#aemond x plus size ofc

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 33 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: As the Valyrian houses gather for the anticipated dinner party, King Viserys has an unexpected announcement to share. Word Count: 6070 CHAPTER WARNINGS: We're still talking about menstrual blood. I also only proof read this once, cause ya girl is getting lazy. So apologies for types/grammatical errors, and odd sentencing/wording.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: This is another one of those chapters I'm not particularly happy about. I think my problem is that I absolutely LOATH writing scenes where there are more than four people. Because there are just too many moving parts and I feel like I need to acknowledge everyone's existence. It's tiring. Anyway, I hope this reads better than I feel like it does.

The Small Council Chamber was at its fullest for the first time in years. Though there was a single marble left unclaimed in the centre of the table, a white and grey granite sphere that would belong to the Master of Ships. Alas, with Lord Corlys occupied near a decade in the Step Stones, and now incapacitated to near death, the subject of anointing a new master of ships was broached several times in the past, and that day was no different. 

“Word has it that the Cannibal has moved all the way north west, settling in the mountains around Iroman’s Bay. Dalton Greyjoy told me himself that the Ironmen have begun preparing ships with scorpions, and arming themselves with harpoons, ready to take down the beast,” Larys leaned back in his chair, eyes casting over the nearly full table before landing on the King. “He said that he is willing to take down the nuisance at your pleasure, your Grace, and all he asks is for a seat on this Council and a bride with a generous dowry.”

“Of course he did,” Lord Bartimos rolled his eyes.

“Your Grace, we do need a Master of Ships,” the Lord Hand reminded, and everyone’s eyes strayed to the lone marble in the hexagon. “Lord Dalton is an exceptional sailor and captain, and has one of the largest fleets in the Seven Kingdoms, next to the Redwyne’s.”

“Yes, but might I remind you of his reputation,” Daemon shot Otto a look. “He’s done far worse than I, and yet you kept me farther away from this Council.” 

“Daemon, please,” Viserys lifted his hand, already tired. “We are not going to bring up the past today…” He turned to look at Barty, who appeared to agree with Daemon, predictably. With a sigh, Viserys lifted his arms, “Tell Lord Dalton I will think on it. Until then, there are many others that we must consider.” 

“Like who, your Grace?” Lord Wylde raised an eyebrow. 

“Lord Manderly, for example, or Ser Cedric Redwyne, Lord Corwyn’s most accomplished son,” The King answered swiftly. “Not to mention, Lord Clement and Arthor Celtigar, Bartimos’ sons. Clement has possessed the seas since his youth, and knows Lord Corlys personally.”

At the mention of his sons, Barty’s chest swelled, “It would be a great honour, my King. My boys would make you proud, should you have them.”

Rhaenyra glanced at the Hand of the King; he appeared as if he was holding on by a thread. His mouth opened to say something, but instead he clamped it shut after sharing a look with his daughter beside him.

Having a Celtigar on the Small Council again would impede Otto’s ambitions. With Bartimos back, Rhaenyra could tell that the Hand was becoming more irate and impatient, making his motives clearer with every desperate attempt at salvaging Hightower power. His plan was thwarted when Viserys’ health improved; he was no longer addled with Milk of the Poppy and strained with pain, making it easier for Otto to manipulate by the power of suggestion and urgency. Ever since Lyonel Strong had stepped down as Hand and was tragically killed in the Harrenhall fire, Otto’s re-admittance into the position was merely due to the lack of better prospects. At that point, Viserys’ relationship with Bartimos was strained, otherwise the Claw Isle lord would have taken Lyonel’s place. 

However, now they are friends again, it was only a matter of time before Viserys realized he could replace Otto with him. The man’s presence in the Small Council while not having a title to belong there was enough of an implication. It would only take a few pushes until Otto finally snaps, forcing the King to do so. Ultimately, that would be a win for Rhaenyra, ensuring that there is no more Green influence whispering in her father’s ear.

Rhaenyra swiveled her eyes to Alicent for a moment, before moving her gaze onto her hands folded on her lap. She and the Queen have been cordial since Visenya’s funeral, though they have yet to share any true moment of reconciliation. At most there were glances of pity, sadness, longing, mutually understanding that they both wished to bury the axe. It was just a matter of who was going to lower their weapon and make the first wave of the white flag. After her conversation with Jacaerys the night prior, it would appear that she would be one to do that. 

Otto was wrapping up the final details of the Tourney, after making suggestions for possible low-born men to be knighted and even chosen to be a Kingsguard. Then he asked if there was anything else that needed to be brought up before they departed, and Rhaenyra felt a sense of deja vu. 

“Yes, there is, as a matter of fact,” she stood up slowly as everyone remained seated. “Several years ago, I stood in this Council Chamber with what I believed was a wise and honourable offer… I said it then, that we are one house, but we have since been divided all these years.” Her eyes roamed the table, noting everyone's expressions one by one. Daemon looked expectant, Otto looked too controlled, Alicent appeared conflicted, and her father’s pleasant smile of encouragement filled her with hope. The first and last time this was mentioned in this room, Alicent barred more mental strength than he. 

“His Grace wishes this to be a season of peacemaking, which I heartily agree… As does my son, Jacaerys, who was the one to bring this up to me.” Bartimos tilted his head towards Daemon, his brow furrowed.

 Rhaenyra turned to address him first, “Lord Bartimos, your daughter is simply lovely. You know well that I adored her when we both resided in the Red Keep, as I did her mother… A union between our families would have been ideal, yes, but I made a promise to my son that I would give him the liberty to choose, as my father gave me when I was his age.” 

The Lord of Claw Isle seemed to deflate in his seat, his eyes seemed to age as he blinked defeatedly, “My Princess, I would like to apologize for any insult my daughter has—”

Rhaenyra smiled and lifted her hand up to stop him, “Apologies are not necessary. There was no insult to be had… On the contrary, Jacaerys and Valeana got along well enough, but nothing beyond cordial companionship. Instead, your daughter has inspired my son…” Rhaenyra trailed off and looked back to Alicent. “He has approached me to inquire about the possibility of taking Princess Helaena’s hand in marriage. As it happens… He has already discussed it with her privately.” 

Alicent straightened in her seat, her mouth hung open with the incapability of articulating a response. Her eyes casting over to her father did not go amiss, and neither did Daemon’s look towards Bartimos. 

“Helaena has not mentioned this,” Alicent stated, her tone betraying her need to disbelieve her ears. 

“It appears to be a new development,” Rhaenyra folded her arms in front of herself diplomatically. “Though Jace has said he wished to court her quietly and without stress to ease Helaena’s mind.” 

“Well now,” The King finally spoke, his smile widening. “I did not wish to say it… But this was something I always wished had happened all those years ago.”

“But your Grace, we have already discussed betrothing Aegon with–” Otto was promptly cut off by Viserys.

“It was discussed and I made the decision of it not being discussed further,” Viserys looked at Otto, his purple eyes wide with the unquestionable authority of a King. “Helaena is too soft for Aegon. You of all people understand his appetites, as you spend most of your day containing the deplorable truths he hides in Flea Bottom. I know he loves his sister, but it does not go beyond that… And I believe everyone in this very room could all agree… He does not wish to marry Helaena, as much as she does not wish to be married to him.” 

The Lord Hand visibly sunk into his chair, his hands lifting in a feeble attempt to convey surrender. “Aegon is your first born son, your Grace. If there were anyone to marry first, it would be him. He is well past the age.” 

“I’m aware, Lord Otto,” The King smiled ironically. “Though as you are all aware by now, Aegon is in a very unique situation. And if the whispers have any merit,” His eyes flickered over to Larys, “It’s the same situation as my other son.” 

The King fell quiet, looking down at his four fingers as they drummed the marble sitting in its nest in front of him. Then he moved his eyes onto his friend, Barty, who sat at his right. Bartimos stared back, his jaw taught as they silently communicated the obvious. 

“I am inclined to allow the chips to fall where they may,” Viserys finally says, lacing his eight fingers in front of himself. “For my daughter, Helaena, however, I wish the world for her… And what better world can I give her than one where she is to be a future queen of the Realm, to be married to a honourable, compassionate, and strapping man like my grandson? Alicent, my dear, do you not agree?”

The question was a challenge, to gouge a reaction out of his wife. If Alicent did not agree, she would voice it. But something kept her lips buttoned, and she looked wide eyed between her husband, her father, and her former friend. If only Rhaenyra could read her mind, to know what she knew, to feel what she felt. Instead, the Princess waited with baited breath. 

Alicent slowly stood up from the table, her fingers anchoring her body on the table as she did. Her eyes found Rhaenyra above everyone else’s, effectively avoiding the imploring eye of her father. With a swift movement, she grabbed her goblet, and raised it to the Princess. 

“I agree,” her answer fills the room, stirring emotions. “It is time we repair the rift between our families, and make our house whole again.” 

When Valeana woke up that morning, it was earlier than she typically would find herself in. Shyla was missing from her bed, which only reminded her of her dream. A wave of nausea hit her; it felt like guilt, it felt like loss. It was so much simpler then, to choose both and have them willing. But it was not reality, as much as she curled back into her pillows, hoping to fall back into that dream that ended so unsatisfyingly. 

There was a distinctive squish between her thighs when she moved, and she internally groaned and threw her head back. She must have bled through her rag during the night. Carefully she moved her body over to inspect the sheets underneath her, finding it clear, thank the gods. Then, Valeana quickly strapped on Lady Footlyn so she could clean herself at the washing basin in the corner. A meticulously humiliating process she had to do every single morning the last few days; every moon for the last 8 years. Only 40 more to go. 

Though when she pulled up the damp cloth, she didn’t find what she expected. Her moon’s blood was over, what remained was slick, translucent, with a pinkish hue (likely remnants of her blood). Cringing at herself, she resumed her cleaning, ensuring that her thighs were thoroughly dry. At least she didn’t need to plug herself with cotton anymore. 

Over breakfast, it was collectively decided that Shyla should no longer suffer another night trying to sleep next to Valeana. Apparently, she had snored so loud and stuttery, Shyla had to check to make sure she was breathing several times.

“You sounded like you were a street cat being mounted by a direwolf, Val,” Shyla rubbed the corners of her eyes. An apt description, considering what she was dreaming that night. Unfortunately, there was a lack of Cregan. Perhaps another night. 

Floris was violently reluctant in giving up her single bedroom, but it was put to rest when Shyla expertly handled it. 

“It’s alright, Floris. The settee is kind of comfortable… I guess I can stay there for, what…two more moons? My neck won’t hurt forever.”

So, it was decided. Floris’ single room would be Valeana’s. The transition between rooms was a series of glares and muttered remarks as trunks of clothing were moved from one room to the other. When it was all settled, Val collapsed on the larger bed with a sigh. Floris’ former bedchamber was smaller, situated just above the one Valeana shared with Shyla. Stairs lead to it, a circular room in the spired tower above their family’s wing of the Holdfast. There was a larger tower on the opposite end, where her parents’ were. Unlike her former accommodations, this one’s balcony was considerably smaller, just enough for a lounging chair and a tea table.

Aemond would have a harder time climbing up there. 

Val lolled her head towards the inconspicuous bookcase, now empty of Floris’ belongings. Almost forgot about that. She lifted herself up on her elbows and looked around the room, now truly taking in how blissfully removed it was from the rest of the apartment.

A smile crept on her face, slow and devious, just as her hand moved up the hem of her skirt. 

The highly anticipated, but even more dreaded gathering of the Valyrian houses would take place that evening for supper. Valeana had spent the entire day making Queen Alicent’s dragon dress with Rosy in the private confines of her new bedquarters to kill the day. While her maid could not talk, she was actively listening as Valeana imparted ideas for her own gown for the Creature Ball. In the end, she decided to be a white lioness, a homage to her mother.

By the time it was time for her to get dressed for supper, the Queen’s dress was practically finished. All that was left was a final fitting to ensure everything was in place, which they had plenty of time for. The Creature Ball would not happen for another moon, at least, some weeks after the Tourney and the Victor’s celebration in the pavilions was over.

There was, however, a formal dress code for the evening. Everyone must wear the colours of their house, which meant that the Celtigars will be garbed in whites and reds, including Floris. 

“Why was she even invited,” Valeana ranted to Rosy as the girl helped her pull the solid vermillion dress over her head. “She’s not a Celtigar, she’s not Valyrian.”

And yet Floris wore Celtigar colours, a red bodice with matching tiered layer, an ivory skirt underneath and trumpet sleeves. A ridiculously extravagant dress that expressed something that she clearly is not. All that was missing were crabs embellishments, like Shyla’s. 

Her younger sister’s dress was mostly white, save for the inside of the corset in the front, and the stripe of red on the hemline of her skirt, sleeves, and square neckline. Her mother wore a solid red dress, much like Valeana’s, but hers had far more bedazzlement with pearls and polished quartz, which matched her statement necklace. 

Valeana had a fair amount of vermillion and ivory coloured dresses, enough to fill two trunks over had she brought her entire wardrobe with her to King’s Landing. Though there was one in particular that was her favourite, one that she had only worn once at her coming out ball on her 18th name day two years ago. It was a bit romantic, perhaps a little much the evening, but the King did request his guests to wear formal attire. And Valeana was feeling particularly romantic that evening. 

The skirt was slimmer than her usual gowns, but still held a petticoat underneath to keep shape. Though unadorned with embroidery, it was flowy and delicate. What made the dress her favourite work was the sleeves and the neckline. The sleeves were trumpet shaped, though entirely made out of vermillion dyed veil-type lace that exposed her arms from shoulder to wrist. The dress itself was designed around this fabric, so the lace was the focal point. The bodice had a lace corset in the front, and the neckline was sweetheart shaped, bordered by more lace that framed the tops of her bosom, clavicle, and over her shoulders with a patterned fringe. 

Rosy plaited her hair intricately, though its loose appearance made it appear effortless to anyone who didn’t look too close. Four smaller braids beginning from her scalp met in a knot at the back of her head, and the rest of her hair was pulled into two thick messy braids. 

Valeana stood after strapping on Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby, then shook her hips around, making the dress swish around her legs. Looking up at Rosy, she asked, “How do I look?”

The mute girl communicated with her hands, a language that Val slowly learned over time. Her fingers made a crown on her hand, and then she covered her left eye before pointing at her heart. 

Prince Aemond will love it. 

Valeana smirked bashfully, “And what about Prince Aegon?”

Rosy stared at her with a tilt of her head as she considered the question. Then she motioned with her fingers around her chest, and made a squeezing motion. 

He will enjoy that part.

Valeana threw her head back in a laugh, then turned around to go find her shoe for her right foot. Her eyes glanced at the bookcase, the one that hid the hidden passageway, and she couldn’t help but involuntarily swallow at the mere possibilities this room offered. 

The dinner was being hosted in the Holdfast’s private ballroom, designed for family-only events and intimate parties. The Celtigars are the first to arrive, Bartimos leading the charge in his ivory doublet, trimmed in red, marching red grabs on his shoulders. Ursula behind, then Clement in a dark red doublet, and Arthor wearing similar. The girls filtered in right after, Floris, Valeana, Shyla. 

There were two tables positioned in a T shape, but separated by a platform. The smallest table sat horizontally on the platform with larger chairs. Two in the middle that faced the hall itself were the tallest, and the most ornate, a visual indication that it belonged to the King and Queen. The longest table was placed vertically below the platform some distance away; it had a total of fourteen chairs.

“I suppose that is where us kids sit,” Arthor comments as he moves around his family to take a gander around the ball. 

There was a band in the corner, playing lightly to create a background ambiance. Drapes were pinned to the ceiling, red, black, white, aquamarine; the colours of the Valyrian houses. Valeana noted green was distinctively vacant in the decor, as were the Hightower banners. On poles that flanked the fringes of the ball room, the sigils of House Targaryen, House Velaryon and House Celtigar stood proudly one after the other. At the very end of the ballroom, beyond the modest dance floor, was a statue of a dragon with three hands, candles were placed on its pedestal, illuminating it from below. 

Valeana stared at it for a moment, examining each head closely, particularly the one in the center that faced the room, eyes trained forward. 

The dragon must have three heads, a voice echoed in the back of her mind.

Not long after their arrival, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon strode in with their litany of children, save for the younger ones, Viserys and Aegon, who likely were put to bed by then. After the obligatory formal greeting, the growing crowd began to mingle. Clement went to crowd Daemon, and Jacaerys slowly made his way towards Valeana, who lingered around the statue. 

“The milkweed plant worked,” Jace said cheekily, his hands behind his back. 

Val grinned at him, “I told you. Did you talk to your mother about it?”

He nodded, “I did. She told me she had wished for it years ago, but was thwarted by Alicent. I’m guessing the Queen wished Aegon and Helaena to be wedded, but that was not going to come to pass…”

She hummed in understanding, “And what does Helaena think of it?”

“She has told me she cares for me, but she does have reservations about being Queen. I assured her that if she wishes it, she will be Queen in title only, and that she does not need to be obligated in affairs of the court. I only wish for her to be contented, and not forced into a loveless marriage where she is not appreciated.” 

Valeana smiled softly and placed a hand on his bicep, “You’re a sweet man, Jace. She is very lucky to have you.”

He looked down, suddenly overcome with bashfulness. Jace nodded his thanks, and then lifted his gaze up at her, “You look very pretty, by the way. That colour suits you.” 

She pursed her lips sheepishly, “Thank you, my Prince.” 

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind about us? Aegon the Conqueror had two wives—”

“Don’t push it.” 

Upon entering the ballroom, Aemond’s eye immediately found her, like a moth to the moon. The vibrant red of her dress contrasted greatly against the canvas of grey stone and wooden floors, like an orange-red rose growing on a vine along the face of the castle. He barely registered the formal greetings towards the King, he was too busy examining the narrow space between his Valeana and Jacaerys. He locked eyes with his nephew, and the insufferable bastard smirked at him before turning to her and saying something. 

Aegon appeared at his side, just in time for Jace to walk away from her, “Does he believe he still has a chance with her?”

Aemond could only grumble in response as Jace strode by them. “Uncles,” he greeted with a short nod of his head, and a faint smirk at the end of his lips. Aemond’s body prickled; he was so worried about Aegon, he had forgotten about Jace. He did not seem to appear a threat anymore, with Valeana very obviously showing disinterest in the forced courtship, but that was contradicted by their show of friendliness. 

Did she grow close to him during that day in the Godswood? He didn’t ask how the ride had gone when he was on her balcony, he was too consumed with the need to be with her, he had pushed it out of his mind completely. 

His father and mother moved to their centered seats at the table on the platform, which signaled everyone to do the same. Without being instructed, it appeared that everyone knew where they were to be seated. The elder generation took their place at the King’s table; Bartimos on Viserys’ right, and Otto on Alicent’s left. Rhaenys sat across from him, Daemon across Alicent, Rhaenyra across her father, and finally, Ursula sat across from her husband. 

At the longer table, it was a bit more chaotic as people scrambled to claim seats next to people they wished to be rooted next to, and actively avoided those they didn’t. Aegon and Aemond shared a look before they practically scrambled towards the approaching Valeana, who was about to take a seat next to her brother. Aegon, though, rested his hand on the small of her back, and guided her to the other end of the table. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Lady Valeana?” He smiled against her ear as he pulled out a chair near the end of the table. After he tucked her in, Aegon settled into the seat on her right, next to Helaena. Aemond took the seat on Valeana’s left, the very end of the table. 

Even though everyone in the room presently was aware on some capacity of his affection for Valeana, Aemond still had to keep the appearance that he wasn’t. He hadn’t the opportunity to end things with Maris, and the servants and guards that milled the room were just as responsible for the whispers as the ladies of court were. The last thing he needed was for Borros Baratheon to learn about his dishonourable snubbing of his daughter through a maidservant. 

Aemond was about to place his hand discreetly on Valeana’s knee underneath the table, but he looked up to realize he was sitting directly across from Lucerys, who watched him with oppressive entertained scrutiny. Valeana must have sensed the tension, because she turned to him with concern etched in her features. No words were said, but her hand reached under the table and squeezed his thigh comfortingly. The corner of his lip twitched at the contact. 

The long table was quiet as everyone settled, only the sound of music and the shuffling of servants were heard. Even the King’s table was subdued with its chatter, reduced to murmured compliments. The tension hung in the air like the wrought iron candelabras that were suspended from the ceiling with thick chains. The weight of Vaemond’s sudden and brutal execution was still a fresh memory, but there was also something else amongst the adults that appeared to keep their shoulders squared. Particularly the Lord Hand, who’s eyes were darker than usual. Aegon caught his eye before their grandsire moved it onto Aemond. A silent reprimand, though neither prince knew what they were being scolded for. 

The first course was gradually spread along the tables; smaller fare such as mutton stew, fresh bread and soft butter, cured sausages and spiced olives. Grilled vegetables and various sliced cheeses, accompanied by jams from different fruits; fig, grape, strawberries. Salt water oysters were piled high on a bed of salt, next to it were steamed mussels in a red sauce. 

“Let us pray before we begin,” Queen Alicent said loudly enough for all in the room to hear. Her piousness is not shared with most in the room, but none seemed to protest, save for the slight exasperation found on Daemon’s features. Everyone collectively bowed their heads and wove their fingers on their laps, everyone except for the Blacks, who only folded their hands. 

Aemond respected tradition, even if it was from his mother’s side. He and his siblings may have been raised to worship the faith of the Seven, but They held very little value in their life. Aemond, too philosophical, too agnostic, would say that Their existence is both plausible and impossible. If the Father was just, the man sitting in front of him would have paid for the sin of slicing Aemond’s eye clear from his head. If the Mother was merciful, the woman sitting next to him would have both of her legs. Life was not fair, the gods less so, but out of respect for deities that he may one day face, he bowed his head and prayed when he was supposed to.

Aegon, on the other hand, was different. He believed in the Seven, sure, but also believed they didn’t love him; that they turned their backs on him the day he was born, and decided that he was their mistake that they were trying to forget. It should have been Baelon that survived, not him. Baelon would’ve been the heir his father always wanted. 

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love,” Alicent led the prayer. “May the Smith mend bonds that have been broken for far too long. May the Maiden shower us with love and light during this Royal Conclave. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

There was a notable shift to the atmosphere that could be tasted on the tip of everyone’s tongue at the mention of Vaemond. Lucerys’s mouth pinched and his eyes roamed the table before resting them on his lap; his step-sister beside him blinked rapidly, as if she was trying to keep a stoic face; Rhaenyra stared vacantly at a spot on the table, her nostrils flaring; Daemon rolled his eyes to the back of his head; Valeana gave a barely audible sigh through her nose, the creases between her brows deepening. 

Before people could tuck into their meals, the King pushed himself up, his weight held up by his cane; ivory and ironwood, a dragon nesting on the top. Everyone looked up at him expectedly and he looked at all their faces with a smile so contented, so peaceful, it was enough to forget that all other individuals in that room hated the other for one reason or another. 

“This is an occasion of multiple celebrations, it seems,” his mouth widened as his teeth peaked from behind his lips. “Tonight is the first night in generations that the three great Valyrian houses are united under one room. The Targaryens, the Velaryons, and the Celtigars all survived the Doom of Old Valyria.”

Aemond’s eye drifted over all the faces here present. There wasn’t a single true Velaryon by name present; the only two that held blood of a Velaryon were Targaryens by name. No, the Velaryons were nearly a dead line. Vaemond’s sons were the last true Velaryons, but they were not here. They were no older than Aemond’s nephews, Viserys and Aegon the younger, and by now they would be learning that their father was dead. That half his head rolled around like a flipped coin on the flagstone floors of the Throne Room, less than a minute after he shouted ‘bastards’ at the top of his lungs.

“And we sit here today, as one house: The House of Valyria. Proud, ancient, and forged in fire and blood, in salt and sea,” Everyone raises their goblets in murmured agreement. “It truly gladdens me to be part of this historical moment. Our families will now no longer be divided, but blended. My grandsons, Jace and Luke are set to be married.” 

Aemond felt his blood drain from his body instantly. His brow furrowed, his heart ached in a pang of betrayal. His brother felt no different; they both turned to the woman seated between them. Valeana hadn’t seemed to notice this, as she was looking at Jace with a slight smirk upon her lips, and that made it all the worse.

The implication of their father’s speech was thick in the air, and hard to ignore. Both Princes exchanged glances of disbelief, and yet the way Valeana and Jaceaerys were speaking with each other when they first entered… What the hell was going on? Was… did Valeana…? No, no, surely not…

Aemond’s fingers were visibly trembling under the table, his eye prickling, and his ribs felt like they were going to crack under the pressure of his rapidly beating heart. Aegon was less conserved than he; his mouth twisted as if he was trying to swallow down bile. He lifted his hands and placed them on the edge of the table, ready to push his chair away and leave the room. 

But then the King continued. 

“Luke will marry his cousin, Rhaena, and together they will one day become Lord and Lady of the Tides. And as for my eldest grandson, Jacaerys, my daughter’s heir… Well, he has asked for the hand of the purest soul in this room. It fills my old heart with immense joy to announce the betrothal between Prince Jacaerys and my little butterfly, my daughter, Princess Helaena, the future King and Queen of Westeros. I wish them a lifetime of happiness, peace, and prosperity.” 

“Here, here,” someone had said through the sounds of clapping. 

Aegon had made a brief screeching noise with his chair in his failed attempt to leave. He instead spun to Helaena sitting next to him, who held a sheepish, shy smile, lavender eyes avoiding everyone in the room, other than Jacaerys who was watching her with fondness. 

“Helaena and–” He began, but cut himself off, turning back to Valeana. “Were you aware of this?”

Val leaned back into her chair, her fingers laced innocently in front of her, “I kind of had a hand in it.” 

Aegon practically sunk in his chair, his hands raking into his scalp. The adrenaline seeped out of his pores and landed on the floor. He lulled his head to look at his sister, and then back at Valeana, “I do not know if I feel better.”

Valeana raised her eyebrows, “Did you think he was referring to me?” 

He leaned into her, his voice a whisper, only loud enough for her ears, “Darling, I was very nearly going to kidnap you right here and now.” 

Aemond physically felt like he nearly avoided a landslide; visually, he remained impassive, if not a bit bothered around his one expressive eye and flared nostrils. Still his shoulders relaxed once the relief washed over him like a cool breeze on a humid day, which softened the blow of the knowledge that Jacaerys was marrying his fucking sister. A development that he realized was his second least favourable probability, right next to Jace marrying Valeana. 

No, he thought as he glanced at Aegon, leaning into her space like she was the only source of heat in the middle of winter. The third least.

Facade be damned, he could not sit silently by while his brother was allowed to publicly stake his claim on his woman, like she was some newly discovered, unoccupied patch of land. Aemond leaned back in his seat haughtily, and without a word spoken, he reached under the table and scooped up Valeana’s left hand that sat idly on her thigh. Ignorant to his intentions, she instinctively wove her small fingers in between his large ones, likely believing for a split second that he simply wanted to convey relief in the shadows. However, he had no intention of keeping it in the dark any longer, not now when the stakes were growing too high. 

It was a simple gesture, but one that conveyed a very large statement. Aemond pulled their conjoint hands above the table and laid it between them, his thumb moving rhythmically over the back of her palm. Those closest to them had their attention ripped away from their plates and conversations to stare. He could feel her hand tense in his, and he watched her in his peripheral as she turned to him, mouth ajar, eyes wide. 

Aemond tilted his head in her direction, eye lifting to meet her marbleized peridots, blinking up at him in shock. His smile coiled at her reaction.

“Ao jurnegon gevie isse bona grēza, ñuha jorrāelagon (You look beautiful in that dress, my love),” his voice was velvet on bare skin, soft, sensual, erotic. “Absolutely stunning.”  

On her otherside, Aegon leans forward into the table to openly glare at his brother. His jaw rotates as he grinds the back of his teeth; the only visual proof of him trying to contain himself. In the end, he huffed an ironic laugh, and then smirked at his brother’s brazenous. 

Aegon moved his chair closer to Valeana, the legs roughly screeching against the floor hollowly. With his side now flushed against hers, he draped his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to give her a peck on the corner of her mouth. 

“How lucky am I to have the most gorgeous creature on earth at my side,” his tone was saccharine and sanguine, his eyes were predatory and possessive. 

Valeana could do nothing but remain trapped between them, not knowing where to rest her eyes. When she found the most neutral point, it was Lucerys and Rhaena who sat across from them. The latter looked partially mortified, partially intrigued, and the former seemed like he was about to combust from amusement. 

On the other end of the ballroom, on the platform, seated at the end of the shorter table, Otto Hightower watched the whole thing from his perch. His chest swelled with a sigh of exhaustion and growing impatience. He was getting too old for this shit. 

“Seven bleeding Hells,” he muttered, loud enough to garner the attention of his daughter beside him. 

“What is it?” Alicent asked in a low tone, her brow creased in concern. 

Otto turned to her slowly, “Your fucking sons.” 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR SNEAK PEEK Slowly he turned around, his one eye peeking over at Luke over the bridge of his nose. His nephew was laughing; eyes squinting in a mischievous glint as he stared at Aemond, and then back at the roasted pig…  And then onto Valeana, who was unaware of it all.  Suddenly the table jostled, the bang of Aemond’s fist on the table immediately halted everyone’s chatter and movement, bringing their collective attention to his side of  the table.  Fisting his cup, Aemond ascended from his seat and extended his arm, his eye trained on his nephew in front of him. “Final tribute...”

Notes: F I N A L T R I B U TE Get ready for a whole chapter dedicated to fucking speeches XD Because by god... I'm never...I'm never gonna watch that episode again, I've seen it too many times to write this chapter and the FemAegon oneshot.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[allkordelia]

Keep Me Near Your Heart XX

Jaenara stare out the window in daze, her mind muddled and scrambled with various scenarios of her husband whereabouts, it had been two days since he last been back and Jaenara was beginning to go a little stir crazy.

She start pacing around the room, it was late, she came back from spending another dinner alone.

Jaenara's emotions were split, she was angry and worried about her husband, as much as she grown find his existence annoying, she needed him still. She needed him here with her, with their child, he been gone for so long that Jaenara took to crying herself to sleep.

If she founds out that he was with Rivers this entire time, she was leaving him and killing her and that bastard in her stomach. She wasn't going to let him humiliate her or their child, not again not ever.

The sound of the door opening made jaenara turn so quickly it made her dizzy for second, she look towards the door to see Aemond walking in with one hand behind his back.

He closed the door behind him and stood in front of it with a nervous look on his face.

"Where have you been." Jaenara hiss after a minute of tense silence between them, her hands balled into fist by her side, "Do you have any idea the hell I been through without you here."

Aemond look at her with apologic look, he was relieve and a little happy that his beloved was thinking of him while he was away.

"Hello! Idiot. I asked you a question." She  snapped making Aemond snap out of his thoughts to look at her just as jaenara was stalking towards him.

Aemond dropped his arm from behind him clenching the object in his hand tight out of nervousness, as jaenara stop just a couple of feet in front of him and glance over him before notcing how hard he had his fist clench.

"What's in your hand?"

Aemond swallow the lump stuck in his throat before clearing it.

"Well, I know you been feeling...stress, so I thought I'll get you something to lighten up your day." He said softly, Jaenara looks from the necklace to her dense husband.

"If you wanted to "brighten up my mood", Aemond. Maybe, you should have fucked me two days ago rather than leaving  to get me some stupid jewelry, you know I will never wear, you should have come back home and fuck me like you promise." She snarl, Aemond deflates before bowing his head. 

"I thought--"

"I don't have you around to think, you dope, you are here to pleasure me." She jeered, "And to keep an close eye on you, I know how weak...men are when they miss their mommies and past lovers. " She sneer before turning away from to walk towards the bed.

"Your right, my love--"

"I know I am," she sassed, "Now, throw that thing away and do what your good at." Jaenara fall flat on her back on the bed, she move her legs up so her feet is planted on the mattress parted.

Aemond stayed frozen by the door, he knew he couldn't keep his love waiting for too long so he slowly drag his feet over to the bed before stopping in front of Jaenara's parted legs.

"Well? What are you waiting for." She asked agitated.

Aemond frown a bit, before he looks down at the necklace in his hand.

"Can I make a request, my belove?"

Jaenara exhale before dragging her elbows to push her up to look at Aemond.

"Does it still involves you fucking me?" She asked annoyed.

Aemond nodded his head, jaenara gave a eyeroll before giving a nod. Aemond moves his hand in front of him, and opened his fist to take one end to display the necklace fully.

"I would like to put this on you...while we make love." He looks up at her when he said the last sentence, Jaenara raise her bow curious before sitting up as her legs hang off the bed to get a closer look at the necklace.

Jaenara glance at the beautiful blue jewel, it's stone reminding her of Aemond's sapphire eye.

Jaenara looks back up at Aemond before moving off the bed, she turn around moving her hair aside for her husband to the necklace on. It took a second before jaenara felt aemond's fingers ghost along her skin on her neck, she felt the cool metal of the chain rest against her warm skin.

Soon lips press against her neck before he move to peck along her collarbone before moving to the other side of her neck as he put his hand on her stomach rubbing the round belly of his belove, Jaenara closed her eyes and lean against him, he press his lower half against her rocking his hips slowly as he suck on her neck causing her to let a small mewl.

The slow pace was not feeding the fire inside her, she pulls away quickly and turns towards Aemond catching by surprise as she grab his cheek and pulled him down to kiss him. Aemond made a noise during the kiss, Jaenara maneuver aemond around so he was now standing front of the bed without breaking their kiss. She slides her hand down his cheeks to his chest and start unbuttoning his vest before shoving it off his shoulder, she move to do the same for his shirt but forgot about it leaving the tunic to remain open. 

Jaenara pull her lips from Aemond and push his chest making him fall onto the bed, she climb on top of him to straddle his hips before leaning back down to peck kisses along his neck as her hands work to unbutton his pants.

"We need not need to be quick, my love." Aemond says, but jaenara ignore him as she shove her hand down his trousers.

Aemond's hand was quick to shot out to grasp her wrist making her stop from pulling him, Jaenara pulls back to look at Aemond with a scowl.

"What! What is it now, Aemond." She snaps, Aemond look at her with parted lips as he stare at her unsure.

"...I want us to go slow, I wish to make love to you...it feels like forever since we made love and I want to take my time...to make you feel good--" Aemond speaks as his hand moves from her waist to grasp her cheek, but jaenara was quick to slap it away and interrupt him.

"Does it really matter? Your getting your cock wet one way or another," she snarked, "So, lay down, shut up, and enjoy." She roll her eyes before snatching her hand out of aemond's grasp to go back to pulling out his cock.

Aemond didn't say anything, he drop his hands to his side and lay his head back like his wife's demanded.

Jaenara lick her hand before pumping Aemond's cock making the young prince moan and whimper as he clench and unclench the sheets, jaenara bite her lips getting wet from the small noises her husband was making. Once Aemond was fully erect, jaenara lift up her skirt while her other hand kept up her motion before she rub his cock along her folds.

Jaenara and Aemond moan in unison as she lower herself, Jaenara's eyes was closed in bliss, feeling like she haven't felt a cock in her in years. She didn't waste time before she start moving her hips up and down his cock in a slow pace to get use to him again, after a few minutes Jaenara was rocking her hips as she digs her nails into Aemond's chest causing a wince to come from the man below.

Nothing but grunts and moan filled the room, both enjoying the feel of each other after days of not touching. One was more happy than other, which confuse the latter since sex makes everything better. Right?

Jaenara peel her eyes opened and look down at her husband as she still moves on top of him, she take him little by little. Her eyes gaze over his big hands on her hips, before moving her eyes to look at his hard and muscular ivory chest that was glistening. She put her hand on his chest, digging her nails into him again hearing him grunt, not sure from the pleasure or the pain, but she enjoy seeing his muscles tighten when his fucking her.

The dragon princess begin to slow down as she slowly start to get close and tired as she does all the work, she flick her eyes to Aemond's features, her brow twitch as stare at her husband close eyes and scrunch up face. It was a familiar look that she seen before, the way he tilt his head back and how he squeeze his eyes closed really tight, it look like he could be thinking about something...or someone?

Before she could stop herself, Jaenara's hand flew out and smack Aemond across the cheek.

Aemond yelp in shock and look at his wife in disbelief, Jaenara stare back at him equal shock and disbelief. She was so in disbelief that it soon turn to anger as the feeling suddenly took over her bosy and mind, before she even realize it she was hitting him again.

"You...bastard." she hiss under breathe as her hits switch between hitting him in the face and his chest.

Aemond block his belove wife's hits with his arms blocking his face, he didn't want to grab her and hurt her, he knew she tire herself out eventually.

The one eye prince let out a groan when Jaenara's hand hit the side of his head with great force, the hit was harder than any of her others making Aemond squeeze his shut again and hope that she stops.

Jaenara look down at Aemond out of breathe, she blinks as her vision clears up. She sees her husband with his arms up and blocking his face, his chest heaving too from everything that happened. Jaenara looks down at her throbbimg hands before glancing at Aemond, when she put two to two gather, she slide off him and stumbled off the bed putting her back to him.

As Jaenara stumbles away in a daze, Aemond slowly gets up and look over at his wife as she fell onto the couch and hunch forward putting her hands in her hands in distress.

Jaenara couldn't stop shaking, she didn't know what was going on with her. She didnt understand where all this anger was coming from, she never had that feeling before in her life not even when her mother would leave without her to visit her Rhaenys and Corlys. She was never like this, she never lose control. Everything felt confusing and she felt like she was beginning to act like her mother.

"Jaenara."

The young princess flinch when she heard her name, she pull back and look up to see her husband. The redness around his left cheek made her heart clench in her chest, she look up to face his anger and wrath. But, she was only meet with was Aemond soft lilac eye as he gaze down at her with a concern look.

Jaenara had to turn her eyes away before he could see any tears spill out, she didn't understand how he could look at her after what she did.

"Jaenara, please don't cry." He beg as he take a seat on the cushion next to her.

He move his hand to put on her mid back but she just move away from him, making him frown.

"Why." She whispered as she stare vacantly at the fireplace before them.

"Why, what, my love."  He ask, moving closer to be by her, his hand went to her own on her lap and squeeze.

Jaenara sniffs and moves back so her back could be resting on the couch, before she looks over at Aemond with a meek look.

"Why did you do this to us?" She asked with hint of defeat in her tone, Aemond sat frozen taken back, "Why? We could have been happy with different people, we could have spare each other the heartbreak, and  the tears, and the lonely nights--"

"My love, I know I have made mistakes, too many to even allow me in your graceful presents." Aemond moves to kneel in front of Jaenara, looking up at her with desperate look, "But, I am trying to atone for it, my love. I am trying to undo my foolishness, and show you that you are the only one for me." Aemond says, but he could see the doubt in her sweet eyes.

"How can I think I am the only one, when your first love is now carrying your child." Jaenara says in distress, making aemond cast his eye down, "How can I feel secure in our marriage, when all I can think about is...is the fact that she's carrying your true son."

Aemond look back at her.

"We still are not sure if that child is mine, and if it is than I will not claim it to be." Aemond put his hand on Jaenara's belly, he look at at it for a moment before looking at his belove, "I made a promise to you, did I not? This child is mine and nothing or no one can tell me or make me think otherwise."

Jaenara sigh, even through his words brought assurance in one part of her heart, the others parts were still so doubtful of his words.

"As much as I appreciate your your words, Aemond. They still do not make me feel like we are good for each other."

Aemond frown and his hand slide off her stomach as he leans back to fully take her in, Jaenara could see the heartbreak in his eye at her words but she knew it had to be said.

"That is not true." He whispered.

"Isn't it?" She asked, "Or did you forget what happened not five minutes ago, it is obvious my emotions are not in order right now and I fear I am turning into my mother." Jaenara admitted sadly, "I have made a grave mistake bringing us here, I thought being away would bring me solace but instead i have made our life here miserable, yours mostly." She said lowly.

Aemond shook out of his heartache at Jaenara's pain and brought his hand to Jaenara's hand to hold.

"It is not your fault, it's just the baby growing inside you." He reassures, but Jaenara only shook her head.

"Or maybe, it just us."

Aemond's heart clench in his chest again, he could see that he was losing her. All this time he thought the worst was over, he thought after all the games he played and pain he caused his belove. That the gods finally was giving him a chance to redeem himself, but he sees that is not the case.

"You know that's not true, we were meant to be together." He breathed, "I always known it, it was written in the stars." He lean his head against his entwine hand with hers.

Jaenara put her other hand on his head, she slowly start to caress his hair.

"I wish that was true."

Aemond lift his head causing Jaenara take her hand from his head, he looks up at her with misty eyes.

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew the dreams I had." He said, making Jaenara look at him confuse, "Dreams that you could see and remember clear as day, dreams that showed you what could of been if you made the right choice in the beginning." He bluster on.

"Aemond--" Jaenara starts with conflicting emotions.

"I dreamed of you every night, I was young when I realize what they were telling me," Aemond confessed, before his demeanor change from fondess to regret, "But, I...I made a choice that lead me to lose my eye, to you hating me...and getting hurt, and all I did was blame you and your brothers for what became of me."

"I was already the black sheep because I didn't have a dragon of my own, after I lost my eye and gain the biggest dragon that lived, I was a monster. If they didn't fear me because of my dragon, they avoid me like the plague because of my hideous scar." He huffed as a look across his face before disappearing, "I never felt more alone than I did that day at Driftmark, and the only person that never made me feel that way again was Alys, she was my first and only, when I was with her I wasn't thinking. I was just...there."

Aemond frown his brows in thought at what he just said, Jaenara stare at her husband in disbelief. She never knew that Aemond knew Rivers for that long, she always assume they meet a year or two before Jaenara came to King's Landing to marry Aemond.

"Is that why you never wrote me? Because you were in love her."

Aemond shook his head at the misunderstanding.

"I did not think you wanted to talk to me after what i did to you that night in the cave," His eye downcast in regret, "...hitting you with that rock destroyed me, but seeing you not moving killed me inside..." he confess with tears, jaenara move her hand so her index finger can brush over the scar on the side of her temple.

She remembered that night vaguely, everything happened so fast and the last thing she remembered was hitting one of her cousin in the face with her elbow.

"...and I was so angry with you, I felt like you betrayed me when you chose your brothers over me and I hated your brothers for being the reason you hated me. I was too angry and too full of hatred to try to rekindle, so I went with aegon to fleabottom and I meet Rivers."

Jaenara looks away from him, she knows what his saying ahouldn't make a difference on how she feeling, but it's hard to ignore what is in front of her.

"Jaenara, please know that I am sorry, I never meant to allow my affair with Rivers to drag on longer than it should have over the years. Once i stop dreaming of you, I assume that was a sign from the gods that I made my choice and I lost you forever." Aemond expressed, as a last ditch effort to get Jaenara to see the truth about them.

He wanted to know that they were always meant to be together, he always believe in the dragon dreams that was told to him when he was a boy. He made sure that in every dream he sees Jaenara, he would make sure to look for a dragon, because than that when he knows that him and her still had a chance.

Aemond felt a warm hand on his cheek bringing him out of his throat to look at his belove wife in front him, Jaenara smile a little, before she pull her hand away to wrap her arms around his shoulder pulling him to her. He was caught of guard that he had to shift on his knees to hug her less awkwardly, he put his hand on her back and rub, she buried her face in his shoulder inhaling his scent before turning her head to the side facing away from his face.

"I think im ready to go home now."

[arcielee]

My House of the Dragons masterlist. Please be mindful of each story's tags and warnings!

A love that burns. Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader [third person] Summary: Aemond is a man obsessed and you are the object of his unwavering devotion.

+ + + +

Ābrazȳrys dark!Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader Summary: Aemond goes to see is the king is truly dead and finds his wife instead.

+ + + +

dōna mandia Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon Targaryen [third person] Summary: Her brothers convince her to play a game.

+ + + +

Hae iksā Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Summary: Aemond has been tasked to find himself a wife.

+ + + +

ilībio Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: Aemond finds comfort in your cunt.

+ + + +

Zȳha lyks Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Summary: You find an ally with the second son of King Viserys.

She Walks in Starlight Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Summary: Greek mythology HotD AU, some Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone slow burn.

+ + + +

The Dragon and the Wolf - WIP Aemond Targaryen x Stark!reader Summary: “...perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.”

+ + + +

Ours never knew peace. Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader [first person] Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone...

There's not one thing that I would change. Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader [first person] Author's Note: This is what was implied, the smutty interlude that granddam could not read out loud to Lyanna.

+ + + +

Quietly, it slips through your fingers - Part 1 Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Summary: Rhaena confronts Aemond after dinner.

We gave our time to something undefined - Part 2 Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Summary: Aemond receives a late night visitor.

+ + + +

Only If For A Night Aemond Targaryen x Female! Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You find comfort in your husband's brother.

The Sapphire Prince Aemond Targaryen x OFC!Stark Summary:  A Targaryen prince falls for Cregan Stark’s sister and it sets to tear apart the Hightower’s devise.

+ + + +

Call It Dreaming Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: You have a delightful sex dream.

modern Aegon masterlist modern Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Warnings: Please be mindful of the warnings for each story! Author’s Note: Just a masterlist of my ever-growing modern Aegon Targaryen stories. Enjoy! 💜

Call It Dreaming Aegon Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: You have a delightful sex dream.

+ + + +

Only If For A Night Aemond Targaryen x Female! Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You find comfort in your husband's brother.

dōna mandia Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon Targaryen [third person] Summary: Her brothers convince her to play a game.

+ + + +

Fare Well Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You visit Aegon after another council meeting ends.

dōna riña Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You are enraptured by the prince and princess.

+ + + +

ānogar Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader Summary: Your husband helps comfort you.

+ + + +

Aōhon iksan Daeron Targaryen x Female!Reader [third person] Summary: Daeron has come back from Oldtown to play his role in King’s Landing and marry one of the Four Storms.

+ + + +

At last, when all of the world is asleep Ser Erryk Cargyll x Dornish!Reader Summary:  A Dornish princess is the siren call to break the vows of the Kingsguard.

Devotion Ser Erryk Cargyll x Targaryen!Reader Summary: You are a Targaryen princess with an infatuation on a certain White Cloak.

+ + + +

A night of pleasure. Ser Gwayne Hightower x Female!Reader Summary: Ser Gwayne decides on you.

gifs by @mojogifs || arcie's navigation

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 29 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: There is no summary for this. Y'all are going in blind. Word Count: 7913 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Angst, Fluff, Self-Loathing, Depression Sluttiness. Oh, we're still talking about menstrual blood.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: Yes, this chapter be a big girl. Also trying to pretend that ch. 28 not getting as much comments (given what happens in it) does not bother me. I'm totally okay. Really. (morgan freeman: Celt was in fact, totally not okay)

“Princess Helaena!” Ursula said in wonder when Ser Steffon introduced the princess’ arrival. “What a pleasant surprise! We were about to have supper, but you are welcome to join us?”

Helaena smiled politely, her arms woven behind her, “That is a kind offer, Lady Ursula, but I was wishing for Lady Valeana’s company tonight. May you spare her this eve?” 

Valeana had been idly biting the nail of her thumb, an excuse to keep her fingers on her lips, trying to reenact what happened on the balcony a couple of hours ago. Aemond had left her shortly after their kiss when they heard her mother and Floris arguing when they stepped foot inside the apartment. He gave her one last searing kiss and told her that she would see him again that night, though did not specify how that would happen. Then he scaled down the side of the castle, to the gardens below, like some majestic silver-haired mountain goat. 

Ursula turned to Bartimos who looked just as surprised. The Celtigars were nearly a full unit that evening, save for Clement who had chosen to remain in the pavilions. Floris, who sat as far away from Valeana as possible, had muttered under her breath about how Helaena would be doing them a favour, that there will be finally food for everyone. Comments like these weren’t uncommon, even back on the Isle, Floris would make passive aggressive remarks at how much food Valeana had on her plate during meals. However, Floris was no longer a simple annoyance Val had to endure, she was worse, and Valeana wasn’t just going to ignore her jabs any longer.

Valeana swept herself up from her chair and answered before her father could for her, “I would love to keep you company, my Princess. I was just starting to get a headache– there’s an awful perfumy smell around that reminds me of a desperate old maid.”  

Arthor snorted into his drink, and Shyla sniffed the air naively, not aware that it was meant to be an insult. Floris shot her a dangerous look, but ultimately her lips buttoned and the jab went unnoticed by their parents. 

Weaving her arm into Helaena’s, she turned to Bartimos, “Is that alright, father?”

Bartimos hesitated, but he knew he could never deny the princess’s request. “Of course, of course. Will you need Steffon to collect you later?”

Helaena answered this time, “That won’t be necessary, Lord Bartimos. I have made accommodations for my friend to spend the night in my bedchambers.” 

Valeana raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t argue. Her father seemed conflicted, but with one sharp look from Ursula, he relented. As a woman who loved networking amongst her sex, she was not going to let her husband hinder a friendship between their daughter and the only daughter of Queen Alicent. 

With a nod, Bartimos conceded, “That is agreeable. Though, make sure to return her early on the morrow. I want her ready before Princess Rhaenyra arrives.” 

Making that promise, the two girls bid their goodbyes and promptly left. Ser Arryk was waiting for them outside, and dutifully followed them when they left. Valeana sent him a tentative wave and a sheepish smile.

The knight smirked, “Haven’t stolen any more cooking ale recently, have you, Lady Valeana?”

“The night is still young. I may need your assistance again, Ser Arryk.” 

He silently laughed, but made no more comments. 

After a moment, Valeana leaned into Helaena’s shoulder, her voice a whisper, “...Are you bringing me to…?”

The princess’s smile was small, but knowing, “I am.” 

Val ran a hand over her middle, suddenly feeling very nervous. The butterflies had not left her stomach; they flapped wildly at the memory of her first kiss. Her lips still tingled with the memory, desperate to feel the same euphoria again.

She had no intention of kissing Aemond so quickly, so soon. There was a weak moment the night of the Ball, when they were near the act. Had Daemon not interrupted, she wasn’t entirely sure where that night would have led to. However, when her mind was more sober, Valeana decided that she would take things slow with Aemond, since after all, her heart was still pained with his scorn; the monster that Aemond made himself out to be was firmly present in her mind. Even though her anger for him has become a softer presence, it was still there, stirring her paranoia over his true intentions. 

But when she looked into his eye, when she saw his smile, when she felt the warmth of his touch, it was so easy to ignore her anxiety. What was left, however, was her guilt, which she did not entirely understand. Aemond was not her husband, they had only reconciled nearly two days ago, so why did she feel like she committed adultery? Mayhaps it was because she had always believed her first everything would be with him. Her first kiss, which she grew up believing was the ultimate act of intimacy, always had to be with Aemond. There was that moment when they picnicked underneath the mulberry tree when she thought he was going to kiss her, but it ultimately never happened. She blamed it on her frazzled and sweaty appearance that had scared him off. 

The decision to kiss Aemond was incredibly impulsive. She was driven by the need to give him something that she had never given anyone else. Valeana’s first kiss will always belong to Aemond. 

But her first sexual encounter was with Aegon, a fact that she somehow knew would break Aemond. Actually, thinking back on it, Valeana remembered the comments about Aegon he had spat in her direction. Comments that implied that Aemond already believed that something was going on between her and his elder brother. 

“If you want pity, Celtigar, go run back into the arms and pillows of my brother. You shall not find it with me.” “Though mayhaps that is what you desire. To be felt up like a common tart.”

And yet he came to her on hands and knees. Did he still believe those assumptions? They were false then, but now, they were not, even if it had only happened once, and it was more one sided, messy and foolishly impulsive. Maybe she should stop drinking, because so far the times she has drunk herself silly, a Targaryen Prince’s mouth ends up on her tit somehow. 

… On second thought.

When they began walking up the stairs and entered the iron gates that separated the Royal Wing, Valeana craned her neck around in confusion. This is where the King and Queen resided, not where Helaena and her brothers’ apartments were. 

“Where are we going?”

The princess gave her a secretive smile, “To where the sun and moon meet.” 

Valeana peered at Helaena, expression full of confusion, “... Helaena, you are dear to me, but can you please speak plainly.” 

Her grin widened, but she stopped walking when they got to a door, ornate with polished oak and shiny brass fixtures. Valeana had only been in this part of the castle possibly twice in her lifetime, and one of those times was the other day. When they stopped at this large arched doorway, there wasn’t a single thing about it that she recognized, but it still felt…familiar, somehow. 

“We’re here,” Helaena announces with her hands clasped in front of her. She looked between the door and Valeana, and Valeana looked between her, the door, and Ser Arryk. 

“Where is ‘here’?” Val raised her eyebrows. 

“Queen Aemma’s private quarters,” the princess looked up at the door before running a hand over the brass bars, “It hasn’t been used since she died. Except by my father… and your mother, once upon a time.” 

Valeana’s eyebrows dropped, “My…My mother spent time here?”

Helaena nodded, and then moved over to the kingsguard’s side, “It was her favourite place to be… You should head on in. He’s waiting for you.”

Ser Arryk did not meet Val’s eye when she looked at him, almost like he was trying to pretend that he hadn’t heard Helaena. Trying to conserve as much deniability as possible, should anyone come asking questions. What an honourable man, Ser Arryk was, always escorting her and dropping her off in Aemond’s arms. 

Valeana bowed her head, “Thank you, Princess.”

With a kind smile and a tilt of her head, she wished her friend a good eve, and then left her alone at the door. Valeana casted an eye up to it, and then down to the handle, only giving a moment’s hesitation before she pulled and turned the loop to yank it open. She entered the vestibule, with tall arched vaulted ceilings and blue tapestries hanging on either side. It was dimly lit with only wall sconces lighting her way, but she could make out the white sheets that covered the furniture in the solar. Her feet softly padded along the carpeted floor, eyes roaming east where she saw a set of stairs leading up to another grand door, likely to Aemma’s bedchamber. Then she looked west, where a small antechamber led way to even larger arched oak doors. They were slightly ajar, with a warm light emitting from beyond. 

“Aemond?” Valeana tilted her head as she followed the light. The butterflies were still actively fluttering about in her stomach, even more so now that she approached the threshold. Beyond the doors was a marvellous library, not near as big as the Royal Library, but its decorated and intimate splendor was unparalleled. Curved shelves reached the ceiling, domed with a fresco of a night blue sky and constellations. On the west end of the room was a large arched window, looking out towards the cliff sides of the Keep, where she could clearly see beaches free of commoners. A telescope sat before it, along with a writing desk hidden under a white sheet. 

“Queen Aemma loved mapping out the stars,” the sudden appearance of Aemond’s voice startled her. Her body jolted, and when she spun to face him, he was trying to contain his mirth at her reaction. He was seated at a table full of food, a half eaten peach in his hand. “At least, that is what my father told me.”

“Just as much as you love to startle me?” Valeana’s hand was on her chest to control her startled heart, but that was a fruitless attempt. It was beating erratically regardless at the mere sight of him. The light of the hearth beside him lit up his every contour in an amber glow. His jerkin was discarded, as well as his belt and sword that sat next to the fireplace. The buttons of his black tunic undone down to the valley of his pectorals, the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was loose and untethered, one side brushed over his ear where the strap of his eyepatch went over. 

Val suddenly felt very wobbly on her knees. Her mouth watered, and it was not because she didn’t eat supper yet. Perhaps the butterflies in her stomach were actually moths, because they desperately fluttered around inside her, trying to reach Aemond’s flame. 

Fucking hells, she thought, openly staring at the way his long legs stretched out before him, taking up as much space as possible. What a terrible week to be bleeding.

“Probably less,” he smirked, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on her. “Are you hungry?”

She sucked in her bottom lip and nodded, “Ravish–I mean, famished.” 

When she made no move to reach for a seat, he raised an eyebrow at her, then pulled out the chair next to him. Blushing heavily, Valeana scrambled to sit down, immediately facing the food. She hadn’t a single thought in that empty little head of hers. Not anything profound, really. 

“Are you alright, Valeana?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, confirming her suspicion that he knew exactly what he was doing. 

She slowly turned her head in his direction while he made her plate – soft shell crab, deviled eggs, peeled shrimp drenched in herbed butter. Oysters. There were figs, mulberries, peaches, and pomegranates on the table. 

Somehow, by the power of sass, she found her voice, “Are you trying to seduce me, Prince Aemond?”

He chuckled lowly, moving onto his plate, “Woo you, more like. Is it working?”

Tentatively, she picked up her fork and stabbed into a shrimp, “You bring me into a secluded secret library of a late Queen, have almost all my favourite food accounted for, and you–” she briefly gave him a once over, “Shedded layers. It may be working, yes.” 

The Prince’s smile widened, enough for her to see his teeth, and she noticed that he had that same lopsided smile she always loved so dearly. Then, Aemond reached for an oyster (already shucked) and tilted the shell back into his mouth, slurping up the contents. The shrimp she was chewing was slowly being forgotten until she was forced to swallow. 

“No pearl?” She picked up her goblet to bring to her lips. 

He hummed, looking at the empty shell, and then back at her. His eye traveled southward, “Not in this one.” 

Swallowing her wine felt like she was swallowing gristle, “Seven, Aemond. When did you get so amorous?”

“I am a man, Valeana.” 

She eyed him up and down, humming, “And here I thought you were a cat.” 

He pursed his lips in amusement, dropping  the shell onto his plate with a clank. Then suddenly, Valeana felt herself being jerked towards him. He had grabbed the chair legs and yanked her closer until her side was cradled between his knees. She stared at him wide eyed and smooth brained. 

He took her left hand, the pads of his calloused fingers running along her knuckles, “Would you like to check for yourself?” Val’s mouth popped open at the question, but before she could vocalize a word – or produce a thought, really – he moved her hand into the opening of his tunic, splaying her fingers over the bare skin of his pec, right above his heart. 

Smooth, firm, warm. Definitely not a cat. 

“Hol–ee, hmmm…” She cleared her throat, eyes glued to the exposed pale skin of his chest. Even if he removed his hand from hers, Valeana was fairly certain at this point her palm was sweaty enough to create a suction. “Def-definitely a man.” 

“Are you sure you’re not wholly convinced?” He leaned in until his nose nudged against her cheek. “There’s more to explore.” 

Valeana’s eyes fluttered closed, fingers curling over the firm expanse of his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, just as frantic as her own. Suddenly she had no appetite, at least not for food. Her core ached, so much so she rubbed her thighs together, and clenched around the cotton plug. A painful reminder that she could not seek out her pleasure, not in the ways she wanted to. Though, perhaps that was for the best. When her mind found clarity, she would be reminded that Aemond was not entirely forgiven. Though, he was quickly climbing up to that finish line. 

“You do not need to make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

No, he was making it so, so fucking easy, and it shouldn’t be. After all he’s done, after all he’s said. No, perhaps the Mother knew what she was doing when she chose this week for her bleed. Aemond needed more time. 

“Aemond,” Valeana spoke with a stronger tone. When she tried to pull her hand away from his chest, she found she simply could not. Not because he had anchored her to him, but because the feel of his heart beneath her fingers was the only thing that reminded her that this was real. And it stuttered when she pulled her face away, “It’s… it’s not the right moment.” 

She felt her heart shatter at the way he was looking at her. That one lilac eye struggled to keep composure, but she could see the letdown, the sadness, the defeat. He offered her a small understanding smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I understand. We can finish our meal, and I’ll have a kingsguard bring you back,” his words were monotonous, carefully controlled to conceal his crippling disappointment. 

Valeana immediately shook her head, fingers grasping at his heart, “No, no, I don’t want that– I want to remain here with you, Aemond. I just–I’m not ready to go that far. It’s too early.” 

Aemond’s face visibly softened, the smile appearing more genuine. His fingers curled around her hand at his chest before he moved his other to glide along the roundness of her cheek, “Hm, I see now. I will behave myself, I promise. Your virtue is in safe hands.”

She smiled back at him, leaning against his touch, “You may covet my lips, though.”

The ends of his coiled smile deepened. With a hum, he leaned in closer, this time his nose bumping against hers, “Good. They were all I hungered for these last few hours.”

Without another word, his mouth was upon hers. The taste of the sea upon his lips, the nectar of peach on his tongue. It was a bizarre combination, but Aemond’s lips were the gates of the heavens, and his tongue might as well have been the fruit of the gods. With grasping hands and greedy fingers, Aemond had maneuvered Valeana onto his knee without breaking their heated kiss. 

Her hand was still atop his breast, addicted to the rhythm of his heart and the firmness of his muscle. Her other draped around his shoulder, fingers tangled in the perfect strands of his moonlight tresses. When Valeana felt his hands upon her waist, where his thumbs gently grazed the curve of her breasts, she let out a little whimper. A whimper that forced him to pull away from her, if only a fraction. 

“If you make noises like that, I will not be able to keep my promise.” 

She softly laughed through her nose, then finally released her hand from his chest, just to move it up the length of his neck and over his cheek. “Then mayhaps we should save the kisses for dessert.”

Aemond made a grunt of disapproval, but ultimately caved, “Hmmm, Fine.”

With a smile she lifted her chin so she could plant a kiss upon his brow, his eye closing for the moment in contentment. They resumed their dinner, though she remained where she was on his knee, and they picked at each other’s plate in idle conversation.

“You used to abhor seafood,” she remarked as he slurped down yet another oyster. “Now look at you. Eat any more oysters, and you really won’t be able to hold onto your promise.” 

With a smirk, he tossed another shell onto the pile he had created. No pearls in this batch. Aemond turned to her, still perched on his leg, now licking her butter-coated fingers, the sight of which was absolute torture. His top teeth sunk into his bottom lip, eye glued onto her mouth. 

“I never believed they were an aphrodisiac,” he turned away, trying to distract himself with a sip of wine. “At least not for me. Mayhaps I simply have a refiner pallet. Many things that fuel a man’s lust do not have the same effect on me.” 

Valeana eyed him skeptically, as she had a sudden growing urge to prove him wrong. Aemond still felt he was better than any man, that his will was mightier in all ways. And yet the yellowed remnants of his love marks still lingered on her breasts, a visual proof that wasn’t the case.

“And what does fuel your lust, my darling friend?” 

When Aemond turned to her, he leaned back against the chair to assess her carefully. His hand was on her waist still, securing her back as she stayed perched on him. Long fingers traced along the velvet fabric of her dress, reaching up to the laces on her back. 

“You want the truth of it?” 

Valeana nodded. 

Aemond sucked on his bottom lip as if contemplating if he should give her the truth of it. After a beat of him battling his thoughts, he moved his second hand to her waist, weaving his fingers together so she was caged in his arms. 

He dipped his head next to her ear and said softly, “The hardest I have ever been was when I heard you speak Valyrian. I sat there, next to you, a quiet fool, itching to stroke myself.”

A shudder ran down her spine, and she involuntarily clenched her thighs. Valeana raised her hooded gaze to meet his eye, and despite the overwhelming sense of shyness she felt over the confession, she felt bold enough to speak. 

“Iksis bona sīr, ñuha raqiros?” (Is that so, my friend?)

Aemond’s eye closed as he grumbled low in his throat. His hands gripped at her dress as he pulled her closer, until her side was fully flushed against his chest, “Gaomagon ao jorarghugon naejot amīvindigon nyke, Valeana?” (Do you seek to torture me, Valeana?)

His voice was a low base in his chest, making the back of her neck tingle, and her face heat up. “You deserve nothing less.” 

Aemond’s touch softened at that, but still kept her close. Instead his head dipped so he was in the cradle between her neck and shoulder, resting his forehead there while his fingers gently massaged the curve of her hip. 

“You are right,” he sighs. “Mayhaps that is how we should spend the rest of the evening. Torture me with your silver tongue, and make me beg for a taste of it.” 

Her breath hitched in her throat. Between the timber of his voice, the words he spoke with it, and the intimate way she was seated on him, Valeana was having a very hard time keeping her convictions. There was just something about him being so pathetic and needy that sent a whirlpool of arousal in her stomach. She could feel herself cave, with every caress of his hands, how they firmly yet softly roamed over the hills of her sides, her back, the tops of her thighs. Aemond’s fingers ghosted just under her breast, never quite touching, but never that far away from them either.

It was getting too much, too over stimulating, that she had to pull away. Valeana pulled herself from his lap with a flushed face, and actively avoided his penetrating stare, which was likely offended that she had removed herself from his orbit.

“It is getting late,” She announced, mind racing, heart pounding, trying to find a way to calm the evening before she did something stupid. She glided around his chair, and started to walk the length of the library, to the east side where she noticed a reading nook nestled amongst the bookshelves, an arched window tucked inside. It was more of a bed than a sofa, with a plush mattress, a collection of pillows and a wool blanket folded up in the corner. 

Aemond stood up almost as soon as she did, moving around his chair to reach her. “Do you wish to leave?” There was a slight urgency in his tone, one which she quickly settled by turning around and smiling. 

“No. I told you I don’t… But it is late, and the morrow brings us a long day,” she turned around, moving over to the reading nook. “Do you remember how we used to sneak into the library and you would read to me until we fell asleep?”

The sharp edges of his face softened, his eye watching her with such a deep fondness, that had she looked up at him she would have been rendered speechless at the sight. Instead she walked along the bookshelves that surrounded the plush nook, hands moving along the spines, noting how they were all Valyrian. 

“Of course I do,” Aemond moved closer until he was at her back. His hands draped over her shoulders, then moved down until they were lacing her fingers and his chin was resting on her shoulder. He folded their arms across her chest, pulling her flushed against him. “How could I forget that snoring?”

Valeana huffed in annoyance, and when he chuckled lowly at the reaction, she spoke a smidge bitterly: “Well, in that case, I can go sleep in Helaena’s room–”

“No, no,” he nuzzled her neck, planting greedy little kisses along it, giving her a field of goosebumps. “You’re staying here, with me. But tonight… It’ll be you who reads.”

Valeana leaned her head back, which only encouraged him more to leave a trail of fire along the exposed flesh in the junction between her shoulder and neck. “You’re a masochist now, Aemond?”

“Mērī lēda ao, ñuha gevie.” (Only with you, my beautiful)

Reluctantly he pulled away from her, unraveling his hands before he could pull her rear against his pelvis to show her just how tortured he actually was. “Queen Aemma has quite the collection. You will have quite a selection to choose from.”

Valeana sighed, her shoulders caving in the absence of his body. She could feel the damp spots he left along the ridge of her neck and shoulder, burning and yearning for more. Wasn’t it she that was supposed to be torturing him?

She couldn’t concentrate as she perused the books, but she tried. Tilting her head, she forced herself to read the titles, quickly translating them in her mind. There were a lot of histories, a lot about astronomy, one book was even about the mating rituals of dragons. Val’s finger lingered on that one, simply because of the absurdity of it. 

“Do you have a preference?” She decided to ask, moving closer to the nook, where the books got smaller, more frayed. More personal. 

“I would have you read me every single book in this library, if we had the time,” He answered from the other side of the nook, where he also browsed the titles. 

“I feel like that would kill you,” she joked, glancing over and taking in his regal profile and the outlines of his chest through the thin material of his tunic. 

“What a lovely way to die,” he smiled, tilting his head back at her. “Mayhaps that is when I’ll finally be forgiven. It would be well worth it.” 

Valeana’s features grew soft at that. She had no words for him, because she had no words for herself. It was like she was on a battlefield, and the soldiers were versions of her. Those who fought for peace, those that fought for vengeance, all in pursuit of claiming and protecting her heart. Whenever she felt she was close to giving in and forgiving Aemond, and succumbing to her weakness for him, intrusive reminders of what he had said to her would invade the plains of her consciousness. 

“If you want pity, Celtigar, go run back into the arms and pillows of my brother. You shall not find it with me.” “I do not give a shit about her. I never have, and the Seven knows I never will.”  “What makes you think I’d ever marry you?!”  “Get away from me, you pig!”

“But I will spend the rest of my life in dedication to the pursuit of being worthy of your forgiveness. Worthy of your touch. Worthy of your lips. Worthy of the air you breathe. I need you to know that I am yours, should you still want me. If you ever did.”

Valeana blinked rapidly when she felt her eyes start to sting, then directed her attention back to the books. However, she couldn’t even focus on the titles, so instead she reached out and snatched the first one within her grasp. A small, frayed blue book, with an embossed rose on the leather cover, and two simple words gilded underneath, “Prūmia Udrir.” Heart Language.

“I found a book of poems,” she softly declared, gently opening up the cover and seeing the stained, dog-eared parchment. Val smiled fondly at it, “It looks well loved.” 

Aemond returned to his side, bringing his scent and heat with him, instantly flooding her mind with longing. Her morose musings were completely forgotten, now that she was in his orbit. Leaning over her shoulder to read the title of the book, his breath tickled her cheeks as he hummed his approval, “Appropriate.” 

“Time to get settled in, then,” clutching the book in her hand, Valeana walked over to the nook and sat on the edge to toe off her shoes. Glancing up,she saw that Aemond was doing the same, while also unbuttoning his tunic.

She immediately froze, “Wh-what are you doing?”

He smirked, “Getting comfortable. Generally I sleep in the nude, but… I am supposed to be behaving tonight.”

Valeana’s face turned into a tomato as his hands unfastened the last button of his tunic before he pulled the rest off his head, “R-right…” Words continue to fail her this evening. 

Her mouth fell open at the sight of him: remarkably pale skin, chiseled out of marble, every curve and sharp edge of his body was utter perfection. There wasn’t a part on his torso she wasn’t drinking in; Valeana was desperate to memorize every centimeter of skin, right down to the V at his hips, which is where her eyes found rest. 

“Hells…”

Aemond slowly padded towards the mattress where she sat, then hooked his finger under her chin to force her to look at him. “My face is up here, sweetheart.” 

Valeana swallowed, “I thought I was the one doing the torturing tonight?”

He chuckled, then leaned in to capture her lips in a sweet kiss, “You are already doing a marvelous job without trying. Though, as much as I love to see that hunger-panged look you have, if my body makes you uncomfortable, I can redress–”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

He grinned broadly, “As my lady wishes.” Aemond then took a moment to assess her state, before tilting his head, “Don’t you wish to undress?”

Valeana flushed vividly, “What?” 

“I only meant– wouldn’t you like to be more comfortable? Isn’t that dress incredibly tight?”

It was, like most of her gowns. Even if it was more modest and had less layers, it was still designed to conceal as much of her stomach as she possibly could. Sleeping in it would be uncomfortable. She did have a shift underneath though, and it was burgundy, like the dress, so it would not be sheer. Still, the thought of having such a thin piece of clothing separating her from Aemond was… nerve wracking. 

And exciting. 

Clearing her throat, Valeana shifted so her back was slightly turned, “Can you loosen these?” 

Aemond sat down on the mattress behind her, then gently moved her braid over her shoulder. His fingers grazed along the expanse of her shoulder blades, causing a shiver to run down her spine. Reaching the laces, he untied the knot and began to pull the corset loose, all the while keeping his pointer finger under the hem so he could trail it along her spine. Valeana shut her eyes and sighed, at both being freed from the confines of her bodice, and from the intimate touch. 

“Why do you wear so many layers?” His question came softly and curiously. 

“To hide my body,” her answer came just as softly. 

His movements paused, “Why would you do that?”

Valeana turned her head, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, “Aemond–”

“You have a gorgeous body,” he resumed, finishing off the laces before having his hands crawl around her middle and folding over her belly. Then he tugged her onto his lap, leant in and kissed the back of her neck and along the length of her right shoulder. “You always have.” 

Valeana sighed, her head falling back against him. With his hands on her belly, she felt far more self conscious than she did the day his hands and mouth were on her breasts, all exposed and sweaty. But his touch sent tingles of desire and warmth in its wake, and as much as her nature wishes to recoil, she didn’t. 

“Aemond–” She pleads his name a second time, whether it is for him to stop or continue, she isn’t entirely sure. 

“If you don’t believe me, let me show you,” he reaches down and bunches up the burgundy skirt in his fist, pulling it over her thighs. 

“Aemond,” She pleaded a third time, this time with a little more force. She was aroused beyond sense, but the reminder of her moon’s blood was enough to shake her back to reality. Valeana pulled herself off his lap, but didn’t step away from him, just stayed a few inches away as she stood up. “I told you it’s not the right moment.” 

Aemond sighed through his nose, his frustration evident, but he swallowed it down. “Apologies,” He ran his hand through his hair. “I promised I would behave, and I am failing.” 

“Trust me, Aemond, if it were any other week, I would not want you to,” if she were in any other state of mind, she would have more sense to say no without needing an excuse. But Valeana wanted him, convictions be damned. 

He peered at her curiously, “What do you–”

“I’m bleeding,” she smiled awkwardly with a roll of her eye. “An incredible inconvenience, I assure you.”

Aemond blinked at her before his features softened to a slightly amused one, “Ah.” He looked down at the burgundy gown, and realized it all made sense now. With a soft chuckle, he moved his body further into the nook, and beckoned her, “Then we shall be inconvenienced together.” 

Valeana rolled her eyes again, shaking her head with an embarrassed grin. “Seven help me… One moment.” 

Aemond watched with complete enraptured silence as she pulled off the dress over her head, and then shimmied out of the petticoat underneath. All that was left was the shift she wore, too dark to see through the fabric, but thin enough that he could see the curve of her rear. Especially prominent when she sat down on the edge of the mattress. 

Clearing her throat, she bunched up her chemise on her left side, “This will only take a minute.” 

Aemond felt a wave of gooseflesh ripple throughout his body at the sight of her wooden prosthetic. It was almost too easy to forget its existence, with how she carries herself as if it were her actual flesh appendage. Though its appearance simply reminded him of his life’s mistakes, and that instantly humbled him. Suddenly he felt so incredibly foolish, trying to seduce her and being greedy for her body, when he already robbed a part of her. 

With practiced ease, the type that comes from doing such an act multiple times a day, every day for a decade, Valeana unbuckled her prosthetic from her thigh and slowly slotted it off. She could feel his eye on her, which made her all the more self conscious about it, but sleeping with her wooden leg always made her thighs sore from chaffing, her knee stiff, and her stump itchy from sweat. With a contented sigh, she laid it against the bookcase that framed their alcove, and then slowly unbound the linens around her severed appendage. 

Valeana could feel Aemond’s breath on her shoulder, and when she turned to look, he was hovering over her, looking at her leg with an almost unreadable expression. Perhaps it was sorrow and guilt, but there was an underlying anger as well, likely at himself. 

Saving him from his self loathing, Valeana pushed the curtain of her shift back over her knee, “Are we settled?” 

He shifted behind her, “Not quite.” 

Twisting around, she watched as he hooked the strap of the leather patch with a finger and pulled it off his head. His hair fell like a curtain of moonlight around his slender face, shadowing the deep blue sapphire gem embedded in his scared eye. Valeana felt her nose tingle at the sight, as she felt remnants of mourning of the young boy he used to be, his face complete, unshattered, and untouched by violence. After he reached over to place the piece of leather on the bookshelf, Valeana captured the sides of his face with her hands and brought his lips onto hers. Aemond made no movement of protest or hesitation; he fell into the dance of lips, tongue, and teeth with equal longing and need. 

Valeana let out a sigh as her back settled in the pillows, lips still locked with Aemond’s. He hovered over her, hands holding himself up on either side of her head. In the end, it was he who ended their kiss, as much as he loathed it. If they continued in this position, he would have his hips rutting in between hers, bleeding be damned. 

Valeana gave a little sound of disappointment, which earned her a little smile from the man who hovered over her body. Her hands moved from his face, over his shoulders and clavicle, until they found a home along his chest and abs. That smile broadened. 

“Still inspecting?”

“Not entirely convinced you’re not a cat,” she replied, lips pulled into a sheepish pout. 

Biting his lip to contain his chuckle, Aemond quickly grabbed the book and placed it in her hand, “Now you’re the one who must behave.” He moved off of her, settling in the space between her and the window, arm reaching out to snag the wool blanket and pulled it over their bodies.

Meanwhile, Valeana moved back so she was in more of a sitting position, and as she was about to open the book, Aemond slotted to her side. His chin rested on her shoulder, and his arm draped over her middle to keep her close. She took a moment to breathe in the moment, allowing a familiar warmth and comfort to fill her bones and relax her shoulders. This felt right. This felt perfect. This felt like something she could do for the rest of her life.

She rested her cheek upon his head and opened the cover, then flipped a few pages before she found the words and began to read. Aemond sighed deeply under her, his eye falling shut at the sound of her timbre reverberating through him, releasing all the tension in his bones and muscles. 

And so they remained like that, for a little while, as Valeana read every delicate page she could. Each line more beautiful than the next, made for a tongue such as hers. When she felt the full weight of Aemond’s head on her shoulder, and heard his heavy breathing, she slowly stopped reading. Gently placing the book to her side, she lifted her head and peered to check if he had actually fallen asleep. The loose grip he had on her waist and his closed eye confirmed it. Valeana couldn’t help but smile fondly down at him, looking so peaceful in the dim light. The hearth had dwindled down to red embers, the sconces had lost oil, and the candles were being darkened by their self-snuffers. It was time for her to call it a night as well.

Valeana ran her free hand over the crown of his head, threading her fingers through the silky strands, and ghosting her fingers over the shape of his jaw. He was so unbelievably handsome, it felt like a sin to look at him in this peaceful state. Even his sapphire eye, always open, glaring at her like the midnight sky. Sapphires had always been her favourite, and she wondered if he chose it specifically for that reason, subconsciously or with intention. 

Careful not to disturb his slumber, she slid down to a lying position, softly moving his head from her shoulder and onto the pillows behind them. She then positioned her body so it was facing his, making sure to keep his arm draped around her middle, keeping him as close as possible. The book was wedged between them, so she plucked it by the back cover and went to move it to the floor, but the sight of a handwritten note on the back made her pause. 

Squinting in the dark, Valeana tried to read the crude attempt at Valyrian script. 

“Se vēzos naejot ñuha hūra Nyke jehikagon kesrio syt hen aōha ōños Dōrī isse mēre jēdar Kessa mirre sagon isse sȳndor Ēva īlon ékleipsis arlī”

“The sun to my moon

I shine because of your light

Never in one sky

Will ever be in shadow

Until we eclipse again. - L.” 

“Engagement?! What makes you think I’d ever marry you?!” 

“Aemond, I– my father—” 

“Get away from me, you pig!” 

With peridot eyes rolling into the back of her head, Valeana slipped into the void with a cry for help, a cry for him. Then a loud snap, like a clap of thunder overhead, followed by an ear-bleeding scream that would forever echo in Aemond’s skull. 

He woke up with a violent jerk, muscles tense, chest heaving. He thought he saw blood on his hands, but he was just fisting the fabric of Valeana’s burgundy chemise. Valeana. She was here, she was with him. They were in Queen Aemma’s library still. She had her back turned to him and he was still holding onto her from behind, moulding his sharp corners with her soft round ones. Something had fallen, he had suspected, which forced him to wake up in a startle. Glancing at the window, he could see rain softly hitting the glass that served as a background for their little nook, but there was no thunder to be heard. 

Blinking rapidly, Aemond tried to rid his eyes of sleep so he could peer into the darkness. Tentatively, he sat up on his elbow to cast a look around the library, but found no one. He waited, trying to listen for any sounds that may betray the presence of a hidden figure, but he heard nothing. He shifted further, peering over Valeana’s body so he could crane his neck to see their flanked sides, and that is when he spotted her prosthetic lying on the floor. That is what fell. 

The sight of it was agony.

A sharp snap, and a scream. A bone peaking out through torn white flesh, blood on the floor, blood on his hands.

Aemond pulled his eye away from the offending piece of wood, then rested it on her form next to him: curled up on her side, hand tucked beneath the pillow, and softly snoring. Then he trailed his gaze down the length of her body, along the knolls of her curves, down the slope of her hip and thigh. Her legs disappeared underneath the woolen blanket, where he stared the longest. 

Aemond was a masochist… But only for her. 

He reached out and gently moved the blanket, and then slowly lifted her shift until he could see the rounded end of her calf. A few inches below the knee, soft muscle smoothed around what was left of her calf bone. To drive the knife in, her left leg tangled with her perfect right one. A single foot, a single calf. 

Aemond’s fingers trembled when he reached out to touch her knee. He caressed it, as if it were a newborn’s head, fearful that he might damage it further. The tips of his fingers moved lower, trembling more now that he reached the end point of her leg. It was calloused at the stump, likely due to the prosthetic, likely due to years of having to relearn how to walk in ways very few humans would understand. 

Was it still painful? Could she feel sharp pain in her knee whenever she walked, but hid it behind a sarcastic smile? His empty eye used to get sharp pains every once in a while, as if a knife had pierced through it again, though that had subsided with age, now it was only a dull sting. More often it was the headaches, like icepicks to his temples, mainly behind his right eye now that it had to compensate for the missing left. 

Did she experience the same with her right leg? 

 “Save your breath, Valeana. You’re almost out of it.”

He made her run alongside his horse. 

At the intruding reminder his chest constricted, and he squeezed his eye tightly shut, grimacing at the memory. The sting of his greatest regrets and sins burned behind his lid, tingled his nose, and shook his bones like an earthquake. Aemond grit his teeth so tightly, he could feel it at his temples throbbing as he tried to literally bite back his tears. He was holding his breath, a fact he hadn’t realized until his lungs couldn’t take it anymore, forcing him to inhale sharply and effectively breaking the dam. The trembling that started from his hands now reached every corner of his body, making him shake as if he was caught nude beyond the protection of the Wall.

Aemond gasped as his grief overtook his body. The tears clouded his only eye, spilling down the creases of his cheeks, and dripped down to the point of his chin. He then bowed his head onto her hip, shaking hands grabbing onto her sides to remind himself that she was here, and she was alive. Though perhaps he did not deserve what remained of her. Perhaps he should let her go, into the arms of Aegon, or Jacaerys, or whomever that would make her happy. 

His body curled into her side, arms latching around her left leg as he violently sobbed into her hip. The words “I’m sorry” tumbled out of his quivering lips over and over again, a broken prayer, a shuddered plea. 

“I’m so sorry, my friend. My beautiful Valeana… What have I done… What have I done…” 

Aemond’s unworthy lips kissed her knee and what remained of her lower leg. His tears stained her chemise, head still bowed upon her, a sinner at the feet of the Maiden.

In the sanctuary of the darkness, Aemond freed the beast that he had been afraid of all these years. With green eyes and claws of vengeance, her name was grief, her name was guilt, her name was shame. He could do nothing but present his neck to her, offering up his life and hope it will be enough. 

Valeana stirred in her sleep. Her legs moved as she gave a gentle stretch, along with a contented moan. Aemond was forced to pull away as she adjusted herself on the small bed, moving from her right side, onto her left, now facing him. 

“Mm, Aemond,” his name tumbled from her pouty lips, while her hand blindly reached out for him. 

Mutely, he moved back to her. Lifting her arm so it was draped over his waist, and then placed his own on hers. Aemond then wove his leg around hers, bringing her closer until she was tucked under her chin and secured to his chest. 

“Ñuha vēzos,” he whispered into the crown of her head. “Iksan indignus hen aōha ōños.”

(My sun. I am unworthy of your light.)

CHAPTER THIRTY SNEAK PEAK

“Did we not already have this conversation?” He peered at her in confusion. “You told me to stop pursuing her, threatened to chain me to my rooms, and I completely ignored you?” “Aegon,” her tone was a force in its steadiness. Alicent strode over to him, and despite being shorter, it still felt like he was under her. Like he was still a child. “Tell me the truth, for once in your bloody life. What. Are. Your. Intentions?”  Aegon’s mouth fell into a pout, his red rimmed eyes stared back at her like a reprimanded puppy. Alicent never swore, he would remember if she did. His mother had a knack of making polite words sound as lethal as a Valyrian steel blade.  “To cour–” She did not allow him to finish. Alicent’s hand grabbed his face firmly under his jaw. 

Notes: What a couple of sad, sad horny yougens. Anyway, I loved this chapter, and I hope you guys did too. It's a meaty one, with a lot of conflicting feelings, which I hope gives the vibe I wanted to, which is emotional confusion. Also, I just love when strong men get super pathetic. Oh, and one more thing: The Valyrian Moan found in the book is a haiku written by me. It's the only poem thingy that I did not have AI help me write. Haikus are the only thing I can do. It also 👀hints a little bit at the prequel mini series.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 22 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: It's Maiden's Day. The Royal Conclave has officially begun with guests from all four corners of the Realm gathering into the Grand Hall for the first Ball of the season, where all the Maidens will be presented. Word Count: 5651 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Misogyny. Religious themes.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Maiden’s Day had begun shortly after the arrival of the King and Queen. The last three days were a flurry of last minute preparations. All the unwed ladies of the Realm were being prepared to don their white gowns, displaying their virtue on their sleeve, so they may all crowd inside the Great Sept atop of Visenya’s Hill and pay tribute to the Maiden. 

In the Celtigar apartments, bodies milled in and out of the room with tailors and seamstresses alike. Valeana already had a dress made for herself, which she had done moons ago for Maiden’s Day. Though, at the time, she believed it would have been celebrated at Claw Isle, like it was every year for the past decade. Her sisters were a different story; their dresses were commissioned prior to the funeral, and they were now rushed to adjust days before the event. In comparison, they were plainer than Valeana’s, who had the time to stitch out every detail, but they were still lovely and extravagant, as all Celtigar women were known for.

Floris’ was a shockingly pearl white gown with a modest boatneck neckline, and tight wrist length sleeves. The neck, arms, and hemline adorned with the same damask embroidery stitched into it, with small quartz crystals polished into teardrops dangling along her neckline. Her hair was pulled away from her face, parted down the middle, flowing down her back with only a single braid woven down the middle. Any stray hair would have been held back by her crescent white hood that had a white veil hiding her brown tresses. 

Shyla’s was an alabaster white, with a scoop neckline to accentuate her beautiful neck, and capped sleeves. She had more of an empire waistline, allowing the skirt to flow freely with its light tulle curtains. There was less detail in hers, but there were pearls woven into the skirt sporadically, like white stars on a canvas of clouds. Lastly, she wore lace gloves, a matching pearl choker with a ruby at the center, and unlike Floris, all her hair was piled up, topped with an albino peacock feather. 

With her extra free time, Valeana was able to put her full attention on the dress she had promised Queen Alicent she would make. She had already presented the queen days prior to her departure with sketches of her designs, and Alicent had only responded with requests for minor changes. She did not wish to be scandalous, but she did want to make a statement. The design she chose would be tedious, but Val enjoyed the challenge. Rosy, her ever loyal handmaiden, was always there to assist with her mistress’ work. She had helped many times in the past, which has aided Valeana greatly when it came to multiple gowns for multiple occasions… Which she would likely need these next couple of moons. 

She had a lot of work ahead of her, particularly her own gown for the Creature’s Ball. She had no ideas for herself, and that made it all the more difficult to start. Her hands moved along the soft fabrics that her mother had brought over from Claw Isle and bought in King’s Landing market places. All colours of the rainbow were presented before her, in various shades and saturations. From brilliant cobalt blues, to muted lavenders, to rose blush reds, to even unflattering palettes such as mustard yellow, mourning black, burlap sack brown, and salmon pink.

Maiden’s Day started painstakingly early as everyone got ready, aside from the men who did not need to don their formal attire until later, just before the ball. Valeana strapped in her more formal prosthetic, the one she affectionately called “Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby”, who had a wedged heel to accommodate the height of her wedged shoe. She always preferred this prosthetic over “Lady Footlyn”, it was more elegant, and walking in it felt more natural, but the caveat was that it wasn’t as worn in as she would have liked, and it would always have to be worn with a wedge shoe on her other foot. The increased height made it more difficult for her to stand for hours now that her right foot was made to bear the brunt of her weight on the balls of her feet. Still, she loved the way it made her hips sway side to side. 

Her large ivory gown was pulled over her head, and pooled at her feet with its scalloped hemline. Out of the three dresses, Valeana’s was the only one with colour. Maroon embroidered roses were designed in the grand width of the gown, standing tall on their stems like an award winning rose garden. The same pattern was centered on her bodice, the bud of the rose centered between the width of her breast, and the bottom of the stem ending at the ‘V’ shape at her waistline. Her biceps had the same design as well, although more subtle, taking the snug shape of her arm until it got to her elbow where it flared out in delicate lace. Then, as always in Celtigar fashion, pearls decorated the dress all over, accentuating lines to give it more texture. 

Valeana’s hair took the most amount of time. As long and thick as it was, it took two handmaids to tend to it. They pulled and pinned until it became a single large braid, the knots loosened elegantly, and decorated with sprigs of baby’s breath. Mother wanted it to be put up, but Valeana argued that the weight of her hair would cramp her neck. 

Wheelhouse after wheelhouse left the Red Keep that morning. When they reached Visenya’s Hill, it was crowded with carriages, horses, and women in white. Hundreds of maidens gathered into the Great Sept, leaving behind their mothers, their aunts, their fathers, and other guardians behind. 

Only maidens were allowed to fill the halls of the Great Sept that day. 

In silence, Valeana and her sisters entered the massive structure. It had been a decade since she last saw it and it never ceased to amaze her. The domed ceilings were so high that you could hear a whisper of a prayer from the other side of the Sept. Her eyes roamed around, looking at unfamiliar faces of women and girls alike. From girls as young as three, to spinster women as old as 60. If you were never married, and never laid with a man, you were here to worship and honour at the feet of the Maiden. 

She did not see Ellyn and Wylla in the crowd of white, and she ended up losing her sisters in the shuffle of the crowd. Not wanting to waste time on finding her people, she decided to take place in the first empty space she could. She immediately spotted one on a pew next to a young woman in a frost white gown, hair a beautiful red orange that was laid in waves down her back and plaited into a crown adorning her head. She was on the robust side, with rounded cheeks, a wide waistline, and soft arms. She reminded Valeana a lot of her former younger self, but admittedly this young girl was far more prettier, more vibrant. 

“Do you mind…?” Valeana asks the girl in a whisper. No one dared to raise their voices while the Septas filtered through the crowd with vulture-like awareness. Every once in a while, they would ring a bell when someone was being too loud. 

The girl looked up with surprised sapphire blue eyes, then she relaxed with a kind smile, “No, not at all.” 

Valeana settled in beside her, and took a look around to see if she could spot her sisters, or her two only friends, Wylla and Ellyn. 

“Looking for someone?” The girl next to her asks. 

“Lost my sisters in the crowd,” she admitted. “Trying to spot my friends, but… with everyone wearing white, they all blend in together.”

The girl softly chuckled, then quickly covered her mouth, “Same thing happened to me, but with my cousins. I have no sisters, just too many brothers.” 

Valeana smiled in response, “Who are your cousins?”

“They are Lord Tyrell’s daughters,” she answered simply, then extended her hand. “My name is Lady Catelyn by the way. Catelyn Redwyne. But you can call me Cat, everyone does.” 

Valeana took it and they both shook gently, “Lady Valeana Celtigar.” 

The mention of her name caused the young girl’s brows to raise and her mouth to gape a bit, “You’re Valeana Celtigar?”

The octave of her voice was loud enough for a Septa to sharply bring a bell in their direction. The two girls looked over before hunching down and continuing their whispers. 

“Erm, yes. How do you know me?”

“Your name is spoken all over the pavilions,” Cat whispered in haste as she took a glance around to make sure no one was listening. “They say King Viserys’ two eldest sons are fighting over your hand.”

A deep blush stained her cheeks, “That isn’t… That’s not what is happening at all. Are people really talking about me? I haven’t even left the Keep since I arrived.”

Cat nodded eagerly, “It is all the ladies are talking about. That and your… uhm, many drunken exploits with men.”

“What!?”

The bell rang next to her ear, jostling her in her seat. When she turned around, a Septa was glaring at her with a twisted puckered face. Slowly Valeana turned back around. 

“It was one time,” she immediately corrected. “And I was in the company of women.”

“Well, whatever the truth of it is,” Cat started, a little smile at the corner of her lip, “You are creating quite a stir in the Realm. It has caused a divide between the ladies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Half the women wish to end you, and the other half wish to be you. Either way, all here are green with envy.”

“And which half are you, Lady Cat?”

She smiled sweetly, folding her arms on her lap demurely, “I am a fan of great romances, and therefore, a fan of you. It reminds me much of this novel I read whilst living in Highgarden. It is about a woman from the North forced to marry a Dornish prince, but fell in love with his brother. But she ended up falling for her betrothed too, after some time. It was quite riveting.” 

Valeana’s face was fully pink at this point, from outrage over this news, to flattery over Cat’s praise. At this odd book that sounded far too familiar for her liking. She cleared her throat, “And–and what happened… in the end?”

Catelyn sucked in her lips sheepishly, “Oh, I dare not say. Not here, not on Maiden’s Day.”

Valeana shot a look at the giant statue of the Maiden, whose feet they all circled. Then she looked back at the Redwyne girl, “Whisper it into my ear.”

Tentatively, Cat leaned over and cupped her hand over Valeana’s ear, “They both became her lovers. Often at the same time.” 

If it was possible, Valeana’s face went pinker. Her eyes glanced back at the Maiden, green eyes filled with religious guilt. 

Maiden, forgive me for my thoughts. She thought, swallowing thickly. 

The Great Hall was near its capacity with the collection of noble families that crowded it. Hundreds if not a full thousand people mulled around, mostly men as half the population of their guests were making their way towards the Red Keep from the Great Sept. Aemond lurked in the fringes of the hall, eye moving along to each faceless body, trying to identify who belonged to which family. He spotted Lord Borros immediately; he was an easy character to pick out from the crowd, and it was not because of his size. He was loud and tended to take up as much space as possible. Along with him, he found Jason Lannister, their Lord Treasurer’s twin brother. Lord Tyrell and his Dornish wife, the Redwyne brothers, the Starks, the Freys, and even the Greyjoys were in attendance.

Aemond knew that most would not stay longer than the length of the Tourney; it was not just wives that these bachelors looked for, but titles and knighthoods, of which the King promised. But there were many bachelors indeed, easily identifiable by their attire. 

The maidens wore white, and so did the un-affixed men, save for the widowers. The young men and boys that had not married once wore various shades of white doublets and jerkins. Their breeches are generally a darker colour, and a formal cloak of their house colours framed their bodies. 

Aemond abhorred the colour white on him, but at the very least the dark forest green of his cloak gave him the depth of darkness that he preferred. The lapels and stitching of his satin jerkin carried the same green, and in the same shade of white, dragons were embroidered onto his shoulders and the bottom near his hips. His cloak hung on a gold chain clutched in the jaws of two dragons at his shoulders. His eyepatch was the only black piece of clothing on him; it was his most formal one, with swirly switching in the leather. The strap this time was tucked under his hair and under the shell of his ear on one side, giving room for the golden circlet above his brow, showing his status as a prince of the realm. Lastly, part of his hair was intricately woven into a series of plaits that collected into a fishtail braid that went down the center of his head, the length of the rest of his hair fanned over his back like a sheet of silk. The process of which was irksome, as Aemond absolutely loathed anyone but himself and his mother to touch his hair. 

His eye fell onto Aegon, who wore similar garb, but held more gold than green on his doublet. His hair was only half pulled back into a small twisted plait on the back of his head, and the circlet that rested on his brow had emeralds encrusted around the gold rim. He kept himself busy with socializing, as that was what Aegon was known for. He surrounded himself with the team of Redwyne brothers, laughing loudly over goblets of wine, likely made from their wineries. 

Aemond moved his attention away from him, landing onto his uncle who was on the other side of the hall, keeping to the fringes just like him. Daemon wore black, whether by a personal preference or to convey the fact that he was still in mourning. It was likely the former of the two, knowing his uncle’s reputation. Daemon’s cloak was black as well, though the inside was blood red, making the Rogue Prince look like the Black Dread in human form. 

And of course, Daemon was looking directly at him.

Aemond kept his eye on him, refusing to move it an inch. 

It was always so strange to him that he and his uncle had not formally met at Leana's funeral, and even after the incident, no regard was spared. Daemon lurked in the shadows while his mother screamed for justice over Aemond’s eye, and not once did the Lord of Flea Bottom say a word about him claiming his late wife’s dragon. It wasn’t until only a couple days ago that they had even locked eyes with each other, after Valeana and Jacaerys greeted each other. 

It was bizarre. Like looking into a mirror that showed him his future. 

The staring contest broke when Daemon was joined by his step sons, oblivious to Aemond’s spectre on the other side of the Great Hall. Both men wore identical garb, save for their colouring. As heir to the heir, Jace wore a red cloak, draped over one shoulder, being held on by a silver dragon’s claw. His brother wore a muted aquamarine one, and his doublet had the image of the seahorse woven into patterns at his breast. With Lord Corlys still abed with no indication of survival, Luke’s choice of colours was a clear statement that he was the heir to Driftmark… But anyone with eyes knew the title belonged to Lord Vaemond Velayron. 

The doors to the main entrance opened with the blaring of trumpets announcing the arrival of the maidens. A hush went through the crowd as all men, and married and widowed women flanked the sides in order to make room for the ladies that would be presented. The first, of course, was Princess Helaena, who was dressed resplendently in a true white gown with a train that followed behind her. Her hair unbound, with a crown of white flowers upon her head. Her dress had little crystals woven into the hems and linings, and the shape of butterflies could be seen in the fine embroidery. Her sleeves were long and billowy, flowing into her skirts and covering her arms and hands completely. 

It was painfully obvious how nervous and fretful she was. She slowly descended down the wide staircase, eyes flickering around the crowd as her eyes shone with a glossiness of unease. Helaena was not good with crowds, and here she was on display for the entire Kingdom. Aemond made a step towards her, intent on collecting her from her personal hell, but his mother beat him to it. She swiftly cut through the crowd that parted and bowed for her. Upon reaching Helaena, she took her hand and silently pulled her through the crowd towards the head table where the royal family would be seated. 

After that was settled, the gently bred ladies were introduced to the room three to four at a time. There were the Four Storms, the Baratheon sisters, then Jason Lannister’s girls, and so forth. After a lady Redwyne and her Tyrell cousins were introduced, the names of Floris, Valeana and Shyla were announced, and Aemond snapped to attention. 

“Lady Floris Grafton, Lady Valeana Celtigar, and Lady Shyla Celtigar,” the announcer’s voice echoed in the hall. Aemond’s eye swept around for a moment, noticing some of the women whispering to each other as they craned their necks to watch the three girls descend down the stairs.

Aemond tried to appear impartial, but his body moved without his consent. He stepped in between bodies, forcing them to part with his shoulder. When people craned to see who had been cutting through them, they jumped aside. Had Aemond been paying attention to his surroundings, he would have noticed he was not the only one that filtered through the bodies to get closer. Apart from him, there were three others.

Valeana had her hands clutched in her gown, chin down on her clavicle as she watched her steps down the stairs. Her hair practically glowed in the midday sun that shone through the skylight and stained glass windows, giving her a halo of dust particles dancing around in the air about her head. Aemond has never seen her in white before, at least not from head to toe. She was radiant, like a star on earth. 

A divine creature descended from the Seventh Heaven. 

The Maiden in flesh and bone.

His eye trained on her every movement, his vision a tunnel and she was the light at the end of it. She was the only thing that existed in that room, in that world. Once she reached the ground, her eyes lifted and like a magnetic force they immediately found him. 

There was a ringing in his ear as he became deaf to everything and everyone around him. They were suspended in time the moment their eyes locked onto each other. Aemond’s lips parted as the breath was quite literally stolen from his lungs, and his life flashed before his eyes. All moments in time that he shared with her, as far back as babes. 

Squeals of laughter and delight as they played in the rain and mud, and then ran through the corridor tracking dirt on the flagstone, being chased by two irate Septas. Sitting back to back in a copper tub as the same two women scrubbed them down to their bones. 

Wrestling over the last lemon tart on their shared platter underneath the Heart Tree, getting tangled in the roots as they tugged at each other’s hair and pinched each other’s arms. They always ended up splitting it in the end when Valeana tapped out, huffing in disappointment and ignition. 

Their “discreet and secretive” sleep overs they would have under a large desk in the royal library. Sharing a large pillow and blanket as he practiced his Valyrian to her until she fell asleep on his shoulder. Maester Artos would always find them, barking loud enough to wake them in a startle, causing their heads to bump into each other.

Her face lighting up whenever he presented her with menial gifts, such as shiny rocks, seashells, flowers, or rusted jewelry found on the beaches of Blackwater Rush. She would always make something out of them; pendants, earrings, or unconventionally sewn in an embroidery loop, woven in her art for eternity. 

She running to him in tears after the Greyjoy boy kept on pinching and slapping her behind whenever she had her back turned. He had taken his handkerchief and dried her tears and smoothed down her hair, vowing that he will never let him touch her again. 

And then lastly when his father told him he would be marrying her, his best friend. And his one and only weakness. His pride and fear consumed him then, but now…

Now, as he watched her turn away, her hand poised out to grasp the hand of her elder brother, he was consumed by a new type of fear. The fear of losing her completely, of which his pride now would not allow. 

Valeana Celtigar belonged to him. 

As time took motion once more, the chorus of music and chatter filled his eardrums. Aemond was returned to reality, left to stare at her back as Clement brought his Valeana over to the side, where the rest of her family waited. Aemond forced himself to turn away before he could do anything rash in front of quite literally all of the Realm. 

The first dance of the ball was to begin shortly after the mingling of guests, and it would be followed by the feast, and a parade of fools and entertainers. Aemond intended to reach Valeana before the dance could begin, before Aegon or Jacaerys could reach her. He cut through the crowd in long strides, hyper aware of the eyes of his father, mother, sister, and rogue uncle upon him as he narrowed the space between himself and the Celtigars. However, before he could even get within yards of them, his path was intercepted by Lord Borros and the eager brown eyes of Maris Baratheon. 

“Prince Aemond,” The Stormlord greeted, his smile calculated and false. It didn’t reach his dark eyes, which assessed him with keen suspicion. “I thought you might have lost my beautiful daughter in the crowd, and so I personally escorted her to you.”

Maris looked up at her father in gratitude before back at Aemond, “I told my father it was my wish to take my first dance with you, Prince Aemond. If it pleases you.”

The reality of his decisions of the past few weeks weighed heavily on his shoulders in that instant. Since that moment in the corridor with Valeana the other day, he had forgotten he had shown personal interest in Maris Baratheon. By now Borros  surely was already fixated on the idea of betrothal, else he would not be here carting his daughter to him like a sacrificial lamb. More likely than not, the Stormlord surely had talked to the King about it already, which presented more problems. Had this been a week ago, Aemond would have only hesitated for a moment before bending to duty, should it have been the will of his father and mother. Both of which he knew were against it for some vague reason, given the lecture that was given to both him and Aegon the night of their return.

His eyes flickered above their heads where he could just about make out Valeana, standing partially behind the body of a girl with red hair and a round, plush face. Aegon and Jace crowded them, effectively snuffing out his chance at claiming Val’s first dance.

Aemond’s jaw was tense when he looked back down at Maris, but he forced himself to smile, just enough to make him look convincing. 

“It would please me greatly, Lady Maris,” he extended his hand to her, which she took with a bright smile and casted a look to her father over her shoulder. 

Lord Borros hummed satisfyingly, “Wise choice, my Prince. Next to my little Floris, she is the best dancer at Storm’s End. Beauty, brains, and grace!”

“Father! Please!” Maris chided, taking her place at Aemond’s side. Too close for comfort. Too close for him to look detached.

Separating himself from Maris now was going to be a challenge. The last thing he needed was contention with Borros Baratheon, when in the future his mother and grandsire may need his loyalty.

Aegon was well into his cups before the maidens arrived for the ball, and that was simply due to his nature. A man who quickly found friends among strangers, Aegon was by all accounts a social butterfly, and an avid social drinker. When the maidens started to enter the Great Hall, he leaned against a large pillar casually next to Redwyne brothers, as the four of them each judged every girl that walked in. 

“Ah, Cassandra Baratheon,” Aegon turned to the three men, “Beautiful, but a bore. She complains about every bloody thing.”

“That is unfortunate,” Cleyton, the eldest, tutted. “I like tall women.”

Aegon scrunched up his nose at that, “Do you really? Not for me. I like them short… easier to align their nose with my cock.”

The men laughed and turned back to the parade of women. Jason Lannister’s daughters came in after, hair like spun wheat and looking like clones of each other. 

“I’d take them all, one at a time, or all together, really,” Ser Cedric, the second son, giggled into his cup while his younger brother slapped him in his arm. 

“Such a pig, Cedric. A greedy pig,” Colin chided, earning him an incredulous look from Cedric. 

“You’re one to talk, baby brother. You were ogling the widows like a hunger panged hound.”

Cleyton leaned into Aegon’s shoulder, “He likes older women.”

Aegon’s shoulders shook with a soft laugh, “I do not blame him. Older women often make the most eager sluts.”

“Lady Wylla Stark, Lady Barba Bolton, and Lysara Karstark.” 

“Oh, now she is a work of art,” Cedric stepped forward, his hand gesturing to the raven haired woman descending the stairs. “I always thought Northern women were large, hairy and had beards. Thank the Seven I’m wrong.” 

“I’d be careful with that one,” Aegon said thoughtfully. “She will emasculate you with her eyes alone.” 

Cedric smirked widely, “Sounds like my kind of woman, then. I enjoy a good hunt every once in a while, you know?”

Cleyton snorted, shaking his head, “You forget she’s a Stark; a direwolf. She’s the hunter… And you are a pretty boy with a long stick and shiny hair that you spend too much time on.” 

The boys laughed, even Aegon, as Cedric shook his vibrant mane away from his face haughtily, “Thank you for calling me pretty, brother. You know how it gets me hard.” 

“Good gods,” Colin sighed embarrassingly into his palm. 

Then the doors opened to three women, two tall and willowy with dark brown to black hair in coiled curls and thin braids, and the third a shorter girl in an empire waistline dress and bright orange hair tumbling about her shoulders. Clearly a chubby one, even with the cut of her dress that tried to shield her unwanted curves. 

“Oh, that is simply not fair,” Aegon tutted, “You don’t pair up the thoroughbreds with the mule.” 

“Oi, careful now,” Cleyton rebuked while Cedric made a sharp hissing sound through his teeth before covering his grin with his fist. 

“That’s our sister, my Prince,” Colin quickly added. 

Aegon grimaced, sucking at his teeth as he casted a look over to his new mates, “Sorry. What I mean to say is: Your sister is very lovely.”

The girls were introduced as Lady Sharis and Malora Tyrell, and Lady Catelyn Redwyne, first cousins likely from their mother’s side of the family. 

“Lovely, sure,” Cedric snorted in his cup, earning him a quick whack from his elder brother upside the head. 

It was not long after that the Celtigar sisters were introduced to the crowd. The mere appearance of Valeana was enough to sober Aegon, but only to then get drunk at her visage after. 

“Oh, ho, ho,” Cedric dog whistles and nudges Aegon’s arm, “That’s her then? The Celtigar girl that’s gotten the Princes of the Realm all in a tizzy. Now I can see what the fuss is all about. It’s the only bloody thing Cat, Shar and Mal can ever bleedin’ talk about.”

Aegon grinned, eyes still glued onto Valeana as she descended down the stairs slowly, her sisters trailing ahead of her at a faster pace. 

“The whispers have reached the pavilions then?” Aegon’s eyebrow raised, not paying them a minute of his attention. His teeth grazed his bottom lip as his eyes drank in every inch of her. Her neck, her hair, her bosoms and her cinched waistline. He felt a stir in his loins and the overwhelming desire to taint her white dress by deflowering her took over his senses. 

Her maidenhead will be his. 

He stopped listening to the Redwyne brothers; their prattle was background noise to him as he swallowed the remains of his goblet and quickly shoved it into one of the boys’ empty palms. 

“Excuse me,” he pushed himself from the column, eyes trained on Valeana as she parted from her family to go converse with none other than Catelyn Redwyne, of all people.

As he made his way through the milling bodies, in the corner of his eye he could see another filtering through towards the same destination. His eyes caught his nephew’s, and with a dual glance back at Valeana, the race was on. The two princes cut through the crowd, causing curious looks and shocked whispers at the sight.

“Seven Hells,” Valeana startled when she turned around just in time to see the brown and silver haired princes all but collide with each other. Overwhelmed by the sudden attention, she put Catelyn in front of her to shield her. The redheaded girl did not seem to complain. 

“Good Maiden’s Day, Lady Valeana,” Aegon greeted first, a knowing smile upon his face. “You look resplendent today.”

“Thank you, my Prince,” Val curtsied stiffly. 

“I dare say she always looks resplendent,” Jace smiled, his hands folded neatly in front of him, “But, you do look exceptionally more today, Lady Valeana. White suits you.” 

Aegon sent him a withering look. 

Catelyn turned to Valeana, all wide eyed and gleaming with barely concealed excitement. Aegon didn’t see, but she mouthed: “Three princes?!”

Valeana’s eyes widened slightly at her before returning her attention to the men in front of her, “Prince Aegon, Prince Jacaerys, this is my new friend, Lady Catelyn Redwyne.”

“But, please call me Cat. Everyone does.” 

“Ah, yes, I was just acquainting myself with your brothers,” Aegon bobbed on his feet and smiled politely at her. “Lively lads, them. It is true what they say about the Redwynes; they can drink anyone under the table and still walk in a straight line. A talent I someday wish to have.”

Cat giggled, then gave a soft snort, which caused her to blush heavily and cover her mouth, “Oh! Oh, dear, that was embarrassing.”

Aegon hummed amusingly, smile still donned, “Aren’t you a darling. If I can make a lady laugh to the point of snorting, then I have succeeded in life.”

The four of their heads perked up at the sound of lutes and drums, signalling that the first dance was about to begin. Aegon turned back around, eyes finding Valeana’s His mouth opened, ready to ask her for a dance, but Jace was quicker and his request left no room for refusal. 

“I promised Lady Ursula that you would be the first I asked to dance, Lady Valeana,” Jace stepped forward with an extended hand, his smile charming, “I hope you do not do me a disservice by forcing me to break that promise.” 

Valeana swallowed, looking at Aegon briefly with pained eyes, and then back at Jace. The corners of her lips tugged upward, twitching as she tried to keep a polite face. 

“Well, I would never wish to disappoint my mother,” she placed her hand in his, and he gently pulled her into his orbit. 

Aegon glowered silently, nostrils flared as his finger curled into fists. Jace gave him a smug look of triumph, the end of his lips turning into an insufferable smirk before returning his baseborn brown eyes onto Valeana. She gave Aegon one last look before she disappeared onto the dance floor. 

“Strong bastard,” Aegon hissed, forgetting he was not alone. 

Catelyn laugh-snorted again, then promptly covered her mouth, eyes wide with realization. “Oh no, I should not have laughed at that.”

Aegon’s mood significantly shifted; his smile broadened as he turned to her. “Oh, but I am glad you did,” he tilted his head and offered her his hand. “May I have your first dance, Lady Cat?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE SNEAK PEAK He hummed, his eyes glancing down to the floor where her feet were hidden behind the hem of her dress, and then back up.  “I didn’t see you dancing.” She couldn’t help her eyes from narrowing, “You were watching me?” There was a faint smile there, one that she could not decide if she liked or not. Though what he said after did make her toes tingle and her face feel hot.  “Always.” 

Notes: Oh, where do I begin. You finally get to meet my other babies. If it wasn't obvious already, the heroine for Aegon's Spin Off story has been introduce, along with her brothers and cousins. They party hard at the Arbor, what can I say. I havent decided yet if I'll wait until the end of TPD to post his story yet, but I will warn you guys, that there will be a mia moment of no updates for probably two weeks as I try to work on both of them simultaneously. I've only written the prologue, and I need to make sure I get the timeline right. But that will probably not happen until sometime in November.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 37 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Breaking up ain't easy, regardless how you do it. Word Count: 5806 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Fatphobia, bullying, mild ptsd themes, Aemond got 99 problems and bitches be all of em

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by V6que pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: I just proof read this before publishing it, so grammatically, it'll probably be sussy. Also, IMPORTANT NOTICE AT END OF CHAPTER

“I need you to forgive your father; I need you to retire your resentments towards Rhaenyra and her sons. I need you to do what you’ve been wanting me to do for you. Aemond, please.” 

Valeana’s request had been plaguing him all night and all morning. Of all the things she could’ve asked of him, she found the very thing he believed impossible to do. At the time, the only thing he could say was that he would try, and that was the honest truth of it. Aemond would try, but he was not confident about it, ultimately making him nervous he would fail and lose everything. It put him on edge, which probably wasn’t the best possible position for him to be in when there was a task he’s been putting off that needed to be completed as soon as possible. 

 It was probably the worst possible timing, given what happened with Shyla and his reckless younger brother, Daeron. The relationship between the Targaryens and the Baratheons was already very fragile, but it had to be done. Aemond fully intended to give Daeron hell for making this even more difficult for him than it needed to.

He would have to approach this with even more caution than normal, given the circumstances.So, Aemond deemed it wise not to come to the North Tower to seek Maris out himself, but rather send an envoy with a message to meet her somewhere instead. Neutral ground, he decided, particularly where eyes were sparse and yet it was an appropriate place to meet up for them. The library, he decided, since that is where they met and where they spent most of their time conversing. 

Aemond stood in front of the stand where the large book of his family line sat proudly. The sight of it had become bittersweet, as it was both a reminder of his pride for his blood and name, but it also reminded him of that day in the library when he saw Valeana reading it. His face twisted in a grimace at the intrusion of his heinous crime, when his ego got in the way of him simply acknowledging his emotions, and had resulted in him physically hurting her. Even if it was not a conscious effort on his part, it was still a knee jerk reaction, one that could have been prevented if he just talked to her like a human being and not snapped at her in the first place. 

It was also that night that pushed her into Aegon’s arms; the muffled sounds coming from his bedchamber door still wiggled around his eardrum like a bothersome earwig. 

Luckily–or perhaps unluckily–his morose thoughts were interrupted when the library door opened, and he turned in time to Maris Baratheon enter. She was wearing the colours of her house: a mustard yellow gown with a black underskirt and neckline. Her hair was pulled back, parted in the middle, and plaited in a single braid. 

Not as long as Valeana’s.

“Prince Aemond,” she greeted with what could be perceived as an apprehensive smile. He expected the apprehension, and would wager that she was smart enough to deduce that this conversation could swing in either direction. He had been distant with her, and Maris would have likely picked up on the shift of interest ever since the Maiden’s Day Ball, and started to suspect if not straight up assume, he intended to end the courtship. Which, yes, that was his intention, but the added complication of Shyla’s usurping Floris Baratheon’s beau complicated things politically. Aemond would not put it past both Maris or her father to assume this blunder would put both his and the King’s feet over the fire, giving them no choice but to propose marriage in order to rectify the insult. 

But that is not what is happening here. 

And, with Aemond’s promise to Valeana about keeping peace with his family, the Baratheon’s allegiance to the greens was no longer paramount. It was far more important to him to keep Valeana safe, and away from the grey area she would be put in had the dragons danced. 

Maris looked around the library, scanning to see if they were properly alone.It was near empty, aside from them and the Maester, who was far too preoccupied with dusting old tomes on the second floor to even realize that there were others there. They had privacy, but at least Aemond had one witness should things become confrontational. When her brown eyes landed on the prince, her head tilted a fraction and her eyes peered at him with an unnerving amount of perception. 

“You wished to see me, my Prince?”

“I did,” Aemond nodded, his face unreadably neutral, which likely annoyed Maris if anything. The Prince gestured towards two wooden armchairs that flanked a squat table. “I have something to say.”

Maris tried to keep her expression as neutral as Aemond’s, but her facade was not made of gold, but rather pyrite. Which was an apt metaphor for Maris, who was the Fool’s Gold to Valeana’s Lannister Gold. Without saying a word, she sat down, her eyes sharp as she watched Aemond settle in the other arm chair. 

“Does this have to do with your brother’s slighting my baby sister?” She posed the question in an attempt to sound impassive, unbothered, to not entirely show her cards, but it came out as sharp as her eye, exposing her brittle exterior and how it is chipping away.

If she thought she could make a dent in Aemond’s expressionless armour, she was mistaken, because he responded to that with nothing more than a head tilt. 

“An unfortunate event to be sure but, no, this has nothing to do with my younger brother’s juvenile mistakes,” Aemond’s tone was more clinical if anything, but his natural base tends to be deceptively benign. If Maris didn’t know any better, she might have perceived it as sympathetic. Alas, Maris wasn’t a fool, at least not in the obvious ways, and Aemond was aware that this battle of words would not just be fought with politeness and passive aggression. Maris would make her opinion known and Aemond was prepared for that. 

Maris’ lips thinned before she spoke, “You know, my Prince, my father is quite insulted and angered by your brother’s juvenile mistake, because now my sister is beside herself with heartbreak over the rejection.” 

There was an unspoken threat that Aemond was already aware of. He was already on thin ice with the Stormlord for not officially aligning himself with Maris, and actively avoiding her these last few days. The inevitable rejection just so happened to occur during the worst possible moment, but it had to be done.

“As I said, what Daeron did was regrettable, though his actions have no relation to why I called you here.” 

“Perhaps not, but I am inclined to believe they are similar in nature.”

“I am a man, not a six and ten year old welp who cannot control his baser needs.”

“That is not what I’ve heard.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed at her. She was baiting him, to get her to tell him all the nasty rumours that have been circulating about him, likely in relation to Valeana. But Maris has mistaken him for a man who cared about court gossip, as if it has any sway in his reality at all. 

“I know what you are trying to do, Maris. It isn’t going to work… I’ve already made my decision, and I’m not willing to change it by thinly veiled threats.” 

It was subtle, but noticeable; Aemond could see her nostrils flare momentarily, her lips curling. The composed facade was cracking, giving him a broader glimpse of the real Maris Baratheon underneath. The real Maris that he spotted in her slip ups during their hours long conversations, when she would make comments or remarks about people specifically. It was that very same Maris Baratheon that insulted Valeana’s body out of jealousy and a bruised ego.

“And what is your decision, Prince Aemond? Are you going to spit it out or do you lack the balls to say it out loud?”

Aemond hummed after a beat following her jab; the only indication that her comment might have gotten under his skin was the slight twitch of his bottom eyelid. 

“I regret to tell you, Lady Maris, that I have concluded we are not compatible, and decided that this courtship has run its course.” 

Maris scoffed, shaking her head and looking away from him with a mocking smile on her face. She knew this was coming, but face-to-face rejection was harder than imagining it a thousand times over. Plus, Maris believed to the point of delusion that she could trap him to her by using Floris’ betrayal to her advantage. Alas, she wasn’t getting what she wanted, and that made her see red. It made her see vermillion. 

“That is a load of horseshit, Aemond,” the loss of his formal title didn’t go unnoticed by him, nor was the tone it was spit out in. “We both know it has nothing to do with compatibility. It’s that Valeana Celtigar. She has ensnared you, put you under her Valyrian-witch spell like her bloody sister has done with Floris’ beloved Prince.” 

Aemond fought the urge to roll his eye at the final statement; as if anyone had ownership of a bloody prince. Did the Baratheons all collectively forget that the Targaryens were their sovereign lords? Truly a testimony at how arrogant that entire house was, and it only made him dislike them considerably more.

Aemond sighed exhaustively, already wanting to swiftly remove himself from this conversation. He had said what he needed to, there was nothing left to discuss. Maris would have to just accept it… and yet she just had to open her bloody mouth and bring up not only Valeana, but she also spit on the dignity of the crown. 

“You’ve forgotten your place, Lady Maris. My brother and I are princes of the Realm, not prized stallions to own. It is not within your right to make assumptions or question our actions, let alone have the audacity to claim ownership of us like this Conclave runs on some unspoken first-come-first-serve rule.” 

Maris gave a haughty sarcastic laugh, “You and Daeron are not above honour and dignity. My father is already insulted that one daughter has been rejected by a Targaryen Prince. What do you think he will do when he learns that another did the same to the other daughter? Especially to another Celtigar whore. A fat one at that.” 

And that is what sets him off. 

In an instant he is out of his seat and before she could react, Aemond’s hand is planted on her shoulder, pressing her back securely against the chair. He took care in not being painful, but firm, a reminder that he has power over her in ways other than political. With his other hand he is pointing at her, looming over her now stunned form, his one eye widening threateningly. 

“You dare threaten the crown?!”

“I wasn’t threatening–”

“Do not,” he punctuated the word by pushing her harsher against the back of the chair, making her wince and shrink in on herself. “Insult my intelligence by playing innocent, Maris. You know exactly what you are implying, which by itself is an act of treason, enough for you to be hanged publicly. But I will be merciful this one time and one time only, Maris, as I remind you why your connotations are foolish beyond belief.” He moved his other hand to the back of the chair behind her free shoulder as he lowered himself at eye level, his nose poised over her like a wolf crowding the space of a small, wounded prey animal. 

“Aegon the Conqueror brought the Seven Kingdoms to their knees with only two wives and three dragons. Today, his descendents have a total of ten dragonriders who all have full grown dragons. What do you think will happen to your father’s little corner of Westeros should he dare raise his banners against the Throne, hm? Especially over something as petty as two jilted daughters. Your house will be eradicated, erased from the waking world just like House Durrandon before it.  

“I trust your father is smart enough to understand that, Maris. He can puff and huff all he wants, but at the end of the day… We have the real power, and I have no qualms reminding Borros and yourself of this fact by myself. So if you value your life, Maris, it would be wise of you to not direct passive threats in the direction of those that could incinerate you and your kin in seconds

“And if I ever hear you speak of Valeana Celtigar in any other way other than absolute reverence, I will personally cut out your tongue.” 

Twenty-four hours had passed since Maris had spoken with Aemond in the library, and Maris’ fury grew with every passing hour. Her initial fear dwindled to pent-up frustrations, resentment and jealousy, overshadowing her common sense and effectively ignoring Aemond’s very real threat. She was a woman possessed with retribution, and her mind reeled with various scenarios and possibilities in which she’ll get what she was owed: a royal marriage and respect. 

Before Aemond had even spoken to her, Maris was aware of the trajectory her supposed courtship with him was going. Ever since the public execution of Vaemond Velaryon, the whispers about Valeana Celtigar secretly courting Prince Aemond (on top of publicly courting Prince Jacaerys and Prince Aegon) had increased ever since people saw her cling to the prince’s arm. Then the whispers amplified these past couple of days after the castle servants had leaked some interesting tidbits about the private dinner with the Valyrian houses (something that Maris believed the Baratheons should have been a part of, but her opinions fell on deaf ears). Due to all of this, Maris had already started out her plotting, depending on the direction she needed this to go in. However, after yesterday in the library, Maris was now desperate and seeing red. 

For the better part of the mid-day, Maris had been watching Aemond train in the lower courtyard, alongside some other lordlings and the Hightower cousins. The tourney will be beginning in a few day’s time, and all the men that were competing were getting as much time training as they possibly can. She was lurking in the shadows of the second floor loggia like many of the other women, watching from afar. Her patience paid off when Aemond wiped his brow, face, and hands, and then sheathed his sword. When he parted from the others, Maris moved away from her position against a pillar and walked towards where she’d surely cross paths with him. 

As predicted, she intercepted him just before he made it to the spiral staircase that would lead him down to the entrance of Maegor’s Holdfast. As soon as Aemond made eye contact with Maris, his jaw went taut and his shoulders tensed. Maris already knew what he was thinking, knew that her presence was the last thing he desired, but Maris didn’t care. She didn’t care, because once she was done with him, he won’t be able to get rid of her. 

“Lady Maris–” Aemond cut himself off when two lords walked by, sparing them a single glance. Aemond’s eye watched them leave before returning it onto the brunette. “I thought I made myself clear yesterday, that I did not want to entertain this–”

“Oh, I remember what you said, Prince Aemond,” she spoke with an air of nonchalance, of innocence. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder where she spotted her sisters rounding the corner. “But I elected to ignore it.”

And just before Aemond could react beyond the look of incredulity, Maris gripped the front of his doublet and pulled him down to her level and crashed her lips onto his. She knew from this angle, from behind Aemond, it would have looked like Aemond had leaned down to kiss her.

Taking a leaf out of the Celtigar handbook, Maris thought smugly. 

Wedding prepping was stressful, that much Valeana understood, but wedding planning under a time constraint for a royal was even worse. Not to mention the Cetligars, Targaryens and even the Hightowers were doing damage control over the gossip. Though there was little they could do about that, given the fact that the gossip was true, and people weren’t stupid enough to believe that they were rushing the wedding because Daeron and Shyla were so madly in love. It was obvious to everyone in all of the Seven Kingdoms that Daeron couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, and Shyla was… well, there were mixed opinions. Given her overall sweet, naive, demeanor, some people believed she was tricked into a coupling, others who were more close to Prince Daeron and a few other healthy skeptics believed that Shyla was the one who tricked him. Even going as far as to assume Shyla’s nature was due to having “Valeana as an older sister”. Of course, their assumptions were correct, that Shyla was the trickster, but it had nothing to do with Valeana. 

Now, this would become Valeana’s problem anyway, because even if the spotlight was no longer directly on her, her name was frequently evoked as if she had some kind of hand in it. Yes, her ‘courting’ three royal princes, while her younger sister managed to bag the other, didn’t look very good. And yes, Valeana slightly resented her younger sister for making her life even more difficult, because as soon as the excitement dies down around Shyla and Daeron’s nuptials, people will rear their faces her way again, waiting to see what and who her next move is.

The reality of it was that Valeana didn’t truly know what her next move was going to be. There was very little vacancy in her mind nowadays that had nothing to do with Shyla and Daeron’s wedding. Her conversation with Aemond the other day still hung fresh in her mind, and since then she chewed down on her nails on whether or not she asked too much from him. Then there was the Aegon of it all… or rather, the lack of Aegon. She hadn’t seen him since he fled her bedchamber that night when they heard her father’s screaming… Not even a glimpse or a note, which was incredibly out of character. It had made her begin to worry that something happened, or some development changed under all the chaos that night seemed to bring. There was also the undeniable speculation of rejection, that Aegon had changed his mind rapidly and without ceremony. Whatever the reason was, it made Valeana’s gut feel ill at ease, but she tried not to dwell on it too much, not when there was already so much on her mind already.

Spending the better part of the morning and midday with Shyla, Floris, and their mother was utter torture. Ursula had made all the choices regarding theme, colours, and styles of everything, but that didn’t stop Shyla from whining and disapproving. While Valeana spent the entire time silent, lost in her world, lost in thoughts of Aemond and Aegon, Floris wouldn’t stop making passive aggressive remarks about everything, and she would always seem to have reason to bring up Lord Larys. It was worse than Shyla’s whining.

 In the end, Shyla got olive green fabrics for her wedding gown, a strategic colour to appease the Hightowers while also maintaining a muted, less eye-catching palette to humble the Celtigars. Valeana knew that had it been under different, more favourable circumstances, the colour palette for this wedding would have been far more vibrant, especially since it was the first child of Bartimos Celtigar that was getting married, and to a Prince no less. 

When they were finished with the day, they traveled back to the Red Keep, exhausted both physically and mentally. Ursula parted from them to go join her husband, the Lord Hand, and the King and Queen in the Small Council Chambers to discuss the marriage contract, leaving the Sirens of Claw Isle to their own devices. 

“Honestly, I cannot believe that Shyla, out of three of us, would be the first to marry,” Floris huffed as they walked past the training yard towards the lower courtyard. 

“So you’ve said…. Thirty times today,” Valeana sighed. “Though, I am not surprised. Out of the three of us, Shyla has been the most… direct when it comes to the opposite sex.”

“A bit too direct,” Floris muttered as she turned to look at Shyla who was walking to Valeana’s right. 

Shyla just looked up with raised eyebrows and an innocent smile, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweet sister.” 

Floris narrowed her eyes at her, hummed darkly, then slowly looked away. When she turned forward, her eyes caught a flash of silver above her, forcing her to look up at the loggia that looked down at the small courtyard that led to Maegor’s Holdfast. There, partially obstructed between pillars and the shadows casted by them, stood Prince Aemond and Lady Maris. Before Floris could even point it out teasingly to Valeana, she saw Aemond’s face being jerked down with a sharp dug of his jerkin, and then Maris crashing her lips onto his. 

“Valeana–” Floris’ lip began to twitch upwards in a venomous grin.

Valeana paused her stride, snapping to look at Floris curiously and immediately saw her looking at something with barely contained glee. Valeana followed her gaze, and when she saw it, her heart stopped. 

From her angle, it looked exactly the way Maris had intended it to look… Like Aemond had leaned down and kissed Maris willingly. Of course it made Valeana’s heart twist painfully, of course the colour drained from her face in shock and confusion, of course her world at her feet felt like it was caving in. But that all disappeared in the very brief second that the kiss had lasted, because when she caught sight of Cassandra, Ellyn and Floris Baratheon speed walking towards them, Valeana knew exactly what was happening. 

She gathered up her skirts in her hand, yanking it up to her knees, and then sprinted towards the spiral staircase. With her heart hammering in her chest and her pulse beating against her temple, she could not hear the shouts nor the hurried stampede of dainty feet. She didn’t even fully register that the stairs in which she was climbing up were the very stairs she had fallen down from and broke her leg. Her anxiety had a different, more important priority.

When Valeana reached the top of the stairs, many things happened all at once in two single seconds. The first thing she noticed was how far Aemond had pushed himself away from Maris, with his face etched in stunned fury. The next thing she noticed was the scandalous look on Cassandra’s face, the stunned expressions on Ellyn and Young Floris’, and the flushed and subtly smugness of Maris’. There were a chorus of words being shouted that Valeana didn’t fully register; accusations flung around, outraged on both sides, but immediately that all changed when she had appeared. Heads snapped in her direction, Aemond’s eye widening into a saucer. 

“Valeana– It’s not– this is not–” He stumbled through his words, tangled in his anger, shock, and frustration. 

“It’s exactly what it looks like!” Maris shot back, pulling herself away from her sisters to look at Aemond and then Valeana. “Prince Aemond was ravishing–”

“Maris,” Ellyn hissed, gripping her older sister’s arm.

“Shut it, Ellyn,” Maris hissed back, then whipped her head back between Aemond and Valeana. Maris pulled from her sister’s grip and sauntered closer, her arms crossed over her chest, “It seems that we were caught in a compromising position, my Prince. Now, you must marry me if you wish to avoid a scandal and suffer the wrath of my father.” 

“Oh, absolutely the fuck not,” Valeana stepped in front of Maris, and at that moment more footsteps could be heard from behind her, followed by the sounds of Shyla and Elder Floris’ panting. 

Shyla’s large eyes were darting around the scene in shock, and when they landed on her former friend, Floris Baratheon, her cheeks tinged in the tiniest show of remorse-red before her face snapped to Valeana’s. 

“What is happening–”

“What’s happening, Lady Shyla,” Maris answered instead, her tone clipped and mocking. “Is that Prince Aemond has publicly declared himself to me–”

“Are you mad?!” Aemond barked at her, his face a mask of fury, his hands in tight fists at his sides as he tried his hardest not to strike a woman. “You forced yourself onto me.”

“Me? Forced myself onto you, a dragon? Oh, a likely story that no one will believe, especially since my sisters here had seen the whole thing!”

“Enough of this absurdity,” Valeana stepped up towards Maris, not believing a damn word she said, because it was, as she said, absurd. Ellyn’s words to her a few days ago rang in her ear like the bells of the Sept; the warning of Maris being reactionary, that she might do something explosive. Clearly this spectacle was inspired by Shyla’s, though obviously tampered down to just a kiss as Aemond would have never allowed himself to be seduced by a shrew. “You are lying through your teeth, Baratheon.”

“Am I?” Maris smirked confidently,  her arms still crossed as she strolled into Valeana’s space. There was a dangerous glint in her dark eyes, one that made Valeana a bit unnerved, but she stood her ground. “You would love to believe I’m lying, wouldn’t you? Alas, I have three witnesses. Sisters? Did you not witness the Prince kiss me brazenly in this corridor?”

Maris turned her head over her shoulder to address the other three storms. Cassandra confidently said ‘yes’, gesturing to Aemond that is indeed what she saw. Aemond of course protested and called Cassandra a liar. When the heated stares landed on young Floris, her answer was a meak, almost guilty nod, confirming what she saw. However, when Maris’ eyes fixed on Ellyn, they narrowed as her second youngest sister remained quiet. 

“Well, Ellyn? Isn’t that what you saw?”

Ellyn’s wide eyes bounced between Valeana to Maris, and then finally onto Aemond. Her lips pursed, clearly at war with her thoughts, her morals. From her angle, it indeed looked like Aemond was kissing Maris, though Ellyn knew better to even entertain the possibility of that being true. But before she could even utter a single word, Maris groaned in impatience. 

“Enough with that stupid look on your face. You know what you saw, Ellyn!” 

Ellyn’s face morphed into one of contempt, “What I saw, Maris, was an act of desperation from a scorned woman with an ego the size of the North.” 

Maris’ own face turned into a look of angered offense, and was quick to twist around and point a finger at Ellyn, with her tongue poised like a sword. However, before she could lash out with insults, elder Floris stepped up, vibrating in elation at how this turned out to be. 

“I saw exactly what happened,” She began with her nose arched in the air, though her lips twitched as she struggled to contain her wolfish, smug grin. “Down there in the small courtyard, I witnessed Prince Aemond bowing his head to meet Maris in a kiss.”

All heads snapped in her direction, especially Valeana’s and Aemond’s, who glowered at her like nothing in the world was more offensive. With her head tilted back, Maris gave a guffaw in victory at Elder Floris’ declaration. 

“Does your bitterness have no bounds, Floris?” Valeana furrowed her brow at her step sister, with her hands curled into fists at her sides. Even if she and her step sister were not exactly the best of friends, or remotely close for that matter, it still felt like a betrayal. After all, family meant that they were supposed to have your back no matter what the personal circumstance. “This is not just my life you toy with!” 

Floris feigned a look of innocence, or at least tried. Her wide eyes and twitching lip betrayed her satisfaction over getting revenge against both her step sister and the Prince she had once ‘helped’ and was snubbed in return. “Why, Valeana, not everything I do is about you. I am merely speaking true to what I saw.” 

Just when Valeana and Aemond were about to say something, Shyla spoke up, “Mayhaps you should get your eyes checked by a maester dear sister, for I am sure we both witnessed Prince Aemond push Lady Maris off of her before we ran up the stairs.” 

“Thank you, Shyla,” Valeana reached to grip her younger sister’s upper arm in gratitude, but before anything else could be said or done further, Maris of course stepped forward, crowding Valeana’s space. 

“Oh, please, as if the word of your tramp of a sister has any merit to those that matter,” Maris’ insult didn’t seem to perturb Shyla in the least bit, but it did offend Valeana, who as an older sister, took it like a personal jibe at herself and her family. 

“You dare insult my sister, a future princess of the Realm, after you force yourself on the son of the King? Are you daft or mad, Maris, because I cannot decide which if not both.” 

Maris’ dark eyes flashed dangerously, and for a moment her face blanched at the insult of her being daft. Truly the highest of insults for a woman like her, who prided her intelligence above all things. But then her thinned out lips turned into a wicked smirk, and it made the hairs on the back of Valeana’s neck stand on end, like an animal sensing a storm.

“Oh, little Valeana, this is quite pathetic of you, is it not? Coming to the rescue of a man that cares so little about you that he had pushed you down a flight of stairs just to get away from you–”

“Careful Maris,” Aemond warned, taking a step forward until he was at Valeana’s side. “You speak of things you do not understand, and you already tread on very thin ice.” 

Maris was clearly not seeing common sense presently, her pride wounded, her ego large, and she was living off of the adrenaline of kissing Aemond and having witnesses to it. She was very clearly convinced it was enough of a compromising position to force Aemond’s hand into marrying her. Aemond’s threats from the previous day were likely so far from her mind that it might as well have never happened. 

She scoffed at his words, and then looked at Valeana with abhorred incredulity, “What I don’t understand, my dearest future groom, is why all the damn Targaryen princes are so bloody infatuated with this–”

“Maris, perhaps you should–” Cassandra’s voice of reason was cut off and promptly ignored. 

“Pig in a dress.”

Valeana felt herself bristle all over, a shock of both hot and cold rippling through her body at the offense. That word: pig has haunted her, her entire life and in her dreams. That single syllable was enough to gut her and paralyse her, even if it came from the lips of Maris Baratheon, a person Valeana does not care about in the slightest. Yet still, when she had flung that word at her like a throwing knife, all Valeana could think about were those words spoken to her the second before she was pushed down these very stairs by Aemond. 

“Get away from me, you pig!”

“Maris, I warned you–”

“You warned me about what? Speaking the truth? Why, I’m simply echoing your own opinion, am I not? Because from what I’ve heard, that is exactly why you pushed her down a flight of stairs; you couldn’t stand the thought of being betrothed to a fat pig.”

Aemond took a step threateningly in Maris’ direction, gently pushing Valeana behind him to make his body a human shield against the Storm’s verbal barrage. “You shut your mouth, Baratheon, or I’ll cut off your tongue and sew your mouth shut.” 

“Aemond,” Valeana placed a hand on his upper arm, and though her tone was gentle and placating, her face was etched in a decade long emotional pain that she wished not to relive. Her brow was furrowed and creased in contempt, but her heart rate was starting to increase with each passing nerve-wracking second this stressful scenario passed. “Do not let her provoke you anymore. She’s just bitter and so desperate she has lost all sense.”

Maris practically gasped at Valeana’s words, her hands flew to firmly land on her narrow hips, “Desperate? No, no, no, I am merely claiming what I am owed. The Prince courted me. He chose me.”

“And I ended the courtship yesterday. You have no claim on me, as I’ve thoroughly explained to you, Maris,” Aemond’s eye narrowed at her, the violet of his eye looking like a pale amethyst chip. “Your asinine attempt to force me into a betrothal with you is utterly pathetic, and will be your undoing. How is it that a woman with your intellect cannot comprehend basic speech? Listen closely, for I will not have myself repeating it: You will never be my wife, Maris Baratheon.”

That seemed to have sufficiently snapped Maris. Whatever shred of sanity that was left in that mad, mad mind of hers frayed and disappeared. For what came next no one could have predicted, least of all Valeana, who was still too focused on the situation at hand to realize exactly where she was standing. 

Maris’ lips thinned in a dangerous, tense and false smile, emphasized by her wide, crazed eyes and the subtle shake of her hands at her sides. “I hear you loud and clear, Prince Aemond. I will never be your wife… And neither shall Valeana Celtigar.”

Giving no room for a reaction, Maris lunged forward, arms extended like two javelins as she planted her palms firmly on Valeana’s shoulders. The fair-haired woman’s eyes flew open wide, her pupils shrinking as she felt her own heart pause in shock and panic. Her lips parted to say something, but all she could do was gasp sharply as Maris shoved her back. 

And that is when the world disappeared underneath her, and all she could hear was her own scream and the frantic heartbeat against her temples. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT SNEAK PEEK There is no sneak peek. Y'all shall hang on that literal cliffhanger and wonder.

Notes: Maris be crazy, guys I told y'all. She's still my favourate Storm, though, just simply because of her 'no balls' comment to Aemond in the book. It was the comment that started the war, after all. Absolute queen, there would be no dance without her saltiness. Anyway... has anyone seen Aegon? No? Weird. Where is he... hummm Okay but for real talk !!IMPORTANT NOTE!! I am in need of a 14-20 day hiatus. The muse is struggling through these next couple of chapters, and I want to catch up to my quota, and start on that Aegon one shot I mentioned months ago, lol. And honestly, that ending felt like the PERFECT opportunity to leave y'all waiting. I have impeccable timing.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 24 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: "But the courage he had bolstered on his descent to the Black Dread crumbled at the sight before him." Word Count: 6499 CHAPTER WARNINGS: A n g s t 🥲, mention of the term dwarf, Aegon being weird with crab legs.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, and it was worth the wait.

Like every ball before this one, Aemond was in a state of agonizing torture for its duration. Though this feeling was tenfold for reasons that were clad in ivory, sitting before his family’s table at the far right, close but out of reach. The agitation that tightened his muscles and carved into his bones was unsettling as he tried to diagnose its origin. When did it start, when did it get worse, and when will it get the best of him? He tried to take a page out of his brother’s book and drown his emotions in wine, which did help his muscles relax, but beyond that, it was not a cure. 

He sat on the far right end of the table, Aegon on his left, Helaena seated between him and Daeron, then their mother. On the Queen’s left was the King, his hand, and then sat Daemon, Jace, and Luke. The ten faced the entirety of the grand hall, within perfect view of everyone and the mind-numbing entertainment that followed. With Aegon cackling as he did, spitting out food and drink next to him, Aemond was very nearly at the end of his rope of patience. His only solace was that Lucerys was completely out of eye sight, because he was just as boisterous on his end of the table.

But her laughter and smile tethered him to the chair. Valeana became more and more of her old self when she drank, he realized. Perhaps a little more brazen when she is completely out of her wits, but still, he could see remnants of the little Valeana he once knew. Easily amused by crude humour and childish jokes, enraptured by stories that have been told a thousand different ways, awed by two-bit magicians who hide their cards in their sleeves so obviously, it pained him to witness. He remembered that one of her favourite tricks he used to do was pull a coin or a ring, a seashell or an interesting pebble from behind her ear. 

She’d always demand him to tell her how he did it and he would deny her the satisfaction, because if she knew the trick he would never get to witness the awe in her face. He forced himself to bow his head when he found himself smiling at the memory. Luckily, no one saw him, least of all his own personal fool that sat right beside him. 

There was a team of dwarves reenacting the battle of the Step Stones comically, with one man dressed as a red dragon, and the other as a giant crab. Aemond hardly paid attention, his eye too focused on Valeana’s profile to even register that Aegon turned to him until he spoke. 

“Aemond,” his elder brother whispered harshly next to him. When Aemond did not respond, Aegon stressed his name again. 

“What?”

“Maris is on the other side of the hall.” 

When Aemond slowly turned to Aegon, he was met with a shit-eating grin that he desperately wanted to punch repeatedly. 

Aegon went on, unperturbed by his brother’s threatening leer, “I just thought I’d remind you, since you seem to have forgotten her already.” He cleared his throat and flushed it down with wine before reaching out for a plate on his left and bringing it between them. “Try the crab legs, brother, they’re delicious.”

Aemond ran his tongue over his teeth, remaining silent lest he say something that his brother could use against him. Aegon plopped some of the legs onto his plate, and looked up at his younger brother. 

Without breaking eye contact, he pulled up two legs that were still connected, “My favourite part is cracking them open before I slurp up their insides.” 

Aemond’s hand curled around his dinner knife, knuckles white with the insatiable desire to plunge it into Aegon’s eye. Instead, he spoke lowly, only for his brother to hear, “Iksā iā qrīdropagon naejot īlva lentor.” (You are a disgrace to our family). 

Aegon sucked up a piece of crab meat through the crack he made in the thigh, he chewed twice before swallowing, “You know I do not know what that means.” 

Aemond slowly turned away from him, returning his eye back to Valeana and allowed his hand to relax from its grip on the knife. The dwarves’ play had ended and the fool’s bard, Quintyn Quicktongue, took over.

A short time later, the entertainers left the floor empty when the musicians began to play. It was not a formal dance, with no required steps and prior lessons to fulfill. Just mindless instrumentals for couples to dance at their leisure now that people were too into their cups to manage a more structured dance. Aegon slipped away sometime before that, muttering about needing to take a piss. He hobbled through the small exit behind them, probably to find a planter or a window to relieve himself in. 

Now without his presence, Aemond was able to relax in his chair. He fiddled with the goblet in his hand, trying to keep his mind occupied with a checklist of duties, lest he allow the alcohol he had been consuming all evening take over his senses and make him impulsive. It was difficult, because the more feral part of his brain begged him for freedom, urging him that it would liberate his soul if he just acted upon instinct. And his instinct was telling him to spur Maris Baratheon and sweep Valeana Celtigar off her feet and kidnap her like some Ironborn savage does with a salt wife. 

Before he could pull himself from his chair, his mother was at his side, leaning into his ear, commanding his attention with her sharp tone – the one he had always associated with motherhood. 

“Ask Valeana to dance before your brother has a chance to make a fool of himself,” upon announcing her request, his eye flickered over to the girl in question. It was too late to even decide to listen to his mother, because Aegon had already got to the table, returning from wherever he went to slither in front of Valeana. 

Aemond shared a look with his mother; he did not have to say a word, neither did she. Her lips pulled into a frow, and she settled back into her chair, glancing over to the Lord Hand.

The sight of Valeana smiling up at his brother and at how comfortable she appeared in his presence made his stomach churn. Aemond downed what remained in his goblet and swiftly stood up, excusing himself by planting a kiss on the side of Helaena’s head. 

“Watch for salt-hungry eyes, Aemond. She will drown in them,” Hel’s warning only made him hesitate for a brief second. He was not in the headspace to decode his sister’s madness, so he just gave her a nod and left. 

His departure had gained the eye of Maris, which he would rather avoid presently. Her neck lengthened as she tried to catch his attention from her table, but Aemond pretended he had not noticed, and instead slipped into the side entrance to the hall, into the corridor that was occupied by various guests and servants serving a variety of hand-held foods. 

“Leaving already?” Ser Criston caught his attention. The kingsguard lingered against a wall, observing the patrons of the Ball diligently. 

“I needed air,” Aemond confessed, leaning his shoulder against the wall next to him. “There are too many people in there.”

Cole nodded, “Every family in the Seven Kingdoms; even some Dornish families are here.” 

A servant passed by with a platter of oysters on a bed of salt. The white cloak shook his head when offered, but Aemond needed to preoccupy his fidgety hands, so he plucked one off and then the servant left them to their conversation. The oysters were already pried open at the mouth, so a dirk wasn’t needed to shuck it open.

“Bit ironic serving those on Maiden’s Day,” Cole observed, watching as his prince slowly opened the oyster up, revealing the soft meat inside. “Oysters are aphrodisiacs, known to increase the libido of a grown man or woman, yet the pearls inside are symbols of virtue and virginity.” 

Aemond did not say anything, instead took the half with the tongue and brought it to his lips, slurping up the salty meat in one go. There was something hard and pebbled that landed in his tongue when he swirled the morsel in his mouth. Taking the empty shell, he spit out a slightly lumpy black pearl. 

“Hm,” he eyed it curiously. 

Cole chuckled softly, “You found the lucky oyster, my Prince. Mayhaps you should give it to Lady Maris as a gift.” 

At the mention of her name, Aemond rolled his tongue in his mouth and pursed his lips as if her name was a sour fruit he just tasted. Plucking the pearl from its natural plate, he rolled it around in his fingers, then tossed the shells onto a tray of another servant passing by.

“I am not certain of Lady Maris,” he confessed, his tongue loosened now in the presence of a man that he trusted. For a moment, his eye flickered towards the entrance when one of the Tyrell girls walked through with a tall man with dark hair and a wide, wolfish smile. His cloak told Aemond he was a Greyjoy, and his sharp blue eyes when they met Aemond’s cold lilac one told him he was Dalton. 

“Prince Aemond,” the ironborn nodded, and the Tyrell curtsied when they passed by. 

Aemond’s only response was a simmered glare and a flare of his nostrils. 

Cole, oblivious to the interaction aside from a glance of acknowledgement, went on to ask why that was. 

“It is a smart match, Aemond, and a compatible one. What is it that pulls you away from her?”

His fingers played around with the pearl in his palm, “She has started to bore me.” 

There was clear exasperation in Cole’s features, distinctively paternal in its nature. “You are starting to sound like your brother.”

He might as well have called him a bastard and a coward, because being compared to Aegon was just as great of an insult. The pearl rolled along between his fingers, the lump pushing painfully against his skin as he clutched it. 

“I do not wish to chain myself to a woman that I can lose regard for so easily,” he argued.

“Give it time, Aemond. Most marriages are not built on love and attraction initially. With Maris, you already have much in common, so much so that your conversations span hours I’ve noticed. You can do worse.” 

But he could do better, much better. He wanted what was his all along, what was now being stolen by either his brother or his nephew. What could have been his, had it not been for his ego; had it not been for his over thinking mind at odds with his weak heart; had it not been for him allowing those around him to influence his motivations. 

His mind drifted back to that day when he returned from a flight with Vhagar, where Valeana approached him at the main gate. She wished for peace and he had slighted her. His pride was wounded that day and he was spurred with the paranoia that she was a monster out to destroy him. Aemond rejected her, which he justified was the right thing to do, because she had hurt him when she ran into Aegon’s arms and bed, to do whatever it is they did in his bedchambers that night. It did not even cross his mind he might have driven her into his arms after what he had done to her in the library, because the sounds he heard that night ripped through his mind and down to his ribs, seizing him in anger and selfish pain.

Emboldened by a new wave of resentment at the mental reminder of his belief that Valeana was his brother’s newest lover, Aemond pulled himself off the wall and pocketed the pearl. He did not know the intricacies– nor understood them entirely –of Aegon’s arrangement he had with her. Whether it was built on the foundations of Valeana’s vengeance or Aegon’s innate desire to orchestrate chaos, it was clear that lust became a consequence of it. Mayhaps it began with Aegon, knowing his brother’s insatiable appetite for bodily pleasures, and with Valeana’s new nature of seeking out attention where she could, she was all too eager to allow Aegon to have his way. But then that begged the question: did Valeana take lovers before she came back? Was this a new trait that developed over the last decade?

Floris hadn’t mentioned in her rantings about Valeana luring men into her bed, she had only talked about Val’s need to seek out pity by mimicking a trapped spirit, pacing the corridors of her castle. Even as children, boys paid her little mind, unlike her younger sister Shyla, who was regarded as the prettiest of the three. Even Floris had suitors every once in a while, but her nature tended to send them in the opposite direction.

The cogs in Aemond’s mind turned and turned, and all Criston could do was watch him with a furrowed brow, and a concerned eye. 

“My Prince, is everything alright?”

Then it struck him like a whip; harsher than the lashes he suffered as punishment for his crime against her. 

Valeana never had lovers. She could not have, if the stories of her being reclusive were true. He’s never seen her around men at all, other than her own brothers and…

He shut his eye, feeling a headache spike at this temple. 

Aegon was the first man to show her affection, and like a neglected puppy that didn’t know any better, she leaned into his touch willingly. And Aemond foolishly pushed her into his arms.

“I am fine,” he lied. “I just need some air.”

With that he left the knight to stand there in befuddlement. Aemond sped walked through hall after hall until he found a corner that was blessedly free of guests and of light. The sconce on the wall had burnt out, leaving the corner in blissful shadow, save for the moon that filtered through the small arched window. He leaned against the wall, snugged in the corner and immediately started to press his fingers into his temples. Aemond’s heart was pounding in his chest, steadily reminding him with every beat that his mind could not protect it any longer, because he was too much of a bloody fool. 

He had managed to ease the tension in his skull after a while, and his heart rate lowered with the comfort of the darkness that hugged and shielded his figure. Though he could do nothing to cure the dull ache in his chest, because all he could see were her sad eyes that she only had for him. And her smile that now belonged to Aegon. 

The sound of women’s shoes tapping against the flagstone in his direction made him freeze. He had no desire to see anyone, new or otherwise, but perhaps if he stayed as still as possible they would not notice him.

They didn’t, but he did. Her sudden appearance was electrifying in its fortuitous timing. 

Valeana sped by him, head bowed as she braced a hand on her left thigh through her skirts. She appeared to be limping, though just barely, it was enough to spur Aemond into following her, veiling his yearning for her with a concern over her wellbeing. But as she rounded the corridor and found the entrance to the cellars below, he did not call out to her. Instead he hesitated until he heard her safely reach the bottom to Balerion’s resting place. 

Aemond found himself in a state of uncertainty and fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of her ire. Fear of failing. Fear of heartbreak. Fear of her. He shut his eye and imagined Vhagar, a near two-century old beast; formidable, ancient, terrifying, battle-hardened, living longer than the beast below ever had. And he, Aemond Targaryen, claimed her, the oldest and largest dragon in the world, who has known more war and bloodshed than any dragon before her, post Doom of Valyria.

He could claim Valeana Celtigar too. 

Hurdling down the spiral stairs, Aemond curled his fingers into a fist, bounding his will in determination and unwavering resolve. Swallowing his fear and reservation, much like he had done as a child approaching Vhagar, he forced himself to breach the line of no return. 

But the courage he had bolstered on his descent to the Black Dread crumbled at the sight before him. 

There Valeana sat upon the bench, her ivory and rose gown pulled up to the crest of her hip and thigh, where a leather corset was being tugged loose. Her pale knee peaked out through a gap between the harnesses that secured her thigh to the dark wooden appendage that was her leg. She had freed her thigh from the laced harness and then reached down to tug the wooden leg off with a groan of relief. 

Aemond’s mouth popped open at the sight of her leg, bound in linen from the top of her calf and around the stump where muscle and bone cut off. Half her calf gone, her ankle, gone, her foot, gone. For the first time in years, he felt his vacant eye ache from socket to scar. The scarred tissue that was once his eyelids fluttered around the sapphire that now filled the empty space, feeling the ghost of the dagger that traumatized it for life. 

His entire world came crashing down on him in the instant; everything that he thought he knew, and everything he said and did in the moon’s time that Valeana had returned. He had the knowledge that her leg was healed and she was able to walk, and while half was true, the evidence of his most heinous crime glared at him like his sapphire eye every morning in the looking glass. 

Aemond’s memory begun to torture him as it spun and wove tapastries of his misdeeds. The library, where he had pushed her, the shoe he had found when he tried to find her. Dragging her drunkard self in haste through the castle by her wrists. How he made her run after his bloody horse, whilst she pleaded for reconciliation— gods, he felt sick. 

The urge to flee from her was potent, but the leer of the Black Dread would not have his cowardice that day. Frozen in time, Aegon the Conqueror's dragon seemed to snarl at him for even considering it. 

The whimper she let out from her lips as she massaged her thigh was what did him in. It just plunged him into the waters of his remorse and self-hatred. The shocking need to help her as he once did as children took control of his limbs and his lungs; it was instinct, despite his overwhelming dread and shame. 

Her name on his lips and his step forward brought his presence known to her. Her spine straightened from the intrusion, and when her head whipped around to see him standing there, he knew she wasn’t prepared for anyone to find her in that state, least of all him. 

Lightning surely struck down her spine. The level of shock and dread that filled her to see him standing there, witnessing her in this state was a whole nother level of humiliating. Every hair on her body raised on end as her mind frantically went into survival mode. Valeana forced her trembling arms and hands to move and grab her prosthetic to put it back on, but she fumbled, and the wooden appendage clattered on the floor, causing her to gasp a soft: ‘no!’ 

Aemond was there in an instant, on his knee at her side and grasping her prosthetic with tender hands. Had she not been in such a fretful mind, she would have noticed how his fingers trembled just as much as hers. 

“Here, let me–” 

“No–” She wretched her leg from his hands with a sniffle. Without looking at him, she quickly slotted her stump into place and adjusted her knee around the leather harnesses. Lacing the corset to secure it around her thigh was another challenge though, because with her shaking digits she was having a difficult time weaving the strings through the holes. 

His balmy hand stopped hers and she couldn’t help but flinch and freeze under the contact. By now she was looking down at her leg through a blurred veil of salty tears, barely witnessing his fingers delicately lace the corset, one hole at a time. Valeana forced herself to sit still, concentrating on the hum of music above them and the short laboured breaths she was allowing herself. When Aemond got to the end of the corset, he tugged at the strings, causing her to flinch. 

“Is that too tight?” His question was as soft as his touch, and it made her chest ache. 

“No… No, it’s perfect.” 

At her approval, he began to tie the laces, twice to secure its place. Once he was done, his fingers did not move from her thigh. They remained where they were, above the hemline where leather met flesh. His thumb moved along the stitching and over her soft skin. His touch felt like licks of fire and every time it happened, her teeth sunk further into her lip to stop herself from making a noise. Eventually Aemond’s hands journeyed south, stopping at the peak of her white knee through the dark material, and that is where his head dipped until his nose hovered over the joint, almost as if he was going to kiss it. 

“Does it hurt?” The question was so silent that she thought she had imagined it. 

Swallowing, she shook her head and answered tentatively, “I’m used to it.” 

The admittance sent a shuddered breath through him, making his shoulders buckle at the weight of his transgressions. She could feel his hands gently tighten around the curve of her knee, even through the leather harnesses that framed it. Then his forehead fell onto her thigh, which was a strong enough gesture for her to shut her eyes and free the tears that clung to her lashes.

After a while she could hear and feel him speak; the vibrations of his timbered voice rattled her joints and burned her skin. 

“Valeana, I had no idea–” 

Her sadness and longing battled her anger and her resentment. She wanted this, didn’t she? She wanted him on his knees, to kiss the wound he inflicted on her, and beg her for her forgiveness. She wanted him to want her, to feel his fingers on her exposed skin. But why now? Why did he cave now, after all this time? Spurring her at every interaction, then coming close and then pulling away with such animosity she was convinced that she was the one who pulled out his eye.

Was it because she was now coveted by two other men? Aegon did say that Aemond was possessive when his things were being used by others. This is what the plan was afterall, but now it was coming into fruition it just tasted bittersweet. If she was not with Aegon, if Jace was not tasked with the mission to woo her into a betrothal, would Aemond be there with her, or would he be dancing with Maris until the hour of the wolf? 

Ultimately her anger won, despite her sadness dampening its rigid edges. Even in the softness of her tone, the bite was still there when she spoke. 

“It does not matter, Aemond,” she pushed away his shoulders, shoving him away from her leg so she could return her skirts and preserve her dignity. “Leg, or no leg, the consequence of your actions has cost us a friendship we’ve developed since infancy, if there ever was one.”

She might as well have taken his own sword and shoved it through his chest. Aemond’s head was still bowed, incapable of looking at her and facing the truth of her words. He was a man defeated, something that Valeana had tried to manifest for half her life in the privacy of her own mind. Though she could not help feeling that she was just as defeated as well, because her loss had never been rectified.

“I will make it up to you,” again, he spoke so softly it was painful to hear it. 

“I am done trying to forgive you–”

“I know,” his voice rose a desperate octave, but then returned to its original state. “I know I do not deserve it. But, I will rectify all that I’ve done.” 

Valeana shut her eyes tightly. She was so tired of getting hurt by this man, but somehow she was incapable of refusing to move from his storm of arrows that penetrated her body over and over again. And now that she was the one with the bow, she found it was difficult to let go of the string. 

“Do not bother, Aemond,” she forced herself to say. Her voice strained at the resistance of her heart. “Mayhaps it is better if we part ways equally. You with Maris, and I with–” 

“No! Do not say it,” the sudden rise of volume jostled her. Now she had no choice but to look at him. His lilac eye glistened with unshed tears, a sight of which she did not think was possible on Aemond Targaryen. His nose was pink, and his lips were plush and swollen as they wobbled. There was a faint pull she felt under her skin, giving her the sudden need to capture those lips with her own. But she refrained. 

“I do not want her,” Aemond continued, pushing those words through his teeth with a low growl. “I want… I want you. I-I need you.” His other knee met the floor, the weight of his grief causing him to sink into her lap. Aemond’s forehead and nose buried itself in the valley between her skirt-covered legs and his hands desperately grasped onto her phantom limb, tugging it to chest.

“I miss you.” 

Valeana’s will absolutely crumbled. She let out a world-shattering sob; the air that left her lungs was the breath she had been holding in for ten years. Her body folded over him, with her own desperate hands flinging onto his shoulders and fingers tangling in his hair. 

“I miss you too.”

Aemond sharply inhaled as if his bodily instinct was to try to repress any sound that would betray how vulnerable he was. His shoulders tensed under her before he slowly lifted his head from her lap. They were so close that their noses bumped into each other. Through the blur of tears she concentrated on his good eye, while her right hand shifted down to his cheek, where her thumb grazed the ridge of his scar.He shut his eye when he felt her digit dip underneath his patch and slowly pushed it over his forehead, leaving him completely bare before her. 

Valeana swallowed as she gazed upon the endless sea of his sapphire eye, framed by the gnarled pinked flesh that used to be his eyelids. It twitched underneath the light touch of her fingertips, and she wondered if it still pained him like her leg. She wondered if there were times he thought he could feel his eye, or his lashes graze his cheeks when he blinked. She wondered if it was the most painful thing in the world when it happened. Her forehead slowly landed on his brow, her lips hovering over his gem eye, nose buried in the corner of it. 

They were just two broken individuals, trying to fill their empty spaces with each other. 

“I thought you hated me,” his whisper reached her ear, tickling the hair strewn against her face. 

“I thought I did too,” she replied, voice soft and coarse. “I wanted to. But even when you made it so easy for me to–And I do mean easy.” 

The corner of Aemond’s lip twitched ruefully, and his grip on her leg tightened closer to his chest. 

“I couldn’t,” she finished, brushing her fingers through his hair. He leaned into her touch, letting their noses bump and align with each other. She swallowed thickly when she was staring back at his beautiful lilac eye, framed by his dark blonde eyelashes so long she could feel them ghost her own. “Why did you push me?”

A question that he dreaded to answer, but she deserved one nonetheless. She felt his hand move from her leg to cup the side of her face, fingers curling around the shell of her ear and thumb roaming over the mound of her cheek, collecting the tears under his calloused pad. 

“I was terrified of you. Of what you were doing to me,” he shifted between her legs, adjusting himself so he was now holding both sides of her face. Aemond pulled away from her so he could look at her properly, earnestly, “I have been childish and cruel to you, my friend. I am so sorry, Valeana… For everything I’ve taken from you. For everything I’ve done since then. And I know… I know I pushed your heart into… his hands.” 

Valeana closed her eyes and sniffed deeply at the mention of Aegon. A new feeling that she was not accustomed to, that she was not willing to let go just yet. It tugged at her heart in the knowledge of her own conflicted mind. Had it been weeks ago, even when her resentment was fresh and untethered, she would have taken Aemond right then and there. Defiled her white dress and committed her body, heart and soul to him in sickness and in health. But even in his groveling, his heartfelt apology that her soul desperately craved, the apprehension gripped her throat. She was afraid to get hurt again, afraid that she will find another mistake in Aemond, afraid that she may never forgive him. But now she found something uncomplicated. 

Aegon felt safe, Aegon felt secure, but Aegon also felt… unknown. 

“But I will spend the rest of my life in dedication in the pursuit of being worthy of your forgiveness. Worthy of your touch. Worthy of your lips. Worthy of the air you breathe. I need you to know that I am yours, should you still want me. If you ever did.” 

“Aemond I–” she desperately wanted to say it. There was a visceral need to tell him she always did, but that doubt clawed at her throat, preventing her heart from speaking on her behalf. “My life has become so complicated. My father wants me to try to court Jacaerys at his behest, and then there’s—”

“Shh,” he gently hushed her with urgency, desperately wanting to keep his name from her lips. “You need not decide now. Take your time. I’ll wait for you.” Aemond gently nudged her face down so he could place a kiss upon her forehead, and that’s where his lips hovered. “But I only ask for one thing.”

Valeana blinked rapidly, trying to clear the remnants of her tears, “What is it?”

“Dance with me,” he pulled away to look upon her again. “It has been my greatest desire all eve.”

Her brow slightly furrowed as she continued to blink, an expression so adorable he could not help but smile at it. 

“I do not think I am in the right state of mind to go back upstairs, Aemond.”

The prince gently shook his head, “Not up there. Right here, where our only witness is Balerion’s ghost.” 

At the mention of the dragon, her eyes shift over to the massive skull that had been staring upon them the entire time. Valeana almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it; imagining the largest dragon to ever exist being forced to watch such a pathetic display of human emotion. She did not know anything about the dragon’s temperament, but she doubted Aegon the First’s dragon was as sentimental as Dreamfyre or even Syrax. 

Valeana returned her eyes onto Aemond, a small smile breaking her pout as she gave a single nod, “I think I can handle that.” 

They ascended with Aemond’s firm but gentle grip on her arms. He handled her as if she was just learning how to walk again, as if her legs would collapse underneath her if he let go. Her leg had a dull ache, but it was barely there compared to the state it was minutes ago. When they stood at full height, they took a moment to assess each other as if for the first time in years. 

Valeana reached out and fixed his eye patch, securing it over his eye, and cleaned up the stray hairs and righted his skewed circlet. Aemond brushed his fingers over her ear, tucking back wayward stands before moving to her neck where he adjusted her simple white gold and ruby necklace. 

Once they were satisfied, Aemond's hand found the small of her back and the other took her’s before pulling her body into him. Valeana’s other hand found Aemond’s shoulder with ease and now with her chest pressed against his, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. There was still the hum of music above, subtle enough that they were able to hear their own breathing, but loud enough that they could find a rhythm to their movements.

No words were spoken, just peridot and amethyst staring into each other. There was no extravagance to their waltz; their steps were slow and shallow, but they moved around in a circle before Balerion in grace and poise. 

“You’ve gotten better,” Valeana broke the silence, the comment lifting the heaviness of the mood that they had sowed earlier. 

“Hm,” Aemond allowed himself to smirk, “I had a good teacher.” 

Her lips twitched as her smile broadened, filling his chest with warmth and hope. “You were a terrible student.” 

“Mayhaps it was because I was distracted.”

“Distracted by what? We were alone.”

He hummed in amusement, his head bowed slightly so his nose grazed over the crest of her head. She spotted his tongue flick out and run over his coiled lip, causing a ripple of heat go through her body. 

“You developed breasts then, and they were so soundly pressed against me–”

“Oh my gods, Aemond,” she buried her face into his shoulder when her face burned. “You were a little pervert all along.” 

He chuckled whilst nuzzling into her hair. A rare sound, one that she had not heard for half her life. It was sweeter than strawberries and richer than whipped cream. 

“You left bruises, you know,” Val emboldened herself to say, then pulled her face from his shoulder to meet his furrowed brow. “From the other night… You littered me with bruises.” 

At the realization of what she meant, his head tilted with a little sparkle in his eye. His lips curved, reminding her of a mischievous little fox. Suddenly Aemond’s hand slid from her back to her front, his long nimble fingers finding the neckline of her bodice. 

“May I see?”

“Aemond!” She swatted his hand away, ignoring the spike of excitement that it brought her. His response was more chuckles, a gift to her ears. Then his hand moved to the side of her face where he pulled her head closer to him so he could plant a kiss upon her forehead, thus causing a frenzy of butterflies in her belly.

This was so very strange if she thought too much about it. Who was this man, and what did he do with Aemond One-Eye? He was almost too familiar to the Aemond she once knew. 

“He’s the same boy you loved, Valeana. Just older, more scarred, and hidden away.”

Valeana smiled to herself. She supposed she found him then. Lifting her head back up, she moved her hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek. The motion made him hum in contentment, leaning into the warmth of her palm before turning his face so he could place a kiss upon it. 

Aemond’s eye flickered then, moving to the side of her face. He blinked a few times before pausing their dancing so he could raise his hand towards her cheek. 

“One moment,” his lips pursed, “You have something just there–” 

He tentatively reached towards her ear, and then with a flick of his wrist he pulled his hand in front of her, cradling a chromatic black pearl with a green sheen and a little lump at the top between his fingers. 

Valeana’s eyes bugged out of her head at the sight of it, her hands flying to her ear as if she would find more hidden behind the cartilage. Aemond’s smile broadened at her reaction, which had never changed after all these years. 

“How did you– Did you have that this entire time?” 

“It was behind your ear–”

“Oh stop,” she playfully chastised, with a limp smack of her hand. 

He quickly took it and gently placed the pearl in the center of her palm, “For you.”

Valeana eyed the precious marble in her palm. She knew its worth, since black pearls were rare, particularly one with this colouring. Though she doubted he cared much for its worth, what made it truly special was how it was given to her, like a promise that they will return to the children they once were.

Aemond’s hands curled around her own, wrapping up the pearl in their fingers. She looked up at him, marveling at his face now that it was so close. He was always so handsome, but now he was ethereal. Angular features cut from marble, crafted by the Valyrian gods. His lips were always her favourite part of his features, next to his unworldly lilac eyes that felt far too soft for a man like him. 

They inched closer, bridging whatever gap that remained between their bodies. But before their noses could even bump into each other, an intrusive voice cut through their peace like a Valyrian steel sword slicing through someone’s skull.

“Oh, well, isn’t this a touching sight.” 

Aemond and Valeana spun around towards the threshold of the stairwell, both instinctively unlatching from each other at being caught in a compromising position.

Leaning against the archway, his hands clasped in front of him, the older prince peered at them with a mocking sense of beguilement. 

“Did I interrupt something innocent, or was dear ol’ Balerion going to bear witness to a deflowering, on Maiden’s Day no less?” Daemon’s eyebrows raised to his hairline, the corner of his mouth tugging into a roguish smirk. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE SNEAK PEAK:

“Who is he?” Valeana asked, narrowing her eyes at him. He seemed familiar, but from this height, she could barely make out his face through all the dirt and sweat. She took a sip of her drink in contemplation. “Dalton Greyjoy.” And then she spat out her drink. 

Notes: Hokay *wipes sweat* we've gone over the enemies arc. Now path to redemption...right? RIGHT? I hope you guys liked this chapter, it was difficult to write, because I wasn't sure if it was satisfying enough. But don't worry, for those that want him to suffer a lil more -- he will. We're almost halfway through the story. Or a little less. I honestly don't know how many chapters this will become. So I'm going to slow down updates to once a week, because now I'm writing more than two stories at the same time. For those who missed it, I'm in the middle of making a lengthy fem!Aegon one shot for funsies...cept it's not very fun, it's actually quite sad :') Hopefully I'll get that finished by wednesday or before.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 21 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: King's Land welcomes back the King, Queen, and Princess Helaena, but also the dark haired princes, Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, and their uncle-father, The Rogue Prince. Word Count: 4204 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Implied fatphobia, 😱

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

The weight of the conversation Rhaenyra had with her father still lingered. And how could it not? The information he had shared was shocking. Her mind whirled with emotions that she did not know she was capable of having towards her father. Awestruck, ashamed, betrayed even, if not for Alicent’s sake.

Her fingers curled into the neckline of her dress as she paced her solar, waiting for Jacaerys to arrive, which would be any moment. How could she converse with her son now, with this on her mind? 

There was a knock on the door and Rhaenyra gave a curt “enter”. Jacaerys strode in, clad in mourning black, looking just as sullen as she was, though veiled through male bravado. 

“You summoned me, mother?”

Rhaenyra smiled with her nod, “Please, sit. There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

Jace dutifully complied, taking a seat in a lounging chair, while his mother took her place across, with only a tea table separating them. He watched her closely as she settled in; how she could not look him in the eye, and how her hands fidgeted with the hems of her billowed sleeves. Jace started to grow worried at what exactly Rhaenyra was gearing up to tell him. 

“Daemon will be taking you and Luke to King’s Landing on the morrow, along with the King, Queen, and Princess Helaena,” she stated flatly and swiftly. 

Jace nodded stiffly, “He told me.” The ball was surely to drop at any moment now. 

“Right, of course,” Rhaenyra sighed to ground herself. “You likely already know what awaits you at King’s Landing. The Royal Conclave your grandsire is having there is a season of… of courtship and alliances.” 

Jace had already understood that, but he was under the impression he would hold no expectations had they decided to attend the event. As her first born son and heir to the crown, Jace had expected that his future wife would be carefully chosen… And judging by the direction this conversation was going, it seemed they had already had someone in mind. 

He nodded again, showing his understanding. “You wish for me to find a bride.” 

“Exactly, yes,” she adjusted herself in her seat to rest at the edge of it. Her hands cradled each other on her lap as she leaned over her legs. “Me and your step father have discussed it at length. There is a girl we have in mind. An alliance with her family would come with great benefits; her dowry is large, she is near your age, and her father’s support should we…should things go awry would be beneficial to us all.” 

Jace’s arms squared, the urge to appease his mother and follow the duty he was destined filled his bones. “I understand, mother. When we arrive at King’s Landing, I shall meet her post haste, mother, I promise you.”

She hummed, “You already have, my son.” At the sight of his knitted brow of confusion, she continued. “It is the Lady Valeana Celtigar.” 

Jace sat there stunned into silence and paralysis. He was caught between respect for his mother and the revulsion that churned in his gut. Rhaenyra was painfully aware of his turmoil, carefully watching the way the muscles in his face slacked and his eyes stirred with the internal conflict of how he wished to react to this. Rhaenyra decided to test the waters. 

“I remember, quite well, that you and Luke–”

Alas, Jace could not hold it in. He allowed his boyish outrage to win, “Valeana Celtigar? You wish to betroth me to her? Of all the noble women in the Seven Kingdoms, mother?” 

Rhaenyra sighed exasperated, “And why is she not suitable for you, Jace? She has as much Valyrian blood as you.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back, “The Celtigars do not even give their children Valyrian names anymore.” 

“Valeana is a Valyrian name,” Rhaenyra huffed at herself for getting frustrated already. “Jacaerys, speak plainly. Why is she not suitable?”

Jace’s lips thinned as his shoulders caved. He was not like Luke, who spoke freely without shame, voicing his opinions without fear of the repercussions. He respected his mother too much to speak so boldly, so crudely, but if she wanted the truth… 

“She isn’t… What I imagined my future wife to look like.” 

Well, there it was. Where did she go wrong in raising a son that came out so typical of a man? Her nod was rigid and slow before she slowly ascended to tower over her son. 

Her hands cupped themselves in front of her chest as she started talking, “Jacaerys Velaryon. I am disappointed in you.”

He shrunk under his mother’s disapproval. 

“I thought you were a man grown, but I see you are still the same immature boy who cares for such superficialities. Appearances do not make a healthy marriage, Jacaerys. It is strength of character, loyalty, communication and mutual understanding.” 

When she strode over to him with a hand raised, he backed into his chair, expecting her to strike him across the head, but instead she just pointed down at him. 

“You will go to King’s Landing, and you will seek out Valeana Celtigar. You will apologize for all the hurt you and your brother caused her and her sisters, and you will try to court her, should she have you.” With a steady sigh, she straightened her spine and laid her hands down upon her stomach to calm her tone. “I do not wish to force you into a marriage that you will find misery in, but I also do not wish for you to make your decision on who your bride shall be based on looks alone. Befriend her, woo her, see if you actually enjoy her company and she yours. You might find you have something in common to bond over. Then make a decision.” 

Jace sunk into the armchair, dejected and petulant, but bound to responsibility. He really did not want to court Valeana Celtigar; he can only imagine the japes Luke would have primed for him. He wouldn’t put it past his brother to sneak a pot-belly pig into his bed, complete with a white wig. After all, the Pink Dread was primarily coconspired between him and Aegon, whilst Jace was only privy to the prank hours before. His brother was devious in that way, and although he has become more subtle about it, Luke was still a cheeky little devil. 

Rhaenyra dismissed her son, of which he was glad for. Once he was gone, she collapsed on an ottoman and laid her head in her hands. She wondered if daughters were easier, but quickly dismissed the idea at the remembrance of her own childhood, and the childish acts of disobedience she put her father through. No, five daughters would be worse than five sons. 

Her mind drifted back to Valeana, and she tried to put her visage in her mind’s eye. Adorable round cheeks, voluminous hair that felt like strands of silk, large green eyes, always looking out for the boy with whom she shared a birth moon with. In another life, they would have been twins. 

And they might as well have been. 

“There is something I need to tell you, my darling, that may come as a shock to you.” 

Rhaenyra straightened in her seat as her father reached out across the table and took a hold of her hand, his face turned away. He could not look upon her as he spoke his mind, of the heavy truth he had to bear on his own for over twenty years. 

“I grieved for your mother, Rhaenyra, for many years after she had passed. I saw her in everything, in everyone. Guilt consumed me, knowing that I caused it–” Rhaenyra tried to protest otherwise, but he held up a head for her to listen. “There was another in the Keep who grieved as much as I, and that was Lysa Lannister, Lord Bartimos’ late wife, and your mother’s most trusted friend. There was a day when we were together, sharing a drink and bonding over our grief. In the end… it consumed us, and we grabbed onto the closest memory of Aemma, which was each other.” 

Every muscle in her body stiffened as a cold grip took hold of her spine. The ducts of her eyes began to redden as tears pearled at the rims. 

“What are you saying, father?” 

“I…I have many regrets, Rhaenyra. One of them is betraying the trust of a good, dear friend of mine, and rewarding the loyalty of my good wife with disloyalty.” A sigh filtered through his nose, then his hand released his cane, allowing it to clatter on the ground. His head hung between his shoulders, so it may shield the King from the look of shame his daughter bestowed upon him. 

“Valeana Celtigar…very well may be my daughter.” 

The sky was alive with screeches, roars, rumbles and claps of thunderous wings as four dragons, one larger after the other, flew over King’s Landing and circled the Dragonpit. The King has returned, and with him he brought the Kingdom’s absent princes, including the Rogue brother. 

Valeana watched from a tower window as the pearlescent white and gold dragon, Arrax, zipped through the sky like lightning. Following suit was the larger Vermax, olive green scales vibrant against the blazing sun. Cutting through the clouds was the ever odd and intimidating Caraxes, with its slender blood red body, small hind legs, and serpentine neck. It was, of course, the fourth dragon that took everyone’s breath away. Dreamfyre practically blended in with the midday cloudless sky. All blue and silver, her slender, albeit large body wove through the spires of King’s Landing with such grace it was if she was the wind itself. The she-dragon flew over the castle, enlisting a chorus of awes and cheers in her wake, and from her position, Valeana could see Helaena atop in her saddle, silver hair flowing in the wind and looking as free and elegant as her mount. 

Valeana felt pitifully envious. There was a deep primal need in her belly every time she saw a dragon fly in the sky. Though she wagered a lot of others with feet planted on the ground felt the same way. 

She almost forgot what lay ahead of her. Almost. Jacaerys and Lucaerys will be arriving soon, along with the King who likely was in his wheelhouse by now with Queen Alicent. Her father will want to greet the King, his brother and grandsons, for the sole purpose of a formal re-introduction to Prince Jacaerys. She would bother to think about what kind of man he grew up to be after he was freed from court not long after she was, but Valeana couldn’t be bothered. She was too preoccupied by the conversation she and Aegon had the evening prior. 

With the new regulations her father set in place, the supper she had planned to attend with Aegon was no longer a private one. Or at least from eyes. Aegon relocated it to a terrace where they could be seen in the open. Her family’s guard, Ser Steffon, would march around the perimeter like a loyal hound. Their conversations, however, were kept in low tones, despite his confidence that no one was close enough to hear them. 

“What were you and Shyla speaking about earlier?” She prodded him. Despite her initial uncaring reaction to it, it did bother her. For some reason.  

Aegon lifted his head, appearing as if he was caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. Then his lips stretched into an impish grin, “Why? Jealous, are we?”

Valeana rolled her eyes, “You two were seen together. If we are to appear as if we are courting, you cannot be seen flirting with my sister. Not to mention, were you not just jumping in elation over her falling out of love with you? Or are you already missing her rabid devotion?”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, smile still unwavering, “I like it when you are jealous, Crab Cake. It makes my stones all tingly.”

Valeana ran her palms over her face in frustration, then promptly put her hands on her lap before anyone noticed that she had grown vexed already with the prince. “Aegon,” she said sweetly, venomously, her curved smile anything but warming. “Answer the bloody question.” 

He gave a soft chuckle, reaching out to run his fingers through a strand of her hair before pushing it over her shoulder. “Relax your supple tits, woman. It was innocent. She wished to apologize for snubbing me and canceling our ‘betrothal’, and then prattled on about how in love she was with my brother. I gave her my blessing, and in turn, she gave me her blessing to pursue you, my second choice.” 

Valeana’s shoulders deflated as she relaxed back into the chair. At least now she truly knew she would not have to deal with her sister, knowing she wasn’t above bringing a knife to her throat when she slept. She shared a bedquarters with her, after all. 

Aegon tilted his head at her, then leaned in to rest his chin on his hand, “Fret not, darling, I am all yours.” When he noticed the serious look upon her face, his smile dropped a fraction, “What’s wrong?”

With a sigh, she replied simply, “My father.” 

There was much to discuss with Aegon regarding their arrangement, but the part about Jace was new and it needed to be brought up. She would have to be reintroduced to Rhaenyra’s son soon, against her will, but with the conditions that were set with her parents, she needed Aegon to know that there will be an obstacle in their plan. 

He was equally appalled about it as she was initially, but for an entirely different reason. There was no love lost between him and his nephews clearly, but adding him as more competition for this game of hearts was absolute bullshit. 

“So you choose to reject him,” Aegon shrugged, scoffing it off once she said that she was given the choice. “End of story.”

“I still must let him court me,” Val moved her food around her plate dispiritedly. “As much as I loathe to… I do not have a single memory of Jace being polite to me, ever, and I do not doubt he has changed.”

“Like me?”

She shot him a look, but failed to keep her smirk, “You’re still a cheeky arse, but more charming than before.”

Aegon hummed happily, “I’ll take it.”

They both took sips and bites out of their dwindling meal before Valeana started up again, this time moving on from Jace to the logistics of what they were doing, and why they were doing it. 

“What is our end plan, Aegon?”

“It is simple,” he shrugged, plucking his goblet from the table. “Eventually, Aemond will be so consumed with jealousy and possessiveness, his pride will turn in a different direction. He will forget about whatever it is he is trying to do presently in pursuit of laying his claim.” 

“I do not know if I should be flattered or not over being compared to objects or land to conquer.” 

He licked his lips after taking a generous gulp, “Mm, you should. It is the highest compliment from a Targaryen.”

Valeana rolled her eyes, “Fine. And when— if that happens, what then?”

This time he hesitated in answering, smacking his lips and leaning back into the dining chair. He wasn’t looking at her, instead he was eyeing the ornate dragon at the base of his goblet, as if trying to siphon courage from the dragon’s very image. 

“I will step away,” his reply came through a painful smile. “I’ll make a show of it, of course. Make it believable for him.”

When he looked up at her, Valeana was staring at her hands on her lap, her lips in a gentle pout and her brow creased in an adorable furrow. 

“And what if it does not work? What if it has the opposite desired effect?” 

Aegon slowly leaned over to her chair, reaching into her lap and taking a hold of one of her hands. He brought her knuckles to his lips, where he placed a lingering kiss upon them, all the while keeping his focus on her face. 

She looked at him, large green marbles flickering between his mouth to the intense violet colour of his eyes. Suddenly feeling like she had too much saliva in her mouth, she swallowed thickly.

“Then I will help you get over him.” 

The rumble in his voice and the heat of his breath washed over her in waves, causing her to pink from her cheeks down to her chest, where her heart beat fluttered. Then his lips parted and he took her pointer finger between his teeth, where she could feel the wet pad of his tongue graze her. 

A primal heat settled at the apex of her thighs. 

Shit. 

Aemond was already irate when he entered the Throne Room to greet his father, mother and sister. He hid it well with a face of stone and stoicism that he was already known for, but he was sure his sister noticed how taut his jaw was with how tightly he clenched his teeth. She gave him a curious stare, and he answered with a swift motion of his eye towards the back of Aegon’s head. 

The previous night Aemond had been shadowing the loggia above the terrace that his brother and Valeana were seated on for their supper. While he could not hear a word they spoke of, he was keenly aware of their faces, the laughter, the hands, the kisses on hands, and the looks shared. 

No, they were not courting. He absolutely refused to believe. It was a sham. A ruse. A ploy to get on his nerves. 

And it was fucking working.  

King Viserys had returned not but a few hours ago, and he was already informed of the events of the past week, namely the Hightower supper, and what that revealed. After greeting his sons and his Hand amicably and reservedly, his eyes settled on the Aemond and Aegon with narrowed eyes. He waved one of his good fingers between the two, “I will be talking to the both of you after. Your mother and I have heard some… interesting things on our way to the Keep.”

Aemond inclined his head in acknowledgement, and Aegon forced an innocent smile, with a curt, “Of course, father.” 

Upon greeting Daeron, his father was notably, irritably, more jovial. He and mother embraced him almost simultaneously, with wrinkled eyes brimming with tears. The Queen caged Daeron’s face as she peppered his cheeks with kisses, and the young prince flushed under the attention. It would have been a touching moment, had their other sons ever received the same amount of affection from their mother and father.

Alicent then moved over to Aegon and Aemond, pressing her lips to their cheeks stiffly, and giving them each her signature chide eye before taking her place next to her husband. It was at this time that others strode through the main doors of the Throne Room with heavy footsteps and guards flanked at their sides. Red and black flags on one side, and aquamarine and white on the other. 

The Rogue Prince swaggered into the Throne Room like he was the King himself and not his brother. His gait was relaxed as his hand rested on the hilt of Dark Sister, and that is where Aemond’s eye relaxed on. The sword of a conqueror. The sword of his dragon’s first rider. By all rights, he should be the one wielding it. 

Daemon’s eyes floated above the Throne, to the arched stained glass window that allowed in sun rays onto the sharp spires of the monstrous seat in a sea of colour. Daemon’s ire did not appear on his face, but his carefully chosen words gave it away in its subtext. 

“I see you have redecorated,” his dark purple eyes glared up at the mosaic set in glass and iron, depicting seven heretic gods where it once showed dragons and conquerors.  

“No one is above the Seven, Prince Daemon,” Alicent spoke smoothly, her face neutral under the unnerving prince’s eye. “Even dragons.” 

Daemon’s chest shook at his silent chortle, and then he turned towards the two men behind him. Aemond’s chin lifted when he made eye contact with Luke, who purposely held onto it before sharing a knowing one with his other bastard brother. 

Viserys decidedly chose to ignore the tense atmosphere, “The Red Keep welcomes back their princes, Prince Daemon. I hope you find yourself comfortable back at your old home.” 

“We shall see, dearest brother. I am not one for green, though mayhaps it will grow on me like moss… or mould,” his comment earned him a snicker from his youngest step son. 

Before anything else was said, the doors to the side corridor opened, and a parade of bodies entered the room, causing a small crowd at the base of the Throne’s dias. Lord Bartimos entered, along with Lady Ursula and Clement behind. The older man smiled broadly upon seeing the princes, and then clapped his hands together. 

“Good to see you again, Prince Daemon, Prince Jacaerys, and Prince Lucerys,” his greeting was followed by a unified bow and curtsy from him, his son and lady wife. There was something about his eagerness that set off Aemond’s suspicions, and when Daemon greeted him with his own version of eagerness – more blasé in comparison – something turned in Aemond’s gut. 

Daemon pulled his hand away from his shared handshake with the lord of Claw Isle, and in turn, Bartimos stepped aside, his chest swelling with pride as he extended his arm to the others that lurked under the threshold of the large door. 

 “Might I introduce you to my youngest son, Arthor,” the boy approached with his hands clasped behind his back and a subtle bow of his head before taking his place to his older brother’s side. 

“And I am sure you remember, my step daughter, the Lady Floris Grafton,” Floris stepped between her parents, tall and poised in her orange gown, her long swan neck accentuated with three strings of a pearl choker. She bowed lowly, making direct eye contact with Jacaerys, who merely gave her a tight lipped smile and a slight bow for a greeting. 

“My youngest, Shyla,” Shyla scurried out of the shadows with a broad smile. Her curtsy is low, but fast and overly eager, causing the curls that frame her face to bounce like a coil spring. Aemond caught Luke’s smirk growing in the dimple of his cheek as he tried to contain a laugh. What an insufferable shit. 

Jace shuffled his feet, his head stiff as he nodded his head towards Shyla, and then his eyes flickered over to the corridor entrance, where a third sister should be lingering. Aemond followed his gaze, and from where he stood he could spot the curve of a gown behind the large oak and wrought iron door. He could almost make her out through the crack between the hinges. Her head was firmly placed against the limestone walls as if she was trying to meld with it and disappear. 

“And of course, my first daughter, Valeana.” 

Jace stiffened his shoulders and kept his arms behind his back as if he was bracing for a blow. The muscles in his face twitched at how much he was trying to keep his face neutral. But the moment Valeana walked out, garbed in a floor length gown of diluted turquoise with white lace and pearls – the colours of house Velaryon – his expression completely slacked. He practically gaped. 

Valeana stepped forward, then curtsied, slow and almost hesitant. When she straightened, she swung her arms in front of her, lacing themselves demurely at her middle. 

“Good morrow, Prince Daemon, Prince Jacaerys, Prince Lucerys,” the corners of her faux smile twitched, as if it pained her to be polite. “It is a pleasure to see you again, after all these years.”

Daemon shared a look with his step son, eyebrows raised suggestively, sly smirk shamelessly displayed. He even gave an audible hum. 

When Jace took a step towards her, Aemond’s entire body went frigid. His eye blazed white hot dragonfire at his nephew’s profile as he bowed his dark-haired head,  took Valeana’s hand and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Valeana. You are… a sight for sore eyes.” 

Aemond’s head whipped in the direction of Aegon. His elder brother was just as smoldering in his place as he was. They caught each other’s eye, a silent confirmation over their shared indignation. 

Bartimos practically bounced on his feet as he leaned into his wife’s shoulder, saying loud enough for everyone within two yards to hear. 

“I can hear the Great Sept’s bells ringing already.” 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO SNEAK PEAK: Valeana took it and they both shook gently, “Lady Valeana Celtigar.”  The mention of her name caused the young girl’s brows to raise and her mouth to gape a bit, “You’re Valeana Celtigar?” The octave of her voice was loud enough for a Septa to sharply bring a bell in their direction. The two girls looked over before hunching down and continuing their whispers.  “Erm, yes. How do you know me?” “Your name is spoken all over the pavilions,” she whispered in haste as she took a glance around to make sure no one was listening. “They say King Viserys’ two eldest sons are fighting over your hand.”

Notes: Next time on Maury, Targcest edition--- Ahem, next couple of chapters is the Maiden's Day ball. Which is where the Aegon Spin Off series will overlap. I haven't started it, but I have notes already. So I'd like to know:

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 32 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Brotherly bonding and late night visits. Word Count: 4456 CHAPTER WARNINGS: MDNI, 18+.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: 🙊 I only proof read this once, so there might be more typos/grammatical errors, awkward wording. I feel like it should be fine. But idk. I just wanted to get this published, lol.

Aegon returned to his chambers after he parted ways with Valeana before supper. After the petition that midday, he sought her out only to find that she was not present in her family’s wing. By the time he did find her, she was in the company of her little companions, all lying about in the grass of the gardens. She looked so lovely there, laying in the shadow, surrounded by green and pink, hair fanned out like a river of milk. 

“Am I interrupting anything?” Aegon smiled, marching over the knolls to reach the three giggling ladies.

“Oh, my Prince,” Ellyn sat up first and then Wylla went to follow, both about to stand so they could give him a proper curtsy. However, Aegon lifted his hand to stop them, so they remained where they were. 

Valeana did not bother to move, instead she peaked up at him through squinty eyes, “You interrupt our plotting.”

He raised an intrigued, amused eyebrow, “What sort of plotting?”

“We were conspiring on the ways for Lord Cregan to avert his attention off of Alysanne Blackwood and onto me,” she admitted, completely unashamed. 

“She seeks to build a reverse harem,” Ellyn clarified with a laugh. 

Aegon tilted his head at Valeana, his mouth opening in a wide grin, “Is that so? I am now to be competing against the Warden of the North?”

The silver-haired girl smirked up at him, “Not competing. Sharing.”

“Well, aren’t you a greedy little tart.” 

“Mhm,” Wylla hums in agreement, “So far she has three Targaryen Princes, my brother, Prince Qyle Martell, Ser Arryk and Erryk Cargyll, Willehm Blackwood, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Ser Cedric Redwyne, and… Did we settle on Dalton Greyjoy?”

“Eh,” Valeana waved dismissively, “He can watch.”

“Three princes?” Aegon placed his hands at his hips in mock offense, “You include Daeron in this, after all I’ve told you.”

Valeana’s smirk broadened, “Who said it was Daeron?”

Aegon’s eyes widened challengingly, “I hope you are implying I have a twin brother I do not know about.”

Her grin grew mischievous before she giggled and sat up against her palms. With disheveled hair, she innocently asked why he was here, partially already knowing the answer. 

“I was hoping to whisk you away for the remainder of the eve, now that father’s planned dinner party was canceled for the day,” he glanced over at Wylla and Ellyn. “Would you mind terribly if I stole her from you?”

The Stark girl smirked knowingly, “What do you plan on doing with her, my Prince? Kidnap her, take her to the Tower of Joy along the Prince’s Pass and deflower her there?” 

“Hells, Wylla,” Valeana clasped a hand over her reddening face. 

“As much as I enjoy the bizarrely specific scenario you’ve given me, alas, my intentions are innocent. I just wish to be in her company.”

The two girls all cooed in unison. Lady Ellyn huffs, almost defeatedly, “Why must you be sweet?” 

Alas, propriety demanded that Valeana could not be alone with Aegon, particularly now that the stakes were so high. Though instead of Ser Steffon looming around them like a gargoyle, Lady Wylla and Lady Ellyn kept them within eyesight. They remained in the garden, walking away from their nest under the Cherry Blossom Tree, her arm looped in his as they shared idle conversations. They had to be careful of what they spoke of, as courtiers walked by and eyed them closely, critically. Though despite the lack of freedom to be vulgar and more physical, Aegon found that he didn’t quite mind. 

A maidservant had come to summon Valeana for supper with her family, to which Aegon offered to escort her back for. Before they reached the door, he leaned into her ear and whispered about collecting her that night for another rendezvous on their secret platform. 

“What’re you whispering about?” Wylla Stark shouted from behind them. 

Aegon sent her a look, “The weather, Lady Wylla.” 

Valeana threw her head back with a laugh, but before she could give him a proper reply to his offer, they were within eavesdropping distance of the two Claw Isle guards positioned at her apartment doors. 

“Thank you for today,” Valeana said sincerely, turning to him with hands clasped in front of her. “I needed the distraction… Today has been strenuous, to say the least.”

Aegon hummed understandingly, “It’s not every day you see a man’s head being sliced in half. Though I wish I was the one to have shielded you from it.” 

She looked down for a moment, and Aegon watched her face carefully, trying to search for her thoughts etched in the muscles of her face. Her mouth popped open, as if she was intending to say something, but the words escaped her. 

“Valeana,” he said softly, his hand reaching up under her chin to lift her eyes back up to meet his. “I understand.” 

The corners of her lips tightened in a sort of apologetic smile. She gave a small nod and then leaned up on her toes to plant a kiss upon his cheek, “Thank you, Aegon.” 

His eyes fluttered close and he breathed in deeply, trying to commit the scent of her hair to memory. Aegon wanted nothing more than to grab her face and push her against the wall and shove his tongue down her throat, but between two unwed noble ladies, and the incredibly vigilant knights of Claw Isle, he was forced to reel in his carnal impulses like a stubborn sturgeon. 

As he unbuckled his jerkin to lay it on the chair before his bed, Aegon contemplated skipping supper all together for that evening, so he may call for Hildy’s loyal services. The ghost of Valeana’s lips still lingered on his cheek, and now all he could think about was how they would feel kissing down his stomach and wrapping around his shaft. Alas, his plans were thwarted when the door to his quarters was swung open.

“I really need to add another fucking lock to that door,” he mutters, rebuckling his belt as Aemond strode into his bedchambers as if he owned it. “Did you inherit mother’s fear of knocking?”

“We need to talk,” Aemond has his hands resting on the pommel of his sword at his hip. “About Valeana.” 

Aegon stared at him for a beat before sighing exhaustingly, “Fine.” He walked past Aemond into his solar, where he made a beeline towards the table that held the carafe of wine. Aemond trailed behind him, waiting patiently as Aegon poured himself a goblet, then a second for his brother. 

The two settled into opposing armchairs, Aegon had already nursed his cup while Aemond merely cradled it in his fingers. For the longest while, they just stared at each other, wondering who was going to make the first move, not unlike a duel of swords. 

“She tells me you begged her for her forgiveness,” Aegon made the first move. 

“I have.” 

“You do not deserve it.”

“That isn’t for you to decide,” Aemond tilted his head to the side, assessing his eldest brother carefully. “What are your intentions with her, Aegon? Because if it is simply to defile her skirts to provoke me, know that you will start a war that you will not win.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, “Not everything I do is to provoke you, brother. But,” he waved his cup-bearing hand concededly, “I’ll admit it began that way. I came up with the plot to pretend we were courting to get you all angry and frustrated.”

Aemond hummed, “I thought as much.”

Aegon pointed a finger at him, “It worked. You caved in like thin ice.”

“And yet you are still actively courting her. I saw you in the gardens today with her, arm and arm, laughing with her friends,” Aemond tilted his head back. “Acting like you have been chums your entire life… Like you have never been the bane of her existence for her most vulnerable years.” 

“I apologized for my behaviour,” Aegon raised his eyebrows, “Had you done the same from the beginning, we wouldn’t be in this predicament, now would we?” Aemond looked away with a purse of his lips, which filled Aegon with immense satisfaction. “I’ll tell you what I told mother. My intentions are pure, Aemond. I have grown fond of Valeana Celtigar, and I wish for her hand.” 

Slowly, Aemond’s head turned back to Aegon. Finally, he raised the goblet to his lips and took a sip, as if stalling or trying to read Aegon with that painfully observant one eye of his. In the end, Aemond concluded that he was being truthful, as much as he pained to admit it. His brother had never remained this interested in a woman so passionately long; he usually gave up, or got bored once he breached their boundaries far enough to get something from them. 

“You do not deserve her hand.” 

“That isn’t for you to decide,” Aegon threw his words back at him. 

“It is for mother and father, who both wish for you to stay far away from her.”

Aegon scoffed at that, drinking his wine until there was a little left, “If I cared about what mother and father wanted, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.”

“And we all suffer for it.”

The corners of Aegon’s lips tug downwards in an ironic smirk, “Tell me, Aemond, how does it feel to have pushed the only woman you’ve ever loved into the arms of your devious, debaucherous and demoralizing older brother? I bet it keeps you up all night.” 

Aemond tilted his head again, his eye widening at the challenge. He brought the goblet up to his lips again, taking a conservative sip. “You’ve succeeded in provoking me, Aegon, but in doing so you’ve woken up a sleeping dragon.”

“Well, good thing I’m a Targaryen, hm?”

Smirking ruefully, Aemond sat forward, balancing the neck of the goblet in his fingers between his legs, “Know this, brother. Even if you think you’ve won, you haven’t. You may exchange vows, and drape your cloak over her shoulders, but her heart will always be with me. And for as long as I live, I’ll spend every waking hour of it reminding you of that fact. For as long as I live, I will not give up on her… She’ll be mine in the end, whether you are dead or alive.” 

 Aegon’s jaw was tight, his vibrant violet eyes set aflame by the flicker of the wall sconces in the darkened room. His fingernail tapped on the glass of his goblet, now nearly empty of its contents, “I guess I’m just going to have to out live you, eh, brother?” 

Aemond gave a little hum before placing his half full goblet on the table between them, “You can have the rest.” 

Aegon watched as Aemond stood up and strode over to the exit. His leg was bouncing up and down vigorously, and his tongue moved around his mouth like angry tides of an unrested ocean. Just as he heard the hinges move, Aegon leaned back and turned his head just enough to give Aemond a side eye. 

“I saw your bruises,” his words effectively made his brother halt in his tracks. “I added some of my own.”

Valeana was gently roused awake when she felt a breeze against her face. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as she tried to peer through the blur of sleep. She quickly realized the balcony door was open, letting in a draught. 

Did Shyla open it? She must have, because Val was sure it was closed when she pulled the drapes shut to block out the blazing sun of the morning to come. Grumbling, she twisted in her sheets as she peered over at Shyla’s bed, only to find it empty. She must’ve left due to Valeana’s snoring. A common occurrence, the poor thing has to suffer through it every night. Sometimes they find Shyla curled up on the settee in the family’s solar, sometimes she crawled into Floris’ bed, one time she had usurped Arthor’s bed while he sat and read in his balcony the entire night. 

Valeana flipped back over, only to see a shadow looming on the right side of the bed. Her heart leapt in her throat, momentarily gagging her as she jumped and gaped, a scream nearly escaping her lungs. His hand flew to her mouth. 

“Shh, shh,” Aemond crouched down next to her bed, his grip over her mouth softening when he saw her shoulders cave. “It’s only me.”

When he removed his hand from her mouth, she gave him a sharp whack on the shoulder, “Aemond, I swear to the old gods and the new, the next time you do that I’m going to throw you down a flight of stairs.”

“Wouldn’t that be an interesting sight,” Said another, causing Valeana to jostle a second time. She and Aemond whirled their heads towards the door with wide and alarmed eyes. And there in the dim light she could make out the short wavy silver hair of Aegon. 

“Aegon,” Aemond stood up straight, his fingers curled into his fist. “How did you get in here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” The elder prince sauntered into the room, stopping across Aemond on the other side of the bed. 

Valeana, gobsmacked and confused, stared at both of them from her place on the bed. “Would someone please tell me what in the Seven Hells is going on?”

With flared nostrils, Aemond turned his glower away from Aegon, before softening his features when he turned to her. His hand moved to gently move a strand of hair away from her face and over her ear.

 “It seems that we both had the same idea tonight. To see you before the other… A race of sorts, to win your heart.”

Valeana felt her face heat up at that, her eyes flickering between Aemond’s adoring stare, to Aegon’s one of longing. The latter raised his leg so he was now kneeling partially on the mattress, his hand snaking up to take her idle left one. Aemond sat down at his side, taking her right hand in his and bringing it to his lips, where he kissed each knuckle. 

“The waiting is torture,” Aegon says in a soft voice, watching his fingers dance inside her palm as he slowly crawled to her side. “I need to know… we need to know.” 

Aemond moved forward as well, still seated as he instead laced her fingers in his, dipping his head to kiss her on the crown of hers, like he so often did. He breathed in deeply, then tilted his chin to the side so he could kiss her temple. 

“Who won, Valeana?” Aemond asked next to her ear. “Who has won your heart?”

This was all too much to deal with in the middle of the night. Her breathing was laboured, her skin on fire in the places they touched. She was now quite literally caught between two princes and their feather light caresses, which did not help her decision making. 

“I-I don’t know… Must I choose at this moment?”

Aegon hovered over her shoulder, his other hand moving to pull the neckline of her chemise over to expose more skin. His breath tickled her neck, making her shiver and give a small gasp. Then his lips pressed against the pale curve of her shoulder, and along the junction between her neck. 

“We are impatient,” Aegon sighed into her skin. 

Meanwhile Aemond had pulled her hand up to his chest, slightly exposed by loose strings of his tunic. Like the night before, he splayed her fingers over his pectoral, above his rapidly beating heart. 

“Do you feel what you do to me? Valeana, if you make me wait any longer, my heart may very well explode out of my chest.” 

Aegon took her unoccupied left hand, and placed it on the crotch of his breeches. He gave a groan at the contact, and her hand instinctively cupped the obvious hard muscle hidden beneath the fabric. 

“Do you feel what you do to me?” He stared up at her, violet eyes disappeared in the void of his dilated pupils. “You make me so unbelievably hard, it’s the ultimate misery I cannot be inside you.”

Valeana’s limbs were jittery, her body tense with a growing heat pooling at her core. She felt hot all over, making the baby hairs along her hairline and back of her head damp and curl. Her legs started to twist around, her knees bumping into each other as her thighs desperately tried to conceal her shameful needs. Despite herself, she gave a soft little whine, “I don’t…I don’t know…” 

Aegon lifted his gaze up to meet his brother’s, both dark and full of challenge. “Perhaps she needs more convincing.”

Aemond hummed in agreement, his hand moving from his chest to trail a finger along her jawline just to hook his finger under her chin and force her to look at him, “We’ll know tonight…Whomever’s name is screamed louder from these lips is the winner.” 

Her eyes widened at that; fear, anxiety, lust and excitement all battling against each other in her belly. Valeana’s mouth opened in a gasp, but Aemond quickly swallowed it with his lips and a rumble of satisfaction. He moved so he was now hovering over her, devouring her through his kiss and caging her face in his hands. 

Aegon made a sound of dissatisfaction next to her, his frustrations were taken out by his greedy hands roaming the expanse of her body through the thin muslin fabric. His explorative digits roamed over the hills of her soft thighs, her stomach and briefly ghosted over the knoll of her mound, which earned him a cute little mewl. A mewl that was swallowed by his greedy brother. 

“Enough,” Aegon’s voice was gravely and low as he captured Valeana’s neck and jerked her away from Aemond’s mouth. She gave a soft whimper, and his brother glared at him through the curtain of his lashes. “You’ve had your fill… It’s my time.” 

He tilted her head in his direction, bumping his nose against hers before claiming her mouth with a hungered groan. Where Aemond was soft and passionate, Aegon was all devouring, pouring his lust and wanting into the movement of his lips and tongue. His hand moved to hold the curve of her jawline, trapping her into his kiss, while the other one held himself up firmly. 

Aemond did not sit idly by and watch his brother kiss his woman. Oh, no, he made himself known with his hands, roaming down her side, over her hip, until he found the hemline of her chemise and slid underneath. Valeana sighed at the contact of his heated palm on the sensitive flesh of her thigh, but her breath hitched when that same hand moved brazenly to cup the place where she has never been touched before. 

Valeana gasped, involuntarily pulling away from Aegon’s kiss just to mutter the name of the gods. Vaguely she heard Aemond give a soft chuckle, but all she could pay attention to was his fingers rubbing against the slit of her moist sex, dampening the dark blonde curls there. 

“Who is this for, Valeana?” Aemond asked, eye looking up to catch her desperate gaze, and then over to Aegon’s hunger-panged one. “Who has gotten you all wet and ready to be deflowered?”

Not one to be left without, Aegon yanked the chemise higher so he could see where his brother’s hand lay. Despite it being Aemond’s fingers coveting his greatest desire, the sight of it caused him to groan and salviate. His hips started to gently rut into her side. 

“Allow me, brother,” with a surprising moment of compliance, Aemond adjusted his hand enough to let Aegon have a sample of her wet folds. Valeana could do nothing but squirm and whimper as the elder prince’s pads slipped up and down the crease before dipping into the hot shallow embrace of her entrance. It was at this precise moment that Aemond’s thumb also dipped in as well, easily finding the soft bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. 

Valeana gasped loudly, her hips bucking and her thighs shook. All she could do was stare at the ceiling in disbelief, with her fingers curling into the sides of her chemise, as if that would ground her somehow. 

“She’s so tight, brother,” Aegon commented, eyes transfixed on her core that took his fingers so greedily. His tongue flicked out at the sight of her juices coating her intimate lips, beckoning him closer. “Who will stretch her out first, I wonder?” 

“Both,” she found herself answering without force. Her entire body trembled, her mind a lust frenzied mess that cannot decipher who she needed more. “I want both of you.” 

Their hands stopped, and they both looked up at her. Valeana’s body relaxed under their touches, but her brow twisted in annoyance at their sudden pause. She bit her lip, and tried to rock her hip back into their touch. 

Aegon smirked widely, “She wants both of us, Aemond.” 

“Our princess is greedy,” Aemond adjusted himself to face her, but his hand never left the warmth of her cunt. He tilted his head, “You always were one to keep your plate full, but could never finish it entirely.”

Aegon mimicked his brother’s position, his finger slowly moving around the entrance beneath her folds, itching that spot that ached but not quite plunging in. “Do you think you can handle that, Crab Cake? Both of us… You will be quite full.” 

Valeana nodded eagerly, then whimpered when Aemond’s thumb made slow brush strokes around her warm pearl, “Please. Please… Over indulge me.” 

Aegon chuckled, then removed his fingers, much to her chagrin. He brought them to his lips, sucking off her essence from them, and gave a low hum of approval. The sight of which made Valeana’s nethers tremble. Then Aegon brought his damp fingers to the collar of her chemise, where the lasses hung loosely, just barely exposing the valley between her breasts. 

“First you must indulge us… Let us mark you so all will know who you belong to… Who conquered you,” his fingers curled around the fabric, tugging it in an attempt to expose her breasts. Aemond pulled his hand away from her heat momentarily to aid him, his fingers pulling the opposite direction until the chemise tore down the middle, enlisting a sharp gasp of surprise from her. 

Her nipples were pebbled at the feeling of air against them. A field of gooseflesh also covered the expanse of her soft breasts, which gravity pulled slightly to each side, inviting each prince to their own. Aemond and Aegon wasted no time; they devoured a nipple each after they had their fill with their eyes. Valeana’s back arched into them, her hand instinctively reaching up to run her fingers through the hair at the base of their heads. 

“Ooh, my Princes,” she crooned, her head falling back with her eyes tightly closed. She blindly felt their hands move back to her privy parts, unaware of whose fingers belonged to as they probed and caressed her folds and pearl, creating lewd squelching noises with her slickness. 

When she opened her eyes, the three of them were completely nude. In her haze of wanton pleasure, she hadn’t realized or felt the movements that had brought her in their state of undress. But she was far too debauched to care… All that mattered was their body heat as they caged her between them. 

Now on her side, Aegon was pressed against her back, and she could feel his cock against her rear, where his hand massaged. He parted her cheek an inch or two just so he could prod against her puckered hole teasingly. As much as he longed to take her there, it wasn’t his destination. Casting her braid over the pillow, Aegon peppered the back of her neck and length of her shoulder with open mouthed kisses, humming pleasantly in response to her gentle sighs. 

Aemond was pressed in front of her, her breasts flushed against his chest, lips  ghost over hers as they laid their head down on the pile of pillows. He blinked languidly at her, and Valeana could do nothing but stare back, feeling completely at peace in the reflection of his one eye. He had two fingers in her, slowly working through the folds, gently preparing her for them. It was bliss and torture at the same time, feeling the roughness of his callased digits rub against the walls of her unbreached womanhood. 

“Do you think you’re ready, my love?” Aemond asks against her lips. “You can change your mind.” She felt herself involuntarily clench around his fingers, causing him to smirk, and give a soft chuckle. “The Pink Dread is hungry, brother.” 

Aegon smiled against her spine, then moved closer against her, placing his chin over her shoulder, “Time to claim the dragon, then.” 

Aemond pulled his hand away from her sex, to hook his hand under her left knee, spreading her wide for them. Valeana reached and grabbed onto her leg for him, bending it at the hip as the brothers reached down and grabbed onto their cocks and positioned it against her folds. Already, Valeana gave out a soft moan at the sensation; the two smooth heads probing the slick folds of her sex, brushing against her pearl and entrance, coating themselves in her lubricant. 

The look the princes shared over her shoulder didn’t go amiss. Their cocks positioned themselves at her entrance by their own hand. They would have to do it slowly, painfully, just enough for her to break and stretch for them both. 

Valeana wished she could see; she wanted to witness her virginity being lost by them both. But as she turned her head to look down at her body, all she could see was herself sandwiched between the two of them, and her arched left leg, perfect and whole. 

Her breath hitched in her throat, and the world around her paused, then blurred. 

It was a dream. 

They weren’t there. 

Valeana blinked and suddenly she was alone, floating on a mattress in the middle of the ocean, naked as the day she was born. All was quiet, all except for the gentle singing voice in the distance, one that sounded just like hers. 

“From the ashes rose, scales of pink, A beast of terror, in a single blink.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE SNEAK PEAK:

“And we sit here today, as one house: The House of Valyria. Proud, ancient, and forged in fire and blood, in salt and sea,” Everyone raises their goblets in murmured agreement. “It truly gladdens me to be part of this historical moment. Our families will now no longer be divided, but blended. My grandsons, Jace and Luke are set to be married.”  Aemond felt his blood drain from his body instantly. His brow furrowed, his heart ached in a pang of betrayal. His brother felt no different; they both turned to the woman seated between them. Valeana hadn’t seemed to notice this, she was looking at Jace with a slight smirk upon her lips, and that made it all the worse.

Notes: :D did you guys like your little treat-o? If you read my pinned post and my lil bio, you'll know how much I love to edge you guys 😈 heh heh heh. And honestly, who knows, maybe I'll fully write that scene in an AU smut-oneshot of it actually playing out. We'll see where my motivations lie.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - Prologue: With Friends Like these

Chapter Summary: Bartimos Celtigar was once King Viserys I's Master of Coin and dearest friend, and their children grew up together... Until the regrettable accident happened.

Word Count: 4088 

Sneak Peak: “No daughter of mine will be wedded to a violent monster! He is feral, and mad, and he maimed my poor sweet dove! She’ll never be able to walk a day in her life again! Lashings will do nothing; he should have his hand cut clean off!”

Warnings: Bullying, fatph0bia, E D, Major Depression, limb loss, b0dy dysm0rphia, physical violence. (Let me know if I forgot anything)

Children are such cruel creatures. Truly, the most cruel among the living, to both man and beast. There is nothing more selfish and more self serving than a child. 

It’s speculated that children can only contain one emotion at a time, and more complex, mixed emotions don’t develop until years after puberty. Or perhaps they simply do not have the mental capacity to truly understand them until later in life. Either way, they think emotionally, and therefore selfishly. Preservation, physical but especially social, is the most important thing in their life. So should a certain individual in one’s life cripple them somehow… Well, the logical solution is to distance oneself, or remove the problem completely. 

The Celtigars were residents of the Red Keep for over ten years, before Bartimos Celtigar had married the young Lysa Lannister, the eldest daughter of Lord Lannister. Bartimos was Master of Coin, giving him reason to remain in the Red Keep with his new, growing family. Through Lysa, they had two children, Clement, then Valeana. Tragically, Lysa did not live through the birth of her second babe; Valeana was large, and Lysa was petite. Barty returned home to Claw Isle to bury and mourn the loss of his young wife, and then came back to King’s Landing with another one and a second daughter. 

Lord Bartimos remarried Lady Ursula Grafton, his late cousin’s wife. Ursula was once a Frey, and had married Lord Grafton, who was already quite advanced in his age. When he died without a male sire, the title was given to his brother, and left Ursula and her four year old daughter, Floris, without an inheritance.

The blended family settled in nicely into the Red Keep. Ursula proved far more fruitful than his first wife, and had given Bartimos another daughter, Shyra, followed by a son, Arthor, right after and survived birth. 

In the eyes of the adults, the Celtigar children were childhood chums of the Targaryen children. This is the case simply because adults don’t particularly look closely at child politics. Lord Celtigar’s girls were known to be quite peculiar, one more odd than the other, and this did them no favours socially among their age appropriate peers.  

Floris was tall for her age, thin and gangly, fine brown hair, flat chested, and had a weak chin. However, her large honey brown eyes that were framed with thick eyelashes were regarded positively among the ladies of court. Floris rarely smiled, and when she did, it did not reach her eyes. She boasted no skills, other than having a pretty voice, which she shared with her step sister and half sister. Bartimos estimated that Floris’ Celtigar blood was strong, since Celtigar women were always known for their lovely singing voices. 

Her half-sister, Valeana, four years her junior, contrasted her greatly. Valeana was quite plump and rather short. Her round head was crowned with thick, light blonde hair, and sat upon a short neck. Unlike her full-blooded brother, who inherited both hair and eyes from their father’s Valyrian blood, Valeana got her mother’s green eyes. Little Val was not regarded as a true beauty, but she was appreciated for her skills. The talented girl flourished in embroidery, surpassing her elder sister and even step mother when she was as young as four years.

Then there was Bartimos’ youngest, Shyra. She did not live up to her name, as she was quite lively, and chatty. So chatty that she was often reprimanded for talking when she was not supposed to. Shyra resembled her older sister, inheriting none of her father’s traits. Her hair was a lighter brown, and had distinctive coily curls that were the envy of every high born lady. Her dark brown eyes had long lashes, much like Floris, but her eyebrows were sparse, almost nonexistent. Despite this, and her oddly wide frame, Shyra was considered the prettier of the Celtigar girls.

The three were collectively called the Sirens of Claw Isle, despite stepping foot on its soil only a few times in the decade they lived at the Red Keep. Each girl held a pretty voice, different and unique to each. Truly the only time the three girls ever got along was when they were asked to sing bards tales during large feasts and events. Outside of that, they bickered quite often, particularly when it came to gaining the attentions of the Targaryen and Velaryon boys. 

Their brothers were blessedly absent from King’s Landing, instead residing at Claw Isle with Ursula. Had they been present, though, perhaps things would have ended differently. 

Floris, the eldest of the parade of children, hovered over the group like a silent vulture, always giving her disapproval over shenanigans that their parents would hate, much to the chagrin of Aegon and his nephew, Jacaerys, who so loved to cause trouble. Then there was little Shyla, who loved to nip at the heels of the younger Lucerys, vying for his affections. Though the minute someone else had given her a compliment, her fickle heart would switch over to another, and it often bounced between the four boys.

Valeana, however, did not care for Aegon, Jacaerys, or young Lucerys. Her eyes always followed Aemond, and unlike the other three who so often tried to put distance between themselves and the Celtigar girls they were plagued with, Aemond enjoyed Valeana’s company. In her, he found a companion, one that he failed to find in his own blood. 

However, Aemond was acutely aware of the repercussions of this friendship. Already the punchline of all his brother’s jokes, Aemond couldn’t afford more jabs at his expense if his brother and nephews knew about his close relationship with the round, plump Valeana Celtigar. Alas, no secret stays a secret in the Red Keep, especially amongst children. 

All it took was one glance by his father, King Viserys, to notice the two conversing with each other at the base of the old Heart Tree, for an idea to bloom. Viserys and his wife were already considering a marriage between Aegon and Helaena,  which meant he had two more sons to marry off and forge alliances. The Celtigars were beyond wealthy and a marriage between his Master of Coin’s eldest blood daughter and his second son, Aemond, would not only be financially beneficial, but it would at last unite the three Valyrian houses of Westeros. 

It had not been officialized, but the topic had been broached between Viserys and his Queen wife, Alicent, in the privacy of their quarters. Unfortunately, it was one conversation that was overheard by their mischievous son, Aegon, who had been creeping in the shadows, intent on stealing his father’s strong Dornish wine. 

The next day, at the Dragonpit, Aemond was pulled aside by his brother and nephews. 

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” Aegon spoke, brushing hair away from his face. 

“What is it?”

“Something very special,” Luke said with excitement as he took off to the other end of the pit. 

Aegon continued, “You’re the only one of us without a dragon.”

“Indeed.”

“And we felt badly about it. So we found one for you.” 

“A Dragon? How?”

“The Gods provide.”

As they neared the decline towards the caverns below, Aemond could hear guttural noises as shadowed shapes approached them through the darkness. When Luke approached him, holding a lead with a large, pink, pot belly pig, with wings on his back, all Aemond could do was purse his lips and stare, trying to contain the wobble of his chin.

“Behold!” The three of them said in unison, “The Pink Dread!”

“Be sure to mount her carefully,” Aegon says next to his ear. “The first flight is always rough…It would not be much different on your wedding night with Lady Sow-leana Pigletar, eh?”

Aegon emphasized the jest with a series of oinks and snorts, then kissy sounds, which were accompanied by Jace and Luke.

From that moment forward, Aemond avoided Valeana as if she had greyscale. Though that proved to be a bit difficult, because the Celtigar girls were relentless in their pursuit in gaining the attentions of Targaryen and Velaryon princes. Every time Valena called his name, and came running, Aegon would start making the pig noises, forcing Aemond to twist away and disappear behind furniture, or slip through a door, or hide behind the broad form of a white cloak walking by. 

King Viserys brought up the prospect of arranging the marriage between Aemond and Valeana to Lord Bartimos. The Master of Coin had preferred it would be Aegon, or Jacaerys –as close to the heir as possible– but he could not deny the friendship and fondness his daughter had for Aemond Targaryen. He only ever wished for her to be happy, and if Aemond was to make her happy, how could he deny both her and the king? 

Said in whispers when alone, Bartimos would always praise his first born daughter, showering her with compliments that no others would give her. 

“Want to know a secret, my dove?” He would say as he leaned in closer to ear, “You are my favourite. Shhh do not tell your sisters.”

Though it had not been officialized during a meeting of the small council, Bartimos was far too eager to share the news with his favourite daughter. So one morning when they were breaking fast, he had let the news slip, and from that moment forth, it was the only thing that Valeana could think of, or talk about.

Spending many hours sitting on a tuffet or settee, Valena sacrificed the delicate pads of her fingers as she embroidered her most intricate piece of work yet. A small tapestry, depicting an impressive likeness of her soon-to-be betrothed, framed with the serpentine neck of a bronze, green-eyed dragon of her creation. The head of the dragon draped over his shoulder as it faced the viewer, but Aemond’s face turned to the right to show his profile.. For the eyes she had sewn in small peridot beads for the dragon’s, and a single bead of amethyst to Aemond’s. 

It was a pre-betrothal gift. She knew he did not have a dragon, and she hoped that this small gesture would give him hope that one day he may claim one. However, she found locating him as of late quite difficult. Everytime she thought she saw him, he disappeared, as if a ghost. There was a moment where she had thought she caught him in the hall, standing next to his brother and nephews, but he had disappeared when she ran forward. When she asked Aegon where had gone, the prince merely shrugged. 

“Mayhaps he went to feed his dragon.”

“Dragon?” She blinked, and stepped closer. “He claimed a dragon?”

“Indeed!” Luke snorted. “The Pink Dread!”

A chorus of laughter filled the hall, followed by guttural snorts and oinks. 

It was a few days after that incident that Valeana had finally found Aemond alone. She caught him completely unaware when she bounded up a spiral of stone stairs and nearly bumped into him.

“Aemond!” She beamed. 

“Va--Valaena,” his eyes flickered around, hoping that no one was near. He had only recently left his brother and nephews in the lower courtyard to make his way back to Maegor’s Holdfast, and they may be around the corner, following his intentions at any moment. Out of instinct he took a step back, putting more distance between himself and the rotund girl. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you,” she gave him a small, sheepish smile. “It seems like I keep missing you.”

“Really?” He briefly glanced behind his shoulder after he heard the sound of footsteps in the distance. “I’ve been busy…” 

“I just… wanted to give you something.”

He just stared at her as she pulled out a rolled up tapestry he hadn’t noticed she was holding under her arm. It blended in with her olive green dress, which overflowed with fabric to accommodate her size. He raised an eyebrow as he gingerly took it from her grasp. 

“Thank you…” Aemond’s violet eyes glanced at it, holding it awkwardly in his grasp, but didn’t unfurl it.. 

“I made it,” her arms laced behind her back as she coyly bounced on the balls of her feet. There was a deep rouge blush on the round apples of her cheeks, redder than they usually were. It made her look pink-faced, and Aemond was filled with an immense amount of loath for her because of it. 

“As an…” she looked down at her feet, which still rocked back and forth from ball to heel. “Early engagement present.” 

It was at that moment the distinct and familiar chatter of the three boys grew closer to the scene. Incredibly bad timing, for both Aemond and poor Valaena. A jolt of panic shot down Aemond’s spine as his ears rang with memories of pig snorts and oinks and images of a damned pig with wings. Bile formed in the back of his throat, heat rose to his face, and his fingers started to twitch. His panic turned into frustration, it turned to disgust, it turned to cruelty. 

“Engagement?!” He repeated the word as if it was poison incarnate. “What makes you think I’d ever marry you?!” 

It was loud enough for the whole corridor to hear, though empty aside from the three princes who stalked around the corner just in time to see the spectacle. 

Valaena’s face drops, her mouth pops open, at a loss for words. Her green eyes started to sting, her nose itched. Her panic quickly bloomed in her chest like dragon fire upon grass. “Aemond, I– my father sa—” She took a step towards him, and that would be her undoing. 

Like a cat cornered, Aemond reacted viciously and without thought. 

“Get away from me, you pig!” His hand pushed her away, and she stumbled. 

Valeana’s arms flailed behind her like a windmill, and as she stepped back trying to ground herself, her heel caught her skirts and caused her to lose her balance completely. Though it wasn’t hard ground that her back met with, it was empty air first, then it was the hard ridges of stairs, one after the other. Valeana’s legs went over her head as she stumbled down the spiral stairs, and her body kept on tumbling. Her screams were cut short when she met the bottom, when a crack was heard. Then there was a terrifying shriek of pain, reverberating through the entire Red Keep, one that would haunt Aemond for the rest of his life.

Valeana Celtigar had broken her calf bone so severely, her foot nearly pointed backwards. The Grand Maester had managed to right the leg forward, causing great deal of pain with little benefit. It was clear that she would not be able to walk, especially given her size. 

Aemond was punished by five lashes on his back, orders given by his father to Ser Criston Cole, who took no joy out of it. Alicent pleaded for mercy for her son, claiming it was a regrettable accident, but according to Valeana, and the testimonials of the Velaryon brothers who had witnessed the crime, Aemond acted out with intent to harm. Whether or not he intended for Valeana to fall down the stairs, or simply push her over, was not clarified. But pushing her was intentional, and it was meant to be mean.

 Aemond remained silent for everything. 

Lord Bartimos took a great offense to the event, and broke off the unofficial betrothal.

“No daughter of mine will be wedded to a violent monster! He is feral, and mad, and he maimed my poor sweet dove! She’ll never be able to walk a day in her life again! Lashings will do nothing; he should have his hand cut clean off!”

Bartimos stepped down from being Master of Coin when he was denied his justice. After a week of trying to be civil, he found that his integrity was compromised, and he failed to forgive what he believed was attempted murder. So he took his three daughters and went back to Claw Isle, relinquishing his position to his late wife’s nephew, Tyland Lannister.

Valeana was not the same when she returned to her ancestral seat. Once a bubbly, friendly, and kind girl with a sense of humour, and saw only the good in people, was now jaded, angry, impatient, and preferred solitude. She was in constant pain because of her leg; she was required to be carried around from place to place, which was difficult because of her weight. It was embarrassing, being carried by two or four guards on a litter, so she insisted on remaining in her room. Her peace of mind was her only hobbies: embroidery and reading. 

Her toes and foot started to turn blue, then black, which concerned the Maesters into believing that it would eventually kill her. It was similar to the sores that King Viserys had, but it was localized on her lame leg, which meant that it would slowly kill her over time if they did not do anything. So with the reluctant approval of their liege lord, they amputated her leg three inches down from the knee. The pain was worse than the break and the readjustment itself, even with milk of the poppy, but the act saved her life.

As the years passed, much changed. Valeana had stopped eating, almost entirely, until her Septa all but forced food down her throat. It became evident that his first born daughter was purposely trying to waste herself away. She blamed everything on her size. She blamed her father for inheriting his body shape, blamed the kitchens for serving so much food, blamed herself for having no self control. By the time Valeana was ten and four, she was half the size she had been three years ago. 

The Maesters advised that Valeaena needed to leave her quarters. Her doomed sadness was the result of her isolation, and she needed to step out into the world once again. However with only one leg, and no nutrients, it was difficult to move around, and Valeana refused to be carted around by guards or Septas. So instead the smithies and Maesters had designed and created a faux leg, made out of the sturdiest of woods, held on by the best steel, with a sophisticated mechanic that would allow her to walk normally after much practice.

Valeana was reluctant, skeptical, and sometimes refused outright, but with much coercion and some threats by both her lord father and stepmother, she finally relented. It took nearly twelve turns of the moon, but for the first time in five years, she was able to stand and walk on her own two feet again. 

Valeana started to change once again, but this time for the better. She still retained the walls she had built up, but her bitter, depressed personality simply graduated to a sarcastic, dry, and dark humoured. Her hobbies grew and elevated as well; embroidery turned into garment and dressmaking, reading turned into writing. She never went back to singing, finding that she had lost her voice after years of being silent. Instead, she became adept on the lute and lyre to accompany their songs. Though on top of that all, Valeana picked up another hobby, a passion, that she was not given the privilege of even before she had broken her leg: Horseback riding. She was never able to due to her weight, but now with her shedded pounds, she was able to swing her leg over a horse, and take off without worrying about the animal underneath her. 

Though as the girls blossomed to women, the impending doom of marriage became an increasing topic of family discussions. Especially since Floris should have been married off years ago. Alas, her prospects were thin; despite being the only child of the former Lord of Gulltown, her only inheritance was a dowry, which was mostly contributed to by her step father. Ideally, she would’ve been married off to her uncle, who took her father’s seat, but he had already been married by the time he took the seat (And Graftons were not Targaryens – they had no desire to marry such close relations). 

Bartimos had three girls to marry, and he would be damned if he allowed them to reach spinsterhood. 

On the other side of Blackwater Bay, at King’s Landing, King Viserys’ health was dipleting… and then it was not. The Grand Maester Mellos had passed away, and Maester Orwyle was elevated to Grand Maester by the orders of Queen Alicent. This was all against the wishes of Rhaenyra, but with her now being back at Dragonstone, there was little sway she had with the ongoings of the Red Keep. 

The decision was fortuitous, however, because Orwyle’s studies had led him to a breakthrough with Viserys’ condition. After he learned what the maesters did with Lady Valeana’s leg, he deepened his research on the King’s ailment. He started with amputating fingers that had gone completely black, leaving the king with only eight. Then, he experimented with various herbs. Using things such as honey, clove, and foreign herbs from across the Narrow Sea known as garlic and ginger, Orwyle was able to slow down the decaying process, and even heal some sores from his Grace’s body.

Now feeling leagues better, King Viserys felt inspired, happy even. He was no longer a man trapped in a corpse, and his heart was filled with hope now that the Stranger had retreated from his shadow. He still could not walk without a cane, and his hair wasn’t as thick as it once was, but Maester Orwyle assured him that if he continued these new remedies, his condition would not worsen, at least not for some time. 

Now that peace filled his bones and flesh, he needed peace to fill his heart and his home. Spontaneously, he decided that he wanted to host an event at King’s Landing, a grand one for all high born lords and ladies that wish to attend. The Royal Conclave, he called it, a season of courtship for the Lords to find wives for their sons, and husbands for the daughters. A chance for all houses to make alliances with others where distance had made it impossible. 

But it was also an olive branch to his daughter who retreated to Dragonstone, taking his grandchildren with her. After the death of Laena and Laenor Velaryon, Rhaenyra waited no time in marrying her uncle. This had angered Viserys, but over time when he realized his anger would never bring back his daughter nor his grandchildren, he silently forgave her. Her sons would be looking to find wives; a future queen, a future lady of Driftmark. Then there were the grandchildren he had yet to meet, the ones sired by his brother, Daemon, who as he learned, was blessed with the Valyrian features his eldest grandsons did not have.

Viserys had been reluctant to have Helaena marry Aegon all these years for two specific reasons: one, he hoped his wife would be reasonable and accept the proposal Rhaenyra made all those years ago for Helaena to marry Jacaerys. And two, he could not subject his soft, little Helaena to a marriage with Aegon. His first born son had proved to be a great disappointment, and age had failed to mature him. 

Though it was just not his own family he wished to bring peace to, he also wished to mend a great rift with someone who he once called friend. It had grieved him that he was not able to join the three Valyrian houses ten years ago, and he perhaps may not get a second chance. But Viserys craved peace, and the Celtigars deserved it as much as his estranged family did.

To the Seven Realms, he issued an open ended invitation; a series of events, feasts, balls, competitions, and tourneys will be ongoing for three or four moons. Houses near the capitol were welcome to host their own events should highborns wish to make the journey. Pavilions would be raised around the border of King’s Landing, and promises were made for many men to be knighted, titled bestowed, marriages to be planned, and weddings to be hosted. 

Though to his eldest daughter, to his cousin, Rhaenys, and to Bartimos, he handwritten a personal invitation. 

It is time we unite Valyrian blood. We need not destroy ourselves as our ancestors did in Old Valyria…

Author's Notes: This is a obligatory summarization of the past. I usually hate writing this, but I also didn't want to spend 2-3 chapters writing in the past when the bulk of the story happens after ten years.

Chapter one will be posted very shortly, and then the other chapters will be posted every 5-7 days. This is the first time I'm posting on tumblr, so if there is anything I should be aware about, please let me know.

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. xiii: Girl's Night

Chapter Summary: The night is young, and so are they. 🍷🍷🍷

Word count: 4530

Sneak Peak: Aegon turned to look at his brother, shit eating grin plastered on his alabaster face, “This is the best day of my life.”

Warnings: Copious amounts of alcohol, public intoxication, a fun time.

T H E   R E D S

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Valeana was quite surprised at how fast she fell into friendship with Wylla Stark and the third Baratheon daughter, Ellyn. It was within their company that she realized a fundamental truth of her life: she had no real female friends. She had her sisters, but sisterhood bonds through blood and marriage was an obligation. Valeana was always on guard with Floris, and Shyla was… Shyla. A cross between a cat in heat and a drunk butterfly. She had little in common with her.

The day of the two house’s arrival was the same day the King and several of their family members left to attend the funeral of the late Princess Visenya, the youngest grandchild and only daughter of Rhaenyra. Val would have gone with her brother, but she was more of a stranger now to the crown princess. She might have known her better as a child, but after a decade, it felt improper to reunite under the dire circumstances. Clement, however, knew them more closely, having sailed back and forth to Dragonstone and Driftmark more times than she cared to remember. 

The days began somberly now that the Keep was garbed in black and bleak clothing. While the sun still blared overhead, there was a dark cloud over King’s Landing; even the smallfolk mourned the loss. Though life at court still went on, and the convergence of the castle’s occupants was required as if it was a job.

It was expected for all eight of the young ladies to mingle. Cassandra, the eldest, was nearly as hard to endure as Floris (Grafton). Always complaining and pinching her face in clear disgust over the most trivial things that bothered her. Maris was quite the talker; she loved the sound of her own voice almost as much as she loved correcting people. Though, Valeana had noticed whenever a male was present, she would go silent and red-faced. Little Floris was delightful though, but incredibly naive. She took to Shyla early on, but seemed to be struggling to keep up with her. When she did talk, it was only ever about Daeron Targaryen. To balance that out of course, Shyla would talk about Aegon, so it was really an endless circle of prince talk between the two. And then there was Ellyn, who was mostly quiet but often made silent looks behind the rim of her cup that clearly communicated her opinions.

At one point, Cassandra scoffed at younger Floris when she swooned over her absent lover boy, claiming it made her look desperate, and how she– Cassandra that is– “would never be so easy for a man” and how Floris should act more “mysterious and unavailable”, like her. Ellyn’s eyes widened and her perfect U shaped smile quickly hid behind her cup while her trembling shoulders exposed the internal battle she had with her own giggles. 

Valeana felt a bubble of laughter from the girl’s expression alone, and tried fruitlessly to swallow it, but it ended up coming out like a suppressed hiccup. 

Then there was Wylla Stark, who embodied mysterious and unavailable. She sat with her legs perfect crossed under her grey and blue skirts, glass goblet in her elegant hand with her long almond shaped nails, and asked:

“How is that going for you, Lady Cassandra?”

Valeana and Ellyn could have died at the way they were holding their breath to prevent themselves from laughing. 

After that moment, the three spent as much time together as possible. Valeana needed the distraction to keep her mind off of Aemond and his rejection of her peace offering. With Helaena and her brother at Dragonstone, and Aegon fucking off somewhere, she didn’t have anyone else to turn to. 

It was the evening sometime after the hour of the bat, and the three girls were deep into their cups. Their faces flushed with laughter, liquor, and the humidity that still lingered in the night air after a long hot day. 

“It is so bloody hot here, I do not know how you southerners stand it,” Wylla pulled at the loose fabric of her bodice to air herself out. It was enough to see the tops of her breasts, which Valeana caught Ellyn openly staring at. “I miss the cool breeze coming from the North.”

“You get used to it,” Ellyn said, moving her fan to cool off Wylla, who arched her neck in gratitude. “In Storm’s End, it’s always humid. We’re so close to Dorne, but with all our rain, it is never a dry heat.”

“I can’t imagine living somewhere where it storms that frequently,” Valeana leaned her head back into the armchair she sat on, closing her eyes in an attempt to stop the spinning of her head. “Claw Isle has its storms, but at most a few times in a moon’s cycle.”

“I do envy your home, Valeana,” Wylla sighed when Ellyn stopped fanning her to relax her arm. “I’ve always wanted to go to the beach.” 

“You’re in the south now– plenty of opportunity to see the beaches,” Ellyn suggested. 

Valeana made a face, “King’s Landing isn’t a place known for it. Unless you want to smell like fish and shit, and find severed feet along the shoreline.”

“Severed feet?” Wylla said appalled, “Why feet?”

“When people die at sea – or dumped in the water – fully clothed, overtime the water causes it to bloat and decompose. However, the shoes keep the feet afloat, so eventually it just–” Val makes a motion with her hands, micking a limb being pulled off. “--pops off and floats around until it gets beached.”

“That’s disgusting!” Ellyn looked both shocked, but morbidly entertained. “How in the world do you know that?”

“Me and– and Prince Aemond,” invoking his name already gave her a headache. “We used to walk along the shores of Blackwater Rush with Ser Criston, and we would find them more often than I’d care to admit. Maester Orwyle explained to us why. Now this knowledge haunts me to this day, so I must pass it onto others.” 

“How considerate of you, Val,” Wylla shakes her head and takes a sip of her wine. “I will treasure it always.” Val cracked open her eye and pointed at her with a heavy arm, “Good! It will be useful information. In the North… where there are no beaches. Just snow… and hairy men… and-and, whatever it is in the North. Whatsitcalled? Cold Walkers? Ice Soldiers?”

“Shhhh,” Wylla chastised her through her laughter, “They’re called White Walkers, and please do not say it so loudly. It will summon my brother and that is the last thing we want.”

“I mean,” Valeana lifted her head and wagged her eyebrows, “It’s what you don’t want.” 

A pillow went flying at her face, causing both her and Ellyn to bark out laughing. 

“What? What?! Is that not why we are all here? To marry? Find a husband, and all that–” Valeana made a raspberry noise with her lips. 

Ellyn snorted, covering her face, “Oh, gods, do not remind me. That is all I’ve been hearing from not just my father, but all my sisters.”

“You would not want to marry Cregan, darling, trust me,” Wylla waves her off. “He will bore you to tears.”

“But he’s nice on the eyes,” Valeana smiled sheepishly, knowing she was baiting her Northern friend.

“Just wait until your brother returns from Dragonstone, Celtigar. I’ll climb him like a tree.”

“What’s stopping you now, Stark? I’ve got a brother right here.”

“Little Arthor,” Wylla mock pouted, “He’ll suffocate too easily between my thighs.”

“Oh, gross,” Val covered her face, “Please do not paint that image in my head.”

Ellyn shook her head, mildly amused, mildly horrified, “I am so glad I do not have brothers.” 

“Yet,” Wylla reminded. She adjusted herself in her seat, tucking her bare feet under herself to get more comfortable. “So, ladies, tell me: what are your goals for this Conclave? Who do you desire to be betrothed with?”

The Baratheon snorted, “Like we have a choice?”

“Let’s suspend belief for a moment, and pretend we do.”

“I haven’t thought of it,” Ellyn confessed, pulling her knees up to her chest, mug delicately cradled between both hands. “To be honest, if I had a choice in the matter, I would not marry at all.”

“Here, here!” Valeana raised her drink. 

Wylla snapped her head in her direction, “Oh, I find that hard to believe. You grew up in court, surely you, of all people, are more knowledgeable of all the noble born bachelors here in the south, and have an idea or two who you’d like to attach yourself to.”

“I lived here as a child. I spent most of my years here tailing the princes like a lost pup… I barely remember anyone that ever visited,”  Val scrunched up her face in thought. “I vaguely recall the Greyjoys visiting one moon… Only because they were hard to forget. Their sons were absolutely batty, especially the eldest, Dalton.” She straightened herself in her seat, now that her memory was catching up with her. Gesturing with her hands, she continued, “I remember, actually, even at seven years old, that little shit would find every opportunity to accidentally bump into, graze, or even so much as grab my arse! I was nine!”

Wylla huffed a shocked laugh, “Hells, what a little monster. I can only imagine what he is like now, a man grown.”

“Did you tell your father this?” Ellyn asked, face equally appalled. “Mine would have lost his mind.”

Val heaved a sigh, laying her head back against the chair once again, her entire body practically melting in the seat. “No.There was some tension at the time, not sure what it was, but I remember my father telling me to not upset Lord Greyjoy’s sons,” Suddenly, lost in her reminiscence, the blonde laughed. “But-but, Aemond, he–he, oh gods…” She snorted loudly to contain her laughter, covering her face as it got beat red. “He, Aegon and the Greyjoys were sparring in the training yard. He kept on dodging Dalton and using the flat end of his training sword to slap him on the rear, like thirty bloody times. He-he–” Her laughing intensified as she used her hand to illustrate the image she was trying to explain, “He was bruised all over, and so severely he could not sit or lay down on his back for two days.” 

While Valean giggled (by herself) Wylla and Ellyn exchanged knowing glances and smirks, then turned back to the drunk flustered crab.

“Well, I suppose that answers my question,” Wylla quipped smugly, nestling into her seat, smile barely being hidden behind the rim of her goblet. 

Val ran a hand over her face in an attempt to calm herself down. She blearily peered at her raven haired friend, a bit confused, “What question?”

“Who you desire to be betrothed with.”

Valeana looked at her incredulously, “Dalton fucking Greyjoy?!”

“No, you idiot!” Ellyn flailed her arms, “Aemond. Prince fucking Aemond.” 

“Ooh, gods,” Val scrunched up her face, digging the butt of her palm into her eyes as the two girls gushed and agreed with themselves. She had forgotten for a moment that she was no longer friends with Aemond, and he, in fact, hated her. “No, no, not Aemond,” she shook her head vehemently. 

“What!” Wylla nearly shouted, dark icy blues wide, “My Lady Valeana, what do you mean not Aemond? The way your face glowed at just talking about him.”

“And it makes perfect sense!” Ellyn added, “The two of you grew up together, you were quite close from what I was told. Of course it would be Aemond. It’s so sickly sweet, it almost makes me want to vomit my dinner.” 

“No, no, no, Aemond– Aemond would never want me,” Val kept on shaking her head. “He hates me. Loathes me, even. Do-do you two even know what he did to me? Why my family left King’s Landing in the first place?”

The two exchanged looks, faces scrunched as they tried to recall. 

“You injured yourself, I believe?” Wylla tilted her head.

“My father told me that Aegon accidentally knocked you down the stairs? I think?” 

“You two are close– It was Aemond,” Val noticed her cup was empty and bent forward towards the squat table to refill it with red. “And it was not an accident. Our fathers were discussing our betrothal, which he disapproved of, apparently. I was under the foolish impression we were the best of friends, and were meant for each other. Stupid, really, in hindsight. 

“He decided that he disliked me so much that he needed to get rid of me, so he pushed me down a flight of stone stairs after calling me a pig.” She surprised herself at how casually she spoke of the event, but it was likely the alcohol that numbed the reality of her emotions. “Broke my leg so severely they had to cut it off a few moons after.”

She lifted her left leg then, her dress falling down above her knee to expose her wooden foot and calf. Then with a gentle wave of her hand, she motioned along the appendage as if presenting a great trophy, “I call her Lady Footlyn Woodsby, first of her name. Her heir is Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby, the E-bone-knee Knight.”

The two other girls had fallen into a shocked silence for a moment, but that was short lived after Valeana’s introduction of her leg. 

Wylla clamped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, “Val-Valeana…” She snorted into her palm. “That’s– I’m so sorry.”

Ellyn had both her hands upon her face, brown eyes peeking through the cracks of her fingers, “Oh-ooooh, I should not be laughing. I am sorry, Valeana.” 

Val waved them off, returning her skirts over her leg, “Worry not. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.”

Her heartbreaking admittance, despite being veiled with self-deprecating humour, did not go amiss. Wylla and Ellyn’s expressions went soft as they shared another knowing look between each other. The former reached out and placed her hand on Valeana’s knee, thumb moving in comforting motions. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you, my dearest. Men are horrible creatures, especially the ones closest to you.” 

That simple gesture and those kind words were enough to crumble her all at once. It had sobered Valeana enough to allow her sadness seep through the armour of numbness she had been trying to craft around herself. Her mouth, nose and eyes felt watery all of a sudden, forcing her to swallow and tilt her head back to stop herself from crying. 

Ellyn made a cooing sound as she unfolded herself from her seat and walked over to her friend from behind and enveloped her shoulders in a hug, resting her cheek on top of her head. It was that gesture of comfort that had made the waterfall finally break through. Valeana had not realized how touch starved she was, how hungry she was for comfort over her heartbreak. This was a level of vulnerability she had never allowed to be exposed around her family, not even Clement. Despite her love for him, men were not well equipped to handle emotional women; he would’ve reacted how men usually did, either dismiss it with aggressive advice, or unsheathe his sword and wage a war in her name. Her step mother, despite her natural maternal instinct, was a woman who would cuddle her to her breast and smother her as if she was a child, not unlike a kiss on a bruise or scraped knee. Nothing substantial, nothing deep or empathetic. Just a salve to numb the pain for a few hours.

No, the comfort from a friend– from a fellow female –was different, almost stronger. 

Like her tears, everything rushed out of her; a great purge of words, of pent up sadness, of suppressed emotions. She shared how much she loved Aemond, missed him down to her bones, how he broke her in more ways than physical, and then she shared the story of her return and the catastrophe she had made that could have been avoided, and how in her most earnest attempt to reconcile, she was ultimately left scarred more, and still yearning for him. A stuttered breath left her lungs when she finished, her shoulders caving in as if the weight of her heart finally did her in. Ellyn still cradled her head from behind, but Wylla had moved to squish in beside her and hold her middle and lay her head upon her shoulder. 

“He does not deserve your love, my darling,” Wylla stroked Val’s hair. “No man alive deserves any of our love. Selfish, fickle-hearted beasts, they all are.” 

Valeana sniffled, head laid in Ellyn’s arm, cheeks sticky with tears, and red from humidity, alcohol, and spending the last several minutes pouring her heart out. These three women were effectively strangers not three days ago, and yet now Valeana never felt more close to another human being. Not since him. Not since Aemond. 

“Except for Cregan,” Val muttered in a small voice, light but coarse through the dryness of her throat. She reached out and patted Wylla on her arm, “Him and his manly shoulders and broad chest–”

“Please shut up,” Wylla replied with a small voice and a weak smack to Val’s face. 

“Let him know I’ve got the hips to birth more of his heirs.”

“I will kill you.”

“Ladies,” Ellyn lifted her head up with a heavy sniff to clear out her sinuses. She wiped her nose and peered over to the table in front of them. “We’ve run out of wine.”

All their heads perked up to glower down at their empty bottles and carafes. This would not do– the night was still young, and so were they. The three ladies also sobered too much for their liking, and the only way to heal this disease was to drink more. 

“Where’s that serving boy?”

“We sent him away for the night, remember?”

“We were fools.”

“Indeed.”

There was a beat of silence, until: 

“Wait, wait,” Val sat up, forcing the two girls to unravel their arms. “I know this castle. I know a shortcut to the kitchens… There’s a secret door over there– behind that tapestry.”

“Which tapestry?”

“The one with the orgy.”

“... They’re all having orgies.”

“This-this one! Where she’s sitting on his face and eating a fig out of the other woman’s mouth,” Valeana stood up, wobbling a bit when she did. She hadn’t realized how much she drank and how long she had been sitting until that moment. But, she was convinced that she was too sober, and that wouldn’t do, so she marched over to the tapestry, unevenly and ungracefully. With one swift movement she shoved the tapestry aside to expose a stone wall.

“Valea–”

“Shush!” The silver haired girl eyed it for a moment before moving her hands along the edges of the stones until she could feel the cracks that formed the outline of a door. With a wicked smile she pushed her shoulder into it, throwing her whole body weight into moving it. With a groan the secret entrance wedged open, an amber glow emitting through the gap from the torch inside. 

Ellyn gaped at it, “How did you know that was there?”

Val waved dismissively, “I was a fat child. If there was a quick route to the kitchens, I was aware of it.”  

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

They had reached the kitchens in a fair amount of time, but they did not, in fact, find wine. But they found bottles and bottles of dusty ale, and they weren’t about to complain. The problem they inevitably had was the trek back. Now that their minds were fully in the thick of inebriation, they got lost within the walls of the Keep and ended up in a completely different part of the castle than they were originally. 

“Valeana, where the hells are we?” Wylla hissed as they rounded yet another stone corridor with very few windows. 

The blonde squinted around them. The three were hanging off each other’s shoulders for dear life. Each clutched a large bottle of ale by the neck as if it was a lifeline; as if it was the only thing that was keeping them from floating away. Valeana craned her neck over their arms and took a sloppy swig of her drink, a droplet escaping her lips and dribbling messily down her chin.

“The barracks hall?” She said after a swallow.

“Are you askin’ us?” Ellyn laughed. “Chisisyerhome, and y’dunno where you ARE?”

“I know where I am!” Val shouted, brow furrowed in determination. “And this is not my home.. It’s-it’s– hic – my personal hell. Fuck it’s so hot, why is it so hot?” She cried out, slumping a bit, forcing the girls to bend at her weight. 

They stumbled forward until they heard the tell tale sound of metal armour clanking ever near. A form of silver and white rounded the corner and immediately halted at the sight of the three noble women linked together by their shoulders, sloshing around drinks shamelessly.

The knight stepped forward, concern marring his face, “My ladies. Are you quite alright?”

“Ser Arryk!” Valeana shouted, arms shooting up in the air, narrowly missing Ellyn’s brow. 

The knight bowed his head, “Erryk, my lady.”

“Oh, right, ‘m turribly sorry,” She threw her head back and jutted out her bottom lip in a pout at her own stupidity. “Forgive me.”

The corner of Erryk’s lip twitched upward. It didn’t take him very long to understand that these three girls were skunked out of their gourds. He gave her a nod, containing his amusement, “You are forgiven, Lady Valeana.”

“You see!” She launched herself forward, disentangling herself from her friends and reaching the white cloak’s side. Her bottle of ale fell from her fingers, clattering and rolling away along the flagstones. She then prodded her finger into his plated chest and looked over at Wylla and Ellyn, “Y’see how easy that is? I apol-ap– apolojiz–fuck me– Apo. Lo. Gized– there you go…— hic — N’you forgave me. Because yer a good man, Ar-Erryk. ‘M sorry, yer names are similar too, is very confusing.”

“Good Ser,” Wylla sauntered over, “Mayhaps you aid us troubled maids… Our foolish guide, full of hubris, led us astray, and now we are hopelessly lost.”

“How dare you insult your future Lady of Winterfell!” Val shoutted, pointing an unsteady finger at Wylla with a step towards her, but ultimately ended up wobbling on her bad leg, forcing Erryk to hold her upright.

Erryk was having a hard time keeping a straight face. It wasn’t every day that he stumbled upon drunk noble born daughters; it wasn’t very ladylike to get this drunk this publically, but he wagered that this wouldn’t be an isolated event these upcoming weeks. 

He snaked an arm under Lady Valeana’s shoulder and hoisted her up on her feet, allowing her to lean against him.

“You’re below the Throne Room, my ladies,” Ser Erryk informed, and the three of them exchanged looks. 

“How the hell did we end up here?” Valeana asked, chin turning up to her anchor. “Erryk, we were in the kitchens. The-the north one. I think.”

“No wonder we are lost!” Ellyn threw her head back. “Ugh, father will be furious.”

“Do not worry, ladies, I’ll safely escort you back, and arrange for a wheelhouse to bring Lady Wylla back to her pavilion.” 

“Such a good man. Ser Erryk,” Wylla’s words slurred when she took an uneven step towards him. “May I ask…Why– no –would you ever consider breaking your vows?” 

“Wylla!” Valeana weakly smacked the Northerner, then promptly turned to the knight. “Do not – hic – listen to her, Erryk. Don’t let this–this–temptress tempt you.”

“I am only saying,” Wylla and Ellyn started to follow the knight as he made his way out of the maze of halls beneath the Throne Room. “All the honourable ones end up being a Kingsguard. It’s such a bloody waste to womenkind!” 

Erryk smiled to himself, though decided to ignore the comment, “Up these stairs, ladies.”

“Oh no,” Ellyn grinned, “Valeana’s mortal enemy.”

Wylla barked a loud laugh and the victim in question craned her neck to shoot her a poisonous glare. 

“I’ll send you to the Wall! Ser Erryk, send this Baratheon traitor to the Wall.” 

“Mayhaps tomorrow, my lady. The hour is already late as it is,” was the Knight’s gentle, albeit amused, reply as he helped her up the stairwell and into the cavernous Throne Room, where he immediately paused upon seeing a pair of men with silver hair.

The women’s collective gasps and loud attempts at quieting themselves had naturally gained the attention of the Throne Room’s sole occupants. 

Ser Erryk immediately bowed, “My Princes. Apologies for the disturbance, I was merely–”

“Egg-On-Toast!” Valeana shouted so loudly it echoed like a lion’s roar. Her arms flew to the air above her head, then immediately marched over, completely ignoring the second prince. Her vision was tunneled, and hadn’t realized that Aegon wasn’t alone. Her warm and slightly sweaty hands gripped the eldest’s face, then she started laughing when he started laughing.

“Valeana–” Ellyn tried to reach her, eyes flickering over to the stiff Aemond that stood not six feet away. 

Aegon’s eyebrows reached his hairline, his grin uncontainable. His hands gripped her wrists, but he didn’t remove them from his face.

“Are you drunk, my darling?”

“... Yes,” she giggled sheepishly. “I see why you do it so often now, is’so fun. Egg-y. My Prince of Scrambled Eggs. Eggs and Bacon–” Val sharply gasped, mouth agape at her genius. “We are Eggs and Bacon, Aegon. Tha’s a good bard song– Ellyn, write that down.”

Aegon turned to look at his brother, shit eating grin plastered on his alabaster face, “This is the best day of my life.”

Valeana’s entire body swiveled around, brow furrowed with clear confusion. “Who are you– SHIII–T!” When she turned she was immediately greeted by the imposing, towering form of Aemond Targaryen. Standing there, head tilted, with his judgey one eye, lips in a thin line and looking delicious with his narrow waist she openly stared at. 

Wylla and Ellyn were snickering behind their fists, nearly down to their knees, failing to contain their nervous laughter. 

Val turned her wobbly, heavy head back at Aegon, lowering her voice in a very poor attempt at a whisper, “Where the fuck did he come from?”

“Darling, he was here the entire time.”

She peered at him skeptically, then looked back at Aemond, and then back at Aegon. Her head dipped to his ear, and attempted to whisper conspiratorially, “Fecker comes outta nowhere all the bloody time, pilfering through the darkness like a thief of joy– hic. Is he a man or a forlorn ghost?”

Aegon contained his laughter when he bit down on his lip, and then glanced up at the silent shadow that was his brother.

“I can hear you, Lady Valeana,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice irritably condescending, which instantly bristled her. 

Val peeled herself off of Aegon’s side and approached Aemond, angling her chin in the air to peer at him with as much dignity as she could possibly manage. And on wobbly knees, she curtseyed and said in the most patronizing tone the Throne Room has ever witnessed: 

“Prince Almond.” 

His eye narrowed, alight with challenge and something else.

Notes: This and the next two chapters are my favourite chapters of this series, so I really hope you guys enjoy it too.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 19 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the Hightower dinner has brought forth a lot to think about, for both Valeana and Aemond. Rhaenyra is presented with an interesting proposition days before everyone returns from Dragonstone. Word Count: 5225 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Fatphobia, child death, description of child deformity, mother's grieving.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: At this point the chapters are gonna be a bit longer, now that there are more moving parts.

“Marry Aemond? Prince Aemond?”

Barty smiled, “Yes, my dove. Would that please you?”

Valeana looked down at her fingers, which held onto a loop, needle and thread. The damask pattern she had been weaving into a napkin was instantly forgotten. She never believed that she would have ever hear those words; only in her wildest dreams her imagination would pull her into the delusion that she and Aemond would be husband and wife. Though each morning she was reminded of the reality of her life; a noble born lady she may be, but she did not hold a significant influence that would benefit the crown, save for her dowry and position of her father. And she was aware that she was not a comely girl, as was persistently confirmed by Aegon, Jace and Luke’s relentless teasing of her body and face, often likening her to a pink pig when she got flushed and sweaty during the humid days. 

Aemond was her dearest friend, and whilst she knew that he valued their friendship, she also knew that her appearance kept him from seeing her as more than that. Even if… Even if there were times that she believed otherwise. It was difficult to discern where his heart was, particularly when they weren’t alone and were being watched by Aegon. Though when they were alone, Aemond was the sweetest boy; not afraid to hold her hand when helping her down narrow stairs or a steep hill, or tending to the needle pricks she often gave herself with a gentle kiss and a tentative diligence to clean the small wound. Sometimes he would bring her gifts, such as sweets, new fabrics and thread, pretty stones he found, or flowers to decorate her plaits with. Their conversations were effortless as well. One of her favourite things to do was to make him laugh, as serious as he was most of the time. 

Those moments of hope would shatter when others invaded their privacy. Aemond would quickly become indifferent, albeit polite and courteous, even when Jace, Luke, and Aegon collectively teased her on this and that in front of him. It hurt, naturally, but Valeana understood why. If it wasn’t her, it was him, and she would gladly bear the burden as long they did not direct their bullying onto Aemond. Because that is how much she cared about her dearest friend.

Now her father presented her with her dream come true on a golden fucking platter, and she hesitated. Valeana always pictured herself accepting in a heartbeat, but now that it actually happened, doubt and dread settled in her young heart. Is this what Aemond wanted? Did he find her worthy enough for his cloak? Did he actually care enough about her to want to get married? Perhaps not as lovers, as she wished to be, but at the very least very good friends that were comfortable and loyal to each other.

And mayhaps if he did not think her worthy of him, a prince, she could try to be. She’ll try to be worthy for him. 

“It will please me greatly, father,” Her cheeks were rosy red when she said this, but her eyes were still on her lap. “Though I wish… I wish, if you allow it, that we could be wedded in the tradition of our ancestors.” 

Taken back, Bartimos slowly sat down on an ottoman in front of his daughter, “Well, I– this is a surprise… But, if the King allows it, I do not see why not. Though in order to do so, you must learn High Valyrian… Not the bastardized Braavosi one your Grandmother speaks.”

“I will learn!” Valeana looks up, green eyes marbled in her eagerness. “It is not so different; I already know some phrases! Grandmama sometimes sends me letters in Valyrian for me to translate on my own.”

Barty chuckled, then reached out to caress the apple of her cheek, “It is still a difficult language to master, but… I suppose you do already have a head start.” He stared at her fondly, eyes roaming over her features and finding his late wife in them. Lysa also wanted to learn High Valyrian, so she could teach Clement and Valeana herself one day. Sadly, that never came to pass. 

The Lord of Claw Isle nodded, “Alright. It is settled then– I shall petition with the king once the betrothal is set in stone.”

Valeana bounced up from her seat and pounced upon her father, wrapping her little arms around his neck and burying her face in there. 

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Anything for my little dove,” Barty pulled her into his body in a protective and loving embrace, a large smile breaking through the whiskers of his mustache. He pushed her hair behind her ear and gave her a kiss on her temple. 

“Want to know a secret, my dove?” He whispered into her ear, “You are my favourite. Shhh do not tell your sisters.”

Valeana giggled and gave her father a playful whack on her shoulder, “Don’t be silly, papa!” 

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his face this time, because it was true. Valeana was his favourite… She was the last of her; the last of Lysa, his first and truest love. 

Aegon casted a look over his shoulder as they approached the serpentine steps. He spotted his brother heading in the opposite direction once he exited the Tower of the Hand. The eldest prince grinned widely, entirely satisfied with the night’s events. Turning back around, he quickly jogged to catch up with Valeana, who kept her attention trained on the couple ahead of her. 

Daeron joined them after supper wrapped up for the night, as his lodgings were in Meagor’s Holdfast with the rest of the royal family. His cousins remained in the Tower of the Hand, and Aemond, being the gentleman that he was, left to escort Lady Maris back to the north tower. Daeron and Shyla were walking shoulder to shoulder a few leagues away, with the latter asking questions, and the former basking in the attention of it all.

Aegon hummed happily, “Look at them. I’ve never been so happy.” Valeana spared him a look, but didn’t comment, so he continued. “Daeron is never going to know what hit him.” 

She rolled her eyes with a tisk of her tongue, “You realize it won’t last.”

“As long as it is not directed back at me, I do not care.”

Shaking her head, Valeana tuts again, “Poor young Floris. She and my sister are friends, you know.”

“Should make quite a show,” Aegon dismissed with a smile. “Another Baratheon-Cletigar battle. The Storms and the Sirens. You should write a story about that.”

Val rolled her eyes at him, and his only response was that insufferably endearing cheeky smile. She huffed and looked a head as they turned around another flight of stairs. 

“Why did he bring her?”

Aegon contemplated the answer before giving it, “Well… He did not know you would be present.” She hummed in agreement. “And since he had his lips all over your tits half a day ago, if I had to take an educated guess, he is trying to put up a display.” 

“A display? You believe he is using her?”

The prince gave a shrug, “I have never seen Aemond try to court anyone, until now. Cannot be a coincidence that he chose to start under your presence.” 

Valeana gave a dejected sigh, one that turned his contented smile into a pout of concern. “I do not know. Maris is the exact type of woman Aemond would want in a bride. It’s so painstaking perfect, it just makes me want to–”

Aegon stopped walking, taking hold of her elbow when he did so she was forced to make a half spin to face him. Something unsettling was starting to take root in his bones, that made him feel cold and hot all over, at the same time.

“You are jealous,” it was a statement, not a question. One that she confirmed by not even looking him in the face, so he continued, “Because you want Aemond back.”

“It does not matter,” Val marched on and Aegon was quick to follow. “He does not want me back.”

Aegon scoffed dramatically, “The bruises on your chest say otherwise.”

They were lucky they were alone at night, with only distant guards patrolling the courtyard that could not hear a word of this conversation. Otherwise, she might have pushed him down the stairs. 

“Physical attraction is not the same, Aegon. Men have no standards when it comes to getting their cocks wet, but it is an entirely different scenario when it comes to commitment, to having someone to call wife, and then mother to their children. What happened this morning… It meant nothing.” 

“I disagree… With the ‘it meant nothing’ part. The first is a bit illuminating…” Aegon lifted his chin up as he quickly mused over what she said. Clearing his throat and ridding himself of silly daydreams, he continued. “If you weren’t so consumed with your hatred of Maris Baratheon, you would have noticed my little ploy had an effect on him.”

She blinked at him, “What do you mean?”

“Aemond is possessive,” they were arriving at the Holdfast grand doors, and he paused as the guards opened the door for them, ushering them inside. He lowered his voice then, careful to make sure it didn’t echo through the cavernous space of the antechamber before the grand staircase. “He gets territorial when his things are being touched by others.”

“I am not a thing, Aegon.”

“No, you’re much more precious than that,” his comment earned him a curious glance. “You weren’t looking, but every show of affection I gave you was met with an eye filled with such fierce contempt. He had completely forgotten to eat the food on his plate. He barely ate a thing the entire time; he was too busy glaring at me.” 

Valeana’s steps were slow as they climbed up the stairs, only stopping when they reached the half landing. She pivoted in front of Aegon, leaning her elbow on the railing and tilted her head up at him. 

“What are you saying?” 

“I am saying… He isn’t as uncaring of you as he thinks he is,” Aegon crossed his arms as he leaned against the same railing. “He hasn’t changed… refusing to admit to his weaknesses in front of people. Aemond saw you as one as children, which is why he pretended you were merely part of the wall tapestries whenever the seven of us were together. Had things been different, and I had been keen on you then, Aemond would have been all over you, staking his claim publically. ” 

Aegon watched her carefully as she looked down at the floor, her free hand moving up almost instinctively over her belly in an act of self consciousness. 

Aegon knew what he was about to suggest could be the biggest mistake of his life, but… it also meant that he would get to be closer to her. Now more than ever he realized that is what he craved most. He took her hand away from her stomach and brought her knuckles to his mouth. He dragged her fingers along the line of his bottom lip, and never wavered his eyes from hers. 

“Aemond can have his farce courtship,” the corner of his lip curled upward. “And we can have our own.”

Aemond failed to ignore the pointed leer of his grandfather when his guests left the Tower of the Hand. He disappointed him, he knew, but the prince found he lacked the capacity to care. Instead of acknowledging it with a whispered apology, he merely nodded to him and gave him a curt “good night”, his final one for his mother’s family that eve. 

The aftermath of the hydrangea debate was awkward, to say the least. Of course it was Aegon who broke the silence with an impressed laugh, and once again chose to put his hands on her.

“Oh, my darling Valeana is full of surprises, isn’t she? The mind on this one,” then Aemond had to watch his brother’s filthy hands comb back a strand of hair over her shoulder, where his fingers trailed down the length of her arm down to her elbow. 

He supposed he had to thank Aegon, though, because the sight of it softened his cock, saving him from the tension of his breeches.

The conversation took a stiff turn as Lady Sam attempted to salvage the mood by expressing her interest in the histories of Old Valyria. His previous attempt to put Valeana in her spot was quickly forgotten, but eventually Daeron did bring out his lute and played for the table. Maris decidedly remained quiet for the rest of the evening. 

Until the door to the Tower shut behind them. 

Granted she did wait until Aegon and Valeana were farther down the courtyard towards the Serpentine Steps before she opened her mouth. Aemond only half paid attention, as his eyes lingered on the long white gold train of Val’s hair that glowed under the light of the moon. He only turned away when he noticed his brother cast a look over his shoulder. 

“I cannot believe I judged her so poorly,” Maris continued to rant. “I always thought that I had a good judgement of character, though clearly I was mistaken. I should have heeded Cassandra’s warning about her… But stupid me, I shrugged it off and listened to Ellyn instead.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Ellyn is the stupid one. I should have known better.” 

That statement pulled Aemond out of his reverie. He was lost in the memory of Valeana speaking in the High Valyrian tongue, which he was cautious to admit sounded like melted butter to his ear. He was lucky his leather jerkin covered him down to his thighs. 

“Your elder sister warned you about her?” He attempted to sound casual, yet conversational. “Whatever for?” 

Maris let out a sigh, and all the bravado drained out of her. She folded her arms and regarded the floor as they crossed through the courtyard. 

“That Valeana Celtigar has an ill reputation in court already, having no sense of decency for her honour by fraternizing with your brother so callously and scandalously,” every word had a bite to it, despite her low tone. Aemond tended to ignore gossip fabricated by women of the court, but it seemed that his own observations had not gone unnoticed by others. “And… Floris – Grafton, that is – she had told my sister, and she in turn told me of the history you share with Valeana.” 

Aemond pursed his lips as he hummed, tilting his head back as he did. He supposed that the story of how Aemond Tagaryen pushed a girl down the stairs was public knowledge, though he wasn’t entirely sure what kind of conjecture came out of it. 

“Valeana Celtigar and I grew up together. We did not have much of a friendship other than simply sharing a childhood,” it was a lie he was accustomed to making, so every word came out smoothly and left little room for Maris to doubt. “Though, if you are worrying about what had ended our acquaintanceship, allow me to ease your mind, Lady Maris.”  

He slowed to a stop when she turned to him, arms still crossed as she patiently waited for him to explain. Aemond’s arms were pinned behind his back, looking nonchalant as he retold the tale of the worst night of his life through liar’s teeth. 

“Valeana’s fall down the stairs was an unfortunate accident. She would not leave me alone; I suppose because she fancied me more than I did her. That day, she accosted me in the hall, where she stood precariously close to the stairs and… regrettably, I reacted too harshly to her advances. I was unaware of how close to the edge she actually was…” He turned away from Maris, swallowing thickly as his regrets bubbled in his throat. The shame for his blatant lies weighed in his chest like the crushing step of a dragon’s foot. “I paid the price with lashings, and she and her family left for Claw Isle, freeing me of her, until now. It seems she seeks out more repercussions from me, as if I committed a greater sin.” 

Maris shook her head sadly, sympathetically, “You already paid the price, and yet she still seeks out revenge for what had happened when you were children?” 

“If trying to provoke me is her way of revenge, then she will be disappointed,” Aemond turned back to the woman in front of him. “I am a man, not a child. It appears she has not grown out of that era of her life… And I am not inclined to let her ruin my happiness because she rejects her own.”

Maris smiled kindly, and took a few stops to close the distance between them. Her hand bravely finds purchase on his chest, and she craned her neck up to look at him, “You are right. You are too good for her, Aemond. Do not let her get the best of you.”

He forced himself to smile, albeit a small one. Aemond unlaced his arm from behind his back and offered it to her, “Your support is appreciated, Lady Maris.”

She took his offered arm, and wove hers around it, tucking her hand into his elbow as they continued to walk towards the north tower. 

Aemond was too preoccupied with stifling the unwelcomed shame he felt into the back of his mind to notice Maris’ head leaning on his shoulder. All he could concentrate on was reaching out for his voice of reason, the one that told him he should not feel guilty, that Valeana deserved his lies. He was merely protecting his heart, like Cole had advised. 

“She is insufferable,” Maris restarted her rant. “I can see why you never got on with her in the first place. From what Cassandra tells me, she is quite a spoiled little thing, always being doted on by her father, while poor Floris and Shyla are on the sidelines…” 

It went on like that, Maris ranting and criticizing Valeana for things that even he knew were not true. It brought him back to the times that he remained silent to her teasing. Jacaerys would point out her flaws in a heartbeat, even when she tried to desperately hide them, like the birthmark on her neck, or the frizz of her hair. Luke would pile on to it, and Aegon would always have some vicious insult flung her way that would triumph everything else. Shyla and Floris were caught in the crosshairs as well, but it was not nearly as much, since Floris often snitched on them, and Shyla was young, naive, and delusional, and so it affected her little. Valeana, though, took it with quiet resolve, pretending it was water off of a duck’s back. He always envied how she was able to take the blows, unlike him who would lash out like a cornered snake. 

Maris gave a haughty laugh suddenly, “And who is she fooling with that dress? So tightly confining, trying to hide the sad fact of her appearance. Hate to break it to you, darling, but we all know you are fat. You can put a corset on a pig, but it still a pig–”

“Maris,” Aemond halted before the shadow of the north tower. Something white hot shot through him, like a well placed lightning strike down his spine. Heat raised from his core to his face, and which felt like it had combusted in fires of fury. 

His tone clearly frightened her by the ghostly shade of her face, and the surprised gape she gave him. Aemond’s nostrils flared and his teeth grinded, a testimony to his self control, as he held back saying something he would regret. He had many things he wished to say… Many belittling insults that would be satisfying to wield, but that would mean he was defending his enemy. 

And yet… when Maris mocked Valeana’s appearance, it felt like it was an insult to his own person.

“It is not becoming of a lady to demean another’s appearance,” The volume of his voice was painfully controlled; each word was pulled from a taut jaw. It had the desired effect of intimidating her, as Maris pulled away from his arm and shrank under his scrutiny. 

“I–I only meant… Please, I apologize, my Prince,” Maris dipped into a stiff curtsey, her head bowed in shame. “I got…I got carried away.” 

Aemond turned away from her, shooting his attention to the east, but staring at ultimately nothing. The black canvas of the sky served a respite for his bristled mind, so he concentrated on it for a few beats before exhaling slowly from his nose and pursing his lips. When he returned his eye to Maris, she was holding herself and avoiding his ire by regarding her shoes peeking out from underneath her mustard skirts.

He extended his hand to her, an olive branch and a silent gesture of forgiveness, “Come on. I do not wish to anger your father by loitering too long.” 

Maris’ dark eyes met his briefly, and her small smile conveyed that she was relieved she had not angered him into completely casting her off. Though the truth of it is, she did. Whatever charm Aemond found in her had vanished. Now she was no better than everyone else… no better than Aegon, Jace, Luke or Floris. No better than himself. 

The loss of the little Princess Visenya weighed as freshly on Rhaenyra’s mind as it did the day it happened. She knew it would come eventually, since the day she was born with physical deformities that were both marred her sweet visage and impeded her ability to breathe. When the maesters saw that they were actually able to see her heartbeat through a thin layer of translucent indented skin (as if a dragon’s claw reached and plucked a chunk of her flesh and it had healed over), Rhaenyra knew her only daughter was not meant for this world. It was a miracle that Visenya lived for as long as she did, but eventually a chill caught in her lungs, and the babe was no longer strong enough to hold on.

Rhaenyra always wanted a daughter. Five pregnancies, each time she prayed to the Mother to grant her one, but the Crone decided she preferred irony and bestowed her son after son. Visenya… She chose the name of her daughter in her youth, and it was a name she kept firmly to her chest until that day could come. She wanted her daughter to be who she failed to be: a warrior, a conqueror, a queen worthy of the name. And then… When she finally got her Visenya, that dream vanished. All Rhaenyra could do was hold her for as long as she could until the inevitable day came when the Stranger would take her from her arms and escort her soul on a billow of smoke from a black pyre. 

The funeral had been held two days ago, but Rhaenyra couldn’t rid the smell of ash from beneath her nose. She spent most of her time alone in her chambers, only gracing her presence to her guests when appropriate. After the funeral, people dispersed from the island one by one, but those closer to her remained. Namely, her family, and the Celtigars, who in some respects were a dear neighbour. Granted, Bartimos was more of a friend – if you could call it that – with Daemon, and the lord of Driftmark, who was still unconscious in bed, showing no signs of recovery. 

Rhaenys at least attended the funeral, bringing Baela with her. Though the former only remained for two days, the latter remained to help console her step mother along with her twin, Rhaena. 

Baela and Rhaena, the only daughters Rhaenyra was allowed to have. While she loved them greatly, they were not a part of her like her sons were. She did not see herself in them, as she wished to see in Visenya. She looked at them and saw her goodsister, the late wife of the man she was now married to. She envied Leana for having such beautiful, strong daughters. 

Daemon came to her, interrupting her silent grieving a day after the fire finally died down to embers in the pyre. He strode to the vacant armchair across from her, and regarded her like he usually did, with violet eyes through a curtain of silver lashes as if he could read her mind. Or at least tried to. He was not good with weakness, nor emotion, but he could recognize it when he saw it. His daughter’s death pained him as much as it did Rhaenyra, but his grief took him to other places, and that is why he was incapable of knowing how to console his wife. Daemon didn’t even know how to face his own heartache. 

“Lord Bartimos spoke to me earlier,” He broke the silence at last with a tilt of his head to try to catch Rhaenyra’s eye. She was staring out the window, where Seasmoke flew in the distance, baying into the sea to express his loneliness. When she only acknowledged him with an uninterested hum, he continued. “He had an interesting proposal regarding Jacaerys.”

At the mention of her son’s name, Rhaenyra tore her eyes from the window, and acknowledged her husband’s presence. She hadn’t the capacity to show any more interest than a simple, “What about him?” 

“A betrothal between him and his eldest blood daughter, the Lady Valeana.” 

Rhaenyra inhaled deeply as she pushed herself off the back of her chair, eyes returning back to the expanse of the sea beyond the window. It annoyed her that Bartimos would bring such a matter on the week of her daughter’s death, but she also could not blame him. She, Daemon and their brood should have been in King’s Landing, and that proposal would have been brought to her. At least he had the decency to ask Daemon instead of interrupting her mourning. 

Rhaenyra remembered little Valeana. The nasty business that happened with her and her half brother had slipped her mind after all these years. Outside of that, she remembered Valeana to be a sweet girl, talented in embroidery and singing. Although a bit rotund, she had a pretty face, and delighted Rhaenyra’s company a fair amount. The Princess had many fond memories of her, as if she were one of her own kin. Valeana had distinctly beautiful hair, which Rhaenyra took pleasure in plaiting when she could. She frequently scolded her sons for picking on her, but boys would always be boys, and would never listen to their mothers. The Crown Princess pitied the girl, to be sure, especially after knowing Lysa Lannister, and her close relationship she had with Rhaenyra’s parents. Valeana’s silver-gold hair a testimony to her Valyrian heritage, and had her eyes been purple like her own, Rhaenyra wondered if her daughter would have looked like that. She vaguely recalled how her chin was similar to her own. 

But Daemon knew Bartimos more than she, despite the decade she spent on the council with him. Particularly in the recent years, when the Lord of Claw Isle was in constant business with Dragonstone, Driftmark, and Pentos across the narrow sea. Rhaenyra hasn’t seen Valeana Celtigar since she broke her leg, but she has met Clement more times than she could count. 

If Visenya had lived, if she was the first to be born, Rhaenyra could see her daughter marry the boy. Though it seemed the Crone presented her with a different alternative in uniting Celtigar, Velaryon and Targaryen blood. 

“What do you think?” Rhaenyra asked, wetting her lips when she realized how dry they were. “Have you met her?”

“Once or twice,” Daemon gave a shrug. “A melancholy girl. Barely left her chambers from the times I was at the Isle.”

“I do not blame her,” Rhaenyra shook her head sympathetically. “She nearly lost her ability to walk, all due to the cruelty of arrogant boys.” 

“Boys will be boys.”

“Boys who will be boys, grow up to be men who will continue to be boys.”

Daemon smirked, snorting silently through his nose, “I think it is a smart match. Valeana’s dowry is hefty. Largest offer I’ve heard so far, which can be useful in the future. She is of Valyrian descent, and at the ripe age for siring heirs. Jace could do worse.”

“But is she fit to be a Queen?” 

“I suppose that is a question only you can decipher in time. She is currently in King’s Landing, awaiting with the rest of the Realm for the Conclave to begin.” 

Rhaenyra looked down at her hands, where she fiddled with a hangnail on her thumb, “I do not think I’m ready to return.”

Daemon remained silent, deciding to sit with his urge to convince her to stop her weeping and move on. There was work to be done, and life did not hold still for the grieving. But, he couldn’t… This was Rhaenyra. His Rhaenyra. And she grieved for their daughter. Their little princess.

“I could go in your stead. Bring the boys with me, and Baela and Rhaena can remain with you until you are ready.” 

“If ever.” 

Daemon smiled ruefully, “You are to be Queen, Rhaenyra. Eventually your kingdom needs to see you actually care for it. If not tomorrow, then soon. And I do not believe you fully trust me to keep your sons in line.”

Rhaenyra failed to contain the curve of her smile at the last statement, “You would encourage them, no doubt.”

“As fathers do with their sons.” 

Rhaenyra rubbed her hands on her thighs, then sat upward, “It is decided then. I’ll speak with Jace, so he is not blindsighted by it. Though I wish for him to have his free will– if he, or Valeana, do not care for each other, I cannot force them to be husband and wife.”

“And what of Luke? Shall I comb through the gently bred maidens of court for a bride for him as well?”

Shaking her head, she also laughed, albeit soft and airy. “No. No, I have been thinking about proposing to Rhaenys about a marriage between him and Rhaena. They have grown close over the years, and it would please both she and Corlys to have her as Lady of Driftmark.”

Daemon gave a gentle nod in acknowledgement to her wisdom, “Is there anything else?”

Rhaenyra gnawed down on her bottom lip as she folded herself slightly over her thighs with intertwined fingers cupping one of her knees. She fiddled with her fingers, thumb continuously brushing over the hangnail, embracing the slight sting of pain to anchor herself to reality. 

“I should speak to my father. I want to hear his counsel on this.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SNEAK PEAK Bartimos lifted up his head, the weight of fatherhood weighing on his shoulders and mind as he regarded his first two children. He rested his violet eyes onto Valeana, and asked softly, contradicting the tone he was using earlier.  “Valeana, your brother has a point… Why would you agree to court a man who teased you relentlessly and ruthlessly as a child?” “We talked about that,” Val responded, in truth this time. “He apologized for it, sincerely, and… did me a selfless favour to earn my forgiveness. Princess Helaena could vouch for him, father, if that eases your doubts.”  Clement’s jaw stiffened as he and Bartimos shared a look; the former still heated with disapproval, silently urging his father not to relent. The latter looked conflicted. Finally, the silence was broken by Ursula’s placating hand on her husband’s arm.  “Dear, mayhaps now is the time to tell her.”  “Tell me what?”  Bartimos hesitated before answering, looking between her, his wife, and son. He righted himself, and slowly walked around the armchair, making his way over to Valeana.  “My dove,” Val’s eyes narrowed at the nickname, for being suspiciously used after the lectures she had to endure seconds ago. “I do not want you to court Prince Aegon.”

Notes: We all love a good fake relationship trope. Of course it needed to happen in this hot mess of a fic. Also im just so excited for you guys to read the first five chapters of the 20's. It's just...so good, I feel.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. iv: unforgiven

Chapter Summary: The dinner with the reunited families goes about as well as everyone thought it would.

Word Count: 3703

Sneak Peak: “Oh, shit,” Aegon spoke into the rim of his cup, a wide grin upon his face.  Floris choked, forcing Clement to pat her on the back.  Shyla gasped, then promptly hid her mouth with her hands. “Valeana,” Arthor hissed at her, though it fell on deaf ears. 

Warnings: None, i think. Language, I suppose, lol.

T H E   R E D S

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Valeana never hated her step sister more than that very moment when they gathered around the table. Floris bumped into her shoulder to take her place at Clement’s right before Val could get there. By all rights, as Bartimos’ second child, she should have sat next to her brother, but Floris was always adamant that the order of things go by age, and that she was Bartimos’s eldest daughter, not Valeana. 

Floris has always been a shrew, but her attitude had soured with age. She had become more entitled and frequently bullied her sisters to do what she wanted them to do. Shyla was far too fragile to disobey, and Val picked her battles. Sometimes the headache wasn’t worth the effort. 

Valeana bit her tongue as she descended into her chair, forcing herself to keep her head down, gaze away from the man across from her. Which was difficult. All her effort was put into the muscles of her neck and face, willing herself to be as close to a statue as humanly possible. Her cheek faced Aemond while she pretended to listen to the King’s toasts. From the corner of her eye, she could see him openly staring, only breaking when his father stood up to toast to forgiveness.

That was when Valeana looked at Aemond without fear of eye contact. How could he, when she now faced the side of his face that was marred and sightless. A pity, a small voice said in the back of her mind. He had such pretty lilac eyes. He still had that regal profile, though, with that strong jawline and aquiline nose. He still had those sharp bow-shaped lips. The softness of his boyishness long gone, replaced by chiseled cheekbones and sharp edges. He reminded Valeana of the tip of a sword. Proud, regal, dangerous, lethal. Unlike a sword, Val had the intrusive desire to run her tongue down the slope of his jawline.

Cursing herself, she tore her eyes away.

As more food was placed upon the table, conversations took place. The adults conversed in pleasantries filled with nostalgia, and the youth exchanged awkward glances, pretending to pay attention to what they were talking about.

Until the silence was finally broken. 

“Sunfyre must be very big now, Prince Aegon,” Shyla craned her neck to find the prince in question. “I remember when he was the size of a horse.” 

Aegon’s ears perked up at the mention of his dragon; it was clear that the beast was his greatest pride. 

Still chewing on a roll, Aegon replied, “Oh yeth,” he took a cup of wine and drank down his morsel. “He’s gotten quite large. Big enough to fly two in his saddle.” 

Shyla’s face lit up like the Grand Sept on Maiden’s Day, though Valeana was the only one who really caught it. She knew exactly how her sister perceived his words: she believed that Aegon was offering her a ride on Sunfyre. 

Valeana remembers Aegon threatening to set her on fire once, because she wouldn’t stop asking to come to the Dragon Pit. They were never allowed, not even with Helaena, who’s dragon, Dreamfyre, was already domesticated and well trained. The Dragonkeepers wouldn’t allow it, and neither did their father. 

“If that were true, then I’d imagine Vhagar could seat double,” Surprisingly, it was Arthor who spoke. Val wasn’t used to her youngest sibling speaking when the crowd was more than three. However, he had always been fascinated by dragons, ever since he saw the Cannibal flying around Crackclaw point. 

The black wild dragon was an island regular, being so close to Dragonstone where his cave was located. When Valeana sequestered herself in her room, she would spend hours on her balcony, watching him, imagining herself being the only person alive that could claim him. The Cannibal, the wildest, largest, and dangerous of dragons alive. No one even knew how old he was, or where he came from, or how he ended up feasting on his own kind, and that made the creature all the more interesting to her. 

Though she did not have the blood of the dragon, and so she kept her fascinations to herself. 

Aemond turned to the young Celtigar, his smirk like coiling ribbon, “Vhagar is as mighty as her size, but I would not say she could seat four and still fly unimpeded. Three at most, I would say.” 

For the first time since they arrived, Arthor smiled, “That is still impressive. I should like to see her, if it is not too much trouble.” 

“I would not get your hopes up, brother,” Valeana found herself talking despite her unofficial vow of silence. Her eyes never left her plate as she cut her venison in bite size pieces, “The Dragonpit is reserved for dragonriders and their keepers.”

There was a moment of surprised silence before Aemond spoke, “Vhagar is far too big for the Dragonpit. So, to answer your question, Arthor, it would not be too much trouble, if we find the time.”

Valeana still hadn’t looked up from her food. 

“Would you care to join us, Valeana?” 

She froze, fork hovering over her plate, halfway to her lips. This was the first time he had said her name in ten years, at least in her presence. The first time he directly acknowledged her. There was a strained aura at their end of the table, one that the adults weren’t paying attention to. 

“It can be quite daunting to be in the shadow of a beast of Conquest, but Vhagar is quite loyal to me. You will be safe under my supervision,” He continued when his question went unanswered. 

Val hummed, and her body unfroze like a ship at full canvas when the rush of wind from an upcoming storm pushed it into life. No, she couldn’t help herself… Her mouth was already open, tongue sharp like an arrowhead. 

“Am I? Forgive me my skepticism, Prince Aemond, but the last time I stood near you, I nearly lost my life. I do not trust you near a flight of stairs, let alone a dragon,” this time she looked directly at him, her sentence punctuated by how she put the food in her mouth. Her teeth sliding against the metal utensil as she pulled the morsel free. 

“Oh, shit,” Aegon spoke into the rim of his cup, a wide grin upon his face. 

Floris choked, forcing Clement to pat her on the back. 

Shyla gasped, then promptly hid her mouth with her hands.

“Valeana,” Arthor hissed at her, though it fell on deaf ears. 

Aemond’s jaw tightened as he tried to hold her venomous gaze, but ultimately failed. He turned his cheek to her, directing his attention to his cup instead. 

“You do not need to make this more difficult than it needs to be,” His voice seemed softer, as if defeated or tired. “This is the season of peacemaking, is it not?”

Valeana couldn’t stop her eye roll, and when she did, she spotted the heated glare Floris was giving her. 

Be. Nice. She mouthed. 

No. Val mouthed back. 

Floris cleared her throat, “Right you are, Prince Aemond. I have many fond memories of our shared youth.”

“Mhm,” Valeana nodded sarcastically as she viciously cut a carrot in half, “Like that one day when Aegon told you he had a present waiting for you in a room, and you foolishly opened a water closet while Septa Jeyne was–”

“-- I remember no such thing,” Floris was quick to shake her head, her hands making quick work of the meat on her plate. 

"I do!" Aegon giggled into his cup. "I'll never forget Septa Jeyne's face," Aegon mimicked the old woman's look of shock, a silent scream on his tongue. 

Floris' face was as red as the wine in her goblet that she tried to hide in. 

Aegon continued, pointing at Valeana, "Do you remember when I stole one of Helaena's bugs and put it down the back of your gown?"

"Vividly," Val's tone dripped with cynicism as she side-eyed her sister, "Such fond, fond memories." 

Helaena had a pained expression on her face as she turned to her brother, "The one with the many legs? I was looking for that bug for days. I cried, Aegon, remember?"

Her brother's face dropped, and something akin to shame replaced the mischievous expression, "I-- Helaena... You had so many-- It was only a bug--"

"Do you still collect insects, Princess?" Valeana decided to alter the direction of the conversation, saving Aegon from an awkward non-apology, and from Helaena having to endure it. 

The Princess turned away from her brother, her features changing to something less pained, and more content. Val had clear memories of the princess being so far removed from her brothers, it was difficult to see how they were related if she did not consider her features. Though their shared memories together were limited to embroidery, since Helaena seldom left her areas of comfort, and the Celtigar girls had no taste for remaining in the same rooms from dusk to dawn. Shyla and Floris in particular couldn't stand being around the many-legged creatures that Helaena loved so dearly. Valeana had no opinion of it; she knew she didn't care for insects enough to handle them with her own hands, but she had always watched the princess from a careful distance with Queen Alicent.

She nodded, a smile showing her pride on it, "I do. One of my spiders had recently mated and made an egg sack."

Shyla made a horrified face. 

"Y'know, Clement sails quite frequently to Pentos. He has seen quite exotic ones you may be interested in."

That got Helaena's attention, based on how her spine straightened and her knife and fork were forgotten, "Oh?"

Clement looked up at her, and offered her the small smile, "Uh, yes, Princess. Though, I did not know you were fond of such creatures, otherwise I would have brought one with me." 

Helaena asked what was the most interesting ones he had found, and the conversation went on like that between the two. With the attention moved off of her, Valeana turned back to her food and ate silently. The minutes went by with nothing of interest being said; Aemond talked more than Valeana, though only to answer questions by the others (sans Clement) and Val was resolute in not looking at him when he talked. It wasn't until the King's voice reached their end of the table that she looked up from her emptying plate. 

"Tell me, ladies, do you still sing? This old Keep was desperately missing the beautiful voices of the Celtigar girls."

Bartimos chuckled into the handkerchief as he wiped his mouth, "Oh yes, there is nothing like the song of the Sirens of Claw Isle. Girls, why don't you give us one or two?"

"Of course, papa!" Shyla stood up immediately, grin broad and eager.

“It would be an honour to perform for His Grace, and his family,” Floris replied demurely. 

Valeana straightened in her seat, and her mouth went dry when she turned to her father, a slight panic in her words as she spoke. 

“My lute is still packed with my belongings.”

Bartimos opened his mouth, but Viserys spoke before he could, “That’s quite alright, my dear. Your voice is instrument enough.” 

Sensing his daughter’s unease, Barty adjusted himself in the chair to look at the king, “Apologies, your Grace. Valeana— She no longer performs with her voice, you see. She has turned to the strings for her music.”

“No?” It was the Queen who spoke, delicate brow furrowing as she looked over at the girl in question, “Why is that, my dear? I remember you had quite a strong voice for a girl so small.” 

Valeana caught the smirk twitching at the end of Aegon’s lip from the word ‘small’, and the two caught each other’s eye. He was lucky he was so far away from her, because she had no qualms making sure he would not be able to sire heirs with a swift kick with the point of her shoe. 

“Womanhood had robbed me of the skill, your Grace,” Valeana replied, then cleared her throat, still feeling it dry. Her voice failed her in talking as well, it seemed. “My voice lowered, and I could no longer hold the same notes as my sisters.”

It was a partial lie; the truth of the matter was that she lost her confidence. After the years she spent isolated, she seldom talked, and singing felt like a language she no longer understood. She only ever hummed and sang lowly and idly by herself in the privacy of her bedchambers, and even then she would cringe at the way her voice would crack when she attempted high notes that she once was able to do. 

“My sisters are still lovely as always, your Grace.”

“Well, I shall like to hear you play the lute on another date then, my dear,” The King smiled kindly. 

“She’s quite good!” Ursula boasted, “I personally love when she plays the lyre – puts me right to sleep!”

“Ahem,” Floris cleared her throat. She's on her feet, Shyla already on her heels, “May we begin?”

“Oh, of course, dear,” Ursula turned around in her seat to watch her daughters. “Please.” 

T H E  G R E E N S 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The dinner with the Celtigars was as painful as Aemond suspected. For once, he allowed his pride to step aside and try to make amends with Valeana, as a favour for his father. He had expected more indifference, or meek politeness. He did not, however, expect confrontation coming from little Valeana. That was a new development. The Valeana he remembered was polite, kind, and while she had a quick tongue to retort, it was usually to be playful or humourous. Before the incident, she often forgave Aemond for his tardiness, or when he ignored her while he was around his brother and nephews. She didn’t even put up a fight when she was the butt-end of Aegon’s jests and pranks. 

“I do not trust you near a flight of stairs, let alone a dragon.”

Aemond wasn’t sure why, but that sentence felt like a gauntlet punch to his gut. Had anyone else said it, he would silently agree to it, because he wanted people to fear him. One could never trust Aemond next to Vhagar – one could not fully trust Vhagar, truly. His promise to Arthor was empty; he had no intention of letting the boy within a tourney’s field distance to the near two century old she-dragon. However, had Valeana agreed, he might have made an exception, because what greater way for him to make amends than to allow her to touch the largest dragon in the world? His dragon. 

He remembered how much she longed to touch one, almost as much as he did, but was denied even to be an audience member to dragon training in the pit.

The rejection was one thing, but if Aemond was honest with himself, it was the realization of the consequences of his crime that bothered him so. As a child, he selfishly justified his actions, in all things, not just with Valeana. He justified him claiming Vhagar, he justified him calling his nephews bastards, and he justified pushing Val away from him that day. It was all self-preservation, and at the time it benefited him. He got Vhagar, he got respect, he got fear, and he got away from the overbearing friendship of Valeana Celtigar. It burdened him, and held him back. When Bartimos left King’s Landing, Aemond’s life had changed for the better. He might’ve lost an eye, and he might’ve lost a friendship, but he gained so much more. 

Except… he lost a friendship. It did not occur to him how important that was until he realized it was truly gone for good. 

Because she could no longer trust him. And the confirmation from her own mouth felt like he was finally facing the corpse of someone he didn’t realize was dead. 

The rest of dinner went on in monotonous torture. Floris, Shyla, and Arthor respectfully tried to carry small talk with him, Helaena and Aegon as if nothing happened. Valeana remained quiet through it all, her eyes moving around him as if he was simply not there. It infuriated him. Aemond found himself staring at the crest of her head or her turned cheek, mentally chanting: look at me, look at me, look at me. 

He was dead to her. A ghost she could no longer feel or see. It was a worse feeling than being disemboweled by her resentful sharp tongue and teeth. And Aemond absolutely hated her for it. 

"Tell me, ladies, do you still sing? This old Keep was desperately missing the beautiful voices of the Celtigar girls,” His father asked, and Aemond and Aegon shared a look that communicated the same thing. 

Seven Hells, no this shit again.

The Sirens of Claw Isle as they were known to be called, became somewhat of an annoyance for the boys growing up. There wasn’t a feast where they weren’t encouraged to sing bard songs until all departed for the night. They had lovely voices, but to Aegon, Aemond, and even Jace and Luke, it was like listening to the excessive chirping of birds at the crack of dawn. Granted, at the time, Aemond only ever soldiered through it just to hear Valeana sing. Her voice had a way of echoing through the tall ceilings and down corridors, holding onto notes longer than her sisters. It was almost haunting.

“...She no longer performs with her voice, you see. She has turned to the strings for her music.”

At this, Aemond tilted his head and examined Valeana as she explained herself. Her neck, cheeks, and tip of her ears got a tinge of pink. She was embarrassed…or ashamed?

Curious…

Perhaps there was a gap in her armour after all.

A part of him was slightly disappointed.

After a rather ear-bleeding rendition of “The Maids that Bloom in Spring”, supper finally ended. When his father stood, so did everyone else. The King bid a good night, not without giving Bartimos a hug, a handshake to the Celtigar sons, and kisses on the cheeks of the girls. His mother did the same, leaving when the King made his exit. Soon Otto, Bartimos, and Ursula followed suit. 

As the group filtered out of the Small Hall, making their way back to the Holdfast, Aemond lingered at the tail. Clement was still conversing with Helaena about Pentos, which reminded him of how his grandsire suggested that the King may match the two. Seeing how the two easily conversed, the possibility seemed far more plausible than her thought. 

Valeana was a step behind them, walking alongside Arthor who examined the statues and tapestries they passed by. Floris had Shyla’s arm clutched in hers, and it was painfully evident that the younger girl was trying to free herself so she may crowd around Aegon.

Aegon, who was also trying to put distance between him and the eager girl, fell into step next to his brother. 

“Well, that went splendidly,” Aegon said once there is enough distance between them and the others ahead. “I half expected her to take out your other eye.”

Aemond sighed heavily through his nose, attention set straight ahead of him, “I am sure she thought of it. She loathes me.” 

“Can you blame her,” Aegon’s attention was on Shyla, who was craning her neck over her shoulder to catch a glimpse at him. Aegon wiggled his fingers at her, granting him a large, gummy grin.

“Father wishes me to reconcile,” Aemond ignores Shyla and instead watches the back of Val’s head. “But he asks for the impossible. She barely looks at me, and when she does…”

“Oh, I am aware, dear brother, it has become the source of my entertainment this evening.” 

“I am glad my misery has been that for you, brother.” 

Aegon turned to him, his eyebrow raised curiously, the corner of his lips upturned, “Does it cause you misery, Aemond? That she despises you?”

Aemond stopped walking to glare at him, his hands like stiff tree trunks at his sides. Aegon slowed to a stop in front of him, tilting his head, waiting for an answer. 

“That farce of a supper was miserable. Why would she cause me any other emotion other than apathy? She is a stranger to me.”

“She was your friend once, if I recall,” Aegon folded his arms over his chest, and relaxed his leg to stand casually. “And your betrothed.”

“It was not a friendship,” Aemond lied through his teeth, “None of us were friends with the sisters. We hated them, do you recall?”

“Oh, I recall Luke, Jace, and I hating them quite a bit. But I also remember you and Val exchanging love notes.”

“They were not–” Aemond stopped himself, moving a hand over his face and sighing through his nose again. “She clung to me like pollen to a bee. It was annoying, it was overbearing, it was too much.” 

Aegon narrowed his eyes at his brother skeptically, but he then quickly shrugged, accepting his words. “Fine, she fancied you a bit too much. Does it bother you that she doesn’t anymore? I bet it bruises your ego… Maybe it’s,” he waved a hand around his eyepatch, “Maybe it’s the eye. You’re half as handsome now–Ouf.”

With a rough slam with his shoulder, Aemond pushed through Aegon with the force of his step. As his back faced his brother, Aegon started to giggle madly behind him. 

Echoes of oinks and kissy noises reverberated in Aemond’s memory. 

“Well, if you feel nothing but apathy towards her, then mayhaps I should try courting her?” Aegon started to stride towards him, keeping up with his pace. “It would make father happy, uniting the Valyrian houses and all that noise.”

“You’re free to try, brother,” Aemond replied, voice clipped and dismissive. Valeana would never consider Aegon. She would never entertain the idea. It was absolutely ludicrous. 

Wasn’t it?

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos

(if you wish to be tagged for updates, please reply and ask!)

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 27 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Jace and Valeana go for a horseback ride in the Godswood. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 4492 CHAPTER WARNINGS: menstruation blood, menstruation talk

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: Tryin' to to be upset over the fact that I didn't get as much reception from last week's chapter than I thought it was.... But's fine. I'm totally fine [says in a Ross voice]. lmao, but for real, thank you to those that did. Aside from Aemond motorboating dem tiddies, it was the first ~real~ smut scene that wasn't a dream sequence, so I hope it was enjoyable.

“You’re quiet,” Jace pointed out at last, now that they were sufficiently down the walking trail in the Godswood. 

“Sorry,” Valeana apologized, looking down at her hands as they clutched the reins. “Had a long night of fretful sleep.” 

Not a lie, but a half truth. The aftermath of her tryst with Aegon had left her more indecisive than she previously was. Outside of Aemond’s love affair with her breasts that night, what she had with Aegon was her first sexual experience. The first time she had seen male genitalia (that close, anyway, and on a grown man), the first time she had ever touched a man in any intimate capacity. Hells, she had never even kissed anyone, and yet she had a cock in her hand, twitching and hard until it painted her fingers with pearlescent seed. 

His member was intimidating at first glance, though she had no basis of comparison. Were all men of that size? He was heavy in her hand, her fingers just barely wrapped around the width of it. How is something like that supposed to fit anywhere in her body? Yet despite the intimidating size, it filled her with a primal need, something inborn in every living thing that needs to procreate. Had Valeana not started on her monthly bleed that very night, things might have progressed to a point of no return. Perhaps the Mother did that on purpose. 

Her face heated up, mostly from embarrassment. With her legs straddling his thigh, hips rutting into the rough fabric of his breeches, she had nearly forgotten about it. That was the closest thing to man touching her privy parts, and contact that wasn’t her own conscious fingers, was a new sensation entirely. The roughness assaulting her pearl, while at the same time being prodded internally by the twig of cotton she had inserted before bed. It had never occurred to Valeana that she was even allowed to be sexually aroused while she was bleeding, or if her body was even capable of it. But Aegon lit the match and it was immediately a forest fire.

 It was more intense than those moments she satisfied herself, but then again maybe it was the added stimuli. Unfortunately, she had not reached her peak that night. Her anxiety got the best of her, and she was concentrating too hard on Aegon’s pleasure than her own. When she reached her bedquarters, she desperately wanted to finish herself off, but she was forced to pull out the sopping wet cotton and replace it, effectively killing the mood. She had leaked right through it, decorating her lenin shorts in pink streaks of blood. Surely she bled on Aegon’s thigh as well, and that thought brought her immense dread. 

Her middle cramped, as if reacting to her musings. Valeana ran a hand over her stomach when Jace wasn’t looking, and tried to keep her face neutral.

“Sorry to hear that,” he glanced over at her, giving her a once over.

She was wearing riding clothes, the first time in weeks where she was in breeches. Her prosthetic was well hidden under the leather, and she was wearing a pair of tall riding boots that lace all the way above her knee. Her cream coloured tunic was tucked into her breeches, but she wore a long leather vest with a belt that fit snugly around her waist. 

Valeana raised an eyebrow at his staring, “Are you undressing me with your eyes, Jacaerys?”

He gave a short laugh, galled at her boldness. With a tinge of pink on his cheeks, he turned and took a glance at their shadow. Ser Steffon, riding an intimidating red stallion many yards away. He was too far away to hear a single word, but his eyes never strayed away from them. 

“No–” He fumbled with his words, then cleared his throat. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you in breeches. I’m surprised you’re riding astride. Don’t most young ladies prefer side saddle?”

“No one prefers side saddle, Jace,” she adjusted herself on the speckled white and grey mare, aptly named Snowflake. “It is uncomfortable, and easier to fall off if you do not keep balance.”

Jace nodded, “I suppose. But doesn’t riding astride… cause your maidenhead to break?” Valeana turned to him with a look of disbelief, and he quickly tried to save himself. “I only bring it up, because I’ve heard it can be painful–”

“Do not worry about my maidenhead, Jace,” Valeana shook her head, laughing despite herself. “I’ve been riding for years now; my gelding back home is a racing horse, and I take him jumping frequently. If it were to break, it would have happened already.” 

Shaking his head with a smile that betrayed his amusement, Jace conceded, “Fine. I shall not think about your maidenhead any longer.” 

Valeana raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if she should take the bait. A mischievous little smirk coiled across her face, “Until you have to.” 

Jace’s head whipped in her direction, which caused her to cackle. His expression was priceless; brown eyes wide, face a deep rouge, mouth agape.

“Val-Valeana!” His grin slowly widened at her gall.

“Sorry! Sorry, my Prince, I could not resist,” Val took in a deep breath to steady herself. She blamed Aegon for her sudden crassness. 

Jace peered at her, his grin pulling into his own fox-like smirk, “Is this your way of saying you wish to marry me, Valeana?” She scoffed at that, but he went on. “It is a rather churlish way to propose to me, but I am not against it.”

“Do not get ahead of yourself, Jacaerys,” she rolled her eyes. “I am merely pulling your leg.” 

He hummed, leaning his head back to shake out the curls from his eyes. Jace went pensive for a moment, the sound of hooves on dirt and birds chirping filled the gap. “I have been hearing a lot of things about you.”

Valeana gave a slow blink of irritation, not because of him, but because she is constantly being told a new addition to her reputation almost every day. It was getting tiresome. 

“Things that are not flattering,” he goes on, his lips in a pout. “Things that I do not think people will want for a future Queen of Westeros.”

She sent him a quick glare. Her teeth dug into her tongue. Like your mothers reputation? It was quite hypocritical if Rhaenyra rejected Valeana as a daughter-by-law due to an unsound reputation, given the one she obtained. One she got at an age younger than Val. 

“Rejecting me already, Jace?” She wasn’t entirely sure why she was so angry about it, it wasn’t like she was taking this courtship seriously. Jace complicated her life, even if he was in all actuality, the safest choice out of the three. Her mind briefly thought about what Daemon said the other night about her mother settling for her father.

“No,” he turned to her, his brows knitting a bit in concern over her sudden change of demeanor. “My family is no stranger to conjecture and rumour. My mother has been subjected to it her whole life. I just wish to hear your side of the story, so if it comes to it, I will be able to defend you and your honour.” 

His answer honestly surprised her. Her mouth popped open and shut like a fish, at a complete loss for words, “That’s… That is kind of you, Jace.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Only because the only impression I have of you isn’t a positive one.”

He shrugged, smiling a bit, “I am a man now.”

Valeana gave him a once over, “Oh, look at that. So you are.” 

The prince chuckled. His teeth ran over his bottom lip to contain it, so he could resume their more serious discussion. “So, tell me, what is true, and what isn’t?”

“That depends on what you’ve heard,” she sighed, idly stroking Snowflake’s mane. 

“You ran all over the castle in the dead of night, completely inebriated.”

She sucked in her lips; the word ‘guilty’ written across her forehead.

“Are you serious?”

“I was not alone,” she waved him off. “It was me, Lady Wylla and Lady Ellyn.”

“You got drunk with Cregan’s sister, and Lord Borros’ daughter?”

“They’re very good drinking companions.” 

Jace shook his head, though out of amusement, not disappointment. “Alright. How about a tryst with Aegon in a closet?”

Heat bloomed at her cheeks, “He was trying to flee my sister and pulled me into a closet as his captive. He was a nuisance, that is all. And because I know this will fill you with joy, I beat him with a broomstick afterwards.” 

Jace grins broadly, “You are right, that does fill me with joy.” He then clears his throat, “And your courtship with him… is that conjecture too, or…?

Images of Aegon’s cock in her palm flashed in her mind. 

“No,” she forced herself to say. “That… is true.” 

He stared at her, face full of incredulity, “I was hoping that to be untrue. Valeana, why on earth would you be courting Aegon, of all people? He has not changed, at all.”

“It is a long and complicated story,” she sighed, “One I am tired of explaining.” 

Jace was unconvinced, though. No matter the reasons, whether they were rational or not, he was determined to convince her otherwise. 

“You remember how Aemond was the only one amongst us that did not have a dragon?”

Valeana stared at him for a beat, “...Yes. And you lot teased him relentlessly for it.”

“Aegon the most, if you recall,” Jace briefly glanced at her before returning his eyes to the path. “One day during our training at the Pit, Aegon told him that he–we had a dragon for him. Luke brought forth a pig with wings strapped to his back, and they called it The Pink Dread. Later on, I heard from Aegon that Aemond tried to claim a dragon in the pit, and nearly got burned alive for it.” 

Her brow was furrowed as she digested what he told her, “He never told me about that.” Aemond rarely told her about any of the cruelties that his brother and nephews inflicted on him, but she was usually aware. A lot of the times it happened right in front of her, or she would spot it from a distance. But he’d never let her defend him, as much as she wanted to, as much as she tried. However, she felt that would have been something he would tell her about, given that he made an attempt at claiming a dragon.

“Probably because Aegon jested that you were his pig mount. Called you  Sowleana Pigletar,” Jace chanced a look at her, and regretted it when he did. Valeana was looking down, her face pulled into a full frown, and the creases in between her brows were deep. “Valeana, I had little part of it. I was not even aware of it until the day of.”

“But you were complicit,” She shot back, not bothering to look at him. Instead she gently spurred her horse so she was trotting forward to get ahead of him. It all made sense now: the oinking from Aegon and Lucerys, Aemond’s avoidance of her during the last weeks of their friendship. “You realize that had it not been for the three of you, Aemond would not have pushed me? You drove him into hating me.” 

“Valeana– you cannot blame others for what Aemond did to you,” he spurred his horse, trying to catch up with her. “He made the choice. He chose his pride over his friendship.” 

It was true, but she scoffed at it nonetheless, wanting to hear none of it. She spurred her horse more, but just so she could pull the reins and have the mare cut Jace off on the trail, forcing him to look at her. 

“You never answered my question at the ball. Would you be trying this hard if I was still fat?”

“Valeana, I–”

“You wouldn’t,” she answered for him. “You know you wouldn’t. You have no interest in who I am beyond my body – just like every other man. And the only reason you are trying is because you realize that pleasing your mother is now more worth it than it would have been if I still looked the way I did when we were children. But you now have obstacles that you did not think would be in your way. 

“Jace, we are simply not compatible. I do not wish to be with a man who only loves me with conditions, because he was told he has to by his mum.” 

They both stared at each other, she with challenge and pain in her eyes, and he with guilt and a crumbling resolve. Finally, with a taut jaw, Jace nodded, conceding to her words. 

“You are right. You are right… I do not want that for myself either.” 

Valeana nodded, then inhaled deeply to sigh, “I know you aren’t the same person, Jacaerys. And you must believe me when I say that neither is Aegon, as much as he appears to be.”

Jace nodded, despite the fact he was not willing to accept what she said was true. “Is he what you want? Is he going to love you without conditions?”

“I do not know,” she surprises herself by admitting the truth. “And… I don’t know what I want.”

A small smile crept on his face, “Aemond.”

“What?”

“You want Aemond. And he wants you… I’ve seen how he looks at you. All of the damn court sees how he looks at you.”

Biting her lip, she looks down at her fingers. She didn’t want to talk about Aemond, at least not with Jace. Another complicated matter that she didn’t even know how to explain to herself, let alone to others. 

“And what do you want, Jace?” She changes the direction of the conversation, pulling the reins of her horse to move back toward the trail, before Ser Steffon could catch up with them. “Mayhaps I can help point you in the right direction.” 

He considers her offer while resuming his trot alongside her, “My position makes it so that I do not have much of a choice. I have accepted my fate of simply being a piece on the chessboard, and I know that my future bride will have to be one that would benefit my mother’s side, should there be… contention after my grandfather’s death.” 

She eyed him as he talked. The impending possibility of a war of succession was a taboo topic amongst the courtiers. Everyone thought about it, but were afraid to bring it up. Valeana loathed the topic of war above all else, and tried to avoid thinking of the possibility. What she dreaded most was having to choose a side, when she was so hopefully in the middle. 

“I want peace. That’s really all I want… And–and,” His cheeks reddened a bit as he struggled to find his words. “There is only one who could ensure that will be the case. One woman in the entire Seven Kingdoms that is capable of helping me achieve that goal.” 

A slow smile crept on Valeana, instantly knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Have you talked to her since you arrived?”

“I tried to,” he admitted. “She is…”

“An enduring mystery,” She finished for him.

“Indeed.” 

“Have you thought about this for a while?”

“Since we were children…” He trailed off, suddenly bashful. “I’ve never thought she was strange, just simply… unique. Always thought that we would be betrothed; it made the most political sense, uniting our families. But the proposition was thwarted in a Small Council meeting… I had assumed that Alicent wanted her to wed Aegon. Yet that did not happen.” 

“It would be the King’s doing that they are not already,” Valeana added. “Though I fear that the Hand and the Queen will try to make it happen.” 

“Unless you choose Aegon,” Jace smirked jokingly. 

“Unless Helaena chooses you,” she mocked back, earning her a sheepish smile as he looked away. 

“You should talk to her, Jace. See if she is interested in a courtship… Because I agree with you. Alicent would not want to make a natural enemy out of her daughter, and Otto wants at least one of his grandchildren to be a king or queen. Helaena is smart enough to understand that.”

He nods, “I say she is the wisest of us all. The problem is approaching her… It is difficult to understand her mind, as much as I wish to.” 

Valeana thinks for a moment, tilting her head up to look up at the branches that blocked the sun. “Bring her milkweed.” 

Jace tilted his head at her like a confused puppy, “Bring her a weed?”

She nodded, “Milkweed. It is what Monarch butterflies use to lay their eggs, and their caterpillars will live upon a leaf until it is entirely devoured. Then they will cocoon themselves to be transformed. She will love it, especially if there are eggs already attached to it. And, I dare say she will understand the symbolism immediately. Monarch butterflies, Jace. It’s practically a proposal.”

He pouted his lips as he considered it, “Alright. I trust your wisdom… But I am going to need help identifying milkweed.” 

Val snorted, “Of course you do.” 

The rest of the walk fell into casual chatter. Along the way, Valeana pointed out the milkweed, even so much as getting off her horse and pointing out what the eggs looked like. When he asked how she knew, she just told them she actually paid attention to Helaena when talked about her insects. 

“Men need to listen to women more often; you’ll learn a thing or two.” 

After a while, they had made a lap around the forest, and were not far from the gate. Looking over her shoulder, Valeana could make out Ser Steffon, still a distance away, and has not dawdled too far. 

“That knight of yours has a stare that could burn down castles,” Jace remarked after looking over at the knight. He gave a tentative wave, but was not given a response back. 

“Yes, Ser Steffon is terrifying. Let’s outrun him.”

“What? Are you serious?” 

“We’re almost there, and I’m sure Snowflake would like to do something other than trot along a path. Isn’t that right, girl?” She gave the animal a pat on her neck, receiving a little snort in return. 

“Alright, but if he pulls a sword on me, I am hiding behind you.” 

“That’s fair,” she turns to look at Steffon, and even from a distance she can see that he’s starting to grow suspicious; they keep on looking over at him. “On the count of three… One…two…”

“Three!” Jace kicked his horse and darted off. Valeana shouted after him after doing the same. The two stared to speed along the train, hooves kicking up dirt and thumping loudly, causing birds to fly away. Ser Steffon did not take long to react though, and was soon cutting through the forest shouting for them to stop. 

“I’m going to beat you, princeling,” Val shouted as she galloped next to him. 

“We’ll see about that, Celtigar! Last one to the Heart Tree owes the winner two golden dragons!”

She guffawed, “You’re on!”

Valeana leaned forward, spurring her horse faster and getting ahead of him by a foot. Every once in a while, they had to duck and move around branches that would flick in their faces, or rocks that were in the way. Eventually, Val veered off course when the pathway got too narrow to have them both racing side by side. Steffon was also closing in behind them, yelling at his charge for not staying on the path. Too exhilarated to listen, Valeana continued her pursuit of victory. Despite the uneven terrain, she was able to get ahead of the two men, until a fallen tree blocked her way. Undeterred, she urged Snowflake forward and the mare took no hesitancy in leaping over the log. 

The jump was high, the leap was far, the motion made Valeana’s body lift in the air and fall squarely on the saddle. It was like a gut punch when her bottom landed on the hard back of the horse. She let out a loud groan, and immediately folded in on herself, hands grasping at her pelvis as Snowflake slowed down to a trot before stopping. 

“Lady Valeana!” Steffon raced over to her, followed by Jace. 

“Valeana!” The prince got to her side before the knight had. “Valeana? Are you alright?” 

As the dull ache started to subsided, she lifted her head to glare at Jace, “I’m fine.” 

“Lady Valeana, did you break anything? Should I fetch a maester?” The knight trotted to a stop on the other side of her horse, his hand reaching out to grasp her shoulder. 

“I broke… something,” Valeana sat up straighter, huffing away a strand of her hair that fell out of her braid. “But I am fine, Ser Steffon.”

The two men eyed her curiously. The younger glanced down to where Val’s hands balled in front of the apex of her thighs, and that was when he started to chuckle uncontrollably. 

“What did I tell you?”

She growled and glared at him, “Ser Steffon, Jace is making fun of me! Unhorse him!” 

Valeana was in desperate need of a bath and the moment she had returned to her family’s apartments, she demanded one to be made. Her thighs were sore, though not quite as much as her core, or her pride. She still can’t believe she broke her maidenhead while horseback riding. How incredibly cliche. And with Jacaerys as witness, no less! 

Her family’s wing was blessedly empty when Rosy prepared her bath. She stripped off her leathers one by one, starting with her boots, so she could free her left leg. All the while, she told Rosy of what happened, and the maid did everything in her power to conceal her amusement. 

The bath was infused with lavender oil, raspberry leaves, and dried chamomile flower buds. As predicted, her cotton plug was sopping wet once again, though she wagered it was from the fractured hymen. At least it would save her from a painful first-coupling, but she couldn’t help the feeling that she was worth less now. Afterall, it was drilled into the heads of all gently bred girls that their worth is determined by their virginity, and the proof of that was a piece of stretched skin tucked deep inside her.

And now that was gone. 

When Rosy left, Valeana submerged herself in the tub and sat in the water for a while. She did not know how long “a while” was, but when she surfaced, she was still alone, and the sun was lowered sufficiently enough for the sky to have an orange and purple ombre. 

Minutes later, after Rosy returned to help her out of the tub, Valeana stuffed herself with more cotton before redressing into a much more comfortable dress. A simple burgundy thing, with long sleeves and a belt loosely hanging at her hip. While she strapped in her leg again, Rosy plaited her wet hair after she wrung it free of any more water.

Once all cleaned and dressed, Valeana found herself far too exhausted to even leave the apartment. Instead, she trailed into her shared bedroom, closed the door, and slumped to the end of her bed before collapsing in it nose first. Grumbling in the covers, she moved around to make herself comfortable, resting on her cheek as she stared at the balcony doors…. That were slightly ajar.

Beyond the window she could spot something blue sitting on the stone bench that was situated in the center of the modestly sized balcony. Blinking and furrowing her brow, Valeana pushes herself to get out of her bed despite the protests of her exhausted limbs. As soon as she opened up the door, she instantly recognized the bouquet of blue and purple hydrangeas; the branches were tied with a piece of white lace. 

Val slowly approached it cautiously, as if it were a trap.

 And it was. 

“You take incredibly long baths.”

She jumped, yelped, and twirled around ready to give the fight of her life, but when she saw who it was, she growled, “Seven Hells, Aemond.” 

He hummed his laugh, the curve of his smile dimpling his cheeks, effectively melting her into the floor. Oh, what she would do to see that smile every hour of every day. Aemond was sitting on the balustrade railing, one leg hanging off the end, the other laying straight while he rested his back against the castle wall, away from the window’s view. When she took a step towards him, he pulled himself off and met her halfway with a few short strides. 

“How did you even get up here?” She cranes her neck to look up at him. 

His hands reached out to run it down the length of her thick, long braid, still damp but not enough to soak the fabric of her dress. “I climbed.” 

“You climbed?” Val looked over the railing, and then back at him, “Aemond, we are four stories above ground! You could have fallen.” 

“Heights do not frighten me,” he gave a shrug, still toying with her braid. “It was worth it… Though I could have used your hair to help me onto the balcony.” He gave the plait a playful tug, making her swat at his hand. He silently laughed again before moving his hands to cup her face and pull her close. Aemond then pressed his nose against the crown of her head and inhaled deeply. Like muscle memory, her arms grabbed onto his sides to fill the gap, laying her cheek on his chest while her arms circled his waist. 

“I’m sorry I did not come to you sooner,” he said while his hand smoothed down her hair, and rested his chin upon her head. Aemond’s arms caged her shoulders, enveloping her into his embrace with a sense of desperation. “I was detained at every corner.”

“It’s alright,” she spoke to his chest, inhaling his scent deeply, trying to wash her mind of her transgressions. Valeana suddenly felt incredibly guilty, now with Aemond in her arms. Part of her thought he was a dream, a trick of her mind, a delusion she came up with at the Ball in her inebriated state. But he was here, on her balcony, risking his life on a steep climb to give her a bouquet of hydrangeas. And here she was, willfully debauched by his brother… with a broken maidenhead, thanks to a horse. And Jacaerys.

“You’re here now,” she buried her face into his chest, trying to hide her shame. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT SNEAK PEAK

“Lord Borros visited me today, proposing a betrothal between you and his daughter, Lady Maris,” His father began, surprising Aemond little as he had suspected this topic would come up eventually .  Aemond’s tongue rolled around in his mouth, his eye not meeting the King’s. “What did you tell him?”

Notes: This one and the next may be a little on the short, but I promise you, it's worth it, and the next two chapters are heavy on Aemond. I honestly think the longest chapter I have so far is actually 29. So, couple of things: I'll be posting the cast list hopefully soon. There will be two, one of the main cast, and one of the side cast. Another is I decided that I'm going to wait until TPD is over before posting Aegon's spinoff, because of how much I've been dragging my feet with these chapters. I need to focus on catching up to my original 10+ chapters ahead I had before.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 15 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: The servants are whispering, and the gossip is flowing. Someone is besmirching Valeana Celtigar's name. Word Count: 3807 CHAPTER WARNINGS: 18+ Smut MDNI, nudity, sexual frustration, angst, Angy!Aemond

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: New Look. I'm too lazy to update the previous chapters. Also I decided to put the sneak peaks for the next chapter at the end of chapters for now on. Also, I'm not putting the smut acts in the chapter warnings. Feels like it ruins the mood. Unless its dubcon and the like, there's no need. Y'all just need to know some hanky panky happened.

The torch clattered onto the floor and rolled until it hit the red stone walls that trapped them. Little embers flew upon impact, twirling around in the air, reflecting the white hot sparks that spread throughout Valeana’s body like a forest fire that started from her loins. She was breathing heavily, hot and bothered for an entirely new reason, an entirely new sensation. 

Valeana’s mind was wiped clean, and replaced with longing. All her hurt, anger, bitterness wiped clean, and it was replaced by Aemond and his hands, and his lips, and his blazing amethyst eye. Perhaps this was a mistake; perhaps she will regret it when she was of a sounder mind. But the future did not matter, all that mattered was feeling him on her body, after all these years of yearning it.

Aemond’s fingers atop her breasts sent a ripple of goosebumps all over her body, almost effectively sobering her. But her head spun, and her sense of self was lost when she got drunk off of the look on his face and the simple heat of his palm upon her. Then he fell to his knees and his lips found purchase on top of her mounds, and his frenzied hands grasped and pulled at her bodice, loosening up the laces and freeing her chest.

“Ooh,” Valeana’s eyes fluttered when she felt his thumbs run over the beaded nipple through the thin material of her chemise. The sound encouraged him, gently pushing her against the rough wall by pressing his chest against her stomach. A growl escaped his throat and vibrated against her chest. The sensation and the sound both sent a wave of heat that pooled at the apex of her thighs. 

Val’s hands found the back of his head, fingers carding through the silky silver strands, and catching under the leather strap of his eyepatch. Feeling it made her hesitant and careful, not knowing how he would react should she move it and expose the wounded eye. The last thing she wanted was to ruin this moment…This dream come alive.

Aemond gave a rough tug of the bodice, finally getting it fully open. Her breasts spilled out of the collar of her chemise in the one swift movement. He groaned loudly, hungerly as his nose nuzzled between them, both hands kneading the pillowed flesh and pinching her tiny but hard nipples. Valeana gave a soft mewl as her head fell back and her fingers gripped his hair at the roots. When his tongue snaked out and lapped a strip between her breasts, tasting her sweat and skin, she gasped and nearly melted in his embrace. 

“Gods, Aemond…” 

At the sound of his name being said so sweetly, he pulled her closer to his body. His greedy lips and tongue moved over to her right breast and lapped up her nipple like a babe starved. She squealed, causing an echo to disturb the silence of the barren passageway. 

Aemond inhaled her scent deeply, keeping her hard bud in his mouth, and then exhaled a growl of need. 

“Valeana,” He purred into her chest, “Valeana, Valeana, Val– Mmmm…”

He spoke her name like a prayer, and then inhaled her nipple, suckling on it with such vigor it was almost painful. Aemond then moved onto the other, repeating the same ritual with his teeth and tongue, while keeping the other occupied with his eager fingers. 

She looked down at him in her cloud of pleasure. Down at Aemond. Aemond Targaryen. In her deepest, darkest desires, she had dreamt of this moment all her life. She imagined his touch would send her skin on fire, and the reality exceeded it. It was always meant to be him; her first everything. Her body was always meant to be his. They were born under the same moon, and grew up orbiting each other. 

Perhaps if she was of a sober mind, she wouldn’t have let it get this far. She would’ve allowed her resentment and anger towards him to win, as it always did. But her walls were down, and she was not only drunk on wine and ale, but drunk on his touches, his sounds, and his scent. His touch was an addiction like no other.

Valeana peered down at him through the light curtain of her lashes, completely hypnotized by the sight of him worshiping her tits. Her shy hands migrated to the sides of his face, gently pulling him away so he could look at her. 

“Aemond,” her gentle plea reached his ears. His eye flickered up to her, and he reluctantly pulled away from her nipple with an obscene wet ‘pop’. Aemond’s lips were absolutely plush and slick with his spit, and the sight of it filled her with all encompassing hunger. 

With her hands cupping his face, he silently understood her request.Slowly raising to his feet, Aemond bent over ever so slightly so his nose could touch hers. One of his hands moved up to cup her cheek, and the other moved to take a hold of the back of her neck. Their lips were hovering over each other, breathing in the other’s air. One of Valeana’s thumbs trailed over the bottom of his lip, and the other ghosted over the corner of the scar that escaped the shield of his eyepatch. 

“Aemond,” she sighed his name, her breathing becoming laboured with need. “Please.”

Their lips were a hair apart when something stirred behind his eye. As if his soul returned to his body, and he was no longer just a suit of flesh and manly desire. Valeana’s chest caved in doleful defeat as she witnessed regret and clarity breach the fog of lust. In an act of divine symbolism, light peaked through the small diamond shaped holes in the wall and lit up Aemond’s lilac eye. He pulled away from her slowly, yet purposefully, still breathing hard. Then his chin raised in the way he does when he wishes to appear above someone. In the end, it only gave her a perfect view of the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed after he pinched his lips shut and swallowed his desire, deep down to the bottom where it could no longer be reached. 

Now aware of her state of undress, Valeana looked down, utterly ashamed as she gathered herself in her arms, and shielding her vanity from him. 

She shivered, suddenly feeling so cold. 

Ellyn did not remember much of how she returned back to the Northern Tower where she, her sisters, and her father were residing. She vaguely remembered the Throne Room, and saying goodbye unwillingly to Wylla Stark as she was shoved into a wheelhouse at the main gates, kicking and screaming. Though it appeared that when she arrived back, her family were in a deep sleep, and she managed to find her way to her bed, stumbling in the dark without incident. 

But then the morning came, and she was greeted by the offending sun when little Floris pulled open the curtains. Her head was pounding, her eyes, mouth and nose as dry as Sandstone. She clung to her covers and buried her face in her pillow, desperately clinging to a few more minutes of sleep. 

“Where were you?” Cassandra asked while they broke fast. She at least waited for her Lord Father to leave in favour of male companionship before she started her interrogation. “I told father you were sound asleep, but I waited for you for hours.” 

Ellyn moved around her food on her plate, suddenly having no appetite for ham. She mumbled something about losing track of time with Lady Stark and Lady Celtigar.

Cassandra made a face, “You mean Valeana?”

Ellyn simply nodded in response. 

Her eldest sister made a noise of disapproval, “Stay away from that one. She is a bad influence, from what I heard.”

“And where have you heard that?” Ellyn’s voice was a little harsher than she intended, but she blamed it on her dry throat and splitting headache. 

Cassandra shrugged innocently, “I’ve heard whispers.”

“From Floris Grafton, specifically,” Maris smiled down at the book she was cradling in her hand. She briefly glanced up at Cassandra, “Do not pretend you have a network of spies in the Keep already. Everything you know about Valeana is from her step-sister. Who is quite obviously green with envy.”

Cassandra scoffed at that, “Nonsense. Floris – not you, dear – has a good head on her shoulders. She’s warned me about her; about her being spotted alone with Prince Aegon on multiple occasions at odd hours of the day and night, and I do not get me started on her whole childish feud with Prince Aemond.”

At this, Maris’s attention to her book was lost, “What about Prince Aemond?”

The eldest sister leaned forward, eager to share what she knew, “Well, apparently they were to be betrothed when they were children. But he was so disgusted by her, he pushed her down the stairs to get rid of her. The Celtigars fled back to Claw Isle, and according to her own step-sister, Valeana has been plotting revenge ever since.”

Ellyn’s brow was so furrowed it could have been mistaken for a unibrow, “That is complete and utter rubbish, Cassandra. That is not at all what happened.”

“Oh? And how would you know?”

“She told me!”

“And you believe her?” 

“Yes!”

“Hm, I’m going to have to side with Ellyn on this,” Maris leaned back in her seat, rouge starting to dust the tops of her ears and cheeks. “Prince Aemond would never do that.”

Everyone, including little Floris who had been quiet the entire time, silently absorbing all that was being said, turned to the second sister. 

“And how would you know?” 

Maris shrugged coyly, “I met him in the library yestereve. We conversed for some time, and…” She trailed off as she bit her lip shyly, “And he was beyond charming. He even went out of his way to escort me home afterwards. He was quite the gentleman, and I don’t see him capable of purposely harming a little girl.”

Ellyn narrowed her eyes at her sister curiously. She opened her mouth to say something, but didn’t know what to say. What little she remembered from last night were the emotional conversations she shared with her new friends; the knowledge of Valeana’s true feelings towards the prince was seared into memory. 

Wait, didn’t he volunteer to escort Valeana back to the Holdfast last night? 

Yes, that was the last time she saw her friend. As small pieces started to fall in place, Ellyn could just vaguely remember words being shared. Something about bacon and eggs, and two princes fighting over a white-golden haired maiden. Valeana. They were fighting over a drunk Valeana. 

An image of her being tucked under Aemond’s chin flashed in her mind. When Ellyn looked over at her sister, her face was aglow with béguin. 

A large smile crept on Cassandra’s face, “Why, Maris, my dear sister. Are you telling me that you and Prince Aemond One-Eye shared an intimate moment? Tell me everything.”

Ellyn suddenly felt nauseous… From dread this time. 

Aemond woke up well into noon, feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. His unconscious mind spun him in an helter skelter whirlwind of emotions and memories, from those in the far past, to those that happened recently. Amongst the chaos of it all, he could hear conversations and see visions that he could not distinguish as fact or torturous fiction. He relieved the moments of bliss he indulged himself in between Valeana’s breasts, his face nuzzled in the pillows of his bed as if they were the real thing, and his hips rutted into his mattress with the unquenchable need that built up to agony. But suddenly she was pulled away from him, and he was nailed to the ceiling as he watched Aegon claim her body. His brother, bare, laying on red silk sheets, and Valeana straddling his hips and throwing her head back whilst Aegon assaulted her neck and chest with his hands and lips.

He became a martyr to his greatest insecurities, screaming down at them, and trying to pull his hands free from the coffin nails that held him. Aemond’s voice was mute, and instead all around him were the voices of others, chanting things in his subconscious.

“That’s it, Val, keep going.” “I know my sister. She hungers for attention…” “You will make amends with Lady Valeana. She did not deserve what you did to her that day.” “You do not need to make this more difficult than it needs to be.” “I forgive you. It was an accident. I forgive you.” “This your plan, huh? Finish off what you started?” “Jikagon raqagon aōha līvi, lēkia. Issa daor aōhon bisa bantis.” “Shall I describe it to you? Her delicious, untouched cunny–” “Aemond… Please.” 

Aemond woke to the sound of Valeana’s moans and pleas echoing in his ears. He was sweating profusely, chest heaving, a patch of dampness stained the crotch of his smallclothes. He sat for a good while on the edge of his featherbed, soiled clothes torn off, with fingers pressed to his eye. However that didn’t alleviate anything, he ended up agitating it, because whenever he shut his eye he could still see her breasts and her flushed face in the colours and shapes that danced around behind his lid. 

It was almost easy to convince himself that what had happened last night was simply a delusion created in a fretful sleep, but the memory still existed on his fingertips, lips, and the smell of her sweat still lingered on his nose. No, that actually happened…He did the very thing that he accused his brother of potentially doing. 

All the emotions he had felt post act came flooding to him like an afterbirth. In the briefest of seconds when he nearly coveted her lips with his own, lucidity came to him like an intrusive thought. Guilt crashed upon his head, and with his thoughts working as fast as lightning, he realized several fundamental truths:

He was taking advantage of her, like his brother would have.

He was weak willed, like his brother was. 

He did not protect his heart, like Cole advised him to do.

She had manipulated him, like Floris told him she would.

She was a poison, made to weaken him.

She was drunk, she wouldn’t have allowed him to touch her otherwise.

Because she hated him. She hated him. She hated him.

He lifted his head and surveyed his bedchambers. It was a mess. Accent tables were flipped over, a carafe of wine shattered on the floor, leaving a puddle of red staining the flagstone floors and seeping into the carpet. Scrolls and books tossed about, and shards of vases littered amongst them. Amidst the evidence of his guilt-riddled anger, he spotted his eyepatch under pieces of amber coloured glass. 

After the passageway, the rest of the journey to the Holdfast was painfully silent as he kept a safe distance from her. Valeana trailed ten feet away from him, head bowed to avoid the curious stares of the servants that walked by. They didn’t bother attempting to hide their walk of shame, though there was no evidence of their tryst in the passageways. Aemond smoothed out his hair, and Valeana fastened her bodice securely, and combed her hair as much as she could before they exited into the corridor. He looked immaculate, albeit a little flushed, and she still looked sweaty and dazed. For those who witnessed him escort her back to her apartments mutely, it would just seem like he was doing a duty as a gentleman and a prince by aiding a lady in need. 

He said nothing to the guard at her door; he was a knight from Claw Isle, and therefore did not recognize him. Valeana did instead, simply telling him that she fell asleep in the gardens when Aemond found her. Her voice was hoarse yet meak, evidence of her exhaustion and emotional defeat. His name on her lips felt derogatory, as if it pained her to speak it. She didn’t even thank him when the guard ushered inside, though he didn’t expect her to. When it shut, the guard stared at him, eyes full of unspoken judgement. Aemond’s jaw clicked before turning on his heel and striding to his apartments on the other side of the Holdfast. 

When he got there, the second his door closed behind him, all objects in his way were subjected to his wrath. Including the piece of leather strapped to his face. 

With a growl, he got up from the edge of his bed and stepped carefully through the sharp litter strewn across his carpet, then bent down to swiftly pick the eyepatch off the ground. The corner was frayed a bit, likely by his finger nail when he tore it off. Staring at it critically, he pouted as yet another intrusive thought assaulted him

Valeana could mend this…

The mere thought of her name brought back the memories of what conspired not eight hours ago. With fingers curling into the leathered patch, he bit into his bottom lip and shut his eye, where he could see it so clearly. His hands could barely contain her breasts as they spilled in between his fingers. So soft and milky, it was like nursing from the teat of the Mother herself. The texture of her nipples still lingered on the tip of his tongue; they were so innocently small, surrounded by the wide light pink areolas he found so undeniably inviting. 

And he could have had the memory of her lips too, had he continued. He could have the ghost of her tongue tangling with his. He could have had her legs wrapped around his lithe waist, and his throbbing cock break through her maidenhead. She could have been his last night, and again that morning. 

There he went– Desiring her again.

With growl laced with frustration of various kinds, he grabbed onto the nearest object – a washstand with a full pitcher of water – and threw it across the room. Aemond turned sharply around, grasping a column of his four poster bed, and then used his other to reach down to his hardened shaft that curved up towards his stomach, begging for attention. 

“Aemond… Please.”

“That’s it, beg for me.”

Aemond contemplated not leaving his room, but he needed to give space for the servants to restore it. Besides, it didn’t matter how many times he stroked himself with his reminiscences, he could not satiate the frustration he held for himself. Floris was irritably correct that her step-sister was making him out to be a fool. A weak fool who could not control his inflamed longing for a woman who he claimed to be indifferent to. 

The need to put an obstacle between him and Valeana was paramount to him now. Maris Baratheon will prove to be useful as both a distraction and a weapon against impending gossip about him and Valeana. Gossip he was sure that she was responsible for. He can only assume what tales she will spin about what happened last night and that early morning. 

He was crossing the courtyard towards the north tower when he saw his grandsire exit the Tower of the Hand. 

“Ah, there you are,” Otto strode over to him with an expression that he couldn’t entirely read. It really infuriated Aemond that Otto Hightower was the only man he had difficulty reading.

Aemond braced himself for a lecture about the asinine theatrics of last night, since he had no doubt that the servants and guards that likely spied them in dark corners would have fed conjecture to the nearest purse with ears.

“Daeron has arrived. Tessarion was seen flying over the city towards the Dragonpit,” Aemond felt his shoulders relax. “I have arranged for my nephew, his new lady wife, and his sons to reside in my tower.” 

Aemond nodded, “Anything else?”

Otto raised an eyebrow, “Remember Daeron is your brother, not a stranger, Aemond.”

“Of course, grandfather,” Aemond couldn’t care less about Daeron at this very moment. 

“I expect you, Helaena and Aegon to bond with him, as siblings should. I’d imagine he feels like an outsider with his own kin.”

“Hm,” Aemond pursed his lips, “I’d imagine that wouldn’t be the case had he not been carted away the moment of his birth.” 

Otto gave him the deadest of deadpan stares.

“And I’d imagine that is why he has a good head on his shoulders.” 

The corner of Aemond’s lip curled into a poorly contained smirk, “By the end of the Conclave, grandfather, that may not be the case any longer.” 

“Befriend him,” the Hand said authoritatively. “Do not corrupt him. What’s more, I want you to encourage his friendship with Floris Baratheon.”

At that, Aemond tilted his head at him, now recalling his conversation a while ago about the possibilities of betrothals between Celtigars and Targaryens. His grandsire never did answer his question about whether or not he wanted Daeron to wed a Celtigar, and now he understood why. He had his own schemes. 

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Aemond lifted his chin, “From what her sister tells me, young Floris is already head over heels for him, and they have not even met in person.”

Otto’s brow furrowed, “You speak to Borros’ daughters?”

The prince shrugged one of his shoulders, “They are guests in our home. Is it not obligatory to entertain them when we can?”

“It is, but I’ve known you long enough to know you would rather shovel your dragon’s shit into a pile than have to entertain young female courtiers for more than an hour.”

Aemond’s smile broadened, “As it happens, grandfather, Lady Maris proves to be stimulating company. She’s intelligent, and has a lot more to offer a conversation than most women. There is only so much that could be said about dresses, embroidery, and flowers.”

A little smirk appeared through the veil of Otto’s wiry mustache, “As I recall, Aemond, conversations about dresses, embroidery and flowers kept you well stimulated for near a decade.”

Aemond’s smile dropped. 

Irritably, Otto changed the subject before Aemond could even find the words to rebuke his statement. 

“We’ll sup with Daeron and my family tonight. I’ll inform Aegon, so you do not have to,” Otto began to walk away, but slowed his gait to cast a critical eye at his grandson over his shoulder. “And Aemond… Next time, let a guard escort her back. It will spare me from another problem I have to deal with.” 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN SNEAK PEAK “I came bearing gifts,” He smiled politely, gesturing to the items he was cradling in his arm. “And to ask you a favour.”  She raised an eyebrow, looking at the bottle and bundle of canvas in his arms, and then back at him, “What’s the occasion?” Aegon’s eyes flickered to the guard and maid, and then back at her, “May we speak privately?”

Notes: Oh, you thought it was gonna be uphill from now on? Nope. We still cooking, babes. To quote Ewan: Aemond just needs to calm the heck down. Anywho, I hope you like the new format, new banner. Felt it was now appropriate to change things up a little bit.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 38 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of Storms & Sirens; awkward conversations, feuding houses, confessions and familial betrayals. Word Count: 5515 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Medical emergencies, PTSD, anxiety attack.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by V6que pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: Haiiii.... It's been... over 20 days. I know... I hope this is worth the wait. More information of my prolonged hiatus at the end of the chapter, please read, it's important for future updates.

His heart, his thoughts, his world all stopped simultaneously in that moment. The world moved slowly as Aemond turned, his eye wide, his body feeling cold with dread. The first thing he could see was Valeana’s own saucer-sized eyes stare ahead of her like she was already lost in the void of her shock and past trauma. For a moment Aemond saw Valeana’s face as a 10 year old girl, the same expression she had when he had pushed her at these very stairs. 

As the world rushed back to him, as Valeana teetered back on the edge of the first stair, Aemond immediately sprung back to life. 

“Valeana!” Her name came out in a rush of panic and urgency, his body flying forward before she lost her footing at the edge of the stair. In a flash, Aemond was behind her, his arms wrapped protectively around her waist as he pulled her away from the stairs immediately and as far as possible.. 

Valeana felt as stiff as a board in his arms; when he looked upon her face it was blanched and her eyes were fogged over as if she was lost somewhere else, and not present with him. What’s more, her hands and legs were trembling and her breathing was rapid and short.

“Valeana, Valeana, speak to me,” Aemond pleaded as he pulled her further back until he reached a wall, then slid down onto the floor. Seating himself properly, he cradled her body in his lap and started to feverishly tap her cheek to get her to look at him. Her stare was still wide-eyed, frozen in terror, her pupils blown wide. 

Argumentative voices of the girls around him faded into muffled sounds. Shyla had run to his side and took Valeana’s hands in hers, and started to rub her frozen fingers in her warm ones. Her gentle, yet desperate pleas for her sister to wake up from her paralysis mixed in with Aemond’s. Meanwhile the Baratheon sisters were yelling at each other—and to no one's surprise, elder Floris was completely silent. Aemond was not looking at her, couldn't care less to remember she was still there, but he imagined she stood there frozen in shock, not knowing what to do or say. 

The sound of metal clanging against each other rapidly came from down the corridor, snapping Aemond’s head to attention as two Kingsguard approached the situation. They took one look at the Prince holding onto the frozen Lady Valeana on the floor and immediately asked what happened. 

“Arrest Lady Maris Baratheon!” Aemond commanded, his teeth bared as he pointed viciously towards the woman in question. “She has attacked Lady Valeana Celtigar with intent to harm. Seize her at once!” 

Chaos had begun instantly when the guards seized the protesting, mad woman, who actively fought and spewed lies about how she was the one who was attacked and was defending herself. Cassandra and young Floris even had the audacity to try to explain it was a misunderstanding, despite the fact they had witnessed the assault and had berated her for it. 

It all did not matter to Aemond anyway, because at the moment, Valeana was convulsing and twitching and she was making noises, short and brief like the breaths she was taking. 

“SOMEONE GET THE MAESTER!” 

“Where is she?!” Lord Bartimos burst through the door to the infirmary, Aemond’s head snapping in his direction as the panicked father marched through. Behind him followed the rest of the Celtigars, the worried Ursula, the fuming and panic stricken older brother, and the youngest brother who trailed behind, a soft expression on his usual stoic facade. 

The infirmary was already crowded with people before they came in. A team of Maesters led by Orwyle, Aemond, Shyla, and Ellyn Baratheon, who chose to come in lieu of dealing with Maris and her family. Aemond had been in a chair by Valeana’s side, his hand gripping hers, but when Bartimos flew to the bed, Aemond had the decency to stand up and allow the man to reach his daughter’s side. 

“What happened?! What is wrong with her?!” Bartimos demanded as he held onto Valeana’s hand, his fingers pressed on her pulse on instinct. 

“She suffered from a seizing fit, my Lord,” Maester Orwyle informed as he took his place on the other side of the bed. “A Stress Fever.” 

“A Stress Fever?” Bartimos echoed the words, foreign on his tongue. But the word ‘fit’ he knew all too well. His violet eyes turned back to his daughter, who laid asleep, her face pallid, and her eyes appear sunken like she had been sick for days. His head whipped around, landing on Shyla immediately, but settling on the Prince with a fierce gaze of accusation. “What happened?! What did you do to her, you–?!”

“Father, please,” Shyla sat up from her seat, rushing to Bartimos’ side before he could launch himself at the prince. “Prince Aemond saved Valeana.”

Bartimos’ face whipped to Shyla’s direction, his face a mixture of disbelief and surprise, “What-what do you mean ‘saved’?”

Aemond’s chest swelled in air and determination, his body still tense at the altercation that happened not even an hour ago. He was still in a state of shock from everything Maris had the gall to do, from forcing her lips upon his, right down to pushing Valeana to reenact the very fall that she suffered from ten years ago. 

“Lady Maris Baratheon attacked your daughter, Lord Bartimos,” Aemond spoke, his voice painfully controlled, his jaw taut as he looked down at the slumbering Valeana. The face of terror flashed in his mind’s eye, and he felt his heart tug painfully as the recent and old memory of that very expression flickered between each other like the quivering light of an unsettled candle. 

“Attacked?! Maris Barath– That bookish girl attacked my dove?!” Bartimos swiveled his head towards Shyla for confirmation. When she nodded, his eyes widened and he immediately returned to Aemond, “Why on earth would she–?”

“Pardon my interruption, Lord Bartimos,” Ellyn spoke up, saving Aemond from a rather embarrassing and convoluted explanation. “As a friend of your daughters, and a sister of her assailant, I can provide insight on what happened. Prince Aemond had rejected Lady Maris, and she reacted in a fit of jealous rage, impairing her judgement. 

“There was an altercation in the floor above the lower courtyard, in which Lady Maris attempted to trap Prince Aemond into a betrothal, but Valeana valiantly interfered before a scandal could be made. Though, as a result…your daughter became a target of my sister’s desperation. Maris had pushed her while she stood near the edge of the stairwell, and Valeana would’ve nearly fallen down them hadn’t it been for Prince Aemond’s quick reaction.” 

“Oh, Seven,” Ursula put a hand to her lips, as she looked down at Valeana while seating herself upon the edge of the cot and held onto her hand. “My dear girl, no wonder you went into a fit…” 

Bartimos was breathing heavily, his shoulders caved with the weight of the stresses and worry of being a father. He hunched over, his hands planted on the side of the cot as his head hung low. Aemond could see the conflict in the Lord’s eyes, which were tightly shut, and the rest of his weathered face etched with deep lines. The poetic irony of the situation was not lost on a single person in the room—that Valeana had nearly fallen down the stairs (the very same ones, at that), but was saved by Aemond this time around.

After a minute of tense, emotionally conflicted contemplation, Bartimos pulled himself up and fixed Aemond with a look the prince couldn’t really identify. The older man pointed at him and silently gestured towards the door, “I need a word with you.”

Aemond’s lip thinned with uncertainty, his eye flickering over to the unconscious Valeana before giving a deep sigh and following the Lord of Claw Isle out of the infirmary. His fingers were curled into fists as if bracing himself for the unknown— of what would become of this private conversation with who he would hope to be his future father in law. 

As they exited into the corridor, the door clicking shut behind them, Bartimos immediately turned to Aemond, his face taut, brows furrowed and his lips were a thin line. Though that expression didn’t last long, because suddenly the older man’s face softened to that of a broken father. With a sigh, Bartimos ran his fingers over his tired eyes before looking back at Aemond with a new kind of pained expression, one that was more conflicted. 

“It is difficult to be a father, you know, especially to daughters,” The older man began, every word heavy with burdens Aemond knows not of. “When they hurt, you feel it in your soul… And it makes past transgressions difficult to forgive, even if she, herself, has.” Bartimos leaned his hand against the wall as he studied Aemond, who remained respectfully quiet. 

He was quiet, but his mind was less so. Muddled with a thousand thoughts and feelings, his chest had been tight with tension ever since the incident occurred. Now he was subjected to an uncomfortable conversation with Bartimos Celtigar, a man who he has not spoken directly to in… Gods, probably ten years. Not even when he arrived here did Aemond dared to be alone in his presence. 

“My lord,” Aemond began, his carefully controlled signature tone not very controlled presently as he struggled to speak. “I understand–”

“No, no, you don’t,” Bartimos interrupted, though it was not done unkindly. His hand ran over his bearded chin, his shoulder sunk. “You won’t understand until you have children of your own.”

Aemond’s lip thinned at the comment; it wasn’t the first he heard it, likely won’t be the last. Parents of all kinds loved to use that statement to undermine the intelligence of unwed youth, and there was nothing he could do to argue against it. He understood in theory, of course, the bond between parent and child, though the way he was brought up… Well, he imagined his bond with his own parents was vastly less sentimental than what Valeana had with her father or step mother. 

“While my dove has not said to me explicitly that she has forgiven you for… the incident,” Barty spoke the two words through his teeth. “It has become plain in my eyes, and to the members of her family that she has, somehow, found it in herself to forgive you. And what’s plainer is that… Valeana clearly still harbours feelings for you, despite all that has happened.” 

Aemond felt his chest swell at those words, though he does not know why. He knows Valeana still has feelings for him, she has thus proven that time and time again despite the fact that he has given her every ample opportunity to loathe him until the end of time. 

“Valeana and I have discussed things at length, my Lord… And I will spare you the details, but know that I have dedicated myself into being worthy of her forgiveness, and of your daughter. She is precious to me, and I regret that it took me ten years to realize that…” Aemond surprised even himself at his act of vulnerability, especially before another man with whom he has no sentimental attachments to. Though he supposed if he truly wanted Valeana to be his in every meaning of the word, he would have to earn Bartimos’ approval.

The older man peered at him for a moment, his expression both difficult to read, yet Bartimos made no attempt at disguising the emotion on his face. It was a bit disconcerting to Aemond, who was usually so keen on deciphering expressions. Perhaps the princes’ own nerves were hindering this ability, he realized, which made the situation all the worse. Worse, yet necessary in the grand scheme of things. 

“I hope that you do, my Prince,” Finally the man spoke, his voice a bit lower, graver. “While I do not understand the entirety of the complexity of what happened today, what I did grasp is that my daughter cares about you enough to intervene before that… deranged Baratheon girl–” He gave a huff, shaking his head before continuing. “Caused a scandal upon you. And… And I am grateful that you were there to save her from… another…”

Bartimos’ head hung low—it was plain as the sun in the sky that it was beyond painful for him to express gratitude towards the Prince who he has resented the most in these last ten years. Aemond swallowed thickly, feeling uncomfortable and a bit relieved to hear those words. 

“As a fellow Valyrian and a man, you know well as I that our pride is our greatest strength and our most cumbersome fault. With that, I am sure you understand it is no easy feat for me to say this to you, Prince Aemond, but… if you wish to court my daughter, you have my blessing…”

Aemond’s face went slack, his bottom lip fell open a fraction. He nearly stepped forwards towards the man, the need to take a hold of his shoulders in gratitude nearly making him forget to read the room. Instead, his brow furrowed in his earnest appreciation, a slight bow towards the Lord of Claw Isle, “Your blessing is an honour, my Lord, and a privilege. I do not know what to say other than… you will not regret it.”

“Be sure you don’t,” Bartimos spoke, his gruff, authoritative voice coming back to him as he collected himself. “Because this is your one and only chance— And speaking of courtships that I regret ever allowing to happen… Where in the Seven Hells is your brother?”

Aemond opened his mouth to answer, but he found himself surprised by the question itself, as well as that he did not actually know. Aegon was openly courting Valeana, that much the entire damn Kingdom knew at this point, but he was not here.

“I…do not know, my Lord,” Aemond confessed.

Bartimos scoffed, “When you find him, Prince Aemond, do the pleasure of letting him know that he treads on thin ice.” 

It was the day after and much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. King Viserys was deprived of sleep due to the tragic, unforeseen events that transpired between Maris Baratheon and Valeana Celtigar. The tensions between these two houses were already strained, doubly so due to the fact that his youngest son was caught between Shyla Celtigar’s legs, forcing the two to be wedded, spurring Floris Baratheon in the process. 

The Council room was teeming with activity, of shouting and pleading, as the King sat at the front of the table, spectating both sides of the table arguing. Bartimos was yelling at Borros about how his daughter assaulted his ‘precious dove’, and Borros was yelling that Shyla had stolen his daughter’s ‘precious’ intended. It was quite plain to see who was in the right there, though even the King could not deny the transgression between Shyla and Daeron had been an unfortunate and unnecessary slight upon the Baratheons. Daeron was intended to marry Floris Baratheon, and while that had not been publicly decreed, it was a fact that everyone knew, including the young Shyla who had been friends with the girl as well. However, given the circumstances, Viserys’ hands were tied in that matter. 

“Enough!” The King shouted, rapping his cane against the table to get everyone in the room to shut up. They did, though with reluctance as each side clung to their last words. With a sharp eye from their king, their mouths clamped shut. Viserys gestured harshly to their seats, and one by one they pulled out their chairs and sat down across from each other. 

Ursula and Bartimos were on his right, and Borros and Otto were on his left. Queen Alicent sat before him, her face taut and unsure of the circumstance that fell on the lap of the crown. Then there was Ser Criston Cole who stood by, as well as Harrold Westerling, the commander of the Kingsguard. The other members of the Small Council were not present, because this matter would only be settled amongst the families involved.

But there were others that needed to be present, and that were the witnesses to the crimes and events. 

“Now we must first discuss the matter at hand, and that is the assault on the Lady Valeana Celtigar,” The King began. 

“There was no assault,” Borros insisted, his chest swelling in bravado. “It was self defence! My own daughters saw the incident… Bartimos’ reckless girl went to attack my Maris–”

“That is not what happened! Lies, all of it!”

“Enough!” The King banged his cane on the table again. “Neither of you saw what happened, and I will not make judgements based on hearsay from third parties. Ser Criston, bring them in, will you?”

With a curt bow of his head, the broad knight sauntered over to the door and opened it, allowing the witnesses to filter into the room in a single line. First came Floris the younger, then Ellyn, Cassandra, Shyla, Floris the Elder and finally, Prince Aemond. 

The six youths stood before the table in a line, facing King Viserys. His son, Aemond, at the far right, kept his arms behind his back, while the women had their hands clasped demurely at their laps. 

“I am sure you lot know why you’ve been summoned here today,” The King leaned back in his seat, his cane sitting between his legs as he balanced his eight-fingered hands upon it. “I shall hear each one of your accounts of the events that transpired yesterday. Lady Cassandra, I will hear yours first,” His head inclined to the eldest Baratheon daughter’s direction. 

Cassandra weaved a tale of scandal immediately, claiming that she had been walking around the bend on that floor with Ellyn and Floris the younger when she came upon Aemond kissing Lady Maris. Viserys caught the glare of his son when she had confessed this, his jaw grinding as he fought the urge to speak. The King was no fool; Aemond was not like Daeron nor was he like Aegon by any stretch— he would never be persuaded or seduced by a woman, especially one he had expressed disinterest in. Especially knowing that his son’s eyes were on only one woman.

Younger Floris gave a similar account, though much meeker and not as detailed or passionate. The two major factors that he gathered in both stories were that they both believed Aemond kissed Maris out of his own free will, if not initiated it in the first place. Though when it came to the attempt on Valeana's life, Cassandra was more confident in saying that Valeana made a move to take a swing at Maris, and Maris pushed her away before that could happen. Floris’ account was not so detailed and she had only said that she ‘believed’ her sister was defending herself, and it ended up horribly. 

It was Lady Ellyn’s testimonial, however, that surprised Viserys the most. He knew vaguely that she and Valeana were friends, though he was not privy to the friendships of ladies of court, so he couldn’t know the depth of the friendship. He had assumed that Ellyn would side with her sister—as blood was thicker than water for all the great houses—but that was not the case. Ellyn’s account of what she initially saw was simply that Aemond and Maris were kissing, but she made an emphasis on the fact that in her position, there wasn’t a way to tell who was forcing who, or if it was mutual. 

“However, your Grace, I may include that if I were to make an assumption based on the character of Aemond, I do not see him acting upon public displays of affection like that so brazenly, especially prior to marriage.” 

“And you believe your sister is capable of it?!” Borros asked immediately, his tone defensive and outraged at Ellyn’s betrayal of her kin. 

“Lord Borros, please hold your tongue,” Viserys raised a hand to stop him from speaking further. “Lady Ellyn, continue.” 

Ellyn’s lips were in a firm line when she inhaled deeply and continued, “Under normal circumstances, Maris conducts herself as a Lady should. But it was not under normal circumstances—she was a woman scorned.” 

Ellyn then goes on to describe the events that unfolded in more detail than her sister, Cassandra, including the insults Maris flung in Valeana’s direction. Though the catalyst for the shove itself greatly differed from the testimonials of Cassandra and young Floris, as she detailed that Maris seemed to snap when Aemond emphasized he did not want Maris. It was then that Valeana was unpredictably pushed. 

It was then Shyla’s turn to recount what she saw. The different perspective was from the lower courtyard, though she confessed she did not witness who initiated the kiss, but had stated she very clearly saw Prince Aemond push Maris away and kept her at arm's length. Shyla then went on to say that Valeana had run up the stairs when she saw what happened, and by the time she and her sister Floris reached the top of the stairs, Maris was arguing with Ellyn and Valeana about who kissed who. When Shyla began to account how Valeana fell, it was nearly identical to Ellyn’s, though spoken with less detail and more emotion. Shyla seemed to put great emphasis on the emotional turmoil of Aemond when he reacted in saving Valeana, and how both she and him tried to coax Valeana out of her seizing. 

When it came to Floris Grafton speaking, there was a notable shift in the room. Bartimos was fixing her with a fatherly glare, and Aemond was side-eying her, his jaw grinding in anticipation. Floris was, for once, visibly uncomfortable. She did not hold the usual snooty air about her—with her nose turned upward, or her lips pinched and pursed— but she appeared more like an apprehensive hen, wide eyed and fidgeting, not knowing where to put herself or her eyes. 

“Lady Floris?” The King tilted her head at her as she hesitated. 

Floris pulled her lips under her teeth for a moment before clearing her throat and looking down at her folded hands for a brief moment, then forced herself to lift her eyes back up to Viserys. “I witnessed Lady Maris pull Prince Aemond by the scruff of his doublet and kiss him by force, your Grace,” her confession caused a visible wave of surprise. Aemond’s jaw had relaxed, but his eye widened. Borros scoffed, and Cassandra and younger Floris stared at her as if she had just conducted the most vicious of betrayals. 

“Did you, now?” Viserys put down his hand from his chin and danced his fingers on the table. “Of all the girls present, you are the only one who witnessed the action being initiated. How is that possible?”

“Well, your Grace, I suppose it was just the right timing,” Floris continued, her voice so painfully controlled as she nervously tried to find the words to speak. “I looked up from the Lower Courtyard and saw it, then I pointed it out to my sister, Valeana… And when she saw it, she immediately fled up the stairs to them. Shyla saw it last, just when Aemond had pushed away Maris. After that, we ran to catch up.” 

“That is interesting,” Viserys mused, eyeing the girl carefully. “You were the only, if not the first to witness the act that started it all. Please continue, Lady Floris. What happened after?”

Floris ran her teeth over her bottom lip, her eyes trailing off as she tried to recall the events that unfolded, “When we ran up the stairs, they were already arguing about who had kissed who. When my sister, Shyla, had mentioned what she had seen, Lady Maris called her a tramp–”

“She did what?!” Bartimos nearly shot out of his seat, but the King shot him a glare, which effectively made him sit back in his seat and stew. 

“Valeana defended Shyla, and then many barbs and words were exchanged back and forth, between Valeana, Maris and Prince Aemond. It became clear that Maris was not dealing with Prince Aemond’s rejection. It escalated, Maris called Valeana a pig at least three times, if I remember correctly. The Prince warned her of the repercussions of doing so and made it adamantly clear that he did not want Maris as a wife. That is when she snapped and… pushed my ste— sister.” 

There was a beat of silence as the King absorbed everything she said, though he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to flicker between Borros and Bartimos to gauge their reactions. The former seemed to be silently fuming, his hand running down his face as he subtly cursed under his breath. The latter seemed to be eyeing his step daughter closely, his face stern, but his eyes light with pride as he gave her a subtle nod. 

Viserys hummed in response, his hand moving over his muzzle before his eyes settled on his son at last. 

“Aemond,” He finally addressed him, leaning back against his chair, his head tilted up as he peered up at his second son. “As the figure at the center of all of this, your account of the events are invaluable.”

Aemond bowed his head as she took a step forward, his arms swinging to his sides as he dominated the floor when he approached the table. His one eye landed on Lord Borros, not a single sliver of intimidation on his face when he addressed the Stormlord. 

“It will be of no surprise to you, my Lord Borros, that my interest in your daughter has waned these last few days,” Aemond began, earning a heated glare and a grunt from the lord he’s addressing. “Two days ago, I approached Lady Maris in the library to express this. She did not take the rejection well, and had threatened the crown on your behalf.” 

Borros seemed to be taken back by that; his brow furrowed and he leaned back as if he had been struck, “She did what?” 

“Yes, she had heavily implied that you would retaliate against the crown simply for two princes spurring your daughters, on top of expressing her entitlement to not only myself but of my brother, Daeron,” Aemond spoke matter-of-factly, his attention pulling from Borros and onto his father. “Of course, when she had said such treason, I had warned her of the repercussions, and it seemed at the time, she had sense enough to listen. 

“However, by the next day that was not the case. Lady Maris intercepted me in the hall, having no intention in heeding my warnings nor respecting my decision; she stated so herself before she put her hands upon me and forced her lips upon my own. Her intention was clear, to cause a public scandal, to force my hand into marriage in sheer desperation. What she did not account for was that not only would I never allow myself to be subjected to such an act, but that there would be other witnesses other than her sisters,” He looked over, emphasizing on the Celtigar girls. 

Aemond then went on to explain the situation that followed, which mirrored a lot of Ellyn, Shyla, and Elder Floris’ account, though with much more mechanical detail. Though he expressively made emphasis on Maris’ clear jealousy of Valeana, and had concurred with the testimonials of Maris insulting not just Valeana, but of Shyla as well. He didn’t, however, throw elder Floris under the carriage wheels by outing her betrayal that day. She had redeemed herself by actually speaking the truth where it mattered, so for her sake, and the sake of the merit of her story, he left that part out. 

“And the final thing Maris had said before she had pushed Valeana was: ‘I will never be your wife… And neither shall Valeana Celtigar.’ It was… an act of intent, your Grace, that Lady Maris wished to cause harm upon Valeana.”

With that final statement, the room rang with tension and silence. There was no rebuttal or attempt at contradicting his words, not from Cassandra or younger Floris. In fact, Viserys noted that they both shared a look of worry with each other. He watched every one of the girls’ expressions carefully before looking back at his son, who’s stoicism was on but a thin thread as he had to recall the traumatic experience.

The King heaved a deep sigh as he shared a look with his wife, who had surprisingly been quiet during this entire interrogation. Her lips were in a thin line, much like her father’s was, and that is when Viserys ancient violet eyes settled on Borros. 

“Lord Borros,” he began, lacing his fingers on his lap. “Out of respect for your house, I would have your opinion on the evidence given before us. It is clear that your daughter, Maris, has been the one to cause strife, despite Cassandra and young Floris’ efforts to protect her. Your third daughter, Ellyn, had even testified against her.”

Borros' hands were balled into large fists on the table and his face was as red as a ripe tomato, but he did a damn good job at containing his anger as he inhaled deeply and exhaled through his nose. The evidence was damning, not even he could deny it and judging by the look of disappointment etched with his anger, Borros was aware that Maris was very much capable of everything that she was being accused of. 

“Lord Bartimos,” The stormland began, fixing his eyes on the lord across the table. “I wish to apologize on the behalf of my house for the grievousness that was inflicted upon your daughter at the hands of my turbulent and misguided daughter. If it pleases you, my Lord, and your Grace, I shall be the one to punish her accordingly.” 

Bartimos leaned back in his chair peering at him curiously, as did King Viserys. The latter of which tilted his head and asked him what he had in mind. 

“I will enlist Maris into a motherhouse to become a Silent Sister. Her future and fate sealed as penance for the dual sins she has committed against both Lady Valeana and Prince Aemond—” Cassandra gave a gasp at her father’s words, her hands flying to her mouth. Floris the younger and Ellyn both had widened eyes of shock, not expecting their proud father would actually go as far as to rip Maris’ future from her hands. Ellyn especially would have assumed her father would beg for forgiveness, and simply ask for the mercy of just having her hands whipped. “-- As well, I believe it is best that I take my girls back to Storm’s End.”

“Father–” Cassandra immediately spoke, but was interrupted by the gesture of his raised hand. 

“I have decided. Maris’ crime is humiliating enough, but I cannot forget that my darling Floris has also been humiliated,” Borros’ tone turned icy at this reminder, but he quickly reigned it in when he cleared his throat. “This Conclave has not benefited my House, it would seem. To preserve our dignity, I believe it is best–”

“Lord Borros, if I may,” Surprising everyone, Ursula spoke up for the first time. She shared a look with Queen Alicent, a silent communication that told that this was a conversation they both already had. “The business between Prince Daeron and our youngest was never our intent. My heart bleeds for your dear Floris. As a mother myself, all I ever wanted was to see my children not just content but happy. And it does destroy me to see your daughter’s happiness taken away from you.”

Alicent hummed in agreement, making her presence more known as she leaned against her laced fingers on the table, her eyes fixed on Borros in that diplomatic and placating way women of power knew how to do. “Me and Lady Ursula have conversed in length, and we both agreed that you and your daughters deserve to be compensated for your injustice. We propose marriage betrothals for your girls, sans Maris, of course.”

Viserys’ eyebrows reached his hairline, but he did not seem perturbed that he was kept in the dark about this— he seemed almost delighted and intrigued. “You’ve been conspiring betrothals under my nose, Alicent?”

“Apologies, husband, but I did not get the opportunity to speak to you about this sooner. With the events that unfolded yesterday, it feels like today is the best time to bring it up,” Alicent explained, clearly prepared for Viserys’ surprise. 

“Alright,” The king tapped his fingers, clearly interested in this new development. He looked between Borros and Bartimos and then back at his wife, “I am intrigued. What are your betrothal offers?” 

SNEAK PEEK When she fled, Aegon was left standing in his bedchamber, a vision of sweat and tears, a pool of red wine at his feet like a mocking reminder of what he had done— what he allowed himself to get lost in.

Notes: So, yes, no Valeana in this chapter, but necessary. Girl's in a medical induced coma, give her a break. So, the Baratheon drama arc is closed. Now the next drama. :3 Also, where's Aegon--- Wait, what is he doing? AEGON-- Hokay, but for reals now, let's get serious. I've been dealing with a lot these last few weeks, doctor appointments, bad news, good news, medium news under that umbrella. My muse has been burnt out, to be completely honest, and I'm really *trying*, but it's a struggle lately. I was going to use the 14-20 (now a month) days to catch up on my quota and work on that one shot, but I didn't end up doing that. I ended up working on other distractions unrelated to fanfiction. I'm not giving up on this story, I made a commitment to myself that I'll actually see this through. But that means updates will be a lot slower, I'm sorry. I'm hoping once I push through chapter 43, I can get my momentum going, or at least find a way to spark my muse up again. I hope you guys understand and aren't too impatient! I appreciate the patience this far, especially since I left y'all on a cliffhanger.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

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