#Aegon the conqueror’s dagger

[alannacouture]

The Catspaw Dagger

Since I can’t sleep, you guys are being gifted w a HOTD/GOT theory I just thought abt & now is stuck in my head. Since the catspaw dagger is literally written w the Conqueror’s vision of “A Song of Ice & Fire”, do you think it’s the only weapon capable of killing the Night King? (We’re going to have to look at the timeline chronologically, instead of when the shows came out. You’ll also have to forgive any book inaccuracies, as I’ve only seen the shows [& spend some time on GOT Wiki].) Bran specifically gifts Arya the dagger, despite knowing he could just wait for Jon & give it to him. I know GOT basically abandoned Bran’s ability to time travel, or whatever, but giving something so historically important to his sister, when Bran probably knew the origins of it, seems odd now. Especially when he discovers Jon’s a true Targaryen, he could’ve asked Arya for it back, gifting it to who many believed was “The Prince Who Was Promised”. Instead, he lets Arya keep it. So, if she hadn’t been armed w that dagger, could she have even killed the Night King? Is the fact that the prophecy is in the blade the reason she was able to at all? Or was Bran playing the long game, knowing 2 Targaryens (who both could be the prophesied Prince(ess)), plus Arya armed w the dagger, gave them a much better chance of defeating the Night King? Maybe anyone holding the dagger could kill him, but a Targaryen without the dagger would be able to as well? … Well, that’s where my head’s at right now. I hope everyone else is sleeping (or being more productive).

[selkiewife]

Symbolism in the Alicent and Rhaenyra Confrontation

I can't stop thinking of the potential symbolism of the confrontation between Alicent and Rhaenyra in the Driftmark Episode. The inclusion of the Night King slaying catspaw dagger (which we find out in HOTD is also Aegon's dagger) charged the whole scene with Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa symbolism for me. I wondered if anyone else felt the same? 

The hidden inscription that Aegon had the pyromancers put on the blade- From my blood come the prince that was promised and his will be the song of ice and fire- was likely intended to mean from his (Aegon's) bloodline. But when Alicent drew Rhaenyra's blood with the dagger it got me wondering whether it could mean the blood that the dagger spills. As if the dagger itself is speaking- from my blood (the blood that I spill) comes the prince that was promised.

And then that made me think about the parallels between two people that are cut by Aegon's dagger in showverse: Rhaenyra and Catelyn. They are both mothers defending their children who are voluntarily sacrificing themselves (if need be) for the greater good (their kids) which is very similar to Nissa Nissa:

"... 'Nissa Nissa,' he said to her, for that was her name, 'bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.' She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes. ~ A Clash of Kings, Davos I

I remember a while ago @st-clements-steps brought up the fact that everyone is always trying to figure out who Azor Ahai is when Nissa Nissa is as equally (if not more) interesting since she is the person who CHOOSES to sacrifice themselves to save the world. She is described as someone who voluntarily presents herself as a sacrifice. I think that a mother defending her child and willing to sacrifice her life for theirs is a really powerful Nissa Nissa image. Nissa Nissa sacrifices herself to save the future of the world. The Mothers (Rhaenyra and Catelyn) putting their bodies between a dagger and their child is a similar symbolic idea. 

Whether it is the blood that flows from the dagger or the bloodline- the fact that it is two mothers whose blood is spilled by the dagger feels significant. Corlys was right when he said "History does not remember blood, it remembers names." And what names are the ones that are remembered? Well, the male ones. The surnames of the noble males are the ones that are passed down. Aegon himself believed that the Prince that was Promised would come from his bloodline. But interestingly, "his line" comes from his sister, Rhaenys the Conquerer, who was rumored to have lovers:

Whilst no one ever questioned Visenya’s fidelity to her brother-husband, Rhaenys surrounded herself with comely young men, and (it was whispered) even entertained some in her bedchambers on the nights when Aegon was with her elder sister. ~ Fire and Blood, Aegon's Conquest

So even though all the Targaryens are related to Aegon, there is a chance that the direct line of rulers is from Rhaenys and whomever she chose as her lover. Which I’d like. It doesn’t make Aegon wrong. It’s still his blood since it is his sister's blood. But I love how it also subverts what he believes as well. And in a way that makes women and bastards more important than true born male heirs. In the world of asoiaf, so much emphasis is put on the importance of trueborn male heirs. And yet, the two charcters most likely to be the Prince that was Promised are Daenerys Targaryen and/or Jon Snow. A woman and a bastard.

And speaking of that, the idea of the Prince that was Promised being a girl or a woman is supported by both the novels and by the show. As Maester Aemon said in the novels:

"No one ever looked for a girl... It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought … the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar Targaryen was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." ~ A Feast for Crows, Samwell IV

And Missandei explained from the show:

MISSANDEI: Your Grace, forgive me, but your translation is not quite accurate. That noun has no gender in High Valyrian, so the proper translation for that prophecy would be, "The prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn. ~ GAME OF THRONES, Season 7, Episode 7: "Stormborn"

And then, of course, Arya Stark (an unlikely girl) is the one in the show to slay the Night King.

So it is interesting that in the confrontation between Alicent and Rhaenyra, we have the role of the Azor Ahai being symbolized by Alicent- an incredibly “unlikely” person to symbolize Azor Ahai or The Prince that was Promised. And yet, taking into consideration the idea of “we never looked for a girl,” and considering that it was actually Arya who was the girl that saved the world, it makes a lot of sense. It’s even roughly the same choreography. You have person 1 (Rhaenyra and the Night King) facing person 2 (Luke and Bran) and then person 1 turns around and stops the hand of person 3 (Alicent and Arya) who has unexpectedly showed up with Aegon’s dagger in their hand. Obviously the roles of protection are reversed here (with Rhaenyra protecting Luke against Alicent’s knife instead of Arya’s knife protecting Bran) but it’s still an interesting parallel linking Alicent and Arya as the unlikely wielders of the magical prophetic weapon. Unlikely because they are girls/women (“we never looked for a girl.”) Unlikely because they are not Targaryens. 

But! Are they truly not? Alicent- a mother of Targaryens- could symbolize Dany the mother of Dragons (yes! Dany is the only mother of literal dragons but I’m talking symbolism here.) She is also a Targaryen by marriage. And she was a forced child bride in the show- another parallel to Dany. There have been better posts that you can find explaining the role of Dany as an Azor Ahai figure in the books. But we are talking mostly about the show canon and in the show, Alicent can also be symbolizing and foreshadowing Arya. I originally thought that Arya could also end up having Targaryen blood if the show decided to make the rumored Jace and Sara Snow romance canon but it looks like that is not going to happen. However, Arya's dagger is still "tempered" by her mother's blood, so perhaps mothers' blood is the magic and not necessarily a Targaryen mother's blood. This also supports the idea that the prophesies come true- but not in the way the dreamer/interpreter believes they will. Arya and Rhaenyra are also shown to have a lot of parallels so perhaps there is symbolic link more than a literal blood link between them. Or perhaps Rhaenyra is the Nissa Nissa to Arya's Azor Ahai (and in the books it may still be Daenerys or Jon.) I think Rhaenyra putting herself in harm's way to protect Luke (her bastard) can also foreshadow Lyanna dying to birth Jon Snow.

On the whole, I do think it is really interesting that Rhaenyra and Alicent mirror Nissa Nissa and Azor Ahai in this scene. Especially when you consider the potential homoerotic undertones to their friendship. According to the legend, Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa did love each other before one killed the other. Though it is a change from the books, I like how the relationship between Alicent and Rhaenyra highlight the asoiaf theme that, as Arya says, "The woman is important too!" Nissa Nissa is important. The dead mothers are important. The unremembered blood of mothers is important. Bastards are important. The relationships between women are important. The unlikely heroes are important.

tagging @targaryenfamilyorgy who wrote this post

[lola-writes]

Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

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Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering. 

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter. 

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut. 

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now. 

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet. 

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition. 

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind. 

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward. 

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency. 

_

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said. 

The council erupted in uproar. 

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.  

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved. 

It was palpable. 

It was mine for the taking. 

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs. 

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent. 

I cast my gaze on her. 

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest. 

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table. 

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain. 

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified. 

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty. 

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach. 

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.  

None of it mattered. 

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find. 

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut. 

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind. 

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead? 

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs. 

It wasn’t Alicent. 

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch. 

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions. 

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence. 

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me. 

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest? 

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother. 

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut. 

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement. 

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense. 

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear. 

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee. 

_

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape. 

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.  

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider. 

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current. 

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. 

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. 

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread. 

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us. 

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union. 

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. 

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive. 

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile. 

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat. 

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye. 

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells. 

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash. 

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic. 

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown. 

And the crown needed heirs. 

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head. 

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach. 

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea. 

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue. 

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose. 

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea. 

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths. 

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us. 

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips. 

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand. 

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it. 

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette. 

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all. 

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges. 

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.” 

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike. 

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid. 

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. 

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former. 

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. 

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace. 

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure. 

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. 

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me. 

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate. 

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire. 

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat. 

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears. 

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal. 

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard. 

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me. 

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. 

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle. 

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath. 

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince. 

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room. 

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air. 

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches. 

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead. 

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps. 

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze. 

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder. 

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain. 

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might. 

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him. 

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease. 

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt. 

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace. 

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear. 

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me. 

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger. 

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other. 

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood. 

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me. 

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender. 

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue. 

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control. 

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone. 

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip. 

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release. 

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings. 

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing. 

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure. 

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls. 

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest. 

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap. 

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries. 

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm. 

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body. 

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips. 

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful. 

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting. 

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers. 

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.  

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire. 

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips. 

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm. 

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame. 

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly. 

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick. 

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest. 

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.  

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance. 

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me. 

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy. 

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss. 

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me. 

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself. 

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. 

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells. 

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her. 

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust. 

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time. 

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire. 

Thunder rolled overhead. 

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed. 

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down. 

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

[joekeerys]

"That dagger once belonged to Aegon the Conqueror. It was Aenar's before that. And before that... it is difficult to know. Before Aegon's death, the last of the Valyrian pyromancers hid his song in the steel."

[arcielee]

Fare Well

Photo credit.

Summary: You visit Aegon after another council meeting ends. Paring: Aegon Targaryen x female!reader Word Count: 1600+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, knifeplay, object penetration, kissing, p in v, creampie, using intercourse as an escape from reality. Author’s Note: Listen, the new trailer came out and our muses are buzzing again. This smutty piece was inspired by this story by @valeskafics as well as this beautiful edit by the beautiful @bucknastysbabe. The title is from Hozier, as you all should come to expect now, and this can also be read on ao3. This is dedicated to @f4ll-for-you, my wonderful Tumblr kindred spirit who made me into the Aegon girly I am today. 💜 A huge thank you to @targaryen-dynasty for beta reading and making sure this all made sense. 💜 Enjoy!

“What troubles you, your grace?”

You had remained in the shadows and listened to the voices grow louder, though still muted through the walls, with their worries of what was to come next. They exited one by one, the morose men chosen to serve the king’s council, with the lord commander of the kingsguard escorting the queen dowager donned in green, her eyes downcast and her expression etched with her perpetual worry since her lord husband had passed. The lord hand was the last to leave, his face lined and wearied, his slow gate returning him to the tower where he would–as Aegon confided to you–continue to pen letters to garner support across the realm. 

It was only then that you dared to enter the room. You saw Aegon was seated at the head of the table, his violet gaze placed on the Valyrian dagger in his hands, the iron and rubies that once belonged to the Conqueror gleaming above him. 

The sun was streaking through the windows behind, giving him a kingly glow. His hair was a shade lighter and his cheeks sunkissed from the hours aback Sunfyre; despite the threat beyond the horizon, you knew that Aegon enjoyed patrolling the skies with his brothers.

It was these little confessions that he shared with you in the clandestine moments stolen within the walls of the Red Keep. He told you how he wished to be distracted, to allow a reprieve for his mind that weighed heavy with this anointed crown, and you were just this distraction, flesh and blood pulsing with your desire. 

It was then he looked up to see you still shyly posted in the doorway. “You seemed troubled, your grace,” you repeated with kindness, with concern. 

“I am now always troubled, it feels,” his smile was forced. “It seems to be something that comes with the weight of this.” He removed the crown and it echoed dully as he dropped it on the table. “But perhaps you can serve your king.” 

Your foot pushed the door until it closed soundly, and you took a step towards him. For a moment you saw the boy you had grown up with, mischievous and smirking, peering up at you from beneath the title of king. “This is why I am here,” your reply was sultry, and you saw how the black began to swallow the color of his eyes. “To serve, your grace.” 

Aegon sheathed the dagger and set it aside his crown before slouching back to spread his legs wider in the ornate chair he sat. Your stomach tightened at the sight of his thick outline against his thigh, pressing through his slacks, and you felt the flutter of that desire trilling your spine, spilling back into your veins. 

Your heart vibrated beneath and his lips curled upwards when he noticed where your eyes fell. His large hand patted his thigh. 

The gesture summoned you and you moved within his arms reach. He pulled you onto his lap, his face burying into the curve of your neck with a groan, a deep inhale that tickled. “Your grace,” you giggled, squirming in his hold, your blood warming your skin. 

“It is only us now,” he murmured against your skin, “and all I wish now is  to tear away these layers, lay you on this table, and have what lies beneath your finery.” 

“You would not dare,” you whispered, your eyes bright. 

His fingers dug into your hip while his other hand snaked under your thighs to lift you up from his seat. You giggled again, your arm quick to wrap around his neck to brace for his step forward as he set you on the edge of the table. His hands pawed at your layers, searching to find the dagger and he began to slice through your fabric.  

Your surprise spilled from your lips. “Aegon!”

He did not falter, but sheathed it and set it back down so his hands could grab fistfuls, tearing away the fabric to allow you room to part your thighs and welcome him. Your hands moved from his chest and combed through his hair, smoothing the indent left behind from his crown. He hummed from your touch, his hands moving from your hips and following your curves to your backside, pulling you closer so he could tilt his chin forward and capture your lips. 

His kiss devoured you wholly, pulling the air from your lungs with the dizzyingly desperation of his lips against your own. Your arms wrapped again around his neck and you rolled your hips for friction against the warmth he emitted through his royal garb, your fingers clawing at the fabric. 

You could feel his smile against your lips, his fingers returning to his hold on your hips. The outside of his palm rested on the dip and his thumbs pressed to the bone, eliciting a pleasure that jolted through you. You moaned softly and his mouth broke away, wet kisses that now trailed along your jaw, his teeth nipping at the slope of your neck. 

“Aegon,” you could not help but whine, and you tightened your legs around his hips. 

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, flushed. For a moment you were lost in his heady gaze, only brought back once you felt his hand trailing the detailing of your bodice and pressing until you laid back on the table. His other hand retrieved the dagger once more and your smallclothes were cut away, the air crisp against the slick between your thighs. 

“So wet for me already,” he clucked his tongue, “and I have barely begun.” 

Your stuttered response only further goaded him. His brow cocked. “What was that?” 

“Please,” you licked your lips. “Touch me, Aegon. Please.”

The darkness in his eyes glittered with the sunlight, and his satisfaction curled across his square jaw. “No. Not quite yet.” 

Before you could protest, you felt the pressure of something that was smooth, almost cool to the touch. You peered down to see the sheathed dagger pressed sideways to your bare cunt, the ruby stone sliding against the slick, the blossom of your arousal allowing him a circular motion of the gemstone against the bundle of nerves.  

You shuddered in response, your skin rising on your thighs and chest, and your head fell back, your hands pressing flat on the polished wood to anchor yourself. The unfamiliar touch began to build a familiar sensation, something that fluttered throughout, catching your exhale in your throat. 

“Aegon,” you cried, his name spilling sickly sweet from your lips, an endearment with the desperation of your tone. 

“Let me,” he soothed, his voice rasped with his intent focus. 

He moved the hilt and its decorative ridges rubbed along your swollen nerves. You squealed with the touch and then the intrusion, feeling his palm press to the inside of your thigh. “Trust me,” he whispered, his eyes boring between your thighs. You relaxed to his touch, feeling the curve of the handle pressing sweetly within you.

It sparked lights before your eyes and Aegon was pleased. He moved his thumb to replace where the gemstone rubbed enticingly before, matching the tandem of the hilt that now pulled you upwards to the prior peak and then past. It filled your chest, a bursting euphoria that pulsed your walls around the handle.

“Sȳz riña,” his voice low with his praise. Good girl.

Your head lifted, drowsy, and you saw him touch the glossy shine that now covered the hilt, his fingers showing the sticky web of your climax. His eyes met with yours as he showed you, and his eyebrows raised when you pushed to sit up, your hand gently covering his own to pull it towards your lips, licking the ruby and tasting yourself.  

It clattered to the cobblestone and his free hand now grabbed the nape of your neck, his lips finding yours with his returned desperation. Fingers collided to loosen his drawstrings, your hands pulling his cock free and guiding his blunt head to press against your silk entrance. 

His large hand wrapped around the base and you cant your hips, angling yourself so his cock can slowly sink into your wet warmth. You mewled from the delicious stretch and he shuddered once he was fully buried between your thighs. Aegon paused, stealing a kiss, a taste of tenderness on his lips as he began to rock against you. 

It started slow with a low groan spilling from his kiss swollen slips as he watched his cock disappear inside you again and again. He savored the lewd sounds, your soft cries as he pushed deeper within you, your fingers grasping to hold yourself upright, to remain as close to him as possible. 

Your body still simmered with your prior release and it did not take much to build again. His hips snapped against yours with the wet sound of skin to skin, and your walls began to flutter. It is a breathless chorus, your soft gasps and his low groan, your pleasure pulling with a creamy spill of passion that tightened around him, his cock pulsing hotly within you. 

You fell back to your elbows, trying to catch your breath, and Aegon slumped over, his damp brow pressing to yours, the mess of his golden waves falling across your face. His scent washed over you, exotic oils that were sent as gifts and the sheen of sweat on his skin. 

The council chambers are noiseless now, and you hold still under the dimming candles lit for the chandelier above. It is another clandestine moment stolen, where your hearts thrummed in unison before slowing back to their regular pace, pulling you back to the heavy reality that settled in the quiet.

It lingered in the shadows, the faraway thought, the threat beyond the horizon, the echoed worries returning of what will come next. 

Tumblr kindred spirits [taglist]: @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @qyburnsghost @namelesslosers

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Smut, swearing, mentions of blood, incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.04

“Many in my line have been dragon riders; very few among us have been dreamers like Aegon the Conqueror.”

The sound of snow being crushed under Lord Stark’s boots is much heavier; he has remained mainly silently as you walked towards the godswoods. Your grandsire had told men from the north they were not ones for long conversation, but then again, Otto Hightower has been wrong about many things.

“He saw them, the threat in the north, in his dream.”

Lord Stark slows his steps, “How do you know this to be true?”

“Aegon's conquest was not an act of pure ambition. The conquerors goal was to unite all the kingdoms so they might survive the long night. How much faith do you have in prophecy’s my lord?”

“Since the days of the First Men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. I know what danger lies beyond the wall.”

The closer Vermithor got to Castle Black, the more could the emptiness, that vast darkness surrounding it. The wind screamed in your ears, telling you to go back, to flee, but you could not retreat. Not when you needed to see the darkness. A cold sweat trickles down your back, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed, you away on your feet.

Lord Stark grabs your arm with his gloved hands to keep you steady. “Princess, are you okay? Should you return indoors?”

“I’m fine, my lord; I’m just—not used to the cold.”

He looks unconvinced, but let’s go of your arm. His first name was lingering on the tip of your tongue, but as there were others around, although at a distance, you thought it best to remain formal.

“They are inhuman, elegant, dangerous, and beautiful. The white shadow’s blood is pale blue; they are tall and gaunt. Their eyes burning like ice. Flesh pale as fresh milk.”

You stand on the edge of the pond across from the Weirwood and feel a coldness creeping on the back of your neck, but it disappears when you feel the warmth of Cregan’s breath. “Is the white shadow what they are known as in the south?”

“No, only myself and my sisters know of the threat.” Both you and Helaena had learnt of the prophecy through visions, and your father had told Rhaenyra. “The threat will go by many names: the others, white walkers, white shadows. Some will even refer to them as the cold gods.”

“You have fire in your words, princess, but a prophecy alone cannot be the only reason you came to Winterfell. And it wasn’t to sway which side the North would fight for.”

“There has never lived a Stark that broke their oath; it would have been foolish of me to even ask,” you smile. “The dragons are the last magic of Old Valyria, and they are scared. I believe the looming war between my family will be the last of them; the magic will die out, and then death from beyond the wall will spread and consume all of Westeros.”

“You believe the Targaryens will fight along with the night's watch when the time comes.”

“There is no doubt the north produces the fiercest fighters, my Lord, but a man cannot kill the dead alone. The white shadow fears what can destroy it.”

He swallows thickly, “fire.”

“My father owned a Valyrian steel blade with the words, ‘My blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.’ The dagger now belongs to my brother, but it should have gone to Rhaenyra. The prince that was promised will come from her line.”

You remove your gloves and place your palm firmly against the bark of the Weirwood tree, feeling the cold against your skin. Closing your eyes, you hear Helaena’s voice in the distance, but it’s not you she's speaking directly to.

“There is warmth beneath all that ice.”

“Ah!”

Opening your eyes, you look down and notice blood falling onto the snow; something had sliced through his thick leather gloves and cut his hand. “What happened?” You apply pressure to the cut with your own hand. “Shall I get a maester?”

Before he can answer, the sound of wings flapping alerts you to a dragon flying nearby. Vermithor and Silverwing fly lower than not casting a shadow over where you stand. Cregan takes a step closer to you and tilts his head down; he kisses you tenderly on the lips.

Seconds pass by, and he’s standing in front of you again, the cut on his hand staining the snow below crimson.

Was the kiss real or a figment of your imagination?

“No, maester. It’s only a small cut.”

You had only known the Lord of Winterfell a few days, but seeing the way his face twists in discomfort makes you want to help. You clear your throat, “then let me clean the cut for you.”

—

The room was silent as you dabbed at the raised skin around the cut on Cregan’s palm with lukewarm water. The wound has stopped bleeding, but you wanted to make sure it was clean. What would your grandsire or mother say learning a princess was attending to Lord Stark in such a way? No doubt the dowager queen would pull a face of disgust, and your grandsire Otto would put a political spin on it. Try to paint you as the image of the mother.

“I thought the cut would have been bigger,” you say quietly.

“Aye, it is small but deep.” He holds up the fang that he picked up in front of the Weirwood tree. “The wolf this came from is larger than my son’s but not yet fully grown. Even as a pup, a wolf's fangs can rip the flesh from a man’s throat.”

“The day will come when they say a Stark will ride into battle on the back of a giant direwolf.”

You look up from the bowl with water and into his eyes, “Thank you.”

“You have a much gentler touch than the maester. I assumed most princesses would swoon at the sight of blood.”

“My brothers used to fight when we were younger, and I would tend to their wounds before our mother would see.” You chuckle, “In his youth, my eldest brother would stub his toe, but would have you believe his entire foot was about to fall off.”

“Not long after Rickon learnt to walk, he went through a phase of screaming seven hells whenever he fell or bumped his head against something, but I soon realized he did it because any lady who saw would rush to coddle him as they do their own children.”

Your heart bleeds for Rickon; no young boy or girl should grow up without a caring mother. You had seen firsthand how Aegon and Aemond turned out spoiled and entitled, with your mother's bitterness rooted deep within them, as did you. Until having a child of your own changed you for the better. “I’ve seen Maitland fall and skin his knees while playing in the gardens of our home countless times; mostly he’ll get up without a fuss, but whenever his father is there, he cries and screams. He only stops when Aemond picks him."

The thought saddens you. Aemond would pick your son up and immediately place him in your arms, because to him it was a woman’s job to deal with whatever woes a child may have.

“Growing up, I was taught that a mother's love was the fiercest of all.”

Your heart flutters. You didn’t like the way Cregan was unintentionally making you feel so... safe. You drop the cloth into the water, which is now tinted red, and go stand by the fireplace.

“Is something wrong, princess?”

Pressing a hand on the wall above the fireplace, you stare down at the flames and shake your head. It was wrong; a man you barely knew should not make you feel more at ease than your own husband.

The chair he was sitting in makes a scraping noise as Cregan stands. “Have I offended you, princess?”

“No, forgive me. I’m just—in my own head.” You turn your head to look at him and are surprised to see the look of concern on his face. “As you said before, a prophecy isn’t the only reason I came here. I wanted to know what it was like to be free.”

“Free?”

“My mother told me women cannot rule, only guide the men that do, which led me to believe I was to make a window in the wall of my own prison. I’ve spent my life so far in the service to men, my father, grandsire, husband, and now Aegon.”

“What is it you desire?”

“To take my son and go somewhere where the name Targaryen means nothing, where the people aren’t scared of our dragons.”

The Lord now stands only a foot in front of you, “princess.”

“Hm?”

“Northerns aren’t scared of dragons.”

No more words needed to be said. Cregan takes a step forward and touches your chin with his rough fingers and gently tilts your face upwards so his lips are mere inches from yours.

You opened your mouth to say something, but no noise came out. Cregan presses his lips against yours. It was a gentle kiss.

Resting his forehead against yours, he asks, “Should I stop?”

“No,” you whisper. “Kiss me again.”

He kisses you again, but this time it’s full of urgency. Was it dishonorable? Yes, but the feeling of his mouth on yours was amazing. Addicting. When Cregan’s lips move to the side of your neck, the need to touch more of him becomes too much, and your fingers fumble as you untie the thick fur covering his shoulders and back.

He kissed below your ear, then quietly said, “You are a rare beauty.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch Cregan kneel in front of you. Putting his hands under your skirts, his palms glide up your thighs until they reach the top of your tights, and he pulls them down. You remain frozen in place, feeling his breath warm against your core; his stubble rubs against your skin as he plants gentle kisses above your womb.

“Wha—oh, gods.”

You barely manage to cover your mouth in time to muffle the moan that escapes it as Cregan uses his tongue on you in a way Aemond never has.

“Oh,” you use one hand to keep your skirts up and the other pressed against the wall. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s strong grip on your thighs, you would have lost your balance. “Gods, gods!”

Your eyes roll back, feeling the flat of his tongue against your clit. It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak. Your legs shaking around his head as you scream Cregan’s name. You drop your skirts when he stands again; your eyes linger on his lips, fascinated by the way your arousal is smeared across them.

He’s so close, your breaths mingle in the air. “Princess,” he brushes his nose against yours. “My dragon princess—”

You grab hold of the waistband of his breeches and start pushing him backwards until his legs hit the chair facing the fireplace. Cregan smirks when you pull his breeches down low enough for his cock to spring free, then push him backwards. Lifting your skirts, you straddle his thighs and sink down onto his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You set a slow pace at first, rocking your hips until you get used to the stinging sensation of him stretching you out.

Cregan brings one hand up to cup your breast, “You are so perfect, so beautiful.”

You begin rocking your hips faster the more praise falls from his mouth. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you lean forward and press your lips against his.

You'll pray for forgiveness in the morrow, but for now you wanted nothing more than Cregan.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Crawl to Me

aemond x sister!wife!reader

Summary: Aemond returns from Rooks Rest much to the relief of his wife. Once she learns of the events and sees what follows she tries her best to guide Aemond to reason at the behest of Alicent.

Warnings: 18+ knife play, p in v, mentions of battle, aegons burnt ass, manipulation, public-ish, oral (m receiving), kinda dark

Authors Note: defending s2 aemond should go on my resume 🧎🏼‍♀️, i wish alicent could ever just comfort her children like ever, i’m like every other bitch and want to see this man sit the throne 🤰🏼 preferably w the conquerors crown on his brow

Word Count: 2.5k short and sweet

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

I pace back and forth along our chambers trying not to let my thoughts get the best of me. I’ve heard no word in days of Aemonds movements and Aegon has flown irrationally to battle leaving the Keep empty. Alicents voice is heard through the council chamber doors, echoing down the halls. Everyone is on edge and has no idea what to expect in the coming days, even hours or minutes.

A low grumble reverberates off of the stone and I rush to the windows. Vhagars shadow flows across the city streets as I sigh out in relief that it’s not an attack but that Aemond has finally returned. I run down to the main hall to await his arrival from the pits.

I grow restless as I wait on the stairs looking to the main doors expectantly. The doors begin to groan open and in saunters Aemond. His eye scans the hall and stops when it lands on me. I rise and dash to his side looking him over for any visible injury.

“You needn’t worry so much.” Aemond looks down to me.

“I will always worry, husband.” I look to him softly as I still feel the crazed energy coming off of him from his battle.

“I need you before Cole returns.” he whispers lowly into my ear.

He pulls me up the stairs and quickly locks us into our chambers. My back slams into the wall as he harshly kisses me pulling my dress up hastily. I begin to unlace his trousers as he groans in my mouth as my hand wraps around him. He lifts me against the wall and harshly trusts into me as my legs wrap around him.

“Fuck Aemond,” I sob clinging to him as he begins pounding his hips into mine. I whimper into his neck as he uses me much to my pleasure. I throw my head back harshly into the wall and groan as he continues at his pace. My eyes screw shut at the pressure until I feel the bite of metal on my neck.

“Everything is going to change.” he grunts as the blade glides along my throat recklessly, spurring on my moans. “Please don’t be mad at me.” he murmurs as his lips crash to mine as he slides the blade between my covered breasts.

I lose myself to my pleasure as his hips grind deliciously into mine. A moan tears through me as I come around him as he begins to fill me. Our breaths come out in pants as he pulls out and my feet are brought back to the floor. I look up at him with heavy eyes and go to grab his dagger that he still has pressed softly between my breasts at my heart.

“Husband?” my eyes shoot up as I take in Viserys’ dagger.

“Come, we have to meet Alicent. Cole should be back soon.” he says whisking me out of our chambers.

As we exit our chambers Alicent is storming down the halls and comes to a stop in front of us. She looks furious as she tells us to follow her to the council chambers. We claim seats around the table while she looks to Aemond expectantly.

“Where is your brother?” Alicent asks exasperated.

“He will return with Cole.” Aemond offers no more information much to both of our displeasure. My eyes have been lingering on the dagger on his belt as my mind begins to race with thoughts of Aegon.

“What does that mean? Where is Sunfyre? What has happened?” she shakes her head as her eyes become glassy as he remains silent. “Aemond!” she shouts as she rises from her chair.

“I will discuss this with the council on Aegon and Coles return.” he hums as he rises and exits the council chamber pulling me behind him.

We wait on the main veranda of the Red Keep and we see Cole and his host turn the corner. I steady myself on the ledge as I see Meleys being pulled behind them. Alicent joins my side as a gasp falls from her lips. A covered litter follows close behind the party and is brought directly into the keep.

“Aemond,” Alicent says at a loss for words. “What’s happened? Where’s Aegon? Why would you allow Cole to parade that before the people?” she shakes her head as her voice trembles as I begin to go numb at their sides.

Aemond continues to look on at the head as Alicent brushes past us and goes into the Keep. I come up to Aemonds side trembling as I lay a hand on his arm. He turns to me with a smile spreading across his face as he ushers me into the Keep after Alicent.

“Gods above,” I stumble into Aegons room and take in the scene before me. Alicent has tears sliding down her face as she’s ignored by the grand maester. Aemond looks down at Aegon and studies the room filled with help for him. He turns on his heel and exits as I go to Alicents side in hope of comfort.

Alicent pulls me out of his chambers as we breathe heavily outside the doors trying to compose ourselves. She turns to me and looks down to me softly. She dries her tears as she steps back and squares her shoulders. Instead of comfort she places an impossible task upon my shoulders.

“I need you to reason with him. Gods save us all if he remains unchecked.” she shakes her head, looking to the ceiling.

My heart sinks as I know she’s right. I’m the only person who can talk with him without truly worrying for their life when he gets in these moods. I walk down the hall and secure myself into our chambers trying to pick my mind and prepare myself for the talk after his meeting.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Hours later I awake to the sun slipping behind the bay and Aemond humming from the fireplace as he looks at his new dagger. I rise from the bed and silently walk over to him and peer down over his shoulder at the blade.

“Aemond-“

“They named me Prince Regent.” he turns to look up at me as I see the fire crackle in his sapphire.

“The position suits you.” I say softly stroking his jaw.

“Do you think me a monster?” he murmurs as he leans into my touch.

I sink to my knees next to him and pull him into my embrace. He holds onto me tightly as if I’ll leave him when we both know I could never leave his side. The battle in my mind rages on as my thoughts go to Aegon and the pain he’s currently enduring while I can’t help but sympathize with my husband who endured years of torment at our brother’s enjoyment.

“You know I do not.” I hum, smoothing his hair back.

“I just get so angry.” he whispers holding onto me tightly.

“I know.” I breathe out as I begin to rock us comfortingly.

Gods, when it gets like this it makes me resent this family. Why must I parent my husband? If my mother would’ve been present it would’ve never came to this. I know it’s generational but it makes me feel cursed. They say as Targaryens we are blessed by the Gods or Gods ourselves, but I’ve never known a God to feel so alone and helpless.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

The following days have been absolute chaos as Aemond has decreed the city gates to be shut. Alicent looks to me as if this is my fault as I begin to turn in on myself. Aemond takes in my tense state as I sit next to him at council and then turns his full attention to me.

“What is wrong?” he says hushed.

I know if I tell him about Alicents attempts to orchestrate peace he will not take lightly to it. He wouldn’t be mad at me, but I do not wish to see our mother’s head as a gate decoration. I turn to him with a soft smile and shake my head.

“Leave us.” Aemond rises from his seat as he dismisses his confused Lords. Once everyone leaves he turns to me again and looks at me expectantly.

“I’m afraid.” I murmur looking up to him.

“Of me.” it’s more of a statement as he sinks back into his chair as my glassy eyes slide to him.

“And of mother, and war, and myself, and the dragons. Husband, I’m petrified. I don’t know how we’re to survive this.” I shake my head as tears begin to fall down my cheeks.

“I will have Vhagar indulge on any feed we can source and I’ll burn them out of Dragonstone. They will die as Aegon should have and then you’ll have no one to worry about.” he nods to himself as if this is the most sound idea.

“Aemond,” my voice almost scolding as I grip onto his hand so he doesn’t run out of these chambers.

“What would you have me do then?” he turns to me as his voice starts to rise.

“I don’t know,” I explode, exasperated. I rip my hands from his and begin to pace around the room. “I don’t know what to fucking do. Mother is breathing down my neck to control you. Our brother lays burnt and dying down the hall. Rhaenyra sits across the bay with restless dragons. There’s nothing left for us to do. This is a losing war. No one wins this, Aemond. Don’t you get that?” I throw my hands in the air and look to him.

“Have you so little faith in me?” he rises as his eye tracks my movements.

“Faith has nothing to do with this anymore.” I chuckle as he stalks over to me.

“Careful, you’re starting to sound traitorous.” he towers above me.

“What will you do, Aemond? Strike me down?” I feel as if I’m going mad and everyone around me is just watching.

He grabs my arm tightly and drags me out of the council chambers. We breeze down the stairs and he throws the doors open to the throne room and barks at everyone to leave. He pushes me to the stairs that lead up the jagged path. He brushes past me and climbs to the top. He leans back on the throne as he looks down to me with a dark eye.

“Kneel to me.” his voice slithers down the steps to my ears.

My legs quake as I slowly get to my knees, keeping my eyes on his. I try to keep myself together as I drink in his glorious form atop that hellish seat. A smirk begins to form on his lips as if he can read my struggling thoughts as I try to keep my resolve. His legs are spread leaving just enough room should I be brave enough to settle between them.

“Come,” he growls lowly and I begin to rise. “No, crawl to me.” his voice taunting.

I steady myself as I lower my hands to the steps. The cool stone licks at my palms as I slowly inch up to him. I keep my eyes on the ground, step by step, careful to avoid wayward blades. I stop as my eyes reach his boots and slowly look up to him. He smiles knowing the power he holds over me and Gods it goes straight to my core to see him seated upon the throne.

“Do you trust that I will protect you?” he raises an eyebrow, studying me.

“Yes, but-“

“Do you think I would intentionally cause harm to you?” he shakes his head softly, cutting me off as he extends his hand to me.

“No.” my voice barely above a whisper as I lay my hand in his. He pulls me to my desired destination between his legs as I continue to look up at him.

“Do you still love me?” he asks brushing my stray hairs behind my ear.

“I will forever love you, no matter your crimes.” my voice laced with the devotion I know he craves and needs.

My hands slide up his legs to his thighs as he continues to look at me with hooded eyes. I rise on my knees as I begin to unlace his pants while his legs begin to spread more. I release him from his pants as I offer soft, teasing touches. I trail my finger on a protruding vein to his tip and he lets out a strangled groan.

I swirl my tongue around his tip and pull back offering small licks while I watch as his eye screw shut. My mouth fully envelopes him as my throat constricts around him. His hips jerk up causing spit to slide out the corners of my mouth. I hollow my cheeks and I begin to set a fast rhythm that I know he likes. His hand burrows itself in my hair as he pushes my head to meet his hips. He pulls my hair and I slide off of him with spit trailing down my mouth.

“You know I like to finish in you.” Aemond says harshly pulling me up.

He pulls me into his lap and my knees fall on each side of his thighs. He sheaths himself in me fully has my head lulls back. He pulls me closely to him and begins to hammer up into me. My moans echo around the empty hall as my hips begin to bounce to meet his brutal pace. I look to him intoxicated as one of his hands slips beneath my skirts and finds my throbbing bud.

“Aemond,” I sob breathlessly as pleasure begins to course through me.

“Come for your King.” he whispers as his trusts become sloppier, my high tears through me and I feel him burst inside of me.

He pulls me off of his lap and my legs collapse beneath me so I’m again on my knees before him. He chuckles as he tucks himself back into his pants and laces them once more. He takes in my flushed face with a smile as he rises to stand above me. He offers me his hand and helps me rise. He turns me and places me on the Iron Throne and hums in satisfaction.

“You will rule at my side.” Gods help us all.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist

[laurikarauchscat]

Visenya glaring daggers at the moon eyed stranger approaching her wife.

______

My Conqueror's headcannons.

Rhaenys ... gets around. A Certified heartbreaker.

Visenya hates everyone except Rhaenys and Maegor.

Balerion was drawn to aegon's dreams, Vhagar was drawn to Visenya's loneliness, Meraxes was drawn to Rhaenys' boredom.

Balerion is cool, and can be fearsome as fuck, but during the conquest Vhagar did the most damage.

Of the three dragons, Balerion is the most "housetrained", Meraxes the least.

Of the three dragons, Meraxes is the worst at understanding human behaviour, which is what caused their death.

All dragons are theoretically able to lay eggs.

[lacebvnny]

- Bound to you, among the flames -

Aemond Targaryen x Female!reader

Summary: Set after Storm's End. You are to marry prince Aemond Targaryen -the killer of your beloved friend Lucerys-, in the old Valyrian way.

Rating: +13, arranged marriage

A/n: Okay, I was pretty unsure to post this one. Keep in mind English is not my first language. Enjoy! Feedback will be appreciated 🥺

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her feet sank in the softness of the damp sand, and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore tore her attention away from the speech of the monk standing next to her and her husband.

/Hen lantoti ānogar/

No, he wasn't her husband yet. This wasn't a customary wedding, at least not in westerosi tradition. Perhaps that's why the dowager queen let her dissaproval be known and refused her attendance that morning, forcing the solitude and the intimacy in the ceremony to stand out in the vast coast where Aemond decided it would be held.

She cursed him in her mind when the heaviness of her eyelids made the restlessness she had the night before become more evident, as the prince instructed her days prior that she should be present before the break of dawn.

There was a chill in the cold, morning brisk that made her skin shiver, and the flames coming from the fire holders surrounding them weren't enough to warm her.

/Va syndroti vāedroma/

Y/n felt ridiculous, out of place even, when she saw herself wearing the ornamented headpiece and the silky, oversized robe meant for her to use that morning. It wasn't at all what she expected, not in the least close to the frugality of the dress she would be wearing in the evening at the sept.

Isn't this meant to be used only by pure blooded valyrians?, she wondered, but she was well aware that wouldn't be a fact Aemond would let in into his obtuse, stubborn mind.

She even imagined how Aegon the conqueror and his sisters would turn in their graves if they saw them tanting the millennial ritual by binding a Targaryen with a puny westerosi. Hell, even Aegon -the drunkard- laughed his ass off when he received the news of his younger brother being wed to her in the old fashion.

/Mēro perzot gīhoti/

He wore the same muted robe as she did, but this time a heavily decorated eyepatch adorned his angular face, besides the relaxed smirk he had from the second he spotted her moments before she stood next to him.

It was unfair, she thought, how the dressing fitted so well on him, as much as she hated to admit.

The ancient outfit was meant to combine with his valyrian, regal features, and the statuesque demeanor he showed made her feel like a fragile and simple peasant, as if he was a prince who came from the Old Valyria to be bound with her for eternity.

/Elēdroma iārza sīr/

Y/n spotted the pink wine tint on their shoulders and immediately reasoned how it blended together with the warm sky above them, the same as the creamy soft color on the ends of the robe, just like the sand where they stood.

Oh, so this is why he chose the sunrise...

/Izulī ampā perzī/

The lady felt her legs quivering when the monk handed the prince a small knife, but then she recalled how the main point of the ceremony centered around joining their blood together.

Aemond turned to face her, with a reassuring look on his only eye, as if he knew he frightened her by holding the small, glassy weapon. He closed the distance between them and raised her chin with his cold digits as he lifted the dagger near her face.

Hearing him mutter a soft look at me, y/n felt a sharp sting on her bottom lip, which made her eyes water as the cold material left a fresh wound where it slid down.

The Targaryen traced her pillowy lips with his thumb, collecting blood to draw a small figure on her forehead with it.

She didn't understand what it meant, and y/n wished, if he was so adamant on being wed to her, that he could at least had the consideration of taking his time to explain to her the vows the priest spoke in that rich language of theirs, and the blood sigils they were supposed to mark on each other.

/Prūmī lanti sēteksi/

Before she could ponder on the strange words, Aemond grabbed her hand giving her the knife with a determined look on his face, expecting her to do the same to him.

She stepped closer to him and, much to her dismay, her trembling hands dropped the knife to the ground. Y/n felt her face burning with shame and heard a small chuckle coming from the prince standing in front of her.

Asshole, prick, jerk, accursed kinslayer. A whole cascade of insults towards him crescented in her mind.

Clenching her teeth with anger she crouched, swiftly picking up the instrument while holding her headpiece in place to prevent it from falling. She didn't need to embarrass herself any longer that morning.

/Hen jeny māzīlarion/

Y/n held the dagger tightly and she stood on her tiptoes so she could allow herself to reach the towering valyrian, finding balance gripping his upper arm and finally giving him the small cut on his lip.

Aemond had to lower his face for her to draw the bloody symbol on him, and she prayed in her mind she drew the correct figure as she remembered it was.

Once his hand reached hers to take the knife, the knot on her throat tightened almost constrictingly as she observed Aemond giving himself a long slash, feeling immediate nausea when she saw the sanguine fluid pooling on the palm of his hand.

She was certain Aemond probably knew she wouldn't have the courage to cut herself, and proved right when he extended her arm by the wrist firmly to prevent her from pulling it back.

Without warning, the icy steel bit her and y/n flinched in pain, choking a small whimper as Aemond put their hands together intertwining their fingers, almost as if he tried to comfort her.

Her blood mixed with his when her palm rested between his long calloused digits, dripping through the small spaces allowing them to be joined together in this old rite the prince insisted so much to carry out.

The seeping crimson liquid gave his usually cold skin an odd warmth, almost nostalgically so.

/Qēlossa ozūndesi/

The priest approached them continuing his chanting, offering her a wooden cup to drink from. Y/n inspected the small runes carved on it before putting it to her lips and taking some slows sips of what appeared to be spiced wine, with her tongue starting to burn fiercely.

It seemed Aemond wasn't bothered by the fiery sensation after his turn to drink from the cup, his usual calm facade remained intact.

/Syndroro ōñō jēdo/

His feet took a step closer to her, as she tried avoiding the intense stare from his one eye while he slowly leaned down to caress her cheek.

The soft stroke became a strong grip on her jaw, and the prince began closing the distance between them, placing his lips on hers, need and want emanating from the rythm of his breathing.

Much to y/n's surprise, the kiss was soft, slow, maybe too passionate for a religious ceremony as his mouth found hers with boiling desperation, forcing the hotness under her skin rush to her cheeks in seconds.

One of his hands kept her in place while the other found rest in her shoulder, gently tugging at her robe as if he couldn't wait to free her from it.

Nevertheless, y/n had no other choice but to return the kiss, closing her eyes and imagining the one kissing her was the sweet prince who spent his afternoons on the library with her reading about history, and not the murderer who plotted her dear friend's death.

/Ry kīvia mazvestraksi/

She heard Aemond groan softly in frustration when he pulled away, as if he had to refrain himself from claiming her mouth how he truly wanted.

When the priest finished his vows, they both stared at each other while the fires cracked vigorously before being put out.

Y/n was too well aware Aemond could see the fear and rejection in her eyes, unlike him, whose gaze was so ardent it made her shrink into a tight knot of nervousness.

- Our blood is bound together now, Rūs.- he expressed, a hint of excitement blossoming on his voice,- ... I will finally make you mine tonight.

The soft burr from his tone and the lascivous threat almost made her spun on her heels to run away.

- I won't allow you in my bed!- she replied with irritation.

Aemond only chuckled, wearing his usual stance with his arms behind his back.

-Hm... I will be your lord husband once the high septon anoint us with the Seven's blessings, so...- the prince dangerously leans over her, revelling on her anxious state.

I think I'll have the right to do as I want with you.

[the-heartlines]

selfishly & selflessly

helaemond | dd:dne | explicit. 3k.

hotd au set after rook's rest in which aemond succeeds at committing fratricide, killing aegon, his king. all to claim everything he owns...including his brother's sisterwife he's yearned for, lusted after, loved for years.

helaena and aemond have a sweet past, but there is only so much she can take before she breaks.

for helaena is brave, bold, tired of being used by men, by everyone. and her defiance, the fight in her, blazes and ignites aemond's insides, the fire in his blood, only making him want her, desire her more.

cw: rape/noncon elements, extremely dubcon/dubcon, possessive behavior, choking, biting, slapping, blood kink, rough sex, dacryphilia, breeding kink (all the good dead dove stuff we love for peak brosisism 😏 )

“You have blood on your hands, brother.” Helaena voices to him, a boldness in her tone he had never once heard directed at him. “Blood as dark as a heart tree’s leaves. Blood that runs deep like the weirwood roots in the grounds of the godswood.” 

A sweet memory flashes across Aemond’s mind. One where Aemond is climbing the heart tree in the courtyard under the light of the full moon. Helaena is watching him, her hands holding a firefly carefully. And she’s smiling watching it light up, laughing joyfully. Her incandescence is infectious and it makes Aemond smile too. The fresh scar across his eye, still healing, stretched taut, but not paining him at that precise moment, for the first time. For who could ever feel any amount of pain seeing her smile? Her lilac eyes light up brighter than ten thousand fireflies?  

He wishes she would smile for him; that her lilac eyes would burn brighter than a hundred thousand fireflies for him.

He needs her to see, to truly see.

“Too much blood spilt. Your hands will never be clean, no matter how many times you wash them. They will always be stained with crimson, with our blood.” Aemond reaches out to cup Helaena’s cheek through her mourning veil, but she recoils from his hand, pulling from his touch for the first time in her life. “You have cursed me. You have cursed us, brother.”

Tears of anger, of grief pool in Helaena’s beautiful eyes and Aemond’s hand itches to wipe them away. But instead he grips the hilt of Blackfyre with one and the catspaw dagger with the other hand, thinking of the sacrifices, the blood he’s spilt—all for her. For them. So they could be free of their brother. So Aemond may finally be hers and Helaena, finally, his.

“His son’s blood,” Aemond breathes out through his flared nostrils deeply, anger swirling inside him thinking of his nephew, of his brother’s dead son. A son that should have been theirs. “Jaehaerys’ blood may be on my hands. But Aegon’s—our brother’s, your husband’s.” Aemond spits the word husbandseeing Helaena’s nostrils flare, angry tears fall down her lovely face. “His blood is on both our hands, sister. I killed him for you, for us. We are both unclean, but we may atone for our sins, together. As one. As husband and wife, Helaena.” Aemond pleads with her, his holy words, his prayer, thinking he would get on his knees for her. Worship her everyday for the rest of his days, but his pride, his blood is burning hotly, with dragonfire, having finally achieved his worth as a second son. And all it took was one word, one stab to his brother’s heart with their father’s prized dagger.

Aemond can still recall Aegon’s raspy voice, his last shallow breath, the word brother upon his lips, light as Helaena’s kisses peppering his. And he shall have more of those kisses, her lips, her tongue, her body, her cunt, her heart and soul. Her. For she owes him all of her, for he’s given all of himself to her. 

“We shall marry under the eyes of the Seven, sister. After my coronation, when the Septon anoints and places the conqueror’s crown on my head, you shall proclaim your loyalty, your love, for all to see that you are mine. For mother to see that I should have always been your husband.” Aemond smiles, his lone eye sparkling with triumph, matching the gleam in his sapphire eye, but it’s gone the moment Helaena’s open hand collides with his cheek, his bottom lip splitting open on his teeth.

“I belong to no one.” Helaena hisses and Aemond touches his lip, his tongue tasting coppery iron, shocked that she would strike him so, fight back. Her wrath and defiance, resentment, towards him should wake the feral dragon in him, but it does something else; stoking the embers of desire, of lust deep within. He wants this version of Helaena. His sister who matches the violence simmering under his skin. Someone with the same strength, fire and blood. 

He wants her to spill more of his blood, for she’s the only one allowed to do so.

“Yes you do, Helaena. You are mine. All of you. Your body and soul, your heart and spirit, your cunt.” Aemond licks his lips, his eye greedily traversing over her curves hidden beneath the dark green gown, itching to rip it, to cut it from her body with his dagger. Maybe draw her blood, wound her, savor and lick it clean. 

“No!” Helaena proclaims, gritting her teeth, her fist now colliding with the side of his scarred cheek. And Aemond laughs deep and the sound echoes off the walls of her bedchambers. “I belong to me alone, Aemond Targaryen!” She screams at him, hot tears spilling from her eyes like the blood from the wounds Aemond inflicted upon their brother. 

Aemond’s cock swells, longing to taste her tears, to taste all of her. Helaena bares her teeth at him, her hands begin to reach for his throat and he growls, deep and feral in his chest, when they tighten, constricting around him. 

“Kill me, sister.” Aemond rasps, her small hands not large enough to do so, but he wants her to try. He wants her to see that they are the same, for she has the same murderous look in her eyes mirrored in his own eye this very moment. “Kill me and then we will both be kinslayers, with our blood stained upon our bare hands. Take my life for your son’s, your husband’s. Our brother’s.”

Helaena lets out a feral cry releasing her hold from his throat and Aemond’s inhales and exhales deeply, oxygen filling his lungs, his cock throbbing with urgency. 

He stares deeply into her pained eyes once more and she slaps him across the face, again and again, harder each time before his fire is a raging beast, one untamed, as feral as she is. 

“Enough fighting me!” He grunts, his face burning with her burst of anger, her prints imbedded into his skin, grabbing her wrist, but this only encourages her to struggle against him, to attempt to fly away far from him. Hel's fire just as bright, brutally blazing beneath her pale flesh. But Aemond is stronger, bigger, faster. 

And he needs to fuck her, have her tight little cunt wrapped around him like her small fingers, until he’s spilling his blinding rage inside her, succumbing to the sweetness of his sister.

“You are mine and I will have you, Hel!” Aemond says, possessiveness dripping from his gritted teeth. He tears the dark green veil from her face, her braided hair, and a lovely look of shock and outrage wash over her features. He kisses her fully on the mouth, hard, rough, no sweetness to be found in this kiss. Because this is about control, about his claim. His claim to what is rightfully his. 

But his sister’s teeth are as sharp dragon claws and she bites him, in the same place his lip is split and Aemond hisses angrily, beyond aroused for her.

“N-no! I will never be yours!” She cries out and Aemond grabs her other wrist, spinning them around until her back is facing the wall. He presses her against it, his fingers constricting around her wrists, a tight shackle upon them. 

“Never, Helaena? Are you so sure about that, sister?"  She is trapped, caught in the maws of a predator now, forever entangled in her brother’s web. Aemond rubs his erect cock against her stomach, letting her feel what her delicious volatility does to him, before he drags it downward to the apex of her thighs. Helaena gasps, staring wide eyed at him, her eyes pleading with him. “No. Please.” She begs, fresh tears falling down her face, terrified. Aemond wonders if she ever begged their brother like this? The thought alone makes his cock ache with intense lust, a need so vast to empty inside her.

“Yes, sister,” Aemond laps up her tears with his tongue, leaving his blood streaked in their place across her cheeks. “I need an heir and you need a son.” He towers over her, encompassing her petite frame wholly, removing one of his hands from around her wrist, but keeps the other one around both her delicate wrists in a bruising grip. His immense veined hand, threatening to break her entirely. 

“A king must have a son and the Seven will bless this holy union with one.” Aemond bunches up Helaena’s skirts prudently, desperate to feel her naked folds against his calloused fingertips, his hands forever stained in their kin's blood shall now be stained anew with her sweet elixir, her honeyed juices.

Aemond’s hand travels over her stocking covered thighs, searching for naked flesh, but Helaena isn’t done begging him, defying him when she clenches her inner thighs together, denying his fingers access to her sacred center.

“Please, do not, Aemond.” She pleads with her pretty voice, her eyes shining with more tears. Aemond’s patience is running thin, “spread your thighs apart, sister, or I will show you the same mercy I showed our brother,” he whispers low in her ear, feeling her shiver, “towards his daughter.” 

“You wouldn’t!” Helaena panics, trying to pull from Aemond, no doubt trying to flee to her daughter. To keep her safe from suffering the same fate her brother and father have. “Jaehaera is blameless! She has done nothing!”

“And you must keep her safe, sister. Now behave for me and I promise that no harm will befall your sweet, innocent princess.” 

Aemond’s lips once again lock onto hers and he swallows down her soft sob, his hand insistently pressing against her core. Helaena parts her thighs allowing him access to that intimate part of her he’s coveted ever since his brother was allowed to sample her first.

“Helaena,” Aemond gasps when he cups her cunt, feeling how utterly drenched her small clothes are. “You’re soaked, sweet girl.” His mouth waters, wanting to see, to smell, to taste all of her sweet musk for himself. But his cock demands her cunt and he can no longer deny himself the feeling of it pressed against her, her wrapped around all of him.

Aemond’s impatient, ripping her small clothes from her body, unlacing his leather breeches fiercely, freeing his cock. “Were you ever this wet for our brother, sweet sister?”

Aemond doesn’t give Helaena time to answer, grasping his cock, pushing her legs apart wide and pressing himself inside her, from crown to root, in one swift, harsh thrust. He hisses loudly, gutturally watching her beautiful, stunning, flushed face; the way she gasps quietly, biting her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes fluttering shut. 

Aemond wonders if it is from pain or pleasure? Both?

Because he’s never experienced such an exquisite fiery heat, a tightness almost too unbearable to encapsulate, comprehend. He never wants to leave; never wishes to part from her sweet body, ever.

A body he longs to see, coveting the dark green gown covering it entirely from his wandering eye.

Aemond unsheathes his father’s dagger from its sleeve, keeping his cock still sheathed inside his sister, heart skipping a beat. She opens her eyes suddenly, gasping, concern shadowing her face. “W-What are you doing?” She questions him, squeezing him tightly for a moment, her hands clenched into tight fists, not daring to touch him, but threatening to do worse.

“Fuck, stay still before I cut you!” Aemond grunts, imagining her milky skin painted with blood; licking, cleaning it up. Her chest expands with air as she breathes in deeply in and out of her lungs before staying completely frozen watching him with worried eyes as he slices through her silk dress easier than flesh. She gasps again, shivering, the fabric falling away like a second skin, until he’s cutting through the front of her bodice, leaving her in just her shift. 

He eyes a speckle of blood just above her right breast, near her heart, dripping down towards her peaked rosy nipple. And his veins roar with dragonfire, hungering, longing to taste, to satiate his inner predator.

The dagger clatters to the stone, and Aemond undoes his sword belt letting it fall to the floor next to her tattered gown. He grips Helaena by her ass, his fingers digging into the plump flesh, finally making her moan. “Wrap your legs around me, Hel.” Aemond whispers against the crook of her neck and she heeds his command, her legs winding tightly around his torso, at the same time he latches on her pulse with his lips, directly onto the slight scar left behind, marking the spot her blood was spilt that fateful night her son was slain. He groans against her flesh, his tongue gliding down to suck at the slice just above the roundness of her breast.

“Aemond,” Helaena speaks sweetly, breathless, without disgrace, disgust or shame; shuddering against him now, her hands touching him of their own accord. And it makes him wickedly wanton, when her fingers begin threading into his hair, tugging desperately onto his silver strands. 

“Helaena,” he hisses, his lips kissing the top of her breast, her heartbeat thundering underneath him staggeringly. “Helaena,” he says again, repeating it, needing her to hear him, “my sweet, sweet sister.” He thrusts in and out of her cunt shallowly, sucking her hardened nipple into his mouth through the sheer shift. Helaena’s fingernails dig half moon indents into his scalp, and he hisses, biting down onto her sensitive nub. 

“More, harder,” Helaena hisses back, her nails scraping against his scalp, and this time she draws blood; his blood now staining her hands. “Fuck me, Aemond,” her walls flutter around his cock menacingly, choking him. And he’s a slave to her demands, craves it more than he can fathom. 

But he needs to hear the words he craves, cannot live without, before he succumbs to her, his sister, his future wife and queen—the mother of his children.

“Say it, Helaena,” Aemond rasps against her breast, throat thick with emotion, head pounding with the overwhelming lust that storms inside him. “Say it,” he murmurs against her skin, his tongue trailing upwards, traveling the familiar path towards her plump, pomegranate red lips. “Say it, sister. Say the words and I will fuck you.” He kisses her lips gingerly, then her fevered cheek, finally sucking her ear lobe into his mouth seductively. Helaena whimpers, her grip on his silky hair softening, as she melts against him like molten gold. The sun curving against the crescent of the most lustrous, resplendent silver, slivered moon.

“Yours, brother, I am yours.” She confesses and there is nothing but verity, vulnerable honesty, in her honeyed voice and Aemond growls, slamming her back against the wall of his bedchambers, his hands tearing the shift from her body, fondling, groping every inch of her nakedness selfishly. Her teats, her ass, her hips, the curve of her belly. “Mine, mine, mine.” He chants over and over again, afraid he’ll wake up from this dream to the nightmare of Helaena, his sister, belonging to their fool of a brother. A whoring brother who could never please his sister—not like Aemond can, always will.

“Time to fuck you, sweet Helaena. Time to show you what it’s like for a king to fuck his queen.” Aemond lifts one of Helaena’s plush thighs over his shoulder hearing her yelp, his other hand gripping onto the front of her neck, with a gentleness Aemond didn’t know still resided in him. 

His eye follows to where they’re conjoined, cock connected to cunt, and he withdraws half way before thrusting inside her, watching, hypnotized by how selfishly her orifice swallows him whole, devours him so. “I am yours, Helaena. Yours, sister.” Aemond kisses her lips hungrily, his tongue penetrating her mouth while he penetrates her body. Over and over again. Both siblings’ breaths growing shallower, his cock fucking into her at a maddening pace.

“More, please, harder,” Helaena pleads, seizing a hold of his wrist that’s just holding her throat. “You promised, my king,” Helaena sucks his bottom lip between her teeth soothing over her tongue and Aemond understands her meaning, that she needs the pained pleasure, everything that he can offer. 

“You’re so tight, Hel, so feverish and wet. All for me, mine, until death parts us.” Aemond promises, meaning every word with a volatile thrust, his adrenaline threatening to burn him hotter than dragon fire, consume him from the inside out. His fingers curl around her throat tighter, threatening to leave a beautiful array of blossoming bruises, as he bottoms out into her cunt roughly, brutally, hearing her growl low in her throat. His dragon goddess through and through.

"I'm going to come inside you, sweet wife. I'm going to give you a son, my son, our son." Aemond rasps, sweating, feeling feverish, like he might collapse with how badly he needs this. Every muscle, bone, and vein aching wearily, but he fights through the pain, the exertion, needing to experience her pleasure, her entire being coming undone around him.

So he clutches onto her throat tighter, choking her, demanding her climax, her cunt to choke him tighter, cling onto and milk his seed from his body.

"Our son." Helaena's shaking her head yes, her small breaths labored; little moans and broken gasps escaping her lips. "Choke me, my queen, take my seed!" Aemond cries, his body beginning to shake, to tremble, his knees threatening to crumble into dust, burnt to ash. "Take all of me, selfishly, for yourself, sister. For I am selflessly yours, H-Helaena!" Aemond swears, groaning loudly, when he watches her eyes roll back into her skull, her cunt extravagantly vice tight around him, stealing his seed, his intense pleasure form him. "Gods! Fuck, Helaena! Give me everything!" He curses, his flames bursting at the seams, unspooling and unraveling aggressively, as he filthily fucks into her sopping, squelching cunt through her climax, until Helaena's putting her hands back around his neck, luring her towards him with her sweet, plump lips near his.

"Yes, yes, Aemond, everything...my brother. Myhusband." she rasps out feral, her throat parched, and Aemond quenches her thirst, feeds her his festering fire, let's her drink of his sweet possessive poison, giving her everything. All of him, for eternity. 

Helaena kisses him passionately, profoundly, blistering vehemence and viciousness lingering on her teeth and tongue.

Aemond hisses, both dragons devouring, consuming the other selfishly, collapsing onto the floor, conjoined, two bodies as one.

A brother and a sister tangled in one another, broken and bruised by the other, sewing and stitching the other together...selflessly.

[theirondragonrants]

Here's the thing, and bear with me:

Rhaenyra wanted, nay, needed a reason to unleash hell on the Greens. It's not enough that they stole her birthright, Rhaenyra is no stranger to the selfishness of people (like Viserys said to her and she spat at him during the marriage debacle, the vultures circle to pick at the carcass), but it's that Alicent who saw that she would make a fine Queen turned around and betrayed her. With the hand of friendship and trust she took a knife and stabbed her in the back. She also needed to know, she's grown knowing the throne will be hers and safe in the knowledge that her father, who was wise and made sure the realm prospered and stay united so they could defeat the forces of the Other, trusted HER to safeguard the Seven Kingdoms. And it's all fallen apart. Alicent, who believed in her once, stole her throne, and Rhaenyra needs to know why. Because she has to have KNOWN that there is a bigger reason why Viserys never wavered and betrayed him and Rhaenyra both regardless.

And she says the Prince that was Promised, and Rhaenyra breaks it to her that Viserys meant Aegon the Conqueror. I'm sure in this moment, Alicent probably remembered the countless times Viserys called her Aemma in his delirium, the confusion of a dying man. And now all the cards are on the table and this is bigger than a throne and petty squabbles and a name writ on the pages of history. This is about Survival, this is about the Song of Ice and Fire and a task given to the Targaryen Kings and Queens by the Conqueror, and now that Alicent has some of the information she can do the right thing. Rhaenyra thinks rationality and good sense will win the day. And it doesn't. But that is out of Rhaenyra's hands. And we see her realize. If Alicent won't pull back the tide of war, then Rhaenyra has no choice. She's officially given Alicent the tools to realize that for the sake of everyone, Aegon needs to step down if they are to be ready for a fight against the others.

But Alicent knows it's too far gone. The war is out of her hands, if it was ever even in her hands to begin with. She lost control over the boys the moment they were born, she lost them when she filled their heads with the hatred for Rhaenyra and now she can't stop them, even if she knows what's at stake (or has an inkling), even if she understands that she was played a fool by her ignorance. It's too late. And that's why she says there has been no mistake. The guilt will drive her crazy if she doesn't convince herself that she did the right thing. It can't be.

Rhaenyra now has confirmation that her father never wavered, that he trusted her to hold the realm together, and now there are no qualms. The greens are no longer the bearers of a petty family fued, they don't know what they have, Aegon doesn't understand what it means to be King, it's not about being loved or having power, it's about being the bearer of a terrible prophecy and ensuring every move made is made to prepare the realm for a fight against the end. And it's in EVERY scene Aegon is in, failing to be a good King. It's not just that he doesn't know how to do the job. When he's in the small council chamber he's playing with the dagger that has the prophecy written in it, and he's using it to intimidate and order preparations for a war he takes as a game. He quite literally holds the fate, the legacy, the sworn duty of the Targaryens in his hands, and he shows no respect for it, uses it incorrectly, and cares little for what it means. He carries the dagger of the Conqueror without understanding the weight. He's unfit because he doesn't have the information and because he never will. The only one who knows the truth is the person to whom that dagger belongs, the then heir and now rightful Queen—she is the bearer of the legacy of duty, not him. He might have the conquerors name, and his sword, and his armor, and his throne, and his city, and his crown, but Rhaenyra has the knowledge passed down from King to heir, and THAT is what makes her the rightful ruler. It's what finally seals the war. If Alicent won't have Aegon step aside and let her do what she, and her father, and her great grandfather, and those who came before them have to do, then she's going to make them.

There is no other choice anymore. A war amongst kin is despicable, but it's worst to know that there is something more terrible out there that all the people you are responsible for will be woefully unprepared to fight if you don't do what you must.

The greens are not kin now. They are the enemy of humanity. Rhaenyra has to do what needs to be done.

AND THIS IS WHY, TO MAKE A LONG STORY SHORT, THAT CONVERSATION NEEDED TO HAPPEN. It's not for Alicent. It's not for an apology, it's not even for the remote possibility of peace (Rhaenyra believed too strongly that if Alicent knew everything then she'd see reason, but that was grasping at straws). It NEEDED to happen because Rhaenyra needed to be reassured, Mind and Heart, that whatever she has to do she's doing it for the good of the realm.

She's listened to Rhaenys. She's tried every possible way. She's gone above and beyond, not retaliating for her son's murder, not setting her dragons loose, holding back a tide. She's tried again and again, and she can say now, with conviction, that she's doing this for the realm and not for herself. This isn't about Aemond's eye leading to Lucerys' death leading to Jahaerys' murder that all stemmed from a betrayal and the ambitions of men. This is about the Song of Ice and Fire, and if Rhaenyra wants to save the realm, there is nothing else but to let the tide wash away the greens.

She's not raining fire on the Greens for her ego. She's doing it for Westeros. And that is all the justification she's ever going to need.

AND like... Rhaenyra is BASICALLY offering Alicent an armistice. Have Aegon step down, impress upon him the seriousness of the mistake that has occurred. Rhaenyra isn't being vengeful. Even at this moment, she doesn't have to promise Alicent that they will be safe. It's implied. Just do the right thing, and it can all be as it was. Or even better than it was. It's a further nail in the coffin of Alicent's mistake. If Alicent doesn't convince herself that no mistake was made, then she's going to lose her mind. Rhaenyra is in front of her, giving her a solution to everything. In a perfect world, she would take it. She's showing her that Otto was wrong and Rhaenyra will not put her children to the sword when she ascends the throne, even after everything that has happened. Admit your mistake and be welcomed into my family once again. But she can't. The die was cast long ago, and it's too late now.

[crazymoonlight]

Ryan Condal said a very good thing that I found interesting. If you pay attention, this season more than ever, we see Aegon with symbols and tools that remind valyria and Aegon the Conqueror, such as the dagger, armor or crown that we had before.

This is actually a way that Aegon wants to legitimize his kingdom, to say that he is defined by this and wants to show himself acceptable to his family. With his father's dagger, Aegon the Conqueror's armor and crown and...

[winter-soldier-101]

The Conqueror’s Daughter Part 2

Word count: 1542

“Mother, are you okay?” Aenys asks you.

“Yes I’m okay, just a bad dream” (Y/N) tells Aenys as he leaves you alone again.

(Y/N) looks back at Aenys as he leaves and she remembers when she found out she was pregnant five years into Maegor's ruling he had taken (Y/N) to bed many times always by force she would cry out for help and beg him to stop but nothing stopped him all he wanted was an heir but the gods were cruel to Maegor and his wife’s the day before Maegor's death (Y/N) found out she was pregnant and went to tell Maegor but found his lifeless body on the Iron Throne wrist cut and his blood flowing out till he bled to death and (Y/N) yelled out and the tears slowly began her brother was gone (Y/N) had ran up to Maegor’s body and tried to wake him up but it was no use (Y/N) left and had Aenys in secret and hide him away from everyone.

(Y/N) read over the letter that Arya Stark had sent her asking for her help that her father was imprisoned by the Lannisters (Y/N) told Aenys and they both got on (Y/N)’s dragons and flew to King's Landing to save Ned Stark and his daughters.

(Y/N) flew Shadow and Aenys flew Snow.

Kings Landing

(Y/N) flew over the Red Keep and land’s Shadow and walked into the Throne Room and pulled out her sword and pointed it at Joffrey.

“Where is Ned Stark and his daughter? I want them brought to me now! Or I’ll burn you and your family alive!” (Y/N) yells out at Joffrey.

“Dog bring Ned Stark and his daughters” Joffrey yells out.

Cersei and Jaime came running into the room and stopped as they saw (Y/N) with a sword pointed at their son.

Ned and Sansa and Arya are brought out and Aenys comes in and takes them out to the dragons and (Y/N) slap’s Joffrey in the face and turns to Cersei and Jaime.

“Control your bastard or next time I’ll burn him and your other two alive in front of you both” (Y/N) tells them and she sees the fear in their eyes as (Y/N) leaves the Red Keep.

(Y/N) tells Arya and Sansa to get on her dragon and Aenys takes Ned and they head North.

The North

Robb and Catelyn are out in the courtyard as Bran and Rickon play but stop when a loud roar is heard over their heads and they all get down and some run and scream to safety.

(Y/N) helps Sansa and Arya off Shadow and Aenys helps Ned off Snow and they all head over to the courtyard and Catelyn sees Ned and her daughters and she runs over to them and holds them and lets out a loud cry happy to see them safe and home Robb and Bran and Rickon look over and make their way over to their father and sisters and hug them tightly as they let tears fall and look over to see (Y/N) Targaryen and a young man with her.

“Thank you for helping save them and bringing them back home safely” Catelyn tells (Y/N).

“Your welcome and I’m happy to help your family and I’m sorry to hear about your son’s fall my lady” (Y/N) tells Catelyn.

“Thank you and I’m happy he’s awake and back with us again but someone tried to kill him when he was sleeping and the man tried with this dagger” Catelyn tells (Y/N) and shows her the dagger.

(Y/N) looks at the dagger and takes it and holds it close and lets out a small cry.

“This was my fathers he had it made so long ago it was passed down from heir to heir along with Aegon’s dream” (Y/N) tells them.

Inside the great hall (Y/N) puts the dagger in the fire and waits for it to heat up and shows Aenys the inspiration on the dagger.

“From my blood comes the prince that was promised and his will be the song of ice and fire” (Y/N) tells Aenys.

The Starks look at (Y/N) then at the dagger and see the inspiration and Robb looks up at you.

“What does it say?” Robb asks.

“It’s the reason why my father started his conquest of Westeros on DragonStone my father had a dream that terrified him in his dream he saw death and darkness coming from the North and he saw the darkness take over everything and everyone so he knew he had to stop the darkness so he and his sister wife’s flew to Westeros and started the conquest because he knew only a Targaryen can defeat the darkness and a Targaryen must sit the Iron Throne King or Queen” (Y/N) tells everyone the story.

“The White Walkers?” Bran asks (Y/N).

“Yes I suppose my father dreamt of the White Walkers” (Y/N) says.

Lady Stark has a room made for both you and Aenys as (Y/N) lay in bed she starts to toss and turn and yell out for her brothers Aenys comes in to check on (Y/N) and sees her calling out for his uncle.

“Aenys don’t leave me alone please stay a little longer I can’t lose you please” (Y/N) cry’s out in her sleep.

Aenys holds (Y/N)’s hand and tries to calm her as Robb walks by and asks Aenys if he needs some help.

Aenys tells Robb to watch over you; he needs to get something that will help you. Aenys gets on Snow and flies away.

“Aemond please don’t do this Rhaenyra will forgive you and Aegon and Helaena please I’m begging you stop this!” (Y/N) cries out as she sits up with tears streaming down her face and grabs the hand that was in hers tightly.

“Thank you for watching over me Robb” (Y/N) says smiling at him while her eyes are shut.

“How did you know it was me?” Robb asks (Y/N).

“Aenys whispers to me in Valerian and you don’t know the language” (Y/N) says smiling at him.

“Do you mind me asking what you were dreaming about?” Robb asks (Y/N).

“I don’t mind at all, I was dreaming of my family I dreamt of all the happiness and sadness and the heartbreak I had to watch my family tear each other apart all for the Iron Throne I dreamt of Aemond Targaryen he killed Rhaenyra’s son Lucerys I had begged him not to go but he went anyway and war broke out soon after and sweet Helaena’s son paid the price a son for son she throw herself from a high tower not long after Aegon burnt Rhaenyra alive in front of her son Aegon the younger Daemon had killed Aemond and he fell to his death I had to watch over little Aegon and he married Jaehaera Aegon and Helaena’s daughter then I saw my family fall apart again because the only thing that can destroy the house of the dragon was itself and that’s what they did” (Y/N) tells Robb as tears fall down your face and he wipes them away softly.

“I’m sorry you had to see your home and family destroyed” Robb tells (Y/N).

“Where did my son go?” (Y/N) asks Robb.

“He just told me to watch over you and he flew away” Robb tells (Y/N).

“I dreamt of you once I saw you start a war to free your father then I saw you and your mother get murdered by a house that was loyal to your father” (Y/N) tells Robb.

“I would have gone to war if that prick of a King beheaded my father” Robb tells (Y/N).

“That’s what I like about you Robb you have love and honor and care for your family” (Y/N) says as she holds his hand tightly.

(Y/N) brings Robb’s hand up to her lips and kisses it softly as he looks in your eyes but soon lets go as Aenys makes his way into the room with a box in his hand and gives it to (Y/N).

“I’ve brought you something that will calm you” Aenys tells (Y/N) as he leaves you and Robb alone in your room and closes the door.

(Y/N) opens the box and pulls out a wooden dragon that Aegon had carved for her and (Y/N) looks closer and sees her father and mother’s crowns in the box and (Y/N) lets all the tears fall.

“What is that?” Robb asks (Y/N) as he sees her holding something.

“It’s a wooden dragon my father carved out for me along with his and my mothers crowns” (Y/N) says as she shows Robb the item in the box.

“Can I ask you something?” Robb asks (Y/N).

“What do you want to know?” (Y/N) asks him.

“What was your father like?” Robb asks (Y/N).

“He was ….” (Y/N) starts to say.

Taglist: @hc-geralt-23 @federalclassroom @cathy1514 @marytargaryen @stargaryenx

[sunnytarg]

Yandere!Maegor & Yandere!Aegon I (Requested)

Note: I had to look up what Yandere meant so if this is bad I apologize. ♥️

Maegor

Maegor knows he wants you the moment he sees you. Which isn’t good for anyone involved because he saw you a feast your lord husband was holding over the continued health of the son you had bore him. This makes Maegor’s ears prick up even more and he watches every movement you make the entire night.

He has married several women and watched as he was presented with stillborn after stillborn but here you stood, beautiful, healthy, and fertile. He already had his plan in motion before the first course was finished. When everyone was falling into their cups and you and your husband would go to bed he would cut down your husband with his sword and steal you away. It was much easier than he had intended. He did have to knock you out but later when you awoke in a large room in the Red Keep he assured you he only did it for you. To make it safer to bring you here.

The very next day he insists upon a wedding and the faith know better than to argue with him on this, so less than 24 hours after your last husband was killed your being married to his killer. When you repeated the vows, you had looked up at your new husband with tears in your eyes and saw a look you weren’t expecting. Everything you had heard of Maegor was about his cruelty. How he never smiled unless he was burning people alive over torturing them. You even heard one rumor that he secretly had horns but when you look up at him you see a smile on his lips and it’s then that you notice how gently he’s holding your hands in his.

Life is different for you here then it was at your last home. You know Maegor has other wives but you never really see them as Maegor insists you stay in your new rooms. For your protection of course. Also for your protection he made sure that you were put into a room with no windows at all. You thought it was so you couldn’t escape and that’s part of it but Maegor has heard what the people below have called his other wives and he doesn’t want his new love to hear such things directed at them.

Maegor makes it a point to have breakfast with you every morning and visit you every night to ensure that you become pregnant. Despite seeing how fearful you are of him he’s sure that overtime between the meals and the nightly visits you’ll eventually love him back.

He’s even more certain of it when you begin to swell with the first child he plans to give you.

Aegon I (The Conqueror)

You were Aegon’s youngest sister. Younger than Rhaenys by two years and already betrothed to your mother’s Velaryon cousin.

You knew how you’re older brother could be long before he decided to conquer Westeros. Aegon was born a conqueror. To take things he wanted. You would have had to have been blind to not notice the way Aegon looked at you. When he’s drape an arm around your shoulder it wasn’t out of sibling playfulness but because he didn’t want you to stray from him. For years you had thought that he was going to break tradition and try and marry you.

So when he wed your oldest sister Visenya you were surprised. When he also married your other sister Rhaenys you were less surprised. She had been an object of his desire for many years and he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to make her his bride as well. After their wedding you had a nagging thought in your head that wouldn’t go away no matter how many cups of wine you drank or how long you flew on your dragon. “Aegon is a conqueror and sooner or later he always gets what he wants.”

It little less than a year later your betrothed had come to visit you on Dragonstone. He was handsome and nice and loved to talk of sailing and other places he had been to. You devoured the stories as he told them not noticing the daggers your brother was staring into the man.

The next morning you had woken up and decided to go about your usual routine. It, of course, started with going to see your dragon. On the hike to the cave that your dragon liked to hole himself away in you noticed scorch marks on the ground. You weren’t one to shy away from a disaster so you quickly ran to the center only to find a charred body that could only be the man you were betrothed to.

You turned quickly to go back home and tell your family of the news. When you recounted the story to them they all seemed horrified until your brother flimsily waved a hand through the air and said that Balerion must have mistaken your betrothed as some goat perhaps while he was flying him.

It didn’t take you more than a second to notice the look on his face to tell that the death of your betrothed was no accident. Balerion, while large and power, was well behaved and always listened to Aegon. You bit your tongue as to not accuse him in front of everyone but any words you had thought to say to him in private vanished when he spoke his next words. “You do need a husband, though, and seeing as our lovely cousin has perished I think it only makes sense for you to marry me.” You watched as he frowned at the word lovely, “After all, who could love you better than I could.”

You had hoped that perhaps your parents or maybe your sisters might argue but none did. Instead you were wed to your brother the next time the moon was full. And when he woke from a dream one day and told you and your sisters that it was his job to bring Westeros together that small voice in your head started to chant “conqueror, conqueror, conqueror”.

However, he claimed that you were to remain on Dragonstone while he and your older sisters were to unite the kingdoms. He couldn’t have you in harms way and he didn’t want to people of Westeros to see his beautiful young sister-wife and think they could have a claim to her just because he already had two other wives.

You watched from the rocks on Dragonstone as your siblings flew away. One hand on your growing stomach and a weight on your chest knowing you couldn’t leave as Aegon had your dragon chained up until he could come back.

[kckt88]

Another Plane of Existence.

Summary:

The aftermath of Vaera suffering complications.

Warning(s): Language, Traveling, Time Skips.

Word Count: 2260.

Author Note: A companion piece to Courtship/Wedding & Consummation/Bath Time/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/Petitions & Final Tributes/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/Blood & Cheese/A Time for Grief/ Rooks Rest & the Silver King/The Gullet/Taking of a City/Harrenhal and the Rivers/The Gods Eye/The Fallen Queen/New Beginnings/Ravenous & Don't Leave Me.

But can be read as a one-shot.

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.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Vaera wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.

One minute she was writhing around her bed in agony surrounded by Maester’s and midwives, the next she was in the throne room, watching her grandsire Viserys as he stood over Daemon.

“We were young men. She is just a girl. Your niece” raged Viserys.

“Rhaenyra is a woman grown, better her first experience be with me then some whore” replied Daemon smugly.

‘So, Daemon was always a cunt’

“You fucking-You have ruined her. What Lord would wed her now in this condition?” raged Viserys as he knelt down and wrapped his hands around Daemon’s throat.

“Who gives a fuck what some Lord thinks, you are a dragon, your word is truth and law”.

“I have spent a lifetime defending you. But your heart is even blacker than I thought, I should disinherit her, as I already did you and be done with it” said Viserys.

“Wed he too me. When I offered up my crown, you said I could have anything. I want Rhaenyra, I’ll take her as she is and wed her in the tradition of our house”.

“Your already wed” exclaimed Viserys.

“That didn’t stop Aegon the conqueror from taking a second wife” replied Daemon.

Viserys hesitated for a moment, almost as if he was disbelieving what his brother was actually saying.

But then he drew his dagger and placed it at Daemon’s throat.

“You are no conqueror, you are a plague, sent to destroy me” snarled Viserys.

“Give me Rhaenyra to take to wife, and we will return the house of the dragon to it’s proper glory” whispered Daemon, his eyes never leaving Viserys.

“Of course, it’s not my daughter you lust for, it’s my throne” said Viserys.

‘Technically Daemon did lust after her mother, but he also wanted war and chaos’.

Next Vaera was standing in the council chambers.

“I have decided, to take a new wife” said Viserys as he looked over at Rhaenyra.

Gods her mother was so young. She was beautiful.

“I intend to marry, the Lady Alicent Hightower, before springs end".

“This is an absurdity” said Corlys as he rose from the table.

“Lord Corlys I-“

“My house is Valyrian, the greatest power in the realm” said Corlys.

“-And I am your King” replied Viserys.

Corlys stormed out of the council chambers.

Vaera wanted to follow her grandsire, but she couldn’t. She could only stand there rooted to the spot and watch as the tears rolled down her young mothers face.

Suddenly the council faded and Vaera was standing in another room. Well lit and filled with the sounds of children.

‘I remember this room’.

Vaera looked around the room and spotted her younger self, sitting in the corner alone, drawing.

Jace and Luke were huddled together next to Harwin Strong.

The door opened and her mother walked in followed by Ser Laenor.

‘Father’.

“Mother. Come and see” shrieked Luke in excitement.

“Ahh that looks like a fun game” replied Rhaenyra.

Laenor patted Luke gently on the head before he came over to Vaera.

“What are you drawing little dragon?” asked Laenor as he crouched down.

“A seahorse” replied Vaera.

“It’s beautiful” said Laenor smiling brightly.

“I drew it for you” exclaimed Vaera.

“Well, I shall treasure it my little dragon, as I do all of your other drawings”.

Vaera watched her younger self smile sweetly at Laenor and then continue to babble endlessly about everything and anything.

Laenor ever the good father, listened patiently and always offered his own thoughts, when Vaera eventually took a breath of course.

‘How I miss him. He would have been an excellent grandsire’.

But once again the room began to fade away. The voice of her father growing more distant.

Now Vaera was standing in the gardens, she could hear the sound of muffled sobs lingering through the air.

‘Oh my, Aemond is that you’?

Vaera silently observed her younger self approaching Aemond as he hid in one of the overgrown bushes in the garden.

“W-What’s wrong?” asked Vaera.

“They all laugh at me” sobbed Aemond.

“They laugh at me too” replied Vaera sadly.

“I-I’m not a true Targaryen, I don’t have a dragon”.

“I don’t have a dragon either, it doesn’t make us any less” said Vaera.

“What does it make us?” asked Aemond.

“It makes us more” replied Vaera.

Aemond wrinkled his nose in confusion.

“Mayhaps, we belong to other dragons, we just don’t know it yet” said Vaera.

“You really believe that?”

“Of course, in my heart I know that one day I will fly and so will you” replied Vaera softly.

Aemond cocked his head to the side for a moment as he thought about what Vaera had said.

“What do you have there?”

“It’s a honey cake, I stole it from the kitchens. Would you like some” said Vaera sweetly.

Aemond looked up at her and wiped the tears away from his cheeks.

“I would thank you”.

Vaera smiled and sat next Aemond. They didn’t speak again; they just silently enjoyed each other’s company as they ate the stolen honey cake.

‘Back then I had no idea that this sweet shy little boy would one day become the love of my life’.

‘We were so innocent back then, with no idea what fate had instore for us’.

Then Vaera was standing over Aemond as he was laid on his bed weeping, the left side of his face covered by thick bandages.

"Prince Aemond's recovery will be long and painful, Your Grace"

"How many more procedures must he endure?" asked Alicent.

"I'm afraid I cannot say Your Grace. Only time will tell".

Alicent took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Come now Alicent, the boy needs to rest" urged Otto.

'He was so young. He didn't deserve to have his eye taken'

Vaera then began to move rapidly through other events that had happened in the Red Keep, Aemond's frustration over having to relearn the most simplest of tasks, his training with Criston, her return to the Red Keep, seeing each other for the first time since Driftmark, their courtship, their wedding, the birth of Aemon and Rhaegar, their joy as parents and their worst nightmare as their sweet boy was taken from them.

The tears rolled down Vaera’s cheeks as she watched her younger self cradling the body of her first-born son.

“Our boy. They took our boy” wailed Vaera as she clutched Aemon’s body.

Suddenly a blinding flash of light engulfed the room and Vaera jumped to cover her face.

When they light dissipated, Vaera looked around the room, which was now empty. No blood. No bodies. Nothing.

It was an empty void in the midst of chaos.

“Mama”

Vaera whirled around and her heart almost stopped when she came face to face with Aemon.

Her sweet boy, her first born son, stood smiling as he held Rhaegar’s stuffed dragon teddy in his hand.

“A-Aemon” sobbed Vaera as she launched herself at her son and began peppering kisses all over his tiny face.

“Mama” squealed Aemon happily.

“My little dragon” cried Vaera, as she closed her eyes and breathed in her sons scent.

“What’s wrong?” asked Aemon.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you” sobbed Vaera.

“No mama, it wasn’t your fault” replied Aemon quietly.

“I-I should have fought harder to save you”.

“But mama I saved you and Rhaegar.” said Aemon.

“I know you did and I’m so proud of you. Oh, my sweet boy I miss you so much”.

“I’m always with you and daddy” said Aemon brightly.

Vaera nodded her head and quickly wiped away her tears, she didn’t know how long she would have with Aemon but would savour every single second.

“Come on mama, there’s somewhere else we need to go” urged Aemon as he took her hand and led her down the darkened corridor.

The sounds of children laughing and playing soon filled her ears. They were in the gardens on a warm summers day.

“It’s a nice day” said Aemon smiling as he watched his siblings chasing each other round the gardens.

Vharla was perched under the tree reading to Jaerys, and Caelan was sitting with Rhaegar.

“A-Are they?-“ muttered Vaera as she watched two small identical twin girls race past her.

“The last of your babes, Saeryna and Daenys, they will give daddy lots of headaches when they get older,” laughed Aemon.

“I’m sure your father will be able to handle it” said Vaera.

“Eww gross Aegar, don’t put that on me” squealed Maella as her brother threw a worm at her.

“It’s only a worm” replied Aegar.

“You’re a worm” said Maella sticking her tongue out.

“Not my fault your such a baby”.

“I’m not a baby” exclaimed Maella.

“Yes, you are” snapped Aegar as he ran away.

Vaera chuckled to herself as she stood watching her children.

This is what she envisioned when she said she wanted as many children as her body would allow. Her own siblings barely looked her way unless they had to, and she had spent so much of her childhood alone. She didn’t want that for her children, sure they squabbled and Aegar liked to throw worms at his sister, but at least they had each other.

“Time to go mama” whispered Aemon as he again took her hand.

They were back in the throne room, only this time it wasn’t Viserys who she saw.

Vaera stared at the man sitting on the Iron Throne, the conquerors crown resting against his long silver hair.

He had a small silver haired boy on his knee, who looked no older than three name days old.

“Who is that?” asked Vaera.

“That is my brother and his son” replied Aemon.

“Rhaegar” exclaimed Vaera her eyes wide with surprise.

“My brother will be a good King and so will his son Aemon”.

“He names his son for you?” asked Vaera.

“-And father of course” said Aemon smiling.

Suddenly an icy dread filled Vaera’s stomach. Rhaegar looked no older than twenty and if he was King, what had happened to Aegon.

“W-What about Aegon?” asked Vaera.

“He abdicated and Rhaegar was crowned King just after he turned eight and ten,”

“That’s only six name days away” exclaimed Vaera.

“Don’t worry mama, Rhaegar will be ok. He’ll have you and daddy to guide him”.

The throne room began to fade away and soon Vaera as back in her chambers that she shared with Aemond.

“Idañnykeā perzyssy” said Aemon as he stared at his father (Twin flames).

Aemond was a shadow of his former self, his hair dishevelled and knotted, his clothes creased and unkempt.

“Aemond” whispered Vaera.

“Without you he’s losing the will to live” said Aemon sadly.

“No. H-He can’t” exclaimed Vaera.

“He can’t live without you. Daddy’s heart beats for no other”.

Aemond was knelt down by the side of the bed, clasping her hand in his. The scarred side of his face pressed into the mattress, as he cried.

“It’s time for me to go” whispered Aemon, as he gently ran his hand down his father’s head.

“Please. Come back to me” begged Aemond.

“I-I don’t want to leave you alone” muttered Vaera.

“Oh mama, I’m not alone” whispered Aemon as he turned towards the door and waved.

Vaera looked up and saw Helaena waving back, Jaehaerys and Maelor standing beside her.

“Helaena” sobbed Vaera.

“You need to go back” said Helaena as she watched Aemond place a gentle kiss on Vaera’s head.

“Please my love”

“B-But Aemon he-“

“-Will be waiting for you and Aemond, but it’s not your time” replied Helaena sweetly.

“Daddy needs you more than I do” whispered Aemon.

“Hear my voice my love.”

“I love you so much” said Vaera as she wrapped her arms around Aemon and held him close.

“-And I love you mama. Go back and be with daddy, I don’t like hearing him cry,” said Aemon as the sobs of Aemond grew louder and louder.

Vaera nodded as Aemon took hold of Helaena’s hand and they faded away.

She didn’t want him to go, but she knew she couldn’t stay.

Aemon was right, Aemond needed her and so did their other children.

If this wasn’t her time, then she needed to go back.

So Vaera took a deep breath and climbed onto the bed.

Aemond had managed to fall asleep with his face pressed into the crook of Vaera’s neck.

But something moved against his hand, and he jerked awake.

Aemond stared in shock as Vaera’s fingers were moving.

At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then Vaera’s eyes began to flutter.

“V-Vaera” exclaimed Aemond.

Is she waking up? That’s it my sweet. Come back to me. You can do it.

“Vaera. Issa dōna ābrazȳrys” gasped Aemond (My sweet wife).

“A-A-Ae-m-mond” stuttered Vaera as she finally opened her eyes.

“I’m here my love. I’m here” whispered Aemond.

“L-lo-ve y-you-”

“-And I love you. It’s so good to hear your voice” cried Aemond.

“A-Aemon, he was here with Helaena” muttered Vaera.

“What?” exclaimed Aemond.

“I saw them, and I saw Rhaegar as King” said Vaera.

“Hush my love-“ said Aemond as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I swear it, he was here. I-I can prove it, the names you’ve picked for the girls”.

“I haven’t picked any names” said Aemond.

“Yes, you have, deep down, you know what you would like to call them, you were just waiting for me to wake up”.

“Tell me” urged Aemond curiously.

“Saeryna and Daenys” replied Vaera firmly.

“H-How did-“ exclaimed Aemond.

“Like I said, Aemon was here. He told me”.

The logical side of Aemond wanted to argue that what his wife was saying was impossible, that it was just a lucky guess on her part, but he couldn’t.

The look in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

Their son had been there.

[magnificentsapcaddy]

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