baelarys

[baelarys]

Aemond Targaryen x Fem! reader

Warning: death, violence, incest, profanity, dead Dove, do not eat (I hope I'm using the tag correctly, correct me if I am not)

You had never truly owned anything in your life.

No lands, no castles, no weapons, no horses. Not even your own name belonged to you by right. The jewels that once adorned your neck and the dresses that covered your body were never really yours; they were gifts—rewards for obedience or concessions hard-won after proving your worth time and again.

The only things you could ever truly claim as your own were your willpower and your mind—your only constant allies in a world that seemed determined to break you. Thanks to them, you survived even after death cast its shadow over your entire family. A tragic end, yes, but not an unexpected one—at least not for those who knew the long, slow decline of your house since the death of your great-great-grandfather.

Being the youngest of your mother’s children was already a disadvantage. Being a girl only made matters worse. From the moment you could take your first steps, your fate was carefully shaped by others: you were to become the perfect doll, a delicate and obedient image. You were raised to embody sweetness, grace, and silence—the ideal little princess, granddaughter of the King, conceived as a symbol of reconciliation on the complex political chessboard of the court.

Your very existence was meant to soothe the storm between the heir to the throne and the queen. Your hand in marriage would be the offering to seal peace between two raging fires—a promise of balance upheld by your ability to smile, stay quiet, and obey.

Aemond was always kind to you. Or at least, that’s how it seemed in your childhood, especially compared to your uncle Aegon, who used to tug your hair when the nurses or their mothers weren’t looking, or would simply leave you behind without a second thought when you and your siblings played in the hall.

Perhaps you and Aemond forged that particular bond because you shared something deeper than blood: the condition of being outsiders. While the others shone with a light that seemed destined from the cradle, the two of you walked in the shadow of duty—watching, learning, and surviving in silence.

Aemond would sit with you to read, to study, to ponder things others deemed boring or unnecessary. His outbursts were fearsome when he didn’t understand something and you, with a patience forged by affection, corrected him. Still, he was the only one who stayed. The only one who played with you, who talked to you, who sought you out when everyone else forgot you.

You remember his firm hand closing around your wrist, pulling you through the halls of the Red Keep while you stifled your laughter, trying not to make a sound. He would take you to the kitchens, where you’d steal sweets before fleeing with whispers and flushed cheeks, giddy with excitement. He’d also drag you to the throne room, where you played dangerously close to the edges of the Iron Throne, as if you both knew your fates were somehow tied to that monstrous seat of steel.

It was Aemond who offered to help you feed your dragon when your brothers weren’t around, who listened to your silences, who saw your tears when no one else noticed... and who, unintentionally, could also be the one to cause them.

In his company, you learned that affection could be a double-edged blade, that tenderness sometimes wore the mask of clumsiness, that the truest love could hurt more than rejection. Aemond was never perfect—but he was yours. Your friend. Your accomplice. The only one who never asked you to be anything but yourself, even when the rest of the world demanded otherwise.

The news of your betrothal to Aemond didn’t come as a surprise.

It was, in truth, a predictable move. Neither you nor Aemond were particularly valuable pieces on the grand chessboard of power, but neither were you insignificant enough to be left aside. A marriage between the two of you was a strategic maneuver—a discreet bridge between two factions whose tensions grew with each passing day. A convenient bond, insignificant enough not to raise alarm, yet useful enough to allow the eyes and ears of one side to slip, unnoticed, into the territory of the other.

While Aemond trained in the courtyard, repeating his exercises with the same stoic discipline that shaped his daily routine—as if each strike of his sword could, on its own, grant him purpose—you received the news that, whispered with a veneer of courtesy, sealed your fate. Those cold, red stone walls would become your permanent home after the wedding.

Far from your mother. Far from your brothers.

That day, the weather seemed to echo the news with cruel precision. The sky, overcast and gray, stretched over King’s Landing like a slab of stone. The air was thick and sticky with humidity, clinging to your skin like a reminder of the inevitable. It smelled of confinement, of rusted iron and broken promises.

Queen Alicent, with that seemingly measured but empty kindness, had spoken briefly with you that morning. She used gentle words, carefully chosen phrases about duty, loyalty, and the need to preserve the stability of the realm. Then she left you in the hands of the septa.

That was when the conversation took on a harsher tone.

Your role within the marriage was explained to you without illusions. It wasn’t about love, nor shared dreams, but about duty. Obedience. Fertility. Decorum. You were to be the balm for a prince’s fury—a prince who had never known tenderness—the devoted wife who would support his ambition with a smile. A useful womb for a cause that was never yours to begin with.

“You will be wed,” the septa began, her voice firm and unadorned as she seated herself across from you. She placed a cup of wine beside you with care, the red liquid trembling slightly with the movement. You nodded in silence, not lifting your gaze, your fingers fumbling with the delicate golden embroidery of your gown, as if you could somehow hide among the stitches.

“Do you know what marriage means?” she asked with a trace of condescension. You nodded again, without conviction, unable to meet her eyes.

With deliberate slowness, she stacked two books on the oak table between you, closing the space with a dull thud. Then she leaned forward. Her voice, once gentle, took on a deeper, more direct tone.

“Do you know what you must do when you marry a prince?”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes remained fixed on your skirt’s embroidery, as if you could find something entertaining in the threads if you stared hard enough.

The septa sighed, visibly exasperated.

“Listen to me, princess. Your mother has asked me to be very specific with you,” she said, more sternly now, folding her hands on the table. “This will not be an ordinary marriage. You are about to become the wife of the queen’s son, the rider of Vhagar—a man who was not raised to deal with silly little girls.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words linger in the air.

“Your husband will be Prince Aemond. He is no common man. He has fire in his blood and steel in his heart. He does not seek sweetness, but he expects obedience. As a wife, you must learn to please him—not only at the table or in the castle halls, but in his bed.”

Her words fell like lead into the silence.

“You must be submissive, but not useless. He will want a companion who does not hinder him, who knows when to speak and when to be silent. You must understand his silences, accept his absences, endure his wrath if it comes, and never challenge him in public.”

She straightened and opened one of the books before you. The illustrations were ancient, delicate—and yet explicit in their purpose.

“Here, you will learn the essentials of the conjugal arts. Do not expect passion. Do not expect tenderness. But you must fulfill your part. You must know how to receive him, how to please him, how to ensure he returns to you when others try to pull him away.”

You felt as though you didn’t belong to that moment, as if everything was happening around you, not to you. But the septa’s words were clear, irreversible.

“And more importantly,” she added, “you must give him children. Healthy heirs, with white hair and violet eyes. That will be your greatest contribution to the realm… and the only way to secure your place in this nest of vipers.”

There was a heavy silence.

The septa closed the book softly, as though sealing a vow.

The wedding was arranged in less than three months. It was a discreet ceremony by royal standards, yet still opulent—just enough to meet the expectations of the House of the Dragon. Every detail was carefully chosen to reflect the power and purity of Targaryen blood.

They dressed you like a queen. The gown, made of red silk woven with threads of gold, fit your silhouette with perfect precision, and the jewels adorning your neck and wrists gleamed as though the sun itself had settled on you. The veil, long and sheer, fell over your shoulders like a second skin, and your lips, carefully painted, trembled slightly each time someone uttered your new title.

You sat beside Aemond after the first dance and did not rise again. Your role was already fulfilled: smile, nod, raise your cup. He, as expected, remained reserved. He did not seek your hand nor your words, nor did he offer his own. The image you both projected was flawless—cold and solemn, like two marble statues bound by duty.

The septa’s words returned to you like a timely echo: “Drink until you no longer recognize where you are, but not so much that you faint or vomit.” And you followed her advice. The wine soothed your nerves with a deceptive sweetness, wrapping you in a haze of weightlessness that made everything seem farther away, more bearable.

When the bedding ceremony arrived, your legs were barely aware of the weight of the gown they dragged behind. The applause was a distant wave, and the murmurs of the guests a sea of shapeless sound. You let yourself be guided by the handmaidens, your head held high but your will fast asleep.

The marriage chamber was spacious, quiet, and adorned in scarlet and gold. The sheets were new, soft, and smelled of flowers you could not name. Aemond said nothing as he closed the door behind him. His movements were meticulous, unhurried, as if each gesture were part of a long-rehearsed routine.

You did not resist. You did not protest. The carefully measured intoxication allowed you to forget your pride, to ignore the humiliation of standing naked before someone who did not love you, of offering your body as a bridge between two sides locked in a silent war.

There were no sweet words, no ceremonial caresses. Only the weight of his body over yours, the rough brush of his breath, the burden of duty made flesh. It wasn’t violent, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was exactly what was expected.

You remember only one thing clearly before the haze of the wine claimed you completely: the warm, sharp sensation of fullness in your belly, and his long silver hair tickling your cheek as he leaned over you. Then, darkness enveloped you, and you let it carry you away.

The next morning was a punishment in itself.

Your body woke with a dull ache you couldn’t quite place. Every muscle felt numb, as if it no longer belonged to you. Your mouth was dry, coated with the bitter aftertaste of the previous night’s wine, and as soon as you tried to stand, your stomach betrayed you. You vomited once, twice, three times, your body hunched over the bronze basin while the handmaidens waited in silence for the tremors to leave your limbs.

Aemond was gone.

Not in the bed, not in the adjacent room, not waiting in a corner with a compassionate look or a word of comfort. There was no trace of him.

And that absence—so eloquent in its coldness—told you more than any promise spoken in the vows the day before.

In the days that followed, you came to understand the essential truth: Aemond would not be a warm husband. He would not be a companion. His role was clear, defined, almost mechanical. The moments you shared were silent, tense, and when he spoke, his words were usually sharp—daggers thrown with surgical precision.

They weren’t open arguments, but constant, quiet fractures: a disdainful remark about your lineage, a veiled jab at your lack of influence, a whispered criticism of your upbringing or your posture. The wounds didn’t always bleed, but they hurt.

And yet, his interest in your body seemed unshakable.

There was no sweetness in his touch. No shared desire, not even passion. Only need. Domination. A contained urgency that, once released, left you hollow and alone beneath the sheets, as if your existence had been split between marital duty and daily humiliation. Aemond was not openly cruel, but he knew exactly how to make you feel used, small, dispensable. And he did it with a disturbing calm.

"Look at you," Aemond spat coldly, his voice low and cutting like the edge of a dagger. "You can't even breathe with decorum."

His body loomed over yours, an oppressive shadow against the cold stone of the corridor. The contact was not affectionate, but it was passionate; a display of power, a silent assertion of dominance. The icy marble of the wall pressed into your back as he leaned in, closing the already scant space between you. Your chest rose and fell with difficulty, searching for air, searching for words.

You tried to speak.

But your voice was quickly silenced—his hand closed over your mouth, dry, firm, unyielding.

"Silence," he ordered, in a tone so low it barely rose above the murmur of the wind slipping through the windows.

His gaze—that single eye of ice—showed no remorse, only calculation. Control. As if every gesture, every word, had been meticulously crafted to remind you which of the two dictated the rules of this marriage.

"What would they think if someone saw us in such an indecent scene... outside the privacy of the bedchamber?" he added, his voice laced with a veiled threat, his lips barely grazing your ear.

It wasn’t a question. It was a warning.

Your fingers clutched the edge of your dress, gripping the fabric as if it could hold back the tremor beginning to take over your body. You didn’t cry. You didn’t complain. But the silence you offered wasn’t out of submission—it was strategy. Because deep down, you knew that yielding without resistance was, for now, the only way to endure it.

As expected, the main purpose of that union was not love or harmony, but offspring. The promise of an heir to secure the future of Targaryen blood and reinforce the fragile bridge between two warring sides.

From the moment the maester confirmed your condition, your body ceased to belong to you. The gazes became more invasive, the commands stricter, the whispers more persistent. Suddenly, everything you did or didn’t do was reduced to one function: to carry.

Aemond said very little upon hearing the news. He simply looked at you for a few seconds with that impenetrable expression he always wore when he wanted to keep you at a distance. Then he returned to his books, to his training, to his silences. The pregnancy didn’t bring him closer to you. If anything, it made him even more distant, as if now that you had fulfilled your role, you were nothing more than a useful vessel.

In the months that followed, your body changed, and with it came endless discomforts. The discomfort of a belly that grew rapidly, of a back that found no rest, of meals that returned in waves of nausea, and of nights where sleep refused to come. The handmaidens whispered among themselves, the septa prayed with you with her cold hands, and you thought only of surviving one more day. You felt watched, examined, assessed. Even the maesters took your pulses as if you were breeding stock.

The sense of vulnerability was constant. You no longer belonged to yourself.

And when the day of the birth finally arrived, there was no romance, no joy. Only raw pain, the dampness of soaked sheets, the scream that tore from your throat, and the blood that stained the stone floor. What should have been a glorious moment was simply... exhausting. Invasive. Brutal.

You don’t clearly remember the moment you first heard him cry—only the weight of a maester pressing down on your belly, the septa’s voice urging you to push, and the sudden emptiness when the child was finally pulled from you.

That night, as you lay in clean sheets with a broken body and dry eyes, you realized something.

You had done something right.

Not something orderly, not something imposed, not something expected of you.

No. This time, you had done it. You, and you alone.

Aerion.

He was your son.

Yours, entirely yours.

You had felt his first heartbeat deep within your womb, had borne the weight of his life pressing upon yours for countless moons, had bled and screamed and pushed to bring him into the world. He was beautiful—more than you would ever dare to say aloud. Sturdy, with smooth, warm skin like that of a newborn lamb, and strands of pale hair that shimmered like moon-silk in the morning light. When his eyes first opened, they looked at you as if he had always been waiting for you.

Aerion was your creation.

Not Aemond’s. Not the queen’s. Not the realm’s.

Yours.

From the moment you first held him in your arms, something inside you changed permanently. You were no longer just a forced wife, nor a disposable political piece. You were a mother. And through him, for the first time, you felt alive.

You became fierce. Attentive. Intolerant of even the smallest mistake concerning him.

You would snatch him from the arms of handmaidens if they held him too loosely.

You gave the maesters strict instructions on which remedies he could or couldn’t be given when he cried.

You allowed no drafts, no raised voices, no cold hands near his cradle.

Even Aemond—who needed only a word to make you yield—seemed to recognize that new tension in you. Something unexpected had awakened in him as well: a quiet devotion to the child. He would stroke the boy’s hair with awkward fingers, linger silently in the doorway to watch him sleep, and rarely argued when you asked him not to lift Aerion while he was resting. Though he never shared tenderness with you, he seemed to respect — perhaps even fear — the fury that motherhood had awoken in you.

You were both guardians of the child. But you were more than that—you were a she-wolf with her cub. And no one dared to challenge you.

Until they did.

One afternoon, in the septon’s gardens, as you strolled with Aerion wrapped in his hand-knitted woolen cloak, you heard the syrupy, sickly-sweet voice of Lady Merel Florent—a court lady and a favorite of the queen for her obedience and loyalty. She was holding a child with an absurdly oversized head, cradling him as though he were a trophy earned by her womb.

"Sometimes nature rewards beauty… and forgets judgment," she murmured with soft laughter as she passed by, glancing sideways at Aerion. "A pity that some children are born with so little future… as delicate and empty as their mothers."

You didn’t think twice.

"It’s not my fault that my Aerion wasn’t born with a big, empty head like your baby, Lady Merel," you said in a tone so sharp and calm that even the leaves seemed to stop rustling for a moment.

Silence fell instantly. The laughter died. The color drained from her face.

You said nothing more. You rose with the sleeping child resting against your chest and returned inside without looking back.

That night, when you returned to your chambers, Aemond was already waiting. Sitting by the window, his profile bathed in the torchlight from the courtyard below. He didn’t need to raise his voice.

"Does it fulfill you, humiliating a lady in front of half the court?" he asked, not looking at you directly.

You knew he wasn’t there by choice. The queen had sent him—there was no doubt. That lady and her child mattered to him as much as the carvings on the pillars in the great hall. But you had dared to speak. To laugh at someone in public. And what he couldn’t allow was for people to believe he couldn’t keep you in check.

You didn’t answer.

You turned your back to him, walking toward the bed with deliberately slow steps. Your fingers moved to the ties that held your dress at the sides. You wanted it to be clear that you were tired. That you had no interest in entertaining a discussion driven by a man’s wounded pride. That he wasn’t important enough to deserve even a reply.

"I asked you a question. Answer me," he repeated, this time stepping closer. His steps were heavy, determined. The creak of his boots on the stone floor filled the room.

"Answer me!" he snapped, grabbing your wrist tightly, stopping the motion of your hands.

You raised your face to him, furious—without fear, without pleading.

"Let me go! Don’t act like you care! Don’t pretend to be the offended husband when all you do is ignore me until you find something to punish!" you spat the words, your face flushed with rage, your voice trembling—but steady.

Aemond didn’t move.

His fingers still gripped your wrist, tighter than necessary, and his eye—usually cold, measured—locked onto yours with an unfamiliar, almost dangerous intensity.

“You never care about anything I do,” you added in a broken whisper, heavy with exhaustion. A truth spoken on the verge of tears, less out of anger and more from years of accumulated indifference.

Then it happened.

There was no warning.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t shout.

His hand, swift and almost automatic, cut through the air and struck your cheek with a sharp, clear smack that seemed to silence the entire room.

The blow turned your face to the side. For a moment, time stopped; the burning spread across your skin like a flame, more from disbelief than from the pain itself.

He had never done that.

Never.

Not Aemond.

You stared at him, mouth agape, still tearless, as if your mind was still trying to process what had just happened. He, for his part, said nothing. No apology, no word of warning. He only lowered his hand slowly, as if only then realizing what he had done.

You broke like a child who had held back tears for too long.

First came the trembling of your lips. Then your throat tightened, your chest pressed as if the air had become thick and painful to breathe. Finally, the crying burst forth with a silent, heartbreaking force, as if it had been building somewhere deep inside you for months.

You only cried.

It was barely a muffled whimper, as if your soul had given way before your body. The first tear fell without permission, then another, and another, until your hands could no longer hide your face and your breath trembled like a leaf in winter.

You didn’t know how long you stayed that way, alone in the room, hunched over the edge of the bed, hugging yourself. The door remained closed. The silence was thick, almost cruel, and deep down, you knew he wouldn’t come back.

You didn’t hear his footsteps. You didn’t hear the click of the door or the sound of his breathing. You only felt the weight when the mattress creaked beside you. And his warmth—that inevitable presence—when he sat at your back.

His hands didn’t touch your face or try to lift your chin. He didn’t ask for forgiveness. He didn’t whisper a single excuse. He simply wrapped one steady, encompassing arm around your waist and pulled you toward him.

Your body, tense at first, fought against the natural urge to give in. But you were tired. So tired. And when his other hand rested gently at the nape of your neck, guiding you until your forehead came to rest against his collarbone, everything you had held back spilled over in silent force.

His fingers tangled in your hair, twisted like the thoughts in your mind, and though he said nothing, though pride still burned in his eyes, his touch trembled. There was guilt there, even if he didn’t know how to name it.

He held you. That was all.

And for that night, though the damage remained, though forgiveness was neither asked nor granted, at least you weren’t alone in the dark.

[baelarys]

Hi, first of all I would like to say that you are such an amazing writer. I love all your stories but I especially love Aemond’s little family you have built. Since you mentioned in pt.4 that you won’t stop until you die or we get tired (which we won’t 🤣) I was wondering if maybe pt.5 can be Aemond and reader having a day to themselves without the children and maybe reader reassuring Aemond she’s his and he doesn’t have to worry about anything. 🫶🏼 Thank you for your hard work!

𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶

Aemond targaryen x reader

Word count: 2435

Warninig: smutt,bad words.

You shifted in the bed, reaching for Aemond's usual spot, seeking the warmth of his body next to yours. However, upon finding the empty space, you realized he was gone. You slid closer to his side, noticing that it still held some warmth, indicating he had not been gone for long.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, filling the room with a soft, warm light. As the brightness filled the space, you wrapped yourself more tightly in the sheets, covering your naked body to shield yourself from the light and the cold that seemed to come with the morning.

You had woken up with the hope of resuming what you had started the night before. It felt strange how much you had come to enjoy those moments of closeness with him—something unthinkable when your marriage had been arranged. But now, more often than not, you found yourself longing for those encounters. However, it seemed Aemond had other plans for that morning.

Determined not to let those thoughts distract you from your duties, you got up to begin the day. However, you couldn't ignore the latent heat in your body, built up since the moment you woke. You dressed carefully and headed to have breakfast with the children, whose energy and laughter managed to momentarily distract you from the desires that flooded your mind. After the meal, you withdrew to perform your daily prayers to the gods.

Later, you joined some ladies of the court, fulfilling the expectations of your role as a wife and mother, participating in conversations that ranged from the latest news of the realm to trivial rumors.

Finally, you decided to head to the training yard, knowing you would find him there. It was customary for him to spend the early hours of the morning practicing with the sword, and the thought of seeing him skillfully maneuver the weapon filled you with an almost inexplicable anticipation. There was something in the way he moved, in the strength of his hands as he wielded the heavy sword, that always stirred an intense, almost primal emotion within you.

Aemond muttered softly every time he missed a strike, and you found yourself smiling without realizing it. That frustration he displayed, far from being a weakness, fascinated you. Each time he failed, he returned with more determination, his muscles tensing as he prepared for the next move. There was a ferocity in him, an intensity that radiated from every pore of his skin, and that was what attracted you the most.

The strands of his silver hair stuck to his forehead. You bit your lip almost unconsciously as your thoughts wandered. It was impossible to deny the magnetism he held over you, especially in moments like this, when you saw him so focused, so completely in control of himself.

You decided not to interrupt him. You preferred to enjoy the view, the display of skill and power that always seemed to captivate you completely. There was something in the way Aemond handled his sword, how his body responded to the challenge of each strike, that evoked in you a mix of admiration and desire. You knew he did it with the same precision and determination with which he had handled you the night before.

Without waiting any longer, Aemond began to ascend the steps that separated you, moving with the same grace and determination with which he had wielded the sword moments before. When he was close enough, you didn't give him time to say anything. Following an impulse that had consumed you since you saw him training, you took his face in your hands and, without hesitation, pressed your lips against his in a soft but needy kiss. You knew this wasn’t typical for either of you in public, but you couldn’t hold back.

The salty taste of his skin from the sweat mixed with the warmth of his breath. You felt his large hands settle on your waist with a firmness that sent a shiver through you. But in an instant, Aemond began to pull away, creating distance with a softness that surprised you. Though his grip was firm, it was not harsh; it was a silent warning. You knew well that he disliked showing affection in public. His reserved nature and sense of discipline compelled him to maintain appearances, especially in such visible places.

Aemond watched you intently, his brow slightly furrowed as he awaited a response that didn’t come. He seemed to realize that something distracted you, something beyond the simple formalities he tried to uphold in public. "Are you well?" he asked, his voice in that low, controlled tone he rarely abandoned, even when worried.

You didn’t respond with words, unable to tear your gaze away from him. Your mind was completely absorbed, tracing every line of his face, the firmness of his jaw, the steel-blue of his eye that had always captivated you. You simply nodded slowly, your fingers already intertwined with his almost without realizing it.

Without wasting any more time, you took his hand and guided him with a silent determination. You moved quickly through the halls of the Red Keep, leaving behind the bustle of the training yard and the curious glances of the few who might have noticed your brief exchange. The echo of your footsteps resonated against the stone walls as you advanced, your thoughts focused solely on reaching that intimate space you shared, away from prying eyes.

Aemond offered no resistance when you pushed him against the wall, surprisingly docile, allowing you to take control in that moment. His eyes, which always reflected an air of authority, were now filled with something different: a mix of intrigue and desire. The sound of the door closing behind you barely broke the silence before you pressed your lips against his again, this time with an urgency you had never felt before.

The kiss was deep, filled with need. You gently bit his lower lip, silently asking him for more, and he quickly responded. Aemond opened his mouth for you, and your tongues met, exploring each other with intensity. There was a voracity in the kiss that you both shared, a contained passion that, in that moment, seemed to overflow without either of you wanting to stop it.

Aemond’s hands found their way back to your waist, but this time, they did not remain a simple touch. His fingers began to move, tracing the contours of your body slowly and deliberately, rising and falling over your hips and back, caressing your skin with a mix of tenderness and strength. You felt his hands enveloping you, each touch igniting the fire that burned within you even more.

Aemond’s lips parted from yours but did not move far. Instead, they began to trace a slow and deliberate path from your chin to the hollow of your neck, leaving behind soft bites and wet kisses that made your skin burn under his touch. You could feel how each small mark he left on your body intensified the desire between you.

Your hands, already restless, began to quickly unbutton his vest, letting it fall to the floor. The only thing left between them now was the thin fabric of his white shirt, light and stuck to his skin from the sweat of training. Aemond didn't give you time to do more. With a firm and determined movement, he lifted you off the ground with ease, as if you weighed nothing. Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist, and in that instant, you felt the almost unbearable rubbing of his sexes through the layers of clothing, causing a soft moan to escape your lips.

He gently dropped you onto the bed, held by his strong hands that slid over your body with a mix of control and adoration. Aemond pulled back just enough to allow you space, his eyes taking in every detail of you as his hands made their way to the knots holding the front of your dress together. With a patience that seemed to belie the intensity of the moment, he began to untie the ties, one by one, letting the fabric slowly fall around you, revealing more skin as he went.

You quickly freed yourself of the dress, letting it fall to the side of the bed without caring about the mess it caused. Aemond watched you with a devouring intensity in his eyes, admiring every curve, every detail of your naked body. You felt his breathing quicken, and before you could say anything, he had already leaned over you, running his hands and lips over your skin as if he were marking a territory that he knew perfectly well but that still fascinated him.

“You're beautiful,” he murmured, his hot breath hitting the skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine like an electric shock. His voice, low and heavy with desire, was the only answer you needed. Aemond's hands, firm but full of adoration, slid from your abdomen to your thighs, slowly separating them, giving you the feeling of vulnerability and absolute surrender.

His fingers found the heat between your legs, moving with expert precision. Two of them slid smoothly between your lips, soaking in your wetness with ease. Every touch further ignited the flame already burning in you, every touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your lips parted in a whisper, and his name escaped in a barely audible murmur: "Aemond..."

Your eyes closed, concentrating only on the sensations he gave you, as his fingers began to explore inside you, sinking deeper and deeper with each movement. The pace was slow, deliberate, almost torturous in its precision, and soon a soft gasp slipped from your lips, unable to contain your body's response to his touch.

"Mhmm...what's wrong, ābrazȳrys?" his voice caressed your ear with a tone of false innocence, as if he didn't know exactly the effect he was having on you. But his fingers, which continued to pump inside you with an increasing cadence, gave away the truth. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was loving every second of having you like this, vulnerable under his control.

The pace of his fingers was slow but deliberate, building the pleasure inside you steadily. Each movement seemed meticulously calculated to bring you over the edge, and the soft moans that escaped your lips were proof of his success. Aemond, ever aware of every small reaction, would bend his head to place kisses on your shoulder, his long, silky hair brushing against your skin, sending additional shivers throughout your body.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Aemond added a third finger, stretching you in a way that had you arching your back off the bed, seeking more than he was giving you. The feeling of fullness was almost overwhelming, but the pleasure that came with it made any discomfort quickly fade away. Your breathing quickened and his name escaped your lips again, this time as a desperate moan.

“Come on, ābrazȳrys,” he murmured with unexpected sweetness as his fingers continued to work inside you. “I know you can take it.” His tone, though soft, carried a charge of authority that only heightened the intensity of the moment. Aemond knew he had control over you, but he also knew how to guide you, how to raise the desire until you were completely surrendered to him.

Every movement of his fingers was precise, stretching and exploring every corner of your insides as the heat between your legs continued to build. The sensation was so intense that your mind began to cloud, consumed by the pleasure he was giving you. You couldn’t think of anything else, only the fire growing inside you and the waves of ecstasy that were about to break.

Your hips began to move involuntarily, following the rhythm he imposed, seeking more, begging for release. The desire continued to increase, and with each passing second, you felt closer to the peak.

Your hips moved in unison with the rhythm Aemond imposed, each movement of yours a reflection of the need that consumed you. You felt the pleasure rising through your body, bringing you closer to a breaking point, and just as you were about to come, Aemond pulled back, stopping at the last instant. A soft gasp, almost in protest, escaped your lips, but all it did was elicit a smile from him.

Your hips began to move involuntarily, following the rhythm he imposed, seeking more, begging for release. The desire continued to increase, and with each passing second, you felt closer to the peak.

Just when you were about to cum, Aemond pulled out his fingers now soaked in your milky fluids, a small gasp escaped your lips in reproach but that only made Aemond smile softly.

"What a horny little bitch" that inappropriate nickname bothered you but you were too overwhelmed to think of anything other than him penetrating you with his cock.

You could hear him unbutton his pants and take his big, throbbing cock in his hands, wetting the tip with the moisture escaping from your entrance. The small touch was enough to make a small moan escape from both of your mouths before Aemond entered you completely.

His thrusts were fast and deep, touching that precise spot that always brought you to the edge of everything. In a moment, he turned you upside down, your chest slapping against the sheets and your ass in the air.

It wasn't long before you felt the knot in your belly loosen and a long moan escape your lips. Aemond followed shortly after, spilling his warm seed inside you.

You settled down on the bed, trying to catch your breath. Aemond let himself fall on top of you, burying his face in your neck as you caressed his back and hair. You could feel him melting at your touch.

[baelarys]

req!!

jealous aemond at their twin daughters or their other child nameday…when the reader be ask dancing with some lord. And BAM jealous husband moments…

𝙅𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨

Aemond targaryen x reader velaryon ¡Niece!

Word count: 3222

Warninig: Jealousy, fluff

Pt1,pt2 & pt3(I will continue with this dynamic until I die or you get tired hahaha because I love this little family, don't be shy and make more requests for whatever you want!)

Everything had to look impeccable, perfect like in a fairy tale, and you had worked hard to make sure it was so. The castle halls and gardens had been adorned with millions of flowers, each one carefully selected to harmonize with the colorful and majestic tapestries hanging from the stone walls. The servants had worked tirelessly under your watchful supervision, ensuring that not a single detail was out of place.

You had eagerly awaited this day, your princesses' name day, an event that brought together the most powerful Lords and Ladies of Westeros. The sun shone high in the sky, blessing the celebration with its warm light, while the tables in the gardens filled with delicate dishes and golden cups of wine.

You stood by the grand doors of the hall, attentively watching as the guests arrived. Elegant laughter and lively conversations filled the air as ladies in silk and brocade dresses gracefully paraded, followed by knights whose armor gleamed in the sun. The banners of the great houses fluttered proudly in the wind, each a reminder of the nobility and power gathered at your celebration. Every courteous gesture, every measured smile, and respectful bow reflected the harmony you had worked so hard to achieve.

Your daughters, Vaera and Vaerys, were the very image of joy and youthful pride. Clad in matching dresses, their golden hair crowned with flower garlands gleamed under the light. They walked confidently through the hall and gardens, their small steps filled with enthusiasm and curiosity, as if they were truly the mistresses of the place. The laughter of both mingled with the soft music accompanying the event, as they played carefree among the guests, who were quick to praise their charm and beauty. The attention they received pleased them immensely, their childish smiles lighting up every corner they passed.

Aerion, on the other hand, did not share his sisters' festive spirit. Since waking up, he seemed to carry a cloud of discontent that darkened his little face. He had not left your side all day, and his irritability became evident whenever you tried to step away for even a few minutes. As soon as you were out of sight, his cries echoed through the halls, a constant reminder of his foul mood. Your attempts to soothe him with sweet words and caresses seemed to have only a temporary effect, as any interruption of your presence turned him into an inconsolable baby.

The hour of the banquet had finally arrived, and you found yourself seated next to Aemond, who, despite his well-known aversion to such events, wore an expression of patient resignation, trying his best to appear comfortable in the midst of the celebration. The great hall was filled, with the royal family occupying the seats of honor. To your right, Queen Alicent exchanged solemn glances with her children, while your mother and grandmother, Rhaenys, and the Velaryons sat at the main table alongside your maternal relatives. The torches illuminated the room, casting golden reflections on the goblets and platters overflowing with delicacies.

You, for your part, tried to remain present, though your attention was divided between the banqueting bustle and Aerion’s persistent restlessness, still nestled in your lap. With gentle movements, you stroked his golden hair, trying to soothe him as the little one emitted soft sighs of exhaustion. It was a fragile, temporary comfort, as if at any moment the child's bad mood might resurface.

Suddenly, an unsettling feeling crept over you, as if a burning gaze was resting on your skin, piercing through the warm atmosphere of the hall. At first, you thought it was Aemond, watching you as he often did when he thought you wouldn’t notice. You turned your head slightly, expecting to find his one eye fixed on you, but to your surprise, he was engrossed in a whispered conversation with his mother, Queen Alicent. Their words were barely audible, but his concentration seemed complete.

Confused, you glanced away, discreetly searching the nearby faces. That’s when you saw him. It wasn’t Aemond watching you so intently, but Lord Donald Tarly, whose position at the table gave him a clear view of you. His penetrating green eyes were fixed on you with a mix of curiosity and something more—something difficult to decipher from across the distance. It was a gaze laden with intentions you couldn’t interpret at that moment but which undoubtedly made you uncomfortable.

The lord, heir to one of the oldest and most respected houses of the Reach, had only recently arrived at court after several campaigns on the western border. His reputation as a formidable warrior and strategist preceded him, and although his public demeanor had been impeccable, that insistent scrutiny from the other side of the room made you feel vulnerable.

Instinctively, you adjusted Aerion's position in your lap, using the movement to divert your gaze and cover up by appearing focused on your child. However, the discomfort remained. Lord Tarly's gaze was unyielding, as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction from you.

Aemond, despite his apparent detachment from the surroundings, noticed the change in your posture. "Is everything alright?" he murmured, his deep voice barely a whisper as he leaned closer to you, his expression unchanging. There was no need to explain the situation to him; his keen perception seemed to have sensed your discomfort even before you fully understood it yourself.

The banquet continued, with the atmosphere growing denser and more charged as the food came in endless trays of roasted meats, golden breads, and fragrant sweets. However, your attention was far from the feast. Aerion, still in your arms, was beginning to fidget, his heavy eyelids struggling against the sleep that wouldn’t quite come. His sisters, not far off, had started to sway in their seats, their eyes heavy with sleep after a day of games and excitement.

With a gentle gesture, you leaned toward Aemond. "I think it's time to put the children to bed," you whispered, watching as Aerion nestled closer to you, seeking the warmth of your body. Aemond nodded slightly, a sign of approval that needed no further words. With one last look at the hall, you carefully stood up, holding Aerion in your arms while summoning one of the maids to help with the girls.

You left the hall, leaving behind the growing clamor of the evening. The sounds of laughter and animated conversations were muffled as you walked away, and the echo of your footsteps resonated in the wide corridors. The torches illuminated your path as the girls, tired but obedient, followed closely.

You finally reached the children's rooms, where the maids had already prepared their beds. Gently, you placed Aerion in his crib, caressing his forehead with a tenderness only a mother could offer. His eyes, now almost closed, sought yours for a brief moment before surrendering to sleep. The girls, between whispers and soft giggles, were guided to their beds by the maids, who soon dimmed the lights and left them to their dreams.

Once you ensured that everyone was peacefully asleep, you paused for a moment to watch them. Aerion breathed calmly, and his sisters, wrapped in their blankets, looked as innocent and peaceful as the day they were born. You sighed, letting go of some of the tension you had accumulated throughout the night.

When you returned to the great hall, the atmosphere had changed dramatically. The festivities had evolved, shedding the formalities that marked the ceremonial dinners. Now, laughter was louder, wine glasses were raised more frequently, and the sound of music blended with the clinking of glasses and the rhythmic footsteps on the marble floor.

The center of the hall was cleared, turned into an improvised dance floor. Pairs of nobles, some visibly affected by wine, spun and laughed, their garments shining under the torchlight. The music, once soft, had come to life, with violins and lutes setting a livelier rhythm, suited for the occasion. The younger guests, those who stayed away from the stern gazes of the older ones, seemed to embrace the celebration with a freedom you had not seen earlier in the evening.

Determined to return to your seat next to Aemond, you maneuvered around the edges of the dance floor, avoiding the couples spinning and laughing in their intoxication. The hall vibrated with the lively music of the lutes and violins, and the atmosphere, filled with wine and laughter, seemed to intensify by the second.

However, just before reaching your destination, an unexpected obstacle appeared before you. As you looked up, you came face to face with Lord Donald Tarly. His smile was wide, and the warmth with which he regarded you suggested more than mere courtesy. His eyes roamed your face with a familiarity that made you uncomfortable, but there was no way to avoid the encounter without appearing rude.

"My lady," he greeted with a courteous bow, though his tone held a confidence that bordered on insolence. "It would be an honor to invite you to dance."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the urge to decline his offer to avoid stirring Aemond’s displeasure. However, given the public nature of the event and the presence of nobles and allies, you decided to maintain appearances. After all, it was just a dance, and courtesy dictated that you should not refuse without a clear reason.

"Of course, Lord Tarly," you replied with a nod, taking his hand when he offered it. You knew Aemond wouldn’t be pleased, but you trusted he would understand; after all, some formalities were unavoidable in court.

Lord Tarly’s fingers gently closed around yours as he guided you to the dance floor. The music continued to resonate, and the violins began a softer melody, fitting for a quiet conversation. As you started to move to the rhythm, Lord Tarly broke the silence.

“It’s an honor to dance with you tonight, my lady. I must confess I’ve been looking forward to this moment since I arrived at the banquet,” he said, his tone kind but with a hint of flirtation.

You managed a courteous smile. “It’s a pleasure, Lord Tarly. I hope you’ve enjoyed the festivities.”

“I would enjoy it more if every night included the privilege of your company,” he replied without losing composure. You could feel his gaze examining you with interest, and you decided not to respond to that.

However, as the dance continued, you found yourself laughing at one of Lord Tarly’s anecdotes. Despite your initial reservations, the conversation turned out to be more pleasant than you had anticipated. His humor was subtle, and his ability to keep the conversation flowing made time pass quickly.

But then, as you gently twirled to the music, you felt a shiver run down your spine. It was as if an invisible force compelled you to look across the room. Raising your gaze, you met Aemond’s eyes on the other side of the hall. He was seated, his posture rigid, his expression grave. The tension in his jaw was evident, and though he hadn’t said a word, his gaze conveyed everything you needed to know. Aemond’s lips barely moved, but the fire in his eyes indicated that the scene before him displeased him greatly.

Your heart skipped a beat. Aemond was not known for his patience when it came to you, especially when someone else showed interest in your attention. His gaze was a mix of jealousy and barely concealed anger, and you could see how his fingers tightened around the goblet he held, as if trying to contain himself.

“Are you alright, princess?” Lord Tarly’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You forced a smile, though your attention was no longer fully on the conversation. “Yes, of course. Just a bit distracted.”

“I see that Prince Aemond is watching you quite intently,” Tarly remarked with a barely perceptible smile. “I hope I’m not causing any misunderstandings.”

You tried to laugh lightly, though you knew the situation was becoming more tense. “No, of course not. Aemond is… very protective, that’s all.”

“Protective?” Lord Tarly’s smile widened a little. “I can’t blame him. There’s certainly much to protect.”

You felt uncomfortable at the double meaning in his words, and as the music began to slow down, you decided it was time to end the dance. “It has been a pleasure, Lord Tarly, but I think I should return to my husband.”

You stepped away gracefully, determined to return to Aemond. When you sat next to him, you hoped he would break the silence, but he did not. He didn’t even look at you. His jaw was tight, and the jealous glint in his single eye was unmistakable, though he made no effort to conceal it.

Frustrated, you took his hand in yours, trying to smooth over the situation. However, his rigidity remained. “Do whatever you want,” you said, your voice tinged with a mix of irritation and exasperation.

You hoped for a reaction, a word, something that indicated he was willing to discuss the issue, but Aemond simply continued to stare ahead, his silence more stubborn than ever. You bit your lip, suppressing the urge to keep pressing the issue. You had no intention of arguing over something so trivial. Not here, not now, and certainly not over a minor courtly dance.

His jealousy seemed, at that moment, rather childish. You stood up firmly, adjusting your dress with a decisive gesture. There was no reason to prolong the discomfort of the situation, especially not in public. You decided that it was best to retreat to your room. If Aemond wanted to maintain that absurd attitude, you would not waste your energy discussing it at a banquet full of onlookers. Not for something so insignificant.

Aemond did not stop you, which irritated you even more. Without looking back, you left the hall. As you made your way through the torch-lit corridors, you felt the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease slightly. You repeated to yourself that distance would do you both good and that tomorrow, things would surely look clearer.

You reached your room, closing the door softly behind you, though more decisively than you had intended. Silence greeted you, and the tranquility you had longed for during the hectic night began to settle. You removed your jewelry with methodical movements, letting your thoughts drift away from the previous scene.

But the echo of your thoughts was soon interrupted when you heard the door open with an almost imperceptible sound. There was no need to turn around to know who it was. Aemond.

You turned slowly, finding him in the doorway, his expression a mix of wounded pride and barely contained regret. There was no need for immediate words; his presence said it all. He couldn't bear the idea of letting you go like this, just like that. And although he was a man who rarely apologized openly, you knew that his way of following you was, in itself, an acknowledgment that he had let jealousy overpower him.

"Are you going to say something?" you asked, keeping your gaze fixed on him. Your tone, though controlled, had enough acidity for him to know you weren't willing to let the matter pass easily.

Aemond stopped a few steps away from you, his gaze locked with yours, but the silence continued to fill the space between you both. He seemed to be torn between his pride and the desire to make things right, a tug-of-war that you knew all too well in him.

"What do you want me to say?" he finally murmured, his voice low but charged with barely disguised tension. "That I didn't care to see another man approaching you as if he had any right? That I should have stood idly by while he looked at you that way?"

You sighed, crossing your arms in front of you. "Aemond, it was a simple dance. Nothing more. You can't react like this every time someone speaks to me. This isn’t the battlefield, and not everyone is an enemy."

"A simple dance?" he retorted, taking another step toward you, his eyebrow raised. "I saw what I saw, and it wasn't just a dance. That man has no idea what respect means, and I'm not going to tolerate anyone even thinking they can..." He stopped, his words hanging in the air as he struggled to contain the rising heat of his temper.

"Can what?" you challenged, shaking your head, frustrated. "What do you think is going to happen, Aemond? That I’ll leave you for Lord Tarly? For a man I barely know and, to be honest, means absolutely nothing to me? You can’t keep acting as if any interaction is a threat to you."

For a moment, his eyes showed something more than jealousy: there was insecurity in his gaze, a shadow that he rarely revealed. You knew it wasn’t just a matter of wounded pride; there was something deeper affecting him.

"I can’t stand the idea..." he started to say, his voice softer now, almost broken, "that someone else might even imagine having your attention, your closeness. I’m a man of war, but with you... I don’t know how to handle this."

The echo of his words hit you hard, disarming any defenses you had built. Aemond, however fierce he was with people or in court, found himself lost when it came to expressing what he felt for you.

The echo of his words hit you hard, disarming any defenses you had built. Aemond, however fierce he was with people or in court, found himself lost when it came to expressing what he felt for you.

You looked at him for a moment, letting your shoulders drop, tired of the argument and knowing that despite everything, there was some truth in his fears. "You don’t have to handle anything. I’m not going anywhere, Aemond. I’m here, with you."

There was a silence loaded with emotion before he took the final step toward you, closing the space between you both. His hand slowly rose to your face, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that always surprised you in someone like him. "I’m sorry," he murmured, almost in a whisper, his gaze searching yours.

Before you could respond, his lips met yours in a kiss that, although starting softly, soon grew more intense, filled with a mixture of regret and need. Your hands clung to his clothes, responding with equal fervor, allowing the tension that had filled the space between you both to dissolve in that intimate moment.

When he pulled away, just a few inches, his eyes shone with a silent promise. "It won’t happen again," he assured, his forehead resting against yours. And in that moment, you knew that, as complicated as the emotions you shared were, you would always find your way back to each other.

[baelarys]

i like aemond and his niece marriage live with they children they so adorable. but i wanna see the children spend day with grandparent like with alicent look like or with rhaenyra when they go to dragonstone. and perhaps do criston ( reader true father ) as grandpa in secret look like….

𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚

Aemond Targaryen x reader velaryon¡Niece!

Word count:1727

Warninig:fluff and more fluff

Pt2 pt1 pt4

Your heart was beating with an enthusiasm you could barely contain as you made your way to your mother's chambers. The news of her arrival, delivered by one of your ladies that morning, had been a ray of joy in your day. You decided to bring Laenor with you, as the other children were immersed in their usual activities.

As you reached the door to the chambers, the guards opened it wide. You entered with a mix of excitement and nervousness, searching for your mother around the room. You found her resting on one of the luxurious pieces of furniture, her figure elegantly serene.

"My sweet girl," Rhaenyra exclaimed upon seeing you, her eyes shining with a warm, maternal light. She extended her arms towards you, and your heart overflowed with nostalgia as you saw her familiar face, as radiant as ever.

"Mother," you said in a trembling voice, feeling how time faded in her presence. "Father," you added, addressing Daemon as well. The prince, with his usual roguish charm, greeted you with a smile full of affection.

"I’m so glad you’re here," you said, taking a seat beside her and wasting no time bringing Laenor closer to her arms so she could see him better.

Rhaenyra took the baby with great care, avoiding waking him, as her eyes scanned every detail of Laenor's face with a mix of wonder and joy. She rocked him gently, and you couldn’t help but feel immensely proud at that moment.

"He’s so beautiful," she murmured, her voice filled with sweetness as she stroked the fine, delicate hair of the baby with a trembling hand.

Daemon approached to observe the little one, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it tenderly. "He looks like you," he commented with a sincere smile, which you mirrored on your face.

"Where are Jace and Luke?" you asked, looking for the children around the room. You only saw Joffrey, who was playing with his toys on the floor. You stood up and approached him with a smile.

"Where are Jace and Luke?" you asked, looking for the children around the room. You only saw Joffrey, who was playing with his toys on the floor. You stood up and approached him with a smile.

"Somewhere in the castle," your mother replied, her attention entirely focused on the baby.

"Joff," you called softly, crouching beside him. The dark-haired child turned at your presence, his eyes shining with excitement and surprise.

"Y/N!" he shouted with joy, throwing himself into your arms. You welcomed him in a warm embrace, letting out a small laugh as you held him close.

"Look how much you’ve grown," you said, running your hand through his thick, curly brown hair. "Has your dragon hatched yet?"

"Yes, yes, it has," he responded enthusiastically, extending his hands into the air to show you how big it would become. "And it will grow this big."

"I don’t doubt it," you said, smiling as you took his hand and stood up. "By the way, I have something to show you."

You guided Joffrey to where you had been sitting before, carefully bringing him closer to Laenor, who had now awakened. His violet eyes scanned the room with curiosity.

"This is your nephew, Laenor," you said, taking Joffrey's hand and gently guiding it to touch the baby's cheek. Laenor directed all his attention toward the boy in front of him. "What do you think?"

"Laenor," Joffrey repeated, seeming to reflect on the name. Suddenly, Laenor smiled and let out a few babbles towards Joffrey, bringing a smile to the older boy’s face. "Look, Mama! He’s smiling at me!" he exclaimed excitedly, looking at Rhaenyra with joy.

Rhaenyra, touched by the scene, watched her children with a tender expression. "So it seems," she commented, her voice filled with emotion.

They spent some time talking and enjoying their time together until Laenor began to show signs of hunger. You decided to leave to feed the baby, allowing your mother to rest after her long journey.

You walked down the hallways towards the nursery, the place where your children usually played. Just as you turned a corner, you saw Luke and Jace walking back to your mother’s chambers.

"Guys," you called with a smile, and they turned at the sound of your voice. Recognizing you, they quickly approached, with Luke being the first to embrace you immediately.

"Oh, look, Jace," Luke said, pointing to Laenor, whom you were holding in your arms. Without hesitation, Luke extended his arms and took the baby in his hands with a gesture of admiration.

"Where were you?" you asked as you took Jace by the arm and started walking towards the nursery. The two boys followed, with Luke completely absorbed in playing with Laenor.

"In the yard," Jace replied, running a hand lazily through his hair.

"What’s his name?" Luke asked, lifting the baby in the air. Laenor let out a series of giggles and small cries of joy, delighted by the game.

"His name is Laenor," you answered with a smile. Jace, upon hearing the name, looked at you with an expression of surprise and nostalgia. "Laenor," he repeated, his voice laden with an emotion that seemed to evoke memories.

They continued walking until they reached the nursery, where you found Aerion, Vaera, and Vaerys, already entertained with their usual games. They weren’t alone; Queen Alicent was there, smiling sweetly while playing with the twins, their golden hair shining in the light streaming through the window. Ser Criston Cole, standing nearby, was conversing softly with Aerion, offering a patient smile to the boy, who seemed to be listening intently.

Upon entering the nursery, you paused for a moment to observe Queen Alicent, who looked up from her game with the twins upon noticing your presence. Her face lit up with a friendly smile, but there was still that assessing look that always seemed present in her expression. You inclined your head in a respectful bow. "Your Majesty," you greeted courteously. Jace and Luke, following your example, also bowed, though you noticed the stiffness in their movements, clearly tense in the presence of the queen and her knight.

Alicent returned the greeting with a nod, though it was evident her eyes were now on the baby in Luke's arms. "Y/N," she began in a kindly tone, "I see the little ones are well accompanied today."

"Yes, Your Majesty," you replied with a faint smile. "I wanted my children to spend time with their uncles." Alicent nodded slowly, although a fleeting expression of discomfort crossed her face. It seemed she had noticed the tension in the air.

Ser Criston, ever observant, stepped forward with a slight bow, clearly more directed towards you than your brothers. "Princess," he greeted formally, before stepping back a little from Aerion, giving you the space you needed.

Alicent turned to Criston and nodded slightly, as if they had shared a silent understanding. "Perhaps we should let them enjoy a family moment," she suggested with a polite smile. "Aerion, Vaera, Vaerys," she called softly to the children, "I’m afraid I must go, but I hope you continue to enjoy your day."

The children nodded obediently, although Aerion seemed slightly disappointed that his conversation with Ser Criston had been interrupted. Alicent waved them off with a gentle gesture before turning and leaving the room, followed by Ser Criston, who gave you one last bow before following her.

With the departure of the queen and her knight, the atmosphere in the nursery immediately relaxed. The children looked at you expectantly, their eyes bright with curiosity as they observed the two boys accompanying you. You smiled, noting the impatience on their faces, and leaned down toward them, ready to make introductions.

"Children," you began, adopting a jovial tone, "I want to introduce you to my brothers. This is Jacaerys, but you can call him Jace," you indicated the older of the two boys, who flashed a friendly smile and nodded. "And this is Lucerys, but we call him Luke," you added, pointing to the younger one, who greeted them with a shy bow.

Aerion, always the most curious of your children, immediately stepped forward, his eyes shining with excitement. "Are you princes?" he asked with a mix of wonder and admiration, his voice full of interest. "Do you have dragons too?"

Luke smiled at the child’s direct question. "Yes, we are princes," he replied modestly, "and we do have dragons. My dragon’s name is Arrax."

Aerion's eyes widened even more, and he wasted no time in asking another question. "Is Arrax big? Does he fly fast? And what about Jace's dragon?"

Jace let out a small laugh at Aerion's enthusiasm, crouching down to be at his height. "My dragon’s name is Vermax," he replied with a warm smile, "and yes, he’s very fast, although not as big as some other dragons. But someday he’ll grow much larger."

While Aerion continued bombarding Luke and Jace with questions —"What’s it like to fly? Is it scary or fun? Have you ever fallen?"— the twins, Vaera and Vaerys, approached Jace with cautious steps. One of them, Vaerys, gently tugged on his sleeve, her big violet eyes filled with curiosity.

"Is your dragon very pretty?" she asked innocently, her voice sweet like a child’s melody.

Jace, moved by the girls' tenderness, crouched to their level and nodded. "Yes, Vermax is very pretty. He has scales of a deep green color and golden eyes that shine like the sun."

Vaera, the other twin, looked at Jace with growing fascination. "Will you teach us to fly on him someday?" she asked, her cheeks flushing with excitement.

Jace laughed softly. "Well, that might be a little complicated," he replied kindly, "but perhaps we can watch him fly from the ground. I promise you, it's an impressive sight."

The twins exchanged excited glances and squeezed each other, clearly delighted by the idea. Aerion, not stopping, continued firing off questions, while Jace and Luke answered with patience and occasional laughter.

Meanwhile, Laenor had been left to his own devices on the floor, and with the determination of a curious baby, he began to crawl across the ground. Slowly, he made his way toward you, his violet eyes fixed on your face. When he reached you, he grabbed onto your knees, trying to pull himself up with little murmurs of effort. You couldn't help but smile at his perseverance.

"Come on, little warrior!" you encouraged him softly, leaning down to help him get a better grip. Laenor wobbled for a moment, but with a proud smile, he managed to stand up, leaning on you for support. The children's laughter echoed again, contagious with the joy of the moment.

[baelarys]

𝕯𝖔𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓

Aemond targaryen x Reader ¡Niece! Velaryon

Word count: 5570

Warning: Abuse, kidnapping, insect, knives, bad words.

Dohaeragon means to serve in High Valyrian, nyra is poison and ābrazȳrys is wife

The last memory clinging to your mind was chaos: smoke, screams, and the searing fire consuming everything. The moment you fell from Nyra’s back into the dense forest below was etched into your mind before darkness enveloped you completely.

You awoke with a sharp pain in your head, as though it were being compressed from within, and every bone in your body felt shattered. Gathering all your strength, you managed to open your eyes, greeted by the blinding midday light streaming through the windows. The room seemed strangely familiar, though you knew you were far from your bed in Dragonstone.

The Valyrian steel armor you wore prevented you from enjoying the soft, sumptuous silks that lined the bed beneath you. The desire to rise and run back home burned within you.

The sound of the doors creaking open pulled you from your thoughts. You heard the firm footsteps of several people entering and approaching the bed.

You recognized Grand Maester Orwyle, accompanied by two members of the Kingsguard whom you remembered from when Lucerys was named heir to the Lord of the Tides. But what truly caught your attention was Aemond, who watched you with a barely contained smile.

Instinctively, you reached for the sheath where your dagger used to rest, only to discover with a mix of horror and frustration that it was not there. You tried to rise from the bed, but a sharp pain in your side and forearm immediately stopped you.

Grand Maester Orwyle stepped forward, his intention to help was evident, but with a warning shout, you stopped him.

“Don’t touch me!” you exclaimed, your voice carrying more force than you actually felt. “You’re all traitors.”

The maester halted, his anxious gaze turning toward Aemond for instructions. The prince, however, remained still, watching you with interest as you reclined once more in the same position.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Aemond began, his voice low and laden with dangerous calm. “We thought the fall had killed you or that perhaps you had been crushed by Nyra, but your dragon protected you well.” He took a step forward, his eyes locked on yours with a cold intensity. “Too bad your grandmother didn’t have the same luck.”

The sting of his comment was like a knife, stabbing your heart with a fury that drove you to action. Without thinking, you lunged at him, attempting to seize Blackfyre, the legendary dagger resting at his waist. But Aemond was quicker. His hand gripped your forearm with unyielding force, applying pressure even through the armor. You felt his grip sink into your flesh, and a sharp pain, like thousands of tiny needles, spread through your arm.

“Ossēninna ao,” you cried out in pain, your voice betraying the intensity of the agony you were experiencing. Aemond let out a low, almost guttural laugh, relishing your suffering with a cruelty only he could express so precisely.

“Kill me?” he whispered, bringing his face closer to yours, his warm breath contrasting with the coldness of his gaze. “You’ll have to do better than that, ābrazȳrys.”

The High Valyrian title, a mix of mockery and possessiveness, further inflamed your anger, but you were trapped, your body weakened by the fall and the pain now emanating from your forearm. Aemond finally released you, pushing you back onto the bed with a contemptuous gesture. Frustration and helplessness swirled within you, a storm threatening to overflow as the prince loomed over you, his shadow completely covering you.

“You’ll have your chance, if you survive long enough,” he murmured before turning to the maester. “Attend to her; we don’t want her dying… yet.”

The maester, visibly disturbed, hesitated, his fear palpable as he looked at you as though you were a wounded animal, capable of biting at any moment. Though rage burned within you, you knew this was not the time to fight. You needed to conserve your strength.

With a trembling sigh, you let your head fall back on the pillow and closed your eyes, trying to isolate yourself from the pain that overwhelmed you. Minutes—or perhaps hours; time blurred in the midst of agony—passed when you heard the maester instruct one of the servants to bring the necessary materials to tend to your wounds.

What followed were the two most painful hours of your life. With every movement, every touch from the maester, it felt as though your flesh was being torn apart. Parts of your armor had fused with your skin, leaving deep burns on your stomach and arm. The maester worked in silence, his face tense as he tried to separate the metal from your flesh without causing more damage than necessary.

“The damage is severe, but not fatal,” he murmured finally, more to himself than to you, as he applied a cold ointment to the burns. “The healing will be slow, but you will survive.”

His tone offered no comfort. You knew Aemond had spared your life for a reason, and that thought was more unsettling than any physical pain you could endure. Yet you forced yourself to remain impassive, allowing the maester to finish his work.

When the maester finally withdrew, leaving you wrapped in clean bandages and in the midst of stifling silence, you opened your eyes to find yourself alone. The room, with its distorted air of familiarity, felt oppressive, like a cage from which you could not escape. Your gaze wandered around the space until it fell upon a woman who, with calculated and discreet movements, was tidying the room. Her posture and the uniform she wore suggested she was one of the queen’s servants.

The woman worked in silence, dusting off your old desk and vanity, gestures that seemed almost ritualistic in their precision. A sense of strangeness washed over you as you watched the servants take control of what had once been a reflection of your own identity. As if struck by an unexpected blow, your attention was drawn to the dress the woman had laid out on the vanity, standing out in the dim light of the room.

The dress, a soft salmon color, was adorned with golden and silver embroidery, but it was the detail on the chest that truly captured your attention: a meticulously woven design depicted a dragon coiled around a smaller one, biting its head with a ferocity that felt as disturbing as it was significant.

“Son of a bitch,” you thought bitterly, blood boiling in your veins. It wasn’t just a garment; it was a message, one that Aemond had personally commissioned, his intention as clear as daylight. There was no hint of nobility or grandeur in the embroidery; it was a symbol of domination, the victory of one dragon over a weaker one.

The servant finished her task in silence and, without a word, exited the room. With the door closing behind her, you once again found yourself alone, contemplating the dress that now seemed a symbol of what you had lost and what you might still reclaim. The battle was not over; it had merely changed its stage, or so you thought.

No one else dared to disturb you for the rest of the day, allowing you to mentally plot your escape. You knew you needed to regain your strength, but once you did, you would slip through the castle’s secret passages, the ones you knew by heart. You could make it to the Flea Bottom or the Blackwater Bay, where you would find a ship or some mercenary willing to take you far from King’s Landing. If the price was right, loyalty would be secondary.

But time was not on your side, and impatience overtook you.

The plan you had conceived was hasty, and in your weakened condition, it did not go as expected. Your opportunity came one morning when the maester returned to change your bandages. The man, confident in your weakness, approached you cautiously but not sufficiently guarded. You seized that moment, your anger fueled by days of suffering, and launched yourself at him, your fingers finding his face and clawing desperately.

The maester's muffled scream echoed in the room as your nails nearly gouged out his eye. Blood ran down his cheek as he staggered back, and you prepared for the next move. But the door burst open, and a young knight of the Kingsguard, newly appointed and still inexperienced, entered the room. Without hesitation, you lunged at him with the same ferocity. Your hands found a dagger hanging from his belt, and in the confusion, you managed to wound him in the arm before the pain in your side weakened you and forced you to retreat.

The knight, though injured, quickly subdued you, using his weight to pin you against the bed while shouting for reinforcements. Trapped and too exhausted to continue the fight, you had no choice but to watch helplessly as they bound you once again, making sure you could not move an inch without being seen.

Since then, the maester no longer dared to approach you. Instead, a septa from the castle, accompanied by several maidservants, took over the task of tending to your wounds. The caution was evident: every movement, every bandage change was carried out with meticulous coordination, ensuring you had no opportunity to attempt another escape. You were watched more closely than ever, surrounded by discreet but constant gazes reminding you of your prisoner status.

Physical pain paled in comparison to the uncertainty gnawing at you. Since the day you attempted to escape, Aemond had not seen fit to appear. Not even the small commotion you caused had managed to attract his attention. That absence, rather than providing relief, only heightened your anxiety. Why was he keeping you here? What did he gain from having you injured and without a dragon, imprisoned in a castle that felt increasingly foreign?

Logic seemed to make no sense. Yes, you were Rhaenyra’s daughter, but your death would not alter the course of the war beyond inflicting pain on your mother. You had no title or lands of your own to claim. You were a seemingly worthless piece on the chessboard Aemond played with such skill. Yet, your presence in that room, watched and isolated, indicated that there was more to it, something you had yet to understand.

The days continued with a monotony that almost became comforting. Each day marked a small advance in your recovery. You could walk more easily now, and the burn on your arm, though still sensitive, was healing well under the bandages. You found some relief in those moments of solitude, when you could get up and move around the room without the watchful eyes of the maidservants or the septa. It was a small act of rebellion, a confirmation that you still retained some control over yourself.

desdain.

“Wine,” he said, lifting a glass that spun slowly between his fingers, the dark liquid reflecting the firelight. His tone was casual, almost disdainful, as if your presence barely required his attention.

You did not move, letting the silence extend, waiting for a signal that perhaps someone else was in the room, a servant who would fulfill his order. But when the silence continued, it became clear that his instruction was directed at you, and only you.

“I don’t like to repeat things twice,” his voice rose, firm, with an underlying warning in each word. The air in the room seemed to grow denser, charged with palpable tension.

You knew you had no choice. Maintaining your pride at this moment could cost you more than just a few words of disdain. So, with controlled and calculated movements, you approached the table where the jug of wine rested. Each step resonated in the silence of the room, amplifying the gravity of the situation. You filled the glass with the same precision you had seen in the court servants, making sure not to spill a single drop.

You approached him with the glass in hand, aware of his gaze fixed on you. You offered the wine with a barely perceptible bow, not looking away from his eyes. He took the glass, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Much better,” he murmured, savoring the wine with the same calm with which he controlled the situation. It was not a compliment, but a recognition of your obedience, of your submission at this moment.

Frustration and resentment boiled within you, but you remained firm. Internally, you cursed Aemond, imagining how you could use the glass jug to get rid of him and escape. However, the desire to stay alive and in control prevented you from acting impulsively.

“Why am I here?” The question slipped from your lips without warning, a reflection of your growing desperation.

Aemond looked at you with a mixture of interest and disdain. He brought the glass to his lips once more before responding, his tone calculated and measured. “After all, we are betrothed,” he said, letting his words slide slowly, almost with disdain. “Only, at the moment, you are fulfilling your duties as a wife.”

His answer was vague, laden with an implication that left little to the imagination. He was not willing to offer a direct explanation, but the message was clear: your presence here was not a coincidence, but part of an obligation you now had to fulfill. The subtext of his statement suggested that your role in his life had not changed, only that circumstances had reconfigured it in a way you had to adapt to the new realities of your situation.

“Ah,” Aemond said with a dry laugh, as if something suddenly struck him as amusing. “Your bastard brother is dead.” The words slid from his lips with a disturbing coldness, as if he were discussing the weather, not a life extinguished.

Your mind, in a whirlwind of emotions, first went to Lucerys, but you quickly realized he was no longer there. Then you thought of Joffrey, but it was upon remembering Jacaerys that horror settled in your chest. How? You did not dare to ask, despite the burning question inside.

“He sank into the sea with his little lizard,” Aemond continued, bringing the glass to his lips again. His tone was casual, as if describing the fate of a fly caught in a trap. “Just like your stepbrother... what was his name? Oh, I remember now, Viserys.”

The words hit like a cold wave, leaving your mind in a state of shock. The knowledge of Jacaerys and Viserys’ deaths, combined with Aemond’s cold indifference, made you feel as though the ground beneath your feet had vanished. The news of the two brothers’ disappearance was like a punch to the jaw, a brutal confirmation of the scale of the war that had devastated your world.

peculiar, as if its purpose was more to soundproof than to decorate. In the center of the room, a small table held a couple of books carefully stacked, alongside a writing quill, an inkpot, and some candles flickering with a wavering flame.

On one side, on the opposite wall, a small opening revealed a secondary room, a kind of private bath. From there, a gentle steam rose lazily, filling the air with the warm aroma of cinnamon and other spices you could not immediately identify. A bathtub filled with water, presumably warm or hot, was in the center of the room, its surface barely disturbed by the faint movement of the steam. The mix of fragrances created an enveloping, almost narcotic atmosphere, promising comfort, though you could not help but feel an increasing sense of alert.

The door opened once more, and the sound of firm footsteps echoed in the room. You did not need to turn to know who had entered; the imposing aura that filled the space was unmistakable. Prince Regent Aemond was there.

for a long time.

You tried to hide the dagger between the long sleeves of your dress, concealing your hand behind your back. Aemond, absorbed in his own preparation, seemed to notice nothing unusual. When you refocused on him, you saw he had removed the patch covering his eye, revealing a beautiful sapphire embedded where his eye would normally be.

You paused for a moment, paralyzed by the unexpected closeness. You had never been in such an intimate situation with anyone, much less with a man in his state of vulnerability. Your eyes involuntarily slid to Aemond’s well-defined abdomen, clearly outlined in the soft candlelight. A flush spread across your cheeks, an involuntary reflection of the shame and discomfort you felt.

Aemond, aware of your reaction, allowed a faint smile to play on his lips. The expression of amusement on his face only exacerbated your discomfort, as if he took pleasure in your evident agitation.

With effort, you regained your composure and approached him, trying to maintain an appearance of innocence and calm. As you drew nearer, the touch of the small sword in your hands gave you a false sense of control.

When you were close enough, with a swift and calculated motion, you placed the edge of Darkfire against Aemond's throat. The cold metal made contact with his skin, and the blade's brush against his epidermis caused him to shiver involuntarily. The pressure of the sword was enough to be a real threat but not to cause immediate harm.

Aemond remained still, his eyes fixed on yours with a mix of surprise and a glint of defiance. The tension in the room became almost palpable, the air charged with an intensity that seemed on the brink of explosion.

"What do you think you're doing?" Aemond asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

"Don't you feel so superior now?" you retorted, the challenge in your voice stronger than the tremor in your hands.

The blade of Darkfire stayed against his throat, and the slight contact with his skin seemed to make his breathing more measured and controlled.

"Go ahead, do it," Aemond said, moving even closer, pressing the blade more firmly against his skin. "There are guards everywhere; you wouldn’t make it past the entertainment courtyard." His words made you doubt, the weight of reality hitting you hard.

Your mind grew indecisive, your eyes fixed on a point as you tried to decide your next move. A sudden blow to your stomach jolted you back to the stark reality. Aemond seized your neck tightly, his fingers tangling in your hair as he slammed you against the wall.

The impact made your chest and face collide with the cold surface, the chilling sensation exacerbated by the pain. You struggled to free yourself, your hands trying to push away the weight of his body pressing you against the wall. Aemond took the opportunity to spread your legs with his knee, pressing against you with an intensity that made disgust churn in your stomach.

Panic overwhelmed you with a crushing force, and amidst your desperate struggle, you realized tears were beginning to roll down your cheeks uncontrollably. The plea in your voice was unmistakable. "Please, let me go," you begged, your voice breaking with terror and anguish. "I'm sorry… please, just let me go."

Your voice, broken and pleading, was an echo of your desperation. As you cried, you felt increasingly small and vulnerable, like a helpless child trapped in a situation you couldn’t escape.

In the frenzy of the Dance of the Dragons, the realm was plunged into a succession war that fractured families and ravaged lands. The contention for the Iron Throne, between the greens and the blacks, swept along everyone who had once been in its orbit, and you, trapped in an undignified role, observed from a dark corner.

Tragedy reached its peak with the fall of the main protagonists. Your mother, after Aemond's departure to Harrenhal, took control of King’s Landing with fierce determination. However, her victory was short-lived. Death claimed the closest: your mother, Daemon, Joffrey, and Aegon the Kinslayer fell in succession, leaving behind a devastating void. Each loss was another blow to your heart, and the realm seemed to crumble even further.

You hoped Aemond would also succumb to the whirlwind of war, but, as if fate was punishing you further, his life persisted. His rise to the throne was almost inevitable after the fall of his rivals. The exhausted and demoralized realm bowed to his rule.

Consolidated on the Iron Throne, Aemond had achieved his victory through the devastation and suffering he inflicted on the realm. Under his reign, the realm sought a new balance, though the cost had been steep. Initially, you believed that once order was restored, he would eliminate both you and Aegon and make the woman he met in Harrenhal his queen. However, to your surprise, this did not happen.

Instead of ending your life or Aegon's, Aemond opted for an unexpected solution. He chose to keep you under his control, not as a mere prisoner but as an object of his interest. After all, the nature of your engagement to him provided a justification for this decision: the union of the greens and the blacks through a marriage alliance seemed the logical and convenient step. Aemond saw this union as a way to consolidate his power and stabilize his reign, in addition to fulfilling the duty of the alliance that had once been agreed upon.

The ceremony was not conducted with the common rites but with a splendor only dragon blood could bestow.

The last Valyrian wedding you had attended had been your mother’s, an unforgettable ceremony of splendor, but this time the context was different, and although the ritual was the same, the sentiment of the occasion was laden with personal sadness and resistance.

You and Aemond were dressed in ceremonial white and red garments, reflecting Valyrian pride and tradition. Both of you wore your hair braided in the traditional manner. The ceremony took place in a sacred space, adorned with symbols of ancient Valyria, and the air was filled with the aroma of incense.

Aemond took a small dragon glass knife and drew a line on your lower lip. Blood welled up, and with a deliberate motion, he used it to mark a small spot between your eyebrows, symbolizing a sign of union and commitment. Despite the cold metal and the trembling in your hand, you followed the ritual with precision.

Then, you both cut the palms of your hands, allowing the blood to mix. The joined hands were wrapped in a small piece of cloth, which absorbed the crimson liquid that fell into a black cup.

The moment of drinking the blood mixture was an irrevocable act of union.As you drank from the cup, you made a small grimace at the metallic taste and iron of the blood, while Aemond also showed a slight reaction.

The final act of the ceremony was a kiss, which began roughly on his part but was softened by your response.

You pulled away first, feeling a mix of embarrassment and disgust at this type of affection, something entirely new to you. The kiss had awakened conflicting emotions you hadn’t expected. Still, as you withdrew, you noticed a change in Aemond’s gaze, a different nuance you hadn’t seen before. His eyes, usually cold, now seemed to contain a softness that puzzled you. You weren’t sure what it meant, but for a moment, you felt a slight tranquility.

[baelarys]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

Helaena targaryen x lady reader Lannister x Aemond targaryen

Word Count: 2987

warning: fluffy, bad word, Aemond being an idiot

The large wooden doors opened with a faint creak, allowing you to enter the queen's chamber. As you crossed the threshold, the guards closed the doors behind you, letting the echo of their closure resonate for a moment in the room.

Your eyes immediately fell on the figure of the queen, whose platinum hair gleamed under the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. She was kneeling on the floor, bent over an ornate wooden table, attentively observing the small cages containing various insects. Her concentration was so intense that she didn’t seem to notice your presence right away.

"My queen," you said softly as you approached her, taking a seat by her side.

"I told you not to call me that," Helaena replied with a faint sigh, glancing away for a moment. However, instead of moving away entirely, she shifted just enough to give you space, so that your arms continued to brush against each other, creating a subtle yet present connection between you.

Although Helaena had corrected your manner of addressing her, there was no reproach in her voice, only a resigned sweetness that had become characteristic of your interactions. The warmth of her arm against yours conveyed a closeness that words couldn’t express, a bond that had transcended the formalities of her position.

You had known each other since you were children, always together, sharing laughter and secrets in any corner of the palace. It was hard to imagine one without the other; your mutual presence had become something natural, as if your lives were intrinsically intertwined. But in the last three years, that connection had evolved into something deeper, something that had surprised even you.

The relationship you had cultivated, marked by the passage of years and the undeniable affection you felt, was something that still bewildered you. You were so different in your essence: you, a boisterous and adventurous person, always seeking the next challenge or the next opportunity to try something new. Helaena, on the other hand, was the calm in the storm, with her quiet and reserved nature, preferring the peace of the gardens or the silent contemplation of her insects to the intense emotions that filled you with life.

"What’s wrong?" you asked gently, noticing how Helaena watched with concern the small wooden cage that held one of her crickets.

"It stopped singing," she whispered, her voice laden with a silent sadness. Her fingers, always delicate, reached out to the cage, gently brushing the wooden bars, as if a stronger touch could break more than just the silence that had settled between you.

"I’m sorry," you said, unsure of how to console her at that moment, understanding that her sadness wasn’t just about the loss of the cricket but probably reflected something deeper: the silent burdens she always carried, hidden beneath her serene facade. "We can get another one."

Helaena nodded slowly, but instead of turning her attention back to the cage, her eyes turned to you. That unexpected gesture made your heart stop for a moment. Her violet eyes, which you had always found so fascinating, fixed on yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. In that silent exchange, her eyes spoke to you with a clarity that needed no words. You could see in them not just the sadness over the loss of a cricket but also a mixture of deeper emotions that you had felt within yourself for so long. There was a mutual understanding, a connection that went beyond the differences between you.

Slowly, almost without realizing it, you leaned toward her, drawn by the gravity of that shared moment. Helaena didn’t pull away; on the contrary, her lips parted slightly, as if she too were responding to the same invisible force that was drawing you toward her.

When your lips finally met hers, the kiss was soft, almost shy at first, but charged with an emotion that had seemed to have been waiting years to manifest.

Almost unconsciously, you placed a hand on her cheek, your thumb gently caressing her skin. The proximity between you intensified, and you felt Helaena giving in, allowing you to pull her even closer. Her lips, which had been timid at first, now moved with growing confidence, responding to the rhythm of the kiss you shared.

The delicate initial touch turned into a synchronized dance, where both hearts seemed to beat in unison. Every movement, every touch, was a silent affirmation of the bond you shared. Your fingers slowly slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck, gently caressing her silver hair as the closeness between your bodies dispelled any trace of doubt.

Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the bubble of intimacy in which you had immersed yourselves. The creak of the door opening forced you to pull away from Helaena with instinctive speed, putting a more appropriate distance between you, trying to regain your composure.

The dowager queen, Alicent Hightower, entered the room. Your heart pounded as you quickly stood up, offering a deep bow, lowering your head to hide the blush that had overtaken your cheeks. You knew that any sign of vulnerability could be perceived, and you preferred to avoid having your emotions scrutinized under Alicent's keen gaze.

The Dowager Queen first directed her gaze towards Helaena, who had once again focused on the small cage as if nothing had happened. Her platinum profile was turned away from the door, and her posture was calm, though you knew that behind that apparent serenity was a whirlwind of emotions.

“I would like to speak with the Queen alone,” Alicent said, her voice soft but firm, laden with the implicit authority of her position. A shiver ran down your spine, as if the weight of her words had descended upon you with the force of a sentence.

You didn’t dare look at Helaena as you made one final bow, your hands trembling slightly as you tried to maintain your composure. With an effort that nearly felt painful, you forced your legs to move, leaving the room with quick steps but not quite running. The air in the outer hallway hit you with unexpected force, as if crossing the threshold had left behind an invisible danger.

As you walked, you felt the nervousness overtaking you, each thought more unsettling than the last. What punishment awaited you if someone discovered what had just transpired in the privacy of that room? For Helaena, the protection of her status as princess would be a shield, but you... you would have no such luck. You couldn’t stop thinking about the possible consequences: shame, dishonor, and the inevitable punishment that would fall upon you like an inescapable yoke.

Not even your brother's wealth, as abundant as it was, could save you from the ruin that would befall you if the nature of your relationship with the princess was revealed. The Seven, with their severe judgments and unbreakable codes, would have no mercy on you.

The magnitude of the risk you had taken made you feel an oppressive weight in your chest, as if the walls themselves were closing in around you.

You tried to push those thoughts from your mind, forcing yourself to stay calm. “No one will notice,” you repeated to yourself over and over again, seeking some kind of solace in those words. What happened between the two of you wasn’t something new, far from it. You had shared kisses on countless occasions, each more secret and furtive than the last, and so far no one had suspected a thing. The court, always preoccupied with its intrigues and rumors, had not paid attention to the closeness you shared.

Furthermore, the two maids who had witnessed one of those indiscreet moments had been handled with the discretion the situation required. You had offered them sufficient incentives to ensure their silence, and although you had initially worried about the possibility of them betraying your trust, time had proven that fear and gold could be powerful allies.

Two days had passed since the encounter in the Queen’s chamber, and in that brief span, the atmosphere at court had become even more tense. The war looming over the kingdom had heightened the vigilance and distrust among the members of the court. The whispers of conflict, political intrigues, and constantly shifting alliances only served to increase the pressure on everyone involved.

The situation seemed to be on the verge of an imminent explosion. Rhaenyra had managed to acquire three new dragons, leaving your side at a clear disadvantage. With the death of Sunfire, the only available dragons were Vhagar and Dreamfire. However, you had serious doubts about Dreamfire’s willingness to join the battle, especially considering Helaena’s innocent nature, as she was reluctant to use dragonfire against any human being. In contrast, Aemond had shown a radically different attitude.

You had noticed a significant transformation in Aemond since the last meeting. The prince, who had once been shy and hesitant in his interactions with you, had become a strong and calculating young man. His change was evident in the way he moved through the court and how he handled state affairs. His behavior, though shrewd, stirred a growing distrust within you.

When Aemond sent your older brother, Tyland, on a mission to negotiate with pirates, you took his place on the council. The council room, which you had grown accustomed to seeing filled with participants, was now noticeably empty.

As the days passed, you received numerous letters from your sister-in-law, urging you to return to Casterly Rock. In her missives, she expressed her concern for your safety amid the growing dangers of war, warning you of the risk of an attack by Rhaenyra. Despite her legitimate concerns, you refused to abandon your post. The idea of leaving Helaena alone, surrounded by intrigues and possible threats, seemed unacceptable to you. Your loyalty to her and your commitment to the situation at court kept you firmly in place.

You decided to visit Helaena in her chamber, seeking a moment of closeness and comfort amidst the growing tension. Upon reaching her door, you paused for a moment to catch your breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. You knocked softly and waited to be received. The door opened, revealing Helaena with a tired but kind expression. Her eyes lit up upon seeing you, and a smile graced her face, momentarily alleviating the weight she seemed to bear.

"I'm glad you came," Helaena said, opening the door wider for you to enter. "I needed to see you."

You stepped into the chamber, and the warm glow of the candles illuminating the place contrasted with the cold reality of the outside world. The atmosphere was filled with the softness of silk curtains and the light scent of dried flowers that Helaena often used to add a touch of calm to her space.

You approached her, and without a word, you embraced her with tender care. The embrace, though brief, conveyed a deep and sincere connection. The warmth of her body against yours and the soft perfume of her skin offered necessary comfort amid the growing tension.

Helaena looked into your eyes, and in that moment, the outside world seemed to fade away. "I missed this," she confessed in a soft voice.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you heard her, and without thinking, you pulled her closer, hiding your face in her neck. You closed your eyes, allowing the sweet scent of her skin to envelop you and provide a moment of calm.

Helaena responded to your gesture with a delicacy that moved you. She wrapped her arms around your waist, her embrace warm and protective.

For a few moments, there was no need for words. The embrace, charged with a deep and sincere connection, seemed to say everything you needed to share. The touch of her arms, the beat of her heart against yours, offered a tranquility that countered the tensions of the war and the worries surrounding you both.

Finally, you made yourself break the embrace, knowing it was necessary. With slight reluctance, you gently pulled away, looking into Helaena’s eyes. “It’s late; you need to rest,” you said with firmness and tenderness, trying to balance your concern with the need to allow her well-deserved rest.

With a soft smile, you leaned in once more and gave her one last kiss on the forehead, a gesture that encapsulated all the affection and protection you felt for her. Then, you stepped back, giving her space to settle into bed.

As Helaena lay down, her eyes remained fixed on you, as if expecting you to stay a moment longer. You lingered in the room a little while more, ensuring she was comfortably settled before finally making your way to the door.

You walked through the castle’s empty corridors, the echo of your heels resonating in the silence. As you passed the throne room, you noticed Aemond, standing still in front of the throne, his figure silhouetted against the cold stone of the room. His upright posture and the way he contemplated the empty chair denoted an unusual intensity.

“What a strange man,” you thought, with a mix of curiosity and perplexity, as you continued on your way, trying not to interrupt whatever he was doing.

However, as if sensing your presence with sharp precision, Aemond turned abruptly, his eye fixed on you with an intensity that almost seemed to cut through the air.

“Milady,” he greeted, his voice rough and cold, resonating in the vast silence of the throne room.

“Prince Aemond,” you replied, inclining your head slightly in respect. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your moment of reflection. I’d better leave.”

“No, it’s alright,” Aemond said, his tone taking on a more urgent note. “In fact, I wanted to speak with you.”

He approached you with determined steps, his gaze steady and persuasive. “There’s a matter I need to discuss, and your perspective would be of great help.”

You halted your steps, and although you felt somewhat uneasy by his closeness, you decided to listen. “What is it about?”

You remained composed as he approached, his presence heightening the already tense atmosphere. Aemond continued, “Helaena should consider using Dreamfire in the next battle. Her dragon could be a decisive factor.”

The comment surprised you. “Are you suggesting we pressure Helaena to participate in the battle? You know she doesn’t have the same strength to face these situations. Forcing her to do something like that could be harmful.”

Aemond frowned, his expression hardening. “War isn’t a game of choices. If Helaena refuses to use her dragon, we’ll lose a crucial advantage. We can’t afford that weakness.”

“I understand the urgency,” you responded firmly, “but I won’t force Helaena to act against her will. She’s already under great emotional pressure. My loyalty lies with her, and I can’t allow her to be subjected to more stress.”

Aemond looked at you, his face showing a trace of frustration. “This isn’t just about personal comfort. She must contribute to the common effort, and her feelings shouldn’t put our lives at risk. If she’s not willing

[baelarys]

we get what we deserve?

Aegon Targaryen x lector Darklyn/Targaryen

recuento de palabras:2540

Advertencia:Angust, murder, bad words

The burning in the palm of your hand intensified each time your nails dug into the soft flesh, a desperate attempt to maintain control. The pressure in your throat was constant, a knot you couldn't untie as you fought to suppress the sob that threatened to escape. The tears continued to slide down your cheeks, betraying the calm you were trying to maintain. Your eyes, red from crying, reflected the internal storm consuming you, a tide of emotions you could not bear.

It had all happened in an instant, a blink of an eye that left a trail of emptiness in your being. The small body you had held with such care was ripped from your arms with a brutality that left you breathless. Before you could comprehend what was happening, it was already in the hands of a stranger. A shiver ran down your spine as you relived that fateful moment, every detail burned into your memory with a clarity that tormented you. The helplessness enveloped you like a suffocating cloak, and the question beat in your mind like an unrelenting drum: How was it possible that you couldn't protect what mattered most to you?

The abrupt sound of glass shattering into a thousand pieces tore you from your thoughts. Aegon crossed the room with furious steps, his presence filled with a rage that electrified the air. The shards of glass sparkled on the floor, echoes of his anger, as he moved back and forth, unable to contain the torrent of emotions consuming him.

"My son is my legacy!" he roared, his voice laden with discontent and impotence, resonating with an intensity that echoed off the walls. "My son was the heir to the Iron Throne!"

His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, and the tension in his features was evident, every line of his face marked by the desperation of a loss he could not accept.

"And where were you?" Aegon demanded, his voice sharp and cold as his eyes fixed on Ser Criston Cole. "The Lord Commander of my Kingsguard!"

fucking the queen, you bit your tongue hard to keep from voicing such a rash accusation, though the anger burned inside you.

"I was in bed, Your Majesty," Ser Criston responded, his voice so controlled it almost sounded detached. "I requested to stand guard tonight."

"In bed?!" Aegon repeated, as if the knight's words carried no weight. "Instead of safeguarding the sanctity of my family?"

"This is not the time for baseless accusations, Your Majesty," Otto said. "Soon, we will know who did it."

"Who did it?" Aegon repeated, releasing a bitter laugh as he approached the table.

The silence that followed was heavy, until, for the first time, your voice rose in the room, cutting through the air like a sharp knife.

"It was her," you said, all eyes turning towards you. "Who else would do it if not that bastard bitch?"

The words escaped your mouth, burning your throat as you uttered them, each one loaded with a visceral hatred.

"That smug whore is on her damn island, laughing at me," you spat, the fury flowing from every word, your eyes ablaze with a mix of rage and pain.

The anger consuming you was almost tangible, like a fire fed by every thought. The image of that woman, the arrogance on her face as she reveled in your suffering, caused a nausea you could not suppress. Everything you had tried to contain finally erupted inside you.

"She thinks she's untouchable, hiding behind her walls while she mocks our misfortune!" you continued, your voice growing in volume, trembling with the intensity of your pain. "And now my son is dead, while her bastards run free, enjoying the protection that was denied to mine!"

Desperation and rage intertwined in your words, tearing you apart from within. With a trembling sigh, you sank back into the chair, struggling to contain the sea of tears that still threatened to overflow.

"You wished for her life to be spared," Aegon accused, directing his anger at Alicent, his voice heavy with reproach.

The queen lowered her gaze, unable to withstand the fury in her son's eyes. But before she could respond, the door to the room was flung open, and the hunched figure of Larys Strong appeared, interrupting the tense silence.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty... my lords," Larys said, his voice soft but piercing. "The guard has apprehended someone."

The news made everyone straighten up, expectant.

"The man we captured is known," continued the Clubfoot, carefully measuring his words. "He's a Gold Cloak. We found him fleeing through the Gate of the Gods... with the child's head in a sack."

The impact of his words fell on you like an anvil, and the world crumbled around you. You felt your heart plummet into a bottomless abyss, shattered by the cruelty of the revelation.

"I'll kill him myself," Aegon growled, the fury in his voice now fiercer than ever. Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode quickly towards the door, closely followed by his guards.

"It would be better to extract any information from that scoundrel," Otto intervened, his tone cold and calculating, halting Aegon's steps. "I trust in the mastery of your craft, Lord Larys."

Aegon stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders tense as he processed his grandfather's words. Otto's proposal was logical, meticulous as always. But at this moment, logic was the last thing Aegon wanted to hear.

Tired of all the useless talk, you stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as you did, the sound tearing through the heavy silence that filled the room. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, every word exchanged between them seemed to add more weight to the burden you were already carrying.

Your gaze swept across the room, stopping on Otto, then Larys, before finally resting on Aegon. When his eyes met yours, his gaze, hardened by fury and pain, seemed to soften, as if in that brief moment, he found an anchor amidst the storm that was consuming him.

"I want his head," you declared, your voice firm and icy, leaving no room for doubt.

"Perhaps we should consider this more carefully," Otto began to say, his tone cautious, as if trying to bring a semblance of reason to the conversation.

"I said I want his head!" you interrupted, not giving him the chance to finish. Your voice resonated with such force that it was clear you would accept no objections.

You didn't want to talk, you didn't want to think. Every word directed at you felt like a blow to your already shattered nerves. All you wanted at that moment was justice, raw and visceral, for the innocent life that had been torn from your arms.

Your hands trembled, not from fear, but from the intensity of the fury boiling within you, from the overwhelming need to make the one who committed such an atrocity pay. You didn't care about the political implications, the consequences, or any strategy Otto might consider prudent. Logic and patience had been swept away by the tide of pain that was flooding you.

The room was plunged into tense silence, as if everyone present was holding their breath. No one dared to look directly at you, their eyes averted, fixed on anything but you. They knew that opposing you at this moment would be futile, perhaps even dangerous.

Your gaze settled on Larys Strong, who, with the same calculated calm as always, offered you a slight nod, a silent signal for you to follow.

The cold air seeped through your nightclothes, chilling your skin, but you didn't care. You didn't even bother to change or cover yourself before leaving.

The sound of the wind mingled with the clanking of heavy chains that echoed against the ground, accompanying each step of the corpulent man who was being brought before you. His eyes avoided yours, his posture hunched, defeated, as the guards shoved him forward with a contemptuous force, pushing him towards his fate.

Valyria landed a few meters away from you with a thud that resonated through the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. The dragon let out a deep, furious growl, as if she could sense the emotional storm raging inside you.

You stood firm, your gaze fixed on the prisoner, as you felt the heat of Valyria's breath at your back. The dragon, imposing and majestic, approached with measured steps, her piercing yellow eyes first locking onto you, searching your face for a sign, an order. Then, her slitted pupils shifted to the man who lay trembling on his knees before her imposing presence.

The prisoner, barely able to stand, raised his gaze only to meet the abyss that was Valyria. His body trembled, not just from the cold of the night, but from the terror that the proximity of the beast instilled in him. He knew he was facing his judge.

You took one more step closer, your figure wrapped in the icy night breeze, but the cold didn't affect you. Not when the anger and pain burned so intensely in your chest, fueled by the bottomless abyss left by the loss of your child. Each step you took towards the man kneeling before you seemed to vibrate with the pent-up fury, with the longing for justice that was driving you forward.

You stopped right in front of him, so close that you could see the cold sweat on his forehead, the unshed tears in his terrified eyes. Despite his trembling and veiled pleas, there wasn’t a trace of mercy in your gaze.

"My son is dead by your hand," you spoke each word with deliberate coldness, allowing them to pierce his conscience like thorns. "I held him in my arms, and in an instant, you took him from me. Because of your cowardice, your greed, an innocent life was sacrificed."

"He was just a child," you continued, stepping even closer, your shadow falling over him like a dark shroud. "My son. My flesh and blood. An innocent, who had nothing to do with your grudges, with your petty ambitions. And you took him from me. You destroyed him without a shred of remorse."

The man tried to stammer a response, to justify his act, but your gaze silenced him, condemned him before he could find the words.

"How many coins was his life worth?" you spat, disdain dripping from every syllable. "How much were you paid for his head? What was the price of my pain? Because that's all you are, a traitor willing to sell his soul to the highest bidder, no matter the cost to others."

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even try. And you weren’t going to beg for a response that, deep down, wouldn’t change anything. The truth had already been exposed, raw and painful, and there was no place for more words in this trial.

You moved closer, leaned down, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Aegon raised his head, his eyes red and filled with tears, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and pain. He said nothing, but the desperation in his gaze was evident.

You knelt before him, and without a word, you wrapped him in your arms, pulling him close. Aegon clung to you as if you were his only anchor in a sea of suffering. The sobs he had tried to contain broke free completely, and the king's cries mingled with yours in a shared lament for the loss of a beloved child.

[baelarys]

𝙎𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

Aemond targaryen x Reader wife Velaryon

Word count: 3184

Warning: fluffy, Pregnancy.

Pt1 pt3 pt4

Autumn had arrived, bringing with it a cold wind that foretold the imminent arrival of winter. You felt the icy breeze cut through your cloak, forcing you to pull it tighter around your body. Unlike your previous two pregnancies, this one seemed to demand more of you; the weight of the life you carried within was beginning to take its toll. Your back constantly ached, your breasts were tense and sensitive, and your swollen feet barely supported the weight you had to bear.

As you walked through the castle halls, lost in thought, a sudden impact made you stagger. You barely had time to place a hand against the wall to avoid falling. As you looked down, you found Aerion on the ground, his small face lit up by a mischievous smile as he giggled. He quickly got to his feet, energetically brushing off his trousers, unconcerned by the slight reprimand he heard in the distance.

The septa approached hurriedly, a frown on her face and a look of evident disapproval. Her voice echoed through the hall as she called out to Aerion, but before she could reach him, the little prince ran toward you, clinging to your skirt for protection.

“Princess,” the septa greeted, bowing as she saw you. “The maester has insisted that you should return to your bed. Rest is the best thing for you in your condition.” Her stern gaze scrutinized the hallway, searching for the little prince who was now hiding behind you.

“That was just what I was thinking of doing,” you replied calmly, hearing Aerion’s faint laughter as he clung to your skirts.

You watched as the septa walked away down the hall, still calling out to the prince with a mix of patience and firmness. When the septa's figure disappeared from your sight, you slowly turned to Aerion. The boy looked up at you, his cheeks flushed red, still trying to contain the laughter that threatened to spill over.

You couldn’t help but smile at your son’s innocent mischief. Despite the worries weighing on you, Aerion’s joy had the power to dispel any cloud hanging over your day.

“You’re a little rascal,” you said softly, as you gently stroked his head. “But you need to be more careful, you almost made me fall.”

Aerion nodded, and his smile lit up his face, revealing that perfect blend of innocence and mischief that you loved so much in him. Still chuckling softly, he took your hand with his small fingers, his laughter fading into a sigh of contentment.

“I want to stay with you, mama,” he said softly, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

His words filled you with a warm tenderness. You knew you needed to rest, but your son’s desire to stay by your side was a request you could hardly refuse. His company, so sincere and selfless, was a comfort amidst the demanding burden you carried.

You bent down slightly to meet his eyes, looking at him with a maternal smile.

"You can stay with me for a while, but only if you promise to be quiet and let Mama rest," you whispered.

Aerion nodded enthusiastically, squeezing your hand more tightly, as if his desire to be with you was enough to protect you from any discomfort or pain. As you walked together toward your chambers, Aerion began to talk with the spontaneity of childhood, telling you about his lessons and how much they bored him. His voice, full of innocent complaints, filled the hallway.

As you closed the doors of your room behind you, you created a small refuge of tranquility, a space where you could allow yourself a respite from the worries that surrounded you. Aerion, freed from the need to stay calm, released your hand and ran excitedly to the corner where the steaming dragon egg rested on its cradle of metal and glowing stones.

However, a sudden, sharp pain shot through your body, pulling you out of the peaceful moment. The pain radiated from your back to your belly, forcing you to instinctively place your hands on your swollen abdomen in a protective gesture. Reality hit hard when you felt a warm, wet burst, and in that moment, the world seemed to stop.

The sound of your water breaking echoed in the room, like a prolonged reverberation in the silence, as the liquid spilled onto the floor, soaking the ground beneath your feet. An indescribable chill ran down your spine, as if in that precise instant, your soul had tried to leave your body, leaving you momentarily paralyzed.

Aerion, unaware of what had just happened, continued admiring the egg while you tried to gather the strength to stay calm. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on what you needed to do. You knew there was no time to waste; the birth was imminent.

"Aerion, come here," you called, keeping your voice firm yet gentle, not wanting to alarm him.

Your son turned his head toward you, sensing something unusual in your tone. The joy on his face faded, replaced by concern.

"Mama, what's wrong?" he asked as he walked toward you with small, cautious steps.

"I need you to find the septa and the maester, quickly," you said, caressing his cheek with a trembling hand. "The baby is ready to be born."

With effort, you began to walk slowly toward your bed, each step accompanied by the increasing pain that was becoming more insistent. When you reached the bed, you took a deep breath and called for your ladies, who, upon hearing the urgency in your voice, quickly came to your side. Without wasting a moment, they moved with the precision and skill that only experience could grant, helping you lie down and preparing you for childbirth.

Their hands worked carefully and swiftly, untying the laces and buttons of your dress, changing you into more comfortable garments that would ease the birth. Despite the storm of pain threatening to strip away your calm, their gestures were comforting.

"Take deep breaths, Princess," one of the ladies whispered as she helped you settle into the bed, her voice an anchor of calm amidst the whirlwind of sensations overwhelming you.

The doors to your room burst open, and the maester entered, followed by several midwives, all moving with the speed and efficiency the situation demanded. Aerion, his face full of concern, ran to you, taking your hand in a gesture of support.

"It seems the baby has decided to come early," the maester remarked as the midwives began preparing everything necessary for the birth.

One of the midwives approached with more pillows to support your back, lifting you carefully to relieve the pressure on your belly. But the movement triggered a new wave of pain, and before you could stop it, a cry escaped your lips.

Aerion reacted immediately, his protective instinct awakened by seeing your suffering. He lunged toward the midwife, trying to push her away with his small hand.

"You're hurting her!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling, his eyes filling with tears as he tried to come between you and the midwife.

The midwife, surprised by the child's reaction, paused and looked at you with a mix of respect and concern.

"Calm down, little prince," the midwife said softly, kneeling down to be at Aerion's eye level. "We don't want to hurt your mama. We're only trying to help her feel better."

"Aerion, sweetheart, everything is okay. They’re here to help us," you assured him, trying to calm his agitation.

The contractions came in waves, each one more intense than the last, leaving a trail of pain that spread through your entire body. You gripped the sheets tightly, your knuckles turning white under the tension as you fought to contain the screams of pain threatening to escape your throat. You didn’t want to scare Aerion, who stayed by your side, his small hand clutching yours.

Suddenly, in the midst of the chaos raging in your mind, a familiar voice broke through the torment.

“Y/N,” you heard Aemond call your name.

The sound of his voice was like a balm, a wave of relief that momentarily dispelled the pain. You turned your head, and seeing him, you felt something inside you calm down. Aemond, with an expression of concern tinged with love, quickly approached your side, taking your other hand with the security and firmness you had always known in him.

“I’m here,” he said softly, his eyes locked on yours as his thumb gently caressed your cheek.

Aemond leaned in a little closer, his voice low and reassuring.

“Everything will be alright, my love. I’m here with you.”

You nodded with gratitude, thankful for Aemond’s comforting presence by your side. With each passing contraction, the pain seemed to stretch out in time, as if the hours were elongating into an endless trial. However, the maester, in his firm yet encouraging tone, finally spoke the words you had been waiting for.

“It’s time to push, Princess.”

Those words were both a relief and a new source of fear. You knew the hardest moment was yet to come, and although Aemond had been your constant support, you understood that Aerion’s presence in the room might complicate the situation even further. You needed everything to go well, both for the baby about to be born and for the child who was already the center of your world.

Taking a breath with difficulty, you turned your head toward Aemond, your eyes reflecting the mix of emotions you felt at that moment.

“Aemond,” you whispered, your voice laden with effort, “please take Aerion outside. He needs to stay calm… and so do you.”

Although it was evident he didn’t want to leave you, Aemond understood your concern. With a look that spoke of his desire to stay with you, he leaned in close, brushing your lips with a gentle kiss.

“I’ll be right outside,” he murmured, his words an anchor for your spirit. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

With one last squeeze of your hand, he stood up and turned his attention to Aerion, who was still watching the scene with wide, worried eyes. Aemond walked over to his son and took his hand.

“Come, Aerion. Let’s wait outside for a moment,” he said gently.

Aerion hesitated, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You forced a smile, despite the pain, and nodded, trying to convey confidence.

“Everything will be alright, sweetheart,” you assured him. “We’ll be together again soon.”

The little one, though still concerned, finally agreed, taking his father’s hand as they both headed toward the door. Aemond gave you one last look before leaving.

Once the door closed behind them, the atmosphere in the room changed. The seriousness and focus intensified as the midwives and the maester prepared for the birth. You felt a mix of emotions—fear, anticipation, and a deep determination—all fighting for control of your mind.

The maester leaned in toward you, with a calm expression that contrasted with the intensity of the moment.

“Princess, it’s time,” he said softly, his tone firm yet reassuring. “I need you to push with all your strength.”

You nodded, mentally preparing yourself for what you knew would be the greatest effort of your life. The pain, which had been constant, became even sharper, cutting through your breath as you struggled to follow the maester’s instructions. Your hands gripped the sheets, your muscles tensing in a supreme effort as you pushed with all your being.

The midwives, with quick and precise movements, offered you words of encouragement, their hands working diligently to assist you. You could feel the sweat beading on your forehead, every fiber of your being concentrated on bringing this new life into the world. The minutes stretched on in a succession of contractions and efforts, each more intense than the last, pushing you to the limits of your endurance.

The room, though filled with activity, became a closed and private space, where time seemed to distort. The maester guided you, his words calm and measured, while the midwives supported you, adjusting the pillows and keeping you as comfortable as possible. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pain and effort, the maester announced that he could see the baby's head.

"One more time, princess, just one more time," he encouraged, his voice filled with contained emotion.

With the little energy you had left, you gathered all your strength and pushed with fierce determination. The pain reached a climax, enveloping you in a whirlwind of sensations until, suddenly, you felt an indescribable relief as the weight you had carried for months finally left your body.

A moment of silence fell over the room, followed by the most beautiful sound you could have imagined: the strong, clear cry of your newborn. Tears filled your eyes as you heard that first sign of life, and the midwives quickly wrapped the baby in warm blankets, bringing him close to you.

"You have been very brave, princess. You have brought a new Targaryen into the world."

With trembling hands and a pounding heart, you took your child into your arms. As you felt his warmth against your chest, all the pain and fatigue faded away, replaced by a love so intense you could hardly contain it. You looked at your baby's face, his soft hair and delicate skin, and in that moment, you knew that every second of effort had been worth it.

Your ladies, discreet and efficient, quickly restored order to the room. They swiftly cleaned the area, replaced the sheets, and helped you into a clean, soft gown. Though exhaustion weighed heavily on you, their careful hands made you feel comfortable, allowing you to focus solely on the little being you held.

One of the ladies took the newborn with great care to clean him, while you rested for a few moments, watching every movement with eyes full of love and wonder. When they returned him to you, wrapped in warm blankets, a wave of overwhelming emotion washed over you.

You looked at the child in your arms, noticing his delicate features, his hair already showing the shine of Targaryen heritage.

"Laenor," you whispered, the name leaving your lips with the softness of a prayer.

It was the name of your father, a man whose memory lived on in your heart, a brave leader and a loving father. Naming your son in his honor felt as natural as breathing.

The door to the room opened gently, and when you turned your head, you saw Aemond and Aerion entering. The little boy, without paying attention to the baby in your arms, ran towards you with the urgency of someone who had been holding back his worry. Aerion threw himself into your arms, and as soon as he did, you felt the warm tears running down his face as he hid his little face in the crook of your neck.

"Why are you crying, my love?" you asked in a whisper, gently stroking his small back while leaning down to leave a soft kiss on his wet cheek. "I'm alright."

Aerion sobbed softly, his little hands clinging to you tightly, as if he needed to make sure you were really there, safe and with him.

"I was scared, Mama," he admitted in a small voice. "I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you."

"I know, my little one," you murmured. "But everything is fine now. I’m here with you, and I'm not going anywhere."

Aemond, who had remained nearby, watched the scene with a mixture of pride and relief. He stepped forward, and with a careful gesture, placed a hand on Aerion’s shoulder, silently giving him support. When Aerion felt his father's presence, he finally looked up, his eyes still shining with the tears he hadn’t been able to hold back.

It was then that Aerion noticed the small figure in your arms. His big, curious eyes filled with wonder as he saw his younger brother for the first time. With the same caution children reserve for what they consider most precious, he approached slowly, almost as if he feared breaking something fragile.

"This is your little brother, Laenor," you said with a smile full of tenderness, gently tilting the newborn so Aerion could get a better look.

The little boy gazed at his brother with a mix of fascination and respect, as if he understood that this moment was sacred. With a timid gesture, he reached out his hand towards the baby, gently brushing his tiny hands.

"Hello, Laenor," Aerion whispered, his voice barely audible.

Aemond, with a look that spoke of pride and relief, leaned towards you, his lips meeting yours in a warm and comforting kiss. The connection between you was immediate, like a reaffirmation of the strength of your bond. You responded to the kiss with equal tenderness, feeling in that gesture a deep gratitude for the family you had built together.

"Mama," a small voice was heard at the entrance, soft but full of excitement.

Vaera appeared in the room, her eyes shining with the news she had just received. She wasn’t alone; Helaena followed closely behind, with her unmistakable aura of sweetness and serenity, smiling warmly at you as she saw you cradling the newborn. Just a step behind, Queen Alicent entered with Vaerys in her arms, her elegant bearing and maternal expression completing the family tableau that now filled the room.

"Look, Vaerys," Alicent said in a gentle tone, approaching so the little one could see the new member of the family. "You have a new little brother."

Vaerys, always curious and observant, looked at the baby with big, wide eyes full of wonder. Alicent leaned down slightly to allow little Vaerys to get a better view of Laenor, while Vaera, not wasting a moment, moved closer to your side, clearly fascinated by her new little brother.

"He’s so tiny," Vaera whispered, extending a small, delicate hand to softly touch Laenor’s cheek, her touch full of affection and care.

"He is," you agreed, your voice softened by the mix of emotions that overwhelmed you. "But he’ll grow strong, just like all of you."

With a smile full of confidence and tenderness, you handed the little Laenor to Aemond, who received him with the same delicacy one would treat a precious jewel. You watched as his hands, normally so skilled with a sword, now held his newborn son with an almost reverent care. In his eye, there was a silent pride, a pride that needed no words to be understood.

Aemond turned towards his mother and sister, bringing the baby closer so they could see him better. Alicent, upon gazing at her grandson, smiled with a warmth that softened her features even more, while Helaena, with her ever-serene gaze, extended a hand to gently caress Laenor’s cheek.

Finally, Aemond returned to your side, and together, you looked at Laenor, surrounded by the love and unity of your family. In that moment, everything seemed to be in its place; the arrival of Laenor had not only brought a new life into the world but had also strengthened the bonds that tied you all together.

[baelarys]

𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺

Daemon targaryen X reader Daughter (Father and daughter relationship)

Word Count:1719

Warning: just daddy issues I guess

You never had the close relationship others might expect between a father and his daughter. The memories of your childhood, especially the first five years of your life, are marked more by the absence of that paternal figure. It was just you and your mother, living a life you knew well, without the presence of a man whose existence you barely imagined.

The first time you saw Daemon Targaryen was when you turned five. You vividly remember a tall man with silver hair and violet eyes, who lifted you into his arms with a mix of curiosity and distance. He took you outside, where an imposing dragon awaited. Although the encounter left you confused, you couldn't help but wonder who this stranger was who suddenly seemed interested in you. You didn’t recognize him as your father until you heard him call you his daughter.

Despite the surprise, there was a spark of excitement in that moment, especially when you descended the skies together. From that visit on, Daemon began to appear more frequently in your life. On one occasion, he arrived with a gift that left you breathless: a dragon egg, in delicate shades of pink and blue, which you held in awe in your small hands.

But life has cruel ways of changing the course of things. The sudden death of your mother marked a turning point. It was then that you were told that your father would now take care of you. You remember clinging to your grandfather’s cloak, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded with him not to let you go with that man who, although your father, still seemed like a stranger.

The cold and gloomy stone walls of Dragonstone never ceased to intimidate you. The imposing statues of dragons carved into every column and wall seemed to watch you with their empty eyes, always managing to scare you. There was no possible comparison between Dragonstone and Runestone, the home in the Vale where you had been raised. There, the air was lighter, the colors more vivid, and the mountains and forests offered a sense of protection that you never felt in this dark fortress.

Daemon, aware of your distress, did everything he could to provide you with comforts. He gave you the finest clothes, feasts that rivaled royal banquets, exquisite toys, and dazzling jewels, all in an attempt to make you feel at home. However, none of those luxuries managed to dispel the sense of loneliness that enveloped you. Each passing day, you felt more distant, more trapped in a place that was not your home and never would be.

You always insisted that Daemon allow you to return to Runestone, to complete your education in the home you so longed for. Every time you mentioned the possibility, his response was the same: "You are a dragon; you must be among dragons." Those words, repeated with a mix of firmness and conviction, seemed like an increasingly untenable excuse. Deep down, you knew you did not share the same lineage as the Targaryens in such a visible way. You did not have the distinctive silver hair or violet eyes that marked the royal family. Even your dragon egg, the symbol of your heritage, remained inert, a silent reminder of the distance between you and them.

The news of his marriage to Laena Velaryon took you by surprise. You had assumed that if he ever decided to settle down, he would do so with one of the dubious women he frequented in the darker corners of King’s Landing. The idea that Daemon, always unpredictable and volatile, would opt for such a strategic and respectable alliance as Laena Velaryon seemed inconceivable.

When your new sisters, Baela and Rhaena, were born, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. The girls were everything you were not: beautiful, with silver hair and an unbreakable bond with the blood of the dragon. Every time you looked at them, the difference between them and you became more evident, like a chasm that kept growing.

It’s not that you hated them, not at all. Laena Velaryon, always kind and affectionate, treated you like one of her own daughters, and the twins looked at you with the same devotion they would a big sister. However, despite all the affection they offered, there was something deep-rooted that kept you separate from the rest, an invisible but unbreakable barrier.

The birth of the twins awakened a paternal side in Daemon that you had seen only distantly before. With Baela and Rhaena, he was attentive and dedicated; he spent hours teaching them High Valyrian, telling them ancestral stories, and making sure each night they were well tucked in before sleep. However, with you, that tenderness and dedication never manifested in the same way. He never came to your room to give you a goodnight kiss or took the time to share with you the secrets of the tongue of his ancestors.

You tried to ignore the void that Daemon’s absence left in your life. Every time you saw him diligently care for Baela and Rhaena, you told yourself that you didn’t need him. You didn’t need his stories, his affection, or his teachings. You had learned to be self-sufficient, to find solace in your own strength. But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but feel the chill of his indifference.

Laena’s death affected you more than you would have liked to admit. She had been a kind figure, a link that connected you in some way to a family that had always seemed distant. Her passing left a void in Dragonstone that felt like a heavy shadow over everyone. The twins, devastated by the loss of their mother, sought support from you that Daemon no longer seemed capable of providing. You tried to be strong for them, even though sadness also enveloped you.

Daemon, for his part, fell into a silent grief, transformed by the tragedy into an even more distant figure. But just when you thought that sorrow had consumed him completely, he made an announcement that left you stunned: his engagement to Rhaenyra Targaryen. For you, it was yet another of your father’s madnesses, another impulsive decision that defied the norms and expectations of the world around him.

The news filled you with a confusion that quickly turned into indignation. You had barely begun to come to terms with the painful loss of Laena, and now Daemon, in what seemed like an absolute display of insensitivity, announced his intention to marry again, this time to Rhaenyra Targaryen, his niece and the future Queen. You couldn’t help but bitterly think about how quickly he had moved on.

How could he, having just lost his wife, dive so quickly into another engagement? The idea that Daemon, with his unpredictable and defiant nature, would make such a controversial decision at such a delicate time seemed to you like another display of his recklessness. You were surprised that he hadn’t even taken the time to honor Laena’s memory before plunging into what seemed like yet another of his craziness.

The wind whipped at your face, cold and biting, as it often did on Dragonstone. Your hands, numb from the island’s relentless climate, clutched your cloak as you watched Valarr fly in the distance, his pale pink scales glowing softly in the sunset light. The roar of Caraxes, resonant and powerful, made you turn your head. Daemon approached the dragon with a look of anger etched on his face.

Seeing you, he stopped for a moment, clearly surprised. "Y/N," he said, his tone more controlled than his expression suggested. He hadn’t expected to find you there.

Daemon cast you a brief but piercing glance before answering, as if weighing how much he should reveal. "To Harrenhal," he finally said, with a bluntness that only fueled your suspicions.

You were not satisfied. "Does the Queen know?" you insisted, searching his face for any sign that would confirm your fears.

Daemon avoided your gaze, focusing on preparing Caraxes, as if simply ignoring the question could dissipate the growing tension between you. But you were not willing to let it go.

"Was it you, then?" The question slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself. "Was it you who ordered the death of Prince Jaehaerys?”

Daemon stared at you, his eyes as dark as a stormy sea. "It was an accident," he replied brusquely.

"How can that be an accident?" you retorted, disbelief and anger mingling in your voice. "I don’t have time for questions," Daemon snapped, his tone sharp and cutting, clearly expecting you to be silent and drop the subject.

Despite his command, you stood firm, crossing your arms and challenging the silence that had settled between you. The tension was palpable, each unspoken word carrying an imposing weight in the air. Daemon watched you, his expression initially hardened, but after a long moment of silence, his eyes revealed a glimmer of something deeper, something he had been hiding. He sighed, resigned. "Y/N, some things are better left as they are. There aren’t always answers you want to hear.”

Your thoughts remained unsatisfied, but before you could respond, Daemon took a step toward you. The unexpected warmth of his hand on your shoulder was a stark contrast to his usual coldness. His demeanor, though still somber, softened with a note of fatigue and concern.

"Take care of your sisters," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "They will need you now more than ever.”

With those words, he leaned in and placed a kiss on your forehead, a gesture that, although brief, was surprisingly tender and protective. It was a moment of vulnerability that sharply contrasted with his usual hardness.

Daemon quickly pulled away, his face hardening again as if the act of tenderness had been a slip he could not afford. Without another word, he turned and mounted Caraxes. The dragon soared into the sky with a roar that echoed through the cloudy heavens, taking your father away into the distance, disappearing among the gray clouds of the sunset.

[baelarys]

𝘾𝙝���𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣

Aemond targaryen x Reader wife Velaryon

Word count: 1779

Warning: Fluff

Pt2 pt3 pt4

"Mommy! Vaera has my dress," little Vaerys complained, clinging to your skirt with the determination of someone seeking justice in her small, childish world.

"That's not true," Vaera retorted, her tone indignant, her voice reflecting the restlessness she also showed in her constant fidgeting as you tried to braid her hair.

"Vaera, stay still," you ordered her softly but firmly, your skilled hands deftly moving through her golden locks. Despite her agitation, your skill did not waver, and soon an impeccable braid began to form.

"Sweetheart, what you're wearing is very pretty too," you tried to negotiate with the little platinum-haired girl who was still clutching your dress.

"But I want it to be pink," insisted Vaerys, her lower lip trembling in a pout you knew all too well.

You sighed, knowing there would be no peace until the little one's wishes were fulfilled. "Alright," you relented, gesturing to one of your ladies-in-waiting. She hurried to tend to the twins, swapping their dresses with the efficiency born of routine. Meanwhile, your hands briefly rested on your swollen belly, caressing it with deep, protective love.

The sound of the doors opening behind you interrupted the moment, and you turned just in time to see Aerion, your only son, standing in the doorway. "Mommy," he called softly, almost hesitantly.

A gasp escaped your lips at the sight of your son. Your hands flew to your mouth, trying to contain the shock. The beautiful platinum and golden hair that used to fall in soft waves to Aerion's shoulders had disappeared, crudely cut. His face was smeared with smoke and dirt, as if he had been in the midst of a battle.

“Aerion, for the love of the gods, what happened?” you exclaimed, crossing the distance between you in an instant. You took your son by the shoulders, examining his face with concern as you searched for answers in his eyes.

One of the knights who had escorted Aerion to the room remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as if the shame was a weight he could not bear.

“What happened?” you insisted, your voice firm, seeking answers in the knight’s face.

The knight cleared his throat before responding, his voice full of a mixture of respect and concern. “Prince Aerion decided to escape from his training and ventured into the pit where Vhagar and Silverwing rest. We managed to pull him out of there before the dragon’s fire consumed him, but his hair caught fire in the process, and the maester decided to cut it to prevent further damage.”

He finished speaking with his gaze once again fixed on the ground, as if each word added more weight to his shoulders.

Before you could respond, Aerion quickly intervened, noticing the displeasure forming on your face. “But the maester said it will grow back!” he exclaimed with the desperation of a child seeking absolution, his large, anxious eyes searching yours.

You gestured for the guard to leave, and he obeyed with a bow before exiting the room. Then, you pressed your lips together, trying to stay calm as a storm of fear and anger swirled within you. The danger Aerion had exposed himself to was no small matter; the fact that he had emerged practically unscathed was a miracle. However, his recklessness could not be ignored or overlooked.

You took Aerion’s face in your hands, gently wiping the dirt from his cheeks, your gaze firm and worried. “Aerion,” you began, trying not to let your voice tremble with emotion, “we’ve talked about this before. Dragons are not pets. You cannot approach them as if they were dogs.”

“But I just wanted to see them,” your son responded in a whisper, his eyes fixed on the ground. Guilt weighed in his voice, and yet there was still a trace of his childish stubbornness. “I’m sorry, really,” he added, stepping forward and wrapping his small arms around your waist, seeking comfort and perhaps a way to avoid the punishment he feared.

You sighed, feeling the warmth of his embrace, but not letting it distract you from what needed to be said. “I know, my love, and I believe you. But you must understand that you cannot do this again. Dragons are powerful and dangerous creatures. I don’t want to lose you to a mistake.” With tenderness, you tilted your head and placed a gentle kiss on his head.

With the same softness, you pulled away slightly from him. “Now, go clean yourself up,” you ordered in a tone that left little room for objections.

One of your ladies-in-waiting approached and took Aerion’s hand with the usual deference, guiding him to the bath to prepare him for cleaning. As you watched them leave, you let out a slight groan of pain as you felt the baby in your womb give small kicks, reminding you of their presence with an energy that could not be ignored.

The door opened again, and as you looked up, you saw your husband, Aemond, who gave you a warm smile upon seeing you. There was a familiarity and affection in his gaze that always managed to calm your spirit. Carefully, he placed his sword on the table before approaching you, his presence filling the room with a tranquility only he could offer.

“Daddy!” Vaerys exclaimed with excitement, breaking the brief moment of silence. Without hesitation, the little girl jumped into her father’s arms, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck with the absolute confidence of a child who knows they will always be received with love.

Aemond lifted her effortlessly, holding her against his chest as his face softened even more. “And how is my little warrior today?” he asked playfully, as Vaerys laughed, delighted by her father’s attention.

Meanwhile, Vaera, who had remained silent, looked at her sister with bright eyes, waiting her turn to be hugged. With a gesture that showed Aemond’s natural skill in handling the dynamics between his children, he extended his other arm to draw Vaera to his side as well.

“Look at my dress,” Vaerys exclaimed, raising her arms to proudly show off her pink dress, waiting for her father's approval.

Aemond, always attentive to the details that mattered to his daughters, smiled and nodded appreciatively. “It’s a beautiful dress, Vaerys,” he commented with warmth that made the little girl’s eyes shine.

Not wanting to be left out, Vaera quickly interjected, spreading the folds of her own dress. “Look at mine too!” she proclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of enthusiasm and expectation.

Aemond placed a loving kiss on Vaerys’s cheek, then another on Vaera’s cheek, making sure both felt his affection equally. The twins, satisfied with their father’s attention, moved away with playful laughter, their pink dresses fluttering as they disappeared into their own world of games and giggles.

Your husband approached you with a tenderness he only showed during the most intimate moments. Gently, he placed his hand on your swollen belly, caressing it with the same devotion he showed each day, as if already attuned to the new family member who was about to arrive.

“You look worried,” he murmured, his voice filled with concern as he pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture you shared when seeking comfort in each other’s closeness. “What’s wrong?”

The warmth of his skin and the familiarity of his touch reassured you, but the emotions you had been holding back began to surface. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting his presence calm your thoughts before you responded.

“It’s Aerion,” you confessed in a whisper, feeling the worry still weighing on your heart. “Today, he ran off and got too close to Vhagar and Silverwing. He almost… I can’t bear to think about what could have happened.”

“He’s a brave boy,” Aemond said, his voice soft but with the firmness of someone who understands the complex nature of his son. “I’ll talk to him.”

You nodded, knowing that Aemond, with his patience and wisdom, was the best person to guide Aerion in these moments. As the weight of your worry began to lift, you allowed yourself a moment of vulnerability, resting your head against Aemond’s chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear was a reassuring reminder of the strength and stability you always found in him.

Sensing your need for closeness, Aemond wrapped you in a warm embrace, his arms surrounding you with a tenderness that always surprised you, contrasting with his usual sternness. In that moment, the outside world, with all its worries and challenges, seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, connected in a silence full of understanding.

“You need to relax,” Aemond murmured, his voice caressing the air as gently as his hand moved up and down your back. The gesture was comforting, almost hypnotic, as if he wanted to erase the accumulated tension from every muscle in your body, leading you to a state of deep calm.

The warmth of his touch and the firmness with which he held you sent a wave of tranquility through you. You rested your head against his chest, letting yourself be carried by the steady rhythm of his breathing, which slowly synchronized with yours. You could feel his strength and protection enveloping you, offering you a refuge where you could rest without reservations.

“I’m here,” Aemond continued, his voice low, almost a whisper, resonating in your ear like an unbreakable promise. “You don’t have to carry all this weight alone. Together, we can handle anything.”

His words, laden with a love that didn’t need to be expressed with grand gestures, comforted you in a way that few things could. It was a reminder that, despite everything you faced, you weren’t alone in this journey. Aemond was by your side, sharing not only the joys but also the burdens that life imposed on you.

You felt his fingers tracing gentle circles on your back, a simple gesture that spoke of his desire to see you relaxed and at peace. Each caress seemed to take away a bit of the tension you had accumulated, and in response, you held onto him a little tighter, letting his presence envelop you completely.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely a whisper, but enough for him to hear. You lifted your gaze to meet his eyes, those eyes that always offered you the certainty that, no matter what came your way, you would face it together.

[baelarys]

𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫...𝐈'𝐦 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 Pt2

Aemond targaryen X reader targaryen

Word recount: 2087

Warning: smut, Incest.

"Sharp Point?" you asked, frowning at what one of your ladies had just told you. Your fingers absentmindedly played with the wedding ring adorning your hand.

"That's what I heard, my lady," Celia responded, visibly nervous. Earlier this morning, you had seen Aemond leave the city in a fury. You had no idea where he was headed, and he hadn’t even bothered to speak to you when you tried to approach him.

Before you could ask more questions, the loud, sharp roar of Vhagar filled the air. Determined, you moved to the balcony and saw the fearsome creature descending onto Aegon’s Hill, where she usually rested.

You left your chambers, heading towards the council room. Although you had been forbidden from entering due to "conspiring and supporting the usurper," you knew that half of the council was absent, and you doubted anyone else would deal with the angry prince.

When you entered, the room was empty. The marble spheres in the center of the table, each of a different color, represented the role of the person occupying each seat. You approached to take one into your hands, the smooth, cold sphere cradled in your palm.

Suddenly, you heard the door swing open with force. "Out!" Aemond ordered in a threatening tone to the two guards who had followed him. The guards stopped abruptly and quickly exited the room.

Aemond dropped heavily into the chair at the head of the table, the king’s chair. His eyes quickly found you; it seemed he hadn’t realized you were in the room.

"What are you doing here?" His irritated tone echoed in the room, the smell of smoke and dragon invading your nostrils. You prayed he hadn’t done what you feared.

"I saw you leave the city in a rage today," you said, approaching the table again and returning the sphere to its previous place. Aemond’s eyes cautiously followed you. "What happened?" You knew the situation well, but you wanted him to tell you.

Aemond sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to control his anger. "She has three fucking dragons. That whore got them," he muttered through gritted teeth, his hands gripping the chair.

You carefully moved closer to him.

"Did you go to Sharp Point?" you asked, concerned. Aemond averted his gaze, not answering.

"Aemond," you said sternly, waiting for an explanation.

"Prince Regent," he corrected you, avoiding your question.

"we don't burn cities," you said firmly, stepping closer to him. What he had done was something horrible, an atrocity against innocent people who did not deserve such a fate.

"What does it matter what we do now?" he replied dismissively. You sighed, feeling like your hangover was killing you; arguing was the last thing you needed at that moment.

Aemond kept his gaze fixed on you, and you felt his warm hand taking yours, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. There was something in his gesture that revealed both his desperation and his need for comfort.

"We need to win," he said, drawing your attention. "Then I will be king, and you will be my queen." His grip on your hand tightened, conveying his determination.

"And if it doesn't happen? If Aegon recovers or Rhaenyra decides to attack?" You cupped his cheek in your hand, feeling the tension under your touch. You understood his desire to possess the throne; he was the second son, heir to nothing, always in the shadow of his brother. Now that he had the opportunity to have it all, why wouldn’t he seize it? But you wondered if it would be worth the sacrifice.

Aemond closed his eyes for a moment, savoring your caress, then opened them to look at you with intensity. "That won’t happen," he said with a confidence that attempted to ease your concerns. He stood up and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead.

You decided to stay in your chambers for the rest of the day, surrendering to the forced calm that Aemond had imposed. As your ladies prepared the bath, filling the tub with soothing essences, you wrapped yourself in a thin robe, offering little protection against the chill of the night air seeping through the partially open windows.

Suddenly, the doors to your chamber burst open. Aemond entered with a severe expression, his foul mood evident in every movement. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, tired of his irritable demeanor.

"Leave us," Aemond ordered in a firm voice, echoing through the room. Your ladies, who had barely finished preparing the bath, exchanged nervous glances before hurrying out, leaving a tense silence behind them.

You sighed tiredly, mentally preparing yourself for what seemed like another confrontation, but before you could ask what was going on, Aemond launched himself at you, trapping you in an intense, urgent kiss. The surprise left you momentarily paralyzed, and when you tried to push him away, his grip on your hips tightened, pressing your body against his with a firmness that left no room for resistance.

Aemond, with a quickness that revealed his impatience, slid the robe from your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor and exposing your completely naked body to him. His eyes roamed over your figure with an almost all-consuming intensity before his lips captured yours again in a deep, hungry kiss. His body leaned over yours, and you felt his hips press against yours, the tight bulge of his pants eliciting an immediate response from your body, a wetness spreading quickly between your thighs.

The room was filled with the sound of his labored breathing as his hands moved down your body, tracing the contour of your hips and then lower, as if he wanted to memorize every curve, every inch of your skin. His lips traveled over your body and chest, leaving a trail of marks; hickeys and bites that burned on your skin, witnesses of his overflowing desire.

Aemond wasn't being careful. His movements were urgent, almost abrupt, driven by a need that seemed insatiable. He took you without reservation, without pretensions of softness, as if he feared that at any moment you could vanish in his hands. His caresses were possessive, claiming every part of you, as his mouth descended, marking his territory with every kiss, with every bite he left on your skin.

You felt the warmth of his fingers work their way between your lower lips, soaking in the moisture that had gathered from his touch. The sensation was overwhelming, causing a gasp to escape your lips before you could suppress it. “Aemond,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment, as he continued his work, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles that sent waves of pleasure throughout your body.

His every move seemed designed to keep you on the edge, to push you to the limit of what you could endure without allowing yourself to fall completely. His eyes lifted to yours, and there was something more than pure desire in that look; there was an uncontrollable fire, a mixture of devotion and possession that left you breathless. You felt his gaze consume you, as if he wanted to make it clear that every part of you belonged to him.

Aemond brought his face closer to yours, his lips brushing against yours with deliberate provocation, maintaining that intense visual connection that made you feel vulnerable and, at the same time, powerfully desired. "You feel it?" he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, laden with palpable need. "How I need you... How I want you for me and only for me."

His words enveloped you in searing heat, and before you could respond, you felt him release his member from his pants, his tip grazing your entrance with a precision that left you breathless. The initial contact was a preview, a promise of what was to come, and when Aemond finally sank into you in one fell swoop, the world seemed to stop. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt the length of him filling you completely, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you trembling.

The initial burning that spread across your sensitive area barely had time to dissipate before he began to move. He didn't give you time to adjust, to adapt to the intensity of his presence inside you. His thrusts were slow at first, almost tortuously controlled, as if he was enjoying every second that he had you completely at his mercy. But soon, the slowness gave way to a faster, more demanding pace.

Every time Aemond moved inside you, you felt your body respond instinctively, every nerve ignited by the intensity of his desire. His hands clung to your hips, his fingers marking your skin with a force that bordered on painful, but it was precisely that mix of power and possession that made the pleasure intensify, taking you to a point of no return.

"You like this, don't you?" He murmured against your ear, his voice low and heavy with raw desire. Each word was a dark whisper that echoed in your mind, increasing the pace of his thrusts as he dragged you closer and closer to the edge. The heat of his breath on your neck made you shiver, and his tone, so full of control and confidence, was a seduction in itself. You felt your body submit to his every movement, every thrust designed to take you to the edge of the abyss and keep you there, on that fine line between pleasure and total surrender. His voice enveloped you, a constant reminder of his dominance over you, of the way he had you completely under his control.

Your walls clenched around his member, trapping him with each thrust as he increased the pace, his body moving with relentless precision. The sound of skin against skin echoed in the room, a symphony of desire that only the two of you could hear, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge.

Aemond leaned over you, his hands firmly on your hips, guiding your every movement as his lips sought yours again, devouring them with a hunger that seemed insatiable. His breathing became more irregular, his pants mixing with yours, creating an atmosphere thick with need.

You felt your body tense, every fiber of your being on fire as you approached your climax. “Don't stop,” you whispered, the words barely coming out between the moans escaping your lips.

Aemond gritted his teeth, his jaw marked with the effort of restraining himself. But with each contraction of your walls around him, you felt him lose that control, how his own desire intensified as he felt your complete surrender.

“I'm not going to stop,” he growled, his voice rough and filled with a promise that made you shudder. His pace became erratic, deeper, each thrust designed to push you over the edge.

Finally, you felt pleasure building up inside you, an uncontrollable wave that swept you away mercilessly. Your walls clenched tightly around him, and it was that movement, that sensation, that drove him to his own limit. Aemond let out a low, guttural moan as he climaxed, his hips bucking hard one last time before burying himself deep inside you, spilling his seed inside you.

You felt Aemond's weight relax on top of you, his ragged breathing still echoing in your ear as you both tried to catch your breath. The warmth of his body, still attached to yours, offered unexpected comfort after the storm of emotions and desire that had just passed between you.

With a deep sigh, Aemond slowly stepped away, moving carefully so as not to upset the delicate balance that had been established in the room. He lay down next to you, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that seemed to contradict the intensity of what had just happened.

The room was filled with a comforting calm, the echo of the storm of passion fading, leaving only the tranquility that followed a battle well fought. You snuggled closer to him, seeking the warmth of his body and the comfort of his presence.

Aemond held you close to his chest, his hand gently stroking your back in a repetitive, soothing gesture. The beat of his heart, slow and steady now, was the only sound breaking the silence of the room. Little by little, the tension of the last few days began to fade, giving way to a peace that they both desperately needed.

[baelarys]

𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫...𝐈'𝐦 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

Aemond targaryen X reader targaryen

Word recount: 1316

Warning: violence and bad word

Pt2

The headache was relentless, and your thoughts turned into a constant torment. You avoided any kind of conversation, even with your own husband. Since that fateful night when your little prince lost his life, it was as if a part of you had died with him.

The court continued its daily routine, but you felt detached from everything. In times of war, there was no room for mourning, as you overheard one of the ladies of the court whisper. The coldness of those words only deepened your isolation.

The sept was dark, as always, barely illuminated by the dim light of the candles. Alicent had insisted that you accompany her and Helaena to pray. You agreed, not because you believed the gods could offer you solace, but because you had no other choice. However, you didn't even bother to light a candle in honor of the gods. You had lost faith in them, convinced that no merciful god would allow the murder of a child.

You walked back and forth, scratching your arm. The sensation of your nails on the already reddened skin provided a momentary distraction from the headache that plagued you. The murmurs of prayers echoed in your ears, but they couldn't penetrate the barrier of your suffering.

A guard hurried in, informing them that they had to leave the sept immediately. Upon exiting, they found themselves surrounded by an enraged crowd. The citizens' frustration was understandable: they lacked food and were forbidden to leave the city. The inhabitants of King's Landing began throwing trash, and the white cloaks used their shields and bodies to protect the royal family from the people's fury. Amid the chaos, you found yourself separated from Alicent and Helaena. The shouts of "Long live Queen Rhaenyra!" echoed among the crowd, adding another layer of tension.

Aegon, the self-proclaimed king, was not present to face his people, nor was the prince regent. You watched as a man grabbed Queen Alicent by the arm, refusing to let her go.

A bold idea crossed your mind. You knew it could cost you dearly, but you were determined. "Long live Queen Rhaenyra!" you shouted forcefully, and to your surprise, the crowd echoed the cry. Before you could say anything more, you felt one of the guards take you by the arm, urgently leading you back to the carriage.

You were thrown into the carriage, falling to your knees as you entered. Alicent and Helaena were already there. You sat down and shook your aching knees.

Alicent looked at you with a reproachful expression, but you didn't look away. You held her gaze until she turned away, feeling an unexpected sense of liberation. You didn't feel guilty; on the contrary, you felt a bit freer. This war had started because of them, and the death of your son was a burden you attributed to their decisions.

The carriage lurched forward through the tumultuous streets. Although the danger wasn't entirely over, once you returned to the castle, the stares began to fix on you, but you truly didn't care in the slightest.

A few minutes after you set foot in the room, Aemond burst in, furious, searching for you with his gaze. He lunged at you like a wolf toward a wounded prey, his hand entwining around your neck with brutal pressure. It surprised you, but somehow you had expected it.

"Are you insane? Shouting the name of that traitor!" he yelled, pressing your body against the wall.

Despite the pain and lack of air, you found the strength to face him. "Traitor?" you spat the words. "The only betrayal here is from your family. This whole war started because of their unbridled ambition.”

"You don't know what you're talking about!" he retorted, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and furious. "What you did today has put our lives, the stability of the realm, in danger.”

"Stability?" you scoffed, feeling his hand tremble slightly. "What stability? Our son is dead, Aemond. Dead! And it's all because of your family and their lust for power.”

"Do you think I don't know that?" His grip loosened, but he still kept his hand firmly around your neck.

"I wish it had been you instead of him," you spat, each word drenched in hate and venom.

Aemond recoiled, his face paling momentarily from the shock of your words. But the fury soon reignited in his eyes. "How dare you..." he murmured hoarsely, his fingers finally releasing your neck, though they still held a latent threat.

"Because it's the truth!" you shouted, taking advantage of the distance he had created. "All of this, all this chaos and suffering, started with your brother, with your mother. And you're not innocent! You killed Luke, you murdered him, and now we have to live with the consequences of your actions.”

Aemond took a step back, his face a mask of conflict and rage. "Luke..." he repeated in a whisper, as if the name were a ghost haunting him. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to kill him.”

"Accident? And does that justify everything that has happened? Does it justify the death of our son?" Tears streamed down your face, but your voice remained firm, laden with bitterness. "Everything we touch turns to death and destruction. And you still have the audacity to talk to me about stability?”

The tension in the room was palpable. Aemond looked at you with a mix of desperation and fury. Without another word, he turned toward the door, trying to escape the pain you had unleashed.

"You're afraid, aren't you?" you hurled, your voice sharp as a knife. "Afraid to face the truth, to face what you've done.”

In an instant, Aemond turned and slapped you with such force that you felt the blood trickle from the corner of your lower lip. "You're lucky I don't ask for your head for this!" he roared, his voice trembling with fury and desperation. "Afraid? You know nothing of the fear I carry inside.”

The room fell silent, both of you breathing heavily. Aemond looked at you for a moment longer, his gaze filled with a mixture of pain, rage, and something you couldn't identify. Without another word, he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

You remained on the floor, the echo of his words reverberating in your mind. The confrontation had been brutal, and the physical pain from the slap paled in comparison to the open wound in your soul. If only you could fly on your dragon's back and burn them all, raze every stone of King's Landing until nothing but ashes remained.

Slowly, you got up, staggering to a nearby chair. The room was in darkness, a perfect reflection of your inner state. You looked out the window; the dark, cloud-laden sky seemed to mirror your mood. There was no peace or solace on the horizon. The desire to escape was overwhelming. You imagined the freedom your dragon would give you, soaring above the chaos and death that surrounded you. You envisioned the heat of the fire, the purification that would come from destroying everything that had caused you so much pain.

As you lost yourself in your thoughts, a deeper reflection began to take shape. Rhaenyra was not so different from you. She had also lost her children in this senseless war, and her suffering must have been as intense as yours. The war had scarred everyone, turning them into shadows of what they once were.

Neither you nor Rhaenyra were monsters. You were mothers who had seen their children snatched away by a conflict that seemed endless. Hatred and revenge would not bring your son back, but somehow, thinking about revenge soothed the pain of the loss.

[baelarys]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞

Aemond targaryen X reader niece

word count : 2887

Warning : Incest , smut

Your entire body itched, feeling the corset squeeze your ribcage to the point of almost fainting. Your ladies hurriedly arranged your hair, while two others smoothed the blue and silver silk dress you had chosen for the ceremony.

You wondered if a wedding dress really needed to look so impeccable, feeling the weight of expectation and tradition. You were about to marry, and to your dismay, a man as callous as your uncle Aemond. You knew this moment would come, but still, the surprise hit you hard. You had been engaged since childhood, but you hadn't believed the proposal would still stand after the accident at your aunt's funeral.

Your mother and siblings would not attend. Your mother had recently given birth to your two new younger brothers, and Jace and Luke were still too young to travel alone. So, you found yourself alone in the Red Keep, the ancient castle you once considered home.

As you prepared, a feeling of loneliness enveloped you. The absence of your family weighed on your spirit, making the moment feel even more difficult to face.

Your ladies continued to work diligently, trying to make every detail perfect. Her skillful hands masterfully braided your hair, adorning it with fine silver threads. The blue and silver silk dress fell elegantly, reflecting the light of the candles that illuminated the room.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your mind and heart. Then, you heard a knock on the door. It was time, you thought. One of your ladies opened the door, letting in Queen Alicent, who would escort you to your future husband. You would have preferred it to be your grandfather instead of her, but dear King Viserys was in a deplorable situation regarding his health.

Alicent looked at you for a few seconds, perhaps remembering a similar moment from her own youth. “You look beautiful,” she said, trying to make you feel better.

You nodded gratefully, although the anxiety was still present. The queen offered you her arm and, with one last look in the mirror, you headed towards the destiny that awaited you. It was a small celebration, but without taking away from the prestige of a royal wedding. Lords from all over the kingdom were present.

The great hall was adorned with banners and flowers, the glow of the candelabras illuminating the faces of the guests. As you walked down the hallway, the murmurs faded, leaving only the echo of your footsteps and the rapid beat of your heart.

Aemond was waiting for you at the end of the hallway, his expression as impenetrable as ever. His violet eyes watched you with a mixture of intensity and coldness. Beside him, the septon waited, ready to officiate the ceremony. Alicent led you to your spot, and then discreetly retreated, letting the solemnity of the moment take over.

The septon began to recite the ritual words, and although your thoughts wandered between anxiety and resignation, you maintained your composure. Aemond took your hand firmly, his grip a reminder of both the strength and severity of your future husband.

When it was time to exchange vows, the words left your lips almost mechanically. You promised fidelity and loyalty, although inside you, a voice whispered doubts and fears. Aemond, for his part, pronounced his vows with the same determination he used on the battlefield.

It was time for the banquet, an event filled with flowers and music designed to liven up the festive atmosphere. You responded with a courteous smile to the lords and ladies who approached your table to shower you with gifts and congratulations.

The large banquet table was adorned with exquisite floral arrangements and silver candelabras, illuminating the opulence of the hall. You and Aemond presided over the head table, and although music and the hum of conversation filled the air, a feeling of unreality enveloped you.

Lord Tyrell's son approached the table, a charming young man who had caught the attention of many ladies at court. His distinguished bearing and easy smile made him a welcome guest at any social event.

You bowed slightly in respect as he approached, returning his smile with a courtesy befitting your status. "Princess," he began with an elegant bow, "allow me to congratulate you on your marriage. The beauty of this celebration is surpassed only by yours."

"Lord Tyrell," you replied with a smile, "I appreciate your kind words. The presence of your house is always an honor to our family."

"It's a pleasure to be here," he said, his eyes shining with an interest that went beyond mere politeness. "I must confess that I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you. Stories about your grace and charm do not do the reality justice."

You laughed softly, grateful for the distraction his gallantry offered. "I thank you, my lord. However, I do not believe I am worthy of such praise."

"Not at all, my lady, I am being completely honest." Your smile spread wider, feeling a light blush on your cheeks. The young Tyrell then looked at Aemond. "The prince is lucky to now have a lady as beautiful as you."

Before you could respond, you felt a strong squeeze on your thigh that made you stop. Aemond, who until then had watched the interaction with an impassive expression, clenched his jaw at Tyrell's words. "Lord Tyrell," he interrupted, his voice firm and cold, "I appreciate your congratulations, but I would like to remember that my wife is not a possession, but a companion worthy of respect."

The young Tyrell, without losing his composure, bowed his head slightly. "Of course, Prince Aemond. My apologies if my words have been misinterpreted. I only intended to express my admiration."

Aemond gave a brief, strained smile. "Your admiration is noted, but I would appreciate it if you expressed it with greater caution."

"I understand," the young Tyrell replied before returning to his table. Aemond hadn't taken his hand off your thigh since then, and you could feel his nails slowly digging into your skin.

"What is your problem?" you said with an annoyed tone, trying to remain discreet in the curious eyes of the court. You tried to push his hand away, but you felt him move it higher, sending a shiver through your body.

Aemond leaned his head towards you, whispering in your ear with a voice thick with possessiveness. "My problem, dear wife, is seeing other men thinking they can approach you so blatantly."

"It's just courtesy," you responded defensively, feeling Aemond's hand move up and down your thigh, brushing carelessly near that area. "And stop doing that."

Aemond, with an expression of apparent innocence, raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

“That,” you replied, trying to stay calm as the chill continued to run through you. "Your hand is too close."

Finally, Aemond withdrew his hand with an expression of disdain. "Very well," he said with a tone that obscured the brightness of his gaze. "If this makes you uncomfortable, I will stop."

It was almost midnight, and the reality of the wedding night was beginning to weigh on you. It was mandatory that the marriage be consummated that same night, and although you knew that this moment was imminent, you couldn't help but feel a knot in your stomach.

Alicent, with her usual foresight, had advised you to retire to your room first to prepare. Following his recommendations, you headed to your chambers, where the ladies-in-waiting were waiting for you with the usual diligence. With speed and precision, they stripped away your dress, letting the intricate layers of silk and lace fall to the floor. Then, they let down your hair, which fell in loose waves around your figure. Finally, they wrapped you in a thin robe that covered your body, trying to offer you as much comfort as possible in that tense moment.

You walked over to the table to pour yourself some wine, hoping the drink would calm your nerves. As you raised the glass, the ruby liquid reflected the dim light of the candles, and you took a sip, feeling the warm relief it provided. As you savored the wine, you heard the door open. You froze, too embarrassed to turn around and look.

The sounds of Aemond removing his suit filled the room. The rustle of the fabric sliding over his body and the soft jingling of the clasps on his vest mixed with the rapid beat of your heart. You tried to focus on the wine, but your husband's presence behind you was impossible to ignore.

Aemond approached you, grabbing you by the waist and forcing you to turn around. You were now face to face, and you noticed that the patch he always wore to cover his eye was no longer there. In its place, a beautiful sapphire shined in the hole where he had lost his eye. His appearance was intimidating and fascinating at the same time.

He caressed your cheek with a gentleness so unlike him, his touch was surprisingly soft and comforting. "Fear not," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring.

Before you could respond, Aemond planted a kiss on your lips. A new feeling blossomed in your stomach, a whirlwind of nervousness and anticipation. Guiding your inexperienced lips, he led you to explore the rhythm and flavor of his own. Deftly, he gently bit your bottom lip, silently asking you to make way for him.

Your heart was pounding as you felt the caress of his tongue, exploring firmly but slowly. You responded timidly at first, but little by little, you began to reciprocate with more confidence. His hands, strong but tender, held you carefully, slowly tracing lines of fire on your skin.

They broke apart, You took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. Aemond slowly guided you towards the bed.

Aemond took a seat first, gently pulling you to sit on his lap. Your cheeks were adorned with a deep red color, a mix of shyness and anticipation. Wasting no time, he captured your lips again, this time with more urgency and desire.

He laid you down slowly, making you lie on your back on the mattress. His body hovered over yours, creating a feeling of warmth and security. His lips moved in a passionate dance with yours.

With fluid movements, Aemond began to leave a trail of kisses from your cheek to your neck. His lips lingered there, sucking gently and leaving little marks of love. The touch of his lips and teeth against your skin sent waves of pleasure through your body, and you couldn't help but let out small sounds of satisfaction.

Aemond carefully stripped you of the thin robe that still covered your body, taking a moment to admire your figure. His eyes roamed every line and curve, filled with a mix of wonder and desire. The intensity of his gaze made your cheeks blush even more, a warm current of anticipation running through your body.

With unexpected softness, he approached again, his lips tracing a path of wet, burning kisses from your neck to your collarbone. Each kiss was a point of fire that lit your skin, creating a path of pleasure that spread with each caress.

His hands, strong and sure, explored your body with an expert touch, discovering your every reaction. "You're beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and heavy with desire. "Every part of you."

Suddenly, Aemond cupped one of your breasts in his hand, squeezing it with a firmness that drew a small gasp from you. He played with your sensitive nipple, his skillful fingers causing waves of pleasure that made you arch your back.

Without warning, he lowered his head and devoured the other breast with his mouth, sucking and nibbling with overwhelming passion. You felt like you were in heaven, each touch and kiss lifting you to new heights of pleasure. You thrashed around on the bed, your hands gripping the sheets as you tried to take in the intensity of the sensations.

He continued his attention, alternating between his hands and his mouth, making sure every part of you received his devotion. His lips moved with precision, tracing circles around your nipple before sucking it hard. At the same time, his other hand massaged your other breast, his fingers causing spasms of pleasure with each touch.

Aemond continued his descent, his lips leaving a trail of burning kisses along your stomach and belly. He stopped for a moment, admiring your intimacy already wet from his previous caresses. The vulnerability of the moment made you try to close your legs, a gesture of modesty that Aemond gently prevented.

“Let me show you how much I want you,” he murmured hoarsely, his words sending a new wave of pleasure through your body.

You nodded, feeling the heat inside you intensify. Aemond settled between your legs, his solid, confident presence providing you with a strange mix of calm. With slow deliberation, he left a long lick over your lower lips, eliciting an involuntary moan from your lips.

His hands rested on your thighs, holding them open while his lips and tongue continued to explore your intimacy with a skill and attention that left you breathless. Every caress, every lick, seemed designed to take you to new heights of pleasure. You felt the tension inside you growing, a delicious pressure that threatened to overflow at any moment.

He didn't stop, his tongue moving with a precision that made you arch your back and clutch the sheets. His fingers joined the dance, exploring and teasing, taking you beyond your limits. The mix of his mouth and hands was almost too much, every movement a promise of ecstasy.

Aemond introduced another finger inside you, eliciting a deeper, pleasure-laden moan from you. His movements were slow and deliberate, moving in and out with a precision that seemed designed to explore every corner of your being. The sensation was overwhelming, each thrust of his fingers sending waves of heat through your body.

Your moans intensified, and your body instinctively responded to his attentions, arching into him in a desperate search for more contact. Aemond increased the speed of his movements, his fingers delving deeper, exploring and teasing with a skill that left you breathless.

Aemond withdrew his fingers suddenly, drawing a moan of protest from you at the abrupt absence of his touch. He leaned over you, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss as he expertly removed his pants. You felt the warmth and firmness of his erection brush against your entrance, eliciting an involuntary moan of anticipation.

Aemond eased into you slowly, his erection pushing through with deliberate precision. A burning sensation washed over you, and you tensed at the invasion, but he stayed still for a moment, allowing you to get used to the new sensation. You breathed deeply, trying to relax as your body adjusted to his presence inside you.

After a few moments, he began to move with slow, measured thrusts. Every movement was calculated, designed to maximize pleasure while minimizing pain. The intensity of the sensation increased with each thrust, and soon, the initial burning transformed into a wave of pleasure that ran through you from head to toe.

Your moans joined his, a chorus of sounds that filled the room. Your throbbing insides clenched around him, each contraction eliciting moans of pleasure from both of you. Aemond gradually increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and deeper.

You felt the tension inside you grow, a delicious pressure that built with each movement. Your moans became louder, and your body arched towards him, seeking more contact, more intensity. A knot was forming in your belly, a buildup of pleasure that grew with each thrust. Finally, Aemond reached a specific spot inside you, causing you to come immediately.

Your muscles clenched and you overflowed, the overwhelming pleasure enveloping your body. Aemond continued to move inside you, his own moans of pleasure echoing through the room. A few seconds later, he reached his own climax, spilling his seed inside you.

Both were left breathing heavily, their bodies intertwined as the intensity of the moment began to dissipate. Carefully, Aemond eased himself out of you and settled next to you, wrapping his arms around you in a protective gesture.

You laid your head on his chest, feeling how tiredness gradually invaded you. Aemond covered you both with a soft blanket, his large hands running over your back in a calming and protective gesture. The warmth of his body and the constant rhythm of his breathing provided a feeling of security that enveloped you completely.

"Rest, my love," he said softly, his voice filled with an unexpected tenderness. You let sleep guide you, your heavy eyelids closing as you snuggled closer to him. In the tranquility of that moment, with the sound of his heart beating beneath your ear, you fell into a deep, restful sleep.

[baelarys]

𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫

Helaena targaryen X Lady lover reader

word count : 890

Warning : anguts

The castle was steeped in sadness and solitude after the news of Prince Jaehaerys's death. The sound of your footsteps was the only thing echoing through the halls as you headed towards Helaena's chambers, intending to console her. Before entering, Queen Alicent exited the room. You bowed respectfully before she departed.

Helaena stood with her back to you, facing a small table with Jaehaerys's toys, holding a blanket in her arms. Her sobs filled the room. You approached her carefully.

"Helaena," you called softly. The platinum-haired woman turned to look at you, her face adorned with a deeply sorrowful expression.

You took a few steps toward her, and without hesitation, she threw herself into your arms.

"I want to stay here," she protested through her tears. Otto had ordered the young prince's body to be paraded through the streets of King's Landing to its burial place.

"I know, I know, but you have to do it," you said, rubbing her back as she continued to cry on your shoulder.

You held her tighter, trying to convey all the warmth and strength she needed at that moment. Helaena sobbed, her tears soaking your dress. You remained silent, providing the comfort only the presence of a loved one can offer.

"I know this is terribly difficult," you murmured after a few moments. "But we must honor his memory in the right way."

Helaena nodded slightly, though the pain remained reflected in her eyes. You helped her compose herself, fixing her hair and straightening her dress.

"I'll be with you," you promised, firmly holding her hand. "You are not alone."

You sat next to her in the carriage, with the Dowager Queen Alicent on her left. The procession began to move, the urn carrying Jaehaerys's body ahead of you, surrounded by guards.

The townspeople crowded around, shouting Helaena's name and showing their respect for the young prince. Yellow petals fell over you, a silent tribute to the loss.

Helaena had held your hand since leaving the castle, fidgeting anxiously in her seat. You rubbed the back of her hand, trying to calm her. The crowd looked sadly at Prince Jaehaerys's urn, their faces reflecting shared sorrow.

"They're here for you and for him," you whispered softly, trying to offer comfort.

Helaena nodded weakly, though her eyes were still full of tears. The procession continued slowly through the streets of King's Landing.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped. The crowd began to move closer and closer to you, and Helaena started to panic. Queen Alicent also became alarmed as the guards tried to get the carriage moving again.

Helaena fidgeted anxiously, as if she couldn't breathe.

"Helaena," you called, trying to calm her, but she recoiled, seized by panic.

"You have to stay calm," you said firmly, taking her face in your hands so she would look at you, your blue eyes reflecting the same panic you saw in hers.

You hugged her tightly, trying to protect her from the tumult of the crowd around you until the carriage moved again. You felt her cry on your shoulder again, her anguish overflowing.

"I'm here with you," you whispered. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Helaena clung to you desperately, seeking solace in your closeness. Alicent, though worried, tried to maintain composure, trusting the guards to control the situation.

As the carriage resumed its journey, the crowd began to disperse, though the tension was still palpable. The guards redoubled their efforts to maintain order, allowing the procession to continue without further interruptions.

"We're almost there," you murmured softly, rubbing the back of her hand. "Stay calm a little longer."

Helaena nodded, her tears still flowing, but her breathing began to stabilize. Queen Alicent extended a comforting hand toward her daughter.

––––––––––

The room was dark and quiet, a contrast to the chaos outside. Helaena sank into a chair near the window, her eyes fixed on a distant point.

You knelt before her, calling her attention. You took her hands in yours and kissed the back of her hand gently, trying to offer her a small comfort amid her suffering.

"My sweet dreamer," you said softly, placing a hand on her cheek. She leaned into your touch, finding a brief moment of relief in your warmth. "I wish I could take all this pain away from you."

Helaena moved closer to you, her cheeks showing a slight blush at the affectionate nickname. She let a small sigh escape her lips as she sought comfort in your closeness. Tenderly, you left a chaste kiss on her lips before standing up.

"You need to rest,my love," you said softly, guiding her to her bed.

You helped her settle among the sheets, ensuring she was comfortable. As you leaned in to adjust the pillow, you noticed that her eyes, though filled with sadness, also reflected gratitude and affection.

"I'll be nearby," you murmured, stroking her cheek once more. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me."

Helaena nodded weakly, closing her eyes as she settled. You watched her breathing become more regular, though the pain was still evident in her expression.

With a final glance, you left the room. As you closed the door, you saw Jaehaera approaching, followed by one of the nursemaids.

You lifted her from the floor, prompting a delighted giggle.

"Where are you going?" you asked, smiling.

"I'm going to see mommy," she replied enthusiastically.

"Well, your mommy is resting now," you said tenderly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Why don't we go play in the gardens?"

Jaehaera's smile grew even wider as she nodded at your suggestion.

"Yes, let's go!" she exclaimed cheerfully.

You spent the time playing and enjoying her company, giving her the attention and affection she needed. In those moments, the weight of pain and sadness seemed to lighten.

[baelarys]

𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

Aemond targaryen X reader niece velaryon

word count : 1121

Warning : Incest, fluff

You found yourself in the Great Sept alongside Helaena and the Dowager Queen Alicent, praying for the departed. The dimly lit space, created a solemn and reflective atmosphere. You knelt at a small altar dedicated to the Mother, choosing a spot farther away from Helaena and Alicent to give them some privacy in their grief.

The heat of the melted candle wax dripped onto your fingers as you pressed them into the soft material, perhaps seeking comfort in the repetitive sensation. Whispered prayers filled the air, each word a murmur of hope and redemption. The atmosphere was heavy, not just with the incense perfuming the air, but with the palpable sadness emanating from the hearts of the mourners present.

You were not a person of faith; you never held your beliefs in the Seven. However, somehow, the place brought peace to your grieving heart. You prayed for your mother and brother, asking the Warrior to protect them and end this war.

"Your Grace... we must leave now," one of the knights entered the Sept, visibly alarmed. Helaena approached you, helping you to your feet as you rubbed your small pregnant belly.

Outside, the noise intensified. Following the guards, you headed for the exit, where the jeers of the commoners echoed in the air. They had gathered around the Sept, expressing their discontent.

"Get the queens to the carriage," one of the guards ordered as they assisted you down the steps.

With each step, the tumult became more evident. The crowd swirled, their voices a mix of anger and desperation. The guards formed a protective shield around you, trying to contain the commoners and ensure your safe passage to the carriage.

The black veil covering your hair fluttered in the wind and lashed against your face. You tried to descend one of the stairways, but the enraged crowd forced you to retreat.

"She’s the queen of sins!" one of the commoners shouted, throwing rotten food and trash at Queen Alicent, whose face was struck by the refuse.

"Keep moving!" the Kingsguard commanded, using their cloaks to shield you from the garbage.

"Long live Queen Rhaenyra!" the crowd chanted, cheering your mother’s name. You paused for a moment, watching as one of the commoners ran with the black and red banner of House Targaryen. Helaena covered her ears, overwhelmed by the deafening roar of the mob rushing towards you.

In the chaos, you were separated. Alicent screamed in alarm upon seeing that Helaena had been left behind, surrounded by the furious crowd. The guards hurried to find her, leaving you alone with a knight who used his body to shield you. The commoners drew closer, cornering you against a wall. One of them tried to touch you, and as you turned your face away, you felt a deep scratch on your cheek.

Amid the turmoil, a commoner grabbed Alicent by the arm, refusing to let go. A guard intervened, cutting off the attacker’s hand. You managed to reach the carriage, stumbling inside as the mob swirled around you. The carriage began to move, and you finally breathed a sigh of relief as you headed back to the Red Keep. You touched the scratch on your cheek, feeling the small drops of warm blood oozing out.

"Are you alright?" Alicent asked, helping Helaena sit properly while adjusting her dress.

"Yes," the young woman replied, her voice barely a whisper.

"Long live Queen Rhaenyra," you murmured, processing what you had heard. The people clamored for their true queen.

The interior of the carriage was silent, broken only by the sound of wheels on the cobblestones. Alicent, her face shadowed by worry and sadness, looked at you with eyes full of questions and doubts. Helaena, trembling, kept her gaze down, trying to recover from the experience.

The strength of your beliefs wavered in the face of the people’s fierce loyalty to Rhaenyra.

"They hate us," Alicent finally said, her voice full of bitterness. "The people hate us."

The reality of her words settled in the air, heavy and dense. Once you reached the Red Keep, you withdrew to your chambers, seeking a respite from the outside chaos. With trembling hands, you removed your jewelry, carefully laying it on the dresser. You approached the mirror, examining the scratch on your cheek more closely.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Aemond entered the room, quickly approaching you.

"Are you alright?" he asked, but before you could respond, he placed his hands firmly on your cheeks, inspecting the scratch with concern.

His eyes scanned your face intently, searching for any sign of further injury. The contrast between his determined expression and his gentle touch made you feel a mixture of comfort and vulnerability. Aemond leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing your skin as he examined the wound.

"It’s just a scratch," you tried to say, but the seriousness in his gaze stopped you.

"This shouldn’t have happened to you," Aemond murmured, his voice tense with a mix of anger and worry. "I promise it won’t happen again."

The determination in his words was palpable. Aemond gently moved his hand from your cheek but didn’t step away, maintaining a protective proximity. The silence in the room was filled with the implicit promise of his protection and the gravity of the events surrounding you.

"Let’s clean this wound," he said, guiding you to a chair and taking a clean cloth to moisten it with fresh water. He gently dabbed the damp cloth on your cheek, wiping away any trace of blood.

"I’m fine, Aemond," you said once more, trying to calm him. You took his hand and gently moved it away from your face, grateful for his dedication and love.

Aemond looked at you intensely, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and lingering concern. He placed his hand on your belly, feeling the baby growing inside you.

You leaned in to leave a kiss on his cheek. You felt Aemond wrap his arms around you, hiding his head in your neck, sighing at your scent. His warm breath clashed with your skin, causing a tickle as you left small caresses on his back.

"I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you," Aemond whispered against your neck, his voice breaking with emotion.

"We’re safe now," you responded softly, trying to reassure him. "As long as we’re together, we’ll be fine."

Aemond slowly nodded, his arms tightening around you, as if afraid of losing you. You stayed there, embraced in a moment of silent intimacy, the outside world momentarily fading away as you found comfort in each other.

[baelarys]

THE WOLF

Lord cregan stark X reader targaryen

word count : 2669

Warning : Fluff :)

The war had ended. Rhaenyra had perished, Aegon had died, and the dragons had ceased to exist. The letter you received from King’s Landing confirmed these events and proclaimed Aegon III as the new king.

The Stark army had already taken the capital, and ravens were sent to every lord in Westeros, urging them to bend the knee to the new monarch. Storm’s End was the first to submit. Lord Stark, who had assumed control of King’s Landing until the culprits of your brother’s poisoning were captured, ordered that you and your niece, Princess Jaehaera, betrothed to Aegon and the future queen, travel back to the capital.

The journey was long and tedious. Accompanied by Jaehaera and some daughters of Lady Baratheon, who had been sent to serve as the queen's ladies-in-waiting, you arrived in King’s Landing. Though these young women were likely hostages, their presence ensured that House Baratheon would not rebel again.

Upon arrival, the city felt both familiar and foreign. The people cheered for their new queen, hailing her as you and Jaehaera were transported in the carriage towards the castle.

The little girl clung to the sleeve of your dress as she observed the crowd. It was no wonder she was not an ordinary child; she had witnessed the death of her twin, lost her siblings, mother, and father. Though just a child, her gaze reflected a depth of sorrow acquired at a great cost.

You thought of your mother, the former Queen Alicent, now consumed by hatred and madness, according to what you had heard. Concern and sadness mingled in your heart as you prepared to face her.

Lord Corlys Velaryon greeted you at the entrance, accompanied by the young King Aegon III and Lord Cregan Stark. You could not deny Lord Stark’s imposing presence; his grand furs, despite the sweltering heat of the capital, spoke of his northern heritage.

Aegon III, at eleven years old, displayed a seriousness beyond his age. His features, inherited from his mother and father, bore the marks of ancient Valyria: dark violet eyes, almost black, and platinum-white hair. Beside him stood his cupbearer, Gaemon Palehair, the bastard of your brother, who was derisively called the "Rabbit King" by the people and his mother when they took the castle.

“My king,” you said, bowing to the young monarch.

“Princess,” greeted the Sea Snake, stepping forward. You observed Corlys, whose face, though lined with age, still radiated the authority and wisdom of yesteryears, qualities he had shown when your father was king. “Welcome back to your home.”

Corlys’s tone was firm but warm. The Red Keep, with its towering walls, seemed to whisper tales of glory and tragedy, and your return was just another chapter in that vast history.

As you moved into the castle, you hoped Lord Stark would say something, but he remained in quiet reserve throughout the journey. His presence was imposing yet unobtrusive, allowing you to acclimate to your surroundings in peace.

Everything looked as familiar as it was distant. The corridors, now enveloped in constant silence, were the same ones where you and your siblings used to play, filling them with laughter and voices now reduced to echoes of a distant past.

You were escorted to your former chambers. Before entering, you exchanged a final glance with Lord Stark. His eyes, filled with a silent understanding, seemed to offer you a tacit comfort amidst the confusion of your return.

Upon opening the door, you were met with a poignant sight: your belongings remained in the same place where you left them when you had to flee the day Rhaenyra took the city. The room seemed frozen in time, a sanctuary of unaltered memories amidst the ravages of war.

Every object, every detail, evoked a fragment of your past life. The childhood toys, the books you had eagerly read, the fabrics and adornments you had carefully chosen to make this space a reflection of yourself, were all there, waiting for you.

You hoped Aegon III’s reign would be peaceful. He and Jaehaera were to be married in two days, giving the realm something to celebrate. As you immersed yourself in your thoughts, one of your new ladies-in-waiting entered the room, announcing that you could see your mother now.

To be honest, the news did not excite you; rather, it filled you with dread. You nodded as you followed the lady to the Maegor’s Holdfast, where two guards stood watch over your mother’s chambers.

Queen Alicent appeared haggard. Her room, once adorned with greens and the Hightower sigils, had lost all traces of its former splendor. The tapestries and decorations that had once symbolized her power and status had vanished, leaving behind a coldness that reflected her current state.

Alicent turned to look at you, her eyes sunken and dim. You did not know what to do. The contrast between the mother you remembered and the figure before you was striking. The strength she had once shown seemed to have dissipated, leaving you face-to-face with a woman consumed by pain and despair.

“Mother,” you said softly, taking a step towards her.

Alicent regarded you with a mix of recognition and distrust. Her lips moved slightly, as if attempting to form words that refused to emerge. The room was in a deathly silence, broken only by the faint murmur of the guards in the hallway.

“Daughter,” she finally responded, her voice a faint whisper laden with contained emotion.

You approached her cautiously, unsure of how to comfort her in her current state. You sat beside her bed, taking her hand in yours. Alicent’s skin was cold and rough, a reflection of her suffering.

“I am here, mother,” you said firmly, trying to convey the strength she so desperately needed.

Alicent closed her eyes, a solitary tear sliding down her cheek. The pain of past years was palpable, and you knew that recovery would be slow and difficult. But in that moment, your presence was a small ray of hope in her darkness.

The conversation with your mother was brief and fragmented, but each shared word was a step towards reconciliation. When you finally rose to leave, you felt a small bond had been restored between you.

As you descended the stairs, you encountered Lord Cregan Stark in the vestibule. His presence, though silent, exuded a quiet strength. His eyes, serene but vigilant, regarded you with a mix of curiosity and respect.

“Princess,” he said, inclining his head slightly.

“Lord Stark,” you responded, returning the nod.

The silence settled between you, creating a tense but not uncomfortable atmosphere. The men of the North were not known for their friendliness or talkativeness, and Lord Cregan Stark was no exception. However, his presence conveyed a seriousness and commitment that did not go unnoticed.

“Are you enjoying your stay in the capital, Lord Stark?” you asked, attempting to break the ice with a question.

“I would enjoy it more if the circumstances that brought me here were different,” Cregan replied with a cold tone, his face as serious as ever.

You nodded. “I understand, milord. The circumstances surrounding us are far from ideal.”

Cregan looked at you for a moment, his grey eyes scrutinizing yours. “Do you not wonder who was responsible for your brother’s death?” he suddenly asked.

The question took you by surprise. The truth was, you had not deeply considered it. Aegon deserved that end; he was your brother, but perhaps it was for the best.

“Anyone could have done it, and besides, what purpose would it serve to torment myself with that?” you sighed, lowering your gaze. “Aegon III would have been his heir after all.”

Cregan nodded slowly, his expression showing a hint of approval. “True, the succession was clear. But justice is important, and the guilty must be found and punished.”

“Indeed,” you responded, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. “And will you be the new Hand of the King?”

Cregan shook his head. “No, my place is in the North with my people,” he replied firmly. “I will leave once I find someone to manage the realm until the king is old enough to fully assume his responsibilities.”

"Understood," you said, feeling a mix of respect and admiration for his sense of duty. "Your commitment to your people is truly admirable."

Cregan nodded, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "The North has its own needs and challenges. I can't stay here forever, but I hope things stabilize soon."

"I hope so too," you replied. "The situation isn't the easiest, but with the right cooperation, I'm sure we can move forward."

"I hope so," Cregan said. "In the meantime, I'll ensure the kingdom has the necessary direction until I can return to the North."

"That's all anyone can ask for," you said. "I appreciate your willingness to help in this transition."

The conversation, though brief, was quite gratifying. You retreated to your room to resume your old duties, those you had set aside during the war. It was a moment to take up the tasks that once were part of your daily life.

A month had passed since your return to King's Landing, and life in the capital was beginning to find a new balance. Aegon and Jaehaera's wedding had taken place without incident, and most seemed to accept this new chapter in the kingdom's history. Lord Corlys Velaryon had taken on the role of Hand of the King with an efficiency that surprised no one, while Lord Cregan Stark and his men prepared to return to the North.

However, among the new debates in the council, a matter arose that directly affected you. Marriage was a topic that, in times of peace, was treated with the same seriousness as in times of war. You were already of age to consider a suitable marriage, and several lords had shown interest in your hand.

The council actively discussed the best path forward, considering both your personal needs and political ones. Marriage, in the context of nobility, was not simply a bond between two people but a strategy that could affect the balance of power and alliances within the kingdom.

Meanwhile, you found yourself at a crossroads. On one hand, there was a desire to preserve your autonomy and make decisions based on your own desires and aspirations. On the other, the reality that a marriage could be a crucial strategic tool to consolidate alliances and strengthen the position of your House.

You had shown interest in several knights, though your attention had particularly focused on the lord of the North. The encounters in the hallways and conversations in the gardens had revealed a connection that went beyond mere courtesy. The mutual attraction between you and Lord Cregan Stark was evident, though kept with the discretion that court politics required.

When Lord Cregan made the formal proposal of marriage, no displeasure was shown on your part. On the contrary, the proposal was received with a mix of pleasure and expectation. The connection you had established with Cregan, combined with the political stability that a marriage with the lord of the North could provide, made the idea a logical and acceptable option.

The council, upon learning of the proposal, recognized that this union could strengthen relations between the North and the rest of the kingdom, creating a valuable strategic alliance in times of reconstruction.

You prepared to travel to the North, bidding farewell to King Aegon III and your mother. The journey promised to be long and challenging, but you were determined to move forward with this new stage of your life.

The North greeted you with the cold welcome characteristic of the region. The cold was intense and penetrating, a stark contrast to the warmer climate of King's Landing. Despite the harshness of the weather, Lord Cregan Stark was attentive and ensured that your stay was as comfortable as possible. His efforts to provide warmth and comfort were a tangible sign of his care and concern.

The wedding ceremony was scheduled for that night. The atmosphere in the castle was imbued with a mix of solemnity and anticipation. The ceremony would take place before an imposing weirwood tree, a symbol of the ancient tradition of the North. This majestic tree, with its wrinkled bark and evergreen leaves, would witness your vow to spend the rest of your life alongside your new husband.

The preparation for the ceremony was meticulous. You dressed in an elegant wedding gown adapted to the cold of the North, decorated with embroidery reflecting the region's tradition. Every detail was carefully considered to honor both your new family and the customs of the place.

As night fell, the castle filled with a warm and soft light, contrasting with the cold outside. Guests gathered around the weirwood tree, while bonfires created a cozy and ceremonial atmosphere.

When the moment came, you approached the tree, feeling the weight and importance of the commitment you were about to make. Lord Cregan, beside you, was equally prepared for the exchange of vows. In the presence of the men of the North and the gods they worshipped, you would pronounce your oaths, hoping that this union would bring both stability and a new beginning for both of you.

"In the Presence of old gods, I bind these two souls, joining them for eternity. Look at each other and say the words," ordered the maester of Winterfell with a solemn voice.

Lord Cregan, holding your hands with firmness and tenderness, recited the vow with a clarity that resonated in the cold night air:

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

You, with a pounding heart and a voice full of emotion, followed the ritual:

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

As you recited your vows, snow fell gently around you, creating a charming contrast with the warmth of the ceremony and the glow of the bonfire lights. The snowy landscape and the cozy atmosphere of the castle fused into a scene that seemed straight out of an ancient tale.

At the conclusion of the ritual, Cregan looked at you with an expression of deep emotion and devotion. Slowly, he leaned towards you, his eyes reflecting a bright intensity under the torchlight. With infinite delicacy, he placed a hand on your cheek, and his lips gently touched yours.

The kiss began with palpable tenderness, a light contact filled with promises for the future. It was a kiss full of the promise of support and unconditional love, one that extended and deepened over time. The connection between you was evident in every caress and in the way your lips moved in perfect harmony.

The cold night breeze, combined with the warm glow of the ceremony, created a magical atmosphere. The kiss, besides sealing your commitment, seemed to absorb the essence of the night itself, symbolizing the start of a new life together, full of hope and a love that promised to grow with each day.

When you finally parted, Cregan looked at you with a smile that spoke of his joy and commitment. The ceremony, although marked by the winter's cold, had been warm in spirit, and the future that awaited you seemed full of promising possibilities.

[baelarys]

Thérèse pt2

Aemond targaryen X Reader velaryon

Word count: 1644

Warning : anguts,Mention of suicide.

Author's note: I would appreciate it if you read this with the song la nave del olvido by José José

Thérèse pt1

The young lady entered the princess's room, the light curtains blocking the morning sun as she set down the new tray of food and removed the old one.

The room was quiet, although that was nothing unusual; hers lady must have been asleep, or perhaps she was already awake and her deep cloak of sadness had not allowed her to get out of bed.

With quiet, sure steps, he adjusted the curtains to allow a little more light to come in, hoping that the soft glow could offer some comfort to the princess. Then he approached the bed with a bow, watching to see if his mistress showed any signs of being awake.

"Good morning, my lady," she murmured respectfully. "I brought your breakfast. Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?"

SHe didn't hear any response, so she decided to move the curtains that provided more privacy to the bed. What she saw left her cold: The princess, whom she had known since she was a child, was lying in her bed without any sign of life. Her delicate face, as pale as snow, contrasted painfully with the plump cheeks that had always been a beautiful red.

The lady felt a lump in her throat as she tried to process what she saw. She approached slowly, desperately hoping to find some sign of breathing, some hint of life. But there was nothing. The princess, in her deep sadness, had finally succumbed.

With silent tears beginning to stream down her face, the young lady leaned down and took her mistress's hand, finding it cold to the touch. The dried blood soaked into the white sheets was silent testimony to the desperation and suffering the princess had endured.

Gathering what little courage she had left, the lady stood up and headed for the door. She knew that he should notify the others, but at that moment, her heart was overwhelmed with pain. With one last glance at the princess, the young lady left the room, ready to bring the sad news to those who needed to know.

"What?" said Queen Alicent, unable to believe what had happened.

"She... she is dead," the young lady repeated with a trembling voice, her gaze fixed on the stone floor.

"how? Gods, this can't be!" The queen's voice cracked as she sank into her chair, unable to process the magnitude of the tragedy.

The room fell silent, broken only by the echo of the young lady's shaky breathing and the queen's suppressed sob. Alicent, slightly recovering from the initial shock, struggled to her feet, her face reflecting a mixture of disbelief and pain.

"We must inform the king," She said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "And organize the preparations. Let the Masters examine the body and let the Septon pray for her soul."

The young lady nodded, wiping the tears from her face. The heavy responsibility of the news she carried did not allow him to falter. With firm steps, he headed towards the king's chamber, knowing that that day would mark a deep wound in the heart of the kingdom.

Alicent, still in shock, wiped away the few tears that escaped from her eyes. A grim thought crossed his mind: how would he tell Aemond? He was already dealing with the loss of his daughter, and now he would also have to deal with the death of his young wife.

With a deep sigh, she headed towards his son's chamber. The corridor seemed endless, each step carrying the weight of the news she had to share. Upon arriving, she found Aemond sitting in an armchair, absorbed in his thoughts.

“Aemond,” she said softly, his voice shaking, “I need to talk to you.”

He looked up, immediately noticing the gravity on his mother's countenance. Alicent knelt next to him, holding his hand tightly.

"It's... it's your wife. She... has passed away. I'm so sorry, my son."

Aemond froze, his face showing a mix of disbelief and pain before reality hit him. A heartbreaking sob escaped her lips as she leaned forward, holding her mother's hand tightly.

––––––––––

Queen Rhaenyra entered the council chamber, her commanding presence silencing any murmurs. With one graceful movement, he sat down in his chair.

“We can begin,” she said firmly, her eyes sweeping over each of the councilors present.

The room remained silent. The members of her council exchanged uneasy glances, none willing to be the first to break the tragic news. Rhaenyra watched them expectantly, sensing the tension in the air.

Finally, the Grand Master cleared his throat and stepped forward, bowing his head slightly in respect.

“My queen, I bring news from King's Landing,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “This morning, the young princess was found... lifeless.”

A whisper of dismay ran through the room. Rhaenyra remained silent for a moment, taking in the information. His expression was a mask of control, although shock was evident in his eyes.

“Y/N...?” she asked weakly “How…? She is dead? No, it can not be. My daughter had no enemies; The people loved her.”

Rhaenyra gave a nervous laugh, hoping that her child's death was a mistake, but she received no answer. The room remained in a tense silence.

“How?” she finally asked, tears held back in her eyes.

"From what it seems, the princess herself ended her life, or someone else did," the maester reported. "There are rumors that you yourself gave the order to end her."

Rhaenyra looked at everyone, bewildered.

"I!? Order the death of my own daughter?!” she shouted, “I'm dealing with the loss of a child and now the loss of my baby and my granddaughter.”

The room remained silent, all eyes avoiding her. Rhaenyra turned to Daemon, seeking some support, but his face seemed unchanged, almost indifferent to the tragedy.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, trying to regain control.

"You ordered that?!" Rhaenyra asked angrily once the council had left.

Daemon was sitting, looking at his hands.

"It was an accident," he said, trying to defend himself.

"An accident? How could that be an accident?" Rhaenyra approached her husband, anger and desperation in her eyes. "It is a disgusting and horrible act committed in my name, Daemon."

"You said you wanted Aemond." His voice did not show any regret.

"I said I wanted Aemond," Rhaenyra claimed, "I didn't say I wanted you to kill innocent children and women."

"It was an accident," Daemon repeated, this time with annoyance.

"It does not matter!" The queen cried, her voice cracking with anguish. "Your recklessness has cost me a daughter and a granddaughter."

The room fell silent. Rhaenyra fell into one of the armchairs as tears ran down her face.

"My sweet girl... she is dead now," she lamented, sobbing hard.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the sadness and despair of a mother who had lost her daughter. Rhaenyra, lost in her grief, barely noticed when Daemon stood up and approached her. He looked at her, his own eyes shining with a mixture of remorse and suppressed fury.

"Rhaenyra, I'm sorry..." he began, but his voice broke. The words that followed seemed empty given the magnitude of the tragedy.

"No," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can't understand what you've done. You have destroyed everything I loved. My daughter, my granddaughter…” she sobbed, her body shaking with the intensity of her pain. "I will never forgive you, Daemon. Never."

Daemon helplessly watched her fall apart. He knew there was nothing he could say or do to repair the damage done. The queen, broken inside, hugged herself, her sobs echoing in the empty room, a sad melody that marked the end of a hope and the beginning of a mourning that would never end.

The air in the room became thick, as if the castle itself was mourning the loss of its princess. The night, dark and silent, loomed over them, wrapping them in a blanket of infinite sadness. Rhaenyra, lost in her grief, curled up on the couch, her tears falling steadily as the reality of her loss settled deep in her heart.

Daemon, unable to bear the sight of his broken wife, slowly withdrew, leaving Rhaenyra in her pain, knowing that nothing could redeem him in her eyes. The queen, now alone, mourned the loss of her daughter, two innocent souls torn from her life by an act of incomprehensible brutality.

The echo of her sobs filled the room, echoing in every corner, a sad symphony of love and loss that would remain on the castle walls forever.

“Princess Y/N Velaryon was born in the year 113 A.C., the second daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and her husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon, whose paternity was questioned by the court.

From her childhood and throughout her youth, she was a happy and beautiful girl, loved by the entire kingdom, who nicknamed her "The Jewel of the Kingdom." At the age of 16, the princess married her uncle, Prince Aemond Targaryen.

From this union a daughter was born, Alysa, who unfortunately died while she was still a baby. Princess Y/N Velaryon was a rider of the dragon Dawnlight, a majestic silver dragon.

To this day, it has not been clarified whether the princess's tragic end was caused by her stepfather or if it was the loss of her daughter that led to her own death. Her memory, however, remains alive in the heart of the kingdom, which still remembers her with affection and reverence.”

—True account of Archmaester Gyldayn of the Citadel of Antigua