#sailor!Aemond x reader

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 1/4

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Drowning, descriptions of drowning, shipwrecks, dead body, fever, storms.

Note: Here is chapter one of Lighthouse hehe. This fic was inspired by me listening to the song 'Lighthouse' by The Waifs. Thank you all for being so patient for this. A it is going to be a mini-series, its going to be between 3-5 chapters long! I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Cruel Seas

The waves rolled up the side of the rocky cliff face, salty sea spray disintegrating into the air like mist. The sky had turned a deep grey, a storm having rolled through the vast sea the evening before, which was now beginning to turn its way towards your little island.

You knew immediately from the sky that you would have a long night ahead of you, tending to the lamp at the top of the lighthouse to ensure that it stays lit for the duration of the dark night to come. 

It was an arduous and tedious existence. Day after day, the same routine, and not once could you stray from it.

Each evening before the sun would set, you would climb the many stairs to the top of the lighthouse and light it, ensuring that its wick was good for use and would last the night. And then when daybreak came, you would extinguish the flame as soon as the sun rose, unless of course, a storm or fog had crawled amongst the salty waves of the sea, which caused for extra vigilance and keeping it lit at all hours.

The lighthouse itself was perched on the top of the cliff of the small island you lived on, just off the coast. And on that island, you had all that you needed; A small cottage with one bedroom, a kitchen and a small privy out the back.

Outside of the cottage was your own modest vegetable patch where you grew what could survive the acrid sea air; potatoes, pumpkins, and any sort of hardy vegetable that was good for pickling and hearty meals. All other food was brought to you once a month by boat, or if you dared to leave your post, you would take your small boat back to shore, not too long of a journey, weather permitting, to go to the local stores or market to buy your wares. But if you were truly in a spot of trouble, you had a small messenger pigeon that lived in its own hut by the garden that would send word to shore about your dire needs.

You had lived and worked at the lighthouse for years, happy to be alone and in your own solitude, finding companionship in the books that you read, or the occasional ship that sailed by.

A man named William came every one to two weeks, an old friend of your father who would bring your reprieve, to deliver you food and any other supplies that you may need to keep the lighthouse in check; more oil, more wicks, paint, or items to repair any damage from the raging winds that raced across the surface of the small island. 

William was a kind man, older and sea worn. He had a wife and three daughters back on the coast, and on occasion would bring them to join you, or extend an invitation for you to join them, weather and duties permitting. They lived in the small town by shore, where you had been lucky to befriend shopkeepers and locals on your short visits. 

It had been only a few days since William’s previous drop off, and for the most part, the weather had seemed fair. Each morning and each evening you would log the skies and seas conditions into a worn little leather book for any changes, and then, you would prepare for the lighting of the lamp. But the evening before, the wind had changed drastically and the sky had darkened, and you watched from the top of the lighthouse as a storm broke just on the horizon, black cloud glowing with strikes of lightning that cracked through the darkness. 

You hadn’t risked going back down to your cottage to retire for the evening, instead, sitting yourself in your old wooden chair to watch the storm and ensure that the lamp was lit, and if any ships were to come to close to shore, they would be alerted by the light.

However, now it was morning, and the lamp no longer needed to be lit. For now. Though on the horizon, the storm continued to barrel towards shore, and you knew that you would have light it again soon.

Extinguishing its flames, you took the long winding steps down, crossing the small grassy knoll to get to your cottage, opening the old wooden door, which hinges squeaked and whined, salt rusting the joints. You whispered to yourself that you would fix it eventually, as you trudged to the fireplace and began to set it ablaze.

The cottage was cold with the winds of the storm that approached, and you shivered as you slowly lit the kindle, piling log after log into the hearth as you heated the home up. Your stomach growled loudly as you stood from your crouched position by the fire, joints complaining as exhaustion from lack of sleep, or food, finally caught up to you. 

You decided that now was the time, more than ever, to eat and rest before you’d have to return to the lighthouse. You lit the stove with a candle by the fire and sat your kettle atop, water inside ready to boil. On William’s last relief drop, he had brought a large sack of flour and even some milk for you, and so with this, you had churned your own butter and made a large supply of scones and bread for the coming week. 

The loud whistle of the kettle alerted you to the water boiling on the stove, steam pouring from its nozzle. You poured it over some tea leafs and unwrapped a scone from the cloth pile you had on the bench. As the tea steeped, you decided to spread some of the jam William’s wife, Celia, had made for you, using it sparingly before sitting before the hearth. 

You ate slowly and sipped on your tea with ease, eyes cast out one of the many windows to check the progress of the storm. The dark clouds were slowly rolling in, and by your estimate, wouldn’t reach you until at least the afternoon, and with time on your hands, you decided to allow yourself a small rest, laying your head back against your worn couch, closing your eyes as the warmth of the fire lulled you into a shallow slumber. 

-

The distant rumble of thunder pulled you from your light rest, half eaten scone wrapped in a smaller piece of cloth and shoved into the pocket of your skirt at the front. You would eat that later as you lit the lamp again before the storm arrived. As you cast your eyes out of the kitchen window, looking out to sea, you saw that it had approached far quicker than expected, and in fact, seemed to have regrown in size. 

You made quick work of it, throwing on your large waxed coat that swept around your ankles, buttoning it up to your neck as the beginning spray of water began to lightly mist at the windows of the cottage. Racing to the lighthouse, you climbed the steps with ease, years of the same routine causing you to be fitter than most. Once you reached the top you looked out to the swell, watching as the waves crashed against the rocky cliff face below, and then swept up against the small sandy beach of the island on the side. 

But it was not the storm that peaked your interest, you were no stranger to those. It was the objects that bobbed amongst the crashing waves, and lined your small beach. Concern coursed through you as familiar wooden planks, barrels, and other ship items crashed onto shore.

“Fuck.” You cursed.

There had been a shipwreck. 

But not at your island. 

It must have happened out at sea last night with the storm. 

Your eyes cast down to the sandy beach again, gaze darting up and down the shore, looking, searching, and hoping for any sign of survivors, if they had been lucky or fortunate enough to be swept this far to shore after. 

Another crack of thunder pulled your gaze away, the storm rapidly approaching. If you lit the lamp now, you could race down to the shore to look out in the water for any sign of survivors, or what kind of ship it had been to report back to shore. So with determined hands, you lit the large oil lamp, ensuring that the flame was strong and the glass that surrounded it was clear and in position to amplify it out to sea.

Rain began to beat against the glass of the lighthouse, and with one last glance cast at the lit lantern, you raced down the steps, two by two, skirts pulled into your fists as you flew down them, all but throwing the heavy wooden door open to begin to race down to the small sandy cove.

Thick drops of rain began to pelt down from the sky, the rumbling of the storm growing closer and closer, clouds growing darker with lightning striking through them. You squinted at the shore, skirts in one hand as the other hand came to try and shield your eyes from the growing downpour, looking for anything that could identify the vessel.

Your leather boots sunk into the sand and you raced along the shore line, eyes looking down to the broken wooden planks, and a large hoisting rope tangled amongst half a mast. Further ahead, a tangle of what looked to be shrouds, sail and hull. 

The waves crashed against the sand as you moved towards the next clump of shipwreck, passing smaller pieces of debris as you went. The water that crashed against the shore was dark and unforgiving. Amongst the crashing waves, more planks of wood, net and barrels of something. 

Chill dripped down your spine as your coat, as waxed and as warm as it was, took in the blast of rain and wind that blew into you with every gust. 

The storm was coming, and it was coming with a vengeance. 

You needed to move, and fast.

There ahead of you, amongst the tangled shrouds, was a large chunk of hull, with what looked to be the remnants of gold paint.

A name. 

The name of the ship. 

You almost tripped into the sand as you ran towards the mass, shoes now filled with water, socks soaked against your skin, toes numb from the cold. You bent down, pulling at the shrouds, the wet rope heavy in your hands as you looked at the broken hull. 

'Vhag-'

You blinked.

Gods be damned. 

Your hands moved faster than you thought humanly possible as you ripped the rope away from the hull, revealing the glimmer of silver beneath that had caught your eye.

There, tangled amongst the shrouds, trapped atop the broken hull, was a man. 

Your knees hit the sand, wet soaking into your skirts immediately as you began to pull him from the wreckage, yanking at the ropes to untangle the body that was ensnared in them. 

He lay on his stomach, face obscured by a mess of wet, silver hair that draped across his cheek and forehead. His clothes were soaked, and his skin was as pale as moonlight, blue veins prominent under the surface. 

“Hello?” You called to him frantically, moving to turn him onto his back, his head lulling to the side. 

You brushed away the hair from his face with haste, and your breath stilled in your chest. 

His lips were blue, and across one cheek, cutting up through an eye, was a long and deep scar. The man’s nose was sharp, and his jaw even sharper, slender neck and shoulders peaking through the half ripped tunic that he wore, the white see-through as it clung to his body soaked. 

Another crack of thunder boomed above, your head momentarily darting upwards to look to the sky, the storm having begun to move closer, crawling above the small island you called home. 

You prayed in that moment to the Drowned God that he was alive. 

Please, spare this man. Bring him back to the living.

“Please.” You whispered, hand at his neck as you tried to feel for a pulse, tried to feel for any warmth of his body that may indicate life. That may lead you to believe you had a sole survivor that washed ashore your tiny island, surely blessed by the Gods.

His head lulled in your hand as you looked out at the shore for any more bodies, whispering to yourself as you thought of what to do; If you should take him back to the cottage and send word that a body had washed ashore, that a ship that began with ‘Vhag’ had met its untimely demise in the cruel sea. Or if you should leave him at shore and hope that the waves do not carry his body away by the storms pass.

Your teeth began to chatter in your skull as your hands slipped around him, checking over his body for any grievous wounds or indications that he had died from anything other than drowning. But his body was fine, all bar his cold and pale skin.

Shifting to a crouch, you made your decision, and it pulled at your heart.

He would be too heavy to carry up to your cottage, but you also didn’t want to risk his body being taken back out to sea with the storm, this man, whoever he was, deserved a burial of some sort. So your option was to carry him further up the beach, to where the grass meets the sand, and send word on the morrow once the storm had passed.

You felt a pang of guilt for the man, a man who looked to be a handsome and skilled sailor, young but not naive in age, taken too soon. Though no sailor was skilled enough to survive the rolling waves, or the wrecking of a ship. The sea was a cruel mistress, and she took when and if she pleased with no repentance, rhyme, or reason. Your hands curled beneath his arms and you pulled, his dead weight dragging you down almost to fall in the wet sand.

“Bless him with salt,” You began to endlessly pray, something your father had once taught you many years ago, “Bless him with stone, bless him-“

The man’s chest erupted with a cough, sending you falling into the sand in shock, dropping his body back onto the beach as water spluttered from his lips.

“Gods be good.” You scrambled to him in the sand, turning him on his side so that the rest of the sea water would come out easier. 

It seemed to go on forever, the jerking of his body as his lungs expelled spray after spray of water, until all too soon, he stopped again, a weaker cough or grunt falling from his lips as the last of the water was expelled. 

The crack of lightning above you made your heart race faster than it already was, and so reaching beneath his arms again, you began to drag him up the sandy shore and back to your cottage. 

He was alive.

A survivor.

It was no easy feat, taking him away from the furious waves, and by the time you had gotten to the cottage, your lungs and body ached from dragging him up to your home. 

The man had groaned once or twice as you made the journey, storm full above the both of you, and once you finally were inside your home, you collapsed on the stone floor beside him, lungs burning as you sucked in air. 

But now was not the time for you to rest, the man had grown paler since moved, and you watched as he shivered on the stone floor. Your teeth clicked in your mouth, from nerves and from the cold, your dress and coat soaked completely and shoes filled with water. 

Your clothes weighed you down, but you only moved to take your coat off, dropping it by the hearth with a wet thump before you laid an old blanket from the couch by the fire, dragging the silver haired man to lay atop it as you surveyed what you could do. 

First, you needed to get him warm, and the clothes that he had on were chilled from the sea and rain. You removed his torn tunic, his face creasing with pain as you ripped it off of him, pulling his leather boots and socks off after. His pants however, you faltered at, looking down at his dark breeches as a blush rose to your cheeks.

Not now, this man needs our help.

His privacy can come later. 

You threw the last thick woollen blanket that sat on the couch over the top of him for privacy before you pulled his breeches down without looking, throwing the soaked article of clothing in the far side of the room before you laid him on his side to face the fire. You tucked the thick blanket around his body, noticing the chill of his skin that seeped through immediately, before pulling his wet hair away from his face and neck. 

By then you were out of breath, muscles burning and joints aching, collapsing beside him again as you looked at the man, watching the way his chest rose and fell weakly with every rattling breath he took. You prayed he would survive, but you had your doubts. The amount of sea water he had swallowed, and the way he looked so pale that he was almost translucent, gave you little hope. 

But there was nothing else you could do. 

Nothing more that you were able to do but wait.

And all you had was time as the storm raged outside. 

Unlacing your boots you pulled the from your feet, toes beginning to prune and ache as they were soaked inside and cold, water dribbling out of each shoe as you tipped them upside-down in front of the fire, pulling away the soaked woollen socks with it. You shook as you began to peel layer after layer of drenched clothes away from your body until you were left in your shift, shivering by the fire as you desperately tried to warm yourself up.

Your hair lay wet against your back, drying as you slowly warmed, the light of the fire being the only light source in the cottage until you finally moved and began to light your various lamps and candles around the home.

It wasn't until you were back by the fire did you spare the man another anxious glance, eyes immediately watching his chest rise and fall weakly, much to your relief.

He wasn’t dead.

Yet.

But you hoped he would at least save the night and storm until you could send word for help, and perhaps even send for a doctor to come to you. You suspected he would be too fragile to move just yet. So now, all you had to do was wait.

Wait until the man either rose to consciousness, or perished from the sea’s assault. 

But the longer you looked at him, looking at his silver hair, to his sharp features and plump lips that were almost blue, to the golden ring that sat upon one of his fingers, you couldn’t help the thoughts that turned over your head about this man. But one question in particular seemed to rise above them all.

Who was he?

-

The storm raged on, day and night, wind howling outside your cottage causing the old home to shudder and groan. The windows rattled with the force of the gale, rain pelting against its surface loudly. All the while, the lamp in the lighthouse never went out, thanks to your constant checks, back and forth up the many stairs, bracing yourself agains the rain and winds.

The silver haired man had not moved, nor woke since you dragged him up from the beach. The only sign of life given being the rise and fall of his chest that occasionally jerked with a cough or wheeze. His long hair lay like a halo around his head, soft waves teased from the salted water and dried from the warmth of the fire. The mans skin stayed the same inhuman paleness as before, though some colour rose back to his cheeks and his plump lips.

You had been sitting at your small table writing notes on the weather in your log book, fearing that perhaps there was a larger storm that lingered out in the back of the sea, which caused the one on shore to rage for so long, when a soft groan caught your attention. Your eyes immediately flicked away from your notes and down to where the man was laying, the slightest shift of his head to be seen. 

Swiftly you made your way over to him, kneeling back down beside him, knees pressed into the hard stones as you looked him over. His brows were scrunched shut, and lips pulled slightly down. But that was not initially what caught your attention; It was the sheen of sweat that covered him head to toe. Lifting a gentle hand, you placed the back of it against his forehead. 

A fever. 

The man was burning up, and the sweat beneath your hand was proof of it.

This was not good. 

You stood and made your way to the kitchen, riffling through a draw to find one of the many warn, and scraggly cloths inside before you pulled it out. You grabbed an empty bowl and took it to the dry sink and began to use the cistern pump to fill it with rain water. When the bowl was half full, you threw the cloth inside and made your way back to the feverish man on the floor. 

You wrung out the cloth of its water and began to wipe at the sweat on his face and neck, hoping that the cool rag would help to fight the fever that was causing the man distress.

Fevers were dangerous things, and after what he had survived, you worried that the fever may be the final nail in his coffin, so to speak. 

The silver haired man shivered in the warm glow of the fire, though his body ran hot. Each swipe of the wet cloth caused a crackled breath to fall from his lips, the scar on his face crinkled with movement. With every moment or so, clearing the sweat from his face and neck, you would dip the cloth back into the bowl to then wring it and begin again, hoping its coolness would have some effect.

His chest rose and fell shallowly as you wiped away the sweat and salt from his collar bones, small pink scars littered amongst the flesh of his chest. As you worked, you could not help but admire the man. His sharp features and strange hair was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and had only heard once or twice in tales from town about people who lived in lands far from yours, with silver hair and violet eyes.

You had never believed those tales, for who could have such Godly hair, and even stranger eyes, and whilst the man had not opened his one seeing eye as of yet, you wondered if you would find it to be violet, or perhaps a more common shade of blue. The scared and clouded one was no indicator of what could be revealed on the other side.

A part of you hoped to see that the tales were true, that perhaps your world was much larger than you had thought, but for the most part, you just wished for him to stay alive. 

As you rinsed the cloth once more and brought it to the scarred cheek of his face, you took caution with the skin, looking at the way it deeply marred the flesh around it, and prevented the clouded eye from ever closing. You brushed the cloth gently by his temple when suddenly you were greeted with a vision of lilac.

The man gasped, hand shooting out to grab your wrist holding the cloth tightly, pupil of his eye widening and shrinking as his brain tried to focus on the person touching him. Your heart beat in your chest, your own gasp falling from your lips as you looked down at him, his eye on you. 

It was true then.

He was one of them.

The grip on your wrist tightened and you hissed, the wet cloth falling from your fingers onto the stone floor beside him as his brows furrowed, looking at you.

“Skoriot iksis… ñuha…” The man gasped, language foreign to your ears.

You shook your head down at him, his breathing becoming shallow, grip on your wrist faltering, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” You told him, voice slow and clear as his head rested back against the flagstones, lone eye blinking sluggishly up at you.

“You’re safe here. You need to rest.” Your hand hovered above his shoulder, unsure if touching him again would cause him more distress. Instead, the hand that held your wrist slumped back to the stones, and his lilac eye fluttered shut, mouth parted weakly.

You pressed your fingers underneath his jaw, and were relieved to find the slow, but steady, beat of his heart.

Your heart on the other hand was another story entirely. It raced rapidly within your chest, breath coming in short pants as your knees began to ache from how you were sitting over him. Gaze roaming over his soft skin and hair, you came to a mind spinning conclusion that the tales were true, and people who looked like him did exist, which only meant one thing. 

This man was a long way from home. 

Feeling as though you didn’t want to startle him from his rest again, you took the bowl and cloth to the table and placed it by the ledger. If you needed to ease his fever again, you could repeat the process later, just not now. 

Outside the storm raged on, rain flying sideways and the crash of thunder above. At one point you had brought your pigeon inside with you to place in a smaller cage out of the rain and wind. She was much happier now, and sleeping restfully upon her perch.

You had to stifle a yawn as you sat back on your chair by the table, noting that you had had scarcely more than five hours rest over the past two days. You were running on fumes, and if you needed to keep the lamp safely lit, and the man by the fire alive, you certainly needed your own rest.

By that time it was midday, and you could safely rest a few hours before you would need to check on the lamp once more. Your limbs felt as heavy as stones as you trudged to your bedroom, pulling your heavy dress from your body and shoes from your feet before you slid into the warmth of the covers in your slip.

-

When you woke, it was not to the sounds of the storm outside, but rather to the unfamiliar groans and grunts of a man. Ripping the covers away from your body, you wrapped a robe tightly around you, fastening it against your waist with its belt in a knot. It had been your fathers, and was entirely too large for your smaller frame.

He lay where he was, still on the hard stone floor, the fire having shrunk during your slumber, but still, his eye did not open again. So you piled more logs into the hearth, stirring the embers with a fire poker before moving to fill the kettle with the pump by the stove. 

When you looked out the window, the lamp was still lit, and the storm still raged on, rain and wind flying through the air, booms of thunder booming above you, and the constant shrill whistling of the wind through the cracks of the windows and doors. It was an eerie sound if you were not used to it, but after all those years in solitude already, it was as common as a birds cry, or a bugs chirp. You lit the coal stove and placed the kettle on top, casting your eyes back to see if he had stirred again.

There hadn’t been a minute that had gone by where you hadn’t wondered who this man was. What he did. If he had a family to go home to, a wife, children.

Were his parents still alive? Were they fretting for his arrival or communications? Wondering where their son had gone? Or did he have no-one? Were they too lost to the sea and not fortunate enough to have washed upon the shores of your small island?

By the time the kettle whistled loudly, you poured it into your tea pot, but behind you came a groan again, this time, much louder, and to your surprise, more conscious. Forgetting your tea, you raced to his side, the mans face screwed up in confusion and pain, eye blinking sluggishly up at you. You pulled your robe against you tighter as you knelt near him.

“Take it slow, you’re okay.” You reassured him, hands unsure of whether or not to touch him or stay limply by your side, “You’ve survived a wreck. The Gods saved you.”

The pink of his tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips, but his tongue was just as dry. His mouth parted, and a broken and confused echo came out, “Gods.”

You nodded, “Yes. The Gods surely showed you favour when they washed you on this island. We are the lighthouse just off the coast.”

It seemed to be a lot for the man to take in, his brows pulling downwards from either pain or confusion or a terrible mix of the two, but a more burning question came forth from your lips, “What is your name?”

The silver haired man, who’s cheeks had more colour than when you brought him inside days before, blinked at you sluggishly, mouth parting and then closing, before a rasping request came forth. 

“Water.”

You jumped up from your spot beside him and raced to the pump, filling a glass before coming back to his side. You knelt on the stones, helping him to lightly sit up with a hand at the back of his head, leaning the glass up to his lips. At first he spluttered the water back into the cup as he tried to drink, a lone dribble trailing down his strong chin and neck, but then after a moment, he drank greedily, hand coming to grasp yours to tilt it quicker down his throat.

“Slowly. You don’t want to drown again.” You tried to make some light, and the man seemed to enjoy it, as he coughed into the glass, or at least, you assumed he did, as one side of his lip pulled into a weak smirk.

He coughed again once finished, and you asked him if he wished for more, to which you got a weak shake of his head, ‘no’. You gently laid him back down as you looked at him, pressing your hand against his forehead. Although the fever had seemed to settle, he was still hot to the touch, yet despite this, he shivered. 

“...Cold.” His voice came out smoother this time, no longer dry and parched from dehydration, though it was still raw and ragged from the sea.

“You have a fever,” You explained, pulling the blanket only a little higher on his chest, not wanting to exacerbate it, “But it looks like it shall break soon.”

The man watched you with a half lidded gaze, lips mumbling in a foreign language once more, “...Issi… se… Riña…”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You frowned at him again, "Do you speak the common tongue?”

The man watched you with his half lidded gaze before he nodded. You couldn't help but look at his cloudy eye that didn't move. 

Now that he seemed more conscious, and had even asked for water, it seemed to you that perhaps this man would not die in your home after all.

“Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

A nod.

You went back to the kitchen, filling his glass with water again before grabbing one of your scones to bring back. You came to his side and began to break the scone in your hand into smaller pieces, lifting his head once more to feed it to him. He ate slowly, coughing occasionally to which you’d give him more water to help him wash it down, but you could tell that he was grateful.

“...Thank... you.” It came as barely a whisper, but it was there none the less. 

You still didn’t know his name, and it ate at you. 

“What is your name?” You asked again, hoping now that he had both food and water in him, that he would be able to answer you, but instead he just stared at you blankly.

Perhaps he had hit his head in the wreckage and forgotten?

And then another thought came.

Or perhaps, he was a pirate, and hiding his identity for fear of capture.

You stood and dusted the scone crumbs from your skirt, leaving the man beside the fire as you moved to the kitchen, pulling some carrots, potatoes and onions that you had grown in your garden out of your basket to rinse and begin to prepare.

“I’m going to cook a stew.” You cast your head to the side, voice calling out to the man, “I think it would warm you. I have some dried meat I can use in it too. I think it would-“ 

You turned around to find the man asleep again, “-Do you some good.” You finished quietly, moving back to the task at hand.

It didn’t help that a strum of disappointment raced through you at his unconsciousness, but it couldn’t be helped, after all the man was practically with the Stranger when he washed ashore.

-

Steam rose from the pot of vegetables and broth, the dried meat you had cut and put inside having absorbed the stew and become soft again as you stirred it. It smelt good, and as you had helped to bring it to boil, you had had enough time to check on the lamp in the lighthouse, ensuring that the oil and glass was all in order.

The storm seemed to have settled somewhat, but from your experience, it meant only that the eye had reached shore, and the worst of it was soon to come. 

Not once had the man moved as you cooked, nor when you walked past him to put back on your dress, coat ,and shoes. He looked better, and somewhat peaceful on your floor, but you knew the harsh stone would do naught for his rest, and so as you stirred the stew you thought of ways in which you could get him up and into your bed.

You blushed immediately at the thought of him spread out inside of it, silver hair around his face, soft lips parted as he breathed, the furrow of his brow having softened as he rested, properly rested. And although it seemed indecent to have a man inside of your bed, to have him inside your house and bare, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t anything untoward, nor would you be touching him, and it was just until he was well enough to leave.

It didn’t help however, that he would be the first and only man to ever be in your bed. 

You stifled a laugh at the thought. 

The first one in your bed, bare and handsome, only because he was on the brink of death.

The laugh proved to not be as stifled as you had thought, as the voice of the man startled you from your slow stirring.

“...Who are you?”

You placed the spoon down by the stew, turning around to look at him from the coal stove, to tell him your name. As you spun however, your name came as a bare whisper, eyes finally landing on the man by your fire. 

Not only was the man conscious, he was sitting upright, leant heavily on one arm as he looked at you, legs stretched out in front of him. Your mouth went dry and you blinked, the blanket that you had carefully tucked around his body having fallen to his waist, bare chest on display.

You swallowed thickly, feeling heat in your cheeks as you tried to avert your eyes, but the image of his toned and lean chest blared in your minds view. 

“Do you often strip drowned sailors?” The man mused, clearly having noticed his undressed state. His voice still crackled, but underneath, it was as smooth as honey.

The heat in your cheeks increased tenfold, and your feet took you swiftly over to the table where his now dried tunic and breeches were neatly folded on top. A crack of thunder boomed over head as you looked towards the kitchen, holding his clothes out to him to the side, feeling the weight of them being taken out of your hands. 

“You were soaked and close to death," You explained, "I saw no other choice.” You cleared your throat awkwardly as you heard rustling beside you, moving yourself back to the kitchen as you kept your back to him to stir the stew in avoidance, “I kept your modesty with the blanket. My one priority being-“

“-A joke, Madam.”

“Miss.” You corrected him.

You were no married woman.

You didn’t dare turn back around, instead, beginning to pour stew into two seperate bowls using your ladle, ensure that his had an ample supply of meat and broth within to help give him his strength back.

As he dressed, you could hear him grunt and struggle, but offered him no help. A man of his breed would likely suspect you meant something untoward, and you had learnt from a young age that a mans strength and will should never be questioned, for their ego's, fragile as they are, shall bruise.

You could feel him watching you as you continued on, shaking the embers beneath the stove loose to put them out slowly, allowing for the stew to finish its simmering before putting the large lid on top.

“Who are you?”

You frowned.

Had he forgotten already?

You told him your name once again.

“No." He sighed from behind you, "Who do you serve here?”

Turning, you faced the man.

His tunic was thrown back on, but it gaped at his chest where it had been ripped, revealing the soft pale skin beneath that you could not help but admire. But despite his handsomeness, his question served to insult you.

“I serve no one.” You said stiffly, dusting your hands down on your apron, before grabbing two spoons to throw into the bowls.

This seemed to dissatisfied the man as he hummed, “And the man who tends to the lighthouse?”

The man?

Hands on your hips you glared at him, watching as his brows lifted slightly waiting for your response, “There is no man here. None but you.”

His brow furrowed, “Then who te-“

“-That would be I.” You snipped, turning back around to grab his bowl before handing it to him with his spoon, “I take you can feed yourself now?” All patience gone from your body.

And to think, you had brought this man back from the dead, and he still thinks that a man must tend to the island and not you.

Clearly the silver haired man was shocked by your station, and also your brazen way of response, “I meant no offence, Miss. I have only known men to tend to Lighthouses.”

You huffed through your nose, exhaustion from the almost week of storm, and nurturing the man on the floor back to health nipping at you cruely.

“And now you know a woman.” You moved back to the kitchen to grab your own bowl and plate of sliced bread, sitting at your table to eat your stew, all the while feeling his eye on the side of your face. You grabbed the plate of bread and offered him a slice, a small thank you coming from his lips as you ate in silence. 

There was minimal talking between the both of you as you ate, and the sound of the storm seemed to fill the space instead. By the time the both of you finished eating, you knew you had to brave it outside once again, and climb the never ending stairs to check the oil and wick of the lamp.

You took your bowl and his to the kitchen, before coming back, standing above him as you pulled on your coat. 

“I have to tend to the light.”

He nodded.

You shuffled on your feet as you looked at him, thinking of your earlier plan to move him into your bed so that the had a reprieve from the stone floor.

Now was the time if there ever was.

“Do you think you can stand?”

The man blinked at you.

“I won’t cast you out in this storm,” You reassured him, though his face didn’t change, “But you shouldn’t lay on the flagstones to recover. They’ll do more harm than good.”

A nod.

He shifted, pulling the blanket off of him to reveal his long, now clothed, legs, bare feet stretched out at the end. You came to his side, pulling an arm beneath his and offering your other hand as you slowly brought him to stand. The man swayed and groaned, and his face grew pale.

“The bedroom is not far.” You reassured him, steering him down the small hall, each slow step, moving slowly, and his breath coming out with a rough rasp. His weight was heavily leant around your shoulders, and you felt your muscles strain to hold him up. The man stood at least a foot and a half taller than yourself, and yet slumped over was still nowhere near your height.

He grunted as moved him to the side of the bed, sitting him down on the edge as gently as you could, pulling the sheets back before helping him to lay down. He coughed and wheezed and groaned as you moved him, eye scrunched tightly shut, as you lifted his legs up and onto the mattress. The man looked paler than before, and his seeing eye became half-lidded with fatigue. 

You pulled the sheets up to his shoulders, ensuring that he wouldn’t roll out of the bed on either side.

Then suddenly you were hoping that he didn’t mind the feel of your sheets, or the spring of the softness of the mattress, or the plump of the pillows.

You shook your head.

Why were you worried about that?

“Rest.” You told him, but his eye had already slid shut, and so away you went.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@blackswxnn @marihoneywk @targaryenrealnessdarling @namelesslosers @aemondsfavouritebastard @dahlias-and-marigolds @aemondsbabygirl @toodlesxcuddles @jemmaagentofshield @malfoytargaryen @bellaisasleep @aaprilshowers @assortedseaglass @elizarbell @xpersephonex @lijeno @likeanecho344 @coffeeobsessedtrencher @diannnnsss @lexwolfhale @notasockpuppetaccount @at-a-rax-ia @spinachtz

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x y/n #hotd fanfic #lighthouse!Aemond #asumofwords lighthouse #sailor!aemond #LighthouseKeeper!reader #sailor!Aemond x reader #Sailor!Aemond #LighthouseKeeper!Reader #Asumofwords Lighthouse #shipwreck!aemond

[daemonwhitedove]

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

The death of Daemon Targaryen never had hurt you more than it should.

Inspired by Ophelia from Hamlet. The end quote is from Song of Achilles.

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

"Daemon, where are you going?" You inquire as you watches him readying to soar on dragonback with Dark Sister. Your gaze lifted to meet his, worry etched upon your visage as you observed your beloved. The war still raged, his life at stake.

Daemon turned to face you, unable to utter the truth, he imparted to you a falsehood. "Fret not for me, my love," he reassured, yet noting that your furrowed brow betrayed your unease.

He descended from his dragon, alighting before you on the earth. He clasped your hands firmly in his, bestowing a tender kiss upon them.

Your eyes locked with his. "Where are you going?" You softly inquire once more, voice quivering akin to your heart that throbbed and ached with dread. "You cannot go." It was your intuition that whispered so.

Nevertheless, Daemon sought to reassure you. "I shall return." The prince enfolded you in a kiss, pressing his lips fervently against yours, yearning to cherish the moment with you one last time.

As the kiss parted, he stroked your cheeks, brushing away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. "Keep this ring," he murmured, placing the silver ring in your palm.

A look of confusion crossed your visage as you gazed at him.

"Know that you are half of my soul," he whispered to you, and you were a fool to let him depart from your side.

You observed as he ascended Caraxes. The sense of foreboding only intensified as he and Caraxes soared into the heavens, perhaps never to return to you.

When he leapt towards Aemond with Dark Sister, you pondered what thoughts consumed him, his allegiance to Rhaenyra or his love for you?

As his blade pierced through the boy like butter, its edge piercing his remaining eye, was he reminiscing about you?

Did remorse grip him for leaving you bereft and alone?

Every morning you awoke to an empty bed, solitude enveloping you. The news of his demise shook you to the core, unable to contain your tumult of emotions, you wept bitterly.

Days passed, the war for the throne persisted. And you battled against the war of grief and madness threatening to engulf you completely. His remnants provided solace, soothing your tears and calming the sobs that escaped.

Rhaenyra and the others watches as you gradually descended into madness.

You sank to the ground, faltering with each step, observing as the water tenderly kissed the earth, forming a gentle ripple. The God's Eye was where your beloved had met his end with the young prince Aemond.

You prayed for Aemond, envisioning the suffering he must have endured.

Tears streamed down your face as you knelt by the water's edge, feeling the anguish in your heart. How could he forsake you so? He vowed to stay by your side, to live, to love you eternally.

You clutched the ring he had bestowed upon you not long ago.

"I shall return," he pledged as he placed the ring in your hand. The silver caressed your skin. Then he bestowed upon you a kiss, one of fervor and hunger. You could faintly feel his lips against yours, so sweet and intoxicating. He departed with his sword and his dragon as you watched from below, witnessing him slowly recede from your life.

Now you wished you had halted him.

Regardless of the throne's fate, regardless of victory or defeat, you stood resolute. The water beckoned to you, like a siren luring sailors. You dipped your feet into the water, smiling as though sensing his touch against your skin.

Similar to Queen Helaena and Daemon, you submerged into the water. Even as it embraced you tighter and deeper, pulling you further down, you only closed your eyes, gazing at the darkening and blurring sky. You tightened your grip on the ring in your hand. Not it, you could not lose it, not even in death.

Death welcomed you like an old friend, with open arms. You accepted your destiny.

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

#hotd daemon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader angst #house of the dragon

[wackyharpy]

Merchant's Daughter (Part 1)

God! Aemond x Human•Fem! Reader

Summary: In order to ease the wrath of one of the Gods, the girl among humans is chosen to be gifted to him.

Part 2

To find more stories — masterlist

A/N: I'm inspired by a lot of things, by Greek mythology, by Beauty and the Beast story. Especially credits go to @flowerandblood. Some of her fanfics planted a seed of the idea for this story. I hope, you'll enjoy it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated :) And English isn't my native.

Warnings ⚠️

Mention of death, typical treatment of women those times, she/her pronouns

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Once the world was different. Humans shared it with other supernal beings — children and creatures of Gods who ruled those times. Back then miracles filled the surroundings — here and there ehoes of satires' and nymphs' wild dancing could be heard in the dead of night, taken by the wind from the concealed domicile somewhere in the forests or fields, and brought straight to the towns where mortal people resided.

Fishermen spread legends of beautiful women with colorful fish-tails whose voice could enchant one and become the death of him. Sailors told about orphic castles barely visible in the fogs of the sea.

Humans were always weak and foolish, bonded to their towns and houses, lived their short mortal nugatory lives. They couldn't comprehend the broadness of the world, the depth and beauty of it.

Gods tried to take care of them, their miserable children. They gave them lands, rivers, domestic animals and fish. They taught them how to cultivate fields and grow crops, how to exploit fire. At times, humans got punished for their sins, Gods abhorred misbehavior of their gawky children. Frequently, they didn't even cast a glance at them, being immersed into their divine scandals and disputes. They didn't invite any humans to their heavenly palaces, nor did they marry earthborn men and women. Some Gods and Goddesses might have laid with beautiful representatives of the human race. Still, nothing more.

It was so only until one moment.

The calm day didn't foreshadow anything violent. Until the evening, when the sunset was painted in scarlet. Something terrible happened in the heavenly palaces — one of the Gods blood was spilled. That night the residents of the town near the sea didn't see the moon. Instead, the night sky was pitch black as the abyss of Chaos which the universe emerged from.

The God of Murk and Affliction lost his eye to his nephew — the God of Joy.

But, little Lucerys escaped the wrath of elder Gods and remained unpunished. After all, they couldn't harm him in order not to cripple him or knock all the joy out of him that he shared with mortals — such was his endowment. The issue remained unresolved, and angry Aemond was forced to live with one eye since then.

In a century, he met his nephew again, above the sea. There was no way to escape the God of Murk and Affliction that time. The little God was hopeless. And Aemond put his nephew through tortures, through his revenge which he had been nurturing in his dark heart for many years.

That evening the residents of the town near the sea saw a scarlet sunset once again. And in the hour of the owl, claps of thunder rumbled in the pitch black sky. The storm of madness swept across those lands — the herald of the victory and death simultaneously.

The sudden sadness and fear filled the hearts of people. The God of Joy was dead. His two eyes, cut out of the sockets, turned into two precious stones with yellowish glow. Still, there are gossips that they can be found at the bottom of the deepest sea.

Since then, there was no joy as such on the earth, people no longer took it for granted. If they wanted to be happy, they had to find things that could bring merry into their miserable lives.

But darkness and fear remained, more diseases developed among people, life became tough. Servants of the God of Murk and Affliction began residing together with people, punishing them for their indifference they showed on the day Aemond lost his eye. Nobody stood for him at that time. Everybody thought they would get away with it. Though, the Gods, humans, and other beings are paying off for their negligence now.

Plague, Doom, Pain, Fear, and Sorrow are terrorizing people. They have infiltrated into the towns' walls, they are hiding in the shadows, every now and again preparing to attack a poor mortal soul.

The Gods and supernal creatures are trying to avoid the lands where the God of Murk and Affliction lives, being well aware that they can meet their death in the form of Vhagar — Aemond's monstrous beast, so enormous as a mountain.

Many centuries passed in the town near the sea. One day the Goddess of Wisdom bestowed the place with her presence and shared a piece of advice with people.

Opt a young maiden girl, and gift her to the God of Murk and Affliction. As a mighty man he is, he won't refuse to satisfy his carnal needs with an innocent mortal girl. It may sooth his wrath a little, and he may order his servants to stop terrorizing humans. At least, not frequently. One girl isn't a big price comparing the whole humanity.

And so was it. The government, the judges, and the public presented the most beautiful virginal girls to the heavenly court. The choice fell on the youngest of merchant's daughters — a poor being who was soon to be sent to the remote lands, right into the hands of the ruthless God.

The day her family was preparing her to the long journey, she was silent and pale. It seemed that all liveliness faded away from her eyes. Before going out to the carriage, her mother sat with her in the chamber to conduct a woman talk.

Be obedient. Do what He orders. Be flexible. It doesn't matter that he's a God, still he's a man that isn't deprived of needs that even humans possess. Your feminine power isn't between your legs, first of all it's in your mind. Use your head in the right way, and who knows, perhaps, even the God of Murk and Affliction will fall on his knees in front of you. The doings that a man and a woman perform in the bed chamber aren't always about pain, it may bring a great satisfaction and fulfillment for both of them.

At that time the words of the woman had no sense for the girl. But she only nodded, believing her mother. After all, the merchant's wife was known for her acute mind and wisdom. And beautiful curves of the body that all her daughters inherited.

Then, the girl settled in the carriage, and she with the convoy, consisted of several men, set off to the remote lands.

The journey took long days when they finally reached the dense woods. It seemed that places there were deathlike, shrouded in impenetrable thick fogs.

The carriage stopped and soon its door was opened.

"We've arrived, my lady. We won't go further, we are to leave you here," the servant of her father stretched a hand to her and helped her to get out.

Her nose immediately caught the moist raw scent of dead leaves and moss. The space around was dead silent. The sky was grey and cloudy — no signs of the sun, moon, and stars. Here and there hollers of ravens were heard. Vultures were circling above the trees, probably looking out for a half dead prey.

Shivers ran across her spine, the breath caught in the lungs.

The case with her belongings was stated at her legs. The girl turned to look at the servants of her father. They only gave her a sad smile and nodded, turning the convoy back.

She was left alone in these cursed lands. Abandoned by the whole world.

The girl looked around trying to figure out what to do next, and having no idea where to go, who to search for, she took her case, and just went further into the mist.

She couldn't tell whether she'd been walking for hours, but soon enough she noticed the outlines of the high fence which was visible in the distance. When the girl reached the gates, she stopped and placed the case on the ground. Beyond the large fence, the grim castle stationed itself. She felt that something tugged in her stomach, and stuck in the throat. Fear. Pure terror washed over her body. The sudden feeling of millions of eyes watching her prickled the petite body. But there was no one around her. At least, she thought like that.

All at once, the heavy front doors opened and she saw a tall man going down the stairs, directly on the lane bestrewn with gravel. He must have been the one who was going to meet her.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x you

[maybe-a-bi-witch]

Mia's Fic Recs

One Piece, HotD, JJK,

One Piece

Zoro

Just a little longer by @sleepymarimo

One time where Zoro pushes your affections away and another time when he begrudgingly accepts them.

The one that (almost) got away by @loguetowns

it takes him 12 hours to realize

Baby, let the games begin by @irisintheafterglow

Reader is a pirate hunter who used to compete with Zoro, before he joined the Strawhat crew. They reunite after Zoro joined the crew.

Got me spinning like a ballerina by @mydearlybeloathed

zoro doesn't dance, but he has no issue in watching you twirl yourself off your feet. so long as you twirl back to him when your feet get tired.

Ultimatum by @undiscovered-horizon

Zoro hits you with a "fine, I'll be your boyfriend" when you try to break off your casual situationship

Shanks

Jolly Sailor Bold by @httpwintersoldier

your curse leads you to a certain red-haired pirate that ends up taking you hostage for the rest of your life. And you very much agree with the decision.

Sanji

Puzzled by @mynewblackdress

Due to your insecurities, you thought Sanji was making fun of you whenever he complimented you until you realized he wasn’t.

Go Fish! (series) by @honnelander

reader and Usopp are playing a card game when Sanji finds them. teasing ensues.

House of the Dragon

Aemond

Be Quiet by @youraverageaemondsimp

DILF!Aemond Targaryen x Babysitter!Reader

Duty, Sacrifice by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Her and Aemond have always loved to play hide and seek, however, the night he returns from Storm's End, their game takes a much more sinister turn.

Catalyst by @oneeyedvisenya

Your job as Dr. Targaryen's lab assistant becomes far more hands on than you expected.

His Love by @valeskafics

When Aemond finds you after you ruin Aegon's coronation, he is in for a surprise.

To have and to hold by @lilibethwrites

Reader goes to Storm's End, and instead of claiming Lucerys's eye, he makes reader his wife.

Jujutsu Kaisen

Nanami Kento

Professor by @fairyhub

The Princess by @classyrbf

sometimes being a princess comes with strict rules and responsibilities so why not have a little fun with the man who was assigned to protect and defend you

Ex Husband Nanami by @classyrbf

Headcannons about ex husband Nanami

everything i was looking for by @awearywritersworld

when nanami became a salaryman, jujutsu wasn't the only thing he left behind. four years later, he's got his job back and he wants you back too.

Natural (series) by @justauthoring

you fit into their little family, perfectly - naturally.

Gojo Sataru

"do you like me?" "nope." by @awearywritersworld

even yuuji realizes that gojo has a crush on you, but you're oblivious as ever

I wanna show you off by @gojonanami

when you accompany your friends to a bar rich men and women frequent, you catch the eye of a certain white-haired rich

Is it over now? ft. Geto by @gojonanami

suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave -- for him and his best friend.

the cutest couple on the Internet by @osaemu

steamer!au - you flirt with his rival

Toji Fushigoro

stay as long as you need by @awearywritersworld

toji can't stop hanging around his new neighbor, even though she has a boyfriend. oh well, he knows he's better for her anyway.

Geto Suguru

One of your girls by @fairyhub

you can’t help your feelings for your brother’s best friend

Is it over now? ft. Geto by @gojonanami

suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave -- for him and his best friend.

Sukuna Ryomen

Men are so quick to blame the gods (series) by @awearywritersworld

your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night.

Death is no more by @rinhaler

you know you shouldn't be here, right? what would possess you to visit an underground fight club? one of the fighters is kinda cute though...

How you get the girl by @yuujispinkhair

He knows how ironic this is. He is Sukuna, the guy who is known to always wear a smug smirk on his tattoed face and have a snide remark ready at all times. And yet, when you stand in front of him and confess your feelings to him, he is at a total loss for what to do.

The brat and the child that comes with him by @mysicklove

Sukuna might not be the best older brother, but at least Yuuji doesnt seem to mind.

Lullaby for the past by @poe-daydreams

Best friends (older brother) Sukuna by @seeingivy

#one piece #opla x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #shanks x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #toji fushigro x reader #fic rec #fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #hotd fanfic #sukuna ryomen x reader

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Masterlist

Smut: 🍆

Personal faves: ⭐️

Requests I plan to write -> here

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

Rhaenyra Masterlist

Aegon Masterlist

Jacaerys:

Oneshots/mini series:

Best Friends Brother, Cops And Robbers (modern!jacaerys)🍆

Traded Posession, Gilded Whore (dark!jacaerys x reader) 🍆

Cregan:

Oneshots/mini series:

Attitude Adjustment (cregan x wife!reader)🍆⭐️

Series:

Lord Husband (cregan x reader)⭐️

Daemon Targaryen Masterlist

Alicent

Oneshots/mini series:

A Simple Favour 🍆

Nymphets🍆

Michael Gavey Masterlist

Luke Castellan Masterlist

Sejanus Plinth:

Oneshots/miniseries:

Darling🍆

Tom Bennett:

Oneshots/miniseries:

Sailor Boy🍆

Joseph Descamps:

Oneshots/miniseries:

Behind Closed Doors🍆

#hotd masterlist #aemond targaryen #hotd smut #daemon smut #aemond x oc #aegon smut #rhaenyra smut #aemond smut #cregan stark #cregan smut #alicent hightower #alicent smut #cregan x reader #michael gavey #luke castellan smut #sejanus plinth #tom bennett

[lovelykhaleesiii]

A Figure in the Shadows...

PAIRING: Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x Human!fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,278.

SUMMARY: The mystery surrounding the young, desolate Prince Aemond, was ultimately a discovery you had never dreamt imaginable, and yet you craved just as he did...

WARNINGS: vampire tendencies, mentions of period blood, self-mutilation/harm, mentions of blood.

A/N - I finally got around to this AU, hope you all enjoy x

Aemond was not a person that favoured making himself known. Neither loud nor obnoxious, he was a reserved and distant figure who tampered with dark magic that ultimately led him to a fate he could not escape...

Rarely seen in broad daylight, you would often catch faint glimpses of him in some bustling background, hidden amid the masses: his ominous presence was palpable.

It was your scent that seized his senses, captivating his mind solely. Sweet and rich, a ripeness to it that heightened his senses.

Then the nagging, harrowing thoughts followed, potently wondering what you would taste like...

Initially, he tried to resist the urges to stalk you, yet his body had a mind of its own, and found himself helplessly enamoured in basking in your presence, relishing in listening to your delicate voice [even if it was from afar].

Relentlessly keeping himself distant and hidden in the darkly dim, cornered shadows as you naively wandered the long, stony hallways all on your lonesome self [his mind often teasing him that now was the perfect chance to treat himself to a flavour of your ripe blood], yet he refused to treat you like his common prey.

After a few nights, he noticed how much more aware you had grown to your surroundings. Anxiously looking over your shoulder often, closely peering down the hallway hesitant yet hopeful to find a desolate figure or hungry eyes lurking over, only to be greeted with silence and absence [or so you were convinced].

Aemond sought for more of you: desperate for something more tangible than just memories of your enrapturing figure. In the daytime, when you had embarked on some errand needing the daylight, he would sneak into your private chambers, and meticulously rummage through your belongings [particularly eager for your undergarments... Used under-garments in the woven laundry basket that the maids had not yet reached, his nose and tenacious sense of smell leading the way to treasure].

Freshly wet and much to his favour, drenched in your maiden blood: his black pupil dilating intensely at the raw sight, swallowing the lilac colour of his Targaryen genetic, whilst the sapphire [of his mutilated eye] glistened in awe.

He found himself inhaling your natural scent, and soon his tongue and mouth lapping at the bloody fabric. Even though the source was not "fresh or alive" nor even palpable, he was intoxicated with your flavour, and was desperate to sink his fangs into something more alive.

In the late, cold hours of the night, Aemond snuck into your chambers, lurking in the shadows, observing your defenceless, lonesome self deep in slumber. Unblinking, his eye wandered over your near naked body, the sheer, luminescent fabric of your nightgown ranked up from your unconscious movements, and the sheets tussled.

Aemond drew himself closer and closer, vividly hearing the gushing sound of your blood streaming through your vessels, and the rhythmic pounding of your heart. He found himself a mere few inches away from the crook of your neck, almost as if you were taunting him yourself, like a siren luring a sailor into his death.

The primal urge to feed had overpowered his humane thoughts, and Aemond succumbed to his animalistic traits. Hastily and sharply plunging his grown fangs into your soft, tender skin, the sudden sting of his bite was enough to abruptly awaken you.

Finding a sudden stranger, let alone a man, atop you, firmly gripping your body down against his heavier, stronger weight, the fright had set, as your breathing quickened the adrenaline pumping now, feeling your heart beat faster: it only made Aemond sink in deeper, earning a loud cry from your behalf, as his large, rough hand fell over your mouth, ceasing any further cries or pleas for help.

As your sight grew accustomed to the dim light, and sense resumed once more in your mind, your gaze paced over the figure, realising the familiar platinum, long strands, you immediately recognised Prince Aemond.

Your helpless whimpers, and the drop of your body temperature, growing colder the more Aemond drew of your fresh blood, he'd grown apparent of his actions, immediately pulling himself from you: fresh, bright blood drizzled all across his defined lips, as his tongue lapped it up eagerly.

Feeling the sensitive, sore open wounds [two-precise openings] at the crook of your neck, blood smeared across your shaky fingers. Seconds passed, before you began to feel hazy and frail, your mind drifting off once more into a faint.

The following bright morning, the soreness of the wound still very present, you were adamant to seek out Aemond: searching the castle keeps thoroughly, questioning servants of the revered Prince's whereabouts, the forbidden keeps of the library, planted beneath the castle's foundation, close to the prehistoric skull that belonged to the black dreaded beast, Balerion.... Wintry, dark and isolated, it was the perfect hideout for the creature that Aemond was...

Sneaking into the desolate chamber, book shelves boarded up and locked, Aemond seemed to pay no mind as you made yourself known: possible that he had heard your haste footsteps from afar, inhaling that alluring scent of your maiden blood, oozing from your aching cunt.

Aemond attempted to nonchalantly persuade you upon confrontation: "sounds like a terrible dream", and that the wound was one of your own doing in your active sleep.

Impatience brewing, you remained stubbornly persistent in your truth, and despite Aemond's obvious attempt in maintaining some physical distance between yourself and him, you hastily stormed towards, drawing the dagger from his slim waist, slashing your forearm, as fresh blood gushed out invitingly.

"I suppose then the sight of this should not undo you... A Targaryen Prince, weak to the sight of blood? Mayhaps... Is my scent something alluring... Is my Prince is feeling a little... Thirsty?"

"Taste me, my Prince... I desire for you to feed from me, this I grant you from now always."

Whether it was a toxin from his bite, or some trance he casted, there was something invigorating, from that night Aemond first succumbed to his instincts. How captivated and enraptured he was by your very humane being. All his senses were lost, defenceless and yet you, empowered.

The chilling notion that Aemond is this supernatural, almighty being and yet, would become feeble and vulnerable against your mere, mortal existence was captivating for the both of you.

This was a first for Aemond, in all the long years he had existed and for all the prey he had drained, none like you.

He did dislike the notion of feeding off you directly, if necessary or when you desired: frightened that he would reach a point of complete intoxication, losing any sense of self-control, only to be left with your empty, physical vessel.

You would definitely have a safe word, and some plan to fiend Aemond off, if necessary. Regardless, he was strong-willed and refused to indulge himself utterly.

Innovating, Aemond preferred keeping a vial of your blood with him: sating himself even if you were absent.

Aemond did enjoy replenishing you: hand-feeding you with rich fruits [especially pomegranates] and wine [often justifying that it made your blood taste sweeter].

He enjoyed bathing you in floral scented soaps, lathering your skin with rich oils. Providing you with a lavish self-care ritual that no servant could.

He was highly protective of you, often noticing strange glances from afar only moments after you would enter a room: and immediately he would act a menace, incomprehensible to his repercussions.

Despite what Aemond was, you loved him as he deeply loved you. Devouring yourselves in each other's affections and admiration: a love that would last an eternity of lifetimes.

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag] - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #vampire!Aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x y/n #vampire!Aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #lovelykhaleesiii hotd imagines #lovelykhaleesiii hotd imagine #lovelykhaleesiii hotd fanfiction #lovelykhaleesiii hotd fanfic

[leviathanspain]

you’ll learn to hate me

aegon targaryen x targaryen!reader, aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader

chapter two: the day i tried to live

synopsis: aemond had lost an eye, and your friendship

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

the funeral had been miserable. it was a miserable affair, your aunt laena had died in childbirth, her babe never even had a chance. you wished there was more to mourn, but you had only met her once in childhood.

the affair was spent with your cousins, baela and rhaena, who were somber in their grief. you hardly knew them either, but you tried to be understanding.

after some time, you excused yourself to stare off into the sea below driftmark. wind blew just as someone approached, “i suppose you find the sea calling to you, as well?” prince daemon leaned over to gaze at the sea, violet eyes sweeping over the sight. you were surprised to see him, “prince daemon.” you greeted, “my condolences.” you offered, and daemon nodded, “thank you, child.”

you nodded, and inhaled, “the sea does nothing but make me sick. the winds call to me, i am a dragon rider more than i shall ever be a sailor.”

daemon took a swig from his goblet, and hummed in response to your answer, eyes watching as you walked off.

daemon always knew she was his. from the moment she was conceived, daemon had not a doubt she wasn’t his. it was as if she knew too, her answer was enough.

daemon finished the drink in his goblet, tossing it into the sea as he cursed under his breath.

aegon had found his way to your side before you even realized. the engagement hadnt been mentioned the garden incident, and you haven’t talked to him since.

“aegon.” you acknowledged evenly.

“princess y/n.” he responded.

“it’s been a few summers since i’ve seen my betrothed.” he commented. your eyes slid to him, but you remained quiet.

aegon turned to look at you, “be glad i convinced them not to break it off. you could be the wife of some fat lard lord who’s older than the king.” he spat.

you sneered at his comment, yet you realized the truth.

however, aegon was a product of the hightower hounds, he wasn’t all that much better. but he was not a liar, from what it seemed.

you glanced over at alicent who was standing alone, you looked at aegon and then towards your own mother, solemn as she looked around, “seems like we both need to be the pillar at our mothers’ sides. i recommend you go to yours, aegon.” and you walked towards rhaenyra, unsure of how to feel about him.

the knocking made you jump. you had been sitting on the bed, contemplating what to make of the conversation with aegon, and if you were really getting married. you had asked rhaenyra but she told dismissed the topic of conversation completely.

you could understand why, it was a funeral. but daemon laughing during it made it feel like anything but a funeral.

you got up from the bed and grabbed your nearest robe. padding over, you opened the door warily. but there was already someone at it.

“aemond.” you murmured with surprise. you pulled the door open more and in walked aemond. driftmark didn’t have the usual guards at the door like dragonstone, so you weren’t surprised that he was able to make his way to your room without being stopped.

“did something happen?” you pulled the openings of your robe closer together and aemond shook his head, “not unless you want to count the genius idea that i’ve just had.”

he went on with it and the chilling feeling down your spine was enough to let you know this was a bad idea.

aemond grabbed your hand before you could protest and began to drag you out of your room and towards the beast.

vhagar had no rider, she had burned hers to a crisp, and aemond planned to claim her. it was a grand idea, if it wasn’t conceived at the funeral of her previous rider.

“aemond!” you whispered, protesting as he continued to walk. you were getting closer, the smell of dragon wafted towards you.

the walkway didn’t seem to end until you saw her. you had ridden with your mother before on syrax, but syrax was not the beast that was vhagar. she was horrifying, but magnificent. she lifted her head, her loud breaths and rasps as she sniffed out, and craned her mouth open. aemond stepped forward, “aemond no!” your mother had told you stories of vhagar. she was a war dragon, trained to kill, a weapon amongst men. aemond was just a boy, he could never wield such weapon properly.

aemond ignored your protests, and you ran off, knowing he wouldn’t listen to you.

you abandoned aemond, and ran towards your mothers chambers. you pounded on the door until you heard her voice.

“mother!” you called and she opened the door, her face a blaze of fury. rhaenyra listened to your story, and immediately ran.

sounds of children yelling made her run faster, even more when she heard alicent’s voice. rhaenyra pushed the doors open, revealing the sight.

you flinched, upon seeing the scene. luke, bleeding from his nose, aemond with his eye gouged out, and jace looking at them both with baela and rhaena looking nervous. you grabbed onto your mothers skirts, as your brothers ran towards her.

“aemond!” alicent shrieked upon seeing her son and you swallowed thickly. aemond was the worst looking of them, his face was already bruising from the wound.

your ears rang the whole time the situation was explained. only when everyone’s eyes were on you did you finally snap back into the reality.

aemond had no eye.

but he had claimed vhagar.

rhaenyra looked at you, “did you help aemond claim vhagar?”

you paused for a minute before shaking your head, “no. i tried to stop him! that’s why i ran to get my mother.” you looked at everyone and shook your head, “i didn’t encourage this, if that’s what you are all wondering.”

rhaenyra looked at you, “go to bed.” she looked at jace and luke, “everyone.” she sent the boys ahead of you and rhaenyra pulled you aside for a moment. daemon looked at you with concern, something that surprised you.

“make sure they get to bed. i’ll handle this.” she murmured, and kissed your forehead once before she sent you off.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

tagslist: @neenieweenie @winxschester

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#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen angst #aegon targaryen #aegon x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon angst

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss.

Note: EEEE! Here is chapter two of my little mini-series! Thank you all so much for your patience for this update, to say it has been hard has been an understatement. An odd thing to put into the notes of a fanfic, but From the River, to the Sea. 🇵🇸

Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Changes

The next few days were the same routine as usual, but with a new addition; A man who had been at deaths door, recovering in your bed. 

The lighthouse, you knew. 

You knew the way to light it, tend to it, care for it. It had been your life for many years ever since your Pa had died, leaving its responsibilities to you.

It had been him who taught you everything. He who had raised you to know what you now do, to do as you now do each day. And you were thankful. Thankful to not be married to a Fishermans son, or market boy at a young age, to squeeze out child, after child, in a marriage that had no love or care but rather a societal duty. 

But now, there was a man in your home. 

A man on your small, little, isolated island which you sought refuge in. An island and isolation that had been all you had known, and yet now, here he was, laid in your bed with hair like spun silk that lay around his head, a violet eye you had only heard in the tales on shore, a scarred cheek and sharp mouth. 

Was he a pirate?

You had heard of those, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to be as brash and roguish as those stories either. And whilst his presence was not all begrudged, it did throw your small little world into a loop. So with the duties of old, came the duties of new. 

You would rest, only shortly, wake, and tend to the lamp, the storm slowly moving away inland, but the winds too high to take your small boat alone, or send your pigeon with a letter to alert them of the wreck and lone survivor.

Thereafter, you could come back inside, fix yourself a tea, and here began the new routine; you would make two instead of one. 

Two plates or bowls of food. 

Two cups or glasses of water, or tea.

Two of everything. 

One for you.

And one for the man. 

A man who still had not told you his name.

That was until that evening.

The winds had begun to yield, but the soft grumbling of thunder still prevailed in the near distance.

You were eating the last of your stew together, though this time, he was seated at the table. You having dragged the only other chair on the island down the many stairs of the lighthouse to the cottage. 

He was still rather pale, and wheezed and coughed on occasion, but after his many days in your presence, you realised that he was not pale because of his ailment, but rather, his skin was just as white as the porcelain William’s wife owned. His cheeks however, gained some colour, and his lips were no longer cracked and dry, but now hydrated.

And plump.

And soft.

And-

“-Aemond.”

The spoon you were holding clinked back onto the side of the bowl.

“Pardon?”

“My name,” The man put another spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewing before swallowing politely, “Is Aemond.”

You tested the name on your tongue. It was definitely not a common name from around your part of the world.

“I take it you are a long way from home?” You chewed on a chunk of potato, watching as the man nodded.

“Aye.”

“Your ship-“

“-Vhagar.” So that’s what its name was, “Sunk to the bottom of the sea, I presume.” His lips pulled down at the sides.

You nodded solemnly, “Was your family-“

“-No. No family. Just me and my crew.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before nodding, “I’m sorry. Though we have the Gods to thank. They favoured you when they washed you ashore.”

Aemond, the man before you, scoffed, “Favoured. Sunk my ship and my men. Drowned me.”

You sucked your teeth, feeling slightly guilty about your choice of words, “Yes, and yet you are here. I prayed-“

“-You prayed?”

A nod, though his gaze seemed more intrigued than mocking, “To the Drowned God. Prayed to anyone who would listen to spare your life.”

You watched as the corner of his lip twitched, “And why should a Lady such as you, pray for a sailor such as me?”

“I’d hardly like to deal with a corpse on my beach." You stirred your stew, "And I am no Lady, I have told you this.”

The snort from his nose made way into a smile that was contagious. 

At least you could be blunt.

And in some ways, you supposed that he liked this bluntness. 

You shared your meal together quietly, the crackling of the fire and sound of rain and occasional thunder outside. You found, much to your displeasure, that you did not mind having his company after all.

He did not talk to fill the space, and seemed to think deeply before he spoke, at least when he was not irritated or slightly offended by your own remarks. All in all, he was a welcomed presence in your modest home.

And that was what scared you.

“Do you often have drowned men wash ashore?” His spoon was delicately placed in his bowl, bread devoured shortly after given to him. The way in which he ate, the manner in which he sat back, rod stiff, indicated to you that he came from some form of high society, far higher than you, and likely came from money and wealth that you could do naught but try to imagine. 

You smiled coyly, “You’re the first. An achievement to some end, I am sure.”

The corner of his lips pulled again, yet this time, it developed into a full smirk, “Then I am honoured to have been the first, Miss.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you had to look away.

The way in which he spoke, the way his voice became deep and smooth like the whiskey in your cupboard, had sent shivers down your spine with the implication that perhaps there was a double meaning to what he said.

To what you had said. 

But then he continued, “And how does a woman of your stature become the keeper of this Lighthouse?”

“My Pa. He was the keeper before I. Taught me all there was to know. It was just me and him on this island for a long, long time, and now it is just me.”

“Is your father-“

“-Dead.”

“I see.” Aemond nodded, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be.” You gave him a small smile, “He died doing what he loved.”

A silver eyebrow raised above the man’s seeing eye, “And what was that?”

“Drinking on the job.” You poked your tongue in your cheek to stifle the laugh as you watched Aemond’s composure become flustered, “It’s okay,” You reassured him, “You can laugh. My father was not a solemn man. I like to think he enjoys my humour.”

A hum was all you received, though he did not smile as you had hoped.

You had not fully seen him do so yet, and although there was glimmers of a more playful and relaxed man, you wondered in that moment if perhaps he was simply just a rather stern and serious sailor after all. That his nature was to be stiff, and bold, and unbendable.

And if he was to be that, a small flicker inside of you wished to make him bend. 

Gods, what was wrong with you?

Had you grown so lonesome in your isolation that the first man to wash upon your shore, literally, was whom you would grow some sort of desire for?

Sure, you were no stranger to pleasure, chasing your own peaks with your hands as often as you’d like, of course, if it did not endeavour to endanger the care of the lighthouse. And now, that a man was sat before you, kept in the confines of your home by storm and ailment, you wished to taste what it truly meant to be pleased. 

It had of course crossed your mind once or twice on your rare travels to shore. Speaking to the locals in shops or on the street, friends of William, or any decent man who cast you a glance. You had thought about it seriously, allowing some sort of dalliance to form, to warm a mans bed and then leave on the morrow to go back to your life of solitude. 

In fact, it had almost happened. 

A sailor named Dalton Greyjoy had caught your eye on the occasions he would be on shore at the same time as when you were. He was sailor from a well known, and well to do family. He came and went as he pleased, and it was no secret that he liked his women. Dalton's hair came below his ear, curling slightly atop his head, the colour as black as night and with his eyes to match his hair; a piercing, deep black which captured and lured anyone who caught his gaze.

And you had caught his, on more than one occasion, and each time, he had tried to woo you. Tried to offer a trip on his sturdy ship which carried more than one hundred men. Or a tour of his home which lay on bountiful lands on shore.

He had even offered a drink in the local tavern, and a meal, with a desire to speak to the ‘beautiful woman who keeps my ship from ruin’. 

And you had thought on it, had almost given in, and when you had rejected him the last time, you had meant to offer him refuge on your island, should he ever so need it. If he was ever so inclined to have a tour of your own homestead, of your lighthouse which kept him from ruin. 

But when you had moved to tell him thus, he was gone, back to the seas for the Gods only know how long, perhaps months, before he returned to shore. And that had been two months ago, and you had almost kicked yourself at the missed opportunity of having a man warm your bed, and then leave. 

The convenience was lost.

You were under no impression that it would be anything more than a release for the two of you, and in your eyes, it was perhaps, a perfect arrangement. Yet, you had strung him for too long, and the seas had called him once more. 

You had thought to wait to look for his ships arrival as it passed from you to shore, and lowered its anchor within eyesight. You had thought that perhaps at the sight of it, you would send your pigeon to her, the large ship, or to shore to send word of your request of his presence. But then, you thought, perhaps you would make a quick stop to the markets, weather permitting, and keep your eyes widened for the dark black hair which you sought. 

But now, as the man you had come to know as Aemond, grew stronger with each day, the desire to meet your desires with Dalton faded, and were now replaced for the desire of a man who was the stark opposite.

No black hair, only silver. No black eyes, only lilac.

Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

Would he hold you passionately? Whisper in your ear? Give you pleasure that you had only read of?

This was what you thought of, thighs clenching as you pulled the old wick from the lamp to replace it with a new one, careful to not spill any oil around the lamps enclosure or yourself. You were exhausted as you lit the flame, night crawling towards you rapidly.

There was not much rest that you could get when sleeping on the worn down lounge of your home, mind reeling at the thought of the handsome man not too far from you in the warmth and plush of your bed.

Once you were positive the lamp was fine and well lit, you trudged down the stairs, eyes struggling to stay open as you made your way back to the cottage, the wind blowing your hair roughly as you closed the door behind you.

The fatigue dragged you down, limbs feeling as heavy as stone as you moved to make yourself some tea, feeling all the more exhausted than before, eyes half shut.

Once your tea was made, you sat on the couch and stared at the fire, blowing the steam away and sipping on it to warm your chilled bones. The lighthouse was cold inside, no warmth but the lamp, and despite wearing your warm layers, the cold still nipped you to your core.

There were no thoughts as you moved half asleep around your home, pulling the heavy waxed coat from your shoulders to place on the hook by the door.

Your boots came next, and then your socks, and finally you pulled away at your dress, untying your stays as it slid down your hips to the floor.

You trudged to your room, having extinguished the lamps and candles in the cottage, leaving the fireplace to burn through what was left of the night.

It was dark as you pulled back the sheets, mind in memory and eyes already shut, as you slid into bed in only your slip, pulling the sheets up to your neck as you lay on your side.

Then sleep came just as quickly as your eyes closed.

-

It was hot. 

Too hot. 

There was a warmth that radiated around you as you slowly rose to consciousness.

Then, came the weight. 

A weight of something wrapped around you, behind you, heat seeping into your spine. You blinked sluggishly, confused as to what it was as you shifted, feeling whatever that warmth was shifting with you. Solid.

Arms. 

Two arms.

One under your head, the other draped over your middle, hand splayed across your stomach as your back was pressed into the flush of someones chest. 

Not someone.

Aemond. 

You jerked, suddenly awake and out of the bed, looking down at the man who looked tiredly up at you, corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he fought away a smirk. Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks in embarrassment. 

You had been in bed.

With him.

Tucked into him.

Oh Gods.

Your mouth opened and shut as your brain misfired, unsure of what to do our say. 

Do you apologise?

Gods, you had been so tired you hadn’t even realised. 

You were suddenly mortified at the thought of what he must now think of you. 

He must-

“-If you want to get into bed with me, all you must do is ask.” Came the low timbre of Aemond, who now smirked freely at you. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you became flustered, a small squeak escaping your lips. 

Aemond’s eye bore into your own as you stood there, bare feet on the cold flagstones below, chest heaving as you were at a loss of words. His eye then roamed lower, taking in your appearance as you felt the heat of his gaze blanket over you.

It was then, that you realised, you were in nothing but your thin shift.

“Gods. Fuck.” You swore, turning quickly to throw on an old dress, foregoing your skirts, stay and stockings.

You kept your back to him as you hastily did up the many buttons, suddenly cursing each and every one of them as your fingers struggled to do them up the more you become flustered, all the while you could still feel his heated gaze upon you from the bed.

You uttered an embarrassed apology, too ashamed to even raise your eyes to look at him, before you fled from the cottage, forgetting your coat, and not even doing up the laces of your boots as you shut the door behind you and raced towards the lighthouse. 

You had never quite climbed the steps as fast as you had in that moment, desperate to get away from his salacious gaze, and your burning embarrassment.

What had you been thinking? Climbing into bed with him like that? He must think you desperate. Depraved. Unkempt.

Gods be good.

The embarrassment made tears prickle at your eyes.

Though the lamp in the lighthouse was fine, and there was no true reason for you to monitor it, the worst of the storm having moved away, you did not return back to your cottage. You stayed in the cold, no coat and shoes half tied, shivering in the stone walls of the lighthouse to avoid the mortification of that morning. And yet, despite trying to avoid him physically, there was no possible way, you had tried, to avoid thinking of him. 

Thinking of his touch, how warm he had been behind you, how his large hand had completely spanned across your middle as he held you to him, how his fingers had twitched and pulled as you wriggled in first wake. How he smelt of the sea, and sweat, the stew you had cooked him, and the smell of your own sheets, but beneath it all, there was his natural scent, something earthy and musky and like sandalwood that surrounded your every waking moment. 

If it wasn’t for his legs and his near death, you would think the man was a Siren.

You thought of how cold he had been when he washed ashore, how pale and almost blue he looked, and now he burnt hot, and although he was still pale, the flush of life coloured his cheeks and lips. His lilac eye devouring you every chance he had.

At first you had thought you were mistaken, that he was simply looking at you, but now you were sure of it. His eye, the seeing one, unclouded by injury and simmering a bright lilac, watched you almost always half-lidded and ablaze with something you now thought could perhaps be lust.

Gods. 

You buried your head into your hands, deeply exhaling before standing up straighter, trying to erase the images and thoughts of him from your mind, but it was hopeless. He was all you could think of, all you could smell, or see behind your eyelids, and you yearned to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Caress him. 

Your thighs instinctually squeezed together and you sighed, feeling a wetness that had settled between them. 

Gods be good, you were in trouble.

You shivered again, rubbing your hands together as you looked out at the sea, mentally cursing yourself for not having more than two chairs on the island, but you had never needed more than that.

Your legs ached from not having sat in the hours that had passed, and you had turned to pacing the small landing back and forth to try and keep yourself warm. 

A soft clunk came from the bottom of the lighthouse. 

You mustn’t have shut the door properly. 

You continued your pacing, back and forth, breathing into your icy palms as you tried to warm them, mind straying to a body of warmth that you knew, if you pressed your palms against him, would warm in an instant. Your hands coming beneath his tunic to splay against his stomach, working their way-

The sound of rustling came from behind.

You spun on your heel in fright, breath caught in your throat to find Aemond behind you. Now standing straight, the man towered over you, looking down his sharp nose at your shivering form. His hair was slightly wet, stuck down to his shoulders and dripping from its ends onto the floor of the lighthouse. The tunic he wore, stuck to his skin where spatters of rain wet the material. 

In his hands, your coat. 

“Gods be good.” You cursed at him, hand immediately shooting out to press against his forehead, having to rise slightly on your toes to reach, “Have you gone mad? You’ll catch cold and grow ill again.”

Snatching your coat from his hands, you threw it up and around his shoulders, pulling it together tightly at the front, watching as his brows furrowed at you.

His hands caught your wrists as you fussed over him, and you immediately could no longer meet his eye. The warmth of his hands seeped into your bones, and a barely contained sigh fell from your lips.

Aemond was so close, so close to you, you could feel his warmth, smell his-

“Go back to the cottage before you become feverish again.” You tried to pull your wrists away from his hands to push him back to the door, but the man did not budge, his grip only tightened. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Came his low response, jaw tensed as he watched you. 

You swallowed, looking anywhere but his eye, “No.” You lied terribly, hoping he couldn’t feel the way your pulse quickened at your wrist, “I have to tend to my duties.“

“-You’re a terrible liar.”

You bristled, heat rising in your cheeks again before you met his eye.

Exhaling shakily, you tried again to get him to release your wrists with no avail.

“Please let go of me, Sir.”

Aemond’s cheek twitched, before finally he let go, and you begrudged his warmth leaving you the second he did. 

As his hands dropped to his sides, your eyes flitted to the exposed skin of his chest, if only for a moment, where his tunic was ripped down the middle. He moved, arms coming up again as he pulled your coat from his shoulders, stepping towards you suddenly. 

You stiffened, feeling his warmth envelop you and the subtle scent of salt and sandalwood engulf you as he wrapped you in your coat, pulling it tightly against you at your front. Your arms were trapped beneath it as he kept his hold on you, the coat pulling tighter as he stepped closer.

“You’re cold.” He whispered, head ducking slightly as he looked at you, long strands of silver cascading over his shoulder. 

Okay. You were sure of it. 

Perhaps he was a Siren. 

And now he was going to drag you to the sea and-

You watched in a confusion, or horror and delight as his head began to dip down towards your face, eye watching you intently as you held your breath.

Oh Gods, was this really happening? Was this man-

“Sīr gevie.” Came a deep purr from the back of his throat, and there it was again, that half lidded gaze. 

You parted your lips instinctually, feeling his nose brush against yours, your eyes fluttering as you looked down to his lips which were parted a hairsbreadth away from you, “I don’t know what that means.” You whispered, feeling his breath fan across your lips warmly. 

“Beautiful.” Came his response, less purring than the last, more of a whisper, more delicate, like the silk that spun his hair, ready to break.

His face loomed closer, the tip of his pink tongue coming to wet his lips, and all you could think of was how you wished to close the distance, to press against him, taste him, have him. 

Your lungs ached from the breath you had been holding, and a sudden gust of wind knocked at the windows of the lighthouse. It seemed to have broken the spell, jerking you away from the man in front of you, who blinked longingly at you.

Swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the ache in your core, you uttered, “I need to prepare supper.” Before you dashed away from him and down the stairs, almost tripping over your half laced boots in the process. 

As you wound down the stairs, you felt a pang of guilt leaving him up there.

Would he be fine to get down himself?

What if he grew ill? It was cold, and he had no coat, and you had just-No. If he had made his way up those stairs, then he could surely make his way down them.

You wasted no time preparing dinner, darting about the kitchen noisily as you began to prepare your meal, cutting the vegetables on the chopping board, and moving for some more dried meats to add with it, soaking it in some bone powdered broth you had made days earlier.

When the door of the cottage opened, and then clicked shut, you ignored the mans arrival, keeping your back to him, pretending that you were all too busy preparing the dinner to spare him a second glance, and not only that, you were far too engrossed of thinking what was coming next, and not at all how his lips might have felt on yours. 

You heard him settle at the table by the fire, and without looking, cast your voice behind you, “I still have my fathers belongings,” You told him, voice shy, “Seemed a waste to be rid of them when he passed. You may fit them. I’ll let you look through the trunk after supper so that you may have some cleaner, warmer clothes.”

A hum, and then, “Thank you. You are a gracious host.”

You blushed at his compliment, thankful that your back was turned to him so that he would not see you shy once more. Once your meal was cooked, you brought it over to the table for the two of you, including a plate of some of your scones, as well as the jam from Celia to go with them after.

It was a mostly silent affair, a tension strung between the two of you, pulled taught as the minutes went by. That was until-

“You are not married.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of fact. 

You blinked, taking your eyes away from your meal as you looked up at him.

He was already watching you.

But there was nothing malicious about his statement, more so curious as to why.

Aemond continued, “You are a beautiful young woman, a shame that you are not out in society.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling vulnerable at the turn of conversation. 

You knew it was unheard of a woman of your age to be unwed, and not only that, alone in a usual mans position. You knew that the townsfolk at shore talked about it, whispers behind your back at why that was.

There had been a cruel rumour once that you simply enjoyed the coming and goings of the many different sailors who came to and from the port. It didn’t help that Dalton was not quiet about his interest in pursuing you, at least, not as his wife anyway.

“I am content where I am.” You sighed, “I have no desire to be flaunted on a mans arm as merely decoration. I have a responsibility to those on shore and on sea, and I doubt any man in town would know more about the mechanisms of working such a lamp than I do. They would be more of a burden than a blessing.”

Aemond blinked before lifting another steaming spoonful of food to his lips, “And do you not grow lonely on this little island?”

Did you?

You didn’t think you did.

At least, not until he arrived on your shore.

“Not at all.” And unconvincing lie, or perhaps not a full one, “William comes to bring my reprieve, and I go to and from shore as I wish for the whims of societal company.”

The man swallowed his mouthful of food, head cocked as he looked at you, “William?”

“An old friend of my fathers.” You explained, watching as he relaxed at the explanation, “Brings food and goods to me when I cannot get them my own, which is more often than not. His wife and daughters join him here on occasion.”

Aemond hummed, “It is a shame you have no feelings of loneliness.”

“A shame?”

The corner of his lip twitched, “I thought you might have enjoyed my company.” Before you could respond, he spoke again, “Though, perhaps it is not a shame after all. There is no husband that I need worry about.”

Heat rose into your cheeks fast, and a flush of hurt crept up your throat.

Of course he would make a comment about you being unwed. 

He was just like the others in town. 

“You mock me.” You grit angrily, hands twitching on the table. 

You watched as a flash of regret creeped over his face.

“I don’t.” His tongue darted out to lick at his lips again, the hungry look in his eye not at all for the food on his plate, “I would worry that my attempt to court you would be burdened by a disgruntled husband.”

Court you. 

Court. 

Your stomach turned tightly, and you found yourself pushing your chair behind you quickly as you stood, grabbing your empty plate as you moved to take it to the kitchen, unsure of what to say, mouth dry and mind reeling. 

As soon as your back turned, you heard a deep chuckle behind you, making your cheeks flush with heat once more. You did not even bother to clean your plate, instead dumping it into the dry sink before you snatched your coat off of the coat hook and moved to open the door.

“You cannot avoid me forever.” Came his low purr, and would if you tried.

The door thumped behind you as you swept yourself outside.

-

By the time you finally returned to the cottage, the night had flown away from you, having spent the majority of it trying to cool the heat in your body that he had stoked, resting your cheeks against the cool class of the lighthouse, anything to soothe the molten blood that coursed through you.

The storm had mostly passed, and your home was quiet as you snuck back inside, darkness filling the majority of the space bar the fireplace as you pulled your coat from your shoulders, back facing the room.

When you turned to walk further inside a small gasp pulled into your lungs. 

“You’re awake.” You blinked at Aemond owlishly, watching as he leant back on the small worn couch, his long limbs stretched out in front of him by the fire, with one arm resting against the back.

“I am.” You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to do or say. 

Damn your anxious mind, reeling in circles at the thought of him, and his desires and if he desired you as much as you desired him. And what if-

You shook the thought away, “Well, you must be tired. You need to rest so that you may go home. The storm is passing, and I’d wager that you could return to shore now.” You wrung your hands together. 

You didn’t want him to go, but you knew it was logical.

He would have to leave. He would have to go home. To his family. To his friends. To his land. And then, you would be left alone with the spiralling 'what if's' of his stay.

“You speak of fatigue as if you sleep more than I, and do less.” Came his pointed remark, “I am well aware of my need to recover, and my abilities.”

Speechless. 

That was what you were.

The fire crackled loudly between you as you watched him shift, moving to lay himself down onto the couch which was comically too small for him. His long legs stretched over the arm, feet dangling almost to the floor whilst his head was tucked at an awful angle on the opposite arm. 

He looked like a doll that had been carelessly tossed onto the couch by a child.

“You need rest.” He mused, eye roaming over your body shamelessly, “I shall sleep where I am.”

Your brows furrowed, “You can’t suggest that you wish to sleep there.” Your hand pointed to where he was uncomfortably lain, “You do not fit. You shall see no rest and I will have to nurse you to health once more.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here.” His eye slid shut, seeming to make a point of sleeping on your lumpy and aged lounge.

You guffawed at him and his brazen flirting, mouth hanging open as your hands moved to your hips, “Go back to bed.”

His brow lifted, but his eye stayed shut, “A command or request?”

You blinked, “A request, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Will you be joining me?” Came his purr, eye cracked open at you, the bright lilac having turned as stormy as the sea once had been.

“No.”

Another hum, something you had grown used to by now, his eye sliding shut, “Then I shall stay put.”

You stormed towards him, looking down at him, trying to not notice how soft his hair looked, or how the pale skin of his chest looked like a cozy place to-

“Really, Sir.” You sighed, exacerbated, “I must implore you to sleep in the bed tonight. You will only hurt your neck and back. I am far smaller than you, and-“

“-Sīr byka.”

The language was smooth, the r curling in the front of his teeth, all creamy, and soft like syrup and warm. It sent heat straight into your core. 

“What does that mean?”

His eye opened again as he sat up, “Would you like to know?”

Gods, he was infuriating. 

“Yes.” You grit out, “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I said you were little.”

Embarrassment curled in your chest, but not only that, something else that sent heat striking through you. 

You tried to blink it away, “An obvious observation. And the bed would fit you perfectly well, if only-“

“-Nyke kessa mazverdagon ziry-“

“-Would you stop that?” You snipped, chest heaving as you blushed, watching as the tall man pulled his legs down and sat up, looking at you predatorily. 

You were in trouble.

Every hair on your body stood up as he watched you beneath his lashes.

“Stop what?”

You wet your lips, “T-that.”

“What, byka ōños?”

“That!” You pointed, running a hand through your hair, “You- You make a mockery of me.”

His head tilted, “I do no such thing.”

“You do.” You countered, looking anywhere but him, “You speak in tongues that I do not understand. For all I know, you could be throwing insult at my person. I know that I am not as educated as you-”

“-Do you want to know what it means? You only need ask.”

“What does it mean?” You breathed, watching as he stood from the couch, sucking all the air from the room as his head slowly came up to your height, then finally looming over you down his nose. 

“What does ‘what’ mean?”

“Fine." You huffed, "You shall stay on the couch, and I shall send word tomorrow-“

“-Little light.”

You lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you felt him step closer to you, your chest heaving as one of his hands reached out to caress a lock of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as his fingertips grazed a path down your neck, his eye intent on you. 

“W-what?”

“Byka ōños,” Aemond purred, “It means ‘little light’.” He took a step closer to you, his chest brushing against yours, warmth immediately seeping into your dress as you craned your head to look up at him, "Byka perzys.”

“And what does that mean?” Your voice was quiet, unsure, the air around you crackling with the tension that had been building for days.

“Little flame.” He translated, large palm moving behind your neck as he gripped the back of it softly, fingers tangling in your hair. Your breath hitched as he moved forward, his eye on your lips, yours on his.

“Byka jelevre.”

“What does t-“

Aemond’s lips crashed into yours hungrily, silencing your question. You squeaked, eyes widening before they slowly slid shut, hands coming to the front of his tunic as you fisted them tightly, rising on your tip toes to meet him. His kiss melted you, a fire being stoked in your gut steadily as the fingers in your hair tightened.

Then as sudden as it came, it stopped. 

You were both panting, looking at one another as his tongue wet his lips.

“Fuck.” He growled, before crashing into you again, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip as you sighed into his embrace.

His other hand wrapped around your waist pulling you tightly against him as his tongue licked at your bottom lip. It was unfamiliar, uncertain, and your lips parted in a small gasp, immediately feeling his tongue lick tentatively at your mouth.

You were still, frozen as you thought of what to do as the hand on your waist moved to pull at your skirts hastily, dragging them up your legs.

And then, it was as though the fog was cleared, and your mind re-emerged. You pulled back with a gasp, hand gripping the wrist that was pulling at your skirts, your eyes searching his face with uncertainty. 

And then, slowly, it dawned on him, realisation washing over his features. 

“You’re untouched?” Came his quiet breath.

You swallowed, shutting your eyes to avoid his prying gaze, too afraid of his next reaction as you answered him. 

“Yes.”

The warmth of his body left yours, and you almost subconsciously followed it, eyes reopening. 

He looked at you with a new expression you could not quite understand. 

Your chest ached to be held again, to feel his want and his hands pressed against your body. To feel his chest against yours, his lips on your own, his tongue teasing yours as you sighed into it. You wished to feel the calluses of his hands, and smell the salt and sandalwood that lingered around him.

You felt stupid for having told him, for having stopped him. You wished you hadn’t. You wished you had just let him have his way-

“-Apologies, Miss. I did not mean to overstep.”

Any thought that you had vanished, and you found yourself gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“I shall retire for the evening.” He took another step back, his eye not once leaving yours as he shifted his body towards your bedroom, “But if I do take your bed, I would like to earn my keep around your home as I recover.”

If this man did one more thing out of the ordinary, you thought your head may spin off your neck.

“Your keep?” You echoed, feeling the tingle in your lips from his kiss. '

Did he mean-

“-Work around the island. Cleaning, gardening. Anything that you need or want from me. I am yours.”

You felt that his last offer meant more, but you did not have the wherewithal to ask for elaboration, nor did you have the courage. 

Gods, what was it about this man that turned you to syrup?

You nodded slowly, watching as relief washed over his features, “It is much appreciated, though I will be hard pressed to find things for you to do yet.” You shifted on your feet, hands wringing together once more, “I shall send word soon of your survival to shore. My pigeo-“

“-No.” Aemond said hastily, to which he recovered a moment afterwards, “No need until I am hale and healthy again. There is no point for false hopes, I may turn on the morrow.”

You shook your head, a small laugh falling from your lips, “I see no possibilities of you turning to meet the Stranger tomorrow. You-“

“-Please.” Came his voice once more, rough and quiet, and more strained than before, “Let me stay dead for a while longer.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[dilemmaontwolegs]

Midnight Blades {7}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: You face the aftermath of your actions and not all of it is as you expected Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, spanking, edging, bondage, orgasm denial, cum play, blood play, knife play, FLUFF WC: 1869

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty ||

Aemond’s silhouette stood at the end of the dock, the flaming torches behind him making him appear even larger than you knew his frame to be. The ripples of the evening breeze across the water seemed to radiate from him as if the rage he held had erupted into the physical universe and you absorbed it all as you stood at the bow, holding the stare you knew was fixated right back at you.

“The prince, is he a good husband to you?” Ser Negan asked quietly as he stood beside you, the place where you had grown accustomed to being filled by Aemond. “If you fear his retaliation for this day, tell me now, before we dock.”

“No, I do not fear him.” You patted his hand that was resting on the pommel of his sword, the other holding the scabbard and he let them fall to his side with a nod. “He is not like the rest of them; I have freedoms that others do not and he accepts me for who I am.”

“He would be a fool not to, princess.” With a pat to your shoulder, Ser Negan walked back to where the sailors were preparing to dock while the rest of the fleet anchored in the harbour and rowed long boats to the camp erected along the shore. 

As the ship was moored beside the waiting prince you placed your boot on the rail and accepted his silent hand, letting him keep you stable as you made the small jump to the dock. “I hope you enjoyed your adventure, my love,” he said quietly as he tucked your arm into his elbow. “You should say your farewells, I am not sure you will be able to make the ride down here any time soon.”

You held your head high and walked away from the ship, refusing to address him as you heard the clear threat in his words. He would not break you, that was the promise you made yourself and your father, so you took your place on his stallion with dignity and raised your fist to the stars - the night erupting with cheers from the ships before Aemond spurred his horse away.

He could probably feel your stomach rumbling for food as you sat in front of him on his horse, the silence tense. You decided he did indeed possess the knowledge you were hungry when he took the long route through the city to the Red Keep, ensuring he passed by the street vendors with the most delicious smelling food. 

“Clever of you to learn High Valyrian,” he broke the silence first and you smiled to yourself in triumph at the small win. “But there was nowhere to land Vhagar. I had already given the order for her to return to the Dragon Pit.”

“That is good news, my prince,” you said sweetly, not believing a word from his mouth, “it would be a shame to have lost control of your dragon, not once but twice.”

“Be serious for one moment,” Aemond growled, exasperated by your attitude that had easily regressed back to those early days after arriving in King’s Landing. “My brother forbade your visitation with the Scythian army. I am trying to balance protecting you and keeping you happy but you continue to spit it back in my face. You dove from my fucking dragon, Y/N.”

You flinched at the sound of your name on his lips and looked down at your lap where his hands lay with the reins, just as it had been on Vhagar. The emptier streets were silent save for the rhythmic clip-clop of his stallion’s hooves on the stone and a pit settled in your stomach as you realised the position you had put him in.

“You terrified me.” His fists tightened around the reins at the admission and you would  have welcomed the pain if he had decided to thump them down on your thighs. “I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t fucking breathe knowing I killed you too.”

His words were barely a whisper by the time he finished and he silently crossed under the open archway into Red Keep, dismounting the moment the stable boy appeared. You felt sick as the light of the sconces shimmered in his eye with unshed tears and you didn’t feel worthy of his touch as he helped you down with his hands on your waist.

“My apologies, Aemond,” you choked as you placed your palm to his cheek. “I did not think you cared so deeply for me.”

He pressed his cheek further into your touch as he savoured the gentleness of it. “You are infuriating, impulsive and frighteningly fearless.” He reached up and pulled his leather patch from his head, an action he rarely did when out of the privacy of your chambers. “I see you, princess, and you are beautiful.”

You traced his scar with your thumb as you cupped his face to draw him closer to your height. He didn’t dare blink as you tipped your head back to place a kiss over the raised red ruin before pressing your forehead to his and sharing his breath.

“I see you too.”

–

The air was charged with the remnants of rage and the overwhelming rush of desire the courtyard confessions had brought. Maids and guards darted aside as the turbulent storm, that was you and Aemond rushing to your chambers, passed by. 

Your dress was still damp and the salt had shrunk some of the material, hindering Aemond’s access until he grew frustrated and unsheathed his dagger. You stumbled back against the table as he cut the outer layer and grabbed it with his hands, tearing through the shift beneath like a man possessed. 

“Laehurlion qrīdrughagon,” he ordered with the same air of command he used to bend his will to his dragon. Your legs went weak at the sound of the language rolling off his tongue and you turned away from him, gripping the table's edge. “Good girl.”

Aemond dropped to his knees behind you and you felt his warm breath on your thighs before he ran his tongue over your aching core, dipping the tip in teasingly and humming at the taste. You waited for more but his lips trailed over the swell of your ass before he buried his teeth in the meat of it, a surprised scream tearing from your lips. The table shook as your hips jerked away from him, spilling the wine and tea across the meal that had been laid out before your arrival. 

“You should get used to standing, sweet wife,” Aemond chuckled darkly. “Sitting will not be comfortable when I am done with you.”

He rose to his feet and crossed the room to the bed, taking two lengths of rope from the trunk at the foot of it and tying them around the posts at the head of it. “I did warn you.”

You licked your lips as he threw his tunic to the floor but left his leather riding pants low on his hips and the lace undone. Though he was lean, the defined muscles beneath the surface held a formidable strength and your mouth went dry at the sight of him standing with the rope, ready to deliver his punishment upon you.

Your teeth bit into the pillow and absorbed your scream as Aemond’s leather belt lashed across your bare ass once again. 

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothed as he ran his hands softly over the welts left in his wake. Your skin was burning but he blew cool air across it before kissing his markings, adding his teeth to the thick lines already showing. He tugged your hips and pulled you onto your knees so your ass was high in the air and felt for the moisture leaking from your slit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you are dripping for me.”

Aemond licked his fingers before the belt was discarded, his leather pants with it, and he knelt behind you, spearing you with his cock as you wrapped your hands around the bindings and tried to look over your shoulder to see him. A slap landed on your tender skin and you gasped as you pushed your hips back to take him as deep as your body would allow.

“Does my little whore deserve to cum?” Aemond asked as he pulled back, leaving the leaking tip of his cock at your swollen entrance. “I don’t think you do, not yet.”

You fought against the bindings to push back onto his cock but they were secure and tight with no leeway to move closer to him. It was the grunt from his lips and the brush of his fist that had a whimper filling the air. He was pleasuring himself and your cunt was merely a hole to receive his release.

“Please, Aemond, I need you, I need to cum,” you begged as his hand pumped along his shaft and the head seemed to swell before warmth flooded you and he slammed himself deep within your core. 

Aemond’s deep moan reverberated through you as he withdrew and replaced his spent cock with his long fingers. He captured the cum the leaked from your cunt and pushed it back in, curling his fingers as he did and riding them over the soft spot that had you writhing once again. 

The pressure built and you could hardly breathe as you smothered yourself against the pillow. Every muscle coiled tightly and your body began to tremble, it felt as if the room were suddenly on fire as sweat broke across your skin. 

“Oh Aemond!” you screamed as the pleasure overwhelmed you and you collapsed to the mattress with body convulsions in waves to your release. 

The ropes were slashed and your raw wrists dropped to the bed before Aemond rolled you over and grinned at the lazy smile on your lips, your eyes half closed with exhaustion. 

“So beautiful.”

You expected him to join you in bed, accustomed to the warmth of his body as he cocooned you and gently massaged the aches away, but he went to the table and attempted to salvage some food, bringing a small plate back with him. “Open.”

You parted your lips for him and let him feed you a small helping of grapes and dried figs, nipping at his fingers with a defiant smirk as he recoiled his hand back. “You marked me, but I have yet to leave mine on you, dear husband.”

He looked at his chest with a quirked eyebrow, the scars from your blades as well as the marks from your nails contradicting you. Ignoring his cocky attitude, you took the plate and placed it on the bed before grabbing one of the many hidden daggers. 

“It is time to collect a debt you owe me,” you purred as you knelt before him and leant down to place a kiss over his heart, the same place you would mark your initials upon. “Now, you are mine too.” 

Aemond shivered as you ran your fingers through the small trail of blood pooling on his chest, his voice thick with emotion, “I was yours the moment you threatened my manhood.”

Click here for Part Eight

Taglist: @hopebaker , @xcharlottemikaelsonx , @mariamyousef702

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[poisonsage808]

♡ Sword and Scissors ♡

Targaryen!Reader x Erryk Cargyll

You were lingering in the mouth of Aegon’s chambers rather than dare to step any further inside should his fickle temper decide to flare. A soft smile graced your lips in hopes it would charm him enough to succeed in your endeavors.

“Brother, I wondered if I might steal a portion of your night. I thought we’d both benefit greatly fr—“

“Just tell me what you want, I don’t understand you when you speak like mother.” Aegon slurs, stumbling like a new sailor who’s yet to earn their sea legs but somehow still strutting arrogantly.

The small, wooden chest in your hands is held up for him to see, “Mother wants me to practice.”

“What does that have to do with me?” He looks at you like you’re a gnat he’s about to swat away, dying for you to leave.

“You haven’t allowed anyone to touch your hair in months, I thought—“

“Did you? Not hard enough, apparently. You have two other siblings to bother, go ask one of them.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and clutch the box tightly, “I cut Helaena’s hair yesterday… Aemond’s the day before.”

Aegon sighs exasperatedly and calls for the guard loudly. There’s a single breath of silence before the sound of metal clicks and Ser Erryk stands directly in the doorway.

“Yes, your grace.”

“Send someone to bring me more wine then you’re dismissed to go with my sister. Let her hack at your mane instead. Perhaps after we’ll be able to tell the difference between you and your brother.”

~

The box might’ve been opened but the scissors remained inside and on your desk. Same with the ivory comb, the bracelets and rings that usually decorated your hands. Running through light brown locks with ease were your bare fingers, nails scraping against the man’s scalp before separating his hair into sections. From your lips hummed a tune you seemed to know when he was around. It was only for him to hear.

“You’re uncomfortable.” You comment, bringing your fingers to the ends of his hair a final time leaving a completed braid in the wake, “Would you like to leave?”

“No, princess, I apologize.”

“You’ve done nothing to warrant an apology, Ser Erryk.”

“I’ve interrupted your creative process,” His lips quirk briefly as you round the chair to stand before him. The purest adoration flashes across his blue eyes and suddenly his smile is contagious, though yours lingers longer. Looking up at you the way he did brings a warmth to your cheeks. That wasn’t new though, Ser Erryk was usually responsible for that with you… amongst other things.

“Consider it welcomed. I have no intention of bringing scissors anywhere near your head.”

“The prince said to cut my hair.”

You hummed and brushed a loose strand behind his ear, “I like your hair.”

“My beard then.” Ser Erryk’s voice drops to a hush with the faintest of smirks.

“I like your beard.” You whisper pointedly, ghosting your fingertips along his jaw until you reach his chin. When your index ran over the pulse on his neck you felt it quicken. Just as you felt the man swallow hard on nothing when your eyes dropped to his lips.

“Princess—“

“You know my name, Ser Erryk. Please use it.” A request and a gentle one at that.

And he does. It’s rare but when he does, he always sings your name softly like he’s afraid someone would hear. There’s a tenderness in Erryk’s voice that tugs your lips into a smile. Your hand retreats yet is gently stolen from the air by his own.

“It would look suspicious if I left the same way I arrived.” He says with a soft smile, bringing your knuckles to his lips afterwards.

You giggle softly, “If you think Aegon will remember, you have much more faith in him than I thought.” You step in the gap of Erryk’s knees, resting your spare hand on his armored shoulder, “Still tense.”

“Apologies,” he says again, this time with a cheeky grin.

“I don’t want your apologies, I want you to be comfortable with me.” You say so sinfully yet earnestly.

“Perhaps tell me so when you’re standing elsewhere.”

Torturously slow, to give Erryk the opportunity to deny your advance, you bend your knees and finally perch yourself on his thigh.

“Now I’m sitting. Are you comfortable?”

Seven save him, no.

His arm still comes to secure you in place. If you move back you’ll fall and if you move forward you’ll— You can’t move forward. He won’t let you. His hand doesn’t tremble on your waist, it's greedy and reveling in the texture of your dress while his mind wonders if the skin underneath is just as soft. Your hand is soft. Your lips look soft but he tears his blue eyes up from them when the thought arises. While Erryk was embarrassed to be caught looking, you were elated. There’s a smile now that wrinkles your eyes in pure delight and a gentle blush that warms your cheeks.

Gods be good. He should take his leave now.

“Princess,” Erryk’s words are lost while he looks directly into a sea of violet.

“Ser Erryk.”

His heart flutters when his name falls from those pretty, soft lips but it always does when he hears you say it.

The hands held together tightly slowly, agonizingly slowly, find new homes on the other. Erryk’s rests on your elbow while you reach to place yours on his scruffy cheek. It could have been you, it could have been him or perhaps even both. One way or the other lips gently met and refused to part. The sweetness turns to hunger in an instant. The stolen glances, fleeting touches, hushed whispers and bursts of giggles between you were suddenly not enough.

Not for the knight, nor the princess.

#x reader #game of thrones imagine #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #ser erryk x reader #ser erryk cargyll #poiboidrabbles #imagine #game of thrones #writeblr #house of the dragon

[dearsnow]

SALT FARE, NORTH SEA

- when a dragon falls from the sky, decimating your ship and bringing a strange boy along for the ride, you begin to question if the some of the targaryens are really as bad as they seem. (aged up!lucerys velaryon x fem!reader, angst to fluff, ur burning hatred is quenched by time spent on the sea 🤞) MAJOR SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON! au where vhagar doesn’t kill luke, arrax just gets absolutely mauled and falls out of the sky. aged up luke because I didn’t realize he was that young when i started writing 💀. ⚠️ TW for death, suicidal thoughts, and trauma.

word count: 4,213 (jesus christ)

a/n - ohhhh my god guys i’m back!!!! this was certainly a labor of love. i don’t know if I’ll start writing consistently again, but i really hope i do. i love you guys so much and thank you for the continued support even when i’m on hiatus! also i’m sorry if luke is ooc because i choose to believe he’s quietly funny and a little bit of a menace 😭

As the waves batter the sides of your ship, you don’t feel seasick. You feel the spray, see the occasional silvery fish zip by under the water. The sun beats down on your exposed neck and the motion swirls your mind, but you are sick for an entirely different reason.

Betrothal. God, you hate how that word sits on your tongue like a hot piece of meat. You are to be sent off to the their of family, married into their lineage and forced to bear their children until your womb shrivels like a sun-dried date. Of  all of your options, the Targaryens are certainly the worst. 

Aemond, in particular. You’ve heard stories of his cold demeanor, how he could kill you with a look. With his hands, too. He is quite the skilled swordsman, not that you would ever wish to witness it. He is the one you are set to marry.

Oh, the misery. The horror. You can feel bile rising in your throat whenever someone mentions him or his mother, great Queen Alicent.

You figure, though, at least it isn’t his brother.

You come from a noble family. It was bound to happen anyways. Trade your Martell name for some haughty lord’s and become his sow for the rest of your life. Your short, miserable life. In some ways, you are a bit grateful. You will never want for food and you know you’ll bring great honor to your family by marrying into the Targaryens. 

You just wish you could marry for another reason, not just forging alliances and heating up old, cold ones. You could have a happy life with the person of your choosing. You could sell fish on the shores of the sea and pick flowers in a field.

You play with this notion in your head before you hear a mighty crash and the sound of splintering wood.

The screams come mere seconds later. They pierce the air as snapping bones and rending flesh ring out. You stumble back, nearly falling off the edge of the ship. Large chunks of meat have started raining from the sky, crushing everything in their path.

You feel your heart beat so fast it nearly leaps out of your chest as you scramble for friction. Fuck, what the hell?

With the meat there comes blood, great amounts of it. It trips the sailors up, sending them careening over the wooden edges and into the sea. 

You narrowly miss the giant dragon wing that splits the boat in two. The entire thing has started sinking, and your blood runs cold. 

The ship is tilted from the massive gash in the center. Water is mixing with blood, and your dress is soaked to the bone. You can’t help but think that the finest silks Dorne can offer will drag you to the bottom of the depths.

As you clamber to the top of the ship’s bow as another fast-moving figure falls into the water. You don’t notice it in the moment. 

A shove comes from behind, pushing you to the side. Your back aches where you were struck.

“M’lady, m'lady! The lifeboat, you must take the boat. Go, go! Right now, m'lady.”

It’s Finhard, the deck swabber. He has two missing fingers, a lame knee, and a million stories. He swabbed the deck of The Sandstorm from port to port, collecting any and all information he could along the way. You loved talking to him so much it made the trip almost worth it. He always helped you sneak food to the cat stowing away on board. The cat you’re sure is now dead.

“What about you?” You question, voice loud but shaky. You can’t just leave him here.

“I’m a dead man, m’lady. I don’t matter.”

“But you do!” You insist, tugging on his arm. The screams are still ringing like alarms, and your limbs feel locked and like jelly at the same time.

“No, no. I might sink it. Girl’s damaged already. Please go, girlie. Jus’ remember me when you eat your next fish, alright?”

A pit pools in your stomach as you whip around to look at the small lifeboat. He’s right. The boat wouldn’t be able to hold you and a grown man, at least not one of Finhard’s size.

“Get on. I’ll push ya off, and you better have a damn good time with that prince of yours.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes as you watch your trusted confidant steel his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Finhard. I’m so so sorry,” You sob, clutching his rough palms. “I promise I’ll think of you always.”

“Thas’ all I ask for.” His voice is rough and uncut, hardened yet soft, like a feather made of chainmail. He picks you up like a sack of potatoes and places you in the rickety boat with the gentleness of a father setting down his newborn. He gives you one final kiss on the forehead before untying the boat and shoving it into the roiling water. 

Small hairs cling to your forehead as the ship lights up in a blaze sure to be seen from the shore. Your face is so wet with tears you feel as though the ocean is the product of them.

You sob into your hands as the people who took care of you on your journey sink, their bawls leaving a scar in your memory.

It’s not even ten minutes after the foremast begins to sink that you see a dark shape bobbing along in the water next to you. You stifle a gasp, thinking it must surely be a shark or a dead man. The water around it was red and heavy. 

When it floats closer to you, you see for the first time that it’s a boy. A boy who must be around your age, maybe sixteen or seventeen. His wrist gives a little twitch, and you resolve that you must rescue him. 

He wasn’t on your ship unless he was stowing away in the barrels, as teenagers often do. No matter his situation, you grab his soaked shirt and give a hard tug. 

The effort almost tips your boat, nearly sending you spiraling into the water. You give a little huff. The waterlogged boy is definitely heavier than you expected.

You try again, managing to get his arm hooked around the side of the boat. From there, it’s just a game of strength- you pull him up, using his clothing as a sort of lever to shimmy him out of the water. You roll him over, the water streaming off of him re-splattering your already wet clothes with water and fresh blood. The boat dips a little with his weight, but it does not sink. You praise the Seven under your breath. He has a cut on the side of his head, one that requires medical care far past the simple fixes you’ve learned.

You try to dress it anyways. Ripping a long strip of cloth from the bottom of your underskirt, you wrap it up and pray he doesn’t lose much more blood. 

You can still hear the creaking of The Sandstorm, though any humans were sucked under long ago. It makes a melancholy sound, blending with the waves and the seabirds and the rain that has started pattering down. A lump forms in your throat as you gaze at the wreckage. Hot water slides down your face as you sit in your little lifeboat, waiting for death that will most certainly come for your throat. 

It’s about two hours of lonely drifting before the boy wakes up. He opens his eyes slowly, then they widen as he gives a gurgling shout.

“Augh!” You stifle a giggle, though your voice is still wobbly from sobs.

He notices you and sits up, bewildered. As he takes in his surroundings, you sit and watch.

“Who are you? Where am I? Where is Arrax?” 

“I am nobody now, and we are in the middle of the ocean,” You gesture to the water surrounding every inch of your sight. “And I don’t know who Arrax is.” He sure has a lot of questions, though you can’t fault him for it.

“Arrax, my dragon. I… I think he’s…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

You stare at him in shock.

“Your dragon? The dragon that fell out of the sky in twenty pieces?” You question, voice heated. “The one that just killed a crew of fifty-two men?”

He’s silent for a moment. “So he’s dead?”

“Of course he’s dead, you imbecile! Did you not hear what I just said? He killed them. All of them. I’m the only survivor.”

“I’m sorry.” He mutters. He brings his knees to his chest and hugs them. “It was never my fault. It was him that killed Arrax, so it is him that killed your crew.”

“Who is him?”

“That bastard of a prince, Aemond. He and his dragon, Vhagar, chased us across the skies and attacked us in the air.”

Your hands tighten into fists as your throat constricts like you swallowed a spiny rock. You regret ever saving the boy, and you regret not slitting your throat when you heard of your betrothal to the murderer. Everything you’ve heard about Aemond is true. Your rage boils into hatred, and you swear that if you ever see him you will die and take him with you.

“So that must mean you’re a Targaryen too?” You say, trying to keep your voice level. It’s a skill you had to learn as a noble lady, but the hate building in your chest is almost too violent to quiet.

“Lucerys Velaryon, my lady.” He eyes you, taking note of your expensive yet ruined dress. He must know you’re not a commoner either.

You know the Targaryens are the only ones with proper access to a dragon, but you should have known that only someone descended from one could cause such absolute and utter destruction. It’s not Lucerys’s fault, you tell yourself. Don’t put the blame on him. Put on a smile and become your best even-tempered and kind self. But gods, the way you want to wring his neck for an event he seemingly had no control over.

“Why did he do it?” You ask. The tears from earlier start creating a pressure behind your eyes again. 

“Because I took his eye.” Lucerys’s voice is weak, but it has the strum of nobility that you know like a well-oiled harp. “He wanted revenge, an eye for an eye. So I ran. He found me in the sky and bit my dragon in half. I never meant to kill anybody.” So they’re all the same, the princes. Hardened and cruel and psychopaths. “Did you save me?”

“I suppose I did.” You want so badly to say ‘but I shouldn’t have’, but you hold your tongue.

“That is a debt I can never repay. Thank you. I’m truly sorry.” You shake your head. It’s not his fault, you repeat. You still cannot find it in yourself to forgive him. “What’s your name?”

You think for a brief moment. It wouldn’t hurt, you think, to tell him your name. That way when you both die, at least the man you’re stuck with will know the name of the woman that hated his family the most out of anyone in the world.

You speak your name, including your Martell family name, and he looks at you, eyes widened so much you think they will pop out of his skull.

“Aemond’s betrothed?” You are marrying into the greens, and Lucerys feels as though he should hate you for it. Unluckily for his honor, he cannot despise the girl who pulled him from the sea.

“Yes, what sorry luck.” You spit. “I would rather drown than go through with it.” You think of the promise you made to Finhard. “No, I would put poison in his chalice and watch him drink it.”

He laughs a bit, his voice ringing out against the repetitive sound of waves. “And I will buy the poison.” You allow yourself to smile. You hate it, but you smile.

You’ve always been the weirder daughter, yet the one that tries to talk with the lords and ladies and puts on a shining performance. That’s where the smile comes from, from all the times you’ve had to put your pearly whites on display. The morals have gone to shit, but the reflex is still burned into your person.

“You needn’t call me ‘my lord’. We’re even here, out on the sea.” He says. You can feel that’s not the only reason. A spark of guilt shimmers in the corners of his eyes. “Just call me Luke.”

“And you may call me by my name, Luke.” He’s right. There are no titles, only salt water and spray.

You watch the moon in the sky as it shines its beams down on your face. It sees everything. Every deal in secret, every promise you’ve ever made. It’s a gentle reminder that every person sees the same thing every night. You and Luke sit in silence, staring up at it. You wonder if your mother sees it too, from her ship. Can Finhard and the other sailors see it, from their watery graves? Can they forgive you for not saving them? For saving the life of a boy, whose mass is just under the weight limit of the boat? You glance over at him.

He’s staring at you, at how the soft rays of the moon highlight the curves and edges of your face. He feels a pit in his stomach, one that is not from hunger. It’s a gnawing feeling, guilt. He hates that he had to trade his life for fifty sailors. He thinks he would rather be at the bottom of the sea than see more tear tracks on your face. Another feeling eats at him, though he’s not sure what it is. It makes his insides churn and scrambles his mind.

He averts his eyes and looks at the stars once more.

You spend another two days floating in the water. You’re both sunburned and salt dried, and his skin is red and peeling. The conversation between the both of you had been dry up until today.

“May I have the flask?” He asks. You hand it over. For two whole days, all you have had to eat and drink is two flasks of water, a packet of dried fish, and some bread that has gone mushy from the water slowly seeping into your boat. You have to bail it out every hour or so.

“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” Luke questions, his voice rough. “Is anyone coming for us?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. I would like to think there are boats out searching, but truly, they must expect us to be dead. Besides that, we have drifted so far away from the shipwreck that we might not be found even if they were searching.” He shakes his head, hair stiff from the salty spray.

“I would like to keep hope alive.”

“You are the only one.” You hear a small laugh from next to you. 

“You know, I could not ask for a better person to be stranded with.” He screws the cap back onto his flask carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you certainly know how to ration supplies. And your optimism is inspiring.” A giggle bubbles up from beneath your buried feelings. 

“Is that sarcasm, my dear lord?”

He smiles. You can’t help but notice that his smile is contagious, the kind that reaches his eyes. The kind you found yourself dreaming about, and the kind you are certain your betrothed never wears. 

“Only if you make it out to be.” He pauses. “So, what was your life like in Dorne?”

Your eyes narrow. Small talk? It brings you back to your past. Talking to potential suitors and bearing their questions as they try to judge if you’re worth their money. It’s almost nice, the reminder. Before the wreck, you had been happy. Cheerful, even. You were nothing like you are now, hardened and weak and so close to putting sand in your pockets and drowning you can taste the seawater. 

“Why do you ask?”

“I figured it would be nice to know you. To really know you.” His words bring an odd sense of comfort to you.

“It was much nicer than this. I had friends and family, that was the best part. I never wanted for much of anything. I suppose I felt out of place sometimes, and I felt lonely like nothing else, but it helped to know that I could always have a home with the people I loved.” He nods, and the waves push against the boat. The sun is setting, condemning you to another sleepless night. “What about you?”

“I love my home, my people, and my family. I never felt up to the task of being lord of Driftmark, though,” He confesses, “and sometimes I still feel like a fraud. Gods, I don’t know why I told you that.” He knows. There’s something about your eyes, something that makes him want to spill every secret he has ever had. He wants to tell you about the time he stole Aemond’s knife, causing Aemond to pick a fight with Aegon. Or when he heard an argument between his mother and stepfather, or when his older brother snuck a frog into the pocket of a handmaiden. Your eyes burn with stifled anger and buried hopes and love.

You look at him with an odd expression. “It’s alright. Might as well get everything out while you can.” You know the feeling of not being enough well. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully when we get out of here.” You find yourself comforting him for god knows what reason. You should be angry, full of hatred and buzzing bees, but you can only feel sympathy for the boy across from you.

“When we get out of here? Where was that optimism earlier?” He teases, making you smile.

“It was killed and brought back to life. I have decided that I’m not going to die.” His laugh rings out, showering you in a feeling that makes you shiver.

“That’s a good thing to decide. I swear it too, we are not going to die. Aemond will never kill our spirit nor our bodies.” He takes your hands, palms rough and calloused. It makes your heart pound in a way you never expected. “We will be alright.”

You nod, hope blooming in your heart. Suddenly, the world seems just a little bit brighter. That’s when you see it; the seagull flying overhead.

You gasp, pointing up to the sky. It lets out a sharp cry as it circles around, and soon Luke is looking at it too. You’re so relieved that tears well up in your eyes.

Land must be near. It has to be. 

“Praise the gods.” He grins, dropping your hands to shield his eyes from the sun. “We will surely reach the shores soon.”

“I can only hope.” You whisper.

You spend another day on the water, your hopeful eyes searching for mountains or fields. All you can see is blue water, blue skies, and Lucerys Velaryon. You found that you’ve grown to like him, as fucked as your past self might have considered it. He actually treats you like a person. 

He squints into the distance. “I still don’t see anything. Maybe… maybe the bird was a fluke. A gull straying too far from the shore.”

You hit his shoulder lightly. “Don’t think like that.”

“It seems we’ve switched roles,” He smiles, “you’re the positive one now.”

“We certainly have rubbed off on each other.” The corners of your mouth lift into a little grin. Truth be told, your own hope is starting to fade, but you will never let him know. 

You’ve begun to notice things about the sea that you have never seen before. Schools of small fish darting below the surface, the pattern of the waves, even how chilly the water is. As the sun shines down, the water is peaceful. Maybe it’s a side effect of the trauma, or maybe it’s just you growing more comfortable with the idea of salt water. In any case, you suppose you need to look at its beauty to fan the dying flame of light burning inside you. It’s far easier to love than to keep hating. 

“The day is quite beautiful, isn’t it?” You whisper. 

“I suppose it is.” He says, but he’s not looking at the sky.

You are infatuating. The way the sun glints off your eyes enraptures him and keeps him in a state of lovely drunkenness. “Do you wish to marry my uncle?” There’s a hint of something more behind his voice. It’s almost desperate, and the thought makes you shiver.

You hesitate. “Not particularly. It would bring honor to my family, that I am sure of. So I will do it, but I will likely not enjoy it.”

“I understand that. I myself am betrothed to someone I can’t see myself loving.”

“The lady Rhaena Targaryen?” You know of her. The idea of him marrying the girl painted by the gods twists your heart in a way you can’t even comprehend.

He sighs. “Yes. It is my duty, but I cannot see her as anything but a sister. That’s all she’s been to me my entire life.”

“Duty is a wicked thing,” You muse, “pulling us away from opportunities to enrich our own lives.”

He nods. “If you could choose, is there anyone you would want to be married to?”

You think for a bit but eventually shake your head. “Do you have a special someone?”

“I am beginning to discover one.” He says. What does he mean by that?

When you look at him, staring far into the distance, you start to realize.

When the days grow dim, you huddle into each other for warmth. That’s why you fall asleep tonight, softened by his touch. Finally, you sleep for more than half an hour at a time. Luke’s arms are wrapped around you, as the lifeboat leaves little room for comfort, and the rock of the ship lulls you into a dream.

You wake to a jolt. You have no idea how long you’ve been asleep, but the moon is out and there is sand underneath your hull. Sand. Ground. You scramble to sit up, pulling Luke along with you. “Sand! Luke, it’s sand. We’ve made it! Gods be good, we have made it to land.” You grab at the wet grains, letting them clump and filter through your fingers. He lets out a loud cheer and pulls you in.

Out of nowhere, as you still have earth in your hands, he kisses you. His lips are rough and dry, but so are yours. He tastes like salt water and love.

When he finally pulls away, he is grinning like a lunatic. “We’ve made it, my lady. We survived.”

“What happened to our no titles agreement?” You tease, still flustered. Your cheeks are as hot as the surface of the sun.

“We’re on land now. The rules of society apply again, I’m afraid.” His whisper ghosts against your ear like he’s almost afraid to lose the closeness he gathered over the course of the last few days.

“Of course,” You say, pressing your lips to his cheek, “I would expect nothing different from such a high-ranking and strong man such as yourself.” 

He places a hand where you kissed him. Your skin may be chapped, but that damned kiss was sweeter and softer than spun sugar.

“I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding, my lady.” A glint of humor dances in his eye.

He steps out of the boat and offers a hand to you. The ground wobbles under your feet and you almost fall, but he is there to steady you. “Wait, I know this beach!” He realizes as he gazes upon the scenery. “It’s the beach off Dragonstone. I’m… I’m home.”

“Really?” You feel hope bubbling through your body. “You know where we are?”

“I do. Dragonstone is there, above those cliffs. Come on, let’s go!” He tugs your arm just a bit too hard, sending you sprawling into the sand. You grab onto his sleeve and pull him down too, leaving you both in a fit of giggles. 

You’re both weak and tired and sore, but your flames grow brighter every second you’re on solid land. “Race me!” He yells, taking off from the ground on shaky feet. You dart after him, all your earlier burdens seemingly gone.

You probably won’t catch him, but it’s okay. Right now, your future is ahead of you, your rage is behind, the land pounds beneath your feet, and the boy with brown hair is calling for you to join him.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

Taglist (bolded means unable to tag): @mmmimilan @its-halleys-comet @savagemickey03 @persephonesportal @lovelyliliya @the-jess-life @spaceandstars @bbosica @hopelesswritergall @watercolorskyy

#solar eclipse. #house of the dragon #lucerys velaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon #luke velaryon x reader #lucerys x reader #hotd x reader #hotd fic #lucerys strong #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon lucerys

[flowerandblood]

Song from the Sea (5) (End)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Greyjoy! • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: mention of sex, fluff]

[description: Aemond and Aegon arrive in the Iron Islands, to confirm the arrangements made years ago and the marriage of Lord Greyjoy's daughter to Aemond. (Anon Request) During a break on a long journey, at one of the taverns Aegon drags him to, Aemond meets a woman, who will change his life forever. (Anon Request) Smut, angst, sexual tension, domination.]

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond tossed and turned throughout the night, waking and falling into a deep, restless sleep alternately. He wasn't used to having someone lying so close to him, pressed against his body, her intense scent arousing him, and not letting him fall asleep in peace.

Once in a while, he would open his eye, to see her relaxed face, dreaming peacefully, her partially exposed breasts rising and falling steadily.

There was something reassuring about the sight, the sense, that this could be their life. He did not expect, that his future wife would be able to arouse his desire. That he'll like, what he sees in front of him. Looking at her now, he no longer felt anger or frustration. He closed his eye, trying to fall asleep again.

Deep sleep came only in the morning, when the sun was slowly rising. He heard the sailors already running around the ship above them. He muttered, trying not to focus on their loud screams, burying his face in her hair, hugging her back slightly.

He heard her slowly start to rise. His hand tightened on her nightgown, when he made a long growl from his chest, clearly dissatisfied. He heard her smile at the sound.

"I have to go up. The captain needs me." She said softly, he could feel her looking at him.

"Tell him, that you'll spend the morning with your husband." He hummed low, half asleep.

It took him a moment to open his eye, swallowing hard, feeling a cold sweat on his back, realizing, what he had just said. He heard her shift uneasily in her seat, surprised.

"I can't. Husband." She whispered the last words in such a way, that heat ran through his body. Embarrassed by his appearance, he didn't respond to her words and released her, turning his back on her.

"I'll be up soon." He spoke low, impassive. He shivered as her hand gently stroked his back.

"All right." She said softly and stood up, quietly opening the door and closing it behind her.

Only then did he turn onto his back and rub his hand across his face. After what they'd done, what they'd said to each other, he had to remind himself, that they were only engaged. He shouldn't talk to her like that, much less fuck her. He sighed heavily, knowing, that he wouldn't fall asleep again.

He came out on deck after a few minutes. He saw with surprise, that the sky was cloudless, the sun shining on the horizon, rising slowly, the sea calm around them. He saw Lady Greyjoy, talking quickly about something with the other man, who had accompanied her to the inn at the time, bald and all tattooed, an earring in his ear.

When they saw him, they stopped talking, and he felt uneasy at the thought. He wondered, if they were talking about him and turned away, pressing his lips together. It made him sick to think, that she might have told someone, about what they were doing.

She approached him slowly, her hair partly pinned back, blowing in the light breeze. Her expression, unlike his, was gentle and calm. She even smiled at him, keeping some distance from him, remembering good manners.

"We will have breakfast together with the captain, if you will allow it, my prince." She said contentedly.

My prince. Not my husband.

He thought of her, moaning the words again and again, as he fucked her. As if she wanted to get used to the sound of these words on her tongue, to disenchant them, so that they would not associate her with coercion and betrayal of her father, but with pleasure.

He nodded at her words and they both went to the captain's cabin.

Captain Seray's room was much larger than his. There was a table in the middle, on which were spread out maps, goblets, rum bottles and books. Everything in the room seemed to be arranged chaotically and without order. He saw, that there were also metal plates and tankards, in bowls pickled cucumbers, herrings, cabbage and other dishes, that had no right to spoil at sea.

Captain Seray stood up, reaching out to them, kissing Lady Greyjoy on the cheek. He didn't dare touch Aemond, only nodded at him, inviting him to the table with his hand, his expression good-natured and coarse. He sat down heavily, on the other side of the table, placing his hands on his rather large stomach, reaching for a large jug of wine.

"We're not going to drink rum for breakfast!" He laughed low, pouring himself a cup full. Aemond stared at it blankly, trying not to show his embarrassment.

Lady Greyjoy rose, taking the pitcher from the captain, pouring herself some wine, but much less than him. She handed it to him, and he looked at her, surprised. The captain laughed at his expression.

"No one will serve you here, my prince." He said gently.

Aemond gritted his teeth, as he took the jug from her and poured himself more wine, than usual. He figured, that if he was going to get through this breakfast without offending anyone, he needed more alcohol. He set the pitcher down on the table with a loud noise, and Lady Greyjoy and the captain exchanged a knowing glance across the table.

The captain helped himself to a few herrings and easily tore a large loaf of bread, immediately stuffing a piece into his mouth. He had enough tact to swallow what he ate first, and then speak. He washed down his mouthful with a great bow of wine and set his goblet down on the table, sighing contentedly.

"How did you sleep, my prince? I hope you didn't suffer any inconvenience." He said, wiping his white mustache and beard from the last drops of wine. Aemond stared at him impassively. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Lady Greyjoy had put a few things on her plate and decided he would take the same as hers.

"Very well, thank you." He said matter-of-factly, taking a piece of dried ham into his mouth. It was terribly salty, but upon further reflection, he found it surprisingly tasty.

“Your wife-to-be has never given up her cabin to anyone else. It's been hers since she was eight." Said Captain Seray, amused, Lady Greyjoy laughed lightly at his words as she continued eating. “She snuck onto my ship under the cover of night. By the time we discovered she was on board, we were too far from the Iron Islands to turn back."

He thought, glancing at her thoughtfully, that he had been little older than her, when he had snuck out of the palace after Laena Velaryon's death, to tame Vhagar. The first time he mounted her great back, he felt the wind in his hair and the blood rushing through his veins, as she flew high in the air. He lowered his gaze at the thought, that he was taking everything she loved from her.

"Tomorrow we will reach the port, where we are to pick up the goods, after which we will return to the Iron Islands." He continued, and Lady Greyjoy pursed her lips, looking down, swallowing silently the bite, that she had just taken into her mouth.

When they left the captain's cabin, they hardly spoke to each other. His wife commanded part of the crew and kept the course on track, and he wasn't going to disturb her, recognizing, that since it was her last voyage, he will let her use it, as she wished. He went below deck and delved into the book, that he had started reading the day before. Once in a while, though, he would break away from her, to glance out the small window.

He wondered, how she would find herself in King's Landing. It worried him more and more, that her role and what was expected of her, might overwhelm her. She was a traveler, a free spirit, not a lark in a gilded cage like most of the ladies, that he knew. He was afraid, that in confinement, she would slowly wither and die. He thought that, in fact, she would have no one there, but him.

She spent the next nights in his cabin, in his bed. Even though they didn't talk all day, it was only when she lay naked beneath him, that she moaned sweetly words, that made him hot, all he wanted to hear. She called him her husband, her dragon, her king, driving him crazy, making his fingers clench tighter around her sticky, hot body.

Each time he came deep inside her. He thought, that he wouldn't be surprised, if she found out, that she was already bearing his child. The thought of his offspring in her womb filled him with pride. He wondered, what kind of mother she would be and what kind of father he would be. He pursed his lips at the thought, that she might die in childbirth, the first wife of his father.

She let him fall asleep, with his face pressed against her chest. She wrapped her arms around his head, enclosing him in the warm, secure embrace of her body. She would stroke his hair then, humming a calm, nautical tune, and he, to his own surprise, fell asleep almost immediately, waking up only in the morning.

He saw a change in her demeanor on the last day of their journey. She left his cabin before he woke up. At breakfast she was pale and didn't speak much, locked up in her own world. He thought, that he felt sorry for her, but he couldn't find any words of comfort for her. When she saw the Iron Islands on the horizon, she turned her head and went below without a word.

As they moored to shore, he saw out of the corner of his eye, that Captain Seray walk over to her, taking her hands in his. He gave her his compass, speaking quickly, and she burst into soft sobs. Several other men came up to her, embracing her, apparently saying goodbye. Aemond looked down, knowing, that he was the cause of it all, but he couldn't help it.

He invited her to come with him to King's Landing on Vhagar, but she refused. She preferred to go on a ship, to look at the sea. He was disappointed by her answer, but he understood and respected her decision. He bid her a courteous farewell, knowing, that he wouldn't see her for weeks.

When Aemond returned to the Red Keep, he couldn't find himself. A few days on the ship had completely changed him, making local gossip, fawning lying lords and chattering ladies more irritating, than usual. He felt like an actor in a theater, feeling, that nothing around him was real. He thought, surprised, that he wished she had come sooner, than planned.

Even though he didn't have to, he had been waiting for her at the dock with Ser Criston on the day she arrived. Ser Criston had tried to question him about his future wife, as had his mother, but they had gotten no response from him. He didn't want to talk to them about it.

He felt his heart beat faster, when he saw her. She wore an ornate, black coat and long, black pants, her hair braided back in a fancier hairstyle than usual. She walked slowly down the plank to the shore, looking at her husband uncertainly. He saw, that she was pale. That she's afraid. His chest tightened at the thought.

"My Lady." He spoke low and bowed his head slightly, as did Criston.

"My prince." She said softly, lowering her eyes, as she bowed to him. He thought, that he didn't recognize her. That her fire was slowly fading before his eyes.

The three rode on horseback towards the Red Keep, crowds of curious onlookers flocked to see her. She heard their whispers and cries, some praising her father, others calling him a traitor and a self-proclaimed king.

She looked down at the insults, Aemond looking at her out of the corner of his eye. When they reached the keep, Lady Greyjoy dismounted with an easy, light movement, not even waiting for someone to come to her aid. Aemond smiled at the sight.

"This way, my lady." He said calmly, motioning with his head for her to follow him.

They passed the corridors and cloisters of the Red Keep, filled with lords and ladies waiting to see her. To see if the legends of the bearded, huge, muscular Iron Women are true.

He saw the disappointed looks of the daughters of the great lords, as they saw, that she looked completely normal, and moreover, her face, body and hair looked pleasant, to say the least.

In accordance with the wishes of his parents, he brought her to them first. The king could barely get up, so he just sat, but the queen got up as soon, as she saw them, spreading her arms in front of the terrified girl, embracing her tightly.

"My sweet girl. It's wonderful, that you managed to arrive. I hope, that your journey went smoothly." She said, letting go of her. Lady Greyjoy nodded, trying to smile.

"Thank you, my queen. Yes, the trip was very pleasant.” She said softly, her hands clasped in front of her, her face pale. The queen motioned for two girls, who were standing by the wall, to come over to her.

“These are Lena and Anya, your servants. They will be at your call and will show you your chamber. All your belongings is waiting for you there. I also gave you some new gowns, that I hope, you will like.”

Lady Greyjoy nodded quickly, swallowing hard, as she glanced uneasily at the two young girls in front of her. Aemond knew, that she understood immediately, that they would be reporting her every move to the queen, but neither he nor she could do anything about it.

She had been put in a cage, his mother had just turned the key in it and had it in her pocket. Whether she wanted it or not, his future wife was no longer a free.

She didn't even glance at him, as she left with her servants. His mother came over to him, clearly pleased, smiling warmly.

"She's a good, humble girl. I heard the Iron Women don't wear any gold or silver jewelry. I think it's wonderful, that you're going to marry a girl, who doesn't care about worldly things or wealth." She said, clearly pleased, stroking his shoulder, as if to comfort him. Aemond only grunted, lost in his own thoughts, and left their chamber with slow, lazy steps.

He didn't know, what to do with himself. He wanted to go and talk to her, but he didn't know about what. There was nothing to add.

He knew, that she was distraught, that her golden cage was breaking her strong spirit more, than any of his biting words. He thought, that the sooner he came to terms with the new situation, the better for her.

He returned to his chamber, sitting in an armchair in front of his fireplace, tired and discouraged. The thought of marrying her didn't scare him that much anymore. What terrified him more, was the thought of her becoming a living spirit, a dragon, locked for eternity in a dragon pit.

He flinched, as he heard a soft knock on his room. He lowered his hand, that had been stroking his chin, resting it loosely on his armrest.

"Come in." He spoke dryly and loudly, without emotion.

He felt his heart beat harder in his chest, as Lady Greyjoy stepped inside, closing the door quickly behind her. He stared at her, shocked. They both knew, she shouldn't have come to him, that the Red Keep wasn't the Iron Islands, and that any intimacy between them was only allowed, after they were married in the sept.

He couldn't get the words out.

She was dressed in a King's Landing gown, a flowing, yellow dress, that went perfectly with her dark hair and golden eyes, accentuating the soft, pale undertone of her skin. Her hair was partly combed back in a bun. He thought, that she looked surprisingly delicate and beautiful.

He swallowed hard, as she covered her mouth and burst into sobs. He stared at her in pain, breathing heavily, knowing, what had broken her.

It wasn't her.

They dressed her up like a doll.

He got up slowly, with a loud creaking of the wooden armchair and walked over to her, looking at her with an effort of indifference. He nonchalantly wiped a tear from her cheek, looking at her with a stony face.

"You are Iron Woman. Pull yourself together. Give them what they want. Play and pretend." He said calmly, low.

She inhaled sharply, her chest heaving uneasily. She swallowed hard, looking at him with eyes, that made him hot.

"Do you want me to pretend in front of you too, husband?" She asked, hearing the word sent shivers down his spine. His thumb pressed against her lower lip and parted it slightly, revealing her fleshy, wet surface.

“Never.”

_____

I decided to end here because from the beginning I wanted it to be a mini-series. I think it leaves a pleasantly open ending with the knowledge, that both of them will support each other in these difficult times for her. 😌

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[aemondsbeloved]

From The Tides [Part 3]

pairing: (platonic) Lucerys Velaryon x reader, future Aemond Targaryen x reader

summary: When you finally get your first look at Aemond Targaryen, you hate what you see. Alicent Hightower has no idea what to make of you, Queen Rhaenyra’s new handmaiden (4.4k)

notes: last chapter where Aemond and reader don’t even really interact I promise lol

Your days in the Red Keep felt like the childhood game you had played by the water where you would run up to the water as the tide retreated and waited for your older sister to pull you back lest the worn down leather of your boots touched the water.

In other words, it was a lot of depending on others to guide you and keep you safe even though the tide would eventually return and you would be unable to evade it.

The danger might have retreated but the threats were still there. Your Queen seemed to trust others and believed the words of submissiveness of the kin who had betrayed her. The only one she did not trust was this Otto Hightower who still stayed at the castle.

Your Queen and her sons were your sister’s hand that pulled you away from the water but you knew that the tide would come as the sea was predictable unlike men.

That morning, like the sixth before this one in this new castle in the Red Keep, was the same this early in the day. You braided Rhaenyra’s hair and dressed her while she talked to you. At some point Daemon would enter.

“Something must be done about that cunt,” Daemon entered the room as he spoke, voice clear and rising to anger.

Unlike the times early on at Dragonstone you did not falter your movements of weaving the Queen’s hair when he would enter. Since living in the Red Keep her days had been busy and time could not be wasted, not even for Daemon.

You were used to language like this even before he spoke. Your father was a man of kind words but his brother had been swearing like a sailor might have.

While Queen Rhaenyra said nothing you paid little attention to Daemon as you finished her braids, moving to the jewelry she would be wearing.

“We cannot kill Alicent’s father,” Rhaenyra said calmly like this was a conversation that had happened many times already. “We have been over this.”

“He is able to live and walk these halls,” Daemon hissed. “He makes a mockery out of you.”

You put in her earrings, two fine rubies as she rebuffed him. “He has been stripped of all titles,” she reminded him. “He is not the hand, he has no titles, he has nothing.”

“He has power. We should have sent him to the wall or at least to Oldtown.”

“Alicent begged me not to.”

The look he gave his wife was withering like he was ready to say something insulting before his gaze flicked to you as you placed the bracelet of rubies and onyx on Rhaenyra’s wrist.

“Tell me Lady Y/N, if a man had been plotting to overthrow you for two decades, wanted to kill you and your children, and was a lecherous cunt, would you let him breathe?”

You look at him amused. He didn’t seem to care about that funnily enough. “I am too lowborn to merit such an enemy, your Grace.”

He huffed, but you continued while putting on her necklace. “As I understand it as her Grace has told me, it is important for the former Queen to wish to support our Queen. If Alicent Hightower wishes to support Queen Rhaenyra not only out of survival for her children but out of gratitude, then it will be easier to keep the favor of other houses that supported the usurper.”

He hummed, now listening to you. “There will be no gratitude if we sent him to the wall but if her Grace sent him to Oldtown he would plot against her.”

He laughed, almost truly amused. “Better to see the plotting than wait to hear of it,” he said, looking at you with appraisal. “You are too clever to be a fisherman’s daughter.”

Without missing a beat, you looked at him with a knowing look. “How lucky I am that her Grace honored me with being her handmaiden then.”

For the first time you did not mean this as a jape. You were lucky. Luckier still that you got to serve a good queen.

“If that will be all, Daemon,” Queen Rhaenyra said as she stood up, voice annoyed but not majorly. You had begun to see this is how their relationship was, arguments without fail but fondness overpowering all. “I have matters to attend to. I have matters to discuss with Lord Corlys now that he is well enough to get out of his chambers.”

As she left you went to move out of the room, knowing you were to go to the maidens tending to the Queen and King Consort’s sons Viserys and Aegon, but Daemon held an arm out. He cast you a serious look and you stared back not sure what to expect. You had never been alone with the consort before.

“Has the Queen warned you of the usurper?” He asked, voice grave.

You knew he meant Aegon the elder’s way of hurting women in the Red Keep. You nodded stiffly. “She has, your Grace. I have been told to not be alone in a room with him. Instructions I have no idea of ignoring.”

“Good,” he said shortly, looking down at you. “If anyone tries to harm you, come to me at once, Lady Y/N.”

“I will, your Grace,” you told him, grateful but not intending on taking his offer up. While you didn’t want to be alone with someone like Prince Aegon, of whom you had seen a glimpse of only, you did not want the consort’s violence to be with the excuse of yourself supposedly being harmed. “As I told the Queen, it will be best if someone like the usurper does not find himself alone with me. He may regret that if I am lucky enough.”

He laughed dryly then turned, striding out of the Queen’s rooms. No doubt to do something for her Grace but what you never did ask.

When you left the Queen’s rooms, you saw Ser Erryk outside.

“Ser Erryk,” you greeted. “Should you not be with the Queen?”

“Her Grace has asked that I attend to you when someone else is not around, my lady.”

“Alright,” you said hesitantly, not sure why Queen Rhaenyra insisted on this. You started to walk down the hall. “I am going to the nursery to see to it that Viserys and Aegon are being cared for as is expected. Once that is done I am to visit Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena while Queen Rhaenyra attends her small council.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, moving to your side as you walked to the part of the castle where the nursery was.

It was strange for you to have a man in armor follow you, especially as he had not liked you at first meeting. Company was company, you supposed.

“Please call me Y/N,” you told him, chancing a glance at him and seeing him nod tersely. “If we are to spend much time together in the castle, I am glad it is you.”

He looked perplexed. “My father once said that a true friend is someone who did not always find himself fond of you. Shows change and truth, he said. Whatever that meant.”

He laughed. “Fathers often speak in riddles. They want to teach us lessons, my lady.”

“Y/N,” you corrected, a smile on your face. “Mine certainly did teach me many a lesson.”

The rest of the journey was silent but it was a comfort to you. In the nursery the children were being well cared for, to your relief. Viserys and Aegon both had that silver hair and were cheerful children and so sweet. It was a good thing to see them cared for well.

“All is well?” Ser Erryk asked when you met him outside the doors to the nursery.

You nodded. “I have to see Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena, do you know where they might be?”

“Both are in Lady Baela’s rooms having tea I heard,” he told you as you walked to the part of the castle where Lady Baela’s chambers now were located. “There was talk of them inviting Princess Helaena but I am unsure if this is true.”

You said nothing in turn, taking the tame to taake in the tapestry lined walls that you passed to get to them.

You heard Baela before you saw her as she stood and said your name when you entered her rooms. Rhaena was smiling brightly as she sat.

“I am so glad you could come and join us,” Baela said earnestly. “You are very busy lately. I swear I have not seen you since we arrived.”

You did not say anything when you were ushered in your seat. Rhaena had poured you a cup of tea and you knew you would never get used to the finery and the grandness of such trivial things.

“It has been a lot to get used to,” you admitted. “I do what I can for the Queen.”

“She is lucky to have you,” Rhaena said earnestly.

You smiled gratefully as Baela agreed with her sister. “I heard you might have invited Princess Helaena.”

The sisters shared a look. “We thought of it after seeing Aegon,” Baela said, sounding very upset. Like her father she seemed to barely reign in on her anger. “But Rhaena said we should wait a little longer, let her get used to our presence. Helaena is sweet, a shame her brothers are the worst of men.”

“Baela—” Rhaena said warningly even if it was true.

“Aegon is a drunken man who sleeps with servants and whores more than his wife,” she said harshly, setting down her tea cup. “And Aemond—” she scoffed. “A thief and a kinslayer, how honorable a young man he is.”

“Aemond did not steal Vhagar,” Rhaena said quietly. “And Lucerys lives, he is not a kinslayer.”

The younger sister’s kind words barely calmed Baela before she seemed to remember you.

“I am sorry,” she said, still agitated. “We have taken so much of your time already. I know the Queen will need you soon.”

“No apology is need,” you said honestly. “But I should go, you are right. Queen Rhaenyra will be out of her small council meeting soon, I must attend to her.”

Smiles were exchanged as goodbyes and you left. Baela’s words rung in your head over and over again. Thief and kinslayer. While you had only glimpses of Prince Aemond you decided Baela was right in her words.

There was no redemption for someone like him.

It was nearing a week since you arrived at the Red Keep and peace treaties between your Queen and her usurper brother had begun. When she told you how she knew that the only way to keep Alicent loyal was to protect her half-brothers and sister, you had often thought of the younger children of your Queen’s father.

A usurper, a kinslayer, and a princess who even Queen Rhaenyra called her sweet sister.

The princes could not be trusted, at least that is what everyone had said around you.

“What do you think of Alicent Hightower?” You asked Ser Erryk as you were alone in the halls of the Keep for the first time this whole morning.

He looked at you puzzled, not expecting that question but the thoughtful expression on your face made him answer. “She cares for her children it would be more than fair to say no matter what they may do.”

His cool words made you think of the usurper. “I have heard many bad things about Prince Aegon,” you said lowly. “I have been told to never find myself alone with him and that he is a drunkard and worse.”

“Sound words,” he confirmed, nodding in greeting as the Grand Maester passed by you both.

“I have yet to cross pathes with her,” you admitted. “I have seen glimpses of her sons and nothing more.”

“Your days are busy,” he replied, walking step in step with you as you neared the throne room. “It could be a mercy that you only have glimpses of the princes. They are different from Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys, not a shred of honor on them unlike your friends.”

You hummed, a frown tugging at your lips. He glanced at you as you reached the doors of the throne room before he added, “Princess Helaena is often in the gardens now that her duties are slim to none other than taking care of her children. She may welcome the company.”

You turned your head, inclining it with thanks. “Your words mean a lot ot me, Ser Erryk.”

He said nothing as the doors of the throne room were opened for you.

Members of the small council emptied into the throne room. Your timing was impeccable you thought with a smile to yourself as you stood on the side of the room.

Over the past days you had grown to identify who was who in the Queen’s small council. Many of the heads of her council had changed as half of them had been planning to usurp her right to the throne but the only one who stayed wa Tyland Lannister. Why you never did ask.

But now you recognized him as he left the chambers of the small council into the throne room where you stood. His golden hair and colors that matched his house were obvious enough but it was the women next to him who had long hair that was a deep red and half pinned back wearing a green dress that caught your eye.

You somehow knew this was the Alicent Hightower that your Queen mentioned more often than not.

This woman looked worried, anxious even and reminded you briefly of your mother on the days you had gone fishing with your father when the storm’s were at their worst. That was a look of a woman expecting the worst and when safety was given the worry never really left her.

“Lady Y/N,” Lord Corlys’ voice was as loud as it was pleasant as it greeted you. He might have been on the other end of the hall but his voice had captivated everyone’s attention.

In his striding towards you he did not seem to care the looks of the other council members. You had meet his steps halfways.

“Lord Corlys,” you said kindly. “I did not know you had returned so early from Driftmark.”

You had grown to known Lord Corlys during the weeks at Dragonstone but truly it was not until you got to the Red Keep. He had been made Hand of the Queen and you cared little for titles and the valyrian blood everyone else seemed to hold highest above other traits, but you valued him for his loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra and her sons who were dear to you.

He had spent the last five days in Driftmark with your friend Luke, in hopes that it would raise his confidence in his future post.

“How is he?” You asked without formality.

He chuckled under his breath. “Queen Rhaenyra on the throne has proven that status does not always matter to get power. I think he may yet start to see that. His mother is the first Queen Regent of Westeros and he is the prince a dragon could not kill. He will make a fine Lord of the Tides.”

You hummed, recalling how you had heard that nickname. “And does he enjoy being called near unable to kill?”

“Of course not,” he leaned in as he replied humorously with a smile. “But it will remind others House Targaryen and Velaryon are not so easily destroyed.”

You didn’t miss the way he looked over his shoulder to where Tyland Lannister and who you believed Alicent Hightower were standing.

“Why is her Grace keeping him on the council?”

He turned back to you with a sigh. “Lannister is an important house and they will have to be faithful to her Grace. If he was a second son from a minor house it might have been a different story,” he informed you before giving you a knowing look. “But as I hear, it is better to see them plot against you than hear of it.”

You laughed in truth at that, shaking your head with no malice. “Our King Consort loves to talk,” you chided.

“Today her Grace informed the council of her decision to keep Otto Hightower in the Red Keep, a decision Alicent Hightower was grateful for. Tyland Lannister was also informed he would get to keep his position on the small council and therefore his titles. His servants did change overnight though it seems.”

You were slow to the way of court but knew that meant these were servants loyal to Queen Rhaenyra who would report of everything.

“Most of the council that were not with us on Dragonstone were surprised at this and how her Grace came to this decision but I was not,” he told you, a serious expression on his face. “We are most thankful for it regardless from who it came.”

“I give the Queen honesty and nothing more.”

“For that we should all be grateful,” he replied and as he said that the doors behind you had opened.

You heard the footsteps but did not turn around but Lord Corlys eyes moved with the figure. The one with long silver blonde hair swept past the room to the woman in the green dress and Tyland Lannister.

So, that was Alicent Hightower, and that was surely her son Aemond Targaryen.

When you saw him you thought of your friend and the fact that he had tried to kill him. Queen Rhaenyra’s mention that Aemond claimed it an accident did nothing to stop your anger. Lady Baela was not wrong to become anger at the mention of him.

“I would tell you who that was but I can tell you already know,” Lord Corlys said.

You nodded, the movement rough and stiff. “I do,” you said quietly. “He is why I found Luke on the shores of the waters my father and I would fish.”

There was no kindness in your voice, not a single trace. Maybe you had poor luck, you decided, as the woman in green must have felt your stare and stopped her movements, looking at you. The Lannister followed suit, eyeing you with confusion and looked like he was trying to put two puzzle pieces together.

The kinslayer turned his head around and despite Lord Corlys clearing his throat hoping to make your stare less harsh or rather nonexistent you did not comply. The room was large and the distance between you both vast but it did not feel that way at all.

You wondered if he knew who you were, not for want of it but just to know if he realized you were the friend of his blood he had tried to kill. His scrutinizing gaze was heavy, ladden with contempt you thought as his lips thined.

He took his eye off of yours first, maybe due to Queen Rhaenyra entering the throne room with Consort Daemon behind her. To your surprise, Daemon stayed back while Queen Rhaenyra went to where Alicent stood.

“Everyone has heard by now of Queen Rhaenyra’s handmaiden,” Lord Corlys was once again informing you, speaking under his breath as he too looked at the queen go to their former enemies. “It has been a slow process but by now everyone knows you are from no great house. Of course, this led to people asking why would her Grace put a common born girl no older than Prince Jacaerys in the position of handmaiden. Nearly everyone knows it is because you saved Prince Lucerys life.”

His eyes flicked to yours before adding even quieter, as if no one should hear it but you both, “Very few know of your loyalty to the Prince and his family. Be wary, my lady. Some will think you are easily swayed and bought even.”

“Then they are lesser men who only know of the value of gold, not real loyalty,” you said quickly, voice hard and unforgiving.

“That may very well be true.”

Hours later well into the afternoon, you were in the chambers of Queen Rhaenyra as you readied her for the feast hosted for Lord Corlys and Prince Lucerys return from Driftmark. It also ushered in a celebration of the peace between Alicent Hightower and Queen Rhaenyra with the hopes of peace between their children, though mere indifference would be just as good to both women now.

While you braided your queen’s hair into a more lavish style that befitted a queen, Alicent Hightower was in her rooms, Tyland Lannister there at her request.

“Did you see that person with Lord Corlys?” She asked him worriedly from where she stood by the chair he sat in.

“I did,” he said with a sigh. “Queen Rhaenyra’s handmaiden and I am told, trusted advisor, though we can only wonder why. She is all but Prince Jacaerys age, barely older than the younger Prince.”

Alicent shook her head as the man seemed vaguely unbothered. She had accepted her new position, one more generous than she expected after such betrayal, but still, she worried.

“She is common, lowborn to be sure.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “That story has made its way through the court already. Have you not heard to yet, my lady?”

Obviously, she had. It did seem easily to not believe however. “Tell me of it,” she replied.

“When Prince Lucerys fell from his dragon Prince Aemond himself believed him dead with his dragon. After all, who could survive such a fall into those waters. Sailors from Storm’s End tell tales of the rough waters. No one could survive them.”

Of course she had remembered. She remembered everything about that night — how her son had come home shaken in such a way he seemed a stranger and told her it all in her rooms as the rain from his travels soaked the floor.

Aemond had come back with a betrothal to one of Lord Borros daughters and an alliance but had killed Rhaenyra’s son. Or at least they thought.

“The month after his disappearance it was clear that everyone thought him dead. We cannot know how Queen Rhaenyra and Consort Daemon reacted but they did not make any action.”

That was true as well. It was a long month and while her father made alliances and sent ravens, Rhaenyra had done nothing. Until another raven was sent to Alicent, one that said Lucerys was alive even though Aemond tried to kill him. She promised Alicent mercy if Aegon gave up the throne. An offer that would not be repeated twice.

Despite her father’s insistence to do no such thing, Alicent had gone to Aegon telling him he must bend the knee. He did not hesitate to ignore his grandsire’s instructions and followed his mother’s command.

“No one really knew how he survived until Queen Rhaenyra came to the Keep and took the Iron Throne. She did not arrive with them, of course, but many had seen her moving about the Keep. Sometimes she was seen by Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena’s side in deep conversation, other times by the Queen and even Consort Daemon. When she is near the Princes it is clear who she is.”

Alicent looked at him gravely knowing the words before they left him.

“She is the lowborn girl, allegedly a fisherman’s daughter. It is said Lucerys fell to the waters but did not sink, instead floating to the shore. There he was found by this girl and saved. A month later they go to Dragonstone and the Queen suddenly has a son again. How does Queen Rhaenyra reward this lowborn girl? Maybe a bag of gold to feed her family for a long time would suffice.”

“No,” Alicent replied. “Not for Rhaenyra. A bag of gold is never enough for such loyalty.”

“Loyalty,” Tyland murmured. “More powerful than gold, perhaps. Whatever happened this girl is no common daughter now. She is a lady and has the trust of those most powerful in the Realm.”

“This troubles me,” Alicent admitted, folding her arms and trying to gather herself. “The way she looked at my son in the throne room. I have never seen such ardent—” she cut herself off, words failing.

“Hatred.”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I can only think of why she would be so bold to stare down a prince in front of us all with that loathsome look in her eyes. Prince Lucerys must be very dear to her. It is the only reason why she should look at my Aemond so harshly after what happened after Storm’s End.”

“That may be so,” he was inclined to agree. “Rhaenyra is our queen now and all we can do is adapt to the times. Your sons may yet have places at court if we play our cards right and they already have safety. Even your father has his life and will get to see his grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”

“Rhaenyra is merciful,” Alicent agreed. “How she came to that decision is beyond me but I dare not ask lest she send him to the Wall. But I do not like not knowing those in the court. Her handmaiden is a mystery I do not desire to unravel behind closed doors.”

He hummed in agreement. “A close eye on the lady will be needed to be sure. Only time will tell who she is and how she may help our cause. What did Prince Aemond say after seeing her?”

“Nothing, of course,” Alicent said. “He has led me to believe he would not care of someone looking at him in such a way but it was a slight. He has never let such slights go before and I do not believe he will start now.”

“The Queen’s handmaiden may have a level head and even temper,” he said hopefully. “Your son is a prince and she a handmaiden. It would be unseemly for her to treat him as her equal with a display like today.”

“Time will tell,” Alicent said with great uncertainty.

He repeated her words with too much confidence. If only they had heard Lord Corlys words earlier to the handmaiden.

Very few knew of your loyalty to the Queen and her family.

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