#⧽ interactions ∖ daemon velaryon .

[bohemian-nights]

Unpopular Opinion: Every time a black female character (especially if this black female character is dark skinned) enters into a relationship with the popular fan-favorite white male character usually one of three things happen a. the black female character is now headcanoned as a lesbian (never bisexual or queer or anything that would leave the character with the possibility of still entering into a relationship with a man) b. white male character is now shipped with other popular fan-favorite white male character/other white female character (the popular fan-favorite white male character is usually headcanoned to be bisexual and when he is, shipped with a woman that woman is always white) or c. black female character (and sometimes their actresses) is now being talked about as if they are the devil himself.

Wanting characters to explore their sexuality is fine but I always find it odd how this always happens when one member of the relationship is a black/blackish woman. *forgot to mention the suddenly polyamorous relationship the three (black female, white male and white male/woman) characters are now without a doubt in*

Anon you spoke nothing, but facts right here 🙌🏽

(The only thing I’d add is that they don’t just do this when the woman in question is with a white man, see Namor and Shuri and the backlash some shippers got for shipping them).

You aren’t the only one who has been noticing this trend.

I say trend loosely because really just a new stereotype to add to the bunch😒

It would be one thing if it was a want for actual representation, but every time now like clockwork. as soon as they see a Black woman who looks like she’s going to have a romantic arc with said popular fandom man, boom she must be gay😑

Hell, it’s getting so bad that these shows/movies are automatically just writing their Black women characters in that way.

If people can’t see how this can be harmful/dangerous, that’s cool, but anytime you want to paint all of a group a certain way and won’t show them in any other setting, that’s how you end up birthing new stereotypes.

This isn’t creating diversity. It’s limiting it(once again).

It’s so all or nothing with our media representation. Black women don’t want to be shown as one thing(which seems to go right over most people’s heads).

We just want the same opportunities as everybody else and not to be put into one or two narrow boxes of acceptable characterization that doesn’t threaten the status quo(aka you can't have Black women looking desirable especially not when there is an available white woman right there next to her).

[wulfhalls]

the way jace was ready to GO and all daemon had to do was ☝️ and my man was there immediately like 🧍‍♂️

[mmelolabelle]

I love and adore Alicent Hightower but baby, “My son has lost an eye…Over an insult? 🥺🥺”

sweetie you have been trying to leverage one of your culture’s greatest, most shameful taboos with anyone who will listen to get your ex crush/bff and her (v likely illegitimate tbf) sons disinherited for nearly ten years??

Now all of a sudden questioning someone’s legitimacy is nbd? Just ‘an insult’? Really? You’ve just been in a silly goofy mood for ten years? Bit of harmless name-calling was it?

Obviously a kids’ fight should never have escalated to someone losing an eye, because the children had no business being party to whatever political nonsense/family drama was going on. But the boys coming to blows over this was fairly predictable, especially as they got older. Babe, you actively chose to alienate your sons from their nephews in that way when you live in a culture where duels to the literal death over offended honour is a thing??? Where trial-by-combat is a 100% legit legal tactic?

Driftmark witnessed some truly audacious attempts at gaslighting that night but ALICENT REALLY

tl;dr Alicent lit the fuse on the Hightower v Velaryon/Strong kids conflict, she just didn’t intend for that particular bomb to go off so soon, or think that it would blow up in her son’s faces (much less that uh…literally)

[princesssszzzz]

Team Black has interesting characters, but I need them to have more conflict with one another to see them truly shine.

https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseOfTheDragon/s/nPLxtAKy0u

Thoughts on this post?

Hmmm I don’t fully agree. HOTD is a drama, but not a telemundo soap opera. They don’t need to argue with other characters in every scene to be interesting. They don’t need to create any problems, the problems are already there and just need to be fleshed out.

One of the issues with how people are reacting to these characters is trying to force their favorites to be villainous or nuanced like the Lannisters when no one in HOTD will ever come close to that. It’s forced “my fav is so bad and different”, especially when the characters have no agency and the few who do like Larys or Mysaria get ignored basically. My criticism for the show is not that I want all the characters to hate each other or it’s boring. I just want the characters to have natural reactions to what’s going on around them, and some of those reactions are negative. It doesn’t have to be plot altering or extreme. Like with Rhaena, I don’t expect her to HATE Daemon and start plotting his death. I just want them to talk about his behavior and have the show portray the effects it’s had on her. That’s actually very minor in the grand scheme of the story. People should also separate political vs personal happenings in the show because for some reason that keeps getting mixed. I like the realism of GOT, and it’s not realistic to have everyone on the same side in constant turmoil with each other. I genuinely get bored with main characters, so that’s just me. I get burnt out seeing the same character promoted over and over again. It’s like when they keep playing the same song on the radio it’s just annoying.

So I’m personally bored with most of the characters like Alicent, Rhaenyra, and majority of the them I won’t ever be interested in them and that’s how I was with GOT also. I don’t support either team, and people on both sides will claim the show is giving favoritism when really it’s…….both?? but only certain characters are being white washed so idk why people pick and choose when to have an issue with that. Rhaenyra has clearly been white washed but that’s not the only character. Like Aemond is a total horrible person in the book and now is allowed the grace to be the victim of teasing by Jace as a child that’s still brought up when he’s basically an adult now. He’s not controlling Vhagar, so not killing his nephew on purpose and people even vilify Baela and Rhaena claiming they started the war over wanting to claim Vhagar. Like if he’s a villain than he can’t be the victim at the same time. Characters like Rhaena are not given grace for their young age or how things in Westeros could be out of their control, so again people like to pick and choose and I don’t think the writers giving people conflict will stop a fandom from behaving like that.

Daemon is one of the morally worst characters right now (even if people ignore that) and will be that way when the show ends, and he’s actually portrayed as crazy. He himself I don’t think was white washed or portrayed as a good person, I just want the other characters to react to what he’s doing instead of just moving on to the next plot point. With Jace I’m interested in his character regardless if he’s portrayed as good or bad, but I just want him to have reactions to what’s going on in addition to his normal Dance plot if that’s makes sense. How he’s coping with being a bastard.

I kinda just gave up on Rhaenys and Corlys because I know they are just keeping Rhaenys around until she dies early in the war and Corlys will not always support team black. Season 1 Corlys is ridiculous and I think he’s been shown as ridiculous especially with trying to marry off Laena and they did have a scene with Rhaenys blatantly saying those aren’t their grandkids. But more is going to happen as the seasons go on. This is why I’m always comparing some of the the HOTD characters to their actual GOT counterparts and parallels. Rhaena and Baela especially they are surviving the war but they won’t have 8 seasons to flesh them out and then bring them back together so they can’t really have huge beef with people established to begin with bc it won’t be settled on screen. And people are not allowing time for the characters to actually be developed before trying to create some finalized view of them. They weren’t even in a full season. Idk why characters 16 and younger are adultified by the fandom when the grown ups are being treated like children. That’s so bizarre. Also for some reason a large section of the fandom only views the show and characters through a shipping lense and refuse to perceive the characters outside of that.

The characters I’m most interested in seeing interact is some what somewhat Daemon, Baela, Rhaena, and Jace & Aegon, Criston, and Otto and most of these characters will not have conflict. Criston and Aegon are about to be on the same page basically for the rest of the show. I don’t think Daemon and Baela will ever have serious beef on screen. And that goes way beyond the Dance because like I said in a post last year there’s more going on with them being girls in a patriarchal universe than people just yelling at the screen for them to do their own thing. We already know Jace doesn’t really like Daemon like that and the Daemon/Rhaena thing I’ve explained a couple times. Jace/ Baela interactions, it depends on how they portray Jace…….

[xsignedmsriss]

I really wish Laena could've been Vhagar's last rider because the next one...

[thequeenwechoose]

[towercfivory]

— closed starter for Daemon Targaryen ( @forafcrtnight )

Laena wasn't naive, she should've known the turmoil within their house would ignite. Still, she couldn't find the whole conclusion. Turning a blind eye since her arrival seemed the most logical. Her last memories of pain and dragon's fire. She couldn't assume the rest of her family did as well. He is the last person she would seek but he was here. Was this the afterlife? His appearance more aged than she remembers, something must have happened. The lack of their daughters' presence by his side was noted. A wave of panic causing her heart to race, " What has happened? " she demands, somehow this would be his fault.

[daemaryen]

@inmydrcams : ‘what’s going on in that head of yours?’

roused from the depths of his thoughts, daemon lifts his head and smiles at his wife. there are many things going on inside his head, but not a lot that can be spoken out loud, even to the woman he's married to ( especially to the woman he's married to. ) his dreams of home are colored with resentment ( childish petulance is also an apt description ) and he feels ousted from the tight circle of his own kin. it suits him ill, exile, regardless of how many times he's been sent to it. try as he might to pretend otherwise, it is chafing at him.

‘i'm thinking of bringing the girls to court,’ he finally answers, patting the space beside him so that laena might sit. ‘i'm thinking it's time we present them to the crown.’ it's time the crown is reminded that he exists, and now allied with house velaryon, with children of his own. it's time his brother welcomes him back into the fold, for what grave mistake has he truly committed except to uphold the interests of their house? ‘i'll hear your thoughts on it,’ he turns to laena, takes her one hand in his and rubs the back of it with his thumb. ‘i know you miss your brother.’

inbox prompts.

[servtudes]

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 for  @crownscost​ ! 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : nightly feast , great hall — festival of matrimony

memories, both happy and painful ones, tainted every inch of the red keep. although cassana spent her happy days with in these red stone walls, the unpleasant ones seem to overshadow them. it has been long since she last stepped foot on capital soil even if driftmark was close by. cassana couldn’t even remember the last time she saw prince daemon. was it at laena’s funeral? being at the festival thrown to honor his matrimony put the lady velaryon in an awkward position because some time ago, laena was just as celebrated. “your grace,” cassana dipped into a curtsy at the sight of the prince and her dear friend’s ex-husband. “allow me to extend my heartfelt congratulations on your new betrothal.” despite him re-marrying, to her laena will always be princess — the princess that was wrongfully taken from them. 

[floatyflowers]

Dark! House Of The Dragon x Game of Thrones! Reader|Part 1

(⚠️ sucide)

In your former life, you were the twin sister of Joffrey and you were wed to Robb Stark.

However you choose to stand on your husband's side when war erupted.

The problem is your mother and your twin didn't like that at all.

So, Roose Bolton kills Robb and Catelyn.

He was planning on returning you to your mother, but you ended your life before he could do so.

You didn't imagine that you would be reborn in the past as the twin sister Of Jacearys Velaryon.

Even in this life, you were born as a bastard.

Yet, Rhaenyra is an amazing mother, and so are your new brothers.

Unlike cruel Joffrey who used to hit you whenever you refused his advances, Jace would only treat you kindly and is overprotective.

And Lucerys reminded you of Tommen.

You also adore baby Joffrey and don't care about how his name is the name of your previous twin.

But there is one problem you tried to fix in Luke and Jace and this was bullying Aemond.

But they took Aegon as their role model.

Unlike Targaryens, you refused to interact with your dragon because you were simply afraid.

You even own a cat, who you enjoy spending time with instead of the dragon.

Aegon reminded you greatly of Joffrey, never the less, Aegon wasn't a psycho.

He wouldn't waste a moment in teasing you day and night.

"One day you will become my wife"

Rhaenyra happened to hear what he said one time, and immediately betrothed you to Jace. Despite how much you refused the idea.

When Luke deforms Aemond, you quickly try to control the situation like a Lannister.

"This was not anyone's fault but mine, As the eldest twin I should have been watching over them all"

Everyone is shocked by your words, meanwhile Rhaenyra wanted to intervene, same with Daemon who believed that the Hightowers deserves nothing.

however, you get down on your knees in front of Alicent, after taking the Targaryen's ancestral dagger.

"Take one of my eyes instead, I hope it's more then enough repayment"

Of course, Alicent doesn't do that, you only earned the Queen's love with such brave action.

Viserys' is happy at how you defused the situation.

Those actions made everyone obsessed with you.

Part 2>>>

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Unbidden

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader x Aemond Targaryen Warnings: Cuckolding, voyeurism, smut. Word count: ~3k

Summary: Noticing his nephew's wife appears dissatisfied in her marriage, Daemon sets out to show them both that there is pleasure to be found within the marital bed...

Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She has scarcely been able to take her eyes off of Daemon since he first arrived at the Red Keep. He possesses the classically handsome features bestowed upon those of Valyrian blood, carries himself with self assured confidence, and embodies an air of dangerous unpredictability which both frightens and excites her in equal measure. Though it is none of these qualities that keep her gaze fixated upon him.

Her interest is piqued by how utterly devoted he is to his wife. When she stood beside her husband, Aemond, in the Great Hall, as Vaemond Velaryon challenged the succession of Driftmark, her attention was focused solely on Daemon and Rhaenyra. He had been glued to her side, his gaze always seeking hers, and when Vaemond had dared to call her a whore and her children “bastards”, he had not hesitated in unsheathing his sword and slicing the man’s head in half. She wonders if her own husband would defend her so staunchly.

She is not blind to their starkly different situations; Daemon and Rhaenyra’s union is one of love, it is plain for all to see. Her and Aemond’s is one of political necessity. Although they have grown fond of each other over the last six months of their marriage, and he has never been unkind to her, she cannot help the jealousy that swirls, ugly and acrid, within her chest at the ease of which her husband’s half sister and his uncle interact with one another.

The two children they have together already, and the one that currently grows within the swell of Rhaenyra’s belly are proof enough of their passion for one another. However, the looks they exchange at the dinner table this evening are smoldering and filled with intent. Their fingers brush against each other as they pass dishes of food between them, and Daemon’s hand seems to find its way to her stomach, caressing her lovingly, unaware he is even doing it.

Her and Aemond’s intimacy is not so effortless, though it is not from a lack of trying on her part. He beds her frequently, and she greets his advances with enthusiasm, yet his stoicism renders him incapable of ever fully losing control. He is receptive to her pleas of “harder”, “faster”, but she is always left with the dissatisfaction of feeling he is holding something back, and outside of their shared bedchamber it is rare that he ever touches her. She has attempted to broach the subject with him before, framing it as a means for them to find greater satisfaction within their marital bed, but he always waves her away dismissively, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

She can sense something dark and urgent bubbling beneath the surface of him, and longs to draw it out, to experience the full force of the fire of the dragon that runs through his veins, but she does not know how to entice it. 

It had appeared prominent in his seeing eye as Dark Sister had cleaved the Velaryon man’s skull in twain, a potent mixture of bloodlust and desire, as his pupil had dilated ever so slightly. It had sent a shiver up her spine, heat pooling between her thighs, causing her to squeeze them together to fend off the dull, throbbing ache.

She longs for that look to be cast upon her, for her to be the recipient of whatever wrath that follows, and now she is sure that it is Daemon that holds the key to coaxing the darker side of her husband out to play.

The dinner is a tense affair. Aemond sits beside her, so tightly wound she is sure the lightest of touches would cause him to shatter like glass. When he finally loses his cool, throwing barbed words towards his nephews, resulting in an exchange of blows, the evening draws to an abrupt close, with each of them being dismissed to their respective quarters. As they depart the dining hall, her husband and his uncle lock eyes, a smirk of amusement flashing briefly across Daemon’s features as Aemond’s nostrils flare in irritation.

She can feel the heat of his anger radiating from him as he strides through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, scurrying alongside him in an attempt to match his pace. That look has returned and with it her desperate feeling of lust. If she doesn’t seize the opportunity now, then she is unsure of when it will present itself again.

Reaching out for her husband, she grasps his elbow, her fingers taut against the leather sleeve of his tunic. His steps falter and he turns to look at her quizzically, chest heaving with the laboured breaths of his barely concealed rage.

“What is it?” He snaps.

Instinctively, she shrinks back, second guessing her decision as she sees the way he glares down at her, lip curled into a snarl. Despite her fear, she reminds herself that this is the side of Aemond she had been seeking, and leans into him, placing her hands upon his chest.

“I want you,” she whispers, gazing up at him pleadingly.

“Not here,” he sighs, his expression softening, as he gently grasps her hands in his, moving them back to her sides.

Though she remains outwardly calm, in spite of her disappointment, internally she feels so frustrated she could scream. The look she craves is gone, he has rebuffed her advances and she knows that once more she is destined to an evening where he will treat her as though she is made of bone china.

“I believe you were told to return to your quarters.”

The intrusion of Daemon’s voice causes Aemond to take a quick step backwards, away from her, as she turns to look. He stands before them in the corridor, posture rigid and chin raised up ever so slightly, giving the impression that he is looking down his nose at them both.

“We are on our way,” Aemond responds icily, drawing himself to his full height and staring down his uncle.

The smallest of smiles tugs at the corners of Daemon’s mouth, clearly unphased by his nephew’s hostile demeanour. “I shall escort you both, to ensure there is no further delay.”

Before either one of them has the opportunity to protest, he steps forward, one hand reaching for Aemond’s shoulder, while he places the other at the small of her back. Aemond wrenches away, huffing irritably as he continues walking. She makes no such effort to struggle away from Daemon’s touch, his fingers feeling like a brand against her flesh through the fabric of her dress. 

The three of them walk in uncomfortable silence, the only sound is the echo of their footsteps against the flagstone floor. Her eyes widen in surprise when they reach her and Aemond’s shared chambers and, instead of bidding them goodnight, Daemon follows them inside, closing the doors behind them.

Aemond stares at him quizzically, eye narrowed. “What are you doing, Uncle? If you are here to reprimand me for what was said at dinner then–”

“I am here for your wife, actually,” he interrupts, turning his head towards her as his eyes move from her head to her feet and back up again.

She feels her skin grow hot under the intensity of his gaze, swallowing thickly as he regards her as a cat would a mouse.

“What do you want with my wife?” Aemond asks, his voice lowering in quiet threat.

It is the first time she has ever heard her husband speak of her so possessively and it makes her pulse race. She wants more of this, there is an intense thrill to having the attention of two Targaryen men placed solely upon her.

“Do not think I have not noticed,” Daemon says to her, ignoring Aemond as he continues to stare at her. “You have been ogling me all day. Why?”

Embarrassment prickles at her, and she lowers her gaze. Her voice is small and pitiful sounding to her ears as she answers. “Forgive me, My Prince. I did not mean to stare.”

“Look at me when you speak to me,” he commands, “and answer the question.”

She exhales shakily, lifting her eyes to meet his. His stare is piercing, his eyes darkened and predatory in the low lighting of her and Aemond’s apartments.

“I found myself…rather taken by how you engage with Princess Rhaenyra. You are quite affectionate with one another.”

Daemon’s brow furrows slightly as he cocks his head in curiosity. “Does your own husband not show you affection?”

A wave of sadness washes over her, causing her shoulders to sag at the reminder of the lack of intimacy between her and Aemond. She spares him a glance, noticing he has not moved from where he stands. His expression could be mistaken for neutral were it not for the fury that rages tempestuously within his seeing eye as he glares at his uncle.

Drawing in a deep breath, she looks back to Daemon, answering simply, honestly: “no.” Shame shrouds her, suffocating and dense, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry, her head dipping as she focuses on the spot where the hem of her skirts meets the stone floor. She cannot bear to look at either man, knowing she has spoken out of turn about her husband, not just in front of him, but to his uncle as well.

She gasps as Daemon steps forward, crowding her space, his finger crooking beneath her chin to lift her face up towards his. The touch of him makes her knees buckle slightly and she leans back against the table behind her for support, no longer trusting her legs to keep her upright. “What a brave little thing you are,” he whispers, an edge to his voice that twists her stomach into knots.

“I–I am sorry,” she stammers, eyes flitting nervously between her husband and his uncle. “I should not have–”

“There is nothing wrong with expressing your wants, your desires,” Daemon reassures her. “Perhaps my nephew just needs a little help in learning how best to please his wife?”

She squeals in surprise as he grasps the backs of her thighs, lifting her until she is seated upon the edge of the table she had been leaning against. Lips parted and eyes wide, she turns her head towards Aemond, and though his fists are clenched at his sides, his breathing accelerated in silent fury, he makes no move to stop what is happening. That look from earlier has returned, ravenous and half crazed, she interprets it as silent consent, wanting to do all she can to keep it fixed upon her.

“What of your wife? Will she not mind you…helping us?” She asks timidly, as Daemon’s hands make quick work of rucking her skirts up around her hips.

He chuckles drily in response, dragging her smallclothes down her legs, allowing them to dangle from a single ankle. “You and Aemond have much to learn, sweet girl. Fucking is a pleasure, and Rhaenyra does not mind how or with whom we seek it, as long as our loyalties do not falter.”

The very idea seems scandalous to her, yet wetness gathers between her legs all the same. Aemond has now taken up the seat beside the fireplace, watching them both intently, his stare unblinking and fiery. 

Daemon’s fingers travel up her legs, until they reach the insides of her thighs. His fingers are thicker than Aemond’s, his touch is calloused and rough, where Aemond’s is deft, yet hesitant. His fingertips dig into her soft flesh, hard enough to bruise as he pries her legs apart, a hum of approval rumbling in his throat at the arousal he finds glistening there.

“Does your husband make you this wet?” He asks with gentle curiosity.

She nods enthusiastically, looking over at Aemond and seeing a small, prideful smile ghost quickly across his lips before disappearing.

“Good,” Daemon tells her. “No problems there then.”

His fingertips swipe through her sodden folds, his middle finger quick to locate her pearl and circle it with precision. The movement makes her tense, a jolt of pleasure causing her hips to buck as she mewls helplessly.

“Does he touch you like this?”

“N–no…” she whimpers in response.

“Hmm,” Daemon glances over his shoulder, before looking back at her. “Well, ensure he does in future. I am sure he will; he is paying close attention.”

Looking back over at Aemond, she feels herself clench around nothing, her desire building with a steady, rhythmic ache as she sees the lacings of his trousers strain against his hardness. He is enjoying watching this, lips slightly parted and eye hooded. The sight of it rids her of the last of her inhibitions as Daemon moves his focus away from her bud and dares to push his two forefingers inside of her. She tilts her head back, gripping the edge of the table tightly as she feels her muscles stretch to accommodate him.

“You must be prepared, thoroughly, before you are fucked,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear.

Her mind is foggy, struggling to comprehend Daemon’s words as he presses the pads of his fingers upwards, dragging them against a spot inside of her that causes her toes to curl and moisture to trickle down onto the tabletop. Does he really mean to fuck her? Surely that would be a step too far? Yet she finds it difficult to care when he is pushing her towards the precipice of pleasure itself with simply his fingers. Her mind reels with the possibility of what it would feel like to be stretched out around his cock.

As his fingers pump faster, she moves her hips in tandem, chasing the urgently building pressure that is growing inside of her. He pulls them from her suddenly, causing her to whine in frustration at being robbed of her peak.

Daemon grins wolfishly as his hands move to unfasten his breeches. “I think we have learned enough in that regard, and are ready to move on.”

She averts her gaze as he frees himself, her eyes finding Aemond’s, another silent check in for consent. His throat bobs as he swallows, his knuckles almost white with the force of the grip he has on the armrests of where he sits, but he makes no move to stop what is happening.

Her hands grasp at Daemon’s shoulders as he sheathes himself inside of her, knocking the air from her lungs. Aemond and his uncle are similar in many respects, but this is a matter in which the pair of them could not be more different.

It is odd to her that, despite being between her thighs, he has not tried to kiss her. Whether it is a mark of respect for hers and Aemond’s marriage, or simply because he does not want to, she is unsure, but she is grateful for his abstinence. A kiss seems too intimate a gesture, there is nothing sweet about this.

Daemon sets a brutal pace, once she has had a moment to adjust, rocking into her with a force that causes the table legs to scrape loudly against the hard floor. He is so much more self assured than her husband, utterly unafraid to violate her, and it is freeing to be handled so roughly.

She moans wantonly as he moves a hand to wrap around her throat, applying gentle pressure at the sides. “Do not be afraid to be a little unrestrained,” Daemon grits out, a statement clearly not meant for her, even though his eyes bore into hers. “I have yet to bed a woman who does not enjoy it.”

He has the right of it. The hand around her throat, coupled with the almost violent manner in which he thrusts inside of her is dizzying and, as he slips a hand between them to stroke at her pearl once more, she knows she will not last long. It has never been this intense with Aemond before; a lack of experience, coupled with a fear of hurting her means he is always gentle, hesitant where he need not be. 

The grip on her throat tightens, the ministrations against her bud grow more insistent as she feels Daemon pulsate inside of her, his jaw clenching at the telltale sign that he is close. With a final, harsh thrust of his hips, she cries out in ecstasy as the warmth of his seed spills inside of her, triggering her own release as she tightens around him in rapid, successive pulses.

“Good girl,” he mutters quietly.

He is quick to pull out of her, as she leans back against her palms, pliant and breathless from the experience. She barely registers Daemon tucking himself away and slipping out of the chamber doors, as Aemond moves into view, standing before her.

Under ordinary circumstances, the wrathful insanity she sees reflected in his blue eye would frighten her, but tonight it has butterflies fluttering ceaselessly in her lower belly. His hand moves to the back of her head, gripping her hair tightly by the roots, tugging her head forcefully backwards. Her yelp of pain is stifled by him pressing his lips firmly against hers, his tongue licking against her own in a kiss that is more a desperate display of possession than a loving embrace.

“You are mine,” he breathes, letting go of her momentarily to tug at the lacings of his trousers.

“Yours,” she whispers back, satisfied excitement causing her pulse to thrum at the knowledge she has unleashed the side of Aemond she has always longed for.

Daemon’s spend has begun to dribble out of her, and as she watches the head of her husband’s cock push it forcefully back inside of her, she knows he will remind her every night from now on exactly which Targaryen Prince it is that she belongs to.

[kckt88]

Closer II

Summary:

Both Aemond and Lucaela deal with the concequences of their mating as certain revelations come to light.

Warning(s): Language, Angst, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex, P in V, Knotting, Marriage, Pregnancy, Child Birth, Character Death.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C LUCAELA VELARYON

INSPIRED BY - 'NINE INCH NAILS - CLOSER'

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 6623

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

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"You fool!" Otto roared, his voice echoing off the walls of his chambers. "You can't keep your damn knot in your breeches, can you? Irreversibly tying yourself to Rhaenyra's daughter, of all people!"

Aemond's jaw tensed, his own frustration mounting as he bore the brunt of his grandfather's wrath. "I never intended for this to happen, grandfather," he protested, his voice tinged with desperation. "But Lucaela-she's my mate. I couldn't deny our bond any longer."

"Your mate be damned!" Otto spat, his fists clenching at his sides. "Do you realize what you've done? You've single-handedly destroyed any chance we had of securing the throne for your brother. All because you couldn't control your urges, I thought I had to worry about your brother, not you”.

"Grandsire-“ muttered Aemond.

Otto's mind raced as he tried to salvage the remnants of his meticulously laid plans, the very foundations of which now seemed to crumble beneath his feet. With Rhaenyra and Daemon demanding that Aemond marry Lucaela, Otto saw a sliver of opportunity amidst the chaos.

"If we can't control the situation," he mused aloud, his voice heavy with frustration, "Perhaps we can manipulate it to our advantage."

Rhaenyra's attachment to her daughter was well-known, a weakness that could be exploited if handled with care. If Lucaela became a pawn in their political game, they might be able to force Rhaenyra to come to terms and bend to their will.

"Force her hand," Otto murmured to himself, his mind churning with possibilities. "Use Lucaela as leverage to ensure Rhaenyra's compliance."

The Alpha within Aemond roared in protest as he listened to his grandfather's plans for Lucaela. Deep within him, a primal instinct surged, rejecting Otto's manipulative schemes with a ferocity that matched the flames of a dragon.

"No," Aemond growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I will not allow Lucaela to be used as a pawn in your games”.

Otto's gaze hardened as he locked eyes with Aemond, his own resolve unyielding in the face of his grandson's defiance. "You are willing to risk everything," he countered, his voice laced with frustration, "Your own life, the lives of your brothers and sister, the life of your mother, all for the sake of this bond?"

Aemond squared his shoulders and shook his head, his grandsire’s words playing on a loop in his mind.

But the Alpha inside him was furious, demanding that he protect his mate.

"If Rhaenyra is crowned queen, we will all be in danger. She will see us as threats to her rule, and she will stop at nothing to eliminate us."

“Grandsire-there has to be another way“ muttered Aemond.

Otto shook his head, his expression grim. "What of the realm?" he challenged. "Do you not care about the stability of the Seven Kingdoms? Aegon is the King’s firstborn son, the crown is his by right”.

"But at what cost?" Aemond shot back, his tone fierce. "Do we sacrifice everything we hold dear in the name of political expediency? I refuse to let Lucaela suffer for our ambitions, to see her used as a pawn in a game of thrones."

“I implore you to see reason Aemond-a living contender invites challenge. We must work together to secure your brother’s succession,” said Otto.

“Not at the cost of Lucy-“

"You're being used, Aemond," declared Otto, his tone cold and unforgiving. "Can't you see? Lucaela deliberately placed herself in front of you, knowing full well you wouldn't be able to resist her scent."

Aemond's jaw clenched at the accusation, his Alpha instincts bristling with indignation. "You speak as if Lucaela is some kind of manipulative pawn," he countered, his voice sharp with defiance. "But she is my mate. Our bond is stronger than any scheme Rhaenyra could concoct."

Otto shook his head, his expression incredulous. "You only lost one eye how could you be so blind" he scoffed. "Do you honestly believe Lucaela's actions are purely out of love? She is her mother’s daughter, and she’s been raised by Daemon. You think it's a coincidence that she presented herself to you on the day of the Driftmark petition?"

Aemond's chest tightened at the implication, his mind reeling with the possibility that he had been deceived. But even as doubt crept into his thoughts, he refused to entertain the notion that Lucaela's feelings for him were anything less than genuine.

"You don't understand” he asserted, his tone firm and resolute. "Through our bond, I can feel her emotions, her feelings for me. They are genuine, I would know if they were false."

“A fools notion” scoffed Otto.

His Alpha instincts surged within him, reinforcing his conviction with a primal certainty that Otto could not hope to comprehend. "You speak of manipulation and deceit, but you underestimate the power of our connection," Aemond continued, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "I can feel her love for me. No scheme or plot could fabricate such emotion."

Otto's scepticism faltered slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing his features as he regarded his grandson. But he quickly regained his composure, his resolve unyielding in the face of Aemond's protestations.

"Feelings can be fickle, Aemond," he cautioned, his voice tinged with warning. "Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment”.

But Aemond remained steadfast, his faith in Lucaela unwavering despite the doubts cast upon their relationship. "I trust in our bond, grandsire," he declared, his voice ringing with determination. "No matter the challenges we face, I will stand by Lucaela's side”.

Otto's voice carried a solemn warning as he fixed Aemond with a steely gaze. "When the time comes, Aemond," he said, his tone grave, "You had better pray to the Seven that your bond with Lucaela will be enough to save not only your life but the lives of your siblings as well."

As he rounded a corner, Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the sight that greeted him. There she was, Lucaela, radiant and alluring as ever, standing in the company of her stepfather, Daemon. His presence sent a surge of possessiveness coursing through Aemond, the Alpha within him bristling at the sight of another Alpha in such close proximity to his mate.

For a moment, Aemond stood rooted to the spot, torn between the conflicting urges warring within him. On one hand, the desire to assert his claim over Lucaela burned fiercely within him, driving him to emphasise his dominance over any who would dare to encroach upon their bond.

But on the other hand, a voice of reason whispered in the back of his mind, reminding him of the consequences of giving in to his primal instincts.

With a deep breath, Aemond forced himself to calm, the turmoil within him subsiding slightly as he approached Lucaela and Daemon. "Lucaela," he greeted her, his voice husky with desire yet tempered with restraint. "I was hoping to find you."

Lucaela turned to him, her eyes lighting up with warmth and affection. "Aemond," she replied, a smile gracing her lips.

" I was wandering when you’d have the courage to show your face after defiling my stepdaughter” said Daemon, his hand wrapping around the pommel of Dark Sister.

Aemond's jaw clenched at the barb, his Alpha instincts bristling at the insult. "Things will be set right by our marriage," he retorted, his voice sharp with indignation.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. "Of course, of course," he replied, his tone oozing with insincerity. "Nothing like a hasty ceremony to make up for your indiscretions, eh?"

But before Aemond could respond, Daemon continued, his tone dripping with condescension. "I do hope your grandsire hasn’t taken the news too hard, now that you can’t be sold off to forge alliances" he taunted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I suppose his carefully laid plans will have to be put on hold now that you've tied yourself to my stepdaughter."

Aemond's fists clenched at his sides, the Alpha within him roaring with fury at Daemon's jibes.

Just as he was about to respond, Aemond felt a surge of panic course through him, a jolt of raw emotion that cut through the haze of his thoughts like a knife. It was Lucaela, her distress echoing through their bond with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

His mind raced back to his grandfather's words, the insinuation that Lucaela had deliberately placed herself in his path, tempting him with her presence.

Could it be true? Had she orchestrated their meeting, knowing full well the effect she would have on him?

The doubt gnawed at him, a relentless whisper in the back of his mind as he struggled to make sense of the tumultuous emotions swirling within him.

“L-Lucaela” exclaimed Aemond, his hand reaching up to his mating mark that had now started to sting.

Lucaela stared at Aemond for a moment before she turned and fled, her steps quick and determined as she disappeared back inside the Red Keep. Without a moment's hesitation, he followed, his instincts driving him forward with a single-minded purpose.

"Lucaela, wait!" he called after her, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the keep. But she did not stop, her form disappearing around a corner as she continued to flee from him.

With a surge of determination, Aemond quickened his pace, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridors as he chased after her.

Finally, he caught up to her just outside her chambers, his chest heaving as he reached out to gently grasp her arm, turning her to face him. "Lucy, please," he pleaded, his voice filled with urgency. "Tell me what's wrong. Why did you run?"

Lucaela's eyes were wide with fear and uncertainty as she looked up at him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I-I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the pounding of their hearts.

But Aemond refused to let her push him away. "You can't or you won't?" he pressed, his voice tinged with frustration and desperation.

As Aemond searched her eyes for answers, Lucaela's resolve crumbled under the weight of his gaze. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself to confess the truth that had been weighing on her.

"Aemond," she began, her voice trembling with emotion. "Daemon found out about Otto's scheming-about your family's plans to usurp the throne and have Aegon crowned instead of my mother."

Aemond's eye widened in shock at the revelation, the implications of Daemon's discovery sinking in with a sickening sense of dread. "How?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

Lucaela swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. "Someone overheard a conversation between Otto and one of his advisors and word got back to Daemon," she confessed, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her heart.

“What does that have to do with me?” asked Aemond.

"After Daemon found out about Otto's plans, he knows that you and Vhagar are Otto’s biggest asset.  He-he told me to place myself in front of you, to allow nature to take its course."

Aemond's eyes widened in shock, his mind reeling at the implications of her words. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Lucaela swallowed hard, the truth spilling from her lips like poison. "He knew that as a newly presented Omega, no unmated Alpha could resist me," she confessed, her voice shaking with shame. "He told me to use that to my advantage, to tempt you into-into succumbing to your desires."

A wave of anger surged through Aemond, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he struggled to process the betrayal that lay before him. "And you-you went along with it?" he demanded; his voice laced with accusation.

Tears welled in Lucaela's eyes as she met his gaze, her own heart breaking at the pain she had caused him. "I-I didn't know what else to do," she admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. "I thought-I thought I was helping, that I was ensuring my mother’s claim”

How could you?" he demanded; his voice thick with emotion. "How could you deceive me like this, Lucy? To use our bond for your own gain, to manipulate me-“

But before he could finish his tirade, Lucaela scoffed, her own frustration boiling over at his accusations. "And what about Otto's scheming to usurp the throne?" she shot back, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Did you really think that Daemon would stand idly by while your grandsire plotted to undermine my mother’s claim?"

Aemond recoiled at the venom in her words, the truth of her accusations striking him like a blow to the chest.

"Lucaela, I-" he began, his voice faltering as he searched for the right words.

But she held up a hand, cutting him off before he could speak. "I'm not excusing what I did, Aemond," she admitted, her voice softening slightly. "But usurping the throne from the named heir, it’s wrong”.

"In order for your mother to secure her reign, she would have to eliminate any potential threats to her power. Aegon, Me even Daeron. A living contender invites challenge," he continued, his voice heavy with resignation. "And in Rhaenyra's eyes, any one of us could be seen as a threat to her rule”.

Lucaela's eyes flashed with indignation, her voice rising with anger as she countered Aemond's grim assessment. "How dare you, Aemond," she spat, her words sharp with frustration. "My mother would never harm anyone. You are her blood. You would be part of her rule as Queen, not victims of her ambition."

“Did she not demand that I be sharply questioned-to discover where I heard slanders against her bastards” snapped Aemond.

The fire in her eyes burned bright, fuelled by a fierce loyalty to her mother and a deep-seated belief in her righteousness. "Otto has dripped his poison in your ear," she accused, her voice trembling with emotion. "You've let his doubts cloud your judgment, but I refuse to let you believe such lies."

“How can I be assured that they are lies” replied Aemond.

"Aemond, please," she implored, her tone softened with earnestness. "Search our bond. Feel the truth in my words. My mother has no intention of harming you or your siblings."

Aemond hesitated, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air between them. But as he gazed into Lucaela's eyes, he saw nothing, but sincerity reflected back at him, a raw honesty that stirred something deep within his soul.

Closing his eye, Aemond reached out through their bond, searching for the truth amidst the tumult of emotions that swirled within him. And as he delved deeper, he felt a sense of clarity wash over him, a profound realization that cut through the fog of doubt and uncertainty.

Lucaela wasn't lying. Her mother, Rhaenyra, harboured no ill intentions toward him or his siblings. It was a truth that resonated deep within him, anchoring him in the certainty of their shared bond.

Aemond pressed his forehead against Lucaela's, their bond pulsing with the intensity of their shared emotions. "My grandsire told me that crowning Rhaenyra would divide the Seven Kingdoms and start a war," he murmured, his voice heavy with concern.

But Lucaela shook her head, her eyes filled with a solemn conviction. "Usurping the throne is what will start a war," she countered, her voice steady despite the turmoil that raged within her.

“I’m worried Lucy-“

“Aemond, please listen to me," she implored, her gaze pleading with him to understand. "My mother is the named heir. It is her birthright, recognized by law. To challenge her claim would only sow further discord and violence only begets more violence. If you take the throne by force, it will only lead to bloodshed and chaos."

Aemond's expression softened as he regarded Lucaela, her sincerity and wisdom shining through in her words. "But what if-“

“-The House of the Dragon needs to stand together as one. Let the realm see us united, witness our strength and unity."

She reached out to take his hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "We can show the realm that we are not divided by ambition or greed," she continued, her voice filled with conviction. "That we are bound by blood and loyalty, and that together, we are stronger than any external threat."

“I want to believe you-” whispered Aemond.

“What do you think would happen to us-to me if Aegon was crowned King? It works both ways Aemond, my life would be forfeit as would that of my mother, stepfather and brothers-Otto wouldn’t let us live” whispered Lucaela.

The Alpha inside Aemond bristled with anger at the thought of Lucaela being killed, as angry as he was at her scheming, he knew she was right.

The only thing to do was make a choice-believe his Omega and trust that her word was true, or side with his grandsire and stand on the precipice of war.

In the end it was the Alpha inside who made the choice.

"My Alpha, issa zaldrīzes," she murmured, her voice a gentle caress against his senses (My dragon).

The bond between them pulsed with a primal energy, igniting a fierce longing within Aemond's heart. The Alpha inside him roaring to life, demanding that he seek to make amends with his mate, to bridge the divide that had grown between them.

Unable to resist the pull of their bond any longer, Aemond leaned in close, his lips brushing against Lucaela's ear as he whispered his own confession. "My Omega, I need you" he breathed, his voice husky with desire and regret.

“Then take me Alpha-claim what belongs to you. Now and always” whimpered Lucaela.

Aemond suddenly lunged forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Their kiss was rough and vicious. Consisting of teeth and tongue.

It was an eruption of frustration and passion. Hands everywhere, grabbing, scratching, and pulling at one another.

He spun Lucaela around and pressed her face against the wall, with one hand on the back of her neck and the other quickly untying the laces of his breeches.

Aemond nudged her ankle with his foot, signalling for her to open her legs wider.

His body covered hers as he sucked and licked the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Lucaela moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Not having the patience to properly prepare her, Aemond spat into his hand.

Aemond ran his hand up and down the hard length of himself, eyeing his Omega with an animalistic hunger, a smirk on his lips as she bent forward for him.

He pulls aside her small clothes as he guides himself to her entrance, she barely has a moment to adjust before he is pressing his cock forcefully inside and stretching her brutally, causing her to cry out.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!” growls Aemond.

Lucaela can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips crashing into hers.

Then he withdraws from her and spins her around, lifting her into his arms, his mouth pressed against hers as he quickly thrusts back inside her.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screams Lucaela.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond as he feels her cunny clenching around his cock.

“P-Please Alpha-“ wailed Lucaela.

Aemond digs his fingers into the soft flesh of Lucaela’s hips, pulling her body against his as he thrusts forward, his singular eye focused on where they are joined.

His cock shining with her slick, the knot beginning to swell at the base, but he doesn’t want to finish not yet, not like this. So he withdraws from her again, making her whimper in frustration.

But Aemond ignores her as he lays her on the chaise lounge and falls to his knees.

Sliding his calloused hands up her legs, bunching the fabric of her small clothes in his hand before he rips them from her body.

“Aemond” shrieked Lucaela as Aemond’s mouth descends on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into his Omega’s dripping core with his tongue, in and out, much faster than his cock ever could.

Still gasping, Lucaela clutched at his head with one hand, her other digging into the fabric of the chaise.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Lucaela ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

Aemond growled, deep in his throat; a sound that she didn’t hear very often. The vibration of his vocal cords rippled through to his tongue and Lucaela gasped; she felt every vibration keenly. Her body tensed for her peak– But Aemond pulled away from her and smirked, his chin shining with her slick.

“A-Aemond” gasped Lucaela, the tears of frustration spilling down her cheeks.

“Be a good little Omega and take what your Alpha gives you” said Aemond as he reached for the laces of her dress before he grew impatient and tore it from her body, leaving her breasts bared.

His tongue licking at the stiffened rosy peak.

“P-Please. Alpha” sobbed Lucaela as she felt his hard cock sliding against her folds.

“Hmm” growled Aemond as he wrapped his hand around his wife’s throat and sheathed himself inside her once more.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Lucaela.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

“Your cunt is dripping, it's so beautiful” sighed Aemond.

Slowly thrusting back and forth. Over and over, withdrawing further each time, until his cock entirely withdrew from her warm wet entrance. He marvelled at her body. Such a beautiful, succulent thing his Omega was. Allowing him entry into the most sacred parts of her body.

Aemond began to fuck her in earnest, his fingers digging into the flesh of her throat, using her as leverage as he repeatedly plunged his cock into her cunny, over, thrilled to hear Lucaela’s moans of need echoing around their chambers.

His thrusts, brutal and unrelenting.

“Come for me, love” breathed Aemond.

Lucaela’s. screamed as her desperately needed peak exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Aemond’s cock.

Gods, he needed to spill his seed, to see her swollen with his pup. But he wanted to watch her ride him to completion.

So, with his cock still nestled inside her, Aemond manoeuvred himself into a sitting position with Lucaela on his lap.

“Give me another-I want you to come on my cock again” growled Aemond.

Lucaela ripped open the cotton shirt he was wearing and ran her hands over the defined muscles of his chest, her nails digging into his pale skin.

“Oh” gasped Lucaela as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on Lucaela’s hips and marvelled at his Omega as she rode him.

Lucaela dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Lucaela as he moved his hand to her breasts and once again took one of her nipples into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

Lucaela’s thighs began to burn, as she felt her second peak approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Lucaela as she felt Aemond’s knot slip inside her.

 “God. Lucy-my Lucy” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed inside her, collapsing against the chaise, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses. Meanwhile his Omega had collapsed against him, her face pressed into his neck.

Kings Landing was a buzz with activity. The guests were arriving, the preparations had been made and it was finally here. The day Lucaela and Aemond would stand together in the great sept and get married.

Lucaela was so nervous that she decided to skip breakfast, as she wasn’t sure that she could actually stomach food.

After bathing, Lucaela’s maids began to help her get ready. Her dark hair was brushed and twisted into elegant braids and the Valyrian steel necklace that had once been gifted to her mother by Daemon was placed around her neck.

The cool metal resting against the mating bite that already marred her pale skin.

Her wedding dress had a fitted sleeveless bodice with a modest neckline. The skirts flaring out behind her like a cloud.

As soon as the gown had been buttoned and her maiden cloak tied, there was a soft knock at the door.

It was her mother.

“You look beautiful” gasped Rhaenyra as she looked her daughter up and down.

“Thank you” replied Lucaela smiling.

“I’ve come to escort you to the sept and Daemon will walk you down the aisle”.

“D-Do I look like a bride mother?” asked Lucaela.

“You look perfect my sweet girl-but tell me is this what you truly desire?”

“Yes mother-“ replied Lucaela.

“I do not agree with Daemon’s scheming-“ said Rhaenyra as she took her daughters hand.

“It was for a purpose mother-I was always meant to marry for allegiance”.

“I hate that you have done this for me-“ replied Rhaenyra.

“I do not. You are my mother and my future Queen, I would see myself from this world if it meant you were safe” said Lucaela firmly.

“My sweet girl what a precious gift you are-“ exclaimed Rhaenyra as she pressed a series of kisses to Lucaela’s face.

“Aemond isn’t all bad mama-he makes me feel desired” whispered Lucaela blushing.

“I can see the marks of Aemond’s desire for you” quipped Rhaenyra.

“Mama” gasped Lucaela.

“Right, shall we get going. It’s almost time” said Rhaenyra brightly.

The sept was decorated beautifully, but it all paled in comparison to Aemond who was stood beside the High Septon.

He was elegantly dressed, his black tunic decorated with silver dragons and his Targaryen cloak tied loosely around his shoulders. His long hair tied back in its usual half up, half down style.

The horns signalled the beginning of the ceremony and begrudgingly Lucaela took Daemon’s arm.

“You look beautiful my daughter” muttered Daemon.

“Thank you, father,” replied Lucaela.

“Be mindful Lucy-Desperate men are dangerous” whispered Daemon as he nodded towards Otto and Larys Strong who were muttering to one another.

“I had assumed that the traitors would have been dealt with already”.

“In due time-I cannot wipe out half of the Kings council, we must be vigilant and strike when the cunts least expect it” said Daemon.

“Mother must be persuaded to remain in Kings Landing, returning to Dragonstone isn’t the solution” said Lucaela softly.

“I agree” uttered Daemon.

“Thank you for escorting the bride Prince Daemon. If you would be so kind as to wait for the Princess to remove her maiden cloak” said the Septon.

Lucaela undid the ties of her maiden cloak and handed it to Daemon who nodded respectfully to the Septon and took his seat next to Rhaenyra.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection” said the Septon loudly.

Aemond removed the cloak bearing the colours of house Targaryen and draped it around Lucaela’ shoulders.

Aemond then took Lucaela’ hand and smiled as the Septon tied their hands together by a ribbon.

“In the sight of the seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity. Now you may look upon one another and say these vows together” exclaimed the Septon.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days” said Lucaela, her lip wobbling slightly.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days” declared Aemond loudly.

“The vows have been spoken. You may kiss your bride”.

Aemond hesitated for a moment before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Lucaela’ lips.

“ñuhon” whispered Aemond as he pulled away (Mine).

The grand feast in the throne room of the Red Keep was a sight to behold, a dazzling display of opulence and extravagance befitting the union of two noble houses. The room was alive with music and laughter, the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of exotic dishes and fine wines.

Aemond and Lucaela sat side by side at the head table, their fingers intertwined as they shared stolen glances and whispered words of love. But despite the festivities that surrounded them, the Alpha inside Aemond was restless, his senses ablaze with the primal urge to claim his mate.

As the night wore on and the feast reached its crescendo, Aemond found himself increasingly unable to resist the pull of his desires. The mating bite on Lucaela's neck called to him like a siren's song, its intoxicating scent sending waves of arousal coursing through him.

Desperation clawed at Aemond's senses as he struggled to maintain his composure, the need to reclaim his Omega growing more urgent with each passing moment. But amidst the revelry of the celebration, he knew that they would need to wait until they were alone, until they could be together in the privacy of their chambers.

Suddenly Aemond’s senses sharpened, a strange scent tickling at the edges of his awareness. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but to Aemond, it was unmistakable.

Nosing Lucaela's mating mark, he inhaled deeply, his heart pounding with anticipation. And then he caught it—the faintest hint of milk, sweet and intoxicating, mingling with the scent of their bond.

With a surge of excitement, Aemond turned to Lucaela, his eyes shining with joy. "Lucy," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "You're carrying my pup."

Lucaela's eyes widened in disbelief, her hand instinctively moving to rest against her stomach. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

Aemond nodded eagerly, his heart soaring with pride. "I can scent it as your Alpha, the scent of milk is unmistakable," he explained, his voice filled with excitement.

Tears welled in Lucaela's eyes as she processed the news, a radiant smile spreading across her face. "Aemond," she breathed, her voice filled with love and gratitude. "I can't believe it”

The Alpha inside Aemond surged with a primal delight, a fierce sense of pride and joy coursing through him like wildfire. To pup his sweet Omega mate was a dream he had scarcely dared to imagine.

As he gazed upon Lucaela, his heart swelled with love and adoration, his Alpha instincts urging him to protect and cherish her and their unborn pup with every fibre of his being.

With gentle caresses and tender words, Aemond showered Lucaela with affection, his touch a promise of the unwavering devotion and support he would offer her as they embarked on this new journey together.

As Aemond and Lucaela reveled in the joy of their news, their moment of intimacy was suddenly interrupted by the boisterous arrival of Aegon. With a mischievous grin, Aegon sauntered over, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Well, well, well," he declared with a playful smirk. "I think it's time you two lovebirds got a room, don't you?"

Aemond's scowl deepened at his brother's teasing, but before he could retort, Lucaela gently squeezed his hand, a knowing smile playing at her lips. With a soft chuckle, she rose to her feet, her gaze locked with his.

"Shall we, my love?" she whispered, her voice laced with laughter.

Aemond's heart swelled with affection as he returned her smile, his Alpha instincts urging him to protect and care for her above all else. With a nod, he rose to his feet, his hand entwined with Lucaela's as they made their way out of the crowded hall

-Months Later-

In the dim light of the birthing chamber, Lucaela's laboured breaths echoed against the stone walls, her grip on Aemond's hand tightening with each wave of pain.

Aemond stood by her side, his heart heavy with worry yet brimming with pride as he watched over her, offering words of comfort and encouragement with every contraction. "You're doing amazing, my love," he whispered, his voice a steady anchor amidst the storm of pain. "Just a little longer, and our pup will be in your arms."

With each passing moment, Lucaela's strength grew, her resolve unwavering as she pushed through the agony with unwavering determination. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, their pup emerged into the world, a tiny bundle of life cradled in Lucaela's arms.

Tears welled in Aemond's eye as he beheld his newborn pup, his heart overflowing with an indescribable sense of joy and wonder. "He's beautiful," he breathed, his voice trembling with emotion.

Lucaela smiled through her exhaustion as she gazed down at their son, her fingers gently caressing his soft, newborn skin. "Aeron," she whispered, her voice filled with love as she spoke his name for the first time.

As Aeron let out his first cries, a sense of awe washed over them, a profound realization settling in their hearts. For even in his first moments of life, he emitted a scent similar to that of his father—Aeron was destined to be an Alpha.

As Aemond cradled his newborn son in his arms for the first time, his heart swelled with a love so fierce and profound that it felt as though it might burst from his chest.

"My son," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "My precious Aeron. My boy"

Tears welled in Aemond's eye as he looked upon the small, features of his son, the exact mirror of his own, his fingers gently tracing the delicate curve of his cheek. In that moment, he vowed that Aeron would always know his attention, his kindness, and his love and devotion.

"You will grow up strong and brave," he murmured, his voice a soft promise. "I will teach you to be honourable and just, to stand up for what is right and to protect those you love."

With each word, Aemond felt a sense of purpose settle within him, a determination to be the father his son deserved. For Aeron was not just his son—he was his legacy, his hope for the future, a symbol of the love and bond that he shared with Lucaela.

As the joyous celebration of new life echoed throughout the halls of the Red Keep, a solemn hush fell over the chambers of King Viserys Targaryen.

Beside him stood his loyal attendants, their faces etched with sorrow as they watched over their beloved King in his final moments.

“With a final, gentle exhale, Viserys' hand went limp, his eyes closing.

"Aemma," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he reached out through the darkness, his thoughts drifting to the wife he had lost so many years ago.

"Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of tradition. "The First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

With a graceful movement, the High Septon lowered the golden crown onto Rhaenyra's brow, the weight of it settling like a mantle of authority upon her shoulders. And as the crown gleamed in the dim light of the sept, Rhaenyra felt a sense of pride and purpose swell within her heart.

"And her Consort King, Daemon of House Targaryen," he declared, his words ringing out with solemnity. "May their union be blessed by the Seven, and may they rule with wisdom and justice for all the days of their reign."

A ripple of applause swept through the crowd as Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a knowing glance, their hands clasped together in a silent vow of unity.

In the quiet chambers of their quarters, Aemond stood watch over his mate as she recovered from giving brith. Beside them lay their newborn son, Aeron, his tiny form cradled in the warmth of his mother's embrace.

Despite the grandeur of the occasion unfolding within the walls of the Red Keep, Aemond had made a solemn vow to remain by Lucaela's side, his protective instincts as an Alpha driving him to ensure her safety and that of their pup.

And so, as the sound of cheering crowds echoed through the castle walls, Aemond and Lucaela remained cocooned in the quiet sanctuary of their chambers, though they may have missed the pomp and pageantry of Rhaenyra's coronation, Aemond knew in his heart that their absence was a small price to pay for the precious moments they shared as a family.

But as Aemond gazed out of the window, his thoughts were consumed by the weight of uncertainty that hung heavy upon his shoulders. With Rhaenyra now crowned as Queen, the future seemed more uncertain than ever before.

Would their lives be in jeopardy under her rule, or would Lucaela's assurances of her mother's intentions hold true?

The memory of his grandfather's warnings echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. Otto Hightower's schemes had been thwarted, but the threat to their family still lingered, a dark spectre looming on the horizon.

Lucaela stirred from her slumber, her presence a comforting balm amidst the storm of his thoughts. As he turned to look at her, her eyes fluttered open, and she reached out to take his hand in hers, her touch a silent reassurance of their bond.

"Are you alright, my love?"

Aemond forced a smile, though the worry still gnawed at his heart. "I'm fine," he replied, his voice strained. "Just-thinking."

Lucaela's brow furrowed with worry as she squeezed his hand gently. "Whatever happens, we will face it together," she said, her voice filled with determination.

As Daemon sat next to his wife, his sharp eyes trained on the trio of men engaged in hushed conversation across the room. Otto Hightower, Larys Strong, Jasper Wylde, and Tyland Lannister—men whose ambitions and treachery simmered beneath the surface, threatening to undermine the fragile peace of the realm.

As Daemon's gaze met theirs, they offered him a hesitant smile, a silent acknowledgment of their unease of what the future would bring. But Daemon remained stoic, his expression unreadable as he raised his goblet of wine in a silent toast.

The time had come to confront the traitors who sought to plot against his wife, Queen Rhaenyra. With a sense of purpose coursing through his veins, Daemon wrapped his hand around the pommel of his sword, the weight of it a comforting presence at his side.

The blood of the treasonous cunts would serve as a warning to all who dared to oppose Rhaenyra's rule. With steely resolve, Daemon vowed to root out the rot that festered within their midst, to ensure that justice was served, and the realm remained united under his wife's rightful reign.

As he took another sip of wine, the taste of it bitter upon his tongue, Daemon knew that the road ahead would be fraught with peril. But with his sword in hand and his wife's reign to defend, he would stop at nothing to protect what was rightfully hers.

[writtingforfun]

Prey or Prayer?

Chapter 1

None so dutiful.

Those are the words of House Hastwyck. And they are words they live by. 

Like a Stark keeps his word, like a Velaryon sails the ocean, a Hastwyck is bound by duty and honor.

Lady Marisa Hastwyck was the perfect picture of the Maiden; devout, chaste and kind. Her entire life she had been prepared for marriage - her mother had made sure of that. Lady Lydia Hightower was unpleasant and highly strict about her children's upbringing, perhaps not in the best way. It was the sort of ambition that ran through Hightower blood, irrational and indifferent to anyone else’s feelings.

When Marisa was just ten, she was already made to spend two hours of the day praying to the Seven, by the time she turned twelve, she knew how to sew and embroider, by thirteen she was ready to be sold away as soon as someone wanted her. 

Which is why she had been sent to the Red Keep to study under the septas of the capital. Four moons had passed since she arrived there with her father and was presented to the King. But her father had only stayed for three weeks, and she was soon left alone with only her long time handmaid, Helia. 

Marisa was very intelligent, despite her mother’s disregard towards intellectual knowledge. She and her brother had always shared a passion for books and history, something that she thought would be rather important to maintain a conversation. Turns out her mother knew that the people of court were incredibly vain. The one time she brought up history, she received so many looks like she had lost her mind. 

Life at court wasn’t for her, and Marisa was certain of it. But how could she disappoint her parents and beg them to leave after all the weight they put on her shoulders? Her brother had been married just the year before, at sixteen, because he was found in bed with a middle class lady. The wedding had been rushed and no one even mentioned it. Now, their honor laid fully on her, since her little sister was only ten. 

Everyday, as part of her routine, she spent the nights in the library. She could slip in, unnoticed by anyone, and read as much as she wanted. And the library in the Red Keep was without a doubt the most beautiful one. History, stories, languages… Anything anyone could ever want.

This night was not any different. She picked up her book, one of the History of House Targaryen, and walked towards her usual table, somewhat secluded from the rest of the library, a book in one hand and a candle in the other.

As she made her way to the table, she was startled by the light in her seat. She was always so distracted and so sure no one would be there - after all, no one had sat there in over three moons. It was still very dark, despite the light each of them had, but she could see the outline of his body. Their eyes met and her breath caught in her throat. It was Daemon Targaryen.

“Your Grace,” Marisa quickly said, bowing at him.

He simply looked her up and down.

“My apologies, I did not know you’d be here”

His gaze fell on the book she had in her hand, “Interested in history?”

She looked down at the book and then at him, blinking rapidly, “Yes, I-” she stammered a bit and then took a breath. It was only Daemon Targaryen. “I simply believe that everyone should know the history of our kings”

Daemon chuckled at that. Someone who was not insipid, he thought. “Should you not me in your chambers, Lady…?”

“Marisa. Lady Marisa Hastwyck. I came only to fetch a book. I enjoy the library during the night, it is very quiet.”

“Uhm,” he hummed, his eyes returning to the book.

At the awkwards interaction, Marisa whispered “your grace” and excused herself, taking the book with her to her chambers. A shill ran up her spine as she remembered the indifference she saw in the Prince’s eyes. But then pity took its place. Marisa knew his reputation, but he had lost his wife and been left with two young girls. She couldn’t imagine the pain of losing someone she loved and vowed to be with for the rest of her life.

That was the very first interaction she had with the Prince, but certainly not the last.

***

The King held a five day feast for his older daughter, the heir to the throne, to celebrate her name day. The only good thing about this was that her parents were to attend.

“Quickly Helia, my parents must be arriving!”, she urged her handmaid to help her with her hair.

“Calm yourself,”

“I am calm. I just,” tears formed in her eyes, “I just miss them so much. Perhaps they’ll allow me to return home!”

Her bright smile of hope and high dreams of fantasy was only that - a fantasy. Helia looked at her with pity, for she knew that the girl’s fate - the same girl she helped raise - was to be nothing more than a broodmare. And it made her bones freeze.

Marisa stood waiting for her family with a bright smile, and as soon as saw her family’s sigil she could barely hold herself in place. How she missed seeing her brother and sister! It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Until her mother’s rigid face looked at hers, the weight suddenly fell back on top of her. In all these moons, her mother had only written to her to ask if she had caught the eye of any men. Despite the sadness that was now filling her, Marisa decided to put it aside and hug her brother and father. All the words of kindness and happiness that parents should hold for their children were lost in her mother’s stone cold heart. 

“Stand up straight!” Lady Lydia spat at her daughter who quickly lost the small smile she held.

“Ignore her,” her brother whispered in her ear, “she has been nasty since-” he laughed “since ever”

Marisa giggled at that, holding her brother’s arm. “How come your wife didn’t join you?”

“Mother didn’t think she should”

“Isn’t it more disgraceful for you to come to the capital without your wife than to show she is a commoner?”

“It should be, but I was happy she wouldn’t be subjected to hours in a carriage with mother”

Loud horns sounded and Marisa jumped frightened, holding her brother tighter. The King and Queen approached the family. They all quickly bowed to them.

“Murrel! Welcome to my court!” the King greeted his old friend.

“Your Grace, what a pleasure to return.” he turned to the Queen “My Queen, a pleasure to see you again” 

“Welcome back Lord Murrel, and your family”

“Come, let us talk while your daughter talks with her mother and brother.”

As they leave, she notices the queen’s sad gaze on her. A small smile graces her lips as she walks towards them. “Lady Lydia, welcome to court. It has been a while.”

“Your grace,” she bows again, “thank you for the invitation.”

“Of course. You are friends of the crown, therefore, always welcome. Lady Marisa is a delight to have in court”

“Thank you, your grace.” 

The rest of the morning was spent with her mother continuously asking questions and giving her a hard time. Even poor Helia had to listen as her Lady scolded her for not encouraging Marisa to be in court more often than hiding in her chambers or with septas. “I wonder where your father is,” she kept repeating. As Marisa looked at her family, she realized how alone she had been back home, and how alone she was now. 

Upon her father’s return, he and her mother locked themselves in their chambers, leaving their two older children outside to wander as they pleased.

“Show me everything,” Tommen pleaded as they roamed the Keep. They started in the library, moved to the Tapestries and the Godswood, to lastly stand looking at the training grounds - Tommen’s favorite place.

“What do you think? Is it everything you expected?”

His eyes shined looking at the swords and armors, “more. So much more that I won’t even allow myself to wonder what mother and father are talking about”

“I would like to know,” she pouted, unsure of what it could be.

His smile vanished and he kept his eyes low, “Mar…”

“I would!” She repeats, “I have behaved well.”

“Of course you have, you always do. But mother sent you here with one goal in mind.”

“To find a husband for me.”

He nodded, and upon seeing how sad she was, he took her hand and told her to watch as they trained. Tommem explained every move as if she had interesse, as long as she forgot her fate. She hated violence, but her brother’s effort put a smile on her face.

Men cheering made them both look down to see someone walk in. 

“Who is that?” Tommen asked.

The man looked up and then took his sword.

“That’s Prince Daemon Targaryen”

Let me know if you liked it, and if you want to be added to the taglist! The first chapter is different than the rest will be, it's just a little starting point. I wanted you to understand the dynamics between the Hastwyck family.

Taglist:

@marihoneywk @toxicberrie @snowtargaryen @bellstwd @pet1t3 @watercolorskyy @hypocritic-trash-baby @marvelescvpe @jasenialovesjinx @msmorningstaarr @angeliod @dornishannie @ewwwitsel @billyloomiswife827289301

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels!! This is a much longer chapter than usual because I kept writing and couldn't stop and didn't want to split it into two parts! Thank you all for the love as usual, I hope you enjoy ! <3

Chapter 65: Lanta hen keskydoso, Two of the same

Returning to your chambers after your interaction with Larys caused you to have spring in your step. It had given you a rush to speak so plainly with him, smiling at him so that all in the gardens who passed by suspected nothing. 

For once you felt you knew something that the so called Master of Whispers did not. 

The Maester had helped you.

The Maester had given you that broach. A symbol of allyship that you needed in the Keep. And yet they still did not know it. They did not know that there was a traitor in their midst. 

And it excited you.

When you opened the door to the chambers, you found Aemond already inside, sitting in front of the fire, tome in his lap. His hair was pulled back behind his head in a half ponytail, the long silver tresses lifted and flowing down his back. Messy strands fell around his ears and framed his face.

This new style came as a shock to you. The man had worn his hair in the same way, every day, as he always had since he was a child. It revealed more of his sharp face and neck, the hair pulled away to reveal the pale skin beneath. 

Without greeting him, you moved about the chambers to seat yourself at the window, picking up a book from the pile on the side of the room to read. When you sat you felt his gaze lift to you, but you did not meet it, opting to ignore him and read instead. But the harder you tried to ignore his heated gaze, the less you could resist, letting your eyes flick up to his. 

Aemond watched you beneath his lashes silently, finger tapping on the page in his lap. 

“Can I help you?” You asked.

“I’m sure you are enthralled with the prospect of reading ‘Crispian Celtigar, Master of Coins; Wealth of the Realm’.” Aemond hummed.

You let your eyes fall back down to the book in your lap.

You had picked up one of the most boring books of all. 

Why did Aemond even have this?

“I am sure far more enticing than this conversation.” You drawled.

Aemond hummed, before letting the chambers dissolve into silence. You opened the page and began to read the history book, eyes skimming the words and immediately regretting your quick choice.

‘The Lord of Claw Isle came from the blood of old Valyria. His allyship lay with the Velaryon and Targaryen Houses naturally. Lord Celtigar was a clever and young Lord of his House. He had grown in the Isles and-‘

“How was your walk with Lord Larys?” Aemond’s smooth tone pulled you from the words of the book.

How did he know?

Did he see you?

“Enlightening and refreshing. The air was crisp, and the sun shone beautifully. I regretfully had not taken the time to be acquainted with the last Lord of House Strong.”

You watched him as he took his eye from his book to look at you.

“Hm. And what did you talk about?”

“That’s neither here nor there, husband.” You spoke bluntly.

Aemond blinked, staring at you, trying to push you to respond to his question with his silence. You thought of not answering him, letting him stew in the possibilities of finding comfort in a man like Larys.

But you sated him instead, “He doesn’t speak plainly, as I am sure you would know. Pulling teeth would be easier than talking to him.”

"Larys will only tell you what you want to hear.” 

“Of that I have realised.” You replied.

You looked back down at the tome in your hand, trying to force yourself to read the words on the page. 

Why was it so dull? 

How could he read this and not fall asleep?

“We are to dine with the King this evening.”

“Delightful.” You droned, flicking another page over to look at the endless boring script.

Aemond stood, and you let your eyes peek at him from below your lashes as he walked towards the door, requesting the knight to summon the maids.

A short while later, the two girls entered the chambers and Aemond asked them to ready you for the evening. 

They braided your hair, half behind your head and dressed you in a deep black gown, the cleavage dipping to show ample breast. You wore your gold chain with the rubies, with the earrings and ring to match, twirling the dragon around your finger as you waited in anticipation of yet another tiresome, and most likely, eventful dinner.

As the maids left the chambers, Aemond waited for you by the door to walk side by side with him to the small dining hall. He watched you as you observed him from across the room.

“You were gone quite some time.” You interrupted the silence, looking down at your hands in false boredom.

“I had duties to attend to.” He responded bluntly.

“And how is she?” You looking up at Aemond with curious eyes. 

You watched his jaw tick.

“Who?”

He wanted to know what you knew.

“Alys Rivers, of course.” You smiled at him, stepping forward across the room to stand at his side as you moved to leave the chambers. You walked out the door and waited in the corridor, looking back to see Aemond still where he was, eye narrowed.

Oh yes, I know all about her.

Silence filled the air as Aemond stared at you, and you awaited his response. He walked out to join you, the tow of you beginning to make your way to dine with the Greens. Aemond kept his gaze straight ahead as you walked, and you felt a sense of satisfaction at his silence.

And so you asked again.

“Is she well?” You smiled looking to your side, all sickly sweet, like a soft honey bee with its stinger hidden away.

Aemond hummed, looking down at you as you continued, still not having answered.

The knight escorted the both of you down the halls and corridors. The doors to the dining hall were just up ahead as you rapidly approached them, your hands held together in front of you, and his behind his back. 

As you stood in front of the entrance, watching the two guards lean forward to pull open the large wooden doors, Aemond shifted, leaning closer to you as he looked down into your eyes.

Your husband opened his mouth to speak, but paused before closing his mouth shut. The Prince straightened and looked ahead as the room was revealed to you.

No response then.

The knight announced you to the room as you walked up the small steps to the landing where the table lay. Aegon sat in the centre with his mother and Otto flanking each side. All dressed in green looking like an odd bunch of peas.

The Master of Whispers sat beside Alicent in robes of burgundy, watching you with hawk like eyes after your interaction. Lord Jasper Wylde sat opposite him, in pale green robes, whilst other small council members littered the table like cockroaches. 

“Welcome back, brother.” Aegon smiled from the across the room, watching as the both of you came to the table.

Aemond pulled your chair out for you, as he always did, and you seated yourself in it softly, giving Aegon a small, yet polite smile. Alicent pursed her lips at you in a stiff greeting and Otto simply watched you. Your eyes flicked to Lord Jasper Wylde and you gave him a gentle smile.

Aegon’s brow creased, if not for only a moment, before a large smirk wound its way on his face. 

When the servants laid out the supper for the evening, you had sat and waited patiently for Alicent to say her prayer to the room, thanking the Seven for the spread and the health of the King. You piled your plate high with steaming vegetables and meat, and sipped generously at a honeyed wine from Essos, and not the spiced wine from Dorne that you loved. It was sweet, but also tart on your tongue, a distinctly different wine to what you had grown accustomed to.

As you ate, conversation filled the room between the small council members and the Hightower's. You could sense however, that Aemond’s gaze was stiffly on his brother, who had not taken his eyes off of you. 

“It was a beautiful day today, was it not, niece?” Aegon asked, one side of his mouth twitching as he spoke.

“It was, uncle. I took myself for a walk around the gardens and was fortunate enough to be accompanied by Lord Larys.” You answered honestly and politely, smiling at Lord Strong at the mention of his name. 

“It must be a relief to have your Lord Husband back in the Keep. I cannot imagine how lonely it must get for a wife without their husband.” 

Lonely.

Your eyes flicked to Jasper Wylde who would not meet your gaze, eyes down on his plate as he ate.

He had told Aegon.

“It does, uncle. There is only so many times I can read the same book, or walk the same path in the gardens, before the task becomes tedious. But thankfully, he has returned to me after so long away.”

Aegon sipped his wine as Alicent’s voice flitted across the table to you.

“Perhaps you would like a loom, so that you may embroider?” She inquired, hands clasped together on the table, head tilted.

“That would be welcomed, thank you. Although, I may not be very good at it. It was always more of a talent Princess Helaena had. I find my talents elsewhere.”

Aegon scoffed loudly into his cup and Aemond shifted beside you.

Conversation slowly moved around the table with the other guests and you let yourself settle back into your chair, listening for anything important. Any tones that grew quiet or hushed or stressed. Anything that could be of use. 

But most of it, was not.

“I’m curious to know about these talents you spoke of. I am sure my brother has experienced such things. Does this mean we will have an heir soon?” Aegon questioned, grinning at Aemond.

You unreservedly pathetic, loathsome, waste of breath.

You grit your teeth, the sharp incisors sliding over each other in your mouth roughly, and forced a small smile on your face, fighting away a grimace that tried to replace it.

“Those talents, I unfortunately have no knowledge of, uncle. But, no,” You paused, “I had my blood, so there is no babe.”

Speak plainly and openly.

Appear to be complacent.

Aegon pouted and sighed, “The Realm needs a babe for the treaty." He announced loudly, drawing all into the conversation again, "Have you even been trying? Do you need me to instruct you?”

You smiled at him, and thought of all the ways you could tear his head from his shoulders.

“The Prince had taken to Harrenhal for many days. Aemond often warms the bed of the Strong bastard, Alys Rivers.” You took a pause and smiled at your uncle beside you, “But now, thank the Gods, he has finally returned.”

Aemond stiffened at your side, hands gripping his cutlery tightly. You reached a hand over to grasp one of his in your own, soothing his white knuckles with your thumb, smiling at him brightly.

“I go where my King commands me.” Aemond purred, hand dropping the utensil beneath his hand and grasping yours tightly, digging his fingers into your soft skin painfully.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Alicent stared daggers at her son, and Ser Otto sat quietly watching you. Aegon laughed loudly into the room, looking at how his brothers eye twitched and avoided meeting your gaze.

“I envy you, brother. You seem to have been wed to Visenya reborn.” 

“Then that would make Aemond, Aegon the First reborn.” You replied, and watched as Aegon’s smirk dropped from his face with triumph.

You could never measure up to Aegon the Conqueror, you half-witted swine. 

Aemond’s harsh grip on your hand loosened at the comment. 

Otto steered the conversation away from you and your uncle, and you sat with you hand in his until the dinner was over. Aemond stood, assisting you to stand, and excused you both from the table with a curt parting glance and a stiff bow of his head.

You had thanked Aegon for the meal, and smiled at him and the other Green council members before leaving the dining hall with your husband. 

The walk was quiet, and once you had entered your chambers, Aemond began to pace the room. Each step he took, his boots clacked against the stone floors loudly, hands behind his back as his lips were pulled into a sneer.

“Your childishness knows no bounds.” Aemond growled, back faced away from you and towards the window.

“My childishness?” 

Aemond spun on his heel looking at you, “You dare to bring her up whilst we dine? Before all the Lords?”

You tilted your head and looked at him, “The Lords already knew. I was the only one it seemed, in the entirety of Kings Landing, who was not privy to my husbands whoring.”

“Whoring?” Aemond sneered, taking a step closer, “And what of your little walk with Lord Wylde?”

Fuck. 

Thinking on your toes, you scoffed loudly, “You must think me stupid to approach a man who is known as 'Ironrod' to the small folk for his refusal to bend to any man. A Lord dedicated to law, who will not budge, and has openly ridiculed my mother? Do you think that man such as him,” You narrowed your gaze, “Would even look at me for one moment? Do you think a man like Lord Jasper Wylde would even fall for such an attempt?”

You had hoped he would. 

All men are the same. 

They think with their cock.

Aemond crowded your space, his chest brushing against yours as he looked down at you.

“You know nothing of men.” He growled.

“I know plenty.” You countered, looking up at him, staring into his violet eye.

“You know nothing.” The One-Eyed Prince snapped, breath fanning over your face.

You sighed, stepping back and away from him, “I know that you fly to Harrenhal and bed a bastard named Alys Rivers. I know she is of House Strong. I know that she is called a witch, and I know that you love her.” You turn away from Aemond, his lips twitching as you spin on your heel, “I know that your words are hollow, for you have cursed my brothers as Strong bastards and waged a war on them, and yet, you bed one of your own.”

You stood in front of the fire, looking at the flames as they licked at the wood within, the bark peeling away from the heat only to be devoured by the orange and yellow teeth of the fire. The flames flickered for a moment, swaying as though disturbed by a breeze.

When you turned, Aemond was behind you, his large hand coming to snatch your throat tightly, ripping the air from your lungs. 

Your hands flew up to grasp his wrist as he sneered down at you.

“You know nothing of her. Do not presume to speak freely.” He growled, face shadowed by the light of the fire, accentuating the sharpness of his features.

You wheezed, hands still gripping him, and yet you did not feel frightened.

“Even if she has your child, it will never be an heir. It will always be a bastard.” You gasped, staring him in the eye. 

Aemond’s mouth pulled taunt and his hand squeezed your throat harder, body looming over yours as the fire crackled loudly beside you.

“And yet Aegon could legitimise them both, if I asked.” His sneer pulled upwards into a smirk, fingers twitching around your throat.

“And yet you and I would both know the truth.”

Aemond’d grip yanked you towards him, his nose brushing yours as he grunted, eye searching your face before he shoved you backwards, your hand coming to your chest as you breathed in deeply, coughs clawing their way up your throat. 

“If you are free to bed her," You wheezed, watching at how he reacted to your words, "Then I shall find someone to warm my bed elsewhere.” You smiled widely, voice hoarse from his grip.

His single eye flickered, and you saw his hand twitch, “Or perhaps I will fuck Aegon. He seems to show interest in warming our bed.”

There was a shift.

The air in the room seemed to chill, and a shiver rolled down your back.

Aemond’s face morphed into something you had never witnessed before.

You had grown accustomed to seeing his rage and fury often, his bitter anger and spite, but this? This was something new. Like any lingering presence of the man you had known, or even the man you had witnessed just a moments pass, was gone, and in his place something dangerous and unforgiving. 

“Tread carefully.” He whispered, barely restraining the pure rage within him.

The mere mention of Aegon stirred this response.

You pressed on, testing the waters.

“What do you expect me to do whilst you are gone and the King lingers around these chambers? If he commands it, he is King. I cannot refuse him. And he has made it clear to me that he wishes to teach me things that you could not.” 

“Aegon is a little boy, dressed as a man who we are all forced to call King. His word holds no power over me.” Aemond sneered, animosity pouring out of him as he looked at you.

“And yet you do his bidding, and go where he commands you, like a dog.”

The slap sounded into the room before you felt it. Your cheek stung and your eyes began to water, head turned towards the fire. Your hair curtained over your face as the pain began to bloom across your cheek.

A little boy he's forced to call King.

'His word holds no power over me.'

You let a shaky hand move to touch the heat that rippled along your face before you looked back at Aemond, whose chest rose and fell, fist at his side curling and unfurling. 

Stepping towards him, you took a deep breath, “Do it again if it will make you feel better.”

You watched as Aemond’s brow furrowed, confusion and anger dancing around each other as he watched you. 

“It makes no difference to me. I expect your cruelty. This is what I know. I know you." You breathed and watched him as you dropped your hand, revealing your red cheek to the room.

"You have raped, and defiled me.” You took another step closer, watching as his breaths evened out, “Beat, and choked me. You have scarred me and haunted my dreams far longer than any folklore or tale. I anticipate every blow, every curse, every drop of blood taken from my body, because that is the man that you are.”

Aemond stiffened with every word, looking down at you as you came closer.

“You have called Aegon a monster, and yet he has shown me more mercy than you.” You smiled sadly up at the man.

“I do not fault you for taking Alys as your lover. Anyone in a loveless marriage such as this would do the same. And that is the only mercy you have given me. Each day that you are gone from the Keep, and leave to warm her bed, I am given a reprieve from your cruelty and having to look upon your face.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened as he let you continue, “Don’t mistaken me, uncle. You are a handsome man, an image of a true Targaryen.” 

You let yourself look over his body. He was tall and lean, with a sharp face. His hair was soft and shining, silver locks pulled back away from his neck. Aemond's plump lips were pulled into a stiff line, and his purple eye was locked on yours.

His robes fit him perfectly, tailored to perfection, and the way he held himself tall and strong, added to the allure of the man known as Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond was handsome, there was no denying that.

You would not lie to yourself about a trivial thing such as appearance. For anyone with half decent taste could see that he was a very attractive Prince. Even if he was the most limaceous, despicable, and horrifying man you had ever come across.

“The loss of your eye has weighed very little on your looks, and if you were anyone else, I would have thought myself lucky. But you are not anyone else, and it is not the scar that makes you so hideous.” 

You let your hand move to cup the side of his face, watching as he flinched at the movement, brows furrowing deeper on his face. His cheek was warm against your hand, heat radiating into your palm as you felt the subtle stubble of his jaw.  

Your thumb rubbed against his jaw. In thought. In questioning of your next words. In a form of comfort to both yourself and him. Aemond’s gaze dropped to your lips, eye half lidded as he leant into your touch.

“It is not your eye, kepus. It’s the person you are within.” You whispered, all soft and cooing, but words sharper than a blade.

Aemond’s eye flicked back to you, blinking, lip twitching as he watched you. You moved to take your hand away from his face, his gaze piercing through you.

Aemond's large hand shot up, and grasped your wrist, holding your hand against him. 

Holding your palm against his cheek.

His grip was unyielding, and his fingers twitched around your wrist in thought, tightening to a bruising and crushing vice, to simply holding your arm in his hand.

“You will come to love me. Just as I love you.” Aemond whispered, grip tightening around your wrist painfully.

“When the sun rises in the west, and sets in the east. When the rivers and oceans run dry. When the tree hold no leaves, and the sky holds no colour. That is when I will love you.” You breathed.

“And yet you did once. And you do still. You just refuse to see it.”

“You refuse to see reason.” You pulled your hand from his grip, feeling the warmth of the fire beside you, “You are disillusioned by time and war.”

“You are disillusioned by your own fears. You refuse to see it. To see that we are meant to burn together. That a great fall would tie two threads. Fated by the Gods.”

You took a step back away from him. 

What?

“Lanta hen keskydoso,” Two of the same, "Vējes ondoso se Jaes.” Fated by the Gods.

You shook your head as Aemond spoke, stepping forward to grasp both of your hands, pulling them towards him to press against his chest.

“You must see. She must have told you. Surely she spoke of it to you.” He whispered.

“Who?”

“Helaena.”

Helaena?

“Lanta rōvēgrie zaldrīzes perzyssy, hēnkirī hae mēre.” Two great dragon flames, together as one. 

One hand left yours as you looked up at him, blood running cold. His hand moved to the back of your head, long fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulled you closer, looking down at you hungrily as his pupil expanded, swallowing the violet of his eye.

Air caught in your throat as his nose brushed against yours, his breath fanning over your lips as he watched you.

“Spool hen Kasta, spool hen Zōbrie.” Spool of Green, spool of Black. 

Spool of Green, Spool of Black.

Spool of Green, Spool of Black.

“Syt iksan aōha spool hen Kasta, Se ao ñuha spool hen Zōbrie.” For I am your spool of Green, and you my spool of Black, Aemond murmured, lips brushing gently against yours as he spoke. 

Hand turns loom.

Green to Black. 

Green to Black.

Green to-

“Iā rōvēgrie ropagon naejot letagon lanta hubon. Vējes naejot zālagon hēnkirī.” 

A great fall to tie two threads. 

Fated to burn together.  

Aemond’s lips crashed into yours, teeth clashing roughly into your own as he wrenched you close to him, one hand tangled in your hair, the other wrapping itself around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

It was all teeth and tongue, suffocating and rough. Where you would try to come up for air, or wriggle from his grip, Aemond would double his strength and hold you against him with no likelihood of escape. 

A great fall.

A great fall.

All you could think about was falling, whilst Aemond’s hand pulled you under.

His fingers pulled at the laces of your dress, roughly ripping them open from behind as you were forced to bend to his will. Aemond ripped the front of your gown and chemise down, breasts spilling out of their confines.

You yelped into his mouth as his hands pinched your breasts meanly, fingers twisting the stiffened peak between his thumb and forefinger.

Aemond moved you backwards until your legs hit the back of the chemise, your body almost toppling over the back of it. You pushed back into the kiss, nipping at his lip harshly as he continued to undress you, gown pooled at your feet.

He pulled back to look at you, his eye wild and hair messed. His lips were swollen and red, and the tiniest hint of blood rose from his bottom lip where you had nipped it. 

“Gevie.” Beautiful, He cooed, looking you up and down as you shivered under his gaze.

Aemond stepped close, hand gripping your chin, pulling your face up to look at him. He brought his head down towards you and whispered. 

“Mine.”

Your front was pushed up against the back of the chaise as Aemond spun you around roughly, your hands coming to grip the dark wood beneath you tightly for balance. You breathed in shakily, trying to steady your breaths as Aemond loomed behind you.

“Alys has seen it too.” He whispered, hand trailing down your back, causing goosebumps to rise in its wake.

“Blood will be spilt to seed the garden, and set the future sway.” His fingers curled beneath the crease of your ass, tickling the skin as he pushed you forward with the other hand, bending you deeper over the back of the chaise.

“Ravens will whisper the words of a burning star, a crown forged of blood.” He continued, fingers trailing up the back of your thigh, fingers scratching short nails against the skin as they made their way towards your centre. 

“And from her blood, the Prince that was promised. Five years to come, his song of ice and fire.” 

Two long fingers swiped through your folds, caressing your bud as they moved back down toward your hole, forcing their way in. You gasped at the intrusion of his hand as he pushed down on the front of your walls with two skilled fingers. 

Your fingers gripped the wood tightly as you breathed heavily through your nose, desperate to calm yourself as he began to slowly drag his fingers in and out of your heat, rubbing against the soft spongey spot within you. 

“Our heir will be the prince that was promised. Our son will be what Aegon the First prophesied.” He purred, speeding up his movements with his hand.

“I will fuck heirs into you, and you will give me the Prince that was promised.”

You whimpered as he became rougher, the sounds of his leather breeches being untied behind you. Aemond’s thumb rubbed against your clit as he continued to fuck his fingers inside of you, wetness begin to drip down his hand. You moaned at the sudden combined pleasure.

“Each time you deny me, you deny his word.” His hand became rougher, “Each time you bite at me, you desecrate his vision.”

Your head spun as the coil within you tightened faster and faster, his knuckles beating bruisingly against the soft flesh of your thighs.

“And each time you refuse to see it, you delay the prophecy from coming to fruition.” He growled, thumb pressing against your pearl sharply, and suddenly your peak was ripped from you painfully and viciously, back curled as you tried to pull your hips away from his fingers that never slowed their motions. 

Aemond continued to fuck his hand into you through your release, sobs and gasps spilling from your lips until he finally pulled his digits from your core, your walls clenching and spasming around nothing.

He wiped the wetness along your inner thighs, trails of your slick coating them. Your body hummed from the abrupt orgasm, and your mind was hazed as you tried to wade through the thick sludge to think clearly. 

From her blood the Prince that was promised?

The heat of Aemond’s body behind you disappeared, and you slowly pushed yourself up to stop leaning over the back of the lounge, turning your head to see where he had gone to.

Where was he?

Two large hands grasped at your cheeks and parted them, a tongue swiping from your pearl, all the way to your puckered hole. 

You cried out and fell forward, hands losing their grip of the wood as Aemond began to seek out the release that leaked from within you with his tongue. His nose buried into your flesh as he lapped at your hole, tongue pushing inside to drink your essence.

Pleasure rippled through your body as you whimpered, a hand flying back to try and push him away from you, body jerking from overstimulation. Your hand dug into his hair pulling the soft locks. You felt Aemond groan into your cunt, vibrations shooting up through your body. 

“I have missed this cunny.” He moaned.

"Your legs buckled slightly, fingers gripping his hair tighter, pulling him closer to your heat. 

Aemond groaned happily into your folds, licking and suckling at your slick, tongue teasing your bud as his hands dug into your ass with a bruising grip. You felt pleasure mounting within you quickly and rapidly. The front of your hips digging painfully into the front of the chaise as you tried to pull away from his mouth, his lips latching around your bud as he sucked on it.

“Going to fill you with my seed.” He growled, pulling away from your core as your legs shook, eyes unfocused as you stared at the fire.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you let him continued to lick, and nibble at your folds, the tide mounting higher and higher within, until he latched his teeth upon your bud and sucked it sharply into his mouth.

You came undone with a wail. Blinding white behind your eyes as hot pleasure flooded through you, the force of the second peak causing you to slump against the back of the chaise.

Aemond rose behind you, placing wet kisses on the backs of your thighs, the curve of your ass, and a single kiss for each and every vertebrae he passed, until he pressed himself up against your back.

The thick head of Aemond’s cock brushed through your folds and you shuddered, overstimulation and exhausting pouring out of you. He rubbed the tip of his cock through your slick folds, humming as he moved down to your entrance, slowly sliding inside. 

Aemond pushed himself to the hilt, your walls stratching to accomodate him, the head of his cock pushing up against your cervix. Your fingers curled into your palms as you held back a cry of pain and pleasure.

A large hand gripped the back of your neck, whilst the other slid itself around to grip your hip. He groaned as he seated himself inside of you, feeling your warm, wet walls gripping him tightly as he stilled within. You could feel his hot breath, fanning onto your neck at your ear as he bent over you.

Slowly, he pulled himself out, inch by inch, letting his shaft drag through your tender walls, veins rubbing against you deliciously as you fought to keep your moan in.

The tip stretched your entrance as it began to pull out, before Aemond slowly plunged back inside of you. Feeling your core clench around him as he hummed. 

"Sīr ȳrda.” So tight, He moaned, hands gripping your neck and hip tightly, fingers digging into your tender flesh. 

He began a steady pace, slowly pushing into your heat and pulling back out, almost as if he was teasing himself, working himself up to a frenzy as he relished in the feeling of your velvety walls.

Each thrust pushed your hips fighter into the chaise as his pelvis came flush against your backside, pushing himself as deep as he could go. It caused a pleasurable stretch as he opened you up for himself slowly. 

“Bisa orvorta iksis ñuhon.” This cunt is mine.

Aemond’s pace began to quicken, the force building, your body being pushed into the hard oak of the chaise, its legs jolting against the stone floor as he rutted against you.

Pleasure began to bubble up within you again, it’s tendrils spreading through your body as it wrapped itself around each and every nerve ending within your body.

“The gods made you for me. They made you so perfect for my cock. So perfect. I'm going to fuck an heir into you.” He grunted thrusting into you with earnest, rapidly becoming more savage as he sought out his own pleasure. 

“Going to fuck my seed into you and watch you swell with it.”

You moaned into the chambers, pleasure rising inside of you, mind lost to the world around you as you steadily moved towards your third release.

You wanted to let go. You needed it.

You were owed it. 

And if it came from Aemond, so be it. 

The echoes of his thrusts filled the room, the wet slapping of skin meeting skin, his breaths and grunts, and your tiny whimpers and mewls, surrounded you as he fucked you harder. The hand on your neck pulled you up flush against him, his arm moving to wrap itself under your chest, holding you to his chest.

“No one will have you. No one will touch you.” Aemond growled, “You’re mine. Mine. Always been mine, my zaldristos.” He purred, his thrusts pushing air out of your lungs as you limply leant into his chest. 

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill anyone who has you. Anyone who touches you. Iksā ñuhon.” You’re mine.

“Please.” You whimpered in his arms, peak rapidly rising as he continued to fuck into your wet heat, slick coating your thighs. 

Aemond’s lips came to the juncture where your neck and throat met, a place where you had once stabbed him, and pressed his lips against you, sucking the skin harshly. His hand left your hip to come to your front, and skilled fingers dived between your folds to rub needy circles on your pearl in tandem with his thrusts. 

Bursting hot pleasure rippled through you as he brought you closer, your mouth parting and an airy moan flitting through. 

“Fuck.” He groaned, feeling you tighten around him, his fingers speeding up their movements as he continued to fuck you harder, almost pulling you from the floor with each thrust. 

The knight outside your door could no doubt hear the sounds of your rutting. His grunts and your moans filled the space, and with every slap of his hips into your wet and wanting core, a high pitched whine would peal fourth from your lips.

Not even the thick oak doors could hide the sounds of such carnal pleasure. 

“Iksā… sīr gevie.” You’re so beautiful, He grunted, pace becoming sloppy as his fingers raced to bring you to your peak. 

His lips pressed to your ear as he nipped the lobe before whispering, all breathy and wanting.

All commanding and giving.

All at once. 

“Come for me.” 

The coil within you snapped.

You felt like you were floating.

Your body had no weight to it as you soared high into your third release, long moan falling from your mouth as you leant back into Aemond behind you, feeling his pace begin to falter as he felt your cunt gripping him tightly. 

“Fuck.” You whimpered as he continued his pace, his thick cock jabbing sharply into your sensitive spot within, the head brushing it over and over, as you felt yourself soar higher into the pleasure. 

It kept mounting and mounting, and you felt yourself hold your breath as a new, unfamiliar pleasure erupted within. 

“Thats it, good girl.” Aemond purred, feeling your wetness burst forth from within, coating your thighs and dripping to the floor. 

You cried out, feeling almost dizzy as your walls continued to squeeze around his length. Your release leaking from your body, pooling onto the stones below.

“Fuck.”

Aemond pressed his lips into the junction of your neck again, grunting as he pushed himself to the hilt within you, teeth scraping over your skin as he bit down roughly, drawing a loud pained gasp from you as he came undone. 

Thick hot ropes of his spend coated your walls, filling you deeply as your head slumped back against his shoulder, his arms being the only thing holding you up from sliding down to the floor. You breathed heavily, fatigue hitting you as you felt Aemond’s cock throb inside you.

Your mind was gone as you stayed in his grip, the ebbs of your own pleasure still lingering. You were hot, and sticky, wet and tired, and Aemond kept you upright on his cock as he came down from his own peak. 

Lips pressed against where teeth had been, a comforting gesture meant to soothe the aching flesh. Aemond shifted back, and you felt his cock begin to slide free from your core. You whimpered at the overwhelming sensation until you felt him pull out completely, his arms still holding you up. He breathed heavily behind you, catching his breath as he held you.

His sticky seed began to drip from your folds, sliding down your inner thighs as you stood in his grip. Your eyes became heavy, and your knees shook.

A kiss was pressed to the side of your head, and the world suddenly tilted. 

Aemond lifted you from the floor, hand under your knees, and arm wrapped around your shoulders to hold you close to him as he steadily began to walk towards the bed. His chest radiated heat onto your body as he held you close. 

You were so tired, you could barely keep your eyes open, letting the man gently place you down onto your side of the bed. Your eyes shut, the vision of Aemond moving away from you to the side of the room, replaced with the comfort of darkness.

The bed dipped and warmth settled beside you as you let your breath even and the dregs of sleep begin to pull you under. A gentle hand brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, before trailing down the rest of your body. You felt Aemond’s heated gaze and cracked open an eye to look at him. 

He was watching you intently, brow covered in sweat, shirt and pants finally removed.

Bare to the world, just as you were.

His silver locks were tousled and messed, completely down and pushed back behind his shoulders. You let your eye gaze to where the scar was on his shoulder, your own flesh aching in its spot. 

“Even Hell Cats would fear you.” He murmured, hand trailing down your body as his gaze moved to between your thighs.

You shifted, feeling exposed. 

Two fingers trailed down over your mound and you moved to wriggle out of his reach.

“Keligon.” Stop.

You stopped. 

His fingers dipped between your folds and you jerked, you were far too sensitive and overstimulated for anymore, but his fingers kept travelling down to your soaked entrance.

With two fingers, Aemond scooped up his seed which had begun to leak from within you, pushing it back inside of you with great care. Your back arched off of the bed as he kept his fingers inside of you. 

“Don’t want to waste it.” He purred, keeping his fingers inside you, plugging you full of his seed. 

You whimpered and shifted as they sat inside of you, until he pulled them up, fingers coming straight to his lips as he licked your combined releases from his fingers. Aemond hummed as he watched you, wrapping his tongue around each digit as a blush rose on your cheeks. 

Your core clenched around nothing and you felt a breathy whimper escape you. 

It was all involuntary, you told yourself. 

It was all a reaction to what he gave you. 

Once licked clean, Aemond’s tongue wet his lips before he leant forward towards you, pressing a chaste kiss to one of your eyes. You closed them out of instinct and felt your uncle pull the blankets up and around you, tugging you against his body. You could feel his softened member between your thighs begin to harden again, but he made no move to act on it. 

Instead, Aemond pressed another kiss to your shoulder and mumbled beneath his breath. You were so tired, and his body was so warm, a strange comfort you learnt, that your lids stayed shut, and eventually the comforts of sleep pulled you into its depths.

And from her blood, the Prince that was promised.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[wackyharpy]

Eventually (Part 1)

Modern! Aemond x Fem! Reader

Summary: Aemond has been in love with Helaena's best friend but hasn't confessed yet. Everything changes when he meets her at Dragonstone.

Part 2

Part 3 (maybe, not sure)

A/N: English isn't my native language. I'd be very glad for your comments and reblogs. Thank you in advance! Enjoy the story :)

For the atmosphere: Agnes Obel — Familiär

Warnings ⚠️

NSFW 18+, m masturbation, mentioning of sex, swearing, in this story Helaena is the youngest, she/her pronouns.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Two years.

Aemond Targaryen has been madly in love for two years. And if it weren't his lifestyle and business, he would confess. His family is another reason why it is so complicated. Although, the main reason is his fucking father and his delusional idea of Aemond's marriage with that Baratheon girl, God only knows her name.

One more issue. Who is she? A girl from a plain family without wealth that the Baratheon, oh Lord how Aemond is fed up with hearing that name, has. That's all. She is just a student. She is just the best friend of Halaena. She just sometimes appears at their mansion for a movie night with his sister. She is just a girl who Aemond has been madly in love with for two years.

***

Ragged breathing. The sound of the turned on shower. He has only half an hour to get to work. But Aemond can't stop. Can't stop thinking about her. Hair, eyes, lips, neck, collarbone, breasts, literally everything. All of her. He wants to devour her. Aemond's hand goes back and forth on his firm shaft. All thoughts swirling in the mind are of her. He shuts his eye tight making movements of the hand faster and harder. He desires it to be not his fingers and palm but her warm mouth or wet pussy. He wants to hear the sounds of their shared juices but not of the shower. Breathes are heavy. It seems as something has stuck in his chest, it wishes to break free, to burst with loud groans.

"Fuck!" he exclaims.

Aemond starts moving his hips roughly thrusting into his hand seeking for the relief. Still it would feel better if it were her hot insides.

"Fuck! Ah!" he moans.

There. It's there. Soon. He is going to come. Finally. He fucking wants her. Desires more than everything.

"Aahh!"

Aemond's cock starts twisting releasing his semen on the floor of the shower. He breathes heavily feeling huge relief. Aemond leans his head back opening his mouth slightly and licks his lips. The last exhalation is deep and long. Somewhat his mind has cleared and cooled being ready for another working day. Though, Aemond knows it won't last long. Sooner or later his only thought is going to be her.

***

"I don't fucking care, Viserys! She's a bitch!" Daemon shouts squeezing a crystal tumbler in his hand.

Aemond is sitting in his father's office at their family's mansion, silently looking at the mahogany desk. He is waiting for the ending of another spectacle that has uncovered after several minutes when Daemon and he have entered the room. Rhea Royce has been a topic of conversations between two brothers recently as the rogue one possesses no wish to be married to her anymore.

Aemond exhales heavily and keeps on sipping his Knappogue Castle Irish Whiskey.

They have come to discuss new reports from the financial department but, as Aemond has noticed, currently Daemon's concern isn't connected with Targaryen's company. Instead of working, he argues with Viserys due to his wish to divorce that Royce bitch and to marry his new passion — Laena Velaryon.

All responsibilities and work at the financial department are on Aemond's shoulders. Again. It happened once several years ago when Daemon suddenly realised he got tired signing papers, sitting at meetings, deciding matters, so he just bought two tickets to Essos and went on a journey with his lover, nobody remembers her name now.

Only Aemond remembers. He remembers everything. He remembers the huge fight that happened within the family right after his uncle's airplane took off. He remembers how he had been working day and night reviewing all transactions, conducting all operations, leading all meetings, everything... When Daemon, the head of the department, was sipping a cocktail lying on the beach, sunbathing in pleasant rays while his lover was making a slobbery blow job. Aemond has always been a scapegoat, especially after that incident when he lost his eye. That was the moment when he realised that his father didn't care about him and his brothers, and sister.

"I said everything! I'll marry Laena and nobody will stop me!"

With these words, Daemon shuts the door leaving Viserys and Aemond alone.

The elder Targaryen exhales heavily:

"He's going to be the death of me," mutters Viserys and turns towards his son.

"How's work?"

Aemond mentally curses his father for this fake caring. In one gulp he drinks the remainings of 12-year-old whiskey and places the glass on the small table next to the armchair.

"Work is fine," dryly answers. He wishes promptly to discuss the matter and leave the office. Aemond can't stand his father at all.

"Then let's see what we have," Viserys sits in his working armchair wrapped in dusty brown leather and takes the folder with the reports.

***

"Aegon!" Aemond knocks at the door of his brother's bedroom. He hears moans and sweet gibberish that Aegon, perhaps, is telling a girl who is now below him. Or on top. Aemond doesn't care.

"Oh, yes! Yes!" exclaims the girl and releases a load groan that, as Aemond considers, the whole mansion has heard.

"Aegon!" Aemond knocks one more time feeling impatient, "we have to go! Open the door! Now!"

"You like it?" He hears his brother's chuckling and moaning — Aegon has always been loud in bed.

"Yeah!" The girl laughs; the bed continues squeaking.

Aemond exasperatedly runs the hand on his face and tsks. He turns on his heels and goes downstairs right to the rooms of the staff. There, he borrows a key that a maid uses to unlock Aegon's bedroom for cleaning.

The moment Aemond enters the room, he sees a red haired girl bouncing on his brother's hips. So... she's on top.

"Oh, hi, brother," Aegon smiles still keeping one hand on the lean leg of his guest and another one on her heavy breast.

"Meet Angelica," the elder goes on completely undeterred by the situation he is caught in.

"I don't care," Aemond dryly answers casting a quick glance at the girl that is grinning at him, "just get your things and come on. We're going to Dragonstone."

"What's it now?" Aegon rolls his eyes.

"We're to meet Corlys there and arrange something. I'm waiting in the car."

"Is the issue arised because our dear uncle wants to divorce that bitch?" Aegon laughs.

"No," Aemond answers coldly turning to the doorway, "five minutes, Aegon. Hurry up!"

At long last, the door of the car is opened, and Aegon gets into sitting next to Aemond. The picture is hilarious, mostly for the elder of two brothers: inside, the car smells of tobacco, citrus, and something woody — Aemond's perfume, which he adores. He is wearing a classy black suit of the English cut with a matching dark grey tie. And Aegon sprawls on the leather seat only in jeans and a T-shirt, luckily, a clean one.

"Always a good little boy?" He snickers examining his brother's outfit. Aemond ignores the insult and keeps on looking in the window. The gloomy expression is on his face.

"I heard Daemon doesn't appear at office, fucks Laena instead of that bitch, so... again all work is on you, little good boy?"

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Aemond hisses turning the head towards his brother.

"What?! Isn't that true?!"

"Maybe you'd better start doing your part of the work as well?"

"I don't give a shit," Aegon puts on a resentful face, "if our father doesn't give a shit about us, why should I care?"

"The matter isn't in..."

"The matter is exactly in this! Rheanyra is CEO, not me, not you. You're not even given a position of the head of the financial department. During all these years, as you've been working hard, not Daemon. But, as I said, they don't give a fuck."

Then, there is long silence between both of them. Aemond is looking in the window at changing landscapes: from King's Landing's houses with red roofs to the views of the calm sea as the car has been driven on the bridge that leads to Dragonstone.

"There's going to be Halaena and her," Aemond hears how his brother's mood changes abruptly. Only several seconds ago, he was upset because of the family issues, and now he's grinning looking at Aemond pointedly. He doesn't condemn Aegon for quick mood alterations, in some way, it's his method of hiding the resentment and living among crazy relatives. Still, at times, Aemond finds this Aegon's feature to be very annoying.

"Her?" Aemond raises one brow.

The Cheshire cat's grin becomes bigger on his brother's face.

"Oh, come on, don't pretend like you're an idiot! Her, Aemond. You know who I'm talking about."

"Halaena's best friend," Aemond responds feeling as if something is swirling uncomfortably in his stomach when mentioning her.

"Yes," a satisfied expression appears on Aegon's face, "Daeron texted me. Their summer holidays started at university and they decided to come to Dragonstone, like for a week, I guess. You know, to have parties, to sunbathe in bikinis, to swim."

Aemond gulps nervously. His pupils have dilated. He feels hot.

"If you could only see yourself!" Aegon bursts out laughing unable to control himself, "I know you wanna fuck her!"

"I don't!" Aemond cuts off immediately indignantly looking at his brother's face possessing a sole desire to smack him hard.

"Yes, you do! I notice how you look at her. Do you love her?"

One more time, the loud laughing can be heard in the car — Aegon isn't able to stop. Aemond just exhales heavily and turns his face away from his idiot brother towards the window.

He is exhausted. Because of everything. Aegon, Daemon, his father, all this abnormality the Targaryen family possesses, probably, for decades. He wishes to rest, at least, a little. Isolate himself from others and just sit in his room alone for several days like a mad man. However, there's no going back; his life is predestined, and he has been working in the family business for so long. Somehow, Aemond has got used to this lifestyle. Though, the only silver lining of his life remains to be Halaena's best friend. The girl who he has been madly in love with. The girl who he is going to meet again in an hour.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 9.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.0k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

so sorry for the long wait. ):

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, decapitation, death

story playlist

The sound of paper furling and unfurling were the only ones heard. Then the slam of a fist on a wooden desk. Then a sigh. 

“This is ridiculous,” Rhaenyra hissed, reading over the missive stamped with the Velaryon sigil for the near hundredth time. “Absolutely ridiculous— borderline treasonous.” 

The letter spelled out, in so many words, that Vaemond Velaryon was contesting Lucerys’ inheritance claim to Driftmark. Lord Corlys had apparently fallen ill in the Stepstones— damn that accursed place— which brought up the question of succession. There had been whispers over the years of Rhaenyra’s first three sons’ true parentage belied in the seed of a certain late Commander of the City’s watch. Such accusations have been unfounded and swatted away like flies if the argument was ever brought up in the small council chamber or throne room. 

Upon looking at them, the three Velaryon boys were only such in name– that much was obvious. Their brown eyes and curled brown hair struck a decided resemblance to someone that was not Ser Laenor Velaryon. 

Even if the rumors, as they may be, were plain as day truths, such things couldn’t be acted upon, much less said about the heir to the iron throne, could they? 

“How can Alicent even entertain this… this mummer’s farce?” she continued to seethe, resorting to pacing now, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her throat felt a bit dry at the situation. Her and Alicent had struck a comfortable balance since returning. This felt… it felt akin to a slap in the face.

“‘Tis not just Alicent entertaining it,” Daemon muttered, swirling wine in his cup. He was lazed in the chaise, one leg over the other. He seemed particularly laissez-faire about the situation at hand, as if it were nothing more than a mere annoyance to him, like a leg cramp or an annoying bug. “That snake of a father she has has his fangs in every pot. Whatever suits him— and this would seem to be one of those things.” he glanced to his wife, wanting to say more about the queen, but thought better of it. Daemon Targaryen was, in all accounts, a man who spoke his mind– but he didn’t wish to ruffle his pregnant wife’s feathers by calling her ‘girlhood friend’ a cunt like her father. 

“Otto Hightower is a conniving man, that much is true. What could he hope to gain by currying favor with Vaemond?” 

“The Velaryon fleet. The Velaryon coin. The Velaryon connections. The well of opportunities for conniving cunts like Otto are endless.” he punctuated each point with a wave of his glass.

Rhaenyra’s mouth snapped shut. She was silent for a long while before finally speaking again. “Well, Lord Corlys is not dead yet. This will be fought and we will be heard.”

—

The morning after the gala was… eventful, to say the least. She hardly remembered going back to her room, it all felt like a hazy, dizzy dream. 

Aemond had escorted her back to her chambers in (comfortable) silence, giving her another goodnight kiss before leaving her for the night. She had been reeling from it all, the adrenaline of their interaction.

She could feel his lips on hers and a delightful buzz on her face and… another unfamiliar sensation deep in her body, nestled behind her navel. It felt like a pulling sensation, like a thread connecting her and Aemond. Just the slightest tug on the string had her feeling warm and fuzzy— she wanted him. The implication of wanting him could mean a myriad of things. She was fond of him, of course, she always had been. His possessive declaration, to any normal person, could be deduced into one thing. But in Shera’s mind, there were many interpretations of such an action, it couldn’t be assumed to mean one thing! 

He said she belonged to him— that didn’t necessarily mean he… loved her, he just wanted her near him. The kiss… she had started it, of course! It was merely… something of comfort between them, like a soft blanket or a favorite smell, right? Nothing so deep as… as one might assume.

 But it was also… melding into one another with ease, like their lips coming together had been second nature, their feelings inevitable. 

She kicked her legs in bed, spooking Moongeist slightly. Burying her face in her pillow, she gave an uncharacteristically loud squeal— to personify her current feelings. This was girlish and so very silly! Her face was red, she knew, feeling the heat radiating off of it.

No, no— ‘twas not love. It… Aemond didn’t love her, he couldn’t, it was a passing fancy. Yes, he was possessive and had mentioned marrying her twice. But that didn’t… mean… 

She glanced over at the dozens of drawings and sketches they’d done over the past few weeks on her side table. Her eye immediately caught on the portrait she did of him in blue and purple pastels, fingers wrought over the etching as she thought back to when she presented it to him. 

“I do not look like this, Shera,” he scoffed as he rolled his eye at her depiction of him. “You made me look like a child getting their portrait done for the first time. I look like I am being held at swordpoint.” 

Her mouth opened, brows flying to her hairline. “What do you mean? This is what you look like to me,” she snatched the paper from his hand and put it up next to his face to compare. “And you wouldn’t sit still, you basically were a child. I thought you had more discipline than that– Ser Criston would be disappointed.” she tutted.

Of course, it was a stylized portrait– mayhaps overly stylized. It was lines and angles and he did look quite pointy in it. But it felt like him, harsh around the edges but there was a glint in his eye that was soft, something few people could catch in Aemond Targaryen. He had been agitated when she made him stand still and it was surprising that she didn’t capture that overbearing emotion– rather, she caught the softness reserved only for her that hung in the back light of his eye.

“You are blind.” Aemond huffed, turning away.

“Yes, we have established that,” she pushed his shoulder playfully.

Love. Love? Love!

She screamed herself hoarse again into her pillow until Moongeist tugged it away from her. 

She loved him. She was in love with Aemond Targaryen and had been for a very, very long time. 

She was still giddy about it, getting out of bed with a spring in her step, as if she were some sort of sprightly hare. She peppered Moongeist’s face in kisses, to which he returned sleepy chuffs and whines, cooing soft noises to him in lieu of words— her throat hurt from her girlish squealing.

She had almost forgotten about the incident. The warging. She wasn’t even sure it had been real, if not for the bruises where Aemond held her so tightly to stop her from falling to the floor, she thought it would’ve been a dream. 

Shera knew of warging– every Stark did, every Northman did. It was a seemingly supernatural phenomenon told by stewardesses to children. It was a thing of wonder and utter horror. She remembers her own stewardess, the very fleeting memories she had before King’s Landing of Winterfell, keeping her afraid with the threat that if a skinchanger died while inhabiting another being, they would be trapped in said being’s skin forever. 

“Some skinchangers are more beast than man, Shera,” the older woman said, wagging a finger in the little girl’s face, who was no more than four at the time. “If you keep up your antics, don’t be surprised if you wake up as a beast, you little hellion.”

Shera promptly bit the offending wagging finger.

Unfurling the paper left with her breakfast, a hearty plate of hot eggs and bangers (which looked ravenously appetizing), she skimmed it. The message was clear in its intent: the move back to Dragonstone was delayed. Biting into the sausage, she threw Moongeist some eggs.

One more thing to be delighted about– she felt like everything between her and… those who resided in King’s Landing was on borrowed time. 

‘Twas a pity about the hearing for Lucerys’ inheritance. She didn’t care much for Lucerys– but she didn’t really know him. She wonders if he even remembers taking Aemond’s eye, and Shera subsequently shoving him into a wall where he hit his head.

She ponders it more over breakfast, even asking for a second helping of sausage before reporting to the throne hall. The maids that dressed her had brought a separate garment, one unfamiliar and most certainly not something she brought with her.

“Princess Rhaenyra wishes for you to wear this at the hearing,” one of them murmured. 

Shera eyed the dress– it was deep, blood red with black and gold trim. There were embellishments of dragons and wolves across the chest and a sash belt that looked like it had wolf claws embedded into it. It was… nice in its own way, except for the ghastly color. The maids were relentless in the cinching of her waist and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot as she regretted her second helping of breakfast. The women didn’t say anything to her, really, but exchanged looks that said more than words. 

As she slips into the throne room, she feels a whoosh of air beside her. “You look garish in that color,” a familiar voice sneered. Aegon blocked her way, brows raised. “Some little birdie told me that you prefer blue.”

“... mayhaps I do,” she murmured. “And how exactly do you know that?” 

“Again, my little birdie. But also, I was at the gala and saw you and my brother eye-fucking each other. You two are seriously shameless, debaucherous almost.”

“That is truly rich coming from you, Aegon,” Shera cracked a small smile. 

Continuing her walk, Jacaerys sweeps her up into his arm and leads them over to… their side. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Lucerys and Rhaena are waiting. Across the opposite side of the room are Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent and Otto. In the center, stands Vaemond, swaying ever so slightly to the Queen’s side. The room is so clearly divided that it's almost sickening. Just the previous night, they had been making merry without all of this division. She sees Aemond, who gives her dress a onceover– his expression is reserved and she can’t tell what he is thinking. He looks at her for half a second, nostrils flared, before looking away from her. 

While the proceedings are happening, she swims within her own mind. She stands near Jace, who has his arm looped in hers in a protective manner. Scattered words of Vaemond come through her muddled thoughts, ‘Velaryon’, ‘Blood’, ‘Survival’, ‘House’. Her eyes were glazed over as she counted the cracks in the stones of the floor.

One, two, three… four… 

She doesn’t really pay attention to what’s going on until the heavy doors of the throne room open with almost silencing impunity, quiet chatter and shocked whispers pulling her from her reverie.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” the Kingsguard announced as His Grace, who still looked all the part of a royal corpse, hobbled into the room. He declined any assistance to walk and take his seat.

She gets a sinking feeling in her gut– something telling her that everything is about to explode. 

“I must… admit… my confusion,” he wheezes, winded by the small walk. Shera feels a small twinge of sympathy at that, understanding the feeling. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

“You are of sound mind in that, father,” Rhaenyra bowed her head, unfurling another paper, walking to the King to present it. “This is a whit and declaration of betrothal between my son, Lucerys Velaryon, and Lord Corlys’ granddaughter, Rhaena Targaryen. It is signed and stamped by Lady Rhaenys, who upholds her husband’s declaration that Laenor’s son shall inherit Driftmark. This betrothal shall only strengthen his claim.” 

Viserys gave a small smile. “Thank you, my daughter,” he skimmed the paper, obviously with some struggle. “The matter… is settled, Ser Vaemond. It has been and it will… stay affirmed… that Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon is heir to Driftmark… the Driftwood Throne… and the next Lord of the Tides… and the children… of him and Lady Rhaena… will inherit it after him.” 

She feels the intensity in the air, it’s almost palpable. She feels sick as the voices raise, the blood in the room rises. 

Vaemond looks like he is about to burst, his body shaking in clear anger. “You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon,” he pauses for a moment as if to consider his next words, “No.I will not allow it.”

“‘Allow it’? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond,” Viserys struggled to sit up, returning Vaemond’s vitriol with his own– as labored and unthreatening as it was.

“That,” Vaemond pointed to Lucerys, with a look that could raze an army. “is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.” 

“You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond looked back to Lucerys and Jacaerys. The rage in his eyes were palpable as a humid day, the anger emanating from him sticking in the room like cloying smoke.

“Say it.” Daemon whispered, eyes trained on the second son of Driftmark. The rogue prince was disarmingly calm, his voice like Caraxes’ hiss. 

“Her children… are bastards!” Vaemond boomed, stomping his foot and pointing again at Rhaenyra’s sons. 

Shera’s breath left her lungs. She remembered what happened the last time someone called them bastards. She glanced to Aemond, who was looking right back at her. 

“And she…” Ser Vaemond turned his damning finger to Rhaenyra, “is… a… whore.” 

The swing of a sword was all she heard. 

It is silent, save for the hushed and shocked breathing of everyone watching. One would think that people would scream, would gasp. But no, it was quiet as a mouse, quiet as Vaemond’s head was removed from his body and the gentle seep of blood staining the stone floor. 

Shera had never seen anyone die before– not like this. She can see into the passages of his skull, his eyes still open. Shocked, she looks at Daemon, who is wiping his blade against his doublet. Her eyes were glued to the ground, to the cracks she was counting before. They were soaked in his blood, the divots and fissures of the stone opening way for the blood to fall into, branching out into jagged rivers.

One, two, three… f-four…

This is what is he capable of, isn’t it? No one came to truly seize him, to arrest him for killing a man in broad daylight, in front of the King, in front of the Hand, in front of courtiers, in front of the Kingsguard. 

Alicent’s mouth was opened, her eyes wide. Even Otto was shocked, his fist clenched. It was as much emotion as Shera had ever seen the Hand express.

Her saliva feels cloying in her mouth as she glances across the room. Helaena has her ears covered and Shera wishes she had done the same. Aegon was staring off into space, pupils dilated. The scuffle of blades and minds beginning to come to a sense of what just really happened.

Aemond’s face finally held some emotion: enamorment. For the power that Daemon held, the prowess, the act of brutality itself– Shera couldn’t parse which. All she knew is that it scared her. That darkness lying just beneath the surface that she’d tried so hard to ignore–

Her extremities feel numb, the sharp sting of icy needles crawling up her arms and legs. She began to sway, unknowingly clasping onto Jacaerys. The room was spinning and shaking, the intense smell of copper— Vaemond’s blood— tainting her senses. 

A high pitched ringing overwhelmed her hearing as she slipped from consciousness into darkness. 

—

Alicent held Rhaenyra’s arm, hand over the length of the scar she gave her so many years ago. It seemed like a fever dream; that night. Her thumb traced the raised skin as the two women shared a moment in silence.

“I— I will return, Alicent,” the princess murmured, her hand over her belly. “I will take the children home and return for Shera. We… we have overstayed our welcome.” her throat bobbed as they spoke softly in the corner of the maester’s room. 

The queen’s eyes roved over Shera’s sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell softly and she seemed… troubled in her unconsciousness, soft whines emitting from her every so often. Her wolf stayed at the foot of the bed, standing at attention. Amber eyes vigilant, guarding. 

“How… how shall you transport her? She hasn’t woken up yet, Nyra,” Alicent asked, tilting her head. “The maesters say she is fragile.” 

“Syrax is a smooth flier— a makeshift cot is being constructed on her saddle as we speak. The flight wouldn’t be long and it would be much less taxing than a wheelhouse or horse.” 

Alicent nibbled on her lip anxiously. She had never been fond of dragons, despite most of those closest to her connected to one in some way. 

Targaryens and their queer customs. 

“Is… is that wise?” she pressed, brow knitting. “They do not even know if she will wake.” 

“I made an oath to her brother that I would keep her under my care, Alicent— we must go back to Dragonstone, our affairs cannot be put off any longer. I do not wish to birth my babe here, nor do I wish for Jacaerys to marry here.” 

But I wish for you to stay. I wish for you to leave that ingrate of a husband. She punctuated her unheard thought with a meaningful squeeze to Rhaenyra’s arm. A silent plea— it was the first time in years that something had felt right. 

But it wasn’t her place to say anything about it, the words were better left unsaid. “If you think that is wise, Rhaenyra,” the queen responded, her hand dropping from her skin as if it burned her. Mayhaps it did. “At least let our maesters monitor her for a few days— then you may take her.” 

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched as she recused both hands to her belly as if to defend herself. “Very well, my queen.” 

They were so close, yet so far. 

—

It was hazy. Hazy and dreary— silent but all too loud. Her steps were calm and measured as her heart thumped in her chest. Shera felt light in her steps without any inhibition or reproach. Feeling no pain or vertigo, she flew down the staircase, skipping two or three at a time, giggling. This had to be a dream, didn’t it?

Descending, down… down… 

She was in the Red Keep, she knew. But it felt different, somehow. Younger in its stones, in the bones of its foundation, there was still some give. 

And yet, despite the airiness of the walls, there was a shadow looming

Two somewhat familiar figures were conversing near the skull of Balerion. She recognized them from portraits– young Rhaenyra and a much healthier, much more alive version of Viserys. 

She had always been fascinated by him, Balerion. Despite her heritage being very non-dragonesque, she always felt a childlike wonder whenever someone would speak of Balerion. It was hardly fathomable to her to imagine a dragon that would blot out the sun– one that even rivaled Vhagar’s gargantuan size. 

Viserys spoke softly but firmly to Rhaenyra, who was so young. She had just lost her mother and brother— the claim to the Iron Throne and named heir were up in the air. 

“Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, Rhaenyra… all of Westeros must stand against it,” Viserys urged softly as the candlelight flickered against his features, fingers skimming atop the flames

“And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king,” he paused, looking at Rhaenyra once more, “or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream ‘The Song of Ice and Fire.’ This secret… it’s been passed from king to heir since Aegon’s time. Now you must promise to carry it… and protect it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra,” the king looked directly to where Shera was standing, looking right into her eyes, as if he could see her, see into her. “Promise me.”

The metal of the Catspaw blade heated up atop the coals to a bright and almost fluorescent orange. Goosebumps prickled on Shera’s skin in tandem with the rising heat of the room. It was so warm, no, it was hot, scorching. The air vacated her lungs, replaced by flames licking at her insides, burning, consuming.

Young Rhaenyra had left the room, leaving Viserys to look at the skull of Balerion. He picked up a single candle, peering into the flame like it held the secrets of the world. 

He spoke again, but his voice wasn’t that of the era of King that Shera was looking upon. It was old, weezing– just like in the throne room from earlier in the day. The form of Viserys slumped, hair falling out and skin graying as he held the candle like a lifeline. He fell to his knees and the sound of his bones shattering could be heard, breaking and splintering into nothing but dust. 

But the candle was still lit. His hand, now nothing but bone and sinew, was fused to the wax. 

“No… more,” he coughed and sputtered, blood leaking from his lips onto the stone. Wax dripped, mingling with the blood. Finally, he focused on the flame of the candle. “My… love.” 

He blew out the candle with his last breath. With that, all of the candles in the room blew out.

Shera was left alone in the darkness and swirling smoke. 

It was cold.

–

She awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. But she was still cold, shivering. The smell of smoke was still lingering. 

Her chest was heaving as she sat up and tried to walk, wanting that same flighty weightlessness she felt before. Her body failed her and she crumbled to the floor, a broken doll once again. Arms wrapped around her and helped her up. The familiarity of sandalwood lulled her frantic nerves as she wholeheartedly buried her face into Aemond’s chest. She knew it was him. His arms laced behind her as he lifted her up easily as if not to taint her with having to stand on the ground. His nose buried into her hair, holding onto her as if he was afraid she would slip away.

There was the sound of a throat clearing near the corner of the room. The two of them were not alone– but she didn’t care. She clung to Aemond like her life depended on it, peering behind him slowly. 

Aegon was sitting behind them, knee bobbing nervously. He looked… disheveled, more than usual. Even more so, he was wearing… the crown of the conqueror. He was wearing the crown of his namesake. “You’ve missed a lot, Shera,” he muttered, eyes dark.

“Aegon?” she croaked, voice sounding hoarse and broken from disuse.

“‘Tis ‘your grace’ now.” Aegon said bitterly.