#aemond targaryen x velaryon oc

[damneddamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part ix)

a/n: Silverwing being ride-or-die is my new favourite trope

Princess Aemma Velaryon's death reached Dragonstone only after her forlorn brother, Prince Lucerys, feverishly searched the seas and skies alike for any sign of her or Silverwing. All he came upon of her was the shredded length of her velvet cloak by the shores of Shipbreaker's Bay, his sister's sweet lavender perfume lost to the salt of the sea. He had clung to it like it was his lifeline, and that's how they found him in the Sea Dragon tower, within Aemma's chambers—crying his eyes out and calling out to her.

Luke sobbed deeply, pulling at his hair. "It should've been me."

Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon walked in on Luke, eager to see her children again, and eventually registering his undone suffering. Once the mother noticed the familiar article of clothing—formerly her own—she went insensate. Her shoulders shook, composure gone to ashes, and sank to her knees. Daemon was stoic to the scene, save for his hand that went to direly fist at his sword.

The older prince spoke first, relieving the tension. Despite his grave face, his tone was forbidding, intending to burn. "Who the fuck did this?"

Luke's upper lip curled, his hands clenching at his sister's cape. "Him."

Nothing else needed to be said. The reality of who was capable of executing such treason was well understood, though uttering his name was like spitting venom.

Rhaenyra roared out with the visceral fury of a dragon, and once that drained, she was but an empty vessel. She heaved a solemn breath, palming at her abdomen. The misery that wracked her labours was far less cruel than whatever this was, the anguish overwhelming, her chest aching with the burden of mourning two daughters, their deaths igniting the flames of war.

When she tearily looked to her side, Daemon had disappeared.

Prince Daemon had been conditioned to barbarity and grief, so much they were welcome drinking companions of his. Aemma was no different to this addition. In her, he saw echoes of his own turbulent youth—the same steely determination, the same unpredictability, the restless drive to remain an enigma to those around her. Perhaps it was this reflection of his own wild spirit that spurred him to seek out grisly revenge.

Daemon's warpath toward Caraxes suddenly stopped as he saw him standing before the painted table. The hollow swordsman. The one-eyed kinslayer. A mirror of Daemon's worst motivations. Here stood the rider of the beast that had slain his daughter.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister without hesitation, the Valyrian blade slicing through the air with a menacing swish.

"Poetic justice or self-destruction?" he muttered, masking his fury.

Aemond bore a black smile, barely lifting his lips. "Depends on which of us you ask, uncle."

X

Rumours had begun to spread that Aemond Targaryen had defected to the Blacks. Some even called it a surrender. Perhaps it was the stabs of a prickling conscience, the blood stains of love in his hands, or the affliction of sorrow that had overtaken him, making him ready to face the wrath of a grieving mother—and his own death. Bereft of his truest calling, shattered by dreams he had destroyed with his hands, the one-eyed prince swiftly concluded that life held no meaning without his princess. He intended to follow her footsteps soon enough, to fulfil the conclusive detail of their promise: never to part from Aemma henceforth.

Without Aemond and Vhagar, King’s Landing had become perilously vulnerable. The soaring pall of the largest and most terrifying dragon no longer loomed over the capital, and it was clear to all that their strongest defence was now absent. The Greens' was evidently morale staggered. With Vhagar’s absence, Rhaenyra’s forces could bring the fire with seven dragons and fewer consequences, and rumours of dissent spread throughout the city. The Greens were losing their grip, outmatched in numbers and firepower, leaving the smallfolk exposed and the city teetering on the edge of defeat.

Terrible fables spoke of King Aegon and Aemond One-Eye’s grandiose schemes to slay the false queen under the guise of begging for mercy. But these tales were discredited when it was revealed that Aemond had been imprisoned in the chambers of the late princess—a ruthless move orchestrated by Queen Rhaenyra. It was, in every sense, a final sentence.

“If that savage snake truly loved her,” Rhaenyra had said vengefully to her husband, “then that place will drive him mad. Let his evil haunt him. I want to see the fear in his eyes when I burn him.”

Yet fear was not something Aemond would entertain. He would sooner fall on his sword than show terror before his wretched half-sister.

Over time, however, he did fall—deeper into madness consumed by the unfamiliarity of being locked in the space that had once been Aemma’s. The burden of memory became the iron bars and chains of this prison. Numb to everything else, he wandered her chambers aimlessly, haunted by her absence. She was everywhere and nowhere at once—in the vanity, where strands of her hair clung to her hairbrush; in the bureau, where her meticulously folded maps and lists remained undisturbed; and in the faint perfume that lingered in the air, forever scenting her dresser.

A full moon's cycle passed before Aemond began hearing her voice. A breathy echo, a laughing whisper, a figment of his broken mind. With each crash of the waves against the jagged rocks beneath her balcony, he would catch that soft, familiar sound: My friend.

The echo eased him in ways nothing else could, drawing a smile to his face. If this was madness, it was madness he welcomed. My love, he thought, and in that moment, he would’ve gladly surrendered to it.

Jace was the one who finally confronted Aemond, his vengeance boiling over upon his return from the Vale. Sword in hand, he cornered the one-eyed prince in his sister's chambers. What was surprising was how the captive did not baulk at the sight of the angry prince. He simply tilted his head, offering his neck and awaiting the onslaught.

"Fucking murderous cunt," Jace spat, barely above a whisper, trembling with restrained fury.

Aemond was inured now. It resounded in his mind with every breath, a constant reminder of what he'd become. His gaze remained distant, vacant as he met Jace's stare.

"Mount your dragon," Jace ordered, dripping with disdain. "I only spare you this avail because of how dearly Aemma loved you."

Aemond didn’t even blink. It took more effort than expected to form words after days of silence.

"I will not fight you," he muttered, voice gravelly from disuse. "So, get it over with. Finish me."

But Jace wasn't about to grant him that release.

"You're coming with me," he growled, eyes blazing with wrath. "I won't believe my sister is gone until I see it with my eyes. Find me Silverwing, and only then will you get what you so desperately crave."

Aemond turned away, blinking back a rare sting of emotion clouding his vision. He had been so benumbed, that the sensation sliced him raw. His jaw clenched, forcing his voice through the anguish tightening his throat.

"Silverwing sank beneath the waves."

"Then she should've washed ashore by now," Jace snapped, his tone sharpening. "Or been spotted near Storm's End, or found by sailors off Driftmark. Someone would've seen her. I will not grieve with my family until I know for certain. Until I’ve seen damning proof."

Aemond’s teeth ground together in frustration. "My hope ended with her."

"Hope?" Jace sneered, the word wresting bitterly in his mouth. "Know this, uncle—gods forbid I find what I seek, you won’t just be dead to the realm, you’ll be nothing more than a relic of a prince no one will remember."

X

We cannot know the ancient minds of dragons. They were not merely instruments of war—they were beasts of chaos, as unreliable as the gales they rode. A bitter reminder of how little command Targaryens truly held, even over their own beasts. Yet, the Good Queen's Silverwing had always been distinct from the others—gentler, some would say, with a serenity that belied the strength coiled within her shimmering, pale-scaled body.

Her loyalty to her peaceful rider ran deeper than bloodshed or battle, for it was not assumed upon command or duty but of a friendship that transcended power. It was instinctual, a mutual loneliness that they shared. Silverwing had intuited Aemma’s presence since her first touch upon her scales, the soft whispers of affection, the implicit trust.

Following Aemma's descent from her dragon's saddle, the waters hit her hard, churning her into the abyss. Just as the waves threatened to pull her deeper, Silverwing cut through them, her talons outstretched, and in a swift, precise motion, she plucked Aemma from the depths before the sea could claim her entirely. Silverwing’s grip was painstaking, cradling her rider’s limp form between her sharp talons, ensuring she was protected. With a great struggle, Silverwing battered her wings against the storm, fighting the ocean’s pull, lifting them both back into the air, finding cover above the storm clouds.

And now, in the quiet of this remote sanctuary, camouflaged against rocks, their bond held firm, even as Aemma lay unconscious amidst the mud and grass, suspended between life and death.

The old dragon sensed more than the warmth of her rider's skin when she nudged her snout against her constantly, letting out a low, concerned rumble. She felt the pulse of her heart, flimsy but steady, the rhythm of her breath, shallow but resilient. Every beat, every rise and fall of Aemma’s chest was a call to Silverwing, one that she refused to neglect.

Silverwing would shift her body closer at night, nestling Aemma to the earth, her massive wing folded protectively over the young princess' limp body like a shroud of safety from the bitter storms and the chilliness of dusk. Her fiery breaths ghosted over Aemma, keeping her warm.

Days turned into nights, and nights into days, but Silverwing never left, only venturing far enough to find sustenance, returning quickly, her eyes scanning the skies for any threats that might approach. But none came. The world remained unaware of the little hidden firth by the hills and the fragile life it cradled.

Silverwing’s troth was not just an animal instinct—it was a devotion to the one person who had never treated her as a mere beast. For nigh on a week, Aemma had doted on her, spoken to her in the tongue of Old Valyria, just as Alysanne did, with the same reverence and care, and Silverwing, in turn, had taken her into the skies, free from the burdens of the mortal realm.

In this isolated place, far from the throes of war, Silverwing held the last vestige of hope for her rider’s survival. It wasn't until a dark-haired sailor had stumbled upon their refuge that the mighty she-dragon let out her first roar in a while.

Addam of Hull hadn't expected much that day. He had set out on his small boat with nothing but the hope of catching enough fish to feed Driftmark's shores. The oceans had been restless ever since the bloodshed over Shipbreaker's Bay, and his mind had drifted as the waves lapped at the sides of his skiff. He cast his net, whistling a well-known sea shanty, letting the salt air fill his lungs, when something unusual caught his eye, beyond a small inlet of water rambling away from the beach.

A flash of silver. A rustle in the trees.

As his little skiff crept closer and into the currents of the slight strait, Addam’s heart surged. There, nestled within the protective embrace of the rocks, lay a great silvery-blue dragon that was the name on everyone's fuller lips—Silverwing. Her glittering hide was unmistakable, though it bore the wear of days spent at the mercy of the weather. She lay low to the ground, her immense wings tucked tightly around something as if guarding a prized jewel.

Addam wasted no time. He rowed forth, with all the strength he could muster, his mind racing. Could it be? Could Princess Aemma have survived the hand of fate, the cruel sea, her murderous husband, and the relentless storm? Could it be that Rhaeynra's heir was very much still alive?

As he drew nigher, disembarking his boat and clambering up the rocks, Silverwing raised her head, her auburn eyes locking onto him with a vicious intensity. She cautioned him with a low rumble, ready to spew out her ire.

For a moment, Addam feared she truly might lash out, mistaking him for a foe, but she did not move. Instead, she took a prudent sniff and juddered her head, softening almost.

Eventually, she unfurled her wings narrowly, revealing the motionless form of Princess Aemma cradled beneath her. She was drenched, emaciated, tattered, bruised, and her silver hair matted to her gaunt face, but her chest rose and fell.

There was yet life in her. Barely. All alone. No one else. Just Silverwing standing vigil over her as if she’d been guarding the princess all these days. Ten days.

"Gods be good," Addam murmured.

Silverwing shifted away, stooping into the rocky niche, as if to offer her rider to him, but kept her weather eye on him. Addam made quick work of it, lifting her carefully into his arms off the wet ground. She was light, too light, but she stirred faintly at his touch.

"Princess?" He was unsure if she could hear him.

As he carried her back toward the boat, shrouded her in the coils of his nets, her fiery guardian observed the sailor, her vigilant eyes never leaving Aemma’s form.

She pierced a startling trill at her rider's saviour.

Addam jerked in shock, nearly dropping his docking ropes.

Silverwing rose off the ground, and shook herself off, wings beginning to unfurl as if preparing to take flight.

"You—er, stay," Addam stammered, desperately gesturing with his palms, trying to convey some form of command to the dragon.

He knew full well he was speaking to a creature that answered to no man but her rider, and she was not going to let just anyone snatch the princess away unless she was certain they meant no harm.

Carefully, Addam took a step closer, heart thudding in his chest as he bowed his head to the dragon.

"I'm not here to harm her," he said softly as if Silverwing could understand his plea. "I want to save her."

For a long moment, the dragon stayed unmoving, watching him closely, casting her own unfamiliar judgement. Then, with a slow and deliberate movement, she backed away scarcely.

"Thank you," he whispered, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he was thanking the dragon, the gods, or fate itself.

X

Returning Princess Aemma in such a state to her kin on Dragonstone would have them questioning Addam's heartening intentions toward her. Rather than have them cast their vile aspersions on him and taint his shoddy name further, the brothers knew it was only proper to nurse the princess to health before anything else. The secret of Aemma's survival would remain closely guarded for a while longer.

"She thinks I'm her father," Addam quietly shared with his brother, Alyn, upon the fifth evening of secretively nursing Princess Aemma in their meagre home. It had been a total of sixteen days since she was believed deceased.

Alyn raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the small, makeshift room where their heir to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms lay in a thrifty cot, wrapped in linen blankets and tended to with great care. Her condition had steadily improved, but she remained barely conscious and frail.

"What do you mean, ‘she thinks I’m her father’? Is she delirious?" He asked.

Addam leaned against the doorframe, picking off the herbs from his thumb. "Perhaps she seeks comfort. And she finds it in the late Laenor."

As they spoke, a soft groan emanated from the cot, interrupting them. Aemma stirred, her dark eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again. Her lips moved silently, murmuring incoherent words. Addam and Alyn exchanged a glance, their choices harshening.

Alyn's brow furrowed. "How is she then?"

"Better than expected," Addam replied, shaking his head. "Her fever broke, I've stopped feeding her milk of the poppy. She recalls her mother often. The poor thing had nearly cracked every rib in her chest, the healers had to brace her spine with wood until yesterday. The blood of Old Valyria heals quick, I suppose."

Alyn nodded, absorbing the solemnity of his brother’s words. "And the dragon?"

"Stays close, hovers around the Driftmark groves. I've been feeding her, too," Addam said, shaking his head with a small, wry smile.

Alyn clapped his brother on his back, grateful for him. "How are you faring?"

Addam shrugged casually. "I’m doing what I can."

"Good. Keep watch," Alyn instructed, nodding at him. "On the morrow, I’ll prepare a fresh supply of herbs and check on the guards. There's only so long that we can keep her out of prying eyes."

Addam sat by the firelight in the hearth, his eyes constantly drifting to the young girl as she lay nestled beneath the heavy blankets, adjusting them around her again, his movements careful, almost tender. Every now and then, Aemma would stir, her brow twitching in her sleep, speaking illegibly. The flicker of the flames stained her face in hues of gold and shadow, silvery hair glinting, making her seem almost unearthly, untouchable. She could not have been older than fifteen, an age no child should have to raise battlements in a war.

“She’s strong,” Addam murmured, more to himself than to anyone in particular. “Stronger than I imagined.”

"A future queen," Alyn said. "There's hope for her yet."

X

The second sons of the Blacks and Greens, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Aemond Targaryen, were unlikely allies as they scoured the realm despite their bitterness, united on a front to find a whiff of Aemma or Silverwing, searching high and low, from the misty mountains of the Vale to the shadowed peaks of Harrenhal and the foggy forests of the Riverlands. Every whisper of a silver-blue dragon sighting raised their hopes, only to be dashed moments later.

The weight of Aemma's absence dangled over them like a blade. Jace was fierce, relentless in finding that damned dragon himself, dead or alive. Maybe they were on a wild goose chase, led astray to not confront the reality that awaited them. Every dead end with clueless lords and fishermen was a new wound, yet he never yielded.

Their unwavering trepidation whenever the folk and lords saw Aemond cut deeper than a lash of a thousand scorpions. Each glance was a reminder, a searing echo of his own words to Aemma that fateful night: "Better to be feared than scorned." But now, as their suspicions pressed down on him, the question gnawed at his memory—was it really? The cold satisfaction he once sought had curdled into something far more bitter, and he found himself wondering whether 'fear' had ever truly been the answer, or if it had only left him more isolated, more empty.

Aemond, however, wore a stoic mask over his understanding of the truth, though beneath it, the torment tore at his soul. If Aemma's room had been perfect chaos, this was his purgatory. His nights grew sleepless, plagued by the recollections of his mistakes, the sight of her empty saddle still burned behind his eyes. He carried the guilt like a second skin, abrading when it got too thin. A little part of him was driven to heed Jace, an insignificant confidence, not by burden but by desperation—a need for redemption, to see her alive, to prove to himself that she had somehow survived.

Now, close to five nights, it had become custom for Jace, drunk on grief and rage, to drag his feet outside Aemond's pitched tent, embracing his shining sword, fighting his morals. Fighting the inevitable. Jace never spoke to Aemond directly, but his accusations found a way into his earshot.

"Aemma was good. Peaceful," he would hear Jace lament. "She had dreams. She was our sunshine. Now she’s out there somewhere, alone in death. Or worse. And you, of all people, claim to be the one who loved her? You never did. You fucking murderer. Selfish cunt."

This night, a familiar darkness flickered alight in Aemond. Unfailing despair powered him to react. He walked out of his tent, stepping forward in a threat until Jace's raging face was inches apart, his sword slipping from his grasp. His single eye narrowed.

"Say it again," Aemond dared, his voice low and cold. "Say that I do not love her. Say it, bastard."

Jace shoved him by his chest, his rage boiling over. "You threw her away like she was nothing! For your treacherous family! You never gave a fuck about her, and that is the truth!"

Aemond stumbled back but didn’t fight back. How could he, he had nothing left to withstand. His mouth twisted in pain, but his voice remained hard.

"Hate me all you want. Blame me. Strike me down. Your words hold facts. But don’t think for one second that your fury burns hotter than mine. Or that your love for her transcends mine own."

"Fuck you!"

Jace shoved him again, shouting out his rage, this time harder, the power of his wrath pushing Aemond back a step. And again and again, until Aemond fell back into the mud. Back again to ten years ago, when a spiteful Aegon had towered over him, Sunfyre peering over his shoulder mockingly.

Jace met his gaze, the two facing eye to eye, the consequence of years of rivalry and betrayal still fresh between them. But beneath it, there was something else now—shared desperation, grief that only they could understand. The closest brother of Aemma and her husband.

Aemond's breath hitched, bearing himself with his palms, the words barely escaping through his gritted teeth. He looked Jace in the eye, his jaw tight.

"I have nothing left. Seize your sword and end it all."

Jace leaned down, seething, his voice trembling with scorn. "Look at where your absolution got you. Begging your foes for death. Pathetic."

Aemond’s hand twitched toward his dagger on instinct, his face a storm of rage and remorse. He had been so accustomed to being on his back, bearing through the punches thrown, facing defeat, now when he was made to encounter this yet again.

"Yes. That is all you see," Aemond agreed, his expression darkening. "All you ever see. Aegon, Rhaenyra, you. A pathetic boy too sightless for power. I've belonged nowhere but with Aemma all my life"—his voice cracked—"and now she's gone, too. And I am left trapped in this resenting world."

Jace stayed quiet, breathing deeply.

"I could not save her," he whispered, the words hollow as they left him. "No atonement will ever free me from this, even while I chase forgiveness from a ghost. I will never know peace again until my last breath."

His trembling fingers unsheathed his dagger and threw it to Jace's feet. "Make your shot count, nephew. Plunge it into my other eye, and take what is due. I do not care anymore."

Jace’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a step back, torn between fury and pity, his expression unreadable. He looked away, blinking back tears as if the significance of Aemond’s words was too much to bear. He couldn’t bring himself to speak—there was nothing left to say.

"You don't deserve peace, not even in death," Jace eventually whispered before walking away.

X

The air was dense with the scent of salt and damp wood as Aemma lay in a bed draped with soft linens, the faint sounds of the lapping waves against the rocky shores of Driftmark echoing in her ears. Her body felt heavy, as though weighed down by an invisible force. Pain coursed through her like a vicious tide, abrupt and relentless, yet there was a warmth surrounding her that whispered of safety.

Fingers of consciousness began to weave their way through the fog enveloping her mind. Flashes of memory flickered like distant constellations—Silverwing’s fierce wings, the chaos of the storm, and Addam’s urgent voice calling her name. She struggled against the haze, her heart pounding with the remnants of fear and desperation.

"Aemma." The voice broke through her reverie, softer now, tinged with concern.

She fought to open her eyes, the effort feeling monumental. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered, and the dim light of the stuffy room began to emerge. A figure stood at the foot of the bed, cloaked and hooded, shrouded in shadow.

A wave of shock washed over her, and before she could fully grasp the situation, he lunged forward, pressing a warm hand to her lips to silence her gasp. Heart racing, Aemma’s gaze narrowed, the edges of her memory sharpening.

"Ssh, my love," he shushed her.

She recognized the intensity in his gaze, even from beneath the hood. He hovered close, his presence both alarming and strangely familiar. His silver hair rolled off his neck and shoulders, catching the light and casting shadows that accentuated the depth of his expression. One striking violet eye shone through the darkness, piercing and filled with emotion, while the other was shrouded in shadow.

“Aemond,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, like the faintest breeze. It felt like a lifetime since she had last spoken, her throat dry and cracked.

He flinched at the sound of her voice as if she had struck a nerve. Slowly, he lifted his head, an indigo eye swirling with a charged storm—pain, regret, and something darker lurking beneath the surface.

His voice was as firm as steel, yet equally gentle. "We've done our parts here. You’re coming with me, and this time, forever."

X

[councilofcastamere]

WINTER NIGHTS | CREGAN STARK X TARG!READER ꧂

a b r i d g e m e n t : With tensions rising, your elder half-sister Rhaenyra arranges for you to seek asylum in the freezing land of the North. And fortunately for you, Cregan is there to show you how Northmen operate.

TW: penetration, loss of virginity, breeding kink, mentions gender roles but in a sexy way, sexual tension, sibling jealousy, childhood neglect, mentions of death by birth, shitty character development

A/N: I know the girly portrayed is Visenya but her body is tea in this so maybe I do know best…

The second daughter. The oh-so passed over maiden. Not belonging to anything, nor belonging to nothing. Not the first, and not the last. An ever enduring memory to a passed over era. Nothing significant. Never anything significant.

That’s what you were. Insignificance. A beautiful insignificance, if you could see beauty in tragedy. Beauty in all the ways of life. All the little horrible things that make up a big, beautiful, picture. People shan’t look close, you’d assure yourself.

But you were you. Born to the everlasting way of royal life. To the peaceful Viserys, and his second wife, a woman whose name is not all that important. Another maiden from a noble house that perished to childbirth. Lost her life, giving life.

And as it did not to many maidens, the Gods did not grant you the chance to grow up with your mother. The blood that dripped down her thighs had covered you from head to toe as you came into existence, and she had naught of you in her arms before a deep and long slumber overcame her. The stranger had come for her, and he did not slow down on its way. He’d taken her as quick as she’d given you to the world. A quick exchange, you’d suppose.

Now and then you think about her. What she might have looked like, what she might have liked, what she might have been had she survived the wretched burden of your existence. You’d often wonder if infants who survived childbirth ever felt as deep a burden as she did. To have your very first breath of life tainted with the death of an innocent. Tainted with tragedy.

Growing up in King’s Landing hadn’t been all that as it sounded. You’d never really been that happy, as ungracious as it sounded.

You had an older sister - Rhaenyra - who’d occasionally humoured you. You’d never seen much of her, really. Perhaps it was your own fault as well. For not actively seeking her out. For not being the younger sister one was supposed to be. Some people - as close to you as they may be - are just unattainable in your mind. Your kin aren’t your kin until you allow it.

You have better companions than her, you figured. You had your lady-in-waitings. Lady Vievenne of house Swann. Lady Laycie of house Oldflowers. Lady Claere of house Ambrose. Lady Evelyne of house Hightower, who was, by all accounts, a gift from your newest stepmother, Alicent of the house Hightower.

What you also had was younger siblings. Such as Aegon. Though he is naught but a skirt enthusiast, swimming along the sea of young maidens at his whim. But he cares not whether they are, does he?

And oh, do not get yourself started on the one-eyed prince and that smug little smile on his sharp-featured face. Nonetheless, he was gentle. Oh so gentle with his touch. And oh so sinister in the way that made you feel important enough to be in his good graces.

However, you chose to distance yourself from all parties involved as fate made it clear what it had in store. A great slap to the great Targaryen dynasty. A dark cloud looming over the already curse-clad clan.

For even you knew that the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon, was itself.

“Sister.” you greeted one late evening, having taken flight to Dragonstone on your she-dragon, Starfyre. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“…y/n.” the elder sister called out, a small smile on her lips. “I… am glad for your visit.”

“…I’m certain you are,” you say, trying with all your might to contain a frown.

You eyed her awkwardly as she wiped her sweaty hands off her dress, letting out a sigh as the elder royal wasn’t quite certain how to approach the topic.

“I… understand… things quite haven’t been… that active, in our kinship,” Rhaenyra speaks up, taking a step closer. “And for that, I apologise.”

You could only nod, a small smile gracing your lips at the heartwarming confession of absent love.

“I apologise, also.” you smiled, your hands finding each other behind your back. “I suppose I should have been the one to seek your company and counsel as well.”

“Good.” Rhaenyra smiled awkwardly, a silence engulfing the echo-ridden chambers. “The reason, as to why I called you, might be surprising.”

You froze slightly, heart pounding as the possibilities of implications travelled through your mind. The goosebumps on your arms grew more prominent as a cold breeze passed through.

“Oh?” you answered, cocking a brow. “And what might that be, sister?”

“I ask of you to travel to the North,” Rhaenyra admits, a tone of seriousness overshadowing the warm moment. “I have already sent a raven to Lord Cregan Stark, and he has agreed to host you. If it pleases you, of course.”

No answer came out of your lips, save for your a mere breath. You felt a pang in your heart, consuming your every emotion, making certain you cannot detect how you feel about the news.

A dragon in the north? What a jest. You’d do better in Dorne, surrounded by sun-kissed squires and stable boys than laddish lordlings and Northern butchers.

“And… why should I?” you asked, respect in your tone. “Pardon me, my sister, but why have you made this decision for me?”

“Tensions are rising, y/n. You know that as well as I do.” Rhaenyra sighs, her body language giving up on its tense posture. “And I am aware of your… complex feelings on it. But to the North you must. I’m sending Rhaena to the Va-”

“Yes, because Rhaena gets to be hosted by a relative of yours, in safety. Meanwhile you sent me off to some Northern stranger!”

“Y/n.” Rhaenyra warned, raising a brow. She took a step closer as you composed your words. “You are my sister, and I will have you safe in the North. The Northmen are honourable men, and in time you’ll know.”

✫彡

And so you were, clad in thick fur, lady Vivenne and lady Evelyne at both sides of yourself. Across from you sat three servants, and somewhere else sat your sworn shield.

“It will be splendid.” Evelyne beamed, properly adjusting her hair, tied up in a bun, similar to the ones the older maidens wear. “We shall meet every dusk, and speak about our day. In front of the fire.”

“Not if I can help it.” you sighed softly. “Apologies, my ladies, but I’ll let you two get at it. I’d love to explore the North in solitude.”

“Right…” Vivenne nodded, looking through the small peep holes as the carriage slowed down, just outside the gates of Winterfell. “We’ve arrived, I suppose. You’ll have to greet Lord Stark. If he’s anything we’ve heard of and more, I wish you luck.”

You only nodded, watching as your ladies exited the carriage, standing at the side of the door. Their faces are cast down, as if in mourning. Perhaps they’re mourning the life of luxury provided at King’s Landing.

You could not blame them for it, really. From growing up in their own house, to growing up in the Royal house, to trade it again to live to see the snowy winters of Winterfell.

You shook slightly, the cold air hitting your face in an instant as you slightly lifted your dress, taking a step out of the three provided for the carriage.

You looked ahead of you, eyes locking on the noblemen and women, standing straight and proud. The women bore clothes of low quality, so obviously sewn to fit any class. The men wore dark furs, contrasting to the blue clothing of the opposite sex.

And in the midst of it, stood Cregan Stark, accompanied by a mere little boy of just two years of age. Your eyes locked upon his stormy-grey ones, his face etched into a stern expression, eyes focused on yours.

You maintained the eye contact, taking each step closer to him.

“Princess Y/N.” Cregan greeted formally, taking your soft hand in his. “Welcome to Winterfell. I am Lord Cregan Stark.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” you smile, curtsying in a fashionable manner. Your eyes stood glued on his as his lips brushed against the palm of your hand. “I’m truly honoured to be here.”

“…I’m certain you are.” Cregan answered, eyeing you skeptically.

Hearing false compliments wasn’t out of the ordinary for the wolf of Winterfell. He knew well enough that you weren’t suited for the North. You were a Southern lady, used to the life of feasts, luxury, and sparkly dresses.

“Let us go inside, shall we?” you smiled charmingly, looking up at the tall castle with dread in your eyes.

“Aye, so we shall.” Cregan nodded, his broad shoulders most notable as he sauntered into the opened gates.

✫彡

The first night went unfamiliar to you, the harsh blows of the cold weather creating a prominent presence looming over the already melancholic times.

You sat in your chambers, sitting at the stony window sill as you watched Cregan from above.

The lord was overlooking young squires on the courtyard, engaged in conversation with the knight in charge of guiding the young to-be-knights.

All dressed in fur, shoulders looking as if they were padded. Cregan’s hair was tied up, with two front strands escaping and hanging loose. His grey-blue eyes stood glued at watching the young squire’s techniques, and you could only sigh as you got lost in his appearance.

Ever since stepping foot into the North of Westeros, you’d developed a strange sense of interest in the beauty of Northern men. How they all dressed so grimly, but intimidating. How they’re oh-so honourable and hard working. How they always seemed so clean shaven but rugged all at once.

And you could not help but wonder what it would be like had you wedded one of them.

Being completely honest, you’d never really been the sort of maiden to stay inside of her chambers, waiting for her husband to return from his duty, deprived of affection.

With any Southern lord, being a doting unappreciated wife would never cross your mind.

But with Northern men, however, you had the feeling your efforts wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Before you could continue your vulgarly confusing thoughts, you saw Cregan’s eyes shift to yours, finding your gaze.

You could only lean against the window, a hand on the stony side as you gazed back at him. Your hair was loose, and you were dressed in your creamy beige nightdress.

You held his gaze for a moment, until ultimately turning away, leaving the implications of that gaze to his imagination.

✫彡

By the third day, you’d been reading in the old library belonging to House Stark. You’d sat on a plush seat, the dusty book on your lap as your gentle fingers flipped through the pages.

But you weren’t alone.

Cregan Stark sat near you, his knees in almost touching proximity to yours.

“Aye, the North is cold, but it’s honest.” he tells you, gently shutting his own book. “The snow doesn’t lie about its intention. No courtly games like they play in the South.”

“Oh, please.” you smiled, shutting your book as well. your body shifted so it was facing his, resting your head on one hand. “The courtly games are what makes it so fun.”

“Now, riddle me this.” You smiled, noting his full attention on you. His body language exuded calmness, and you felt secure in the knowledge that his comfort lies with you. “How do you not like courtly games? Personally, it makes my life all the more amusing.”

“I suppose it’s all jesting for you, princess.” Cregan said, his eyes resting on yours. “Amusement or not, I’d rather know where I stand…”

“With you, however…” His eyes trailed down to your bare shoulder, the white nightdress you’re wearing very much a sight of sore eyes. “I think I know.”

“Oh, do you?” you teased, cocking a brow. “And how so, pray tell?”

“Well…” he grunted, shifting in his seat to tighten the proximity around you two. “You’d do well not to cross any Northern man. They don’t take well to… courtly games.”

You only smiled at that, your upper body instinctively leaning in, albeit torturously slow.

“And, uh, suppose I… marry a Northern lord.” you teased quite coquettishly, a hand moving to rest on the thick fur coating his body. “What am I in for.”

You watched as his smirk only widened, gently taking the hand that rested on his fur, and taking it in his.

“Marry a Northern lord like me, and have your nights warmed under the thick fur of blankets.” he says, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles. “Northern loyalty runs deep, princess. That’s what you’d be in for.”

You nodded slowly, and you could not help but notice those coloured eyes of his descending onto your perky breasts.

Great, this was all going well so far. “I’d imagine… do you think he’d gift me a pup? I’ve always wanted a tiny pet, to keep.”

“Yeah?” The lord licked his lips, a hand resting on your waist. “You think you’d handle a wolf properly?”

“Well, I would.” you smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m a dragon… and dragons do not surrender that easily.”

You smiled, shifting in your seat again as Cregan amusedly indulged you in your silly thoughts. “Just imagine it, my lord. I’d be holding that pup every night trying to get it to warm to me.”

Your hand slowly, but surely, trickled down to his clothed thigh, trying to maintain a sense of quiet intimacy.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, then.” his voice lowered, bordering on husky. “Wolves aren’t so easily tamed, not even by someone with…”

He paused for a moment, a hand gently taking the one you placed on his thigh.

“…your charms.”

You’d have a cheeky comeback on the tip of your tongue, had it not been for Cregan’s lips descending upon yours, clashing together like Blackwoods and Brackens.

You let out a soft breath as you eased into the kiss, feeling his large hands grip your waists as if his life depended on it.

Your hands moved from his shoulders, to his neck, and then to his armoured chest. The armour he carried felt cold to your hands, yet it made it all the more sinful.

“Did you have this in mind?” you murmured against his lips, tongue circling his as you so sloppily attempted to kiss him. “Seducing me?”

The silence engulfed you two for a moment, only being overshadowed by the sound of soft breaths.

“You have it wrong, princess.” he breathed, firmly planting you upon his lap, your back pressing against his chest. “Do you take me for a halfwit?”

You smiled, looking over your shoulder as you attempted to chase his lips with yours again.

“No, but I certainly did not take you for a man so easily seduced.” you teased, guiding his hands to your clothed breasts. “You don’t seem the type to give in that easily.”

“Because it’s untrue.” he spoke up, lips brushing to against your neck. “But do you honestly think nothing would be done about the way you saunter around, looking as you do?”

His hands slowly tugged against your nightdress, pressing a hard kiss to your achy jaw before pulling away.

“Lay yourself down on the carpet.” he commanded, hands shifting to peel off his fur coat, along with his armour and tunic.

All you could do was nod and watch on as his armour went discarded on the floor, the metal material cranking against the stone ground.

His bare chest was now visible, the defining abs illuminated by the glowing fire. His hair messed up when he threw his tunic over his head.

“Cregan, I-"

And in one moment, you felt his large body overshadow yours, clashing lips again. Cregan lifted his body as to not crush you, hands on either side of your head.

You only permitted yourself to breathe unevenly, stead of moan. Your hands found his shoulders, desiring to pull him closer than possible.

“Ever since you’ve arrived you’d been nothing but trouble.” Cregan murmured, lips finding your throat. “Sauntering around with your ladies, endlessly teasing me.”

Your legs only shifted to wrap around his waist, back slowly arching at the kisses.

He took notice, and let one of his hands pin you down, lips descending towards your perky breasts.

“Gods, you’re wrong for this.” he grunted, swirling his tongue around the nipple. “For provoking me, as you did yesterday, and the day before that.”

“For thinking you have the authority to do this to a lord.” he breathed, your small breast fitting into his large palm.

“For…” he continued, kissing down your stomach, before ultimately glancing back at you “…thinking you’d get away with this.”

“I did not think I’d get away with this.” you tease, watching as he moves face-to-face again. “Which is why I did it.”

Your hands find his muscled arms, squeezing it gently. “I want to know how Northern men do it.”

You’d think you were jesting, but were you truly?

You’d have opened your mouth to say anything else, looking up at him, if it weren’t for the Northern lord himself roughly flipping you to your stomach.

“You wish to know, my princess?” he murmurs, unlatching his breeches. “You’d have your first time be with a Northman?”

You nodded, cheek resting on the carpet fabric without surrender. “Yes. Gods yes.”

He hiked your skirt around your waist, your plump ass visible to his peering eyes.

“You’ll be ruined for other men, aye.” He grunted, his hand wrapping around his rock hard cock.

“That’s good, because I desire no one save you.” you smiled, allowing him to lift your hips up and arch your back.

“Yeah?” he smirked, the tip of his cock rubbing against your damp hole. “You’ll have me make you my wife?”

You nodded, impatiently moving your hips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“You’d be a good wife, wouldn’t you?” he grunted once again, head finally pushing into your unloosened clit. “No Southern games, no poignant looks of yours.”

“You like that about me.” you painfully breathed, feeling the uncomfortable ache of his cock in your newly penetrated cunt.

His head descended, placing gentle kisses upon your shoulders. “A maiden. Perhaps you aren’t as well-equipped to handle a wolf as you said you were.”

“I am.” you protested, pushing your hips back. “Move your hips. I wish to prove myself.”

He only speeded up his thrusts, and as you allowed the moans to fill your lips, his hands found a way to push your head down.

“You’d carry my pups?” he asked, thrusting into you aggressively, pumping his cock in and out. “Wait on my cock every night?”

You only moaned incredulously, asscheeks clapping along with every snap of his hips.

“Yes.” you breathed, gasp and claps filling the room. “Fuck, put a babe inside of me. I want your children.”

“We’ll have to wed sooner, before the babe gets born in wedlock.” he grunted, hands gripping your hips, pushing you back onto his thick length. “But that’s what you wanted all along, was it?”

You gripped the fabric of the carpet, cheeks burning as it rubbed against the irritating carpet.

“For a thick cock such as this.” he teased, tugging at your hair.

“Yes.” you moaned pathetically, cheeks flushed as you felt a knot forming into your stomach.

Your lips parted, your eyes rolling above-ways.

“Yes, yes!” you moaned loudly, feeling his hands grope your breasts. “Fuck, you’re moving fast.”

“Never fast enough.” he murmurs, member sliding against your wet slit.

He could feel your tight walls clenching around him, milking his cock for all it is worth. His grip on you tightened as he thrust down to meet your upward motion.

And with one sharp thrusts, you felt the knot loosen and the cream dripping out your twitching clit.

Yet, he didn’t stop, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he rode you through your orgasm.

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock was enough to send him reeling as well, burying himself deep inside of you.

Hot spurts of cum dripping out of your hole, you completely got yourself spent, closing your eyes and deciding you could just fall asleep on this carpet.

“No sleeping in the library.” he scolded lightly, putting on his fur coat, covering his naked physique. “Come here.”

You exhaustedly crawled over to him again, and snuck yourself into his coat, the clothing covering both of your naked bodies.

“I’m taking you to your chambers.” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “And for the next time, do not attempt to get so exhausted. I went easy on you this time.”

[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

previous(first) part - next part | all chapters list

>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark.

cw: slow burn, fluff, eventual smut, angst, follows book events with slight deviations, im planning to let jacaerys live! every chapter is around 2k wc

chapter cw: tension, fluff, a little angst, they are starting to fall for eachother

“The ceremony will be held tomorrow.” Cregan’s deep and steely voice rings with an imposing echo onto the stone walls of the great hall of Winterfell. “My lady is worn from the journey.”

Although the order seemingly held some benevolence to your sore legs and southern blood barely adjusting to the newfound cold, his voice feels so detached that you find yourself wondering whether he truly did care for your spirits, or if he only wished it as a polite formality.

“I will take my leave before sundown, sister.” Jacaerys places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I must be back at Dragonstone before the new moon.”

“Ill news?” you ask, already troubled and feeling incapacitated from protecting and helping your family.

“Ser Criston Cole marches on Duskendale lands. I must be present at the council to take action.”

“What about me?” You worry, and only after speaking do you realize how stupid the question was.

Jacaerys takes a moment to reply, evidently not wanting to make you feel more secluded than you were.

“I will not make any decision that you wouldn't have in my stead.” He decides, “I will send you ravens to inform you, and represent you.” a pause, “unofficially.”

There is nothing more to be said. Any words he could sweeten end with the same inevitable finale. No raven could fly fast enough to deliver your ideas soon enough for the Greens not to gain an advantage over the reluctance of your team.

You are a pawn. Your dragon is a pawn. And you will only read about the war as if it were history before you could contribute.

“I understand.” You manage to let out without showing how disturbed you are and possibly making the northern lords think that you were terrified to marry their leader.

With a hug too frail to even begin to express how much you will miss him, your brother mounts his dragon after the welcoming festivities in the great hall and takes off with a blow of wings that normally would have had you taking a few steps back from Vermax.

But now it didn't matter anymore. You watch as your only friend dissolves into the skies thick with white clouds, becoming nothing but a raven in the distance.

Suvion cries out, a sharp, strained screech that only pain as great as yours could have caused, and the clouds answer, though you cannot see him anymore.

You are taken aback at the feeling of heavy pelts placed upon your shoulders, and only then you realize how cold you are. Your frigid fingers reach around your own neck to grasp at it and keep it from falling.

“The cold is treacherous. One moment you may think you're warm, and the following, your heart stops.” Cregan comes to stand next to you, looking away to where Vermax had disappeared.

“Thank you, my lord.” You speak coyly, quietly, so he wouldn't catch the crack in your voice and think you weak and soft. Perhaps in a different situation, you would have blushed at his kindness, but the ice wall you felt between you and him was now more palpable than ever. Alone, with a stranger.

“You should come inside.” He insists, but it is not advice, it's a courteous command.

Without a word, you turn and listen. You are escorted to your chamber in the castle, and as you pass through the halls, you look around like a lowborn in a dragonpit. At least that's what it must look like, but in your heart it was storming; how different the place was from what you have known your whole life, the people, the sounds in the yard, the very air of the keep.

He stops in front of your door, beckoning you inside.

“Send for me should you need anything your handmaiden cannot provide.”

His voice is softer, as if trying to indulge you and your loss. As if he understands.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Cregan.”

You do not know for certain if there truly is a gleam of affection in his eyes as he says it, but you do know that you held yourself back from leaning forward in his arms.

Oh, how you wanted to just let it out, and how you wanted him to hold you through it. To offer some comfort that, at least, he cared for you. That he wasn't a cold hearted man with nothing warmer than diplomatic skills. Whom you would have to learn how to love the hard way. Only you know how your heart briefly yearned for him to offer you strength.

But alas, it was not proper. Too soon.

“Cregan.” You accept, and he barely hears it. Your heart sinks when he nods politely and slowly shuts the door, and it sinks further at the sound of his boots on the cold stone outside your chamber, walking away.

A terribly tragic thought slips into your tired mind; that he is betrothed to you, yet his heart belongs to another. Northerners love northerners, and the Stark men have mostly married into vassal houses of the north in the past.

No matter how loyal he is to be from now, his thoughts will always be about her, the people will always know about her.

Suvion's head appears at your window, blocking out the moonlight.

“Oh, you,” You whine, opening the windows and laying your upper body on his snout.

You hear someone gasp and scream in the courtyard, no doubt because of the dragon clawing at the walls of the castle.

“We should find some place good for you. Somewhere safe and warm.” He growls sorrowfully, as if aware.

But it doesn't last long. As quickly as he came at the window, Suvion rips away from your touch and carefully leaps out of the castle yard and up into the night sky. His otherwise white scales now partly reflect the dark of night in their shine, making it impossible for you to even tell how high up he was.

Alone again. You knew he wouldn't go far, that he only needed to hunt and come back, but you wished for leverage that was now gone.

Restless and troubled, you decide to take a stroll around the keep that is to be yours in less than a day.

You follow your curiosity back to the great hall, from where you hear whispered voices and see glimmers of lit torches.

“...of the beast. Food is scarce.”

“It will set eyes upon us.”

“Lord Glover, this is necessary. I do not wish-”

The lords at the table turn abruptly at the sight of the shadow you cast into the obscured hall.

“My lady. Is everything alright?” You hear Cregan's voice, his face away from light.

You feel embarrassed and stupid, interrupting a clearly important talk of resources that did not yet concern you and making the impression of a spoiled, uneducated woman.

“No- I didn't mean to intrude.”

“You could never be intruding on talks of our domain.” He attempts to soothe your nerves, although the implication of responsibilities is indomitable in his tone.

You approach them, carefully eyeing the other lords, feeling quite literally akin to a lizard slithering into a den of wolves. You cannot read anything on their stern faces, and it doesn't fail to make you uneasy and put your guard up.

“The dragon, my lady,” one of them starts, a man well past his youth, “he is a welcomed weapon in the North, although -”

“Although it is true that war has brought us both here, my lord, a dragon is not a weapon.” You warn with a poised expression, as respectfully as you could, yet fire dripped from your words.

The other men frowned in surprise and disapproval, but said nothing. You glance at Cregan, by your side, hoping to be faced with kindness, but instead your heart skips a beat at the sight of a cutthroat look he was throwing at the men, protective of your contribution.

“-apologies. The dragon is a welcomed ally. But livestock is barely enough to get us through what's to come. What are we to offer? Sheep?”

“We have endured harsher winters with lesser than we have today.” Your betrothed reassures, despite the evident growing concern.

“Suvion is big enough to hunt for himself, I dare say. The cold doesn't seem to burden him. There is absolutely no need to thin out the herd for him, my lords.”

You struggle to conceal a sharp gasp when his hand runs up your lower back. A way to show approval of your input, no doubt, yet you find that every crumble of affection he grants you is more than enough to spark fire in your body. Is that what you have come to?

You were worried enough that the rough stoicism of the north man wouldn't provide half the love you dreamed of, yet now you falter on that thought. If such a touch is already setting you alight, what would more do?

“A good omen. Prince Velaryon’s first visit wasn't as uneventful.”

“It is settled then. We will discuss other matters after the wedding.” He commanded, and your stomach flipped at the mention of your union.

With the lords out of the room, Cregan turns to you.

“I thought you would be resting. It's near the hour of the ghosts.” He speaks gently with a warm vibration in his voice, as if you have been wedded for years and he knows all about your practices and nature.

“I couldn't. The more I lay there waiting, the more it felt like I would never find sleep again.”

A faint smile lights up your tense visage, an instinctual way of wanting to see him soften as well.

He looks intently, clearly understanding of your friendliness, but it does nothing to soothe his brow further.

“Come. I wish to speak with you, since neither of us cannot find slumber.”

Neither of us? What is that supposed to mean?

You once again hook your arm around his, his body heat immediately warming you up and putting you at ease. He leads you into his chambers, a strong fire already lit in the hearth.

“Is this proper?”

“Whoever shall dare speak ill of my wife will never speak again.”

A shiver runs up your spine. Whether it's a pleasant or a distressed one, you cannot tell anymore.

“I know how you must feel, although it may not seem like it.” He begins, beckoning you to sit on the edge of the bed. “It's the duty that comes with the name.”

“Yes.” You agree, wanting to hear more of what he wishes to tell you. “Although my biggest concern lies with my position. I feel…” You cease before you could say something like “trapped” or “exiled”. He has been nothing but good to you since you arrived and you do not want to seem ungrateful or hostile. You do like him.

But before you could find the right words, he kneels in front of you on the floor and takes your hands in his. Your heart stops. Your brain shuts down. Gods.

“-powerless.” He untangles your mind and finishes your thought. “But you aren't. We will offer help, I do not intend to trample the oath I swore to your brother. The oath I am to swear to you.” He adds, his tone is soft and tender yet his words so meaningful and heavy, you hear them as though their echo reverberated in the entire room around you.

His thumb delicately rubs over your knuckles, his expression as stoic as ever, only his actions speak differently. He leans forward and places a kiss on the back of your hand, assuring and loving.

You draw in a sharp breath, as if you haven't felt affection before in your life.

“Cregan.” is all you manage.

“It is true that this union was made with interest. But you are not unwanted, my lady. I believe we will find more than allies in each other.”

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[bks-writing-adventures]

His Strong Girl (Aemond X Strong! Reader)

Warnings: Brief mentions of bullying and gore, brief mentions of sex, Alicent being a momzilla.

Word Count: 6.5 K

Summary: Aemond has always loved his Strong Girl, she's nearly of age to mary, and he wants her before anyone else can have her.

120 AC

As children, Aemond had always loved her. Even though he knew that he should not. His mother filled his brain with poison, to hate Rhaenyra and all that was part of her, and that included her children. The Strong children, all four of them. It was easy to hate Jace and Luke. They teased him. They found him a pig and called him the second son. They laughed at him and kept them out of their fun. They were kind to the other children in the court, but for reasons he could not understand, he was different. It was so hard on his young brain. He was all that he was supposed to be. H

e could read and write, he had light hair and light eyes. He always prayed at dinner time, and he always wore clean clothes, always had his hair brushed. He did all of his lessons. So what ever could be wrong with him? When Joffrey came along, it was easy to hate him, too. There was no doubt that he would grow into the sculpting hands of his older brothers. As soon as he would talk, he would be name calling and lying too. But when it came to her. Well, it was impossible. 

Her eyes were warm and kind, muddy brown like her brothers and her father. There was a small distance of age between them, a year and a half, but he could hardly tell. She was smart for her age. She was not puzzled by her lessons, and she listened well, could smile and nod. She cut her own food and lived in her own world. He kept his distance for a long time, whenever the whole family was forced together for weddings and funerals. But slowly, like butter beneath rays of sun, he warmed. He grew calm in her presence and peeled back his layers to be vulnerable.

To meet her in the library when she was in her pyjamas, and to whisper gossip that they had picked up in the halls. He had two sides of him. The side that hated the Strongs, and the side that loved. He was good at making sure they did not cross, that was, until the day his aunt died. He never knew much of her. He knew that she was pretty and powerful and rode the greatest dragon in the world. But he did not cry for her. He only stayed quiet as the respects were paid, and his eyes wandered the mourners for her. 

She was caught up between her brothers and their cousins. Black looked odd on her. She always wore pink or blue, maybe red, but hardly ever. Despite being half Targaryen, she had no like for the color. She was all about pastels and ruffles and frilliness. He frowned as he watched, and the feet between them felt like miles. As the group looked over to him, he offered an awkward grin, only to be returned with nothing. His heart sunk deeper into his body, and he tried to give her a light wave, to grab her attention.

But there was nothing he could do, and he could feel her slowly slipping from his fingers. Disappointment ate away at him, and he said nothing to her the entire day. And she made no effort to talk to him, either. And so when evening came and he was alone, with no gossip to speak of in the library, and no puzzles to put together, he found himself in the dragon pit. Tiptoeing carefully, listening to the snore of beasts who had survived all of the worlds wars. The scratch of their claws against stone, and finally, the hiss of fire as it nearly caressed his face. 

The sight of Vhagar was one unmatched, and he moved as though he were being controlled, a mere puppet of the gods as he slowly climbed the scaly creature. He screamed into the wind as it lapped at his hair, and he laughed with joy as they landed with a thump and a roar. All that he was missing in his life was against his palms, and his skin burned with the leather of the saddle. His heart had gone above the clouds, and it hadn’t come down, even as his shaky feet hit the floor, a smile bigger than he had ever worn stretched across his face as he moved to scurry away and back to bed.

He would tell his mother in the morning. She would be so proud. But fate had something else brewing for him, and he was met with the sight of his nephews and his cousins. He clung to the words he had heard from his mothers lips, and he threw them mindlessly as fists collided in the air. He did not remember half of it. And he did not know when it would end, gripping blindly at whatever he could find. A stone the size of his foot, lifting it above his head quickly, every one of his cells begging him to go through with the action. It could have only been a second, maybe not even. 

From the moment he saw the dagger in his little nephews hand, he knew that this was all over. This temporary shot of joy, and it died like a flame to ash as blood soaked his hand. He couldn’t hear his scream, but he could feel it deep in his lungs as he smacked against the ground, clawing at it. He shouted profanities as the guards dragged him to the maesters. He stared at his mothers face, and he sat still as he was surrounded by all of his family. And as he prayed for comfort, he was met with only fighting.

Shouting back and forth between his mother and sister, his father was of no help, and every other moment he was stabbed with a needle, his mouth curling at the feeling as his nails scratched against the armrest of the chair. He knew the eye was gone, but seeing it laying broken in a dish like the bad parts of a chicken. It broke him, and he stared at the wall as blood hit the floor, and when he was finally asked where he had heard the words he shouted, he stared at his mother. Her brows were furrowed, a deep crevasse in the middle. Her brown eyes were shining with a mix of sadness and fury, a touch of fear as she looked over at him. He swallowed his pain and spoke a lie.

 “Aegon.” He whispered out, and shut his eye for the rest to come. The last thing he remembered of that night was the look on her face, and the way her fingers curled, as if she wished to reach out and touch him, only to be quickly whisked away by Rhaenyra and Daemon. That was the night he decided his mother was right about them. All of them. Even his sweet, Strong girl. Because if she were truly strong, she would have come to him. Despite their orders, she would’ve comforted him. But instead, he was alone. Alone and scarred. 

127 AC

When he learned that his sister and her bastard children would be coming to his home, he tried his best to act as normal as he could. He ate his breakfast of pork and eggs, sharpened his sword and trained with Ser Criston. He ignored the groans of his brother, and watched quietly as his sister bounced her babies on her legs. He could almost smile. But he knew exactly how the children came to be. And if Aegon were not his brother, Aemond would have his head on the wall. Dread grew in his stomach as the sun reached its peak, and he hit against Criston’s sword with the ferocity of a thousand men. With every strike, he thought of the night he lost his eye. He thought of the dagger against his skin, the way he was treated so coldly, and how she had done nothing. And every night after that he felt as though he were frozen, reliving the moment over and over. He could feel the pain in his cheek and forehead with every twitch in his lips. 

Soon, the Prince promised he would stop smiling altogether, because maybe then, the pain would stop. And so when he saw his nephews, he stared them down, like a wolf to a rabbit. He liked to watch their discomfort, but his gaze, much to his distaste, softened when he caught sight of her behind them. She had grown beautiful with the years that had passed. Her once chubby cheeks were still round and flushed from the cool air, and her brown curls were pulled back by pins. She wore a pink gown that leaned toward purple, a bit dusty in its tone, covered in small swirls and patterns that he could not process from where he stood. His sweet girl. Her eyes were large, and freckles covered her. He didn’t remember her ever having freckles before, and it took Criston’s voice to break him from his trance.

 “You will be ready for the tourneys in no time, My Prince,” the Knight spoke, to wish he scoffed. 

“I do not give a shit about tourneys,” He responded, his voice quiet and cold. He did not see the pint in galloping around on a horse, fighting other men and yelling like animals, all for the attention of ladies that were as shallow as a tide pool. No. He would save himself for her, if she would have him. And he was certain she would.

 “Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked, his voice louder than before, brows raised. Jace turned to look at his younger brother, and their faces paled. They were afraid, and the thought made Aemond’s heart fill with joy. He threw his sword to the dirt for his men to pick up later. 

“And what of you, niece?” He asked, turning his head to look at her. Jace moved his shoulder to create a wall between them, but it did nothing for her curious eyes. She simply stood on her tiptoes, looked at him, and smiled. The sight brought a smirk to his lips, and when he walked to his chambers, he did so with a newfound confidence. He was quick to change into his outfit for the evening, one that covered every inch of his body, not even his wrists exposed. It made him feel better. As if it hid everything under. As if he were not still the runt of the litter. Even with all his training, he could never seem to grow.

He would always be the smallest of his kin, but what he lacked in size, he could make up for in skill. He could hardly wait for the evening meal. He was not hungry, but he was thrilled. To see her, to tease her. And maybe, if he were lucky, she would meet him in the library like old times. As he paced back and forth, he practically counted down the minutes until the sun finally fell. He groaned as they gathered for yet another meeting, but he could put up with it, if it meant seeing her. 

She stood beside her mother, and it was only then that he could see a hint of resemblance between them. They had the same way of standing, and they were close in height. They shared a curved nose and a cunning gaze, but she only wore it softer. She had not yet seen violence, she had not watched the light fall from a mans eyes. She had not yet lost a love, and he could see her smile softly as the betrothals of her brothers were announced. He relished in the way that she nudged her brothers and gave them a teasing raise of brow before she remembered her surroundings, trying to return to her previously serious demeanor.

A smile pulled at his lips, and his eye narrowed as he stared at her, compelling her to look up at him. Please. He thought to himself, feeling his heart leap as their eyes met. She was just so beautiful. But the peace of her gaze was quickly broken when Vaemond began to speak of their heritage, and Aemond watched in displeasure as her brows furrowed, as her big eyes stared at the floor in shame. 

The others, he could smile at. But to see her caught in the fight, to see her be called names.

 It disgusted him. His back stiffened, and he bit his tongue. He would have plenty of time to speak to her later, to hold her in the years to come, to fuck the bastardy out of her. But he would have to wait. His hands curled in on themselves, and in a fraction of a moment, Vaemond was gone. His head hit the floor with a sloppy thump, Helaena turned away, her eyes huge and her hands on her head, and he watched as his Strong Girl practically mirrored her, her thumbs pressed against her ears and her fingers over her eyes. He sighed, staring at the body on the floor, his gaze slowly following the bloody sword until he was gazing at his uncle. Daemon. An interesting man he was. And slowly, Aemond smiled. This would be an interesting night. 

When dinner time came, he took his seat and looked at the rest of the table. Baela and Rhaena, Rhaenyra and Daemon, and next to them, there she was. He smiled a little to himself. They always did that, sitting around her like a human shield, practically hiding her from his view. He followed his mothers words as she called for prayer, and he smiled to himself as his mother spoke of Vaemond Velaryon. The old man could never shut his mouth. The food came out in small rounds, starting with potatoes and bread, and he gazed at her as he licked the remnants of potato from his thumb.

Her eyes were so big, and he loved watching her cheeks get nice and flushed. And even more, he loved seeing how angry her brothers got, all while her mother remained clueless. When the main course came out, he stared in silence as the roasted pig sat in front of him. He could tell how this was going to go, lifting his head to stare right at Luke, seeing the beginning’s of a smile on his mouth. His hands curled into fists, and just as he moved to stand, she spoke. “Luke. Do not be impolite,” She whispered softly. She was soft and sweet, but she had such a bold presence to her when she wanted it. 

“But-” Luke began, and she gently shook her head. “Eat your carrots. Mother said to be on our best behavior,” She said softly, reaching over to start cutting his soft boiled carrots up. Aemond frowned, slowly leaning back. He had so much anger to release, and no real reason to release it. She was a gem, that girl. She could so easily diffuse a situation. She was the type of woman that she be on the throne. They could share it together, one day. As the evening grew old and their stomachs were full, the music began to flow delicately on the harps. As soon as he saw Jace’s eyes brighten, he stood, walking around the table like a shark circling a helpless seal, placing his hands on the back of her chair. 

“Aemond,” His mother spoke up, her voice filled with caution as she sat up straight. “Do not worry, mother. I only wish to know if my lovely, strong girl wants to dance with me,” He responded, his fingertips moving across her curls. Rhaenyra bit her cheek, and he could feel the tension growing like a cage. 

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys spoke, his hands flat on the table. 

“Brother,” She said softly, gazing back at him. Their eyes met for nearly ten seconds, and finally, he looked away. “I will dance with you,” She spoke, pulling her chair from the table and gently taking his hand. “If you promise not to stomp on my toes,” She says, teasing him a little as he pulled her to the stone tiles. 

“I will do my very best,” He whispered, his hands curling around hers. Her touch was so delicate, and he found himself taking a small whiff of her wrist. Raspberries and cashews. It was a unique scent, but it was hers. He wanted to bathe in it, paint it onto his pillow. “I have missed you,” He said softly. And he had. He often found himself dreaming of the possibilities. Of bringing Vhagar to her bedroom window. Of taking her to the skies and bringing her to the forest, where they were not a Prince and a Princess, but only teenagers in love. “You will be a woman grown soon,” He said softly, his thumbs rubbing circles into her palms as he spun her under his arms. It would only be eight months before they were the same age, and it was only eight months before she would finally be on the marriage market. He just had to make his claim before anyone else could.

 “I know,” She said softly, her fingers trailing to the cuffs on his wrist, touching the golden dragons with her gentle strokes. “I feel as though I was 9 only yesterday,” She mumbled, and he smiled in return. 

“Tell me about it,” He mumbled, his hands moving down to her waist, his touch gentle. His eye wandered to the necklaces she wore, the ones that layered. The shortest was to her collarbone, and the longest was just between her breasts. A seahorse. A Velaryon symbol, something that didn’t belong to her, and they all knew it. His fingers slowly wandered to it, his thumb rubbing against the emerald eyes and the golden details. “This is a symbol of your fathers house, is it not?” He asked softly. His fingers slowly wandered up to cup her face, his fingers against her jaw, licking his lips.

 “It is a symbol of the sea,” She said quietly, and he could see the turmoil in her eyes. He could feel the gaze of his family on him, and he knew they would not be pleased. But his mother was simply delighted, a scheming smile on her face.

 “You like the sea, my lady?” He mumbled softly. They were hardly dancing anymore, he was just holding her close, holding her face, his thumb pressing against her lips. 

“Who does not?” She asked softly, smiling a bit. She was always so sweet when she spoke of the sea, and he could see so much excitement in his eyes.

 “I must admit, I have never had great love for it. Smells of salt and dying fish, and sand simply gets everywhere, the seagulls chase me,” He mumbles, making her laugh a little, brows raised in amusement.

 “Perhaps they just like the look of you,” She said, and he smiled, head tilted. 

“Is that what you think?” He asked. 

“Well, if I were a seagull, I would go for you. Your hair would make a good nest,” She teases, making his eye roll. “But truly, you must be going to the worst spots. I have missed Kingslanding. The shores are beautiful,” She says. His heart thumped, and he found himself gazing into her eyes. 

“Then you should stay,” He responded softly, leaning a little closer. It was hard to remember that they were surrounded, and that they were not the only people in the world.

 “And how would I go about that?” She asked softly. 

“You could marry me,” He spoke softly, and the whole room went silent, the notes on the harp fading out. Her brows raised, and she looked like she might giggle. She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, blinking slowly. 

“You do not mean that,” She said softly. 

“Oh, but I do. You would be so happy here.” He mumbled, pushing some falling curls behind her ears, whispering gently against her skin.

 “Wait for me, will you?” He mumbled. Her face flushed, and he could practically feel her heart pounding beneath her skin. She was about to speak, but the doors opened and cakes began to roll out, small cups of pudding, trays of lemon cakes and cookies.

 “(Y/N), come sit,” Rhaenyra called, and she gazed up at Aemond for a moment, as if trying to speak, but nothing would come out. Slowly, they parted, moving to go back to their seats. Her cheeks were so warm, and she prayed that no one else could tell under the warm light of the candles. Immediately, Rhaenyra leaned toward her, searching her face for discomfort. 

“What did he say to you?” She asked, noting the odd look of.. Something on her daughters face. It wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t discomfort. She just couldn’t place that expression. 

“Nothing, mother,” She said softly. All eyes were on her, and Daemon wore a smirk like a man would wear a crown.

 “I believe she has feelings for the boy,” He whispered, making Rhaenyra’s eyes widen. She looked disgusted, for a brief moment, but she quickly hid her distaste, blinking it away as she took lemon cakes onto her plate. 

“We will talk about this later,” She said quietly, plucking the sweetened lemons from the top of the cake and placing one in her mouth. Daemon reached over and took the cake itself. They had a system. She would eat the fruits, and he would eat the parts she did not want. Meanwhile, she reached for a cookie, breaking it into small pieces on her plate, trying her best not to look at Aemond. She could tell that he was getting the same treatment on his side of the table, a knowing smile on his face as his mother shook his arm, trying to juice information out of him. He only chuckled to himself, taking a few sips of his wine. When the dinner finally ended, she was a blushing mess as she followed her mother, looking over her shoulder to see Aemond going in the other direction, a silent agreement in their eyes. They would see each other in the library tonight. As she took her bath, all she could think of was him.

 Him and his offer, and the more she thought of it, the more she smiled. She trusted him more than she ever could a stranger. And she began to think of how she could convince her mother to let it happen. She trusted that Aemond would never hurt her. Maybe men that acted out of their place, maybe annoying nephews at the dinner table, but never her, and she was confident in that. And perhaps the marriage could bring the family together. Rhaenyra had wanted Jace to marry Helaena, after all. She did have a desire for the families to mix. That was it. That would be her selling point. “Some time alone, please?” She asked the maids as they scrubbed her body and hands.

 “Of course, Princess,” They responded, quickly leaving. She sighed softly, ringing out her loofa as she looked at the mirror. Perhaps if she had children with Aemond, they would come out with white hair. Maybe they would have a better life than her. Her eyes then wandered to her seahorse necklace, and she remembered her father, before his death. Her life had been an odd one. She felt like she had a new father every couple of years, and in truth, she had. She had the father who’s seed she grew from, who taught her how to count and tucked her into bed during his shifts on the nightwatch.

She had the father who taught her how to fish, and which shells made the best necklaces, and which crabs were dangerous. And then she had the father that taught her to be bold, the one who married her mother the day after his own wife died. That had been a tough one, and in truth, she still was not warmed to Daemon. She did not like the way he treated her precious mother, and she swore to herself that she would never have a marriage like theirs. When she was finally dried of her bath, she looked out to the stars.

 She looked for her favorite constellations, and she smiled as she remembered the library in the Red Keep. It was beautiful and large and full of enough books to last a lifetime. She was quick to get into her pyjamas, and even quicker to open her door, looking up at her guard. 

“Excuse me,” She said softly, stepping out. “Are you going somewhere, Princess?” He asked, a look of confusion on his face. He had a long beard, and she was sure he had seen him before.

 “Yes,” She answered, making her way down the corridor without saying anything else. She made her way as quiet as she could to the library, passing a rat or two that made her heart jump. That was something that she had hated about the Red Keep. There was nothing on the windows, so animals would come and go as they pleased. She much preferred mice over rats. Something about their tails tickled her brain in the worst of ways. When she finally did reach the library, her eyes searched for him, and she felt disappointment rising in her like steam when she could not find him. Perhaps she had gotten the wrong message. Maybe she made up the language of the eyes. But she would not waste her trip, beginning to pick out a book or two on constellations and The Moon and The Tides.

 “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” His voice made her jump, and she gripped her skirt as her eyes searched for him. “So close, my little doe. Look down,” He spoke, and when she did, she found him hiding under one of the tables in a pile of blankets. She smiled, crouching.

 “Are you hiding?” She asked softly. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but she could feel warmth radiating from him.

 “I am not hiding. I simply wanted to see how long it would take to find me,” He responded, reaching for her hand and pulling her down. This was much easier when they were kids, but now he was longer than the table, and the needed more pillows. 

“So you have just been watching me walk around aimlessly?” She teased, making him nod.

 “Oh, of course,” He spoke softly, his hands finding her cheeks, squishing them gently. “I want to speak with my sister,” He mumbled softly, pulling her closer until her belly was against his chest. “I will not marry you until I get her permission,” He said softly. She nodded softly, leaning her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heart racing, and she smiled at the feel of the vibrations.

 “I did not take you for the type to want Mommy’s blessing,” She mumbles, making him scoff. 

“I know better than to take away her little girl. She owes me this much, for all that has been done to me,” He spoke, and her hand slowly made its way up to his eyepatch.

 “I am sorry that I said nothing that night,” She mumbled, and he softened against her touch. 

“You were only a child,” He said quietly. 

“As were you. None of us deserved all that has happened to us. If it is any help, I stole Luke’s desserts for a week,” She mumbled gently.

 “Ah, yes. That is the most appropriate punishment,” He teased, making her roll her eyes. 

“I did what I could.” She speaks, her lips brushing against his forehead, placing a small kiss there. A bit of his hair got into her mouth, and he squirmed, making him chuckle. 

“Are you trying to make a nest of my hair?” He asked, recalling their earlier conversation.

 “Oh hush.” She mumbled, curling up into him. Neither of them meant to fall asleep, but it was just so warm and comforting, and slowly, they fell into a slumber, feet sticking out of their fort. When they woke, it was to yells so loud they thought someone was killed. Both sat up far too quick, smacking the tops of their heads against the wooden tables. In shame, they crawled out quickly, her eyes big as she stared up at both of their mothers.

 “What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenyra asked. She sounded so angry, but her eyes were not on her daughter, they were on Aemond, her lips pressed into a fineline.

 “We were having a sleepover,” He said simply. “You know what that is like, don’t you sister? Didn’t you used to have sleepovers with your friends quite frequently?” He asked. He couldn’t speak without being antagonistic. 

“Aemond!” She and Alicent exclaimed at the same time. 

“Mother, please. I promise it was nothing. We were only speaking,” She said softly, eyes on the floor as she was pulled closer, her face and neck inspected for marks. “We just wanted to do as we used to as children, that is all,” She said softly. Rhaenyra slowly calmed, tucking her hair behind her ears.

 “He did nothing to you?” She asked.

 “Of course not. Aemond would never hurt me,” She spoke, feeling Aemond’s hand moving to her shoulder. 

“That much is true,” He spoke. “Sister, it has been a long time since we have spoken face to face,” He said, his eyepatch on the floor, having fallen off in his sleep. He wanted her to look at him in full, to see all that he had become. 

“That it has,” Rhaenyra spoke, her face void of emotion. 

“You know that I love your daughter. That has never been a secret. Do not deny her happiness because of one misunderstanding.” He said, making Rhaenyra’s face slowly fall. Her eyes looked to Alicent, as if she had any part in this. She simply shrugged, mouth parted. 

“What are you saying, Aemond?” She asked her youngest son. 

“I am saying that I wish to unite our families. I will marry (Y/N).” He spoke, leaving no room for discussion. Rhaenyra stared blankly at the pair. She had wished to stop the resentment between the families, and this would be the perfect way. But she could not bear the thought of her daughter staying here, alone with him, with them. She knew that (Y/N) would marry one day, but she just didn’t realize how soon that would be. But as she saw her daughters smile, and the hope in her eyes, she just could not say no. “Very well.” She spoke after a moment, letting out a deep breath.

 “I will allow it. But you will wait the moons until her name day. We will ensure that this is what she truly wants,” She spoke, nodding to herself. Alicent was more hesitant, running through the possibilities in her mind. This was not what she wanted, not one bit. She wanted as much distance between the two families as possible. And what would the people say when they learned that the Prince was marrying a bastard? Her blood was good as dirt, and she came from a family of liars and narcissists. But no matter what she said, she knew her son would do as he pleased, so finally, she nodded, looking down at the floor. 

128 AC The wedding day came quicker than either of them had expected. For at least three hours a day it was just planning, planning, planning. Trying on rings and taking them off, getting as close as they could without their chaperones making a fuss, whispered compliments and holding hands under the table. And of course, having to remind Alicent that this was not her wedding. “Oh, but wouldn’t a green dress be so lovely?” She asked, holding the fabric to (Y/N)’s skin. Rhaenyra could sense her discomfort, giving a light shake of her head. 

“No. She has already decided to wear a gown similar to mine,” She spoke, and as Alicent went to open her mouth, she quickly spoke again.

 “Don’t you remember that from when you were young? How old were you, nine or so? I found you in my chambers trying to get the dress on. It was much too long for you then,” Rhaenyra smiled fondly as she sipped her tea. 

“It will not fit her,” Alicent pointed out, to which Rhaenyra smiled. 

“It is a good to live in the time of seamstresses, is it not? I have already had it expanded and altered to suit her. You should worry about your son. Black leather at a wedding would be quite improper,” She spoke. Aemond sighed, slowly making eye contact with his betrothed. The pair were rather calm, but their mothers… were certainly something. 

“I have already had his clothing commissioned. He will wear a fine beaded doublet of dragons and seahorses, in nod to her…. Velaryon heritage,” Alicent spoke, her voice soft and sarcastic, making Rhaenyra’s eyes roll. (Y/N) could not take it anymore.

 “In all respect, this is my wedding. It is our wedding. We do not need this petty argument ruining our day. We both have fine clothes to wear, we have stunning rings, invitations are sent, and that is the end of it.” She spoke, looking between the two older women, watching them go silent. And so the pair would sit and wait for the day to come, resting together in the gardens, watching the sun fall and rise as they ate their meals on a blanket. They were romantic and disgusting, living in their own little world, just them and their chaperone.

 “I cannot wait until we are finally wed and can be alone,” He sighed, rubbing her hand, kissing the top of her engagement ring. It was golden and covered in stones. It was far from traditional, and it was exactly the type of thing that she enjoyed.

 “Nor can I,” She said softly, smiling as she saw a bunny running across the grass.

 “Only a few days left,” he said softly. “You are certain you want to go through with this? There is still time to call it all off,” He mumbled, making her scoff.

 “Of course I am certain. I will just have to prepare myself for more of your mothers comments,” She responded teasingly. 

“Oh, Gods. Are do not want to think about that. I only wish to think of what it will be like to finally kiss you, to share our names and bodies… to finally sleep in the same bed and wake up to the sight of you every morning,” he murmured, making her cheeks burn.

 “Stop it,” She mumbles, too embarrassed to listen to any more of it, placing her hands on her ears, making him chuckle as he pulled them off. 

“I am thrilled to see your pretty face all sleepy and puffy, and to share our evening meals, to have painting after painting made of you to hang on my walls until I cannot escape those pretty eyes,” He smiled. She squirmed under him, flattered and grossed out, covering her crimson cheeks. “Hm.. the bugs are coming out,” He sighed as the sky got dark and frogs bred in the distance. She sighed, and they carefully packed up their things and made their way back to the Keep. Alicent was watching them from her balcony, and the two walked a safe distance apart. Only a few more days they would have to hold themselves together. And finally, on the 18th day of the 11th moon, all of the Lords and Ladies of importance were packed inside the Red Keep. Beautiful gowns twirling under candle light, the best of music echoing from the harps. Aemond tried to breath as he walked in, his eyes finally finding her. 

And gods, he would marry her a million times over. Her curls were full of pearls and small pins, half of her hair up and the other half down. His palms were sweating, pressing against his doublet. He was painfully aware of everyone looking at him, but he couldn’t look away from her.

 “(Y/N).” He murmured softly as she finally stood in front of him. He was struck dumb by her beauty, blinking slowly. 

“Aemond,” She said softly, their voices quiet and kept to the loudness of a breath. Both of their faces red as the Sept read off some text, but neither of them were paying attention. Hurry up, Aemond thought to himself, getting increasingly more anxious as the minutes passed. And finally, as silence covered them, he reached forward, held her cheeks, and pressed a big kiss to her mouth. It was sweet and awkward, and their teeth bumped for a brief moment. All of the love they had collected for each other in the last months came oozing out, her hands holding his until they finally parted, looking at each other, their breath lost.

 “And you have… kissed your bride.” The Septon spoke, a bit awkwardly, as if this had never happened before. And it had not. The crowd was quiet, looking around for the reaction they were supposed to have, until they finally erupted in applause.

 “I love you, My Strong Girl,” He whispered into her ear. She smiled up at him, arms around his shoulders as flower petals flew like rain.

 “Aww, thank you,” She said, making his eye squint. She laughed, her thumbs pressing her cheeks.

 “And I love you too, my One Eyed Prince,” She mumbled, feeling his arms around her waist, holding her close as if he wished to absorb her. And so the One Eyed Prince and The Strong Girl lived the happiest they could, despite the violence around them and the whispers in their ears, their love never died. Burning furious and strong like Vhagar’s flame, and with every five years that passed, they would have wedding after wedding after wedding, until they were wed beneath all the gods and above all the land. Until their love could not be denied, and until they died, where their ashes were mixed and mingled with the shore, covered in shells and seahorses.

I think this might be the longest fic i've posted so far! I hope you enjoyed it!!

Thank you to everyone who reads.

♡- BK

[hisfavegirl]

One Mistake - Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Jace Velaryon.

Summary : You, the daughter of Alicent Hightower, once married to Aemond Targaryen, find yourself in a marriage born out of duty rather than love. The relationship with Aemond has always been a battleground of lies and heartache, and the arrival of a child born from his affair with Alys Rivers only deepens the chasm between you both.Heartbroken, betrayed, and feeling utterly alone, you escape the suffocating walls of King’s Landing, seeking solace in Dragonstone with your half-sister, Rhaenyra. In this new chapter of your life, you begin to heal, finding peace in the company of those who truly care for you. Among them is Jace, the son of Rhaenyra, whose quiet affection and steady presence begins to rekindle the spark of hope in your heart.

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist.

HOTD Masterlist.

The tension in the air was thick, and your grip on the dagger tightened with every passing second. Aemond stood before you, unnervingly calm, his cold, piercing gaze meeting yours without a hint of fear. His posture remained relaxed, almost as if the weapon at his throat didn’t even faze him. But you couldn’t hold back the wave of fury that surged through you.

“Aemond,” you hissed, your voice laced with venom, “you’ve crossed a line this time.”

Aemond’s gaze shifted, his lips twitching with an almost imperceptible smile. “You always knew who I was, my love,” he replied, his tone ice-cold. “Did you really expect me to be loyal to you when the world has so much more to offer?”

Behind you, you could hear your mother, Alicent, and your sister, Helaena, desperately trying to intervene, pleading for you to put down the dagger. Their words were mere background noise to the storm inside your chest. The rage that had been quietly simmering for so long had finally boiled over.

You had tolerated his affairs, his coldness, his absence, but this… This was unforgivable. Alys River, the woman from Harrenhal, had come to your doorstep, a newborn in her arms, declaring that Aemond was the father. The mere thought of him being involved with someone else, and now with a child, was enough to break you.

“Is this your child, Aemond?” you spat, the words dripping with anger. “Are you really that heartless? Alys River, that harlot… You never cared about what you did to me, did you?”

Aemond’s eyes flickered, a trace of something—guilt, regret—flickering in them for a moment before he schooled his features back into their usual icy mask.

“I never wanted this, you know,” you said, voice shaking with a mixture of hurt and fury. “I’ve tried, Aemond. I’ve tried to make it work. But you… you’ve made a mockery of everything.”

Your breath was ragged, and the dagger trembled slightly in your hand, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to step back.

Aemond finally spoke, his voice as cold and detached as ever. “Put the dagger down, sister,” he said, his tone almost bored. “You’re not going to do anything.”

But you were done listening to his calm and calculating words. The betrayal had cut too deep, and the anger was too overwhelming. You didn’t care if he thought you were weak or if you would never see him the same way again. You couldn’t forgive him for this.

In a brief moment of clarity, you heard your mother’s voice, soft yet urgent, trying to calm you down. “Please, my child, think about what you’re doing.”

But the damage was already done. There was no coming back from this.

With trembling hands, you dropped the dagger, the metallic clang echoing through the room as it hit the floor. You stepped back from Aemond, his gaze unwavering, his silence deafening. The image of Alys Rivers holding a silver-haired baby replayed in your mind, each recollection stabbing your heart anew. Despair consumed you, the weight of your shattered marriage pressing down on you like a crushing wave.

Without a word, you turned and fled the room, the voices of your mother and sister calling after you lost in the whirlwind of your emotions. Tears streamed down your face as you ran through the halls of the Red Keep, seeking solace, but finding none. The pain was overwhelming, the betrayal unbearable. After what felt like an eternity, your feet led you to the door of your old chamber, the sanctuary you once called home before your marriage to Aemond.

You pushed the door open, only to find Alys Rivers inside, cradling the infant in her arms. Her presence in what was once your refuge felt like a dagger twisting in your heart. She looked up, her expression calm, almost smug.

“Aemond asked me to stay here,” she said, her voice soft, yet cutting. “He wanted me to be comfortable.”

The finality of her words shattered whatever remnants of hope you clung to. Rage and grief intertwined, fueling your steps as you slammed the door shut and stormed back to your marital chambers. The hallways blurred in your vision, your emotions a chaotic storm.

Once inside your chamber, you shut the door and locked it, leaning against the cold wood as your breath came in ragged gasps. The room, once a symbol of your union with Aemond, now felt suffocating.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts, followed by Aemond’s voice, calm and composed.

“Let me in,” he said.

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. “Why should I?” your voice broke, laced with anger and sorrow. “You’ve made it clear where your loyalties lie.”

There was a pause, then his voice came again, quieter this time. “You are my wife. This is your home.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “A wife you’ve betrayed, a home you’ve filled with deceit. How can you stand there and speak of loyalty?”

Aemond’s silence spoke louder than any words. You turned away from the door, wrapping your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the emptiness of the room. The weight of his betrayal pressed on you, each moment more unbearable than the last.

You isolated yourself for days, the world outside your chamber fading into a blur. The persistent knocks at your door, the gentle pleas of your mother, the worried whispers of your sister—they all went unanswered. You sat by the window, gazing down at the sharp iron spikes below, their menacing points gleaming in the pale light. The thought crossed your mind, a fleeting, desperate idea, but you dismissed it just as quickly. You were heartbroken, but not mad.

The whispers reached you even in the silence of your solitude, the rumors carried on the wind like a cruel taunt. They spoke of Aemond visiting Alys Rivers’ chambers, cradling his illegitimate son with pride. Each word felt like a dagger twisting in your chest, a fresh wound on top of the ones that already bled.

You thought of the promises Aemond had made to you, the soft words of love whispered in the dark, the vows of loyalty and devotion. They felt like hollow echoes now, every one of them a lie. How easily had he cast aside those vows? How quickly had he turned to another, to Alys, and their child?

Your hand drifted to the windowsill, fingers tracing the cold stone as your mind spiraled deeper into despair. The betrayal consumed you, leaving little room for anything else. The image of Aemond, once a source of comfort and strength, now filled you with anguish. His eyes, once filled with affection, were now a haunting memory of deceit.

Each day felt longer than the last, the weight of his infidelity pressing down on you, suffocating and relentless. You thought of your love, the life you had envisioned together, now reduced to ashes. The future you had once dreamed of seemed distant, almost unreachable, as if it had belonged to another lifetime entirely.

You pulled the thin blanket around you tighter, as if it could shield you from the pain. But nothing could shield you from the truth. The man you loved had betrayed you, and no amount of time could change that.

The searing pain in your abdomen jolted you awake, sharp and relentless, unlike anything you had ever felt before. Instinctively, your hand flew to your stomach, clutching at the source of the agony. Each wave of pain grew stronger, rippling through your body and leaving you breathless. Desperation drove you to rise from your bed, to make your way to the door and seek help, but your legs gave out beneath you. You crumpled to the floor, the cold stone pressing against your skin as you gasped for air.

It was then you noticed the blood pooling between your legs, staining your nightgown and the floor beneath you. Panic surged through you, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to call out, your voice weak and trembling, barely louder than a whisper. “Help,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of fear and pain.

Outside your chamber, your mother’s voice called to you, her tone laced with concern. She had come again, hoping to coax you out of your self-imposed isolation. But this time, as she turned the handle, she found the door unlocked. Pushing it open, she was greeted by a scene that made her blood run cold.

“Aemond!” she cried, her voice echoing through the halls as she rushed to your side. Her hands trembled as she tried to steady you, her heart pounding in her chest. “Someone, help!” she shouted, her voice breaking with desperation.

Aemond arrived moments later, his eyes widening in horror at the sight of you sprawled on the floor, pale and drenched in blood. His feet seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move as he watched you in your fragile state. The guilt in his eyes was unmistakable, but he didn’t dare approach.

The maester arrived swiftly, his presence a blur as he stand beside your bed and assessed the situation. His face was grim as he delivered the devastating news. “She has lost the child,” he said softly, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. “The stress and lack of nourishment have taken their toll.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t even known you were carrying a child, and now that life was gone, ripped away before you could even comprehend its existence. The sobs wracked your body, uncontrollable and raw, as the reality of your loss settled over you.

Your mother gathered you in her arms, her own tears falling silently as she held you close, offering what little comfort she could. You clung to her, your cries muffled against her shoulder, the pain too immense to bear alone.

Aemond remained on the periphery, his face etched with anguish. He reached out, but then drew back, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He had betrayed you, and now, in your moment of greatest need, he was powerless to ease your suffering.

In your mother’s embrace, you felt a small measure of solace, but the ache in your heart was far from healed. You had lost your child, and with it, a piece of yourself. The pain would linger, a constant reminder of the love and life that had been taken from you too soon.

The days passed in a blur of pain and sorrow. You remained confined to your chambers, your heart weighed down by the unbearable grief of losing your child. The world outside your room seemed distant, muffled by the heavy fog of your sadness. Your mother, Alicent, and your sister, Helaena, visited frequently, bringing food and comfort. They tried to coax you into eating, but you could only lie listlessly as they fed you, your appetite lost in the depths of your despair.

Aemond had not come to see you since that fateful night. His absence was a bitter reminder of the distance that had grown between you. You had heard the whispers, the murmurs that he spent his nights with Alys Rivers and their illegitimate child. Each rumor cut deeper than the last, fueling your anger and deepening your sorrow. The betrayal burned in your chest, an open wound that refused to heal.

But today was different. As you lay in your bed, the door to your chamber creaked open. Expecting your mother or sister, you turned your head, only to find Aemond standing in the doorway. His expression was cold, his gaze hard as he stared at you.

“I lost my child because of you,” he said, his voice devoid of any warmth or understanding. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and cruel.

You felt your heart shatter anew, his words slicing through the fragile threads that held you together. “How dare you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow. “How dare you blame me for this.”

The pain and fury erupted from you in a torrent. You screamed at him, your voice raw with anguish. “It was you! It was your betrayal that brought me here! Your lies, your infidelity! You destroyed everything, not me!”

Aemond stood there, silent and unmoved, as you poured your heart out, blaming him for your suffering, for the loss of your child, for the broken pieces of your marriage. The tears streamed down your face, your body shaking with the force of your sobs.

Finally, exhausted and broken, you collapsed back onto the bed, your cries filling the room. The pain was too much to bear, the weight of your grief pressing down on you, suffocating and unrelenting.

A soft voice broke through the haze of your sorrow. Your mother, Alicent, stood at the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and confusion. “Why are you not resting?” she asked gently. “Why are you shouting at Aemond?”

Her presence only seemed to heighten your despair. “Because he blames me, Mother,” you choked out, your voice thick with tears. “He blames me for losing our child, for everything that has gone wrong. But it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.”

Alicent hurried to your side, her arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. She stroked your hair, murmuring soothing words as you sobbed into her shoulder. Aemond remained by the door, his face unreadable, but he did not approach. The distance between you was more than physical now; it was a chasm filled with unspoken words, broken promises, and irreparable pain.

As your mother held you, your tears finally began to subside, leaving behind a hollow ache in your chest. The pain would not disappear, but for now, you found solace in the comfort of your mother’s arms, even as your heart ached with the loss and betrayal that Aemond had left in his wake.

The pain of Aemond’s betrayal was no longer something you could endure. His indifference, the whispers of his continued affair with Alys Rivers and the child that belonged to her, cut deeper each day. You couldn’t bear to stay in the Red Keep any longer, not with the constant reminder of what you had lost. Tonight, you made a decision: you would leave. You would find peace away from the walls of King’s Landing, away from Aemond and the deceit.

The cold night air filled your lungs as you quietly made your way through the corridors of the Red Keep, your heart pounding with the weight of your decision. You couldn’t stay here. You couldn’t bear another day in that house of betrayal and lies. You had to go, and Dragonstone would be your refuge, the one place where you could find solace in the company of your sister, Rhaenyra, and her family.

With a heavy heart, you made your way to the stables. The quiet rustle of the night was the only sound that accompanied your footsteps. The guards, bribed and loyal, had cleared the way for you, their eyes flicking nervously around as they ensured no one would stop you. You quickly saddled your horse, the familiar motions of preparing your steed offering a brief distraction from the turmoil inside you.

Once mounted, you headed for the Dragonpit, the shadows of the night enveloping you as you approached the towering structure. There, waiting for you, was Sharapis, your dragon. His massive form loomed in the shadows, his eyes gleaming as you approached. You had always felt a connection to him, a bond forged from years of companionship and shared journeys.

“Sharapis,” you whispered softly as you mounted his back, the dragon’s scales glimmering in the moonlight. His wings stretched out as if eager to fly, and with a single command, you took off into the night sky, soaring toward Dragonstone.

The flight was exhilarating, the wind rushing through your hair as you felt the freedom that had long been denied you. But beneath it all was the ache of betrayal, the loss of a child you had never even known, and the quiet despair that had taken root in your soul. The journey felt both endless and too short, your thoughts lost in the vastness of the night.

As you descended toward Dragonstone, you could see the familiar silhouette of the castle looming in the distance. Your heart fluttered with a mix of relief and uncertainty. You had made the decision to leave everything behind, but now that you were here, would it be enough to heal the wounds Aemond had inflicted?

When Sharapis landed, you dismounted and quickly made your way into the castle. The cold stone floors echoed beneath your feet as you walked toward the heart of Dragonstone. The guards at the entrance saw you and immediately went to alert Rhaenyra and Daemon. The sounds of hurried footsteps soon followed as your half-sister and her husband arrived, her face filled with surprise and concern.

“Why have you come here?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice soft yet filled with urgency. She could see the state you were in, the exhaustion and pain written across your features. “What has happened?”

You took a deep breath, your eyes meeting hers. “I couldn’t stay there anymore,” you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. “Aemond… He’s with her again, and I can’t bear it. I lost our child, Rhaenyra, and I can’t stay in the place that reminds me of all the lies and betrayal. I need to get away, to heal, and I couldn’t stay in King’s Landing a moment longer.”

Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “You are always welcome here,” she said with conviction. “You don’t have to face this alone. Whatever happened, whatever you need, we will help you through it.”

The warmth of her support was a balm to your broken heart. You felt the weight of the world slowly begin to lift as she surrounded you with love and understanding. She hadn’t asked for details, and she didn’t need to. You could see in her eyes that they understood.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t hold them back any longer. The weight of the journey, the betrayal, the grief of losing your child, and the decision to leave it all behind finally caught up with you. In the safety of Dragonstone, you allowed yourself to break down, to grieve openly, knowing that here, at least, you would not be alone.

Rhaenyra held you tightly, offering you the comfort you so desperately needed, while Daemon stood a few steps behind, his gaze never leaving you.

“You will find peace again,” Rhaenyra whispered. “Here, with us, you are safe.”

As the morning sun cast its golden light over the Red Keep, your mother, Alicent, made her way to your chamber with a calm determination. She had come to check on you, as she did every morning, hoping that today might bring a glimmer of progress in your healing. However, as she gently pushed open the door, she was met with an empty room. Her heart skipped a beat, a sense of unease creeping in as she took in the sight of your untouched bed and the quiet stillness of the space.

Her eyes quickly fell upon a piece of parchment resting on the pillow. With trembling hands, she picked it up, unfolding it carefully. The words written in your familiar hand made her breath catch in her throat.

“Mother, do not worry about me, and do not try to find me. I have gone where I can heal and find peace. Please, annulled the arrangement of my marriage with Aemond. It is over. There is nothing left for me here.”

Alicent’s fingers tightened around the letter as a surge of emotions washed over her—relief that you were safe enough to leave a note, sadness at your departure, and a rising fury toward the one who had driven you to such despair.

Clutching the letter tightly, Alicent turned on her heel, her face set in a mask of anger. She knew exactly where to find Aemond. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the hallways as she marched toward your old chamber, the one where she knew Aemond was staying with Alys and their illegitimate child. Each step fueled her anger, her mind racing with thoughts of how Aemond had betrayed not only you but also the family’s honor.

When she reached the door, she didn’t bother to knock. Instead, she pushed it open with force, her eyes blazing as she entered. Inside, she found Aemond standing near the window, Alys seated with the infant in her arms. The air in the room grew tense as they turned to face her, Alys’s expression a mixture of surprise and smug satisfaction.

Aemond’s usual calm demeanor faltered as he saw the letter in Alicent’s hand and the fire in her eyes. “Mother,” he began, but Alicent cut him off, her voice cold and sharp.

“Do not ‘Mother’ me,” she snapped, holding up the letter. “Explain this. Explain why my daughter, your wife, felt the need to flee from her home in the dead of night because of your actions.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his gaze flickering briefly to Alys, who remained silent, cradling her child.

“You have disgraced our family,” Alicent continued, her voice trembling with controlled rage. “You have broken her heart, her spirit. And now, you will face the consequences. I will see to it that this marriage is annulled. She deserves better than this, better than you.”

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he did not argue. The weight of his actions hung heavily in the room, and even Alys seemed uncomfortable under Alicent’s furious gaze.

“I will not allow this to continue,” Alicent declared. “You will leave her be. You will not pursue her, and you will not bring further shame upon this family.”

With that, Alicent turned on her heel, her grip on the letter unrelenting as she strode out of the room. Her heart ached for you, for the pain you had endured, but she was resolute. She would do everything in her power to protect you and to ensure that you found the peace you deserved.

Almost two years had passed since you left the Red Keep behind, finding solace and a new beginning in Dragonstone. The pain and betrayal you once felt had slowly been replaced by the warmth of your family, especially Rhaenyra and her children. Your days were now filled with laughter and peace, and the exchange of letters with your mother had become a comforting routine. She had informed you that the annulment of your marriage to Aemond had been finalized, a message that brought a profound sense of relief. You were free, truly free, from the chains of a past that had once broken you.

Life in Dragonstone had become your sanctuary. The walls, the sea, and the skies felt like home, a place where you could breathe and live without the shadows of your past looming over you. In this haven, you had grown close to Jace. His kindness, his understanding, and his gentle presence had slowly woven their way into your heart. He had been a constant source of support, offering you companionship and care as you healed from the wounds Aemond had left behind.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the castle, Jace asked you to walk with him along the cliffs. The salty breeze played with your hair as you strolled side by side, the silence between you comfortable and familiar. Jace had always been thoughtful, but tonight there was a certain tension in the air, a nervous energy you hadn’t felt from him before.

He paused near the edge of the cliff, the crashing waves below providing a soothing backdrop to the moment. Turning to face you, he took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours with a mix of hope and vulnerability.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “You’ve been through so much, and yet, here you are, strong and resilient. Being with you these past two years has been the happiest time of my life.”

Your heart began to race, a mixture of anticipation and surprise swirling within you.

“I know you might think it’s too soon, or that you’re not ready, but I need you to know how I feel,” he continued, reaching for your hands and holding them gently. “I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

His words hung in the air, filled with sincerity and love. You could see the earnestness in his eyes, the way he waited anxiously for your response, hoping you felt the same.

For a moment, memories of the past flickered in your mind, but they were quickly overshadowed by the warmth of the present, the life you had built here, the love that had grown between you and Jace. He had been patient, never rushing you, always understanding.

A soft smile spread across your face as you squeezed his hands. “Yes, Jace,” you whispered, tears of joy welling in your eyes. “I’ll marry you.”

His face lit up with relief and happiness, and before you knew it, he had pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. In his arms, you felt safe, loved, and ready to begin this new chapter of your life, a chapter filled with love, hope, and the promise of a future together.

As you and Jace walked hand in hand back into the castle, your hearts were light with joy and anticipation. The corridors of Dragonstone felt warmer tonight, the stone walls echoing with the soft whispers of your shared future. When you reached the great hall, Rhaenyra and Daemon were seated by the hearth, engaged in a quiet conversation. Their attention shifted as you both entered, Jace leading you forward.

Jace’s hand squeezed yours gently as he addressed his mother. “Mother, we have something to share,” he began, his voice filled with excitement. “We’ve decided to marry. She has agreed to be my wife.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes lit up with happiness, a broad smile spreading across her face. She stood and stepped forward, taking both your hands in hers. “This is wonderful news,” she said, her voice warm with genuine joy. “I am so happy for both of you.”

Her embrace was tight and filled with love, as if welcoming you fully into her family. It was a moment of acceptance and celebration, her blessing clear and heartfelt.

However, as your eyes shifted to Daemon, his expression was more reserved. His jaw tightened slightly, and though he didn’t speak immediately, you could sense the conflict within him. The legacy of your mother, Alicent, and the tensions that had long simmered between their families were not easily forgotten. Yet, he held his tongue, his gaze meeting yours with a guarded intensity.

“Congratulations,” Daemon finally said, his tone measured, but his words carrying a hint of reluctance. He rose to his feet, standing beside Rhaenyra. “I trust you will make each other happy.”

Though his words were polite, there was an underlying tension. He didn’t openly oppose the union, but it was clear he harbored reservations, likely due to the history that bound your families in strife.

Jace, sensing the unease, stepped closer to you, his arm wrapping protectively around your waist. “We understand this isn’t easy,” he said, addressing Daemon directly. “But we love each other, and we want to build a future together. That’s all that matters.”

Daemon’s eyes flicked to Jace, then back to you. After a long moment, he gave a slight nod, perhaps acknowledging the sincerity in Jace’s words, or perhaps choosing to set aside his reservations for the sake of peace.

Rhaenyra, ever the peacemaker, placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, a silent plea for understanding. “What matters is that they’ve found happiness in each other,” she said softly. “Let’s celebrate that.”

Daemon exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Very well,” he conceded, though his tone was still tinged with reluctance. “Let it be a union of love.”

Relieved, you smiled, feeling Jace’s reassuring presence beside you. Rhaenyra’s enthusiasm and Daemon’s begrudging acceptance were enough to make this moment a hopeful beginning. The path forward wouldn’t be without challenges, but together, you knew you could face whatever came your way.

The day of your wedding dawned quietly, the morning mist wrapping Dragonstone in a serene embrace. Unlike the grand, ostentatious ceremonies you had once known, this day was intimate, marked by simplicity and the presence of only those closest to your heart. The small gathering was a reflection of the love you shared with Jace, a quiet yet profound celebration of a new beginning.

As you prepared in your chambers, Rhaenyra stood by your side, her presence a comforting anchor in the swirl of your emotions. She watched as you adjusted the delicate fabric of your gown, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You’ve been through so much,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “But today is about you—your happiness, your future. You deserve this joy, and I’m so proud of you.”

Her words were a balm to your nerves, and you felt a wave of gratitude for her unwavering support. She had been more than a half-sister; she had become a true sister, a confidante in your darkest hours. Her hand found yours, squeezing it reassuringly. “This is your moment,” she whispered. “Take it, and let yourself be happy.”

When the time came, you walked towards the small altar where Jace awaited, his eyes fixed on you with a mixture of love and awe. His presence was calming, his steady gaze promising a life of mutual respect and affection. The warmth of his smile as you reached his side steadied your racing heart, and the nervous flutter in your stomach eased as he took your hands in his.

The ceremony was brief, the words spoken simple yet heartfelt. Rhaenyra and Daemon stood beside you, their presence a testament to the new family you were building. Alicent’s absence was felt, but her blessings had been given through her letters, and you carried her love in your heart.

As the vows were exchanged, you felt a profound sense of peace wash over you. This was not a union born of duty or political gain, but one of genuine affection and shared dreams. Jace’s hand in yours was a promise, a symbol of the partnership you were forging together.

When the ceremony concluded, and you were declared husband and wife, the small gathering erupted in soft applause. Jace leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that sealed your new bond, a gentle reminder of the love that had brought you to this moment.

Later, as the day faded into night and the candles in the great hall flickered softly, you found yourself beside Jace, the simplicity of the day leaving you content. The weight of the past began to lift, replaced by the promise of a future filled with hope and love.

Rhaenyra’s words echoed in your mind, a reminder that you had earned this happiness. And as Jace’s arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer, you knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter—one where you could finally find the peace and joy you had longed for.

Time seemed to slip through your fingers like grains of sand, each day blending seamlessly into the next. It felt as though only yesterday you and Jace stood before the small gathering, exchanging vows. Yet, here you were, sitting in the sun-dappled garden with Rhaenyra, her laughter mingling with the soft coos of little Aegon in her arms. The gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and you rested a hand on your growing belly, feeling the life stirring within.

Rhaenyra’s teasing smile was as radiant as ever, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” she began, a playful lilt in her voice, “Daemon and I couldn’t sleep for weeks after your wedding. The walls here are not as thick as you might think.” Her laughter was infectious, and you felt your cheeks flush with warmth as you looked away, embarrassed yet unable to suppress a giggle.

“Rhaenyra!” you protested, your tone a mixture of shock and amusement. The memories of those early days—filled with love, passion, and whispered promises—were vivid in your mind. The bond between you and Jace had deepened quickly, the love you shared blooming into something even more profound.

“But look at the result,” Rhaenyra continued, her gaze dropping to your rounded belly. “It seems all that…enthusiasm bore fruit.” Her hand reached out, covering yours as it rested on your stomach. “You’re glowing, and soon you’ll have a little one of your own.”

The thought filled you with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The prospect of becoming a mother, of bringing a new life into the world, was both thrilling and daunting. But the support of Jace, Rhaenyra, and the family you had found in Dragonstone gave you strength.

Rhaenyra’s voice softened, the teasing edge replaced with genuine warmth. “You’ll be an amazing mother,” she said. “This child will be so loved, surrounded by a family that cherishes them.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as you felt a kick from within, a gentle reminder of the life growing inside you. The future was filled with promise, and as you sat there, surrounded by love and laughter, you felt a profound sense of peace.

“Thank you, Rhaenyra,” you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. “For everything.”

Rhaenyra squeezed your hand, her expression one of sisterly affection. “We’re family,” she replied. “And we take care of our own.”

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the garden, you leaned back in your chair, contentment washing over you. The journey had been long and fraught with challenges, but now, with a new life growing within you and a family that stood by your side, you felt ready to embrace whatever the future held.

Jace had grown into a devoted and attentive husband, always watching over you with a protective fervor that bordered on overbearing. His love and concern were palpable, and while you appreciated his attentiveness, there were moments when you wished for a bit more freedom. Today was one such instance.

As you sat in the garden with Rhaenyra, basking in the afternoon sun, you heard Jace calling your name. His voice, laced with a mixture of worry and relief, reached you before he did. You turned to see him striding towards you, his brow furrowed, still slightly sweaty from his training session with Luke.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his tone gentle yet firm. “I looked for you in our chambers, but you weren’t there.”

You offered a reassuring smile, hoping to ease his concerns. “I was just spending some time with your mother in the garden. I didn’t want to disturb your training, and I felt like getting some fresh air.”

Jace knelt beside you, his hands gently cradling your face as he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort or distress. “You should have told me,” he murmured. “I don’t like you wandering around alone, especially not now.”

His gaze flicked to your growing belly, a tender smile tugging at his lips. The worry in his eyes softened, replaced by the gentle adoration he always showed when thinking about the child you were carrying.

“I’m fine, Jace,” you reassured him, placing a hand over his. “Rhaenyra was with me the whole time.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly from her seat, watching the exchange with amusement. “Jace, she’s perfectly safe here. You don’t need to hover over her every moment.”

“I can’t help it,” Jace admitted, his cheeks coloring slightly. “I just…I worry.”

You squeezed his hand, appreciating his concern but also wanting him to understand. “I know, and I love that you care so much. But I need you to trust that I’ll take care of myself too.”

He nodded, sighing softly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll try. But I’ll always worry about you.”

Standing, Jace offered his hand to help you up, his protective nature not allowing him to let you rise on your own. “Come on, let’s get you inside. It’s getting cooler.”

With his arm around your waist, guiding you carefully back to the castle, you felt a sense of warmth and security. Jace’s love, though sometimes overwhelming, was steadfast and unwavering. It was a love you cherished, knowing that it came from a place of deep devotion and care.

As you entered your shared chamber, Jace guided you gently to the bed, urging you to sit and rest. He knelt before you, deftly removing your shoes, his fingers tenderly massaging your ankles. His touch was soothing, filled with care, as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your growing belly. His hands caressed your abdomen, his lips following with a whisper meant for the baby you both eagerly awaited.

“You’ve been so good to your mother,” Jace murmured, his voice full of affection. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

You smiled down at him, your fingers threading through his hair as you basked in the warmth of the moment. The quiet intimacy was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and a servant entered, carrying a sealed letter. The servant handed it to you with a respectful bow before retreating.

Curiosity piqued, you broke the seal, recognizing the familiar handwriting of your mother, Alicent. The contents of the letter were an invitation to return to King’s Landing for a grand celebration in honor of King Viserys’s birthday. Your heart skipped a beat as you read her request, knowing the importance of the occasion. It was not just a celebration for the realm’s ruler, but a family gathering—a chance to reconnect with your roots.

You looked up at Jace, who had been observing your reaction closely. “It’s from my mother,” you explained, handing him the letter. “She’s inviting us to King’s Landing for my father’s birthday celebration.”

Jace’s eyes scanned the letter, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered the implications. “Do you want to go?” he asked, his concern evident. “I know things are… complicated with your family.”

You sighed softly, placing a hand over his. “It’s complicated, yes. But it’s also important. Rhaenyra and Daemon will likely want to attend, and it’s a chance for me to see my family, despite everything. I think we should go.”

Jace nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If that’s what you want, we’ll go. But I’ll be by your side the whole time. I won’t let anything happen to you or our child.”

His protective nature reassured you, easing some of the anxiety that had begun to creep in. “Thank you, Jace. I feel better knowing you’ll be with me."

As the two of you sat together, contemplating the journey ahead, a sense of anticipation mingled with the lingering tension of old wounds. The road to King’s Landing would not just be a physical journey, but an emotional one as well—a step towards confronting the past and embracing whatever the future might hold for your family.

The towering spires of the Red Keep came into view, casting long shadows over the bustling port of King’s Landing. You stood at the edge of the ship’s deck, the sea breeze tugging at your gown as you gazed at the familiar yet distant city. Jace was at your side, his arm a comforting presence around your waist, his hand resting protectively over the swell of your belly. His touch was a constant reminder that, no matter what awaited you in the capital, you were not alone.

You turned your head slightly, catching sight of Rhaenyra and Daemon nearby. They, too, were watching the city approach, their expressions a mix of resolve and nostalgia. For them, like for you, this was more than just a visit—it was a return to a place filled with memories, both bitter and sweet.

Leaning into Jace’s shoulder, you allowed yourself a moment of quiet respite, closing your eyes as his arms encircled you. The journey had been taxing, especially given your current condition, and the looming prospect of facing your past weighed heavily on your mind. Yet, in Jace’s embrace, you found a sense of peace and strength, a reminder of the life you were building together, far removed from the shadows of King’s Landing.

Jace pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice soft and reassuring. “We’ll get through this together,” he whispered. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here.”

You nodded, clutching his hand a little tighter. The city grew larger, its walls drawing closer as the ship made its final approach. The sight of it stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you—anticipation, dread, hope. As the Red Keep loomed ever nearer, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the days to come. You had left this place as a broken woman, but now you were returning stronger, with a family of your own to protect and cherish.

Whatever awaited you within those stone walls, you knew that with Jace by your side, you could face it.

As you stepped down carefully from the carriage, the bustling courtyard of the Red Keep greeted you with its usual cacophony. Servants scurried about, arms laden with decorations and provisions for the grand celebration planned for King Viserys’s birthday. The air buzzed with excitement, yet you felt a weariness settle over you, the long journey from Dragonstone taking its toll.

Jace was immediately at your side, his hand steadying you as he helped you out of the carriage. His eyes searched yours, concern etched across his face. “Are you all right?” he asked gently, his voice barely audible over the din around you.

You nodded, though exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders. “Just tired,” you admitted softly.

Rhaenyra and Daemon approached, their expressions a mix of anticipation and something else—perhaps trepidation—given the complex dynamics that awaited within the Keep. As they prepared to make their way toward the throne room to greet King Viserys, you turned to Rhaenyra with a small, apologetic smile.

“Would it be all right if we went straight to our chambers?” you asked. “I need to rest.”

Rhaenyra’s face softened with understanding, and she nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Take your time. We’ll see you at the feast later.”

Daemon gave a brief nod of agreement, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned to follow his wife into the heart of the Keep.

With Jace’s arm firmly around your waist, you made your way through the familiar halls of the Red Keep. The grand corridors seemed both unchanged and yet different, imbued with memories that felt like they belonged to another life. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice the way the servants’ eyes widened in shock at the sight of you. Whispers followed in your wake, their astonishment clear as they took in the sight of the daughter of Alicent Hightower, once married to Prince Aemond, now heavily pregnant and walking arm in arm with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

Jace’s grip on you tightened, a silent show of support against the unspoken judgments that hung in the air. He leaned in close, his voice a low murmur meant only for you. “Let them stare,” he said, a hint of defiance in his tone. “They don’t know your strength, or ours.”

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite your fatigue. His unwavering support was a balm to your frayed nerves, and you found comfort in the steady rhythm of his steps beside you.

As you finally reached the familiar doors of your chambers, Jace opened them for you, ushering you inside before closing the door firmly behind you. The quiet of the room was a welcome reprieve from the noise outside. He guided you to the bed, helping you sit before kneeling in front of you, his hands resting on your knees.

“You’ve been incredible through all of this,” he said, his eyes full of admiration. “Rest now. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. As you lay back against the pillows, Jace settled beside you, his presence a reassuring anchor in a world that still felt uncertain.

As you turned, the door to your chambers slowly creaked open, and there, standing in the doorway, was your mother, Alicent, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Beside her stood Heleana, your sister, who looked at you with a mixture of concern and love. They both stepped inside, and without a word, they enveloped you in a warm embrace.

The familiar scent of your mother’s perfume and the comforting presence of Heleana brought a sense of peace you hadn’t realized you longed for. You felt a lump form in your throat as your mother spoke, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her hand gently brushing through your hair. Heleana joined in, wrapping her arms around you, her voice soft but filled with affection. “We’ve both missed you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, not just from the pain of the past but from the sudden realization that despite everything, they were here, with you now. You had built a new life, but the love of family—those who truly cared—was something that always remained.

Your mother, pulling back slightly, gazed at Jace, who had stood silently by your side, his protective arm still around you. She took a deep breath before speaking again, her voice steady but laden with regret. “I… I want to thank you, Jace,” she said, her words sincere. “For giving her what she truly deserves. For loving her the way she should have always been loved.”

She paused, her gaze shifting to the floor briefly before lifting it again to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she continued, her voice now tinged with sorrow. “For everything. The way I treated you, and your family. You did not deserve that.”

Jace, ever the steady presence, simply nodded, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. “It’s in the past,” he replied gently. “We move forward now.”

A brief silence followed, the weight of the past few years hanging between them. But in this moment, there was understanding, a step toward healing. Your mother’s apology, though not easy for her to give, had an undeniable sincerity. You could see it in the way her hands trembled slightly as she clasped her own in front of her.

Heleana, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up, her voice gentle. “You deserve happiness, both of you,” she said, her eyes filled with warmth. “I’m happy for you. For the family you’ve created.”

Her words were like a balm to the wounds that had been left untreated for so long. And as the room settled into a peaceful silence, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It wasn’t just the apology or the reconciliation—it was the simple truth that, despite everything, you had a family that still cared for you, and that love was worth rebuilding.

Your mother’s gentle hand traced your growing belly, her touch warm and tender, as she smiled softly at you. “You look radiant,” she said, her voice full of affection, her eyes glimmering with love. She kissed your forehead, a motherly gesture that made your heart swell. “I’m so proud of you,” she added quietly, her voice filled with emotions she didn’t often let slip.

Rhaenyra, who had been moving around the room, paused to look at you. Her expression softened, a knowing smile curving on her lips. “You should rest,” she said, stepping forward to help with your things despite your protests. “Let us do this. You’re carrying the future, after all.”

You tried to decline, wanting to take care of things yourself, but Rhaenyra was insistent, and her tone was kind but firm. “It’s not about what you can do—it’s about what we can do for you now.” With that, she motioned to her attendants, who began to unpack your belongings and arrange them carefully.

Despite your desire to remain independent, there was something comforting in the care they showed you. Rhaenyra’s presence felt like a reminder of the family bonds you had begun to rebuild, and your mother’s soft touch was a reminder that, despite everything, love had endured.

You sighed, a sense of peace settling over you as you allowed them to help. It was clear that both your mother and Rhaenyra wanted to support you—especially now, during this delicate time. Their kindness, in its simplicity, was more than you had ever expected. It was healing in its own way, allowing you to finally feel at ease, even amidst all the changes in your life.

As the room began to take shape with the items that had been moved and arranged, Rhaenyra smiled at you. “You deserve this happiness. You deserve to rest, to be cared for.”

Your heart swelled with gratitude, and you reached out, squeezing Rhaenyra’s hand gently. “Thank you,” you said softly, knowing that no matter the journey you’d been on, this moment—this sense of family—was the true gift.

You let out a small, frustrated sigh as you looked at the dresses hanging before you. The reality of your growing belly settled in as you tried on one gown after another, only to find that none of them fit quite like they used to. Each attempt left you feeling more disheartened. The grand celebration tonight, your chance to present yourself to the court and your family, was approaching, but the idea of not having anything suitable to wear only made you feel more exposed.

You muttered under your breath, cursing softly at the fact that none of your formal gowns fit anymore. “Why did it have to be tonight?” you mumbled, feeling a growing sense of annoyance. The last thing you wanted was to feel like you were drawing attention to the changes in your body—something that had already been the source of too many complicated emotions.

As you stepped out of the gown you had just tried on, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. For a moment, you stared at yourself, unsure of how to feel. The weight of everything—the pregnancy, the marriage, the responsibility—had taken its toll. And yet, beneath the surface, there was a flicker of excitement. Tonight was about celebrating, about reclaiming some sense of joy after everything you had been through.

You shook off your frustration and took a deep breath. You needed to find something, something that would make you feel confident. After all, this night was not just about appearances—it was about embracing who you had become, and all that you were carrying with you, literally and figuratively.

Just as you were about to give up, a familiar voice called out from the door.

“Need a little help?” Jace stood there, leaning against the frame of the door, his usual warmth and concern written on his face.

You smiled softly at him, despite the frustration bubbling inside. “I can’t find anything that fits for tonight,” you admitted, your voice tinged with exasperation.

You blinked in surprise as Jace gestured toward one of the servants. “Please bring the dress I’ve prepared for her,” he said with a smile, his voice carrying the tone of someone who knew exactly what was needed. You watched in confusion as the servant returned with a beautiful gown in her hands.

The gown was a striking combination of deep red and black, the colors of House Targaryen. It was unlike any of the dresses you had worn before—bold, yet elegant, fitting for the occasion. You could hardly believe it when Jace explained.

“I knew the formal gowns wouldn’t fit you anymore, so I had something made for you,” Jace said softly, walking over to you with a small smile on his lips. “I wanted you to feel like yourself tonight, regardless of… well, everything else.”

As the servant helped you into the gown, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude and warmth toward Jace. It was so thoughtful of him, and it showed how much he cared. The fabric fit comfortably, accentuating your form without being too tight, and the colors seemed to shimmer in the soft light of the room.

Jace stepped back, eyes scanning the gown with a proud glint in his eyes. “What do you think? Does it fit?”

You twirled around in the gown, the fabric flowing gracefully with each movement. It felt different from the gaudy or tight dresses you were used to—this one felt like it had been made just for you, a perfect blend of your strength, your heritage, and the love that surrounded you now.

“It’s perfect,” you said, smiling at him with genuine appreciation. “Thank you, Jace. This means more than you know.”

He grinned, the light in his eyes soft and affectionate. “Anything to make you feel special tonight,” he said. “And I think you already do.”

Your heart fluttered with a mix of emotions, but above all, you felt a deep sense of peace. With Jace by your side, you could face whatever the night held. And for the first time in a long while, you felt ready.

You stood before the mirror, gazing at your reflection, the elegant gown hugging your growing form. The deep red and black fabric seemed to hold your essence, a blend of strength and grace. Jace stood behind you, his arms wrapped gently around you, his hand resting on your swollen belly. The warmth of his touch grounded you, and a sense of peace settled in your chest.

As you stared into the mirror, you felt a small sigh escape your lips. The life you once knew, with its chaos and heartbreak, felt so far away now. The man behind you—Jace—was all you had ever wanted in a partner. He loved you not because of duty or obligation, but because he truly saw you. The love he gave was not a burden; it was a gift, something you’d never known you needed but now couldn’t live without.

Jace’s voice, soft and tender, broke the silence. “You look beautiful,” he whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

His words made your heart flutter. There was no resentment, no bitterness in his tone—just pure love. You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror. His eyes were full of warmth, tenderness, and sincerity. His fingers moved slowly over your belly, caressing it as if holding your unborn child in reverence.

“I love you,” Jace whispered again, his voice a soothing melody that filled your heart with warmth. “More than you’ll ever know.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of his embrace. It was so different from the cold, harsh reality you had once endured. With Jace, there was no fear, no uncertainty—only love, acceptance, and a future that felt brighter than anything you had ever imagined.

“I love you too,” you murmured back, your voice thick with emotion. “You make me feel safe. Happy.”

The moment stretched between you, both of you simply holding each other in the silence. It felt right—like this was where you were always meant to be. Aemond’s betrayal, the heartache you had suffered, seemed distant and small now, swallowed by the love and comfort that Jace had given you.

“Tonight,” Jace said softly, breaking the quiet, “We’ll celebrate our new life. But for now, it’s just you and me. I’m so grateful for this—grateful for you.”

You smiled, turning in his arms to face him completely. He leaned in to kiss you, a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed everything words could not. His love was overwhelming, and in his arms, you felt whole again—no longer the broken woman from before, but a woman who had been healed by the love of her true partner.

In this moment, nothing else mattered. Tonight, you would share the joy of your new beginning, but for now, you were content in the stillness, with Jace by your side, loving you like no one ever had before.

As you walked side by side with Jace into the grand hall, the sounds of laughter and celebration filled the air. The atmosphere was lively, but as soon as you entered, a hush fell over the room. All eyes turned toward you. The weight of their gaze was undeniable, but it was Jace’s presence beside you that steadied your steps, grounding you amidst the scrutiny.

Your heart fluttered with nerves, but Jace’s hand held yours firmly, his reassuring touch offering you solace. You walked confidently toward your father, Viserys, who sat at the head of the table. A smile spread across his face as he looked at you, his eyes softening as they landed on your belly. He stood to greet you, his voice warm and welcoming.

“Congratulations,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to your swollen belly before returning to meet your eyes. “I am so happy for both of you.”

You smiled back, the words of your father bringing a small sense of comfort. Jace squeezed your hand, his pride evident in the way he stood next to you. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you and your new beginning.

But as you made your way forward, you couldn’t ignore the intense gaze from across the room. Aemond sat at the far end of the table, his cold eyes locked onto you and Jace. His expression was unreadable, his lips set in a tight line as he stared without saying a word. Next to him, Alys sat silently, her child resting in her lap—an image that seemed to freeze your heart.

The sight of Aemond, his gaze piercing and distant, brought a tightness to your chest. You could feel his disapproval radiating from him, a silent accusation in his eyes. The child in his lap, a reminder of his betrayal, only added to the tension that pulsed between you.

You could almost hear the silent words between you and him, unspoken but heavy in the air. But you refused to let it affect you. You had moved on. You had found a new life, a new family in Jace, and no matter how Aemond looked at you, it didn’t change that.

Jace’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, a subtle reminder of his unwavering support. He could feel the shift in the air, but he said nothing. Instead, he simply stood tall beside you, his presence a shield against the coldness from across the room.

You walked toward your father and took your seat, the weight of the moment settling over you. Aemond’s gaze never wavered, but you refused to meet it. The past was behind you, and you were no longer the woman who had let herself be trapped by his coldness and betrayal.

Tonight was about celebration, about the new life growing within you and the love you had found with Jace. The past—Aemond, Alys, the hurt—had no place here, and you wouldn’t let it ruin your joy.

As the evening unfolded, the lively chatter and the sounds of the celebration filled the grand hall, but your attention was entirely on Jace. He had insisted you eat, even though your plate was still full. His worry for you, for the well-being of the child you were carrying, was evident in every gesture.

When the manservant brought forward a plate of sweets you particularly enjoyed, Jace smiled proudly and handed them to you, not noticing the amused glances from Rhaenyra and your mother, Alicent, seated beside you.

“I told you I’m fine,” you laughed softly, lightly pushing the plate of sweets away, already feeling full from the rich meal that had been served. “I haven’t even finished my dinner yet.”

But Jace was unperturbed, his eyes filled with concern. “You need to eat more, for the baby. Mother and your mother both say you should eat plenty, and they’re right,” he said, his tone unwavering.

Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged glances, their laughter echoing softly across the table. You could tell they were enjoying the sight of Jace’s earnestness, the way he was fussing over you like a doting husband. It was both endearing and a little frustrating, especially when your stomach had no room for any more sweets.

“Jace, I really don’t need any more,” you said, gently pushing the plate further away. “I’m already full. Really.”

But Jace simply smiled, oblivious to your protests. “Nonsense,” he said. “A little more won’t hurt, will it?”

Your mother’s laughter rang through the air. “He certainly is determined,” she teased, her gaze softening as she watched her daughter and son-in-law interact.

You sighed, a mix of amusement and mild exasperation at Jace’s overzealous attention to your needs. But despite the small frustration, you couldn’t help but smile at how much he cared, at how he always made sure you were well taken care of, whether it was ensuring you ate enough or offering constant support.

“You’re impossible,” you said with a playful smile, and Jace just grinned, pleased with his efforts to look after you.

Rhaenyra leaned in, her eyes twinkling with humor. “He does make it hard for you to say no, doesn’t he?”

You nodded, giving Jace a mock glare before turning back to your mother. “I don’t know how you put up with him all the time.”

Alicent chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s all part of being a mother-in-law. I suppose I’ve grown used to it.”

Though the playful banter continued, it was clear that your family, despite the turmoil of the past, had found a sense of joy and peace again. And that, in itself, made the night feel all the more special.You felt a slight tension rise in your chest as Alys approached, her presence undeniable as she cradled her child in her arms. She smiled warmly, offering her congratulations to you and Jace, her voice sweet and calm.

“Congratulations to you both,” Alys said softly, her eyes lingering on your growing belly.

You nodded politely, offering a small smile, but your mind couldn’t help but wander. As she mentioned her son, you glanced at the child she was holding. The little one had silver hair, unmistakably a Targaryen trait. You couldn’t help but comment, “He looks just like Aemond.”

Alys smiled, her expression gentle as she glanced down at her child. “Yes, he does,” she said, her voice filled with maternal pride. “Aemond and I are hoping for a sibling for him soon.”

Her words, though kind, hit you like a sharp pang in your heart. The thought of Aemond and Alys trying for another child, especially after everything that had transpired, was almost too much to bear. You forced yourself to maintain a calm exterior, though your stomach churned with a mix of emotions—jealousy, hurt, and frustration.

Jace, noticing the slight shift in your mood, squeezed your hand reassuringly under the table, his eyes flicking between you and Alys.

Alys, seemingly oblivious to the effect her words had on you, continued talking about her son and how happy she was with her little family. But your mind was elsewhere, struggling to reconcile the image of Aemond with his new family and the new life you were trying to build with Jace.

You did your best to smile and respond politely, but the conversation felt strained. It wasn’t that you harbored ill feelings towards Alys or her son—it was the reminder of everything you had lost, and how easily Aemond had moved on, leaving you behind in the wake of his choices.

Jace, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, gave you a subtle nudge, and you quickly redirected your attention back to him, offering a smile that was only half genuine.

“Thank you, Alys,” you said, your voice steady, though inside, a whirlwind of emotions raged. “I’m glad to see you and your son doing well.”

She smiled warmly, seemingly unaware of the tension that simmered beneath the surface. “It’s been wonderful, truly,” Alys replied before turning her attention back to her child.

As she walked away, you exhaled deeply, grateful for the brief respite from the conversation. Jace gave your hand a comforting squeeze, his silent support more than enough to help you regain your composure.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, taking comfort in the stability he provided, a stark contrast to the chaos and heartbreak of your past.

The moment Alys left, a wave of relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. The atmosphere grew tense once again as you saw Aemond and Aegon approaching, the weight of their presence undeniable. You could feel your heart race, your body instinctively tensing as they drew nearer.

Aegon, ever the charismatic one, gave you a warm smile and congratulated you on your marriage. His words were genuine, though the tension in the air was palpable. Aemond, however, had a different aura—his expression was cold, his eyes sharp as he fixed his gaze on you and Jace.

“Congratulations,” Aemond said with a forced politeness, though his voice lacked warmth. He then added with a calculated calmness, “I must admit, your decision to marry Jace is quite the surprise. How could you marry a bastard like him?”

The words stung, but you didn’t flinch. You had grown accustomed to Aemond’s cutting remarks. You met his gaze with equal intensity, refusing to let him undermine your happiness any longer.

“How could I marry a bastard like him?” you echoed, your voice steady, but a fire burning in your chest. “And how could you, Aemond, have a bastard child with the bastard girl of Harrenhal? What’s the difference between us?”

Aemond’s face tightened at your words, his lips pressing into a thin line as he took in your response. The room felt smaller, the tension thicker. He opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. He had always expected you to cower before him, but today was different. Today, you were not the same woman he had left behind.

You saw a flicker of frustration in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with a cold, dismissive look. “You’ve changed,” he muttered, though it seemed more to himself than to you.

Jace, ever protective, stepped closer to you, his arm coming around your waist possessively. He met Aemond’s stare with a challenging gaze, unspoken tension hanging between them.

Aegon, sensing the growing hostility, quickly intervened, attempting to defuse the situation. “Let’s not do this now,” he said, his tone softer. “It’s a celebration tonight. We’re here to honor our father.”

But Aemond, still silent, looked between you and Jace with a mixture of disdain and something else you couldn’t quite place. He knew the words he had spoken had hit their mark, but you were no longer the woman who would let his venom affect her.

“I’ve made my choices, Aemond,” you said firmly, your gaze unwavering. “And I’ll continue to make them. Your opinion doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

With that, you turned your attention to Jace, your hand finding his, drawing strength from him as you walked away from the tension-filled encounter. The murmurs of the room faded as you and Jace made your way to a quieter corner, where you could finally breathe freely again.

Jace, ever the calm in the storm, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his eyes soft with affection. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and comforting.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I am now.”

You had been spending more time in the Red Keep, adjusting to this new phase of your life. With your family, including Rhaenyra and your mother, growing closer, things had begun to settle. The tension between your family members had diminished, and there was a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

That morning, you found yourself sitting with Heleana, enjoying the company of her twin children as they played nearby. Their laughter filled the air, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to smile, feeling the warmth of family. Yet, beneath that smile, there was an ache—an uncomfortable pressure you couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t just physical; it was as though your body was reminding you of the strain you’d been carrying.

As the children ran around, you tried to hide your discomfort, taking slow, steady breaths to calm the mounting pain in your abdomen. You didn’t want to worry Heleana or anyone else, so you kept your focus on the children, pretending that everything was fine. But the truth was, the constant dull pain had become something you couldn’t ignore.

Heleana noticed your shift in demeanor, her sharp eyes catching the subtle change in your expression. She paused for a moment, looking at you with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, her voice laced with care. “You look like you’re in pain.”

You tried to brush it off with a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine, just a little tired,” you replied, attempting to downplay it. “I think I just need a moment to rest.”

But Heleana wasn’t convinced. She stood up and walked over to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “If something is wrong, you know you can talk to me, right?” she said, her voice warm and understanding.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to confide in her and not wanting to burden anyone with your concerns. But then, the pain flared again, sharper this time, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I’ve been feeling… off,” you admitted quietly. “It’s like there’s something not right, and I don’t know how to explain it.”

Heleana’s face softened with empathy, and she knelt beside you, taking your hand. “You should speak to someone, perhaps a maester, to make sure everything is alright,” she suggested gently.

You nodded, your heart heavy with uncertainty. You had been so focused on rebuilding your life and finding happiness that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge the possibility that something could be wrong.

“Thank you, Heleana,” you whispered, grateful for her support. “I’ll think about it.”

As you sat there, the laughter of the children faded into the background, replaced by the heavy thoughts running through your mind. Something inside you knew you couldn’t ignore this feeling any longer.

The pain intensified, each wave making it harder to focus on anything else. You clutched your stomach, unable to ignore the overwhelming sensation anymore. Looking at Heleana, you whispered, “Please, help me. I think it’s time… it’s time for the baby.”

Heleana’s eyes widened in concern, but without hesitation, she helped you up, supporting you as you staggered toward your room. She could sense the urgency, the change in your breathing, the way you were trying to hide your discomfort, but she knew you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Once inside your room, Heleana didn’t waste a second. She quickly stepped out, telling you she would get Jace and a maester immediately. The moment she left, you were left alone, walking back and forth in your room, trying to ease the growing pain with slow, deliberate movements. Each step, each breath, felt like a small battle.

Time seemed to stretch as the pain surged and receded, leaving you wondering how much longer you could bear it. You were no longer just anticipating the arrival of your child; it had arrived in the form of this unbearable, sharp reminder of what was coming.

Minutes later, Jace burst into the room, his face a mix of concern and urgency. His eyes scanned you quickly before he rushed over, his voice barely above a whisper. “Breathe, love. Please, sit down."

You could hear the panic in his voice, the way he was trying to stay composed for your sake, but it only made your heart race faster. He gently guided you toward the bed, helping you sit down, his hands steady yet trembling with concern. “Stay with me, just breathe,” he urged, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders, his presence a comfort amidst the overwhelming pain.

The maester arrived soon after, and Jace’s face softened with relief as he stepped aside to let the healer do their work. The maester checked on you quickly, muttering words of reassurance as he confirmed that the time had come. “It’s happening,” he said, giving Jace a nod before he began preparing for the delivery.

Jace turned to you then, his eyes filled with love and worry. “You’re doing great, just keep breathing, alright?” He sat beside you, holding your hand, offering whatever comfort he could as the maester worked.

The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by your labored breaths and the quiet, soothing words Jace whispered to you. The pain was unbearable, but his presence was the anchor you needed. His steady voice, his comforting touch—he was there, and that alone was enough to help you find the strength to keep going.

“You’re strong,” Jace said, his voice full of admiration. “You can do this. I’m right here with you.”

And in that moment, with his words and his love surrounding you, you knew you weren’t alone. The journey ahead would be painful, but with him by your side, you could face anything.

The sharp wave of contraction ripped through your body, and you couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from your throat. Your grip on Jace’s hand tightened, knuckles white as you clung to him like a lifeline. He was right beside you, whispering soothing words, but the pain was overwhelming, consuming every part of you.

Your mother, Alicent, and Rhaenyra were both there now, their presence adding a layer of comfort. They stood at your side, each offering soft words of encouragement, their hands brushing against your hair, wiping away the sweat that beaded on your forehead. The room was filled with a flurry of movement, the midwives and maester working efficiently, their voices calm and reassuring as they guided you through the process.

“It’s too much,” you gasped, shaking your head in desperation. “I can’t do this. It hurts… it hurts too much.”

Alicent leaned in, her voice steady and filled with a mother’s unwavering strength. “You are stronger than you think. You can do this. Just one more push, my darling.”

Rhaenyra echoed her, a determined look in her eyes. “You’ve come so far. You’re almost there. We’re all here with you.”

Jace pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice soft but firm. “I believe in you. You’re doing so well. Just one more time, love. For our son.”

Their words were a lifeline, pulling you from the depths of your despair. Drawing in a shaky breath, you gathered every ounce of strength left in your body. With a guttural cry, you pushed, the pain reaching its crescendo as you gave one final effort.

The room seemed to still for a heartbeat, and then, the sound of a baby’s cry filled the air. Relief washed over you like a tidal wave as the midwives worked quickly, bringing your child into the world. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as they placed the squirming, crying baby into your arms.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, smiling as he stepped back.

Jace’s eyes were filled with awe as he looked down at the tiny bundle in your arms. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out to touch the soft, silver hair on your son’s head. “He’s perfect,” Jace whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Just like his mother.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your son, overwhelmed by a flood of love and relief. His cries softened as he nestled against you, his tiny fingers curling around your thumb. “Hello, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice cracking with emotion. “You’re finally here.”

Alicent and Rhaenyra looked on with tears in their eyes, sharing in the joy and relief that filled the room. “You did it,” Alicent said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You brought him into this world.”

Rhaenyra smiled, brushing a tear from her cheek. “He’s a true Targaryen. Strong and beautiful, just like his parents.”

Jace leaned in, pressing another kiss to your temple, his own tears falling freely now. “I love you,” he whispered. “Both of you. You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your family, the pain and fear melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. Your son was here, healthy and safe, and your heart swelled with a love that you knew would only grow with each passing day.

As you cradled your newborn son in your arms, a wave of relief washed over you. His tiny cries filled the room, a sweet sound that marked the culmination of your pain and struggle. Jace was at your side, his eyes shining with pride and love as he gazed down at his son. Alicent and Rhaenyra stood nearby, their expressions softened with joy.

But then, without warning, a sharp, familiar pain gripped your abdomen once more. You gasped, clutching at your stomach as the pain intensified. The room shifted from serene to alarmed in an instant, the midwives and maester springing back into action.

“It’s happening again,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear and exhaustion. “What’s going on?”

The maester stepped forward, his expression calm but urgent. “You’re carrying twins, Your Grace. We must act quickly. The second child is on their way.”

Jace’s grip on your hand tightened, his face pale but resolute. “You’re strong,” he whispered, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of pain. “You can do this. I’m right here with you.”

Alicent knelt beside you, her hands trembling as she brushed the damp hair from your face. “You’ve already brought one beautiful child into this world. You can do it again. We’re all here with you.”

Rhaenyra leaned in, her voice soothing and filled with determination. “Focus on your breathing. We’ll get through this together."

Drawing on their words, you summoned what little strength you had left. The contractions came fast and hard, each one sapping your energy, but you refused to give up. The thought of your second child, waiting to take their first breath, fueled you to push through the pain

The room blurred around you as you bore down, your body trembling with the effort. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each second a battle against the overwhelming exhaustion threatening to consume you. But with one final, agonizing push, the pressure released, and the room filled with the cries of your second child.

A sob of relief escaped your lips as the midwives carefully placed your newborn daughter into your arms. Her tiny face scrunched up as she wailed, her voice strong and fierce. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked down at her, her delicate features a mirror of her brother’s.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced, a smile breaking through his composed demeanor. “Both children are healthy.”

Jace’s eyes welled with tears as he reached out to gently touch his daughter’s hand, her tiny fingers wrapping around his. “She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “Just like her brother. Just like you.”

Your heart swelled as you cradled both of your children, the weight of them grounding you in this moment of profound joy and love. Despite the pain, despite the fear, you had brought them both into the world, and they were safe in your arms.

Alicent pressed a kiss to your forehead, her tears mingling with yours. “You did it, my love. You brought two beautiful souls into this world.”

As Jace wrapped his arms around you, holding you and your children close, you felt a surge of love so powerful it took your breath away. This was your family, your heart. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that together, you could face anything.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[houseofthedragonn]

Girlypop I need someone to write about cregan x reader x Jacaerys. I need someone to write this please girlypop don't disappoint me 🥹. Feel free to write any ideas you have🙏

in the middle

cregan x reader x jacaerys

synopsis - you ride to the wall from dorne to treat with cregan and jace, and you cannot choose which is more handsome—so they don’t make you…

warnings - smut, threesome

“Princess Martell,” Cregan and Jace greeted, kissing my hand upon our meeting out in the cold at Castle Black’s gate.

“My Lord… my Prince…” I smiled, my gaze lingering on their lips. Their eyes did the same, staring at my mouth, making clouds of ice as I spoke.

Invited by raven to treat at the Wall with Lord Cregan Stark and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, I accepted.

On behalf of House Martell, as Dorne’s ruling Princess. And commander of my troops for four years since my sixteenth nameday. Rhaenyra wanted us on her side against the Greens. As a descendant of Nymeria, I was already onboard to help another woman take back her rightful throne that a man usurped. But still acted as if I needed some convincing so I could treat with her son and their trusted ally. I would be lying if I denied my feelings of anticipation about meeting the realm’s rumored to be most handsome young Lord and Prince.

Seeing for myself that all the rumors were more than true.

They led me inside the castle gate’s, past congregating men of the Night’s Watch. All pushing their way past one another to see the pretty Princess of Dorne, since there were no women allowed at the wall. None unless they commanded an army as I did. Cregan, Jace, and I negotiated about my men and women fighting for Rhaenyra.

Negotiating over cups of wine, besides the roaring hearth crackling in the corner of handsome, young Lord Stark’s study.

“It is a great honor that you rode all this way. The tales of your great beauty do not do you justice, Princess…” Jace was the first to flatter me warmly, his dragon flying in circles above the castle I saw out the window.

“Aye, that they do not… and I don’t know many men who would dare make the journey you have, Princess,” Cregan, colder in demeanor than the warm, welcoming Prince, still seemed impressed. “The realm’s rumors of you being Nymeria reborn appear to be true… strength, beauty, and all…”

“The realm’s rumors of you two being the most handsome Lord and Prince appear to be true as well,” I spoke freely, as ruler of my own free kingdom, I never had to hold my tongue. “But I cannot choose which one of you is more handsome…”

Leaving them both caught off guard, I kept sipping the Dornish red I brought as a gift. Until the sweet, strongwine was drained from my cup, which Cregan kindly refilled for all three of us. On yet another cup after a few several hours of negotiating.

“We would never ask you to choose, Princess…” Jacaerys lilted with a different tone than before, a more sensual one.

After a knowing look was exchanged between him and Stark.

A long time passed with just the fire crackling filling the silence as I drained my cup again, this time because they caught me off guard. Cregan’s hand rested on mine after taking the empty cup from my hand. Gently, but firm, he held my hand in his much bigger one. Bringing it to his lips again. Jace grabbed my other hand and did the same.

“You don’t have to choose… you’re the warrior Princess of Dorne,” Stark started kissing up my arm as Jacaerys did the same, kissing his way up my other. “You can have us both…”

Both stopped when they reached my collarbone, exposed in my revealing Dornish dress after I unclasped my cloak. I looked down to see them both looking up at me longingly and they were right, I did not want to choose. I just wanted them. Both of them.

“Then both of you is what I shall have…” I sighed, smiling wide, warm from the wine and feeling both of them gave me.

Their kisses on my collarbone made me melt into my chair before the fire. Their lips left my skin with a wet sound before rising from their seats. Each holding out their hands to help me stand. I took both of their hands and let them lead out of the study downstairs to Stark’s chambers. Castle empty after they commanded all of the men to stand guard outside, no one was around to question why we all entered the Lord’s quarters hand in hand, in hand. Cregan slammed the heavy door shut behind him. Tearing off his wolf’s fur cloak, he let it sink to the stone floor. Jace unclasped him own and abandoned it to the ground just the same. Both with one hand as their other hands never let mine go. Leading me by the hand towards Stark’s large featherbed. I let them pull me onto it before they pinned me down. Prince on my left, and Lord on my right. They left more kisses on my collarbone leading up my bare neck. Along my jaw. Until they reached my lips. Fighting for my mouth.

I ran my hands through both of their thick hair. Through Jace’s black curls and Cregan’s chestnut strands.

Taking turns kissing both, feeling and hearing the wet sounds of all our tongues. I impatiently pulled at their fine clothes and my demand was heeded. Immediately both began to undress, tossing their shirts and undershirts to the stone floor below. Their trousers next, I laid there in my dress, desperately trying to take it off as I watched them. They only laughed, stepping out of bed and out of their britches. Falling to the ground with soft thuds, piling in the pool of their fine clothes trailing from the door to the bed. My lips fell open, ravenous at the sight.

Stark was noticeably bigger than the lean Targaryen prince—broader shouldered and more muscular, as he was older.

Even his cock was bigger, at least thicker than the Targaryen prince, whose cock was longer. Both red and aching with want. I crawled towards them on my hands and knees, reaching the end of the featherbed. They took advantage of my exposed back to unlace my dress. Then my corset. Letting both fall away after they discarded my fine clothes to the floor. Only left in my chemise underdress, I shrugged the shift off desperately. Tossing it to the pile. They both joined me on the bed, all our bodies bare.

“You’re beautiful, Princess…” Jace sighed, running his hands over my bare frame, gently caressing curves of my breasts.

Cregan pinned my hands above my head to keep me from hiding myself from them, “She’s more than beautiful, my Prince… you’re gorgeous, my Princess…”

I writhed under their touches. They both brought their mouths back to my neck. Kissing hard until they left lovebites on each side of my throat. Moans left my lips, drawing their attention back towards my mouth theirs left swollen and wet. Tongues fighting for control. Before I got on my hands and knees again before them on the bed. Looking up at the desperately, they let me take turns taking their cocks in my mouth ravenously. Wet sounds of my lips wrapping around Jace’s cock first and taking Cregan in my hand filled Stark’s chambers along with the fire’s roar and crackle.

“Seven fucking hells, Princess… your mouth feels better than the heavens…” Jacaerys groaned as I sucked his hard cock, his hands tangling themselves in and tugging on my hair harshly.

“I bet her cunt feels even better… gods, you’re already so wet for us, pretty Princess…” Cregan flashed his wolfish grin down at me after reaching between my thighs, knelt before the next King of Westeros, as my hand pumped Lord Stark’s big cock.

I switched, my lips going to Cregan’s cock and sucking his hard length, and my other hand gripping Jace’s and pumping. My head spinning from hearing how I made them moan my name as they gripped my hair, bobbing my head up and down. With the wet sounds and feel of my spit covering both of them.

“Only for you, my Lord… and my Prince…” I sighed, after my mouth pulled off of them for air. Panting with my wet lips parted, swollen from sucking their cocks.

“If it’s only for us, you won’t mind if we take you at the same time, beautiful?” Jacaerys asked with a daring glint in his eye, a knowing look directed at Cregan who seemed in agreement.

The handsome Prince held my face in his hands as he asked, or rather demanded, gently. After choking trying to take all of his long cock deep in my throat.

“Please…” I pleaded, near begging to be filled with them both.

“You need only ask, our pretty Princess…” Stark stroked himself watching me, a pleading mess, and soon he and the insatiable Targaryen were hard again.

I let them manhandle me, making me switch so I faced Cregan with Jace taking hold of hips.

The Prince burying himself in my cunt first, without warning, I cried out, “Fucking hells, Jace! Feels so good…”

While Stark was thicker, Jacaerys was longer, hitting a spot deeper inside me.

“Fuck, you’re tight, Princess…” Jace groaned as he bottomed out inside me.

I clenched at the sudden fullness, my moans mixing with his. Until Cregan’s cock slipped past my lips. Choking on his thick cock, my mouth stretched to fit him. Pumping the last few inches I could not take in my throat with my hands. Moaning around his length, making Stark groan in return. Soon they found a steady rhythm, both moving in and out of me as a dizzying pace. I just them, clenching and sucking around them both. Sounds of our sex filled Stark’s chambers over the crackling hearth at the foot of our bed. I felt close after a while, the pressure too much.

Before I could reach my release, they suddenly switched.

Jace back in my mouth as Cregan’s cock sank deep inside of me. Hitting the same spot Jace did, again and again. My cunt stretching a bit more, how it stretched to fit the Prince just moments before.

“Good gods, you are tight, gorgeous…” Stark groaned as he bottomed out in my cunt.

I moaned around Jacaerys as the Wolf of the North started slow at first, before being unable to restrain his animalistic stamina. Sucking the Prince’s cock harder as the Lord fucked me faster. Clenching around him, and getting sloppier with my mouth, they both knew I was close.

“Come for us, our Princess…” Jace sighed as he pulled my hair, fucking my face he held in place with his hands.

I felt Stark start to circle my clit with his fingers as Jacaerys squeezed my breasts while I was on my hands and knees for them. That pushed me over the edge, coming around Cregan’s cock, with my mouth a moaning mess around Jace. They both moaned my name as they chased their release right after mine. Warmth washed over me from inside my cunt and mouth. I swallowed whole as my cunt had both their cocks. Wiping my lips clean, the Prince pulled out of my mouth. After slowing to a stop, Stark did the same, emptying out of my cunt.

Spent, we all collapsed on the wolf’s fur blankets adorning the large feather bed. A tangle of limbs, lying in between them.

A long, passionately sloppy kiss shared between the three of us. I smiled, satisfied, “Thank the gods I didn’t have to choose…”

[lionneee]

Your sworn sword

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: fingering, degradation (just a bit), 'just the tip', talking of sexual themes, piv, smut.•

Part 1 -> Part 2

{Request: I have a request! Aemond is send across the narrow sea to be the sworn sword/knight of a (verryy beautiful) princess from a noble house is esso’s. As punishment what he did to lucerys Thanks for reading dear 💙}

To say that Prince Aemond was grumpy was an euphemism.

He was rigid, stoic, and rude.

But your father loved him.

You couldn’t understand why, not after his most recent kill: his little nephew.

You remembered meeting Luke Velaryon once, he was a nice, gentle, kind boy.

His brother Jace was just the same.

Princess Rhaenyra had been invited as a guest at your father’s name day feast with her family, and you remembered spending a nice afternoon with her sons.

You actually kept contact with her youngest child, Jace. You two sometimes sent letters to each other, talking of your days apart.

You would have never said it outloud, but you had a weakness for the boy’s dark, beautiful hair.

But he was promised to her cousin Baela.

As soon as you heard the news, you thought he would have stopped sending you letters, but he didn't, and you almost cried of joy when the next letter came.

Then, your father sided with the greens.

He sided with rude, dangerous people, and named the worst of them as your sworn sword.

When he told you about his choice you begged him, you cried, you did everything you could to try to change his mind but it was all to no avail.

Now, all the other Ladies never sat with you, they were afraid to speak with you, all because of some dark, evil, scary person standing behind you, following every step you took.

It was so obvious how much he hated being a night, yet, he stood his role perfectly.

Aemond was always there, lurking like a shadow behind you, his presence cold and heavy, suffocating your every breath. He never spoke to you unless necessary, never showed any warmth or softness in his voice. There was nothing but formality and distance, a thick wall of indifference that made your skin crawl whenever he was near.

To be fair, the only thing you thought interesting of him was his dragon Vaghar.

Your days had become a game of silence, your once carefree nature now replaced with the constant awareness of his eyes on you. You missed the days when you could write to Jace without a worry, when his words brought you comfort and a glimpse of hope. Now, the letters felt like a secret rebellion, something dangerous, but you couldn’t give them up. They were the only link to a world that still held some warmth.

You still wrote to him, though your letters had become shorter, more cautious. You dared not mention Aemond, or your isolation. Instead, you spoke of mundane things, of books you were reading, of the changing seasons. Jace’s responses, too, had shifted, though he remained kind and attentive. There was always a note of tension, a hint of restraint. You knew he was aware of the shifting tides, of your father's allegiance to the Greens.

 You happily walked in your room, smiling as you held the newest letter on your hand from Jace.

Aemond was walking right behind you, but you couldn’t care.

Jace's letter had just come.

You chuckled to yourself as you closed the door of your room behind you, leaving Aemond outside, guarding your door. 

You jogged to your desk, sitting down on the chair and breaking the sigil, opening with trembling hands the letter.

There were only a few lines written.

You furrowed your brows, confused. He usually wrote at least one page.

Dearest friend,

I assume you have heard of my family’s recent loss, my sweet brother Luke, gone by the hand of my uncle Aemond. 

It saddens me to tell you this, but due to your father’s allegiance and your newest sworn sword, I believe it is time to end our communications.

Jace Velaryon

You felt a pain in your chest.

A deep pain.

You weren’t going to receive any more letters from him. 

I believe it is time to end our communications.

You stood up from your desk, leaving the letter to hit the floor as you ran to your bed, laying face down, your arms crossed under your face as you bursted into tears.

You didn’t eat lunch, you didn’t have dinner. You didn’t want to get up from your bed.

Your maids, even one of your closest friends tried to walk past Aemond to check on you, but he was impenetrable, he wouldn’t let anyone in, not if you didn’t want them to.

His behavior left you speechless.

You knew he was loyal, you knew he was one to do his duty, but the way he stood up for you, not letting anyone in just as you asked, left you almost flattered.

The hours dragged on as you laid in your bed, the room dark and suffocating. The weight of Jace's words still lingered, pressing down on your chest. It was as though the last thread connecting you to the warmth of your past had been severed. You felt utterly alone, the castle walls seeming colder, the silence more deafening.

But outside your door, Aemond remained, steadfast and unmoving. His presence felt different now, less like the shadow you despised and more like an unavoidable part of your life. He had become a constant, whether you liked it or not, and now, oddly, that constancy brought a shred of comfort in your moment of loss.

By the time the moon rose high in the sky, you hadn’t moved from your bed, save to cry quietly into your pillow. The pain of Jace's rejection, not just of you but of the friendship you had cherished, was overwhelming. You couldn’t bring yourself to think of anything else, let alone leave your room.

A soft knock echoed through the thick wooden door. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was another maid or friend trying to check on you, Aemond would have taken care of it in a moment. But after a moment, there was another knock, firm yet measured, followed by a voice, calm, collected, and unmistakably Aemond’s.

 "You haven't eaten." He said, his tone devoid of his usual coldness, though it was still restrained. You laid still, wondering if you could pretend you hadn’t heard him. But the silence lingered too long, and it was clear he wasn’t going to leave. He was your sworn sword, after all, bound to you, whether you liked it or not.

"I’m not hungry." You muttered into your pillow, your voice muffled and thick with the remnants of tears.

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, which was unlike him. Then, Aemond spoke again, quieter this time. "It has been hours. You should take something, if only to keep your strength."

His words were filled with disinterest despite the meaning of them. He made impossible things possible.

"I don’t want anything." You repeated, more firmly this time. 

The door opened with a loud creek, and Aemond just walked inside. You scoffed, annoyed, but you felt too sad to think about him pissing you off.

“Leave me alone!” You groaned on the mattress, clenching your hands into fists. You could hear him moving in the room.

“That puppy of my nephew is what has reduced you in this state?” He asked, scoffing. You turned your head to look at him, and you saw him looking down at a letter in his hands.

Jace’s letter.

You bolted upright on the bed, fury boiling inside you at the sight of Aemond holding Jace’s letter. His tall, imposing figure seemed even more oppressive in the dim light of your room. His one good eye flicked over the page with a mixture of disdain and cold amusement, while the sapphire in his other socket glinted in the low light.

"Give that back!" you demanded, your voice cracking from the tears and frustration, but Aemond made no move to return the letter. He dropped the letter, letting out another scoff.

“You’re a fool.” He said, his rudeness making you red to your ear.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” You exclaimed, indignited.

“He’s a bastard. You’re sweet on a bastard, the son of my whore sister. That’s foolish.”

You felt your blood boil at his words, each syllable a sharp jab to your heart. “You don’t know anything about me! You think you can judge me just because you think you're so much better than everyone else!?”

He stepped closer, towering over you, his expression a mixture of contempt and something unreadable. “I am better than everyone else. I’m surely better than that boy who has no right on the throne he wants to claim so much.”

Your anger flared, but underneath it was a deep sorrow. “He’s more than just a name or a title! Jace has been kind to me, and you—” you pointed an accusing finger at him, “you are the one who brings darkness wherever you go.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, the air crackling with tension. “Kindness won’t save you, and neither will that bastard. This world isn’t built on sentiment. It’s built on strength and blood.”

“Strength?” you spat, incredulous. “Strength that comes from killing boys? That’s your idea of strength?”

He looked unfazed, his expression hardening. “Luke was weak. That’s why he’s dead.”

“You’re twisted.” You hissed. “It brings you pleasure, doesn’t it? Being feared, see people looking away from you –” He pushed you back before you could continue, as he started pulling off the upper structure of his armor.

You stumbled back as you looked up at him, confused and stunned, but he pushed you back again as he took off the lower part of his armor, making you fall back on your bed.

“You want to know what brings me pleasure?” He grabbed your ankle, dragging you down the bed until your butt was almost over it. He pushed the skirts of your dress up, exposing your legs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You tried to close your legs, or pull down the skirts, but he raised your legs up, then he leaned down to grab both your thighs, spreading them apart, pressing his face against your underwear.

“This.” He mumbled against the thin clothing, his nose pressing against a funny spot against you, that made a strange sound come out of your mouth. “This brings me pleasure.” He growled as he pulled down your underwear along with the stockings. “Teaching stupid ladies their places.” He said as he dived his face back between your thighs, now his mouth pressing on that same spot, sucking and rubbing with his tongue, leaving you breathless for a moment, the pleasure was so high and so good you couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t see him, your skirts were covering the view, but you didn’t really care. Not when it felt this good. 

You didn’t think you'd ever felt this good. 

The one who was making you feel good, was a Targaryen Prince, a child murdered, the rider of the largest dragon in the world.

You could only squirm, your mind numbed by the pleasure, slowly overcoming all the alarms your brain was sending you, telling you to push the prince away, to not let him touch you in such an appropriate manner.

But then, all so suddenly it stopped, leaving you panting heavily. You saw Aemond raising his head from between your legs, coming into your field of vision.

His chin was wet, his only eye almost completely black as he looked down at you.

His hands moved on your skin, almost gently, caressing your skin as they moved up, your knees, your ankles. He wrapped his fingers around your ankles, securing your legs raised, your feet by each side of his head.

You should have stopped him.

This was improper, it was a sin. A sin you were committing with the worst man in the Seven Kingdoms.

You wanted to move, kick him back, telling him to stop touching you with his filthy, blood-stained hands, but under the dark gaze of his single eye you couldn’t move.

Aemond tightened the grip on your ankles, suddenly pulling you up so your hips lifted from the mattress. Startled, you let out a weak squeak, gripping the sheets tightly as your body moved forward, the back of your thighs landing harshly against him, your core rubbing against a protuberance on his pants, the impact sending another jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Yeah, you like it.” He hummed to himself as he dropped you back on the mattress. He leaned down, his body making space for himself between your legs as his face came to hover yours. “And you want to feel it more, don't you?” He smirked, looking down at you.

You could feel your face burning because of his words, more likely because of the truthfulness of them, because yes, you wanted to feel it again.

“No-” You mumbled as you looked up at him, directly in his eye, trying to sound firm, but he simply chuckled, grabbing your face with his hand, his fingers digging in the soft skin of your cheeks. “Such a liar. No wonder why my sweet bastard-nephew doesn’t want you.” 

That stang.

Your eyes immediately filled with tears and anger.

“How dare you?” You hissed as you tried to push him off of you, slapping his chest repeatedly, but he only smiled even more.

“There, there…” He hummed as his hand went back underneath your dress, finding you private again. No matter how much you fought, his body was keeping your legs apart, and he seemed impossible to move.

You only stopped when you felt a strange feeling, something filling you in a way you’ve never felt, that made you gasp out loud. You unconsciously let out a moan, your back arched instinctively, as your body almost contorted as he started moving his finger inside you.

“So easy to shut you up, mh?” He asked as he followed your face to be able to see every expression you made. “So easy to put into place.” He added then in a low voice.

You gritted your teeth together, trying to find in you the force to push him off, to not give him the satisfaction he was showing with that damn smile of his, but you couldn’t. The only sounds that came out of your mouth were whines or soft moans as his finger moved faster inside you, caressing everywhere inside you, and eliciting a pure bliss of pleasure.

“Jace is a fool for leaving you.” He said as he looked at you, your eyes half closed, your head leaned back, your lips apart. He didn’t even look like he realized he said that, it was like he was talking to himself and accidentally said it outloud. You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes fixed on you, staring in appreciation. “You’re a rare beauty.” He said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. A warmth spread across your chest, but you weren’t sure if it was the pleasure or the way his gaze lingered on you. 

No.

You thought to yourself.

Not him.

Please.

But the way he looked at you, like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world was doing something to you. It made your stomach clench, your head dizzier.

You’ve been told countless times by suitors that you were a sight to see, a beauty, but it did nothing if not make you blush or feel appreciated.

With Jace you felt your heart beat so loud you feared it could jump out of your chest.

You too were aware of your beauty, but you never thought of it as a rareness.

But now with Aemond Targaryen, the cold, mean, cruel man, who was doing unspeakable things to you, who looked at you like a Goddess, you truly felt like one.

Aemond’s gaze pierced through you, a silent intensity in his expression that made your breath catch in your throat. You wished you could deny the way his presence and actions were affecting you, wished you could ignore the way his words stirred something deep inside. But the truth was undeniable. 

As he slipped his second finger inside your thigh core, you felt it crushing on you. You didn’t know what, but for a moment, you forgot about everything, Jace, the war, Aemond’s sins, your worries, your anger and your sadness, it all vanished by the newfound feeling of ecstasy. You whined louder, making aemond clamp his other hand immediately over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he kept moving your fingers. You looked at him with wide eyes, you didn’t know what had just happened to you, but you wanted to keep feeling it, no matter what cost, you wanted to feel that good again.

He kept pumping his fingers inside you as you saw him starting to move, rub, against your thigh, some hardness pressing and caressing your skin. His brows arched slightly, his eye narrowing slightly as he pressed his hips harder against you, seeking more friction and pressure. 

You’ve never seen a man do a face close to that one.

You’ve never seen Aemond make a face like that, and it was beautiful, it was breathtaking, hypnotizing, you felt like watching him all day as he experienced his pleasure.

He didn’t miss the way you seemed affected, obviously. He looked down at you and found you staring at him, his eye darkened even more, his pupil dilating even more if possible as he clenched his jaw.

“You like this?” He looked down at you, moving his hand from your mouth to your neck, gripping it tightly, but not enough to actually cut your air off. You tilted your head back, wrapping your hands on his wrist and arm, gasping as he slipped his fingers out, passing them over your pearl just to see you squirm, his lips moving into a smirk. “No.” He said as he sat up in his haunches between your legs, forcing you to spread them to make room for his body as he started to undo his pants. “You love it.”

You tried to look down, trying to understand what he was doing but he squeezed your throat into a warning, keeping your head in place. “What are you trying to see, uh?” He growled as he pushed his pants down enough to let his cock spring free. “Such a curious menace, always getting into trouble.” He hissed as he leaned over her to look at you from above. “Always sneaking around, making my life harder.” He gritted his teeth. “Making me chase you.” He raised her skirts to your waist as he aligned his cock to your core, wet and warm, hot.

“No – “ You mumbled as you felt the tip pressing on your skin. “Y-you can’t- We’re not married-” You mumbled as you panted, shaking your head. Aemond smiled down at you, his thumb caressing the skin of her neck. 

“No one will notice.” He said firmly, pushing slightly, making his tip grace the inside your core, just slightly, enough to hear another moan from you. “Just…” He groaned as he repeated the movement, moving his hips forward as his face contorted in pleasure. “... the tip – Fuck –” He groaned as he started moving his hips, the tip of his cock was being sucked in every time by your cunt, as if it was trying to keep him inside. 

It didn’t feel bad.

She did feel like her cunt was being torn apart, but she found the pain mixed to the pleasure extremely pleasing.

It was good.

It was so good.

The pleasure was so overwhelming, so strong, so blissful.

“A-Aemond – “ You bit your lower lip as you arched your back, jerking your hips to find more pleasure as his tip kept slipping out and back in.

Aemond couldn’t tear his eyes off the sight, your core making a wet sound every time he slipped in, your walls forced open to make space for his thick cock, his red tip being welcomed in the warmness of your body, and then the sound of your weak wail every time he pulled back, only enough to be able to push back in.

“Yeah like that –” He growled as he tightened his hand around your neck, his eye still fixed on how your bodies connected, his thrusts regular, calculated and hard.

He was hanging by a thread, and he was showing a great amount of control, just by not slamming his whole long cock inside you, and making you scream in pain and pleasure.

“Grind yourself like a whore –” He snarled as he started rolling his hips faster, the wet sound growing louder along with his pace. “Fuck youre so tight – You’re squeezing me inside - ”

It didn’t bother you the way he called you, the way he spoke. If not, it only aroused you more.

You bit your lower lip harder, and no matter how low you tried to keep your noises, it became impossible as Aemond moved his free hand, using his fingers to circle your pearl, putting just the right amount of pressure. Your back arched violently as you threw your head back, your mouth open in an oval shape, grunts and moans coming out one after another as Aemond tightened his hand around your throat, starting to cut some of your air supplies, your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

It was all so much.

It was all so good.

“Come.” He growled as he finally looked up at you. “Come, before I lose it.” His eye fixed on yours. He looked feral. He looked like a chained animal, that once set free, would have hunted and killed everything in its path. “Come, before absolutely ruin you.” 

It wasn’t like you had any control over it, because when the pleasure reached you in such a hard, strong frisson, you could only surrender to it. Your eyes widened, your mouth opened, but Aemond tightened his hand on your throat even more, killing every sound you could have let out. Your eyes watered as your hips jerked, the pleasure washing over you in devastating waves.

He snarled, letting go of your throat, but you barely had the time to take a deep breathe because you felt a stinging pain, barely muffled by the aftershocks of you climax, as Aemond grabbed tightly your hips and harshly pulled to him, making you slip down on the bed and making his cock thrust completely inside you, as he moaned on top of you.

“So fucking tight.” His voice was strained, his breathing heavy, then, you felt a strange sensation of wetness inside you.

You whined as the bliss of pleasure slowly faded away, leaving you in an uncomfortable pain, so you pushed Aemond away, who retrieved with a groan, slipping out of you.

You slowly sat up, looking at him as your mind slowly registered the last moments. 

Aemond stood up from the bed, tucking himself inside his pants and starting to put his armor back on.

You didn’t say anything in the meanwhile, you just stared down at the bed covers, where you and Aemond were laying till a few seconds before, committing one of the worst sins ever.

A sin that felt so good.

You snapped out of your moment of trance only when you heard the door slam shut, and a strange smell of burned paper in the air. You moved to the end of the bed, on the floor, there was a piece of paper on fire.

Jace’s letter.

Part 2

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy

[maglors-grief]

I'm so confused about all the people that have been insulting targaryen!readers and ocs as "boring" lately.

You expect me to believe that a reader/oc that has a fucked up family and can ride a dragon is somehow uninteresting...? This is a big fandom. There's room for everyone to write what they want. There's no reason for some people to be so judgemental. Fic writers are providing us with free content about our favorite characters. They are taking time out of their day to write us stories. You aren't expected to like every fic. This entitlement in fandom is ridiculous. Fanfiction writers owe you nothing. If you don't like what they write then that's your problem not theirs.

Most of these characters have hundreds of fics written for them, there is no point in dwelling on the fics you don't like. The Aemond/ofc tag on ao3 has over 2000 fics, the Aemond/reader tag has over 1000 fics, but yet I'll still see people whining in the fanfiction tags on tumblr about how a writer dared to write a reader/oc or plot they personally didn't like. Again, you are reading free content, we don't need to hear your criticisms. Not liking a fic is not some crisis we need to urgently address. You can keep your thoughts to yourself and move on to something else. My rant is over. Be kind to fic writers. Life would be miserable without them.

[daemontargaryenwhore]

And Halaena looking up to the falling flowers during the funeral was also a foreshadowing bit.

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part one

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread part two: read here

word count: 4.9k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: hair color specified reader but it's paramount to the story. Dance of the Dragons AU, Balerion lives AU - kinda heavy introduction. political manipulation, i guess no Baela, Rhaena or Alys romantic interests, ALL characters are aged 18 or older, Muses aren't in this part much, stolen Olenna Tyrell quote(s), Dylan Thomas quote.

though Balerion is not shown in the shows [HOTD or GOT], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: this this one, but maybe this color

Considering the climate, environment, elements, and location of each region with no true diverse distinction or transition between seasons, summers varied in each corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Notably, the mainland experienced vastly different summers in comparison to the constantly humid Westerosi islands.

This was expected.

Where the weather endured in King’s Landing is dry and stale - lacking cloud coverage, baking all forms of life under the unforgiving sun - Dorne was ideal: temperate, tropical, the temperature usually consistently comfortable.

Northwest of the continent, off the Westerlands coast in water of Ironman's Bay so dark, secrets remain hidden, summers on the ratified Iron Islands were cold due to the winds blowing from the North. The rocky region wet and slippery from rain; never humid, usually biting.

The Reach boasted pleasant summers; lush and green with fully bloomed gardens, perfectly balmy. The Stormlands lived up to its name and was plagued with frequent storms. These were usually warm rains - opposite the Iron Islands. The Crownland's annually hosted hordes of tourists at their ever popular summer attraction: temperate beaches. And why wouldn't they? The Crownlands's usually kept moderate temperatures and plenty of vast coastline to offer reprieve in the surf.

However, the only exception to sweltering, stereotypical climate that ransacks the Realm is the North - an expansive outlier. You see, in the North, summers are cold but winters are REALLY cold. From Bear Island to White Harbor, the dreary, overcast summer sky reflects on year-round, bright, pristine summer snow, making it glitter and blindingly glow. This results in the curation of a blue-grey filter naturally exclusive in the North.

However, tonight - You weren't ankle-deep in North summer snows. You weren't wheezing in King's Landing. You weren't vacationing in Dorne. You weren't sloshing through the Stormlands.

Tonight, you weren't on the mainland.

Tonight, you were on Dragonstone - ancestral home of your distant, estranged family.

Bullfrogs belted their croaky song, loud and incessant; as if trying to individually greet each twinkling star in the inky sky - the ever faithful audience; intrigued by this reckless and dangerous suicidal showdown you embarked on. Crickets chirped in a soprano choir; dotting around the maze of tide pools - cratered by the same porous, jagged, volcanic rock that defines the unpredictable, natural coastline. Frothing alto waves of dark navy, violent, salty sea brutally crashed against rock - the booming baseline of the frog's and cricket's private duet sang in perfect harmony.

All that was missing was a little red crab with a Jamaican accent encouraging you "kiss the girl".

Night had fallen. The winds were cold as a storm rumbled overhead. Rain fell sideways. Lightning streaked the skies.

You navigated through the dark - a slippery, dangerous feat.

Few windows of the castle gave a subtle, dim light; indicating the residents were more than likely turned in for the night. Still, despite the lack of patrolling guards and other witnesses, you remained in stealth mode. Only fools allowed themselves to feel cocky when their guards go down. When someone allowed their defenses to go down, mistakes are made, capture is imminent, the mission is a failure, and surrender to the enemy's mercy is forced.

Your presence on Dragonstone wasn't for romance - no girls (or boys) for you to kiss. This wasn't a social visit to recreationally mingle with the Velaryon Prince or Targaryen Princess Twins. You're not conducting research curriculum - no time to study flora, fauna, volcanic activity.

To the winged terrors, Dragonstone Island is a recognizable safe haven that promotes healing - the one place these miraculous beasts could relax, ease their defenses; be vulnerable with lowered guards. This sense of safety gives freedom away from the confines of Dragon Riders - simply allowed to be true, authentic, and animalistic.

Currently, a couple dragons sought refuge on the island, nesting, minding their own business; others sought rest, retirement, peaceful isolation. Several took advantage of the heat and loitered around the volcano, the Dragonmont.

They weren't just any dragons, some were rogue, wild; some released after captivity; all unclaimed, riderless. This tempted several persons to rely on arrogant luck and try their hand at harnessing the terrible beasties - but they never returned.

Summer days stretched long, giving limited time to move under the cover of darkness, and the nights progressively shortened each day leading up to the solstice. Your journey was miraculous, having never navigated open water before yet somehow arriving at Dragonstone after setting sail from King's Landing by yourself. Perhaps you had a hidden talent, a subconscious sailor mentality; maybe you were just lucky, or maybe your boiling emotions made you defiantly determined - running on pure spite to stay alive, unharmed, and without capsizing in an effort to complete your mission.

Most of the time, you relied more on logic than emotion, something that helped keep you balanced, grateful, rational. Leading with logic arguably "made" someone intelligent; solution oriented, stubborn, hardheaded, unwilling to compromise (a common foundation when leading with emotion).

Yet logic made you very black and white - no grey area. Logic is cut and dry. Logic is sometimes sophisticated. Logic is also stubborn. Logic abandoned empathy. Logic could be explained. Logic identified applicable reasonings and explanations. Logic is hard to argue against. Logic sustained battles of wit. Logic is sometimes discriminatory. Logic always tells the truth. Logic has limited loopholes.

Logic is fact driven, and when paired with your own rooted moral and religious beliefs, made you subconsciously judgmental.

There's a well-known proverb, quote, "it's not the destination, but the journey." Yet some philosophers think the destination is mundane, anticlimactic, boring, sometimes disappointing and unfulfilling while the journey is much more fulfilling. The journey is what's worth; an adventure, where development inflates, where a story worth telling lies.

Logic is the destination. Leading with emotion is the journey.

Leading with emotion develops thoughtful decisions. Emotions sharpen empathetic abilities. Emotions sometimes changes perspectives, broadens horizons. Emotions allow for differences in opinions. Emotions curates safety. Emotions heightens generosity. Emotions expands willingness to help. Emotions softens situations with compassion. Emotions often strides towards peace. Emotions structures harmony. Emotions accepts all. Emotions could be overwhelming. Emotions don't always have one, single, clear victor.

Leading with emotion makes you easily reactive, being why you made a conscious effort to engage logic; keeping yourself in check.

You often never lost your cool; always having a handle on things, but sometimes, it was a challenge. Emotions demand to be felt, and no matter how hard you train yourself and practice relying on logic, you were still human.

Both leading with logic and emotion made you passionate, sometimes synonymous with stubborn. Either way, you ended up here - on Dragonstone - slinking around in the dead of night as if a criminal on the run, trying to avoid the Rogue Prince's nefarious, outlandishly violent City Watch.

You were dedicated to the truth, hence your willingness to embark on this suicide mission. You know it's out there, becoming desperate to find it; never settling, fed the fuck up of mindless gossip the court whispered and hissed about. Enduring years of scrutiny and unfiltered rudeness made you confident, wanting, and energized to justify your claims, prove self-worth, assign relief, terminate turmoil, tension, and assumption.

Yeah, yeah, yeah - but what truth are you dedicated to? Your family's lineage and heritage, your birthrights, your position in society. Your contributing livelihood. They only thought you a young lady boasting the Tyrell surname - a broodmare to sell off. After Queen Rhaenyra proclaimed herself, you became incessant to prove you were so much more than a pretty fragile rose to be set in a vase.

Truth became your Eighth God; being a dedicated, loyal, trusting, worshipping follower. And the truth was, you're a Targaryen as much as a Tyrell, and by all means, had as much of a right to claim a dragon as any of the rest of them.

You refuse to take detours, cut corners, violate, or cheat to obtain your goal(s); arriving at your desired end result with integrity, completing your mission by barreling through obstacles with laser focus - like a predator stalking prey.

Boots slapped and clicked on wet rock, splashing in puddles, splattering mud up your legs to soak into your breeches. Heavy humidity - thick and muggy air - coated lungs and stuck in nostrils, being suffocatingly stuffy; breathing becoming difficult. You could physically feel the condensation in the air - hair adopting a mind of its own; beaded, clammy skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, palms slick with sweat. You missed the dry heat of the capital.

Dark hood of your cloak hid your vibrant hair; the material swishing, swirling airy fog low to the ground around your creeping form, creating an ominous energy. You half expected a ghost to appear at your flank.

The clanking of the night patrol's armor was heard first, alerting you to a diminishing window; sliding into the mouth of one of the dragon caves in time for the White Cloaks to stalk around the castle's perimeter walkway.

Even with thick rock cocooning your form, the rumbling of the nested dragon's slumber was heard; loose pebbles, dust and other debris showered from the cave ceiling. Despite the heat of the Dragonmont, you heard the slow echo of dripping water.

Your choice to come to Dragonstone, was it a logical decision? Or driven by emotions - fed up with the rumors, sneers, disrespect, critical judgement from everyone in King's Landing? ...yes.

Navigating a dragon lair was dangerous, but navigating a dragon lair with ZERO experience was an anticipated disaster. Surely, you must've lost your mind because no mentally stable person would dare step foot in this cave - let alone scale the depths in search of an ancient beast that could (and possibly wound) treat your charred body as a BBQ appetizer. With a gasp, you slipped on the rocks, hissing when the heels of your palms took the brunt end of impact and slit open; tiny pebbles sticking to your open flesh. You whimpered gently, jagged rocks digging into your knees as you cleared your hands and slowly found your feet.

Even with knowledge of your heritage, you hadn't grown around the scaly Targaryen counterparts like any and every other legitimate offspring. You were long divided from that side of your family, missing out on fascinating Valyrian traditional customs. It made you a slightly bitter.

No dragon egg in your crib. No hours-long practice in the Dragon Pit. No reptilian anatomy studies. No personalized leather saddle embellished with a three-headed dragon. No claim to ancestral privilege or birthright. No unique morality, nor holier than thou complex. No generational beast to inherit.

Skin free from the lingering, invasive, embedded stench of dragon hide.

You used to think learning Ancient Valyrian was a redundant waste of time, education, and resources. You were raised in the ancestral keep in the Reach's capital, Highgarden, under your father, Lord Tyrell, and his beloved wife - the Vanished Princess - which made this secret sleuthing harder to rationalize or explain, given no Targaryen ever lived in Highgarden. Never before were dragons hosted in The Reach, and therefor, a Dragon Pit was never erected.

So, you know how when you're a kid and see something at the store that you really want but your parent says no because you already have too much shit? They might've made their point by saying something, like, "Where do you think you're gonna put all that?"

Well, Highgarden is the toy box and you intend on bringing home one of those enormous stuffed animals won at a carnival / festival.

If anyone knew of this plan, they might've sent you to the medical institute the Citadel in Oldtown operates; involuntarily commit you to the structured research program that studies different mental and physical medical phenomenons.

Truth was, this wasn't even your idea. Your grandmother, who definitely either spent time in one of the Citadel's cells or should, encouraged you. Perhaps that should've been a red flag, but it was too late now, her words echoing in your mind ―

Be a dragon.

The gardens you walked through were in fragrant, full bloom; providing a sweet air to combat the foul words you admitted with your arm looped in your grandmother's. You paced evenly through the overgrown foliage, the bees buzzing to drown your words.

"Perhaps, something is wrong with me," you sulked, "because surely, it cannot be this difficult to find a match. It seems I need to lower my standards, I could not attract a decent man if I were covered in honey and he were a fly."

"Perhaps try covering yourself in shit, then," she advised with a knowing smirk.

"Grandmother."

"Well, it's curious, isn't it?" Celia asked.

"What is?"

"All your life, you've always been more Targaryen than Tyrell; fierce, loyal, impulsive, strong, enduring. Yet now, you return nothing more than a rose wilted from King's Landing's stench, moping about failed relations. Have you ever considered that simple men are incapable of supporting the love and marriage of a dragon?"

"Half blooded does not make me a dragon."

"No, but the spirit, wit, intelligence, spunk, ferocity, cunningness, and determination you display proves it." She paused your stroll, secluded canopy shroud by foliage to provide a moment of privacy.

"Not all would think so," you let your eyes roll.

"Who do you speak of?"

"Those who think I am lying about my own Targaryen parentage, citing the color of my hair as evidence. You would think I'm one of the Queen's sons, the way they whisper."

"Do not listen to busy mouths, sweet child, hair cannot be a sole indication of parentage. I know it's easy to cite, but not all descendants of Valyria have silver locks, and should anyone have anything to say, know they are merely bitter and jealous for your hair is the perfect blend of Tyrell auburn and Targaryen silver. A color that is hard to ignore."

"Yet it's not enough to prove myself to them, Grandmother."

Now Celia sounded determined but angry, "You are every bit Tyrell as you are Targaryen. While you might not appear to their biased eye, there's never been denial that you are made in your mother's fire. Pure blooded or not, you're a dragon, my sweet petal."

"So?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods - so, be a dragon! Dragons do not fret because men don't blink twice at them, they eat those men! Don't beg for approval; maintain your dignity, instill a new opinion, demand respect! Prove your strength, skill, and capabilities - everything the courts would deliberately overlook. Prove everyone wrong, offer contribution to this war, become a valuable asset who would be foolish to send away. Establish your seat at the table and never let anyone talk down on you again," your grandmother snarled with passion. "There's more than one way to prove you have the blood of the dragon."

"Such as? What would you have me do?"

"I hear rumor there remains a host of unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. The Queen's son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, has called for dragonseeds to try their hand - they need more dragonriders for their war. Claiming your birthright might be the fastest, easiest way to earn the Realm's approval; doubling as undisputed evidence of who you are."

"What a terrifying thought."

"But what a statement it would make," Celia's lips pulled in a smirk, wrinkles deeper, more prominent on sun-soaked, wrinkled skin. "Tyrells might be flowery, we might sigil a rose - but we are resilient and refuse to wilt; even in the heat of dragon fire. The Realm thinks Tyrells are only pretty faces; pretty flowers meant to be seen and never heard, whose sole purpose is to be left on display. Preconceived as uselessly inexperienced during wartimes; criminally green, pure, innocent - judgement that makes them shockingly unprepared for how deep our thorns prick." Both of Celia's hands grabbed yours, squeezing, advising, "Do not go quietly, my petal, make those who doubted you be haunted by their foolish choice to challenge the wrong woman. Let them seep in humiliation and regret their judgement. Allow your successful conquest to be the biggest 'fuck you' to prejudice, the final nail in any coffin of doubt. Toss your wilted rose of fear aside, petal, embrace the fire that burns in your veins; you are Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of The Forgotten Princess, and you will not go gentle into that good night. You will be a dragon."

You were ensuring passage by morning light, intent to deliver yourself to Dragonstone.

Parts of the cave glittered with unharvested gems; a lost collection of rarities nobody dared pursue out of fear of the ancient, terrible Valyrian beasties that dwell in those caves. The walls sweat from combined dragon and volcanic heat, tunnels jagged and uneven; zero holes, cracks, or slits the sun could leak through (if it were up); everything terribly dark. At least there was a scattered pile of preprepared torches to light the way. A permanent odor of limestone and fractioned corpses assaulted your sinuses, dried puddles of blood seeped into rock, the scurrying critters who used dragons as hosts echoed with a twinkling charm - the least menacing reminder that you were not alone.

Claimed dragon chambers varied in size; pitstops along the winding pathways that ended at the largest chamber - a dead end. While other chambers were large enough for sometimes several dragons, this final stop could only be described as a jarring, stomach churning, hauntingly pitched ebony abyss of incalculable depth that played tricks on the mind. An abyss. It was like you were staring Death in the face and anxiety was dredged forth from white hot fear.

With a flickering torch alight in a trembling hand, you slowly stalked down the chiseled causeway that ended several lengths into the expansive, bleak nothingness. Pitch black shadows danced; the air felt electric, seemingly vibrating - alive and judgmental.

The glaring cavern besmirched your family name, hauntingly reminding that your disinheritance resulted in your late dragon bloom. The ebony airy sea identifies and heightens fearful insecurity about your estranged family's rejection, their lack of interest and care for your side of the family stinging; their rejection of familial relationships. The darkness predicted your failure, inability, and humiliation.

The cavern challenged your confidence and determination, your staked ownership and proclaimed lineage; labeling your bravery, beliefs and ambition as arrogant. It sneered about your stupidity, weakness, fear, and anxiety; belittled applied effort and desired goals; questioned your true desires and needs; tested your loyalty.

The cavern rejects any and all attempts before you could even try; unraveling your logic, shunning your emotions; proclaims reactive decisions as immature and lacking control, crowning you as dangerously naïve.

The cavern mocked your desperately pathetic need for station and acceptance; revoking and nullifying public (and private) ladyship, dubbing you unladylike - which, in itself, was insulting to your womanhood. Why do men get all the exciting adventure, but when a woman tries, she's crucified for being irresponsible? Smooth ebony waves reflected your maddening, constant effort and want for acknowledged contributions.

To the naked eye, the cavern appeared uninhabited, assuming the habitat was abandoned. The silence was eery; air buzzing with alarm, deceiving humans that attempted to see through the waves of darkness.

To a "true" Targaryen, this was just a sheet of camouflage the fire breathers wield for their privacy.

No wonder the Red Sowing was so... Bloody and devastating.

A growl was heard, something gravely and deep, intimidating and impressive. You frozen, eyes wide as if it would give you night vision, torch flickering, hands starting to shake. Then you saw prominent movement, lungs stalling and heart hammering. Slowly, a large, scaly, stained snout emerged at a sail's pace.

The more the beast stepped into your sight, your mind could only scream one thing - was coming face to face with a dragon logical or emotional? Because whether logical or emotional, this was a dumb fucking idea there was no turning back from.

So, you steeled yourself in position, dewy sweat lining your forehead to soak your hairline.

112 years After Conquest, dragons flew to war at the behest of the Targaryen family over Rhaenyra and her half-brother's claim to Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne. Sister-wife, Queen Visenya, rode Vhagar - said to have been the smallest dragon with bronze hide, yet, as rumor had it, still large enough that a horse could ride down her gullet. Sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, rode Meraxes - who was larger; big enough to swallow horses whole with silver scales and golden eyes.

Then, The Conqueror, King Aegon Targaryen I, rode Balerion - the fiercest and largest, who’s wingspan could shadow entire towns, swords-long teeth assisting his ability to swallow mammoths whole, and who’s scales, wings, and fire were pitch black. Balerion was called the Black Dread and was so powerful, he could melt steel, stone, and fuse sand into glass. He never lost a battle - against human or dragon.

Balerion was also the dragon responsible for the Burning of Harrenhal, largest castle in Westeros.

In the year 2 BC, Aegon began his Conquest and engaged King Harren Hoare the Black in his keep, Harrenhal, who refused the Conqueror and was met with Balerion’s flames. In fire so hot, it melts stone like candles, the entire House Hoare was extinguished when Harren and his sons perished in the largest tower - later named Kingspyre Tower - though it’s said they haunt the Wailing Tower.

Since then, of Aegon's Three Dragons, only Meraxes boasted a single rider, but to be fair, in 10 AC, during the First Dornish War, allegedly, both Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes met their demise. Vhagar knew Prince Baelon Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Prince Aemond as riders. Balerion knew Maegor the Cruel, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys, who, in the year 94, retired The Black Dread - thinking the beast was nearing his end. The dragon outlived every single rider.

In the year 129, Viserys died and The Black Dread stared you in the eye; curating a vibrating rumble deep within his chest that made the darkness dance. It'd been decades since anyone dared face this terrible beastie, thinking he wasn't long for this world; the pair of you curious about the other, no moves made yet.

There was no backing down, there was no turning away. This is what you wanted, for Aegon the Conqueror's mount to see you as you are - worthy of your of blood. You refused to be told you did not deserve your lineage, the Targaryen name, you would not endure disrespect any longer! You would earn your place in this Godsforsaken family, earn station in this Godsforsaken world, or die trying...

That night, Balerion took to the skies again, doing several laps in the air, soaring over King's Landing to let the residents of the Realm know - he flew again.

Your father's family hailed from The Reach, specifically Highgarden; colorful, temperate, lush, bountiful, and abundant. Your family oversaw 75% of the country's sole wheat, barley, grain, and corn production, even germinating the country's most grand gardens - which decorated a rather generous estate.

Despite the vast, open lands, there had never been need for a dragonpit before, so, when you landed your mount, he was left exposed on the outskirts of the Keep. Considering he was the largest thing, you know, ever, Balerion seemed content out there - so, you didn't worry.

It was strange, however, to see anyone without white hair on dragonback. Even stranger to the Realm to learn of your accomplishment; adding fuel to several fires.

The Green King Aegon asked lazily, a hand waving in the air, "Who?"

His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, reminded, "She is of Targaryen seed on her mother's side, but was raised under the Tyrells. She sits to inherit all of The Reach, she will be Lady of Highgarden - "

"Until," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected softly, "her young brother, the Young Lord Tyrell, comes of age."

Aegon waved their words off, complaining, "Yes, yes, but why do we caaaaare about some red headed bitch?"

See, where the Targaryens had trademark white locks, the Lannisters had golden strands. The Starks had deep umber brunette color hair, and while both the Tully's and Tyrell's erred more on the reddish side, the Tully's had darker overtones, like an auburn, and the Tyrell's had lighter, coppery-amber waves. North of the Wall, they say "kissed by fire".

"Because Lady Tyrell has laid successful claim to The Black Dread! To Balerion!" Alicent snapped, quickly adding the snarky punctuation, "Your Grace."

"Well, we have Vhagar - "

"With respect, Your Grace, Balerion could give a singular chomp to any living dragon as Vhagar did Arrax and it would prove fatal," Otto Hightower, the King's grandfather and Hand, quickly stepped in to save his daughter from losing her temper.

"Well, she doesn't even speak High Valyrian," Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes; lip curled, slouched in his chair.

"Neither do you," Aemond quipped in his Father's Tongue.

Otto continued loudly to prevent Aegon's response, "With The Black Dread now officially out of retirement and in play, the only choice we have is risk facing him in open battle, or..." His eyes shifted to Alicent, pausing, sighing and revealing, "Send an emissary to negotiate terms of an alliance."

"Meaning...?" Aegon drawled.

"Meaning a marriage pact, Your Grace," Otto supplied sternly.

"With respect?" Larys Strong spoke up, "But the Crown is lacking in their eligible bachelors for such terms."

"Or perhaps, what of someone outside the family? Marry two strong allies of the Crowns? Alliances henceforth might not have to include Targaryen marriages," Jason Lannister threw in quickly, but every Small Council member denied him just as swift.

It was reminded, "There's Prince Daeron."

"Lady Tyrell is actually the same age as Prince Aemond, I do not think she is looking for a husband so many years younger than her."

"Didn't Prince Aemond already secure the Baratheons through a marriage alliance?"

"Technically," Otto agreed slowly, "but given the circumstances and turning of tides, Lord Borros can be treated with in other ways should we need to offer Aemond for Lady Tyrell's willing support."

"Rhaenyra will send terms, as well," Alicent reminded. "Lady Tyrell is Prince Jacaerys' age, she might consider breaking his engagement, too."

The Small Council continued their plotting. Prince Aemond remained silent. Nobody so much as threw him a glance.

When the Black Queen Rhaenyra was informed of your heroics and your identity was questioned, her uncle-husband, Daemon, informed, "Daughter of the Forgotten Princess."

And Rhaenys affirmed, "My sister's daughter... Do not mistake her lineage for guaranteed alliance; her mother and I are long estranged, she's lived in The Reach her whole life - she does not know us. Nor owes us any loyalty."

"Perhaps she could be persuaded," Corlys wondered. "The Lady Tyrell is unwed, is she not?"

"As far as accounts go, yes," his wife reported.

"Perhaps a marriage alliance?" Corlys glanced around the table.

"To whom would you propose?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, all sat around the Painted Table.

"If I may be so bold...?"

"Please."

"Given your marriage to Daemon and his daughter's are shared with our own daughter, Laena... Is there truly need for a marriage pact between the children?"

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "You mean to... Disengage my son from his intended, and engage him again...? Like a pawn in chess? My son, Heir to the Iron Throne, married to Lady Tyrell?"

"Why do you sound displeased by the prospect, Your Grace?" Corlys wondered. "I hear the Lady Tyrell is most beautiful, and we need the Tyrell's wealth like we need their dragon, Balerion. If used properly, he can melt castles alone, Your Grace; burn towns, extinguish entire bloodlines, torch this country, melt the bloody Wall. No living dragon rivals him in size, in ferocity, in age nor experience. He's been at rest for decades now... Something tells me there's a reason he's come out of his nest."

"An omen," Rhaenyra agreed, straightening her spine.

"Precisely - the portents are cast, Your Grace."

"Lord Corlys makes a point," Daemon chimed in, "if by marriage, we secure The Reach and take back the Iron Throne with little to no carnage. Should the Greens fight, not even Vhagar could stand against Balerion."

"Prince Jacaerys is a handsome match to offer," another lord agreed, "which should help sway Lady Tyrell to our side."

"Which also frees both Lady Baela and Rhaena for other pacts - if need be."

"But if we have had this thought, I promise so has Alicent," Rhaenyra stood from the table, staring at the triangle of King's Landing, Dragonstone, and Highgarden. "Who would they offer? Who do they have, unwed, unpromised?"

"Well," Rhaenys stood to meet her Queen, "if we had the thought of a marriage alliance, and the thought to break off one engagement in favor of another, who is to say the Greens would not consider the same?"

It was quiet, a shiver shooting down the Queen's spine. "Vhagar and Balerion are familiar with one another," she grit her teeth, "and Aemond is the False King's brother. He's an attractive match, too."

"I think it's worth making the Tyrell's an offer," Corlys sat back in his seat. "They will receive us both and decide their allegiance - just as the Baratheons did, just as the rest of the Realm has or must do as well."

"Let it be done - if Prince Jacaerys agrees," Rhaenyra nodded, looking to her son - wanting his consent and participation in his own fate. Jace proudly lifted his chin and puffed his chest, nodding while nobody noted the looks of near relief on Lady Baela and Rhaena's faces. In a moment, they had been engaged to Jace and Luke without their thought, input, nor consent. In another moment, they were single young women with the tantalizing prospect to marry outside the family.

"I consider Her Grace's offer an honor."

part two: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread masterlist

i'm already writing it, but, poll for the end ―

[aemondapologistfrfr]

masterlist

all of these contain 18+ material

l ✧₊⁺ smut l ୨ৎ fluff l ᯓᰔ request l 𓉸ྀི angst l

aemond masterlist

aegon masterlist

daemon masterlist

benjicot blackwood masterlist

maegor x reader

Silk Ribbons ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ

Death's Servant ✧₊⁺

addam x reader

The Knight of Your Dreams ✧₊⁺ l ୨ৎ

More Beautiful Than the Stars ✧₊⁺ l ୨ৎ

viserys iii x reader

Era of Kings ✧₊⁺

jacaerys x reader

I Just Need You ✧₊⁺ l ୨ৎ l ᯓᰔ

Only for You ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ

Just Like This ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ

Tangled in the Sheets ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ

gwayne x reader

Here With You ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ l ୨ৎ

surprise guests:

michael gavey x reader

You Said You Have All Day? ✧₊⁺ l ᯓᰔ

sukuna x reader

So Take It ✧₊⁺

choso x reader

Tell Me How ✧₊⁺

[damneddamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part v)

-> (18+, sexual themes, mdni)

Celebratory feasts with the royalty had always been nasty business. Like all the others before, the temper of the sons intermixed with the impulsivity of the daughters, would be documented in blood and destruction. This particularly small gathering of families was one hosted to commemorate the union of Prince Aemond and Princess Aemma, improvised quite similar to their secret wedding. It wasn't short of inordinate food and drink, the table replenished to make up for the wedding feast that never occurred.

Aemma was a mire of misery, plagued with a terrible headache as a result of insomnia, and barely focused on the brewing consternation between the families. The Hightowers had sharpened their aims on her. Aemond, on the furthest end of the table, had crises of his to take notice.

Halaena did; she squeezed Aemma's thigh to get her attention. "You're too fragile. Retire for the night."

Aemma bared an appreciative smile and laid her hand atop Helaena's. "Thank you, Hel, but it would be impolite. Especially with the grandsire in attendance."

A weakened King Viserys raised his shivering glass in a toast, his words an effortful rasp. The room quietened to heed his word.

"A toast to a true Targaryen wedding in secrecy, my good Hand tells me. My son, Prince Aemond, to my granddaughter... Aemma." Her name was a pained whisper. "As spirited as the woman she was named after. Congratulations."

The table lifted their glasses with mumbles of half-hearted 'congratulations'. Jace and Luke remained frozen, staring daggers into their plates. It was Daemon who exclaimed a loud 'hear, hear!' for everyone else. Aemma sent him a grateful smile.

Aemond offered up the slightest of nods and sipped from his glass, finally glancing at Aemma. Awareness flickered in his eyes when he saw the way she restlessly cupped her neck. They were seated too far apart for him to reach across and comfort her.

Aemma, upon her turn, dutifully flourished a convincing smile. Her voice came out clearer than she expected. "Your blessing warms our hearts, Your Grace. We are much obliged," she said on behalf of her and Aemond.

"Yes," the king breathed heavily, "let us hope your union will bridge the rift in the House of the Dragon."

Aemond cleared his throat and carelessly raised his glass, heedless of the fact that the king was yet to conclude his toast. Aemma watched him, curious rather than shocked.

"I'd like to raise a toast," he announced then met her gaze. "To my sworn friend, now wife. Aemma, I'd relinquish life itself for your ideals. Perhaps it is only an appropriate time to inform everyone that in nine days, my wife and I are to voyage across the Narrow Sea and start a new life on our own."

Daemon was the first to react. He downed his whole cup. Then it was a rush of brief, confused reactions. Alicent had settled back on her chair, gritting her teeth. Rhaenyra was speechless, watching Aemma's face guardedly. When she was presented with a favourable joy, she returned a little smile. Jace and Luke were intently eyeing their mother's response in disbelief. Aegon, somewhat proud of the iron balls on his little brother, sipped his glass silently. Helaena listlessly played with her spoon.

"Unexpected," the king sighed, almost pained.

"And what of yours and the princess' commitments to the realm?" Otto regarded, the most conscientious on his part.

Aemond was anything but contrite. "Find another second prince to finesse and another princess to breed."

"Aemond," Alicent cautioned. "That sort of talk is unfit for—"

"Our decision is final," he mentioned, loud enough to suppress his mother's voice. "The plans have been laid, pacts have been struck. My wife has but one condition—to seek her mother and His Grace's blessing on our safe travels."

The king gasped out, nodding through a tremor. "Aemma."

Aemma leaned toward him with an accepting bow of her head. "Grandsire."

"I see... no reason to restrict this decision. Does your mother, your future queen, agree to this?"

Aemma expectantly glanced at Rhaenyra whose expression remained unsullied. She had asked for so much from her mother, this seemed like a steep ask. To be apart from her for who knows how long. But her mother had promised her once to allow her to follow her heart and live as she pleased. She only hoped the princess remembered her oath.

"Prince Aemond," Rhaenyra called instead, flitting her prudent eyes to him. "This is all rather sudden. I have to ask: why the hurry?"

Aemond simply stared back. "I dislike idling."

"I can understand the haste in taking my daughter to wife. I will accredit it to the thrills of youth and passion. But this," she tapped her finger lightly on the table and tilted her head, "this seems like subterfuge. A dire one. Do you mean to stymie my heir's ascent to the throne under the veil of expedition?"

Jace made a scoffing noise out of his nose, smirking to himself. His mother had finally struck gold.

Aemond's jaw flexed. "'The basest of accusations."

"Still a conceivable one."

Aemma interfered, pressing down on the bridge of her nose, attempting to restrain an explosive headache. "Might I suggest we confer this in private? This is a festive gathering, certainly no place to—"

"No, Aemma. I must speak this for all to hear. They all question our precocity to accomplish this," Aemond said through his teeth then glanced back at her mother. "I swear this to you upon my devout esteem for your daughter. If she is ever to be installed as heir and the time of her reign arrives, I will ensure she acts in good conscience. I will stand with her, queen or not."

Rhaenyra's unblinking stare outmatched Aemond's, who had to look away to attend to Aemma's exclaim.

"You owe no explanations," Aemma said to Aemond, bewildered. Then she addressed the table, her tolerance slipping. "This is not a court session. There is no justice to be offered. All we ask is support. Support from our families, do you not understand?"

"You ask us to offer support in making yourself scarce from orders of the court?" Alicent finally spoke up, her tone adamant. "As prince and princess of the realm, your regiment is necessary to the throne. Abscond all you wish, your place remains here."

"Then we will abdicate," Aemond declared abruptly.

"Aemond, please," Aemma tried to calm him.

"Are you mad?" Rhaenyra hawked at him, grated to a passive growl. "Surrender my daughter's birthright!"

"Cease this insolence," Otto shouted at all of them.

His Grace bashed his staff to the ground to silence the table. "Again with the dissension! One night of..."

The sounds were tuned out, and Aemma rested an elbow on the table and stroked her forehead. The discomfort was almost unbearable now. Her stomach rolled and the world shifted beneath her.

She felt a cold hand on her cheek followed by Helaena's quiet voice. "Come. Let us leave now."

Aemma didn't even have the strength to nod or thank her. As she wobbled to her feet, with Helaena's hand secure around her forearm, in their periphery, Daemon and Aemond's chair dragged out in unison.

"Send for a maester," Aemond commanded first.

Daemon had halfway crossed the floor to Aemma. "Allow me."

"I'll take her," Helaena cautiously declared to all, her voice final. She repeated it to herself while their audience drew in a breath. "I'll take her."

X

It was Princess Helaena who forbade anyone from entering the princess' chambers that night and the day after, except for the maester with his concoctions and the servants with their timely meals. The timid princess proved to be as inflexible as her brother and Her Grace when need be. Even Princess Rhaenyra stepped aside to her orders.

No one heard or knew what occurred during those hours between the two princesses, but it was said to be the last moments of respite that they would share as the eldest daughters of two distraught bloodlines. There was a time when Princess Helaena's daughter, Jahaera, had joined them inside, hanging in the air as a sweet reminder of their childhood.

Prince Aemond, increasingly aggravated, patrolled his wife's doors to receive his sister the next night, ready to make an entrance inside. He would not have any more of this detachment.

Helaena placed a restrictive hand on his shoulder. "She needs to rest."

He desperately tried to see between the cracks in the heavy doors. "What is the meaning of this, sister? It has been a day. I'm being driven to the edge."

"It seems that it has been days since our Aemma has had a proper night's rest," she divulged, leading him across the door towards the balcony that opened into the sprawling floors of the Holdfast. "Everything has transpired so quickly. Unbeknownst to her, anxiety plagues her mind. I can share her worries a bit."

Aemond swallowed hard. "Of our journey?"

"No. Of that both of us are confident," Helaena murmured, her mind miles away. "It's her brothers. Caught in the crossfire. You know how that feels."

Immediate anger spiked in him. "Mad cunts," he hissed. "You'd think I've degraded their sister, the way they see it."

"Take yourselves and leave in peace," she said, preoccupied with her thoughts. She finally looked at him, her eyes beseeching. "Don't stop, no matter how much it entices you to stay. We have given this malice to more."

"Helaena." It was strange for him to say his sister's name, almost a gentle consolation. He knew of his sister's mind and her vulnerabilities in marriage. "You're the only family I'll be leaving behind."

She flashed him a smile. "Strangely, I believe that. There lies greatness ahead of you, little brother. And my life is here; in beasts and bone." She tilted her head to Aemma's door. "Go and see. Try not to wake her."

Her room reeked of the stables as he silently entered, so different from the tasteful lavender Aemond had come to crave, and surely enough, Seasmoke the direwolf was loyally relaxed at the foot of the bed. His sister must've brought him in secretly to put Aemma's mind at rest with an old companion. Aemond scratched the whining wolf's ears, who skipped off the carpet to rub at his waist for some praise. He had once been clueless about accepting attachment from a beast other than his dragon, but Seasmoke had grown on him.

"Good boy, Seasmoke. Sȳrī gaomagon," Aemond appreciated in a whisper. At least the beast had provided some semblance of comfort in his name. (Well done.)

"Demās, lykirī," he instructed. Seasmoke complied, perching back on his hind legs. (Sit, calm down.)

Seasmoke had become impressive, both in height, speed and strength. During their years in the Keep, Aemma and Aemond raised the wolf to be a loyal friend, their living toy of sorts. After Aemma departed and bestowed him to Aemond, he trained a vicious watchdog out of the animal, under the request of the Kingsguard, a fearsome hound that would stand for battle as a dragon. Now that Aemma had returned, Seasmoke must've regressed to what he had once been, what he truly was, just meant to comfort a lonely soul.

Behind them, Aemma slumbered calmly, hiding her eyes away from him. Merely some years ago he had laid beside her, on an evening like this, neither of them mortally wounded, vowing to write to each other every day, sharing a relentless embrace.

Tempted to her bare bedside, Aemond undid the buckles to his sword and dagger, and shed his overcoat and shoes, but hesitated with his eyepatch. He inhaled a shaky breath. This girl had persevered against her family for him, she had weathered a storm to wed him; a wayward eye wasn't going to send her screaming. He was determined when he skimmed it over his head and tucked the straps into his pocket.

He pushed the curtains aside and sank in next to her, mindful of her slumber. Aemma appeared just the same as when she was awake, implying that she lacked the deceit in her to conceal her emotions from everyone. What you see is what you get. Guileless, untamed, and real.

Unable to withhold himself, he entwined his fingers between hers, until he could feel their wedding scars unite once again, and brought it to his chest safely. He rolled onto his back and let his vision go black. Nothing weighed him down, held him back, or restricted him. It could've been moments or even hours, he had never felt such leisure. This was what awaited the rest of his life.

X

"So that is the infamous sapphire. Like Symeon Star-Eyes?" Aemma's velvety dulcet woke him.

He snapped his head toward a moonlit Aemma, who was fascinated and well-rested. She lay on her belly, silvery hair mussed from sleep, a pillow under her chest and arms while letting her hand rest with him. She looked like a painting, with the waving curtains behind her and the sky's reflection on her warm skin.

He stroked a finger from her cheek to her chin. "How's your head?"

"Intact," she jested.

"I see."

"Can you?"

He pinched her chin. "So much wit in such a little girl."

She giggled. "Not so little anymore, my friend."

He brought the back of her hand to his lips, hiding a softened grin. He'd forgotten he had written to her about the sapphire in his eye. It was absurd to think this bothered him now.

"You remembered my letter," he said, his voice thick from sleep.

"I remember every letter," she corrected. "My favourite stories of the warrior prince and his vicious dragon." She mimicked the soar of Vhagar's wings with a quiet 'whish'. "Soaring into the clouds. I used to read it and imagine myself instead. Quieted so many of my troubled nights."

He reached out to stroke a hand at her scar. "Because of this."

She dropped her head into the pillow to muffle a groan. "It ruins everything. As if bleeding every moon doesn't suffice, I've to experience an arrow through my head all the time."

He grunted his exertion to lean over and kissed her tousled hair. "You poor lamb."

She sourly jerked her hand out of his. He chuckled at this and pushed a few more kisses into her hair.

"Next moon, I'll have an antidote ready for your use."

She lifted her head, curious. "Since when do you dabble in potions?"

"No potions." He stroked her, all the way from her waist to her insteps. "Me."

She snorted. "What might you do? Vex me to distraction?"

"I have my secret ways."

Swayed by the surreal feel of her underneath him, he began to spread his kisses over the arc of her neck, the wing of her shoulder, down the lune of her spine, all while his sneaking fingers gathered up the soft linen of her nightgown to stroke her even softer thigh. Aemma twisted a little to witness him press a kiss at the dimple between her hips. Grinning, he sloped up to catch her in a kiss, taking her by surprise.

When he felt her thighs clench under his touch, he impatiently pulled away and flipped her on her back until she was all splayed out for him.

"It's about time I peeked at my stakes, hmm?" And then Aemma watched him bend between her legs for said stakes. 

"Aemond," she tried to mutter through the nervous lump in her throat.

"Ssh, my love. Trust in me."

His singular eye was deep-set, way too intense for words while the other glimmered dimly under the candle lights. So, unreadably intense. When she brushed a hand through his hair, he sank his teeth into the soft skin of her inner thigh and pulled. A slow moan came rumbling out of her.

His sinful motives started with his fingers climbing upwards on her thighs, lips following close behind. Her blasted nerves couldn't see him without turning every shade of red, but her audacity was gratefully more persuasive. 

She watched him through parted, gasping lips as he propped her knees on his shoulder, long fingers drawing back the hem of her nightdress until it was bunched around her abdomen. Obscene, she thought as he kissed her, right there, right through the material of her underwear, his tongue giving it a taste. A nice, long taste.

They locked eyes while he still tasted her slowly; delectably. Again, her own tongue went dead and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

"Fuck," she dragged out a hiss. She palmed her mouth, shocked by the expletive.

Aemma could feel his whispering chuckle—right into her sex—and the sense that his forehead met the bed linen to muffle it.

She bit on her pointer finger, sheepish. "Sorry."

"No, please," he laughed deeply, "I enjoyed that."

Every part of her stiffened when she felt him nudge her again, her hands gripping at his hair. His plush hair, the strength of his nape, and then his flexing jaw. She didn't feel her underwear leaving her, but he was right there, within reach, his hands perching her knees in position. 

"Jaes," he murmured, "just beautiful. All this for me." (Gods.)

She raised her head once again to have a look and instantly wished she hadn't.

"I've dreamed of this..." he drew out in a reverie.

Aemond indulged, sucked, licked, and bit at her like a king on a feast. She moved his rumpled hair out of the way to see him there—slow, soft, loving thrusts into me and his single violet eye half-closed in heady bliss. Just tasting, savouring, remembering. And she felt it at her core, skin prickling up at the sensation. 

She clawed her hands up his hair, giving out the most pretentious cry for more. His hands went from wild to desperate; smoothing the inside of her thighs, sliding under her dress to caress her breasts, brushing up her neck. The noises he was making with his mouth on her; it was an explicit, incessant reminder of something tense. Something that would not stop edging.

She was about as close as 'fuck' is to a vulgarism when he pressured that immaculate, mind-blowing, soaked-up spot. So soft, so searing, so good. She inhaled an inhuman breath, toes flexing in the air as his suck-eat pulsations increased—and the slow climb was the best part. She knew she was coming up onto something wonderful.

She hoped he heard how soundly she was making love to his name for him. "Oh, please. Please, gods—"

She didn't get to finish that. His hand glided across her breasts, and her neck, and curled around it. She let her head hang back when he made the most luxurious sound she had ever heard him give out as he pushed two of his long fingers into her mouth. 

Impulsively, she circled his wrist—there was nothing more than she wanted to be filled. She wanted Aemond everywhere she could physically feel, even mentally if possible, and she made love to his fingers as best she could.

"So fucking good, Aemma," she heard his quiet, hot and heavy growl, muffled with a mouthful of her. "So good..."

The broad, rugged muscles on his shoulder put on a show for her under his shirt, crumpling and rippling, adding to his speeding-up tongue. Another hot flush of red charged up her body.

Then his tongue brought over fellow fingers, and they barely had work cut out for them. She was way too compressed and close to care, and she gave out a wordless cry as he pushed those long, thick fingers in at a speed she couldn't place a term on because that would be immoral. Deep, fast strokes and the size of his fingers were, she hoped, comparable to other parts of him. She sucked back a moan that bubbled to her lips. 

And that was the end-all, be-all. Aemond came onto his stakes, and Aemma went bursting apart. In the vigour of her world focalizing on that single spot between her legs, she crushed Aemond deeper into her, her fingers tight fists in his hair and her mouth agape in a choked scream. Behind her eyes, there were specks of little floating suns, a need to hold him even tighter, and the colours started to drain from around her. 

The first thing Aemma saw when radiance returned was the flushed, compelling, beaming, smiling face of the man who owned all of her. The upsurges of pure pleasure did not wane and she wallowed in it. She listened to him come up for air, kissing his way up again, rolling his tongue around her belly button, and momentarily intensifying her climax. 

"I've never seen someone look as enchanting as you did, moments ago," he whispered into her ear, burying his face into her neck.

She blinked, attempting to find the pace of her breathing. "That was..." she drawled with an unchecked hum.

"Not the end," he finished for her, rising on his knees. "Just a taste of what's to come."

Aemond was hypnotic, aglow and leering as he peeled off his shirt, wrists crossing at his abdomen. And it made every wicked something in her head want to come true. Her eyes gradually mapped down from his broad shoulders, her trembling fingers tracing at his rigid muscles, the jagged streaks of combat bruises, hungrily lapping up past his weathered, masculine strength, and the ultimate V muscle that was almost an arrow pointing straight to his...

He chuckled softly, catching her wandering hand. He stroked the base of her fingers, knuckles, and joints, conducting them with tiny lightning strikes.

"Always so curious."

She managed a mischievous smirk. "Then come here and indulge my curiosities."

"Gladly, dearest."

And his hands began to roam everywhere, as if stricken by her command. Strong, pinching, teasing, feeling, tracing, heading from north to south on her body. Resting his arms on either side of her head, grinning like the devil, his fingers slowly traced down her arms, that minute touch resonating in her sex.

"You amaze me," he murmured.

Despite all that teasing, she felt him. Her eyes snapped open to his, dark, wide and studying her. It was a simple bump, poising against her, tough and ready. He rested his forehead against hers.

He moved in; slowly, gently reverently. There was resistance, a whole lot from her, bringing forth a subdued, mellow pain. Since she had never done this before, she placed this as the pain of familiarizing—her body slowly climatizing to the feel. The feel of him, the weight of him, his wickedly strong muscles moulding against her. His energy was intense and unfathomable compared to her weak knees and lead tongue. 

"Aemma," he called to make sure.

Just then, she flexed harder around him. His light eyes blazed like reams of fire.

"Too afraid, are you?" she challenged.

"Never," he laughed under his breath.

It couldn't all be coincidences, with the timing and his body, because they were flawless. He was welcome as he pushed on further, gaining his fill of her. His face strained, forehead wrinkling, eyes briefly flickering shut. She took all the credit for making that happen. She accepted him gladly, adding a small inherent squeeze, and flashing her dark eyes at his. 

What should she be telling him? Could she ask him how he was feeling? If he was okay? Was she okay?

His grin was monumental. "You have taken me so well, my love."

She was utterly derailed. He felt so good. It was an inaccurate term to use—he was paradisiacal. She didn't think anyone could have felt this whole even with this age-old action. He was all hers at that moment. And if she were being honest, damnably honest, he was all up inside her. She could feel him inside, so deep, a space of her that she didn't think needed to be freed before.

His hips rolled into hers at a delicate speed, laboured and painstaking. All the evidence of teasing disappeared, jaw taut with tension.

"Breathe through it, Aemma. I'm here," he guided softly.

She gulped, unable to answer. Truly, she didn't have enough air to make one. To be fair, she was stretched to capacity. She couldn't take the weight of him. Flickers of white light appeared in her vision and it wasn't until his face started to blear that she realized she wasn't breathing. She breathed noticeably louder, splitting the beautiful, magical stillness between them, trying to exhale while enduring the stings around her ribs.

"Aemma?" he asked, slightly panicked now.

So when his unease swivelled to hazy apprehension, she choked out and gripped his arms closer—"Wait, stay with me. I can do it."

He stroked a thumb at the edge of her eyes, kissing the slant of her nose. "Ssh, I'm here. Whenever you are ready. We've got the rest of our lives."

She whispered an eager plea, "I want you. I want it all."

Their eyes held for a glorious moment and engraved an intrigue between the lines as their breaths fused in the intensifying silence. Neither of them backed down, never repressing and taking it all. He was still very much inside, growing harder with every passing moment. 

She was buzzing alive, practically convulsing, as his pressures gradually climbed in speed, still so soft and careful.

Which drew a languid, roguish smile alive on his handsome, sweat-matted face. He lifted a quizzical eyebrow, moving his hips in, in, in. Circle, push, circle, push—a giddying pattern that had her reeling off the wire. 

His vast hands were around her throat, establishing dominance, guiding himself entirely into her, tongue plunging forward for a breathy kiss. Her fingers and nails ploughed into his back, nearly drawing blood, when he did. He didn't even flinch or care, bearing it all.

He pulled away from that hungry kiss, hips rolling into a more punishing, daunting rhythm—and oh. She couldn't think. He was pushing her higher and higher until she felt little sparks start to explode from the tips of her fingers, elbows and toes. But, the feeling was only getting louder. His groans were so low, so dark in her ear. 

"There's my sweet girl," he whispered silkily, hitching her knee around his hip. "You want me?"

She nodded desperately. "Yes."

"You have me. You always have," he promised.

Her gasps were timed to his moves, thrusts gaining sweet, beautiful friction. Her fingers twisted into his hair, seeking an outlet for his beautiful, unbearable pleasure. It was building, getting close to that sensation again, oh so close...

She relaxed her stiff spine, sinking into the mattress and feeling him ram right into that spot. She bit her lip to contain a ridiculously high-pitched noise, willing her eyes open into his, burning like onyx flares in the violet night.

He glanced up, eager. Ready. Prepared. His arms curled as if attempting physical exercise, resting beside her head. When a soft wheeze left her, his lips were at her ear, reassuring her, relaxing her tense muscles. His head ducked again, almost inspecting them. 

"C'mere. I have you now," he breathed out. "Eyes on me, alright? Only me."

Awestruck, excited, a bundle of nerves, she watched him. 

Powerful thighs bearing hers, Aemond pressed her hips back until she was gently propped up on the pillows, hungrily attending to his all-consuming flow and determined muscles covered in sweat. She was completely restricted now, not needing to slake her appetite, because, as he had said, he had her. He sank and sank, again and again, abdomen crunching with his power, unearthing, slamming, her sweet spot tingling, and just like that, she came apart.

All white shots of lights, ringing noises, toes curled and pointing, and his name a clement prayer on her lips. Until her black-and-white world fled back into colour, he began to move again.

He kissed a tear away from her temple before his watchful gaze began to hunt hers—for hope? Promise? Something worth it? She simply stared back, mouth twisting in sweet agony as he continued his now quickened pressures. Her name was all he could breathe or think. With every muscled laboured, thrusts more unyielding, face rigid, power intense, eyes hazed over—Aemond came. Firm and heavy, falling limp over her. 

They fell back together, utterly spent, wrung out, exhausted and essentially immortalized. Whatever the true definition for that held. Between the film of fierce pleasure and indulgence, she decided that had a hold upon heaven. Tremendous, dark heaven.

Two big, lavish, beautiful, majestic climaxes and they basked in the afterglow together. She turned her head to clutch him at his neck, grab him forward to kiss his lips sweetly. Delicately, quietly, more and more, until her breathing steadied.

Aemond stroked her nose against hers, all sated by sex. "Pleasure becomes you, my love."

Aemma sighed dreamily, tracing the hollow of his cheek. "You've made your astounding mark on me. Can we go again?"

He pulled back to stare, dumbstruck. He didn't see a trace of humour in her eyes.

"You could take the bed this time," she offered.

He scoffed in disbelief. "Amazing. I applaud your energy, dearest wife. Have you ever swung a sword before? I could do with a new sparring partner with that sort of verve."

She laughed. "You could never best me if I were your partner. I'd have you on your back in an instant."

"You have me on my back right now, darling. Rode you half to death, did I not?"

He grunted a chuckle when she playfully smacked his chest.

Aemond continued to mumble. "In all honesty, I truly did not think I would survive this with you. I expected my heart to give out because of... hmm." He rubbed at her waist, his voice still thick with desire. "These legs, these eyes, these lips, those lips—Seven hells, this is my fantasy fulfilled."

She put a hand over her face to hide a blush. "You can simply get away with saying things like that?"

When he flashed her a smirk, she shook her head dubiously and tried to close his evading mouth with her hand.

"Just as you can simply get away—with requesting to use my cock—as your—let me speak!—your toy?"

"Aemond!" she hissed.

He laughed. "Ssh. Lay closer."

He pulled her into the curve of his arm, curbing her chagrin. Aemma sank her chin into his shoulder to watch him shut his lone eye and become at ease.

He felt her fingertips glide near the blemishes in his eye socket. Her cold fingers upon the hot skin, it was paradise. He tried hard to stay still when she got too close to inflammation that continued to cause agony on certain days. She must've sensed something amiss because abruptly her touch disappeared.

"Would it make you feel less lonesome if I took my eye out for you?" she asked, tongue in cheek.

A side of his lips lifted. "Perhaps. Make it my wedding favour."

She gasped, laughing. "You brute. You like that?"

"I wouldn't dare," he calmed her, drawing her closer to him. "Then again I can make even with your brother's."

He expected her to sense the sincerity in his voice, but such was Aemma's perspective of him. The conciliant, faithful friend who respected her. He worked hard to seal up that vengeance in front of her. What doesn't concern her will not break her. Not while he lives and breathes.

True to herself, Aemma let it slide harmlessly, treating it as good fun. He heard her laugh. "Can you imagine—little Luke, running about with an eyepatch?"

He barely broke a smile. "You'll never know."

X

read part vi here!

seasmoke the direwolf, watching this go down like: mom? dad? wtf are you guys up to 👁️👄👁️

I hope you all felt their love as much as I did <3

[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ʀᴜɴᴇꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ. ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ɴᴏ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ʟɪᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ. ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴠɪꜱᴇʀʏꜱ ɪ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪɴɢꜱ ʟᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴀɪɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱʜɪᴘ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɪꜱᴏʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪx

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɴᴇ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪꜰᴛᴇᴇɴ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪxᴛᴇᴇɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴇᴇɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɴᴇᴛᴇᴇɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ᴏɴᴇ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ᴛᴡᴏ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ꜰɪᴠᴇ

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴜꜱ: ɪɴ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇꜱꜱ (Hiatus)

ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴘɪᴇᴅ ᴏʀ ᴘᴜʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ. ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴄᴇ ɪꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.

[wyvernest]

! PREVIEW FOR COMING - SOON SERIES

UPDATE: POSTED PART1

cregan stark x targaryen f!reader

reader is Rhaenyra's eldest daughter and has a snow-white dragon.

slow burn, fluff & eventual smut, angst, follows the book events with slight deviations

>> Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

let me know if you're interested and ill probably make a taglist <3

[myladysapphire]

House of the dragon masterlist

Aemond targaryen

His sapphire princess (slow updates )

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra finds her self with child, A girl who will forever change the history of westeros

My lady strong (slow updates )

The second born, A bastard, a dreamer with fire in her veins, and a girl forced into the dance of dragons

two halves of a whole - one shot

Aemond had always understood you in ways others could not, your bond so deep nothing could severe it. A bond so deep that they would do anything to save the other, even if it meant being trapped with the enemy.

Aegon Targaryen II

The spoils of war - one shot

Being a woman on the loosing side of a war was never a good thing. And when you are the only daughter of the looser it can mean one of two things, either death or marriage, and for lucky for y/n, Aegon was in need of a wife.

Agape - one shot

Agape love is defined as being unconcerned with the self and concerned with the greatest good of another. Agape love isn't born just out of emotions, feelings, familiarity, or attraction but from the will and as a choice. Agape requires faithfulness, commitment, and sacrifice without expecting anything in return

Jacaerys Veleryon

Solace - one shot

As the daughter of Alicent Hightower you had been fed stories of your older sister and her children, so when you are bethrothed to Jacaerys you arent too sure as to what to expect, and go into your courtship expecting the worse, only to find out you couldn't have been more wrong.

Why don’t i show you - one shot

when you come to westeros to arrange your sisters marriage in an alliance with westeros you find there customs to be anything but acceptable and start to question the need for an alliance, it takes jace to show you why an alliance is needed.

you belong with me - one shot

you and jace were childhood friends, you never left eachothers side growing up, but that all changed once you both went off to university.

seduction - one shot

you had always longed to be queen but with your brother Aegon married to your twin sister you had lost hope, but upon your nephews return to the keep you realise all hope of being queen isn't lost. there was just one problem: your mother would never agree to marriage between you and Jace. So you set in motion a plan of seduction.

red - one shot

you are a priestess of R'hollor, sent to dragonstone to assure the bloodline of the prince who was promised. And though you are welcomed by the queen, prince Jacaerys only looks at you with trempidation, seeing your place at his mothers side to be some ploy. But luckily for you there is always a way for the red priesstes to sawy others to their cause.

My sweet pathetic prince- one shot

Jace had always had a pathetic obsession with is aunt, but she was never afraid to show her dislike for him and his heritage, even when his head was between her thighs.

his - one shot

when a rumour reaches Jace that you are to marry another man, he makes sure to show you that your are his.

will you fall in love with me again - series, coming soon

And arranged marriage designed to bring together the branches of the family and stop and impending war. But with the love that blossoms and the war still blooms the couple are forced to face the brunt of the wars consquences.

Heleana Targaryen

Butterfly Kisses - one shot

Heleana has always had a special bond with her maid.

Cregan Stark

The Dragon and the Wolf (complete)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

Gwayne Hightower

High Infidelity - one shot

scorned and betrayed by your husband, you find solace in the arms of his uncle.

To Gwayne, with love - one shot

tired of being ingored and undervalued, you take your dragon and leave to find the one person who sees you for who you really are; your uncle, Gwayne Hightower.

Bittersweet- one shot

married to Gwayne Hightower in some deludied attempt to resolve tensions between your family, when his loyalty is made clear you flee to your mother, feeling only bittersweet as you think of your husband.

Benjicot Blackwood (fan!cast)

forbidden - one shot

With a feud older than history, the Blackwoods and Brackens have long been enemies, but now, you, a daughter of lord Bracken, finds yourself in the arms of Benjicot Blackwood, and he will do everyhting it takes to make you his.

navigation

[genz420]

She's so pretty fr, I was gonna do Ben first, but I couldn't wait to do her.

My OC from the super cringey classic fanfic I wrote when season 1 was airing and dropping out of college!

She is the first part of a small series I will be making, next up the Blackwood humbo, who everyone hated!