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bks-writing-adventures · 11 months ago

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Little Dancer (Aemond Targaryen X Lannister! Reader)

Summary: A wholesome little journey between the first time Aemond met his wife to the birth of their children.

Warnings: Mentions of childbirth, brief mentions of sex.

Aemond never thought he would be a father. He never even thought he would get married, until you came around at a ball. He forgot what it was, a name day of his nephews? Some celebration for his parents marriage? None of it mattered, because he sat still at his family table, watching the room dance and watching lords get drunk and stupid. And all of a sudden you had blocked his view, your hands on either side of his plate.

“Do all Princes sit pouting at balls?” You asked. The question flustered him, his one eye meeting yours. It was like you were challenging him, and the thought made his heart spin in his chest.

“Only when he has no one to dance with.” He answered. The words magically came to him, and he held his breath as he had waited for you to respond.

“It is a good thing I am here then, is it not? Or would you rather sit here, eating scraps and wishing to be elsewhere?” You were so teasing- so confident, and before he knew it, his hand was wrapped around yours, and you were walking backward as you dragged him to the dancefloor. He did not have the time to be self conscious, and he could no longer let his eye wander as his hands landed on yours, spinning you, watching how your skirts swished and your hair got fluffy and frizzed.

“So who are you, my little dancer?” He asked softly, holding you closer to him. You were warm, and he couldn’t tell what was making his heart pound. Your presence or the wine, or maybe an intoxicating blend of both.

“(Y/N) Lannister,” You answered, licking your lips as the song ended. “If you wish to get to know me, we should move somewhere quieter,” You said gently, and he smiled as his eye wandered.

“I know a place,” He said softly, his arm linked with yours as he carefully lead you out and into the gardens. It was quite the scandalous thing, he was well aware- but he didn’t care enough to stop. His brother was far from proper, he was a criminal and a disappointment. Speaking to a pretty girl in the garden would not be the worst crime. The garden hiccuped with the sounds of grasshoppers and frogs, and you smiled at the sound.

“Do you know what that sound is?” You asked softly, and he gave you a curious look as you walked further into the great land of flowers.

“Frogs,” He said simply, to which you nodded.

“Mating frogs. Do you know how many eggs a frog can lay at once?” You asked.

“Do you tell everyone your favorite amphibians facts, or am I special?” He smiled a little, trying not to let his interest show on his face.

“There are facts much more interesting than that,” You answered, and for a few minutes, the two of you simply walked in the quiet.

“How many eggs can a dragon lay?” You asked.

“You take an interest in dragons, My Lady?” He asked in return, to which you nodded. He quietly sat on a bench, pulling you down to sit beside him. The moonlight did not do much to guide either of you, but he could make out the bridge of your nose and the slight shine of your eyes in the darkness. “Well, they can lay five, at most.” He responded, wondering if that would be enough for you.

“Why is that? And what are they like?” You asked, resting your chin on your hand. You had always liked to learn about science, and this was your way in. Into the world of infinite books and knowledge. And he just had such a pretty face, which definitely helped the case.

“The eggs? They’re hard and large and scaly,” He responded, reaching over to touch your hand. It was a daring move, but he wanted to feel you. In the darkness, touch the soft skin of your hand and wrist, and you didn’t move away.

“Why is that? Are they not reptiles?” You asked quietly, and he had to lean closer to hear you.

“Dragons cannot be put into a box, My Lady. They are everything and nothing. No mortal could ever learn to understand them,” He murmured, gently guiding your hand to his mouth so he could kiss it. He wasn’t sure what it was about you that attracted him so. You were just so unconventional, untrained. It was fascinating.

“Not even Targaryens?” You asked softly as his breath tickled your fingers.

“Certainly not. We only shout commands and hope they listen,” He chuckled softly. He was about to speak again when a loud shout suddenly broke the walls of intimacy around them. For the love of Gods, this did not look good. He wasn’t sure if he pushed your hand away, or if you pulled it back, but all contact was quickly broken as the two of you rushed to stand up.

“Aemond, what is the meaning of this?” His mother sounded rather angry. She always was, whenever something like this happened. This was the worst possible time for her to wander over.

“Mother, I was simply conversing with the Lady Lannister, and-” She cut him off, making his lips purse.

“Without a chaperone, in the darkness, away from the sights of others? Do you understand how scandalous this is?” As you both shrunk under her lecture, neither of you argued back. And soon enough you and Aemond were sat before his mother and your own as they discussed.

“We did nothing unholy. We were only speaking of the anatomy of dragons,” You frowned, to which your mother quickly shook her head.

“Is that what they call it nowadays? This is out of control, and now your honor is ruined,” She huffed, and you stared down boredly at your hands. This is not how you thought your night would go, and the next sentence only made things more bizarre.

“Her honor is not ruined, and I will ensure it. I intend to make (Y/N) my wife.” Aemond spoke, making your head quickly turn. All arguments died out like a flame without air, his eye soft and apologetic as he looked at you. But neither of you could claim to be mad about it. It was only the Gods’ odd way of making a match, and the next days were full of shy conversation and blushing cheeks, loomed over by your parents as they dissected every interaction.

“I have a gift for you,” he said softly, pulling out a large book from his bag. It was bigger than your head, and the spine as so thick it could easily be mistaken for a brick.

“Wow,” You mumbled, trying to read the front cover, but it is not in Common. Your eyes looked to his face, a curious look taking over your own.

“It is in High Valyrian, its one of the oldest books in our library- well, not that one, that is a copy. The original would crumble like sand in your palms. But the language will be important for you to learn, I thought we could practice together,” He spoke, getting a little shy. It was a sweet sight, and you nodded as he explained.

“Then you should allow me to teach you some Nyvia.” You responded. His brows scrunched a little. He had never heard of the language in his life.

“And what is that?” He asked gently, intrigued. He didn’t realize you were bilingual, too.Your children would be an interesting batch.

“My mothers first language. It is dying out, not many speak it anymore. Are you familiar with the island of Nyav?” You asked, and he nodded slowly. He had read about it in history books. It had been a brilliant place of beautiful plants and even more beautiful people. The stories said that it was lost to the sea, or to conquering, no one was sure. You were like a God of the old world, sitting right before him.

“She lived there as a young girl, escaped before it disappeared, when she was betrothed to my father. I will admit that my own speaking is messy, but at least it is alive,” You spoke, slowly opening the book he had given you. You squinted a little. The letters were familiar, but the order was unlike anything you had ever seen. The longer he looked at you, the more questions formed in his head.

“Do you think you have any Valyrian in you?” He asked. Nyvia had belonged to no one at all, no one knew where the people came from, only that they had not been there all along. Perhaps it had begun with Targaryen’s fleeing the Doom, or other Valyrians that escaped to the sea and washed upon its shores.

“I do not think so. I do not look the part,” You reminded him, watching as his hand inched closer to yours, your fingertips brushing. It was perhaps the most touch you would be allowed until after you were married.

“White hair does not make a Valyrian. It was only a thought,” He said, gently shrugging. His mind wandered to your children, the ones he would have with you. How many there would be. If they would have hair like yours, or hair like his own. How they would look on dragonback, and if you could all fly together as a family. Vhagar was more than big enough for two. You could hold his waist, and he would fly ahead of the children, and they would follow him like ducklings. Maybe you would have 12 children, one for every moon of the year. He cleared his throat as his mother called for him. Your meeting was done for the day. And when two more moons passed, it was finally your wedding day. Your dress clung to every part of your body, and your hair was covered with a heavy veil, beaded with pearls and gems big enough to pay off an entire house.

The maids had tried to get you to agree to having pinned hair, or a more tradition style, but you declined. You never liked having too much on you, weighing you down. The air was stuffy with the breath of hundreds, and you tried not to look at the crowd as Aemond stood before you. “Kessa sagon sȳz. Laesi va nyke.” He murmured softly, and you nodded as your eyes studied his face. He was wearing his fanciest eyepatch. You wondered how many were in his collection, and if you would ever see him without it. If he slept with it on. As you both repeated the words of the Septon, and it came time for the kiss- you stared at each other for a long, awkward few seconds, trying to figure out which one of you would lean in first. You may have been brave enough to approach him that first night, when he was just a sulking stranger. But now things were so much bigger. You had an audience.

Finally, once he accepted you would not be the one to do it, he leaned down to press a brief, awkward kiss on your mouth, and you both parted with small, sheepish smiles. Once you were at your table, you both let out deep breaths from your lungs, and finally,you could curl up together, your arms looped around his as you giggled into his sleeve. “That was unbearable,” Your words were light, but the hit was strong, and he chuckled awkwardly. He had hoped the kiss was not that bad. But he felt a wave of uncertainty rushing into him. The first kiss was supposed to be magical, like you were bathing in fire and pureness and all that was good. But it felt like a child smushing two dolls together.

He only hoped that with time, things would get better. And oh, how they certainly did. The bedchamber was full of soft sounds, and for every moan came ten laughs and raised brows. “Mm.. you sound like you are being murdered,” He murmured into your shoulder, and you smiled as you squeeze his hand.

“And you sound like you’ve run 30 miles,” You responded as he panted onto your skin.

“Oh, hush,” He smiled, gently biting your neck.

“Little vampire,” You mumbled before he gently guided your face down to a pillow. He did not expect anything to come of your night of teasing and touch, but when six weeks had passed, he woke in the morning to you squirming from his arms.

“It is too early for you to wake.” He grumbled. He had been an early bird before your marriage, before he was up into the early hours of dawn inside you, kissing you, teaching you High Valyrian as you tried to teach him Nyvia.

“Yoane,” He spoke, and you shook your head.

“Yo-awn-ee.” You repeated, and he tried once more.

“Yoane,” He nodded, and you groaned into your hands.You were trying to teach him the words for love, your face pink with laughter. But as you rushed to the bathroom, your face took on an almost gray hue, and he found himself holding your hair in a big bundle as you spittled into the chamberpot, your belly soft and your nose sensitive. You were with child, or perhaps three or four, for when you reached your second trimester, you were a giant.

“Mmm… you are like a dragon,” He mumbled as he kissed upon your stretched skin.

“How so?” You asked softly, caressing his hair as his cheek pressed onto your belly.

“You are going to lay a whole clutch. You must have three or four in here,” He marveled at the size of you, and you rolled your eyes.

“I am telling your mother that you said that,” You responded, making his brows scrunch together.

“You would not dare.” In the months of your marriage, Queen Alicent had grown quite attached to you. While she loved her son, she had always found him to be rather an intense man. She wasn’t afraid of him, no, but she never thought he would find marriage. Find joy. She thought he would grow old and become a knight or a philosopher, and she was quite pleased with you for bringing out these new parts of him. And so, if she learned of his comments of your size, she would beat him messy with a sock. When you were finally about to burst at the seams, you learned that there were things far more stressful than a wedding day. It was like everyone wanted to see your baby plop out, Alicent walking the room as they propped your legs off.

“Would you mind leaving the room? This is a rather private matter,” Aemond spoke to his mother in a hushed voice, to which she gently shook her head.

“And I am to be the grandmother of this child. I am close family, am I not? This is a huge deal for you, my youngest son having his first child!!” She gushed, and you shifted uncomfortably.

“It may be hours before the baby arrives,” You groaned quietly, pushing the small wooden tools away from your legs. “I do not wish for too many to see my blood and my mess,” Your eyes held a certain fire, and your jaw clenched, and slowly her face filled with an understanding, nodding slowly. You were no Rhaenyra, and you were no enemy. You were her daughter in law, the wife of her youngest son. And so quietly, she left the room, leaving you to the midwives, the maesters, and your husband.

“Perhaps you would like to leave, My Prince. It is not necessary for the husband to stay,” One of the Maesters spoke, to which you quickly shouted.

“If you leave me I will ensure that you never get to hold the baby.” You said quickly.

“I would not dream of it, my dearest,” He responded, coming closer so you could hold his hand. Several hours passed of loud noises and angry shouts, little crescent moons cut into his hand from your grasp. Child after child escaped your womb, until a whole batch of seven was swaddled. The midwives had to call for backup to tend to all the children, each of them around five pounds. It was a concerning miracle, and Aemond’s eye widened as he stared at all the squirming infants.

“By the seven..” He murmured, quite literally. A child for every god. What a miracle it was. His heart fluttered with fear as he reached out to one of the infants, the only girl, her hand slowly curling around his finger. It was beautiful and scary all at once, like a comet scratching the sky. It was all so very real all of a sudden, his breath catching in his throat as his eye watered.

“Are they all healthy?” You asked softly, sitting up slowly, your hands curling up. “Yes,” One of your handmaids quickly told you.

“Small but mighty, they are all warm and crying,” She spoke, wiping sweat from your face. You smiled, taking a deep breath, your eyes slightly puffy as two of the babies were placed on your chest. Two of the boys, one with hair like your own, and the other with a head of snow, little curls still damp from birth. “Look at his little swirly wirlies.” You mumbled, and Aemond chuckled as he leaned over, two of the babies in his own arms. One with gingery Hightower hair, the other with hair like his own. What the litter you had. “How many girls?” You asked softly, reaching to gently take the blankets off, but Aemond answered you before you had to use your energy.

“Just the one,” He said softly, placing her on your belly. The two of you laid in the bed for hours, covered in babies on every limb and surface. It was a mess, a loud swarm of little coos and crying. But neither of you had ever been happier. Aemond never thought he’d be a good father, but he sure could do his best.

Thank you to everyone who reads!! Feel free to send in requests :)

-BK ♡

#house of the dragon #aemond x oc #asoiaf #aemond fic #aemond fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #dad! aemond

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bks-writing-adventures · 1 year ago

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The Prince and Princess of Death (Aemond X Ghost! Tully! Reader)

Word Count: 6.4 K

Summary: Aemond goes to Harrenhal to learn more of the world, instead, he learns about love, death, and the odd world of ghosts.

Warnings: Mentions of death, drowning, ghosts, light mentions of suicide, blood, it's low key giving Greek Tragedy but with a happy ending!

Everyone was painfully aware that Harrenhall was haunted. The whispers in the walls, the ominous things spoken in the dark, books moved and wailing carried by the winds. But in Aemond’s mind, what could a ghost do to him? There was no physical body, no pain to be caused, perhaps some sadness in seeing corpses walk, but he was confident in his ability to navigate. He simply wished to take some books and learn some new things of the world. The world that he wished to rule one day. And his mother had convinced him that this was an honor, for him to be invited in the first place. He was fantastic in his studies, and his mother was proud of that.

He didn’t have looks that could get him anywhere, so from a young age, when his face was sewn back together, he knew he would have to compensate for it. He read and read and read every book from front to back, had his own personal copies commissioned so he could write in the margins. He learned of the plants and the fish, war strategy, histories and philosophies. Only to find out that most Lords didn’t care to discuss such things.

It seemed most men were more interested in ladies and whores and wine. That, and the weather. The gods forsaken weather. But the moment he tried to bring up cloud formations, odd looks were shot his way. The one positive, however, was that Grover Tully had heard of his habits and sent an invite for him to come to Harrenhal for some days to study the rich history and plant diversity. There was no question about whether he would go, his grip on his reins tight as Vhagar slid across the rocky ground. The air was wet and smelled of things he could not identify, and yet, he was excited to learn, marching his way up to the castle that was once grand.

It was still the largest, yes, but there were leaks and cracks and full chunks missing. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to sleep inside, to have water trickle into your room and bats tap against your walls. But soon, he wouldn’t have to imagine, going right up to one of the holes and sliding in. It was dark, and the air felt thick and warm with light. He followed the candles, and smiled from the corridor as he saw the Lords and his daughters in the Great Hall, waiting for his arrival. “Ah, I see I used the wrong entrance,” He called out, making them jump. And to his delight, they seemed to find humor in his words.

“Ah, Prince Aemond! I am glad you could make it,” Lord Tully was kinder than expected. His eye narrowed, and he was hunting for undertones. For violence, or perhaps, teasing. He knew the game of court, and he knew the way of tongues. And he knew that when most people spoke, they did not truly mean the words that escaped them. But this old man, he was all chuckles and drunkenness. A little tipsy as he stumbled to the dining table.

“Please, join us for our evening meal!” He called out, waving him over. He was hesitant for a moment, and as he walked, he could swear that he felt footsteps beside him, copying him, holding him. He tried not to look, but after a moment, he glanced over. And though he could see nothing- no, this was his brain playing tricks on him. He had read about this, the placebo effect. If he truly believed the place was haunted, he would begin to feel things, to hear things that were not there at all. Clearing his throat, he sat at the first seat available. Lord Tully had three daughters, and they looked similar to him. Slightly masculine in nature, their shoulders wide and their features strong, but there was a sweetness.

He could believe they were triplets, if he were told. They had curls of ginger that rippled out like waves of the sea, and jewelry on their fingers, all of them matching. As he sat on the chair, they looked at him, a curl in their lips as if contemplating whether or not to speak. “Perhaps the Prince would like a different chair, this one is far more comfortable,” Lord Tully spoke, a bit of tension in his voice. Aemond could tell that he had broken an unknown rule, standing up and relocating.

“My apologies, I was not made aware of your preference,” He spoke, his hands on the armrests.

“We should have informed you. That chair belonged to my late daughter, (Y/N). We keep it open for her,” The thought saddened him, but he tried not to show it on his face. He tried to think of what that would be like. Despite living with his family, he felt that he was greatly distanced from them. He and Aegon did not speak often. Sometimes, Aegon would speak to him, but only to taunt and ask for coin when he ran out. He liked Helaena, and sitting with her, but she was not much of a chatterbox. Though they did share a connection, he liked to think, through the trauma they shared. He was pushed away for his looks, whereas she was pushed away for her mind. He was close with his mother and not with his father, and his uncle? Forget about it. But to see this family, leaving a chair open for their dead kin. It touched him, in a way.

“Of course,” He nodded, looking down at the meal that he was served. Fish, buttery and flaky and smothered in bread crumbs to mask the flavor of the off season. Wine that was more bitter than what he was used to, but he drank it anyway. He knew to respect the space, and to nod as they asked him questions.

“Do you like being a Prince?” One of the ladies asked, to which he nodded.

“Sometimes. I am very lucky, I don’t know the feeling of an empty stomach or the pain of not having fine clothes. But the responsibilities are heavy, and the court is boring,” He smiled, trying to coax out some laughter, some approval from this group he would be spending his time with.

“So, I hear that you read a lot. Have you ever considered writing anything of your own?” Lord Tully asked, his mouth full of potato. Aemond thought about the question for a moment, rolling it around in his head. “Perhaps one day. But I am now too young to be an expert on anything. And I am not much of a storyteller, i’m afraid. I am more fascinated with history and science,” He answered, and as his eyes wandered the table, he could swear that a figure filled the seat of the dead lady. He blinked, and as his brows scrunched together, his eye squinting, she was still there. Her gown soft and white, her eyes matching as they seemed to wander the room, her face warm from the candle light.

“I’m sorry, do you-” He paused, staring at the table.

“Yes. She comes and goes as she pleases,” One of the ladies spoke up, and when he looked again, she vanished. His heart thumped in ihs chest, and he squirmed in discomfort. They were so casual about it, and he held his breath in his cheeks.

“Oh. I- I see.” He mumbled quietly. He tried to ease his mind. Surely this was just a joke they were playing, having one of their maids come and run away. He bent his head to look under the table, to see if a jester was hiding beneath it. But there was nothing, nothing but shoes and the ends of frilly skirts.

“So, no writing for you, then?” Lord Tully asked, and he quickly shook his head.

“What do you think happens when we die? Do you believe in the Seven?” One of the ladies asked, resting her face in her palms. They had a breathy way of speaking, as if they had just ran all around.

“Yes, my lady. I am quite passionate in my faith. I visit the Sept quite frequently with my mother, and I have read the Seven Pointed Star more times than I can count on my fingers,” He responded pridefully.

“Hm.” She hummed shortly. “It is all nonsense,” She hummed softly, putting her utensils down. “I am retiring for the night, good night, father!” She spoke, and like ducklings, her sisters followed, giving their father a kiss on the forehead before rushing off to their chambers. He sat in awkward silence for a moment before the Lord spoke up.

“Do not mind them, they are young and questioning things and mourning their sister,” He said gently, pouring himself a new chalice of wine. Aemond nodded, folding his napkin over his plate, rubbing his hands together.

“I understand. My father is not doing entirely well these days, I feel as though my mother acts as though he is already gone,” He admitted, his face flushing. He did not know why he admitted it, to a stranger, nonetheless. Lord Tully nodded, giving him an understanding smile.

“That is how it tends to be, is it not? I mourned my (Y/N) long before she was gone,” He said quietly, and Aemond stared at him for a second, trying to pick up more clues.

“And… how did your daughter die, may I ask?” The words felt unnatural, and his voice came out soft, almost warm. Lord Tully did not seem the slightest bit uncomfortable as he responded. “A drowning incident. But there was so much more than that. I remember, some weeks before her death she began to have a curiosity for the unknown. My daughter always wanted to write an epic story of the sea, and i’ve searched aimlessly for whatever she may have. A page, a sentence, but I come back empty handed. I suppose she was on one of her adventures, the late night or the early morning, we will never know. But she washed up with afternoon tea. My eldest, Mae, went to fetch her for cake and cream. When they could not find her, they went to her favorite spot It was her favorite, because it was where the small stuff would wash up.

She couldnt be more than a few feet away from the most beautiful shell i’ve ever seen. She was facing the sky, like she was only sunbathing. But to see her, her tongue purple and her eyes open like that.. It is something that I will not live long enough to forget,” He spoke, his voice going melancholic before he suddenly pressed his palms against his table. “But enough about our suffering. How was your meal?” He asked. This family discussed death like the Lords spoke of the weather.

“Oh! It was, very good. Is that- was that white fish?” he asked, making the Lord chuckle.

“Cod! The finest of fish. I find it pairs best with orange wine, but alas, we have run out,” He responded. “Now, allow me to show you to the guest chambers. You are lucky, it is right near the library. Feel free to read anything you want, I only ask that you do not read and eat, and do not take the old text outside, the sun will bleach the pages,” He said, and Aemond nodded as he soaked up the information like a sponge. The chambers were.. Well, they left much to be desired. There was a nice big bed, a fire place, a table to put his things, a few bottles of water, a small couch. But the trees screamed outside, and rain drops flew in with the wind. There was an empty wardrobe, dusty from lack of care.

“Thank you, My Lord.” he spoke, placing his things down. He preferred to travel light. A change of clothes, some night wear, a few extra eyepatches, his own quill and journal to keep track of his studies. He sighed as he changed into his soft, cotton night clothes- and as he looked in the mirror, his heartbeat quickened as a hand touched his torso. He let out a loud sound, whipping around to try and figure out what was there, his hand wrapping around the handle of his dagger. He didn’t call out into the dark, he stayed quiet as he inched toward the wardrobe, pulling the wooden doors open. Nothing. Slowly, he turned. He could feel something touching his hair, his hand moving wildly through the strands, trying to shake something out.

He could hear a giggle, and when he turned, he could finally see something. The soft silhouette of a woman going out the door, except, of course, she did not open it- she simply went through it, giggling down the hall. He could hear the pitter patter of her feet, his mouth parted as he opened the door, rushing down the hall, trying to figure out where the creature was going. He wasn’t supposed to believe in all this, but it was right before his eye. He could reach out and touch her, if she let him. “Hello?” he called out, trying to keep his voice calm. He slowly approached a door, one that’s knob was becoming worn down from touches, from going in and out. His fingers curved so naturally around it, and he drew in a deep breath as he slowly opened it. It howled with a creak, and he winced at the noise, looking around, as though someone would call him on his trespassing. He slowly made his way inside, and he softened at the sight. It was brighter than the other rooms, the walls splashed with blue and covered in small paintings, lazy swirls and hand prints.

He lifted his hand to the dark blue paint, biting his lip as he pressed his handprint over the one forever stained into the wall. His hand was much larger, covering up the mark with the width of his palm. His brows scrunched together, and he felt connected to it, her, whatever this entity was. Even if it was just for a moment. The giggle tickled his ears again, and he turned his head to look at the bed. A shadow rested on it, hidden by a sheer canopy, seashells stitched into the fabric. He didn’t know what compelled him to move forward, but before he knew it, he was staring down at her, and she was staring up at him. He pushed the fabric aside, sitting down on the bed. It was soft, squishy. “My Lady?” he whispered softly as the moon dragged across the blankets. The light made her show, the outline of her nose, the fuzzy halo of her hair. He was talking to the air, to the mere idea of something. But he continued.

“Are you there?” He asked. Slowly, he could see her becoming more solid. Becoming alive as the night aged, as the stars twinkled in the sky, and when the next breeze came, he could feel her hair brushing his nose. He smiled faintly at the feeling, reaching out to touch it. It felt like spun sugar, weightless in his hands. He should be afraid. Of himself, for being insane enough to see this. To believe it.

“Can you speak?” he asked. There was a soft hum, and it echoed off the walls, crawling into his ear and sliding across his brain.

“You are warm,” Her voice felt like a song, and he felt heat rising into his cheeks. He had read fables. Every culture seemed to have a different interpretation of the sleeping ladies. Women who killed themselves, who were silenced in their lifetimes, returning to whisper to lost souls and sleeping sailors. The Tully had drowned, and yet, as he looked at her now- she seemed enchanted. Like a mermaid hundreds of feet in the waves, hair flowing around, her skin tinted blue with the ocean. And yet her face remained full, and her skin glowed. She was not frightening at all. And slowly, she leaned closer.

“I am warm?” He repeated back to her, reaching out his hand. He wanted to touch her, to feel how cold her skin must be. To wonder if she really was as her sisters said, still swimming in the sea.

“Yes. Like fire.” She whispered back, and when their skin touched, he felt a sting rush up his arm. Like a million needles penetrating his skin. He grunted, yanking his hand back, staring at it with a bewildered expression. Maybe ghosts could hurt. “It is alright,” She whispered, reaching out again. Her hands moved unnaturally, as if they were flowing around like the tentacles of a jellyfish. “Please don’t hide from me,” Her voice was melting him like butter, and much to his displeasure, he gave in. He let her run her cold hands along his nose, over the base of his brows. “You are so beautiful. So alive.” She studied him like she had never seen a human being before, smiling as she touched his hair.

“I would hope so,” He said hesitantly, getting a bit closer. “Are you the drowned lady?” He asked, brows raised.

“Is that what they call me now?” She asked. He smiled, she was teasing him. He could see dimples in her cheeks, a slight tilt in his head. His mind wandered as he looked at her. She still came to her room, she still haunted this house.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

“This is my room,” She responded matter-of-factly. He smiled at her, licking his lips as his eyes continued to wander. There were shells everywhere, articles of clothing, her wardrobe still parted. It was painted with light blue and pink, and her socks were still on the floor with the muddy imprints of sand and toes. Her family probably hadn’t touched anything since she died. Including jars of water that were beginning to mold.

“I know that, but.. Here, in this realm. You aren’t in the Heavens or the Hells,” He said softly. She hummed, slowly getting up. Her dress danced in unnatural ways, the fabric flapping and floating all around her, glowing dots across her back in the shape of a fish.

“There are the Heavens, the Hells, and Harrenhal.” She responds, reaching out her hand to touch her wardrobe, being sure to stay in the light of the moon. Her hand reached out, and she knocked her knuckles against the wood. The sound echoed, and she smiled softly. “I stay here for my sisters. But I can go anywhere in the world,” She spoke fondly, as if death were a vacation.

“Is this what happens? To everyone who dies here?” he asked. He hadn’t seen any other ghosts, at least, as far as he was aware. She didn’t respond to his question, only continuing to wander in her own little world.

“You are the boy who reads.” She says, her big eyes looking at him. It was a bit hard to tell where she was focusing, as she no longer had irises. She just looked.. Vacant, in a way. The sight made shivers run up his spine.

“I am, I read a lot. Does that interest you?” He asked. Never in his life did he think that he would be flirting with a ghost. She rolled her eyes, he could tell in the twitch of her eyelashes.

“But you do not write,” She spoke. Ah, she had been listening in. Only then, at the dinner table, he hadn’t realized just how real she was.

“I don’t- well, not publicly, anyways. But I enjoy journaling,” He couldn’t believe that he was saying all of this out loud.

“When I was alive, I always wanted to write the best of stories. I had so much to say,” She says softly, and he can see her roaming the room to the bookshelves, caressing all the spines. Her words hit his heart, and he slowly rises to join her. “Death is very lonely. Most of my friends have left to the other side, but there is still business for me, here. It is a shame I cannot talk to my sisters,” She says gently, slowly picking up a book. It seems to fight her touch as she pulls the brittle pages open.

“But I am talking to you right now, My Lady. How is it that I can hear you and they cannot?” He asked, to which she shrugged.

“Quite the curious thing, isn’t it? If only there were a handbook for the dead. I fear that everything I do is a wildcard. I never know what will come of it. It is only in this room that my touch can travel into the real world,” She said, and as though to prove it, she reached out and pinched his cheek. He thought her touch would be cold and haunting. But it felt warm, and it reached into his heart, squeezing it tight. He had to fight the urge to lean into her.

“So what happens now?” He asked. He could not tell where this was going, or why he was here in the first place.

“I suppose I can only beg you to keep me company. What have I missed in the world?” She asked, and they spent hours staring at the ceiling as he told her of war overseas, of family drama, of insecurities that he kept well hidden.

“LIfe is too short to be insecure, My Prince,” She responded, to which he scoffed. He almost answered with something petty, but he quickly stopped himself. It was hard to remember that she wasn’t truly here, especially when she felt so real. So real that everyone else seemed fake. It was a shame, he could see himself falling in love with her. He had no desire to marry in Riverrun, and in his luck, he had fallen for the one woman he literally could not have. Not in any way.

“I suppose you’re right. But at least I do not intend to go swimming in the deep sea for shells,” He teased, holding his breath as he hoped for a laugh. Maybe joking about her death was in poor taste, but to his relief, she smiled.

“No, but you do frequently find yourself in the skies on the back of a scaly beast,” She said in return. He chuckled, shaking his head as he reached to play with her hair.

“Vhagar is no beast, she is a companion,” He responded, sighing as his touch reached to her nose and cheeks.

“I still cannot believe that I died in the sea,” She mumbles softly. “How fragile life is. But at the end of the day, we are just a bag of skin and bones. You drop it from high enough, and it will burst,” She mumbled, to which he nodded. He hesitated before he spoke next, licking his lips.

“I wish that we could have met when you were alive,” He mumbled softly. She gently shook her head, reaching to play with his eyepatch.

“We wouldn’t have liked eachother then. Death has made me wiser. I fear I would have only annoyed you when I was alive,” She responded, and he nodded quietly.

“I will probably think the same one day. When I am old and withered.” He responded, and she slowly sat up.

“Yes, I am sure you will regret this Grim Reaper attire you storm around in,” She commented, making him scoff.

“Many people enjoy my clothing, actually,” He teased, and she shook her head.

“It still will not be your proudest moment… but you do look rather handsome,” She spoke, making blood burn in his cheeks. He hadn’t been called handsome, not by a lady of the court, or of course, a ghost. Only his mother when he dressed up for his nameday, or the whores who kept him company and showered him with compliments so long as he showered them with payment. He looked at her quietly, feeling his face going soft. This was so humiliating, and the only thing that would hear of it would be the parchment of his journal and the ink in his quill. “Were you this beautiful when you were alive?” He asked quietly. He was utterly captivated by her, and his brows furrowed as he watched her slowly fade with the sun rise. Like a vampire disappearing into the shadows.

“I am uncertain. I don’t know what I look like anymore, the mirrors do not cater to souls,” She spoke, looking over at the wall. There was a round, silver backed mirror covered in seashells and little twirls of gold and twine, and inside it, he could only see his own face staring back at them.

“Are you disappearing?” He asked quietly, reaching to touch her hand, his fingers falling right into the blankets. She smiled at him, and he could see the walls through her face.

“Why, are you going to miss me?” She asked, brows raised as she backed into the slimming shadows. He wanted to say no, to roll his eye at the idea. But he knew he could be vulnerable with her. He found comfort in her condition, knowing that she could not go talking to people about them, about him, and the way that he was getting so gentle for her.

“Of course, my Lady,” he responded.

“Very good. Now, you need to get back to your rooms before my father finds you in here,” She says, moving through the wall. He wanted to respond, but as he stared at the small, bright spot in the wall, it slowly faded like a flame without air. And now his lady was gone. With a sigh, he quietly made his way back to the guest chambers, laying on his back. He hardly got any sleep before the birds were chirping, and he blinked away any sleepiness that remained. He had slept a total of two hours, but he had never felt so, well, awake. (Y/N) he woken something up inside of him, making him smile, making his heart tremor.

He changed quickly into his day clothes before making his way down to the dining hall, walking slow in the hallways in hopes of catching her whispers. The sounds of her footsteps, a glimpse of her in the shadows. And when there was nothing, he tried to hide his disappointment. “Ah, My Prince, I see that you are awake. Feel free to help yourself to fish and toast,” Lord Tully spoke, and he bit his tongue. These people really did enjoy having fish for every meal, but he could hardly blame them. The water was where most of their wealth and resources came from, down to the clay they used to sculpt their goods. His eye wandered around the table, looking at all the faces of (Y/N)’s sisters. He could see the small resemblances.

The slightly wild brows, the light glow of their skin. “I thought you may like to go with my daughter, Elaena, into the wetlands today. There are many exquisite creatures there, be sure to bring your books and bottles,” He nodded in response to the invitation, getting a little awkward at the idea of spending a whole day with a lady. He ate his breakfast slowly, his gaze darting to the vacant seat that haunted the table. Nothing. Not even her shadow. He sighed into his cup, stacking his plates when he finished. He took his leather bag on his shoulder, following Lady Elaena outside.

“You met my sister last night,” She spoke matter-of-factly. He was immediately on edge, looking down at her. She was rather short, especially for a lady in the Riverlands. Her eyes were dark, and she seemed a little out of it, as if she was constantly in her own world.

“I did. I met all of you,” He responded. He didn’t know why he felt so protective over his talks with (Y/N). They felt especially intimate.

“Yes. Even my dead one. What did you speak of?” She asked, crouching down as their feet began to sink into the marsh. Her fingernails were stained brown and green from clay and plants. She was far from what the courts would consider feminine, and yet, she had something special about her. Maybe it was because she looked so much like (Y/N), but he felt a smile spreading on his face as he watched her.

“How do you know of our talk?” he asked quietly. Maybe (Y/N) could actually speak to her sisters, maybe she was playing with him, trying to make him feel like some sort of chosen one.

“I like to go to her room, when I cannot feel her anymore. She leaves notes sometimes. When I opened her diary, there was something new inside. Talk of a pretty Prince that made her dead heart sing.” She responded, grabbing his hand to make him hold a container for her. She was looking through all types of rocks, hitting some against others to make them crack in two. It was clear that she shared her sisters’ love for the wild. He blushed as she spoke, and he took a deep breath as he tried to collect his thoughts.

“It is funny, that if I had come only some moons ago, I could speak to her in the flesh,” He said, a bit of sadness covering his face. What a life they could lie together. Spending every day like this, bent at the river, looking at the sea, collecting things and wondering what they could be. They could have even gotten married. He tried not to let his mind go so far. He was just romanticizing her, he hardly knew the girl, the ghost, and yet, she already had him. Had him in her little dead palms.

“Perhaps. But you couldn’t have prevented her death, none of us could. I am not meant to speak of it, but everyone knows that she loved the arts. Even the ones that she was meant to stay away from. She gave her life for her discoveries, it is only a shame that none of us will ever see them. I wonder how many secrets died with her in the sea,” She mumbled solemnly. Arts that she was not meant to explore, that could only mean one thing.

“She studied the dark magicks?” He asked, brows raised. He would say that she did not seem like the type, but between the shell-covered mirrors and her soft gaze, he could not deny that there was something magical about her.

“I do not think that is the word for it. I do not believe any magick is dark. It is only the intensions that matter. She wished to change the world, and she did. She changed all of us the moment that last breath escaped her lungs. There is a hole that must be filled, we just do not know what to do with it. Her soul remains in our home and we have no way of freeing her. It is not a good feeling,” She mumbled softly, reaching into the water and pulling out a small fish, studying its shining scales. “I do not think she was just hunting for any seashell. It was a spell of sorts. She had to perform a ritual beneath the moon, where she had to trade something sacred of hers for a prize of her desires. I do not think she knew that she would be trading her life,” She spoke gently, standing back up. “This is an aclin pod. It creates a complex poison that can boil the skin, when it penetrates the surface. But you can eat it safely, isn’t that odd?” She asked, her eyes bright and curious as if she had not just revealed the darkest of secrets.

“What was the prize?” He asked quietly. She simply looked at him, let out a soft hum, continuing to walk. “Elaena, what was the prize?” He asked, following behind her as they went through the forest.

“I do not know. I do not think she knows, either. Maybe the whole thing was a great big trick,” She mumbled, and after that, the Tully did not speak again. The story swam in circles around his mind until dinner, until he was poking at a pile of potatoes, ready to get up and rush to (Y/N)’s room, to talk to her again. When the plates were finally cleared, he made the statement that he was so tired from a long day of research, saying a gentle good night as he quickly made his way up the stairs, and finally, as he was surrounded my the dark corridors, he could hear her giggles.

“Did you miss me, my little Prince?” Her voice whispered, and he could feel the vibrations against his ears. He smiled, quickly opening the door to her room. He was worried that maybe it wouldn’t be there at all, covered in cob webs and missing all the charms. But to his relief, she was there, kneeling on the bed as she smiled up at him. “Well, did you?” She asked, brows raised. He sighed, finally kneeling in front of the bed so they could be at eye-level.

“What do you think?” He asked softly, reaching his hands to touch the fabric that rested on her skin. It felt like nothing, like the feeling of seafoam’s caress on a sticky summer day. He played with the light blue material, wondering if there was anything underneath it.

“I do not want to think, I want to know,” She teased, and he licked his lips.

“Of course I missed you, My Princess,” He responded. He didn’t know what was coming over him, a mix of desire. Desire to hold her, to touch her, to cling to her, to bond with her. Just to be with her entirely.

“I am no Princess,” She responded softly, reaching to touch his hands. It felt so good to feel their skin together, to feel her, so alive in his hands.

“You are to me, my beautiful Princess of death,” He spoke, reaching to touch her chin, to pull her closer. She was a siren, pulling away at all the barriers between them, enchanting him, intoxicating him. Maybe that was the truth. Maybe that’s what she was now, a drowned maiden turned goddess. And he wanted to be her God. “Your sister told me the most fascinating story about you, about magick and a ritual. Is it true?” He asked softly. He was so close that his eyelashes brushed her skin, and if she had a heartbeat, he’d be able to feel it against his skin. She nodded softly, leaning forward until she could feel his breath on her face. It felt so warm. She had missed this.

“Of course it is,” She responded. He nodded slowly, not backing away from her. In fact, he leaned closer, kissing her cheek, just to see if he could. He was pleasantly surprised to find his skin brushing against hers, to feel the heat of her cheeks.

“And what was this great prize that you traded your life for?” He asked quietly. She didn’t say anything, leaning toward him again, aiming to kiss his mouth. The thought excited him, but he leaned away. “No, no… give me the answer first,” He spoke, holding her face. He liked the way her skin moved under his thumbs, how he could squish her cheeks like dough.

“Love.” She responded, making his head tilt. He thought she would want great powers, or status, or to transform into a mermaid or something. But love? He wasn’t sure he saw that coming. And someone so lovely and sweet as her, so beautiful, to have to perform magick for love? It confused him greatly, but he slowly nodded.

“And did death give you this love…?” He asked, slowly sewing the pieces together like a quilt in his mind. She smiled at him, pulling him closer until their lips could meet in a brief, small kiss. He felt his whole body burn under her, and he closed his eye, licking his lips for all the remnants of her touch.

“I like to think so,” She mumbled into his mouth, and soon, they were kissing again and again, slipping beneath the untouched blankets of the bed, sending a cloud of dust into the air that made them both laugh.

“I didn’t think i’d ever fall for a dead girl,” He spoke. It sounded so insane, but then again, it was probably not the oddest thing to happen to him.

“I did not think i’d ever find my prize,” She responded, her hand landing just over his heart, feeling the foreign thump in her hand. “Aemond,” She said quietly, making his head pick up from the crook of her neck.

“Will you join me in death?” She asked. He paused, lifting himself up as their eyes met.

“I-” He paused, trying to figure out what it was that she was asking of him. Was she to wait the years until his body was frail and decaying? Or was she asking for something else? The answers came silently when her hand brushed over his dagger. He gazed down at her, and slowly, he complied with her request.

When the sun rose and the Second Son was stained red on the bed, it did not take a genius to know what happened. He had gone peacefully, with a smile still settled in his porcelain face like a little doll. (Y/N)’s room was tainted with death, and the scent lingered in the air even when the blankets were gone. Elaena stared as they took his body into a carriage, and she smiled to herself as soon as she could. In death, her sweet sister finally got their prize. And for decades to come, with every new guest in Harrenhal, they could hear two laughs bouncing off the dark walls, soft moans singing from the Lady’s old chambers, and every now and then, ink would paint the pages of her aged journal.

‘Let us all find love in the next life,

Sincerely,

The Prince and Princess of Death.’

Thank You to everyone who reads! This was a little different from what I usually write, but I hope its a good different!

-BK ♡

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