#aemond!hades x oc!persephone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arcielee · 1 year

Text

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: There is a promise made, a choice that will forever change the cosmos. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 5210 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest. Author’s Note: Thank you @aspen-carter for being my beta reader! She has been such an influence on my writing and I owe so much to her! Make sure to check out her stories. Artwork source. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world, lēkia is brother, mandia is sister and kirimvose is thank you. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @hb8301 @iiamthehybrid @deltamoon666 @dahlias-and-marigolds @nina2697 @fantasticpeaceharmony @silverwinged @melsunshine @remus853 (bold means Tumblr has forsaken me and I could not tag you) Series: Act I - Act II - Act III

Mother you don't understand; I made Hades run to me. He saw my bones beneath And offered me half his kingdom. Do you really think I ate the fruit unwillingly? by a.davida jane

ACT III

It could be considered that immortality was both a blessing and a curse to the gods, for it allowed a leniency with their beingness which meant moments, their intimacy and their importance, would be muffled insignificance within their eternal stretch of existence.

Despite the structure built beneath, Aemond inevitably found himself lost with the monotony of death and the mediocre ache that accompanied it. This is why he allowed himself the annual endeavor of resurfacing and enjoying spring, solely for the reminder of the genesis of life and its beauty, a reminder of its importance. He cherished these moments, but its elation was fleeting and only coaxed him through the upcoming year.

But on this night, on the mountainside beneath the heavens and the fiery comets that streaked above, this moment began to etch itself in intricate detailing within the mind of the king of the Underworld. This moment would be treasured, something he would cradle to his chest, next to the pinned snapdragon, as it would be a memory that was now forever embedded into his very essence.

It began with the softness of her lips that felt so sinful, so right against his own, and the tentative touch of her tongue along the bottom of his lip. He hummed his pleasure and dared to indulge, moving his hand to gently take hold of the back of her neck, his fingers threading into her curls. She sighed sweetly and he deepened their kiss, with the languid motion of his tongue that allowed him to savor the taste of her mouth.

Their kiss was unhurried, tender, and he took care to match with her rhythm, allowing her to explore at her own pace.

Her hands fluttered to rest onto his chest and his skin rose from the warmth of her palms, her touch seemingly cementing him to the mountain. There was a tingling sensation of electricity in the tips of her fingers and he felt it pulsate throughout his being.

The intrusive thought flooded his mind, as he realized he could not recall the last time he had ever…

Kore was almost tactful with her touch, gentle with him in a way that was unfamiliar, but welcomed. She was careful to shift her weight and press against him, until he laid back onto the silver grass. She leaned forward and paused, looking at him with her smile aglow on her kiss-swollen lips.

Aemond awed at her beauty, how her dark curls spilled forward with their subtle floral scent and how it lingered with her every touch, the reminder of the first day of spring. His eye drank the flush of pink at the tip of her nose and how it dusted her cheeks, and the soft rise and fall of her chest with her every breath. She leaned closer, her smile so sweet, and he felt the tickle of her tresses that spilled onto his chest, the enticing curl of her rose lips.

And he faltered to the roared echo of his sister’s voice.

Do not damn her.

She saw his hesitation and withdrew, her expression sending a surge of torment through him. “Kore,” his tongue wet his lips, a nervous tick of the god of death. “I feel compelled to say that this is not owed to me. Please, I…” he gave a vague gesture towards the heavens and at this moment, it was as if the moon and the stars had blown out. “I wanted to do this for you.”

I needed to do this for you.

Her brow quirked with the slight tilt of her head, processing his words. “Aemond,” and how she spoke his name would also be carried alongside that memory of their kiss. “I am not sure what you mean. I…” the rose color that flushed her cheekbones burned crimson when she confessed, “I want this.”

I want you, she did not say.

He was aware of how her ichor thrummed with renewed vigor in his presence, how she was a golden beacon that called to him. His eye trailed the curves of her porcelain skin that peaked beneath her peplos, her nipples peaked beneath the thin folds at her chest and how the flush of her skin dipped between the valley of her breasts.

Aemond could feel her eyes watchful of him, her expression curious but she remained quiet. He appreciated the silence, for anything spoken by her would shatter his resolve; he found there was comfort with their quiet and he was able to gather his words.

He confessed to her the true cause of Baela and Rhaena’s sudden demise, explaining the cursed flower that had been placed by Aegon.

The shadow of her sorrow flickered across her features, but it came and went like a mortal heartbeat; when he finished, she looked at him. “But why would he do this?”

Because he knew all too well my complacency to just admire you from the shadows. “I promise to tell you one day,” he began, only then daring to meet with her somber gaze. “Please understand that mortal lives are expendable to him.”

“Did you ask it of him?”

Aemond knew he would not lie to her, but felt relief at her question, “I would never do that to you.”

She shifted, with her arms placed behind her and her palms against the earth, allowing her chest to arch as she looked up towards the night sky; her eyes followed the dust trail that her friends streaked amongst the stars that returned.

“I would not hold you accountable for the actions of your brother,” her voice was soft and her stare remained above. “I know there is more you wish to tell me, so I wish to know, what is it that you want, Aïdōneús?”

He felt as if his seams began to split with the struggle to contain his desire. You, little goddess. Persephone, the goddess of spring and the goddess of nature. To him, she was intimately Kore. Irrevocably, unquestionably, he would forever await her beckon call as he only wanted to be placed at her side as long as eternity allowed.

But instead, he only said, “I want you to return home, to sleep well and truly understand what a life in the Gō vys would be.” She turned her head to face him and he hummed a beat. “If you desire it, then return to me and I swear that my kingdom is yours,” a curl to his lips as he finished, “that I am yours.”

He saw her fire, unbridled beneath her skin, but also saw how she swallowed it down to restrain it. Kore looked down to her lap, managing a curt nod before she pulled herself to her feet. “If this is what you ask of me, if this is what I must do to show you how I…” her words faltered, her jaw steeled, and he saw determination burn in her eyes when she offered her hand to help him to his feet. “I will do what you ask, Aemond.”

He stood up and she pressed close to him; Aemond wrapped his arms around her waist and there was comfort in the embrace, hope. They returned, wordless, to the edge and he was careful to set her down.

As he pulled away, Kore caught his wrist and he looked at her, watching as she lifted his hand and pressed her lips against his open palm. “Aemond, I will come back to you,” she promised.

That kiss rooted him to the earth and he remained there, admiring the grace of her motion as she left him, leaving behind the lingering floral fragrance and the glimmer of hope.

+ + + + + + +

The hour was uncertain, but Kore saw that the moon began its descent into the curvature of the horizon, though the sun had not begun to crest in response. She flitted across the silver fields, her footfalls soft against the cool earth, but with enough pressure for the blossom of blood-red peonies to sprout beneath her every step. Her kiss-swollen lips pressed together with the taste of him, a melody hummed that was inspired with the emotion that was swelling within her chest.

“You seem pleased, Kore.”

She halted her motion to see Jacaerys leaning against a tree, his arms folded in front of him and a small smile to his lips. Her mussed curls fell and rested on her shoulders and she swore she saw a glint of something hidden behind his dark eyes. “Mother wishes to see you,” he continued. “Now.”

She followed him to the horticulture their mother crafted, where she groomed life during the winter months. It was her mortal endeavor, the glass casing bewitched to be able to hold the golden glow of sunlight throughout the night.

Her brother stopped at its golden archway, holding his arm to almost present its entrance and she moved past him, towards where Rhaenyra was working. She saw her mother hunched over a clay pot, her silver hair braided back and her focus on the seedlings, packing fresh soil within.

Rhaenyra paused as she heard her daughter approach and there was an unease that swelled around, the heat before a storm.

You smell of death.

Her mother’s words were accusatory and malicious, and Kore, impassioned from the night, returned her fury. Their rage spilled and their words clashed violently, hurtled with intent. Rhaenyra was heartsore, angry, and unable to comprehend this infatuation that her daughter continued to kindle for the god of death.

“You will wilt without the sun,” her mother cried. “Why would you do this to me?”

Kore choked on those words; she felt her heart break, shattering within and how the shards began to dig into her chest, her breath aching with her exhale. She prayed for reason to be found and dared to confess to her.

“Mother, I love him.”

She spoke the words as if it was a simple truth, her factual tone spilled as though it was always this way and would always be.

Rhaenyra was quiet and the unease from earlier returned to accompany the sickly silence between them. She watched her daughter and how she glowed with her bold proclamation, unaware of the repercussion that her words would have.

In the darkness of her daughter’s eyes, beneath the passion that brimmed them, Rhaenyra had a thought, a memory recovered; it was something dear that she cradled to her chest.

She remembered these eyes from before, how they belonged to Harwin and in this moment, she saw him looking at her once again. Rhaenyra recalled his embolden gait and gaze, how he had approached her one spring with an eagerness with his every step as he followed her. She had refused him, at first, for fear of how Daomon would react.

Harwin was both stubborn and determined; he declared he would face any challenge, that his world had been shrouded in darkness whenever he left her side and that he only truly could enjoy spring as color returned with her.

Rhaenyra remembered his large palms when they took her hand, calloused but gentle with his touch, and how held her palm to his chest as if it was the most precious thing. She had been careful to tuck away these memories, as their recovery also brought the cumbersome grief and pain knowing it was her love that had killed him.

She knew their love was damned and she did not want this same fate for her daughter.

Rhaenyra only then realized her daughter peering at her, as if she was trying to hear her thoughts. She saw that Kore was still burning with the conviction of her words and she knew that she would never recant, for it was Harwin’s stubbornness and determination that intertwined with the very ichor weaving within her veins.

At that moment, Rhaenyra knew what must be done.

The vines began to sprout from the ground, knocking over the clay pots and wrapping itself around her legs and arms. Falling to her knees, Kore cried out and saw her mother’s intention to leave her; a ferocity began to burn within, a fire to her dark eyes and she began to tear away at the green iron hold. With each one broken, two more came forward, staggering her steps forward as they coiled around her legs to halt her.

Rhaenyra could not watch her relentless struggle or listen to her daughter’s screams. She walked to the golden archways and whispered to seal it.

She, after all, truly knew what was best for her daughter.

+ + + + + + +

Helaena was the queen of the gods, with a harmonious understanding with the sky and the stars above, a soral bond that gifted her a multiscient ability that allowed her to thrive with her role as the goddess of matrimony; she had an ability that both the mortals and the gods envied, which was her insight on what the future held.

Yet, she did not gloat about this ability and only her brothers and sister were aware of her peculiar gift. This had been after the Titanomachy ended, how the cosmos seemed broken and Aegon’s insatiable want for control came to fruition. When he learned this of Helaena, he declared his love for her, but she was aware of his self-serving ambition and how he only wished to control her power.

She also knew it was a power that came of its own volition, as well if she accepted his proposal and became queen of the cosmos, her role would best serve the realm with the puissance crowned upon her head.

Helaena accepted and allowed her husband his freedoms, for the distasteful whispers which sung of his infidelities did not bother her, as her attention was needed elsewhere.

The Moirai were intrigued by the queen. Before the war, they long grew bored of the insistent desperation and prying questions of the future, choosing to recluse themselves to the shadows of the Gō vys. They shed their physical form and became a fog that would roll over the realms when it served them, able to pour in and fit where it was needed, this sense of touch allowed them to see much more than the eyes they once had.

It allowed them to be unnoticed, but Helaena was always aware of them, however they did not mind the company of the queen, solely because they understood that she also wished to be unseen, unbothered. The king of the Underworld allowed her free rein to come and go, which allowed her to slip away to visit with Vhagar, to have a moment alone to remove her crown and a moment alone to find the clairvoyance she needed before she returned above.

Here, she was able to see things with clarity, with an understanding that not even the Moirair would dare question.

They would often speak, she would ask them questions and they would chide in return on how fate was fickle. Helaena disagreed, for her visions were resounding, nestling into her consciousness and replay until they would come to pass.

The queen had one particular vision that lingered in the back of her mind; it showed her dear brother, Aemond, and a queenly presence, devoted, at his side. Together, they were destined to share a happiness that would stretch into eternity, with a love destined, fated to remain even after men would long forget them all.

This vision, like all, was a hint at first, but it grew with its details, becoming vivid and consuming with the start of the most recent spring season. On this morning, when Helaena awoke, she found her mind was empty; there was no replay or even an echo of the apparition that was a consistent comfort in the last few years.

Helaena dressed and left, descending into the shadow, in search of the fog.

Vhagar greeted her, as they often did, and she paused to take a moment and pet each head with care. They traveled together, with Vhagar as her escort, and they went deep until the fog rolled in, swirling around and engulfing them.

She could hear their whispered words. Today you come with a question only.

“I do,” she admitted out loud. “I wish to understand why the vision of Aïdōneús has left me.”

Fate is fickle… it began, but she stopped them.

“I know your mantra,” and her eyes began to water, not from emotion but from the thickening haze that washed over her. “And you are aware that I see things differently, consistently, and this gift allows me a deep understanding of compatibility. But today, I awoke and it was gone and now I come to understand why.”

It is gone because something hides the golden glow.

She sighed her annoyance, as they would not give more than their ominous echo; she waved her hands to push through the fog and their chuckle that echoed around. Helaena returned to the castle that loomed in the center, with Vhagar padding softly behind, still watchful.

Inside the throne room, she felt the sickening sorrow, a somber aura that matched the dark stones of the castle walls. She saw the arched windows that led to the terrace, allowing the artificial lighting to seep into the room. Helaena found her brother, his lean frame stooped and rested against the ornate balustrade, his gaze looking out; his witch remained at his side, her own worry for her king etched into her expression.

“Lēkia,” she called to him.

Aemond pushed himself upright, turning to face her with the ghost of a smile on his sharp features. “Helaena,” there was a hint of relief with how he spoke her name, an almost desperation to see her in this moment. “Have you come to visit the Moirai?”

“I already have and they are unhelpful, as always,” she smiled, watching as Vhagar moved past her and nudged his palm with one of its heads.

Aemond was devoted to pet each with care, with a smile that did not reach his eye. Her brow furrowed and her question perched beneath her chin.

What has happened?

But instead, her eyes spotted the snapdragon fastened to him, the glittering glow that emitted from the bewitched petals. She saw it and she knew its magic. “That is lovely,” and she gestured to her chest to mirror where he had it pinned.

Aemond seemed to wilt at the reminder, his gaze looked down and his slender finger touched it as if it was the most precious thing within his possession. “It was a gift,” his voice rasped and it took strength for him to meet again with her lilac eyes.

“Who gifted this to you?”

Aemond and his stoicism was something he propped as a shield, but their years together allowed her an awareness of his mannerisms and she was able to see the flicker of pain that danced across his features, the subtle bob of his neck when he managed to answer her. “It was Persephone.”

Helaena looked to Alys and the same recognition played across her own face, washing away the concern. “It is very lovely,” she offered and she looked at the witch, her lips pursed into a thin line, before she excused herself abruptly; she ran the shores of the Styx, following the pathway that curled upwards to the mortal realm.

There was a certainty to her visions and she now knew that Aemond was fated for a great love; she knew where it began and her mind was able to recall and replay it within, her purposeful steps that brought her towards Rhaenyra’s gardens, towards the glow of the horticulture centered. She knew if she could find Rhaenyra, she could beg an audience with Persephone, to get clarification as to what had happened…

Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found and instead she spotted the goddess of spring; her earthly glow was replaced with a fire, an anger that thrummed beneath her alabaster skin. Her eyes held a determination, a darkness with her stare, but they brightened when she spotted the queen.

Helaena stopped and her lilac eyes flitted over the structure, sizing the binding spell and understanding the power propelled a shield.

She now understood the words of the Moirai. It is gone because something hides the golden glow.

The goddess of spring watched her, standing in front of one of the glass panes and Helaena could see the beginning cracks that splintered. She smiled at her, now understanding what her brother saw, the undeniable strength that brimmed beneath Persephone.

The queen moved forward and the goddess mirrored her movement, her lips moving but she was muted in her gilded cage.

Helaena pressed a finger to her lips and then touched her ear; Persephone stopped and watched as her lilac eyes traced the edges of the pane before she brought her palms together, a soft whisper and a glow that emitted from between. She then pressed her hands against the glass and Persephone, again, mirrored the action, resting her palms on the other side, closing her eyes to focus.

The queen of the gods marveled at the strength, the vibration from the little goddess; it pulsated through and the light brightened and seeped into the cracks, spreading throughout the glass. She held her breath and watched the shards break apart, turning into petals and falling softly on the ground around them.

The goddess of spring opened her eyes, free. Her dark curls were wild and the darkness lifted from her eyes when she smiled. “Kirimvose.”

Helaena folded her hands in front, returning the smile. “He is waiting for you.”

She glowed with her words and moved, gone in an instant. The vision returned, a welcomed warmth that flowed through her, and Helaena was able to see Aemond, with the peace he long sought for, that he had fought for, and the queenly presence, devoted at his side.

+ + + + + + +

Aemond had returned before dusk even hinted at the day’s end. He remained in the shadows, accompanied with the eagerness that vibrated within, but the emotion was tucked beneath his aristocratic demure. He waited and watched as the sun dipped away and was replaced by the moon, as full as the night before, returning with its silver light. He waited as the world rotated, replaying the echo of her sweet words.

Aemond, I will come back to you.

But she did not come.

Instead, he saw his sister and with her was his answer, apparent in her eyes before she spoke a word; he saw the pity that framed her eyes and it made his skin crawl.

“I’m sorry, lēkia,” and he felt her genuine remorse. “She said it was too painful to see you again.” Rhaenyra could not meet with his steady gaze. “You must understand this, right? That this is how it was meant to be?”

He felt a resounding sadness that was suffocating, a grief that bore into him and ached his bones, his every fiber that was required for him to exist within the cosmos. His stoicism remained and he hummed his understanding, the nod of his head that weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. “I understand, mandia,” he managed to say and he made the silent vow that he would never again resurface. “I only wish the best for her. Truly.”

She dared meet with his sapphire stone and lavender eye; there was an emotion he saw play behind her eyes, but Rhaenyra remained quiet, her lips pressed into a thin line and she turned away from him. Aemond watched as she returned to her gardens before he retreated to the Underworld, greeted with the cold embrace of the darkness that engulfed the realm below.

His kingdom was deathly quiet, as the dead did not converse and the screams of his grandsire were muffled within his hold of Tartarus. His gleam of felicity had been ripped away and he felt raw, a dulled ache within his chest and its constant threat to fracture through his bones.

Aemond returned his attention to the repetitive work his realm required, unwilling to break away and allow a lull for the grief to return, as it simmered beneath.

He would hear the concerned whine of Vhagar and Alys would visit, her soft words spilling from her painted lips. “My king, I beg you, please eat.”

These days seem to mold together, without differentiation, without significance. Often, he would be perched out on the terrace that stemmed from the throne room, his gaze watchful but empty. Sometimes Alys would join him, his quiet companion other than her request for him to eat or to drink. On this day, she perked when she saw the streak of gold from his sister as she slipped away within his kingdom, a privilege he only allowed to her.

Eventually, she arrived to greet him, as she often would; Aemond loved his sister dearly, but found himself too heartsore to offer much. He noticed an exchanged look between Alys and Helaena, but they parted without a word and the witch goddess then focused on him.

“I was unaware that Kore gifted you the snapdragon.” Her voice was sharp, clarifying.

The bewitched flower remained dutifully pinned, with the red glow of its petals as his only reminder that what he had felt had been real, that it had not just been a dream. “She did,” he replied and he looked down at it.

“My king,” and Alys smiled, genuinely for the first time in a while. “Your grief blinds you more than your gemmed eye.”

There was a flicker of annoyance that played across his face and she continued on, not allowing him to speak. “That is a spell and its blossom is bound by love.”

His brow furrowed and he brought his gaze from the petals to focus on Alys, whose expression was as gleeful as the words she spoke. “My king, she loves you. I know this, as did your sister when she saw it. Kore loves you and it has been under your nose this whole damn time.”

“You lie,” he hissed. “I was told she did not even wish to see me-”

“Was this from her lips?” She challenged him, squaring to face her king with a fearlessness to correct him, as always. “Persephone told you she did not love you?” Alys moved closer, one finger touching the snapdragon and it sparked, a crimson glimmer in the muted throne room. “I know this spell, Aïdōneús. She loves you as much as you love her!”

The grief that interlaced throughout his being seemed to unleash with her words, the torrid of the moments shared poured over him with a renewed ardor. He could not ignore it, this emotion was a curse that had its hold of him still. “Then where is she?”

As he spoke, he already knew the answer. The emotion he had been unable to pin in the moment of his shattering grief, the one that played in his sister’s lavender eyes.

Guilt.

Aïdōneús was the god of death, the king of the Underworld. His ichor thrummed with bloodlust, a strength he channeled when he ended the Titanomachy with a ferocity that was unseen before or since. With his realization, the silver of his hair, the white tones of his skin glowed as he swelled with a black flame that framed his movements; Alys placed his crown on top of his head, iron and ruby glowing, and he tore from the Gō vys.

When he surfaced, it splintered the edge and the nymphs cried and scampered away from the gods’ wrath. His fury brought him to his sister’s gardens and the greenery wilted from his rage. “Rhaenyra,” his low baritone growled from his chest.

He noticed how Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey were watchful, perhaps unaware of their mother’s treachery, but unwilling to allow Aemond to kill her, as he looked capable of at this moment. But he did not wish to slay his sister, he wished to find Kore and bring her back, as she had promised him, as she wanted.

And he should have never doubted that.

Rhaenyra appeared, her eyes red rimmed and she scoffed at the swell of her brother. “You are too late,” her voice broke. “She is gone.”

“Skoriot gōntan ziry jikagon?”

Where did she go?

She looked at him, her jaw tight when she said, “I believe you already know, lēkia.”

He was gone from the mortal realm, slipping beneath. He looked at the grey shores and recognized the silhouette of her footfalls that lead forward, with the petals of peonies that trailed her steps.

Aemond followed, his emotions ravaged him raw and he thought of how he failed her, that he believed that she would not show and he swore he would spend their eternity to make amends…

He continued to the Asphodel fields and he saw her golden glow, complemented with hues of pink that touched her porcelain complexion. She was sitting beneath the tree with one of Vhagar’s heads resting on her lap and her hand petting. The ears twitched and Vhagar pulled away to trot towards Aemond; her dark curls spilled when she turned to see what caught their attention.

It was as if Kore blossomed at the sight of him, the flush of pink spread across her cheekbones with her smile. “Aemond,” she sighed, pushing to stand and face him.

He wished to run to her, to wrap his arms around her with the solemn vow that he would never let her go; he ached to taste her lips, to shower her with affection and beg for her forgiveness.

It was all reserved beneath and instead his arms crossed behind his back. “Little goddess, I had gone to rescue you.”

She hummed at the pet name and her eyes glittered.

“I arrived and learned you were already gone,” he finished, his expression almost sheepish with the confession. His gaze met with hers, “I had thought you would not return.”

“I promised you that I would.”

Her tone did not scorn him, but she said it factual and he felt the returned burn of his disappointment that he had ever doubted she would. “Kore,” he took a tentative step towards her, drawn to her golden glow, a need to feel the silk of her skin once more.

She remained stance beneath the tree, her smile reaching her eyes. “I did as you asked of me and I had time to make my decision,” and she reached above to pluck a pomegranate from a branch. He watched her hands palm it between and how her fingernails broke its skin. Her fingers scooped the seeds and he watched her bring them to her mouth, red lines of its juices that dribbled down her chin. “I do not wish for anyone to try and keep me from you again.”

It was another moment that etched within his mind, the sight of his queen and the red juice that stained her chin and her smile, the same smile that allowed a glimpse of spring within the Gō vys.

She then closed the space between them and he tilted his head to meet her lips with his own, savoring the bittersweet kiss.

#she walks in starlight #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #greek mythology hotd au #aemond!hades #aemond!hades x oc!persephone #slow burn #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #it's an ever after ending

233 notes · View notes

arcielee · 2 years

Text

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: A goddess comes to ask for help to save her friends. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4358 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest. Author's Note: So, the whole Aemond as Hades trope has been done before BUT NOT BY ME so lets go. My inspiration came from this Aemond drawing: artist. It’s so nifty. Also, huge shout out to @aspen-carter for her ceaseless patience and helping me edit this. I am so grateful to have her as a friend because her writing is just top tier and her insight is so wonderful. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @aaaaaamond (slash means I am unable to tag you) Series: Act I - Act II - Act III

ACT I

“Little goddess, you are far away from where you belong.”

This was the truth spoken, for she never before dared venture away from her mother’s watchful gaze, never pressing beyond the boundary she swore she implemented for safety. Today it was fate that propelled her soft steps to follow the trodden pathway that wove from her realm into his.

His tone was low and voiced with authority, but she did not feel threatened despite the grim scenery she now found herself in. The Underworld seemed just a shadowed, desolate reflection of the mortal realm above; it was not shroud in darkness, mostly void of pigmentation save the veily blue hue that enveloped all around. She watched the souls make their way towards the ferryman, unaware their fluid steps were not solid against the grey sand that spread the shore of the river Styx.

“Aïdōneús,” she used the ancient moniker, for who else would be present other than the lordship to the realm of death? She spoke his name as she heard from the hushed whispers of the mortals, who were afraid to misstate and bring unwanted attention from the king of the dead. For her, it was an ancient tongue known to the gods and it spilled like a sweet nectar from her wet lips. She pressed on the ball of her foot to turn and face him.

Throughout the ages, many adjectives have been used to describe him and beautiful was the first to her mind.

The contours of his face were sharp as the marble stones that the mortals would carve the gods’ likeness into and it gave a severity to his expression. She saw the left side of his face, marred from his heroism from the tales of the Titanomachy, with a gash that began above his brow and cut through, curling into his cheek. His bravery had been rewarded with his kingship of the Gō vys and a brilliant sapphire stone that was set into his scarred socket.

Cold and stern, was often used, a firm accountability held for the laws held. Monstrous. Menacing. She assumed these descriptors were spoken by cowards, for all she could see was an esthetical deity.

He towered over her, his arms were tucked behind his back and it emphasized his broad shoulders. Silver scars littered over, brilliant streaks in contrast to the plum chiton draped over his lithe figure with golden thread knotted around his slender waist. The dark tones he wore gave a luminous intensity to his alabaster skin, like a godly beacon in the realm of grey.

He kept his distance, but she saw his head tilt from the gleam of the red ruby set in his crown and the soft glimmer of his silver tresses that spilled forward with his subtle movement.

“I have come to ask you something,” she continued, her voice unsteady, but her eyes boldly returned his steady gaze.

There was a haunting beauty to the mismatched coloring of his stare, his lavender eye and the glint of his sapphire eye, that caused her heart to reverberate within her chest.

“You traveled all this way to ask me a question?” His baritone continued and there was a flicker of amusement, the slight curl to his lips with his mellifluous words. “Please ask so I may best assist the goddess of spring.”

She felt the flush of pleasure. He knows who you are, the thought flutters throughout her head and she cannot stop her smile. “I wanted to ask if it was at all possible for a soul to be returned to the mortal realm?”

A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he took a deliberate step to close the space between them; the flicker of amusement is gone, his expression now as cool as the marble it was carved from. “This cannot be done, little goddess,” his silver words carefully chosen for his silver tongue. “It is the fate of every mortal to die and once that threshold is crossed, they cannot return to that life.”

Her renewed grief comes with its sickening hold, clenching her heart and the threat of tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed thickly, only then breaking her bold stare and instead she looked over the spirits that continued forward, awaiting their turn to cross.

It should have been me.

“Who did you lose?”

His soft tone pulled her attention back and she can see his brow is furrowed. “My friends,” she refused to cry in front of the king, no matter the kindly concern etched onto his features in the moment. “They were taken suddenly and do not have the gold to pay the passage.”

He hummed a second time, still low but thoughtful. “They are not yet lost, little goddess,” and the familiar curl of his bow lips gives her the flutter of hope. “Come back tomorrow and we can see what may be done, but,” his gaze rolled over her, locking onto her face once again. “I would advise not to return empty handed when you come to beg a favor from the king of the Underworld.”

+ + + + + + +

He dared teased the goddess of spring and then he relished in her response to the reminder of such a timeless courtesy. The rose coloring flushed her ivory tones, her embarrassment clashed with the thrum of her vitality beneath and it brought out the sun speckles across her nose and cheeks.

How divine the thought of his lips to kiss each one.

She left chagrined and he was certain he would not see her again, save the movements when he would slip to the surface for a reprieve from the dead, a shadow in watch of the gods who resided in the mortal realm. He had not expected her to return the following day and with a basket she showed was filled with delicacies of cheeses, olives, figs, and more.

He saw her coming, her steps almost familiar with the pathway that led to his realm. “You returned, little goddess,” it was a statement more so than a question.

“I have, Aïdōneús.”

Aïdōneús. A name long forgotten, spurned from the fear it held amongst mortals, but she was dauntless with her pronunciation, just as she was bold with her stare. It was the sweetest sound, both familiar and unfamiliar, a sound that he would spend his immortality to follow its every behest.

Even though her tone was cool, he noted her white knuckled hold on the wicker basket. “I have returned and I have brought you an offering,” she continued, shifting her weight to rest it on her hip. “You also may call me by name or you may call me Kore, if you desire.”

Desire. There is an unbridled fervor in his gaze as it rolled over her curves, so sinfully wrapped in the peplos linen but his posture remained reserved, his arms crossed behind and one foot stanced.

“As you wish, Kore.”

He did not say another word and his hand reached for hers; he was pleased that she took it without hesitation and his skin prickled from the warmth of her palm. He whisked her forward and he felt her grip tighten, looking back to see her eyes wide from the abrupt movement. He pulled her closer to his chest, his other arm wrapping around her waist with a firm hold.

He brought her to a pomegranate tree that is curled on a ledge overlooking the knolls of silver grass, decorated with aimless spirits.

There was almost an ache when he released his hold and he kept his arms open, watching to make sure her steps are balanced on the solid earth. “I apologize,” his voice was almost sheepish with his realization. “I am so used to getting around and I forget…”

He is grateful that she does not press him to finish his thought. Instead, he fell back and watched as she spread the cloth, the white billow of fabric that settled on the ground, and placed the basket in the center. She offered to pour him a glass of wine and only then does he take a seat, breaking the bread, while he shared that their view is the asphodel meadows where good souls reside, a neutral ground for peaceful spirits.

He wanted to bring her here and show her. “This is where your friends will eventually be,” he finished, lifting his goblet to his lips.

Her eyes watched the bob of his neck as he drank the wine and she admitted, “This seems so dreadfully dull for the good souls.”

“They no longer have the tedious shackles forced on them from the mortal realm,” his lips curled upwards with his further explanation. “They feel nothing and this allows them contentment to wander these fields.”

Her nose scrunched. “I understand this,” she breaks a piece of the bread, allowing the wine to dye it red. “That, however, does not change my initial opinion.”

This is a moment that broke through the kingly demeanor that he carried with his every step, his every movement within the cosmos. She watched, wide eyed and rosy, as his laughter lines his cheeks with dimples, the king of the Gō vys has dimples! She savored the genuineness of this moment and she cannot help but giggle as well. “It is beautiful, though,” she continued with a shy smile. “I see why you chose this spot.”

His demeanor darkened and he smirked. “Kore, this pales in comparison to your springly creations. I only brought you to show you the bit of vegetation that can survive within my realm.”

She tilted her head upwards, looking at the deep burgundy of the ripe pomegranates that hung low on the branches. “Are they edible?”

He leaned onto his side, propped up onto one elbow and his fingers traced the decoration of the gilded goblet. “It is, but without the same savory flavors as,” and he gestured towards the basket that slowly empties with their picnic. “There is a cost of their consumption,” he cannot help the edge of bitterness to his voice.

Her eyes widen, not with fright but curiosity, to the animosity of his words. “What is the cost?”

“Anything eaten or drank chains you to the realm,” he answered, solemn, and was surprised by the glint in her eyes.

It draws his gaze to her and, again, he can see the thrum of her ichor beneath her ivory skin, her eyes focused on him and framed with dark lashes, her stare as dauntless as earlier.

“It is the cost to rule a kingdom,” she offered, blinking and it is seemingly gone, her expression now doleful as it looks over the silver hills that spread infinitely before them. “It is better than to be destined to be the forgotten goddess, tied to her mother’s shadow and just a decoration who nurtures flowers.”

He was watchful in this somber moment; there was a silence that was not uncomfortable, but he felt the returned fervor from before to ask more, to understand more. There was a tingle in his fingertips to reach for her hand, to knit his fingers so perfectly with her own, just so she may remember she was not alone.

Instead, he waited.

She pulled herself to stand and reached her hand towards him, the radiance of her smile returning, a divine glow amongst the eerie meadow. “Come and show me more of your kingdom.”

And he obliged her.

+ + + + + + +

Time, she learned, was different in the Underworld.

She allowed herself to tour the Gō vys, tucked so close to his side and allowing him to show his kingdom, from the Asphodel to the Erebus, to watch the passage of Acheron and learn the ferryman was men, twins who let a foolish misunderstanding result in the simultaneous slay and he offered them an alternative to serve him. She met Vhagar, the rumored three headed beast who in truth wished for belly rubs and she happily inclined.

There was a panicked realization when she resurfaced and saw the moon bore overhead. Her steps were quick homewards, muttering prayers to Gaia, to Rhaenys, to whomever was listening and she begged her mother would be unaware of the time lost.

“You smell of death.”

Rhaenyra was the golden goddess of harvest and fertility, her mother the very embodiment of the sacred laws of the cosmos. Her eyes narrowed on her arrival, but she managed only a hint of anger to touch her overwhelming interrogative tone. “Where have you been, Kore?”

She hummed a lie, something enough to dissuade further suspicion her mother may hold, just a silly little goddess who had gotten lost within the cosmos. She continued to add another promise she would never dare return.

This was another lie.

“Aïdōneús,” she greeted him the next day and was pleased with his expression, which was almost incredulous at her return.

“Kore,” he responded with the same warmth, the curl of his lip when he reached for her hand. She allowed him to take it without thought, a blush crept over as he brought her knuckles to his lips, the tickle of his breath to her skin. “Please, I meant to say this yesterday,” he did not release his hold, his dichromatic gaze watchful. “You may call me just Aemond, if you wish.”

“Aemond,” and she said his name with the same sweetness and reverence, enjoying her familiarity with the king and how the rose color dusts his cheeks when she repeats it. “I admit, I have come to ask another favor.”

“More souls you wish to return to the mortal realm?”

He regretted his words the moment they left his lips, when he saw the pain that danced across her eyes. His apology was caught in his throat, the explanation for his tasteless jest, but she already shook her head and that pain was gone.

“I wish to show you a place that is dear to me,” but her tone is careful. “Are you able to come with me to the mortal realm?”

I would go anywhere you asked of me, he does not say and instead he nodded, the shimmer of his silver hair. “I can leave, though not for long periods of time,” he shifted his gaze. “It is a tether to the Underworld. There is a pull, almost an ache, that grows the longer I am away.”

A smile returned to her lips, pink and inviting. “I will not keep you too long from the duties of your kingdom,” she promised and offered her hand to him.

Traveling within the Gō vys requires a celerity to his movements; there is a rush of wind with his quick motion from one place to the next, whereas she seems to frolick, pulling to keep him at her pace as they flit from the shadows and move towards a small isle. At first glance, it only holds the wreckage of the temple to appease the averter of evil, its ruin ironically from a temper tantrum of the gods.

“But why here?” Aemond was curious as he looked over the cracked stylobate and the broken pillars split, with stone embedded into the soft earth around them.

“There is beauty in the broken,” she smiled and pulled him to follow. “After Daemon and his temper tantrum, the mortals abandoned it, but I wished for it to blossom with new life.”

He watched her climb over a fallen pillar and she peered up to him, beckoning him to follow. He dropped softly at her side, while the soft echo of her words, there is beauty in the broken, remained in his ear. Aemond saw her focus was ahead and he followed her gaze.

His eye followed the curl of a turquoise moss that curled and decorated the stones, blooming with pastels. It continued to the reflection of the morning dew glittering off the almost iridescent petals, gleaming brilliant in the rising run; it showed the sea scheme of colors that stretched around them.

She was the goddess of spring, of vitality personified, and he is the darkness. But in this serene moment, there was an emotion, an almost tangible passion that entangled with the ichor of his veins when she reached for his hand again.

There was a spark as their palms fit together, as his slender fingers curled around her hand. “It is beautiful,” he said and his tongue wet his lips.

She peered at him, the flutter of her own heart when she saw how his features softened in the intimacy of the moment, a satisfaction to be privy to the reserved pleasure that played on his face. There was the intrusive thought that begged her to touch his jaw, to press up to her tiptoes and dare to taste his mouth, and she wished to bring back a piece to his kingdom, just so she could relive the hint of his smile on his lips.

“It is,” she agreed, tucking the thought away.

+ + + + + + +

That night, she tucked herself into the athenaeum to pour over the scrolls her mother stored away, with Rhaenyra both pleased and proud of her rekindled passion for her role within the cosmos.

Kore did not correct her. She needed her focus to return to what initially brought her to the Underworld, the fate she shelved and the growing burden with that neglect. She told herself that Aemond would be more amenable with an offering more tailored for the god of death, but in truth, she also wished to understand the growing thrum beneath her breastbone whenever she was within his proximity.

There was a simple spell that would serve both.

Though he would never admit to waiting for her, she was still pleased to see him on the edge of the plane, close enough for the sunlight to touch and give an ethereal glow to his chiseled features. There was a gentle breeze through his silver, silk tresses and she stopped her steps so she could admire him, the glimmer.

He tilted his head. “Kore, what is it?”

“Aemond,” she breathed. “You really are beautiful.”

His jaw steeled with the compliment and she was quick to grab his hand, leading him below like a silver beacon into the blue hue of the Gō vys. Once they were in the shadowed realm, she turned to press against his chest, her softness melting against him and with her whisper, “Aemond, take me back to the meadows.”

He, of course, obliged her.

There was a comfort with how his arms, so strong and lined with silver scars, wrapped around her waist with a hold she knew could be trusted. The jarring movement still caused her stomach to lurch, but it was quickly replaced with the exhilarating rush and her laughter spilled from her lips. Only when she felt the tickle of the silver grass beneath her soles did he finally release his hold of her and they were back beneath the pomegranate tree.

She curled with grace onto its roots and beckoned him to follow. He paused for a moment to appreciate how her robes nestled against her curves before he sits, close enough, with one leg up to rest his forearm on and the other arm pressing himself upright, his palm resting on the earth. His expression begs curiosity, but he is quiet.

Kore and her sweet smile elicited his hummed response and he watched as she began to rub her palms together. A soft glow emitted between and her focus returned to Aemond, a golden goddess with the light, before she pressed her hands to the ground. Her eyes closed for a moment, her thoughts poured into the practice incantation with the wordless flutter of her lips.

She opened her eyes and smiled again, his gaze shyly dropped to watch her hands lift and reveal the bolt of green that begins to stem upwards. He watched as its leaves unfurled and the red bulbs bunched together began to blossom.

His expression is one of awe, his jaw slack from seeing the life sprout from the grey earth and flourish with color before him. Aemond looked pained when she reached to pluck one, cupping it in her palms with a whisper, the same golden glow, before she presented him the enchanted flower, the petals unbruised and a vibrant red.

“This will match the ruby in your crown,” she explained, shifting her weight to look at him.

His expression was stoic, just a red reflection in his sapphire eye. “What are they called?” He asked when she opened his palm, his fingers spread as if his touch would shatter it.

“These are called snapdragons,” she shared, her pride aglow with her creation, her validation. “They are able to handle the cooler weather, but their lifespans are not very long, which is why,” and her fingertips tickled his palm as she picked it up, careful to pin it to his chiton, “I made this one for you. This one will never wilt.”

His gaze fell to it, his slender fingers pressed into the fabric around where she snugly fastened it, still cautious to touch. “Is this magic?”

He did not see the touch of pink to her cheeks, how she hemmed for her words to reply to him.

She sought out this spell in the archives of her mother’s anethum, that would allow a flower to eternally hold its blossomed vibrance with a condition in place, an emotion from the spellcaster, something that hinted its existence from the day they spent together at the temple.

An emotion she felt irresolute to share now.

She had thought it to be carnal at first. Desire, the unbridled passion that hummed within her when she first laid eyes on the god of death and his aery beauty. It was a fervor that burned within her as she drank his deliberate movements, the glimmer of his silver hair, the perpetual smirk that played on his pink, bow lips.

This will fade, she told herself. She returned, undeterred and with purpose to save her companions, the fate that brought her to the Gō vys to begin. With her offering rested on her hip, she allowed herself to be swept away in his arms, flitting further into his kingdom. It was his touch that sparked something more, the sweet candor of their conversation, how she swore his steady gaze able to see her bones beneath.

She felt confirmation at the temple ruins, from the moment she watched the colors of her masterpiece absorb into the exquisiteness he carried with him. She saw something, she felt something.

There is beauty in the broken.

He was a timeless deity that had seen the fall of Titans and she was only the little goddess of spring.

In part, she was proud of her power that grew, the vibrant glow of the snapdragon, but she also knew it stemmed from an emotion from her that he would never reciprocate.

So all she said was, “Yes. Magic.”

Her cheeks grew warmer still with his steady gaze, her silent prayers that he would not press for the truth of it because she knows she would never be able to lie to him. Aemond seemed to accept the words and then said, “I accept your offering, Kore. Tell me your favor and I swear I will do the best that I am able.”

So she spoke of the fate that brought her to the Underworld. “I wish to pay the passage for two souls.”

Her question did not anger him, but there is a sadness that crept to his features. “Kore, I would not be able to allow this,” he sighed, unable to look her in the eyes. “If I am to make an exception for you, I would have to offer the same courtesy to the rest and…” there is a pregnant pause, a moment that allowed her to choke on the emotion that threatened to break through and she saw the glimmer of silver when he tilted his head to watch her.

“Persephone,” he said with his low baritone. “Why do you ask for this? What brought you to my realm?”

She wore her shame like the chiton draped over her curves. Her tongue wet her lips as her mind tried for the words to express the suffocating guilt that built with her every visit. Begin at the beginning. On that day, there had been an enchanted flower that she and her companions, Baela and Rhaena, came upon.

“A flower,” Aemond hummed, his expression unreadable.

His comment left her feeling childish, ashamed to admit what followed. The flower seemed otherworldly, its petals glittered in the sunlight and beckoned to her, but she balked and stayed within the parameters Rhaenyra had placed. Baela and Rhaena teased at her sudden shyness, pushing beyond and dared to pluck it.

In return, the earth rumbled to split open and swallowed them both.

“I know that it was planted for me,” she finished, her fingers fidget with the rope tied around her waist. “What other purpose would an enchanted flower serve than to lure the goddess of spring?” Her cheeks were tearstained. “It should have been me.”

Aemond hummed again, the severity returned to his gaze and he looked away. She allowed herself a breath, the slow intake and exhale through parted lips, to relax her posture and rest her hands into her lap. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it.

It was with his touch that she could admit she loved him. There was a tenderness to his large hands, how his slender fingers were gentle to hold her own and the soothing gesture of his thumb making circular patterns on her palm.

“Kore,” he began and she looked up at him. “I will look further into this. I meant what I said that I am unable to return souls to the mortal realm, it is beyond my power, but I will find…” he hummed again. “Will you please come back tomorrow night?”

I will always find my way to you, but instead she only smiled, nodding her head.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #greek mythology hotd au #hotd au #aemond!hades #oc!persephone #slow burn #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #thanks for reading #♥

617 notes · View notes