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stephyshadows · 8 months ago

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Most People Say Goodbye

Pairing: Sandor x F!Bolton!Reader

Summary: Sandor and (Y/N) have a secret relationship at kings landing which crumbles when he disapears after the battle of blackwater. Eventually though your paths cross again

Part one of two

TW: swearing (its the hound so you could guess lol)

Requested by Annon

Words: 2704

Masterlist Here

The first time you ever saw Sandor you couldn’t help but stare. You weren’t the only one to stare but the only one not to do so out of disgust. He was fascinating. The way he moved, spoke, the fact he did not seem to care what anyone thought of him. It was refreshing.

Your father Roose Bolton had sent you away to be a ward of Eddard Stark when you were fairly young. He had always not so subtly encouraged you to find someone to marry, specifically from another great house of the north. Every time he saw you, he asked about the Karstarks or the Starks, always wondering how Robb had been. But you knew little about Robb other than him being Sansa’s older brother.

Sansa was your best friend in the north and you were stood behind her when the king came to visit. It was also when you first laid eyes on the man in the hound helm. It didn’t take long for you to find out everything about him. You were good at finding out what was what and who had done this and that. It was probably one of the reasons Sansa liked you so much.

He always sat by himself or by other knights during feasts. Even when he was with others he rarely spoke. Your father had encouraged you in a raven to travel to kings landing and Ned had been happy to bring you along to accompany Sansa. During your month long ride, you never even seen the hound speak more than once.

One day during your travels you were walking around a forest, trying to stretch your legs before being shoved back into a dark and stuffy carriage. As you were walking you say a rabbit and without thinking crouched down to say, “Hello there,” the rabbit bounced up to you before its head snapped to the side and suddenly it ran off. “Fine then,” you grumbled standing up.

You turned to see a very annoyed Sandor Clegane staring at you. You froze. “Are you stupid girl?” his questioned snapped you out of it and your face screwed up in anger, “I had a perfect shot. You’re lucky I don’t shoot you,”

As he turned to storm off you couldn’t help yourself, “It was only a bloody rabbit,”

“What?”

“I said it was only a rabbit,” you said as he turned to face you, “If its that rare for you to get a ‘perfect shot’ for a rabbit maybe you should hunt something else,”

He laughed but it was not a happy laugh, “Alright girl,” he said “you catch me a fucking rabbit then. If you wont fall as soon as you have to slit its throat that is,” he spat, tossing his spear on the ground, before turning off to go back to camp.

With a huff you turned and looked where the rabbit had been. If he wanted a rabbit, he could have a fucking rabbit. You picked up the spear and set off.

When the warning horn rang meaning you would be setting off again you turned to walk back to camp. Everyone was packing up to leave as you searched for Sandor who was strapping something to his horse.

“Here,” you said as you tossed his spear at his feet. He looked down confused until he saw the four rabbits speared and skinned on his spear, “Try not to burn them when you cook them. Unless you eat them raw of course,” you smiled before walking back to your carriage you shared with Sansa, Arya, and Septa.

When you finally arrived at kings landing you saw Sandor all the time but rarely spoke. He acted as Joffrey’s shadow, and you were always with Sansa. Despite this you never had a reason to speak but you wished you did. Sansa often would complain about how freakish he was, and Arya was convinced he was the devil. But for some reason you remained fascinated.

You were sitting with Sansa in the gardens when the prince approached, the hound not far behind. “Leave us lady Bolton. I wish to talk to my betrothed alone,”

“Yes, your grace,” You nodded and curtsied, turning to Sansa “goodbye lady stark,” as you walked past the prince you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Why Sansa was obsessed with him you couldn’t understand. You hadn’t even noticed Sandor looking at you till you saw a smile on his face. That was even rarer than him talking.

“You too dog,” you heard Joffrey say as you left, “go on run along,”

You could hear his armour moving as he walked and despite him not rushing he had caught up to you quickly due to his height, “Not a fan either then?”

“That depends,”

“On what?”

“Who’s asking?” you were out of sight of the prince and Sansa by a short pier off the side of the gardens that faced over the front of the waters by kings landing.

“That’s already answered my question girl,” you rolled your eyes and walked down the pier.

You stood at the end of the pier and turned to see Sandor a couple feet behind you, “You saw me roll my eyes you already knew my answer,”

“You should learn to lie better then,”

“Why?” you said facing the water again, “Are you someone who shouldn’t know the truth?”

“I know the truth girl,” he spat, “but you shouldn’t trust everyone you meet,”

“I don’t trust you,” you said turning back to face him. “you could push me off this pier to drown and no one could prove it. but you also seem to hate everyone you meet so who are you going to tell?”

This time he stepped closer, “I could push you in, you make it so tempting after all,” it might have scared you if you didn’t see a smile ghosting his lips, “but I don’t hate everyone I meet. Just the cunts. It just so happens majority of the lord pricks and lady pricks here are,”

“But not all of us?”

“Not all of you,” he agreed as he turned and walked away.

“Most people say goodbye you know?”

“Im not most people girl,”

From then you began to talk to Sandor more. He often ran into you at the garden or specifically at the pier and you were starting to think it was deliberate. Then Ned Stark was executed.

Your whole world had fallen upside down. Not wanting to ‘ruin Sansa’s pretty face’ Joffrey had appointed you as her whipping girl of sorts. Every time she did something she wasn’t supposed to Ser Meryn Trant would beat you and Sansa would scream. Eventually she gave in, and your beatings became less.

Initially it had been the hound told to hit you across the face but he refused. Joffrey began screaming when truant stepped in and slapped you so hard you fell. After that he stalked off with truant complaining about Sandor who stayed behind to pick you up. Sansa roughly pulled you away from him and scurried you both back to her chambers.

Later that night he came to visit you at your chambers for the first time. “Come in,” you said when he knocked. Sandor stood awkwardly in your doorway as you sat on your bed. “Close the door. I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,��

“Im not,” he said as he shut the door, “but I had to make sure you were okay,”

“Im okay,” you smiled, patting the spot next to you on your bed, “It wasn’t that sore,”

“Bullshit,” he said, looking at your bed hesitantly till you patted it again. He stalked over and cautiously sat on your bed, as if he was afraid it would break, “I saw him hit you. I saw him fall. And I let him”

“What were you supposed to do? Its not like you could stop him permanently. Joffrey would just have someone else do it,”

“Unless I killed the king,”

“Do not kill the king.”

“Why not? Fuck the king.”

“Yes, fuck the king. Not fuck you,” you said looking at him like he had went crazy, “if you kill Joffrey Cersei Lannister would have your head on a pike and I do not need to see any more heads on spikes,”

“You’re going to see plenty more with that bitch on the throne,”

“And I will cope with that but not if yours joins them,” you grabbed his hand and ignored the startled look on his face, “I can deal with a few slaps. My brother used to kick me up and down the place when I was at the Dreadfort,”

“Then I’ll kill him next,” he said and you sighed. “Look, girl, I just don’t like seeing you suffer,”

“Then don’t die. Just,” you paused looking at him, “just stay with me. Please? Just sit with me for a while,”

And he did. Your secret relationship became official. All the build up had led to Sandor sharing your bed and hiding in your chambers or in the garden with you whenever you could.

Until the battle of blackwater that is. You had been ushered into the room with all the women and children unable to do anything about what was going on outside. You never even got to say a proper goodbye to Sandor.

The night before he had given you a gift, however. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you asked holding the dagger in your hands.

“If Stannis’s men make it into the holdfast you have two choices. You can either slit their throats or your own. I won’t blame you either way but I wont let you go into this unprotected because you’re a fool if you think you’ll be safe. Especially not if his men see you,”

“I understand,” you said and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I know what to do,”

“Good,” he said, “and as soon as the battle is over I’ll find you,”

But he didn’t.

The battle came and went, and Sandor was nowhere to be found. you heard he had ran, that he’d fled, but it wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t leave you he promised he’d come back. But now he was gone.

You felt like a ghost walking the castle. Not even Sansa could lift your spirits and she couldn’t tell why.

You thought you’d be stuck in kings landing forever but to your surprise Petyr Baelish knocked on your door one night with a map and a bag of gold.

“But what about Sansa?”

“She’s not safe anywhere,” He said, “You can run, and Cersei will put a few silver stags on your head and no more. Sansa would have all the knights out looking for her. You can go. You can be safe,”

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” you couldn’t help but cry. You did not want to do what Sandor had done to you to her, “Let me say goodbye,”

“I can’t. I would if I could. Believe me,” but I didn’t, “Write her something. Quickly,” he ushered me to my desk where you quickly scrawled a half written goodbye before he took the paper from you and rushed you out the door.

He led you out of the castle through secret passages without giving you a chance to even say goodbye to Sansa. Then you stood outside of the Castle wall with a horse he had bought for you and normal clothes and a cloak for you to wear.

“Why are you helping me?” you asked as he helped lift you onto your horse.

“You’re not safe here. You need to go to your brother. Go to the dreadfort. You’ll be safe there,”

Safe. With your brother. Unlikely but despite everything he couldn’t possibly be as bad as Joffrey and it had been years since you last saw him. You were older now as was he.

“And Sansa?”

“Ill protect her. I promise. But you must go men will be on patrol soon. Ride fast,” and with that you fled kings landing.

The first ride you made to Kings Landing took a month in plush carriages with your friends. You would think going alone would be quicker but no. by the end you weren’t even sure how long you had been out there for. You had ran out of Petyr’s gold by the time you were a third of the way there. So many things happened but you tried to forget just as quickly as they happened.

You never expected your brothers face to be a relief. You felt on the verge of death when you finally saw the castle in sight. It took every ounce of strength to make it to the castle gates. However once you saw Ramsey you somehow managed to run to him. For once he hugged you back.

Everything felt perfect. Ramsey had matured and was the best brother you could ask for. You didn’t even have to leave your chambers because he had servants doting on you. You had no clue anything bad was even happening. Until you found out about Reek.

At points you questioned whether this was better than Kings landing. Then your father was given Winterfell, and no one would tell you why. But you knew Robb stark had to be dead. You cried. Sobbed. Realising it meant bran and reckon must be gone too.

One day Sansa appeared, and you found out she never got your letter. Baelish had tricked you and you didn’t know why. But you had an idea and now she was standing in front of you betrothed to marry the man that killed your father. Part of you was jealous you didn’t kill him yourself when Sansa filled you in.

You had all but given up before Sansa came but now you both had a reason to live. Theon finally managed to beat out Reek and the three of you held hands as you jumped off the wall.

Everything eventually became a blur. Your brother was defeated by Jon Snow who took you and Sansa in. You befriended wildings and finally returned to a Stark ran Winterfell. Jon left for a mission beyond the wall and left Sansa in charge. Despite her not being a Queen you were essentially her hand. Everything all most felt good despite everything that had happened and was looming.

Then the dragon queen came.

You watched as Sansa greeted her, knowing how much she feared Daenerys taking the north from her like your father had done. You watched her dragons fly overhead and wondered what it would feel like to ride one. You watched as Tyrion Lannister of all people walked into Winterfell. You saw the Army of the Unsullied in all their legendary glory. Then you saw him.

Sandor Clegane.

But he never saw you at first but you watched as his eyes searched the courtyard desperately looking for someone. Then his eyes finally met yours. He went to step forward but you had already turned and left for your chambers.

A while later Sansa knocked on your door, “Come in,” you called.

“Are you okay (Y/N)? You just disappeared,” She said as she said beside where you were lying on your bed.

“He’s here,”

“Who’s here?”

“Sandor,”

“You don’t need to be afraid of him anymore,” she said with a smile, “we’re not children anymore. He’s here to help us,”

“I was never afraid Sansa,”

“Well, I was. He has that ugly scar- “

“Will you shut up,” you snapped as you sat up in bed, “I was never afraid of him Sansa. I loved him and he left me,”

Sansa was shocked as you finally spilled what you had kept inside for years. You told her every detail but they were starting to be foggy with all the time that had past.

She was silent at first. “You should talk to him,” she eventually said, “he never should have left you.”

You stayed in your room till after the feast had started but for whatever reason as the chatter grew louder and the people drunker you decided it was time to confront him.

Part Two Here

A/N: Part two of the actual reunion should be up tomorrow so stay tuned

#fic rec

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stephyshadows · 8 months ago

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The Nakedness Of Moonlight and Agony

Pairing: Aemond x Velaryon Reader

Tags: dark characters, mention of blood purity, mutilation (not described), vengeance, humiliation, not Luke-friendly, discussion of violence and humiliation as foreplay, vaginal fingering, p. in v. sex

Author's Note: this is a dark story, please mind the tags before reading and proceed at your own discretion.

On the night following the petitions, you decide to avenge the truth your father Vaemond Velaryon died for and to offer your husband Aemond the justice he deserves.

Aemond Masterlist

Weeping in the nakedness of moonlight and agony. —James Wright.

Your eyes were looking ahead of you, unblinking and unseeing, and the sound of Dark Sister cutting through your father's head was still rushing through your mind. You did not make a sound as your lady accidentally pricked you with one of the pins keeping your dress in place, and you did not hear her as she rushed to apologize.

"You should not come," Aemond said, his voice low and soothing, and you answered him without looking up at his worried expression.

"I shall come and stand in for my father's honor," you replied without warmth or coldness to your voice, and Aemond sighed. He gestured for your maid to leave, taking the cushion of pins from her. She bowed and scurried out, leaving Aemond to finish pinning your dress to your corset.

He did so with precision, a sort of silent reverence to his movements, the sort that his words could never quite carry. You had not been married long but he had always shown you the utmost respect, even more so when you shared with him the rumors that ran along the waves within House Velaryon—that of the true parentage of its heir.

He appreciated your taste for truth and honor, and you appreciated his—now both of you had lost blood to the lie that plagued the royal family and threatened to split the dynasty in two.

That is no true Velaryon. Her children are bastards, and she is a whore.

We know, Father. Everyone knows. Just look at them.

Aemond did not try to convince you, or even to order you to remain in your chambers as the dinner demanded by the king would take place. Instead he pushed the pins that would keep your steel blue dress fastened and its silver embroideries in display—shells and seahorses, symbols of the salt that ran through your blood.

"We shall remain proud, tonight," Aemond hummed as he pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, and you gladly took the arm he offered you.

You kept your head high as you walked into the hall, ignoring the looks of pity from the women and girls, and the way Daemon's mouth curled in a small amused smile. You nodded to Baela and Rhaena in respect for their mother's blood, loathing the fact that it would soon be diluted. You could not have cared less about which house Jace and Luke's father would have come from, an Andal or even a First Man, as long as its offspring didn't usurp the Velaryon legacy.

A boy from the land, a Strong, did not deserve to inherit from the greatest sailor there ever was. Driftmark had to pass to salt and sea, and to pretend that these dark-haired boys carried salt in their veins was an insult to all Velaryons. It was an insult to Ser Laenor, to the ancient ways of your line.

The Old, the True, the Brave, such were your House's words, and your father Vaemond had held to them until his dying breath, and you were left to avenge this motto.

You held on to your composure all throughout the supper, fury surely etched onto your features, but you hoped you appeared dignified enough that Rhaenyra would soon leave King's Landing with shame slipping through the cracks of her soul. Surely the Gods would punish her for her deceptions, one way or another.

However it wasn't the Gods who would set this plan into motion, but your husband himself, his fist coming down on the table before he rose, ever graceful, his cup in hand.

"Final tribute," Aemond announced, and with those words he knew he was sealing his fate and perhaps yours, his wife.

The rotting hatred he had done his best to conceal all these years was now tearing at the seams of his discipline, and the sorrow of his lady wife mourning her father was the last rip in the fabric of his patience. Vaemond Velaryon had spoken the same truth Aemond had lost his eye for, the one his father the king was too blinded by his own sorrows to see.

"To the health of my nephews. Each of them handsome, wise..." he exclaimed, poised on the edge of his own damnation, and the way your hand came to rest on his lower back, giving a slight push, emboldened him. "Strong."

He heard you breathe a sigh of relief, and his love for you roared in his chest, making him arrogant as he walked to Jace, his grip steady on his cup. You could barely conceal your own dark amusement as your husband loudly goaded Prince Jacaerys, and as he turned to you again, unfazed by the punch to the face he had just taken, Aemond’s eye was burning.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother," he placated as he slid an arm around your waist and you gracefully came to rest against his side.

The both of you stood in front of Daemon, wrists poised on the pommel of Dark Sister, the blade that had cut down the only man brave enough to speak a truth that would alter the very fabric of history if not revealed.

"Come, husband, I shall see if the Silent Sisters have finished their work," you calmly led Aemond away, but he could tell of the fury and desire for vengeance that thrummed beneath your skin. He allowed you to pull him along.

Later that night, as your husband was deep into slumber, his body bared to your sight as his empty eye socket sat on display, his hair as silver seafoam on the pillows, you could not find rest.

Rather than the sound of Dark Sister piercing the air, it was now the mocking chuckle of Lucerys that kept rushing through your mind. Your pain was plain for all to see, and for all to imagine, and no one would ever begrudge you for mourning your father, but Aemond's pain was one of secrecy.

For nearly a decade now he had had to endure to indignities that came with the loss of an eye—the loss of a face one grew familiar with, the pain that often plagued his nights when storms came from the Narrow Sea, the shame he carried deep within and that often lashed out like a wounded beast.

You had often been on the receiving end of that violence, in the form of rejection and this formidable anger that came in biting words. You had never taken them at heart, only ever held him when he collapsed in exhaustion, sometimes hazy from milk of the poppy, and sworn to him that you would avenge him one day.

You sat up in bed suddenly, as if struck by the claws of the Stranger himself. "An eye for an eye," you murmured in the pitch black silence.

"Wife?" Aemond murmured, ever attentive to you, even in slumber.

"I need air and solitude," you replied, slipping from the bed and padding out of your chambers, feet bare on the stones. You knew he would not follow you nor question you, just as you did not pursue him when he wished to be alone with his pain.

A strange calm was in possession of your body, your long curls and braids swaying at your back as you made your way to the wing where the guests quarters were. The few guards ignored you, used to your nighttime wanders in the castle, unnoticing the dagger you had taken from your husband's belt on the dresser, slipped into your sleeve.

In the darkness, you waited for a few breaths in front of the door and counted the seconds until your fate would be sealed in blood and sin.

"An eye for an eye," you repeated to yourself, pushing in quietly and closing the door behind you, locking it.

"Jace?" came a boy's voice, heavy with sleep.

To your horror, two beds sat side by side against the great painted wall, facing the hearth and settees. Heart in your throat, your eyes fixed on the smaller form, unmoving under heavy sheets and covers, you walked to the second bed.

An older child sat up, the white face of Lucerys appearing under his dark curls, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Jace, is that—" he started, quiet so as not to wake little Joffrey, and his question choked in his throat as you pressed your palm to his mouth.

"Wake you brother and I shall turn the blade to him," you said, quiet and cold in a way you did not recognize yourself in. You sat on the bed, the dagger slipping from your sleeve into your palm, and you brought it up to the pale, quivering neck of your nephew by marriage.

"Justice has finally come to collect its debt, little Luke," you murmured, feeling your lips widen in a smile you did not understand—there was no happiness to such a collection, but if the laws of men didn't seem fit to punish wrong deeds, you would obey the Gods' laws.

Lucerys' eyes widened in horror, tears coming to them as silent sobs wracked his frame. His gaze fleeted back and forth from his sleeping brother to you, his throat trembling beneath the blade.

"Stay silent and he shall be safe. I swear to you, on the memory of my father," you vowed, slowly removing your hand from his mouth.

Lucerys' lower lip wavered and a wet plea came from his mouth, his hand coming to rest on your wrist. "Please, you do not need to do this, I will not tell anyone," he begged, and you made a soothing sound.

"Oh but you will, child. You will tell everyone of what I did," you crooned, marvel tinting your voice. "You will tell how the blade of justice came to you in the night, and that I was carrying it."

"You cannot mean that," he replied, terror and confusion creasing his brow.

"Oh but I do, little Luke," you chuckled. "Did you really think you could take my husband's eye without ever paying your debt? Did you really think that you could sully the name of my house with your bastard blood without fearing any wrath?"

More silent shudders shook his small frame, hot tears running down his face and wetting the blade where it was pressed under the line of his jaw, denting the alabaster skin. "If it is Driftmark that you want then I shall gladly give it to you. I do not want it," he bargained, his grip on your wrists tightening, his nails pressing half-moons into your skin. "I will speak to grandsire, surely he—"

"Lord Corlys is not your grandsire," you spat in his face, pushing yourself to your knees until you were hovering over him. "You are not a Velaryon."

"You are right, I am not," he sobbed, his free hand coming to press against his mouth, silencing the cries that he could not swallow. You watched as he choked, desperate to keep his panic silent, and a strange sort of heat curled in your stomach.

You suddenly regretted that Aemond was not here to witness such a pitiful sight and relish in it as you were.

"Now, now," you soothed, wiping the salty tears from his eyes with a gentle thumb. "Keep your wits about yourself, it is almost over."

Lucerys nodded hurriedly, forcing his chest up to accommodate deep, calming breaths, and soon his hand retracted from his mouth.

"What do you want, if not Driftmark?"

"I already told you," you replied gently. "Justice.”

"For your father?" he whimpered when the blade slowly made its way from his neck to his cheek.

"For the lie he lost his life for. For the lie my husband sacrificed his eye to," you said, your eyes once again losing focus—instead of tears it was rivers of blood running down the boy's cheek that you saw, splashing on your sleeves and pouring over the bedsheets. "An eye for an eye, as the Gods intended."

Lucerys pushed himself up, crying out, but you slapped a hand over his mouth again, hissing in disgust at the wetness that coated your palm. "Quiet or I shall cut it out from your brother instead," you hissed furiously, and Lucerys froze.

You watched as horror and humiliation spread across his boyish features, and the sheets grew dark at his lap, wetness spreading on the fabric.

You huffed, a corner of your mouth curling up in mirthless humor. "You are older now than Aemond was when he lost his eye to you, and yet you have nothing of the dignity he possessed, even at that age," you said with disdain. "Choose an eye."

Lucerys sobbed against your hand, both his eyes closing for a moment as he shook his head. "You're leaving the choice to me?" you asked. "How galant..."

You removed both your hands from him, and watched as he collapsed against the headboard, looking pleadingly to the side where Joffrey was still asleep, peaceful under pure white sheets. He flinched as you tore some of the sheets from the bed spread and rolled it into a ball, forcing his mouth open to shove it in.

Lucerys once again choked on his own breaths and pleading words, but you ignored him. Your mind was swimming with urgency, and you knew the vicious current taking you under would only relent once your dark deed was committed.

Holding him down, you brought the blade to his face, uncaring when his terrified screams broke through the cotton.

Aemond was awoken by commotion in the hallway, and as he reached across the sheets, he found them cold. He shot up, grabbing a robe from the foot of the bed and slipping it on his bare frame.

The stones were cold beneath his feet as he made his way across to the royal quarters, to his mother's chambers where several voices were coming from, some panicked and some incensed. Dread curled in his stomach as he stepped over bloody prints and stains on the floors, following their lead to the Queen's chambers.

As he entered them, he was suddenly brought back years prior to the Hall of Nines where his eye had been sewn shut.

Rhaenyra, her sons and her husband were standing around a weeping Lucerys, sitting on an armchair while Maester Orwyle was working on his bloody face with a needle. The boy cried out and whimpered pleadingly as he saw the silhouette of his uncle, and Aemond would have felt elated if not for his confusion.

Across from them, Ser Criston Cole and Lord Commander Westerling were holding his wife by the arms, Queen Alicent standing as a living shield in front of her daughter-in-law.

"Aemond," his mother gasped.

You looked up and your face brightened as you saw him—it was spattered with blood, as was the front of your nightgown, while its sleeves were drenched in it. On a nearby table, his dagger laid, painted in bright red from the handle to the tip.

"Are you injured?" Aemond inquired as he rushed to you, but Lord Westerling kept him at arm's length, a gloved hand to his chest.

"I did it for you," you said in wonder, looking up at him with love. Aemond was stunned, and even Cole slackened his hold on you, as you reached into a fold of your robe, procuring a crimson ball of linen.

Across from you, Rhaenyra heaved as you presented Aemond with it, and he steadily unwrapped the cryptic present. He breathed a trembling breath, ice going down his spine when he took in the bloody eye in your palm.

"An eye for an eye, you are avenged now," you murmured, the High Valyrian rolling easily off your tongue. This time Lord Westerling did not hold you back as you fell forward into your husband's embrace, burying your bloody face in his chest, cradling the severed eye between your two bodies like a talisman.

"The girl is clearly disturbed. A madness has taken over her," Alicent defended. "Surely upon seeing her father being slain before her very eyes, and his memory mocked at dinner," she cried out, looking at Daemon, and the man laughed darkly.

"I demand retribution," Rhaenyra exclaimed, holding her son's head steady as the Maester worked the needle through the jagged cut.

"And yet you were so eager to dismiss my own demand when my son was maimed!" Alicent thundered.

"A trial would surely set all minds at ease," a calm voice came from the doorway, and all turned to Princess Rhaenys as she spoke. Silence fell over the royal quarters for a moment, and only the sound of steel piercing skin could be heard, along with soft Valyrian being spoken in Aemond's chest.

Madness was indeed the word decided upon at the trial that the Lord Hand and the Queen held on the following day, the Council looking at you in pity and vague disgust. It was decided that the fragile mind of a sane woman could not conjure such vicious violence as Prince Lucerys told, and your own wavering words sealed your fate.

"I do not remember a moment of it," you vowed before the Council and Ser Otto's kind gaze.

"It is known for violent scenes to trigger a bout of madness in young, impressionable minds," Maester Orwyle explained, his nails still caked in the blood of the prince. "Violence will come to them, with no memory of the act afterwards."

"The debt has already been paid," Lord Jason concluded. "The girl's father is dead, and Prince Aemond's eye was taken many years ago. Surely those quarrels can be put to rest now."

However as Rhaenyra flew back to Dragonstone, Daemon glancing at you over his shoulder as they left the Throne Room, cradling Lucerys in their embraces, you knew a blade was coming for you sooner or later. You did not fear it, as you knew your husband's own blade would protect you, even though he had been cold and silent since his sudden awakening in the night, and the present you had made him.

As you entered his chambers once the trial had released you to the care of your husband, he was sitting at the foot of the bed, lost in a sea of thoughts you feared to step into.

Instead you stayed on the shore, praying he would come to you, and crimson tides would not keep you apart. "Are you not relieved, or at least grateful?" you inquired, a bitter taste flooding your throat like a mouthful of seawater.

"Why did you do it?" came the cold question, and Aemond remained perfectly immobile, save for his eye that rose to you from under its white lashes. "You risked death, or at the least dishonor or exile."

"I did it for you," you replied feebly, confusion bringing hot tears to your eyes. "I could not stand and watch your nephew mock you, after his very existence forfeited that of my father."

Silence was your only answer, Aemond observing you with intent, his shoulders squared as his elbow rested on his knees. He hummed quietly, and you decided once again upon the truth. "I lied," you murmured. "I remember every moment of it."

Aemond's lips parted and a shallow breath pushed past his teeth, harsh and short. "The only madness present in this castle is the lie that the king is too weak to recognize," you hissed, and at that Aemond shot up from his seat, coming to tower over you.

He pressed his palm to your mouth, stunning you for a moment, but the heat in his eye made you melt into his touch. "What a marvel you are, my wife," he murmured with reverence, and this time your hot tears were ones of gratitude.

He dipped his head to kiss them away as you moaned against his palm, savoring their salt on his tongue as flashes of crimson appeared behind his closed eyelid. He could not escape the sight of you covered in revenge, one you had pursued in his name and executed with steadiness.

His hand slipped from your sweet lips and he swallowed your next moan, his tongue sharing the salt of your tears. "I can hardly believe it," he confessed against your lips.

"And yet it is real," you vowed. "I would do it again, you needn't even ask."

"Tell me about it," he hissed, his tight grasp on your shoulders pushing you against the nearby table, and never before had you heard such heat in the vowels of his High Valyrian.

"He cried and pleaded," you recounted as Aemond hoisted you up effortlessly. "He begged so sweetly, and he was so terrified he soiled himself."

Aemond chuckled darkly against your neck, his teeth marking it with bruises as his large palm sought the warmth of your thigh beneath your dark blue dress. You pulled at the fabric, revealing your golden skin like the sands beneath the retreating sea on the shores of Driftmark. .

His mouth following the lines of your clavicles and breast bone down the collar of your dress, Aemond sought your wetness and your pearl, his parted lips twitching as he found it easily. He pressed firm circles onto it with his thumb as two of his fingers slipped into you, and you clenched around him, rocking into the pleasure.

"He offered Driftmark, but I would not take it," you continued your tale as Aemond pressed his hardness into your thigh, the stiff leather leaving delicious burns on your skin. "Justice for you is more important to me than any throne," you murmured, and Aemond's rhythm on you never faltered, the pressure of his fingers riding the edge of pain.

Aemond almost snarled as he took his fingers away abruptly, your wetness smearing on his clothes as he unbuckled his belt hurriedly, and you could only hold on to the edge of the table, your knees parted around his waist. You braced for the rough thrust you knew was to come, and you threw your head back as his cock pierced you, the sudden stretch making you mewl.

"Tell me again," he pleaded in a broken groan, his breath hot against the side of your face.

He started a rough, punishing rhythm that had you scrambling for purchase, the table dragging on the stones from the force of his thrusts. It was as though your madness of that night had passed to him and he was now crazed with lust.

"I took his eye for you," you repeated, your voice breaking with moans as the drag of his cock took your wits from you, dragging you down the pit of heat that Aemond had lost himself in. "I made him cry and plead for mercy like the bastard he is deserves. I did it to avenge you."

His gratitude came in the form of relentless waves of the most exquisite pleasure—you usually liked his slow, measured endeavors, but there was no stopping the storm of his passion now, and you found would gladly drown in it. You closed your eyes and allowed him to take you under, the delicious stretch of his cock and the drag along your sweet spot making your head spin and your pearl throb.

He chuckled again, dark and victorious, as the pressure in your core snapped and you clenched around his cock, your hips grinding up into his. You cried out, coating his cock in your pleasure as you pulsed, surrendering to your peak and its ebbing waves until you could catch your breath again and your eyes fluttered open.

"I did it because I love you," you said, gaze peering into his, and you watched as his peak took over him, his features twisting in ecstasy.

You sighed along with his broken whimpers as his brow creased and his lips parted, his eye blown wide. He looked wild and crazed, more devastatingly beautiful than ever, his white hair falling over his shoulders as his hips seized and ground into yours, his cock pulsing hotly inside you.

He fell forward into you and you remained in silence for a while, forehead to forehead and the thundering of your hearts settled. You hooked your legs behind his, cradling his head into your hands, trusting him to hold you up against the tabletop. "When they come for you, I shall be ready. I will avenge your father," Aemond vowed, the lilac of his eye reflecting in the seawater hues of your own purple gaze.

Dividers by @/saradika

This was requested by @crystal-syren and proofread by @arcielee.

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