#aetherion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wonyowonyo · 2 months ago

Text

Pixel Hearts (K. Gaeul X M! Reader))

when college gamer Y/N is pulled into the mysterious RPG Aetherion, he teams up with IVE’s Gaeul, trapped as Princess Seraphine, to escape the game. through perilous quests and heartfelt moments, their bond grows, forging a real-world connection that promises new adventures beyond.

genre: fluff

w.c 6.7k a/n: slowly finishing up the remaining pendings i've stockpiled heh. also for those who don't know, i'm starting a new njz book on my wattpad page, so if ya'll are interested u can check it out! anyways, hope you all enjoyed this one.

The thrift shop smelled of old books and forgotten summers, its shelves crammed with relics of yesteryear—faded board games, chipped teacups, a rotary phone that probably hadn’t rung since the ’80s. Y/N’s sneakers squeaked against the worn wooden floor as he wandered the aisles, his eyes scanning for something to spice up his Saturday night. A college sophomore with a penchant for gaming, he was always on the hunt for retro consoles or obscure titles to fuel his late-night sessions. Today, though, nothing had caught his eye. Until he saw it.

Tucked in a corner, half-hidden behind a pile of dusty VHS tapes, was a sleek, unmarked gaming console. Its design was a paradox—retro curves like an old Nintendo, but its surface gleamed with a futuristic sheen, catching the dim shop light in a way that felt… alive. A small screen on the front glowed faintly, gold letters spelling out Aetherion. No brand logo, no manual, just a single controller with buttons that shimmered like opals. Y/N’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t just a console. This was a mystery.

“Yo, how much for this?” he called to the shopkeeper, a grizzled man who barely looked up from his crossword.

“Twenty bucks,” the man grunted. “No returns. Thing’s probably busted.”

Y/N didn’t care. His gamer instincts screamed treasure, and twenty bucks was pocket change for a potential gem. He handed over the cash, cradled the console like a newborn, and hustled back to his dorm, the autumn air crisp against his cheeks. His room was a chaotic shrine to gaming—posters of Zelda and Final Fantasy plastered on the walls, a tangle of controller cords spilling from his desk, and a mini fridge humming softly in the corner. He set the console on his desk beside his digital clock that displayed 5:55 P.M, plugged it into his ancient TV, and held his breath as he pressed the power button.

The screen flared to life, not with the usual static flicker of old tech, but with a burst of color and sound that made Y/N’s heart skip. A cinematic unfolded: a sweeping vista of a fantasy world—lush forests, jagged mountains, a castle gleaming under a sky with two moons. A deep, resonant voice narrated, “In the realm of Aetherion, the tyrannical Sorcerer Valthor has imprisoned Princess Seraphine, plunging the land into shadow. Only a true-hearted warrior can restore light to the realm.” The words Start Game pulsed on the screen, and Y/N’s fingers itched to dive in. But something felt off. The console hummed, a low vibration that seemed to pulse through his bones, and the air in the room grew heavy, like a storm was brewing.

He gripped the controller, its buttons warm under his thumbs, and selected Start. The screen flashed blinding white, and a jolt—like static electricity, but sharper—shot through him. His vision blurred, the dorm spinning away, and then… nothing.

Y/N blinked, his head throbbing like he’d just face-planted off his bed. But he wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t even in his dorm. He was sprawled on a carpet of moss, surrounded by towering trees that swayed in a gentle breeze. The air smelled of pine and earth, so vivid it made his nose tingle. Above, a sky stretched endlessly, twin moons casting a silvery glow over a landscape that looked like a painting—except it was real. Too real. His hands brushed against his clothes, no longer his hoodie and jeans but a rough-spun tunic and leather boots. A rusty sword hung at his hip, its weight unfamiliar but grounding.

“What the hell?” he muttered, scrambling to his feet. His voice echoed slightly, swallowed by the rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of birds. This wasn’t a dream. Dreams didn’t feel this… tangible. He pinched his arm—ow—and then noticed a faint shimmer in the air. A holographic panel materialized, like something out of a sci-fi movie, displaying:

ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ʏ/ɴ, ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ 1 ᴡᴀʀʀɪᴏʀ. ʜᴘ: 100/100.

Qᴜᴇꜱᴛ: ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴇʀᴀᴘʜɪɴᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ.

The words blinked insistently, and Y/N’s stomach did a flip. He wasn’t just playing Aetherion. He was in it.

His gamer brain kicked into gear, pushing past the panic. Okay, RPG rules: explore, level up, follow the quest. He took a tentative step, the forest floor crunching under his boots, and marveled at the details—the way sunlight dappled through the canopy, the faint buzz of insects, the glint of a treasure chest half-hidden behind a tree. He pried it open, finding a measly

Health Potion (Restores 20 HP), but the thrill of discovery made him grin. This was next-level immersion, like VR on steroids. But the question gnawed at him: How am I here?

He didn’t have time to dwell. A rustle in the bushes made him freeze, his hand fumbling for the sword. A slime—classic RPG fodder—oozed into view, its gelatinous body pulsing with faint green light. Y/N’s first swing was pathetic, the blade bouncing off like he’d hit a rubber ball, but he dodged its sluggish lunge and hacked again, adrenaline pumping. The slime burst into pixels, dropping a single Aether Shard that glittered like a tiny star. “Nice,” he panted, pocketing the shard. If this was the game, he could handle it.

The quest marker on his HUD pointed north, toward a clearing where stone pillars jutted from the earth like broken teeth. As he approached, the air grew heavy again, charged with something ancient and electric. At the center of the clearing stood a ruined shrine, its altar overgrown with vines that pulsed with faint runes. And there, chained to the altar by shimmering magical bonds, was a girl.

Y/N’s breath caught. She was stunning, her short, dark hair framing a face that was both fierce and delicate, her eyes sparkling with defiance despite her predicament. Her gown was regal, all flowing silk and embroidered stars, but it was her presence that hit him like a critical hit. He knew that face. He’d seen it on posters, on his phone screen during IVE’s latest comeback. Gaeul.

She noticed him, her head snapping up, and for a moment, they just stared—him frozen, her assessing. Then she spoke, her voice clear and sharp, cutting through the silence. “You’re not one of Valthor’s goons. Are you… a player?”

Y/N’s mouth went dry. He nodded, then cleared his throat, trying to sound less like a starstruck fanboy. “Uh, yeah. I’m Y/N. I… got sucked into this game, I think. You’re—wait, you’re Gaeul?”

Her lips twitched, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Bingo. Though here, I’m Princess Seraphine, or whatever this stupid game calls me.” She tugged at the magical chains, which sparked but didn’t budge. “Long story short, I was messing around with some sketchy game file on my laptop, and next thing I know, I’m trapped in this pixelated nightmare. You gonna help me out, or just stand there gawking?”

Y/N flushed, his inner IVE fan screaming, but he forced himself to focus. She was real—well, as real as he was in this bizarre world—and she needed him. He stepped closer, inspecting the runes. They glowed brighter, almost mocking him, and his sword did nothing but clang uselessly against them. “These are magical,” he said, more to himself than her. “I don’t have any spells or—”

“Great, a noob,” Gaeul teased, but her tone was playful, not cruel. She leaned forward as much as the chains allowed, her eyes scanning him. “Check your inventory. Games like this always give you something to start with. Hurry up, hero, my arms are killing me.”

Y/N fumbled with the HUD, his fingers clumsy in the air, and found the Aether Shard from the slime. On a hunch, he held it near the runes. The shard pulsed, and the chains flickered, then dissolved in a burst of light. Gaeul stumbled forward, rubbing her wrists, and flashed him a grin that made his heart do a backflip. “Not bad for a level one warrior,” she said, brushing dirt off her gown. “Stick with me, Y/N. We’re getting out of this game, and I’m not leaving without a fight.”

The shrine’s vines seemed to shiver, as if the game itself was watching. Y/N gripped his sword, his nerves buzzing with a mix of fear and excitement. Gaeul stood beside him, her presence electric, her smile a spark in the dim clearing. He was just a guy, a gamer with no clue how he’d ended up here. But with Gaeul—Princess Seraphine, or whatever she was—by his side, he felt like he could take on anything. Even a sorcerer. Even a world that felt too real to be just a game.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” he said, half-joking, and her laugh—bright, genuine—echoed through the forest, a sound that promised adventure, danger, and maybe something more.

The forest of Aetherion stretched endlessly before Y/N and Gaeul, its canopy a mosaic of emerald leaves that filtered the twin moons’ silvery light. The air was cool, laced with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and every step crunched against twigs or rustled through grass that felt too real for a game. Y/N’s rusty sword bounced against his hip, its weight a constant reminder of his new reality. Beside him, Gaeul moved with a grace that belied her princess gown, the hem catching on roots but never slowing her down. Her eyes, sharp and curious, darted to every shadow, as if she expected the game to throw a curveball at any moment.

“So, level one warrior,” she said, her voice teasing as she glanced at him, “got a plan, or are we just wandering until Valthor sends his welcome committee?”

Y/N grinned, his nerves easing at her playful tone. “Plan’s simple: follow the quest marker, bash some monsters, save the princess. Classic RPG stuff.” He tapped the air, summoning the holographic HUD. The quest log glowed:

ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴇʀᴀᴘʜɪɴᴇ.

ɴᴇxᴛ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ꜱᴇᴇᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀʏꜱᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀᴠᴇʀɴꜱ.

A golden arrow pointed west, through a misty ravine up ahead.

Gaeul snorted, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Save the princess, huh? Newsflash, Y/N, this princess can handle herself. You’re just here for moral support.” But her smile was warm, and the way she bumped his shoulder—light, almost accidental—sent a flutter through his chest. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that Gaeul, IVE’s Gaeul, was here, bantering with him like they were old friends. Or maybe more, his traitor brain whispered, before he shoved the thought away.

The ravine loomed closer, its walls jagged and shrouded in fog that swirled like liquid silver. The path narrowed, forcing them to walk single file, Y/N taking the lead with his sword drawn. The HUD pinged a warning—Enemy Detected—and his grip tightened. “Heads up,” he whispered, just as a low growl echoed from the mist.

Three shadow wolves emerged, their fur black as ink, eyes glowing like embers. They were bigger than the slime, faster, and definitely not beginner-friendly. Y/N’s gamer instincts kicked in, but his first swing was a disaster, the sword glancing off a wolf’s flank as it lunged. He stumbled back, heart pounding, and barely dodged its snapping jaws. “Okay, not cool!” he yelped.

“Focus, noob!” Gaeul called, her voice steady but urgent. She raised her hands, the runes on her gown flaring with light, and a burst of blue energy—a Frost Bolt, Y/N’s brain supplied—slammed into the wolf, slowing it. “Hit it now!”

Y/N swung again, this time connecting, and the wolf dissolved into pixels with a satisfying ding. Gaeul’s magic danced around them, freezing one wolf while Y/N tackled another, their movements chaotic but syncing up. He tanked a claw swipe—his HP dropped to 80/100, the HUD flashing red—and gritted his teeth, slashing until the last wolf burst into loot: three Aether Shards and a Wolf Pelt.

They collapsed against a boulder, panting, their laughter bubbling up like a shared secret.

“Holy crap, we’re not half bad,” Y/N said, wiping sweat from his brow. The ravine’s mist clung to his tunic, damp and chilly, but the adrenaline high made it worth it.

Gaeul nudged him, her grin mischievous. “You’re welcome for the assist, hero. Next time, maybe don’t swing like you’re chopping firewood.” She picked up a shard, its glow reflecting in her eyes. “These are the key. Valthor’s curse runs on Aether energy. Enough shards, and we can break his hold on me—and maybe get out of here.”

Y/N nodded, pocketing the loot. The ravine’s walls were etched with faded carvings—knights, dragons, a crowned figure that looked eerily like Gaeul. The game’s lore was everywhere, woven into the world like a story begging to be unraveled. But as they pressed on, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Aetherion was watching them, its rules bending just enough to keep them on edge.

The village of Elderglow appeared like a mirage, its thatched roofs and cobblestone streets glowing under lanterns that bobbed like fireflies. The ravine had spit them out into a bustling hub, alive with NPCs bartering at market stalls, bards strumming lutes, and children chasing a pixelated cat through the square. Y/N’s HUD updated—Objective: Gather Information—and he marveled at the details: the smell of fresh bread from a bakery, the clink of coins, the way Gaeul’s gown caught the light as she spun to take it all in.

“This place is unreal,” she said, her voice soft with wonder. “If I wasn’t trapped, I’d almost enjoy it.” She caught Y/N staring and raised an eyebrow. “What? Got something on my face?”

“N-no, just… you look like you belong here,” he stammered, then cringed at how cheesy it sounded. “I mean, like, you’re rocking the princess vibe.”

Gaeul laughed, a bright, musical sound that made his cheeks burn. “Smooth, Y/N. Come on, let’s upgrade that trash sword of yours.” She grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward a blacksmith’s forge where a burly NPC hammered glowing metal. Her touch was warm, fleeting, but it left his heart racing.

At the forge, Gaeul worked her charm, her smile disarming the blacksmith as she bartered for a Steel Longsword (+10 Attack). Y/N traded the Wolf Pelt and a few shards, and the new blade felt solid, balanced, like an extension of himself. They hit the market next, stocking up on Health Potions and a Mana Crystal for Gaeul’s spells. Every interaction felt like a mini-quest, the village pulsing with life—vendors haggling, a leaderboard in the square showing “player” names (all NPCs, Y/N noted with a shiver), and a fountain where water sparkled like liquid starlight.

They ended up at a tavern, its wooden beams creaking under the weight of raucous laughter. Y/N ordered virtual cider—sweet, fizzy, and surprisingly refreshing—and they claimed a corner table, the glow of a hearth warming their faces. Gaeul sipped her drink, her expression softening. “This is the first time I’ve felt… normal since I got stuck here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Back in the real world, I’m always ‘Gaeul from IVE,’ you know? Schedules, stages, smiling for cameras. But here…” She trailed off, tracing the rim of her glass.

Y/N leaned forward, his curiosity outweighing his shyness. “Here, you’re a badass princess who shoots ice bolts and saves my butt from wolves.”

She chuckled, but her eyes were distant. “Maybe. But I’m scared, Y/N. What if we can’t get out? What if I’m just… code now?” Her fingers tightened around the glass, and the vulnerability in her voice hit him like a critical hit.

“You’re not code,” he said firmly, surprising himself with his conviction. “You’re Gaeul. And I’m not leaving you here. We’re beating this game together, okay?” He held her gaze, hoping she saw the promise in his eyes.

Her smile returned, small but genuine. “You’re not as noob as you look, Y/N.” She clinked her glass against his, the sound a quiet vow in the noisy tavern.

The seer’s hut sat at the village’s edge, a ramshackle structure draped in vines and glowing with an eerie light. The NPC inside was ancient, her eyes milky but piercing, her voice like wind through dry leaves. “The prophecy speaks of a true-hearted warrior and the princess,” she intoned, her gnarled hands tracing a star chart that shimmered in the air. “Together, you may defeat Valthor, but only by combining your strengths. Seek the Heart of Aether in the Crystal Caverns. The path is perilous, but the stars guide you.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. True-hearted warrior? He was just a guy who liked Pokémon and instant ramen. But Gaeul’s expression was fierce, her jaw set. “Prophecy or not, we’re doing this our way,” she said, her voice cutting through the hut’s heavy air. “No offense, lady, but I’m not some damsel waiting for a hero. We’re a team.”

The seer’s lips curled, almost amused. She handed them a Map of the Caverns, its parchment pulsing with golden lines. “Then prove the stars wrong, child. Your hearts will light the way.”

Outside, the village hummed with evening life, lanterns casting long shadows. Y/N clutched the map, its weight grounding him. Gaeul stood close, her shoulder brushing his as they studied the path ahead. “Crystal Caverns, huh?” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “Sounds like a dungeon crawl. You ready, warrior?”

He met her gaze, his nerves buzzing but his resolve solid. “Born ready. Let’s kick Valthor’s butt and get you home.” He held out his fist, and she bumped it with hers, her grin infectious. The twin moons hung above, their light a silent cheer for the journey ahead.

But as they left Elderglow, the map glowing in Y/N’s hands, he couldn’t shake the seer’s words. Your hearts will light the way. His heart was racing, sure, but not just from the quest. Gaeul’s laugh, her trust, the way she made this crazy world feel like an adventure worth fighting for—it was all starting to feel like more than a game. And that, he realized, was the most dangerous quest of all.

The Crystal Caverns shimmered like a galaxy trapped in stone, their walls a dazzling array of prismatic shards that refracted the twin moons’ light into a cascade of colors. Y/N’s boots crunched against the translucent floor, each step sending faint ripples of light outward, as if the cave itself were alive. The air was sharp, laced with a metallic tang that prickled his lungs, and the faint hum of the caverns pulsed like a distant heartbeat. His Steel Longsword caught the glow, its edge a silver promise, but it was Gaeul’s steady presence—her gown trailing like starlight, her eyes scanning every shadow—that kept his heart from racing out of his chest.

The Map of the Caverns, tucked in his inventory, glowed faintly, its golden lines urging them deeper into the maze. “Feels like we’re walking into a trap montage,” Gaeul said, her voice low but laced with her usual spark. She brushed a crystal stalactite, its chime echoing softly. “Bet you’re regretting that ‘born ready’ line from the village, huh, warrior?”

Y/N grinned, his nerves easing at her teasing. “Nah, I’m good. Just don’t cry when I outscore you in loot.” He tapped the air, the HUD flickering to life with their quest: Claim the Heart of Aether. The golden arrow pointed down a narrow path, where mist swirled like ghosts. Their banter was a shield against the caverns’ eerie weight, but Y/N couldn’t ignore the runes etched into the walls—faint, glowing symbols of knights and dragons, hinting at a history older than Aetherion’s code.

Trouble found them fast. A pressure plate clicked under Y/N’s boot, and he barely registered the whir of gears before spikes shot from the floor, their tips glinting like daggers. Instinct took over—he dove, grabbing Gaeul’s waist and pulling her down with him. They hit the ground in a tangle, her breath warm against his cheek, her eyes wide but glinting with adrenaline. “Okay, hero,” she gasped, shoving him off with a playful scowl, “watch where you step, or I’m billing you for this gown.”

“S-sorry!” Y/N stammered, his face hotter than a Fire Spell. He scrambled up, offering her a hand, and her fingers lingered in his, soft but firm, sending a jolt through him. The caverns didn’t let them linger—a crystal golem lumbered from an alcove, its faceless head glowing with inner light. Y/N swung, his sword sparking against its hide, while Gaeul’s Frost Bolt froze its arm, giving him an opening. His HP dipped to 80/100 from a glancing blow, but her Healing Touch—a warm pulse of light—mended the ache, her hand brushing his arm. “Stay alive, noob,” she muttered, but her smile was softer than her words.

The path twisted deeper, bridges of crystal arching over chasms that swallowed light. Every trap, every golem, drew them closer—Gaeul’s magic lighting the way, Y/N’s blade clearing the path. The caverns’ pulse grew louder, the runes brighter, as if Aetherion was testing their resolve, daring them to reach its heart.

The cavern’s heart was a cathedral of light, a vast chamber where crystals soared like spires, their reflections dancing in a haze of color. At its center, a pedestal held the Heart of Aether, a glowing orb that pulsed with a rhythm that matched the cave’s hum, its light both inviting and ominous. Coiled around it was a crystal dragon, its scales like molten glass, its eyes twin flames that seemed to see through them. Y/N’s HUD flashed—Boss: Crystal Guardian—and his throat tightened. This wasn’t just a fight. This was judgment.

The dragon didn’t strike. Its voice echoed in their minds, deep and resonant, like a storm trapped in stone. Only those bound by trust may claim the Heart. Answer, or perish. Its first riddle hit Y/N like a blade. What do you fear most, warrior? The air grew heavy, the chamber’s light dimming as if the game itself demanded truth.

Y/N’s grip on his sword faltered, his heart pounding. He glanced at Gaeul, her eyes steady but searching, and the words spilled out, raw and unguarded. “Failing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not being enough to get you out of here.” The confession hung between them, heavy and real, and the dragon’s form flickered, its scales losing their sheen, as if his honesty had chipped away at its power.

Gaeul’s turn came next. And you, princess? The question seemed to pierce her, her confidence wavering as she twisted the hem of her gown. She looked at Y/N, her eyes glistening, and her voice trembled. “Losing myself,” she said. “Becoming just… Seraphine. Not Gaeul anymore.” The vulnerability in her words made Y/N’s chest ache, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, a silent promise that she was still her. The dragon flickered again, its eyes dimming, but it wasn’t done.

What binds you? The final riddle demanded they speak as one. Their eyes locked, and without hesitation, they answered together: “Trust.” The word was a spark, igniting the chamber’s light, and the dragon roared, its form solidifying as it lunged. The fight was brutal—Y/N darted in, his sword sparking against crystal scales, his HP dropping to 60/100 from a tail swipe that sent him sprawling. Gaeul’s Frost Bolts slowed the beast, her voice fierce as she shouted, “Get up, Y/N! We’re not done!” Her magic wove through the crystals, amplifying into a dazzling Aether Surge that stunned the dragon, giving Y/N the chance to climb its back and strike a glowing weak point. The beast shattered, its fragments dissolving into light, and the Heart of Aether floated toward them, warm and alive in Y/N’s hands.

The victory was fleeting. The Heart pulsed in Y/N’s grip, its light flooding the chamber, but the caverns trembled, a low groan echoing as cracks splintered the crystal walls. The HUD glitched—text flickering into gibberish, colors bleeding like a corrupted file. Gaeul’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. “Y/N, it’s breaking!” she cried, her voice sharp with panic as the ground bucked beneath them. Pixels sparked in the air, and for a horrifying moment, her form flickered—her gown dissolving into static, her hand in his turning translucent before snapping back.

“No!” Y/N grabbed her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as the chamber shook. “You’re not disappearing, Gaeul. I’ve got you.” His voice was fierce, cutting through the chaos, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his tunic, her breath shaky against his chest. The Heart’s warmth steadied the glitches, its pulse a lifeline, but the caverns were collapsing, shards raining like glass.

The HUD flickered, barely legible:

ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ.

The Heart was their key—Valthor’s weakness, and maybe their way out. But the glitches revealed something darker. Runes on the walls flared, showing glimpses of Aetherion’s truth: a sentient program, designed to trap players, feeding on their will. The dragon’s defeat had destabilized it, but at a cost. Gaeul’s eyes met Y/N’s, her fear tempered by the same fire that had carried them this far. “We’re ending this,” she said, her voice steady despite the trembling ground. “Together.”

Y/N nodded, his hand still in hers, the Heart’s glow a beacon in the chaos. “Together,” he echoed, his grin shaky but real. The chamber’s light flared, the caverns’ pulse fading as debris fell around them. Whatever lay ahead—Valthor, the game’s final trap—he knew one thing: Gaeul’s trust, her warmth, was worth fighting for. And he wasn’t letting go.

The wasteland stretched before Valthor’s Tower like a scar on Aetherion’s vibrant heart, its cracked earth dusted with ash and lit by a sky roiling with storm clouds. The tower itself loomed, a gothic spire of black stone that clawed at the heavens, its spires wreathed in lightning that crackled with menace. Y/N’s boots sank into the grit, the Heart of Aether pulsing warmly in his inventory, its glow a faint counterpoint to the storm’s fury. His Steel Longsword felt heavier now, as if it sensed the battle ahead, but Gaeul’s presence beside him—her gown tattered but her stride fierce—made the impossible feel within reach.

The HUD’s quest log burned bright:

ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ᴅᴇꜰᴇᴀᴛ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇ.

“Last chance to back out, warrior,” Gaeul said, her voice light but her eyes sharp, scanning the tower’s arched entrance. A gust tugged at her hair, and she tucked a strand behind her ear, the gesture so ordinary it grounded Y/N in the chaos. “This place looks like it eats noobs for breakfast.”

Y/N smirked, his nerves buzzing but his resolve ironclad. “Good thing I’ve got the best co-op partner in the game.” He bumped her shoulder, a playful echo of their village days, and her laugh—bright, defiant—cut through the storm’s howl. The warmth of that sound lingered as they stepped into the tower, the air shifting to a damp chill, heavy with the scent of old stone and magic.

The ascent was a gauntlet. Spiral stairs wound upward, their edges worn smooth by unseen centuries, lit by torches that flickered with unnatural blue flame. Minions—shadowy wraiths with glowing eyes—swarmed from alcoves, and Y/N’s sword sang as he slashed through them, his HP holding steady at 80/100 thanks to Gaeul’s Frost Bolts and quick Healing Touches. A magical barrier blocked a landing, its runes pulsing red, and they pressed against it, their shoulders brushing in the cramped space. Gaeul’s fingers traced the runes, her brow furrowed, and Y/N shielded her from a wraith’s claw, his grunt of effort drowned by her triumphant shout as the barrier shattered.

“Nice one, princess,” he panted, wiping sweat from his brow. Her grin was all mischief, but the way her hand lingered on his arm—steadying, grateful—sent a flutter through him. The tower’s stained-glass windows cast eerie patterns, depicting a crowned figure falling to darkness, and Y/N’s HUD pinged with lore: Valthor, once a hero, succumbed to greed, binding Aetherion to his will. The game was telling its story, but the real one was unfolding between them—every shared glance, every brush of hands, a thread tying their fates tighter.

The throne room was a void, its walls swallowed by shadows that pulsed like a living thing. At its heart stood Valthor, a towering figure cloaked in darkness, his eyes twin voids that seemed to drink the light. The Heart of Aether flared in Y/N’s inventory, its pulse syncing with his racing heart, and Gaeul’s hand brushed his, a silent signal to stay sharp. The HUD flashed—Boss: Sorcerer Valthor—and the air grew thick, charged with power that made Y/N’s skin prickle.

“You dare challenge me?” Valthor’s voice was a hiss, slithering through the void. “A boy and a puppet princess, bound by fleeting trust. You are nothing.” His words targeted their doubts, and Y/N felt them—fear that he wasn’t enough, that Gaeul would be trapped forever. But her eyes met his, fierce and unwavering, and the doubts crumbled.

“Shut up, creepy,” Gaeul snapped, her Aether Surge flaring, a dazzling arc of light that lit the room. “We’re taking you down.” She squeezed Y/N’s hand, her warmth grounding him, and they charged.

The battle was chaos. Valthor’s spells—shadow bolts, chains of dark energy—tore through the air, and Y/N dove to shield Gaeul, his HP dropping to 50/100 as a bolt grazed him. Pain flared, but her Healing Touch soothed it, her voice fierce: “Stay with me, Y/N!” He struck back, his sword sparking against Valthor’s barriers, while Gaeul wove magic, her Frost Bolts slowing the sorcerer’s movements. Valthor’s taunts grew desperate, targeting their bond—“She’ll forget you, boy, in the real world”—but Y/N roared, “She’s not your puppet!” and Gaeul’s laugh, sharp and defiant, echoed his resolve.

The Heart of Aether was their edge. Y/N tossed it to Gaeul, who caught it mid-air, its light amplifying her magic into a blinding Aether Nova. The room shook, Valthor’s form flickering, and Y/N saw his chance—a weak point in the sorcerer’s chest, pulsing with stolen light. He sprinted, dodging chains, and drove his sword deep, the Heart’s energy surging through the blade. Valthor screamed, his body dissolving into pixels, and the throne room pulsed, the shadows retreating to reveal a broken man—Valthor’s true form, frail and defeated, before he vanished entirely.

Y/N collapsed to his knees, panting, his HP at a shaky 30/100. Gaeul dropped beside him, her breath ragged but her grin triumphant. “We did it,” she whispered, and before he could think, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tight around him, her warmth chasing away the void’s chill. He hugged her back, his heart pounding not from the fight but from her—her laugh, her strength, her trust. For a moment, the world was just them, and it was enough.

The tower trembled, its stones cracking as the Heart of Aether pulsed wildly in Gaeul’s hands. The HUD glitched, text dissolving into static, and the throne room warped—walls bending, floor rippling like water. Valthor’s defeat had broken Aetherion’s core, and the game was unraveling. Gaeul’s eyes widened, her grip on the Heart tightening. “Y/N, it’s now or never,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos.

A portal tore open at the room’s center, a vortex of light that hummed with promise and peril. Beyond it, Y/N glimpsed his dorm—messy desk, flickering PC, the real world—but the portal flickered, unstable, as debris fell around them. Gaeul’s hand found his, her fingers lacing through his, and he felt her tremble, her fear mirroring his own. “What if it doesn’t work?” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “What if we’re stuck?”

Y/N squeezed her hand, his voice firm. “We’re not. You’re Gaeul, I’m Y/N, and we’re going home.” He pulled her close, their foreheads nearly touching, and her nod was small but fierce. The Heart flared, its light stabilizing the portal, and they ran, hand in hand, as the tower crumbled behind them. The vortex’s pull was dizzying, light blinding, and Gaeul’s grip tightened, her voice a soft, “Don’t let go.”

They leaped, the world dissolving into white. Y/N’s senses spun—weightless, then heavy, the air shifting from Aetherion’s storm to the stale warmth of his dorm/ He landed hard on his carpet, Gaeul beside him, her gown gone, replaced by jeans and a hoodie, her short hair framing a face that was unmistakably her. The console sat on his desk, dark and silent, its screen blank. The Heart was gone, Aetherion with it. He looked at the clock at his desk:

6:02 P.M

What was eternity for them, was merely a minute in the real word. Gaeul’s laugh broke the silence, shaky but real, and she punched his arm lightly. “We made it, you dork.” Her eyes sparkled, relief and something softer—something that made Y/N’s heart skip. He grinned, rubbing his arm, and for a moment, the dorm felt as vibrant as Aetherion—because she was here, real, and they’d won.

The dorm smelled of instant ramen and faintly of burnt popcorn, a stark contrast to Aetherion’s pine-scented forests and metallic caverns. Y/N’s desk was a mess—empty soda cans, a tangled mess of controller cords, and the now-silent console, its screen dark as if it had never pulled them into a world of magic and danger. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, casting golden stripes across the carpet where Y/N and Gaeul sat cross-legged, a steaming pot of ramen between them. Gaeul, no longer in her princess gown but in a borrowed hoodie and jeans, twirled chopsticks with the same grace she’d wielded Frost Bolts. Her short hair framed her face, and her smile—bright, unguarded—made the dorm feel like the coziest place in the world.

“Never thought I’d miss instant noodles,” she said, slurping a mouthful with a contented hum. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned closer, nudging Y/N’s knee with hers. “You’re a terrible cook, you know. This is, like, 80% water.”

Y/N laughed, his cheeks flushing as he poked at his own bowl. “Hey, I’m a warrior, not a chef. Besides, you’re eating it, so I’m calling it a win.” Her nudge lingered, her knee still pressed against his, and the warmth of it sent his heart into a familiar flutter—one he’d felt in Aetherion, dodging spikes or hugging her after Valthor’s fall. But here, in the real world, it felt bigger, realer, like a spark that refused to fade.

They traded stories over the ramen, their voices overlapping in a giddy recount of their adventure. Y/N mimicked his clumsy first swing at the slime, earning a giggle that made Gaeul’s nose crinkle. She reenacted the dragon’s riddles, her voice dropping dramatically, and Y/N couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how her hands danced as she talked, how her laughter filled the room like music. “You were so serious back there,” she teased, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing his. “All, ‘I’m not leaving you, Gaeul.’ Total hero vibes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his blush deepening. “I meant it, you know. Couldn’t let my favorite princess stay trapped.” The words slipped out, bolder than he’d planned, and Gaeul’s eyes softened, her teasing grin shifting to something warmer, something that made his breath catch.

“You’re sweet, Y/N,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere. She reached out, her fingers brushing his, and didn’t pull away, letting their hands rest together on the carpet. The touch was simple but electric, and Y/N’s heart raced as he laced his fingers with hers, tentative but sure. Her smile widened, and she squeezed his hand, a silent acknowledgment that this—whatever it was—was real. The dorm, with its cluttered chaos, felt like their own little world, a new adventure just beginning.

The sun dipped lower, painting the room in hues of orange and pink, and Gaeul’s phone buzzed on the desk, a reminder of the real world waiting outside. She sighed, checking the screen—messages from her IVE members, a schedule packed with rehearsals and interviews. “Duty calls,” she said, but her tone was reluctant, her hand still in Y/N’s as she leaned against him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. The weight of her was warm, grounding, and Y/N’s heart thudded, torn between the thrill of her closeness and the ache of knowing she’d leave soon.

“You’re gonna be okay, right?” he asked, his voice soft, almost afraid to break the moment. “Back to being Gaeul from IVE, dazzling the world?”

She tilted her head to look at him, her eyes glinting with mischief but softened by something deeper. “Only if you’re there to cheer me on, warrior.” She poked his chest, her finger lingering, and Y/N caught her hand, holding it against his heart. Her teasing faded, replaced by a quiet intensity, and for a moment, the dorm was silent, the world narrowing to just them.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said, sitting up but keeping her hand in his. “We game together again—something less… life-threatening. Co-op, you and me, maybe some Mario Kart to see if you’re as good with a kart as you are with a sword.” Her grin was playful, but her eyes held a promise, a future beyond this moment.

Y/N’s smile mirrored hers, his nerves replaced by a quiet confidence. “Deal. But only if you let me take you out for real food first. No more watery ramen.” His boldness surprised him, but her laugh—bright, delighted—made it worth it. She leaned in, her forehead brushing his, and the closeness stole his breath, her warmth a reminder of every moment they’d shared in Aetherion.

“You’re on, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice a mix of challenge and affection. She pulled back, grabbing her phone and typing quickly, then handed it to him. “Put your number in. No escaping me now.” He did, his fingers shaky but sure, and when she saved it with a heart emoji next to his name, his grin was unstoppable. The dorm’s glow felt like Aetherion’s twin moons, a light that promised new quests—together.

Night had fallen, the dorm now lit by the soft blue glow of Y/N’s PC. Gaeul had left an hour ago, her IVE van whisking her back to her world of stages and spotlights, but her presence lingered—in the hoodie she’d “borrowed” from his closet, in the warmth of her hand still tingling in his. Y/N sat at his desk, the console still silent, a relic of their adventure. He powered on his PC, half-expecting it to be as ordinary as ever, but a new notification popped up—a game invite from “SeraGaeul.” The screen flashed, and a pixelated heart appeared, its glow a nod to the Heart of Aether, to everything they’d fought for.

Y/N’s heart skipped, a laugh bubbling up as he grabbed his headset. He accepted the invite, and Gaeul’s voice crackled through, bright and teasing. “Took you long enough, noob. Ready to lose at Among Us?” Her giggle was infectious, and Y/N leaned back, his dorm transforming into a portal of its own—a bridge between their worlds.

“Only if you’re ready to admit I’m the better gamer,” he shot back, his grin wide as he joined her lobby. The game loaded, but it was her voice, her laugh, that filled the room, making the ordinary extraordinary. The pixel heart lingered on his screen, a reminder of Aetherion—of wolves and dragons, of trust forged in chaos, of a bond that had crossed worlds.

As they played, bantering and scheming, Y/N’s eyes drifted to his phone, where a new message from Gaeul glowed:

See you soon, hero. Don’t forget our deal ❤

His heart soared, the promise of coffee dates, game nights, and maybe more stretching before him like a new quest. Aetherion was gone, but this—this spark, this connection—was their true victory. “Here’s to new adventures, Gaeul,” he murmured, his voice soft but sure, and her laugh through the headset felt like a vow, a pixel heart beating forever.

#kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop imagines #fluff #kpop girls #idol x male reader #kpop x male reader #ive x reader #ive gaeul #gaeul x reader #kim gaeul #gaeul x male reader #ive x male reader

198 notes · View notes

gnocchibabie · 1 year ago

Text

Desire and Blood (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Strong OC (Jaenara Velaryon)

Tags: AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, Targcest (uncle/niece)

Wordcount: 4.7k

Summary:

Against all odds, the love between childhood friends prevails and the Dance of Dragons is avoided.

However, peace comes at a cost. With the unexpected proposal of marriage between Alicent Hightower's son and Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, can love truly blossom between sworn enemies? Or will Jaenara Velaryon be reduced to a mere pawn?

Love may yet arise where enmity once thrived, but Aemond's relentless pursuit of power threatens to shatter everything they hold dear, including each other.

A/N: You can find the previous chapters on my masterlist!

If you are liking this series, please consider showing some love on my AO3 posting of this fic :) thank you x

!!! This chapter contains dialogue in High Valyrian, which will be designated by bold and italics...enjoy :)

A week had slipped away since Jaenara and her family had settled into King’s Landing. She found herself passing time by discussing plans for the upcoming coronation with her mother or entertaining little Aegon and Viserys. Occasionally, she rode out on dragonback with Baela and Rhaena, savoring the freedom of the skies above. When she was up amongst the clouds, the princess forgot all about what her life had become down below. Sitting atop Aetherion, it was as if nothing else mattered.

Yet above all, Jaenara found herself occupied with a careful dance of avoidance whenever Aemond Targaryen crossed her path. She had escaped several close calls, ducking into unoccupied rooms whenever she saw the prince at the other side of a hallway. Jaenara had often wondered to herself if she could continue to keep up this game of cat and mouse well into their marriage, but the prospect of having to constantly hide from the man who was to be her husband did sadden her. Ever so slightly.

Currently, the princess found herself in the castle gardens walking shoulder to shoulder with Helaena. Jaenara had not had as much alone time with her aunt as she would have liked, and was eager to reconnect with the one member of the Targaryen-Hightowers she could actually stand to be around. Helaena seemed to be pleased with the company, though it was difficult for Jaenara to tell at times. Her aunt had always been a somewhat emotionally distant person, even when they were children.

“My mother tells me that the planning for Rhaenyra’s coronation is almost finished?” Helaena inquires.

Jaenara and Jacaerys had both been closely involved with the planning of their mother’s name day ceremony. The preparations had proven to be stressful, even now plaguing the princess’ mind. Temporary discomfort is a small price to pay for mother to sit the Iron Throne - Jaenara had told herself. Though, she could not say she felt the same way about the looming, permanent discomfort she would soon find herself in…

Rhaenyra had even tried to include Aegon in the ceremony planning as well. An offering for the position he had given up for his older sister. Though he had seemed less than interested, opting to disappear for hours at a time instead. Even now, Jaenara wondered where her uncle often took off to, leaving her sweet aunt and their children alone. She questioned if she would be condemned to such a fate as well - Aemond fluttering about doing gods know what while she was left to care for their babes alone. The princess decides it is best not to mull over such depressing possibilities that she may soon enough find herself in.

“Yes, her name day will be here before we know it - just a short week away. Though I find myself anxious about the festivities.” Jaenara finally responds.

“I understand,” Helena breathes, “I am not one for crowds either.”

“Well then we must stick together until the whole ordeal is over.” Jaenara reassures her aunt. And herself.

“I would gladly,” Helaena giggles, “Though when your wedding day arrives, my brother will stand at your side, not I."

Jaenara sighed - another formality she had been dreading heavily. She’d venture to guess that the moment her mother’s name day passes, planning for the wedding will begin immediately. The princess knew that her scarcity of interactions with Aemond would not last for much longer. Not if either of their mothers could help it.

Jaenara felt she had little to discuss with her betrothed. What else was there to say?

Helaena came to a halt, bending down to pick up a large, green beetle. Jaenara winced - she had never been one for bugs, save for the pretty butterflies she had often chased with her aunt in their youth. She watched as the beetle began to travel up Helaena’s arm. Jaenara found that Helaena looked serene, her blonde-white hair picked up by the breeze and a content smile on her lips. The princess decides to take advantage of the peaceful moment to ask her aunt a troubled question.

“What is it like? Being married, that is.” Jaenara’s face grows serious.

Helaena removes the beetle from her forearm with a gentle touch and places it on a leaf below.

“It doesn’t really feel like anything,” She says, though her aunt does not sound particularly bothered by the dreary thought, “Aegon does not pay me much mind. Save for the times we have…done our duty.”

Jaenara clears her throat awkwardly.

“So, I suppose it is not so bad. I am free to do as I please. As he is. Though I think Aemond will make a better lover.” Helaena finishes. Jaenara looks at her aunt as if she has three heads and scoffs. She looks back at the princess with a coy look on her face.

“What a terrifying thought.” Jaenara sounds defeated as the two women resume their walk. A calm silence passes over them once again, as does the gentle breeze.

Helaena looks as though someone is speaking to her and finds herself gazing up at the sky for a moment - and then to her niece.

She smiles, as if the clouds have told her a secret.

— — —

On the far side of the Red Keep, The One Eyed Prince begins to lay the groundwork of his plan to put his soon-to-be wife on the Iron Throne. Aemond has decided he must get in the good graces of his family - especially Jacaerys - if he is to carry out familicide without raising any suspicion that he had a hand in it. Something easier said than done, Aemond knows. Any amount of decency he could afford the heir and his brother would be met with scrutiny. A few kind words will not undo years of victimization dealt on both sides.

Aemond clenches his jaw as he searches for his nephews throughout the grounds of the Red Keep. Locating them had proven to be challenging, though not as much as finding their sister. Aemond knew that Jaenara had been purposefully avoiding him. One evening, he had even caught sight of her ducking into her mother’s chambers when he had turned a corner, entering the same hallway as her. Her elusion frustrated the prince. If he could not speak to the princess and build up a rapport with her, then she would assuredly be the first to point her finger at him when news of Jace’s murder came about.

Just when Aemond is about to give up entirely, he spots Jacaerys and Lucerys in the training yard, wooden swords in hand. Aemond lurks back for a moment, watching them practice their drills. Their moves are quick and calculated, proving that his nephews had become even more skilled fighters during their time away from the Red Keep. Though their moves had a certain unrefined quality to them. Aemond finally moves from his spot, drawing nearer to the princes. Lucerys spots him first and mumbles a curse under his breath, as hid older brother turns to meet Aemond’s eyes. Aemond smirks at the boys, and he can tell it takes all of Jace’s strength not to throw down his play sword and saunter off.

The prince stands tall over his nephews, to hide the uneasiness he feels about approaching them. He’s pulled his long, sleek hair into a bun. His own sword, a practice blade worn smooth from countless hours of swinging, hung loose at his side

The air is tense around the group and a short silence hangs over them. Clanking of wood and metal and grunts fills the yard as the princes all stare at each other.

Aemond finally clears his throat and breaks the quiet.

"You're both too cautious," he remarks in a voice that carries authority but also a hint of patience. "Don't overthink your strikes. Let them flow naturally. It's about instinct as much as it is about technique."

Jacaerys narrowed his eyes skeptically. "You must think of us as fools, uncle. Why would we listen to you? You do not practice the habit of fighting honorably - Luke and I’ve both seen that.”

And what would you know about fighting honorably? Aemond remarks to himself.

Where is the honor in gouging out a boy’s eye?

He inhales a deep breath to calm his rising frustration.

Lucerys, ever the more reserved of the two, held his ground but watched Aemond with a cautious curiosity.

Aemond knows he should not make the jest, but before he can stop himself, the words fall from his smug mouth.

“Fools? No - I only see two Strong boys before me.”

Both of the brother’s harden their gaze. This time, Jacaerys does take off, with Luke trailing behind.

Fuck.

“But!” Aemond is quick to add to his lecture, desperate to keep the boys where they are, “Honor in battle is not always as straightforward as the songs would have it. There are times when survival demands unconventional measures.”

“And how,” Jace has stopped and turned to face his uncle once more, “would you know anything of a real battle?”

“You forget I train with Ser Criston Cole.” “You forget we trained with Daemon Targaryen.”

Aemond chooses to bite back another remark about how - despite training with one of the realm’s most formidable soldiers, the brother’s still lacked the necessary knowledge and skills.

Instead, he walks back towards their place in the yard and motions for the Velaryons to follow him. Jace stares at him a moment, lets out an exaggerated huff and mutters, “Come on, Luke.”

At their return, Aemond demonstrates a quick feint, his movements precise. “You’re signaling your intent with your movements, Jacaerys. And Lucerys, you hesitate before every strike. Be bold, but calculated. Like this," he continued, demonstrating a fluid series of strikes and blocks. Luke, with a touch of reservation, takes up a fighting stance in front of his older brother.

Aemond nodded approvingly. "Let's try it again. And this time, don't hold back."

For the remainder of the afternoon, Aemond guided them through drills and techniques, offering pointers in between bouts. Slowly, the initial wariness between the boys and the Targaryen prince faded, replaced by a grudging respect for his skill and knowledge.

When the sun had begun to dip into the horizon, the three young heirs sheathed their swords. Aemond found a rare smile breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. He did not find any joy in the times he sparred with Aegon, which had been few and far between lately. His brother had no real interest in learning and bettering his skills. And Criston Cole was becoming predictable - through no fault of his own. Aemond simply had no one else to spar with that was anywhere near his level. He found unexpected fulfillment in teaching his nephews.

Jace finally deposits his wooden sword with the others in the training yard, Luke following suit.

With a huff and an expression that makes the prince seem physically pained he tells his uncle, “Well. That was rather…I did not think I’d ever see the day where you would give us any kind of genuine advice. Nevertheless, I am…grateful for your counsel uncle.”

“Yes. Thank you, Aemond.” Lucerys adds curtly.

Aemond gives them a nod as acknowledgment.

Naive fools.

With that, Jace and Luke begin their journey back into the Red Keep. Aemond watches the boys stride away side by side. He almost resigns himself to turning in for the day, when a thought suddenly enters his mind.

“Do you know where I might find your sister?” He calls after them.

Jace remains silent continuing his walk. Aemond rolls his eyes.

She has sworn them to secrecy.

Lucerys seems to take some sort of pity on his uncle after their shared afternoon - much to the dismay of Jace, “I think she spoke of spending time in the gardens…” the younger brother’s sentence trails off when he sees the look Jacaerys gives him.

Aemond nods gratefully, though no one sees it, and sets off towards the gardens, his mind already racing. He knew spending time with Jaenara was another crucial part of his plan he needed to begin sowing the seeds for. As much as she may detest it.

The believed that if he could convincingly pretend to be infatuated with his niece, to the extent that she truly believed his feelings were genuine, it might help divert suspicion away from him regarding her brother’s eventual murder. She may even come to defend him, when the time comes. Though this would prove to be a challenge.

“You can expect a union that does not harbor any illusions of love” Aemond’s own words from her first evening back at King’s Landing echoed in his mind.

Aemond lets out a frustrated groan and picks up his pace.

When he reaches the gardens, Aemond finds Jaenara and his sister seated on a weathered stone bench in deep discourse, while their ladies-in-waiting linger nearby, amusing themselves.

The distant laughter of the two maidens surprises Aemond and stirs a hint of a smile on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time his sister had laughed so freely. It was then, he realized, he had never heard Jaenara genuinely laugh. Everything she let out in his presence was nothing more that a scoff or dry laugh. This, he thought, was a nice change of pace. Happiness suited her.

I should leave them. Aemond’s resolve falters for a moment, and he pivots for a swift and silent retreat. Yet, his sister catches sight of him before he can vanish.

"Aemond!" Helaena's voice rings out, compelling him to sigh and reluctantly turn back to face them.

Helaena's eyes glint with mischief as she waves a hand, beckoning him over. Meanwhile, the fleeting smile on Jaenara's face vanishes, replaced by an indifferent gaze.

"Aemond," his sister greets again, her tone laced with curiosity. "Where have you been?"

"Just sparring with your brothers," Aemond replies, his gaze drifting towards Jaenara.

The surprise in Jaenara's eyes is evident and impossible to conceal.

"With Jace and Luke?" she questions, her voice tinged with disbelief. "You seem…unscathed. I trust the same can be said for my brothers?"

"It was just a training session - nothing if not civil. I only meant to give them a bit of advice," Aemond responds, a smirk playing upon his lips.

Helaena suddenly springs to her feet. "I don’t believe you two have had many opportunities to speak as of late. I will leave you to catch up" she suggests, a faraway look on her face. "I must attend to the children." Her lady-in-waiting follows closely behind as she departs.

Jaenara starts to rise, offering to assist, but Helaena insists she stay. Aemond can't help but conceal his amusement at Jaenara’s desperate state.

The princess exhales sharply and resumes her promenade through the gardens, without so much as a glance over her shoulder at Aemond. With a huff, he follows behind her, as her lady-in-waiting mirrors.

The prince wishes he could dismiss the attendant, wishing for a moment alone with Jaenara to speak without restraint.

He thinks of another solution.

Aemond peers down at his niece and lets High Valyrian fall freely from his lips.

“You have been avoiding me.”

Jaenara does not remove her eyes from the path in front of her.

“You have not sought me out.” She retorts, her tone cool and collected. Aemond lights up. He had not expected his niece to be fluent in their mother tongue, and hearing her voice enunciate the ancient words caused something unknown inside of him to stir.

“I am now,” he replies evenly, “ And I have to say, I had not expected you to be so fluent in Valyrian. Not even my brother speaks it so well. That idiot can barely piece together a single sentence.”

Jaenara laughs, “I am a Targaryen. Every Targaryen should speak their language. Understand their history.”

Aemond nods, “Something we can agree on, niece. Though I have to say, you speak it better than I thought a-”

“Then a bastard would?” Her words are laced with a bittersweet acknowledgment that catches Aemond off guard. His niece had never spoken the truth of her parentage in front of him - or anyone for that matter. In truth, Aemond found him unsettled from her acquiescence. Though he understood the only reason she dared to acknowledge the truth now, is because no one around them had a clue what she was saying.

“You’re not laughing, uncle. Very unlike you - you who never passes up an opportunity to remind me of my blood.” Jaenara still seemed unfazed, her attention drifting to a cluster of blue irises at their feet. She bends gracefully to touch the silky petals, and Aemond finds himself captivated by the way her dark hair spills like a cascade of black silk over the blossoms. He clears his throat.

“You are to be my…ābrazȳrys (wife). I no longer wish to humiliate you over things out of your control, such as your parentage.” Aemond’s voice is steady and controlled, betraying his inner turmoil over making such remarks.

Jaenara lets out a laugh, though it sounds hollow. Much unlike the laughter she had shared with his sister. Her lady-in-waiting shifts uncomfortably behind them. “Actions speak louder than words, Aemond.” The princess rises from her spot amongst the flowers, turning to face her betrothed.

Aemond is filled with a stubborn determination at hearing her challenge, and takes a few steps towards her - until he can feel his niece’s breath fan over him. He stares down at her, and finds that he enjoys how she does not shrink under his gaze.

“Pār nyke jāhor gaomagon.” - Then I will act.

Jaenara laughs again, but it is quickly put to an end.

“I do not know why you laugh, Jaenara. I am being sincere.” His gaze is hard.

She considers his words for a moment, and turns back to the garden path. The princess returns to the common tongue.

"Come along, it is growing darker," Jaenara says, her voice carrying a hint of finality as she resumes their journey along the garden path. Aemond follows silently, his mind still processing the weight of their conversation. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the estate grounds, while a cool evening breeze stirs the leaves of ancient trees. When the couple finally reach the stone archways and paths of the Red Keep, Aemond speaks up once more.

“You will have breakfast with me. Tomorrow” It is not a question, though his tone remains soft..

“I will?” Jaenara asks, an eyebrow raised in defiance.

“This is me taking action.” He offers her a wry smile.

Jaenara exhales and looks to her handmaiden, who skillfully avoids her gaze. “Fine. I will see you in the morning” She stomps off to her chambers, lady-in-waiting trailing behind. The princess does not get to see the small, honest smile that settles on Aemond’s lips.

— — —

Early the next morning, Jaenara awakes to a polite knock on her chamber door. Alora, her lady-in-waiting, entered cautiously, offering a sheepish greeting. "Good morning, Your Grace."

The princess rubbed her eyes wearily and yawned. "Good morning, Alora. And please, call me Jaenara when it is just us. No need for formality in the privacy of these chambers." she replied with a tired attempt at a smile.

"Oh! Yes, my lady—I mean, Jaenara," Alora stumbled over her words, feeling conflicted over addressing a princess so casually. "Um... Aemond - the prince - sent me to assist you with dressing. He wishes to have breakfast with you?" She sounds uncertain.

Jaenara sighed lightly and pushed herself to her feet. "Very well. Let's not keep him waiting," she said, giving Alora a reassuring glance.

Alora deftly combs out Jaenara's long, ebony hair, swiftly braiding half of it and letting the rest fall down her back. As the princess gradually awakened, she engaged in light conversation with the younger girl, easing her nerves.

With gentle assistance, Alora helped Jaenara into a splendid dress—its upper half a deep shade of black, its lower half a rich crimson. The sleeves were wrought with golden embroidery. Once satisfied with her handiwork, Alora guided Jaenara to the dining room, where Aemond awaited their arrival.

“Thank you, Alora. I think that will be all for now.” The princess smiles at her lady, dismissing her. Jaenara hesitantly pulls out a chair across from Aemond.

“Good morning.” She offers. An honest attempt at niceties.

Aemond hums, sounding pleased. “Good morning.”

It remains quiet for a while, as the two begin to serve themselves and take a few bites of the breakfast that has been prepared. The prince steals glances at his niece, observing how her dark curls frame her face. Watching her spoon her food gracefully. Noting how her dress clings to her.

At last, Aemond ventured to break the quiet. “That dress suits you well.”

The princess pauses her cutting of a sausage. Jaenara had not expected to hear that kind of comment so early in the morning. And no less from Aemond of all people. She narrows her eyes at him.

“What?” She asks, as if offended.

Aemond pauses, mid-bite. “I only meant it as a compliment. The Targaryen colors agree with you.”

Jaenara continues with her meal, deciding that pretending as though she had not heard her uncle was the best course of action.

Why did he say that? Does he mean to mock me?

The prince breaks the silence once more, wanting to change the subject. "I hear your mother's name day preparations have been finalized."

Jaenara swallows a mouthful of food and clears her throat. “Um…yes. I believe so. Everything should be in place by now. The ceremony will be in…five days? I believe.”

"My mother seems unusually eager for the occasion," Aemond remarked. "She and Rhaenyra have been quite chatty lately."

“You’ve noticed too?”

“It is hard not to.” Aemond admitted.

Jaenara shrugs, “True enough. Well, they seem happier anyway.”

Aemond only hums in agreement. “My mother, although…she seems to be even more excited about the wedding than the coronation ceremony.”

Jaenara sputtered on the ale served alongside their meal.

A smug grin spread across the prince's face.

“Oh? Is that so?” She asks as nonchalantly as she can.

“Oh yes,” Aemond sounds amused, “I hear her and Rhaenyra have taken to planning a few things.”

"What!?" Now Jaenara could not hide her surprise. Her outburst drew the attention of nearby servants, and Aemond grinned at her fluttering.

“Um - I only meant. I had not known they were already planning the ceremony.” She finished, dabbing a napkin to the corners of her mouth.

“Well someone has to. We certainly have not spoken about it.” Aemond remarks.

Jaenara almost feels guilty. She searches Aemond’s eyes for any indication of regret or sadness over their lack of time together.

“Well then…what would you like to discuss about it?” The princess makes an attempt to turn to the matter.

Aemond considers the question. “What kind of cake would you like?”

Jaenara lets out a true laugh at that, catching Aemond off guard.

“If I must tell you,” She says while catching her breath, “I am fond of lemon pastries.”

Aemond makes a noise of agreement. He recalls that her mother favors the sweets as well. “Then we shall have them.”

Jaenara looks up from her meal and the couple lock eyes. She stares intently into his, trying to decipher his unreadable expression.

What are you doing, uncle? She is left to wonder. Jaenara feels a crack begin to form in the walls she had put up to keep Aemond out. But the fracture is filled as quickly as it appears when she considers that Aemond is simply playing his part. Putting up a charade. The princess looks at the man before her, and can only seem to remember the cruelties that he has dealt. Her heart hardens.

"Why do you care?" she questioned, her tone accusatory. Despite their heartfelt conversation in the garden the day before, Jaenara only continued in her struggle to believe in her uncle's sincerity.

“Because I want to care.” Aemond is taken aback, though he makes an effort to sound earnest.

The princess scoffs and takes a swig of ale. She rises to her feet.

“I am full.” she declares, signaling an end to the meal and perhaps to their conversation. Jaenara stands and walks the length of the table, drawing near to the door but coming close to Aemond.

That strikes a chord within the prince, “You are about as stubborn as a damn mule,” he mutters under his breath.

The retort is not lost upon the princess’ ears. Jaenara spun around abruptly, facing her uncle where he was currently still seated. "Excuse me?" she exclaimed incredulously.

"Damn it," Aemond whispered to himself, closing his eyes briefly.

“And here I thought you were being truthful yesterday when you said you no longer meant to belittle me.” She bites.

Some unseen force compelled Aemond onward. He reached out and gently but firmly grasped his niece's wrist.

"I only meant..." He struggled to find the right words. "Gods, you're infuriating."

Jaenara felt a stirring within her at his touch, but she pushed the sensation aside, focusing instead on his words. "I’m infuriating?"

Now, Aemond raises his voice. “Yes! Infuriating. I am making a sincere effort to get to know you, and I am met with nothing but resistance. There is nothing we can do to change the marriage we will soon find ourselves in,” He rises from his chair, hand still gripped around Jaenara, “but I am making a sincere attempt to make it more bearable. For you.”

A part of Aemond understood that his words were primarily to uphold a facade, to maintain the illusion of feigned interest in his niece. Yet another part of him recognized sincerity in his sentiments. He couldn't help but feel pity for Jaenara. This thought had crossed his mind repeatedly—in the quiet of his chambers, in the stillness of the night, and even yesterday as he watched her depart from the estate gardens. She had undoubtedly drawn the short straw amidst their betrothal.

Jaenara Velaryon was being forced to marry Aemond, a scarred and flawed second son by his own reckoning. While Aemond had initially perceived the proposal of marriage to his own bastard niece as an insult, he couldn't deny the faint attraction he harbored towards her— a sentiment he was certain she did not reciprocate.

The princess regarded her uncle with a peculiar mix of curiosity and contemplation, allowing his words to sink in. Jaenara's relationship with her uncle had always been incredibly strained — tense. Yet, as she observed the furrow in his brow and the genuine anguish in his eyes, she sensed a truth in his earnest plea. She reflected on her initial hopes—that they might spend their lives avoiding each other, barely exchanging words. Yet, standing before him now, she reconsidered. If Aemond—of all people—could muster some semblance of kindness, however feigned, Jaenara resolved she could reciprocate. Even if it was nothing but a lie.

For in the convoluted dance of courtly alliances and familial expectations, sometimes even the semblance of civility could hold more weight than honesty in securing fragile peace.

With hesitant resolve, she reached out, gently clasping his hand in hers. Aemond feels goosebumps form on his skin from the additional contact.

"Aemond," she began quietly, meeting his gaze squarely. He makes an effort to memorize how his name sounds on her lips.

Gods be damned, he thought.

"I apologize. I hadn't fully appreciated your efforts. You are right. For this marriage to have any chance of contentment and peace, we must find common ground. We must make an effort to get to know each other."

The princess finished her apology, her words hanging in the air between them. All Aemond could manage in response was a silent nod, fearing that his mouth would betray him if he were to open it.

Jaenara withdrew her hand from his with a slight hesitation. "Well…I should be going. I intend to meet with my mother to discuss our impending wedding. There is much to plan," she added, her voice faltering slightly as she hurried out of the room.

Aemond stood there, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. He glanced down at the hand that had briefly held his niece's, flexing his fingers thoughtfully, a mixture of uncertainty and determination swirling within him.

A/N: As you may have noticed, this chapter is structured a little differently! I decided to make these changes for narrative purposes/so everything flows better. Because of this, I will be revising the previous two chapters, so the next chapter may take a little longer to come out (I also have a job interview coming up, so I will be doing a lot more than just brainstorming and writing now T-T) Anyways! As always, thank you for reading :)

Tags: @toodlesxcuddles

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x oc

179 notes · View notes