#— the fawn and the dragon 𓆱

[pearlsinmyhair]

emma lannister.

- the fawn. the lioness. the green whore. the dragon’s keeper.

“you should be careful, brother. she not only has the beauty of a doe, but also the teeth of a lion. and i dare say that she is not afraid to use them.”

“i have always wished for a sister. my mother was never one for comfort, and i think that you may be the balm that my poor brother requires. he has been burned before, em. he will not so easily be vulnerable once more.”

“the prince will never marry a lord’s bastard.”

“let these be your claws, sister. soon, you will need to use them.”

𓆱

“and how would you have me, raqiarzy? on my knees and clinging to your skirts, or over you demanding that you let me have you?”

her thumb traces the line of his bottom lip, pressing against the center so that his mouth parts.

her voice is soft, merely a breath.

“kneel.”

[pearlsinmyhair]

𓆱 the fawn and the dragon

a dragon will burst the belly of a lion, and a stag will rise from its blood.

emma has been called ‘the fawn’ for most of her life, and the name is just as much a compliment as it is a backhanded insult. no one wants to be a deer in a castle of lions, and no girl wants a whisper of infidelity to follow her through the halls of her own home.

she is beloved and beautiful, but she is also ‘bastard’ to many, even her own half brothers. yet she is still a lannister, and no one can strip the title from her.

and then war begins, and everything emma has known about or expected from her life at casterly rock is upheaved and uprooted before she can even prepare for change.

alliances need cementing, and discussions of marriage pacts are brewing far away in kings landing. a bastard becomes a bride, and a fawn will become the wife of a dragon.

a dragon will burst the belly of a lion, and a stag will rise from its blood.

gods be good.

initial information

- emma’s introduction

series masterlist

part 1 - prologue

[pearlsinmyhair]

𓆱 a dragon will burst the belly of a lion, and a stag will rise from its blood.

an idea post for a possible aemond targaryen fic, the fawn and the dragon

Aemond is twelve when the words tumble from his sisters lips, and no one but him pauses to listen.

Heleana stares into the flames in the fireplace as she utters her prophecy. Aemond has heard her whispered words enough to know that there is always truth laced in, no matter how deceptive the tellings are.

A dragon will burst the belly of a lion, and a stag will rise from its blood.

A tear drips from her eyes as she repeats the words again, and Aemond feels something in his gut turn. In the dragon pit, Vhagar opens her eyes from sleep and hisses a warning to an invisible enemy.

Eleven years before this exact moment, a babe was pulled from its mothers cooling corpse, the tears still fresh on her cheeks as her widower husband clutches her lifeless face to his chest.

The midwife runs a warm cloth over the newborns body, checking for injury and imperfection as the man weeps.

“It’s a girl, my lord.” the woman says, her breath caught in her throat as all attention turns to the grieving Lion at the side of the bed. “You have a daughter.”

The Lion holds his hands to the bundle of blankets and pulls his baby to him, blinking as he takes in the wisps of dark hair on her brow and scalp, the rose petal lips, the soft cooing as she turns her face in search of a mother’s milk.

The Lion kisses his baby girls forehead and whispers a prayer to the Seven.

“Emma.” he dubs her, his voice trembling as he exchanges a wife for a daughter, their lives passing through his fingers without his control. “She shall be called Emma.”

She will grow into the spitting image of her mother, with the mirthful gaze of her father and the calculating eyes of her older half-brothers. A Baratheon mother and a Lannister father make her one of the most beautiful and the most wealthy women on the marriage market. Men of all shapes and sizes, all ages and houses, will barter for her body in their beds and her dowry in their pockets. Only one will ever lay claim to her, and his hold will only be half as tight as hers is on him.

They will be united by fire and blood, their bodies burning to one alight flame. They will dance as war plays behind and above them. Black will lay with blonde, and purple will mix with brown.

A dragon and a lion and a stag. Blood between them, violence intertwining their destinies, palms pushing them towards one another.

The lion will roar for fire, and the dragons will listen.

Red silk flips to reveal myrish lace. A candle flame is snuffed by a sharp exhale. A fur lined hood is pulled back from white hair. A rumor is uttered into attending ears. Mouths meet skin. A cloak is pulled over dark-clothed shoulders. Fingers drip with blood. A scream. A cry. A whisper.

Fate is cruel, and the wills of men are fickle.

Aemond’s chest tightens once more, and he rolls his shoulders back to try and alleviate the feeling. Across the continent, a dark haired girl shifts as warmth drips down her thigh, only to find that the trickle is red.

A dragon will burst the belly of a lion, and a stag will rise from its blood.

Through her tears, Heleana Targaryen smiles.

𓆱

[pearlsinmyhair]

out of curiosity…