#sailor!aemond

[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

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea! (Pre-Lucemond, Sailors and Sirens)

Every sailor knows this. If a mermaid sings, it's fine. They sing for a multitude of reasons, to communicate, to warn, to make sure the people know of their presence in the waters. It was the siren they should worry about. Sirens sing for only one reason, and that is to hunt. If one actually hears the sirens' song, then they should get ready, because you were to be their prey.

Luke, by all accounts, wasn't a sailor yet. Too young, too small. He was a passenger on his grandfather's boat, and though he wasn't pleased at all, not used to the waves, he wanted to act like a good boy for his grandfather. His grandfather, Corlys Velaryon, the greatest sailor to ever live, the Sea Snake, and one rumored to be a descendant of the mermaids, with his pale white hair and purple eyes that could open in saltwater without feeling any sting. A shame, people say, that his heir, his grandson, took the appearance of his grandmother, Rhaenys, more, with dark hair and brown eyes that cried from the salt that stung when he first tried to open them in the ocean.

And now, Lucerys was to be Corlys' little shadow whilst on ships. When he tried to follow his grandfather around, however, he got seasick, he kept sliding around, the waves were quite cruel to a boy like him.

What no one expected, however, was for him to fall overboard. The ocean waves weren't calm, yes, but they weren't enough to throw people overboard, save maybe for the little boy. At first, Corlys laughed, ordering his men to go pick up his grandson, who he knew could at least keep himself afloat long enough for them to bring him back to the ship. Then he heard it. A faint, singing voice. And all of a sudden his earlier joyful expression morphed into one of horror. It was not a mermaid's song. It was a siren's. And his grandson is in the water.

He quickly dived, opening his eyes to a siren, a small one, by the looks of him, dragging Lucerys downwards. He quickly swam towards them. It's not rare for a siren to be alone in their hunt. It is rare, however, for a siren this young to be left unsupervised. He must be quick before the other sirens circle them.

He swam as fast as he could, fearing the worst, when he saw the water tinged with red, and the siren stops his song, letting Lucerys go. He grabbed him once he was close enough, and dragged him back above, climbing the rope ladder the crew prepared for him. He quickly checked Lucerys for the injury that could have caused the red tinge in the water, but found no injury on him. He did, however, found his grandson holding a knife with remnants of red, and his laughter boomed across the ship.

His sweet boy managed to harm a siren into letting him go. Good lad. There might be a chance of him surviving the ocean yet.

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

In case anyone is wondering, the siren was Aemond. Luke will always stab him in the eye for a good reason.

#lucemond #aemond x lucerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #sailor lucerys #siren Aemond

[assortedseaglass]

A note on assortedseaglass’s future.

I began publishing work on tumblr to regain my love of writing.

The grind of doing it professionally, and as a freelancer, stripped it of the joy it can bring.

In doing so, I’ve have written more this year than the last few combined (some published, some just for me), and have gained a community of kind, inspiring, slightly insane, friends.

However, my last two published pieces, The Seamstress & The Sailor ch22 and the latest of Borne & Bound got only 68 and 75 notes respectively and it’s devastating.

I put so much of myself into these stories, my free time, my energy and enjoyment.

To receive so little back really hurts. It should be about my love for the craft, but writing is already a lonely enough pursuit without so little engagement. I’m pretty heartbroken.

I am going to write the requests in my ask box, but series are on hold indefinitely.

Maybe when Saltburn comes out I’ll write them again. Until then I’ll be reading, chatting and trying to find my love for writing again.

Thanks to everyone that has commented/reblogged/sent messages. It means more than you’ll ever know 💖

Hilde x

#assortedsesglass #personal #Ewan Mitchell #Tom Bennett #Aemond Targaryen #the seamstress & the sailor #borne and bound

[outerbanksoftargtower]

Watching World on Fire and to me sailor boy Tom Bennett is Aemond Targaryen light lol .

Cocky , Aggressive and Arrogant

Exhibit a:

If Aemond had both eyes this is how I believe his encounters with the “ strong boys” would’ve been

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #the house of the dragon #world on fire #tom bennett #hey sailor 😏 #my gifs

[talesofoldandnew]

🥹⚓️

#tommy come home #waiting for our sailor boy #tom bennett #bbc world on fire #world on fire #british actor #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #the last kingdom #osferth

[snowprincesa1]

Everyone’s out here talking about op duos that could have been in f&b, some I’ve seen are, daemon and aemond, Otto and daemon, Rhaenyra and Alicent.

Now hear me out—👂Daeron and Jacaerys

These two shared wet nurses! At the age of fifteen they were both known as courageous, responsible, political savvy, courteous and protective of their respective families. Can you imagine if these two actually teamed up? They would be a holy duo! 😱😱😱

They are literally power rangers coded⁉️⁉️ Fuck the Kingsguard! I want these two as my body guards. I will not accept any other opinion.

#Jacaerys Velaryon #jacaerys Targaryen #jacaerys strong #daeron the daring #daeron targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #asoiaf #Rhaenyra Targaryen #Alicent Hightower #Daemon Targaryen #Otto Hightower #Criston cole #ser Criston cole #Aemond Targaryen #f&b #power rangers #they’re also oddly sailor moon coded #jacaeron #daecaerys #team black #team green #House Targaryen

[maegalkarven]

A future fic carcass I'll write when I write (after I finish 9 ungoing fics)

King Viserys dies at the wedding celebration of his daughter, Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

No one else does.

I am a firm believer Otto and Viserys are the rot on the face of the House of the Dragon and without these two everything would be fine-ish.

Unfortunately, we need Vissy T for his kids to be born, so Viserys dies soon after Aemond is conceived. Sorry, Daeron, not this time.

Joffrey doesn't die because he doesn't manage to provoke Criston before the king dies.

Rhaenyra overrules his father's decision and marries Harwin Strong.

Their son Jacaerys Targaryen is the heir to the throne, Lucerys Targaryen is the heir to Harrenhal.

Daemon marries Laena and lives at Dragonstone (Rhaenyra grants him that), their firstborn is the heir of Driftmark.

Laenor joins the Queensguard and is sent to Dragonstone to protect Prince Daemon (ha) and his future heirs.

Criston Cole becomes the Commander of City Watch while still retaining his white cloak (what? He did it in canon, can do it here).

Rhaenyra removes Tyland Lannister as the master of ships and appoints Corlys Velaryon (back).

When Baela and Rhaena are born, it is decided to betroth Prince Aegon and Lady Baela, making him future lord-consort of Driftmark (and successfully removing him out of succession of the iron throne).

When Jace is born, his and Helaena's betrothal is announced.

Baelon is born without an issue and the royal family meets at the celebration on Dragonstone, where Aemond claims Cannibal and loses an eye in the process.

(Kinslayer, everyone. It fits).

Afterwards Luke is sent as a ward to Harrenhal with his father. A huge ass scene ensures there Luke clings to Aemond and refuses to go.

Aegon makes a greasy comment and gets punched.

Both Aegon and Baela are sent as wards to Driftmark.

Lucerys still leaves.

Harrenhal doesn't burn bc even if Larys kills Harwin and Luke, there's still Lyonel and Joffrey in the equation. Lyonel keeps serving Queen Rhaenyra as her Hand.

Years later the royal family meets at the wedding celebration of Baela and Aegon, where Luke and Aemond behave very much like Rhaenyra and Daemon at Rhaenyra's not happened wedding.

Rhaenyra and Alicent clutch at their pearls, Rhaenyra suggests father died because of seeing something like that.

Daemon asks if she implies they killed Viserys, then asks where is Baelon.

Laena replies Baelon is playing knights with Joffrey.

Rhaenyra and Harwin Strong (no) have three more children, Aegon, Viserys and Visenya, all silver-haired like their mother (her uncle).

Laena is fine with it, they have a poly. Laena doesn't have more children because Baelon's birth was a ghasty one.

Baelon claims the Grey Ghost.

Otto is never called back to the capital because (suprise!) Rhaenyra didn't rush to kill her 3 y.o brother or the other one who was born after Viserys' death. Instead she marries Aegon off so he's no threat.

Aemond eventually joins the Queensguard and is appointed to the future lord of Harenhall.

Lucerys refuses to marry and appoints his brother Viserys as his heir, who marries Visenya. They have a very good life in Harrenhal.

The reason Luke skips over Joffrey is because Joffrey is always at the sea (with Baelon), and Aegon the Younger is bethrothed to Baela and Aegon the Elder' firstborn, Laena.

Everyone lives happily ever after, Otto gets to be the head of the house Hightower after he successfully plots against his own kin, since his blood is secured on the throne, if in unconventional for him way.

He once tried to manipulate Aegon, but was cut off sharply by Rhaenys and Corlys, who kind of adopted the boy as theirs.

Aegon enjoys wandering about Essos very much, he, of course, whores around, but he and Baela have an agreement. One of Baela's children is born from Alyn of Hull, but no one is any wiser, since everyone just thinks the child looks like her.

Jacaerys and Helaena have three kids, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera and then Maelor.

Jaehaera is oldest and so is the heir.

Oh, and Rhaena is happily married to Corwyn Cobray. They have a daughter, Rhaenys.

#hotd #hotd au #queen rhaenyra #hotd fanfic #fuck viserys #i will write it one day bc i have such a vivid image of the scenes such as: viserys' death. rhaenyra overruling her father's decision #explaining it and trying to mediate it so Corlys wouldn't start another war #'i thought it was in the tradition for the king or queen to marry their hand's child' #the greens' FACES at that #rhaenyra gathering Laenor and his entire fam and suggesting queensguard #“but then he won't be able to wed a woman. have a family-” #-exactly *Rhaenyra and Laenor lock gases. she nods. he nods.* -i accept #Aemond just fucking WANDERING AWAY TO CLAIM THE SCARIEST ASS DRAGON THAT IS THERE #the total panic then Laenor finds him and brings back with EYE LESS. (he almost got to the castle but fainted mid way) #corlys trying to push for baelon as the heir and laena&rhaenys being: “NO” #the unspoken kinship in the house of whoring around. Harwin being like “i support my wife's wrongs” and loving egg vis and visenya as his #NO ONE KNOWING THEY'RE NOT HIS. LIKE LEGIT THEY COULD BE HIS OR HARWIN'S. EVEN RHARNYRA DOESN'T KNOW #aegon living his best life as a sailor and explorer #Aemond looking at Laenor and being like “i can do that too” #laenor living THE BEST LIFE by his sis and her husband/his friend's side. and Joffrey is ALIVE #criston eventually getting over himself and accepting that Rhaenyra indeed couldn't run away with him #like imagine if they run away and then vissy t died #whoops i guess #also i just realized i accidentally made it so that Harrenhal is eventually ruled not by Strongs but Daemon's kids #lmao i guess #They are Targaryens (tm) your honor #the amount of dragons they're about to have...like harrenhal has 4 just with luke aemond and visx2 #Dragonstone has 3 even if all kids scatter about #cobrays have 2 (Rhaena's and her daughters) #driftmark has at least 3 and then Laena is born and its 4

[marshsano]

SAILOR MOON DRIP! SAILOR MOON DRIP! protectors of alicent hightower AND the realm while looking good doing it!

i’m working for an art degree, if you can’t tell!

inspired by this tweet!

#my art #house of the dragon fanart #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd daeron #hotd aegon #hotd aemond #hotd meme #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aemond targaryen #daeron targaryen #alicent hightower #sailor moon

[bottlesandbarricades]

HELLO SAILOR

(You’re welcome @milicent-bystander)

#Not the most Biblically accurate Sailor Moon but yeah #this is the silliest thing I have ever made #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen

[feralmossball]

Had so much fun doing this!

If you want to be able to comment the next I do this, make sure to follow me on my Twitter!

#arcane jayce #jayce talis #arcane #ethan winters #resident evil #resident evil 7 #ethan winters re7 #re7 biohazard #re8 #re village #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #sailor moon #kon kent #kon el #superboy #art challenge #beginner artist

[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

Tag List:

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#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

[assortedseaglass]

Coming Up

I have a huge deadline and a wedding this week but I'm going to try and get out...

Borne and Bound chapter five

The Seamstress and the Sailor chapter twenty three (!?)

A request or two

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #aemond targaryen #borne and bound #the seamstress & the sailor #hotd #world on fire #assortedseaglass

[outerbanksoftargtower]

These just give me arrogant, cocky ,confrontational Aemond vibes , if his eye hadn’t been taken

Gif credit:

@aemondsvhagar

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #the house of the dragon #world on fire #tom bennett #sailor man 🥰🥰🥰

[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

[aemonds-wifey]

Tom Effing Bennett 🥵🚬❤️

#tom Bennett #sailor #world on fire #hes just neat #ewan mitchell #oh no he’s hot #house of the dragon hbo #osferth #aemond targaryen #baby monk