#aemond x tyrell reader

[eraenaa]

Silent Passions

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Synopsis: You and Aemond had been promised to one another before you were even born. And when the time came for you to meet, all were curious to see what was to come when soon to be spouses only shared one thing in common: your want of silence. 

Warnings: Unwanted sexual advances from Daemon Targaryen, ¿Softer Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 8,678 (bear with me pls)

A/N: Based on a request where they wanted "Aemond x Tyrell Reader (which has the personality of Francesca Bridgerton), and when they are about to get married, Daemon tries to seduce her, making Aemond distrust her."

A flower promised to a dragon. Long before you were born, you, a daughter of House Tyrell, had been the intended to be wed to the second son of the King, Prince Aemond Targaryen. Your mother was one of the scarce friends the Queen had made in the court after her estrangement with Princess Rhaenyra. You were born in the walls of the keep, the queen in attendance of your birth, smiling widely as the nurse announced that you were a girl— she was the first person to hold you after your mother and the wet nurse who handed you to her. “Oh, such a beauty she is…” The Queen cooed as she held you in her arms. Your mother smiled through her tiredness at how quickly the queen had taken to you. 

“She would make the most wonderful princess,” The queen sighed and returned you to your mother, turning her head towards the door where your promised groom already stood. Prince Aemond waddled to his mother. The boy was only two years old but was already meeting his intended. The queen took her son into her arms, lifting him up to see his future bride, who whined in her mother’s arms. Aemond furrowed his brows, stuck out his tongue, and made a noise of disapproval when he saw the pink-faced babe. “That’s not quite nice… show respect for your future wife,” The queen smiled and brushed the silvery locks of her son. 

That was the first and last time you and the prince met. Your mother and father returned to Highgarden as their stay in court was cut short with your father needing to return to his seat. For the first six and ten years of your life, you were promised to a man you have never met. Bearing the plight of women before you, promised to a man, not because of your will or your love for him but merely for status and to appease those who stood on high stature. You were defenseless as they paved your life before you, forcing you down a road that was often traveled by but many did not wish to cross. 

“We are to return to Kingslanding.” Your father suddenly announced. The dinner table went silent. The boisterous laughs and jests of your three older brothers and the babbles of your younger twin brother and sister growing hushed. “Why?” You asked quietly, breaking the silence. You pet the fur of your beloved feline, trying to calm your nerves as your mind brought forth a reason. “The queen requested our presence, dearest… it is time to meet your betrothed.” Your mother smiled and took hold of your hand, lightly squeezing it in comfort, thought you felt none. You lowered your gaze and tried to shut out the return of loud voices around the table. 

It was not that it was unexpected… it was just… wholly overwhelming. You took a few moments and a few more bites of your supper before excusing yourself from the loud table, needing peace and quiet. “Are you well, sister?” Your oldest brother, Edward, asked in concern, pausing his conversation with your other brothers, Edgar and Edmund. “Yes, I’m just tired.” You said with a small smile and left the dinner table with your pet. 

The matter of your betrothal with the prince was not at all an old matter. Ever since you were a child, they have instilled in your mind that you were Prince Aemond’s intended. That one day, you will be his bride. It was a subject you found troubling— for how can one live at ease, being promised to a man they had never met before? How could one truly live their life if their purpose is only to be married off— treated practically as a broodmare. 

 You were alone with your thoughts until you heard the faint knock on your door and your brother, Edmund, slowly opening it and peeking his head inside your chambers. “Yes?” You asked and sat straighter, removing your eyes from the fire you stared upon. 

“I am just making certain that you’re well.” He said softly and fully opened your chamber door, stepping in and bringing you a piece of cake for you had missed the dessert portion of your dinner. “Thank you,” You say gratefully, but simply place the piece of your favorite dessert on the table beside you, making your brother quickly grow suspicious. “What’s wrong?” Edmund asked in concern, taking his seat beside you. 

You gave him a forced smile and shook your head. “Nothing, I told you, I’m just tired.” You say softly, but your brother’s frown severed. “You’re clearly lying— no matter how tired you are, you always have energy for cake.” Your brother sighed, making you sigh as well. “I’m… I’m scared,” You admitted. Your brother nodded in understanding, “I would be surprised if you weren’t,” 

You twiddled with the ends of your hair as you and your brother were enveloped in a heavy, suffocating silence. “It’s just— I have been prepared for this since I was a babe… It’s all I know, but at the same time, I know nothing. I have no idea about him. What my life would be like after our marriage.” You say, your voice trembling with fear. “And I have been hearing rumors…” you say cautiously, your eyes upon your pet, who slept soundly on your lap.  “Rumors? You are never one to listen to rumors, "Your brother said in surprise; his sister was always indifferent to whispers and gossip. 

“Last summer, our cousin Eliza had gone to court… and there she observed Prince Aemond for me. To report to me what he was like because I had no idea of my future husband,” You began to recount the favor your cousin had done for you to ease your nerves about the marriage. “And?” Your brother leaned closer in curiosity. “She said he was… cold, aloof. Standoffish— ruthless when training with his sword. Indifferent, bordering into insulting to all members of the court.” You say quietly, uttering the harbored fear of your betrothed for almost a year now. Edmund licked his lips; your cousin Eliza was never one to exaggerate. 

“P—Perhaps it was just that summer… mayhap he has changed with the season,” Your brother tried to give a comforting smile, but it turned wary, neither of you believing his comforting but empty words. “I’m sorry, sister,” Your brother said quietly after a moment, looking at you with empathy. He also wondered how you would fare when married to a dragon prince and being a member of the den of vipers that was the court. 

You had always been timid, quiet, demure. He had always been skeptical of this betrothal set between you and the prince. He recalled how your father wanted to contest it, to break off the betrothal in your adolescence, seeing that his daughter was too soft for the harshness of royalty, but your mother did not wish for it, scared that it would offend her friend, the queen. 

“I don’t expect much from the marriage,” You spoke, “I… I only wish for him to be kind and perhaps grant me my solitude from time to time,” You added, and your brother nodded, “We shall see to it that you have it, sister. If we are to prove that the prince is ungallant or disagreeable, we shall convince Mother and Father to free you from him,” Your brother swore, and you gave him a sad smile, unconvinced by his promise but touched by the gesture of it. 

Edmund left his sister to the quiet she reveled and needed; Edmund marched in search of his other brothers. “She’s scared,” He announced as he found them in the drawing room; Edward, the eldest of them, lifted his gaze, “Who wouldn’t be?” He asked rhetorically as he sipped on his wine. “Are we truly that indebted to the crown? That we must oblige them with our dear sister?” Edgar questioned, “We are not indebted; our mother is,” Edgar replied. Your mother is forever grateful for her friend, the queen, who had shown her kindness during her time in court as a girl. She was greatly looked down upon, her father’s house inconsequential to the realm and often seen as a burden— through her friendship with Queen Alicent, she had risen through the ranks and had even secured a match with the heir of Highgarden. 

“Well, surely our sister is too great a price for this… emotional debt, especially when you consider the others who had wished to be her suitor, princes from Dorne and Essos who had sung her praises and showered her gifts for years. Yet they will force her to settle for a second son. She has not even met him! Not a letter or a token to show goodwill to his betrothed,” Edward sighed at his brother’s query. “What would you have us do?” Edgar asked, “I do not know… but if Prince Aemond is truly as harsh and tempestuous as Eliza and the realm says, we must convince them to break the betrothal.” Edmund was contented as his brothers agreed, all concerned for your marriage with a prince you had not even met yet. 

“Is all these frills truly necessary?” Aemond grumbled as he was being fitted for new garments, suffering through the needed preparations to meet his betrothed. “Yes. We cannot have you wear faded attire that reeks of dragon when you meet your betrothed. And I implore you to be kind and good-humored, Aemond. You must not scare off your wife,” Alicent sighed and nodded as the tailor bowed and finished taking the prince’s measurements. “She is not my wife,” Aemond gritted, “She is not your wife yet,” Alicent corrected, and Aemond shook his head. The dread in him was multiplying by the day. He was fortunate enough that his mother had not forced him to meet his betrothed years before, convincing himself that perhaps she had changed her mind and the betrothal could be broken, but alas, the fateful day to meet you has arrived. 

Aemond had not met you nor heard anything from you. He would think it common courtesy for you to send him at least a letter, to know him before this doomed marriage, but you had sent none— no introduction or anything. He did, however, hear talk about you, the bloomed beauty of the reach. A lady who was already betrothed the moment she was born but was still lined up by men who hoped to be her suitor. Aemond scoffed at the thought, perceiving you as promiscuous and maybe even defiled. Aemond met your cousin last summer, the lady Eliza, loud and not at all chaste. A shameless flirt who went around the castle and made a spectacle of herself, she was not you, but Aemond liked to believe that that is how you acted as well. 

Aemond tried to calm himself, to take his thoughts away from your arrival, but it would seem the castle was a growing reminder of you. He walked passed the great hall that was being dressed up for your family’s arrival. He passed the gardens where gardeners had been tending to flowers that were neglected, fretting that your family would take the wilted flowers as an offense. Aemond shook his head and walked through the guest wing, and saw how your chambers were being prepared. Aemond gritted his jaw and decided to retire early that day, but it would seem even the royal wing of the castle was being dressed up for your arrival. He frowned as he passed a once-boarded-up room being cleaned, “Who is to stay here?” Aemond asked a maid, believing his mother would place you in a chamber that was only a few steps from his own, a rather scandalous decision. 

“The prince Daemon, my prince, the hand says he is to stay for the moon,” A maid bowed, and Aemond furrowed his brow before giving a nod to dismiss the maid, and he walked off to his chambers; it would seem that it was not only your arrival he must worry about, he must worry about the arrival of his uncle as well. 

After five days of travel, you and the whole of your family arrived in Kingslanding. You took deep breaths before exiting the carriage, your kin being welcomed by a row of knights along with the Queen and her children. You could not even bear to look at anyone but the queen, scared to let your gaze travel to your betrothed. Your brothers stood by your side, offering support as all three pairs of their eyes assessed the prince, who had a look of disinterest. Edmund turned to his brothers, trying to see if they as well felt the animosity from the one-eyed prince that was easily felt. Through their eyes, they communicated silently and agreed. 

You straightened your back as you felt the Queen’s gaze upon you; only then did you raise your raise your gaze fully and presented her with a pretend smile. “My queen,” You curtsied lowly in respect; Queen Alicent smiled fondly and offered her compliments. The  queen bemused for her son to have such a comely wife. She turned to her side as she felt Aemond had still not stepped forward or had taken the initiative to introduce himself. 

Aemond sighed as he stepped forward and stiffly, almost reluctantly, bowed before you. He was staring at the skirts of your dress, refusing to look upon your face. He watched as the fabric moved as you curtsied before him. When you straightened your stance, you stared at the floor, still not catching a glimpse of your betrothed. 

You feel your brother Edgar’s arm link with yours as your family is escorted inside the walls of the Red Keep. The royal family walked in front of yours, and only then did you dare to look upon your betrothed. Recalling how your cousin had told you that prince Aemond was the taller of the two princes and had a curtain of straight, silver locks. 

Aemond felt your stare, and it took great restraint upon himself not to turn and gaze upon you to see the actuality of his intended. To deduce if the talk of your beauty was true or just another hoax. 

Aemond felt his mother step closer to him, “Invite your betrothed to the gardens— begin to acquaint yourselves with one another.” The queen whispered, and Aemond rolled his eye. “They have been traveling for five days; let them rest first before you force us to these rituals.” Aemond quietly spoke. His words were easily covered by the chatter of your brothers and two younger siblings, but he still had to hear a word to be uttered from your lips. “Very well then, but I expect you to sit and get to know her later during supper,” Alicent warned, and Aemond resisted verbalizing his disapproval, simply nodding along and going about his mother’s orders just as the dutiful son that he was. 

You and Aemond sat quietly in your seats as the table was filled with chatter. Aemond was not accustomed to it; their usual supper was suffocatingly silent; the only thing to be heard was the clatter of silverware upon porcelain and the breathing of his kin. Now, it was filled with varying conversations from your brothers and his, along with the chatter of the queen and her friend. Aemond had still not looked upon your face and nor you him. He stared upon your hand that was gripping your chalice; just from the looks of it, he could attest that it had never known a day’s work. The look of your flesh was soft, supple, unsullied—a stark difference from his own. 

“Do you think they will go on well?” The queen whispered to her friend; your mother eyed you, who sat in her seat, your gaze upon your plate. Her eyes then turned to your future husband, who gazed at the flickering amber light of a candle in between you. “I do not know… my daughter relishes in silence,” Your mother admitted, and the queen hummed. “So does my son,” 

You chewed on your lip as you noticed everyone at the table was chatting with one another, making small talk, except for you and your intended. You sat by his right, and you could make out the outline of him through the side of your eye; your view of him was a bit obstructed, but you could make out the contour of his nose. You battled with yourself if you should speak with him and, if you did, what topic would you bring up to converse with? 

Aemond licked his lips as he caught the eyes of his mother, imploring him to speak with you. He clenched his jaw and took a few calming breaths before parting his lips to speak. “H… How were your travels, my lady?” Aemond asked through gritted teeth, his head slightly turned in your direction. You blinked, trying to deduce if you had actually heard him speak. You turned to face the prince, finally seeing your betrothed eye to eye. “It was fine, my prince,” You answered quietly with a small smile before you and Aemond were enveloped in silence once more. 

Aemond did not know what overcame him when you spoke, and your eyes met his. He was expecting your voice to be shrill and loud— grating, even. He did not expect to hear such a soft, almost melodious tone when you spoke— a deep contrast from the voices of your kin. 

You bit your lip as you saw your mother from across the table imploring you to keep up with your conversation with the prince. “I— I heard you are quite fond of the histories, your highness,” You inquired quietly, holding your breath as your eyes locked with the unique gaze of old Valyria once more. “I am,” he replied curtly, and you nodded, uncertain if you should speak further or let his answer be, sensing he did not wish for small talk, a sentiment you, too, shared. 

You went quiet once more, and in other circumstances, Aemond would find relief in that, letting himself ease into the quiet, but there was an odd sensation in him that was pushing him to continue the unconventional conversation you two shared. Aemond, however, bit his tongue and let you two be enveloped in silence as you waited for supper to end. 

Aemond returned to his chambers, mind plagued by how to perceive his first encounters with you. He had prepared himself for the possibility of him growing annoyed and aggravated by your presence, but he was surprised in himself as he felt no such emotions rising within him. In truth, he felt somewhat serene that night, a feeling he had not felt in a long time. However, instead of enjoying the calm in his raging being, he ignored it, untrusting of it. Convincing himself that that night was luring him into a trap, one you had devised, acting ever so demure and coy, not presenting your true nature and only deceiving the prince. He will not fall for it. He fortified himself to not lay prey to this calming allure you offered. 

When the next morning came, Aemond was implored with the rest of his siblings to break their fast with yours. Your mothers forcing a bond between their children. Aemond expected his brother Aegon to complain and not abide by their mother’s wishes which is why he was caught off guard as his brother agreed, him being the first one to go to the gardens. “Your Highnesses,” Aemond heard your brothers greet in unison as you four stood and curtsied and bowed before the three of them. 

Aemond first assisted his sister to a chair before finding one for himself, and by fate, the only seat left was the one next to yours. Aemond sat quietly and tried to finish his meal as fast as he could without appearing crude. He listened in to the chatter across the table, surprised that you and his sister struck up a conversation as well. Aemond listened intently to your voice, trying to see if the volume of your speech was forced to lower or if that was just actually the way you spoke, soft— calming. 

He did not pay mind to the subject you and his sister discussed, but he supposed he should have as he suddenly heard quiet laughs emitting from the both of you. Aemond felt an odd warming in his chest as he heard you laugh; it was almost… surreal to hear it. Your laugh was what he imagined nymphs’ laughs would sound like as he read about them in his books. He was in a trance; it was… out worldly that even he, the well-spoken and silver-tongued prince of the realm, was speechless on how to describe it. 

He was proven wholly wrong as he based your manners to be alike your cousin. You were a stark difference from the lady Eliza, and a part of Aemond had hoped you were like her because then, he could justify the prejudice against you that settled and bloomed in his heart. Now, he must come to terms with shedding his cruel perception of you and might actually make an effort to know his betrothed better. Aemond stayed in the gardens that morning a while longer than he had anticipated, trying to deduce your character as you spoke with his sister and interacted with your brothers. A part of him still believes that what you presented was an act, that you were not as demure and chaste as you lead them to believe. But as he saw your small smiles, timid eyes, and flushed cheeks when Aegon would speak of such inappropriate topics, he started to feel as if you were being genuine. 

As the sun began to descend higher into the skies, the children of the queen and her friend decided to depart from the gardens, the heat proving to be too great for comfort. “My lady, would you perhaps like a tour of the keep?” Aemond boldly but quietly asked, he felt the eyes of your brothers turn to him, but he was trying to capture your gaze. A gaze that he had trouble locking upon his, your eyes always darting around the room, difficulty in holding prolonged eye contact. “I would very much like that, my prince,” You smiled, and Aemond stood straighter, feeling his knees give out under him just because of your smile. 

Your brother’s eyes followed you as you and the prince detached yourselves from the group. “Should we not follow them?” Edmund questioned, “Are they allowed to go about without an escort?” Edgar then asked, their queries pointed towards their eldest brother. “I— I do not know… perhaps we should just let them get to know each other, and if sister has any concerns, that is when we shall intervene.” Edward decided, his eyes following your departing figure that was next to a silver prince. 

Aemond was not entirely certain as to how he would go about touring you along the Red Keep; the castle was dreary and had nothing of note to look upon, so he took you to the gallery. It was a less frequented room in the castle filled with portraits of his family’s history as well as some of Westeros. You and Aemond stood before a portrait of the conqueror and his wives, him retelling the histories that you already knew of, but you still listened intently because there was just something in his voice that entranced you. It was deep, velvety, and quiet— holding a sense of calm that enveloped you with every word he uttered. 

Aemond guided you towards another portrait, but he noticed your gaze had shifted to the side of the room, your gentle gaze upon a harp. “Do you play, my prince?” You questioned, unable to resist the instrument that sat lonesome to the side, dusted and neglected. Aemond followed you, “No, I do not,” he answered, his eye going to your fingers, which seemed to itch to touch the strings of the unused harp. “Do you?” He asked, already guessing the answer. Aemond held his breath as your eyes finally locked with his, “I do,” you said, voice holding a pitch of excitement about the subject. There was a beat of silence, neither of you knowing what to do or say. 

“Would you like to play it?” Aemond questioned and he felt his stomach grow warm as a smile appeared on your lips when you nodded. You ventured closer to the dusted seat, but Aemond was quicker to reach it and wipe away the remnants of lapsed time. “Thank you,” You say quietly as the prince stands by your side and observes you play. 

Aemond was never one to enjoy music or songs, but he must admit, there was something captivating about how you played the harp. The tune you played was one he had not heard before, something bright and lively yet still soothing. Aemond stood in quiet awe, watching as your fingers danced along the strings and how your eyes closed, and there was a tranquil smile on your lips as you played the tune. Aemond tried to resist it, but he could not help but help himself as a smile twitched on his lips as he listened to your melody, which, unfortunately, quickly came to a halt. 

“It’s not finished yet,” You say in slight embarrassment, daring to turn to the prince, who you were surprised to see have a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You wrote that?” He questioned, and you nodded, “Well, I try. I don’t think I'm quite good at it, if I am being honest— but my father did say that this piece holds the most promise.” You say sheepishly. “I quite enjoyed it,” Aemond admitted, and that compliment made your heart grow warm. “I’m glad,” You smiled, and another silence took the room, the silence you and he found comfort in. 

With each day spent trying to acquaint with one another, you would like to beleive you and Aemond had reached a deeper understanding. Each of your perceptions made of each other before your meeting shed as you and him began to know each other’s actuality.

There was a secret language between you, a silent one, at that. An agreement that neither of you had to fill up the gaps and lags in your conversations, simply enjoying the quiet, not forcing another topic as a filler. Others around you found it odd that you and your betrothed just walked and sat in silence, occasionally speaking of something that only you and he were privy to, but you and Aemond quite liked your arrangements. 

“They just sit there in silence,” The queen fretted to her friends, finding the design of your accord quite odd. Fretting that the silence was brought by indifference rather than just a mutual and deeper understanding, because how could one get to know the other in silence? “Aye, they do, but they don’t seem… bothered or disinterested by it— I dare say they are fond of it,” Your mother said as the two observed you and Aemond, who walked along the gardens in silence, relishing in the sounds of nature. 

“My uncle shall arrive today,” Aemond broke the silence, assisting you to a seat for the two of you to have refreshments, “Oh, Prince Daemon?” You asked, wanting to make certain of who he spoke of. Aemond gave a nod and watched as your delicate fingers poured him a cup of tea. “Are you close with him, my prince?” You wondered. “No, not at all. I’ve only met him once,” He answered as he placed two cubes of sugar upon your cup, noting that is how you took your tea. 

“However, I must admit that I am intrigued by him.” You nodded, “I always hear talk in this court as to how the lords and ladies compared me to him in his youth,” Aemond confessed, “And does that please you?” Aemond thought about your question for a moment, staring into your gaze that has grown accustomed to looking upon his. “No,” he answered, watching as you nodded. “I would understand; it wouldn’t fare well if we are always compared to another’s likeness,” You mused before you and the prince were enveloped in the inevitable silence once more. 

When supper was nearing, Aemond felt excitement in seeing you once more. He had come far from the prince who dreaded your company; now, he sought it—altering his usual routine in order to spend more time with you. 

Aemond was the last one to enter the dining hall, his eye searching your frame, feeling a smirk twitch on his lips, but it quickly disappeared as he realized his uncle had taken his place. “Prince Daemon, we have saved you a seat next to the king,” Alicent spoke as she noticed Aemond’s arrival, noting how Prince Daemon was quick to spot you when he entered the hall and made a beeline towards you— chatting with you who had no interest in small talk but still participated out of respect.

“I am quite comfortable here, next to Lady Tyrell,” Daemon refused the seat, only settling further into his chair as he turned to the girl next to him, but her gaze was turned to one of his nephews, the one who had a resemblance of him in his youth. You hear the quiet yet disapproving hum of your betrothed as he orders a squire to place a chair by your right, just enough space for him to sit next to you. The new place on your right offered closer proximity between you and Aemond as you had scooted away from his uncle, but he did not like that you were on the side of a damaged eye, unable to see your outline. 

Supper was tenser than the ones shared before; the chatter had died, and the table was enveloped in silence, but not the kind you and Aemond found comfort in. It was the silence that everyone feared and tried earnestly to alter, but no matter the attempts, it seemed futile. 

Aemond clenched his fists around his utensils, hearing as his uncle tried to chat you up and you entertaining his queries. “So, what brings you and your family here, Lady Tyrell? Highgarden is quite a journey.” Daemon questioned. “They came for my betrothed and I to be acquainted,” Aemond suddenly interjected, turning his body to face you and his uncle, who he had noticed threaded closer to your side. Daemon hummed, quick to sense jealousy from his nephew. He knew he should be somewhat mature, but his mind could not help but conjure up possibilities to torment his brother’s second son. “Hm, you are quite fortunate to have such a lovely betrothed; it would seem the crown has favored you… I remember my first wife, Lady Royce, the bronze bitch whose sheep seemed to prove more comely than her,”

Your eyes widened at the elder prince’s words, disparaging his first wife so openly and offensively. “If my brother had provided me with a bride whose beauty was comparable to Lady Tyrell’s, perhaps there would be no need for me to leave my first wife… you are lucky, nephew,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he noticed Daemon’s eyes trail downward to your bosom that heaved ever so lightly as you were rendered uncomfortable by their topic.

You turned to your brothers, a plea in your eyes to save you from the princes you sat in between. Edward was quick to stand, “Come, sister, I shall escort you to your chambers,” He announced, and you let out a breath, Aemond standing as well to make way for you to exit, “Good night, my lady,” He bowed and boldly took your hand placed a kiss on your knuckles. A blush over, taking your cheeks as you curtsied before him, your mothers thrilled as they saw affection blooming between the two of you. 

“You looked quite uncomfortable,” Your eldest brother noted. “Is your betrothed proving to be ungallant? Must we intervene now and convince mo—“ You quickly shook our head, “No! Prince Aemond has been quite… lovely; cousin Eliza was somewhat wrong in her judgment,” You say quickly in defense of Aemond, who you had grown to deeply like the past few days. “I was just not prepared to meet a character such as the Prince Daemon,” You added, and your brother nodded in understanding; he, too, was scandalized as he heard the words uttered by the elderly prince. 

“So, you have grown to be quite… fond of your betrothed,” You bit your lip as you hear a teasing tone in his voice. You sighed and felt a smile coming to your lips. Whatever fear you had for the marriage subsided with every silent and serene moment with Aemond. “I have.” You confirmed, and your brother nodded. Placing a kiss on your temple before you enter your chambers and get ready for the night.

It has been three days since Prince Daemon’s arrival, and Aemond has been growing peeved at how his uncle would always trail you. Aemond’s new routine of spending the quiet hours of his days with you that was quick to feel like second nature, abrupted by the arrival of his uncle. There were now only scarce moments where you and Aemond were left in each other’s company and quiet, his uncle always trying to speak with you, and you could not deny him conversation, for it would be impertinent. 

It was past high noon when Aemond concluded his training with Ser Criston, his feet hastily carrying him away from the tiltyard to find you, who had frequented the gallery to play the old harp that found new life from your touch. He stood by the threshold and was quick to grow annoyed as he noticed his uncle was in your presence once more. 

“You do not speak much, do you?” He heard Daemon question, your fingers ceasing to play the instrument. “I take it upon myself to not speak unless spoken to, my prince. I do not wish to bother anyone. I know how… annoying it can be when one just simply wishes for peace and quiet, but there is an insistent noise you must attend to.” You say, and Aemond was quite surprised as he heard a slight in your comment, but his uncle did not seem to catch it. 

Aemond observed as you returned to play the harp, the melody easing whatever tension he harbored, but it was quick to return as his uncle wandered closer to you. Aemond stood rigid by the door; your back was face to him and he saw his uncle turn his head towards the door, a smirk on his lips as he stepped further into your space. Daring to take a lock of your hair in his fingers, twirling the lock. 

You tensed in your seat as you felt Prince Daemon’s finger twirl your hair. You looked at the strings of the harp wide-eyed, uncertain of what to do. 

When Aemond noticed your unmoving frame that did nothing to hinder his uncle’s actions, he removed himself from the door frame and marched back to his chambers. Whatever understanding made between the two of the past days was quickly forgotten as his cruel perceptions of your nature, he mustered before meeting you returned. 

You sat tensely at dinner that night once more, waiting for the presence of your betrothed to somewhat comfort as his uncle sat next to you again. When Aemond entered the hall, you placed your hopeful gaze upon him, but he did not turn to you, ignoring the empty seat next to you and instead to a seat in what was supposed to be the place of his uncle. 

Throughout dinner, you would peek a look at Aemond, who refused to meet your gaze. There was a prominent scowl on his face, and his demeanor held an air of indifference that strayed dangerously close to animosity. You started to wonder if the Aemond you stared upon right now was the Prince your cousin had warned you about. And perhaps the past few days spent with him was an act, a fictitiousness in him to appease his mother so the marriage would proceed. You were disheartened by the thought. 

When the following morning came, Aemond’s eye followed as you roamed the halls alone, following behind you but not close enough for you to notice your presence. You led him back to the gallery, where both of you were caught in surprise when his uncle stood in the room, waiting for you. Aemond clenched his fists, believing he was a witness in your clandestine meetings. The scandal of it! Here you are, an engaged woman meeting with a man who was old enough to be your father and was married to the King’s chosen heir!

“My prince,” you curtsied as you spotted him near the harp, having the urge to turn back around and exit the room. Uncomfortable to be alone in the Rogue Prince’s presence. “All alone? Where is your betrothed?” Daemon mused, stepping closer to you. “I— I do not know,” You said and backed away from the prince who was threading closer to your space once more. “Hm, it’s quite foolish of him to leave his lovely bride to be all alone… especially in this keep where danger always lurks,” Your lips parted at his words. Was that a threat? You thought. 

You swallowed thickly and turned to the door, wanting to make an escape but not one so obvious that it would make suspicion rise. Daemon smirked as he saw fear in your eyes; it was so easy. You were such an innocent and sheltered thing. He could smell you from leagues away, a lovely and tempting prey that a dragon could never resist. It was a shame that you were betrothed to his nephew, but perhaps that could still change. 

You gasped as you felt Prince Daemon flush your bodies; you stared at him wide-eyed as he took hold of your cheek. 

Aemond watched the scene; rage within burned bright and carelessly. He wanted to put a stop to whatever he witnessed, but he stood in wait, wanting to find evidence if this was truly how you were— promiscuous and would settle to be a whore of his uncle.

“My prince, wh—“ You panicked, trying to back away, but he held you still. “Such a pretty young thing you are… a shame that you’ll be wasted on my disfigured nephew,” You drew out all of your might and pushed away Prince Daemon, him stumbling only a few paces. You see a sinister smirk rise to his lips as he tries to close the gap between you once more, but you are quick to strike his cheek, rendering him in shock, and you take that opportunity to run out of the room and into safety. 

Aemond was hidden behind a pillar, and as you passed, he saw clearly the distress on your face and how you were on the verge of tears, rendering him guilty for not coming to your aid as he had thought you were in want of his uncle. 

Aemond saw as Daemon furiously marched out of the gallery in pursuit of you, but he was quick to step away from his hiding and face his uncle. “You dare try to sully her? Was my half-sister and your whores not enough? Must, in your old age, still prey on young innocent girls?” Aemond spat, ready to challenge his uncle in your honor. Daemon chuckled as the young prince stared at him wide-eyed. “You get ahead of yourself— they might compare you to me in my youth, but you are completely lacking of what it means to be a true Targaryen prince… you’d have to thank your cunt of a mother for that.” Daemon chuckled, and Aemond no longer hesitated to draw out his sword. 

A battle between nephew and uncle commenced in the halls; both men wielded their weapons with such authority that neither one could draw blood. Daemon was somewhat impressed by his nephew. He thought the talk he heard of Aemond was just propaganda spread by his grandsire, but it would seem that his nephew knew his way with the steel. That, however, did not deter the prince, for Aemond was still completely inexperienced when compared to him. 

One of the princes was near drawing blood when a band of Kingsguards appeared in the halls and were quick to separate the dueling princes. Daemon laughed as he was held back by the knights, his nephew still seething across from him, still ready to attack. The elderly prince brushed off the hold on his arms and laughed once more before walking away from his nephew, leaving their state as it was. 

Aemond brushed off the guards and hastily marched in search of you, wanting to make certain you were well— wanting to offer his apologies for his judgments and lack of protection over you. 

He knocked on your door, waiting on bated breath as he heard you shuffling inside. When you slowly revealed yourself, Aemond felt his stomach pit at the sight of your teary eyes that you tried to hide. “I’m sorry,” He was quick to breathe out, unable to stomach you in such a state of distress. Your brows knit together at his words, “What? My pri—“ Aemond shook his head and forced himself into your chambers. 

“I’m so sorry, my lady… I—“ Aemond repeated but you still had no clue as to what he refers to. “My uncle, he is a depraved man; I should have protected you from him.” He explained as he saw confusion in your face. Your eyes widened at his statement, “You saw us?” You asked in fear that he would think you were tarnished. “I have, and I… I should have come to your aid, but instead, my mind cruelly thought you were in want of him; I apologize, my lady.” It felt foreign for Aemond to apologize, but it seemed to roll off his tongue effortlessly for you. He would never have fathom to encounter someone or the day that he would apologize earnestly, ready to beg for forgiveness. 

“No… my prince, you need not apologize; it was not your doing,” you said, but Prince Aemond stubbornly shook his head. “It is my duty to protect you— to defend my lady wife.” You bit your tongue as he referred to you with such a title. It felt surreal… and you must admit it brought a stir in you that you quite liked. 

You and Aemond were in silence once more, the silence both of you had gotten used to, the silence within each other that you both craved. The serene silence that could only be provided by each other. “Will you still… still have me? Even after my transgression?” Aemond dared ask, not wanting to live in the hope that there would still be a way that you would be his. Surely, you would be deterred to take him as your husband, for he could not even defend you with such a threat. Aemond studied your face, his knees growing weak as a smile spread across your lips. “I still want you, my prince,” You admitted, heat blooming in your cheeks as you said the words. Aemond could not help but cup your cheek, wanting to feel the warmth of them as they flushed with color before him. 

“I must admit… I was dreading to meet you,” He said quietly, and he felt you nod. “I, as well… I was greatly warned that we might not see eye to eye.” You admitted. Aemond hummed and brushed his thumb across your soft skin, your bodies threading closer and closer. “I do not believe I would ever want someone as much as I want you,” Aemond confessed, his voice so low that if you had not felt his breath fanning your skin, you would think you had imagined his words. “I never thought anyone would understand me in the way that you do, my prince,” You breathed out as his face threaded closer to yours, his eye on your lips as you spoke. 

“You’re mine… say it, my darling.” Your eyes fluttered closed at his words. “I’m all yours,” Quickly after you uttered the words, you feel his lips upon yours. A kiss filled with longing— impatience. A kiss that was long overdue, for how could either of you live for years without knowing each other? How could Aemond try to ignore your existence, and how could you try to deny this marriage? It was set the day you were born. You two were simply destined for one another. 

As your lips parted, you smiled before your soon-to-be-husband. Aemond hummed in contentment and tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, inhaling your intoxicating scent deeply. “Shall we tell our mothers that they shall prepare for our wedding, then?” Aemond smiled, and you let out a quiet laugh as you nodded, letting him hold you. “And urge them to make haste,” Aemond’s eye twinkled with amusement as he dipped down to capture your lips once more. 

A fortnight had barely passed before you and Aemond uttered your vows before the gods—an intimate wedding commenced, as you both requested. And it was followed by a family dinner after. Aemond was impatient, as were you, but you and he waited for the meal to end; for the past days, there was a need greatly bubbling inside him, having trouble finding restrtaint and contentment with just stolen kisses and touches. 

When it was finally night, Aemond led you to his chambers, you already flushing in anticipation of what was to come. When he led you to your shared chambers, you were met by something covered in a white cloth. You frowned and turned to your husband, who simply smiled and closed the door behind you. “It’s a gift for you.” He said and stood before it. You stepped closer as he urged you to uncover what he had given, though you already had a sneaking feeling as to what it was. 

Aemond watched with his heart in his eye as you beamed before him as you uncovered what he had given— a harp. Newer and grander than the one in the gallery, the body was plated with gold, and delicate carvings of flowers scattered its body. You bit your lip and step towards your husband, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips agaisnt his. “Thank you… I love it,” you said gratefully as your lips parted. Aemond simply hummed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were to exchange gifts… I could’ve gotten something,” You then say, fretting he would take offense. 

Aemond shook his head. “You already have given me your hand; you are my wife. What more could I want?” Those words uttered, and the certainty in Aemond only made you melt further. He intertwined your lips once more, but the kiss shared held something wholly different from the ones shared before; it was urgent, filled with longing and desires that were greatly suppressed. 

You feel breathless, but at the same time, you make no move to part your lips. You feel him lead you to the feathered bed, his hands on your waist as he sits you gently upon the cushion. You blushed as you felt his fingers hover at the bodice of your dress, itching to undo the laces, but there was trepidation in him. You bit the insides of your cheeks and took the initiative to do it yourself. Aemond sucked in a deep breath as your dress fell before him, revealing yourself only dressed in your shift. 

Aemond fell on his knees before you, moving his hand to cup your cheek and the other to undress you further. He heard a moan escape your lips as he nipped your bottom lip. His cold hand cupped your breast that pebbled before his touch. You mewled his name as he parted your lips, your hands finding the buttons of his leather tunic. 

You ran your hands through his smooth, chiseled chest and Aemond felt chills running down his spine at the feel of your hands on his skin. You let out a breath as you feel your husband lay you down, his weight atop you, his weeping length aligned with your glistening entrance. You sighed as you felt his finger tease your folds, Aemond resting his forehead up your shoulder as he felt your arousal. “You’re all mine, my darling,” Aemond breathed out against your lips and swallowed your whines as his length penetrated you.

Aemond groaned at the sheer feel of you clenching around him. Pleasure and guilt swirled within him as he saw your face contorted in pain, kissing away your tears as you acclimatized yourself with his length. He truly thought himself indifferent in the ways of pleasure, only succumbing to it occasionally when even he could not suffice his lust— but now, he was certain he knew what the fuss was all about when it came to fucking. He had only a taste of you, but he was certain he was addicted. It took a moment before your whines of pain turned into whimpers of pleasure, your husband breathing heavily as you urged him to speed up his pace, but Aemond was conscious not to break and hurt you further. 

“Aemond, please… I wa— need more,” You breathed as Aemond’s thrusts were cautious. He bit his lip and sped up his pace ever so lightly, but that was not enough for you. With your legs circling his waist, you shifted your weight and placed yourself atop your husband. Aemond was rendered stunned by your actions, only watching in awe as you bounced upon his cock whilst you straddled his waist. He never thought you’d have it in you, but he supposed it was always the quiet ones who would be capable of the unexpected. 

“You were so quiet the days before, little wife… but look at you now— your moans could be heard throughout the castle.” Aemond hummed, and his hands found home on your waist, assisting you as you writhed against his length. Your hands were planted on his chest as your hips worked against his in search of friction. “Husband, please,” you pleaded, knowing you would not come to what you searched for without his assistance. Aemond smirked and moved his hands to cup your behind and lifted his hips to thrust deeper and harsher into you. 

“Yes… yes, gods, Aemond!” You cried as you heard him groan at how you scratched his chest, leaving imprints of your hands upon his skin. “Are you to come, my darling? Is my little wife to come at my cock?” He hissed as he felt his own release coming. His hands traveled your frame, cupping your tits and moving his head to take one into the cavern of his mouth. You nodded, your head that was tilted to the heavens, your back arched, and your husband’s name slipping your lips as you came undone. You hear him call out your name as he spills his seed deep in your cunt, your heavy breathings mixed as you collapse atop him, his lips finding yours once more. 

“You truly are made for me,” he whispered against your lips. Feeling a surge of new and overwhelming emotions that you could not yet utter, all you could do was kiss his lips once more and bask in the presence of the man who had been bound to you the moment you were born. 

[smirkingdovelove]

The Dark Rose 🥀

This sweet flower was not the meek and obedient type. Betrothed to the younger dragon since a young age, she intends to make the best of the match.For dragons may be fire and blood but she is no wilting flower.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

[therogueflame]

Raised to Obey

omg hi guys!!

happy easter! this piece is based off this request from my dear friend, @uncoveredsun. she's an aemond girly through and through so ofc i had to make this one extra nasty. love you bye.

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Summary: You return to the court that shaped you, only to find the boy you once commanded grown into something dangerous. He follows you still, but not like he used to.

WC: 7.9k

Warnings: 18+, targcest, power imbalance, dubcon, (light) violcence, degradation, smut, oral (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, a little bit of brat!Aemond

Aemond Targaryen x OlderSister!Reader

MDNI!!!

They say nothing in the letter, but you know what it means.

The seal is plain. The wording neutral. Your presence is requested at the Red Keep, and your escort will arrive within the fortnight. There is no mention of the annulment. No word of House Tyrell or Ser Lyonel’s failure to bed his bride after seven long, silent years of marriage. No accusations. No apologies. Only a summons. Clean and simple and final.

The carriage ride feels longer than the voyage that first took you to Highgarden, but this time there is no veil, no lavender perfume, no bridal nerves tucked into your gloves. You wear your riding leathers beneath a heavy velvet cloak, the color too rich for a woman with no husband and no name. Your hands are bare. Your hair unadorned. Your mouth still set in that same quiet line, the one you learned to hold when the Reach looked at you like a storm they couldn’t contain.

The Red Keep has not changed since you left it. It rises above the city like a red god, towering and unyielding, its shadow spreading from the spiked towers to the streets below. The stones still glisten like blood when the sun hits them, casting an amber glow before dusk. The air still smells of oil and fire, a familiar tang of smoke and iron and promises burnt to ash. The guards still stiffen when you pass, their eyes bright with curiosity, unsure whether they should bow or look away and pretend they’ve not seen you. You catch your reflection in a shield as you walk through the gate, beneath the portcullis where you last saw the glint of sunlight on Aemond’s hair. You look like someone they thought was gone. A hush spreads in your wake, rippling through the corridors, a sweet echo of scandal that follows you like a shadow. Maids pause with linens half-folded. Courtiers shift and whisper as you pass, their conversations frozen. Your mother’s ladies offer faint, artificial smiles, the tilt of their heads betraying their impatience to be the first to tell her. You can hear the murmur before it reaches your ears. She’s back. She’s failed. She’s still childless. She was too proud, they say. Too cold. They say it in whispers, in glances, in silence that is more damning than words. They say the same things in King’s Landing that they said in Highgarden. Like a song passed from one musician to the next, they keep playing the same refrain. You recognize it all.

They know the match was political, a symbol more than a promise, a show of good faith as useless as a gilded parchment. That your wedding was a masterpiece of civility and nothing more. That Ser Lyonel Tyrell—gentle, golden, delicate—never once reached for you in the dark. That the garden never bloomed. That the Tyrells petitioned for annulment with grace and urgency, their letters riddled with concern for your soul. No heir. No bedding. No shame, only regret, tendered with the precision of an accountant’s ledger or a merchant’s bill of sale. And underneath it all, the unspoken truth: you were never meant to be someone’s wife. You were meant to be their burden. Their lesson. Their problem to solve.

When you left King’s Landing, you were Alicent’s daughter. Now you are something less and something more. The one who failed. The one who came back. The one who belongs nowhere except where others don’t want her.

You enter the throne room alone. No handmaid, no brother at your side, no welcoming line of lords eager to claim your favor. You walk with your spine straight, your chin lifted, each step purposeful. You expect to be ignored. Perhaps tolerated. Perhaps pitied.

You are not prepared for Aemond. Not for the way he commands the room like a lord, like a dragon, like something both regal and dangerous. The years have sculpted him into a stranger, one who stands just below the dais and a little apart from the others, his body angled toward the Iron Throne as if it belongs to him. His eye catches yours the moment you appear. You feel it—a burning and intrusive stare, hot and direct and deeply unfamiliar, as if he’s picking you apart, inspecting each piece polished or flawed. He is taller, much taller, than you remember. His shoulders broader, his stance lethal and still. The sapphire gleams cold and pitiless where his eye once was, a bright gem that seems to see everything, to miss nothing. His jaw is sharp now. His mouth cruel and knowing.

He wears the black of the court like armor, as if the velvet and silk could shield him from insurgents and assassins, and the longsword at his hip is heavy, solid, not for show. He watches you like a man appraising a threat, ready to draw blood, and when his lips curl, it is not in welcome.

You pause at the edge of the hall, and the years pause with you. Your gloves remain on. Your expression does not falter. But something inside you stills, freezes, like a river in winter.

Aemond doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t acknowledge you before others can see. He lets the others gather near, shields himself with their presence. Lord Beesbury greets you with a thin, perfunctory smile, obscured by his drooping white mustache. Ser Harrold offers a nod, polite and stiff as his back. The queen smiles and, with effort, makes it convincing. No one mentions the annulment. Not yet. Not in front of Aemond, who watches it all with quiet, simmering amusement.

Then, slowly, with intention and certainty, Aemond steps forward.

He does not bow. He does not smile. “Lady Maidenflower,” he says, just soft enough that only you hear it, enough that it stings.

You turn your head just slightly, exactly enough to make him feel the weight of your reply. “Still clever, I see.”

His eye sweeps over you like a blade. He is not hiding the weight of it, the roughness of the cut. “You returned untouched, then. I’d wondered.”

“Lyonel Tyrell was a poet,” you reply, because you have sharpened your own edges. “Not a fool.”

“Poets rarely have the stomach for conquest.”

You meet his gaze without blinking, without flinching, though your heart still remembers how to race. “And you’ve always had too much of it.”

“I was twelve when you left.”

You tilt your head, and the movement is easy, graceful, scornful. “You still are, most days.”

That earns you a smirk, slow and deliberate, a lord’s smirk. A dragon’s. “Not anymore.”

He takes a single step closer. You don’t move. You let him come.

The pause between you stretches, heavy and hot and alive with unspoken challenges and renegotiated terms. His eye dips to your mouth, and it is not quickly, not politely, not as a brother should. When it rises again, it lingers.

You turn before he can speak again, before he can make you doubt or remember. You offer him no parting glance, no farewell. But you feel it as you walk away—his stare on your back, weighty and hungry. Not a boy’s gaze. Not a brother’s.

Let him look. Let them all.

You did not come back for their sympathy or to stand around, shrinking, while they trample your pride. The thought of wilted and drooping pity is almost amusing, withered and limp like Highgarden’s banner when the wind dies, and you refuse to let it gather at your feet like a folder of discarded marriage contracts. You returned because the summons meant something. Because they wanted you here. Because the annulment meant nothing. Because they are beginning to remember who you are and what you are worth. The realm has no place for a woman like you—a woman with no husband and no duty and no shame to parade—except when it needs one. You are still a dragon’s daughter, flames running molten where other women leave room for fear, and it seems they’re starting to recall the heat of their own blood. They thought a marriage would change you. That the Reach would wear you smooth and pliable. That seven years of silence would make you weak, complacent, eager to return with their leash around your neck. They were fools. You have not softened. You have stripped away everything unnecessary. You have become what you always should have been: scaled, certain, and dangerous. Aemond would be a fool, too, if he still believes he knows the girl who left. If he thinks the same breathless, reckless fool of a girl stands before him, he is welcome to try and find her, to search and search and find nothing at all. He will not.

It’s a few days before you see him again. Long enough that the ache dulls, the whispers shift, the court forgets to look twice. You don’t. You feel him in every corridor. His stare in the back of your skull. The words he didn’t say sitting heavier than the ones he did. You don’t seek him out. Not really. But when the sound of clashing steel drifts through the windows one morning, sharp and furious, your feet carry you there before you can stop them.

The yard is already thick with the sound of clashing steel and barked commands by the time you arrive, drawn not by curiosity but by the unmistakable pitch of Aemond’s voice, rising above the rest. You round the corner and find him standing over a boy barely older than twelve, sword in hand, patience worn thin. The boy is sweating and panting, bleeding lightly from the lip. Aemond says something low enough you can’t catch, but the tone carries and your stomach knots.

"Enough."

Aemond doesn't turn right away. The boy does, blinking at you like he's been thrown a lifeline, desperate and unsure. You step down into the yard without pausing, hands still gloved, shoulders squared, a defiance in each step. You know Aemond sees you, but he remains fixed over the boy, as if your presence is a small interruption. As if you are the one who should wait. As if waiting for the exact moment when his controlled apathy strikes deepest. He finally shifts, looking over his shoulder with slow, deliberate disinterest.

"You are not his commander," you say, your voice sharp and unyielding.

"I am his prince."

You take another step. "And you're still picking fights with boys too small to fight back."

That gets his attention. His eye catches yours and holds. The cut is deep, unrelenting, meant to wound. A quiet breath passes through the onlookers. No one moves. The boy backs away quickly, too smart to stay where the lightning is about to strike. Aemond sheathes his sword, but only halfway. His smirk is faint but not amused, a taunt that is both familiar and new.

"Would you like to teach him, then?"

You tilt your head. "I'd rather teach you."

His smile sharpens. "Then show me."

The court knows you well enough not to question it when you shrug off your cloak and take the spare sword from the rack. Your tunic is laced tight, boots steady, sleeves rolled. You are ready before they realize it, before you realize it yourself. You know the forms, the weight of the steel, the cadence of Aemond's skill. But you don't know the way the court watches now, not with surprise but with certainty, as if expecting exactly this. As if you haven't been gone seven years. Aemond stretches his neck as you step to the center. He doesn't offer the usual salutation. You don't bow.

When you strike, it's without warning. It feels right. Quick. Merciless. He parries fast, steel hissing, and the first clash draws a ripple from the men watching. You dance around him, light on your feet, quicker than he expects. It is a dance you thought you'd forgotten. The rhythm is familiar but off. He's faster now. Stronger. You are sharper. Angry. His blade grazes your shoulder. Yours slices along his side. He doesn't flinch. You don't, either. The heat builds quickly, sweat blooming beneath your collar. He presses harder, with more force, more insistence, more precision than the boy you thought you remembered. You give ground only to take it again. You used to beat him with speed, with patience, with quick, calculated precision. Now he meets you at every turn, matching blow for blow, circling like a predator who knows exactly where to bite.

How much he’s changed. How much he hasn’t.

How much you have.

When he finally gets you on your back, it's not clean. You stumble on loose gravel. He takes advantage, a fierce flicker of triumph in his eye. Your sword hits the dirt. Everything that’s happened since you left King’s Landing—the whispers, the annulment, the letters filled with false concern, the look on his face when you returned—everything that should have made this easy pinches sharp inside your lungs, more painful than his grip. His boot lands between your legs, arm braced against your throat. Not choking. Just holding.

Too close. An echo you can’t outrun.

You expect him to move. He doesn't.

His breathing is rough. So is yours. You can feel the sweat on his wrist, the heat of his body over yours. You look up. His hair is wild. His eye is burning.

"Still think I'm just a boy?"

You don't answer. His grip tightens just slightly. His fingers brush your jaw. He leans in, slow and sure, gaze locked to your mouth like it means something.

You shove him. Hard. He stumbles back, laughter spilling from his chest, not loud but knowing, as if you just gave him the answer he wanted. You roll to your feet before anyone can help you. Your chest is heaving, cheeks flushed, skin hot. You don't look at anyone else as you retrieve your sword and your pride.

"Lesson over?" he calls.

The pause stretches between you. You don’t let it hold. You shrug on your cloak with deliberate ease, the same ease you’ve cultivated since you returned. The hush follows you back into the keep. You feel his eyes like fingers pressing into your skin, a touch that lingers and burns and doesn’t fade when you reach the corridor.

It’s still there at supper. Fresh, insistent. No one else notices the bread you don’t eat, the soup that cools in your bowl, the wine you drink without tasting. You’re the only one who hears the hollow ring of his boot against your sword, echoing through the hall with every half-heard whisper. It doesn’t soften when your mother asks if you’re well, when the maids bring the third course, when the candles burn low. When your mother tells you it was wise to come home, you nod, polite and unconvincing. You take your leave, and the walls feel closer, the halls longer, the air colder.

You don’t think of him. You don’t think of the weight of his body, the feel of his fingers on your jaw. You’re only thinking of the cold when you tighten your laces, only thinking of the chill when you pace the length of your room. The scratch of the quill in the chamber next to yours is louder than you’d like, and the letters on your desk are too frantic and familiar to answer. You are not restless. You are thoughtful.

You think so hard you don’t realize you’ve left your chambers until you find yourself walking without thinking, past the solar, up the stairs, down the hall to the wing where he sleeps. You don't plan it. You don't knock.

You push the door open without a plan, breath quick and shallow from the unguarded walk. He’s there, not surprised, not even questioning your intrusion. Shirtless, lounging in a chair by the hearth, legs spread, as comfortable and confident as if he owned the place. He might as well. The heat of the fire licks the dampness from his hair. A goblet of wine sits comfortably in his hand; his sword rests close by, in easy reach. He looks up at you with an expression that feels both new and old, the same practiced disregard you once swore would never cut you again. Like he expected this. Like he’s been waiting. 

"Come to finish what we started?" 

Your throat tightens. Something in your chest does, too. The echo of it ricochets in your bones, and you shut the door with more force than you mean to. The sound is too loud, too final, but not enough to break the smile on his face. 

"You embarrassed me in the yard," you say. There's a catch in your voice you hope he doesn't hear. You step closer. He hums, not quite a laugh. Almost. 

"You embarrassed yourself." 

You bite back a retort. He watches you try, waiting for the hollow bite of it, waiting for something deeper. 

"You put your hand on me." The words taste more bitter than you expect, and he hears it. You know he does. He shrugs, the carelessness deliberate, and finishes the rest of the wine in a single, slow swallow. 

"You didn't tell me to stop."

Anger and something else lances through you, sharp and unmistakable. A flower blooming violent beneath your skin. "You're not a child anymore," you say. "Fine. But you are still beneath me." There's satisfaction in that. A small thrill. He sets the goblet down with a thin click, the faint trace of red staining the rim. His smile returns, slow and sharp, more a weapon than a jest. 

"Not where it counts."

You don't think, just move, a breathless reckless fool, too sure and too hurt to stop yourself. Your palm cracks across his face and his head turns with the force of it. The wine sloshes in his goblet when you strike him, but he does not drop it. He sets it down on the table carefully, eyes glittering with something you don’t recognize. He looks back at you with a hunger you've never seen before. A hunger that burns like dragon’s blood, searing and inscrutable. Not in him. Not from anyone. 

"Again," he says.

Your breath catches. There's no air in this room, this keep, this entire place. You stare at him. His smile flickers wider when you don't answer. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows. You step closer, and he rises from the chair as you do, caught on the same pull. The distance vanishes faster than you mean it to. Faster than you can stop. Fury frays and threads you together. The space between you disappears quick and final and damning.

"You think you've won something?"

He shrugs, every inch of his body unwound and lithe. "You came here."

"To remind you of your place."

"Remind me, then."

He moves too quickly. Or maybe you move too slow. His hands catch your waist and your spine hits the door hard enough to steal your breath. The night explodes in stars behind your eyes. He doesn't press. Doesn't hurt. Just holds you there with his body, chest against yours, breath hot on your cheek, the heat of him impossible to escape. You grab his wrist, digging in, nails biting soft skin. He holds the wince behind his teeth, gaze fixed on you like he'd die before looking away. 

"Let go of me."

The words are hard. 

"Lyonel never touched you, did he?"

Your hand tightens on his wrist, so hard it shakes. You slap him again, harder this time, and the crack of it splits in the air between you, a current setting stone to fracture. 

He laughs.

"Again," he says. 

You don't. But gods, you want to. You want to and you hate it and you hate him and you turn and leave before you remember how to breathe.

You leave him there with the taste of your own fury still on your tongue. Your hand aches. So does your chest. You don’t look back. You don’t sleep. Not really. You lie awake and stare at the ceiling, the canopy of your bed a cage you can’t escape, can’t untangle. His voice plays over and over in your mind. Lyonel never touched you, did he. The worst part is how softly he said it. Like a secret. Like a truth. Like he knew exactly where to cut, exactly where to let the worst of it bleed.

The candles burn low in your chambers. The chill nips at your windowpanes. You don’t feel it. You feel the ghost of Aemond’s fingers on your hips, his breath on your cheek, the tremor beneath his skin. Everything you thought you buried comes rushing back, rushing through you, rushing until it cleaves the air from your lungs. Why did you return? Why did you think you could stay away? You are not restless. You are not impatient. You are thoughtful, but that thought is wrapped around him like a noose. Like a bruise. Like a bright, sharp hope.

You came to win. You’ve already lost.

By morning, the bruises are already forming beneath the surface of your skin. The memory of Aemond's touch blooms purple and dark, echoes of his fingertips wrought in flesh. You wish the sensation of him would fade as fast. It doesn't. The court is louder now. You feel it in every corridor, every room, every shift in posture when you enter. It clings to you, an invisible murmur that grows teeth. No one says your name, but they don’t need to. You returned without a husband. Without a child. Without a claim worth anything except shame. You were sent to the Reach to secure the realm and came back with nothing but silence. So now they whisper.

She must have refused him.

She must have failed.

She must have been too difficult to want.

The echoes are just as loud as the words. Each clever jab works its way beneath your skin, seeds of doubt taking root and sprouting vines you can't cut through. Even your mother looks at you differently. Her voice is soft, but her eyes are measuring. The warmth she once kept for you has cooled into caution, as if your return might stain her skirts if you stand too close. Her questions come dressed as concern, but you know the shape of judgment. And the ladies at court, the ones who used to play cyvasse and braid your hair, now look through you like you’re made of smoke. They weave tales you can’t quite hear, tales that bleed from one mouth to another, tales whose edges are sharp and cutting.

They don’t ask, but their silence does. What did she do wrong? Was he kind? Did she cry? Did he ever touch her at all? Or did she come back just as she left, proud and unspoiled and completely alone?

You do not answer them. You do not give them the truth they seek, the truth that tugs too close to the center of you. You walk through the halls like nothing has changed, like you are still the same creature you were before. You are not. Aemond says nothing to you in court. He does not look your way unless others are watching, and even then, it is brief. Quick enough to pass as something else. But you can feel it. He lets the rumors curl around you like smoke, never once bothering to stop them. He could silence it. One word from him and the court would fall quiet. But he doesn't. He listens. He watches. He waits.

You find him in the yard again, a few days after the incident in his chambers. He's alone this time. No one dares train with him lately, not since the last sparring match left a knight concussed. He moves with that same quiet precision, that same lethal grace. The sun catches the sweat at his temple, his shirt already discarded and thrown to the side. Your skin prickles at the sight, at the memory of him even more unguarded, even more certain. You should leave. You don't.

You don’t know what you mean to say when you see him there, when you watch him move and remember the way he looked at you, the way he still looks at you. You don’t know what you mean to do when you feel the full weight of his indifference, of the stories he lets the court tell. But you are moving before you can talk yourself out of it. Before the bruises fade, before this second return becomes as hollow as the first. You are moving and it feels like a mistake, but you’ve already made that mistake before, already seen what comes of it. There's no going back. This time, you mean to win.

He sees you before you speak. Of course he does. He always does.

“You following me now?” he says without looking up.

“I could say the same.”

His blade drops slightly. “You never used to lurk.”

“You never used to be worth watching.”

He turns at that, slow and smooth. “Didn’t stop you before.”

You ignore the heat crawling up your neck. “I gave the orders. You followed them.”

“You think that’s still true?”

“You think it’s not?”

“You dragged me through the mud. Screamed at me in front of knights twice my size.”

“And you listened.”

He steps in close. “Try it now. See if I still do.”

Your breath catches. His voice drops, soft and deliberate.

“They say no man ever wanted you. That Tyrell barely looked at you. That you came back untouched because no one could stand the thought.”

You don’t answer. You don’t move.

He tilts his head, close enough to touch. “Is that why you hate me looking?”

“Because you’re not supposed to.”

He smiles, slow and awful. “I can’t stop.”

He steps closer, closing the gap with a slow, sure determination. You don’t move. You don’t even flinch. His face is inches from yours now, and everything about him pulls you in and splits you apart. You can smell the leather of his gloves, the salt on his skin, the faint scent of iron and heat. His hand lifts slowly. You feel the brush of his fingers at your jaw, soft, testing, like he’s taking measure of the space between breath and need and wanting. You could slap him again. You could turn and walk away. You don’t. Your breath is shallow. He watches your mouth. 

You step back. You leave. You don’t speak. You don’t run. You walk away with your back straight and your heart hammering in your ribs like it’s trying to claw out. 

That night, you dream of him. Of course you do. You dream of his mouth, the cut of his lips, the press of his body hot and unrelenting against yours. You dream of his hands, the rough drag of his fingers on your cheek, your skin, your throat. The way his voice dropped low, soft and deliberate. The way his voice dragged low when he said your name. You wake tangled in your sheets, flushed and furious and aching, and you cannot tell whether you want to kill him or keep him. 

It starts with silence. It starts with rooms you pretend not to linger in, corridors you just happen to walk through, doors you pass more slowly than you should. It starts with you lying to yourself—small, careful lies you don’t quite believe. You don’t mean to look for him. That’s what you tell yourself. You don’t mean to, not at first. Not at first, but you find him anyway. 

He’s in the yard. He’s in the hall. He’s at the table, two seats down, eating grapes one by one like they mean something. Every time you look up, he’s already watching. 

You tell yourself it’s nothing. That you are only keeping an eye on him. That someone has to. That it might as well be you. But the lie doesn’t last. Not when the heat flares again behind your ribs every time he speaks. Not when you walk past the training yard and stop to watch. Not when your name comes from his mouth and you have to swallow hard before answering.

You avoid him. Until you don’t.

You find him at the edge of the godswood, on a day when the sun beats down like a curse and the wind is too warm, your thoughts too loud and insistent. He’s leaning against the old heart tree like it belongs to him, as if it's only there to hold him, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His head is tilted up to the canopy, eyes closed, jaw sharp. He hears you long before you mean to speak. Even from a distance, you feel the weight of his awareness. As you move closer, he turns slowly, the light catching on the scar beneath his eye, the gleam of the sapphire where it settles. He watches you like he’s been waiting.

"You’ve been restless," he says. "I can tell."

"You don’t know anything about me."

He pushes off the tree and takes a step forward. "I know you come looking for me and pretend you don’t."

You set your jaw. "You think too highly of yourself."

"No," he says, a crooked grin on his lips, closer now. "I think exactly enough."

You take a step back. He follows.

"What do you want?" he asks, voice low.

You hate the question. You hate that he asks it like he knows you don’t have the answer.

"Nothing from you."

He circles you now, slow and deliberate. "You used to look at me like I was a boy. Now you look at me like I might bite."

"Maybe I think you should be put down."

He laughs, a soft huff that barely leaves his throat.

"Do you know what it did to me?" he says. "You left. Married some wilted flower. Let him look at you like a prize he’d never unwrap."

You flinch. He sees it.

"He didn’t even try, did he?"

You snap before you can stop yourself. "No. He didn’t. He was afraid. They all are."

The words hang between you like smoke, pulled from the center of you, unplanned and brutal. You breathe them in and try not to choke. Aemond steps closer. His voice goes quiet.

"I’m not."

You shake your head. You want to run. You don’t. He lifts his hand, not touching you yet, just hovering near your cheek.

"Say the word," he says, "and I’ll make you forget every man who ever disappointed you."

You slap him. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t recoil. He lets out a sound that freezes you in place. A moan. A real one. Low and ragged like it was dragged from his chest. When he turns back to you, there’s a flush high on his cheekbone. His lips are parted. His eye burns.

"I knew you liked it rough," he murmurs. "I remember how you used to throw me down."

You stare at him, breath caught halfway between a curse and a gasp. He leans in closer, slow, measured. You don’t move.

"You used to knock the wind out of me. You’d say I was too soft. That I’d never survive the yard unless I learned to take a hit."

"You never did learn."

"That’s not true," he says. "I learned to like it."

You shake your head again, but your fists stay at your sides. Your feet don’t move.

"You think this is a game."

"No," he says. "I think this is exactly what we’ve both been waiting for."

Your pulse roars in your ears. The godswood is quiet, but everything feels too loud. Too close. His breath brushes your cheek.

"Tell me to stop."

You leave him standing in the godswood, breath shallow, palms hot, the trees watching like they know what you almost said. You don’t speak. You don’t run. But you can’t quite breathe either. You walk back through the Keep like you’re sleepwalking, like you might burn through the floor if you stay still.

Night sinks in around you. The walls feel tighter. The fire in your chamber roars too hot. You pace. You pour wine you don’t drink. You open the window and shut it again. You think about sleeping. You think about forgetting. You think about how he looked at you when he said I’m not.

You tell yourself not to go. And then you do.

The hall outside his door is empty. The candlelight flickers low. The door isn’t fully shut. As if he left it waiting.

You don’t knock. You don’t speak. You step inside, and he’s already there. Shirtless, again. Hair damp. Leaning against the table like he hadn’t moved since the godswood. His eye finds yours and doesn’t flinch. You close the door behind you. You don’t lock it. He watches you cross the room without saying a word. He doesn’t ask why you’re here. He knows.

“I didn’t come for this,” you say.

He nods, slow. “Then say no.”

You don’t. He pushes off the table and walks toward you like he already knows how this ends. Like he’s dreamed it a hundred times and every version ends the same. He doesn’t reach for you. Not yet. He waits.

You’re the one who moves. Your hand fists in the collar of his shirt and drags him closer. Your mouth hovers near his, your breath unsteady, your body already too warm. You don’t kiss him. Not yet.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

“I know.”

And then you break. You kiss him like you’re furious. Like he’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel anything and you’d rather drown in it than say it out loud. His hands are everywhere. Yours are worse. There’s nothing careful about it. Nothing sweet. You don’t want sweet. You want to be ruined.

You want to ruin him back. The table knocks over. His back hits the wall. Your boots scatter across the floor. You don’t stop. You don’t think. You don’t ask. When he lifts you up and carries you to the bed, you let him. When he lays you down and looks at you like you’re the first real thing he’s ever wanted, you don’t speak.

He peels back your clothes with a precision that makes you ache, each layer a secret he's uncovering. Your shift falls away, and he stares at you like you're sacred. Like you're something he shouldn't touch but will anyway. His hands are rough, calloused from years of swordplay, but they move across your skin with a reverence that makes your breath catch. You don't want reverence. You want him to hurt. You want to hurt him back.

You flip him beneath you, straddling his hips, hands pinning his wrists above his head. His eye widens, pupils blown, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth. You lean down, hair falling around your face like a curtain, and bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste of copper fills your mouth. He moans, hips bucking up against yours.

"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. "To ruin me?"

His fingers dig into your hips, bruising and possessive. "I wanted to be the one who touched you first."

You laugh, bitter and sharp. "Not everything is yours to claim."

"No," he says, flipping you beneath him with a strength that makes your breath catch. His weight settles between your thighs, delicious and heavy. "But you are."

You should fight. You should push him away. But your body arches into his touch, craving the heat of him, the burn of his skin against yours. His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse, and you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. He hisses against your skin, the sound vibrating through your bones.

"Tell me to stop," he says again, but this time it's different. It's not a challenge. It's a plea. You can hear the need beneath it, raw and desperate. It would be so easy to tell him no. To walk away. To leave him as broken as you've been. Instead, you pull him closer.

"Don't stop," you whisper against his mouth. "Don't you dare stop."

He trails kisses of fire down your body, spreading your thighs open and bringing his face close to your core. His breath is hot, his mouth everything you expected and nothing like you imagined. You choke on a sound that might be a sob, that might be his name, that might be something you’ve never said to anyone. There is a feeling of novelty between your legs. You don’t know what to do with it, what to call it. You don’t know how to stop it. His tongue traces a path that makes you gasp, your body shuddering beneath him, and every scrape of his teeth sends a shock to places you forgot you had. He pins your hips with his hands. Holds you there until you think you might scream, might call him something you’ll regret. You writhe, helpless and hungry, his mouth pushing you toward something you can't recognize but can't resist. It's new and wild and terrifying. It's more than you were ready for. You feel it building beyond your control, burning through you, breaking you down, and he's relentless. You’ve never been this close to shattering. You’ve never wanted to.

When it crests, it's like wildfire—unstoppable, consuming, spreading through your limbs until you're arching off the bed, his name torn from your throat. He holds you through it, mouth still working, drinking in every tremor until you push him away, too sensitive to bear it.

He moves up your body like he's been waiting his entire life for this moment. He's like a predator, but one who is starving, respectful, already intoxicated by your essence. His mouth is slick, his eyes are wild, and his hair is tousled from your touch. When he kisses you, you taste yourself on his lips, and it sends a wave of heat through you. It makes you want to hide. It makes you want to be consumed.

He pulls back just enough to truly see you, and something raw and broken flickers across his face. You watch it shatter within him. You feel it cracking beneath your ribs.

His hands tremble as they explore your body. They're not hurried now, not greedy. Just desperately seeking. He wants to discover what makes you gasp, what makes you tremble, what makes you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your nails into his shoulders, calling his name like a curse.

Both of you are frantic, lost in something that has been building since the moment you returned. Since before that. Since before you left. Since forever.

When he finally sinks into you, the sound that tears from your throat is something between a sob and a moan. It hurts. Of course it hurts. But it's the kind of pain that feels like salvation, like something breaking open inside you that's been locked too long. He watches your face as he moves, drinking in every reaction, every gasp, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His pace is relentless, punishing, exactly what you need and nothing like you imagined.

"Look at me," he growls, and you do. You meet his gaze and don't look away, even when it feels too intimate, too raw. His eye burns into yours, the sapphire gleaming in the firelight like a second witness to your surrender. "Say my name."

You bite your lip, refusing at first. His hand slides between your bodies, finding the place where you're most sensitive, and your resolve crumbles.

"Aemond," you gasp, the syllables breaking on your tongue like a prayer. "Aemond," you breathe again, and again, like a confession you can't keep hidden anymore.

His rhythm stutters at the sound of it, his name on your lips like a spell he never thought you’d cast. It tears through him, wild and fierce and reckless, like it can’t be contained. His pulse surges with the rush of possession, with a pride that borders on madness. The moment is electric, charged, impossibly taut. He crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing every moan, every gasp, as if your voice alone could undo him, as if all your protests only fuel him further. The pace is dizzying, the edge razor-sharp, and you’re close, so close to something you've never let yourself feel before. Not like this. Not this blinding. Your body arches into him, desperate and unguarded, and you cry out, nails scoring down his back, leaving trails that scream of violence, of passion, of the pain you both need and the pleasure you can’t tell apart. He hisses at the sting, but the sound is nothing like surrender.

"You're mine," he growls, branding you with his words, his teeth grazing your throat, the promise lethal and soft and everything you’ve ever wanted to deny. "Say it."

You choke out the word, shaking your head as you do, still defiant even as your body says otherwise. Even as it betrays you, traitorous and unrelenting, your resistance splintering like ash before a torch. "No." It's barely a whisper, a last stand against the fire, but even you don’t believe it. You clench around him, pulling him deeper, binding him to you with every shuddering breath. He tightens his grip in your hair, and the pull arches your back, exposing your neck, your pulse, the truth you're trying to hide.

"Lie to me again," he says, his voice fractured with desire, the edges rough, unsteady. "And see what happens."

His eye is locked on yours, shining full of hunger and something else. Something that makes you want to give in just to see what it would do to him. You meet his gaze with a challenge, despite the tremor in your voice, despite the pleasure that is slowly unraveling you. "I am not yours."

His lips curl into a smile that is nothing but teeth and intent. He slows his movements with devastating precision, pulling out so slowly it feels like a loss, thrusting back in to make you pay for every lie, for every second you didn’t admit you were his. The impact shatters your defenses, touching something deep inside that makes you want to come apart. Makes you want to break just so he can put you back together.

"Liar," he breathes, but the word is tangled with awe, with worship, with disbelief that he ever let you go. His hands are brands on your skin, holding you in place as he moves, marking you with fingers as determined as his heart, as his claim, as his promise.

You’re losing. You’re lost. Your resolve crumbles, rushing out of you so quickly you feel dizzy with it. The pleasure winds tight, impossibly tight, spreading through your body faster than you can stop it, faster than you can pretend you don’t want it. You’re on the brink, teetering at the edge, and you can’t pull back. Can’t stop it. Can’t stop any of it.

"Say it," he demands, pushing you to the point of no return, his rhythm pushed to the breaking point as his control slips. As he starts to fall apart with you. "Tell me who you belong to."

You want to fight him. You want him to bleed the way you did. You want to be empty of him. You want him to lose the same way you did. You want to give him nothing. You want to watch him break. You want him to hurt the way you did. You want to give him everything. You want him to know it. You want to ruin him as he's ruined you. And suddenly, you are. The word leaves your throat like it’s tearing you apart, like it’s putting you back together. The admission is pain and salvation. The confession is agony and release. "You." The silence shatters. Your resolve shatters. Something wild and desperate between you shatters. You come undone with it, unable to hold anything back. Your voice, your control, the last of your resistance. "You," you whisper, the sound already gone. "You, Aemond."

It breaks something in both of you. He kisses you then, deep and consuming, and you fall apart beneath him, waves of pleasure wracking through you, your release a storm breaking against the shore. He follows you over the edge, his own release a fierce, primal claim, his body tensing above you, inside you, around you. The sound he makes is raw, unguarded, nothing like the prince who holds his emotions in check. His forehead presses against yours as he shudders, as he spills himself inside you, marking you in the most primitive way. You think he might have forgotten how to breathe, how to hold back, how to be a dragon and not a man. You think you might have forgotten the same.

It leaves you both unmoored, wild and vulnerable, unable to hold anything back. Every moment is a fracture, a split-second proof of his soul laid bare. Every tremor a piece of you given in ways you never thought you could. Never thought you would. The heat of him, the weight of him, it should feel like too much. It should feel like surrender. You should feel conquered, defeated. But for the first time, it feels like exactly what you’ve been wanting. Exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

It takes an eternity for the storm to pass, for the world to settle around you, but you hold fast through it, to him, to each other. You feel it long after the shakes subside, after your bodies run out of breath and fury and will. The truth of it so potent you can’t suppress it. Can’t deny it. Not even to save yourself. For a moment, neither of you move. His breath mingles with yours, ragged and spent. His weight is heavy, but you don't push him away. You can't. Your fingers trace the scars on his back, mapping the history of a boy who became a man you didn't recognize. Who became a man you couldn't resist.

When he finally rolls to the side, you feel the chill of the room rush back, reminding you of where you are. Who you are. What you've done. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, your body humming with remnants of pleasure and something heavier. You should leave. You should get up, gather your clothes, and slip away before the castle wakes. Before reality returns. Before the weight of this settles fully on your shoulders. Instead, you stay.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, following the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, like he's memorizing the map of you. Neither of you speak. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it's heavy with things unsaid. With questions neither of you are ready to answer.

"They’ll know," you whisper, voice ragged from crying out his name.

He doesn’t flinch. Just looks at you—calm, unreadable—as if the words mean nothing at all.

"And?"

You swallow. "You don’t understand what they’ll say."

"I do." His voice is flat, unbothered. "They’ll say what they always do. It changes nothing."

You push his hand away, sitting up fast. "I’m not yours to claim."

His eye flicks to you, sharp and steady. "I never said you were."

That catches you off guard—but before you can speak, he adds, quieter this time:

"You chose this. Just like I did."

[romanteacism]

A Butterfly and A Dragon’s Flight mood board Prince Aemond x Elinora Tyrell

Summary: They were polar opposites. She was light, and he was the darkness that followed. She had kindness exuding from her whole being, and he was cruelty personified. She was a butterfly, and he was her dragon— two beings that have nothing in common only because one had never encountered the other… not until Lady Elinora Tyrell met Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Warnings: Grumpy x Sunshine Trope, Forbbiden Romance, Posseivness, Jealousy, Bullying, Violence, Mature (18+)

Masterlist: Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8 ; Chapter 9 ; Chapter 10 ; Chapter 11

A/N: New story alert! This story has been in my drafts for a while, and I just had the sudden urge to share it, so... here we are! This story is more cannon-oriented and possibly darker (idk not sure) than the previous stories I've written, and I think it would have fewer chapters because I intend for it to be a novella, but even though it's shorter in chapters, it's quite lengthy when it comes to each upload. I hope you guys will like it!

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part one

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread part two: read here

word count: 4.9k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: hair color specified reader but it's paramount to the story. Dance of the Dragons AU, Balerion lives AU - kinda heavy introduction. political manipulation, i guess no Baela, Rhaena or Alys romantic interests, ALL characters are aged 18 or older, Muses aren't in this part much, stolen Olenna Tyrell quote(s), Dylan Thomas quote.

though Balerion is not shown in the shows [HOTD or GOT], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: this this one, but maybe this color

Considering the climate, environment, elements, and location of each region with no true diverse distinction or transition between seasons, summers varied in each corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Notably, the mainland experienced vastly different summers in comparison to the constantly humid Westerosi islands.

This was expected.

Where the weather endured in King’s Landing is dry and stale - lacking cloud coverage, baking all forms of life under the unforgiving sun - Dorne was ideal: temperate, tropical, the temperature usually consistently comfortable.

Northwest of the continent, off the Westerlands coast in water of Ironman's Bay so dark, secrets remain hidden, summers on the ratified Iron Islands were cold due to the winds blowing from the North. The rocky region wet and slippery from rain; never humid, usually biting.

The Reach boasted pleasant summers; lush and green with fully bloomed gardens, perfectly balmy. The Stormlands lived up to its name and was plagued with frequent storms. These were usually warm rains - opposite the Iron Islands. The Crownland's annually hosted hordes of tourists at their ever popular summer attraction: temperate beaches. And why wouldn't they? The Crownlands's usually kept moderate temperatures and plenty of vast coastline to offer reprieve in the surf.

However, the only exception to sweltering, stereotypical climate that ransacks the Realm is the North - an expansive outlier. You see, in the North, summers are cold but winters are REALLY cold. From Bear Island to White Harbor, the dreary, overcast summer sky reflects on year-round, bright, pristine summer snow, making it glitter and blindingly glow. This results in the curation of a blue-grey filter naturally exclusive in the North.

However, tonight - You weren't ankle-deep in North summer snows. You weren't wheezing in King's Landing. You weren't vacationing in Dorne. You weren't sloshing through the Stormlands.

Tonight, you weren't on the mainland.

Tonight, you were on Dragonstone - ancestral home of your distant, estranged family.

Bullfrogs belted their croaky song, loud and incessant; as if trying to individually greet each twinkling star in the inky sky - the ever faithful audience; intrigued by this reckless and dangerous suicidal showdown you embarked on. Crickets chirped in a soprano choir; dotting around the maze of tide pools - cratered by the same porous, jagged, volcanic rock that defines the unpredictable, natural coastline. Frothing alto waves of dark navy, violent, salty sea brutally crashed against rock - the booming baseline of the frog's and cricket's private duet sang in perfect harmony.

All that was missing was a little red crab with a Jamaican accent encouraging you "kiss the girl".

Night had fallen. The winds were cold as a storm rumbled overhead. Rain fell sideways. Lightning streaked the skies.

You navigated through the dark - a slippery, dangerous feat.

Few windows of the castle gave a subtle, dim light; indicating the residents were more than likely turned in for the night. Still, despite the lack of patrolling guards and other witnesses, you remained in stealth mode. Only fools allowed themselves to feel cocky when their guards go down. When someone allowed their defenses to go down, mistakes are made, capture is imminent, the mission is a failure, and surrender to the enemy's mercy is forced.

Your presence on Dragonstone wasn't for romance - no girls (or boys) for you to kiss. This wasn't a social visit to recreationally mingle with the Velaryon Prince or Targaryen Princess Twins. You're not conducting research curriculum - no time to study flora, fauna, volcanic activity.

To the winged terrors, Dragonstone Island is a recognizable safe haven that promotes healing - the one place these miraculous beasts could relax, ease their defenses; be vulnerable with lowered guards. This sense of safety gives freedom away from the confines of Dragon Riders - simply allowed to be true, authentic, and animalistic.

Currently, a couple dragons sought refuge on the island, nesting, minding their own business; others sought rest, retirement, peaceful isolation. Several took advantage of the heat and loitered around the volcano, the Dragonmont.

They weren't just any dragons, some were rogue, wild; some released after captivity; all unclaimed, riderless. This tempted several persons to rely on arrogant luck and try their hand at harnessing the terrible beasties - but they never returned.

Summer days stretched long, giving limited time to move under the cover of darkness, and the nights progressively shortened each day leading up to the solstice. Your journey was miraculous, having never navigated open water before yet somehow arriving at Dragonstone after setting sail from King's Landing by yourself. Perhaps you had a hidden talent, a subconscious sailor mentality; maybe you were just lucky, or maybe your boiling emotions made you defiantly determined - running on pure spite to stay alive, unharmed, and without capsizing in an effort to complete your mission.

Most of the time, you relied more on logic than emotion, something that helped keep you balanced, grateful, rational. Leading with logic arguably "made" someone intelligent; solution oriented, stubborn, hardheaded, unwilling to compromise (a common foundation when leading with emotion).

Yet logic made you very black and white - no grey area. Logic is cut and dry. Logic is sometimes sophisticated. Logic is also stubborn. Logic abandoned empathy. Logic could be explained. Logic identified applicable reasonings and explanations. Logic is hard to argue against. Logic sustained battles of wit. Logic is sometimes discriminatory. Logic always tells the truth. Logic has limited loopholes.

Logic is fact driven, and when paired with your own rooted moral and religious beliefs, made you subconsciously judgmental.

There's a well-known proverb, quote, "it's not the destination, but the journey." Yet some philosophers think the destination is mundane, anticlimactic, boring, sometimes disappointing and unfulfilling while the journey is much more fulfilling. The journey is what's worth; an adventure, where development inflates, where a story worth telling lies.

Logic is the destination. Leading with emotion is the journey.

Leading with emotion develops thoughtful decisions. Emotions sharpen empathetic abilities. Emotions sometimes changes perspectives, broadens horizons. Emotions allow for differences in opinions. Emotions curates safety. Emotions heightens generosity. Emotions expands willingness to help. Emotions softens situations with compassion. Emotions often strides towards peace. Emotions structures harmony. Emotions accepts all. Emotions could be overwhelming. Emotions don't always have one, single, clear victor.

Leading with emotion makes you easily reactive, being why you made a conscious effort to engage logic; keeping yourself in check.

You often never lost your cool; always having a handle on things, but sometimes, it was a challenge. Emotions demand to be felt, and no matter how hard you train yourself and practice relying on logic, you were still human.

Both leading with logic and emotion made you passionate, sometimes synonymous with stubborn. Either way, you ended up here - on Dragonstone - slinking around in the dead of night as if a criminal on the run, trying to avoid the Rogue Prince's nefarious, outlandishly violent City Watch.

You were dedicated to the truth, hence your willingness to embark on this suicide mission. You know it's out there, becoming desperate to find it; never settling, fed the fuck up of mindless gossip the court whispered and hissed about. Enduring years of scrutiny and unfiltered rudeness made you confident, wanting, and energized to justify your claims, prove self-worth, assign relief, terminate turmoil, tension, and assumption.

Yeah, yeah, yeah - but what truth are you dedicated to? Your family's lineage and heritage, your birthrights, your position in society. Your contributing livelihood. They only thought you a young lady boasting the Tyrell surname - a broodmare to sell off. After Queen Rhaenyra proclaimed herself, you became incessant to prove you were so much more than a pretty fragile rose to be set in a vase.

Truth became your Eighth God; being a dedicated, loyal, trusting, worshipping follower. And the truth was, you're a Targaryen as much as a Tyrell, and by all means, had as much of a right to claim a dragon as any of the rest of them.

You refuse to take detours, cut corners, violate, or cheat to obtain your goal(s); arriving at your desired end result with integrity, completing your mission by barreling through obstacles with laser focus - like a predator stalking prey.

Boots slapped and clicked on wet rock, splashing in puddles, splattering mud up your legs to soak into your breeches. Heavy humidity - thick and muggy air - coated lungs and stuck in nostrils, being suffocatingly stuffy; breathing becoming difficult. You could physically feel the condensation in the air - hair adopting a mind of its own; beaded, clammy skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, palms slick with sweat. You missed the dry heat of the capital.

Dark hood of your cloak hid your vibrant hair; the material swishing, swirling airy fog low to the ground around your creeping form, creating an ominous energy. You half expected a ghost to appear at your flank.

The clanking of the night patrol's armor was heard first, alerting you to a diminishing window; sliding into the mouth of one of the dragon caves in time for the White Cloaks to stalk around the castle's perimeter walkway.

Even with thick rock cocooning your form, the rumbling of the nested dragon's slumber was heard; loose pebbles, dust and other debris showered from the cave ceiling. Despite the heat of the Dragonmont, you heard the slow echo of dripping water.

Your choice to come to Dragonstone, was it a logical decision? Or driven by emotions - fed up with the rumors, sneers, disrespect, critical judgement from everyone in King's Landing? ...yes.

Navigating a dragon lair was dangerous, but navigating a dragon lair with ZERO experience was an anticipated disaster. Surely, you must've lost your mind because no mentally stable person would dare step foot in this cave - let alone scale the depths in search of an ancient beast that could (and possibly wound) treat your charred body as a BBQ appetizer. With a gasp, you slipped on the rocks, hissing when the heels of your palms took the brunt end of impact and slit open; tiny pebbles sticking to your open flesh. You whimpered gently, jagged rocks digging into your knees as you cleared your hands and slowly found your feet.

Even with knowledge of your heritage, you hadn't grown around the scaly Targaryen counterparts like any and every other legitimate offspring. You were long divided from that side of your family, missing out on fascinating Valyrian traditional customs. It made you a slightly bitter.

No dragon egg in your crib. No hours-long practice in the Dragon Pit. No reptilian anatomy studies. No personalized leather saddle embellished with a three-headed dragon. No claim to ancestral privilege or birthright. No unique morality, nor holier than thou complex. No generational beast to inherit.

Skin free from the lingering, invasive, embedded stench of dragon hide.

You used to think learning Ancient Valyrian was a redundant waste of time, education, and resources. You were raised in the ancestral keep in the Reach's capital, Highgarden, under your father, Lord Tyrell, and his beloved wife - the Vanished Princess - which made this secret sleuthing harder to rationalize or explain, given no Targaryen ever lived in Highgarden. Never before were dragons hosted in The Reach, and therefor, a Dragon Pit was never erected.

So, you know how when you're a kid and see something at the store that you really want but your parent says no because you already have too much shit? They might've made their point by saying something, like, "Where do you think you're gonna put all that?"

Well, Highgarden is the toy box and you intend on bringing home one of those enormous stuffed animals won at a carnival / festival.

If anyone knew of this plan, they might've sent you to the medical institute the Citadel in Oldtown operates; involuntarily commit you to the structured research program that studies different mental and physical medical phenomenons.

Truth was, this wasn't even your idea. Your grandmother, who definitely either spent time in one of the Citadel's cells or should, encouraged you. Perhaps that should've been a red flag, but it was too late now, her words echoing in your mind ―

Be a dragon.

The gardens you walked through were in fragrant, full bloom; providing a sweet air to combat the foul words you admitted with your arm looped in your grandmother's. You paced evenly through the overgrown foliage, the bees buzzing to drown your words.

"Perhaps, something is wrong with me," you sulked, "because surely, it cannot be this difficult to find a match. It seems I need to lower my standards, I could not attract a decent man if I were covered in honey and he were a fly."

"Perhaps try covering yourself in shit, then," she advised with a knowing smirk.

"Grandmother."

"Well, it's curious, isn't it?" Celia asked.

"What is?"

"All your life, you've always been more Targaryen than Tyrell; fierce, loyal, impulsive, strong, enduring. Yet now, you return nothing more than a rose wilted from King's Landing's stench, moping about failed relations. Have you ever considered that simple men are incapable of supporting the love and marriage of a dragon?"

"Half blooded does not make me a dragon."

"No, but the spirit, wit, intelligence, spunk, ferocity, cunningness, and determination you display proves it." She paused your stroll, secluded canopy shroud by foliage to provide a moment of privacy.

"Not all would think so," you let your eyes roll.

"Who do you speak of?"

"Those who think I am lying about my own Targaryen parentage, citing the color of my hair as evidence. You would think I'm one of the Queen's sons, the way they whisper."

"Do not listen to busy mouths, sweet child, hair cannot be a sole indication of parentage. I know it's easy to cite, but not all descendants of Valyria have silver locks, and should anyone have anything to say, know they are merely bitter and jealous for your hair is the perfect blend of Tyrell auburn and Targaryen silver. A color that is hard to ignore."

"Yet it's not enough to prove myself to them, Grandmother."

Now Celia sounded determined but angry, "You are every bit Tyrell as you are Targaryen. While you might not appear to their biased eye, there's never been denial that you are made in your mother's fire. Pure blooded or not, you're a dragon, my sweet petal."

"So?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods - so, be a dragon! Dragons do not fret because men don't blink twice at them, they eat those men! Don't beg for approval; maintain your dignity, instill a new opinion, demand respect! Prove your strength, skill, and capabilities - everything the courts would deliberately overlook. Prove everyone wrong, offer contribution to this war, become a valuable asset who would be foolish to send away. Establish your seat at the table and never let anyone talk down on you again," your grandmother snarled with passion. "There's more than one way to prove you have the blood of the dragon."

"Such as? What would you have me do?"

"I hear rumor there remains a host of unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. The Queen's son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, has called for dragonseeds to try their hand - they need more dragonriders for their war. Claiming your birthright might be the fastest, easiest way to earn the Realm's approval; doubling as undisputed evidence of who you are."

"What a terrifying thought."

"But what a statement it would make," Celia's lips pulled in a smirk, wrinkles deeper, more prominent on sun-soaked, wrinkled skin. "Tyrells might be flowery, we might sigil a rose - but we are resilient and refuse to wilt; even in the heat of dragon fire. The Realm thinks Tyrells are only pretty faces; pretty flowers meant to be seen and never heard, whose sole purpose is to be left on display. Preconceived as uselessly inexperienced during wartimes; criminally green, pure, innocent - judgement that makes them shockingly unprepared for how deep our thorns prick." Both of Celia's hands grabbed yours, squeezing, advising, "Do not go quietly, my petal, make those who doubted you be haunted by their foolish choice to challenge the wrong woman. Let them seep in humiliation and regret their judgement. Allow your successful conquest to be the biggest 'fuck you' to prejudice, the final nail in any coffin of doubt. Toss your wilted rose of fear aside, petal, embrace the fire that burns in your veins; you are Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of The Forgotten Princess, and you will not go gentle into that good night. You will be a dragon."

You were ensuring passage by morning light, intent to deliver yourself to Dragonstone.

Parts of the cave glittered with unharvested gems; a lost collection of rarities nobody dared pursue out of fear of the ancient, terrible Valyrian beasties that dwell in those caves. The walls sweat from combined dragon and volcanic heat, tunnels jagged and uneven; zero holes, cracks, or slits the sun could leak through (if it were up); everything terribly dark. At least there was a scattered pile of preprepared torches to light the way. A permanent odor of limestone and fractioned corpses assaulted your sinuses, dried puddles of blood seeped into rock, the scurrying critters who used dragons as hosts echoed with a twinkling charm - the least menacing reminder that you were not alone.

Claimed dragon chambers varied in size; pitstops along the winding pathways that ended at the largest chamber - a dead end. While other chambers were large enough for sometimes several dragons, this final stop could only be described as a jarring, stomach churning, hauntingly pitched ebony abyss of incalculable depth that played tricks on the mind. An abyss. It was like you were staring Death in the face and anxiety was dredged forth from white hot fear.

With a flickering torch alight in a trembling hand, you slowly stalked down the chiseled causeway that ended several lengths into the expansive, bleak nothingness. Pitch black shadows danced; the air felt electric, seemingly vibrating - alive and judgmental.

The glaring cavern besmirched your family name, hauntingly reminding that your disinheritance resulted in your late dragon bloom. The ebony airy sea identifies and heightens fearful insecurity about your estranged family's rejection, their lack of interest and care for your side of the family stinging; their rejection of familial relationships. The darkness predicted your failure, inability, and humiliation.

The cavern challenged your confidence and determination, your staked ownership and proclaimed lineage; labeling your bravery, beliefs and ambition as arrogant. It sneered about your stupidity, weakness, fear, and anxiety; belittled applied effort and desired goals; questioned your true desires and needs; tested your loyalty.

The cavern rejects any and all attempts before you could even try; unraveling your logic, shunning your emotions; proclaims reactive decisions as immature and lacking control, crowning you as dangerously naïve.

The cavern mocked your desperately pathetic need for station and acceptance; revoking and nullifying public (and private) ladyship, dubbing you unladylike - which, in itself, was insulting to your womanhood. Why do men get all the exciting adventure, but when a woman tries, she's crucified for being irresponsible? Smooth ebony waves reflected your maddening, constant effort and want for acknowledged contributions.

To the naked eye, the cavern appeared uninhabited, assuming the habitat was abandoned. The silence was eery; air buzzing with alarm, deceiving humans that attempted to see through the waves of darkness.

To a "true" Targaryen, this was just a sheet of camouflage the fire breathers wield for their privacy.

No wonder the Red Sowing was so... Bloody and devastating.

A growl was heard, something gravely and deep, intimidating and impressive. You frozen, eyes wide as if it would give you night vision, torch flickering, hands starting to shake. Then you saw prominent movement, lungs stalling and heart hammering. Slowly, a large, scaly, stained snout emerged at a sail's pace.

The more the beast stepped into your sight, your mind could only scream one thing - was coming face to face with a dragon logical or emotional? Because whether logical or emotional, this was a dumb fucking idea there was no turning back from.

So, you steeled yourself in position, dewy sweat lining your forehead to soak your hairline.

112 years After Conquest, dragons flew to war at the behest of the Targaryen family over Rhaenyra and her half-brother's claim to Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne. Sister-wife, Queen Visenya, rode Vhagar - said to have been the smallest dragon with bronze hide, yet, as rumor had it, still large enough that a horse could ride down her gullet. Sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, rode Meraxes - who was larger; big enough to swallow horses whole with silver scales and golden eyes.

Then, The Conqueror, King Aegon Targaryen I, rode Balerion - the fiercest and largest, who’s wingspan could shadow entire towns, swords-long teeth assisting his ability to swallow mammoths whole, and who’s scales, wings, and fire were pitch black. Balerion was called the Black Dread and was so powerful, he could melt steel, stone, and fuse sand into glass. He never lost a battle - against human or dragon.

Balerion was also the dragon responsible for the Burning of Harrenhal, largest castle in Westeros.

In the year 2 BC, Aegon began his Conquest and engaged King Harren Hoare the Black in his keep, Harrenhal, who refused the Conqueror and was met with Balerion’s flames. In fire so hot, it melts stone like candles, the entire House Hoare was extinguished when Harren and his sons perished in the largest tower - later named Kingspyre Tower - though it’s said they haunt the Wailing Tower.

Since then, of Aegon's Three Dragons, only Meraxes boasted a single rider, but to be fair, in 10 AC, during the First Dornish War, allegedly, both Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes met their demise. Vhagar knew Prince Baelon Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Prince Aemond as riders. Balerion knew Maegor the Cruel, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys, who, in the year 94, retired The Black Dread - thinking the beast was nearing his end. The dragon outlived every single rider.

In the year 129, Viserys died and The Black Dread stared you in the eye; curating a vibrating rumble deep within his chest that made the darkness dance. It'd been decades since anyone dared face this terrible beastie, thinking he wasn't long for this world; the pair of you curious about the other, no moves made yet.

There was no backing down, there was no turning away. This is what you wanted, for Aegon the Conqueror's mount to see you as you are - worthy of your of blood. You refused to be told you did not deserve your lineage, the Targaryen name, you would not endure disrespect any longer! You would earn your place in this Godsforsaken family, earn station in this Godsforsaken world, or die trying...

That night, Balerion took to the skies again, doing several laps in the air, soaring over King's Landing to let the residents of the Realm know - he flew again.

Your father's family hailed from The Reach, specifically Highgarden; colorful, temperate, lush, bountiful, and abundant. Your family oversaw 75% of the country's sole wheat, barley, grain, and corn production, even germinating the country's most grand gardens - which decorated a rather generous estate.

Despite the vast, open lands, there had never been need for a dragonpit before, so, when you landed your mount, he was left exposed on the outskirts of the Keep. Considering he was the largest thing, you know, ever, Balerion seemed content out there - so, you didn't worry.

It was strange, however, to see anyone without white hair on dragonback. Even stranger to the Realm to learn of your accomplishment; adding fuel to several fires.

The Green King Aegon asked lazily, a hand waving in the air, "Who?"

His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, reminded, "She is of Targaryen seed on her mother's side, but was raised under the Tyrells. She sits to inherit all of The Reach, she will be Lady of Highgarden - "

"Until," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected softly, "her young brother, the Young Lord Tyrell, comes of age."

Aegon waved their words off, complaining, "Yes, yes, but why do we caaaaare about some red headed bitch?"

See, where the Targaryens had trademark white locks, the Lannisters had golden strands. The Starks had deep umber brunette color hair, and while both the Tully's and Tyrell's erred more on the reddish side, the Tully's had darker overtones, like an auburn, and the Tyrell's had lighter, coppery-amber waves. North of the Wall, they say "kissed by fire".

"Because Lady Tyrell has laid successful claim to The Black Dread! To Balerion!" Alicent snapped, quickly adding the snarky punctuation, "Your Grace."

"Well, we have Vhagar - "

"With respect, Your Grace, Balerion could give a singular chomp to any living dragon as Vhagar did Arrax and it would prove fatal," Otto Hightower, the King's grandfather and Hand, quickly stepped in to save his daughter from losing her temper.

"Well, she doesn't even speak High Valyrian," Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes; lip curled, slouched in his chair.

"Neither do you," Aemond quipped in his Father's Tongue.

Otto continued loudly to prevent Aegon's response, "With The Black Dread now officially out of retirement and in play, the only choice we have is risk facing him in open battle, or..." His eyes shifted to Alicent, pausing, sighing and revealing, "Send an emissary to negotiate terms of an alliance."

"Meaning...?" Aegon drawled.

"Meaning a marriage pact, Your Grace," Otto supplied sternly.

"With respect?" Larys Strong spoke up, "But the Crown is lacking in their eligible bachelors for such terms."

"Or perhaps, what of someone outside the family? Marry two strong allies of the Crowns? Alliances henceforth might not have to include Targaryen marriages," Jason Lannister threw in quickly, but every Small Council member denied him just as swift.

It was reminded, "There's Prince Daeron."

"Lady Tyrell is actually the same age as Prince Aemond, I do not think she is looking for a husband so many years younger than her."

"Didn't Prince Aemond already secure the Baratheons through a marriage alliance?"

"Technically," Otto agreed slowly, "but given the circumstances and turning of tides, Lord Borros can be treated with in other ways should we need to offer Aemond for Lady Tyrell's willing support."

"Rhaenyra will send terms, as well," Alicent reminded. "Lady Tyrell is Prince Jacaerys' age, she might consider breaking his engagement, too."

The Small Council continued their plotting. Prince Aemond remained silent. Nobody so much as threw him a glance.

When the Black Queen Rhaenyra was informed of your heroics and your identity was questioned, her uncle-husband, Daemon, informed, "Daughter of the Forgotten Princess."

And Rhaenys affirmed, "My sister's daughter... Do not mistake her lineage for guaranteed alliance; her mother and I are long estranged, she's lived in The Reach her whole life - she does not know us. Nor owes us any loyalty."

"Perhaps she could be persuaded," Corlys wondered. "The Lady Tyrell is unwed, is she not?"

"As far as accounts go, yes," his wife reported.

"Perhaps a marriage alliance?" Corlys glanced around the table.

"To whom would you propose?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, all sat around the Painted Table.

"If I may be so bold...?"

"Please."

"Given your marriage to Daemon and his daughter's are shared with our own daughter, Laena... Is there truly need for a marriage pact between the children?"

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "You mean to... Disengage my son from his intended, and engage him again...? Like a pawn in chess? My son, Heir to the Iron Throne, married to Lady Tyrell?"

"Why do you sound displeased by the prospect, Your Grace?" Corlys wondered. "I hear the Lady Tyrell is most beautiful, and we need the Tyrell's wealth like we need their dragon, Balerion. If used properly, he can melt castles alone, Your Grace; burn towns, extinguish entire bloodlines, torch this country, melt the bloody Wall. No living dragon rivals him in size, in ferocity, in age nor experience. He's been at rest for decades now... Something tells me there's a reason he's come out of his nest."

"An omen," Rhaenyra agreed, straightening her spine.

"Precisely - the portents are cast, Your Grace."

"Lord Corlys makes a point," Daemon chimed in, "if by marriage, we secure The Reach and take back the Iron Throne with little to no carnage. Should the Greens fight, not even Vhagar could stand against Balerion."

"Prince Jacaerys is a handsome match to offer," another lord agreed, "which should help sway Lady Tyrell to our side."

"Which also frees both Lady Baela and Rhaena for other pacts - if need be."

"But if we have had this thought, I promise so has Alicent," Rhaenyra stood from the table, staring at the triangle of King's Landing, Dragonstone, and Highgarden. "Who would they offer? Who do they have, unwed, unpromised?"

"Well," Rhaenys stood to meet her Queen, "if we had the thought of a marriage alliance, and the thought to break off one engagement in favor of another, who is to say the Greens would not consider the same?"

It was quiet, a shiver shooting down the Queen's spine. "Vhagar and Balerion are familiar with one another," she grit her teeth, "and Aemond is the False King's brother. He's an attractive match, too."

"I think it's worth making the Tyrell's an offer," Corlys sat back in his seat. "They will receive us both and decide their allegiance - just as the Baratheons did, just as the rest of the Realm has or must do as well."

"Let it be done - if Prince Jacaerys agrees," Rhaenyra nodded, looking to her son - wanting his consent and participation in his own fate. Jace proudly lifted his chin and puffed his chest, nodding while nobody noted the looks of near relief on Lady Baela and Rhaena's faces. In a moment, they had been engaged to Jace and Luke without their thought, input, nor consent. In another moment, they were single young women with the tantalizing prospect to marry outside the family.

"I consider Her Grace's offer an honor."

part two: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread masterlist

i'm already writing it, but, poll for the end ―

[getyouanearthygirl]

Game of Thrones House Aesthetics:

House Stark 🐺

House Lannister 🦁

House Arryn 🪽

House Tyrell 🌹

House Martell ☀️

House Baratheon 🦌

House Tully 🐟

House Targaryen 🐉

House Greyjoy 🦑

[baelarys]

Could you take a shot of aegon x Tyrell? Where she is married to some reach gentleman and ends up having an affair with aegon and resulting in a pregnancy. And when the baby is born and everyone sees that he is platinum, oc's husband freaks out and questions aegon who answers with sarcasm that he may have a dragonrider son and does not like his wife

✾𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞✾

Aegon ii targaryen x Reader Tyrell

word count :990

Warning : Infidelity, pregnancy, bad words , anguts.

It had not stopped raining since morning, and your screams echoed in the room, accompanying the constant rhythm of the rain. You paced back and forth, trying to mitigate the intense pain that came in relentless waves. The midwives followed you, advising you to lie down, but you pushed them away.

You prayed to the gods fervently, begging for their mercy and to help the baby be born healthy. Your red hair stuck to your sweat-beaded forehead, while tears of desperation and effort ran down your cheeks. As you walked, resting a hand on your bulging belly, you felt a sudden release of fluids that soaked the floor of the room.

The pain was unbearable, but it was all worth it when the midwives finally placed the newborn on your chest. You noticed the thin layer of platinum hair that covered his head, an unmistakable feature, but at the time you didn't care. You kissed your son's head as happy tears fell down your cheeks. The baby was crying loudly, his little fists clenched

Your husband entered the room looking with amazement and horror at the newborn he was holding in your arms, before he could say anything you stopped him.

"Luthor, please" you begged with a trembling voice, your eyes filling with tears "This is our son. I beg you to accept it."

The knight stood still, his fists clenched and his face hardened with anger and betrayal. "Don't do it for me… do it for him" you said, holding the newborn into his arms.

Luthor hesitated, his gaze moving from the baby's serene face to your pleading eyes. The room was filled with tension, the air thick with the mix of emotions and the distant sound of the rain that continued to hit the windows. Finally, with a mixture of resignation and hopelessness, he reached out and took the child.

You spent the next few days in your chambers, surrounded only by your husband, a few midwives, and little Edmund. No one else had seen the newborn. His platinum hair and brown eyes, just like yours, looked around with endless curiosity.

You and Luthor didn't discuss the topic of the baby's paternity, and you both decided not to mention it to anyone. However, it was not surprising that rumors were already spreading in the corridors from the rats of the Red Keep. The gossip spread like a slow fire, and even if it wasn't openly discussed, you knew that many eyes were on your family.

It wasn't until a heated argument between Prince Aegon and your husband that Lord Tyrell burst into your room, his face burning with fury, declaring that they would return to Highgarden. You were surprised, since you had come to King's Landing on court business and you did not expect such a hasty return.

"Prepare your things, we leave at dawn" Luthor ordered, his voice trembling with suppressed anger. His eyes flashed with a mix of pain and determination that disturbed you deeply.

You tried to stay calm as you processed his words. "What happened? ,Why are we coming back so soon?" you asked softly, although you already knew the answer, Luthor strode over, his face grim and his fists still clenched.

"Aegon" he began in a harsh voice. "He had the audacity to say that you should be grateful to have fathered the son of a dragon rider" That insolence was the last straw.

The air became thick and heavy in the room. You instantly understood the impact of those words on your husband. The humiliation and betrayal had been too much for him, and Aegon, with his arrogance, had pushed Luthor over the edge.

"Luthor" you said, trying to reach for his hand to offer comfort, but he jerked away, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"There is nothing more to discuss" he replied in a sharp voice. "Highgarden is our home, far from the viperous tongues and inquisitive eyes of this rotten court."

You sighed, resigned. You knew that insisting would only make things worse. As you prepared to leave, your mind was filled with worries about the future. How would you face life in Highgarden with the stigma of infidelity and the birth of Edmund? However, the innocence of your son and his future were your main concern.

While leaving King's Landing meant escaping immediate scrutiny, it also meant facing suspicion and judgment in the Tyrell ancestral home.

You decided to take one last walk through the halls of the Red Keep before leaving. You wanted to record in your memory every corner, every detail of that place that had witnessed your most intense and complex moments. With every step, you felt the weight of the decisions made and the consequences you would face upon returning to Highgarden.

You turned into a hallway and suddenly, someone slammed you against the wall, holding you firmly by the waist. The impact left you momentarily breathless and before you could react, you felt lips smash against yours in a rough and messy manner.

Your first instinct was to resist, but the unmistakable platinum hair and the intensity of his gaze piercing you confirmed it was Aegon.

The force of his kiss spoke of desperation and desire, an attempt to hold on to something he knew he was about to lose.

"Aegon" you tried to say between their kisses, but he didn't let you finish, his mouth covering yours again, silencing any protests. His hands gripped your waist with palpable need, as if he could prevent your departure with his touch.

Finally, you managed to pull away slightly, panting with the effort. "I have to go" you whispered, your words barely audible as you tried to regain your composure.

"I can't let you go like this" Aegon rasped, his forehead resting against yours. —You know this isn't fair, that I need you here.

"I can't stay here anymore" you whispered, barely containing the emotion in your voice. You felt Aegon bury his face in your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy and desperate kisses over your skin.

"Don't say that" Aegon murmured against your neck, his voice vibrating with a mix of sadness and desire. His hands gripped your waist tightly, as if his touch could prevent the inevitable.

"I must go" you insisted softly, trying to remain firm in your decision. You felt his lips move slowly over your skin, his kisses leaving a burning trail that contrasted with the cold of the stone behind your back

Aegon pulled away slightly, his intense gaze searching yours. "Is this really what you want?" he asked with a voice heavy with pain. "Leave everything we've had here?"

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It's not a matter of wanting" you finally said. "It's what I should do for my family. I can't continue living in this chaos"

You pulled away from Aegon gently, leaving one last kiss on his lips. "See you, my prince" you whispered, saying goodbye with a mixture of resignation and a spark of amusement in your eyes.

You turned around and started walking down the hallway, feeling his gaze on your back. Each step towards the exit of the Red Keep felt lighter than the last. You had decided to face the future with a more optimistic attitude, knowing that this farewell was necessary.

[lcverwrites]

bad for business ― aegon x reader, aemond x reader (modern au) ... part two

part one

summary … it seems aemond has a knack for walking into her intimate moments, once is an accident, but twice... could she be trying to tell him something? pairings … aemond targaryen x tyrell!reader, aegon targaryen x tyrell!reader warnings ... 18+ content ahead so be warned people, smut, mutual masturbation, cum eating, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, kind of cheating...but not really, aegon being a little shit once again, unhealthy family dynamics

note … lets all pretend that I didn't leave this story in the dust for literal MONTHS...cool, thanks! here's the part two that I promised, it's only like....seven months late...enjoy!

⠀⠀⠀The sound of muffled moans rouses Aemond from the fitful rows of sleep, at first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. They were so quiet, barely a whisper of a sound, but they were there. Softly caressing the other side of Aemond's wall, coaxing him with a gentle hand, beckoning him with a sultry smile and a soft touch.

He tossed and turned under his comforter, the heat that he once felt lulling himself to sleep, was now all to consuming, flushing his cheeks and biting at his skin, like a hot breath clinging to his skin. Sweat beading at his hairline, dripping down the nape of his neck, clinging to his skin.

He huffed a breath, tossing the offending item from his body, allowing the cool touch of night grace his scorched skin.

But the cool whispers of night air, did nothing to smother the sounds.

Still so quiet, like he was listening to the sound as if he were underwater, and not just a mere wall away. But they rattled around in his brain, until it was all he could hear, all he could feel, all he could imagine.

He could only imagine what might have been happening on the other side of the wall, who might be making those delicious noises.

He pauses a moment, straining his ears, just to hear another sliver, just a crumb more to satisfy his curiosity. A breathy moan was the soft answer to his silent question, lingering in the hollow of her throat, like she was choking on the sound, like everything was too much and it expelled from her lips without her control.

Aemond swallows, gulping a breath through his nose, as if it was hard to come by the air readily available to him.

He waits another moment, pleading for more, begging who ever might have been listening to his silent prayers for just a moment more.

But he was met with utter silence, the air stilling around him, stagnant and pungent with his desire. Aemond shifted his hips, feeling the tight restraints of his boxers clinging to his body like a second skin. His cock pulsed with the desire to hear more of those delicious sounds, to be enveloped in the warmth he knew she radiated with.

He reached a hesitant hand down the smooth plains of his stomach, feeling his muscles tense under the grazing of his sweaty palm. He groped gently at his length, skin hot beneath the thin material of his boxers, thumbing over the tip, feeling a damp sensation spreading across the dark fabric.

Aemond grinded his teeth together, keeping the heady groan from falling from his lips, eye slanting closed as he tried to picture her perfect features, her awaiting lips, parted in the prettiest smile, kneeling before him.

As if his inner turmoil was being wound by her perfect hands, another breathy moan floated through the wall, as if it was just for him.

Except he knew it wasn't.

Aemond's hand recoiled, as if he had been burned. The image of her pretty face kneeling beneath him, was replaced with the very real imagine of her being completely railed into a plush mattress by his brother.

Taunting him with that smug smile "You know to keep your hands to yourself, brother"

The words had been seared into his brain, much like the image of her pleading expression as Aegon had pressed her into the wall, thrusting into the warm heat that Aemond longed to feel.

He let out a grunt of dissatisfaction.

He makes his way out of his bedroom, with every intention to tell the happy couple, that there were more people in this house than just the tow of them. He was willing to pound against the door if need be, we wasn't going to subjected to their torment once again, his brother wasn't going to get the needed fucking he seemingly desired.

But as he walked down the hall, the first thing he noticed, was the door to his brothers bedroom was ajar, allowing him a glimpse of the plush white bed in the middle of the room.

The second thing he noticed was the single figure on the bed.

Aemond felt the breath in the back of his throat catch.

From the little crack in the door, he could see her slender leg, bare of any fabric, curved slightly, bent at the knee and wide open. He followed the length of her leg, the supple flesh of her thigh, quivering with a movement that Aemond couldn't see, but the subtle movement of her muscles made his jaw clench.

Aemond took a step forward.

His legs betraying his mind.

He knew he should just turn around, forget the temping glimpse he was given, take it for the gift that it was, and go back to bed. But the memory of her eyes watching him, taunting him with her hooded lids and her sultry smile, the words she gave just to him, the way she begged for him, all the while she had his brother bring her the pleasure he wished he was giving her.

Aemond reached for the door blocking his view, pushing the offending wood a little further open.

He followed the length of her leg, sliding past her quivering thigh, stalling on the hand between her legs.

Her fingers were twirling little circles around her clit, back arching as they picked up speed, her free hand was pressed against her exposed chest, tweaking her nipple in tight squeezes, tugging at the supple flesh. Her plush lips were red and raw, bitten down on by her own teeth, soothed by the wet licks of her tongue.

Aemond's breath caught, and he struggled to find the air his lungs desired, to encapsulated by the pure desire that oozed from her body. Without real thought, Aemond's hand made it's way back to his throbbing length, only this time he forewent the boxers, hand dipping beneath the material and straight to the molten skin beneath.

He bit back a groan as he wrapped a large hand around his cock, giving it a harsh stroke, boxers damp with precum, giving Aemond ample lubricant to stroke his length. He timed his strokes with the subtle movements she made against her clit, ever circle she made around the aroused nub, Aemond would stroke his length from base to tip and back down again. He imagined it was his own hand bringing her the pleasure she was currently feeling.

"Is voyeurism your thing or something?"

Her voice was breathy and enticing, coated in a thick layer of desire, it scratched at the back of Aemond's mind.

He jolted back to reality, lifting his gaze from her still moving fingers to her clouded eyes. They were dazed, eyes hooded with her drooping lips, darkened with her desire, yet lit aflame by the mere sight of Aemond standing before her.

Those plush lips were turned up into a soft smile, teasing in manner, but sensual all the same.

"No, no...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" Aemond tried to find the right thing to say, anything to say at the point, but he found himself caught in her sensual gaze, and he couldn't find the words he so desired.

"No you're not" She denied for him, cocking her head a little, eyes travelling the length of Aemond's body, pausing on the hand his still had buried in his boxers. "You're not sorry enough walk away, nor are you sorry enough to stop stroking your cock"

Aemond felt his cheeks flush at her statement, taking note that his own hand kept mirroring her motions, keeping a harsh grip on his cock as he stroked.

"No, I'm not" Aemond agreed.

Her smile was giddy now, it settled a warm thrill in Aemond's chest.

"Are you sorry enough to let me see?" She asked, biting down on her lip, fingers moving quickly around her clit, hips lifting at the change of pace, a soft moan followed her question, and it was that Aemond needed to hear.

Aemond pulled his hand from his boxers, dipping his fingers in the waistline of the offending item, slipping it past his muscled thighs, allowing it to pool around his feet like an inky puddle.

Her eyes widened at his exposed length, but her smile stayed put.

"Fuck" She whimpered at the sight. "It's big"

Aemond wouldn't know what she was comparing it to, perhaps his brother, the thought of her thinking she was bigger than his brother had his chest puffing up with pride. Aemond knew his cock wasn't small, but it wasn't large by any means, he'd never had the desire to measure it. He'd never had any complaints thus far, and her lustful gaze staring directly at his length made him think that he was pretty good.

Aemond brought his hand back to his cock, thumbing at the precum leaking from his tip, sliding the pearly liquid down his length as he gave it a soft stroke.

Her lips part at the sight, a strangled sound escaping, like a choked breath and a strained moan fighting their way out of her lips, meeting in the middle to create an entirely new sound. Aemond relishes in the sound, knowing it was for him, for something he was doing, bring her pleasure without even having to touch her.

"Come closer" She whispers.

Aemond doesn't waste a moment after the command, stalking into the room with purposeful steps, long strides into the room, until he was standing at the edge of the bed, standing on the precipice of something truly extraordinary.

She opens the gap between her legs, just a fraction wider, allowing Aemond and even better look at the cunt between her legs.

Her skin looked like smooth silk, ridges rising and falling, her fingers moving delicately over her leaking pussy. Her fingers shined with her evident arousal, the clear liquid dribbled down from her fingers, staining her thighs with a clear sheen, slipping over her skin and down to the damp white sheets beneath her. Aemond cooed softly, tilting his head a little, trying to look past the hand twisting her clit, trying to see her in her entirety.

"You're making such a mess" He mumbled, placing one knee on the mattress, landing directly between her spread legs.

"mhm" She mumbled, nodded her head rapidly, like she was slowly loosing the fight with her washing desire.

"Such a pretty girl" Aemond spoke gently, but there was a firmness to his tone, like he was certain, his conviction was strong.

He brought his other knee onto the bed, shuffling gracefully towards her, his cock bobbing up and down with the motion, taking her attention in a metaphorical chokehold.

His hand reached for his cock once more, stroking it with a firmness that brought a pleasurable shiver to his spine. She watches his hand stroke over his member, her legs widening just a fraction more, welcoming him into her warm embrace, all the while her fingers continued to tease her clit.

"Aemond"

Her voice is pure sin.

The sound of his name falling from her lips in that throaty and raw voice had a jolt of desire wrap around his throat, he answered her plea with a moan of his own, deep and needy.

Her fingers moved from her clit to tease her unattended entrance, swirling the tip of her index finger at her weeping hole. Aemond waited on bated breath, cock throbbing in time with her ministrations.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she pushed a single finger inside her pussy, inch by inch disappearing from Aemond's view. He watched until only her knuckle was visible, her finger stayed buried inside her pussy for a moment, her back arching as a pleased keen fell past her lips. Aemond licked his own lips, thumbing over the slit at the tip of his cock, smearing his own wetness around his cock head, imagining it was her wetness coating his cock.

Her finger slowly eased it's way back out of her pussy, a sheen coating the digit, before pushing it's way back inside, this time welcomed by a second finger, stretching her entrance.

"That feel good pretty girl?" Aemond question, his own voice barely just a breath.

She found no words on the tip of her tongue, just a whimpering moan as her answer.

"Keep going" Aemond urged, shuffling closer now, leaning over her sweat glistening body, cock held firmly in hand, fisting his cock over her pussy. "Show me how pretty you look when you cum"

She whimpered in reply, her fingers picking up speed, slipping in and out of her pussy with ease. Her head thrown back into the pillow beneath her head, eyes tightly screwed shut, lips parted in an oh shape.

"No" Aemond grounded out, teeth clenched as he teetered over the edge. "Open your eyes"

Lazily, her eyes peeled open, dropping slightly, but they were open. Her tongue lolled out past her lips as she panted deep breaths, willing the air into her starved lungs. Aemond felt a victorious smile spread across his lips.

He couldn't wipe the image of her begging for him as his brother took her up against that wall, begging and pleading for him, hooded eyes glued to him as she begged for her release, for his cock to be inside of her, bringing her pleasure.

But it would now share it's place with this image.

With her, spread out beneath him, fingers deep in her cunt, drenching the sheets below her, moaning Aemond's name as she brought herself to the edge of her pleasure, all for him. He was guiding her to the big finish without even having to touch her.

"There she is, my pretty girl" Aemond praised.

She mewled a high pitched sound, hips canting up at his words, digging her fingers deeper into her pussy, thrusting them in and out, repeating the action over and over.

"Look at me when you cum" Aemond demanded.

"A-aemond" Was the only word that fell from her lips, much to Aemond delight.

The squelching sound of her fingers dipping in and out of her cunt, echoed through the room, it had Aemond thrusting into his fist, grunting loudly as his eye switched from watching her own eyes, to the wet mess she was making between her legs.

"I...I--Fuck!"

Her back arched right off the bed with the exclamation, her fingers rapidly moved within her pussy as she came around the digits, sprits of her orgasm splashed against her hand, dripping down her legs. Aemond could feel the warmth from her body spreading across the bed, could feel it with ever thrust of his hand against his cock, barely brushing up against her weeping cunt.

"Such a good girl" Aemond groaned, tilting his head forward, brows furrowing slightly.

She huffed a gentle laugh, slowing her fingers down, enjoying the ebbing feeling of her pleasure.

Her tongue darted out to wet her drying lips, panting breaths making her chest rise and fall in quick succession. Her eyes were glued to Aemond's face, with his pinched brow, his clenched jaw, his raw and bitten lips.

"Cum for me Aemond" She whispered in the space between them. "I want you to cum for me, please Aemond"

Her pleading was all it took for Aemond. His fist tightened around his cock, stroking with a new found vigour. He gazed right into her lust filled eyes, feeling his body tense, his shoulders and spine becoming ridged, before he spilled white pearls of cum against her dripping pussy.

His eye screwed shut shut, brows furrowing low on his forehead, lips parted as a deep and growled grunt fell past his lips. He could feel his cock pulsing with every drop of cum that leaked out of the tip. It dripped down onto her heated skin, coating her in drops of white.

Aemond let out a deep breath, slowly allowing his eye to flutter open, to be greeted with her smiling right up at him, eyes glittering with a sensual amusement.

She let out a humming noise as she felt the extra heat against her skin, he watched her use her free hand to push the white drops of his spend against her tender clit, rubbing it against her already wet cunt. She moan at the feeling of her hand touching the most tender part of her body.

Aemond didn't hold back the grunt that fell right out of his lips as he watched their respective orgasms blend together as one, keeping her cunt nice and wet.

"You little minx" Aemond muttered, feeling the corners of his lips pulling up into a smirk.

"Aegon said you couldn't touch" She hummed with a breathless sound. "But he didn't say I couldn't"

Aemond scowled down at her, mentioning his brother, when she was practically pushing his cum into her cunt.

"Fuck Aegon, and fuck his rules" Aemond gritted out, moving from his position on the bed.

She looked a little taken aback at his departure, but he wasn't gone for long, only repositioning himself between her legs, so his face was directly inches away from her weeping cunt.

She let a surprised gasp when he tore he hand right from her pussy, replacing her digits with his tongue.

Aemond licked a fat strip along her wet slit, lapping up the remnants of her orgasm. She was heady on his tongue, tangy and warm. He flicked his tongue around her abused clit, tasting their mixed fluids on his tongue, his salty cum a differing taste on his tongue, but mixed with her leaking arousal, Aemond found himself enjoying their combined taste.

His large hands wrapped around her plush thighs, pushing them open even further, burring his face into her wet cunt, slurping at the liquid dripping from her hole.

"Aemond!" She exclaimed, fingers wrapping around the cropped length of his pale hair, pushing him further into her pussy. "Shit!"

"Fuckin' pretty pussy" Aemond grunted against her pussy lips, wrapping his lips around her clit, giving it a rather harsh suck, resulting in her hips bucking up off the bed. "Taste so good pretty girl"

"Oh god! Please!"

Aemond wiggled his tongue back and forth, teasing the opening of her pussy, before wrapping it back around her clit, feeling her juices drip down his chin.

"You gonna come on my tongue?" Aemond teased.

She bit down on her lip, nodded her head rapidly, as she peered down at Aemond's face, half buried in her pussy. She looked just into his good eye, the azure shade of blue was dark, lust swimming in the liquid of his eye, white the sapphire in his other eye, glinted back at her, reflection her own pleasure.

She tugged harshly at his blonde hair, Aemond grunted at the pain, a pleasured feeling racing down his spine. He kept his eye on her face, directly in her one line of sight. He watched as her lips parted, a subtle flush took over her cheeks, darkening the skin, a precursor for her impending explosion.

"Go on then" Aemond gruffly said. "Come for me"

She did as he commanded, another round of juices squirted from her pussy, coating Aemond's tongue, dribbling down his chin, painting his skin with her arousal. Her back arched in an almost painful manner, lifted right off her bed, fingers buried in Aemond's hair, holding his face between her trembling thighs.

Aemond flicked his tongue gently against her clit, prolonging her pleasure, allowing her to take from him whatever she wanted.

She gasped for air, trying to recover from her second orgasm of the night, all the while Aemond continued to tease her. Aemond smiled against her sticky pussy lips, making an amused huffing sound, almost light laughter. It ticked against her pussy, making her body jolt with the added pleasure of the vibrations.

Aemond tore his mouth reluctantly from her pussy, lips and chin shiny with her arousal.

As she caught her breath, she offered Aemond a tired smile, letting go of his hair, allowing her hands to rest against her clammy thighs. Aemond took her hands with in his own, locking their fingers together with a tender squeeze, one she returned, though with less strength.

"Wonderful show brother!"

Aemond jumped at the sound of his brothers amused booming voice. He turned, seeing Aegon standing in the door way, just like Aemond had been all those days ago, just watching the couple on the bed.

"Truly wonderful" Aegon cackled, clapping his hands together. "'Fuck Aegon, and fuck his rules'" Aegon mocked Aemond's earlier words.

Aemond felt his cheeks flush with rage, loosening his fingers from her hands, wallowing in her silence, as she allowed his brother to poke and prod at him.

"She's a good fuck isn't she brother" Aegon boasted, not really looking for a comment from Aemond as he continued. "Did you fuck her like a hound"

"Aegon" She chastised him, only uttering his brothers name, pushing her body up into a sitting position, Aemond followed her her suit, pushing himself away from her thighs.

"Oh my love" Aegon tenderly said, placing a hand against his beating heart. "Did you enjoy cumming on my brothers tongue?"

She flushed with his question.

"Did you enjoy the way she tasted brother?" Aegon turned his attention back to Aemond. "Perhaps you'd like to get your cock wet, she's more than willing, aren't you my love"

Aemond looked from his brother to her, who was gazing down warmly at Aemond. She reached a gentle hand to his face, thumb caressing his warmed cheek, right below the broken socket of his eyes, the tender flesh of his scare beneath her fingertips, not shying away from him.

"Aegon's an ass" She kindly stated, which had Aegon spluttering an absurd amount of profanities behind him, all of which she ignored in favour of Aemond. "But, I'd like you to stay"

"Go on brother, give her the fucking she's begging for her" Aegon continued to taunt Aemond, but his voice was closer now, right behind him.

Aemond ignored Aegon as he rounded the bed, sitting right next to her, leaning against her naked body, arm wrapping around her waist, holding her against him in a rather tender embrace, a rare sight for his brother. Aegon pressed his face into the damp skin of her neck, inhaling her scent, before pressing his lips against her skin in slick and wanton kisses.

Aemond watched as her eyes lids fluttered at the feeling of his brothers lips on her body, but her gaze remained on Aemond.

"Please Aemond" She begged.

Aemond really was a sucker for this woman, he was about ready to throw himself at her, all because she was readily begging for him, like she truly wanted him.

And if tonight was anything to go by, then maybe she did want him.

Just as much as she wanted his brother.

extra note ... leaving you of a cliff hanger, because i'm an evil person! let me know if you wanna see them get down and dirty with each other, or like if you wanna see them in a throuple situation....no tagcest involved (sorry not sorry), hope you liked this smutty little piece either way!

[fantasydreamland]

Welcome to my little dreamland 🏰

This blog is 18+ only !!!

masterlist ~

taglist here

Here to share the fantasy worlds I love & write a little smut. There’s simply not enough wlw fanfics. I’m bi so I love to share all my fictional crushes 🤍

Thank you everyone for all the support so far! Y’all inspire me to keep writing 🤍 I had planned on only writing the ONE Margaery fic & now here we are lol

My stories:

GAME OF THRONES

Lonely Nights - Khaleesi 🤍🔥⭐️🌈

Queen in the North - Sansa Stark 🔥🌈

Handmaiden - Margaery Tyrell 🤍🔥⭐️🌈

Gossip - Margaery Tyrell 🔥🌈 (sequel)

Secret Admirer - Margaery Tyrell 🌈

My Saviour - Jon Snow 🤍🔥⭐️

Longing - Jorah Mormont 🔥

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Fun Wife - Aegon Targaryen 🤍🔥⭐️

Bound To You - Aemond Targaryen 🤍🔥⭐️

The Man I Once Knew - Aemond Targaryen 🤍

Betrothed - Cregan Stark/Aemond Targaryen 🔥⭐️

Mine - Aemond Targaryen 🔥 (sequel)

Unspoken Love - Rhaenyra x Alicent 🔥🌈

A COURT OF THORNS & ROSES

A Dance of Forbidden Fire - Eris Vanserra 🤍⭐️

A Taste of Forbidden Fire - Eris Vanserra 🔥

A Taste of Autumn - Eris Vanserra 🔥

Blue Jewels - Azriel

VIKINGS

Answered Prayers - Ragnar Lothbrok 🤍🔥⭐️

Unholy Waters - Athelstan 🔥

How the Viking men would look at you after inviting them to your bed 💋

VIKINGS VALHALLA

New Friend - Leif Eriksson 🤍

PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN

Captured - Captain Jack Sparrow (COMING)

LORD OF THE RINGS

Angel - Arwen Undómiel 🤍🌈

Sorceress - Legolas Greenleaf 🤍🔥

HARRY POTTER

Restricted Section - Draco Malfoy 🔥

EMILY IN PARIS

La Vie En Rose - Camille Razat 🌈

OUTER BANKS

How I imagine kissing Sarah Cameron 💋🌈

How I imagine kissing the Outer Banks boys 💋

Outer Banks boys ~ Kinks 💋🔥

🤍 = personal fav 🔥 = extra smut ⭐️ = popular 💋 = blurb 🌈 = wlw

they all have a little fluff & smut & angst

always open to requests!!! - shows/movies listed in the hashtags - I don’t write modern au

(i do not own the pictures or fictional characters used in my stories)

🇬🇧🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇨🇦🇮🇪🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇵🇱

[dragon0queen]

Growing Strong With The Dragon - Part II

Aemond Targareyen x Tyrell!Reader

Summary: The wedding day has arrived, maybe the princess won't be as lonely anymore.

Warnings: No warnings, just a chill fic. No character description. Afab.

Authors Note: English is not my first language so the grammar might be a bit janked. After a quick search I found out that going from Highgarden to Kings landing by wheelhouse could take more than 2 months, wtf. Part I

After a long and brutal journey, you found yourself in front of the gate of the gods, a magnificent sight that signified the near end of your journey. As you passed through the city, you noticed that it smelled much worse than you imagined; Highgarden had never smelled this bad and was never this dirty. Once you reached the gates of the Red Keep, you sighed with relief; your horrible journey had finally ended. The loyal servants of the crown were quick to bring yours and your family's baggage to your assigned chambers. You had a small bedroom, much smaller than yours at home but comfortable nonetheless. You had arrived late in the day, so your new ladies-in-waiting helped you change into a more comfortable evening gown. You usually read before going to bed, but tonight things felt different. With the next day being your wedding day, you felt the anxiety from the day you met the prince return. Is he also nervous? Could he be thinking about you? Those questions plagued your mind into the late hours of the evening.

The day of the wedding arrived; your dress had been made by the seamstresses of King’s Landing with your exact measurements and it was a perfect fit. Your ladies-in-waiting woke you up early, and you didn't sleep much, but you weren't tired at all. You felt your heartbeat strong, and your palms sweaty as you got dressed and your hair done, it was braided in a lovely way. You wore a beautiful off-the-shoulders white dress with blue floral embroideries, and your favorite piece of jewelry was placed on your neck, a pearled necklace with the biggest sapphire in Westeros. Being pampered this way made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. You heard the chime of bells echoing throughout King’s Landing, signifying the wedding was about to begin. The sept was full of lords and ladies that you had never seen but heard much about. Prince Aemond felt nervous but didn't let a bit of that nervousness be shown to those outside his head.

As you entered the sept, everyone got quiet, and you could hear some gasps. It made you feel anxious for being the center of attention, but you also felt powerful. Everyone was there for you and for your prince’s marriage. You were escorted down the aisle by your father, who had a stoic look on his face. Once you reached the end of the aisle and got up the small set of steps, you were given away to your prince with a bow from your father. With you being so close to your soon-to-be husband, he finally noticed the blue stone you had on your neck. It was the same stone that was placed on his missing eye, to him, that felt like a message from the gods that you were meant to be his. Once in front of the Septon, Prince Aemond placed on your shoulders a cloak with the colors of his house and gave you a sincere smile, the first you had seen from him, and you returned his smile with one of your own as you were officially declared husband and wife with a grand applause of all the ladies and lords.

As you arrive in the grand hall for the feasting celebration, you hear drums and your family's name being proclaimed. You move though the filled corridor, everyone has gotten up and looked at you, but the only eye that matters to you is the one from the prince.

Once he saw you enter the throne room, he felt out of breath, almost as if he saw you for the first time again. He never liked the idea of marriage, but seeing you like that made him change his mind. You are going to be his forever.

You climbed the small set of stairs in front of the dining table. Prince Aemond got up and held your hand, softly kissing it as he led you to sit next to him.

As you were eating the appetizers, you felt an immense wave of anxiety as your hand held your dress. "Maybe if I drink more wine, the nervousness will dissipate," you thought to yourself as you emptied your cup. Prince Aemond noticed and he raised his hand asking for more wine for both of you. You looked at him with a soft smile in gratitude and you felt a hand creep under the table to where yours was holding your dress. You felt Prince Aemond's ungloved hand; it was soft, and his fingers were lean. He placed his hand on top of yours as a means to give you comfort in such a stressful moment and you felt your hand ease the pressure on your dress.

After a little while, both of you had to do the bridal dance. You were trained for this dance your whole life and even though you knew you were prepared, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Prince Aemond got up and gave you his hand so you two could go to the middle of the hall and dance. You felt everyone's eyes on you, but dancing made you feel free. You almost felt like you were flying with each spin of your gracious moves. Once the dance was finished, you both bowed, and everyone applauded while joining you in the middle of the room. You both danced together for a while until you were interrupted by another lord asking you for a dance. Seeing you dance with another lord made Aemond's blood boil with rage. Someone else touching what was his by right was not to his liking, so after letting you dance for a while, he swiftly made his return to you with a clenched jaw and grabbed you tightly by the waist. He pressed you against him, you had never experienced such intimacy before, as you were sheltered from men your whole life in means to keep your virtue. This new experience made you feel things you weren't used to; maybe it was the wine doing things to you, but you felt nervous in a different way. Aemond looked into your eyes as you were pressed against him and said, “You look beautiful, my wife.” You felt your whole body get hot. “Thank you, husband.” you answered with a soft smile of gratitude and nervousness on your lips. You couldn't leave each other for the rest of the dance, always making eye contact as if you both were connected. He knew he had made a lasting impression on you.

Taglist: @maddyb-rapps

[eraenaa]

Unexpected Affections

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader Tag List

Synopsis: With just a smile, you had managed to bewitch and enthrall the stoic and cold prince. 

Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, ¿Softer Aemond?, ¿Simp Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, Fingering, P in V Sex, Oral Sex (f receiving), Overstimulation, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 7,287

A/N: Really milking softer Aemond bc I'm pretty sure I'm going to take a break from him once s2 is released.

He’s broken beyond repair. Too far gone to be saved. Aemond knew fully well that is how the others see him. The boy who had his eye taken was never the same. Darkness was his only solace, the walls too far up that no one dared to scale it and reach the true him— simply taking the dark and villainous scrap of his true self that he was willing to give. All seemed to give up on him— simply let him drown in his darkness, except you. 

Like all things good, you came unexpectedly. You were a mere visitor from Highgarden, a noble lady who came with your lord father as he tended to business in the capitol. Aemond could never understand how you looked at everything and everyone with rose-colored glasses, but he supposed he should be grateful because if that trusting naivety in you were lost, your light would never come close to his looming darkness. 

“Who is that?” Aemond asked his family’s most trusted knight, Ser Criston Cole. Your figure caught his attention; it was as if you were floating along the gardens of his home. A small smile on your face and flowers adorned in your hair. He stood near the balcony, discussing important business with the knight, when his train of thought was lost and captured by your mere presence. “Lady Tyrell, her father has business here with the crown,” the knight said absentmindedly. Aemond nodded and took one last glance at you before walking away. 

The thought of you was quickly forgotten by the prince. He saw your presence as just another to add to the list of nobles at court who cowered upon his stature. However, you lingered in the back of his mind as he often saw glimpses of you walking through the halls of his home. Aemond stood in the gardens once more, this time waiting for his sister and her children when he caught your eyes. He waited for fear and apprehension to present themself in your orbs, the same reactions he would elicit from everyone. However, the prince was taken aback as you smiled at him. A small, respectable smile before you stole your eyes and continued to your promenading.

Aemond blinked his eye rapidly, trying to discern if he saw correctly or if it was a cruel trick made by his impaired vision. Aemond pursed his lips as he felt himself walk towards where you had passed. There was this odd pull about you— more than your beauty; if it was just that, a comely face was never one to put the prince in a trance. It was an ethereal element that beguiled Aemond quickly. He had not even spoken to you, yet you had already managed to put such an effect on him. 

He watched from a distance as you bent down and assessed a flower, your fingers caressing the velvety petal and bringing it to your nose to discern the fragrance of it. Aemond felt that pull once more, his feet carrying him closer to you. When you stood straight, your brows raised in surprise as you had noticed you were no longer alone. “My prince,” You greeted with a curtsy, his silvery locks the warning sign that you spoke to royalty. Aemond was rendered silent, his mind already spinning at the sound of your voice. What was this? He could not explain what had overcome him. You bit your lip as no greeting left the prince’s lips, him only staring at you with an unreadable expression on his angular face. “Are… are you well, my prince?” You asked, daring to step closer and take hold of his arm to examine if he was truly well. 

You watched as his lips parted and closed, no sound leaving it. “Perhaps you should find some shade; the heat may be too unbearable,” You say quietly and never take your hold off his arm, guiding him towards the shade of a willow tree in concern. Aemond was screaming at himself on the inside, hating that he was making a fool of himself, that he couldn’t even speak, simply letting you guide him towards the shade and making him sit on a bench. Your concern for his well-being consumes your face and his being. “Do you wish for refreshment, perhaps w—“ Aemond shook his head as he finally regained his senses. 

You chewed on your cheek as the prince stood. “I am fine; I apologize for the— the intrusion, Lady Tyrell,” He said stoically, and you shook your head and smiled at him. “No need for apologies, my prince; no intrusion was made. But are you certain that you are well… you look a bit pale, my prince.” You say and quickly regret it as your mind reminds you that maybe that was just his true complexion. You swallowed thickly as you saw him pursed his lips, fearing that you had offended the prince. Aemond did not know how to take this concern— this kindness that he was never the receiver of. “I am quite well; good day, my lady.” He walked away in haste as he feared that if he stayed longer in your presence, he would make a further fool of himself. You stood there in confusion; your lips parted as the prince almost ran from you. 

The thought of you haunted Aemond until the night, his arm still tingling from where you had placed your touch. He replayed the scene in his mind over and over again, trying to convince himself that your concern was fictitious— that it was a ploy to be in the good graces of the prince. But as he recalled the way your eyes bore into his, nothing but sincerity was evident in your orbs. How are you this kind? To a stranger, no less. Aemond was restless as he lay in his bed; his mind kept conjuring your interaction in the gardens, refusing him any other thought than you. 

When morning came, Aemond had made great lengths to avoid you, silently embraced as he had made a fool of himself in the gardens. As his training ended, Aemond tried to find reprieve from the loud keep in the library. Aemond believed he was successful in his avoidance of you, but as he stood by the threshold of the silent room, he saw, as you were seated in one of the chairs, a book in your hand as you silently read. His presence was still not noticed. He could easily slip away and be successful in his avoidance of you, yet, just like the other days, his body could not help but be pulled towards you. 

When you noticed a presence standing before where you sat, you flickered your gaze upward and locked eyes with the prince once more. “Prince Aemond,” You acknowledge and move to stand to greet him, but he silently raises his hand and hinders your actions. You copied his silence as he took the seat across from you. You traveled your gaze through the library, uncertain what to say or do. “I hope you are feeling better,” You say quietly. Aemond licked his lips as he was subjected to your dazzling presence once more; even though he had willed himself to avoid it, it seemed you were inevitable. 

“I am; I was simply tired,” He said, making certain to place coldness in his tone, hoping it would deter you and no longer present him with your kindness he stubbornly took as deception. Aemond felt his breath catch as you gave him another smile. A relieved smile for his well-being that was so genuine that he could not stubbornly convince himself that it was not. 

You stayed silent as you felt that that was what the prince preferred. You tried to return to your reading, but his velvety voice sounded through the room. “What business did you have here?” He asked. Aemond was testing you, presenting you with his cold and calloused self to see if it would have any effect on you just like it did the other. He watched calculatingly as your lips parted, and he found trouble to remove his gaze from your plush lips. “If I am being honest, I am not quite certain, my prince.” You said truthfully. You watched him raise his brow at you to explain further. “My father has business he needed to tend to here, but he had not disclosed to me the reason for it or why I needed to join.” Aemond nodded and watched as your eyes were never removed from his gaze, surprised that you could hold onto his intensified stare. 

“So you have no purpose here?” He asked harshly. He expected a frown or a look of offense on your face, but he watched as you smiled as if you were amused and shrugged, “I suppose not.” Aemond stayed silent and continued to asses you as you returned to your reading. 

“Do you like philosophy, Prince Aemond?” You asked after a stretch of silence, unable to bear the eerie and suffocating quiet. Aemond took a moment before he answered your query that no one had been interested in asking him before. “I do,” Another small smile appeared on your lips as you nodded. “Then have you perhaps read this? I have been mulling over the proposition of the archmaester for days now, but I cannot seem to comprehend it fully,” You say and turn the book you read towards him. Your fingers brushed as the prince took the book from your hands, and you could not hinder the chill that ran down your spine as you felt his cold, calloused fingers against yours. 

You listened earnestly as the prince began to speak and explain the proposition you had trouble comprehending, going to great lengths to explain his thoughts on it, assisting and receiving any questions you had. Aemond paused in his explanation, feeling as if his mouth had gone dry by his prolonged speaking. He turned to the window and saw as the once high sun began to set; he returned his gaze to you, your chin resting on your palm as you had listened to his every word, clinging onto every syllable he had uttered. Aemond gulped as he realized his mistake. He had revealed too much of him; too much of his thinking was poured out in his explanation of philosophy. “I must take my leave,” he suddenly said, disregarding that he was in the middle of explaining another philosophical theory that was different from the first you had inquired about. 

“Oh,” You said and straightened in your seat. Aemond wanted to frown as he detected disappointment in your tone and eyes. That cannot be, can it? Why would anyone be disappointed in his departure? “Good day, my prince,” You curtsied as you stood, not wanting to take more of his time. Aemond began to walk away, cursing himself for his actions, but he halted by the door as you spoke. “Thank you for your explanations… they were quite enlightening,” You said, and Aemond turned to you; the smile returned to your lips as you looked at him gratefully. Were you truly thankful? Thankful for him? Was that even a possibility? Aemond gave a curt nod and willed himself to walk away from you. 

You were in the gardens once again. You were terribly homesick, and the gardens of the Red Keep were the only resemblance of your home that you could cling to. You were walking distractedly, a buzzing bee following you around as the flowers in your hair attracted the insect. You tried to squat it away, afraid to get stung when you accidentally missed a step, losing your balance, and were met with the cobbled floor of the gardens. Your jaw slacked in pain, and you tried to stand, your cheeks burning in embarrassment that someone may have seen your ungraceful fall. There was a stone by your side, and you tried to hoist yourself upon it, hissing as you accidentally placed pressure on your swollen ankle, but you were determined to stand and walk back to the keep to ask for assistance.   

Unbeknownst to you, Prince Aemond had been observing you from above the gardens, and the moment he saw the sight of you falling, he made hastened steps to reach you. “My lady,” He called, trying to hide his panting, and approached you as if he had only stumbled upon your presence. You sat before a rock, and he noticed you hiding your injured limb from his view, “My prince,” Aemond watched in slight awe as you still tried to stand and curtsied before him, still holding onto formalities even though you were clearly hurt. 

“Are you well?” This time, it was now Aemond to ask the question. You placed a tight smile on your lips, pretending that your injury was not at all bothering you. “I am fine, and you, my prince?” You asked, trying to speak of pleasantries. You shifted your weight on your uninjured leg and, for once, hoped that the prince would leave. “Are… are you certain?” Aemond inquired, wondering why you would pretend. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, and Aemond narrowed his eye. 

You sighed and placed your head on the ground. “I… I tripped, and I think my ankle is injured— but I do not wish to bother you, my prince. I can wait for the swelling to subside.” Aemond frowned at your words. How were you so concerned about his well-being but not your own? Aemond shook his head and stepped closer to you, silently scooping you in his arms. “Wh— My prince!” You said in shock as you were stiffly settled into the hold of Prince Aemond. Your arms circled around his neck to stabilize yourself. “You don’t— I could have just waited for a squire or maid to assist me,” You said in a slight panic and could not even bear to look at the prince in embarrassment. “You are clearly in pain,” Was all he said as he carried you back inside the castle walls, the both of you earning strange glances from the members of the court. 

Aemond returned you to your assigned chambers, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his still heart and the tingles on his skin from where he felt your touch. He placed you gently onto a settee, inhaling a whiff of your scent, and he felt intoxicated. He placed a respectable distance between you as the both of you waited for the maester he ordered a squire to fetch. Your gaze was still planted on the floor, and Aemond noticed the flush on your cheeks and the harsh bit you had on your lip, embarrassment clearly evident in you. 

“I did not wish to bother you, my prince.” You say quietly, your tone heavy with guilt. Aemond could only hum a response, clueless as to why you were apologizing. The maester finally arrived, and Aemond stood by the side as he oversaw the maester, tending your injury. You tried to keep your pained reactions to a minimum as you felt conscious of the prince’s presence, but you could not help but hiss in pain, and your face contorted in discomfort as the Maester tried to move your injury. Aemond swallowed thickly as he himself was overcome with a phantom pain by the mere observation of yours. 

“Will it heal, maester?” He asked in concern, stepping forward. “Yes, my prince, it is only a swollen ankle; it shall heal by the morrow,” The old man spoke and stood, placing a cold, damp towel upon your injury, and you reached forward to secure its place. Aemond gave a nod, and his eye followed the maester who exited your chambers, leaving the door open. Aemond returned his gaze to you, your eyes finally meeting his, and he once again felt his breath caught in his throat as you smiled at him. 

“Thank you for your assistance and kindness, my prince,” You say gratefully, and Aemond felt his knees weak. No one had ever called him kind before. As always, you were met with his silence, but you dared say you were getting used to it. After a few moments of Aemond trying to comprehend your words, he gave a curt nod. “I shall leave you to rest; good day, my lady.” He said and willed himself to walk away from your presence he did not wish to leave. 

Another day had passed, and Aemond had not seen a glimpse of your presence he had been trying to avoid just the day before. He had the urge to knock upon your door and to see how you were faring with your recovery, but he placed great restraint on himself as his mind deemed it inappropriate. So he waited another day. He stood by the gardens, his eye assessing every passerby as he waited for you. He had been stood by the balcony like a statue for the better part of the morning, but your presence had not been noted. 

Aemond decided to walk around the castle, passing along every corridor in search of you and ready to act surprised as you two would eventually encounter once more. It was nearing sundown, and he had not seen a glimpse of you. Perhaps she is still resting. His mind told him, but Aemond was not entirely sold by that reasoning. 

The prince attended his family’s supper in his mother’s chambers. He sat quietly in his seat and saw the aggravated and tired faces of his mother and grandsire as they came to the table late. “We apologize for our tardiness; the small council has been overburdened by a matter.” The queen explained as she took her seat. “What matter?” Aemond asked, always curious about the dealing made. “The crown cannot afford to pay the dues it owes to House Tyrell… it is too great a sum, and the lord has threatened to withhold back crops for the upcoming winter if we do not pay their price.” The hand spoke, and Aemond pursed his lips, knowing that the debt to your house had been since the time of the conqueror. 

“Surely they could be reasoned with— they would not want to offend the rulers of Westeros,” Aemond said quietly and heard his mother sighed deeply. “Perhaps, but no meetings and negotiations can be made at the moment, for they had already left late last night.” Aemond’s hold on his fork tightened as he heard the words. You had gone without even a goodbye.

“I just do not know what we can offer to match their hefty sum,” the lord hand said and downed his wine. Aemond traveled his gaze around the table, his sibling not at all listening to the matter. “Offer me,” Aemond spoke, and he felt all eyes shift toward him. He turned to his mother, the queen’s lips agape in shock at his words. “The crown does not have money to pay our debt— then is it not a custom to offer marriage instead?” He asked rhetorically; the practice was made for centuries, but the price was usually paid with a princess, not a prince. 

“Aemond, mere debts are not paid with a prince.” The queen said. “But it is not just a mere debt, now is it, mother? The Tyrells had as well placed a threat to the kingdom’s security over this winter— and the mere debt you speak of has been established since the age of the conqueror,” Aemond turned to his grandsire, who he knew would understand his proposition. The Hand pondered over his grandson’s words. “But you are set to marry the Baratheon girl,” Alicent countered, and Aemond scoffed. 

“We owe nothing to the Baratheons, and do you not think that this matter looms greater?” He asked, “Lord Tyrell only has a daughter, does he not? In time, the seat shall pass onto me as well, alike with the arrangements with Lord Borros. And with this, the crown will no longer be indebted to their house,” Aemond said, determined to see you once more. “That is a most favorable solution,” The hand commented, quite content by his grandson’s proposition. The queen sighed and took a moment to think of the proposal. “Very well then,” she sighed, and Aemond hindered the smirk threatening to slip his lips. 

“I shall draft the proposal tonight and send a messenger to Highgarden first thing tomorrow,” Otto said in finality. “No need, I shall offer the proposal myself in person,” Aemond said, and he saw apprehension in his mother’s eyes, disbelief by his decision, but none hindered him. 

It was afternoon the following day when he had reached High Garden, Aemond riding atop his dragon through the morning, eager to reach his destination, you. “My prince,” Lord Tyrell greeted him by the gates of their castle. “What business is so urgent that the prince of the realm had to fly his dragon all over here to the reach?” They had not even reached inside the castle walls when Lord Tyrell could no longer hinder his curiosity. 

“It is the matter of the crown’s debt,” Aemond replied, his eye scanning the halls in search of you. He heard your father reply with an ‘oh,’ clearly anticipating the conclusion of the matter. “Is the crown ready to pay us the price owed?” Aemond hummed as he passed a portrait of you hung on the wall of your home, his eye entranced by the picture. “In a way,” The prince danced upon the matter momentarily. “In lieu of a payment, the crown is prepared to offer a marriage,” Aemond stated and watched concussion flush over your father’s face. 

“With respect, my prince, but that is an insulting offer. The crown has owed my house a great sum accumulated since the age of conquest!” Lord Tyrell seethed, and Aemond gritted his jaw. “I believe you are too hasty with your outburst, my lord. The crown is offering a union between me and your daughter— an opportunity for your only child to be a princess… your grandchildren having the Targaryen name.” Lord Tyrell shook his head, “My daughter is already bound to marry another— titles are one thing, my prince, but there is still a debt to be paid.” Aemond felt the fire in his veins awaken at your father’s words. You are to be bound to another; that cannot be. You cannot be anyone else’s when you had consumed his entire being— when you had presented him with such hope and kindness that he was certain he would find in no one else. You could never be not his. 

Aemond licked his lips, certain that the words he would utter would be a gamble. “Very well then… a counteroffer, my lord. The crown cannot fully pay your price, so we offer a royal marriage and a fourth of the sum owed to you,” Aemond said, assessing the father's reaction as he mulled over the proposition. “I shall need time to reach a decision,” Lord Tyrell finally spoke after a long pause. “Of course,” Aemond agreed. “For the meantime, you are welcome to the halls of High Garden, Your Highness.” 

Aemond waited as your father disappeared from his view before he went on his search for you. He walked through the unfamiliar corridors and found himself being led outside towards the gardens where he wagered you would be. When he saw you seated by a fountain, a smirk curled on his lips. However, it was quick to fade as he had noticed you were not alone. Aemond made furious steps towards you to announce his presence. 

You were conversing with another when you felt your skin tingling and the familiarity of a cold gaze upon you. You turned to your side, and your eyes widened as you saw the prince approaching. You blinked slowly, trying to discern if your mind was playing a cruel trick. But when the prince stood an arm’s length away from you, where you could see him clearly, you knew that it was not a trick. “My prince,” You say almost breathlessly, curtsying lowly before the son of the king. 

“How… what brings you here, your highness?” You asked, disregarding the earlier presence you were with. “Business for the crown,” He replied, eyeing the man who stood beside you. You turned your eyes toward where the prince placed his gaze intensely. “Oh, my prince, this is Prince Martin Martell,” You introduced, and you felt Martin stepped forward and bowed. “Martell? Are you not a long way from Drone?” Aemond gritted as he let out his hand to shake the prince’s hand. He wanted to smirk as he saw the man’s tanned face twist into a wince before quickly masking it. “Yes, my prince, I come as a suitor for my lady,” He explained, and Aemond pursed his lips at his words. 

You licked your lips as you suddenly felt the fresh air become tense, “Would anyone like some tea?” You suddenly interrupted the intense gazes of the two princes, walking in between them as you made your way toward a nearby table that had the afternoon’s refreshments. Aemond tapped his finger on the table, his eye shifting between you and your intended whilst you poured tea into everyone’s cup. “If I may ask, what business warrants your presence here, Prince Aemond?” Prince Martin inquired, and Aemond reluctantly shifted his attention from you, who was licking sugar from your fingers. 

“A proposal for House Tyrell,” he said bluntly, swallowing thickly as your lips parted at the mention of your house. “What proposal, if I may ask,” Your turn to inquire. Aemond licked his lips and debated if he should give you the true manner of his visit. “A proposal for you, my lady, to be a princess of Westeros.” You feel dazed by his words, your body freezing in shock, and you seem to forget how to breathe. 

Aemond looked at you expectantly, trying to search for any reaction in your eyes other than the pronounced shock. You were saved from his expectation of a reply when you heard your father calling for you. “I— excuse me, my princes,” You say in a haste and hurriedly went to your father’s call. 

“What is happening— the prince just informed me of his proposal— in front of Prince Martell!” You panicked, recalling the scene to your father with wide eyes. You watched as your father paused his lips, an aggravated sigh leaving his nose. “Bold of him to inform you of such proposals when I had not even given him my reply.” You shook your head and warily turned to the gardens, where you saw two princes seated by a distance. 

“Where did this proposal come from? I… I do not understand,” You whispered, recalling your days in the Red Keep; the moments with the prince that you tried to sell to yourself were meaningless to him. However, you supposed you sold yourself with a lie because those moments were enough for him to ask for your hand. Hope was dangerously blooming in your heart, emotions, and festering feelings you tried hard not to succumb to for the past days, now inevitable. 

“The proposal comes because the crown cannot pay the debt due to us… instead, they are offering a marriage between you and the prince and a fourth of the sum owed,” The hope that was dangerously blooming and had rooted itself in your heart quickly wilted, willing yourself not to show disappointment on your face. “Oh,” Was all you could utter. “What is your decision then?” You asked quietly as your father guided you further into the walls of your home. 

“Your courtship with Prince Martell has been settled for three years since your sixteenth name day, but no formal betrothals are in place, and we are in no obligation to the Martells,” Your father stated as you two walked along the corridors. “But Sunspear is a long way from here,” Your father added, “And though Kingslanding is closer, and if I were being honest, I would prefer you to be a princess of the whole of the seven kingdoms rather than just Dorne,” You twirled with your hair as you listening into your father’s musing. “But this marriage is just a way out of their hefty debt,” You nodded along and waited for your father to decide. 

“So? Which one of them?” You asked as you needed an answer, your nerves growing unbearable. Your father took in a deep breath, “I shall leave that decision to you… it is you who shall marry one of them; the money is not truly that much of a concern— it was simply a bargaining tool for the crown to remember how indebted they were to us,” Your father explained, and your lips parted as you were given a daunting task. 

“Can I speak with Prince Aemond for a moment? I… it is— I need to speak with him,” you say, and your father gives the nod, “I shall have him meet you in the drawing room,” You waited nervously for the prince, your mind running as to what to say to him. You stood when the prince entered the room, your lips parting, ready to speak something you were uncertain of, but Prince Aemond spoke first. 

“I know this is quite abrupt,” Aemond spoke and dared to step close to you, trying not to grow distracted by your mere ethereal presence. “It is my prince,” You agreed. “Could I just ask why?” Aemond frowned at your words; it was quite a straightforward proposal. “The crown owes your house,” He said matter of factly, “I know, but we ask for coins or land but not a marriage,” Aemond licked his lips, “And I am aware that the marriage is a substitute. However, you would understand that no one would be that inclined to accept a proposal just because the one giving the proposal is in debt.” 

“Is this a rejection?” Aemond took another step, closing most of the gap between you. He was aware that he was scowling severely, scarily even, but you did not seem to be frightened, a first for anyone he had encountered. “More of a question,” Aemond’s brows raised at your words. “Well, it’s clear that this proposal is just an obligation for you, and if I am being honest… I prefer someone who would not see a mere business dealing.” 

“All marriages are business dealings,” You pursed your lips at the prince’s words. “I supposed they are… but not every marriage is just a business dealing.” Aemond licked his lips, and the both of you were enveloped in silence. “I guess what I’m saying is… I would not feel inclined to choose someone who proposes because it is their obligation,” You say slowly, surprised that you managed to come across your answer. If it were any other situation where the crown was not indebted to your house, you would accept the proposal eagerly, but your heart idealistic heart yearned for someone who wanted you truly and did not see you as a mere opportunity. 

“My lady, I think you have gotten the wrong idea here,” You furrowed your brows as all were clear to you. The proposal was just an obligation… isn’t it? “No one forced me into this proposal; the queen could not find a solution. This marriage had not even crossed her mind— I…” Aemond passed as you waited on bated breath for his explanation. “I have offered the marriage not because of duty or a way for the crown to escape their debt but because… I— I want you. I want you to be my wife.” 

You looked at him with clear apprehension, and Aemond actually believed that you would flash him your sweet smile— perhaps a blush on your cheeks as he had said words so unlike him. “You want me?” You asked incredulously, and Aemond nodded, boldly taking your hands into his. “But why? We barely know each other?” You asked. Frowning as your eyes go downwards toward your hands clasped with the prince’s cold ones. “Why?” Aemond asked in disbelief you would ask such a question? You nodded. 

“Because I just do,” Aemond licked his lips as it would appear that that was the wrong answer, watching as you stole away your hand and your lips turned into an adorable pout he was very much tempted to kiss. “I— Because you are pretty, overly pretty,” Aemond spoke and hoped that would sway your mind, but that seemed even to offend you. “And because you are knowledgeable, I have never met anyone who had the same philosophical interests as me,” Aemond quickly added, and he wanted to smile as that lessened your frown. 

“And most of all, because you are kind. You are… you are not one to judge— you came to Kingslanding without any criticism or fear of me. You actually saw me as an actual person and not…” Aemond trailed as he felt a sense of relief as he said the words he thought none could ever compel him to do so. “Not like a weapon?” You almost laughed as you often heard others allude to him as such. Aemond nodded and took your hands into his once more. 

“You want me because I was kind and took an interest in you?” You asked, making certain that was his reasoning. Aemond nodded and dared to tuck a stray hair that obstructed his view of your face. “If that is all that it took, what if then another comes along and presents you with such kindness and interest… am I simply to be set to the side?” Aemond sighed and cupped your cheek as he felt his stomach twist at your words and at the look of doubt in your enchanting eyes. “What if—“ You were ready to voice out another doubting scenario, but your lips were kissed shut. 

You feel heat bloom into your cheeks, and you are stunned as you feel the prince’s thin and cool lips upon yours. Your eyes were wide at the sudden contact, but they fluttered to a close as you savored the feel and taste of him. “I do not know what more to say to quench the doubts in you… but you must know, I have never felt such a way— I have never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you.” Aemond whispered against your lips as you breathed heavily, your body feeling afloat and alight. 

“The situation is not the most favorable one; believe me, I understand your qualms— but it is the only opportunity I had to make you mine,” You feel liquid fill your stomach, and words cannot find you. The only thing you could do was go to the tip of your toes and kiss the prince’s lips once more, a chaste kiss than the first, but it was a kiss that gave the prince his answer. 

Three moons passed before your nuptials were settled. You stood by the door of the great hall, waiting for it to open and lead you to your soon-to-be husband. “Are you certain?” Your father asked as he clasped his arms with yours. You breathed out a laugh and nodded your head eagerly. “I am,” You said with a smile and took a deep breath as you heard the trumpets from the other side of the door. 

Aemond sighed longingly as he saw the smile on your lips again. The smile that he had never been the receiver of before. The sweet and kind smile that led to all of this. 

You beamed at your groom as he took your hand into yours, unable to remove your gaze from his unique lilac eye throughout the whole of the ceremony. “I am his, and he is mine,” You recited after the Maester, feeling Aemond lightly squeeze your hand as you said the words, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. When it was Aemond’s turn, you bit your lip as you felt your smile grow wider, your heart beating loudly in your chest, and delight taking hold of your whole body. “I am hers, and she is mine,” Aemond stated, eye filled with sincerity and promise. 

You breathed in a deep breath as your husband stepped forward to seal your marriage with a kiss, your cheeks burning as you heard the cheers of your guests. “My flower,” Aemond whispered against your lips as you parted, his finger brushing away the stubborn lock of your hair once more. You could only smile upon him, your heart in your eyes— just one act of kindness, a simple smile had been the catalyst for you to find your love. 

You chewed on your cheek in anticipation as you were being led down the halls by your husband, the bedding ceremony promptly taking place after the feast. 

Aemond spared no second before claiming your soft, sweet lips once more. Gently pushing you upon a pillar in his chambers to keep you steady and flush against his body. “Aemond,” You called as you clung to his neck, his lips trailing downwards and his fingers undoing the laces of your gown. “You’re all mine, my flower… forever bound to me, my kind little wife.” Aemond hummed as he tasted your skin, his lips kissing your bare shoulders, the sleeves of your dress draping off. “I’m yours, my prince,” You sighed, but you felt slight dread in your stomach as he clicked his tongue in disapproval and slowly shook his head. “I am your husband… you must learn to call me by my name; no more titles and formalities,” Aemond lowly said, wanting to hear his name be uttered from your lips. 

You nodded, “I’m all yours, Aemond,” You said and whimpered as your husband’s eye darkened, and he forcefully slammed your lips. You feel your dress pool to the floor as he successfully removes it; he takes hold of one of your thighs and makes you cling to him, leading you to your shared bed. Aemond gently laid you down and parted your lips to admire the view of you sprawled before him. The thin sheet of your shift reveals all to him. 

You gasped in utter shock as you felt him tear away the thin cover you had, fully exposing you to him. A strained moan left your throat as Aemond dipped down and took one of your tits into the hot cavern of his mouth, his tongue teasing the bud. You clung to his silvery locks; just that action alone made your core tighten painfully. Aemond smirked as he moved to pay attention to the neglected mound, your hips grinding upon his as you sought friction. 

“Aemond, I…” You called, uncertain of what you wanted, but all you knew was that you needed more. “Yes, wife?” He hummed and placed open-mouth kisses upon your stomach. “I… I—“ You stuttered, not knowing what to ask. Aemond sighed and moved his head to kiss your lips, “Do you want more… do you want to be pleasure, my flower?” He asked, as he could not be so cruel to leave you in such a state for much longer. You eagerly nodded your head. 

It did not take long for you to be a moaning mess, your eyes rolled back in your head, and your back arched as Aemond placed his mouth upon your cunny. Licking and teasing your folds, “Aemond! Oh, gods!” You called in utter pleasure as you felt his thin lips enclose your sensitive bud, sucking and licking it. You battled with your mind-numbing pleasure as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch his actions. He looked up at you, grinning as his fingers teased your undefiled whole. You bit your lip and breathed heavily, boldly taking hold of the leather strap of his eye patch. You saw as his eye darkened, and you hesitated, but Aemond gave a nod. 

As you removed his eye patch, Aemond pressed his finger into you, your eyes rolling back as you saw his sapphire eye. Aemond returned his lips to your cunt, sucking on the bud as his fingers pumped in and out. He felt your walls clench around the digits and your moans growing louder. Through your closed eyes, you feel him smirk against your skin and curl the digits inside your cunt— a loud moan leaving your lips as you come undone. Your hips violently move against his face, and the pearl of your cunt hitting gains his angular nose. 

“Oh gods,” You say breathlessly as you feel Aemond’s weight atop of you. You undid the laces of his vest as he removed his trousers. You looked downwards and saw the whole of your husband, his warm, pulsating length resting upon your thigh. The head of his cock weeping a clear liquid. “W… will it fit?” You say in disbelief, never having thought that something so phallic could be so… large and appealing. “Of course, you were made for me, my flower.” Aemond lowly said and kissed your lips as he aligned himself with your cunt. 

You dug your nails onto his shoulders as he slowly tore his way through you. Him hushing your cries of pain and kissing away your tears. “It hurts— Aemond, I… it’s too much,” You cried, your legs wrapping around his waist. Aemond reached downwards and drew circles upon your cunt to aid your pain. You waited for the pain to bleed into pleasure. Aemond tightly shit his eye as he felt the tip of his cock brush against a rough spot in your cunt, him fully sheathed inside you. He made cautious thrusts, watching as you would acclimatize to his length, and when he saw your eyes roll back, that was his sign to fasten his pace. 

Aemond’s found your lips once more, muffling your moans and whimpers as his cock was relentlessly hitting the spongy spot in your cunt that made your core come undone over and over again. You were on the verge of your fourth climax, each of them coming quickly after the other, and your thighs started to shiver at the pleasure that had enveloped you fully. “Aemond… It’s too much. I— husband, I cannot,” You cried as you felt a different sensation, an odd pressure in your core unalike the other times you came. Aemond clenched his jaw as his cock twitched inside your cunt, “Just… come for me one more time, my flower,” He gritted as he wanted to coax another peak from you. 

Aemond laid his thumb flat against your nubbin and rubbed circles once more, your voice already hoarse from your loud moans. “Oh… Aemond!” You cried as the quivering of your thighs grew, and you felt the pressure in your core come undone; a differing climax from the first three overcame you. Aemond groaned loudly and tilted his head back as he spilled his seed deep in your cunt. You breathed heavily as you tried to comprehend what had happened, wetness pooling between your thighs, and an embarrassed blush spread through your cheeks and neck. 

Aemond smirked and shook his head, trying to soothe the mortification in your eyes. “I knew you were capable of it,” He hummed and kissed your lips. He knew it was perhaps too much to test your limits in your first night together, but he could not help himself; he needed to have you in such a way. “My perfect wife,” he hummed against your skin, and your reply came through your tired smile. 

[pinkykats-place]

Aemond Targaryen x Reader Insert Fics

Tumblr HotD Recommendations

Disclaimers!

The stories linked are NOT mine.

Some contain mature content.

Mostly female readers.

Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!

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Series: When Pride Married Prejudice

Aemond Taargaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

summary: she is the (only) trueborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lord Laenor Velaryon. after her younger brother, Lucerys, slices out the eye of their uncle, Aemond Targaryen, her hand is offered as payment to keep the peace. though unexpected, she finds herself in a loving marriage, until devastating news forces her to make an impossible choice.

To Have and to Hold

Aemond Targaryen x F!Velaryon (Strong)!Reader

Summary: Reader goes to Storm's End with her younger brother and instead of asking for Lucerys' eye, Aemond claims her as his wife.

Blessed Curse

Aemond x F!Velaryon (Strong)!Reader

Synopsis: When a marriage between you and Aemond was arranged and forced by your grandsire, conflicting emotions arise, but which one will loom greater? Loathing or Love?

Loathe to Love

Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader

Synopsis: Seeking forgiveness is not a thing Aemond bothers himself with, but that quickly changes when he deeply offended you.

Balance the Scales

aemond targaryen x strong!f!reader

Synopsis: he flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. you whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐧 (part 1)

Aemond targaryen x Reader velaryon(rhaena Daughter)

He Can't Have You

Aemond Targaryen x Velayron Targaryen!Reader

Summary: Hearing the news that his neice will marry Aegon. Aemond devises a plan to secure a marriage between himself and Y/n. As an added bonus, he loves the idea of claiming Y/n as his own.

Haven’t I Been Good to You? (18+)

Aemond x Velaryon!niece!Reader

Synopsis: Reader is pregnant and Rhaenyra’s heir/eldest daughter. An argument takes place after the dinner scene.

Mother Knows No Bounds

Aemond x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

Blood Lust 

Aemond x Niece!Reader

Summary: With his ego inflated after Rook’s Rest, Aemond makes another move against the blacks — taking you.

Aemond x reader

Request: Sending Aemond dirty letters by raven while you are away at Dragonstone. She is betrothed to another Lord’s son, but they see each other whenever she visits. He fucks her hard as punishment for sending the letters + Imagine Aemond being completely enthralled by reader soft skin and perfumed hair. You can make it a smut if you want to.

Part 2

You were my man and I your girl

Aemond x Rhaenyra’s daughter!Reader

Summary: Facing the news of her impending betrothal, she makes a final, desperate act of rebellion. Though when she discovers she is to marry her dear uncle, the man she has longed for since childhood, she realizes she may have ruined their marriage before it even began.

Here & Now

Aemond targaryen x Targaryen!Reader [Rhaenyra & Daemon's daughter]

summary: on the morning you were set to return to Dragonstone to reunite with your family, the Greens make their move to take the throne, and Aemond comes to you.

I’m dreaming of all the possibilities

Aemond x Valyrian!niece!Reader

A Kitten Among Dragons

Aemond x younger sister! Reader

Summary: In an attempt to close their growing distance, Aemond visits his sweet sister to find her accompanied by a furry friend.

Secret Visits

aemond x sister!targaryen!reader

Summary: you are aemond's little sister and he visits you in your room after dinner (smut)

Sacrifices

Aemond x little-sister!Targaryen!Reader

description: Finally, after months of waiting, his beloved, younger sister becomes his wife. The task that awaits him as an older brother is not to cause her pain during the beautiful act in which they will finally become one.

GEVĪ [BEAUTIFUL] 

Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary: Two dragons, hatched from the same womb, nurtured by the same hands, yet bestowed with different fates— how do you, rekindle your love for Aemond after he has left you to pursue your mother and brother’s wishes? well he will show you how.  

“Made for me.”

Aemond x younger sister!Reader

Summary: As far as Aemond can remember, he had liked you, not in a way a brother loves his sister, no, in a way a man loves a woman, finding out that you were soon to be betrothed to a Tully for alliance, he feels devastated, until he decides he can prevent it, by ruining you.

Thorough 

aemond x preg!sister!wife!reader 

Summary: Aemond is overprotective while you’re pregnant but never ceases to make sure you have everything you need and are well satisfied.

headcanon to aemond obsessed with his half sister (daughter of Aemma and Viserys)

As You Wish Sister

Aemond x older!half-sister!Reader

His Most Diligent Student

aemond x twin sister!reader

Summary: Aemond helps his twin practice High Valyrian with the most peculiar of methods.

You are everything to me.

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: Aemond Targaryen's twin sister is the only person who could consolidate him from the growing remorse that haunts him. He pays her a midnight visit in her chambers, seeking her for solace and comfort. As Aemond's sister provides him the needed comfort, they soon enough finds themselves carried away in the intensity of their closeness.

Tenebris

Aemond x older sister!reader

Summary: Aemond comes back from Storm's End, rattled and flayed open, only to find comfort in his older sister's arms.

Deliverance

Aemond x older-sister!Reader

Summary: Following your nephew's death, you find aemond in need of comfort. As his older sister, who are you to deny him?

Rōva Mandia

aemond targaryen x sister!reader

Summary: no one has ever loved aemond as fiercely as his beloved older sister. in return, aemond honors the vow he made to you in his youth.

The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear

Aemond x Helaena’s Twin!Reader

Silver Sobs

Aemond Targaryen X Sister!reader

SYNOPSIS: After the terrifying battle which took place at Rook’s Rest, Aemond’s lust for power had still not subsided despite burning his own brother, the king of Westeros. He arrives at King’s Landing with one thing in mind; to claim everything that belongs to his brother which included — you, his sweet dear sister. The Queen.

Heart of Glass

Aemond x twin sister reader

Summary: When your twin brother Aemond's defenses crumble and he begs you to fly with him to Harrenhal, you accept without measuring the consequences on yourself, and the ill reputation of the castle.

Series: Paramour

Aemond x fem!Targaryen!cousin!Reader

Summary: When the succession of the Driftmark throne is put into question, Rhaenyra returns to the RedKeep along with her children, her husband Daemon and his daughter by the late lady Rhea, Y/N Targaryen, who is once again reunited with her childhood friend Aemond who she had grown distant with over the years.

Just A Touch

Aemond x fem!Targaryen!Cousin!Reader

Summary: During a ball made to celebrate the name day of King Viserys, Aemond falls in love with Daemon's first daughter, and he is eager to dance with her.

Ties That Bind

Aemond Targaryen X cousin!Reader

SUMMARY: After spending most of your childhood in the Red Keep, it’s hard to let go of the bonds you’ve formed even with war on the horizon.

Labyrinth

Aemond x targaryen!cousin!Reader

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

This Is My Idea

Aemond Targaryen x Cousin!Targaryen!Fem!Reader

Summary: You were promised to Aemond for as long as you can remember. But despite your fathers' best efforts, you never got along.

Kinktober ~ somnophilia

Aemond x aunt!Reader

summary: Aemond needs an heir if Aegon finally dies. Gwayne Hightower's wife is too drunk to notice his manipulation.

Muña Series Masterlist

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Series summary: In which you find yourself caught in a deadly game of tug of war between two dragons. Daemon, your husband, and Aemond, the man who promises to make you a widow.

a little death.

Aemond Targaryen x afab!Reader

Summary: Aemond was always sure he'd die in battle, surrounded by lesser men but here, balls deep in your pussy. Aemond understands there's nothing more fatal than the sight before him.

BORN TO DIE

Aemond x Targaryen Bastard!Reader

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Gold Rush

Aemond x Lannister!Reader

Synopsis: Everybody wants you, and I don’t like a gold rush.

I was all over her.

Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!Reader

Summary: When the world turned their back on him, she didn’t.

Your beauty never scared me

Aemond x Tyrell!Reader

Unexpected Affections

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Synopsis: With just a smile, you had managed to bewitch and enthrall the stoic and cold prince.

Silent Passions

Aemond x Tyrell!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You and Aemond had been promised to one another before you were even born. And when the time came for you to meet, all were curious to see what was to come when soon to be spouses only shared one thing in common: your want of silence.

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader

SUMMARY: Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

Little Dragon

Aemond x wife!Tully!Reader

synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest

His Wife

Aemond х Tully!Wife!Reader

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, lactation kink, cream pie

Series: The Dragon and The Wolf

Aemond x fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: As the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell you knew your duty would arrive soon. When your father informs you of who you will wed you are most surprised and nervous.

Series: My Dornish Love

Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader

Warnings- arranged marriages, some sexual content

Touch Starved Aemond

Aemond x betrothed!fem!Reader

Summary: touch starved aemond aka aemond slowly falling in love with his betrothed by her gentle touches he was deprived of all his life

The Woes of Betrothals

Aemond x betrothed!fem!Reader

Synopsis: Recently betrothed, Prince Aemond is unsure on the virtues befitting that of a good husband. Ser Criston offers some surprisingly useful insight. 

Look after you

Aemond x betrothed!fem!Reader

Summary: You were betrothed to Aemond Targaryen, and while the two of you got along well enough, you hardly behaved as man and wife. After you suffer a great loss, Aemond decides to change that. (Hurt/Comfort)

mad blood stirring

Aemond x betrothed!f!Reader

(inspired by the scene in s1e5 where harwin rescues rhaenyra during the wedding feast)

Aemond is seeing Reader for the first time and can't help what he is feeling...lust.

The King’s Retribution

Aemond x Aegon’s Wife!Reader

Summary: when he walks back to the Keep, Aemond finds his brother’s wife in distress while her youngest child keeps her awake. Maybe it’s time to show the King that no one can humiliate the one-eyed prince.

Play Your Hand

aemond x noblewoman!reader

summary | When Aemond the Kinslayer descends upon Harrenhal, a dazzling prize awaited him— the widow of Harwin Strong.

Series: The moon and his sun

Aemond x noble lady!Reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

The Art of Persuasion

Aemond x noble-lady!Reader

Summary - A determined woman uses her strategic charm to win the favour of the powerful Prince Regent. She navigates a delicate dance of influence and intimacy, aiming to transform their fraught relationship into a potent alliance while exploring the limits of their mutual desire.

Series: Little Lamb 

Aemond x high-born!Reader

Summary: As a maiden of a noble house, it is your duty to wed well. But how will you manage to, with a curious and possessive Prince in the picture?

Can't help falling in love

Aemond x noble lady! Reader

Summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

Imagine: Aemond finds himself in a competition for his crush’s attention when his cousin from Essos arrives at Kingslanding

Aemond Targaryen x chubby!noble!Reader

Not a child anymore

Aemond x older!fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You are Queen Alicent’s favourite young lady in waiting and Prince Aemond’s childhood friend. However, he is sick and tired of you viewing him as nothing but a child when he is a man now and he will not let anyone else have you.

Good as Gold

aemond x lady-in-waiting!reader

summary: You found yourself the object of the Prince Aemond's stares, the reason why, you knew not.

Servant

Aemond x fem!maid!Reader

“I want you to watch me”

Chamber Maid

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Take Me Down To The River, And Bathe Me Clean

Aemond x maid!Reader

SUMMARY: The Gods have sent her for him, and he'll have her if it's the last thing he does.

Devil's Snare

Aemond x maid!Reader

Summary: Y/N is apprehensive when she is assigned the post of Aemond Targaryen's handmaiden. She expects him to be cold and cruel, and is surprised when he is actually kindle and gentle to her. All the while Aemond finds himself falling for his shy and skittish handmaiden.

An Act of Service

Aemond Targaryen x servant!reader 

Summary: Your father has loyally served the Iron Throne and royal family for many years. No one would ever assume the Grand Maester wanted more for his family's name until he has the opportunity to send his daughter to help treat the pain that's plagued Prince Aemond since the childhood injury that cost him his eye.

Humble Servant 

king!aemond x servant!reader

Summary: Working under the service of king Aemond Targaryen, you were eager to attend to his every need.

Mother’s madness

Aemond x f!lowborn!reader

Summary: Aemond, troubled by his unfruitful marriage and the stress of the war, takes himself a bedslave when he seizes Harrenhal and gets more attached to her than he ever thought possible. Bringing her to the Red Keep after he needs to leave Harrenhal would not go as he hoped it would, especially after the birth of the babes he sired onto her.

HC: Touchy reader

His Darkest Secret

Aemond x brothel-worker!reader

Summary: In Madam Sylvi’s absence, the care of the Targaryen prince that frequents your brothel is left in your good hands. His needs, you find, are unlike anything you’d ever encountered….

First Bite

Aemond x brothel-worker!Reader

summary: after the incident at the brothel, Aegon sends his brother a gift to make amends. but who would want an apple after someone has already taken a bite?

holy/unholy

Summary: Aemond has become enamoured by a whore of the Street of Silk.

Sweet caresses

Aemond x gn!Prostitute!Reader

Warnings: fluff, mommy issues ( i mean come on), talk of death, no use of y/n, gn reader, prostitution

Valyrian Blood: Of Old Valyria

Aemond x prostitute!Reader

Summary: Aemond's affection lies with you ever since he saw you in the Street of Silk. Even though you are a prostitute and do not think things can change for you, Aemond will do anything to make you his and get you out of the whore house. After all, you both do share the Blood of Old Valyria.

In the Eye of the Beholder

Summary: Compared to his elder brother, who abused the offerings on the Street of Silk, Aemond’s tastes have always been…tame. 

Aemond x brothel worker reader

Aemond Targaryen x Brothel! Reader

Synopsis: Prince Aemond Targaryen seeks solace at the House of Kisses and encounters you, a captivating courtesan. A night of intense passion reveals his hidden vulnerabilities, leaving both of you grappling with unspoken desires and the lasting impact of your brief, powerful connection.

Beneath a Dragon's Gaze

Aemond x sex worker!Reader

Summary: With Madame Sylvi indisposed on the evening Prince Aemond comes to visit, he requests someone different

The needs of a prince are the work of a whore.

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

summary: after aegon's mockery at the brothel, he pushes Aemond into having another whore. Anything royalty asks for, it is the brothel's duty to provide.

hold me, heal me

aemond targaryen x older!f!reader

summary: he comes to you in the dark of night, seeking solace, when mistakes are made and lives are lost.

The Beloved Son

Aemond Targaryen x brothel worker!reader

Summary: If Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.

ilībio

Aemond x female!whore!reader

Summary: Aemond finds comfort in your cunt

DRAGON COINS

Aemond x Targaryen Bastard!Fem!Reader

Summary: Prince Aemond finds his way to the Street of Silk once again, and he finds certain... familiarity with one of the whores. Yet, that doesn't stop neither of you to let your desires take over.

Virginal Whore

Aemond Targaryen x Celtigar Reader

Synopsis: Prince Aemond sets out to find a whore to warm his bed; he finds a virgin instead.

Nightblooms

Aemond x fem

Summary: It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely?

𝐎𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬

Aemond x fem!Reader

Summary: after facing embarrassment from Aegon’s intrusive visit, Sylvi helps Aemond find attraction with someone closer to his own age.

Sub!Aemond x Dom!Reader

Synopsis: Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen's tantrums have pushed the courtiers to their limit. Only y/n can handle his defiance, using firm discipline and control to tame him. Through a night of punishment and domination, y/n pushes Aemond to the brink, teaching him to submit and find solace in her authority.

Devout Worshiper

Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Synopsis: The Prince Regent expresses his carnal desire and devotion to you atop the Iron Throne.

Series: Call It Dreaming

Aemond x modern!female!Reader

Summary: You have a delightful sex dream.

𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

Alys Rivers x wife!Reader x Aemond

[i-smoke-chapstick]

'GAME OF THRONES MASTERLIST,

𝑀𝑈𝐿𝑇𝐼-𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑅𝐴𝐶𝑇𝐸𝑅 👑

📟 : [ NSFW ]

imagines and headcanons

none yet!

💽 : [ SFW ]

'LOVE CAN KILL, - how the GOT and HOTD characters get jealous

[unburntdragonqueen]

So I'm not a fanfic writer can't write for shit, but there's this one not really concept just something I want opinions and ideas from fanfic writers so I can imagine this in my head lmao, how would a Tyrell!OC fit into the dance of dragons and actively participate in it, no offense to book fans but right now I'm not looking for book canon tbh bc I know what their role was I just want ideas on how one Tyrell!OC could be included

[romanteacism]

A Butterfly and A Dragon’s Flight Chapter Ten

Chapter Summary: Aemnd had lied to get what he wanted, but it would seem it would also be the cause of why he lost the one he wanted the most. Word Count: 7,091 Warnings: Revalations, Lady Elinora and Prince Aemond Growing Closer, Daeron and Edward Protecting Elinora from Aemond, Secret Rendezvous, The Truth Prevails, NOT PROOFREAD

True to her word, Elinora, along with her pet Peony, sneaked out of her chambers before the first light and met her supposed betrothed under the willow tree near the pond. Throughout the entirety of her journey to the pond, she felt an anticipating and nervous pound on her chest as she was to meet the prince. 

She was cautious with each step she took, fearing that she might get caught and be found. Thankfully, as she arrived by the grounds, she could already see the boot-clad feet of the prince that peeked out under the leaves of the lopsided willow tree. Just as he said, he was waiting for her. When she made her way under the leaves, prince Aemond’s gaze was pointed upward as he assessed the branches of the great tree that hid the two of them from the other’s view. “Hello,” Elinora called out softly. She was expecting him to grow startled by her sudden presence, but no one could truly shake the stoic prince. He only lowered his head and faced her, a half smile on his thin pink lips as their eyes met. 

“You came,” Aemond breathed out. He knew she would come, but still, he was surprised as he had her sneaking out and meeting him illicitly. “Of course. I did promise you I would come,” She said and dared to step forward and closer to him. Her words and action seemed to spur the half smile of the prince into a full one, causing a flutter in her heart. She quite liked it when he smiled. There were lines on both sides of his cheeks that she liked to marvel upon, having the urge to feel them under her fingertips. 

“You never break your promises, do you?” Aemond questioned and took steps closer to her, and he could sense that it took a great deal of courage for Elinora not to take a step backwards. “No… I— I feel ill when I do,” She admitted and averted her gaze as the icy stare of the prince managed to draw a blush on her cheeks. She chewed on her cheeks as he took another casual step forward, placing him only a breath away from her. 

The prince raised his brow, only now hearing such afflictions for a broken promise. “Really?” He questioned and turned to the kitten in her arms that stirred as it wanted to play on the ground. “How so?” Elinora pursed her lips and gently placed Peony on the ground before returning her gaze to the prince. “I… I feel uneasy, as if something is gnawing at my insides and wishes to come out— perhaps it’s guilt, but it’s the same sensations I feel when I ate something unaccustomed to my system,” She explained, eyes shifting uneasily as she only remembered her promises to her family to never go about without their knowledge. 

Aemond hummed and reached forward to brush away a fallen leaf from her head, “That’s how you feel now, isn’t it?” He asked and watched the surprise in Elinora’s eyes as he managed to know how she felt so easily. “A—a bit,” She admitted, making the prince sighed. “Well then, let us feed the ducks so you can be on your way… I would not wish for my dearest betrothed to feel such ill feelings,” Aemond stated and watched as color further bloomed in Elinora’s cheeks. 

The two returned to their usual customs of feeding the ducks. Aemond sat on the damp ground, but he had taken out his handkerchief and laid it on the grass for Elinora to sit upon, not wanting her to sully her dress. Between them was a sack of crumbs and dried fruit for the water birds, and behind them, Peony happily played on the grass, the kitten leaping in the air as she tried to reach the butterflies that found Elinora once more. 

“How long have you known that we are betrothed?” The girl suddenly questioned as a butterfly landed on her dress. Aemond licked his lips, his mind quickly creating a fictitious story to tell the girl. “For years,” he answered, but he second-guessed his response as a slight frown appeared on Elinora’s pretty face. “I— I was not allowed to tell you nor seek you out... which is why I had stayed silent until late last night,” He quickly added, watching as the confusion in her eyes faded. “Oh,” Aemond bit his lip and nodded, an odd twist in his gut as he continued to lie to her. He never felt guilt when he lied, but why then did it announce itself now? Why must guilt now appear when his lies would be the tool for him to finally have the one he wanted?

“Why?” Elinora asked as she gently threw crumbs upon the water, her gaze shifting between the ducks and the prince. “I do not know... perhaps it is the same reason why your family had never told you of my identity,” Aemond reasoned, and another ‘oh,’ left Elinora’s lips. “I wish they had revealed it to us sooner,” She admitted. 

Aemond chewed his cheeks as he heard the tone of longing in her voice. “It just seems like a waste of time... we could have used it to know more of each other,” She added and turned to the prince who had already been looking at her. 

Aemond sometimes debated if the gods were real. Something so ethereal and mystifying surely could not exist. He always thought they were just made up by the exaggerated thoughts of mortals. But as he looked upon Elinora, with the first light shining behind her, casting almost a halo and the butterflies flying over her head along with the falling leaves of the willow tree… Each and every doubt in Aemond of a higher power’s existence faded as only the gods could truly create someone as Elinora. 

“Me too,” was all Aemond could say. His mind preoccupied to etch the image of her in his mind. Aemond felt his heart momentarily cease beating as a smile appeared on her lips. “But I suppose we have our whole lives to know each other, now don’t we?” She said, a glint in her jade eyes, and Aemond swallowed thickly as he had another passing urge to pull her to him and feel her frame against his and their lips pressed on one another. 

But his sensibilities quickly returned as the sound of a bell tolling surrounded the peace they were once in. A sigh left Elinora’s lips. “I should go.” She stated and moved to stand, and the prince quickly aided her. “Shall I see you at tea time?” She questioned as Peony ran to her feet and she dipped down to carry her kitten. “Of course,” Aemond said, a bit annoyed by how time was quick to ruin the sparse moments they had. But his irritation quickly faded as another smile came to Elinora’s lips. “Good day… Aemond.” She said, still customizing herself to utter his name without any titles. “I shall see you later, ñuha sōvion.”

“Oh gods… I feel like someone is hacking my head with a morning star!” Daeron groaned as they gathered for their first meal of the day. Helaena and Elinora were already having a peaceful tea time in the gardens when both of their brothers came, groggy and bearing the consequences of the previous night. Elinora smiled in amusement as Edward only grunted in response, the young lord messaging his temples. 

The girl had been waiting for a few moments now for Prince Aemond to arrive, and though the two were not who she was expecting and waiting for, she still found their arrival most welcomed. Especially due to their state, they cannot pose any threat when her betrothed finally arrives. “Here, have some tea,” Elinora said softly and filled their cups. “No— I feel like anything I will consume would just be vomited in a few hours,” Daeron grunted, and Edward only nodded along, not having the capacity to speak. 

“This is what you get for downing three bottles of Dornish reserve, each,” Elinora sighed and watched as a butterfly flew to her finger. “Lady Elinora, I had forgotten to thank you,” Princess Helaena suddenly said, and Elinora’s brows slightly furrowed at her words. “Whatever for, princess?” She questioned as she urged both Daeron and Edward to drink their tea and perhaps eat a pastry. 

“Your gifts, for the twins. They were simply enthralled! Jaehaerys had been painting the moment he opened your gift, and Jaehaera had simply ceased opening her other gifts as she saw the harp you gave.” Princess Helaena smiled, and Elinora twiddled with the ends of her hair as she felt butterflies form on her stomach as Aemond had made it that those gifts she helped him procure be ones she gave. “They’re most welcome, princess. I’m glad they liked them.” 

Just as a silence enveloped them, Elinora heard footsteps approaching, and she could hear her heartbeat ring in her ears as she thought it to believe to be of Aemond’s. However, as she raised her gaze, the anticipating throb in her chest ceased as she was met with Ser Gwayne. “Good morrow Helaena, Eli.” He greeted, and Elinora placed a smile on her face even though she was slightly disappointed that it was not Aemond. “Good day, Ser Gwayne. Are you to join us for tea?” Elinora questioned, quickly glancing at the empty seat to her left that she had intended to keep vacant so Prince Aemond could sit there. 

“Oh, no… I only came to summon Daeron and Edward— we are to train,” He said, a mischievous smirk on his lips as the two men groaned in unison. The both of them slumped further into their seats at the reminder of the deal they had made with the knight. Daeron and Edward often indulged themselves with the parties and balls thrown in the Reach, and it concerned the knight and Lord Tyrell, and so they made an agreement with the two. If both the young prince and young lord were to indulge in wine during festivities, they must as well be prepared to indulge in an hour or two of training the following day. 

“Isn’t that a bit... mean? Look at them— they can barely sit up,” Elinora said in concern as she sat before the two who leaned their weight on the table. “A deal is a deal, Eli... perhaps they’ll think twice the next time they drown in their cups.” Ser Gwayne stated and forcefully pulled the two men to stand. “Enjoy your tea,” the knight smiled at the two girls before escorting their brother, who stumbled to the tiltyard. 

When they were gone from her view, Elinora let out a sigh as Prince Aemond had still not come. It was nearing high noon, and Princess Helaena had left a few moments after Ser Gwayne and their brothers went about their business. Elinora, on the other hand, stayed longer. Sitting in her usual spot, she waited for a prince who promised her that he would come. But when the sun’s heat had been proven to be unbearable, all Elinora could do was blow on the inside of her cheeks and reluctantly stood and return back into the castle wall, trying hard not to take this instance of a broken promise to heart. Perhaps there are just people who do not take their promises to heart. She thought. That thinking quickly made Elinora glum. 

On the other side of the castle, in the highest tower, Aemond ran down the stairs and through endless hallways just to reach the gardens and keep his promise to Elinora. His grandsire summoned him to discuss the day-to-day business of the kingdom. A matter that was supposed to be inconsequential to him and should have been overseen by the heir to the throne, but his brother had no wish for such responsibilities, and Otto had always envisioned that it would be Aemond who would take his place as hand when his eldest grandson ascends the throne so he thought it best that at least one of them was well versed to rule. 

Just as he reached the grounds and he was nearing the spot where the girl would have tea with his sister, Aemond sighed as he saw no one present in the distance. He knew that Elinora had left, but he still went on and ventured to the spot just to make certain she was truly no longer there. The prince pursed his lips as there were still a few butterflies flying above the table, and the scent of Elinora lingered faintly in the air. He had missed her by mere short moments. The prince sighed and clenched his fists in annoyance. He had promised her! He had promised her that he would come, and he had broken that promise. Even if it was a small matter, Aemond still fretted that it would offend Elinora seeing how seriously she takes her promises; he only wished for her to see that he too will keep serious any promises he shall make to her and only her. 

Aemond marched away from the gardens and aimed to return to the keep, but his feet carried him to another place— as if knowing where Elinora would be. Aemond then traded the gardens for the godswood and there he saw Elinora stood under the branches of the Weirwood tree and staring upon it to asses the scarlet leaves. 

“Do you ever wonder why its leaves are red?” Aemond questioned quietly as he walked his way behind her, noticing Elinora was slightly startled by his presence. “Oh— hello,” she said, eyes slightly wide as she had failed to notice that the presence she had been seeking for the past hours finally arrived. “Hello, ñuha sōvion,” Aemond smirked and stood beside her. 

“So, do you?” Aemond repeated as there was silence that was quick to envelop them. “Do I what?” Elinora questioned, mind a bit discombobulated as she was trying hard to compose her erratic heart. “Do you wonder why this tree’s leaves are always red?” Aemond said, patient as he repeated himself once again. “Oh, is not because of its sap?” Elinora questioned, not truly certain what the prince was trying to say. 

“Well yes, but— why? Other trees do not have sap that is as blood like as this.” Elinora tilted her head to the side as the prince stepped forward and looked closer upon the red carved face on the white trunk of the ancient tree. “I do not know… but maybe we are not supposed to question it,” Elinora said, making the prince’s brows furrow in question. “What do you mean?” 

“I… I just think that sometimes, somethings should not be questioned— I think we just ought to let it be and perhaps appreciate it rather than question its being,” She answered and looked upon the red leaves and intertwined branches of the tree. The prince blinked upon the words the girl uttered, trying to understand how she was. It was not that she was not inquisitive… There was just something that Elinora forgoed to question and test— unlike him, who must know and understand everything. He found that trait of her quite perplexing but still authentic to her nature. 

“I— I apologise that I was unable to meet you in the gardens… my grandfather had m—“ 

“It’s fine,” Elinora cut him off, a small smile on her lips as she moved her gaze to him. Aemond raised his brow as the girl cut him off, making him think that it was not truly fine. “No, I had promised you tha—“ 

“Really, it is truly fine… You need not explain yourself, my prince,” Elinora implored. Aemond pursed his lips as his title once again found itself to Elinora; he thought they had abolished that— she was the only person that he actually wanted to say his name. “I understand that you have duties to perform... it was silly of me to ask you to join us for tea when you have more pressing matters to oversee,” Elinora said and tried to walk further away from the prince as she felt nervous under his stare and needed to distract herself. But the prince was quick to grasp her arm and gently pulled her closer to him. 

“I do not wish for you think that I break my promises so easily,” Aemond sighed as he peered down the girl whose thoughts he could not read. Was she truly fine? Or was she just saying it to appease him? “I do not think that...” Elinora trailed, “You need not fret about it; it is just a small matter, my prince.” Aemond breathed out as he searched her light jade eyes to see if she spoke the truth or otherwise. Aemond sighed once more and dared to move his touch to cup her cheek, feeling as the girl freeze for a moment before slowly melting in his touch. 

“The gods have blessed me to have such an understanding betrothed.” He hummed and watched as a smile tried to creep its way to Elinora’s lips. Aemond had another urge to intertwine their lips, unable to resist the way Elinora looked upon him, the scent of her that pulled at him, and her lips so pink and plush. However, the girl then spoke, “Why did you tell Princess Helaena that the gifts you bought were from me?” She questioned quietly, and Aemond raised his brow. 

At his silence, Elinora began to expound further. “You said you needed gifts for the young princess and prince... why then did you make it out that I was the one to acquire them?” Aemond pursed his lips and let his fingers trail down from her cheek and to her silky hair, twiddling the strands between her fingertips. “The truth is… I had already acquired a gift for the twins, which I gave two days prior to their name day. It might seem that I am spoiling them if I give them another.” Aemond explained and watched as confusion etched itself in Elinora’s face. “Then why did we go to the city?” 

“Oh, ñuha sōvion, do you truly not see? I wished to know more of you… I wished to spend time with you, unbothered by the court and others who know us.” Aemond explained but frowned as well as the furrow between Elinora’s brows did not dissolve. “But... why couldn’t you have just that?” She asked, slightly pulling away from the prince. “I just— I do not like being lied to and deceived...” Aemond’s stomach dropped at her words, his mind conjuring all the lies he had told her and the biggest deception he had made. 

The prince, however, quickly recovered and pushed away the thoughts and moved closer to the girl. “That shall be the first and last lie, ñuha sōvion,” Aemond whispered another lie. Elinora nodded slowly, “Do you wish to join me in the chapel?” She then asked slyly, and Aemond could not resist the grin that passed his lips as he nodded, and the girl boldly intertwined their hands as they walked to the direction of the chapel. 

When night came, Elinora was in her parents’ apartments waiting for her brother so dinner would commence. Her entire day was spent with Prince Aemond, and Elinora could not have chosen any other way to spend it. The entire day was filled with her and the prince getting to know each other better, and Elinora thought it was the most productive since now all of her questions upon whom her betrothed was had been settled. 

Elinora could not help but to smile when her mind would think of the prince, and she had to take hold of herself as others might grow suspicious of her sudden glee. When the doors of her parents’ chambers opened, it revealed her brother along with Daeron, both young men exhausted and could be clearly seen as they did not bother to change for supper nor styled and groomed their hair as they often did. 

“I did not know you were to join us,” Elinora said to Daeron as the both of them sat at either side of her seat. “The... my... mother’s chambers— it’s too far,” He struggled to say as he settled further into his seat. “I see the both of you had the most productive day with Ser Gwayne.” Lord Tyrell smiled teasingly, glancing at his daughter, who, too, grinned at the state of the two. “Could you pass me the peas, sister... and mayhaps feed me as well?” Edward asked, voice filled with tiredness as they had spent the entire day in the tiltyard and accompanying Ser Gwyane, who seemed to only walk briskly around the keep just to torment Edward and Daeron. 

Elinora laughed at her brother’s request but denied him. She, however, placed portions of the dishes served into both of their plates to prevent them from any more strenuous activities. “I have told you both that too much indulgence is a sin... now look, the gods are punishing you.” Lady Tyrell sighed at her firstborn, who sat across from her, struggling to lift a fork to his mouth. 

“Anyway... what did you do today, flower?” Lady Tyrell questioned her daughter, trying not to mind her son who had indulged in wine the night before— an attribute that the lady must admit she detest. “I had tea with Princess Helaena, then went to Godswood and spent the rest of the day in the chapel,” Elinora answered, omitting the constant companion she had the entire day. “That’s good. I’m glad you had not forgotten to tend to your prayers even when I am occupied.” Lady Tyrell smiled at her daughter, and Elinora could only force a smile as she felt a tinge of guilt. Though she did spend most of the day in the chapel, only a sort of moment was spent praying since the majority of it was used with her and Prince Aemond speaking to each other.

For the rest of the dinner, Elinora had remained silent and kept her head down as her mind seemed to refuse to set the thought of Prince Aemond to the side, even just for a few moments. So, to hide the smile that kept inching on her lips at the flush on her cheeks, she lowered her head and instead tried to look busy with her food. 

“Why are you smiling?” Daeron suddenly questioned as he caught sight of Elinora’s hidden face and asked why she had lowered her head for most of the dinner. “Oh… I— I just remembered brother asking me to spoonfeed him like he was a babe. Edward says the silliest things when he’s tired. Or drunk.” Elinora fibbed, avoiding the violet gaze of Daeron, and her old habit of twiddling with the ends of her hair returned. Daeron looked intently at Elinora, ready to question her further, but his tiredness could not him. 

When supper ended, Elinora was relieved to return to the privacy of her chambers, and the moment she shut the door, she let a beaming smile slip past her lips. A smile that had been begging to be let out for the past hour. The girl let out a dreamy sigh as she floated about her room to the corner where Peony lay on the ground, a velvet pillow under her small body. “I cannot stop smiling, Peony!” The girl exclaimed quietly as she took her kitten given by the prince into her arms. Her whole body filled with elation and a giddiness she could not repress. 

“In truth, I cannot believe that he is my betrothed... but who am I to question providence? If he is whom the gods say I shall be wed to, then I am most happy for their judgement.” Elinora whispered to her kitten, who simply let out a small noise before settling further into her arms. “I... how could have I been so... so clueless? How could I think that all of our interactions were just coincidences? It was fate!” Elinora continued to ramble on to her pet, mind completely muddled with the mere thought of her betrothed. 

She had never felt this way before, and she had no idea what to do with herself. Is this what being in love felt like? She could not help but think. And with that thought, she felt her cheeks further grow with heat. Had she truly fallen already? She always thought that it would take time before she would actually fall in love with her betrothed— she thought she would have to marry the man not with love but with tolerance and only learn how to love him. But this new development had her completely bemused as this was always how she had preferred it. To have love grown naturally and not out of necessity. However, Elinora was the cautious child her parents had raised, so she thought it best not to succumb to such thoughts just yet and decided to further know her intended before admitting the passionate feelings swelling in her chest. 

Elinora let out a deep breath and let the silence of her chambers try to calm her down. Perhaps she was just filled with excitement, and with all the teachings instilled in her mind, she always thought that a lady filled with excitement was a lady who is as well filled with inappropriateness. 

Elinora bit her lips and set Peony on her bed, ready to retire for the night and be rid of the giddiness that consumed her for the night. However, as she heard rustling coming from the balcony, she could not help but grow curious. Elinora cautiously walked to the opening in her chambers. The moon shone brightly, and it was a breezeless night, making the rustling she heard questionable. 

The girl peered down the ledge of the balcony but found nothing, so she made herself believe it was all in her mind, but as she turned to return to her room, she saw the ivy that clung to the stone walls rustle, and Elinora looked down and gasped as she saw the prince clinging and climbing upon the vines. 

“H—Hello?” Was all she could say as the prince struggled to pull himself up, “Might you help me here, ñuha sōvion?” Aemond grunted as he was nearing to grasp the railing of the balcony. Elinora hastily peered over the railing and led out her arm, all the while her heart raced in her chest as she questioned the presence of the prince at this time of the night. 

When the prince finally pulled himself to the balcony and stood his feet on solid ground, the shock on Elinora’s face did not fade, and she could blink upon her betrothed who seemed aglow by the light of the moonlight. “You might be questioning why I’m here,” Aemond said lowly as he dusted himself off. “A bit,” Elinora replied, biting her tongue as a smile wished to appear on her lips once more, but she reminded herself that she must not seem too eager— especially not at this time of the day. 

“How did you even climb all this way?” She could not help but question as she glanced down to see that the ground was so far away from her chambers. “I did not. The room below yours is a closet with a window with a wide enough opening,” Aemond answered at the mystified look on her face. Aemond let out a breath as his mind seemed to ponder at his actions. 

Truthfully, if he saw another act as such, he would scoff at their patheticness— being in love does make you do the silliest of things, and Aemond vowed then that he would never fall for another. It was Elinora alone who he would willingly do such pathetic actions for. 

“I… I only came to bid you goodnight.” Aemond finally admitted and watched as the confusion faded away from Elinora’s face, and his words brought forth a smile that made his knees weak. “Oh... you could have just knocked upon my door— you might have fallen an—“ Aemond sighed and cupped her warm cheeks once more as he could sense Elinora was to fret. “I am most skilled, ñuha sōvion, you need not worry... and besides, this was the only way— If I knock upon your door, I might be found.” He whispered lowly, unable to prevent the way his face was nearing the girl’s. Gods! He wanted to kiss her. For the sake of his sanity, just another kiss!

But his girl was most chaste and simply moved a step backward. “So you came to say goodnight?” She asked shyly, and Aemond gave a nod, trying to be satisfied with the fact that he held her in his hands even he could not kiss her. “Well then... goodnight, Aemond,” Elinora said, now fretting that she might be compromised and they would be found as her family did have a habit of just barging into her chambers to bid her goodnight as well. 

Aemond let out a breath and let his thumb caress her soft cheek, “Goodnight, ñuha sōvion. I shall see you by the pond tomorrow? As always?” He asked, and Elinora gave an agreeing smile and nodded. Aemond sighed and dared to step forward to hastily place a chaste kiss upon the forehead of the girl before going back from whence he came from. Having the lasting image of Elinora blushing before him as his lips once again grazed her skin. And Elinora returned inside her chambers to sleep with a beaming smile as she realized how she had truly fallen for the prince. 

“She’s not in her chambers,” Daeron yawned as he and Edward woke early, as they had to return to their patrol over Elinora. They had forgone their cautious actions the previous day due to exhaustion, and Daeron was certain that his brother had found some way to slither himself to the side of the girl once more. Elinora’s giddy smile during the other night’s supper was proof enough for him. 

“The... the pond then,” Edward said in a tired trance, and the both of them threaded to the grounds even if their body still ached, and all they wished for was to have a few more moments of respite. “You check the pond, I’ll search the Godswoods,” Daeron stated, as he recalled what Elinora had said last night, that she spent a few moments in the Godswood, and he only wished to make certain that the girl was truly alone as she tended to her customs. 

Edward then went to the pond as quick as his tired feet could carry him, but as he arrived, not a soul was to be found except for the happy countenance of well-fed ducks that glided upon on the water. Daeron, on the other hand, had stumbled into the godswood, and the only thing of note was the presence of butterflies that have the habit of following Elinora around, leading Daeron to hypothesize that she was once there he had missed her by only a few moments. 

The youngest prince sighed and moved to leave, but a feeling within told him to venture towards a corridor less travelled by. Daeron did not think twice as he followed his intuition, threading the path two had threaded earlier. 

Daeron held his breath as he was nearing an arch with a white, swaying cover, ready to discover Elinora with his older brother, but the scene before him was one that had the power to make his hard and solid constitution faint. There, he found Elinora and Aemond in each other’s arms with their lips against each other. His brother cupping the girl’s cheek and Elinora clinging to the leather-clad shoulder of the One-Eyed Prince. 

The youngest prince could only do but one thing. Pull away his brother and give him a harsh punch on his jaw. “You bastard!” Daeron yelled as he moved to strike his brother once more, and all Elinora could do was gasp at the sudden intrusion and the violent scene before her. “I have warned you! I—“ Daeron exclaimed, no following words could find him as the rage of the scene he saw had muddled his mind. He believed that what he saw was Aemond taking advantage of his dear friend, but as Elinora moved to pull him away and come to his brother’s aid, the rage he felt slightly faded as it made way for confusion. 

“What are you doing? Get away from him, Elinora!” Daeron attempted to grasp her hand, but Elinora’s trembling frame only moved to cradle the head of Aemond, who was discombobulated as he was caught off guard of his brother’s attack. “Why would you do that?!” Elinora finally spoke, unable to bear the sight of Aemond with cuts on his face as well as blood oozing from his lip and temple. 

“He— he was taking advantage of you! Come now, Elinora... let him be!” Daeron insisted and forcefully took hold of her arm and pulled her to stand and away from his brother whose senses were finally returning to him. Daeron would not show it, but he felt an eerie chill as he saw how his brother’s eye suddenly darkened as he moved to stand, and all the youngest prince could do was tuck Elinora behind him despite her protests. 

“He did nothing wrong! I— he... he is my betrothed!” Elinora exclaimed and pulled at Daeron so she could stand between him and his brother. She saw it in his eye, there was violence brewing in the cold lilac eye of Aemond, and Elinora could no longer stomach any more violence between the two. 

As the words left her lips, Aemond turned cold as she uttered his lie. “What?” Daeron asked incredulously. “What are you saying?! He is not your betrothed!” Daeron exclaimed, seeing in her pale jade eyes that she obviously believed such farse. “He is! Why would I kiss anyone other than who is promised to me?” She questioned and glanced between the two as she tried to convince Daeron that what he had seen was not all that improper. Unlike her, yes, but not at all improper since she only kissed her betrothed. 

“Oh gods...” Daeron could not help but breathe out, “Not only have you sullied her, but you lied to her as well?!” He exclaimed at his brother, who tried to reign in his rage and tried to salvage the lie he had sold to the girl. But it would seem to be futile because just in a short moment, all that he had done to be closer with Elinora would be burnt and gone. 

“Lied? What? Aemond... you are my betrothed, yes?” Elinora questioned, turning to face the prince who could only look upon her, without reaction, defense, or explanation leaving his lips. “Aemond, please... tell him. You are my betrothed, yes?” Elinora pleaded as his silence only placed further nerves in her. 

Daeron’s jaw ticked, and he placed a gentle hand on Elinora’s shoulder and gently pulled her to him. “He isn’t, Elinora. Aemond is not your betrothed— he cannot be. He is set to marry a Baratheon girl.” Daeron said menacingly as he looked upon his brother in contempt as how could he be so cruel to lie to Elinora. How could he have taken advantage of her good and naive nature? 

Elinora shook her head, tears welling in her eyes as she refused to believe the words Daeron had uttered. “No… Aemond, please, tell me you are truly my betrothed. You had not lied to me,” She said, voice barely above a whisper as she could not phantom the fact that she had trusted him and her trust may have been trampled upon. 

Aemond could not speak. Unable to utter the truth because if he did, he knew Elinora would be forever out of his grasp. “See, Eli… He cannot even speak. He is not your betrothed. He had decived you.” Daeron whispered and clenched his fist as a tear finally slipped out of her eye. 

“Tell her, brother. Tell her how you lied. Tell her!” 

Aemond resisted pounce on his brother at his provoking words, but he could not do so as Elinora stood between them, tears streaming down her face and betrayal hanging in the air. Aemond tried to reach for her, words still unable to leave his lips, and all he could offer was his touch. But as his hand grazed her arm, she flinched away as if he had scorned her, and when he looked upon her eyes. Her kind, warm jade eyes haunted his dreams; all he could see was hatred. Hatred from a girl who had not once in her life hated anything. 

Elinora shook her head at the pleading look in the prince’s eye and as he once again tried to hold her hand. All she could do was push him away and run from the dark corridor where the truth was revealed and where Aemond had lost his butterfly. 

“I’m going to kill him— I swear Daeron. I’ll be the one to fully blind him.” Edward seethed as the two of them paced outside the chambers of Elinora, who had locked herself inside as she let out her woes. Daeron could only sigh. His mind still bothered with what had transpired earlier. It was one of the few times he had seen Elinora cry, and he must say, he did not care for it. The way pearl tears dripped down from her jade eyes and how her lips quivered was an image he did not wish to think upon any longer, but it was haunting him. 

“She has been crying for hours... should we perhaps check on her?” Daeron asked and looked upon Edward, who seemed apprehensive. However, the young lord nodded as he did not wish for his sister to sit unhappily in solitude. 

The two men breathed in a deep breath before pushing open the door of Elinora, but the door was unable to fully open, and a shared question appeared between the two. They pushed further on the door and expected Elinora to be sprawled on her bed with Peony as she cried, but they were only welcomed with opened trunks and dresses haphazardly thrown inside them. “Sister?” Edward called warily as they made their way into the chambers that were awry. 

“C—Could you help me? I… I do not know how to fold,” Elinora then appeared from the wetroom, hair disheveled, eyes swollen, and cheeks stained with tears. She was holding a bundle of her fine dresses and Peony following along behind her. “Eli, what are you doing?” Daeron questioned as he tried to pick up the discarded items on the floor. “Trying to pack— though I’m finding it impossible... nevermind that I know how to embroider a whole dress in an afternoon, but I cannot seem to fold that said dress into my trunks! Perhaps this is what my septa should have taught me. Do you think it is too late for me to request such lessons?” Elinora rambled as she tried to distract herself from the gnawing pain in her chest. 

The two men were rendered in confusion as they watched Elinora try to fold the dress she wore during the Queen’s name day. They watched her try to figure out how to align the sleeves with one another, but she would ultimately grow frustrated and bundle the fine gown into a ball and throw it into an open trunk. “Elinora, we’ll have your maids do that. But sister, you must tell us why first,” Edward said softly as he tried to lead her to sit and pry away her dress from tight grasp. 

“Why?” She asked her brother, who looked upon her in concern. “Why? Because… Because I wish to go home— I want to go back to Highgarden.” She said, tears now starting to well in her eyes once more. “Please, brother… I wish to leave— I want to go—“ Elinora blubbered, ready to sob once more, and Edward was quick to embrace his sister and let her cry into his chest. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, brother. I had br—“ Edward hushed his sister and patted her back as she struggled for breath in between her sobs. 

Edward hushed as he had an odd sense of deja vu of the last time he held and comforted Elinora. It was years ago, when she was twelve, and their parents had locked her in a tower for playing a game of hide and seek with a boy. She could not understand their punishment nor what she did wrong, so all she could do was cry in her brother’s chest. “I’m so sorry,” She repeated. “I have dishonored our house! I had brought shame to myself and our name!” Elinora wailed, and Edward shook his head as he doubled his efforts of trying to bring comfort to the sobbing girl. 

“Daeron, could you give us a moment? Perhaps call Elinora’s handmaid so she does not sleep in this mess?” Edward asked, and Daeron quickly gave a nod before making himself scarce. “Sister, listen to me,” Edward whispered as he held in his hands Elinora’s face, willing his sister to meet his eyes. “You had not done anything wrong, do you understand? We shall not speak of this only because you know of what the reactions of mother and father be— but I do not blame you sister… you have not done anything wrong except trust the wrong person.” Edward said sincerely and earnestly tried to wipe away Elinora’s tears with his thumbs. 

“You do not hate me?” Elinora sniffed as she met the eyes of her brother. “Hate you? Gods, sister, of course not.” Edward said, “But what I have done— wh—“ Edward hushed her once more. “No more talk of this, Elinora... let us forget all of this. Everything done— all that has transpired shall be left here.” Edward decided. “The kiss... the prince... forget it all and leave it here.” Edward added, and Elinora could only nod as she hoped that her departure from Kingslanding would as well mean the departure of Prince Aemond from her mind and heart.   

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