ewanmitchelll

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine you were betrothed to Aemond Targaryen until circumstances impeded the match to concretize. Now, years later… will you and him be persuaded this is the right timing to amend things?

Warnings: drama, light smut. Long post.

***

• I

As the second child and oldest daughter of Lord Gwayne Hightower, you are privileged to be sent to your aunt’s household and there be raised as her royal ward.

Your Hightower charms do manage to captivate Queen Alicent at the time of your arrival—as well as King Viserys, by then very alive and in good health, who treats you as his own daughter. In the meantime you are settling at court, you ought to share the same apartments with your royal cousin, Princess Helaena, the first of your regal relatives to make your acquaintance.

“Greetings, Y/N. In green and black wheels, our fortune will gravely depend on it, I’m afraid. But you are a welcome addition to our misadjusted family.”

At first you do not understand the meaning of her words, however, your kindness speaks louder than reason so you flash her a smile—rather than pushing her away as so many have done before, which surprises the princess.

“Noble families are often troubled homes to be raised within, cousin. Every privilege comes with a price and aren’t we all willing to pay for it? Either way, thank you for receiving me. I hope you can find in me a friend to rely on.”

Initial distrusts put aside, Helaena nods her head. The idea of having a friend melts away her defenses and makes her smile to you.

“Do you like embroidery?”

“I fear I do not excel at it, but it is a pastime of mine”, you smile warmly.

“Very well. Come and follow my lead, I’d like your help to proceed with my work on it.”

“Gladly”.

And a bond is now forged.

*

Aemond watches as you walk almost arm in arm with Princess Helaena. You are dressing a green gown with long sleeves and your red hair falls loose behind your back. Some of the curls does in fact remind him of his mother.

But in secrecy the teenaged boy thinks you are prettier than the Queen.

“You should speak to her”, he struggles to hold back a sigh at the voice of Aegon. “Aren’t you doing your duty and welcoming her properly, brother? My, where are your manners?”

In order to avoid Aegon’s annoyance further, Aemond does in fact go after you. Like a shadow, he moves silently. Once spotting you at the gardens, he awaits for the best moment to get to you. With Helaena out of the sight, Aemond takes his chance.

“If the rumors are true, we are marrying when we reach age”, you turn around only to spot this long silver haired male who is likely the same age as you, counting three and ten summers.

You curtsy out of respect. Aemond nods his head in turn.

“Well, I wasn’t told of marriage prospects yet, but I would be lucky if this proves to be true”.

“Lucky? I lack my brother’s charms”, the boy chuckles in abhorrence. “Surely you must have met him.”

“I believe we have been introduced, yes. But I do not think he has any charms, if anything he’s an annoying prince”, you are pleased to find the Targaryen male chuckling. “And whom might you be, suitor of mine?”

Aemond does not admit at first, but you do strike him a positive impression, reminding him of the damsels he used to read about in chivalric novels.

“Lord Aemond Targaryen, Madame”, and here he does a proper bow.

“Cousin Aemond”, the way you break formalities so easily leaves him disconcerted. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard about you.”

“Good things, one hopes.”

“Naturally so. Would you care to spend the rest of the day with Helaena and I?”

Aemond’s reason urges him to leave you, but his tongue decides otherwise.

“I believe I am free off my duties, so why not?”

*

Later that evening, one could not stay too far from the other. Aemond soon comes to find out how much you and him have in common. To his surprise you are very educated.

“I prefer the philosophers of the East”, you tell him. “They are deeper in thoughts and observations about life. The ancient ones, in the days of Old Valyria, left some good works.”

“How’d you reach out to it?”, asks the prince, impressed.

“Well, living nearby Old Town has some advantages”, you laugh quietly. “Daeron has helped me with it.”

Something about his younger brother doesn’t sit well with Aemond. A sensation close to jealousy comes uninvited. But the prince disguises it well, though.

“How’s he by the way? I barely remember him now. We’ve been apart for many years.”

“He’s doing great and he misses his siblings too”, you tell him. “It is very lonely the journey to become a maester. And yet… if I can say anything about your younger brother is that he possesses a very sensitive soul.”

“Hum. Probably he’d be a better companion than Aegon”, he chuckles low.

This twilight you two are pacing around the castle. For a pair of youth, it is striking to see both of you discussing philosophers, historians and all that is in between. Then as day turns into night and dinner is prepared, you are forced to part ways.

“Are you not coming to join us for dinner?”, you ask him expectedly.

Aemond isn’t sure how to react about the suddenly expectation he spots in your y/c eyes. He is left again disconcerted. A feeling he doesn’t appreciate at the same time he is found eager to please you.

Why? A voice asks him. But he refuses to find the answer.

“I will… just change my robes.”

Your lips spread in a large smile and it is a sight that warms his heart.

“Good. I’d like to see you there, my lord.”

“As you will, my lady.”

Hesitantly, one says farewell to the other in a very typical young manner—even though you and him shall meet within five and ten minutes.

*

You are very pleased to be told you are betrothed to Aemond. The sight of your delight, that you make no effort in disguise, is a good omen to all, and even the wayward prince is not immune to it.

“How can you be this content in becoming my wife?”, he asks you when you are found walking towards the yard where the prince is to be trained under the guidance of Ser Criston Cole. “I have no dragon to call mine own.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”, and you list his virtues and why each one earned you fondness. “A dragon doesn’t make you any less, my dear Aemond.”

But he cannot find a way to answer you properly for Ser Criston has summoned him to practice. It does little good to his pride when perceiving your presence. Your beaming presence. You are there to support him in ways few of his family ever did.

He casts you a long gaze and you hold it, pleased with the subtle certainty that he feels what you feel too.

*

Nevertheless, it’s you who eventually feels like an outcast for not being one who claims a dragon. In this comes your dear Helaena, who says:

“High you may fly, but not to skies you will find your might.”

You cast her a long glance. For a while you don’t speak a word but then curiosity gets the best of you.

“What is the price?”

Helaena ponders whether she can trusts you with her dreams. Eventually though, she realizes you are far more trustworthy with them than most of her relatives ever cared to comprehend such.

“A price of blood, I fear.”

You nod. Casting a glance to the clouds that begin to wipe out the blue that painted bright skies, you speak:

“What’s there to come, cousin? What have the Gods spoken?”

Putting aside her embroidery, Helaena slides to your side. Then she gently takes your hand and holds it quickly, showing in her way her fondness to you.

“If you are inclined to follow your heart, patience you must nurture for a hard path lies forward to us all.”

You have nothing else to say, baffled by these prophetic words. Nonetheless, if Helaena is resigned to whatever destiny she sees, you opt to trust in her and take the heels of such advice. After all, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve.

*

“Do you dance, cousin?”, this day you and him are set at Dragonstones to attend the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, wife to Prince Daemon Targaryen, who died in childbirth.

Aemond took you for a walk around the sands, misliking the whole ceremony. Now, as wind blows a cold breeze, he notices your red curls are made a mess, a victim of weather; a view of wilderness he most appreciates.

“Not if I can help”, says he with a serene countenance.

“Not even if one’s partner is… tolerable?”

“You trick me to your will, cousin”, and here he takes hold of your hand. And makes you twirl. “Are you pleased to remove my pride?”

“You cannot fault me for your own doings, Aemond”, and you wink at him before getting to start a race.

The prince rolls his eyes, but maybe acknowledges some truth in your word. As he starts to get after you, though, Aemond spots a large creature not too far from where both of you are.

For a moment he stops what he’s doing. For a moment, only a flying living old dragon could take his eyes off you.

Vhagar calls him, he knows.

But when you turn your head with your inviting smile, Aemond patiently leaves a new idea for later. Perhaps nothing is too dull in Dragonstone, after all.

An event that might drag both of you to a tragedy droll is set to happen, and who could foretell the consequences of an inconsequent choice?

***

• II

Old stones in old piles come to your eyes as the first rays in the morning come through the window glass and wake you up. You stare at that familiar wall, a witness of time, once the keeper of your safety… and now turned into golden cages.

You turn at your side of bed. It is a large, wooden made, very cozy indeed. But the warmth of your line blankets annoys you and you toss them aside. Impatience rises in your chest and before you know, your eyes are tearing up again.

I should have gotten used to it by now.

But can one easily accept the task of moving forward after getting to feel loved in the way professed by bards? You could still remember his laughters, his secret smile… the long days spent at library, sharing a lecture or when you opted to discuss about eastern old philosophy right at the dinner table, earning a quizzical glance of your royal aunt and an amused one of your regal uncle.

You miss his scent. You miss how unexpectedly he could be when pursuing your fingers and intertwining with his.

Years have gone by. You are not that mischievous, lively child anymore. You are now a damsel, whose prospective future is put on hold.

“Oh Aemond”, you move barefoot towards the window and opens it, suffocating, eager for some fresh air. As you do, you come across the sight of green hills and small villages not too far from the castle you spent your early childhood. No sign of clouds, nor even of… dragons.

One more day. Even now, your unending hopes are crushed. Again.

“You cannot forget your promise”, you whisper angrily in gritted teeth as if he’s somewhere unseen. “You told me you’d have my heart until you died, that you’d make me your wife. But you are very much alive! Oh, can the Gods be this cruel?”

When you close your eyes, you can still remember the last day you met. He had lost his eye and the two of you escaped to the sands where stars were the only witnesses of such daring move.

“Will you still be my wife after all of this happened?”

“I will”, you assured him firmly, your warm hand holding tightly his cold one. “How dare you consider I would ever leave you?”

Aemond chuckled. The sound of it was miserable to you. Could he be blamed for it, though? You comprehended him more than he’d know.

“I must say I have grown suspicious. Besides, an one eyed prince is not a charming prospective as a husband.”

“I object”, and here you force him to look at you, holding his chin gently with your right hand. “I will never forgive myself for not being there when those foolish, stupid kids did that to you. I would gladly take my heart out as proof of my unending loyalty to you.”

Aemond blushed. A weak, crimson shade of pink painted his pale cheeks. You didn’t know his thoughts, how could you? But they were about you and you alone.

“I could never doubt you, my lady Y/Nickname. Apologies if I misled you to believe so. I just… felt so unworthy of your affection.” Before he could hold his tongue, words were spitted out. “Do you love me?”

You too blushed underneath moonlight. You were frightened, but more so that he’d not correspond you. Even so, despite the uncertainty you felt, you risked speaking the truth.

“I do. I… love you, Aemond.”

Aemond blushed deeper, looking away for a moment. Then he turned at you, open mouthed, ready to give you his heart too… when a scowl was heard:

“Well well, it appears we found two besotted younglings prompted to do something only two besotted imprudent younglings intend to do.”

Uncle Daemon’s remark was enough to make one part of the other. Despite the mockery in his tone, used to impede either of you to notice he was in fact with Rhaenyra throughout the day, his words left its mark.

Ever since that day, though, you haven’t seen Aemond again.

*

Aemond stares at the moon, dancing alone in her majesty nightly reign. No stars are seen, no clouds are there to omit her from the mundane sight.

A cold breeze blows his silver locks, messing with his hair. The prince pays no mind to it. Today it is not about the looks nor about the power he is hungry to possess.

Having dismounted Vhagar, and already aware that many troubles lay ahead of him as soon as he walks through that door, Aemond’s thoughts that evening go towards you.

“I wish I told her I loved her”, he confided his whore. “Every night I dream of her face, her y/c eyes and red locks staring at me. Her sweet demeanor haunts me. Like a prey that has outwitted the hunter.”

“Is it how you perceive the object of your true affections, my prince? A prey that has not fallen the web of your traps?”

He remembers looking at the older woman quite offended.

“I said no such a thing. She is… unreachable now. Literally so, even in my dreams. Y/N is the embodiment of purity, whose virtues are endless. No words can do justice to the goodness she possesses.” He paused, melancholic somewhat. “It is just, methinks, that she’s out of my grasp now.”

“Have you considered writing for her?”, the maternal tone he never heard in his own mother seemed to smooth his broken heart at that moment, only to cover the pain these words gave him. “She never knew you loved her too. You have a dragon, Aemond. What’s there to stop you from purchasing her?”

“Duties.” Aemond’s embargoed voice broke out of his masked pride. “Duties are the death of love.”

Whatever happened in the past should remain so. As Aemond crosses the grand door and takes the stairs to get to the Council meeting, though, he cannot conceive that he failed you. For he never wrote to you again—despite all of these promises…

“There is my brother! Loyal like a hound”, Aegon’s voice is enough to make Aemond sweep away the agony he’s been through the day. “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you.”

Aemond opts not to answer. He takes his seat and leaves the talking for the council. The Dowager Queen gives him a look, an inquiry one, but the prince avoids it.

“Well”, Otto finally begins the Council. “Apparently, Rhaenyra has not been sufficiently encouraged to make peace, so war it is.”

Aemond doesn’t like to remember that he’s partially the reason why conflict has turned inevitable. He’s still daunted by that monstrous image of Vhagar devouring the Velaryon boy.

He didn’t mean it. But what are intentions when it comes to war?

Perhaps it’s for the best that you’ve been taken away from me, Y/N.

Aemond never asked why you disappeared, but there was no need to. The Queen’s brother thought wise that you continued your education in Oldtown—perhaps more moved by Otto Hightower’s counsel, who was genuinely worried over you concerning the bluntness in Rhaenyra’s children—especially after what had happened to Aemond.

He reasonably accepted it, but he also resented it. Whatever it is, he doesn’t accept your absence. It makes no sense to him why you were withdrawn… and after what he’s done, anger and guilt consume him still.

Despite the angst in his thoughts, this is no time to self scourge. Aemond promptly participates in the council of war, listening to all and making acceptable suggestions here and there.

“Diplomacy failed”, says the prince before the king. “To war we must wage.”

The first steps to conquer allies and strength old alliances are thus shaped. Later, without Aemond’s acknowledgment, the idea to fortify Houses Targaryen & Hightower through marriage is returned.

“Perhaps we should have Daeron to bring Lady Y/N”, Otto contemplates.

“Is she going to be safe here?”, says Alicent, genuinely concerned. “If she comes over and falls in the enemies’s hands, Gwayne is not going to forgive me for this.”

“Gwayne knows what’s best for our family’s interest. Y/N is too precious to fall simply into Rhaenyra’s side. I’ll make sure of that.”

As the wheel turns, destiny is designed.

***

• III

Aemond is vibrating this day. He’s managed to collect great victories in the battles ahead all thanks to the strategies he traces with Aegon. Due to Rhaenyra’s incapacity of playing the game of thrones, both brothers seem to finally see eye to eye.

“It is for the best that we work together on this”, Aegon tells Aemond one of these days. “No one wants a safer realm than I do. I know you may judge me unfit for the throne I never wanted, but Aemond… we are family. May our differences be set aside for the sake of our cause.”

War is not a merely word drawn out of bards pens to mark the deeds of men and save for posterity their names. This is not about glory, but a conflict built over anguished, vicious souls, plagued by ambitious.

War is not fought alone, this Aemond knew it well. Aegon has his reasons to fear his younger brother, but he cannot be alone in such a time. They are already doomed for fighting a kin.

“Your cause is mine, Your Grace”, says Aemond, leaving his ambitions aside for the sake of the misadjusted family he’s born into. “To suggest otherwise is a treacherous, incommendable thought.”

“Good”, Aegon cannot conceal his relief. “I knew I could count on you.”

How odd it is to find peace in times of war.

Yet can it be called peace when Aemond is far from it? Plagued by old demons, he is in constant struggle to firm his steps. He cannot trust in anyone of his family, despite affirming his loyalty to Aegon.

But what else is there to be done? He has a role to play and this is no time to getaway of it.

*

Whilst the Seven Kingdoms bleed and burn, you remain safe at Old Town. Occupying yourself with books, embroidery and music have proved to be good to for your mind.

Indeed, Old Town is safe for you in many ways. You could still manage to take philosophy to your bed late night, you could still read how many books you want. You upheld many privileges being the son of Ser Gwayne.

You could dance merrily with Lord Daeron, but he reminded you often of Lord Aemond. And by the end of every night, you are forced to tell that he never loved you for he never bothered to write you.

We are at war, you tell yourself. Perhaps it’s for the best.

So you accept this is your fate. Maybe to remain unmarried, which is good—your library is still the safe haven you can go to, for you charmed the maesters there and no one can forbid you to touch untouchable books.

But is knowledge a good medication for a broken heart? You are yet to know.

“Daughter of mine”, your father’s voice startle you; for he is not expected. “I knew I’d find you reading at the gardens again. At times I think you have too much of the Tyrells in you”, says Ser Gwayne, alluding to his wife, Lady Margaery Tyrell, your mother.

You greet him like the devoted daughter that you are.

“What is there for me to do? Men sharp their blades and I sharp my brain.”

Ser Gwayne is proud for the intelligence you have developed. Had you been a son, he’d not been concerned over the matters of his succession.

“If only your brothers had the same concern. But your grandsire knows your worth is too high to be wasted around here.”

Your heart races, your mind accelerates, but your face remains unreadable.

“What is it you mean, dear papa?”

“What I mean is that you are going back to King’s Landing. Your mother protested against it, for you are our only daughter and these are perilous times to be sent to the capital”, by the way he sighs, you know Ser Gwayne agrees with his wife. “However, your grandsire has better plans for his favourite granddaughter. He wants to marry you off to Lord Aemond Targaryen. I don’t think the old man will rest until he tangles both houses into one same blood.”

He chuckles and you force yourself to join him in laughters. However, deep inside you feel weak, unwell even. How can this be? To marry him… the object of your childish desires, the man whom you opened your heart to…and yet never received any token in return.

“Is this certain? What’s with the rush?”, you hope you are disguising well your own atonement.

“It is, it’s been agreed at last. The late king lamented profoundly when you left the court, but in all honesty… I think you deserved better than a prince like Aemond”, and here your father pauses. “You must be aware of who he’s become. The war has started because of him.”

It is as if he’s expecting you to dissuade him of the idea, perhaps he wishes you to. You look away, finding an excuse to gaze at the flowers that colour the gardens.

True, you are more than aware of what he’s become. Some courtiers mock him, calling him a monstrous green in allusion of the Queen’s party against Rhaenyra’s, which is black. You have the sad news confirmed, albeit reluctantly, from Daeron’s mouth.

But this is not who he is, surely. He is proud, arrogant even, shielded in himself. Traits that you’ve become familiar with in girlhood. Traits that have not been righteous directed, turning him porcelain skin to iron.

Your reason conceives he’s not suited for the sensible woman you’ve grown to. Daeron would be a better fit and perhaps your father hopes you to admit that.

To Ser Gawayne’a sore disappointment, you’ve made up your mind. Your affection has deeper roots than he’d know, and it is firmly planted in you that all else cannot find place in your heart.

“I am not here to change anyone, my father. I take him as who he is.”

“Very well”, the lord sighs. “You’ll be sent with Lord Daeron, your cousin. He’ll fly with you to the capital in Tessarion.”

“I am not afraid of dragons, father.” You smile and lean to press a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“If you are happy, then I am bound by honour to concede it to you, my daughter.”

The bells of liberty finally begin to ring.

***

• IV

Aemond has recently returned after smashing Rhaenys and Meleys. Victory is at last on his side and the prospectives are better. He’s been having an eye at Harrenhal though and he’s about to set his way there when he’s been summoned by his mother.

How strange. We’ve been barely speaking to. What, in Gods name, does she want?

What happens next is certainly getting out of his senses.

“Son”, she welcomes you with Helaena by his side. His sister is smiling in her own way,

Either something good is about to happen or I am about to fall on a trap. It is unusual to find contentment in Hel’s face.

“Mother”, he nods his head, keeping his guard high. “You summoned me.”

“I did. You may think I have forgotten that my son is to be wedded, but I have not.”

Aemond is discomforted. A dangerous topic that he learned to despise ever since you departed. But he keeps his expression neutral.

“I have no inclination to be married whatsoever.”

“I believe you may change your mind”, to his surprise it is Helaena who speaks. “We are bringing her back, Aemond.”

A shiver crosses his spine.

No. This cannot be.

“Her?”, he plays cynical.

“Yes. Lady Y/N is coming with your brother. It’s time for you to settle down, my dear child.”

Aemond feels a fuel of anger and resentment. Mostly because years separated you two, but the powerlessness of taking you back, to let you go.

Despite the confusion, nothing betrays his composed mask.

“I wasn’t consulted about this.”

“No one is hardly consulted where marriages are concerned”, Alicent laughs away. “Besides, I thought you liked her.”

Aemond doesn’t answer.

“Well, she’s coming soon. You better not disappoint.”

*

But he’s been anxious. Restless. No news of war can take his mind off you. He could have written about you, but his insecurities took the best of him.

When you departed, there was no warning. Neither was consulted about the matter, apparently. And yet…

A sound of dragon breaks the silence of the night. Aemond knows this is Daeron’s. And you are coming too. The prince leaves the yard and moves to the dragon’s pit.

He realizes a little too late that the whole family is there to welcome you. The prince opts to stay in the shadows, watching from a safe distance.

His good eye is mesmerized by how handsome you’ve grown into. Your hair is as red as he remembers; your curls, just as wild, a victim of wind. But you have curves now; your breasts are full and large, your hips giving a positive indicator of your fertility.

Your face… is just as divine as it was in his boyhood days. Your traces softened, and your lips still easily spread in a gentle smile.

You haven’t changed a thing, dear Y/N.

Aemond, troubled by the reminiscences of what has never been dissipated as he had hoped, quickly leaves. But for how long will he be able to avoid you?

*

You conceal the disappointment for not seeing him there to welcome you. But what could you expect when you two parted without saying goodbye?

“He’s coming soon”, Helaena tells you assuringly. “No need to worry, my cousin.”

“Oh, I am not worried. Not at all”, you smile as convincingly as possible.

But it’s difficult to keep your composure when he’s not present to attend the feast given on your behalf. The sound of music does not entertain your ears—it is as if Old Town’s tune was merrier. Or perhaps it all feels cold because he’s not there.

However, a distraction comes in the person of Daeron, to whom you’ve grown close in the days spent back home.

“Shall we dance, cousin? What a waste of beauty to stay here, away of the light.”

You chuckle lightly as you cede him your hand.

“Why, your flatter me with your poetic soul, Daeron. Let us dance then like the last time.”

In this moment, you don’t see him coming discreetly to take his place by his side. You miss his stare, his longing gaze following your steps. And yet… when you do meet his eyes, you take every control you have to act in a nonchalant manner.

Oh Aemond. How come years have gone by and you affect me so?

He’s now a handsome lad. Handsomer indeed than you’ve pictured him. Taller and serious, using an eyepatch to uncover the eye that was taken from him in that unfair circumstance you remember.

It feels impossible to reach out for you. Oh, Aemond. Please do not lock me outside.

Music ends after what it seems an eternity. There is no need to Daeron lead you back to your seat for this is a task Aemond takes himself.

“Lady Y/N Hightower”, the prince greets you formally and it hurts you to detect cold in his voice. You swallow back the tears and you remember to curtsy.

“My lord Prince”.

Aemond offers you his hand and he can tell that he affected you, perhaps not in the same way he wanted, for you hesitate before taking it. Cold and warm mix, like last time.

“May I lead you out of this spectacle?”

“If the king permits…”

“I do not think he cares.”

Silence hangs. You nod your head, afraid of bursting into tears right before the crowd. Perhaps your father has been right in protecting you. Who is this man you are now betrothed to?

For a while, undetected, the pair leaves the salon. It’s late by now and by this hour wine has had its effects. Somewhere close to yard is where Aemond stops walking. When you turn at him, he’s no longer cold.

“You left me, Y/N.”

Oh. Here it is. The subtle accusation. But it’s better than nothing, you tell yourself.

“I wasn’t told I would depart to Old Town, Aemond. I did not give my consent to it, but we both know how little power, if we have any at all, do we possess to command our destiny.”

Aemond avoids your gaze for a moment and you recollect his fragilities. You dare to shorten the distance and hold his hand. To your surprise, he does not shy away as your fingers lace.

“Do you honestly believe I left you because I wanted to? After all I told you?”

“What else could I have thought, Y/N?”

“You could have asked. You could have said anything.” And there they are: the puddle of water. “You never wrote me in these years!”

Aemond closes his eye, breathing heavily. Despite you trying to let go of his hand, he keeps holding yours firmly. Only then, you see pain in his eye when he opens it again.

“I was miserable when you left me alone in this world.”

“As if!”, you hiss. “You never cared for me!”

You turn away from him, instantly regretting for this decision to come up and try again. You’d think he’d leave you, but Aemond is no quitter.

“I love you, Y/N”, he pulls you against him one more time, this time closer than before. “I was stolen the chance to tell you that I love you! I fucking loved you! I could not find a replacement for the nest you made in my heart, nor could fix the hole you left in me!”

“Then why”, you sob, ��didn’t you write?”

“Because”, he pauses, and here he lifts your chin after wiping away your tears, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of never being sufficiently enough for you. Hence why I figured that a better match was found to you. I thought…”, the prince chokes for a moment, struggling to hold back his own tears. “I thought you’d not love me anymore after I lost my eye.”

You cup his cheeks and make sure this time he looks at you.

“How dare you to nurture this thought? I have loved you since the first day I put my feet on this soil. I have known not other sentiment but the deepest shades of affection from the day you comforted me. I… I would never take anyone but Aemond Targaryen as my husband.”

A small smile tugs at his lips.

“I am unlovable, dear Y/N. Haven’t you heard what I’ve done?”

“No one is unlovable. I am not here to fix your wrongs, Aemond. I am here to help you make your rights.”

“You’re not leaving now.”

This is not a question. You smile.

“No. I am staying.”

Saying so, he leans forward and locks his lips with yours. You breathe in, dive into it.

He’s finally yours and you are finally his.

***

• V

You’d not think, nor Aemond, that the Gods amused themselves by testing the veracity of what one felt for the other. That the love surpassed years and obstacles is, some would say, an indication of divine favor.

But this is not what troubles your or his mind. When his lips are against yours, when his hands are locked with yours, when your legs are wrapped around his waist, when he is pleasing you… oh these past ghosts are long exorcized.

“I adore you”, he whispers against your ear, kissing your neck as he caresses your left breast. “Fuck, I am yours, eternally yours, Y/N.”

You moan loudly, singing out his name. Your hand is now against his hair, using the other to crave your nails into his skin, getting a groan out of his lips.

“My husband”, you bite his bottom lip. “I love you. Oh Gods! I cannot believe this is not a dream.”

“Not at all”, he smiles at you. “It’s you and me throughout time, dove.”

“No more whoring I pray”, you tease him, aware of his encounters with the woman of the brothel.

“I thought you knew that already. Never more.”

And saying so he dives into your neck, there staying until his eager mouth slips to your chest.

The synchronicity is so good that doesn’t take much time before you and him reach climax together.

“Mm, stay here”, you lock him with your legs. “Do not remove it out of me.”

Aemond laughs quietly as you smile, gently touching his face and his sapphire eye.

“Naughty uh?”

“We must compensate for the time wasted”, you tease him.

As he lies his head next to your shoulder, thus cuddling against you, you take the time to hold him tight, unwilling to break the spell. However, Aemond knows the inevitable must be said.

“We must discuss something, beloved. I am expected to take Harrenhal.”

Although you know this could not be postponed, you avoid his gaze and keep quiet for the moment. But Aemond knows you, and he sees the struggle in keeping yourself composed, the anxiety coming to your countenance.

He lifts his face and caresses your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

“I told you I’ll love you until the day I die and I have no intention to leave you a widow so soon.”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, but you understand you’ll face experienced warriors in there…”, and despite the efforts, fear comes to the speech.

“It may take a while, but I’ll beat those fools. I must do it for my brother’s sake.”

“Very well”, you know there is nothing you can do before his stubbornness… and his loyalty to the green cause.

“Y/N…”, he looks anxious now and you are surprised to find it in his features. “I cannot wage wars knowing you didn’t give me your blessing.”

You break to a soft smile, turning to his side and stroking his long face and hair.

“I consent, my husband. But do not dare to leave me alone in this world.”

“Never.”

To assure you he means it, he kisses you passionately. Not too soon after that, you and him burn the bed with the awake of long repressed desires one feels for the other.

***

• Epilogue

With the green victory uncontested, peace remains at long last. Despite the bad fame, Harrenhal is your new home and you are its new lady.

Whatever opposition you might find when your husband came to pick you up with Vhagar, none was left to resist the new residents.

Throughout the long reign of Aegon II the Wise and Good Queen Helaena, you provided Aemond a bunch of children to turn this gloomy castle into a merry and lousy household. These are:

1. Aerys and Rhaella, a pair of twins, who would keep the Targaryen tradition.

2. Rhaegar, raised in Oldtown—would marry a cousin Tyrell.

3. Visenya, many years later married to Maegor, third son of King Aegon & Queen Helaena.

4. Daena, would be married to Lord Brynden Tully of the Riverlands.

5. Baelor, would be raised as a squire at the capital and turned out to marry another child of Aegon & Helaena, a daughter they had named Alyssa. A coincidence of the fate? Who knew?

6. Maekar, later sent to become a Maester at the Citadel.

7. Aegon, later made lord of Summerhall. He’d take as wife his younger sister.

8. Alysanne, probably your favourite daughter—she’d grow to marry the brother she loved best, the lively and chivalric prince Aegon.

An ending very fitting for a love that was tested by time and won it over without much need of persuasion.

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine you are Aemond and Helaena’s daughter.

Warnings: none; fluff all the way; alternative universe where… uh, Rhaenyra and Aegon are actually married and there is no civil war.

***

• Stage One: To Be a Toddler.

You are actually a merry child. One so vivid and full of joy, prompted to mischief. Unusually early, you like to go after your father. In one of these days, you are brought to Vhagar.

“Always restless, my dear Y/N”, says he when lifting you up and holding you on his arms. Aemond smiles in his own way at you, his lingering good eye admiring your chubby faces and wondering how could he have made a child so pure. When you smile back, he melts down completely. “One wonders why.”

“Vhagar”, you say lazily, still smiling.

Aemond chuckles quietly. He ruffles your long silver hair, lingering in his touch on your cheek and pinching it lightly.

“Vhagar, really? You really liked that old hag, didn’t you?”

The one eyed prince does not think there is a more adorable sound than when you burst into childish giggles.

“I love Vhagar. Daddy, she’s so big and… and…”, you grown, hating to forget the word you’ve learned recently.

Seeing how much you aim to please him, Aemond is patient.

“It’s a word uncle Aegon taught me!”, you try to justify yourself.

Aemond’s smile is quickly wiped out of his face. He furrows his eyebrows.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You need not to beg, papa. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

The prince chuckles, but you can tell he’s worried by the look on his face.

“Come now, what did dear uncle Aegon teach you, Y/N?”

“Weeeeell…”

“Y/N…”

You know you should not test longer. Aemond really hopes there is nothing to be anxious about, though.

“He said Vhagar is gross!”, you quickly put both of your chubby hands over your mouth and your eyes go wide. There’s a mix of amusement, mischief and concern altogether as you wait for some snap.

But Aemond is rarely snippy with you. The prince laughs quietly instead, his shoulders relaxing.

“If she is gross, why do you like her?”

Suddenly the prince remembers Helaena, when she loved bugs and other… bugs at a young age. The memory makes him smile fondly.

“Because she is legendary”, you explain as-a-matter-of-factly. “Besides, gross is not necessarily a bad thing. Can we fly now daddy? Pleeeeeease?”

He’s starstruck by your precocious wit. As he agrees to do what you requested, he remembers nostalgically how you came to this world.

***

Helaena always followed Aemond when they were younglings. Somehow the taste for books and studies set the two of them even closer. Before Aemond lost an eye, he came to discover that his dear sister had visions of some kind.

“It is a trait that comes from our ancestors. Magic comes with a price”, she told him then.

“What can I do to relief your burden, Helaena?”

It was when she touched his hand for the very first time. Aemond could recollect how right it felt when their fingers intertwined, hands awkwardly moulded. Sentiments that escaped the common scope looked obvious.

“Your friendship is sufficient, my dear Aem.”

But in due time it proved to be insufficient. Helaena was welcomed in Aemond’s chambers when she had nightmares. These consolations led to discoveries… which resulted in an early pregnancy.

Helaena was no more than six and ten summers; Aemond, five and ten, when you were conceived. Quickly, they married.

And just as quickly they moved to Summerhall.

***

When Aemond takes you to fly Vhagar, the one eyed prince notices you’ve been quiet. He takes a quick look wondering if you’ve fallen asleep, but he’s surprised by how attentive you are.

Y/N has inherited some of me, I see it now. Laena likes to say Y/N has her beauty, but my iron.

As he smiles at the recollection, Aemond asks you:

“What is my dear daughter thinking of?”

“I want to reclaim my dragon, daddy.”

Aemond sighs. Again, he is remembered of Helaena’s vision.

It came actually two months after you were born. His wife was struggling to sleep and this was a sign she was disturbed by something.

“What is it, my love? What is troubling you?”

“I cannot be sure what it is”, she sounded anguished as she took his hand and Aemond tried to remain calm. Helaena had to take her time when visions shook her. “Y/N carries the spirit of our house. She will not be like any other. I cannot be sure what it is. But she must be let to follow her path and reclaim a dragon herself.”

“I assumed she’d sleep with an egg”, it was all Aemond could tell.

“No.”

“You make it sound bad.”

“I do not wish to make her a queen, Aemond. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”

“A queen?”

But seeing Helaena would say nothing more, Aemond calmed his restlessness and held her close. He knew she needed him by her side, not any of his inquiries.

“We will do the best we can do to raise our little princess. I promise you.”

She looked up at him and smiled.

“I love you, Aemond Targaryen. I could have not chosen a better man to be the father of my children.”

And that was also the day she conceived their second child, a boy nine moons later born, named Maegor.

Back to the moment, Aemond clears his throat and says:

“All in due time, daughter. You must bear patience. Methinks Vhagar would be jealous if she knew you want a dragon for yourself.”

It’s enough to take your mind off the matter. And as if to confirm Aemond’s remark, the old dragon turns her head and gives you a look. You swear she buffed too.

“Oh no, Vhagar! Don’t be jealous! I love you and you’ll always be my favourite!”

That strangely seemed to calm the old hag and Aemond looks pleased it all ended well.

*

Helaena is welcoming her sister Rhaenyra and her family when she spots you running around the castle with six year old Jacaerys. The oldest son of Aegon and his wife is the heir to King Viserys’s throne after Aegon’s own rise to the throne. He is a handsome and very smart young man who seems to have taken a like of you.

“You stare at them”, muses Aemond, who silently puts himself beside his wife. He knows when these visions come and go. But not only that, he is acutely aware how welcoming the whole family party—which will soon be joined by the king and the queen—can be too much for her. “Is there something I should worry about?”

“No”, Helaena gives Aemond a small, but confident smile. She touches his arm discreetly, not too firm nor too weak. It’s a good vision, he understands. “He will make her happy.”

Aemond doesn’t like the idea of seeing you married too soon. Noticing this, she chuckles.

“My husband, you do not expect me to believe that Y/N is going to be a toddler for all her life, do you?”

He sighs, but does not answer. His good eye holds back a shadow of sadness as he sees you running after the curly haired Jacaerys.

***

• Stage Two: To Be A Child.

You have just recently celebrated your ninth name day. Aemond is keeping an eye on you as you are at the beach with a small group of friends, all of whom are your cousins: Jacaerys, Lucerys, Visenya and Baela. They are all talking about dragons.

A topic that, Aemond knows, can be somewhat sensitive to you—and this gives him some shivers. He remembers how his own cousins, Rhaegar and Baelor, sons of Lord Daemon and Lady Laena, mocked him because he didn’t reclaim any dragon. It costed him an eye. And he prayed nothing the same would occur to you.

Aemond is trying not to look very anxious when it’s Helaena who comes for his aid. She had excused from her sister’s adorable company to join her husband’s abrupt exile under the excuse of watching over the children.

But she knows what really troubles him.

“She is not like you. And they are not like them.”

Aemond limits to side eye at his wife.

“Is she…?”

“No.”

“But then…”

Helaena sighs.

“She is your daughter, she has some stubborn traits that you are to blame for”, she smiles. “Give them a chance. They are the next generation.”

“You let her too loose”.

“And you hold her too tight. This is not the way. Believe me, my dear. She will be fine.”

*

A third child came and suddenly your family is one of three. After Maekar, a boy named Jaehaerys has joined Summerhall.

“You must give me a companion, mama”, you pout. Today you are having an embroidery lesson with her. “It is not very fair when Maegor has a companion and I don’t.”

Helaena gives you a loving glance.

“Our family is growing big indeed.” And then she looks fondly at your father.

When you follow her gaze, you smile to yourself. You do sigh over at how devoted Helaena and Aemond are to each other.

This afternoon, Aemond is spending some time with his boys. Maegor being the oldest is trying to show off his best traits to his father, who doesn’t hesitate in appreciating his efforts.

Since it is raining outside, the family gathering is occurring just as fine until Maegor comes to tease you.

“Did you know, dear sister, that my dragon egg has hatched?”

Aemond is rocking baby Jaehaerys when he notices Maegor is not around.

“What about it?”, you pretend to find sewing interesting.

“It’s beautiful, really. It has blue scales.” And then the inevitable happens. “Soon it will grow and I’ll fly with it next to Vhagar. You’ll be left behind and no one will remember you.”

“SHUT UP, YOU STUPID FOOL!”

And to a general surprise, you stand up and slap his face hard. Aemond quickly comes at you, partially shocked—and secretly amused, since he’s been watching the scene from afar—but you escape everyone’s possible snort in tears.

“Maegor”, Helaena sighs as she tends her crying boy. “You shouldn’t have teased your sister.”

Aemond and his wife exchange looks. It’s very fitting that he, after reluctantly giving away his baby to a maid, goes to you.

Unsurprisingly, you are found pacing towards the yard. But something stops you from going out, despite the riot that so violently came upon your chest: it is the sound of those steps you are so familiar with.

“Now now dear Y/Nickname. What has come to fall upon my little princess?”

You run to your father, who is on his knees expecting you to do so. Whenever you felt distressed by something, this was how he welcomed you. Indeed it is a safe haven for you and Aemond knows it.

He sees so much in you and part of him blames himself for sharing this old wound with you.

This shouldn’t be it, Y/N. You’ll never know how I lament this to be it.

“Sing me that song, please.”

Aemond smiles at you. It’s a secret he shares with you. Whilst indeed Daeron is the one more apt to this function, once upon a time Aemond discovered that, thanks to you, singing old poems calmed your fears.

Whatever it takes to make my princess safe.

Choosing a song named Ode to Visenya, here father and daughter forget that time is passing and with it, all that childhood means… at the same time that he proves to be a better father than his own ever were where his infancy was concerned.

After a moment, you two are outdoors, at the yard, watching rain fall.

“You shouldn’t have slapped your brother, Y/N.”

You swear Aemond is smiling, but you don’t take your chances to bet on it.

“I cannot say I regret standing up for me. If I do not do so, then who will?”

So much like her father. Aemond looks at you, a hint of pride in his good eye making you smile and lean against him.

“Regardless, child. You are a princess, you must know when it is time to wage wars.”

“Does this mean I can be taught sword lessons when I grow up?”

Aemond looks at you for a moment. He should ask his wife first, but how can he deny you anything? His first child, his only daughter.

“Will you behave?”

“Yes, I promise! I promise I shall not slap the thwart…”

“He’s still your brother, Y/N”, Aemond scowls at you.

“Sorry. But I promise, yes.”

“Then I will teach you myself.”

Aemond swears he’s never seen such a bright face before. The light in your eyes almost makes this iron prince get to tears.

“I love you, daddy.” You say as you hug him tight.

….

“I love you too, my dear girl.”

*

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you are coming to tell me you are teaching our only girl to practice with sword”, says Helaena in such a casual tone that Aemond believes there should be an accusation where in truth there is none.

“And are you?”

With the children asleep, the two are settling their own nest. Aemond is thankful for this moment, where privacy is finally unbroken.

“She is a princess, Aemond”, Helaena gives her husband an amused glance, as if she knows things he doesn’t. “Mother would be horrified if she knew.”

“Thankfully, she is too occupied with her business in King’s Landing to be meddling in how we raise our children”, says Aemond, still somewhat resented that his mother is as absent now as she was before.

Helaena comes by his side and gently touches his face, making him look at her. As she does so, the princess removes his eyepatch and leans to kiss his forehead.

“She loves us in her own way”, then she melts in his embrace.

Aemond presses a kiss over her forehead, holding her tight. They stay like this for a while until the prince asks:

“What will be of our dear Y/N?”

Helaena looks up at him with amusement glinting in her lilac gaze. She smiles when she points it out:

“Y/N is really your favourite, isn’t she? Please be careful about it, or our sons will be jealous. Well, her future is not something that will get us preoccupied.”

That night, Aemond Targaryen slept a lot better.

*

You are visiting your aunt Rhaenyra and your uncle at Dragonstone again when you are told that there is a red dragon located at the dragon’s pit.

“Really?”, you ask Jacaerys. “How’d you know?”

“Father says that the old dragons like it there better. It’s like home for them, which makes sense considering their history.”

“Hum”, you say.

“You’re not considering going there, are you? No one has tamed Vermithor for decades since King Jaehaerys died”, Jacaerys gives you a concerned look.

But you do not give away your bold side just yet. You smile and dismiss his concerns by assuring him that you won’t do such a thing. In the meantime you two are speaking, here we follow to the adults conversation.

Sitting in the higher table are Rhaenyra and her husband, as well as Aemond and Helaena. They are expecting to welcome King Viserys and Queen Helaena with their youngest son Daeron in the next day.

“I have news to share”, says a mischievous Rhaenyra after a while.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t drank your wine, dear sister”, Helaena giggles quietly. “One wonders why.”

“Good Gods”, Aemond raises his eyebrows at Aegon. “Who knew this would come too far?”

“You ruined the news like always, Aemond”, says Aegon, amused. “But in truth.. aye, few would say an arranging as this would blossom to something good and provide to be a right decision.”

“Talk about it. How many children came of it?”, Aemond could not help himself, chuckling as he is elbowed by his wife.

“Aemond”, she snaps at him. “Don’t be mean.”

“Hardly mean, sister”, interferes Rhaenyra amused. “The children are good. And speaking of them…”

“Jacaerys is very fond of Y/N”, muses Aegon. “We’d think he and Visenya were pairing well, but Visenya prefers Lucerys whilst Baela has rather been good friends with Maegor.”

Aemond notices how Helaena suddenly appears more pompous. This time he’s the one who quietens. Marriage is not his expertise field and as he notices the group of children playing, he cannot foresee them married. Or maybe he’s just being protective.

Indeed as it seems, Maegor and Baela are getting along just fine: the former reads and the latter listens. A sight that actually leaves a good impression on Aemond, who had his own doubts about Maegor’s interest in studies.

He keeps an eye at the maid who’s holding baby Jaehaerys before noticing you, Visenya, Jacaerys and Lucerys discussing… dragons. Again. This time Aemond narrows his eyes, waiting for some strange burst or abrupt humor swift. He side smirks to himself at your composed self, but in fact the prince detects some familiar determination that honestly…. He isn’t sure if he wants to find out the reason behind it.

“Aemond”, Helaena summons him impatiently. “The children are doing good, thank you. May you be more considerate in this matter? What do you think?”

Murmuring an apology, Aemond doesn’t shy away of what he’s asked of. But Helaena knows the difficulty in doing so. However, the princess is certain that a merry path is underway. All they must do now is sow the seeds.

In the meantime their future is planned, you are found playing with your cousins.

“I have a dream of flying with Silverwing to Winterfell”, says Jaehaerys. “Much like our forefathers did.”

“You’ve claimed Silverwing?”, you cannot help admiring. “How bold!”

“I was not allowed to mount Vermithor for a strange reason. But alas Silverwing is such a good girl”, Jaehaerys smiles warmly.

“Silverwing was matched to Vermithor”, Visenya meddled, somewhat maliciously.

You cast her cousin a long gaze, but opt to remain quiet. Seeing you don’t buy the bait, or at least it is what Visenya assumes, topics are changed. But little they know what you are to do this evening.

*

“Y/N looks restless”, Aemond muses as he lies next to Helaena.

The princess is mute for a moment. She turns to face her husband.

“It is her moment, Aemond.”

“She is claiming her dragon”, but the prince doesn’t take it well. It’s up to Helaena to tell him what she has seen your future so far.

“Look, there is something you must know about Y/N…”

*

You walk barefoot the moment your feet reach the sand. Under moonlight you opt to trace your steps to Vermithor cave through an unknown—or rather an unusual—path that few are familiar with.

It’s risky. You know. Part of you wonders if this is right, but if Jacaerys has claimed Silverwing… You blush. Pairing the dragons together has only been done once and it was done so by your great-grandparents Jaehaerys I & Alysanne.

But you want to prove your parents that you are not delicate as they see you. In the end… you want to be seen as bold as your cousins, as Targaryen as any of them.

Here you are. Holding a torch to light your way, you enter unprotected through it. The great red-ish winged being opens its eyes and stares at you, distrusted.

A loud groan echoes through the cave, and the sound may as well be mistaken to an earthquake. But you do not quake in fear, despite looking paralyzed as the large old dragon comes at you as if you are ready to be burnt.

It’s when death comes so close that you lift your chin and tell Vermithor:

“I am my father’s daughter and I will claim you, Vermithor.”

The dragon spits fire as if to defy you. You escape barely of losing your life, but you proceed—even if your body shakes and your conscience questions your audacity.

“LIKYRI, VERMITHOR! DOHAERAS!”

A little girl. Nine moons and counting. Giving such a command to a dragon almost as old as time. It could end very bad.

But it does not. Vermithor doesn’t spit fire. It bows towards you.

And you smile proudly.

“Like my father. We are in this together, Vermithor.”

As poets later say, like father like daughter.

And this is not the ending, it is just the beginning.

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine you can fix him. No, really, you can.

Warnings: drama, angst and (explicit) smut; long post; some canon divergence…

***

You’ve been raised at court as part of Princess Helaena’s retinue. Due to your noble status, this isn’t different any other lady of your station might’ve expected.

You have grown close to the princess, and the two of you are very good friends—more like sisters, truthfully. Due to your similar nature, both of you found yourselves reading, sewing and dancing when possible.

But as you grew, you eventually found another companion to spend your time at court with. The second wayward son of King Viserys, Lord Aemond.

Here’s how all it began…

***

• (I) Broken infancy.

Right after the mess where the Queen confronted her stepdaughter about what had happened between Rhaenyra’s offspring and Aemond, you opt to go after him.

It’s dark. It’s late and you should be elsewhere, but you pay little mind to these rules. You find Aemond outdoors, sitting in the stairs as if he’s contemplating quietly the price paid for losing an eye.

You think you hear a sniff, but you’re not sure. You wait until silence is absolute before making yourself announced.

“L-Lord Prince.”

Aemond turns abruptly, completely out of guard. He hates the vulnerability, but before he can come out with a snark response, you step forward and say:

“I do not mean to intrude. But… may I offer you company?”

The boy looks at you with distrust.

“What are your business here, Lady Y/LN? You should be with my sister.”

“I was worried about you…”

“I don’t need your pity”, and saying so he spits out.

“You don’t”, you agree calmly even if you’re shaken inside. “But everyone needs a friend.”

There is a small pause where you anxiously wait for him to give you some space. Eventually he does since there’s no one around.

“Well. Helaena doesn’t like many people, but here you are, the only one she actually spends time with”, mumbles Aemond.

You smile before taking a seat by his side.

“It appears so.”

Neither of you speak for a while. You know Aemond is still getting used to your company, so you speak nothing.

“I’m sorry”, you tell him.

The prince casts a look at this y/c haired lady of the house y/c dressed in the manner of the Hightower. Despite the remaining distrust in his eyes, you know he reads you.

What a process to forge a bond, and yet here you are.

“For what? You did nothing wrong.”

“No. But I lament for the loss you went through.”

“Well…”, and here he inclines his head towards the great shadow flying over the dark skies. “It was worth the dragon I reclaimed.”

“Like every Targaryen before you.”

Something about you said seems to knock his defenses down. However this isn’t something Aemond is prepared to admit. Yet.

***

• (II) Darkness & Light.

Aemond keeps an eye on you as much as you keep an eye on him. You’ve grown to a handsome woman, wearing gowns that reinforce your curves even though nothing in your actions deem other than innocence.

You and Helaena are almost twins. Could be so had you been birthed by Queen Alicent. Perhaps this is why Aegon looks down on you as much as he does to his sister-wife.

But the wayward, gloomy Prince, who at times opts to find his path towards his… whore, cannot divert away of you.

In fact, he is rather surprised to see you gravitating towards him just as he leaves the room.

“Y/N”, Aemond whispers your name, hands behind his back, not turning his head to welcome you… and because he hopes you don’t spot a slight, timid smirk that forms on his lips due to your presence.

“My dear Aem. Going to practice with Ser Criston again?”

You purposely link your arm to his, nudging his side playfully to tease him the way you know he doesn’t like.

But the prince can’t get rid of you, can he?

“Like always.”

“May I watch it?”

“If you want to.”

Aemond knows silence is not your best trait, something that he, in fact, appreciates.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been out of my sight again”, you muse, eyeing him closely.

He avoids your gaze, aware of what you talk about. But why does he feel a hint of shame knock his pride?

“Hum”, it’s all he says.

You sigh heavily. By how you breathe heavily, Aemond knows you are about to lose your temper.

“Don’t “hum” at me, Aemond Targaryen. You’ve been whoring again, haven’t you?”

To your surprise, he stops abruptly, turning at you in such a way that makes you blush. Aemond reads you, him too baffled when discovering you might actually have feelings for him.

How else would you feel so possessive towards me, Y/Nickname?

Today, your hair is tied in two perfectly braids. They are long enough to fall over your waist, Aemond notices. Your eyes are livid, he can tell the amount of repressed feelings that are behind the colour that paints them—and he is intrigued to know what these are.

You are chewing your bottom lip, a sign of nervousness—he never took you for an insecure person.

Are you afraid of losing me?

And then there’s something about the gown, green like always, that makes him want to rip it. He can tell your breasts are tied… and he wants to release the pressure this gown is making on them. Suddenly, comes to his mind a scene where he is sucking your nipples, rubbing one with his thumb all the whilst using his tongue to play with the other.

Perhaps you’d like that, Y/N. To be treated well. Perhaps you’d be a better replacement than my whore.

Indecent thoughts that he cannot sweep off his mind, but that his mind plays a good effort to it because you are a good precious damsel who doesn’t serve to be part of his dark, sinful self.

And yet… what he sees in you is the light that blinds him. Another sight he cannot lose. So he does what’s best of him to do: push people away.

“How does this concern you, Lady Y/N? You’ve been a good friend, but you are nothing more to me.”

Words that shouldn’t have come out this way. But they do. When seeing the hurt in your eyes, Aemond knows the weight of his lies. Suddenly, he realizes he wishes he could be saved.

And you, as his savior, have been pushed away.

“I am not quitting on you”, you wear your prideful mask, which intrigues him. “Still going to watch your practice though. Besides, I was only asking… because of your mother.”

Aemond cannot amend the awkwardness, but his mind screams at him for not bothering in doing so.

“I know.”

So he turns his back on you. And to his consternation, you stay.

*

Whilst Aemond practices with his sword, you shut yourself in your world. Your eyes are carefully down whenever a courtier passes by—you detest to get the male attention, not when you wish for more on Aemond’s part.

But you little foolish thing, he doesn’t want you. The prince sees you as a friend, is all. An extension of Helaena.

You struggle with your tears as this thought occurs you, but perhaps this isn’t so bad, is it? Duty often sacrifices sentiments. Perhaps you should tell your sister, Queen to be, that you are ready to marry and then… stay away of him for good.

But the courage in this decision soon dissipates the moment you raise your eyes and find Aemond staring at you.

And you know you’ve been trapped.

***

• (III) Scars.

You are about to slip under your blankets when the door of your bedchambers are abruptly opened. You are frightened when hearing the sound due to your exposed state: your line nightgown poorly covers your nipples and you still have no time to throw robes to cover yourself when he stands before you.

Distressed, anguished. In who he really is. In one broken state you’ve only seen once.

You forget yourself when you run to hold Aemond Targaryen in your arms.

“My love”, you whisper, letting him sob. “My prince”.

You pull him to yourself, the only one Aemond trusts with his being. The only one he knows he can be himself, with his scars and open vices. He clings onto you, he digs his fingers onto your waist, letting him be guided to your bed before burying his head against your belly.

You can only imagine what had struck him like this. A feast of demons over his head, each fighting for his flesh. And yet you are here, battling against them.

When he finally stops sobbing, he looks up at him. You’ve never seen him so fragile, so famine for affection. And here you are. Providing what he needs.

“Tell me all”, you whisper.

“I do not want to. You’ll find a monster in me”, and yet he holds onto your hips, fearful you’d let go of him.

“You are not a monster, Aemond. You may have some vices, but you are a human being like anyone else”, you tell him gently. “Come here.”

Aemond obeys you, sitting in front of you.

“Let me tend you”, you whisper. “I’ll prepare your bath.”

“Y/Nickname…”, he holds your wrist firmly.

“I won’t leave you. I won’t abandon you”, you assure him. “Do you trust in me?”

Aemond nods his head.

“My boy, then let me bath you. Besides”, and here you dress your best smile. “You smell like old dragon.”

Finally something that pulls out a smile of him. As he sits there, you are quick to fetch servants to prepare him a good bath. When you go back at him, Aemond gives you that intense look which gives you shivers.

And wets you in between your legs too.

But this isn’t the moment nor the time.

“Come. It’s ready.”

You lean against the wall of the privy quarters as Aemond starts to undress. Even though he is damaged for what he’s done, he likes to feel the weight of your gaze on him. And he smirks when he stands nude before you.

“I don’t think you’ve seen me like this”, he muses.

You don’t look away when he says so. Aemond feels a heat growing inside him.

“No, I don’t. Not physically anyway”, you point out.

“Don’t look away”, he asks.

You dare to scan his body with your discreet gaze, eyeing his well build muscles, attentive to his scars and… his manhood, which is now erected. And quickly you look away, blushing, as he chuckles.

“You’ve never seen one up before, my lady?”, he asks, sliding into the tub.

You gently knee behind him and get to rub his back with a sponge.

“Do not take me to your whore, Aemond”, you snap at him.

The prince smiles at it. He lets you clean him before he dives into the water. When coming back to the surface, the prince is disappointed for not seeing you there.

A moment later, though, when he’s dressed in clean clothes, says Aemond with a subtle accusation tone:

“You left me there for one moment…”

“You surely can handle yourself as you finished you bath. I am only your friend, wasn’t that what you called me?”

Aemond sighs.

“Y/Nickname, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He comes at you and rests his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. When you side look at him, you spot that old fragility rarely seen.

It’s what melts you down.

“Very well. Come here. Let me tend you”, and now back to your bed, you and him lace your fingers together, his head in between your breasts. “What did you do, Aemond?”

You stroke his hair with your loose hand, aware that he’d done something bad. But where others see him ruthless, you see a broken boy trying to find his worth in this misadjusted world.

“I…”, his embargoed voice has your attention.

“Yes?”, you lift his chin, now cupping his face; removing his eyepatch, you gently force him to look at you.

And here comes a tear.

“I killed him. But I didn’t mean to.”

“Who?”

But you know the answer.

“…Lucerys.”

Old wounds that never close… bleed endlessly. You sigh heavily, but rest your forehead against his.

“You shouldn’t have done that, my dear”, you speak softly.

“I understand.”

“But I won’t abandon you, you know that, do you?”, you hope to transmit him that, regardless of this sinful secret he shared with you, together you two are stronger.

“You are the only one who knows my weakness”, he buries his head against your neck, needy of you, weak and feeble. Fragile. “Do not dare to leave me.”

“You have always been sacred to me to be profaned now, Aemond”, you whisper.

He leans his body close to yours, transfixed by your irradiating beauty… and your unending loyalty.

The prince touches your face and you tilt your head, letting his slander fingers brush over your face and then going down to your neck. You partly wish that he goes below… a perception he sees evident in your eyes.

Aemond knows he’s as vulnerable as you. And yet his hand moves to your collarbone, unlacing your nightgown.

“So beautiful. You look as if I can be redeemed.”

“You can”, you lean closer, not minding how purposely your breasts slip out of the line. Your eyes remain locked with his all the whilst you take his face with your hands. “You can be redeemed.”

Aemond waits no further: his dragon fire awakes and he is about to burn you. You welcome his hungry lips thus, sighing in content as he crawls over your body, ripping impatiently your gown, promptly reclaiming you the same way he did Vhagar.

You subdue easily to him, letting him have his way to you. That his lips make his kiss ache every part of you gets a moan out of you, which in turn makes Aemond smirk.

You are mine and mine alone. I possess you, I take you as who you are, my lady Y/N.

Such are his thoughts, which you need naught to have the ability to read them; for they are readable in his tight grip of you, in how his tongue dominates yours along with his body.

Trapped under his dominance, you are found breathless and a puddle of mess when he parts the kiss to let slid his tongue over your jawline and neck, his fingers now pulling your hair gently, tangled in your curls.

Then he stops what he’s doing to contemplate your state under candlelight. And here he smirks.

“Divine you are, my lady. How can a man like me be worthy of a woman like you?”

You sensually lift your legs to pull him by his hips as you adjust your body so his can mould better in it. You like the lust in his eyes, one of the kind that doesn’t conceal his vices nor his virtues… one that shows his genuine feelings to you.

“You deserve all the love in the world, my dear Aemond. Let me heal you”, you stroke his cheeks, smiling gently.

“A flower soon to be deflowered by a rogue”, he sneers under his breath, but there’s no despise in his eyes, only the same old scars.

“I am your woman”, you tell him, and he’s surprised to find in you the same possessiveness there is in him. “I am not any flower, though.”

Aemond smirks. Whatever insecurities laid behind his good eye, now they are no more.

“You shall be more than that, darling”, he brushes his lips against yours, biting your bottom lip not long after. “My consort, mother of my heirs.”

As if to assure you he means every word, he not only kisses your neck and gets a few moans out of you, but leaves some bruises there. You’ve been marked.

Aemond, however, cannot take out of his thought the idea of corrupting you. Though it flings him with some guilt, the way your legs are wrapped around him, your bodies so perfectly moulded that leaves no doubt that it is hardly sinful what’s to be done.

You may spot some of it, so to assure him there’s no question of the legitimacy of the deed, you put yourself under him properly so he looks down at you… and yet your hand takes hold of his erect manhood.

“Y/N!”, he gasps in surprise.

You give him a malicious smirk at the same time there is nothing to encounter in your gaze that is not innocence itself. Inexperience you may be, but you have ears that long heard of maids doing so with their partners.

But to feel his cock responding well to your moves is a positive indicator that you are doing it well.

“My lady!”, he wants to stop you, but fuck it it’s so damn good. Aemond rolls his eye, almost falling over you. “You should not…”

“I want you”, you whisper in the back of his ear as you caress his face and hair with your free hand. “Carnally, emotionally, all that is between. I want my prince Aemond Targaryen the way he really is.”

It’s enough to wipe out any reasonable thought he may have in regarding preserving you of such naughtiness. Aemond lets out the repressed lust for you, his sentiments towards his lady—of the kind only his whore knew about—, and bloody seven hells… you know how to make him feel good!

All the whilst you enjoy feeling his precum getting your hand soaked, and twirling your thumb around the tip like he instructs you to—the very fact he’s the one teaching you also arouses him quite.

“Fuck”, and he growls against your skin, burying himself into your breasts, biting your nipples and sucking each ardently with the devotion of a lover.

So you too welcome a different sensation of bliss, a pleasure never before felt, hitting on your in waves of heat that get your body out of control. It does “worsen”, though, the moment he does to you what you do to him.

Aemond captures the surprise that flashes behind your eyes when he finds you soaked to the core. And then… not deeming to waste his seed, he takes your hands and pins over your head.

As his thighs are over yours, you see this handsome man towering over you. His well build muscles, his handsome manhood…

“Do you like the view, Princess?” Aemond asks gently, though the way he looks at you there’s nothing innocent or gentle.

And he sees how your body reacts. Which only arouses him further.

“Yes”, you are almost breathless. “Please, do not make me beg.”

Aemond chuckles low, hands wrapping around your neck.

“Oh, but aren’t you begging already, my love?”

And then he releases the pressure by inserting another finger in your womanhood.

“Mm. You like that, do you not?”, Aemond groans as you deliberately give yourself to him, a complete mess. He likes the view, to know he ruined you too.

And then he bends over… only to slowly insert his manhood into you.

“Oh Gods!”

Aemond side smirks at you.

“It’s going to be a long night, Princess Y/N.”

And to seal his promise, he pursuits your lips in a passionate kiss.

***

• (IV) The Great Escape.

As you stand quietly in the royal chambers, you detect grey clouds rumbling in the sky. You furrow your eyebrows at the sight, perceiving it as a bad omen.

It’s when Helaena comes at you, so suddenly and silently that you are almost startled by her presence.

“I see the boy”, she whispers at you, the only one who understands her. “He will conquer all.”

“Do you mean any of your brothers?”, you ask in the same tone.

Helaena smiles quietly, though in her eyes you detect a mix of apprehension and concern. You know she hesitates, so you hope to transmit calmness.

“Laena, do not fear. I shall keep your secret with me”, and you point to your heart.

She looks at your hands before giving a look at the horizon. You give her time. Then she turns her head and says:

“He shall not be king until other dies”, another pause. “You should not be here when Aegon becomes king.”

You are more than aware that Aegon is not really fond of you.

“Is war coming, dear Laena?”, you ask.

“No”, and here she smiles. “Not for you nor Aemond.”

You have the decency to blush. You’d think your secret encounters with Aemond remained a secret, but didn’t you underestimate your closest friend?

“I…”

“Do not apologize. You’ve brought him the light out of him.”

And in her own way of saying thanks, Helaena rests her head against your shoulder. So suddenly the announce of storm is dissipated… and your fears, likewise.

*

But before this light prevails, it is yet the time to cross the dark. Therefore, you are not entirely surprised to find Aemond vulnerable again. It’s late night and he comes for you in seek of solace. The one kind he’s been refused by his family.

Aemond slides through the half open door, already suspicious in not finding your privy chambers completely close. Hearing voices, a fang of jealousy threatens to bring out his worse when he comes to find out you and Helaena have been spending time together.

It is a relief, somewhat one that makes him smirk, to seeing you getting along with his family. Not that he cares about it, but…

He waits until Helaena is gone to surprise you. You are wearing a pink gown with details in pink and are just untying your braid, completely unaware of his silent presence.

Aemond is reclining against the wall, watching you remove the courtly garments that you wear daily, noticing in your distracted face different expressions he is used to see in you.

“You look exhausted”, his voice comes out as a single whisper right as you are caught off guard and almost crying out as a result. “What’s wrong?”

“Aemond!”, you yell. “Are you out of your mind? Always like a rat, aren’t you?”

He chuckles at your reaction, moving to where you stand so he can have you all to himself. You melt instantly in his arms, but then quickly recompose when noticing that vulnerability only you spot on.

“Wait. What happened?”

“You didn’t answer my question”.

You know it’s pointless to argue with him so you shrug your shoulders and say:

“Just tired, is all.”

You don’t think wise to tell that lately you’ve been having strange morning sickness, so you motion to fetch yourselves some wine before getting at him.

“Now your turn.”

Aemond doesn’t buy your lie, though. But taking the wine offered, he opts to keep that in his mind for a moment later.

“I’ve met the Strong boys.”

“Oh.”

And here comes the thunder…

“What do you mean by “oh”? I’ve been teased out and about, Y/N”, says a very moody Aemond. “Jacaerys and Joffrey think they can have their way out?”

And here he comes to burst in tears. That broken boy hasn’t been healed nor taken care of. You put your glass aside and move to embrace him. Like a needy child, he comes for support which you give him without second thoughts.

“What happened then?”

“A fight was only prevented because of my mother. She welcomed Rhaenyra and her bastards here.”

You let him burst out his anger, silent and pained, as you hold him. In moments like this is when he undress the rogue mask he often wore to public; -and it’s here his fragility is seen, which leads to a more intimate moment.

“You don’t feel at peace here.”

“No”, Aemond admits. “Not here not anywhere. But I aim to reclaim Harrenhal.”

A stranger shiver crosses your spine and even the prince feels it. He looks up at you, quizzically so.

“What was that?”

“Oh, the shiver? You felt it too?”, you try to make a joke about it. “So tight you felt it as if it were you, uh?”

But Aemond is serious.

“I am not joking, Y/N.”

“I had a bad feeling about this. You know the stories of Harrenhal.”

Now the silver haired man chuckles.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dragons could be a myth, and were treated as such before the Conquest by the Westerosi. And yet here they are”, you tell him firmly. “Stories contain a degree of truth. I did my homework.”

“I can tell.” And softening, he rises to cup your face and kiss your nose and lips. “I did not wish to distress you. But I cannot stay here any longer,Y/N.”

“Well…”, and you smile as you rest your forehead against his. “Let us runaway, Aemond. Together.”

“To where?”, Aemond isn’t sure about the idea, but this possibility does bring some relief to him.

“The Free Cities”, you decide. “You aren’t the first Targaryen who flees King’s Landing to locate somewhere there. Essos is one of those who traditionally welcomes these Valyrian kind.”

Aemond chuckles, pleasantly surprised by your wit.

“We need little convincing, don’t we?”

“It is what you need most, my beloved. Some peace of mind and spirit will do you well.”

So the plan is architected. And the promised consolation shall come.

*

Yet, night arises and with it, demons that come to dispute over royal flesh. Aemond is tormented by his nightmares. As he watches you sleep peacefully, he envies your serenity.

Part of him riots against the idea of being with you. Running away sounds coward-ish and the ilidic paradise is an idea fit for poets and story tellers.

Reclining against the wind, naked, he is vulnerable and to feel it only makes him feel irc about it.

It’s when you notice the bed getting colder. As you turn around, you see you are alone once again. You almost panic at the idea of him leaving you, but this is wiped out of your mind when seeing the state he is.

“Aemond”, you don’t mind the clothes. “Come to bed”, you rest your chin over his shoulder. Suddenly you notice how tall he is.

He tries to avoid your gaze, but it is difficult to ignore you when you recline your body, so warmt, against his. In a stark contrast of fire and cold, he is like an ice berg to you.

“Please”, you ask him.

Aemond turns at you at last and acquiesces with your request. Silently he follows you, but he doesn’t sleep straight away.

“You are worthy of love”, you tell him, cuddling him. “You cannot ignore the wounds that hurt you.”

“I fear I am incapable of healing”, Aemond whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. “How can you conceive the idea of us together, Y/N?”

“You can be saved.”

He snorts, eyes closing as he slowly drifts to sleep under your tenderness.

“Maybe I do not want to be saved.”

“To be saved or to be redeemed. Is there any difference? Sleep my life. The night may be long and full of terrors, but light always comes to win over it.”

You’d think Aemond had fallen asleep as you take the blankets and cover yourselves, but as you too lie down, your hear him say:

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile warmly because this is the first time he admits it out loud. Wiping away your happy tears, you lean to kiss his forehead.

“I love you too, Aemond Targaryen.”

*

Indeed, funny as it is, you are now officially part of the House Targaryen. Daeron and Helaena had been the only witnesses of the ceremony that made you officially Lord Aemond’s wife.

“Welcome to our family”, greets Daeron. “Just hope one does not notice the mess we are.”

“Oh, nothing too different of my own family, my lord.”

“Lord?”, Daeron scoffs. “We are family now, sister. There is little need to use formalities.”

Aemond smiles quietly when spotting a blush turning your cheeks into crimson. And speaking of informalities, Helaena welcomes you in her own way. To a general surprise, she in fact hugs you close before saying:

“Never forget. A king will come soon. To conquer all. The line must carry on.”

And then she takes Daeron away, leaving you baffled.

“What did she say?”, asks Aemond, curious.

“I’m afraid this time I didn’t understand what she meant, husband.”

“Well”, he shrugs his shoulders. “Not many of us do. Ready, my lady?”

You smile warmly and the sight makes Aemond content. Sun is rising in the horizon when he helps you mount old Vhagar.

And when she is ready to fly, you cling tight in your husband like a monkey.

“Oh my Gods!”

He laughs away. Never before he laughed so unpreocuppied, so carelessly, so free.

You know it. You feel it too. For when you look at him, you could tell how successfully you fixed him. Didn’t you?

***

• (V) Essos.

You may think you are brave for riding Vhagar, but braver so for mounting your husband. Now that you have enough trust to do so, you come to find out that is a lot better than in your wildest dreams.

“Oh Gods!”, and like any other day you are louder,a sound the servants are already used by now. “Aemond!”

It’s been three months since you and Aemond settled in Essos, and ever since the city not only welcomed you two properly like the royalty both of you are, but is also becoming the stage to Aemond’s ambitions—to which you turned a blind side to.

“So good, my wife!”, Aemond groans, pleased like always to see your boobs bouncing and how synced his body and yours are in one single move.

But domineering he is, so in a matter of seconds you are under his power again, a “victim” of his intense thrusts. And as he seeds you, it’s only then he comes to notice the changes of your body. Your breasts are bigger, you are curvier and your appetites… are different too.

As he collapses against your side, Aemond holds you close to him, though. Stroking your hair and helping to straighten it after messing you good, he smiles.

“I cannot believe myself when I recall the enormous quantity of years that took for us to get married.”

“You are slower than I’d assumed to be, husband”, you tease him, earning a few tickles.

“Life here isn’t as bad as it seems, though”, Aemond contemplates after kissing your forehead. “I think we can rebuild our life here in the manner of Westeros.”

You know there are certain ambitions that do not die, no matter the efforts in healing scars. It’s a side of his character that you’ve always accepted. Then you are reminded of Helaena’s prophecy and somehow you made your peace with it.

“Indeed, I…”

Oh no. Not that nauseous morning again! In a matter of seconds you are running to your privy quarters and throw all that you’ve ingested earlier the day… out.

When Aemond rushes after you, though, he doesn’t take too long to realize that an heir is coming. At last.

“My dearest wife”, he kneels after you. “Let me help you. The way you help me.”

For the first time in years he sees your vulnerability, your fragility. You try to conceal it, but he doesn’t allow you to shy away.

“Y/N… Do not be stubborn”, he helps you clean. “There is nothing wrong with it. Do you not realize what does this mean?”

When you give him a quizzical look, the prince chuckles.

“I cannot believe that I am the one to tell you… but you are carrying our child, my love.”

News that would come to change your lives…. But others too.

***

• Epilogue.

Three years later.

You are giving birth again—the price you pay for delighting yourself by engaging in marital affairs with your handsome prince—when news come from King’s Landing.

Aemond is holding baby Rhaella in his arms all the whilst watching his son, Aegon, practice sword ship. He’s very prideful over his eldest son taking so much after him where brain matters are concerned—and abilities too—, but the sweet temper is something the boy takes after you.

“See, Rhae? Your brother is going to protect you just fine”, Aemond smiles before kissing his daughter’s head.

She giggles, a sight he adores to behold, but every smile dies when a messenger dressed in green comes in.

“My lord Prince”, this young lad greets Aemond, sounding somewhat nervous.

“Who is this? Sent by mother, I presume.”

The lad delivers him an old parchment. When opening it carefully, the prince frowns.

“What does this mean?”

“There is war in Westeros, Ser. And King Aegon has summoned you.”

[ewanmitchelll]

• House Targaryen presents King Aemond & Queen Helaena’s offspring.

1. Aegon, Prince of Dragonstone—future King Aegon III.

2. Visenya, Princess of Dragonstone—the next Queen consort.

3. Aemon Targaryen, who chose to take the black, is the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

4. Alysanne Targaryen, Princess consort of Dorne.

[ewanmitchelll]

[ewanmitchelll]

Tom, you're so real...

[ewanmitchelll]

Ewan Mitchell & Tom Glynn-Carney React To House of the Dragon Scenes | House of the Dragon | Max

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Arctic Monkeys’s songs (II): Fluorescent Adolescent.

Imagine you are Aegon’s ex who goes to his wedding… next to his brother, Aemond. What will result of this charming meeting (not to stay a different story)?

Warnings: (loosely?) based on this movie with Keanu Reeves and Wynona Rider.

Warnings 2: light reading, modern world, rom-com vibes.

***

• You used to get it in your fishnets. Now you only get it in your night dress. Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness. Landed in a very common crisis…

As you wait to fly to Dragonstone from King’s Landing airport, you still wonder why you are doing this to yourself. To accept Aegon’s invitation to his marriage to Miss Rhaella Velaryon, his cousin, feels like a complete exhibition of some lack of self esteem.

You think you’ve gotten over him, that you overcame the wounds of this relationship, but this doesn’t sound accurate, no. What you did in practice was stopping getting yourself drunk and going to parties where you felt like a sidekick character just to please him. Part of you admits that his breaking up with you did some good to you. You quit alcohol and started to lead a healthier lifestyle.

But now here you are. Waiting for the moment where you’ll hear a voice in the airport to call the passengers of the flight 321 (how original, you think) to get to their seats. And soon you will fly to see your ex-boyfriend marrying someone else.

As you wonder whether Aegon was really a good boyfriend, you don’t spot a taller, serious, cranky-faced man coming to your side. He is wearing a dark leather jacket and simple clothes, very appropriate for a two hours flight. The man is chewing a gun and is also in a nonchalant posture that annoys you for no reason.

“Would you please stop doing that?”

The silver haired man looks at you, somewhat puzzled by what you tell him.

“Excuse me, what?”

“You know. That.”

“What’s “that”?”

“The arrogant attitude as if you are standing there, contemplating many ways to bother people with your handsomeness.”

He could not help but laugh at your disastrous attempt of flirting. As you realize what you said, you get annoyed at yourself for your lack of social skills.

“If that is your way to compliment me, I appreciate it”, he chuckles. “But I don’t think this is the right way to get to someone.”

“Oh please.”

It comes out wrong, so wrong but you haven’t done this business for ages. Now that it occurs you as you contemplate the amusement behind this stranger man’s smirk, you notice he possesses lilac eyes.

A trait that only a certain family has.

Oh shit.

“You are a Targaryen”, you remark.

He looks rather bored at your observation.

“Indeed it looks so.”

“This means… you are going to the same flight as I? To Dragonstone?”

It then occurs you both an awkward perception.

“You are his brother, Aemond.”

“You cannot be…”, Aemond looks shocked. “Who…?”

“Y/N”, you sigh awkwardly. “His ex girlfriend.”

“Fuck”, is all he can say.

Thankfully the call for the flight interrupts this situation, but it appears that you are not meant to stay away of each for so long.

***

Aemond wishes he is somewhere else, but here he is, next to his brother’s ex girlfriend. You’ve got to be kidding me…

He watches as you struggle to open the bottle of water, wondering whether he should interfere since you haven’t asked for help.

Then, opting to ignore this awkwardness between you and him, he says:

“Need some assistance there?”

You shoot him a disdainful look, but what for? A few seconds later, you say:

“…Maybe.”

He chuckles, taking it and easily opening it before giving it to you. After a while, Aemond, too involved to let go of his curiosity, asks you:

“Why are you going to his marriage?”

Accepting that these two hours may be longer than planned, you sink in your seat, but take the thread offered.

“I need to put a closure in this.”

“He’s going to marry someone else who isn’t you. Shouldn’t this be a closure enough?”

You blush at his complete reasonable remark, unable to convince yourself otherwise.

“He invited me out of politeness and by the same reason I accepted it.”

“When someone does so out of politeness, my dear, it’s because it’s expected that you don’t take it.”

You tilt your head and Aemond seems to notice how nice is your y/c hair. He can certainly see how Aegon fell for you, though he’s not going to admit it.

“Oh please. What would you know about matters of etiquette being that arrogant, Mr Know-It-All?”

“Little wonder why Aegon broke up with you. This is a title far more appropriate to you, smart ass.”

And there you have it. For another hour and half you and him do not speak.

***

• Everything's in order in a black hole. Nothing seems as pretty as the past, though. That Bloody Mary's lacking a Tabasco. Remember when you used to be a rascal?

To you and Aemond’s dismay, your hotel room is next to his. Which means he’s going to be your room neighbor.

“Your heavy sigh is enough to let your distaste known, thank you very much”, you grumble, trying to avoid that unwelcoming sentiment of being unwanted.

“I did not say a word, barely so I sighed”, Aemond protests. “Goodness me, woman, not everything is about you.”

That being said, he walks impatiently through the door and you do likewise. But destiny is not over with you yet.

*

Aemond wishes you’d dress badly, to the point where your supposed beauty is omitted and he could have a reason to mock you. But his eyes linger at the dark, short dress you wear, noticing your well shaped curves… though stopping himself to lust after you even if your y/c hair is loose in cascade and your make up highlights the color of your eyes.

“Do I look weird?”, you ask, forgetting to disguise your broken pride.

“No, not at all”, Aemond answers you, surprised by what he is inquired. “Why’d you think so?”

“Because you are staring.”

Tonight, your former brother-in-law is looking rather attractive to you. He had got ridden of his long hair, having it cut short; he is wearing a nice polo white shirt and jeans that make him look fancy.

And you could not help yourself a surprising naughty thought at what would be like to ride him.

A thought you promptly dismiss, of course.

“Am I?”, he clears his throat. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to. You are actually…”

Before he can say “beautiful”, to your disappointment he’s distracted by the presence of Aemond’s nephews. Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, brothers of the bride.

“Nice to see you, Aemond”, so greets Jacaerys, and you swear you detect some irony behind his gallant words.

“The same, nephew. Looking strong I see”, Aemond smirks, wiping out the smug of the other’s face.

“I think”, you decide to intrude before this could end unwell for both parties, “that you should follow me in pursuing wine, Aemond. Good evening boys.”

As you lead the way out of trouble, Aemond raises his eyebrows at you.

“Really now, Y/N?”

“Yup. Aegon may be a rascal, but you have no reason to be either.”

Easily convinced by you, he pours some wine in his glass before taking a distant seat at the restaurant. Aegon is busy entertaining guests, and it’s when you spot Alicent arm-in-arm with a dark haired woman.

“That is her girlfriend”, you hear Aemond say when seeing where your curious eyes are wandering to. “My mother’s a lesbian. She had a huge crush on her stepdaughter and former childhood friend, Rhaenyra, my sister. But they never made it because Rhaenyra likes men.”

“Oh”, you blink. “I didn’t know that.”

“Aegon didn’t tell you the gossips of the family?”, Aemond muses sarcastically, placing a hand on his heart, feigning to be offended.

“I’m afraid he was too busy partying”, you say rather uncomfortable, taking the wine to your lips as you savor the sour taste of it. “This wine isn’t Dornish.”

“It’s not”, he agrees.

• Oh the boy's a slag. The best you ever had is just a memory and those dreams weren't as daft as they seem, my love when you dream them up.…..

Again silence hangs in between the two of you before Aemond gives you a look, studying you for a moment.

“He wasn’t a good boyfriend to you, was he?”, so he inquires after a while.

“No, he wasn’t. But I give him credit for trying.”

Aemond chuckles quietly.

“Kudos for doing the least.”

You smile at him. Perhaps Aemond isn’t as dull nor arrogant as you formerly judged.

“It appears I must engage in socially acceptable behavior”, says Aemond then. “To greet my brother and new sister-in-law and repeat expected speeches.”

“Expected only because you correspond to these expectations”, you nudge his sides.

“And do I have another choice on the matter?”, he scoffs.

“No one forced you to come, so don’t get at me for it.”

Somehow it surprises you both that these teasings do not end up in a clash of words. Aemond actually chuckles before conceding reason to you.

“That is very true. But I am a dutiful man, Y/N.”

Saying so, he moves away to greet his brother at last. You watch him go, already missing his company and the warmth of his presence.

The funny part about all of this is that, when looking at Aegon, you don’t actually miss him. And when looking at his bride, you feel rather oddly comfortable in getting at them to congratulate for the merry occasion.

Past is past, after all, and the aching of this ugly truth doesn’t seem to ache any longer.

***

• Flicking through a little book of sex tips, remember when the boys were all electric? Now when she's told she's gonna get it, I'm guessing that she'd rather just forget it. Clinging 'til I'm getting sentimental, said she wasn't going but she went still likes her gentlemen to not be gentle…

Aemond watches as you meet your former boyfriend with his now bride-to-be. Judging by your face and your body language, all goes well. However, there is still that expected discomfort as you greet them.

So attentive is he that he doesn’t see Helaena coming. She leans by his side, amused by what is going on right under her nose.

“She said she wasn’t going, but she went still.”

Aemond turns his eyes to his favourite sibling.

“How’d you know that?”

“We remained friends, Aem. Y/N is a really good person, Egg didn’t deserve her.”

“When does he deserve any relationship he’s in?”, Aemond snorts, partly playful, partly meaningful.

Helaena smirks.

“Don’t be mean, Aem. They look genuinely happy now, which is good. I never thought I’d see him settling down one day.”

Her brother doesn’t answer, eyes still glued in the odd trio. Miss Rhaella is very comfortable in her shoes. But of course she is, she has captured his heart. At what cost, though?

“How come they broke up?”

Helaena scoffs at him.

“Oh please. Don’t tell me you don’t know the reason why they are not together for some years.” And then she adds, after poking his sides. “Do I detect an interest in you, Aemond Targaryen?”

“Laena, darling. Often the wise in our family, don’t play the dumb now.” Aemond rolls his eyes. “I could never nurture any interest of the kind in my brother’s ex. Y/N is particularly irritating.”

And that is the last part you hear.

***

He doesn’t know why, but this prince who takes pride in never falling in love with anyone, nor ever chasing after a woman, is going after you.

You too cannot conceive the reason his words hurt you, but it takes little to comprehend that you’ve been vulnerable with this odd circumstance you spontaneously dragged yourself into.

“Y/N”, he holds you by your elbow, forcing you to look at him. “Didn’t mean to say what I said.”

You shrug your shoulders off.

“In the end you have a point, though. What kind of ex goes willingly to a wedding where she was only invited out of politeness? Besides, have you seen the embarrassed look in your mother’s face? She wasn’t expecting me there”, you scoff.

Aemond smiles at you, and you don’t like how it makes you feel—as if there’s hope in the horizon.

“I don’t think this is the case. She was probably expecting a scene. Not from you, of course, but most likely that Rhaella would be unnecessarily loud. Or even Aegon. Who knows? But definitely not you.”

That being said, walls are knocked down. It all settles for now.

“Well, you know what? I think I need some wine.”

“I take it”, so says Aemond. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has”.

And you smile at each other.

***

The next day both of you are found in the same bed, except nothing really happened in the night before. You realize how nice it was to just cuddle him, that his scent was much fitter to yours… than Aegon’s. Such thought embarrasses you when you get back at your senses.

You panic internally and try to disassociate of his arms, albeit unwillingly. It’s when he opens his eyes.

Aemond too is shocked when promptly observing how one got tangled with the other… without necessarily having the need of taking each other’s clothes off. This perception sort of annoys him, though.

“Where do you think you’re going?”, he asks in a voice that gives you shivers. “It’s fucking early.”

“I best find my way back to my room”, you say, hoping not to sound too awkward.

“Mm”, but of course he cannot take it for himself. “Last night was good, wasn’t it?”

“It was”, you give him a soft smile, but something about your eyes makes Aemond smile at himself. “I just don’t think prudent if we are caught. People can talk.”

“Let them talk”, he gently pulls you back and you effortlessly fall into his arms again. “I think we could go for a horseback riding today before lunch.”

You smile at yourself. Aemond spots it and he smiles too.

“We could. Though I’m afraid I don’t do horseback riding.”

“I could teach you.”

“Do I detect malice in your speech, Aemond Targaryen?”

For the first time in many moons, this bad boy is genuinely brought to laughters.

“It really didn’t occur me at all, but if you’re up to it…”

You punch his arm playfully. But for a while you two just stay like this, lying in bed, sharing laughters as if you have been the best of friends.

***

“I hate how I feel like an adolescent again. I thought I’ve done this already. Countless times”, you remark.

It’s nine in the morning and you two are dressed like going to a picnic, not a fancy breakfast to celebrate the union of the families Targaryen & Velaryon. Maybe it’s not of either interest to participate it. Besides, the landscape is far more inviting than dealing with posh relatives.

The hotel is surrounded by nature. Large trees are spotted above a green hill, surrounded by lakes and some wild animals that every now and then stop by. Not far from it, is this large, crimson white house rent by the Targaryens to celebrate the marriage of Aegon and Rhaella. The said event will happen only the next day since the couple are very fond of celebration.

Uninterested in these endless festivities, you and Aemond are heading to the top of the hill carrying with nothing other than wine and bread, perhaps some fruits too.

"And here we are", says Aemond, surprisingly in a good mood.

You two sit on the grass and its your former brother-in-law who opens the wine bottle. You two share it as it is, with no need to use glasses for the purpose of savouring the red, warm liquid.

"It is a shame we haven't been acquainted properly", you muse after a while. From where you two are, you could still spot Mrs Hightower and her lover receiving the guests alongside Mrs Velaryon, who, you seem to notice, is accompanied by a dark, curled haired man who doesn't strike you as Mr Velaryon.

"Eh, I was a little busy when you were with my brother", and when following your curious gaze, Aemond smirks and adds: "That is Mr. Strong, by the way."

"Busy? With whom?", you tilt your head, eyes now locked with his purple ones. "I feel as if I'm missing something here."

Aemond cackles before lying on the grass. As he's on his elbows, you hate how your eyes scan his frame, taking notice of his body, his part-opened legs under an old pair of jeans and a random comfortable shirt that shows some of his well build muscles.

Fuck.

You lean to grasp a few grapes before suddenly finding interest in the cloudless skies.

"Well, that is Harwin Strong", says Aemond, ignoring the first part of the question you asked him. "He is my sister's lover."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. Where were you when our family messed up?"

"I have no idea, maybe we were busy breaking up", you shrug your shoulders.

Now you miss the long gaze Aemond casts at you. He notices your shapely legs, well reinforced by your blue velvet shorts. A mischievous thought occurs him at the thought of removing these shorts. Containing a sigh, but not holding back such sinful thoughts, he notices you have nice, firm breasts just by the stare he gives your blouse.

Desire seems unbearable. Useless to fight against, but he stops the urge. He must. For his sake.

"You deserve someone better."

And your gaze meets his.

"My brother was unworthy of you", and he, a careful, wayward man, is drawn to you.

You, likewise, are inclined to get closer to him. Is it too early to get drunk and do things you might regret? Where is conscience when you need it?

"And who is worthy of me? You?"

Aemond side smirks at you. You two are so close to bound in deeper waters.... when someone else comes in to ruin all, of course.

It's Alys Rivers, his ex-girlfriend.

***

•You’re falling about. You took a left off Last Laugh Lane. You were just sounding it out. No you're not coming back again.

You are quick to leave the scene. Tired to be someone else’s sidekick character, you know it’s the time to part and be the protagonist of your own.

It’s been too much humiliation. First to put a closure with a man who is marrying someone else. Second… to be able to fall for his brother in a matter of, what, a day and HALF?

You realize no one is missing you anyway. So you are leaving before ceremony even begins.

As for Aemond, it’s all going worse than planned. He wishes you’d have more time to spend together. But, in honesty, he doesn’t blame you for parting like this.

He never mentioned that he and Alys were not entirely… what word could capitalize it? Untogether? Does this word even exist?

Regardless. He’s taken by a strange urge of going after you.

“…you’re not even listening to me!”, the protestations of his now ex girlfriend are annoying him.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn”, he responds rather coolly. “You’ve left me in balance for a while and now you think you can take me back? I don’t think so. Farewell, darling Alys.”

Saying so, he’s not wasting his time. These are crazy days, one might judge, where long relationships end unexpectedly and short ones may begin out of the blue.

Or perhaps not so out of the blue…

***

You are about to get in the cab when Aemond gets to you.

“Hey”, and once again he holds your wrist, thus making you looking at him. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t stay here”, you sigh dramatically. “You have unfinished business with Alys. I mean, been there, done that. Not really in the mood to rerun this movie.”

“No, this is untrue. Fuck, you are the most interesting girl I’ve met and look at me playing the fool here. Always the indecisive and vindictive, I want something new.”

Aemond doesn’t know where this urge comes from, but, unlike his brother, he is not willingly to let go of you so easily.

“And when this new goes away”, you counter argue him. “What then?”

“I am not leaving you. I am not Aegon”, he says rather anxiously. “Allow me to get to know you better, Y/N. We are going through this shit together.”

You tilt your head, but as if to shush any remaining doubts, like the adolescent he never was, Aemond pulls you against him and finally kisses your red lips.

***

It’s the wedding day. You are elegantly dressed in a pink gown that reinforces your curves and shows some collarbone. Your y/c hair is tied in a braid Helaena’d done it and you are wearing a pair of emeralds over your skin.

But you lose your breath when you see him, elegantly dressed in a black suit with a green tie. His hair purposely messed, he’s every inch the sobriquet he proudly wears.

Bad boy prince.

When his gaze meets yours, both of you know this day will be no good to either of you.

“Ready to be my partner?”

When your hands intertwine with his, so is your destiny for once and all locked with Aemond’s. One smile, one kiss. And what is meant to be a funeral is turned into something more beautiful for this unexpected couple.

[ewanmitchelll]

[ewanmitchelll]

House Of The Dragon: Defend Your Council

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Arctic Monkeys’s songs: Do I Wanna Know?

Imagine you are seduced by Aemond Targaryen.

Warnings: fluffy, light reading—explicit smut.

Warnings 2: alternative universe where the Greens won uncontestedly the war.

***

Have you got colour in your cheeks? Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type that sticks around like something in your teeth?

Aemond finds difficulty to settle after years waging war. There is peace after a decade fighting his sister and her partisans. They are all nothing but names now, recorded in the maesters books.

To placate his restless energy, the prince has, in many ways, followed in his bitter enemy’s footsteps—getting himself lands in the Free Cities, he found himself a new life style as well as a new wife.

But because he’s now the Hand of the King, in opposite to Daeron’s career in Citadel, his life style was left behind. For now.

You, however, settled easily with this new routine. Harrenhal is your home and this is the household you must fill your wifely duties. Initially, you found a rival for your husband’s affection—his former mistress, a woman named Alys Rivers, did not let easily go the path to Aemond’a heart—which complicated your smooth transition from the life of a free damsel who loved the seas to a noblewoman, wife of a bad reputed prince.

Despite the initial scandal such a match evoked, you and Aemond overcame the early disapprovals until the dowager queen accepted you as her daughter-in-law in a relationship that grew fondly in due time.

As you spend the afternoon reading a love story between a knight and his damsel in distress, which in some shades reminds yours, you are found missing your husband dearly.

Aemond has been gone to Free Cities to knock a local rebellion and negotiate peace terms with the involved, applying the law, before going back. And he misses you too.

When he lands with Vhagar, he hurries to you—although the prince needs to clean himself first. Only then he comes at you.

Aemond finds you busy with your lecture at their bedchambers, so concentrated that you don’t spot him, leaning against the wall, watching you with a side smirk on his lips.

Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep? I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week…

His good eye is set on you like a hunter when it’s about to get its prey. Your y/c hair is loose behind your back, your eyes are focused in the lines you read but he wonders what is the theme that makes you furrow your eyebrows. Your lips are partially open and Aemond easily sees his own clashing against yours in a long fervent kiss. But the man is patient.

The gown you dress is the first he gifted you, in the days of your courtship. Aemond is pleased to see you still keep it in your wardrobe. The gown shows some cleavage and shoulders, reinforcing your firm full breasts.

When staring at your heavy breathing, his own chest goes slowly up and down. His eyes devour your skin through the clothing, still keeping in his thought the moment your nipples go hard under his eager tongue.

When remembering how much you enjoy it, how you always sang louder the moment he took his time to suck each breast, a heat troubles his inner balance. His manhood gets lightly unbearable.

It’s time to move.

How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I've found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee…

Aemond recollects the first time he saw you. Finding a way to survive in Essos, your brother had plans to send you to serve Rh’llor whilst you considered piracy. You’ve always loved the sea, and there you’d content yourself when your path crossed his.

You knew nothing of his past, and yet you took him in. When love flourished, it took not much time.

Moved by this agony of spending too much of his time away from you, he wants you again. Using shadows on his favor, he is about to surprise you.

Aemond kneels behind you. Still focused in the reading, you do not notice he’s behind your chair. The prince is lightly amused at how this novel has stolen you from him.

“My lady, I am no poet, no bard, no man versed in the court of love, but I’d think by now you were missing me.”

Quickly, you stand, turning at him with joy. It’s been five years since he espoused you and the same joy is there whenever he comes back to your arms.

“I missed you, my husband! How could it not be? Oh Aemond, it’s been so long!”

He experiments that peaceful bliss he never thought he’d feel the moment his lips are welcomed by yours. It starts as a slow, passionate kiss, only then to be parted by you.

“I should have prepared our chambers to receive you better”, you say, ready to fetch a servant when he pulls you right in front of him.

“Why, I wanted to surprise my lady”, he smirks, resting his chin over your shoulder as his hands begin to pace around your waist. “You still have the gown I gifted you during our courtship.”

“Yes, I do”, you blush lightly, not expecting him to notice it.

“Looking gorgeous as always”, he whispers hotly in your ear, giving you goosebumps.

“Aemond…”, you smirk, wondering what’s to come. “I have some news to tell you.”

“Then tell me”, so he says as his tongue begins to draw lines from your earlobe to your jawline and neck, tightening the grip of your waist.

You try to focus, but when he gets to your neck, your leg automatically begin to rub in another and you giggle softly.

“Y-Your brother…”, you almost forget how to breathe the moment he rests a hand over your belly, moving up to your breast.

“Yes?”, he bites your neck softly, missing to feel your firm breast over his hand, but not taking it long now… not yet. “You were saying?”

You try to release yourself off his grip, about to get on fire, but Aemond is very domineering today. The hand on your back is now over your neck, holding it possessively. The way you like it.

“He is throwing a feast and a tournament…”, you get speechless the moment his lips are back at your neck and his right hand starts to lift the skirts of your gown.

“And…”, he smirks, encouraging you to speak as he defies you not to succumb easily into his teasings.

“And… Aemond!”, you hiss impatiently when feeling his hand on your thigh.

Aemond takes a seat and makes you sit on his lap. There is a fire that is about to burn you…and you want to get burnt. But you know it’ll be on his terms.

“Tell me, or I will stop.”

He smirks devilishly as you pout.

Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways (Sad to see you go) Sort of hoping that you'd stay. (Baby we both know) That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day…

“The tournament is on…” you barely speak as he begins to tease you through your undergarments. Using his thumb to draw circles over it, you whimper, partially impatient.

“On?”

He pauses, amused as you frown at him.

“Either you tell me or I’ll stop, my dear. The punishment for ignoring me…” Aemond chuckles as you pout again.

“…on the next week”, and he resumes the touching, working his hands within you. “He wants to…. Oh, Aemond!… to celebrate his tenth year he is on the I-I-Iron Throne!”

Aemond chuckles to himself as you try to keep your composure the moment two fingers are inserted in your womanhood. He feels how soaked you are, enjoying the sounds you make as he stimulates you.

“Mm. What else?”, he asks in your ear, using his free hand to unlace your gown, aroused by your reactions.

“He wants you…”, and here you let out a poorly muffled cry the moment he increases his pace. “…to take part of the feast and… and be his champion! Oh bloody seven hells!”

As you throw your head back, the gown, now loose, begins to fall. Aemond stares at your denuded chest, biting his own bottom lip as your nipples are hardened under his lustful gaze.

“His champion?”, he helps you to straighten on his knee, despite the trouble to ignore the aching in his manhood.

“On the tournament!”, you moan indecently loud the moment he cups one boob with his free hand.

Aemond smirks at you. Oh how he loves these games he plays with you. He is a victor each time.

“Hmm. I shall consider the invitation”, he leaves more bruises in your skin, before whispering unspeakable things to your ear that makes you hot enough to burst into his hand.

And when he licks each finger before you, you almost go insane.

“Aemond!”, you turn at him, finally free of his grasp. You remove the gown off your body, rubbing yourself to his manhood as you settle your hips properly over his, hands eagerly removing his own clothing.

“Oh I haven’t finished with you yet, woman”, he groans as he lifts you and pulls you gently against the window. As you remain on your back to him, he kisses your neck and down to your back, before fingering you again.

“Lords, Aemond!”

And to your delightful surprise, his lips soon take place where his fingers have been. Now you settle the reins and gladly ride his face.

Crawling back to you… Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do. Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new. Now I've thought it through, crawling back to you…

But once again in bed he has you under his command again. Crawling over your body, he prepares to set his pace.

“I’ve been burning too long alone to let these flames go unescaped”, he whispers, touching himself right before you, until he leaves it to tease your entrance.

Aemond likes seeing you subduing to him. Even more when fire is indeed burning in such a level that makes you bed. And nothing arouses him more than seeing a prideful lady be turned into a beggar in… bed.

This is how he spreads your legs gently and, leaning his body to be closer to yours, the prince slowly thrusts in you.

“Have I been punished enough?”, you moan sensually, legs wrapped around his waist.

“Perhaps”, he smiles at you.

Only when your gazes meet, he softens.

“I’ve missed you”, and his lust is replaced by the genuine affection that has mirrored in your eyes. “A lot.”

“As have I”, you admit in short breath. “Very much, my rogue prince.”

Aemond smiles down at you, kissing your lips as your body and his finally move as one.

Simmer down and pucker up. I'm sorry to interrupt. It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you. I don't know if you feel the same as I do but we could be together… If you wanted to.

Later, you feel his wide eyed gaze at you. With no patch to cover his bad eye, he is the way you like him to: himself, nude and crude.

“I am pleased to find your heart shut for me alone”, you muse after a moment spent in warming silence.

“How so?”

He turns at you, on his elbow. Aemond strokes your face gently, doing the same then to your hair.

“Are you still daunted by these insecurities?”

“At times I am. I fear to lose your affection”, you admit. “But this only happens when I’m sensitive.”

“You do not need to excuse yourself for me when I’m open like this before you, wife”, he presses a kiss over your forehead. “I admit I have my own demons to haunt. There are nights I wish I had not… survived.”

“How so, my love,”, you turn at him and he sees fear in your eyes.

“I wish I had not been the cause why such a war disrupted. There is no good in dwelling in the past, but if I must be open with my lady, then my remorse must be shared with you. This is what pains me in times where restlessness knocks me out. Not an old mistress.”

“I’m sorry for this”, you feel ashamed for the confession, but Aemond looks in peace with it.

“Don’t be. We are husband and wife, love. We are in this together. I love you and it’s your love that helps me with going through difficult times.”

That being said, he kisses your lips. Every doubt dies permanently at his passionate kiss.

[ewanmitchelll]

“House of the Dragon” season 2’s official trailer has been released. This one concerns #TeamGreen and it features our beloved Aemond.

[ewanmitchelll]

“Every job I do, I’m always trying to hone my craft and develop new skills to add to my arsenal. Every job I do is like an apprenticeship because I never went to drama school. I’m learning on my feet.”

Happy birthday, Ewan!

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Aemond loves you… but thousands die because of it.

Warnings: incest, explicit smut, drama, angst; long post with FLUFFLY ending.

***

You are only a year older than him, the oldest daughter of Queen Alicent and King Viserys; the one whom your mother fights to have your right as the next Queen of Westeros acknowledged by your uninterested father; the one whom he comes after every day, every night.

Where he is the moon, you are the sun. Where he is the universe, you are the stars. One gravitates towards the other every time. This is no exception, but the rule.

Aemond, bad reputed as he already is in his late teenager years, is very good to you. Loyal, some would maliciously whisper, like a famine lover. But you don’t give ear to such rumors. These are nonsenses… and besides your mother is planning to marry him away. To whom, you do not know.

But to say you don’t care is to indulge in lies. Where he goes, you follow. Like this afternoon, for example.

He is outdoors, practicing with his sword. Your eyes glue at the perfection with which he swings it, blocking Ser Criston’s blow. You can tell he is demanding, unaccepting anything that is not concise.

You take notice of his black weather, how well it shapes his built muscles, a sight that warms your body. Sensing a pair of eyes watching him, little surprises him when the prince captures the owner of such a stare.

“Sister!”, he quickly leaves aside his training to engulf you in his tender embrace. As he buries his face in your neck, smelling your scent, which reminds him of sweet red roses, Aemond sighs in content. Reluctantly, though, he parts the embrace. “Shouldn’t you be elsewhere?”

“Away of my favourite companion? No, I don’t think so”, you smile the brightest when seeing a faint shade of pink color his cheeks. You stroke his face. “I pray not to distract you out of your practices, my sweet.”

“Hardly”, he whispers, taking your hands and pressing a kiss in each. “I missed you. Has mother been rough on you again?”

Aemond sees through you, as you look away, hoping not to let it too clear the troubles you’ve been having with the Queen. Alicent constantly compares you with Helaena and even Rhaenyra, not to add she has no patience with what she judges as laziness and your melancholy.

“Not really, no”, but your embargoed voice breaks the exhaustion that has been plagued your soul.

“Y/Nickname…”

He holds you tight, caressing your back. As his hands tangle in your lose silver locks, the prince comforts you. Similar pain, similar fate, there is too much that links one to the other.

“Oh it’s nothing that we are not used to, right?”, you say, dismissing the concern he casts you in a long gaze.

This tension with the family is not new to neither of you; it is in fact an element that brought you close to him and him to you. But as he rubs his thumb over your wrist, you ignore the longing in his body and the desire in his eyes, so obvious to all, completely oblivious at how he reciprocates your sentiments.

“I was wondering if we should perhaps go to a ride today. I feel as if we need it”, you smile at him, possessed by a sweet temper that melts his pride.

“As much as I want to”, says the prince, gently touching your face, “we have a bloody dinner expecting us.”

You sigh heavily, but you agree.

“I promise, though, that I will visit you tonight”, adds Aemond, nearly touched by despair upon seeing a flash of disappointment in your eyes.

“Very well”, you should not feed expectations, but when he smiles at you, your knees go weak. “I will be waiting.”

***

You sit at a chair before a mirror in your nightgown, hair loose falling like a cascade of silver locks. You brush them by the time a knock on the door startles you, getting you out of your thoughts.

Dismissing a maid of company when suspecting who comes late an hour, you know you are being prudent—-what if it’s not him? Thankfully he is.

Taken aback by your handsomeness is lord Aemond. The reputed bad prince looks mesmerized at your sight, his eyes staring wide at your boobs. You blush, disconcerted before his gaze but pleased for the same reason, glad to have captured his interest

But for now lust is cast aside when you hold in your arms, welcoming him gladly—the same way you used to as children, when more than often he went to your private quarters to sleep by your side whenever he had nightmares.

“You are here”, you muse gleefully, bringing him close inside.

“I am”, Aemond smiles. “When have I failed in being true to my word, especially where it comes to you?”

You beam at his wording, a balsam for your heart. As you two sit at your bed, fingers intertwine and locks are gazed.

“I could have never asked for someone else to look after me so well as you do, Aemond. I was remembering the other day when you brought me to Sunfyre. It felt so well. You freed me.”

He puts a lock behind your ear, a quiet smile dragging slowly on his lips.

“You may transmit shyness to others but I see the iron underneath your beauty, Y/N. Your wit is as captivating as your lilac eyes, or your red lips.”

You blush, looking away, but he holds your chin.

“I am no liar.”

“Aemond…”

Could it be?

An unposed question that doesn’t make to your tongue. The prince, however, knows it.

How to answer that, though? He places himself now behind your back and you slip to the comfort of his strong arms, snaking in your waist. You rest your head against his chest, your breathing synchronized to his.

There is no need of words.

Not now anyway.

You carefully lean to blow away candle, but it’s when darkness rises that cats come out to play.

*

“How are you feeling?”, Aemond asks after a while, and his hot breath in your ear gives you shivers.

Shivers that he feels. It is as if he needed physical evidence that he is not alone in his affections. Innocently he parts your legs with his knee and very gently presses it against your womanhood.

Somehow he feels your fever.

“I… I feel better”, your voice comes out as a moan when he continuously rubs his knee against your core. Doesn’t really help you how his arms conveniently rest over your hardening nipples. You press your hips against his manhood in response. “What a day we had, uh?”

Aemond chuckles lightly at your efforts in trying to act as if nothing is happening there. He plays with your hair all the whilst he slips his other hand over your nipple. Feeling it hard under the cloth almost makes him gasp.

Fuck, he curses internally.

“When don’t we have a good day in this family?”, he snorts, pleased to find you chuckling, though detecting some tension in your short cut breath.

“Aemond…”, you eventually decide not to ignore how his hand is slowly lifting your nightgown. It doesn’t help how he stops rubbing his knee against your womanhood, getting you familiar with an unknown ache that doesn’t cease to torment you now.

“Yes?”

Aemond gently places a kiss between the line that separates your jawline to your neck.

“Tell me and I’ll stop”, he whispers against your ear, finding no resistance in removing your gown. “Tell me I am not alone in this, Y/Nickname.”

He knows how to awake the dragon in you. Tired of fighting the urge to have him, you turn slightly to let him take away your gown of your body, before diving into his lips, burning in high fever.

The prince moans, sensing a bone as a result of your intensity grip over him. The way with which your naked body moulds to his, how your hand boldly moves from his belly down to his cock.

A kiss like fire tearing each other in flames. A fight for dominance in perfectly synced tongues, but of course Aemond comes over you, biting your bottom lip, chewing it with grace before letting it slip to explore your neck.

“Love me”, you beg him. “Deflower me!”

The prince groans in response, skin on skin now, he now shivers upon hearing new sounds coming out of your mouth. Nothing tastes better than cupping each nipple of your firm, round breasts. The way you moan loud is a positive indicator he is following the right path.

Though he’d had only one carnal experience—all thanks to a bet made with his younger brother Aegon—, nothing compares to the delights he experiments with you.

Spreading your legs to let him fit in between, you arch your back as despair crawls upon your skin the moment his tongue and teeth play with your tits. Your roll your eyes, hands messing with his hair… and what to say of this new sentiment when his hand finds way to your clit and with two fingers, you gasp louder?

“Aemond!”, you whimper. “Aemond, please!”

Darkness involves you, but there is no need to see when one knows the other so damn well. You burn and he burns with you.

“Come to me”, he commands, all the whilst going low with his mouth. “Come, Y/N!”

His mouth promptly rises to yours when you are about to be so loud. As your legs tremble and shake, you now share his bluntness surprise him with the turning tables.

Your lips are now going lower to his belly, fingers digging across his skin. Aemond’s breath is short cut and his naughty words reach your ears only to arouse you further—if possible.

“Oh, Lady. I dwelt in long nights at the thought of your lips so close to my skin, working wonderfulness to repent me of my skins. My own touch is not enough when compared to yours. Burn me, consume me. Set my soul alight…”

His words die just as you take his length throbbing into your mouth. The sounds you make at having it in your way make Aemond painfully lustful for you.

He slowly parts his legs, riding your face the way you want him to do. You feel so indecent, a sinner condemned for sure—but loving him feels right, and you have no remorse in doing what so far only reason conceived through forbidden readings.

You lick it, you bite it gently, and the sounds he makes give you goosebumps. You want more of him, you give your best, letting him be your guide.

Little surprise there is when you feel it.

When you hear it.

When you know it.

And you swallow all of it.

That night, you are no longer a damsel. Aemond Targaryen has finally reclaimed your body and soul at last—like you’ve dreamt to.

***

You try to disguise the pain in your legs the next day. Worse is, though, to find ways to cover the bruises he left in your skin.

Praise the Gods, he assigned his mark on you. But yet here you are.

Acting in secrecy… for now.

“You must be married right away”, considers the queen at the moment her children are gathered for the morning meal. “Y/N, Rhaenyra has proposed the union of our houses. You are going to be betrothed to Jacaerys Velaryon.”

“No!”, you protest all the whilst Aemond closes his wrist and slams the table. “I shall not espouse a bastard, Mother!”

Otto Hightower, there present, seems delighted to discover there is more in you than dissociating in familiar gatherings.

“Y/N, this is the best for our family…”

“The girl has a point though”, says Otto. “If she is going to be the next queen, a bastard must not father the next line of kings…”

“I do not want the bloody crown!”, you sigh heavily. “Give it to Aemond!”

“I would marry her, in fact.”, says the prince, making you blush and surprising the others for his blunt speech.

“And you will, and you will!”, remarks Helaena, excited.

“How, if you are associated with Alys Rivers?”, snorts Aegon, making you raise your eyebrows. “How considerate of dumping your whore, Aemond.”

“Spreading false rumors are very typical of you, brother”, he hisses quietly.

Alicent raises her hands to her hair, as if in silent prayer for patience. It’s when Otto says:

“I detest to be the one to remind you that you are no longer children to act like ones. Dutiful you are, Aemond, and we are thankful for it, but we need to consider other elements in Y/N’s arrangement.”

“Targaryen tradition should be an excellent argument in why we are doing what we are doing.”

“I think best Jacaerys Velaryon to marry Y/N”, says Queen Alicent, probably tired of her offspring bickering than actually reasoning in favor of the match.

Or maybe she wants a genuine reapproach to her stepdaughter after years of cold war.

Her decision is not welcomed by all. You fall back in your gloomy mood and Aemond storms outside.

Silence falls before Helaena muses:

“Love always comes with a price.”

***

You barely have the chance to speak to Aemond since the Queen’s delusional decision in arranging your marriage to a bastard under the pretense of aligning her house to the Velaryon in order to put an end to this rising rivalry.

It doesn’t really help that your body aches—not only due to what happened the day before, but because it misses him in every way—, but circumstances begin to separate each other.

The expected dinner is a first. Your father is holding together his family in an attempt to show unity. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“You are looking beautiful”, says Aemond when seeing you at last.

Today you are dressing a long sleeved gown in green that shows some cleavage. Your hair is tied in a fashion braid and your delicate features are reinforced by Helaena’s make up.

“For the love of Gods”, murmurs Aegon, “find yourselves a bed already.”

“How insensitive of you saying so”, says Helaena. “If you have not the ability to love, let others do so in peace.”

You and Aemond could have not been any redder.

*

“I’ll make you my wife”, he vows. “No matter what.”

“Even so… I must say a name hammers in my head since yesterday”, you whisper back as you take the seat he pulls for you to take.

Aemond gives you a long glance.

“Y/N… you are not honestly referring to what Aegon said, are you? We are not together any longer together for a long while now.”

The thread is interrupted though when king Viserys begins his speech. You look at him not like your father—he always neglected you, never got interest in you as a person, hence why you do not understand why your mother thinks proper to make you the first queen to reign in Westeros. Even that…he refused you.

You look away, pretending to focus in the wine that colors your glass. You start to disassociating when Aemond holds your fingers underneath the table, a firm gesture that reminds you that you are not alone in your resentment.

The rest of the dinner goes awkwardly well—everyone plays their role just fine. Until that is Jacaerys invites you for a dance. If he does on purpose, you cannot say—but you miss the glare on Aemond’s face.

Partially moved by the disapproval of being told of Aemond’s old liaison with Alys Rivers, you stand and to his horror you take the invitation. But also it feels good to see jealousy behind his good eye as you two start dancing.

“It comes to my understanding we are marrying soon”, says Jacaerys to break the ice.

“Indeed”, you say rather coolly, though you smile benignly at him. “Linking our houses for peaceful purposes. How delightful.”

Jacaerys furrows his eyebrows, perhaps mistaking your remark with sarcasm. He opts perhaps to see this is not the case. And maybe it is not.

“Duty must always stand before sentiments.”

“It is the way”, you nod. “We aim to serve, even if these ties suffocate us.”

“It only does if one isn’t resigned”.

Music never before sounds so melancholic to your ears. But here you are. Dancing with someone who long ago ceased to be a friend, performing for a duty like a dutiful daughter. Being kind above all… because few have been kinder to you.

Then music comes to an end and you go back to your place. The king stands, it’s time to retire. When he leaves, scars are left open and blood comes out…

“I would like to have a toast”, so Aemond, in silence for so long, rises abruptly with a glass of ale in hand.

You raise your eyebrows significantly, unable to perceive the subtle change of behavior. It’s usually Aegon the teaser, never him.

All pair of eyes are set on this tall, paled silver haired prince, whose good eye shines mischief, showing resentment for past events, never buried, always resurrected.

The quiets are usually the worse. It is known.

“…for these three Strong boys.”

It is the start of a new hell. Jacaerys doesn’t take it easy, and as predicted he and Aemond get in a fight. Your eyes are wide and you abruptly stand, not believing in the scene that runs before your eyes.

Your heart skips a beat when your uncle Daemon puts and end to it. No need words, just his presence is enough to placate the violence Aemond brought to table.

You frown, but refusing to participate, you slip through the night. No one notices, though Aemond does. But this night he doesn’t come for you.

***

Where does all it begin to go wrong? You cannot tell. When Aemond comes at you again, a week has passed by since that bloody dinner. Your father is dying and there are machinations to put you on throne.

Part of you ignores it. But another is prepared for it.

Aemond sees you at courtyard, dressed like a damsel but with the look of a warrior. Silk green gown falls over your curves, your silver locks are tied in two braided buns at each side of your head but your eyes, fierce and empty, stare at the blade you hold with your delicate fingers.

“Y/N…”, his voice is brought to your ears like a summer breeze: welcoming, warming, familiar. But it also startles you.

“You disappeared”, you accuse him, holding tight the blade, not minding feeling the iron gently cut your skin.

“I disappointed you, didn’t I?”, his steps anxiously short the distance and he takes away the sword. “Don’t be imprudent, Y/N. Look at your hand.”

Before you protest, he takes you by your wrist to a fountain nearby and there he merges your palm to it. You flinch, but he holds you still.

“I should have not brought you any further disappointments”, says the prince, especially pained when finding tears coming to your eyes.

“Did you go after her?”

Aemond raises his eyebrows at your question. Insecurity has long found solace in your broken heart. He frowns, before removing his eyepatch. You blink at such exhibition.

“Let me expose me to you. I am fiercely loyal to you, Y/N. I fucking love you. Didn’t I show you that night?”

And then his arms are tight around your waist, his face, his lips brushing against your chest. You stroke his hair, swallowing your tears.

“I love you too. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to keep by my side, but what else would I think when you left for seven bloody days?!”

“I needed space”, he raises his eyebrows, resting his chin over your left boob. “Here I am, though, like a beggar. You don’t deserve that bastard, Y/N. I shall not let you marry him.”

“What control do we possess before our fates?”, you sniff.

He presses a kiss over your skin, giving you goosebumps, before making you sit on his lap. Little does he care that you two are in public. Less so when he kisses your neck up to your earlobe, pleased to make you moan, before he holds your chin.

When your eyes meet, Aemond speaks:

“Wait for me tonight, will you?”

A shadowy smile crosses upon your lips.

“I shall, beloved.”

So sacred, so devoted, this faithful man binds his destiny to yours when he kisses you calmly.

***

When he meets you punctually by midnight, you cannot help that you have a presentment regarding your carnal liaison with this man you love deeply with the waters of your soul. What if you conceive?

But when he stops by in his courtly robes, your concerns are easily dismissed, brushed off your thoughts.

“My love”, urgently he comes to reclaim what’s his by right. “I have missed you.”

“As have I”, you kiss him hungrily, not minding the conflagration that flares over your skin as you desperately help him toss away his robes. “I ached for you, Aemond.”

“Did you?”, he groans when feeling your lips against his neck, close to his chest as your hand strokes his manhood. “Ah, damn it! This feels good!”

“I couldn’t even walk for a day or two”, your tongue leaves circles traces around his chest, all the whilst your fingers wrap around him, doing circular moves up and down.

The idea of ruining you arouses him to such an extent that you already feel his precum at his tip.

“Couldn’t you?”, he leans his head against the wall. “Oh, what have I done?”

It’s when your gaze crosses his. Aemond smiles when seeing his arousal is yours too, how sensual you look at taking his pleasure yours. But he is surprised when you slide to your knees.

“Y/N…”

“Let me reward you, my prince”, your sweet voice is like a melody to his ears, and the moment your mouth meets his manhood… Fire consumes him.

***

You are still fast asleep when your mother’s maid finds you, indecently embraced in your brother’s nude body. But she is not entirely surprised by what she witnesses, considering how it’s been obvious how one always loved the other…

Nevertheless now time urges her to be the deliverer of bad news. You are barely opening your eyes when she says:

“My lady, your mother is after you. Now.”

“What does she want?”, you try going back to sleep, not minding you’ve been caught.

But the woman is too anxious to give you peace.

“Your father, the king, has died.”

This is enough to let your eyes open widely and even Aemond is awaked by these words.

“What does this mean?”, you shouldn’t have asked but panic steps in.

“You are queen now”, says Aemond, tossing away blankets and dressing his clothes. “Thank you, Madame. We are meeting our mother soon.”

You too stand and begin to dress, but your body shakes at what Aemond tells you.

“No!”, you turn at him. “I am no Queen! I do not wish the crown our father has refused me! It’s Rhaenyra’s!”

“Y/N…”, Aemond sighs. “Come on, now.”

“I have no capacity to uphold it! No! Tell our mother I am no queen!”, you don’t realize how loud you are and what fuss you are making until he holds you in his arms.

“Don’t say these things”, says the prince. “I will crown you!”

“No!”, you burst in tears. “I do not want it! Take it for yourself, but…”

“No!”, and he is firm now, holding your face so you look at him. “Quit with this nonsense. You are the eldest daughter. Yes, I would like to be king myself, seeing myself as better fit for the role than Aegon. Not you, though. Never mind our father does not acknowledge you. Fuck it! I believe in you, I’d bet my life for you!”

“Don’t say this. Your life is too precious for me…”, you whisper, eyes closing before the kiss he presses on your temple.

“Come, my sweet. Let me amend past disappointments. Come now.”

You don’t acknowledge his speech, but soon you find yourself walking side by side to him. When you enter the throne chambers, all eyes are on you.

Helaena rushes to your side, curtsying first before engulfing you in her embrace. You swallow a sob, but she hears your whispers:

“I’m scared, Laena.”

“Don’t be. Face the storms and what happens next will be endured.”

You nod, thought uncertain of how to proceed.

Then Aegon follows. He bows and says:

“I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes right now.”

Him, you ignore. Then comes your mother with your grandfather by your side.

“Child you are no more. My sweet girl…”, she ignores how closely your arm is tied to Aemond’s before kissing your cheeks. “You are now queen.”

“I do not want it”, you protest, much to her dismay. “This is Rhaenyra’s crown, not mine!”

“This is yours by right and I’ll tell you why”, says Otto mechanically. “Westeros does not want to be ruled by bastards. The major proof of it is when the Gods put you right here where you must be. Do not forsake your duty, Y/N.”

Little by little your reluctance is melted away. Aemond then turns at you, on his knees before you.

“My queen, lady of the Seven Kingdoms, I give you my heart and loyalty. No one shall claim otherwise.”

Seeing how silent you are, in spite of the tears rolling out of your eyes, it’s Otto’s voice who prevails the general will:

“Long live her Grace, Y/N…” and he lists all the titles that are irrevocably tied to you now.

***

Cut from marble, dressed in silver and gold, you cross the multitude of knighted men who form a corridor for you with their swords unsheathed up in the air.

The High-Sparrow stands above every royal family. Soon a scepter is given to you hold and a crown is placed over your head. The weight of it could smash you, but you stand strong.

You side-glance towards Aemond. You wish this was his instead, but the devotion coming at you convinces duty must not be placated.

“Long may live Queen Y/N, first of her name!”, professes the religious man and as you stand the crowd goes wild.

You are queen now. And your reign has just begun.

***

You watch from the window as clouds come to hide away sun. A bad omen, you judge. Behind you, the first council of the new reign is formed with Otto Hightower as Hand of the Queen. Your mother, the dower queen, also attends it.

Oblivious to all, you miss his company. Aemond has been sent to the seat of Baratheons, at Storm’s End, in order to secure support for your crown.

You hate how fragile this makes your position, how this new beginning feels wrong. And yet, here you stand, foreseeing a storm. As if to confirm it, you hear thunderstorms.

“You shouldn’t have sent him to Storm’s End”, you muse, forced to go back to your seat.

“This isn’t the time nor the moment to miss Aemond, Y/N. Like him, you should focus in what matters.”

“Do you think Rhaenyra will accept well that I have replaced her?”, you snort at her.

“By marrying her son, perhaps this is prevented it!”

“I am not taking a bastard as king consort!”

“For someone who refused to be queen until two days ago you are strongly decided in what to do with the power to you bestowed”, muses Otto, entertained.

“Well, grandsire, please forgive me for not willing to be further controlled by others!”, you snap at him. “Damned this be!”

Damned this looks indeed, for barely the council has come to an end, rain begins to fall… and a very disturbed Aemond shows up.

“Aemond!”, you’d gladly run to him, but something about his face makes you stand where you are.

Alicent, sensing something’s gone terribly wrong, dismisses other councilors. There is only family there present. The prince avoids their gazes, ashamed for what was done—at the same time… you can also tell he’s changed.

“What have you done, my boy?”, the dowager queen breaks the silence, moving to where he is and thus forcing him to look at her. “What have you done, Aemond?”

“I did not mean to”, he whispers. “It wasn’t intentional… but it’s too late now. I cannot change what was done.”

“Oh, Gods”, you rush to your mother’s side, trying to help her sit.

And without waiting to extend this unbearable silence, you hear what is to shock them all—you included.

“Lucerys is dead. I killed him.”

That being said a thunder strongly hits the ground not too far from Red Keep.

An announcement of war.

You just know.

***

“I cannot see you anymore, Y/N”, Aemond’s words break you in tears. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t do that to me!”, you cry out and he feels the blows you hit against his chest. “Don’t you dare doing that, Aemond Targaryen!”

“What else can I do? Look the path I’ve taken! And I feel no remorse over it!”, his voice breaks despair of a long broken soul.

You are partially shocked by his words, his guiltless admission. This is a side you never thought finding in him. It partially frightens you, but then…

Aemond is now on his back at you, tormented by his demons, pounding over his flesh. But you move to where he is, having made your decision.

“Look at me”, and he does.

“Be with me.”

“What? Have you heard what I said?”

“You will be my king or else the crown is Rhaenyra’s for good”, you speak firmly.

Aemond laughs nervously, but your eyes remain in intent stare.

“I mean it.”

“How can you take a monster as me as your husband, Y/N?”

“You are not. I take you as who you are, a faithful, loving man.” You side smirk at him. “I cannot conceive a world, less so a reign, where you are not part of it.”

“I’ve brought you many disappointments. I’ve taken a path you don’t want for me, I…”

You lean on your toes and, holding his face against yours, you kiss his lips intently. Slowly, Aemond’s castle is brought to ruins and his arms soon lock you in.

“I love you. My life is yours, my queen.”

“Make me your wife, Aemond. This is all I ask.”

When looking down at you, he knows he cannot refuse you anything at all.

“Very well then. I know where to go. Take your better robes, my queen. We are marrying tonight.”

You smile, pleased to have your way at long last.

***

No war, no crown, no reign comes at your head when his cock is pumping inside you and his lips are twirling around your pink nipples. No politics, no usurpation daunts your heart, so aligned to his.

“Love me!”, you are a beggar when he is over you, taking the heeds of your body, when you arch your back and have your wrists above your head as he continuously thrusts in you. “Fuck me good, my king!”

As your husband, Aemond gladly complies. He groans loud, proudly taking you as he slides within, interlocking his cock with his hand, intently so.

“It is as my queen commands”, he bites your bottom lip before snaking his tongue in your mouth.

He raises your legs, pushing you below to his body, intertwining both in sync moves. Not until he pursues your lips does he seed you, coinciding with your climax.

“My love, my queen, my woman”, he doesn’t let go of you not even now, rather contemplating this union so sacred to you both.

You turn at him, a smile on your lips. Aemond is mesmerized by how peaceful you look now.

“I bet my life on you”, you whisper against his lips, holding his face with your hands. “Always had, always will.”

There is no need to say further. You two are too attached to turn away now.

***

War has still paved its way to you. A scandal that will bring seven kingdoms to bleed…

“What have you done?”, you hear your mother admonishing you.

You turn at her, impatience already twinkling in your eyes.

“You’ve started this the moment you placed the crown over my head, mother. Don’t make this about me.”

That being said, you walk out. You excused Aemond’s offense, but your mother’s sins cannot be simply be pardoned. These paved your path… of the kind you cannot opt to turn away now.

Tired you may be, with morning sickness worsening as days turn in weeks, but you are too distressed with the possibility of having the capital attacked by the Black partisans.

“You are not flying, Y/N. You must stay here…”

“No, Aemond. I must go. This is not your war to wage. It is also mine.”

The decision is made. But what will it cost?

***

Aemond rushes back in when hearing you’ve been too unwell after facing Baella in what nearly cost your dragon’s life. Sunfyre got wounded, but lived. The same cannot be said of Baella. A victory to your cause, but one that does not come without a heavy price to pay.

Men march on and against your behalf in what seems an endless contending. It is as if you’ve been tossed in the middle of a whirlwind and there you remain.

Once there was hesitation, next came certainty. But where you are now?

It all disappears, every question and doubt are buried in the name of duty. But now you are forced to face a worst battle: the one for your life and yours alone in childbed.

“Where is she?! Where is the Queen?”, he walks in, steps heavy as thunders, echoing in stoned pillars corridors.

Helaena, dutiful like always, is the one to inform him you are in labor now.

“Twins will come, but be careful, Aemond.”

He stops.

“What are you saying? What do you see?”, he almost takes her by her shoulders.

“Vulnerability will come in due time”, it’s all she can tell.

For now, this says little. For now what matters for the rogue prince is that he’d wage thousand wars to see you well.

Like Helaena’s predictions, though, there comes a pair of twins robust and well.

“My Gods. I was worried”, Aemond whispers, rocking you in his arms, looking down as you insist breastfeeding your children.

There is peace. Long lasting peace for the moment. Despite the pained conscience for tearing Westeros apart, all else matters not before the prince you love and rose as king, before the children you bore him that rise now as your heirs.

“I love you”, you tell him.

“I love you too.”

He smiles softly down at you. All is well that ends up well with you.

Definitely worth a bet.

***

• Epilogue.

Aemond is holding Jaehaera in his arms all the whilst Jaehaerys is playing with his cousins. The children of Aegon and Helaena, named Maegor and Visenya, are his best companions.

Peace seems to settle—especially with Rhaenyra’s death by poison, and there had been no signs of her offspring nor Daemon to worry over.

For now.

You are relatively popular and accepted by the common folk. Today you are dressed in gold with details in purple, wearing a necklace gifted to you by your husband.

And you are also pregnant again.

“You should rest and not presiding feasts, my sweet”, so tells you Aemond, forehead leaning against yours.

“Nonsense”, you smile warmly at him. “I must celebrate the result of our hardworking. Our family, us…”

“The bet was entirely worthy it”, Aemond smiles and kisses his lips.

“EW daddy!”, Jaehaera protests, making you both chuckle. “Put me down. This is disgusting.”

Aemond scoffs at the little girl.

“I fear I’ve been spoiling you too much, Jaehaera. You know what? Go on and play with your brother and cousins. Daddy needs to chill anyway”.

She pouts instantly.

“But will you still spoil me, won’t you? I still want to hear the story of how you fell in love with mama.”

You blush at what you hear, looking away as if you are a teenager young woman again. Aemond is more than pleased when seeing how after all these years he can still affect you.

“That depends of your behavior, young lady.”

“Daddy!”

“Give me a kiss and I’ll reconsider it.”

She gladly does as requested and Aemond’s good eye follows her daughter, a seven year old, running after her small group of relatives.

“She reminds me of you”, says he, leaning his back against the chair as he spots Queen Alicent looking after her grandchildren. “Sweet disposed, but very willful.”

You laugh heartily before resting your head against his shoulder.

“What would be me without you and our children, my love?”

Aemond smiles quietly, taking your hand to his lips and there pressing a kiss.

“You made a rebel settle down, crowning the son of careful king. What else could I ask of you, my love?”

He spots the same love behind your irises. It is as if there is no witnesses, as if you two are alone.

“I love you, king of my heart.”

[ewanmitchelll]

“I'll be there 'til the stars don't shine

'Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme

I know when I die, you'll be on my mind

And I'll love you, always..”

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s Songs (XX): No Body No Crime.

Imagine you uncover Aemond Targaryen’s crimes… until you fall in his trap.

Warnings: smut, incest, drama, fluffy endings.

***

• He did it. He did it…

You enjoy more than what’s appropriate how he indecently holds you, like an unprotected boy who needs assurance of firm, truthful affections. Your body is warmer when his strong arms snake around your waist, unintentionally brushing against your nipples underneath your nightgown.

You wish you did not feel it. It’s sinful, notwithstanding this is an old practice in your family. However, under the sphere of influence of your mother makes you feel repulse at it. Or it’s what you tell yourself since the repulse is only because he doesn’t see you the way you might.

That night you cannot breathe. His breath is hot against your neck, you hear his snore, and you wish you were as pure as your elder sister Helaena. But it appears your innocence exists only on the outside.

As Aemond presses his body on you, your thoughts drift at an alternative universe where he would kiss your neck and explore your nipples with his hands… whispering things you’ve only heard doing with his…whore.

You grumble under your breath, turning subtly and in quiet riot on him. Then the fire dragon dies subsequently at the sweet face your eyes scan, that face whose features conceal an alluring darkness that draws you to him.

Your twin. Your other half, your partner, whose soul is linked to yours for reasons unknown. As you watch him sleep, with no eye-patch to his away his scar, you read through him.

You know why he comes at you instead of her and this gives you small percentages of pleasure, a deliciously tasted illusion upon which the desires of your heart drink to.

As you pull away discreetly the few silver locks that fall on his face, you mumble, lips barely touching:

“Must you always beseech war, my prince?”

And you feel tempted to add that in you he finds peace, but you say nothing, not when you spot tragedy crudely exposed. When he hugs you, it is as if moon and sun meet. It is as if an eclipse rises…

***

• We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine. Este's been losing sleep. Her husband's acting different and it smells like infidelity. She says, "That ain't my merlot on his mouth". "That ain't my jewelry on our joint account". No, there ain't no doubt. I think I'm gonna call him out…

“Infidelity is not always physical, but an aching that begins at the heart”, your sister muses at you in one of these days she gets into your brain like a prophetess.

She looks into your eyes as if she can read your future. What she may not know is that you too possess the ability of dreaming. It just comes perhaps in other shades.

“Treason often starts with ill intentions, whichever these may be”, you agree.

Yet, the conversation disrupts something that troubles your conscience. Specially when you know what he’s about to do, what path Aemond is going to take and in many ways it’s treacherous and horrendous. But you are comprehensive at it.

Later the same day, as you walk to the gardens, Aemond comes to meet you. It’s a sight to behold, the embodiment of innocence—a stark contrast to the darkness there is in him.

“Y/Nickname”, his husky voice startles you, but he sees how easily affected you are towards him.

A good observer like him needs little to see. He’s aware of how your body reacts to his, how synchronized you both are, sharing a unique connection that always binds him to you.

“Aemond, darling”, you turn abruptly and without thinking twice you run to him.

He smiles to himself as he is engulfed in your arms, tasting a rare sentiment of peace that only your company provides him. For some reason, the prince admonishes himself for letting be easily dragged into your kindness, mesmerized by your alluring beauty that matches his dragon fire.

Cleaning his thoughts, Aemond has to remember himself the reason why he’s here. Reluctantly he parts, his heart aching when detecting sadness in your eyes, aware of how attached you are to him.

“I need a favor.”

“Of course you do.”

Aemond blushes, fighting away remorse.

“Don’t look at me like that, my sweet. You know you’re the only one of this family I trust, aside Helaena, but it’s with you I am connected to, emotionally and carnally.”

You sigh, hands resting on your waist. Aemond’s good eye seems to see you as who you are, not as the epitome of handsomeness, but as the woman you’ve become. The gown you dress is silk green with short sleeves, showing some cleavage. He swallows, fighting away this strange urge of possessing you right here right there.

“Tell me, what’s it you require of me?”

“How you speak it makes me sound I only come for you to pursuit redemption for my sins. Though now that it occurs me this may be true.” He chuckles, but there is no joy in him. It’s when his true self comes to surface. “I think I’ve started a war.”

You barely blink, and every sexual tension in the air dissipates as you pale. You are suddenly dizzy and Aemond has to hold your elbows, leading you to a spot nearby.

“D-Do not think ill of me, I ask you this”, he begs, never before looking nor sounding so fragile.

You soften at him, cupping his cheeks before resting your forehead against his.

“I shall not, this I assure you. I suspect I’ve always sensed somehow due to our bond.”

Aemond’s long hands stroke your hair before sliding to your neck, there hesitating for a few seconds before breaking into an embrace in complete ignorance of how deeply he affects you.

“How can you be so good to me? I do not deserve you, Y/Nickname. You’re the only one who understands me”, so he snorts. “How can this be?”

You should not say it, nor think it, but Aemond is not entirely surprised when he hears these next words of you:

“You are my other half, Aemond. I could never refuse you anything.”

You close your eyes, subtly agreeing to be the one to hold his darkest secrets. The prince doesn’t know it yet, but he loves you for it.

***

• I think he did it but I just can't prove it. No, no body, no crime but I ain't letting up until the day I die. No, no. I think he did it. No, no. He did it…

You are bathing yourself at a lake with your sister. With no witnesses, both of you are deprived of your clothes, chuckling at such a defiant moment, aware this would raise your mother’s sharp reprehension.

It’s when he comes, since Aemond is sent to summon you and Helaena. The moment he finds you with your long locks completely wet, exposed in such a state under the sunlights… he freezes.

Aemond’s good eye stares at the happiness glinting behind your lilac gaze, watching how you throw yourself at the grass before standing and getting ready to dive in. He lingers at the sight of your firm breasts and large hips, good thighs to hold on.

His body may react at it. Worse than being mesmerized by you is that he’s caught staring at you.

“Aemond!”, you let a cry out, instantly going red before diving in.

Trying to conceal his boner, Aemond too blushes. Not until now he realized how easily you affect him. He clears his throat before saying:

“Mother is summoning.”

And then like the wind he disappears, leaving a hole where there is a heart beating in your chest.

“I think he’s fond of you”, says Helaena in giggles. “Marry him and the merrier you’ll be, dear sister.”

You hate how red your face is.

“Allow me to disagree, my beloved. Haven’t you heard he’s taken to his bed a bastard named Alys Rivers?”

The Queen laughs quietly at the jealousy that escapes your reasoning. You swim for a little more before getting yourselves dressed, back to meet your mother.

“Carnal needs are hardly met by the ones of the heart, my sister.” And then, before you two disappear into the castle, she mysteriously whispers: “You are the one he needs the most… considering the wayward path the gods chose him to follow.”

*

• Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen and I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene. Good thing Este's sister's gonna swear she was with me ("She was with me dude"). Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy…

You omit his illicit affairs, not judging him for doing so. You watch as your mother, Queen Alicent, scowls at her dysfunctional children for their misbehavior on a war she attempted to prevent—more likely as she addresses the word to Aegon and Aemond.

Civil war has brokered out and the Seven Kingdoms bleed for Lucerys Velaryon. However, no judgement is found in your eyes as Aemond is scowled upon.

“You should be married to a noblewoman by now”, she says. “Perhaps a Baratheon lady, since this is a house loyal to us. Don’t give me this look, Aemond Targaryen, after disgracing us before the Gods.”

You pity his future wife, knowing his heart and flesh are tied to another woman. Aemond sees how quiet you’ve been in comparison to Aegon and Helaena’s odd bubbling and Daeron’s impatience at how this gleefully dinner is going.

“No body has been found”, you dare to raise your voice and instantly every sound dies. Aemond raises eyebrows and so do the others. You blush, but persist in your speech. “How can anyone think Aemond did it?”

Alicent looks at her daughter, puzzled by your sudden defense of your brother.

“My darling child, I’ve always judged you had put your brain to better use.”

You tilt your head.

“Why, my mother. Has the prince my brother spoken anything at all? You assumed he committed a crime by facts that were brought out by our enemies. Give him some credit!”

Opting to believe that your staunch belief that Aemond is innocent by all costs comes rather from your unshakable faith than your cynicism, Alicent limits herself to laugh away your arguments.

“Y/N, I am not tolerating this. Be quiet and meddle not where you are not concerned!”

It’s enough to cast a shadow in your rarely sentimental display. Disappointed, you are back to your seat, missing the thankful gaze Aemond shoots at you.

Yet, restless as you are, the crowed room does not silence you…

Until Gerold Hightower, unusual guest and witness of his Targaryens cousins squabbling, invites you for a dance. This angers the prince, who projects his frustrations at his mother.

Whilst the world burns in flames, you release your energy when you take your cousin’s hand and let be led him to dance, tired of caring, tired of feeling feelings that are the result of others deeds, you just want to be conducted out of this troubled world.

*

It’s late night when Aemond comes to your privy chambers. He needs you, his partner, his other half. The prince needs to reach his particular heaven, to gravitate to his sun.

You are just slipping inside the soft Dornish sheets when he follows you.

“Goodness me!”, you let a cry out when seeing Aemond next to you. “Aemond! I hate when you do that!”

“You don’t!”, he chuckles before poking your sides. “I’ve always done it and you never complained it.”

You squeak, falling into laughters as he tickles your side until you are breathless and laying on his lap.

“What brings you here, Aem?”, you ask him eventually rolling back on your side of bed.

He throws himself back at your bed, hands behind his neck, never unlocking the gaze you hold.

“I missed you”, he takes your fingers and interlock with his. “Your sweet disposition, your wit… everything I cannot be, the embodiment of virtues I cannot possess…”

You turn abruptly at him, and Aemond realizes how beautiful you look under candlelight, with a few locks dropping on your brow. He promptly takes them and puts behind your ear, diving in your lilac eyes and seeing the protest that has been forming in your mind.

“You are good. I know my prince, my other half.”

His gaze lingers at you, but lowers too to your neck. You still wear the necklace he gave you many moons ago, the day you reached ten and three summers. Aemond smirks, peeking your pink nipples that are this close to leave your nightgown.

“You do not what you say”, he quickly looks away, now stroking your cheek. “Such a faithful woman.”

“What a faithless man you’ve become”, you put him to an embrace, caressing his long locks, playing with your hand as he nuzzles against your neck, which makes you shake lightly.

Aemond cannot help a smile, feeling what you feel. This unusual connection never ended, he sees it now. It remains strong enough to erase him… the woman he’d publicly made his paramour.

As if you read his thoughts, you speak with a hint of disdain in your voice:

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”

Aemond detects the poorly dissimulated jealousy he finds in you and it makes him smile. You two really complete the other.

“What makes you think I have another place to be at?”

He now plays with the necklace and you pretend you do not feel that old ache rising to burn what’s between your legs. Aemond, however, spots the moment your nipples get hard. He sighs in content, pleased to have his confirmation. But the prince is in no rush to stop enjoying it.

He remembers the day he had an inter course with lady Alys and it does scare him that he came to climax thinking of you.

Aemond blushes at the memory.

“We all know the woman you are devoted to”, you say, gently turning against him in a manner to push him away.

“Come on, now, love. Do not do that”, he pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder, snaking his arms around your waist. “Who am I without my fiercest defender?”

Gently, he places a kiss on top of your shoulder, eyes glued at your face, part of him praying not to be shooed away. You don’t do so, but neither give in as he hopes.

“Somebody’s husband and paramour”, you snark sarcastically, folding your arms.

Aemond chuckles, between annoyed and amused at your words. You try to ignore how suddenly his hand rest in your belly, pushing gently your nightgown as in a way to make you look at him.

You feel your breasts are about to leave the cloth that covers each, so you are about to adjust yourself when you find yourself locked in his arms. It doesn’t help you how he puts a knee to part your legs and discreetly lay in your womanhood.

Which of course messes with your reason, but you still hesitate.

“What do you think you are doing? Do you take me as your whore?!”, you frown, already moody because fire now burns your belly.

“Never”, Aemond scoffs at you, speaking more seriously now. “I meant every word I said. You are dear to me, my sweet loving sister to whom I devout myself to.”

You sigh, unsure what to say. You rest your head against his shoulder now, unknowing what to say.

“I think you keep too much to yourself”, he whispers, gently pressing his knee into your womanhood, earning a gasp that makes him smirk.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?”, you protest rather weakly.

“You think I wouldn’t notice?”, he looks down at you, his fingers now stroking your face before letting his index finger brush over your rosy lips.

“Notice what?”, by now your voice betrays you and almost unconsciously you rub onto his knee.

Aemond holds back a heavy sigh, sensing a boner growing the moment you suck his finger.

“You know what”, he takes it out of your lips and lifting your nightgown, slowly inserts it in your core. “There is no need to repress yourself, my love.”

You flutter your eyelashes, barely believing in what is happening. Your mouth forms an “o” as his finger investigates you, sliding farther before being joined by a second finger.

“Heavens!”, you throw your head back at the pillow, his gaze burning you.

“Yes”, he looks at your mouth, wondering what’s like to kiss it, to taste your tongue, but the prince is patient. Even if it arouses him to an unbearable point where his boner is troubling his self control. “Burn with me. It’s something you have always wanted haven’t you?”

He smirks as you arch your back, giving in completely.

“How’d you know?”, you ask in between whimpers.

Closing the distance between your lips, he says:

“What you feel I feel. The fire burning you inside, consuming desperately all that you heave…”, he bites your bottom lip, increasing the pace of his fingering. “I felt it too. You should have woken me up, told me countless times…”

“Aemond!”, you whimper under his good care of you.

No words are needed to be said. The moment his lips collide against yours coincides with when your legs are heavier, as if you are levitating, and then…

Every tension dissipates.

“I love you”. Aemond whispers against your ear, cuddling you protectively.

Rolling onto him, you kiss him again.

“I love you”, you mewl under his care, locking him still with your legs as his hands help removing you out of your nightgown.

“That day I spotted you at the lake”, says he, whose famine hands are now pursuing your freed nipples, which make you moan quite loudly. “Got me into another woman’s bed that wasn’t yours.”

You purr under his words, forsaking reason and good sense at your best. It is insensible to fight your heart’s desire, to not be consumed by the fire as he burns you with the other part of you he possesses so well.

“Aemond”, you moan out his name as his hands begin to play with your weak spots.

When he’s with you, no need there is to conceal who he truly is. His eye-patch is not there to hide away his scar, as well as others begin to be seen when your hand removes his clothes.

“Will you stay?”, you ask, insecurity shadowing the moment m.

Aemond looks into your eyes as he holds your face with both hands.

“Yes, my sweet princess. I shall make you my wife…”

“Lawfully”, you hint at refusing becoming his mistress.

Aemond chuckles.

“Lawfully”, he agrees.

So he kisses you.

***

• They think she did it but they just can't prove it. She thinks I did it but she just can't prove it. No, no body, no crime…

You are there when another crime happens. Aemond has been committed to his word. You are going to be espoused by your twin, thus respecting the Targaryen tradition that has been followed for ages.

But to every great delight is followed by a greater torment.

You are the one looking after your niece and nephew with your sister today. She’s been occupied with sewing and you are noticing sadness growing so suddenly in her features. You know what cause is there—you dreamed about it too, the loss of the precious Jaehaera and her twin Jaehaerys. The image daunts you.

As if moved by strange instinct, you summon them:

“My darlings, come here. I want to show you something…”

It happens very fast. Before the twins come to you, the royal privy chambers are taken by two strangers. Lowborn men dressing nothing but wickedness in their eyes take possess of the heirs of the crown.

“My children!”, Helaena squeaks. “Lords, please! Give them back to me!”

You try to get to the door, but not only it’s locked as the man who holds Jaehaerys slaps hard on your face, making you fall.

“An eye for an eye… But maybe this can be prevented if you choose one of your children to be saved!”

You panic, and so does Helaena. The older one that smells bad and holds a fanciful dagger says:

“Well? Beauty is not eternal, Madame. So perhaps you’d like to continue the lineage with your prince and let your princess attend the divine call?”

“This is not a divine call”, you scream. “It’s a crime!”

You try to find a weapon to avenge your sister, who is too nervous and shocked, having a breakdown at the scene, but the next thing you know you get yourself to a fight.

The next event was not predicted by Helaena. You jump into the back of the man who’s kidnapping Jaehaerys and thus release the boy. As you try to steal the man’s dagger, you manage to hurt him, which makes his partner get himself distracted and promoted to help him.

Whatever the case, you are not Aemond and your lack of strength is only an advantage to cause distraction. It works, but at what cost?

Soon the blade meets your belly and screams are heard like a haunted ghost throughout the castle. The sound is not yours, but Helaena’s.

Your beloved sister is about to lose her best friend for the sake of a dynasty that was damned from the beginning.

Your mind goes blank, though. All you remember is the days spent in relatively peace, quiet and studying, always omitting Aemond’s sins and ensuring these never reached your mother’s knowledge.

As you gasp in pain, weeping silently as your murderer twists the dagger in you. Believing your body will be disappeared after your last breath, Aemond will not know a crime has occurred.

Is your sacrifice worth of this dusted and dysfunctional family you are part of? When thinking of the safety of your nephews and the love you received of Aemond, you believe so.

Then you comfortably slip out of your conscience.

***

For some reason, you are spared by the Gods. Aemond is there next to you, concern stamping his features. It softens though when you move your hand, surprised to find it holding his.

“Y/N! Y/Nickname!”, you see tears in his good eye when he reaches for you, peppering your face with kisses. “I thought I lost you. I…”

He could not say another word. Still shaken for finding yourself alive and well, you have nothing to say as he rocks you in his arms. Only then you look at him, confused.

“What happened? I thought…”, and then you remember the events of that evening and you start to panic. “Aemond! The children, where are…?”

“Shh, shh…”, says the prince, kissing your lips gently. “No need to stress yourself over this matter, love. All has been resolved and our nephews are well. You are well and y his is mostly important.”

You snuggle onto his arms, weeping silently. Aemond understands what you’ve gone through, having spent the last days in great distress. He could not fight a war knowing you are not well. He could not bear in mind a world where you are not part of it.

Later you’d know Aemond rescued you because of the strong bond you two share. When he was about to fly Vhagar, he felt an excruciating pain flinch over his body, a terror that tormented his reason. Quickly he understood this was about you, that you needed him.

By the time he arrived at the Great Tower of the Red Keep, you have been just under a terrible attack that nearly costed your wife. The attackers escaped but Aemond hunted them down—after ensuring you were under the best care of the best men of the realm—and personally ensured to execute such criminals.

As he did, Aemond knew who was the responsible for sending these two after his nephew and niece. The prince soon found his uncle Daemon’s whereabouts and a fight followed—to no avail, although Daemon was forced to seek exile.

The blacks are now momentarily defeated and now all of your family are present in Aemond’s privy bedchambers—to where you were taken—looking after you.

“My dear girl. How imprudent of you to behave the way you did”, Alicent is weeping since the moment she saw you are awake. “I frightened for you. I prayed for your soul. I… My sweet Y/N! I have no words for what you’ve done and the great pain you made me suffer! Do you care so little about your life?”

Before you could give her an answer, which includes an apology, another teary relative comes to your sight. The Queen Helaena rushes to your side before carefully holding you in her arms.

“I didn’t see it coming, please forgive me!”

“There’s nothing to forgive. What it matters is that they are well… aren’t they?”

“They are”, a male, embargoed voice joins the party. It’s Aegon’s. “Y/N, your loyalty has always been the most admirable trait of a sweet heart none but Helaena possesses genuinely. Thank you.”

It’s an emotional scene, a reward for a duty you’ve never expected to earn. Aemond is there by your left side, him too sharing your sentiments. It is clear by now that what one feels, so does the other.

But what a greater victory there is to rejoice now than the harmony of the Dowager Queen and her children?

You know it… because you’ve dreamt it.

***

• Epilogue.

Harrenhal Castle, many years later.

No more shadows nor sorrows since war came to an end. For once every enemy is defeated and the king reigns uncontestedly with his family by his side.

Politics here, politics there, a rival to your man’s love is nowhere to be seen. Some of the servants believe you possess the same wickedness there is in Lord Aemond’s heart, for since you and him were married, Alys Rivers has gone to dust. Where has she gone, the ambitious witch?

A name that doesn’t remain in anyone’s mind when your Valyrian beauty is seen inside and out of the Castle. You are a good landowner and you do your charity.

You earn the epithet of “the good lady wife of Aemond, the kinslayer”. But you do not mind it. Not when you rule your household… and him.

Whilst children are fast asleep, you are found in great intimacy with your lord husband. In nude state, you sit at the edge of your bed, subduing him at your will.

“Aemond!”, you throw your head back, going insane at the wonderfulness his tongue does inside your womanhood, dancing around your clit until he drinks all the liquid you provide him. “Oh, oh Aem…!”

You gently push his face to your core, arching your back as that familiar wave rises from your already levitating thighs… before crushing in your belly. And you almost scream, had he not placed a hand over your mouth.

Soon after, he doesn’t let you take a break and promptly slides inside you, making you whimper and squint in surprise.

“My lady is soaked!”, Aemond pushed you by your thighs, his tone so indecently hot that you squirm and drop back in bed. “Goodness me, woman!”

The prince groans loud, throbbing right into you, watching you with lust and desire as you are about to get undone again. Specially when he intercalates his deep thrusts with his fingers.

“Sing it to me”, he now inclines his body over yours, both of you soaked. Aemond wraps a hand around your neck, holding it the way you like him to all the whilst slapping your bum respectfully. He’s about to come undone himself. “Yes, wife!”

And to his surprise, you lock him with your legs and turn positions. Barely you begin to ride him, though, when both of you reach orgasm.

“This was so good!”, Aemond cries out before making out with you passionately.

He then helps you come to his side, and there your bodies remain interlocked.

“I think we conceived”, you muse mischievously.

Aemond is cuddling onto you, holding you tightly close. You don’t mind his sweat, so mixed to yours that smell as one. You love him intently so and he feels it.

“I don’t mind if we do”, he chuckles. “The more, the merrier.”

One exchange of glances is enough to express how one feels for the other. It makes you happy, it contents him likewise. No signs of war, no crimes to be slandered of. No more.

It’s all good. Perfectly good…

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XIX): This Is Me Trying.

Imagine Aemond Targaryen imprisons you during the late civil war.

Warnings: long post, drama, angst, light smut, fluff ending.

***

• Before the War.

I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. I didn't know if you'd care if I came back. I have a lot of regrets about that…

When Aemond meets you again circumstances are about to erupt in an event that most involved wish to prevent. He’s lost an eye, and though for gaining something more important, his pride never amended for the loss.

You, on the other hand, are his cousin via his uncle Daemon’s first marriage to Lady Rhea Arryn. In theory, you should be ruler of that House, but women hold no rights there so that is why you are there with your family.

With your dark hair and darker eyes, you attract your cousins’s attention. It’s a week before the fatidic dinner when he spots you, dressed in dark blue, ignoring the rising tensions between the already formed green and black parties.

“You look as if this is the place you wouldn’t want to be”, you hear him address you.

In all fairness, last time you’ve been there he was a child and so were you. Hardly surprising it is to find the quiet boy a taller and handsome man.

“Lord Aemond”, you smile when recollecting his name. “It’s been years…”

“Indeed. Many events have transcurred since we last spoke, Lady Arryn”, he side smirks, eyeing you intently, pleased to make you blush.

As children, you were playmates before your father remarried to Lady Laena of House Velaryon. She took you as one of her own and under her care you remained until she came to past away. And then your father espoused Princess Rhaenyra, whom also took you as her daughter.

And here you are.

“They have, yes”, you nod, transfixed by his enigmatic presence. “I’m sorry about your eye. I wasn’t there when this happened.”

“You’d think I didn’t notice?”, he raises his eyebrow. “Where have you been?”

Silence hangs in between the two of you. Aemond resents your absence, how out of reach you’ve been when you were once close. How on earth have you become strangers?

You look down at your wrung hands, but when carefully lifting your gaze you still find his good eye glued on you, trying to understand you.

“I tried to reclaim my inheritance at the Eyrie right after my stepmother’s decease. I couldn’t do so earlier as I was too young, but now…”

“Are you their lady now?”, Aemond softens.

You smile almost unconsciously as the tension between you two dissipate and the prince leads you to the gardens.

“No. They accept no woman as their overlord”, you sigh. “My father doesn’t take it nicely, though. He intends to reclaim it on my behalf, refusing the proposal of my maternal uncle.”

“Oh?”, he furrows his eyebrows, fearful of the response. “What that’d be?”

As you two move towards the gardens, you barely notice how your arm slides to his, distance now shorter than before.

“Marriage. What other proposal would be?”

Aemond chuckles lightly, but you spot no amusement in his good eye.

“It is the way, is it not?”

“For us women, usually is. A duty that requires plenty of sacrifices.”

As he looks at you, Aemond doesn’t resist the urge of asking:

“What would you be prepared to sacrifice, lady Y/N?”

As you two lock gazes, you are reminded of the time spent together. As children, you were both so alike in temperament, in likes and thoughts. What has changed now?

You open your mouth, but you do not know what to say. Aemond gently parts of you, hands behind his back, expectation somewhat filling behind his good eye.

He knows the answer. He can tell by your heavy breathing, the light shake of your hands, how your bottom lip trembles… what will come out. Sensibility rises behind your coal eyes like darkness pulls him into it.

He waits.

You won’t say it. You won’t say it.

But you do.

“You.”

To your dismay, the prince smiles. Taking your hand in his, he says:

“I’ve always thought about you. I’m glad you haven’t forsaken me, Y/N.”

You blush, moving your gaze instantly away. A torrent of words are being held back. Aemond, who knows you so well, gently makes you look at him.

“Do not slip out of me. I ask you this.”

“Even though I am the elder sister of the twins who attacked you?”

Aemond chuckles.

“No one is perfect.”

That being said, he takes your hand and there presses a kiss.

***

• The Dinner.

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout. Could've followed my fears all the way down and maybe I don't quite know what to say…

Right before the expected meeting at the King’s table for the evening meal in a familiar gathering, you are found at Lord Aemond’s company. You see he’s been acting weirdly, even though nothing on his face betrayals it.

“Why are you in a glooming mood?”, you inquire, your face rested in his lap, looking up at him as his long hand strokes your hair.

“I am not”, he says in a dismissive tone. “This is who I am, you know.”

“Do not play me a fool, Aemond”, you stand reluctantly, but never too far of his grasp.

Aemond likes how wild your hair is, mirroring a tempest that is forming behind your eyes as you stare at him. He strokes your face, prompted to succumb to his desires if circumstances were different.

“Will you force me speak my mind?”

“If I must, yes”, you narrow your eyes.

Again, he chuckles.

“You can be stubborn when you want to be, Y/Nickname.”

“A trait you also have, if I recall well.”

Aemond leans so close to you now that you fear you are about to lose your balance. Especially when his lips are pressed against your forehead, there lingering in a gentle, but intense kiss that spreads fire over your body.

A sentiment that you think wise to ignore.

But when his slander hands slip from your face to your long hair, resting around your waist, you find yourself holding your breath.

“Always beautiful, my sweet Y/N. I could never let go of you, nor hold you accountable of others’ sin.”

You realize the feud between him and your half siblings are deeper than you’d judged.

“My sweet”, you hold his face gently. “Do not feed these grudges. I understand the pain of losing what is dear to you, by no chances I mean to demove you of this sentiment. However, vengeance is not changing what happened.”

It is as if you are twins, one knowing the other so well, able to feel what other feels, to think what the other thinks. As if your soul is made of the same material as his.

Even if where he is fire and you are water, a perfect mix has always tied each other.

“Aemond…”

He takes your hands and there presses a kiss.

“Come, we better not get late to the dinner.”

To your disappointment, Aemond stands, waiting for you to take the arm he offers you. But the moment you take it, it feels as if you are growing apart.

***

“Where have you been?”, your father asks you the moment you slide to your chair, next to Baela’s seat.

“By a certain somebody’s side”, you hear your half-sister grumble.

“Would you please mind your own business?”, you snort at her.

“Girls”, interferes Rhaenyra. “This is not the place nor the time.”

“Indeed it is not”, agrees Daemon. “And I pray you have not been randomly wandering around with him again.”

You raise your gaze only to meet your father’s inexpressible pair of lilac eyes studying you. Praying you are able to hold back your emotions enough not to blush, you smirk.

“Oh please, father. As far as it may be difficult for you to accept, I have other companions to spend my time with besides my relatives”, you lie blatantly at his face.

“Right… If that is what you are telling me, I have no need to preoccupy myself then”, he reclines back at his chair, ignoring how the small conversation has captured Aemond’s attention.

Though he sits at the other side of the table, the prince monitors you. He can tell you are lying by how you close your first around the glass, how you cast your eyes to the plate, chewing your bottom lip nervously.

He can tell you are upset at some sibling provocation by the blush that paints your cheeks and the air of impatience that makes you roll your eyes. The discomfort at it is crystal clear as you feel an outsider as your twin sisters talk nonsenses with the Velaryon boys.

You do not belong there. Your looks outstand the Targaryen looks, that itself makes you uncomfortable. He wishes he could tell you many great things—amongst which the depth of his affections for you.

As you raise your eyes, you meet his gaze and for the first time during the dinner both of you smile. He wishes to reach out for you. But then something changes.

It all happens very fast. The food and mutual implication of Aemond’s loss of an eye lead him to subtly stand.

“I would like to have a toast…”

You barely blink. Tension is in the air and you see by their faces that everyone is holding their breaths.

You know Aemond is up to no good. You try to convince him not doing what he’s about to, suspecting this has something to do with his long standing rivalry with the Velaryon boys.

To your disappointment and not entirely surprise, vengeance takes his best. Aemond sees the moment he speaks unwanted words how aghast you look.

“…for these three Strong boys.”

And what happens next prevents him to reach out for you again.

***

• War.

Wind howls violently at the top of the hill. You stare at your dragon with silver eyes and black scams. It’s time, you know it.

Your hair is tied in a long braid and you dress for your first battle at this disgrace war that has been waged since your sweet prince has caused the death of your half-brother.

You could not forgive him for this atrocity, even if part of you doesn’t buy the narrative that Aemond chased Lucerys and purposely ended with his life. You recall how that day you and Rhaena entered in a fight because you were accused to stand for such a kinslayer, an accusation you refused to absolve her for.

“Are you sure you are ready to do it?”, you hear the voice of your father not long as you prepare to mount your flying beast.

Clouds clash, resulting in electric storms. Not the most propitious skies to fly. Daemon looks at you with fatherly concern, reading in your impulsiveness the need of proving your worth.

“I ask you not to fight this war unless it’s absolutely needed to. You should not do it because of your sisters. What Rhaena has said to you…”

“I care naught about what she said”, you turn your head at him. “This isn’t about me or her, but our cause. I will not disappoint you, my father. You’ll be proud of me.”

“I am already proud of you”, says Daemon with his greeted teeth. “I see myself in you. There is no need to have Targaryen looks to be one. You have the dragon blood in you, Y/N. Listen to me, this is not the time…”

“I am a woman now, father. As capable as anyone else to stand for the Queen.”

You swallow your tears, smashing your childhood fears down to your throat. And you fly with your dragon without further waiting, wishing to wipe off your thoughts the nights spent with Aemond at the library or running the corridors or when each confided insecurities to the other.

You wish you had not in mind the envy you felt when seeing your twin sisters sharing the Targaryen looks. You wish you were not mocked upon because of that.

You rise, aiming to fly higher. And your dragon feels your angst, howling through the air. As electric as it is, you seem immune to it.

But of course when you play the game of thrones you either win or die. What shall be the destiny gods hold to you?

Nothing of it comes to your thoughts when you spot Aegon, the Usurper, mounting his dragon. He flies right against you. The battle scene is prepared and you promptly join it.

The dragons dance and your temper takes the best of your reasoning. Nevertheless you hold the advantage of having a dragon bigger than Aegon’s.

But inexperienced.

A fault that will come at you when Aegon commands his dragon to fly right into you. It’s a violent battle to see. He tries to attack you wearing his sword, but his blows are useless.

So suddenly you wish you have heard your father. You are not prepared to fight your cousin on your own. And when a greater dragon casts its shadow below, you have realized you fell to a trap.

***

Aemond doesn’t take pride in taking you with him as his prisoner. Your silence is a harder blow to take, unprepared he was to face it.

“Do not, I ask you, make these matters worse to you.”

He takes you to Harrenhal with him, reclaiming you as his war prize, against his brother’s will, who certainly had other plans for his uncle’s daughter.

You are still processing the trauma of losing your dragon to those beasts you share your blood with. Perhaps it’s not a misfortune to look such an Arryn this time.

You answer him not. Aemond knows this is a difficult battle to fight—and what’s worse, his conscience tells him this is the result of his doing.

“You shall stay in these chambers”, Aemond tells you. “It used to belong to…”

He’d say these were his mistress Alys’ bedchambers before she came to pass after a hard labor, but to avail should he remind you that he supplanted you in his affections?

Or did he plan to say so as a form to plague you with remorse for daring to fight his brother alone?

Such thoughts are slipping out of his mind before the sight of your distress, already plagued by traumas of a war… caused by him.

“To your whore?”, you cut the silence by saying what he could not. “How thoughtful of you, Aemond. Thank you for being considerate.”

Your sharp remark leaves him astonished at your bluntness. It hurts him more than he admits, but as you turn your back at him, entering the bedchambers and there locking yourself in, Aemond realizes that what you two once shared is no more.

***

You sob violently when being left alone. Your imprudence brought you such tragedy and at times you consider going to the window and jump to death at long last and put an end to your misery.

As your father’s daughter, however, your inclination to life speaks louder than letting broken pride taking the best of you.

However, for how long will your spirit resist this? You were never someone to be easily caged.

And yet, here you are…

***

• Reproach: the aftermath…

They told me all of my cages were mental so I got wasted like all my potential and my words shoot to kill when I'm mad. I have a lot of regrets about that I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. Fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here pouring out my heart to a stranger, but I didn't pour the whiskey…

Like strangers you meet. Dressed in a green silk gown with hair loose behind your back, a sign of resistance, you join the prince in an awkward dinner.

“Will you not eat?”

“I lost my appetite”, but your mouth is dried and you eventually take the silver glass poured with red wine to your lips.

Aemond softens before you.

“We have started wrongly. Again time steals you from me. I, who possess all that gold and titles can purchase, was deprived of the luxury of having you.”

How openly and crudely he speaks these words make your eyes go wide open at him. You down your glass, skepticism stamped in your features.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I mean every word I say.”

You do not answer, fearful of being brought to the edge of your tears. The old signs Aemond sees: you chew your bottom lip, you close your wrist in a fist, your shoulders remain tense.

Your body screams resentment when you spirits locks in silence.

“You don’t.” After a while you add. “Has Lady Alys been what then?”

“A replacement of you.”

You promptly stand.

“Stop it. Stop right there, my lord prince. Do you take me as a toy you can play at your will? Have you not taken enough of me to satisfy your thirst for vengeance?”

So does he stand.

“I lost a lot for the wrongs I’ve done, lady.”

“You have never missed me!”, and you at last explode. “You’ve forgotten me long ago! You took that woman to your bed, making her your wife in all but name! What have you sacrificed?”

Aemond shortens the distance as he holds your wrists, pulling you closer to him. When removing his eye patch, he hisses:

“I sacrificed you! Us! All that we could have been! Caged my own shadows, I was misled to believe I would earn no peace until they paid for the wrongs I suffered!”

You weep violently, drowning in your sobs as he holds you against him.

“Do not torment me more than I am tormented myself”, he whispers in your ear. “This is me trying, Y/N, to exorcise my demons and be a better version of me to you.”

He buries his head against your neck, smelling your scent, being reminded of peaceful days that now look old, ancient ones dusted in the wind.

His long fingers bury his nails tightly in your waist, nearly provoking physical pain as impatiently begins to unlace your gown.

You shiver before his touch, not hissing away of the pain you two inflicted each other. Now the only sound you hear is of his small sobs. Your hands go to his head.

Two souls harmed, pained in long term angst. You lift his face with scars exposed.

“How did we get here? I used to know you so well, Aemond. My sweet Aem, what have we done?”

“I swallowed vengeance as a medicine and had me poisoned. Never wanted to get you involved in this.”

Fireplace warms the prince’s chambers and soon you and him are sitting on the ground, close to the flames that warm the cold there is in either of you.

“Will you be the death of me?”

“Never”, he takes your face with his face and finally kisses your lips. “I will not let you go.”

As much as you want to be kissed, as much as your lips devour his in a fervent kiss, as much as your gown starts to slip out of your shoulders and your hands get to remove his shirt, you pull out and Aemond knows he should be more clear.

“There is a plan.”

“Then share it with me.”

“I’ll make you Lady of the Vale. You will sit at Eyre as their only lady. I’ll be by your side as you reclaim your inheritance.”

You can barely believe in what he’s saying.

“Aemond…”

“No more wars. No more tragedies. No more blood spent. This I promise you. I will make you my wife.”

When his lips twitch at a small smile, that sweet smile that has always melted your heart, you know what he speaks is true.

“Make me yours.”

That being said, Aemond, more than willingly, rises to claim your lips. And right there, before the flames, two dragons meet in flesh.

***

• Lady

And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town…

A feast is thrown at the Capital. Civil war has come to an end and you are told there had been no survivors of the black party. In spite of the plans secretly arranged with Aemond, you’d still have to go through the humiliation of being seen as a trophy to the green cause.

For him, you try. To conceal your grief, to mourn underneath a well masked emotionless face.

For him, you try. To dress in the colors of his house, to act composedly even when Aegon laughs at you, even when the usurper mocks at all you know.

But Aemond keeps his word. He stands for you, refusing to let his victory to perpetuate wounds that should be closed, that must be cured.

It’s when the Dowager Queen comes at you.

“There has been many losses to our sides”, she plays the diplomatic role that is expected of her position. “I lament it deeply how this ended. She was dear to me, you know.”

You cast your dark coal eyes to see a pair of green ones plagued by vicious sadness staring back at yours. There are many things you want to say, but no words make to your tongue.

Instead, you opt for the cold, silent treatment. However, when seeing how Aemond has stood for you—as he has always done, once you’ll learn-/, you eventually say with your dry throat:

“Your condolences are welcomed, Your Grace. I assume this is where I should congratulate you thus.”

“Congratulate me?”

Oh her cynicism prevents you try further to be genuinely polite.

“Indeed. Your schemes came to fruition and here your son rules uncontestedly, notwithstanding his father’s wishes in keeping Princess Rhaenyra’s his heiress. But what do I know?”

Leaving the paled queen prompted to another access of tears, you excuse yourself to the gardens.

A film of past, merry days is relived behind your eyes. Lady Laena educating you next to her twin daughters, only two years younger than you. The tutors, the moments spent with your father, who somewhat was distant but always caring to you.

The sadness of losing Lady Laena being replaced as you witness your father marrying Princess Rhaenyra. You remember her kindness and her favours. The dragon egg she gifted you in your late teenager days…

You sob as you miss your black dragon. A hole in your heart is open and your knees go weak. You can hear Rhaenyra telling you this is not your fault for Lucerys’ demise.

“This is not your war to fight.”

But you fought it, didn’t you?

“Don’t go”, your father’s eyes cried out to you when his words attempted to pull you down.

But you wanted to prove his worth… And that was the last time you ever saw him.

Here you are, hardly free. A trophy for all those victors to exhibit. And in this cruel circumstance, you miss him coming at you, standing by your side.

“Come”, he says, taking your hand to his.

“Where?”, you do not mind disguising anymore.

Your castle tumbled and you are nothing but the ruins of days that are not going back.

“To reclaim your inheritance with me”.

Aemond senses your reluctance and stands with you, now out of others eyes. And right under his gaze you sob violently, and he takes you in his arms, feeling your pain as if it’s his own.

“It shouldn’t be this way. I cannot apologize enough for what I’ve done to you.” And leaving his pride aside, he takes your face with his hands and wiping your tears, so he says: “Please, forgive me.”

Underneath grey clouds, out of the bloody feast, it’s just you and him. Trying.

“I forgive you”, you concede genuinely, forgiving yourself too for the impulsiveness.

“I shall never leave you. Ever”, he vows it.

And this is the start of a new journey to you. Where you are neither trying it, but making it. It’s time to amend the wounds of the civil war.

***

You regain your strength, your old self the moment you land at the seat of your mother’s house.

You are not entirely surprised that the local noblemen welcome you reluctantly, as if prepared to engage in war.

“Peace”, you tell them. “I come in peace.”

Aemond leaves you to settle it. He is by your side, hand resting in his sword. Having claimed Blackfyre, he wears it proudly. Not to mention the grand beast behind them.

Although calmly, Vhagar stares at those pair of eyes as if she’s about flame them all.

A dark haired young man comes at you. He could easily be a lost sibling, but the similarities end there.

“Lady Y/N Targaryen. I thought we’d not meet.”

“How kind of you, cousin. A very warm welcome on your part”, like your father before you, snark remarks are something you do well. Aemond himself doesn’t conceal a smirk.

“What are you here for? You have no right here.”

You really forgot how the people of Vale could be ruthlessly straight to the point. It’s when Aemond Targaryen comes in the scene.

“You either bend your knee on behalf of my lady or else you’ll face consequences in the name of King Aegon, Second of His Name.”

Those present still remember from stories when Vhagar last came there. Her rider was lenient and they prayed you and Aemond remain so.

But your maternal cousin, Lord H/N, doesn’t seem prudent. Silence hangs.

“Well? What is your choice going to be? Westeros has bled for more time than it needed. Will you be the reason why the Vale will meet blood and fire on the wrong way? It’s not shameful to bend the knee.”

“I shall never bend a knee for a treacherous whore as yourself.”

It’s enough for Aemond unleash his sword and… let its blade kiss the man’s neck.

“No one who offends my lady walks out free.”

Just like that you reclaim your inheritance and you barely conceal your satisfaction at it. Who’d else dare to resist you after Lord H/N’s unwelcoming reckless?

**

You are dressed in the colors of your mother’s house. How ironic it is that your father’s enemy helped you to obtain what he could never achieve not even as his widower’s alleged claimant to Lady Rhea’s inheritance.

You look at your prince, who stands at the higher table as your Arryn’s relatives welcome you with a proper feast.

“Thank you”, you smile at him and Aemond is pleased to find no sadness behind your eyes.

“It is only right to amend the wrongs”, right under the table he takes hold of your hand and there squeezes it. “It pleases me more to see your kinsmen and the folks here did not provide any sort of resistance.”

“Despite my surname and whom I take after, they remember my mother well even if I don’t”, you sigh shortly. “They see how diplomatic and reasonable I am. No matter how tied I am to this new regime, they want and need the peace these years took from them.”

Aemond smiles at you and you are content for finding peace at last behind his good eye.

“Thankfully you are. I don’t see how this could be otherwise.”

Earlier that day, before the ceremony of your rise as Lady of the Vale began, you and Aemond were lawfully married before the Seven. This feast intends to celebrate both occasions with tons of merriments. The next day a tournament will be given on behalf of their new overlords.

*

“My lady”, he kisses your neck and bare shoulders, his hands already removing your line nightgown.

Sitting behind you at your bed, your husband stands all bare as you let him take his time to contemplate this new state both of you are.

No more childhood sweethearts. No more lovers parted due to war. But a husband loving his wife.

You tilt your head to the side, already feeling a heat ache in the between of your legs. Your nipple is already hardened as he exposes it, and you’d gladly touch yourself to ease this burden had he not held your wrist.

“Leave it to me”, he bites your neck, there leaving his bruise.

You arch your back in silent protest.

“You are torturing in me”, you moan, turning your head as you make sure to remove your nightgown and begin to climb on your nude consort when he turns you to be laid under his body.

“Am I?”, he smiles, his hair a mess as you bury your nails on his shoulders, pulling you to him. “Am I torturing my beautiful wife?”

“For years”, you grumble before breaking in a loud whimper when he inserts a finger in between your legs. “Oh, husband!”

His tongue now slides to your chest, path trailing before reaching your nipples. There, the night finally begins to you and your prince gladly takes his time.

Until you begin to reach the climax, he climbs back at you.

And not entirely unexpected…

“Ah, yes!”

He groans as he slides inside you. Raising your legs to fit better his moves, he matches the pace of his hips with yours.

Locking hands with you, he pursuits your lips and in a very passionate kiss you give all you have to him.

***

Some years later.

You watch from your scribe quarters how Aemond trains your son, Daeron, with his sword. You are writing a letter to your sister-in-law, the Queen, to ask a favor on behalf of the Vale when the lovely scene captures your attention.

Your son is now four years old. He has silver hair with some dark shades, a trait you’ve once seen in Lady Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was. His eyes are painted lilac, likes his father’s. Your boy is every inch Aemond’s son.

But his temper is quiet, like yours. He possesses attentive, fierce eyes. He has a quick wit, and some say he’s a precocious boy. He’s indeed very healthy.

The scene is adorable. Whenever Daeron mishits a blow, he pouts.

“I am terrible at it, daddy!”

Aemond chuckles, very patient and says:

“Take your time, young man. You have to go back to our lessons when holding a proper sword.”

“If you gave me a real sword, I’d do better.”

You laugh quietly at the sight, especially when Aemond reprehends him for this thought.

“Nay, son. You need to uphold a wood sword or else what’s the point in holding a true blade? And even if you did, your mother would kill me.”

He then lifts Daeron and ruffles his hair.

“Come, let’s see what your sister is doing.”

Not too far from where he is, your daughter Rhaella is climbing a tree under the supervision of your trusted maid. When seeing her father, the dark haired little girl with purples irises beams at him and promptly goes down the tree to run at him.

“DADDYYYY!”

You get emotional at the sight. Aemond and your offspring. Your children, your heirs. A family you never thought you’d have to call yours.

And there’s a third one, a newly born baby who now reclaims your attention. The maid brings little Aemon to be breastfed as you insisted you do so.

“My little boy”, you turn at him, stroking his silver locks. You once joked to Aemond how the Gods amused themselves by sending a child with silver hair and another with dark locks. “My prince. Come, you are hungry, aren’t ye?”

You are doing so the moment the door is open and your husband comes in with the two children.

“My lady”, Aemond greets you with a kiss on your temple. “How is our son?”

“Healthy and hungry, praised be the Gods”, you chuckle. “And our children?”

“Mama, I must tell you what I did today!”

Suddenly your husband is pushed aside and Rhaella and Daeron begin to compete for your attention. Aemond, as amused as he is by the dispute, has to intervene.

And here’s how the rest of your afternoon is spent: surrounded by your family you love.

But there’s a surprise that might come to shake the grounds of your hard worked for stability. Before you get to dine with them, a lady of your trust comes at you in a hurry.

“What is wrong, my dear?”

“Someone wants to meet you. I am forbidden to share his identity and he wants to see you alone…”

It’s when Aemond has a glimpse of the conversation and he promptly entrusts his children to your lady before saying:

“She shall not meet this stranger alone, regardless of the conditions he imposed.”

The said woman messenger only gives you a look before doing as said. You and Aemond shoot glances, but neither dares to speak.

What surprise it is when, opening the door, you spot Daemon Targaryen completely weary standing before you.

“Dad?!”

He gives Aemond a long look before looking at you.

“Greetings there, daughter of mine. I’m alive.”