “wanton little whore. I am the one you seek out, and as long as you do, you are mine.”

It tears through her quickly, a spark that turns to flame, a piece of kindling caught alight, pleasure that reduces her simply to feeling, warmth and the absence of his weight on her body. She claws her nails into nothing, empty space where she expects to find his skin.

Aemond has pulled away from her, groaning as he comes, spilling over her stomach and thighs. She watches him, jaw slack, brows angled like he’s in agony.

She basks in the numbness her peak leaves behind as he drags his shirt over her skin to clean the mess he’s made with a touch that is soft and slow. His eye trails along her body to her face. She sees nothing in him, not amusement or satisfaction, not hatred or remorse, and yet he comes to lay beside her, turning her onto her side, settling against her back and putting his arms around her.

She allows it, too used to the feeling of lying in his bed, too used to the scent of sweat and smoke and lavender.

Aemond’s chambers are ruled by order, every book has its place on a shelf, he does not leave papers, clothes or used cups of wine lying around. The bedchamber lies on the south side of the castle, with a balcony overlooking the bay where two of them used to watch the ships leaving the harbour. She likes the intricate tapestries, scenes of Valryian mythology, and his fondness for the colour blue. Even if she cannot see most of it in the dark of night, the silence and stillness is comforting.

“Lord Corlys’ ship was attacked,” she mutters, placing her hand over his, where his palm against her stomach. “We cannot be sure if he even survived.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aemond says, “I’ve also heard Vaemond Velaryon intends to challenge the succession of Driftmark, should the unthinkable be true.

“And I assume the Queen and the Hand will support him in this endeavour.”

Aemond’s chest stills. “They will hear the petitions and pass their judgement,” he says, quietly but finally.

“Then the decision has already been made.”

Aemond’s breathing is deep, her hair fluttering against her cheek as he exhales. Her mother has a similar way of scolding her without uttering a single word, as if to say the answer should be obvious.

With a scoff she pushes his hand away and drags herself out of the bed. The cold air stings her skin and she makes short work of finding her night shift, discarded on the floor, and dressing herself.

“Lucerys has no claim to Driftmark,” Aemond says from the bed.

“And why is that?” she says shortly, grabbing her shoes from the foot of the bed.

He won’t say it, but the word is there, in the way he teases Jace, the way his family watch her and her brothers and stare at them across the throne room with nothing but disgust. It’s there in his indifference towards her beyond the walls of his bedchamber, avoiding eye contact, muttering under his breath, insults and backhanded compliments. But the last time he said it, it cost him his eye.

She turns to face him, a defiant glare through the darkness now that some of the candles have started to burn out.

“Coward,” she whispers.

He does claim to disagree.

With her shoes on, she moves towards the hidden door without sparing him another glance.

But she hears a ruffle of fabric, his feet against the floor as he follows her. His hand closes around her arm, hard enough it feels as though it might leave a bruise. He turns her into him, placing her back and his palm against the panelled wall.

“Stay,” he says.

“Surely you would not want to sully yourself, sharing your bed with a bastard.”

“But it’s different with you.”

“How? How is it different?”

He cups her face in his hands, begging her for something but never saying it. He leans in gradually, kissing her firmly. It’s easy to follow his lead, to let him slip his tongue between her lips, let him pull and tug at her delicate flesh, to feel him and lose herself to him. It makes her weightless all over again.

Once it was easy to love Aemond. They found friendship easily as children, even when they bickered and argued, because they could always forgive each other.

Some time ago she realised that love has always been destined to fade away, like summer changing into autumn, winter snows melting away with the spring. There is no place for it amongst the animosity between their families, causes they were born to, that neither of them will ever forsake.

Aemond pulls away but stays close to her, a hand on her waist, the other on her cheek. “I want you to stay.”

“And what then? What do you think could ever become of us?” The one-eyed Prince and the bastard Princess.

Suddenly she hates the stillness of this room, the weight of his silence in her chest.

Aemond’s hand slips from her cheek, his expression falling from pleading to indifference.

She leaves him standing there, bare chested and breathless, with no light to catch in the cut edges of his sapphire. She fades back into the shadows of the passageway, amongst the cold and the dark and the bones.

The rot has set in. The King will die, and both the Blacks and the Greens will seek to claim his throne. The empty space between her and Aemond can only ever grow.

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randomdragonfires · 1 month

Text

Pieces of a Woman | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Even when his life takes a turn for the worse, Aemond Targaryen endures.

WARNINGS | 18+; Canon Divergence AU; Smut; Insanity; B&C; Gore; Delusions; Miscarriage; Yearning; ANGST

WORD COUNT | 7.2k

A/N | This is my personal favourite out of all the stories I've ever written, reposted with a new header and all that fun stuff! Beta read by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs ❤️

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins.

They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. He had watched as her once bright and hopeful eyes became empty and devoid of emotion. He had watched as she was pulled into the darkness completely, becoming a shell of the woman she once was.

As much as he wished he could turn back time, he had accepted his fate. He accepted that he would never have his wife back. He would never hold her in his arms again and never get to lay his head on her lap as she embroidered. She would never read to him in her mellifluous voice ever again, despite the fact that he would give everything he had to have her with him once more.

What good was all this power and wealth, if he could not protect his own family? What good was his title as Prince Regent, if he did not have her to stand by his side? If he could not protect his little boy?

His hair, once braided to the side by her deft and nimble fingers with love, remained uncared for, left loose in all its glory. Training his one dark-rimmed, tired eye at the crypt that held the ashes of his heir, Aemond Targaryen let the sadness take him - for when his son’s life was brutally snuffed out, his wife’s very soul had been too.

There was nobody to blame for it all apart from himself.

Ever since their wedding, she had been a steady and calm presence in his life. She was the quiet to his rage, the water to his fire. He had always been a sullen and lonely child that harbored resentment for those who had wronged him, but he felt his heart steadily calm down with every moment he spent in her presence.

It wasn't until he met her that he realized he was lacking love and consideration, both of which he believed had never received before - not like this. She gave him an opportunity to be a better man; one that he took eagerly with both arms.

In return, he was a respectful husband who did his very best. He wasn’t adept at great gestures of love, but he always made sure that his wife woke with a kiss to her hair and his arms enveloping her body. He wanted her to never know loneliness for as long as he lived, he would make sure of it.

For all his reading and knowledge, Aemond was not good at making his appreciation known verbally. Instead, he would bring her huge tomes from the library so he could read to her. These books covered topics that he was passionate about, so everytime he brought one, he was offering up a part of his soul. Who better to give it to than the woman he has sworn his heart, soul and loyalty to?

He needed her. He needed her from deep in his soul, and he needed her carnally, always. She was all that was missing in his life, and now that he had her, he would always need her.

But right now, as her screams erupted through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aemond’s heart lurched in his chest, becoming heavier with each passing moment. The babe was arriving, and it would seem that the child was taking her for all that she was. Everytime she groaned in pain, he held onto the railing tighter than ever, as though it would make her pain go away.

They would not let him in, no. Childbirth was a woman’s fight, and the men would have to wait outside - much like the women did when the men went to battle. There was nothing he would not give to hold her hand right now; to tell her that she would be an absolutely beautiful mother, and that all she had to do was summon all her strength and emerge victorious.

As though she had heard his thoughts, her pained wails slowly died down, replaced by the first cries of a newborn. Boy or girl, the babe had an incredibly strong pair of lungs on them, their mighty cries could overshadow even the loudest of thunderstorms. The cries echoed through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, and the servants outside immediately jumped to work. A new royal babe had been born after all - there was work to be done, celebratory feasts to be organized, chambers to be prepared, nothing but the best for a Targaryen.

His mother stepped out of the chambers and laid a hand on his back in comfort. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled in congratulations. “Mother and babe are well, my son. She has made me so proud. The little one is beautiful, he would go on to achieve many great things. Just like you.”

A son. She had given him an heir to carry his bloodline. How would he ever repay her?

He walked into the chambers with speed that he did not know he possessed, his purpose made clear with each stride. The midwives and maids moved to make way for the One-Eyed Prince, and in he went.

She laid in the middle of the chambers, looking like she had braved the worst experience of her life. Her hair was askew, with sweat coating her entire body, her fatigue was palpable. Blood and waters coated the floor, and the chambers smelled like death. The bloody spots on her shift alarmed him, and it concerned him to see his usually happy and energetic wife look so thoroughly worn out. But then she smiled.

Through all her weariness from the challenges of the birthing bed, she had meekly smiled at him - and all was alright in his world again. He held her cheek in his palm and kissed her forehead, heart full from knowing that she was alright. She reached for his other hand, holding onto it like it was the last thing that kept her tethered to reality.

“Are you well, wife?”

The seemingly simple question certainly did not project the waves of concern that had plagued him outside while he waited with bated breath, but she knew. She saw it in the crinkles on his forehead and the widening of his good eye.

“I am now.”

She had braved battle, and had never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. Her voice was hoarse from all the pained screaming, and she certainly had no business being awake right now - but by the Gods, he was the happiest man in the realm.

The maids were done with wiping the blood off of the babe and had handed the boy to her. Aemond knew right then that he would have to compete for his wife’s attention from then on, for his little son had clearly stolen her heart, and his, within moments of his birth.

Her weak voice called out to him once more. “Aemond, husband… look what we made.”

He was exquisite. Aemond reached out to the babe, his son, and his son's pudgy rose finger latched onto his long, sturdy one as he continued to cry. “He has a strong grip. He shall be a storied warrior." She smiles at the possibility, and he cannot help but kiss her hand once more.

"You’ve given birth to a boy as strong as you are, wife.” He watched as she nudged her nose to the babe’s and smiled, her face glistening from sweat and tears. His newborn son’s cries got louder with each passing moment, but despite being a man of silence and solitude, Aemond had never felt more at peace.

“Thank you.”

Aemond would be the first to deny that he was a doting paragon of a husband that the bards would sing about, but he certainly was a good man who loved and respected his wife.

In the days that followed the birth of his child, he had spent every waking moment that he could spare with the pair of them. Both mother and son had the fierce One-Eyed Prince wrapped around their fingers. Between sparring sessions and battling his family’s idiosyncrasies on the daily, his little family had given him quite the reprieve, one that he was infinitely thankful for.

But now, his son is gone, and his wife is too.

“The heirs need to be kept safe. The twins, little Maelor, all three of them,” his mother said.

He may be in the middle of a war, but it was moments like these that seemed hardest to him. Aemond sat quietly by the hearth, in the very same chair where he always rested. His wife used to sit by him or at his feet as she embroidered. Now, her absence was a gaping hole each time he sat.

“Aemond…”

He turned to the sound of his grandfather calling out his name, looking cold and calculated. It did not escape Aemond that he was discussing the safety of his brother's children while he had lost his own child. The irony of it all was stark and jarring.

“Yes,” he curtly responded.

“It is in our best interests that you…” His grandfather paused midway through his words, and Aemond knew well that the man did that only when unsettling news was to follow. “...that you take a new wife. We’re in need of an alliance, and she can be sent to the motherhouse at Oldtown. She will be cared for, she will be fed-”

He saw red. “My son is dead!” The words tumbled out of Aemond’s mouth like shards of glass before he could even comprehend the gravity of his grandfather’s heavy, cutting words.

"My son’s death is on my conscience, his blood is on my hands. I did not do the deed myself, but it certainly feels like I was the one who wielded the knife that killed him.” The people had taken to calling him a kinslayer, and Aemond felt it in his bones everyday - not because of Lucerys Velaryon, but because of how his rash actions had resulted in the death of his little boy.

“My son is dead, and my wife has not been the same ever since. How do you think I can start a new family, with a new woman, when I know very well that I have caused all the grief that has driven my wife to madness? When I caused the death of my own child?”

Aemond Targaryen always made for a menacing sight, but his grandfather was not prepared for the kind of anger that his grandson had kept stored in him - for himself, his wife, and his son. They were not here, and he was angry enough for all three of them.

The Dowager Queen watched the entire conversation unfold, and she held her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat become frantic with each moment that she saw her son in distress. She knew how content he was in his wife's presence, and how much he loved her. To watch a child grow and fester in his own resentment - no mother should have to witness it. And yet, the Gods saw fit to give Alicent Hightower the closest view to her son's heartbreak.

“Get out,” he seethed. Otto Hightower took Aemond’s raw and angry words in stride before walking away, his head still held high.

His mother stood in front of him, held his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so sorry…”

She wept until she could not, and it took everything Aemond had in him to not do the same.

When he tossed and turned in his bed in the middle of the night, he would always reach out for her.

She would always welcome his touch and curl into him, her forehead resting on the smooth planes of his chest and her warm breath making goosebumps rise on his skin. He would hold her tight until neither could ascertain where one ended and the other began, and sleep that normally eluded him would come to him faster than anything else.

Tonight, her spot on the bed is empty.

When he woke in a hurry, he noticed the crumpled sheets and the pillows left askew, the only evidence of her having retired to bed alongside him. He quickly rose from the bed and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, wondering as to where she could have gone at this ungodly hour.

Gods, was she hurt?

He did not have to wait for the divine deities to answer, for his answer came in the form of the sweet humming sounds that he had grown to love. He followed her voice as he walked through their apartments, and it led him to the chamber where his son’s crib was kept. She was sitting next to it in her white shift, her head peeping in as she let her hands rest on the crib. She hummed softly and happily, marveling at how beautiful her little boy looked as he slept - looking much like the man she shared her bed with.

Aemond wanted to ask her to come back to bed immediately. The maesters had advised lots of rest for his wife, given the stress of the labors and the damage her body had taken. But as he watched her and his boy, he knew he couldn’t. He needed a moment to drink in the sight of his wife and son - his entire world, all in one chamber.

He held so much love in his heart for them both despite seeing them only with one eye. Perhaps he’d be able to love them more if he could see them with two.

“He’s going to be there when we wake, wife. Come back to bed.”

She turned to him and smiled, a warm smile that he wished he could brand into his mind for all eternity. “Did I wake you?”

“You did not. Your absence from our bed did.”

She chuckled softly, and he walked over to her. He positioned himself behind her chair and kissed her temple, letting his hands rest on her shoulders. “I don’t think I shall ever tire of looking at him,” She said.

“Hm.” His gaze rested on the sleeping babe, tired from all his crying throughout the day.

“My son, a dragon prince,” She mused. “He’ll be charming, strong and intelligent, just like his father.”

At that, he chuckled darkly and she rose, turning around to face him. Her hand found his cheek and he leaned into her touch, leaving a light kiss on her wrist as he held her hand in place. “What’s so amusing, husband?”

“Charming is not the first word anyone would use to describe me, wife.”

“Well, you are. To me.” Her whispering siren-like voice was like music to his ears.

She reached up on her toes and left a light kiss on his brow, and Aemond was quick to hold her to him by the waist, wanting to have this - this quiet solace - all to himself for a time.

Who was he to argue with the woman around whom his entire world revolved? The very one that held his heart in her hands?

He stands in the middle of what used to be their shared chambers and sighs.

The entire room is covered in pieces of her - fragments of her that he desperately clings to for dear life. Robes and dresses that she had not worn in a long time, but still manage to somehow retain her scent. Quills and ink that she used to write her correspondence with, now left to gather dust. Ten Thousand Ships, her favorite book, one that he had given to her as a name day present, laid abandoned on the bedside table.

This was the very same chamber where he had claimed her. This was where he had first admitted to loving her. This was where she had told him that she was with child. This was where they had spent countless nights talking well into the night, their bodies entwined and voices coming out in hushed whispers and low giggles. This was where they had discovered and learned of the passions of the marital bed, together. This was where their marriage had grown and bloomed.

If he walks a little further, his feet will take him to the adjoined room where his son used to sleep - but try as he might, he does not have the strength for that. Not yet.

He sits by the edge of their bed, the sunlight passing through the windows in streaks of yellow gold. He closes his good eye, hoping for a little time to adjust to the light. Perhaps if he closes it hard enough, he will be able to picture her sitting by the window with her focused eyes trained on her embroidery or one of his books, waiting for him to come back to her after his daily duties.

His nose flares at the unearthly reminder that his wife is no longer his by side. She had been full of happiness and life, and she had brought light into his life. He welcomed it for as long as she was around, but now that she was gone, he closes his eye and avoids it like the plague, much like he does with the sunlight that now warms his skin.

Her world has become dark because of him. How can he sit in the light in good conscience, when he knows he has lost all right to it?

The waves crashed by the shores of Blackwater Bay and she sat on the sands, watching them. She had a book in her hands, and a basket of food that she had the maids prepare for them to take.

Her eyes closely followed her husband as he held their baby son’s hands upright, his little pudgy feet resting over his huge boot-clad ones as he led them forward. The little boy’s gurgling and laughing echoed through the wind, and she took a bite of a juicy apple while holding a book in her other hand.

They were the picture of a happy family, the stories of whom may be immortalized in songs for years to come.

He had not yet begun to walk, and his words were all a blubbering mess - but Aemond Targaryen was not known for being patient. He insisted on guiding his son to his feet so his first steps would come to him quicker, and spoke to him in High Valyrian in hopes that his first words would be in his native tongue.

Her boys had walked all the way toward her with her baby’s toes pressing onto Aemond’s feet harshly. He picked him up and held him then, and his son’s hands landed on his eyepatch. It had become his favorite little plaything these days - the boy took to wrangling it off his father’s head and swinging it with his two fat fingers until he grew tired - that was if he did not notice the sapphire first. By the Gods, if he did, he would insist on taking that off to play with too. His son, like him, had a taste for the finer things in life, it would seem.

“He’s taken well to the waters, I think,” she said. Her fondness for the little lad and her husband was evident in her face as she watched them. Her son had taken to swinging his arms in all directions, occasionally hitting his father’s face.

“Water does not mix with fire and blood. He should not be taking so well to the waters.”

“Suppose he can embrace it all then. Perhaps he’s… special.” She rose to meet her son’s eyes, leaving a kiss on his cheek. The boy smiled, a handful of his father’s alabaster hair in his hands as he pulled. Aemond winced, and she giggled.

“Zaldrītsos…” Aemond murmured, a quiet plea to his son to stop. It fell on deaf ears, but he did not mind. [Little dragon]

A maid had come to inform them that their presence was requested in the keep, and Aemond handed the boy over to her before walking back to give his wife his hand. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and rubbed her hand with his before leading them away, their steps slow and relaxed.

“We should have another,” she said. Her smile, the source of all his content, was as bright as the sun. “You should take me tonight,” she murmured then, eyes quickly blackened by lust. He watched as the girl with childish wonder transformed into a seductress, and he lost even before he tried - defeat had never felt sweeter.

He could never deny her anything she wanted.

“Do you want me, wife?” He muttered darkly as he halted his steps, turning towards her. He held her by the waist and kissed her brow, waiting for her to respond.

“I always want you,” she murmured, eyes fluttering at the closeness of his lips. Her bright eyes sought his lilac one as the sound of the waves rippled through the air. “I also want to bear you another child. Would you like that, husband? Another little babe for us to love…”

He nodded and kissed her, pouring all his passion into it as he devoured her lips. “You do look beautiful, belly round and full with my child.”

That night, he choked her name out like an urgent prayer while he spilled into her, his peak following soon after hers. He then peppered kisses across her face and neck as the smell of sweat and coupling engulfed them, while she held onto his hair and let her hand wander over it in a soothing manner. He rubbed a hand over her belly, praying that his seed had taken. If not, he would seek her out and touch her everywhere once more - he would never be tired of her.

If another child was what she desired, then she shall have it - for how could he ever deny her?

The burns and injuries had ruined any spirit Aegon may have had as King.

He had watched his brother as he grew into a fierce protector of his family soon after being crowned. Ser Criston had made clear the dangers that they posed to Rhaenyra with their very existence, and it was all Aegon needed to grow into his role as the rightful monarch. However, he had gotten ahead of himself and underestimated his skills as a dragonriding fighter and gotten himself hurt.

Aemond’s role as Prince Regent was something that he slid into seamlessly - he had always known that he was the better fit for the throne after all. His first action was to ensure the safety of his own wife, Helaena and her three children.

“They’ve been moved to our father’s old chambers. Deep in the Holdfast, far away from any possible intru-”

“I know where the chambers are, Aemond. Will you shut up? You’re giving me a headache.” Aegon interrupted, words slurred as he sipped on Arbor Red. The wine sloshed in the cup as it moved in his unsteady hands.

His eyes were trained on his brother, a tired and tested man who was now incharge of running a Kingdom. Aegon knew that the crown was heavy, but it did not compare to the weight of the world that Aemond always carried on his shoulders. It only seemed to have gotten worse since his son’s death and his wife’s isolation.

“Does she fare any better?”

“No.” It is all Aemond wishes to say on the matter.

While he may not want to speak of the family he had lost, Aemond knew that he would protect those he was left with every breath in his body if need be. He may not have been there for his little boy, but he would die before he let a hair on any of his remaining family members’ heads be touched. The regret of being an inadequate husband and father pricked at him like the heat from the bright blaze of the fire in the hearth, and he walked out with purpose.

He knew where he was going next. After all, his feet always carried him to her at nightfall.

When Aemond came home dripping wet from the rain that had drenched him at Storm’s End, he was convinced that he had ruined everything good that he had. He could not imagine a simple scratch on his little boy without feeling angered - how could he expect Rhaenyra to simply accept her son’s death?

He had to get them safe. He had to keep them safe. He had to keep them safe. Safe, safe, safe.

She had just left the babe with the nursemaid and come to their chambers to find a moment of quiet before her son’s inevitable crying began again. Her eyes widened when she opened the door to find her husband completely drenched, looking like he was inviting death with open arms. He may as well have.

“Aemond..” She rushed to him immediately, hands going to his damp hair and clothes. “Gods did it rain on your ride back home? Let me fetch you some clean clothes and something to dry yourself with.” He reached out to her before she could go too far, and she gasped at how cold his touch was.

It was always warm, and tonight it was not.

“Stay, please.”

“I need you to put on something warm first, Aemond. You’ll catch a chill.”

She was too distracted by his wet state to notice the tears mixed with the raindrops. He said nothing as she walked away and brought back fresh garb for him to change into. She quietly bade that he raise his arms and he obeyed, not having the strength to do anything else. Slowly, each garment fell with a wet thwack to the floor and she took to wiping all the water off of him.

His grave silence unnerved her immensely, and she knew something was wrong. She would wait for him to say it.

She dressed him in a linen undershirt and breeches and took him to his beloved chair by the fire, in hopes that it would warm him up and encourage him to tell her of what plagued him. He sat in silence for a long while as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her forehead leaning on one of his thighs while her finger drew mindless patterns on the other.

His hand always reached for her hair when they sat like this, but tonight, that was not the case. She looked up at him with inquiring eyes, and as he caught her vision with his one eye, he did not have the heart to tell her what he had done, but he had to.

“I killed Lucerys Velaryon.” His voice is hoarse and the words are choked out with difficulty, and while the weight of his actions hit him hard, it was harder to watch his sweet wife’s concerned face morph into something else entirely.

“What?”

“He was sent as an envoy. I only meant…” He gulped, and the tears fell freely once more.

She quickly lifted herself up and straddled him, holding his face in both her hands. Her fingers caught every tear that fell in quick succession. “Tell me, go on.”

“I only meant to scare him. I need you to believe me, I did not mean to kill him.”

Her husband was a proud man, and it made her stomach churn to see him sound so broken. She feared that she may not like what she was about to hear, but she had promised to be his other half for all his life, and now he needed her.

He may be fearsome, but he was not a cold-blooded murderer. He did not mean to kill him - but how much weight did his intent hold, now that the boy was dead?

“I believe you. Go on.”

“The dragons…” He let out a hoarse breath and she continued to wipe at his tears with the tips of her thumbs - softness that he right now felt very undeserving of. “Arrax breathed fire at Vhagar and she retaliated, she bit into the dragon’s neck and Luke fell, so did Arrax.”

She felt light headed with worry. How could she stomach the thought of a young boy falling to his death from the skies? How could she, when she was a mother to a little boy herself?

His uncle, Daemon, was going to come for them, Aemond was sure of that. But he could not bring himself to think of much else as he watched his wife digest all that he had told her, never once ceasing to remind him that she believed him, even if nobody else would.

When they rose, Aemond’s anger knew no bounds. The possible consequences ran through his mind as he pushed his desk onto the floor with brute force. The sharp edges of her vanity had drawn blood from the back of his hand as he moved in frustration, and she was quick to hold onto him and remind him of her presence. He was not alone, he had her.

“Take me. Take it out on me.” Aemond could not think straight, and she could not bear to see him hurt himself, any more than he already has. It is this very thought that drives her to take his hand and lay it upon her clothed chest.

He took her from behind that night, hands clutching onto her bouncing breasts. Every string that was stretched had snapped with each rough thrust into her, the sounds of skin slapping skin somehow seeming too rough that night. “We’re going to be fine, wife,” he groaned - and she did not know whom he was trying to placate - her, or himself?

“I will keep you safe, the both of you.”

When he was done with her, she was left looking ragged with dried tear tracks on her face. He wanted to apologize - it seemed as though he hurt everything he touched, and after his now dead Stong nephew, his own sweet wife was his latest victim.

She held him between her breasts that night as they both wept, at a loss for words at what he had done. She did not know how to comfort him or rid him of the guilt or paranoia that his mind now played host to.

What she did know is that her husband needed her, and that she was not going anywhere. So when he suggested sending her and their son away, fearing for her safety, she begged him to let her stand by his side.

“If something were to happen to me, there would be nobody to protect you and our boy.”

“If something were to happen to you, our son and I would much rather follow you than brave many years alone.”

He reluctantly gave in, thinking that an increased guard and his constant presence around them would be enough to keep them unharmed.

How wrong he was.

He had walked away only for a moment.

His wife had wanted to eat some cake during the night - he suspected that she was with child again. Little did he know that it was the last moment of their happy marriage. The sight that he had walked back into was something that would never fail to haunt him.

Dead guards, a whole litany of them. His wife in her bloodied white shift, holding onto their son’s decapitated body. All the light in her eyes had dimmed as he stood frozen in place, his eye widened at the harrowing sight before him.

She wailed as she clutched the corpse to her chest, with no care for the injuries on her own body, or the blood of their babe that was now mixed in with her own.

“My boy, my precious boy…”

The rest of the royal family soon followed and his mother pulled her away from the babe’s lifeless body. He fell to the floor with no one to hold him, and Aemond could do nothing but watch. Aegon’s angry calls for his nephew’s head to be brought back along with the killers slipped into one ear and slipped out the other, and he went numb as he realized that the consequences of his actions had caught up to him.

Him, he could understand. But his sweet wife, his little son? What had they done?

A son for a son.

The rational part of his mind would have argued that Luke’s death probably left Rhaenyra feeling the same tragedy that he was faced with - but he was anything but rational in that moment. His fists clenched as his knuckles met the wall, and Aegon had to physically restrain him from walking out to catch the rats himself.

“She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. Listen to me, Aemond!”

Helaena had collapsed onto the chair entirely, repeating ominous words that he did not register at all.

“Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese.”

Aegon had gone to join in the hunt for his nephew’s killers, and she kept rocking herself back and forth at the sight of the blood that now painted the walls and floors of her brother’s chambers until she was led away. Aemond stood, all alone in a pool of his son’s and wife’s blood.

When the Silent Sisters were led into the chamber by his grandfather, Aemond froze. His wife had held their lifeless son to her breast as she cried, but he could not bring himself to look at him, much less touch him.

Hours later, with patches of his own son's blood soaked through his clothes, he had gone to see her. He held her in his arms as she sobbed through the night, trying to push him away with each firm hit to his chest. Aemond shushed her over and over to no avail, holding her closer each time she tried to separate herself from him. Sometime during that night, her eyes had become lifeless; a deep abyss. The sight of it finally drove him to tears too, with his good eye becoming a glistening violet ring floating in a sea of angry red.

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment when the madness had sunk its claws into his wife.

It was right then as he held her, comforting her and apologizing like a madman for tainting her life with his presence.

The moonlight diverged through the stained glass windows that directly faced the room where she now resided. She had been kept in these chambers before their wedding, and she often spoke of how beautiful the lights were when they fell directly onto the corridors, reflecting the colors of the glass that they slid through. He wondered if she still thought the same. He wondered if she even looked.

In the day that followed their son’s death, they had burned their little boy and watched as his body was wheeled around the streets of King’s Landing for their benefit. Aemond had wanted to retch then, but he held his wife tight as the people empathized with the kind princess whose time as a doting mother had been brutally cut short.

She fared worse - she looked dead in her eyes, and he was sure she was lost on the inside too. He did not know if she even sensed his hold on her as she kept muttering their dead boy’s name in a series of weak whimpers.

Two days later, she had lost their second child. He held her from behind and rocked her gently as the blood flowed from between her thighs for hours, the babe coming out in clumps of bloodied skin, having never drawn breath. Every moment of his wife’s torture plagued Aemond’s existence, and he questioned his abilities as a protector while grieving his son and his unborn child all alone.

The Gods were cruel to him in their games. They made him watch as his son’s life was taken, and they took bits of his wife’s mind and soul with each passing day. He supposed that this was the hand that kinslayers were dealt.

It was a slow death for Aemond, and it had begun the day his son was killed. Now he had to watch as his once vivacious wife completely lost hold over all her senses, and lived in a world where he could not reach her.

On some days, she would receive him with love, as though his presence in her life had not destroyed her completely. He would be able to revel in her touch once more, if only to simply be able to remind himself that she was still alive - in body, if not soul. He missed her, his wife, his woman, his entire heart. But his actions had killed her from the inside - did he have a right to his yearning anymore? He did not want to know, for he feared that he may not like the answer.

On other days, she would be the complete embodiment of madness. She would fight the maesters and scream at them, begging for them to let her die and throw herself off the window. She would pull at her beautiful hair, blame him continuously and shriek, mourning the loss of their child.

When she was done, she'd lower her voice and murmur words into the air. Speaking to no one in particular, almost like a ghost, she'd fidget with her dress and say, "His body twitched after they hurt him. My baby boy suffered. Oh, my boy!"

He may not have wielded the knife that removed his head, but his actions caused it. He may as well have killed his son himself. Guilt was not an emotion that Aemond Targaryen knew well as a boy, but it was all he now knew as a grown man.

She would bawl and cry at him to go away. She would scream at him to leave her alone, and blame him for killing her children - and rightfully so. And though it pricked at his heart, he would come back every night.

He wonders how she is feeling tonight. He wishes she was ignorant and unaware, for he is desperate for her touch, her company. It has been weeks. He is brought back to reality when the Maester’s gown billows behind him in the night wind.

“Your Grace.” he bows.

“How is she?”

“Somewhat calmed tonight and not lucid, my prince.” The old man sighs before continuing. “The Princess continues to ask for her little prince. We have given her milk of the poppy, so she may fall asleep soon enough.”

“Hm.”

He is mildly relieved to hear that she is not herself tonight - for it allows him to relive some of their happier days.

In his hand is a book - Ten Thousand Ships, the very one that he had gifted her. He dismisses the maester and his stewards follow behind him. Aemond walks into the room with his mind steeled, ready to be brave - for himself and for her.

“Husband! Come, come!” Her cheery voice is not quite hers, and it unnerves Aemond - her words are not from her heart, and it takes everything in him to not fall to his knees and apologize once more for what he has done to her. “The Maester said our boy’s learning to walk! Did you see him? I was promised that you would bring him tonight! Where is he?”

Gone, where we cannot see him, he wants to say. But how could he, without wanting to throw himself at her feet in regret? “He is tired. All that walking has exhausted him.”

“I suppose, yes! They tried to force me to take that vile concoction once more tonight, I managed to push it away and evade them! Look!” His gaze follows her hand and sees the spilled milk of the poppy on the floor. His wife was a calm and steady woman, and now she was behaving like a child and mistreating maesters.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“You should not do that, wife. It is not proper.”

He holds her hand and kisses her knuckles, before leaning his head back to look at her. Her hair has not been combed today, and he gently turns her around to run his fingers through her hair, digits trembling at touching her once more. She could come to at any moment and remember who had caused her such distress, and then she would cry until he walked away - the very real possibility rakes at Aemond, so he remains prepared for her to push him away any time now.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

"I know. I drank it the second time. I'm sorry."

He then turns her back to face him and notices the dark rims around her empty eyes. He sighs and lets out a long, heavy breath. If he was drunk enough and she was unaware, he would fool himself into thinking that they were alright. But they aren’t.

“It is time to go to bed, wife. Will you come with me?” I love you, I miss you and I am sorry. Will you come back to me? Please?

He kisses both her eyelids and leads her to the bed in her shift. He gently helps her lay down, following her immediately as he lays next to her. She leans into his hold seamlessly and he tightens his arm around her - it hurts him how despite her madness, her penchant to seek out his touch never changes.

He takes the book from the bedside table, and she squeals. “Will you read to me tonight, husband? I do love it when you read to me. Perhaps a quiet moment between the both of us before the maids bring our son back? You know how he makes a fuss and refuses to give us a moment of quiet!” She laughs, and Aemond holds his tears back once more.

“Of course.” He kisses her temple.

He begins reading and the dry sounds of his throat lull her to sleep in his arms as he rakes his fingers through her hair. When she has completely drifted away from him, he allows himself a moment of thought and kisses her on the lips - watching as she murmurs his name.

He had taken her to wife, and sworn to protect her from any harm that may come her way. In the end, the only one she had to be protected from, was himself. He failed her, and now, he would not rest until he picked up all the pieces and put her back together.

When morning comes, she may still be unconscious of her surroundings and allow him some more time, or she may be lucid and scratch at his face until he leaves her alone. The uncertainty kills him, but he will allow himself to enjoy her tonight.

It was on this very day that he had kissed her for the first time, in the Sept, between the statues of the Mother and the Father. On this day, four years ago, they were married.

And on this day, he continues to read to her because she had asked, even when she had fallen asleep - for how could he ever deny her?

BONUS CHAPTER FOR THIS FIC, HERE.

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MASTERLIST

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 1 year

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Can you write a dark Maegor fic where he kills his wife’s guard after the said guard let his wife out of their room without his permission?

A/N: I hope you like this!

pairing: Dark!Maegor Targaryen x Reader

summary: he kills his wife’s guard after the said guard let his wife out of their room without his permission?

Word count: 1,0K

Warnings: Angst, Manipulation, suggestive themes

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

"Are you sure this is safe, your grace" Edmund your sworn sword asked. You had finally convinced him to help you sneak out of your rooms and walk a little around the gardens. You had been locked in your rooms for over three moons, the time you have been married to Maegor.

"If you do not tell him and I do not tell him, he will not find out" You reassured. You held your hood close to your face so no one could recognise you if you were to pass by someone.

"Of course. your grace" The man sighed. His eyes turning right and left fearing that king's guards will march over any second and take him to the king.

"We should return soon" He reminded you. You took a deep breath in trying to saver as much fresh air so close to the trees as possible. You exhaled relaxing your muscles with a small smile.

"Yes, he should be coming soon for luncheon" You turned around. Your sworn sword escorted you back to your rooms and took the cloak from you to leave no evidence in the room that you have been out at all.

You took extra measures by changing your dress in case you had dirtied it and fixed your hair which had fallen out of its braid from the hood. You put on some jewelry as well. Maegor walked in just as you clasped an earring. He paused by the door unstrapping Blackfyre and placed it on a bench beside the door.

"Why did you change?" He asked sharply. He always choses what you wear from your under cloth to your hairpins. You stood up from the chair and turned to face him.

"I grew bored of staring at the walls and decided to change as a distraction" You shrugged your shoulders. You walked closer to him trying to seem as neutral as possible and not give away the smile on your face.

"I am sure the gardens were fun" Maegor teased with a smirk. Your face fell with shock and your hands began to tremble by your sides.

"What?" You whispered shocked. Maegor unbuttoned his tunic and took it off leaving only his white undershirt on along with his pants and also he was giving you time to overcome the shock.

"Did you have fun in the gardens?" He questioned. He held his hands behind his back staring at you. You felt your eyes begin to water, you were more than afraid.

"Maegor I-" He interrupted you by stepping closer and gently placing his palm on your cheek.

"Oh sweet wife you could have told me you were bored, I would have personally accompanied you" He spoke softly. He leaned down claiming your lips much less gently. He nibbled on your lower lip until blood purred out of it. You gasped pulling away from him. One of your hands raised to touch your sore lip.

"Now you sentenced the poor knight to death" Maegor clicked his tongue with a disappointed look on his face. Your heart dropped and tears finally rolled down your face.

"No, he does not deserve it" You shook your head from side to side. Your hands shot up to grab Maegor's collar into tight fists.

"Please he did not want to, I insisted" You sobbed. Maegor placed a hand onto the back of your head pulling you closer. You sobbed against his chest shaking from head to toes. You heard the doors open and close with two pairs of feet walking but did not dare pull away from Maegor.

"Watch, sweet wife" Maegor harshly turned you around so your back was against his chest. You gasped shocked at the sudden movement but nothing prepared you for what you saw in front of you. Edmund was kneeling on front of you with his hands bound behind his back and a guard was standing behind him dutifully.

"Watch the consequences your actions have caused" Maegor leaned down to whisper in your ear. You tried pulling away from him but he hand one of his hands placed on your stomach pushing you back against him while his other hand moved to wrap around your neck, manoeuvring you to look at the guard.

"Maegor he is innocent, it was my fault" You wiggled in his hold. Edmund had a sad smile on his face shaking his head at you to just stop.

"And he will be punished for your faults. Is he not your sworn sword? he must protect you even from yourself and your king" Maegor whispered. You sobbed trying to pry his hands off of you. Maegor gave a nod from behind you but you did not see.

"I will happily die for my queen" Edmund spoke noticing the nod from Maegor. He wanted hit last words to anger the King, and if he could he would spit in his face as well. His eyes moved to you trying to tell you silently that it was okay, he had made peace with his death already.

"In the name of the king" The guard pulled out his sword and with one swing Edmund's head was rolling to the side while blood gushed everywhere, even on your dress and a little on your face.

"No!" You cried felling weak in the knees. Maegor whispered sweet nothings in your ear letting your drop on your knees and holding your head against his hip. The guard bowed before leaving the room, leaving Edmund's decapitated body on the floor.

"You monster" You pushed yourself away from Maegor. You reached for Edmund's head but before you could touch it Maegor grabbed your upper arm and pulled you back up to your feet pressing you close to him, chest to chest.

"Yes so I've heard but as the wife of this monster you have duties and I demand you fulfil them now" Maegor smirked evilly. You could not help but sob harder as he pulled you toward your bed and get his way with you with Edmund's body still on the floor in front of your eyes. You could not bring yourself to look at the poor man who was dead because of you as Maegor thrusted harder and quicker inside of you bringing you only more pain.

#maegor x reader #maegor x oc #maegor the cruel #maegor targaryen #maegor imagine #house of the dragon imagine #house targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagine #requests #request #maegor angst #maegor smut #maegor targaryen angst #maegor targaryen smut

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year

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Hey can I do a daemon x velaryon!reader where she is his wife instead of laena and he comes to genuine love her through the years more than anyone they decide to come back to kings landing for laena funeral and the reader start to notice how rhaenyra starts at daemon through the entire funeral. Reader go to talk with her kids ( maegor, rhaegar, and baelon) to introduce to their cousin and she notice that daemon has left and she can’t find rhaenyra. Reader brush off her worries because she trust daemon. Later through the accident with the kid she is in the hall when she sees daemon and rhaenyra walk through she notice rhaenyra looks a bit messed up like her hair and clothes and looks at daemon. Daemon can’t even look at the readers eyes because he knows she will figure out. After everyone goes to bed she want to ask the truth but finds out that’s her brother laenor has died, reader out of grief and sadness decide to stay at driftmark for few days with her parent and tells daemon she will meet him and the children at dragonstone. Daemon and rhaenyra marry each other at dragonstone and readers children literally fly out to driftmark all three of them and tell her what happened. Readers feels angry disgusted humiliated sadness , and she decide to stay at driftmark with her children and nieces and writes to daemon that if he comes and inch close to her or her children she will gladly feed him to her dragon( the cannibal), daemon still tries but her mother tells him to leave while he still can before she does something she won’t regret and how she regrets even letter her children marry daemon and rhaenyra. Couple years the kids has grown up her sons dragon are (greys ghost vervimathior and seasmoke her youngest claimed him after laenor death) and they go back to kings landing for luke positions and daemon sees her and immediately goes to talk with her ( he still loves her and want to work things out) rhaenyra doesn’t like this at all and follows him only for them to sees the reader talking to a little girl who is spit image of reader and daemon and daemon ask who the child is only to find out its their child (reader find out she was pregnant few days after founding out daemon and rhaenyra) daemon is angry that he misses his daughter birth but accept it since he deserve it. Rhaenyra ask for the girls name and reader smirks and says visenya

And some more angst please

Fire & Blood || D. Targaryen x Velaryon!reader

GIF by @redbelles DIVIDERS by @straywords

a/n: I absolutely love this thank u for the request!! p.s this is the longest piece of ff i’ve written 😭 also keep in mind some of the events from hotd don’t happen in this and the the timings are different! And for the sake of my tiktok acc i’m making Elys as fc for the reader to make it easier for me to make tiktoks abt this!

Your darling sister. She is dead. You broke down in your bedchambers as Daemon came up to you, engulfing you in a comforting hug as you continued sobbing. “Shh” Your husband ushered, trying to calm you down.

It absolutely broke Daemon’s heart seeing the person he loved most in his entire life so broken. He wiped the tears away as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Her funeral is to be held tomorrow, so rest my love” He whispers against your hair as you sniffle, moving your legs to your bed, Daemon soon following.

“She wanted to die a dragon rider’s death, not on her birthing bed” You quietly spoke, your back turned to Daemon, his hand laid rest on your hip drawing circles. “I know sweet girl” He replied. Your hand coming to his to squeeze it before moving closer to him.

She was gone. The emotions started rolling in as her casket submerged in the water. You sobbed as Daemon pulled you in to his chest, kissing your forehead.

You wrapped your arms around his torso as your three children clung to your dress. “Stay strong” He rubbed your back as you wipe your tears and face the front again.

Your heart broke seeing your nieces, Baela and Rhaena comforted by your mother. You also saw Rhaenyra and her two boys, Her eyes seemed to be fixated on the man beside you before she gives a small smile to you.

“Have you seen the children?” You walk up to Daemon, his eyes somewhere else. He doesn’t reply making you furrow your eyebrows. “Daemon.” You call out again, his eyes moving from the side to your eyes.

Your gaze follows where his eyes were and you lock eyes with Rhaenyra. Turning back around, Daemon looks down at his cup. “Do you know where our children are Daemon” You repeat, “They’re over there” He gently moves your shoulders towards the direction of the boys.

He wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a kiss, “I want to introduce them to their cousins,” You say, holding his hand on your shoulder as he smiles sweetly to you. “That’s a great idea.”

Walking up to your boys, Maegor, Rhaegar, and Baelon, you hug them all giving them kisses on their forheads. “My sweet boys, I want you to meet your cousins” You say to them as you lead them to Rhaena and Baela. You look around to find Daemon but he was no longer where he was.

“Auntie,” A voice calls out as you turn your head and spot Lucerys. Confused, you still give a smile and crouch to his level. “What is it Luke?” You question, “Have you seen my mother? She’s not here” At his words, you look around and he was right. Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found.

“Uh, I’m sure she is somewhere close by. Stay with me if you’d like” You kindly smile to the dark haired boy as he nods. You completely trusted Daemon. Though not the same could be said about Rhaenyra.

Your eyes take in the sight infront of you. Aemond infront of a maester as he stitched up his eye, Luke with a bloody nose and the disheveled appearance of your nieces who were in the arms of your mother Rhaenys.

You were accompanied by your three boys, Daemon was still nowhere to be found and you had been waiting in your bedchambers for him but he never returned.

The big doors suddenly open as Rhaenyra came into view. Her hair messy and her clothes untidy. What shocked you the most was Daemon who appeared behind her. He leaned against the door, his eyes looked around but they never met with yours.

You felt a string pull your heart, a pull of sadness. No, that wasn’t right. Daemon wouldn’t do that to you, or his children who he dearly loves.

You had no doubt of his loyalty. But you did remember how in the early years of your marriage that he was always cold to you. That was when you found out he was in love with his then 18 year old niece.

You were no stranger to the Targaryen’s customs in keeping their blood pure. But as the years went on and you produced heirs for Daemon and created a family, he no longer longed for Rhaenyra, but you instead.

A loud gasp escapes your lips as Alicent charges at Rhaenyra with a blade. Your eyes couldn’t help but notice how Daemon slightly moved, like he was contemplating in stepping in but stayed.

After the whole ordeal, Viserys ordered everyone back into their rooms. Your eyes tried to find Daemon but it was too crowded to see where he was. “Where’s father?” Your youngest, Baelon, questioned as you caress his cheek.

“I will find him, go with your brothers to your rooms” You say as they nod and leave. Before you could move further, you were pulled by the hand.

“Father-“ “Your brother is dead” You blink a few times, processing Corlys’ words. “I-“ You were shocked to say the least. How could this day get worse. Losing both your siblings in a span of a day. “H-how?” You stutter as you hug your father.

“We found him in the fireplace, a quarrel of some sort we believe” He says quietly. You knew he was trying his best to keep his composure. “Where’s mother?” You say looking up at him as he looks away.

“Your mother is not in great condition-“ “I will stay here,” You interrupt him, “for a few days atleast” You were both in shock and grief and wanted to stay in the comforts of your home with your parents.

Corlys gives a sad smile and nods his head, “Your mother would like that very much.” He says before a tear drops and he is once again in your embrace.

“The boys will go with you back to Dragonstone where I will meet you in a couple of days” You sadly smile, your hands locked with Daemon’s as he nods giving a quick peck on your lips.

Maegor, Rhaegar, and Baelon rush towards you engulfing you in a hug as Daemon watches. “Be good as always” You whisper to them as they nod and you watch as their boat leaves, Daemon on Caraxes as he soars in the sky.

After a few days at home in Driftmark, you had yet recieved any letters from your husband, Daemon. Usually he would write to you when you were apart but nothing had arrived.

“Princess, your sons are here” A handmaiden knocks on the door as you look towards your mother, you had not been expecting them. You hurriedly walk outside, Rhaenys close behind as your boys come running to you.

Worried and confused, you hug all three of them. “What is it? Where is your father?” You ask them as they exchange looks at one another. “Father married Rhaenyra!” Baelon lets out as your eyes widen.

“W-what?” You couldn’t believe your ears. Daemon, your loving husband marrying his niece Rhaenyra. No. “It is true mother, we watched father marry Rhaenyra” Your eldest, Maegor quietly said as tears started forming in your eyes.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal and disgust. How dare Rhaenyra marry your husband after your brother died not long ago. “They killed my son, your brother y/n, so that they could marry” Your mother said through gritted teeth. A few tears roll down your cheeks as you hug your boys. They were your everything.

“We will be staying here from now on” You could tell your sons felt a sense of betrayal and hurt, as much as you did. They watched their own father marry their second cousin. Later that day, you decided to write a letter to Daemon. In the letter, you wrote that if he dared to come anywhere close to you or your children, you would not be afraid to feed him to your dragon, the Cannibal.

Not even a week later, the man had the nerve to show up at Driftmark. You had to ensure your dragon wasn’t anywhere close as he would have killed Daemon right there and then. You refused to go out and talk to him so your mother did.

You listened and watched from an open window, “I commend you for your bravery Daemon for showing up here. Though this will be your last time you ever set foot here at Driftmark or anywhere close to my daughter. I deeply regret letting my children marry you and Rhaenyra!” Rhaenys fumed as Daemon listened.

He continued to say nothing before nodding and turning around, making eye contact with you as you stare at him with no emotion. His eyes however, showed regret and sadness but you brushed it off.

6 years later…

You scoff at your mother’s words. “Luke is no true Velaryon and everyone knows that,” You stand up from your seat as Maegor looks at you. “My eldest, Maegor, is the rightful heir to the Driftmark throne, he is of my blood, true Velaryon blood”

As much as you liked the young boy, the matter of your son’s righteous title was on the line. You knew everyone would be on your side, apart from of course Rhaneyra. “Daemon would be an idiot to deny that his own flesh and blood is the heir to the Driftmark throne”

His name in your mouth was odd. You say his name with such disgust. “I would agree but he seems to be blinded by Rhaenyra now” Rhaenys gives a knowing look to her daughter.

You roll your eyes. Daemon had infact two sons with Rhaenyra and one still born daughter. Rumours had spread around saying that she gave birth to a half dragon.

“Viserys is dead, I hear Alicent and her father now rule before her son is crowned King. I dislike her truly, but she only has the right mind when it comes to birthrights” You smirk as your mother nods.

“We will travel to King’s Landing to take back what is rightfully yours Maegor” You place your hands on his shoulders as he nods at you.

“Prepare the dragons, we leave in the morrow.”

“My sweet girl!” You beam as you run up to your daughter, scooping her up in your arms. You had found out you were expecting a couple days after Daemon left Driftmark for good.

It saddened you at the same time as Daemon had always wished for a daughter and here she was, but he was in no position to be able to call her his daughter.

You gave your dragon, the Cannibal, pets as you had your daughter in front of you, gripping on the saddle. You take off and you smile at the sight beside you, Maegor on Vermithor, Rhaegar on Grey Ghost, and Baelon on Seasmoke, you late brothers’ dragon.

The sight was menacing and frightened everyone at Kings Landing. You smirk at the sight of all the dragon keepers scrambling around as you and your boys land your dragons.

“Touch any of them and my dragon will feed on you” You call out as Baelon snickers. “Ah, Princess, what a lovely delight to see you” Alicent acknowledges you and your children with a smile.

“Like wise, I am here to discuss my eldest Maegor’s birthright claim to Driftmark” You say as the Queen nods, “Of course, an audience is held today on that matter” “Thank you” You bow at her before you and your children walk into the Red Keep.

How dull the place was. It was cold and grey, definitely not fit for raising a family. You valued your years at Driftmark with your family. It was filled with nothing but happy memories after you completed your family. You often remembered how much Daemon disliked this place, saying that it was more of a prison than a castle.

“Who’s side are you on Daemon?” Rhaenyra shouts at him, Daemon was sat on a chair with his left hand massaging his temple. “I’m on no one’s side!” He yells frustratedly.

“But you know deep down Rhaenyra that your boy is no Velaryon, having him sit on the Driftmark throne is nothing but disrespectful and wrong. And you know that” He points at her.

Baffled at his husband’s words she spoke up, “It’s because he’s your son isn’t it?” She spat out. Daemon does nothing but groan and stand up.

His marriage with Rhaenyra was crumbling. At first it was perfect, an uncle who once longed for his niece was nothing but a memory. He was not happy as he used to be during his marriage with Rhaenyra, quite the opposite with you, he soon found out.

He remembers how he used to lust for Rhaenyra when she was all but a maiden, but now, she was a mother who birthed 5 children. She was different to what he wanted to believe.

He thought he could chase his younger days when Rhaenyra was in her late teens. But he was wrong. They were both dragons who clash all the time. He missed you. The simpler and happy days unlike the days he was going through in King’s Landing.

Constant fighting and being at each others throats. They both knew they were out of love for each other. “He is of Velaryon blood, is he not? His mother is a true blood making him heir” He retaliates, this argument going on for far too long.

“And you forget that Luke’s father is of true blood too!” Rhaenyra fires back, knowing her words were lies. This made Daemon laugh, “Lucerys is no son of Laenor, nor is Jacaerys or Joffrey. How long are you going to keep up this facade Rhaenyra?” The princess said nothing, she was infuriated with Daemon, as always.

You walk through the halls of the Red Keep with only your boys with you. The people who walked past awkwardly stare at you and your sons, some handmaidens of Rhaenyra most likely.

You wore a deep blue dress that cinched your waist and was a square neck exposing your collarbones. Your boys grew up into spitting images of Daemon, and so was your daughter.

The doors to the throne room opened infront of you as everyone turned their heads to your direction. You spot Alicent and her father infront of the Iron throne, her children to the left. Your mother had also arrived and brought along your nieces.

Your eyes then lock with Daemon’s for the first time in 6 years. You quickly look away from him and look at Rhaenyra who was throwing daggers your way. Maegor stares at Lucerys who shifts closer to his mother making him chuckle.

You stop in between the greens and blacks. Ever since you stepped into the room, Daemon’s eyes never left yours. You looked happy, and more alive than he felt. He then looks towards his three boy, all grown up and taller than you.

He adored them, they were his first children after all. “We gather today to discuss the rightful heir to the Driftmark Throne-“ Otto loudly says before interrupted Rhaenyra.

“Which is obviously Lucerys” She butted in making you look at her, “Speak when spoken to Princess,” Alicent calmly says making her look back to the front. “Princess y/n, state your case” Otto nodded to you.

All eyes were on you as you speak up, “If my son, Maegor was to cut his veins, pure Velaryon blood would spill out. If I was to cut Lucerys’, all but Velaryon blood would spill” You turn your head to Rhaenyra.

“Is that a threat Princess?” She sneered, holding her arm out infront of Luke as Daemon stood back without saying anything. “Would you like it to be? Your son is no Velaryon, everyone in this audience can agree. I will not have a fucking bastard sitting on my ancestral throne” You raise your voice, your body now facing hers.

“My brother would be ashamed of what is happening right now, he too knows that Maegor is the legitimate heir to the Driftmark throne. Not Lucerys.” You finish before turning back to the front, not before looking at Daemon who held a small smile.

“And to add to that, I have preposed a marriage between Maegor and Baela and Rhaegar and Rhaena” You smile towards your nieces as they smile back. Anger filled Rhaenyra. Ever since she saw your youthful looking face again, she couldn’t keep a scowl off her face.

Jealousy radiated off of her as she watched you walk down the stairs, you weren’t thickened in the waist unlike her even after birthing nearly the same amount of children, you didn’t have eyebags under your eyes and most of all, you seemed happy. Something she sought out from Daemon.

Rhaenyra also noticed the look Daemon gave her as she appeared, a look he hadn’t give her in a very long time. “Princess Rhaenyra, you may state your case”

And so she did, but it was filled with nothing but lies that she continued on. Everyone wore a bored expression as she defended her illegitimate son. A final ruling was put down, one that made Maegor heir to the Driftmark Throne.

After the crowds started filling out, Daemon had the urge to follow you and talk to you. He was no doubt still deeply in love with you. He thought marrying his niece would bring back the younger days he thoroughly enjoyed but no.

Instead, when he married her, only the days with you clouded his mind. Rhaenyra followed Daemon before they both stopped infront of an ajar door where their eyes widen in shock.

“Darling, come here” You crouched to meet her level as she wrapped her arms around your neck making soft giggles leave your mouth.

You were interrupted by the door opening. “Y/n…” Daemon started, his eyes on the little girl who looked too much like him. “What are you doing here” You questioned, placing your daughter back on the ground.

Before Daemon could speak up, Rhaenyra beat him to it, moving past him. “Who is she?” Rhaenyra questioned, you could have sworn you saw a glint of jealousy in her eyes as she looked at your daughter. “My daughter, Visenya” You proudly smirk.

You knew Rhaenyra had always wanted to name her daughter Visenya but the gods has other plans for her. “What a nice name” She shakily says before giving a tight lipped smile and rushing out of the room.

Your eyes then flicker towards Daemon who had an unreadable look on his face. “When did you find out” He questions calmly, closing the door.

“A couple days after you left Driftmark” You say in a monotone voice as Visenya busies herself with a toy. The two of you watch her as a small smile made itself on Daemon’s lips.

He hated himself so much. He hated how instead of being a faithful and loyal husband to the most beautiful soul, he decided to run after a childish dream.

“And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t think to inform your husband that you were pregnant with my child-“ “Don’t.” Your lips quiver as tears began to form. “You were not my husband. You were already married to Rhaenyra so why would I tell you?” You yell at him, your handmaiden quickly walking in to take Visenya.

“I know I made a stupid decision but she’s my child too! And you know how much I love our boys-“ He points to you, “You left them fucking traumatised! They had to watch their own father marry their second cousin. How fucked up is that?” Daemon stayed quiet at this.

You sigh before sitting down on the edge of your bed, “Does she even know who I am?” He quietly said, taking a seat beside you. “Of course not. She’s too young to understand and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to tell her the truth” You look over to him.

He gulps but nods his head. “I understand” Daemon quietly says as you stand up. Smoothing out your dress, you start walking to the door. You give a final look towards Daemon, a single tear dropped before you quickly wipe it off and leave.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #fanfiction #house targaryen #matt smith #hotd smut #daemon targaryen smut #game of thrones #laena velaryon #laenor velaryon

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barbieaemond · 5 months

Text

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath.

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells.

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.” He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

“Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King.

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him.

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth.

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

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dreaming-for-an-escape · 1 year

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Okay so after I release chapter six and after the Adrian/Aemond angsty one-shot, I’m thinking maybe I should write a drabble of when Aurelia was still in King’s Landing, pregnant and under Maegor’s watch. So we get to know how her life was before the modern world. Even though we technically already know it wasn’t great thanks to Maegor 😞

#my heart my body my soul #adrian nova reyes #aurelia martell #maegor targaryen #hotd modern reader #house of the dragon #oc #one shots #drabbles #angst

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fairysluna · 10 months

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SINNERS — Masterlist.

GENERAL MASTERLIST > Here.

STATUS: Hiatus.ㅤLAST UPDATE: October 8th.

PAIRING: Maegor I Targaryen x Fem!OC

SUMMARY: After Maegor finds out his beloved niece is to be wed with her own brother, he absolutely loses his mind. He can't just let her go.

TAGS: incest (niece/uncle), age gap, grooming, emotional dependency, toxic relationships, obssesive behavior, corruption, manipulation, smut, angst, murder & blood, maegor being his own warning, war themes, violence, profanity. (+18/MDNI)

(*) means smut.

Prologue.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4. (*)

Chapter 5. (*)

#sinners #maegor targaryen x reader #maegor the cruel #maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor x oc #maegor targaryen smut #maegor targaryen x niece #maegor targaryen x original character #maegor Targaryen x oc #hotd smut #hotd x oc #hotd #house of the dragon #asoiaf #fire and blood

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librosamarillos · 1 year

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passed down like folk songs

chapter 6: bittersweet

Maegor Targaryen x OC

Also on Ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI, this part is nsfw

This is a part I'm really excited to share, please let me know if you've enjoyed it!

It was a great occasion in the Evergreen manor. After great success in that year, Lucas decided to throw a huge feast for the family and their sworn houses. It came as a huge surprise when Queen Visenya and the Prince of Dragonstone announced that they would be attending as well. Maegor was getting irritated in the capital. He started spending more and more time there since his knighthood, but being around his father and Aenys became suffocating, scratching at wounds he thought were closed. He found solace in spending time with Rowan in the library and the gardens, but he missed how it used to be, when they didn’t have to worry about scandal. Sensing his discomfort, Rowan suggested he come with her and her father back home to the feast, since he’d never visited her home before.

He enjoyed feasts to an extent, but he had always been curious about her home. She always spoke so fondly of everything there, her face always lighting up when she did. She did make a promise to show him around the forest one day, back when they were younger, so this was a great opportunity to hold her to her word. His mother was also fond of getting out of King’s Landing for a bit, and what better way to do so than a celebration? Lord Duncan was a bit concerned about Vhagar being so close to their home and the trees, but she had promised to keep the dragon away from there.

Rowan was there to welcome them when they descended on Vhagar, greeting his mother with a warm hug, before going up to him and hesitating, before he wrapped his arms around her small frame, squeezing her lightly. He was delighted when she also wrapped her arms around him, feeling her face on his chest, he didn’t want to let her go. His mother coughed, making them both step back, awkwardly looking at each other. Rowan quickly recovered, smiling at them both brightly, welcoming them to Starfall, leading them to the manor, while asking about their trip, if they were tired or hungry. How he missed her.

The Queen and Prince were greeted by the Evergreen family, who welcomed them warmly. After the pleasantries, Rowan showed them to their rooms, letting them rest. Maegor cleaned up quickly, making his way downstairs, trying to find any excuse to find her. The manor truly reflected the family. Expertly crafted wooden furniture, dark green detailed tapestries, large windows letting the warm light in. He found Rowan chatting with her father and uncle. Once his presence was noticed, the two men slightly bowed, his friend smiling. Duncan patted her on the back, telling her to go show the Prince outside.

They quickly made their way outside, the warm spring air greeting them. The forest was not far, only taking a short walk to make it there.

“So, you know the way around here right?” he teased.

“Of course, like the back of my hand! I grew up here.”

Maegor smiled, looking around at the flowers that were growing at the bases of the trees.

“You came at the perfect time, all the flowers are blooming, everything just looks extra beautiful!” she beamed.

“Hm, that’s true.” he said, looking at her.

“I’m really happy you’re here, Maegor.” she smiled.

“I’m really happy I’m here too. I missed this.” he paused. “Is it okay for us to be alone here?”

“Yes, it’s just my family here now. People will start arriving by the end of the week.”

“So, I’ll have you all to myself until then?” he teased.

“Maegor, come on.” she almost stuttered, that wonderful blush gracing her face again.

How he loved to make her blush like that. She was so easily flustered and he loved to tease her. He found her adorable when she couldn’t look at him and fiddled with her rings instead. They spent that afternoon exploring the forest, in both comfortable silence and lively chatter. Maegor found it so peaceful, a peace he saw in Rowan so much. Was this where she learned it? Her beauty truly fit in this environment, he didn’t know how to explain it.

He observed her. They were both now eight and ten, and gods, she looked so good. She was particularly blessed in certain areas, he had to constantly remind himself to not stare. He thanked the gods she wore modest, loose fitting dresses, because he didn’t know if he’d survive if he saw her in anything mildly revealing. He found she was on his mind most of the day, noticing every little detail about her. She was obsessed with a blend of tea, chamomile, lavender and mint, always drinking it with a heaping teaspoon of honey, the specific honey her family made, and she'd always lick the spoon after. He felt so perverted replaying that in his mind at night, those little moments he’d focus on to let his mind go wild. She’d always pick on her fingers when she was nervous, and her hands were always stained with ink and charcoal from how much she studied, but they were always soft. She told him it was a cream, smearing some of it on his hands and rubbing it on them, making his heart beat faster and faster, the smell of lavender invading his nostrils.

They were both now of age, whispers in court starting to wonder who the Prince would marry. It was time he asked for her hand. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold back and wait. After the feast, he would ask his mother. Just thinking about it made him giddy like a young boy, he was almost embarrassed about it. He loved her.

Time flew by during his time there. He really felt at ease, finding Rowan’s family almost fun to be around. Finn, her eldest cousin, was somehow both serious and relaxed, it was strange. Next was Erin, the only other young lady in the family, who was also older than him and Rowan. She looked quite suspicious of him, but he brushed it off, seeing how close she and Rowan were, one would think they were sisters. Max and Lewis seemed like two peas in a pod, looking at him with admiration, asking him a million questions about being a knight and about dragons. Archie was the youngest by far, at only seven. He was always following one of his siblings around, looking at him curiously. They were a very quick witted family, he found where Rowan got it from. His mother seemed at ease as well. He was glad.

Everything was beautiful in the manor, well, it looked more like a small castle if he was honest. The preparations were done, and before he knew it, the feast was upon them. It was lively with a warm atmosphere, the food delicious, and he was enjoying himself making polite conversation. It wasn’t long for the musicians to start playing songs for dancing, the hall filled with laughter and twirls. He caught Rowan’s eye and he could see she was contemplating whether it would be appropriate to dance with him. He smiled at her, eyeing the door, urging her to follow him outside. He slid outside and waited patiently. After a few moments, she appeared, a shy smile on her face. What a lovely sight she was that night.

“Do you think anyone will notice we’re gone?” she asked, nervously.

“I don’t know, they all seemed quite drunk.” he replied confidently.

“And you?”

“I didn’t touch a drop. You?” he teased.

“You know I hate the taste.” she laughed.

“I caught you staring earlier. How inappropriate, my lady.” he pushed a bit more.

“I was thinking if you wanted to dance with me.” she admitted shyly.

“I don’t like dancing at feasts,” he started, “but I do want to dance with you.”

Rowan smiled in relief, turning to go back inside, before he grabbed her hand to stop her. She turned to look up at him, with a confused expression. Maegor looked at her awkwardly, considering how to explain himself.

“We can hear the music from here, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Yes, we can hear it just fine.” she smiled, understanding what he was asking.

He offered her his hand, which she gladly took, as he led her in a very awkward and clumsy dance that soon reduced them both to giggles. It all made his heart soar, to feel so free to act so stupid with her, to have someone to trust with everything.

A sudden sound startled them, as they noticed a group of people coming their way. Before he could think, Rowan grabbed him by the hand, running toward the forest before they could get caught. He let out a surprised laugh, thinking how much more inappropriate it was to be caught alone in the forest instead of the balcony. How ironic that the ever so proper Rowan was the one pulling him there, how he loved it. They didn’t run too deeply into the woods, as she said it’d be unwise, but they were just hidden enough from any wandering eyes.

“I think we’re safe.” she said in relief.

“My lady, I must say this is highly inappropriate.” he teased, stepping closer to her.

“O-oh…” she breathed, realising just what she did, making Maegor laugh.

“I didn’t expect this of you. I mean, you pull me out here in the woods all alone, with no one to see or hear us. What would people say?” he asked, now towering over her.

She just looked delicious. He couldn’t help but stare at her chest as she was still slightly out of breath from running. He quickly looked back to her wide eyes looking up at him with a curious wonder, as if asking him what he wanted to do. He focused on her slightly open lips, how soft they looked, how lovely the soft stain she had applied made her look. Before he could even think, he cupped her face, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. He could feel the heat on her cheeks, painting her freckled face a lovely red. It felt like they were both in a trance, neither willing to move away.

“Maegor…” she breathed. “What are you doing?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Do you want me to not do it?” he asked, worried he was taking it too far.

“I… I want you to stay here…” she breathed, suddenly feeling a bit of courage.

“You feel it too?” he asked, taking her hand into his, placing it over his beating heart, so she could feel just how much she made it race.

Rowan gasped in surprise, slightly biting her lip. She looked in his eyes with relief, pulling his hand over her own racing heart.

“I do… But I might just be out of shape from running.” she laughed, making Maegor grin.

“Rowan… I don’t think you understand just how much I feel for you, I don’t think you truly know what you do to me.” he admitted, studying her face for her reactions.

She looked confused, even worried for a moment.

“What do I do to you?” she asked him, voice full of concern.

Maegor couldn’t hold back laughter. Oh his sweet darling, how innocent she was. How badly he wanted to show her, to let her see exactly what he meant, to watch her blush and squirm. But he wouldn’t. Not yet, not until she was his wife.

“Good things, only good things.” he whispered. “Rowan, do you want this?” he traced her lower lip again.

“Maegor…” she whispered back, before nodding.

Gods, the way she said his name felt sacred, he wanted to hear her scream it. He leaned down, cupping her face with both hands, slowly bringing his lips to her own. He kissed her softly, neither really knowing what they were doing, but both excited to figure it out. It didn’t take him long to deepen the kiss, which Rowan happily welcomed, eagerly parting her lips for him to let his tongue explore her. This was where he was meant to be, with her, he knew it. She let out the softest of moans as one of his hands travelled to her waist, pushing her back on the closest tree. She tasted just like honey, just as he had imagined nightly. She got another spark of courage, he felt her own tongue on his, much to his delight. This all felt so right. It was always meant to be like this. He could feel her breasts pressed on his chest, making him grip her waist harder. He had to stop before he took things too far.

He pulled away, to both of their dismay, basking in the moment. She looked ethereal, with her flushed face, her swollen lips and the slightly smudged stain, he could not get enough of her. They were both panting, when Rowan pulled him in for another kiss, which he hungrily accepted, pushing her back on the tree, his hand gently rubbing her waist, dangerously low. He had to snap out of it.

“You’ve no idea how much I want to do this all night long, but I can’t keep going, not without taking things too far.” he whispered.

“O-oh.” she said.

“You seem to have liked it.” he let out a small laugh, rubbing her cheek.

“You, um, you have lip stain on your face.” she whispered, reaching for her handkerchief.

He hummed, letting her clean it off for him, basking in her affection, a lovestruck smile on his face. He wondered if he’d ever admit to her about her missing handkerchiefs. Perhaps.

“Rowan, I want to speak to my father about asking for your hand in marriage.” he said, trying to mask his worry from her, knowing he had no idea how his father would react.

“Really?” she looked up at him with the most relieved smile. “You wish to marry me?”

“I’ve wanted to marry you since we were kids.” he admitted, feeling like a boy again. “Would it please you? To be my wife?” he whispered.

“More than you can imagine, Maegor. For so long, I just never thought it would be possible for us to wed.” she admitted.

“I’ll make it possible. There’s no one I’d rather be than with you.” he smiled.

They stood there, in silence, just letting the moment be, enjoying each other’s presence. Maegor could swear he could see the stars in her eyes, getting so easily lost in them. It scared him sometimes, how strong his feelings were for her. All she had to do was ask, and he’d do it without a second thought. He wanted to dress her in furs and silks, to spoil her with all he had to give and more. He’d make it happen, he swore it.

“We should probably head back. We’ve been gone for too long…” she said in disappointment, smoothing her dress.

“Come here.” he said, lifting her chin with one hand, wiping what was left of her lip stain off.

“Thank you.” she smiled, becoming very shy all of a sudden.

Maegor nodded, placing the handkerchief in his pocket, giving her a small wink. They made their way back inside, separately, hoping nobody noticed as the festivities continued on.

Visenya cursed herself for feeling nervous. Well, it wasn’t exactly nervousness, a better way to explain it was excitement. She felt giddy, walking to Aegon’s rooms with a small smile on her face. She felt optimistic. She was going to talk to him about her plans to wed Maegor to Rowan. She noticed them leave during that feast, returning much later, both flushed, a dreamy smile on their faces. She knew it was only a matter of time before Maegor brought it up, so she decided to talk to her husband. She felt a spark of hope, that the wedding of their son would be something to bond over, a chance to be closer again. She wanted so badly to connect with him over something.

With the guards announcing her presence, she entered her husband’s chambers. Aegon seemed surprised to see her, a concerned look on his handsome face. When the guard shut the door, he spoke.

“Visenya, I must say I’m surprised.” he spoke in their mother tongue.

“May I not visit my husband?” she asked, saddened.

“Of course you may. I think I know what this is about.” he said, his voice stern.

“And what might that be?” she furrowed her brows. It felt like he was accusing her of something, when all she had was happy news.

“The sept.” he said plainly.

“What about the sept?” she asked, knowing what he was hinting at, yet wanting to hear it from his own lips.

“You’ll ask me where yours is, since I built one so grand for Rhaenys.” he answered.

Visenya let out an irritated breath. She’d be a liar if she said it didn’t bother her, to have her husband’s favouritism become so obvious and material, but she calmed herself, insisting it was because their sister was gone. It would be too horrible to admit out loud, to say she was jealous of her dead sister.

“You’ve always assumed the worst of me, husband.” she sighed. “That has nothing to do with what I wish to talk to you about. I’ve happy news.” she let the smile return to her face.

“Oh? Go on then?” he said, looking a tad embarrassed.

“I plan to wed our son to Lady Rowan Evergreen. It’s time for him to wed, they’ll make a great match.” she smiled again.

“No.” he said almost immediately.

“No? What do you mean no?” she asked, her smile falling into a frown.

“Firstly, Maegor’s marriage is a great political tool for us, and the Evergreens, while yes, are very wealthy, there are better options. And second, I’ve already found him a match befitting a Prince of our House.” he said calmly, his face unreadable.

She hated this, when he talked to her like a diplomat and not as her husband.

“The Evergreens have been our loyal allies for years, what better way to reward them? Rowan is a lovely and very intelligent girl that our son loves dearly.” Visenya argued, feeling her patience running thinner and thinner.

“The Evergreens are already our loyal allies, Visenya, the Hightowers are not. If we do not tread lightly with the faith, surely they will rise against us after I die.”

“The Hightowers?”

“He’s young, he’ll get over it.”

“Aegon, the Hightowers?” she asked again.

“Ceryse. She’s the High Septon’s niece and a lovely young lady that’ll make a fine bride for Maegor.” Aegon announced.

“Rowan has two uncles that are Septons in Oldtown, they’re quite loved and have influential positions. The Evergreens are very close to the faith.” she squeezed her hands.

“That’s not enough, Visenya. Ceryse is directly related to the High Septon, the very man making our lives difficult.”

“So you wish to reward him for it?”

“I wish to make him an ally. That’s how we stabilise our dynasty.”

“Our?” she scoffed. “You’ve no right to do this Aegon. This should be my decision to make.” she breathed, trying to keep herself calm.

“I’m his father!”

“His father?” she laughed. “You barely know him! From the day you learned I was pregnant you decided you wanted nothing to do with him.” she felt venom spilling out with every word.

“That is not true. I’d never-”

“Truly? How were you there for us? When?”

“You left to Dragonstone, Visenya, you left.” he was getting angrier as well.

She just laughed dryly.

“I was pregnant, at my most vulnerable, and you barely even looked at me. You were too busy with your favourite wife and son. I couldn't bear it all, of course I left. How could I take it?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Aegon was stunned, remaining silent for a bit.

“You never wrote to me. You had your maester ask mine for updates, but you never did. How hard was it to write on a tiny parchment every once in a while?” she felt her eyes burn, fists clenching even more. “Did you know how hard it was for me? It was awful for nine moons and all I wanted was my husband. But you never visited me.”

“You know what I was dealing with here, things were so shaky, I couldn’t up and leave-”

“Bullshit. When Rhaenys was pregnant, you never left her side, you were the perfect husband. You spoiled her and Aenys constantly with all your love, but wouldn’t spare any for Maegor and I. Why?” she asked, no longer bothering to hide her jealousy and anger show.

Aegon flinched, looking down in shame. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

“I’m sorry Visenya, I didn’t know you felt that way. I don’t know why.” he said, his voice now low and calm.

“Of course you know why. Everyone in the seven kingdoms knows why. Do you know what it’s like, Aegon? Having done so much for this conquest, only to have people pity me for how you treat me? Do you know how humiliating it is?” she raised her voice.

“You’re no one to be pitied- Where have you heard such treason?”

“Oh do not patronise me, husband. You hear what they say of me in court every day, you just never cared.” she frowned.

“That is not true and you know it.”

“Oh? And when have you cared about me, Aegon?” she asked.

Silence. Aegon frowned.

“I am your wife and your Queen and I was all alone. Nine moons of agony, Aegon. You didn’t care. Not even when I was due. I went through the most painful and dangerous thing a woman can go through, all alone because my husband couldn’t be bothered to leave his other wife alone for five minutes. You didn’t even meet Maegor until he was a moon old! When Aenys was born, you rang the bells all day. Did you even ring them for Maegor?”

“I’m sorry Visenya, truly I am.”

“And then? You barely paid him any attention or love and he had to watch you shower Aenys with all your love just for breathing. And you wonder why I left? Because I didn’t want him to grow up the way I did. Because you treat him just like how mother and father treated me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“All their love and affection went to Rhaenys. I had to work ten times as hard as she did to get a little pat on the back, while they sang her praises just for being born. Oh, how she loved to remind me that she could so easily have something I couldn’t. And then the one person I loved, the man I felt seen by, the man I wanted all to myself, she took. And you just let her. Because you didn’t care about me. Had our father not opposed it, you would’ve tossed me to the side.” she felt a bitter tear slip down her cheek.

“Visenya… I’m sorry.” he breathed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t return your affections, but I loved her.” he said softly, making her want to scream.

“Affections? I was the first to stand behind you for your dream, I was the one to fight right next to you on the battlefield, I defended you with all I had, I crowned you King! Even after all the pain you put me through, I did it all, because I love you. And you couldn’t even pretend to care about me, to hold my hand, to even look at me as your wife. All that I did and you still didn’t care, as I couldn’t be her. She did nothing in comparison to what I did and she still got everything from you, from the realm.”

“That’s enough! I’ve given you plenty of reason for grievance, but I will not allow you to speak ill of her. She’s dead, Visenya!” he yelled.

“Yes, Aegon. She’s dead and you still wish it was me that died instead. She’s been dead for years and to you, I still amount to nothing against her ghost. And now it’s all fallen on Maegor too. He never got anything, he had to watch you give everything to your little heir.”

“Watch it. Leave Aenys out of this. Of course he got more attention, he’s to be King!”

“Some King he’ll make, I’m sure.” she scoffed.

“Do you have something to say, Visenya?” he was angry, challenging her to proceed.

“Yes, I’ve a lot to say, Aegon. I have a lot of things to be angry about, with both you and her. And I understand what you’re doing.”

“Please, enlighten me then.”

“You hear the whispers and doubts about him, how many prefer Maegor instead. And you’re scared, because you know once you’re gone, Aenys isn’t strong enough to fight them, so you urged him to get close to Maegor to get him on his side. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I’ve had enough of your treasonous accusations!”

“Oh, spare me the formalities. You know damn well he’ll make a pathetic King, and yet you still chose him to be your heir.”

“Chose him? Aenys is my heir because he is my eldest son.”

“And Maegor is your son from your first wife, the one that was supposed to be your only wife, if I may remind you, husband.”

“Aenys is to be King, then his son after him, that is final.” he said, his face betraying both guild and anger.

“And our son, Aegon? He went from second in line, to being pushed out of it. How is that fair?” she asked, grief painted on her face.

“He was not the firstborn, how is it not fair?” he asked.

“It’s not fair because you barely gave me the chance to be the one to give you the first son. You barely visited me at night but she barely left your chambers, how the hell was that a fair chance? And on the rare event when you did visit me, did you think I would not notice you’d pretend I was her instead? There would be no dynasty without me, hells, you wouldn’t even be alive had I not saved your life so many times, and yet in return I get my line pushed as far away from the throne as possible. That’s why you refused when I suggested you wed Maegor to Rhaena when she was born. I gave everything to you, my support, my protection, my loyalty, I gave you the better son, the most capable heir and yet again and again, I get tossed to the side!” she was yelling at him now, unable to stop crying. “When, Aegon? When will it be enough?”

Aegon seemed out of breath, looking like the breath was stolen from his lungs, her words stinging him deeply, the guilt finally hitting him. He never saw her cry, she let no one see her cry. Only Rowan saw her cry. She hated it, feeling so small.

She kept her eyes pinned on him as he closed the distance between them, wiping the tears from her face with his hands, and she let him. She hates how calming his touch is, how after everything, she still yearned for his affection, how she just wanted to melt into his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’ve failed you as your husband, Visenya.” he apologised softly, holding her face in his hands, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “I cannot take the years back, but at the very least, let me try to make up for it now.” he whispered, his violet eyes pleading.

Visenya wanted to scream. She wanted to yell at him, to slap him, to beg him to kiss her, to love her. So when he kissed her, all she did was sigh in relief, letting him kiss and touch her, letting him carry her to the bed the way she’d always dreamed he would for so long. It still hurt, everything that happened, and it would continue to hurt her for all her life, but he was like a feast in front of her and she had been starving her whole life. She let herself forget, to lose herself completely to him, to finally, finally be showered with his affection.

He undressed her tenderly, whispering praises for her, for all she did for him. She never thought she’d get this emotional, but she let herself cry out of relief. Even if he was just saying it to appease her, she could, for a moment, pretend he meant every word. At least for now, she could pretend it was her that he loved. Between moans, kisses and thrusts, Visenya couldn’t pretend she’d ever felt so good. He’d never fucked her like that before, and she couldn’t get enough of him. It all felt perfect.

They laid there, panting, still out of breath. She stared at the ceiling, almost dazed. She felt Aegon’s hand caress her cheek and melted into his warmth. He smiled at her, but his eyes were still laced with sadness and guilt. Part of her was glad.

“Let me fix this between us, please.”

“My door has always been open, husband.” she sighed.

“I know, I’m sorry. I cannot tell you enough just how sorry I am, Visenya-”

“Wife. I always call you my husband, please, call me your wife.” she pleaded, her voice just a whisper, as she closed her eyes.

“Of course, my wife.” he whispered back, as she sighed in relief.

Maegor was nervous when he walked into the small council room and saw his parents there together. His father looked satisfied, whereas his mother looked apologetic.

“I’ve great news for you, son.” his father beamed.

Maegor perked up, his eyes lighting up, looking at his mother with a smile. She had talked to him, hadn’t she? Oh, he felt the relief wash over him.

“You are to wed Ceryse Hightower. A fine match for you. She is to arrive within a fortnight from Oldtown and we shall discuss the preparations for your wedding. It shall be a grand affair, I am sure of it.” his father said, pride in his voice.

Maegor felt the earth shatter from underneath his feet. He was stunned, looking to his mother in a desperate attempt for her to say something. She just looked at him sadly.

“I do not wish to marry her, father, I-”

“You do not get a say in this, I’m afraid. Your mother has told me about Lady Evergreen, but the match is simply not as beneficial to our family. Lady Ceryse is the niece of the High Septon, your union will save the crown from its biggest headache by bringing the faith to our side. She’s a fine young lady, I’m sure you’ll grow quite fond of her.” his father explained, infuriatingly calm.

“Mother, you cannot allow this! There has to be another way to bring the faith on our side! I will not marry anyone else!” he pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Maegor. It’s already been settled.” she said, shaking her head slightly.

“It’ll all be official when she arrives with her family. I know you feel infatuated now, but it shall pass. You’re both still young.” his father said, looking at him expectantly.

“How would you know how I feel? You know nothing of her, of us. You have no idea what she means to me. I am not marrying Ceryse. I want to marry Rowan.” he frowned deeply. “Father, I have never asked you for anything all these years. Nothing. This is all I ask of you, wed her to me, and I shall do whatever you wish me to do.” he pleaded, feeling his voice tremble.

“Maegor,” his father said, putting his hands on his shoulders, looking up at him, “I know it’s upsetting now, but you must understand this is a political game. Neither your brother, nor I had a choice in who we wed either.”

“You did.” he spat out angrily, looking down at his father.

His father sighed, annoyed.

“That was before I was King. We cannot always answer opposition with fire, and if we do so with the faith, the people will turn against us the second we say dracarys. They tolerated our marriage, only because it was done before I was King. Now, we must tread lightly. Your union with Ceryse ensures they stay on our side. The Hightowers are the wealthiest and most influential house in the Reach. They hold great influence over the faith and thus, the people. This is of utmost importance. You’ve made me proud when you earned your knighthood, you’ll make me proud again with this, won’t you, my son? ” his father asked.

Maegor could feel a lump in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he called him his son, let alone that he was ever proud of him. This was surely the longest conversation they’d ever had. How bitter this all felt. With a heavy heart and a deep frown, he nodded, his thumb rubbing the ring he never took off for any comfort.

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