#brown haired targaryens my beloved......

[muadweeb]

[maegalkarven]

In light of Alicole reveal, let me just say that I will absolutely LOSE my mind (in the best possible way) if the reason Daeron was sent to Oldtown is because he has brown hair.

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine. Dragons take.❞

[ Betrayal clouds your judgement, for when Jacaerys' indiscretion takes the form of a child, your anger lands in the palm of the Rogue Prince. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,412 ] | Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Niece!Reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x Manipulative Aunt!Reader | this set in an au inside of in hightower green. | this is able to be read as a oneshot.

contains— canon divergence to the second power - an au of an au - targcest, use of 'bastard', infidelity, profanity, revenge, violence, pureblood Valyrian bullshit - thinking about death as a revenge but no suicide/suicidal ideation- angst, smut - two wrongs apparently make a right - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - nsfw: rough sex, biting, degradation, breeding kink, smidge dacryphilia, creampie - no kinslayers, no kings, no betas.

a/n— special thanks to @ahristata and @hiraethrhapsody for kicking my pursuit of this thread!! i woke up (almost literally) to this line of inquiry, & though writing for daemon is difficult, i had a way, way too much fun with this one m'fraid. Ihad so much fun I started laughing at the absurdity. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You can't breathe.

You stand there, your daughters by your sides, no more than five or so name days, dutiful as ever, the princess of the realm— the heir's wife, blindsided. Betrayed. Lied to. And you can't show them your grief, your anger, your shock— you smile, not betrayed, not realised, stupid.

Your act of stupidity protects you, for you can just tell that others, sharp-eyed as they are owning of sharper tongues, calculate the similarities between your husband and the child he is cooing at, at the arms of the Warden of the North's sister.

His bastard fucking sister.

You can't blink away as the facts, the threads, make a beautiful web in front of you. The conclusion is unmistakable. Jacaerys' consistent travels to the North, despite the campaigning for his mother's seat had not required the frequent stretches of long travels. How Aemond had remarked that the bastard is doing twice as much work in doing so, "as he should," Aemond murmurs darkly. "He casts a disgusting shadow on the Iron Throne, 'tis the least he can do."

The insistent of personally greeting the delegates from the North, you thinking it is just his wondrously formed friendship with the Lord Stark, had you dressing up and bringing your girls with him. So that your daughters can meet their father's fucking friend, one that occupied his time when he could have been at home, tending to his duties, his heirs.

And the woman who follows after the Wolf, the bastard Snow, his beloved sister. Dyanna had told you beforehand, as Lord Stark adores his only sibling. Their parenthood is unmistakable, dark hair and sharp chins. A Northern Beauty.

And then you stop, as there is a babe in her arms, no more than two name days at least.

And you see Jacaerys in his gaze.

His beautiful, warm brown eyes in the child in her arms, and as he stands there, your Prince of the Realm, too close for comfort, too close for platonic friendship, a familiarity one cannot deny— and that fucking, sweet-edged, tender smile on his face...

The same one he wore when you had given birth to his daughters. Soiled sheets, bloodied babes— it didn't matter. He held them to his arms with the very same smile, thanking you for birthing his babes.

A gut punch, a sharp inhale, an anger that coils and burns and roars.

Your bastard of a husband had fucked another bastard, and made himself a bastard little fucking family.

Life can ever be so cruel as it is humorous.

Daemon could have laughed at the prediction you found yourself in.

He sits to the left of his wife, the Queen who— in enough of itself, the evidence of the turmoil the court is about to get under, amusingly is talking quick with her Lord Hand; Corlys and Rhaenyra had not stopped pointedly looking at her heir, words too fast but unmistakable what the topic is if their gestures, the knot between their eyebrows, and unmistakable sighs and determined noises.

He, on the other hand, is pointedly staring at you.

You, who tries so hard to piece together an armour of stupidity, an air of nonchalance. As if there is no anger in your visage at your husband's attention completely stolen by Wolf's little sister and her son... who looked completely like him. Dark colouring, the First Men blood thick in his nose, his hair, at the curled edges of his baby-cheeked giggles.

When standing so close, faces to each other, there can be no doubt a mirror.

Or the lovesick smile on the mother's face, watching the Prince of the Realm interact with her son.

Together, the trio of them don't hint as much as a bead of Targaryen blood. One is able to pretend they are nothing more than a small... brown haired family.

Daemon presses his lips, trying desperately not to laugh so loudly.

He admired the boy, truly. Rhaenyra loved each child from her bosom with equal fervor, and Daemon was prepared take him as purely one of his own... but after he broke the betrothal with his daughter (though Baela could give lesser of a shit, though mildly dissatisfied as she was to become Queen, and the girl held her duties between canines) to marry a Hightower cunt... he had distanced himself from the boy.

Daemon viewed it as a sign of weakness, for he knew you. You were just like your mother, prodding into softened parts of his family— that green whore with his brother, young as she had been, his good sister Aemma had not been cold in their memories before she had found herself weightily pregnant with new heirs, and then Jacaerys, new to womanly spells, new to cunt, and you had him making vows in the ways of the dragonlords.

Though he can surmise that much of your mother's movements had not entirely been her own... Daemon knew that calculative look you got in your eye. Blink and it's gone, but your gaze sharpens, your mouth curls in a winning, prideful little smirk.

You were Otto Hightower's granddaughter alright, and you had wanted the Heir's Heir.

But now, it seems like, once a vow broken, it didn't really matter if it was a betrothal or a marriage to Jacaerys.

It brings a sick pull of satisfaction in him, that tugs him to look at you. Every time.

You laugh, tither, still evermore the gem of the feast— a feast you organised with the Lord Hand for your husband's absolutely exceptional diplomatic achievements in the North, truly, Daemon is laughing in the sidelines as the jests and songs make themselves — but Daemon is overtly familiar with dragons. And anger. And you simply stink of it. The way your eye twitches, the occasional grind of your jaw to how your fingers dig crescent moons into your palm. He catches blood in one blink then smeared, then gone, in another.

Your hold onto your armour— the Darling of the Realm, curated so painfully by a young, sly girl moving about the cesspit they call a crown's court — is breaking in pieces and tatters at each hour the feast went on.

It snarls. Like a dragon locked in the pits, tugging at reins, wishing to burn cities.

Maybe you aren't just another Hightower cunt after all.

Not purely at least, he thinks in distaste, staring at the dark green of your gown.

It is a childish tantrum, more than anything, for what is your Hightower green will do now? A bastard has been made, worse, a son. And though Jacaerys himself has muddied blood, he is still a Targaryen. His mother is Queen, prepared to make him an Heir to the Iron Throne as he had been legitimised as Laenor's son. A Velaryon. He bears the name, the crest, and the support of its house.

What is stopping him from marrying the Snow Bastard, legitimising the boy as his own, surpassing your own daughters?

Targaryens marry siblings, they also marry multiple wives.

It is a thought that he can see it dancing in your head— raw, enticing rage and bloodlust that tightens his breeches.

It is an interesting thing.

The green is disgusting, but Daemon can appreciate a young, fertile, Valyrian beauty.

Something your mother had ingeniously provided you and your siblings with, reining in her muddied blood to produce unmistakable Valyrian children. And as a smart little tart, you understood what to do with it.

When Daemon first met you, you were just one of the Hightower spawns that his brother had made to further his line. His brother's daughters—apart from Rhaenyra — were quiet things as babes and children. Odd the two of you were, but not really hostile. When you were introduced to him, your fat babe of a twin brother was teary-eyed and clinging to you, a quiet child with round eyes, staring at him inquisitively, as if challenging.

Then and there, Daemon disliked you so.

Even as you grew, the little of what he could see as he paid no mind of Viserys' other children, you grew up a fine royal, a princess of every word and sung note. Mentions of your progressive fight for the small folk, your charitable heart, your sweet nature that even his brother had made a note once or twice—

He thought it had been Otto Hightower who put you up to such machinations. Wouldn't be below him.

The night you bedded Jacaerys Velaryon, he was pleasantly surprised to find out it had been you all along.

And now here you are, betrayed as you had betrayed his daughter, delicious in your righteous anger and ripe (two babes before the year ended, Jace is an inglorious fool) for the taking. And youthful still. Smooth, soft skin, pretty lips and bright-eyed.

All your scheming, going as far as throwing your grandsire to Oldtown, it is obvious no one has wrangled the clever, spoiled little brat out of you.

As he sips his wine, amused and pleasantly hungry, he muses he might do a job or two of being the strong arm to do so.

He snorts, eyes straying back to the little First Men family.

There it is again. The jest that keeps on giving.

It was pride, truly, that kept you for most of the feast. That kept your gritted teeth to yourself, ducking into corners whenever your anger burned at your eyelids, stubbornly brushing stray tears away.

All is not lost, you stubbornly thought. You just had to plot.

But when Jace had taken your daughters, your Daenera and Aemma, gently tugging them to his bastard whore and his actual bastard to meet— finding your eyes, at that very moment as Daenera's precious, pureblooded hand shyly took the hand of her bastard brother, a fool's tender fucking simpleton of a smile on your husband's face —

Something in your head had snapped. A clean break.

And your armour had fallen. Like limestone from a fortress. Caved in ruins at the pool of your feet. Dark, furious loathe unfurled in your chest. Unable to handle it anymore, you had taken your dress and got out of the feast, for you could feel the urge of unsheathing a sword and going on a bloodied massacre, crowns and titles be damned.

You may not have a dragon, but you have its bloodlust.

Just as you are rushing to your chambers, you stop and make a different turn, knowing that if your husband had caught wind of such an ugly expression on your face, he would try and find you, talk to you, and you don't have the patience to cater to him at the moment— you find what you know of is an empty chamber, reserved for guests at the Keep.

It is a simple room with all the usual accruements. Most of the fanfare, the sheets, are in storage.

You start with a candelabra.

Raise it high before you are violently smashing it against the dresser, shrieks and guttural screams out of your mouth as you tear through the room like a typhoon, cursing Jacaerys, the North, and bastards to the Seven Hells.

None will be the wiser, for you had built your network well. Your spiders will pivot guards and strangers from this area, ensuring you a reprieve where your anger and grief can unfurl and manifest.

So you lose yourself, a dragon untethered. You get so into your rage, quiet in your thoughts, that you don't hear an intruder entering until there is a low, amused laugh too close for comfort.

You whirl around, tear-stained and rage-filled, and though the Rogue Prince expects you to fall into stutters, your eyes slit and you grip— when had you picked up a tome? — the tome tighter to your chest, snarling, "Get out."

Instead of surprise, or even offense, Daemon laughs as if you are the most amusing thing to him all night. Jesters and whores alike.

"I shall not." He makes a noncommittal hum around the dark room. "I rather like it here. It seems this chamber holds a much better entertainment than anything beheld at the feast."

You let out a dark, incredulous laughter. "I have no time for your toying, uncle, get out!" You toss the tome with fervour, but he's a warrior and he anticipates your anger, sidestepping easily before he's back to casual prowling.

"I do not have time to play jester for your entertainment," you hiss, unable to stop the hateful tears from spilling, brushing them away harshly as you watch him watch you.

He raises an eyebrow. "I am not asking you to."

"Are you here then for my humiliation? Press a bitter wound while it's still bleeding, is that it? Is that what would make the glory of your night?"

He snorts. "What would make the glory of my night is a warm body and a tight cunt."

Your face scrunches. "You are disgusting."

He barks out a laugh. "Not as disgusting as your brother."

"Aegon is no longer—"

"— or as stupidly naive as your husband."

A sharp intake of breath before you're once more cracking in broken rage and ghastly pain.

"Of course you would notice, who would not, he looks so much like his fucking bastard."

"Watch yourself, girl," he barks. "You are still talking about the Queen's heir."

A beautiful guard dog, you think, you snort. You push past him, gasping into the crisp, cool air, holding onto the balcony for dear life.

"His already diluted blood makes this conversation entirely hilarious to me I'm afraid." You look down and wonder how fast you will fall. How messy would such a death be? How much care there is left in your wake? Will your husband even care, now that he has his heir? Borne out of true love no doubt, despite such bastardly blood— or is that what makes it thrilling for them?

Mangled bone, spread thin blood— if you die such a way, it should be pretty. You hope it haunts the Keep of so many before you.

But if you die now, you will be replaced so easily. So prettily.

And your daughters—who will care for them? Will Jacaerys even care, if his bastards soon no doubt fill your once home, your mother, your brothers— your daughters pushed aside to make way for fucking dogs.

There is no satisfaction in such a plan.

There are many others.

The Rogue Prince makes his presence known by standing close to your back, close enough that you can smell him, that his heat is your own, as he hums, peering below as you have.

"Have you been drinking, zaldrītsos little dragon?" he whispers, tangling his fingers through your hair, running a lone finger down your neck, up and down in a tantalising movement. You can't help it, it feels comforting, leaning close to it despite such a breathy huff out of your lips.

"Since when am I dragon, kepus uncle? Haven't you always likened us muddied blood, filthier than dragonseeds?"

"I see that I am wrong," he says, almost idle as if he isn't devouring you in his gaze. How you feel soft, pliant under one finger after weighted in wine and the ruins of your anger, how you're almost purring and sweet like this, your fire alive but consistent. "Aōha perzys burns jehikagrī. Nyke hae ziry. Your flames burn bright. I like it."

"Hm. You've had sons, don't you uncle?"

"I have," he replies, amused.

"And many a children." You reach for his chin, your thumb rubbing his bottom lip. He's old, sure, but men don't have the same bodily issues as women. You know he could reach your father's age and be able to produce five more brats.

But his shoulders are strong, spry only as a swordsman can be.

And he isn't like he's loyal to Nyra, turning fully to you with a hand caressing your side.

His hand comes for your neck, halting your movement as he tests a squeeze. There is only much hatred as there is lust. And his cock is winning over his mind, for when your free hand, watching him intently, reaches for the hardness straining against his breeches, giving it a stroke, his breath stutters into a groan whilst his hips push into your hand.

"Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine," he hums darkly. "Dragons take, or do you have too much of your Hightower cunt of a mother that you—"

You curl your hand over his cock until his breath hitches.

"I want a son. Surely you'd rather want for your true blood to sit on the Iron Throne? Your wife would remain Queen, her and her heir none the wiser. Any son of mine would be King regardless." Your voice is barely above whisper, stroking him as your squirm in his hold, his breath heavy by each promise, each tale you spin so tall. "Wouldn't you like that better? I am a Targaryen, as are you. Our blood would be pure."

"I have pureblooded sons, riñītsos little girl."

"But will they be king? With my husband as your wife's heir?" When his hold softens on your throat, you push yourself forward, pressing yourself against him. "Wouldn't you want your family's legacy, your legacy, unsullied with prettier blood?

"I want a son, uncle," you whimper, thickened with need and desire, willing him to bend and fold because men like Daemon are easy, because a loving marriage is one thing, a man who holds his house as his pride in another fist is another. "I want your seed to take root in me."

And it isn't like you're asking him to betray his Queen.

Daemon is surprisingly a soft lover, prone in a way to worshipping you even as you had gotten impatient and tried to get your way. His punishments are quick and precise, a hit on your thigh, a tighter squeeze in your throat, a firm bite in your breast enough to draw blood. He's soft but by choice, almost as if he is amusing you in each caress while one hand is holding you by your hair, fucking you down into the sheets.

His words aren't better, spun in hisses and spits, mocking laughter and groans.

"Do you want my seed, you little whore?"

"What would your husband say now, his pretty wife mewling for another? Or would he even care?"

"Your tears are pretty, if you want my seed, I think you need to be sobbing, hm?"

When he finally spills inside of you with nothing less of a broken, guttural roar, hips chasing the high, meeting your sensitivity once, twice, again— you are shattered in pieces and contradictions, floating and wide awake, pleasured and in pain.

He slaps your face gently after he's cleaned himself up, tucked his flaccid cock back in his breeches as he comes to your eye line. "Come to me again when you want my seed, hm? I shall prioritise your wants for the good of the realm but I dare say—"

He cocks his head with a smirk, feeling stirrings at the sight of your fucked out state, his seed spilling from your pretty hole that he can't help himself as he chases it with a finger, forcefully pushing it back in while your body trembles and twitches.

"— you may be with child soon enough, niece. I shall congratulate you and my son with the happy news."

Your eyes flutter close at the echoes of his disappearing footsteps.

Nine moons later, through a hearty, blood-soaked birth that rocked the keep with your wails of pure pain— much more painful than when your girls had come into the world — a baby boy is born of pure Valyrian colouring.

A fat babe who cried murder in his first seconds of life, and it is Caraxes who snarls and screeches into the high noon sky.

"I shall name him Daemon," you say to your husband beside you as you beheld the babe with a wondrous smile and a full heart.

"After your brother and my father," Jace says, smiling. "That is wonderful, my wife. He does look much like them."

Your smile curls, a finger rubbing your babe's fat cheek. "He does. And he will be strong swordsman." Your lashes flutter to Jace, poisoned vowels in each word that he blinks, startled. "Just like his father."

TAGGED @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody @watercolorskyy @fulla02 @menaosama @cookielovesbook-akie

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken II (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity.

Author's Note: So, this did end up getting split in two. It just reached a natural stopping point and it made more sense to add a part IV instead of have an unnaturally long part II.

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

The next morning, she watched with red-rimmed eyes as the sun emerged over the horizon. As the brightness forced her to look away, she took a moment to thank whichever god had given her the foresight to send Aemond to sleep elsewhere. It had been another horrid night, and to explain it after all that had been said between them would have been far beyond miserable.

He would return soon, she was sure. With new honeyed words and gentle touches. With his beautiful pleading eye and perfect pouting mouth. With the softness of the elusive loving smile he reserved only for her.

Or did he? He had given Alys so many things she thought only they shared. Why wouldn’t he give the whore that smile as well?

The very thought had her stomach lurching again, but she raised herself to sit against the head of the bed and steeled herself against being sick. She took deep, controlled breaths, turned towards the eastern window to feel the fresh air coming off the bay, and set her mind free to wander.

Not entirely free, however. She did not let her thoughts go anywhere near her husband.

Instead, she thought of only nice things. The flowers that would soon bloom in the gardens with the coming of spring. The fresh fruits that would once more grace her table. Weather fine enough that she could ride through the Kingswood on her beloved steed, Litse, once more.

Eventually, the roiling faded, and she looked down to her stomach. “Kōdrȳsi rhinkpa jemo gaomua hae jālosa yno gaoman?” Is that as unpleasant for you as it is for me?

A soft thump near the top of her stomach felt very much like a noncommittal answer.

She laughed a little. “Iā jeme ñuha boteri raqāt daor?” Or do you enjoy making me suffer?

That question received no answer.

Just when she was about to say something more, she heard the door to her chambers creaking open and soft footsteps approaching. Of course, he would come to her so early; he had always slept so little. She clenched the sheets in her fists, preparing to face Aemond once more.

But it was not Aemond who walked through the door.

Instead of a single violet eye, she was met with a warm, brown, tear-filled pair that matched her own, and a helpless cry escaped her lips before desperate sobs overtook her. “Mama!”

Alicent ran to her side, taking her only remaining daughter in her arms and fighting back her tears. One hand rubbed soothing circles on her back while the other gently cupped her chin and lifted it so she could look into her daughter’s eyes. “Oh, my dearest girl…”

She buried her face in her mother’s rich auburn hair, savoring the comforting smell she’d known since infancy. There was no question that Alicent had been told about Aemond’s misdeeds – though whether he told her himself or she heard another way, she could not decide.

“I hate him,” she whispered weakly.

“No, you don’t,” Alicent countered immediately. She pulled away, took her hands, and softened her voice. “You are not capable of hating Aemond, my dear. Nor is he capable of hating you.”

“Then why did he do this to me?”

Alicent sighed, brow furrowing as she pondered her son’s actions. She did not have a good answer, for Aemond had always been the perfect son, save for the death of Lucerys Velaryon, and now, she supposed, this. It was behavior she had anticipated from Aegon, or had in the past. With her eldest son, she knew he acted out of his anger that he could not be the son his father wanted.

But with Aemond…

Aemond loved his wife. He was discontented with many things in his life – his position as the second son, his injury, and his father’s negligence – but never with her. His gaze had never strayed to any other woman, even before their engagement. Once they were betrothed, it was rare to find his gaze anywhere else but on her. He was so happy with her, always. What could have altered his devotion?

“I do not know,” Alicent finally answered. The words did little to soothe her weeping daughter. “Men… they can be wonderful when they truly love you. But even then, they have their weaknesses. Aemond was gone a very long time. Perhaps he was simply lonely?”

She shook her head and ripped her hands from her mother’s. “If he was lonely, he could have come back to me. He was supposed to return to me several times but never did.”

While Aemond was at Harrenhal, she, Aegon, and their grandsire had sent countless ravens asking for his return. Otto and Aegon asked so they could hear the news from the battlefield and try to adjust their plans accordingly. She asked because she missed and needed him. Badly.

He always sent some excuse. The battle was not yet over. Vhagar was too tired to fly. He did not want to leave his stronghold undefended when enemies lurked nearby. She had trusted each excuse like a fool.

“Did you know she’s carrying his child?” she asked, drawing the blankets further up her chest as if she could protect the life inside her from the horrible fact.

Alicent nodded. “I did. He told me.”

She frowned. At least Aemond had the decency to tell their mother himself. “What else did he tell you?”

“He was very upset, my dear.” She tried to suppress the kernel of joy that sparked at her mother’s words. “Not at you, of course, but at himself.”

“As he should be.”

“Yes, he should. But he loves you so much,” Alicent grimaced, setting a hand on her daughter’s belly. “And he loves your family so much. He is inconsolable at the thought that you may never forgive him.”

That kernel of joy went up in flames, and she looked at her mother with unfettered rage. “Why should I forgive him? He has betrayed me and has done nothing to regain my trust beyond his weak, selfish apologies.”

“Yes, but –”

“He lied to me again last night!” she cried. “He said it was only once. He looked me in the eye and lied! And he thought I would be stupid enough to believe him.”

Alicent sighed heavily as she looked away from her daughter. This wasn’t like Aemond – none of it was. Even after hearing his tearful explanation the night before, she was no closer to understanding it. Nor to finding a way to fix it.

“That was wrong of him,” she said at last. “All of it was – is. My dear, I do not know what to say or how to make it better. Your father, for all his faults, never strayed. I cannot begin to imagine the pain you are in. But – ”

“But what?” Her daughter glared at her with narrowed eyes, and her hand clenched into a fist by her side. “I cannot begin to imagine forgiving him, nor how I will ever look at him again without feeling this… this rage. Mother, I cannot be a wife to someone who hurt me so deeply, no matter his supposed remorse.”

She looked down at her stomach, then back to her mother. Though her eyes were red and wet, and her lip trembled, she wore a look of absolute determination. “I want to go. I don’t know where, but I don’t want to be here. I can’t bear to be with him.”

“Oh, my darling,” the queen pulled her daughter to her chest once more, not speaking again until she had calmed. “In any other circumstance, I would arrange for you to leave for Oldtown within the day. But it is not so simple.”

The princess stiffened in her mother’s arms.

“There are so few of us left, and we have already spent so much time apart. We cannot let ourselves become estranged.” Alicent bowed her forehead to rest against her daughter’s. “We cannot appear weak, especially not you and Aemond.”

She was frozen, but at that, she gathered enough strength to lift her eyes to look at her mother. “What do you mean, ‘especially’ not us?”

“There are no more heirs, darling, not of our line. But you,” her hand rested gently on her daughter’s cheek. “You are changing that. In mere weeks, your children – yours and Aemond’s – will become the new heirs to the throne.”

“They might not,” she argued weakly, her voice soft and breathless. “They may be daughters.”

Alicent smiled sadly, placing a hand gently at the top of the girl’s stomach. “This one has given you enough trouble that I would wager the Red Keep itself that he’s a boy.”

She put her hand over her mother’s as she tried and failed to smile. The Maester came to the same conclusion many weeks ago. Then, she had been thrilled at the possibility of giving Aemond an heir. Now, she wished desperately for daughters.

“Why do our heirs matter?” She asked. “Aegon will remarry and have his own soon enough.”

The question was met by a heavy, cloying silence.

“Mother?”

Alicent schooled her face into the careful neutrality that had served her so well as queen, though the tears shining in her dark eyes betrayed her heartbreak and grief. “I am afraid Aegon will not marry nor sire any more heirs. The Maesters… they predict he will leave us by the year’s end.”

Her heart stopped, then sank. “But that means Aemond…”

“Will be king soon,” Alicent confirmed. She again brushed her daughter’s hair behind her ears. “And you will be his queen.”

The implication hung over her like a black cloud: a queen could never leave her king.

-

Aemond knelt in the Royal Sept at the feet of the Father. He had not slept the night before, not after he told his mother what had happened and watched her cry harder than he had ever seen. He’d gone all the way back to his rooms – those he shared with his wife – before remembering the promise he had made.

He could not go back to her. To her arms. To his home.

So, he ended up in the Sept. He didn’t remember walking there, leaving the Holdfast and crossing the upper bailey. He just knew he’d been kneeling there long before the sun crested the horizon. He’d prayed and wept and begged the gods to either reveal to him a path to redemption or strike him down and spare him further torment.

The gods ignored him. He could not blame them for it.

His lamenting was halted by the sound of the carved stone doors opening, followed by a strangle rattling sound Aemond could not identify. He turned and saw his brother and king for the first time in months.

A servant stood behind Aegon to push the wheeled chair in which the kind sat with a blanket over his lap to conceal his crooked, atrophied legs, but was dismissed with a wave of a red, scarred hand. Aegon’s injuries after Rook’s Rest had been so horrific even Aemond struggled to look at him. The scars he now bore were hardly better. The king looked twisted, broken, and weak. It was a miracle little Jaehaera could look at her father without collapsing in terror.

As Aegon wheeled himself down the Sept aisle, Aemond steeled himself against the horrible expression on his brother’s face: empathy, disappointment, and rage.

In their youth, even Aegon had been protective of their youngest sister, to the point that he restrained himself from making too many lewd comments in her presence. And after years of Aemond calling him depraved, perverted, and whorish, he would, of course, delight in the irony that his little brother was just as weak as him.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Aegon drawled. His voice was as damaged as his body, weak and rasping. “But then I saw our mother. I always thought I was the only one that could make her look like that. So sad and weepy and disappointed.”

Aemond reminded himself that Aegon was finally the uncontested king and that throttling the life from him was now more than ever considered treason. “I hardly think you are qualified to pass judgment on me,” he growled.

“No,” Aegon smirked as he brought his chair to a stop at Aemond’s side. “But I think I am well qualified to gloat, don’t you?”

Suppressing his sneer, Aemond turned to face his brother. “Are you? How many unsuitable women have you bedded? How many bastards have you sired?” He scoffed, but his threadbare feeling of righteousness immediately gave under the lead weight of his desperation. “Why does my wife abhor me when I make this one mistake when Helaena never cared when you did the same over and over again?”

“Because Helaena never loved me, Aemond.” For the first time in their lives, Aegon was the calmer and more rational of the brothers. “She cared for me as a sister, but she never loved me as her husband. Not like our haedus loves you.”

“I love her, too.” Aemond’s face fell into utter regret and despair. “So much.”

“Yet you still broke her heart.”

Aemond turned back to the statue of the Father, bowing his head. “I did not mean to. I didn’t mean to hurt her – I would never intend to hurt her.”

“I know,” Aegon angled his chair and slumped slightly. “But you did. Over and over. I saw it. Not just with your adultery, but every time you did not come home when she asked. Whenever you took Vhagar into battle without warning her – and us. And each day you weren’t here when those babes put her through the seven hells with – ”

Aemond’s heart stopped, and his entire world with it.

“‘Babes?’”

Aegon’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t say that.”

The same blatant liar he’d been for years.

“You did,” Aemond insisted, his rage at himself now turning on his king, his mother, and everyone else who had kept this secret from him – other than his ābrazȳrītsos. He could still never be angry with her. “Why did you say that?”

After a moment of frustrated silence, Aegon finally answered. “Because the Maesters have determined that your wife is carrying twins. Something you would know if you had come home when we asked.”

“I was fighting your war,” Aemond growled, rising to his feet so his brother could no longer look down at him, “to defend your throne. It was not always possible for me to return.”

“You mean it was ‘never’ possible, right?” In that moment, Aegon truly seemed a king – mature and wise for the first time Aemond had ever seen. He almost resembled their father, as he had been on the few occasions they saw him sit the throne. “You never returned. Not for your duties, and not for your wife.”

“I…”

“If you’d come home immediately after you first fucked whoever-she-is, or any other time we summoned you, perhaps things would be better. But you didn’t, and now you must deal with the consequences of your own stupid mistakes. Again.”

Aemond flinched at the harsh words but could not deny their veracity. The death of Lucerys Velaryon had sparked a war that nearly tore House Targaryen and the realm apart. Now this… this could tear his marriage apart.

His family could be broken beyond repair before their child – their children – were ever born.

A scar-mottled hand grabbed his arm, pulling him away from his despair. “I apologize. I did not come here to make you feel worse than I am sure you already do.”

“Why did you come, then?” Aemond stared at the mangled hand that held him still. He could not bear to look in his brother’s eyes.

Aegon sighed. “I am sending you back to Harrenhal.”

“No.” Aemond ripped his arm away.

“Brother, the peace talks…”

“I said no.” He clenched his fists.

Aegon slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, the sound echoing through the Sept. “I am your king, and I am giving you an order! You do not get to say ‘no.’”

Aemond froze, his rage roiling, desperate to spill over. But Aegon was his king, and other than his ābrazȳrītsos, his duty to the throne and his family was the thing most dear to him. So, he remained still and silent as he listened without protest.

“Cregan Stark and his army are due to arrive at Harrenhal in mere days,” Aegon explained. “I am in no condition to travel so far, and it would insult Stark and the others who were loyal to Rhaenyra to ask them to travel even further. So, as you are still Prince Regent, you will return to the Riverlands and act as my proxy in the negotiations.”

Absorbed by all that had happened since he’d arrived in King’s Landing, Aemond had entirely forgotten that particular duty. He’d known he had to attend before he left, but how could he go now? What would his wife think if he went back to Harrenhal – where Alys remained – so soon?

“You will take our sister with you.”

“I cannot,” the weak, whispered words escaped him without thought, “I cannot do that to her. You cannot do that to her.”

Somehow, the idea of bringing her with him to Harrenhal was worse than returning there himself. What would happen if she saw Alys? Spoke to her? She was already so hurt, and he did not want her to break entirely. He could not stand it. He would not allow it.

“Aegon, please,” he begged, dignity cast aside in favor of protecting his ābrazȳrītsos. “Do not make her go.”

The king straightened in his chair. “I wish I did not have to. She has already endured so much, and I have no desire to cause her more pain. But I have no other option.”

“Why? What could be more important than keeping her safe?”

Aegon’s face was drawn and filled with regret and grief. “Ensuring the realm sees you as a strong king when I am gone.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the Red Keep itself, and Aemond’s heart grew heavier still when he realized what his brother meant.

“You do not have much time left, do you?”

“Likely only a few months, according to the Maesters. But I’ll be gone by year’s end,” Aegon answered, trying and failing to summon a wry smile. “It’s almost not worth it to un-name you Prince Regent, when the crown will soon be yours once more.”

Silence fell once more.

Aemond wanted to argue. Against going to Harrenhal. Against bringing her with him. Against being king. For if he was king…

“She will be bound to me forever,” he said, not realizing he was saying it aloud, “in a way far stronger than just our shared blood or marriage. She will never be able to leave me.”

Aegon gripped the arm of his chair tighter. “Is that what you want?”

“I…” Yes. No. Aemond fumbled for his words, running a hand down his face as his thoughts raced through his mind like a thousand whirling dragons. “I want her to stay with me, but not at the cost of her happiness.”

Aegon considered the answer, the picture of a king passing judgment. At last, he nodded once. “Even if she decides she hates you, she will not leave. Her sense of duty is nearly as strong as yours, and she would never wish to raise the babes without their father.” He gestured to himself, then Aemond. “She knows well what becomes of children with no true father.”

There came a knock on the Sept door before Aemond could say anything more

Aegon sighed. “It is time for you to leave, I’m afraid. The wheelhouse is waiting.”

“What about – ”

Aegon waved a hand. “Mother went to your rooms this morning to explain the situation to her and help her prepare for the journey.”

“Can we not simply fly?” Aemond did not want for her to have to be stuck with him for the entire journey. The gods forbid that they should be made to share a tent or room at a roadside inn. Though doing so would delight him. He’d missed her so much that he would gladly take any moment he could with her, even when she was so angry with him.

Because she would be angry with him, and spending time with him would do nothing but make her miserable. Her happiness was more important than his. Always.

His brother scoffed as he began wheeling down the aisle toward the door. “Not in her condition.”

Of course. Aemond felt a fool for not realizing it himself. He’d flown Vhagar with Alys, but… she was not as far along as his wife, nor as delicate. A carriage it must be.

He should never have flown with Alys. Not for her sake or that of her child, but because flying atop Vhagar was something he did with his ābrazȳrītsos. It was something sacred they shared, and he had willfully desecrated it.

Gods, he had to get Alys out of his head. He could never become the husband his wife deserved when the witch still haunted his every thought.

Aegon stopped at the threshold of the Sept, again reaching out to grab Aemond’s arm. His eyes glinted with violent promise as he locked eyes with his brother. “If you do anything to hurt her again, intentional or not, I will exile you to Essos, and you will never see her again. I will declare you dead and marry her myself to ensure her children inherit the throne.”

“She deserves a better husband than you,” Aemond spat. It would break him never to see her or their children. But he knew he would deserve it.

The king smiled wickedly, still only a shadow of his former self. “She deserves better than the both of us, brother.”

Aemond bit back his retort and inclined his head to his king as he had at the coronation. “I swear on my life, I will never hurt her again.”

-

Aemond was waiting for her in the courtyard when she finally left the castle, well bundled in a thick, fur-lined cloak. The weather had turned, a final storm of the departing winter. Now, the sky reflected her mood – gray and somber.

At least the explosiveness of her anger had calmed, and she was relatively sure she wouldn’t strangle Aemond along the journey. But to go to Harrenhal with him, to be in the very place where he had betrayed her, to face the woman who carried her husband’s bastard …

She could be brave. She had to be brave. This was her duty, and her duty was sacred.

Aemond had taught her that.

She did not acknowledge him as she kissed her mother and brother farewell, nor as she walked to the steps set at the wheelhouse door.

But then he held out his hand to help her in.

Reluctantly, she took it. The brief touch was marginally more tolerable than the possibility of her stumbling and him having to catch her by the arm or, gods forbid, her waist. That would be far too much of a touch, and she was not sure she was ready for it – if she would ever be ready for it.

He stepped in just behind her, the two of them standing there for a moment, wondering where to sit. In the past, they’d always sat next to each other at the rear of the wheelhouse, with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. But now, the thought of doing so again made her nauseous. So, she turned to the seat in the front.

“Wait,” Aemond grabbed her shoulder, then immediately released it when he saw her wince. He cleared his throat, then motioned to the opposite seat with his hand. “Please, sit here. I don’t want you getting sick riding backward.”

She looked from the seat to his wary smile. Surely he didn’t expect her to still sit with him, did he?

“I’ll sit on the other side,” he added after a prolonged moment of silence.

“Thank you,” she whispered with a nod of her head. But when she began walking to the rear seat, Aemond again stopped her.

“Before you sit, let me…” he trailed off, stepping to the front seat and gathering most of the pillows and cushions that lay atop it into his arms. Then, he deposited them on the other side. He spent several minutes arranging them until they were finally to his liking. “There.”

He reached out his hand again to help her sit. This time, she did not take it. She was more than capable of sitting down on her own, and she was well aware that Aemond knew that, too. He was merely trying to touch her again, and that, she would not allow.

Once she sat, Aemond began fussing again. “Please stop,” she sighed when he started crossing the wheelhouse to fetch even more pillows. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I do need to do this,” he insisted. She could have sworn his eye shone before he turned back to the pillows and blankets. “I want you to be comfortable. You deserve it.”

“A few pillows will not make me forgive you.” For a moment, as Aemond’s shoulders tightened, she almost regretted the words. She had spoken in haste and with cruelty. It was not something she was accustomed to. Somehow, his misdeeds were turning her into a mean and petty woman.

She was just about to apologize when Aemond spoke again, his voice more timid than it had been. “I know that, but I want to do it anyway. I want to show you how much I love you. Please.”

He looked at her pleadingly, desperately. It had been many years since he looked at her like that. When she was a girl, and she fell gravely ill, he stayed by her bedside against the instructions of the Maesters, holding her hand and begging her not to die. She had to look away from him to avoid falling into that memory.

“I am perfectly comfortable,” she said. “So you needn’t do anything more.”

With a sigh, Aemond threw the pillows in his arms carelessly on his seat, except for one – a small round cushion with the Targaryen three-headed dragon embroidered upon it. “Just this one more, please.”

She looked at it suspiciously, some instinct in the back of her mind telling her not to allow it. But his voice was so weak, so desperate. And if it could help her be more comfortable on the long journey, what harm would it do? She nodded. “Very well.”

Aemond beamed and crossed the wheelhouse. With the pillow in hand, he knelt in front of her and brought a hand to hover over her belly. Before he made contact, he looked up to her, a hopeful smile still on his lips.

But that smile was no longer reassuring to her. Instead, it brought on a wave of mistrust and fear. “What are you doing?”

Finally, he laid his hand on her. “I…” His cheeks flushed, and he suddenly could not meet her eye. “This is to cradle your belly while we ride so you are not rattled around so much.”

Her hand flew out and latched onto his wrist, her hold so hard the skin around her hand quickly grew red. She did not want to see him, so she narrowed her eyes until her coming tears blurred her vision. It took several tries for her to speak through her rapid breathing. “Did Alys teach you that, too?”

Aemond looked as if she had just driven a dagger through his heart. “She did, but –”

“I told you never to do that!” She ripped the pillow from his hands and threw it across the wheelhouse with all her strength.

He stayed kneeling, one hand braced on her seat. He had not flinched, only closed his eyes. “Wifey, if it makes you comfortable, if it helps you, then what does it matter how I learned it?”

“Because…” She furiously wiped her tears away, steadfastly looking away from him. “I don’t want you to think about her when you’re touching me.”

“I promise I am not thinking of her,” he insisted. “I could never think of her when I have with me.”

“No, only when I’m hundreds of miles away.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, his hand never leaving her belly. “How long have you known?” Aemond rasped out. “That we are to have two babes?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the words. How had he known? Who had told him? She did not look at him, did not want him to see the blush of shame that came over her. If either of them should be ashamed, it was him. What he did was far worse than keeping a secret, even one as important as this.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” she whispered. “But you did not come back when you were meant to – you were supposed to return and give Aegon a report on the war. You didn’t.”

Aemond bowed his head, hiding his cheeks – likely just as flushed as hers. He sniffed, as he often did when upset, and shook his head. “If I had known – ”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she snapped back. “Your… she was already pregnant by then, wasn’t she?”

For a moment, Aemond looked up at her in pleading before dropping his head again. “Yes,” his voice was thin and utterly defeated, “she was.” He reached to adjust the pillow by her side but decided against it. Then, he returned to the seat across from her, looking at her once before bowing his head and pounding on the roof twice.

Reins snapped, and the wheelhouse lurched forward.

-

The first hours in the wheelhouse passed in silence. Aemond hardly moved, staring at his clasped hands. She thought she felt his eyes on her several times, but whenever she looked at him, he did not look back.

She watched the world pass her by through the windows. She’d never gone north of King’s Landing before, other than a few short flights on Vhagar with Aemond. Then, she was too high to see the little differences, mile by mile. The trees changed and became sparser, as did the shrubs and flowers. The air felt different, as did the ground beneath the wheelhouse, which became softer and less turbulent the farther they went. Even the smell of the air changed. The slight brine she was so used to faded, turning into something green and damp. It was not an unpleasant change.

What was unpleasant was trying to fall asleep within the mountain of pillows and cushions Aemond had made for her. Once, she would have loved the plushness and softness of it. But with the babes in her belly, she had come to prefer more firmness.

She would have moved the pillows herself had she been able to. But between the sheer mass of cushions and her current size, maneuvering enough to do so was impossible. Grand Maester Orwyle had said even two months away from the birth, she was already larger than most mothers just before it. Of course, most mothers only had one babe to carry, not two. So, she was left with only wiggling around as much as she could to try and find a better position.

She didn’t.

With a huff, she looked at Aemond, hoping to silently glare at him and curse him for the stuffed throne he’d made for her. But this time, when she looked at him, he was looking back.

He wore an expression of concern, like he’d been watching her struggle for some time. His eye was wide, and his lips pinched together. She knew that look, and found herself now hating it. It meant he wanted to help, to understand what was wrong.

“I cannot get comfortable,” she explained, not that he deserved an explanation.

A spark of hope entered Aemond’s eye. “Do you…” he licked his lips. “I can hold you, if you’d like.”

“No!” She felt a slight pang of guilt at the hurt painted on his face at her rejection. He did not deserve her guilt, she reminded herself. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Aemond grimaced as if he could sense the lie. He probably could, for how well he knew her. “Are you sure? I can… I can just hold you. It won’t mean anything, I promise.”

Yes, yes, yes, her body seemed to scream. She had always found comfort in his arms, always slept best with him pressed against her. And him holding her would mean he would have to discard many of the ridiculous pillows. If she accepted, she could likely be asleep in moments.

But her heart… her heart would break to be held by him. She wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about if he had held Alys in this same way. If the whore had slept with her head resting on Aemond’s shoulders. If she had kissed his neck as she fell asleep, just as she had loved to do.

She would never be able to stop thinking about Alys. Every time Aemond looked at her, touched her, spoke to her. Alys would be a ghost that would haunt her forever.

A memory of the first time Aemond had taken her to the Dragonpit came to her.

He’d told her she couldn’t come with him, but relented the moment she started crying and dragged her into the carriage with him, Aegon, and Rhaenyra’s eldest sons. Jacaerys was the only one who argued against her accompanying them. He stopped complaining after Aemond shot him a threatening glare and declared that she was braver and more capable than he would ever be. But when they arrived at the Dragonpit, and Sunfyre was led up from the dens, she’d cowered behind Aemond. The sweet little creature - perhaps the size of one of the king’s hounds - she had once watched flit around Aegon wherever he went had somehow quickly turned into a beast larger than anything she’d ever seen, baring sharp teeth the size of her dinner knives. Aegon kneeled in front of her and nudged her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t worry, haedus. He won’t hurt you, I promise.” She still screamed when Aegon stepped within reach of those fangs. And again, when Aemond pulled her from behind his back so she could not hide from the dragon. “Do not be afraid, haedus. Sunfyre is only a dragon, as are you. The blood of the dragon runs true in your veins,” he said as she buried her face in her chest. Something about the words seemed to make Jace angry, but she didn’t know why. “I can’t help it, lēkia,” she whined. “He’s scaring me.” Aemond huffed slightly, petting her head tenderly. “You are afraid because you know very little about dragons. What we do not know can be terrifying.” He turned her to face Sunfyre, who was now perfectly docile while being saddled by Aegon. She squirmed to escape his grasp. “If you watch and listen to the Dragonkeepers, you will learn. The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.”

“Why did you do it?” she asked suddenly.

“My love?” Aemond looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns. But when she held his stare, he whispered gently, “You don’t want to know. Not really.”

“I do,” she declared.Though his answer may shatter her heart completely, she had to know. His childhood voice echoed in her head. ‘The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.’

She swore she could see him remember the same memory she had. His eye darted around the wheelhouse anxiously. “It is not a good reason.”

“Unless she held you at sword point each time, there is not a reason I would call ‘good.’” She hoped it was something like that, that he hadn’t been given the choice to refuse her. It would make everything better, almost fine. But if it had been something like that, he would have already told her.

Aemond was silent for a long while. Long enough for the sun to reach its peak and begin its descent.

“I’d seen only one battle before I arrived at Harrenhal – Rook’s Rest,” he began. “In that battle, one dragon and rider were killed, and Aegon and Sunfyre were permanently wounded.”

“I know,” she whispered. She’d been there when Aemond had brought Aegon, broken, bloody, and burnt, back to the castle. She’d seen what happened to him. Aemond held her hair back as she was sick in the corridor outside the Grand Maester’s rooms.

Aemond nodded. “I was so afraid, ābrazȳrītsos, of what I would see when I truly went to war. And it was just as terrible as I’d feared. Even worse than what happened to Aegon, sometimes.” He waited to continue until she had unscrunched her eyes as she fought away another wave of nausea. “Every time I was scared, raqiarzītsos... And alone. She offered an escape. A chance to not think about the war, for at least a little while.”

“And to not think about me.”

He blanched, moving to stand, but thought better of it and sat back in his seat. “My love, I never wanted to stop thinking about you. I promise. I thought about you every moment of every day. You are what gave me the strength to ride to battle again and again – knowing that once it was all over, I’d be able to return to you.”

She glared at him. “So, you thought about me while you were fucking her?”

“Gods, no!” This time, he did rise, crossing the wheelhouse to fall at her feet. “I… I didn’t think about anything when I was with her. Not about you, or the war, or even her. It was the only way I could empty my mind of all the things that tormented me.”

“… I tormented you?” The idea that she could have done anything to make him want to forget her brought tears to her eyes.

“No. Never.” He tried to reach for her to cup her cheek, but she shrank away from him. “Don’t ever think that you could. What tormented me was that I was so far from you – that I could not be there for you. And the babes.”

He could have been, she knew. He should have been. “You had many opportunities to return. Why didn’t you?” Her voice caught in the back of her throat as a sob tried to escape. “Were you too ashamed of what you’d done?”

“I was and am ashamed,” he declared, and she believed him, “but that is not why I remained at Harrenhal. I knew that if I saw you again, I would never return to the battlefield. It was hard enough to leave you the first time. I could not endure it again.”

There was silence.

She leaned back towards him and allowed him to finally lay his hand across her cheek – an unconscious attempt to soften the blow of her next question. “Is it true that you spared her only because you lusted for her? That you took her to your bed in your first week at that awful place?”

Aemond sobbed, one horrible, wretched sob. His hand dropped, and he lowered his head into her lap, clutching at her dress like a child. The urge to comfort him tingled in her veins, to pet his hair and murmur soft words to him, to gently remove his eyepatch and assure him that all was well.

She did not move an inch.

At last, Aemond lifted his head. The bottom of his eyepatch was just askew enough to allow the tears from his ruined eye to escape. “I spared her because she claimed to be a witch – a seer. The claim was backed by several residents of the keep who had no reason to lie. She offered to lend me her aid in the war, to share her visions with me so I could be prepared when I led my men to battle. I agreed. I wanted to avoid the kind of slaughter I saw at Rook’s Rest. To prevent anyone from going through what happened to our brother. Then…

“I did lie with her in the first week,” he turned away as though he couldn’t say the words while facing her. “On the sixth day. We were to advance on Darry the next morning, to… it doesn’t matter why, just that it was the first time I would lead men to victory of their deaths. I asked Alys to share her vision of what would occur, and she did. She saw how fearful I was and told me that to win the battle, I must go into it without fear. I tried to calm myself, but I couldn’t.”

He swallowed thickly, still avoiding her gaze, and dropped his hand. “Then she offered her… further aid. I will not wound you by detailing what we did. But I will assure you that I did resist.” He licked his lips. “At least at first.”

A small comfort, she supposed.

“When I was with her, all my worries faded to nothing. I thought it was perhaps a spell she put on me, but it was not. My body just needed to find that satisfaction and release. I was hoping it was a spell. For that would mean I did not truly betray you.”

He faced her again. She did not know whether it comforted or saddened her to look into his wet, despairing eye. “But I did. And I continued to do so every time my fear threatened to overwhelm me. Which was, regrettably, often.

“I was weak,” he said with a mirthless laugh, “I was so weak. I should have been braver – better. I should have been the husband you deserve. I will spend every day of my life regretting it and trying to right what I have done wrong. I swear it.” He nodded as if to affirm the oath, yet it brought her no assurance. “I am so sorry, my love.”

He said nothing else.

She still had so many questions, wanted to know so much more. Her fears had barely been quelled. But it was something. And at the very least, the emotions Aemond’s story subjected her to had exhausted her. Enough that she knew she could close her eyes and be asleep within a heartbeat.

“Thank you. For telling me,” she whispered as she moved back in her seat, away from him. “I would like to rest now.”

Aemond bowed his head and retreated to his seat without asking again if he could hold her.

Her traitorous heart almost wished he had.

-

It was raining when she woke. The weather had apparently followed them north. She leaned closer to the window, wanting the wet air to cool her, but stopped when she noticed the wheelhouse wasn’t moving.

“Ser Marston and one of the porters are arranging rooms,” Aemond said softly. She did not reply, nor look at him. A glance out the window informed her that they were in some village she didn’t know, outside a relatively large building whose worn sign, cut in the shape of a stone wall, read simply ‘Inn.’

That question answered, she still didn’t look at Aemond. She knew he’d likely been watching her since they’d arrived… wherever they were. Perhaps longer. Judging by the dusk settling over the horizon, she’d been sleeping quite a while. And yet she hadn’t woken. She wondered if she should start sleeping during the day instead of at night.

“Mother said…” Aemond halted, likely waiting for her to look at him. She didn’t. “We will be sharing a room.”

She whipped her head around to face him, ignoring the slight dizziness that came with the motion. “No.”

Aemond sighed. “Raqiarzītsos, if the innkeeper notices we are apart, he may talk about it. Rumors will start.”

“Can’t we just pay him to remain silent? That’s what Mother did to prevent rumors from spreading about Aegon.”

“And yet rumors spread nevertheless,” his voice was soft and firm, like a parent explaining something to their child. The thought sickened her.

She wanted to say that those rumors spread because their mother could not pay off every woman Aegon had his way with – there had been too many to even know who they all were. But it had been their mother herself who told her that this would happen, that she would have to somehow stomach being in the same room as Aemond at night. That the consequences of not doing so would be worse than those that would come from him being there.

“You will not sleep in the bed,” she ordered, finally facing her husband, “you will sleep on whatever chair or couch is in the room or the floor if there is none.”

Aemond sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Very well.”

Curious, she’d expected more of a fight. For him to insist that a servant could see the half-empty bed and raise questions. For him to try and ply her into letting him into the bed with promises of holding her and keeping her warm. For him to try something. But he didn’t.

“Good.”

-

It was not a very nice room.

The paint was chipping off the walls, and the floorboards creaked. The bed linens were faded, the fur blankets patchy. The small table on one side leaned to one side, and an unshaped piece of wood held the couch by the fire level.

At least there was a couch, Aemond supposed. And as it was near the fire, he would not have to sleep in the cold to avoid depriving his wife of blankets.

She crossed the room to the bed, sitting on its edge and looking out the window again. After he’d agreed that he would not try and convince her to let him join her in the bed, she’d spent the rest of their time waiting in the carriage looking out one window, then crossing to the other side of the wheelhouse just before they were called to their room.

Even now, he could see her eyes flitting from one building to another, following the villagers as they milled about and fixating on the livestock that wandered the streets – cows, donkeys, sheep, even a small group of piglets.

He thought it was a distraction at first. But when she continued to watch the inconsequential town for far longer than he ever would, even in a new town, he realized it was something more. When she quirked her head slightly to the right and the ghost of a smile flitted over her lips, he knew what it was.

This was the first village she’d ever been in.

She was born in King’s Landing, and other than their trip to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral… she’d never left the city.

Something in Aemond’s heart cracked. He should have done something, taken her on adventures. He should have brought her on Vhagar and flown her wherever her heart desired.

But he hadn’t. He’d left her in King’s Landing, in the Red Keep. In a cage.

But now… her first trip away from the capital was one she didn’t want to be on. It wasn’t a happy occasion. And their destination was likely the place of her worst nightmares.

He should never have let Aegon order him to bring her to Harrenhal.

Aemond opened his mouth to apologize to her again but said nothing. She had already been forced to be stuck in a wheelhouse with him for most of the day. The kindest thing he could do would be to let her alone for as long as he could.

So, he went towards the door, turning back over his shoulder to look at her for a moment. She was still watching the village. It made him smile a bit. “I’m going to get supper. I’ll be back in a short while.”

She did not say anything back. She only lifted a hand to rest on the window.

-

She’d hardly noticed that Aemond had left. When he told her where he was going, she had just seen a small group of children playing in the muddy road. One of the little girls had spotted her watching from the window and shouted something to her friends. Soon, all the children were staring at her. She lifted a hand to the window to wave at them.

Then, she heard the door closing, and when she turned to look, Aemond was gone.

When she looked back to the children, they had already run off. Her hand drifted to her abdomen. “Nyke urnēbagon jemī tymāt umban daor.” I cannot wait to watch you play.

Before Aemond left for Harrenhal, he had taken her back to the nursery where they’d been raised. The furniture had been covered, as neither Jaehaera nor Rhaenyra’s son Aegon were inclined toward play. Not after what they went through. So, both had moved to their own rooms when they returned to the keep.

But the nursery would not be empty for long.

Aemond had pulled away the sheet covering the toy chest and knelt before it, examining each toy as though it were a priceless jewel. He told stories about them, recalling how they had played with them, and made guesses about which ones their child would prefer and what their choices would foretell about them.

He rediscovered the two wooden dragons they had once painted and named for themselves – Kēlītsos and Balerion. There were too many tales of those little dragons to retell them all, so he told only the one where they imagined the dragons had come alive and had flown them to the ruins of Old Valyria. Aemond would slay whatever beasts had wounded Balerion and killed their great-aunt, Aerea. Then, they would reclaim their ancestral homeland.

He’d kissed her belly then, calling the babe inside the “heir of Old Valyria.”

Now, they were the heir – heirs – to something else entirely.

To a broken family.

To a throne soaked in the blood of their kin.

To the sins of their father.

For a moment, she wished they could simply be like those children, playing without a care.

But they never would be.

They would still be children. They would still play and laugh. They would be mischievous and sneak sweets from the kitchens or stay awake long past the time they were sent to bed. They would still cry for their parents when they scraped a knee or had a nightmare.

But they would also be heirs. They would be taught by the finest scholars in the world how to bear the weight of their responsibilities. They would be trained by mighty warriors on how to defend themselves from the enemies they would have since birth. They would always know that their life was never wholly theirs.

Now, they would also always know that their father had betrayed their mother. She knew that no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, somehow, they would learn of Aemond’s mistress – the mother of their bastard half-sibling.

Part of her hated that child, the small thing that was not even fully formed and yet was the manifestation of all her pain.

Part of her, perhaps a larger part, pitied it.

After all, it was a bastard. The world had never been kind to bastards. After the role bastards had played in the war, she could not imagine it would grow any kinder.

What would the life of the bastard be like? Would it play the same games as her children? Would it have the same favorite toys, or foods, or colors?

While its trueborn siblings were learning to rule the realm and ride dragons, what would it do? Perhaps it would be a servant, like its mother, or become a laborer of some kind.

Would it know who its father was? Would it know the blood of the dragon ran through its veins? Would it ache for a bond with a dragon, as Aemond had? Would it spend its life feeling incomplete, yet never know why?

As she caught sight of the tears shining on her cheeks in her reflection off the window, she decided she did not hate the child. It was not at fault for the sins of its mother, or its father.

She said a brief prayer for it – for its health and happiness. Then one for her own children.

When Aemond came back through the door, carrying a tray laden with steaming food, she wiped her tears away and looked only once more out the window.

The children had gone home.

“Are you hungry, ābrazȳrītsos?” Aemond asked.

No, she wasn’t. But she knew she must eat regardless, for the sake of the babes. So, she crossed the room and sat at the small table.

She did not speak as Aemond served her the meal – fresh, steaming bread, warm stew, and a pot of tea. He did not try and get her to speak. He simply ate his food, watching her carefully.

He faded into the background as her thoughts continued to wander to that poor little child growing in Alys’ womb.

Would it have silver hair? Purple eyes? Or would it inherit its mother’s coloring, whatever it was?

She did not know what Alys looked like. She knew so little about the woman who had shared in Aemond’s sin.

Was she beautiful? Was she intelligent? Was she kind?

It was hard to imagine that she would be kind. That any woman who would lie with a married man would be kind. After all, she was called a witch. Was there such a thing as a kind witch?

Was there even such a thing as a witch?

Aemond said that he spared Alys because she could foretell the future. That the reason he’d first brought her into his bed was because she told him he needed to be calm for the battle ahead if he wished to prevail.

Prevail he did.

Were the visions real, then? Had Aemond only returned from that first battle, the second, the last, because of what Alys had told him?

If Alys were to thank for Aemond surviving the war, should she not be grateful for it? But how could she be grateful for something that had so thoroughly broken her heart?

How was she supposed to feel? How was she supposed to know what to feel? What to do?

“I want to meet her,” she said suddenly. Even her whisper sounded like an echoing shout after so long a silence.

Aemond stared at her. Fear and regret and anger in his gaze. His mouth hung open, and his skin had gone deathly pale.

“Alys,” she clarified. “I want to meet her.”

“My love, please. You don’t.” His voice quavered like a rose in a thunderstorm. “I don’t want you to, it won’t – ”

“I have questions for her. I will ask them.” Tears fell down Aemond’s cheeks, but he did not argue. It almost made her smile. “You may be there if you wish. But I will meet her.”

Aemond nodded. “If that is what you truly want.”

She felt no fear or hesitation. “It is.”

-

After she finished her meal, her exhaustion finally settled upon her. It had only been a day since Aemond returned to the Red Keep. Only a day since both the war and her world ended.

She just wanted to sleep. In that moment, it was all she wanted.

She had Aemond turn away as she undressed and donned her nightgown. He obeyed, staring into the fire and never once looking back until she was beneath the rough-spun blankets on the bed and gave him permission.

He only removed his leather doublet and his boots before settling onto the couch by the fire, its high back blocking them from each other’s view.

The fire crackled.

“Good night, ābrazȳrītsos,” Aemond said. “Sleep well. I love you.”

She did not reply.

She so badly wanted to sleep. But it seemed both her body and the babes in her belly wanted otherwise. No matter how she lay, she could not find comfort. No matter what she thought of, her mind would not calm.

At least she took comfort in that her restlessness was likely preventing Aemond from finding sleep as well.

When she heard his voice again, she stiffened, preparing herself to argue with him again. But Aemond did not speak.

He sang.

“Bantis ropatas Night has fallen

Yn zūgagon daor But do not fear

Sȳndror ilos daor There is no darkness

Kesrio syt drakarys vamiot ilzai. For dragonfire is near.”

It was a lullaby. One he had discovered in an Old Valyrian children’s book he found in the back of the Red Keep’s library. He had sung it to her when she was still in her crib so he could practice their ancestral language.

He stopped singing for some time when his voice settled, adjusting to the new, lower pitch. But when he began again, it was even more beautiful than before. Quiet and soft, but still beautiful.

“Yn ozelēnagon daor And shiver not

Vasīr vēzos hembistas Though the sun has gone

Drakarys kesīr ilzai Dragonfire is here

Aōhi dijaves rāelagon. To keep you warm.”

When was the last time he sang to her? Obviously not in the past six months, but when?

“Aōhi bartos mazilībās Lay down your head

Se aōhī laehossa lēdes And close your eyes

Drakarys avy mīsilza Dragonfire will protect you

Yn sepār kesan. And so too will I.”

Ah, her eyes welled with tears when she finally remembered. It had been the first night after they learned they were to have a babe, and Aemond had bedded her more passionately than he had since their wedding night and more gently than he had ever been.

He sang when they were spent, and she curled into him to sleep. Aemond brushed his fingers in light patterns over her belly and sang. But was that for her or the babe?

The last time he had sung for her and only her… she could not recall. It had been some ordinary day when she did not know she should hold onto that memory and keep it close. She did not know it was a memory she would need when Aemond went to war.

“Dōnī ēdrurī emilās, ñuha raqno Dream sweetly, my love

Bantio rȳ ēdrūs Sleep all through the night

Nyke aōma unna I will be with you

Vapār ōños arlī amāzīlza. Until again there is light.”

She wanted to be angry at him, accuse him of only singing now so he could worm his way back into her heart. But she knew that accusation would be false. After the way he fussed over her today, she knew he was truly worried for her health – and the health of the babes.

Besides, his voice and the familiarity of the song were now truly lulling her to sleep.

She was grateful for it.

“Skorī ñāqes kesīr ilos When morning is here

Se īlvon geron vamiot ilza And our journey is nigh

Īlon henkirī īlvī zaldrīzī kipili We will both mount our dragons

Sepār, sōvīlā.” Then, we will fly.”

Her last thought before her eyes slid closed was that she hoped he had not sung the lullaby – their lullaby – to Alys or her child.

-

Aemond woke to the sound of something crashing. He was immediately awake, throwing off his blanket and bolting to his feet. But he saw no one.

What he did see was an empty bed.

In an instant, his panic had risen to a peak it had reached only once before – the day he’d found out that his half-sister and her husband had taken King’s Landing, and in the aftermath, Aegon was missing and his ābrazȳrītsos was now in the hands of his enemies.

A horrible retching soon alerted him to his wife’s presence on the floor of the room, halfway between the bed and the washbasin against the far wall. But it did not quell his panic.

She was panting between harsh bouts of sickness, her arms trembling as they struggled to hold her up. Aemond moved immediately, kneeling beside her and sweeping her hair away from her face. His words of comfort and concern died instantly when he felt her lean against him.

She was so thin.

Her nightgown was soaked through with sweat, allowing him a clear and horrible view of every knob on her spine and curve of her ribs. The further she pressed into him, the more he could feel the sharp planes of her shoulder blades and the sickening lightness of her form. She was like some of the near-corpses he’d seen in the war – hardly more than skin stretched taut over mere bones.

He had not seen it before. She’d been bundled in robes and gowns and furs. And when she changed into her nightgown earlier this evening, she had not allowed him to look at her until she was buried beneath the blankets.

She knew.

She knew how frail she was. He knew and had not wanted him to know…

Had not wanted him to worry. Not while he was at war.

“Ābrazȳrītsos…”

She sobbed once before she was sick again. He said nothing else until he was relatively certain whatever illness had possessed her passed, and tried not to be too grateful that she didn’t push him away.

“Little darling, please,” he pulled her closer so he could rest against his chest. She did not resist. “What happened?”

She shook her head, reaching to wipe her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown. Aemond stopped her, set her hand back on her lap, and used his own sleeve instead. She sighed as if the gesture somehow upset her, then slumped slightly. “Nothing happened. Nothing new, at least. This happens nearly every night.”

Every night. No wonder she was so thin.

“Still?” Aemond finally managed to ask in a rasping voice. She had been so sick in those early days – it was what had prompted them to take her to the Maesters, where they discovered she was with child. But it had gotten better in the days before he left for Harrenhal. She had said it was getting better.

She nodded, her eyes shut tight as she turned away from him. Was it from exhaustion or shame? “It…” she swallowed, and Aemond realized how dry her throat must be. He would fetch her something to drink as soon as she could stand. “It never stopped.”

“Oh ābrazȳrītsos…” his voice broke as the realization of how badly she had been suffering sank in. And all the while, he’d been sharing his bed with another woman.

If the Father truly cared for justice, he would have struck Aemond dead the moment he touched that witch.

Aemond held her close, panting with the effort it took to hold back his tears of shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She was silent for a long while. Then, “I’m tired, Aemond.”

“I know.”

A long pause. It took him longer than it should have to realize she was looking at him and longer still to recognize the plea in her eyes. She wanted his help. Or perhaps more accurately, needed his help.

So help her he did, eagerly. He sat her at one of the chairs by the table while he removed her soiled nightgown and dressed her in another. He brought the washbasin to her so he could help her wash her face, then brought her a pitcher of fresh water so she could rinse her mouth. He braided her hair once more and carried her back to bed,

Once he’d pulled the blankets back over her, he reached out to her. When she didn’t flinch away, he softly stroked her cheek. “Is there anything else I can get you, my love?”

She opened her eyes just slightly. “I’m cold.”

He turned on his heel to fetch his blanket from the couch. There was still warmth radiating from the hearth. He could move to the rug.

But when he’d settled that blanket on her as well, she opened her eyes wider and gazed up at him. “Aemond…”

If there was ever proof that the gods could be merciful, that was it.

Still, he had to be certain he wasn’t mistaken. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. Thank all the gods in the world, she nodded.

His veins buzzing with ecstatic joy, he walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside her. As he wrapped his arms around her, it almost didn’t matter that he could feel her frailness, that he knew she had only asked this because she truly was cold, or that his touch was tainted by his sins.

Aemond was sharing a bed with his wife. He was holding her. Her, and their children.

When her breathing finally settled, and she drifted off to sleep, Aemond closed his eyes, tucked his face into her hair, and prayed he dreamt of a world where he had slain Alys the moment he first saw her.

[the-fiction-witch]

You are not a Queen. You are The Queen. My Queen.

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader Reader - Alysanne Targaryen (Daughter of Rhaenyra, wife of Aegon) Rating - Sweet AF Word Count - 2437

The carriage bumped and bustled through the king's landing streets, the crack of the whip of the horses echoing in the mad rush. 

Alicent sat across the carriage in her impressive green dress, with golden chains and symbols of the faith of the seven. The crown she has always worn as queen nettled in her brown hair with her veil trailing down her back. She sighs and hardens herself for what must be done. 

Aegon sits dressed in his finery even if he shivered and he slightly cried trying to think of any way he could escape this fate. "Do you love me?" He asked his mother his voice plaid it like a joke but she didn't know the strength it took for him to utter those four words, and the deep tethers within him that those words and her answer would hold. 

"You imbecile," she shook her head, 

Her answer was enough of an answer for him to understand, but he felt compelled to speak once more, "Where is Alysanne?"

For a moment there was silence, and it spoke more than her words ever could, but after a time she speaks, "I send word for her but she could not be fetched. We couldn't wait."

He chuckled, "She is my wife." He glared, "We couldn't wait five minutes for her?" 

"every moment we wait risks the wrath of dragon stone."

"Yet you had time to change your dress?" he glared, 

"She would remain where she is safe, with the children." 

"So if Rhynera comes to burn the red keep we will all be in the dragon pit, except my wife who is in the red keep." 

"That is not what I intended-"

"Maybe not but its a helpful circumstance," 

"We should not speak of this," 

Aegon tried to protest but they arrived at the dragon pit, before anyone had much time to think Aegon was forced from the carriage and taken inside no matter his arguments.

The High Septom prepared the oils as the smallfolk were forced through the streets and ushered into the dragon pit until it was full, A small stage was set up with Alicent, Otto, Cristen, Helena and Aemond all waiting, preparing for this moment. 

Otto steps out to address the crowd, "King's Landing! Today is the saddest of days! Our beloved king, Viserys the peaceful... is dead!"

Muttering of shock comes from the crowd, 

"But it is also the most joyous of days!" he continues, "For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish that his firstborn son Aegon should succeed him"

more muttering but soon applause echos through the dragon pit, 

Members of the city watch rush the dragon pit pushing smallfolk as they do, they make a path to the stage half to keep smallfolk out, and half to keep aegon in. Horns ring out in royal tones as the armoured men raise their swords. 

Aegon does not wish to do this but he is forced out, so he takes slow and gradual steps a tear slipping from his eye as he begins the walk, the swords dropping behind him one by one, Each step makes him want to run, makes him want to fight his way out but with each one he is cementing his fate. 

His family's fate. 

His people's fate. 

His city's fate. 

His realm's fate.

He glances back and sees the swords are preventing his way, he really has no way back now. 

He holds 

"It is your good, great fortune to be here, to witness this. A new day for our city. A new day for our realm. a new king to lead us." 

He looks up and meets eyes with his mother a rage boiled inside him, that all this was her doing. 

When he climbed the steps she came and held his cheeks kissing his forehead, leading him by the hand to the Steptom of the faith of the seven. 

He looks to Otto who two gives him no choice he simply nods to him,

So Aegon kneels, 

silence rings out, 

"May the warrior give him courage, may the smith lend strength to his sword and shield, may the father defend him in his need, may the crone lift her shining lantern and shin his way to wisdom." the Septom says and with each anoints his head with oil, 

The crown is then taken from its pillow. The crown of Aegon the conqueror, sharp spikes of Valyrian steel with gems and jewels of finery. 

"The crown of the conqueror, past down through generations." Sir Criston takes the crown and places it on Aegons head even if the crown doesn't fit him right, "Let the seven bear witness, Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the iron throne." 

For the first time in what feels like hours, Aegon lets out a breath, feeling the weight of the crown on his head, he gets to his feet and looks to everyone in attendance seeing how each bows to him,

"All hail his grace! Aegon second of his name, king of the Andals the Roynar and the First Men. Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm!" 

The bells toll out as cheers erupt for him, 

Aegon looks out to see the faces of all those who cheer, all those who look at him with joy, none of them know the death and destruction he brings. But even so, he can't help but feel a pride, and a swell of his ego as he takes Blackfyre from his belt and thrusts it into the air. For a moment he is swept up in his own family's pageantry and feels a joy to be king. 

But it doesn't last, as a rumble comes from below and suddenly dust and stone erupt up from the floor of the pit, people scream and try to run but there is no way to get away as the floor crumbles under their feet the red queen comes though the floor the dragon crushing smallfolk and killing hundreds in her wake otto tries to demand the doors to be opened but people are already dying, as Rhaenys sits on top of her dragon as the dust clears.

Alicent jumps in front of Aegon putting herself between the dragon and him,

The Red Queen screeched at everyone before turning and flying out and away into the sky. 

Aegon remains in the dragon pit, the pageantry of the moment long faded, the true death toll of his day hitting him, the weight of the sword in his hand and the crown on his head causing him to ache. He had such conflict in his heart, as he truly thought it all though. 

He never wanted this... and yet it was done. 

He never thought he was the heir... yet now the crown rests on his head.

His coronation... left hundreds dead. 

This moment... had surely begun a war that would tear apart his family, his realm, his house and all that he held dear. 

And in all of it, he stands alone, or so he thinks. 

Alysanne walks the up the stairs he walked up, her eyes looking only at him. Her gown is a body of green velvet, with silver threat lacing the bodice, black leather sleeves tight to her skin all the way to her wrists, a large skirt of green velvet with black flames embodied on the bottom, a long cape from her shoulders of a sheer black fabric cut like dragon wings. Her hands behind her back as she reaches the stage, she bows to him dipping her knees and lowering her head before her eyes meet his once more. 

His wife, in this moment, she is the light in this darkness. but there is so much sadness in him as he looks at her starlight eyes. 

"I am sorry Alysanne," He told her, 

"I hardly believed it to be true," she began, "Once word reached me." 

He felt unable to speak,

"Oh Aegon..." she said, "what have you let your mother do to you?"

Aegon looks at her with a mixture of guilt and shame, his throat tightens with emotion as he takes in her words. "I didn't have a choice,"

"I know." she nodded, "You are the king," She said almost not believing her own words,

He looks away, his mind filled with sorrow and anger, he is king, but he isn't happy. "This... already ways heavily on me... I cannot carry it alone." 

"If you are a king... I suppose that makes me a queen," 

He feels the weight lift a little, to know that she is beside him in this, "I am not a King. I am the king. You are not a queen. You are The queen. My Queen." he gives her an affectionate smile,

"so it would seem," A smile escapes her, but soon fails, "what- What is to happen to our children?" Her voice was full of fear,

Aegon's heart sinks as she asks, he knows his children are in danger, he feels already like he has failed them and his wife, he knows no matter what he can't protect them from this. "I do not know..."

"Forgive me, I should not sour your victory with my concerns."

"You should, concerns are now my most important matters." He told her, "I am sorry Alysanne, truly, I wanted to share this moment with you more than anyone. I am so sorry you were left behind,"

"... well, it's over now. it doesn't matter."

"It does. you are my queen and the fact you where not beside me for this moment... it breaks my heart."

"I admit... I am upset. that your mother had called this, not just for the politics and the show of the realm but... she wore her finest dress, her gold and her jewels, brought your family here, coronated you in front of thousands, gave you a crown, a sword, and the title of king... and I. Was left at the red keep with our children. Like a nursemaid." she explained, "I wish I could have been here is all..." 

He felt his blood boil that she felt this way, he took her hand and squeezed it, "I wish you could have been here, I wanted this to be for us. I wanted to take the crown with you by my side to take your own. I wanted our children to be here to witness the crown that may one day be theirs. and my mother robbed us of that... I am sorry, truly sorry. and I know I can never repay the injustice done to you." he explained, "You are my queen... and... you do not even have a crown." 

"I do." she said, as she revealed her other hand, "She gave me this when they arrived back to the red keep." she said and in her hand sat a small tiara of gold and green. No larger than a hair clip, and for a moment he remembers the crown his mother had worn today a large headband of gold and emeralds His own wife. His queen. Was tossed a crown, Without even being given a coronation. "I... I hardly wish to wear it at all... seems... foolish," 

Aegon stares at the tiny tiara and feels an intense surge of anger at the treatment his wife has received. It is a reminder of her insignificance in his mother's eyes, and it hurts him deeply. But he doesn't want her to be sad, he wants her to be proud of her new station. He looks at her, her face filled with a mixture of anger and sadness, and he doesn't want her to feel that way. He wants to make her happy and to make her feel wanted and accepted. "Wear it." He says, firm but gentle. His voice is a command, but also an appeal. He wants her to wear this crown, to let the world know that she is his wife and his Queen and that he is proud of her. He wants everyone to know that she is the Queen, no matter what his mother says or does. 

"There's no point..."

"Here," He takes her by the hand and tugs her with him to stand in front of the banners, he takes the small tiara from her and smiles, he gives it a clean on his shirt to make sure no fingerprints are on it before he does is most epic and dramatic voice for her, "May the warrior give her courage, may the smith lend strength to her sword and shield, may the father defend her in her need, may the crone lift her shining lantern and shin her way to wisdom. May the mother be an ever-sweet light in her life, may the maiden keep her safe, and may the stranger's visits be few," He explained, "The crown of ... uhh... the most beautiful of queens," he makes up as this crown had no name, 

she chuckles at him and he gently but sweetly presses the tiara into her hair, crowning her as his queen, his hands run down her hair and he kisses her lips softly, 

"Let the seven bear witness, Alysanne Targaryen queen of the seven kingdoms." he proclaimed, "All hail her grace! Alysanne Targaryen, queen of the Andals the Roynar and the First Men. lady of the seven kingdoms, protector of the realm, beloved bride and mother. My queen. My sweet queen," he cooed, 

"Thank you Aegon," she smiled, 

"You're welcome, and I promise you. You shall have a crown more worthy of your beauty and title." He smiled, 

"I think we have more pressing matters than a crown Aegon," she said,

"True," He nodded as his heart sank, "... you said once, not long after our children were born, that perhaps it would be best to cut or losses, to fly to Dragonstone with the children to meet with your mother, to cleave to your mother and beg for her mercy." 

she shook her head, "... it's too late for that Aegon, no matter what side we are on. Blood will be spilt, and the only way to keep our children alive is to be on a side of our own." 

He nodded and briefly smiled, "You took to talking queen fast," He chuckled, 

She smiled, "Aegon darling, I have been talking and acting like a queen for as long as I can remember. Our family ensured that. Come. The children wish to see their new king, and we have much to do." she explained taking his arm, he nodded and squeezed her hand happily walking with her even if the two were beyond scared of what now was to be done. 

[werelosingdaylight]

The prettiest flower in the seven kingdoms

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Targaryen!Reader

REQUESTED? Yes • [No]

WORD COUNT: 401

SUMMARY| Just you and your husband.

Adm Note: my first HOTD post! I apologize that it’s so short.

The meadows were beautiful this time of year, winds blowing through the trees with a silent song for those who would listen, tall grass swaying at your fingertips and the soil underneath your feet; but your favorite part of spring was the flowers. They bloomed with promises of rebirth, like a Phoenix being reborn from its ashes, different shades and kinds of flowers decorated the earth; not one of them being the same as another, much like the people that roamed the planet.

While you loved the beauty of the flowers, there was another reason the flowers were your favorite part of spring. You had left a letter for your husband to meet you in the fields, you were sitting within the field of flowers and grass when he arrived.

Brown eyes clashing against lilac ones, you are easy to spot in the field; Snow White hair being styled into some kind of bun that Jace didn’t know the name of, though he had a hunch your mother had done it.

When he joined you, sitting at your side, neither of you spoke; enjoying the moment with your beloved. You had been wed to Jace for only three moon turns, but your connection was always there.

Soon enough, you had finished weaving the flowers together, a blue flower crown sat in your lap as you turned your torso to face your husband. Grabbing the flower crown you placed it upon his head, the brown hair softly cushioning the handmade gift.

“I apologize, these are the second prettiest flowers, but they are the only ones I could give to you.” You murmured, your hand moving to rest on his jaw, thumb brushing mindlessly across his cheekbone as confusion clouded over his features.

You had leaned forward, carefully resting your forehead against his as you spoke once again, your lips just barely ghosting over his own “for you are the prettiest flower to have blessed the seven kingdoms.” and Jace couldn't have stopped the blush from crossing his cheeks if he had wanted too.

You had placed your lips on his own, the kiss was softer than most could imagine; radiating the love you both held for one another. You smiled into the kiss as you felt him melt into your touch, his hand coming to cup the back of your neck.

Yeah, he was definitely the prettiest flower in the seven kingdoms.

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader, alys rivers x daughter!reader

summary: she arrives back home in the middle of autumn when the foliage around harrenhal is as pretty and colorful as the evening sunset.

it's been well over a year since she last laid eyes on her beloved mother or heard her soothing voice and felt her hugs and kisses, and she desperately wished for the twins to meet their grandmother.

warnings: nothing. soft moments between alys and her daughter, featuring the twins. foreshadowing maybe at the end???

notes: a lil mother's day special for y'all.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

She arrives back home in the middle of autumn when the foliage around Harrenhal is as pretty and colorful as the evening sunset. It’s been well over a year since she last laid eyes on her beloved mother or heard her soothing voice and felt her hugs and kisses, and she desperately wished for the twins to meet their grandmother. At her request, Queen Alicent had agreed to send her prince to Oldtown to meet with his brother and, in the meantime, fetch a carriage that would take her home.

She’s beyond happy and excited and grateful.

And to her upmost delight, her mother’s quite taken with the boys. Alys had baked sweetbread and baked apples and sweet cakes, coated in honey, and with a glass of fresh cow’s milk, for the children, and kissed their little noses and chins.

Together they laze in the open meadow, watching as the boys play amidst the tall yellowing grass. The sky overhead is dark and heavy with southern rain, and the sight takes her back to her girlhood, and long grey days spent along the Gods Eye. The godswood too, with its drooping branches and silver mist, and making mud pies for her uncles. She’s missed this all.

“He’s named them Aemion and Aenar, first of their names,” she tells her mother, smiling. “He’s quite proud of them. The queen too.”

Alys hums. “As a father should be with his babes.” But, deep in her pretty green eyes, there is a faint longing that speaks more words than her tongue does. Her mother only ever had one child of her own, and that was herself. “Children are the one true blessing from the gods. Not the crops and rainfall and victories in war. The gods have naught to give but them,” and Alys takes her hand to kiss it, gentle and loving.

“You are my greatest, most beautiful and treasured gift.” Alys shakes her head, chuckling. “I remember when you were just a babe, and the very first time I fed you at my breast. They told me to give you to another wet nurse, so that I might feed another child, bit I couldn’t bear seeing you in the arms of another woman.” Her mother stares at the twins wistfully, two small silver crowns scooping up mud with their fingers. “Oh, look at them, baking mudpies like their mother.”

Her boys look like an early snowfall fell across Harrenhal. Sweet it is, and she hopes this day might last forever.

“They suggested a wet nurse for the twins,” she whispers, and Alys turns her head to her. “My first babes, and they were worried I didn’t have enough milk to feed them. I cried when they told me that. I had labored for the entire morning, to bring them into this world…I supposed I thought they would take them away, or perhaps their father would prefer seeing them in the arms of another woman…” her voice trails off.

That night, after their birth, she wept her eyes dry within her prince’s arms, and begged him not to let them take her babies away. He promised before rocking her to sleep, and her silly fears disappeared by the next morning when she awoke to Aemond alongside her, with their sons swathed in his arms.

Aemion and Aenar laugh from where they sit, and she spies bits of mud, brown and slick, caked in their hair. They now resemble her family more than their father’s. Strong boys, Aemond would call them if he was here with her.

“Does he love you?” Alys asks.

Her lips press together as she considers the question. “I think so. I know a man doesn’t have to love a woman to give her his seed, but he treats me well, and he loves our sons dearly, that is known.” She doesn’t tell her mother how he’s already anxious for the next child, wanting to see her belly swollen with his babe again.

Alys clicks her tongue. She smooths down the slight wrinkles across her green gown before folding them over her lap, and her nose scrunches up with her next words. “I cried day and night when they took you away, but tears couldn’t bring you back, and I started praying for your safety and goodwill. Ah, but I never could’ve imagined the gods would heed my prayers like this.”

“I don’t think any of us foresaw this, mother.”

“You’ve made beautiful sons, my love,” and Alys slides two fingers in her mouth to whistle. At that, the boys run up to her, a mess of flushed cheeks and toothy grins and smelling like the rich land. In their little hands they hold a big mudpie, wet and prettied with rocks and a few sticks and a daffodil. Their grandmother wipes away a chunk of dried mud along Aemion’s upper arm before taking the mudpie with a smile. “How delicious this looks! Well done, boys.”

Aenar plops himself in his mother’s lap, nestling against her chest. “You’re going to need a bath,” she tells him, kissing his forehead. His smile was exactly that of his father’s, handsome and beautiful and gallant as any prince in those court songs.

“We can always bathe them in the Gods Eye,” Alys suggests, twirling a strand of Aemion’s silver-pale hair around her finger. “I used to bathe you in it a lot. Your grandfather would say the waters strengthen the blood, keeps our own strong and mighty.”

Later, she stands before the Gods Eye, the biggest lake in all the realm, with no hint of a far shoreline to be seen in her eyes. The storm clouds had darkened it- its waters glistening like a dark metal- but it is all the same as the one from her girlhood.

And now I bathe my own sons here, she thinks quite happily, feeling her joy bubbling inside her chest. A large crack of thunder booms overhead, and it pulls her out of her thoughts.

“Aye, two little silver-haired Targaryens in its waters, would you look at that!” Alys laughs, knee-deep in the lake as well. Her long, dark hair beats about her face as she stands near the boys, cupping her hands to wash away the mud from their hair. “When might this happen next?”

And as the handmaid flattens her hand against her lower belly, ever so tenderly, she smiles, and giggles, and rushes to join her mother and children in the water.

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess

[halfmoonshines]

I just saw that you write for doctor who and hotd too, although I don't know if you write for 11th and Daemon, I'll try my luck anyway…. I wonder if I could get a Daemon x wife poc!reader x 11th doctor in which Reader is Daemon's wife and one day she is taking a walk when she meets the doctor (she kind of mistakes him for Daem, if that makes sense) and after she realizes it's not him, they start talking and she is kind of fascinated by the doctor (not only by his appearance, but by his entire work). So she invites him to their house (whether it's the red keep or dragonstone, it's up to you) and Daemon, who has just returned from a walk with Caraxes sees reader with a man, previously unknown, and goes to them. Then reader introduces them and comments on the similarity between them. She suggests that they spend the day together and Dae is a little reluctant, but ends up accepting, so they go out and in the meantime reader and 11th are kind of flirting (in a innocent) and Daemon is jealous (which reader loves, because she loves to tease him) At the end of the day Daemon and 11th have a talk about how lucky he is to have her and that he should take care of her. Before leaving, the Doctor promises the reader that he will visit her again (this after she asked him to stay the night, but he refused) when the TARDIS disappears, reader tells Daemon that he doesn't need to be jealous, because She is his and only he has her love and then they kiss (if it's too much, feel free to ignore it) please? (sorry for my English)

okay this is definitely not too much because, from the detail, i know you've daydreamed this before and i absolutely love it and you basically wrote it for me, i just need to fluff it up!!! thank you so much

fic requests go here

daemon targaryen x reader x 11th doctor

summary; the curious man you met on your walk piques both your interest and daemon's inner green monster

unnerving

You would never admit it to your fiery paramour, but you much preferred Dragonstone over The Red Keep. The ocean scented wind was wild in your hair, wisps pulling free from your braids. You held your slippers in one hand and the hem of your dress in the other, reveling in the sand between your toes.

This had became a morning routine for you and Daemon, him to go and give Caraxes some exercise while you enjoy some time alone on the shoreline. Although, from the shoulders you could see on the bluff, it seems as though he finished up earlier than usual this morning.

You didn't care how long you'd spent with the young Targaryen man; you were never less excited to see him. The fire that started at your stomach and reached for your cheeks blazed just as brightly each time for him. You hurried your pace, climbing the short stone stairs to the outlook you beloved stood at.

"Daemo-" Your exclamation was cut a bit short by the realization that this man... was most certainly not Daemon.

From up close you could see the differences, namely being the short brown hair. This man also had a loose feeling to his stance, leaned against the small statue of Caraxes that overlooked the ocean. He was looking at you then, eyes the same hazel green but a different shade - lighter. A kindness illuminating and curiosity illuminating them that Daemon would be adverse to.

You finally had the good sense to be concerned. Dropping the hem of your gown and taking a step away, your smile was sheepish as you curtsied. "Pardon the interruption, Ser. I merely mistook you for my husband."

"Your husband must be a handsome fellow!" Their voices even mirrored each other. "You can call me the doctor! Not a doctor, just the Doctor. Do you happen to know where we are?" The twin emphasized his question with a vague gesture at their surroundings, eyebrows pinching together. "This is a new one for me."

You cocked your head to the side, curious as to his strange way of speaking. How does one come to be somewhere without knowing where there is?

"You're at Dragonstone on the Black Water Bay. The castle is just up the hill." You pointed up and watched his eyebrows raise.

"The castle? I love a good castle. Who's is that? Can we go take a peek?"

Your laugh was light, deciding that even if he didn't match your husband, you just might like the stranger. "It's my husband, Daemon Targaryen's, ancestral home. Let's go take a look, I'm sure he would be riveted to meet you."

---

Daemon thoroughly enjoyed the routine he had found with his wife. No other woman had ever come close to rooting themselves this deeply into his life, and the white haired man didn't think he would ever meet another that could.

You understood his boundaries and his need for space. You were fiercely independent, which made Daemon all the more happy to try and outdo himself for you. Knowing you could care for yourself either way.

Now that Daemon was thinking about it, as he was patting his dragon goodbye, he was going to hunt you down this minute from your expected place on the beach below and have his way with you. Wherever you stood.

How good it felt to be king in his lands.

Just as he turned to start his mission, your laughter could be heard from the other side of the overlook. Smirking to himself, wondering about his impeccable timing, he changed direction toward the sound of your voice.

That's when he heard it. Another voice. A mans voice?

Daemon's playful smile quickly fell, something only to be described as a snarl taking its place. His pace quickened, turning the corner by the stables just in time to see you crest the hill with a vaguely familiar man.

He shook his head, making straight for you. Familiarity didn't fucking matter. These were his lands, his home and his wife. Who in the living fuck was mingling with his wife, all alone on the beach?

"Darling." Daemon's voice was loud and firm, the endearment sounding strange from him. "Are you alright?"

Your attention was on your husband instantly, smile radiating like the rising sun behind you. "Daemon! We were just coming to find you. This is the Doctor, he is.. visiting? I thought you would like to meet."

Daemon had come to stand right before you when his hand reached to grip your arm, pulling you firmly but gently to his side. "Visiting is it, Doctor?"

Eleven was as unbothered as they come typically, but he could not deny that the man standing across from him was his carbon copy. Sans the long, luscious white locks. Should Eleven grow his hair out? "Visiting it is, mate! Your lovely wife thought we might have a few things in common."

Daemon did not like the insinuation that they were similar, even if the appearance may be glaringly obvious. "Is your brother a king and your dragon as fierce as mine, then?"

Feeling his standoffish posture, your hand made light circles on his back while your gaze reprimanded him. "Daemon, he's just here to-"

"I'm sorry but did you say you have a dragon? That is probably the most badass thing I've ever heard, and I've been just about everywhere." Eleven was smiling like a kid in a candy store, gaze searching the sky above them like a dragon was going to swoop in at any minute. "How does one, uhm, see this dragon?"

Daemon's pride and ego battled each other for a split second before he bit out a reply. "I suppose we could go and see the dragon pits, so you know what the Targaryens are so feared for."

"Oh, wonderful! They're beautiful, Doctor, you'll love them." Grasping your husbands hand in your own, you began leading them across the clearing.

The day went similarly.

Eleven was so excited about the baby dragons that he thought he might have to come back in the dead of night to take one for himself, but quickly realized there had to be some karmic justice for stealing from yourself, right? Because Daemon Targaryen had to be some weird extension of him, they were basically copy-pasted.

Daemon did not like the Doctor one bit, almost specifically because of the smile on your face that he felt should be reserved for him. The stranger could sing praises about Dragonstone all he wanted but it wouldn't distract him from the fact that his wife seemed utterly smitten with the man.

You were having fun. The Doctor was a funny man, asking the strangest things. Like 'How do you spell Targaryen?' and 'How long have you been a monarchy?'

"What's a monarchy?" You didn't understand what was so hilarious about your husbands reply, but the Doctor was laughing like a giddy child.

It wasn't very often that you got visitors here, especially considering Daemon's nefarious past. It was a nice change, and so was the green encroaching upon your husbands face.

Every time the Doctor said something particularly funny and you couldn't help the full belly laugh you gave, Daemon's eyes narrowed a bit more. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy his jealousy. The tightness around his eyes as he assessed whether or not you were having just too much fun with the other man.

You made sure to assuage him with kisses throughout the day, small pecks here and there to show your loyalty. But you definitely didn't stop laughing.

By the end of your adventures, with the sun kissing the rolling hills of the island, the Doctor decided that he liked you very much. You reminded him of Amy, sure headed and sparky. You seemed like you had a good life here, full of dragons and fantasy. This was definitely one that Eleven was going to tell River about.

"Are you sure you have to leave?" Daemon stood a mere few feet away from their goodbye, refusing to budge another inch. "The castle has plenty of rooms that can be made-"

"My dragons eat strangers at nightfall."

"Daemon. He doesn't mean that, you'd be more than welcome." You rolled your eyes at his typical bravado, keeping your eyes on the ones that matched his.

"I unfortunately have other engagements that need my attention tonight, Y/N. But I had a lovely day. Thank you for showing me your home." Eleven's smile was warm, and genuine. He would miss this little corner of the multiverse, he was sure of it.

"Maybe you can come and visit again?" Daemon's scoff of disbelief was ignored by both.

"I will definitely pop by again. I need to see little fiery breath all grown up! I'd like to chat with your husband for a moment, before I leave."

With your eyebrow raised, assessing the two men, you gave a nod of dissent. "I'll meet you inside, my love." You gave Daemon a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth and smiled one last time at your visitor. "It was nice to meet you, Doctor, I hope to see you again soon."

Daemon was going over the pros and cons of gutting this fucker like a fish as soon as you were out of earshot.

Pros. He would definitely enjoy it.

Cons. You might end up crying. He hated that.

"You've got a lovely home and wife, my friend."

"Yes I do." Daemon had been confused by this Doctor's intentions all day, but right now the man opposite him only exuded a positive energy.

"You care for her a great deal, that much is obvious. Good. Never stop. Those kinds of women only come around once in a lifetime." Eleven gave him a conspiratorial clap on the shoulder as he walked around the man.

Daemon opened his mouth to bite back a retort but was quickly silenced by the appearance of a strange blue box mere feet from them. "What in the fuck is that?"

Eleven snorted and laughed, giving TARDIS a pat this time as he opened the door. "Oh, it's just my ride. Much bigger on the inside. Name your next dragon Doctor Jr, please."

And with that he was gone, Daemon's head spinning while the chiming of the TARDIS's leaving faded into the sunset.

"That was incredibly strange."

The Targaryen startled just a bit, turning to face you. "What happened to awaiting me inside, wife?"

Your smirk was playful while your hands wrapped around his waist, chin tilted up to gaze at him. "And leave you alone with some stranger? What if he had ran you through?"

Daemon growled low in his chest, the same possessive need filling him at your touch as it always did. "Do you not believe me to be the better swordsman?"

"You know I like to see you get dirty." Your voice was dangerously low, pulling at the strings you knew he had tightest at the moment.

"Seems like you wouldn't have minded seeing The Doctor get dirty as well." Daemon Targaryen was many things but bitter was certainly not one of them. Until right this moment.

"Daemon." Your lips met his once, quickly. "My husband." Your lips returned to his, lingering this time in the want you could feel radiating from him. "King of my heart. I will never want anyone but you."

He pulled your head to his then, mouth forcing yours open in a bruising, claiming kiss.

"Let's get inside. There was something I wanted to do earlier."

---------

I tried!! let me know how ya liked it

masterlist

[kckt88]

The Beginning

Summary:

Every Dynasty must start somewhere.

Warning(s): Talk of Violence/Blood, Eye Injury, Betrothals.

Word Count: 1923

A.N - Credit to Aemond Targaryen Team (@aemond_team) • Instagram photos and videos for the picture of Aemond & Dany.

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“This interminable in fighting must cease” shouted Viserys banging his wooden cane on the floor.

“F-Father” muttered Rhaenyra.

“Your father. Your grandsire. Your King demands it” screamed Viserys.

“Your Grace if-“

“-I will see things at an end” snapped Viserys as he turned towards Otto who bowed his head in faux submission.

“Husband” muttered Alicent sadly.

“When Princess Vaera turns five and ten, she is to come to Kings Landing where she will be wed to my son Prince Aemond” declared Viserys.

After momentary beat of silence, the room erupted into chaos.

“I will not have my son married to that girl”.

“He attacked Baela”.

“They attacked me”.

“He stole Vhagar”.

“Mother don’t let her be married to him”.

“She’s my daughter I should get a say who she marries”.

“SILENCE!” bellowed Viserys.

“You will do as your King commands, the two of them will enter into a period of courtship and then they will be wed. I would see our family united, and I swear there will be consequences if anyone dares to disobey me” ordered Viserys.

“Yes, Your Grace” muttered Rhaenyra.

Vaera looked down at her hands that were still stained with Aemond’s blood, her cotton night dress in tatters after she had ripped away a piece of the fabric to press against his face to try and stop the bleeding.

“He didn’t steal Vhagar” mumbled Vaera.

“What did you say?” asked Rhaenyra her eyes wide with surprise.

“Aemond. He didn’t steal Vhagar”.

“Yes, he did, Vhagar belonged to Rhaena she was our mother’s dragon” snapped Baela.

“Nobody owns the dragons; they are creatures of their own free will, they are not posessions to be passed down, she allowed Aemond to claim her. Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor” replied Vaera. (A dragon is not a slave).

Rhaenyra smiled slightly as she tucked a stray silver curl of hair behind her daughter’s ear.

Alicent stunned to silence turned to face Viserys who smiled.

“It seems as though my granddaughter is the only one blessed with any kind of sense. This matter is finished” ordered Viserys.

Vaera noticed Aemond peering at her from across the room and she gave him a small smile before she turned away.

- Five Years Later -

Everything had changed since that night on Driftmark. Vaera had lost her father Laenor and gained another in her great uncle Daemon, who also turned out to be her biological father.

Not that Vaera wanted to know the details, but her mother had spent her wedding night to Laenor with Daemon. A death had occurred at the feast and Laenor had descended deep into his cups to block his pain over the loss of his beloved Joffrey and Daemon had snuck into her mother’s chambers, did what they wanted or needed to do and nine moons later she had been born. Of course, by this time Daemon had already absconded across the narrow sea and married Laena Velaryon.

Growing up had been a little tough for Vaera, as her mother had been deeply in love with Daemon and his abandonment of her had broken her heart. Every time her mother looked at her, she could see it in her eyes. Rhaenyra tried to be a good mother to her and sometimes she was indeed soft and warm, but other times she was vacant and unfeeling.

So, Vaera spent most of her time with Laenor, even more so after he mother gave birth to Jacaerys and Lucerys, both babes blessed with brown hair and bearing an entirely coincidental resemblance to the commander of the city watch Ser Harwin Strong.

Whispers of bastard followed both of her younger brothers and it eventually caused a rift between them. Sure, she had also been subjected to the reservations of the court, but due to her flowing silver hair and amethyst eyes suspicions of her true parentage eventually fell by the wayside.

Maybe it should have been better when her mother had married Daemon, but it wasn’t. Things remained the same. Vaera always got the sense that her father was disappointed in her, he seemed to be dismissive of her and never cared to spend time with her like he did her sister Baela. Her other sister Rhaena had told her that she had felt the same way and it was most likely down to their lack of a dragon.

It wasn’t her fault that her cradle egg never hatched. Mayhaps that dragon wasn’t truly meant for her.

A theory that turned out to be true, when Vaera had managed to claim the most ferocious dragon alive the Cannibal.

All those who had tried to claim him before had perished, his nest was littered with the bones of all those who had tried and failed. Yet he’d accepted her. She was his first ever rider.

Perhaps he senses her loneliness and the need for a friend as he had felt the same way. But something definitely called to her with her Cannibal and their bond was like no other. They spent every moment they could together, either in the air flying amongst the clouds or on the ground where Cannibal would curl around her as she read countless books to him.

Messages of congratulations arrived from Kings Landing, although some were laced with uncertainty with regards to her claiming of the ferocious Cannibal. Sure, he had a reputation but as long as his hunger was satisfied then he had no desire for the flesh of his own kind.

The years on Dragonstone spent bonding with Cannibal were the best, of course the deteriorating relationship with her parents and siblings wasn’t a great aspect. But Vaera firmly decided that she didn’t care as long as she had her dragon.

Her mother was too preoccupied with the babe she’d recently given birth too. A boy named Aegon, which was ridiculous considering there was already an Aegon. But now her father had his son and that’s all he cared about.

The time was now upon her to travel to Kings Landing so she could begin her courtship with Aemond. She wondered what he’d be like now. They’d not seen each other since the night he’d lost his eye on Driftmark, but they had been friends before that. Vaera was not simple minded she knew what was expected of her with regards to marriage, but she hoped Aemond would be amenable to rebuilding some form of their friendship.

Due to recently giving birth, her mother could not escort her to Kings Landing and her father wasn’t keen either something about ‘Hightower cunts’ and neither Jace nor Luke volunteered which in Luke’s case was probably a good thing. So, after making sure she had everything packed and bidding farewell to everyone, Vaera climbed on the back of her Cannibal and took to the skies, heading away from Dragonstone towards Kings Landing.

Once Vaera arrived in Kings Landing, she had Cannibal circle the Red Keep a couple of times before he landed with a colossal thud on the stone walls that surrounded the castle. Announcing his arrival with a thunderous roar, Cannibal manoeuvred himself off the wall and lowered himself to the ground. After taking a moment to gather her bags that were attached to Cannibal, Vaera elegantly moved off Cannibals back and descended down the wing that he’d pressed against the ground.

Cannibal lingered by her side for a moment, observing the two guards that had appeared at the entrance to the castle. His low rumbling growls echoing around the courtyard.

“It’s ok my sweet” urged Vaera as she ran her hand along Cannibals scaly neck.

Cannibal who was still hesitant to leave her side, bared his teeth as the guards moved closer.

“I’m fine, they are merely escorts. Go hunt and find a place to rest. I will see you soon” said Vaera as she pressed a quick kiss to Cannibal’s snout.

Cannibal trilled as he nudged her gently, lingering at her side for a few moments longer before he opened his large wings and took off from the ground with a huge gust of wind.

Vaera held her bags close as the guards slowly approached her.

“Princess Vaera. Welcome to Kings Landing. Allow us to escort you to the Queen”.

“Thank you” replied Vaera.

Vaera silently followed the guards as they walked through the Red Keep. Ignoring the curious looks of the maids and servants as she went passed.

Eventually the guards came to a stop in front of a large ornate wooden door.

Knock, knock.

“Enter”.

“Princess Vaera. Your Grace” said one of the guards as he stood aside and allowed Vaera to enter the room.

“Ahh Princess, forgive me. We were not made aware that you would be arriving today”.

“Apologise your grace. My mother must have forgotten to send the raven” replied Vaera.

“It appears so Princess. But never mind you’re here now. Let us discuss your courtship and upcoming marriage to my son” said Alicent.

“Yes, Your Grace” said Vaera bowing her head respectfully.

“Talia, would you take the Princesses bags to her assigned chambers” ordered Alicent.

“Your Grace” replied Talia as she wordlessly took Vaera’s bags and left the room.

“Please take a seat” offered Alicent, gesturing to the empty space next to her.

Vaera slowly sat beside the Queen and took a deep breath, she had not seen Alicent since Driftmark and in truth she was a little nervous.

 “Your courtship period with Aemond will last approximately three moons, after that the two of you will marry in the sept under the faith of the seven” said Alicent sternly.

“Of course, Your Grace” whispered Vaera, fidgeting with her riding leathers.

“You will be expected to do your duty as a wife and only bear my son’s children”.

Vaera of course picked up on Alicent’s thinly veiled dig at her mother, and obviously the Queen was waiting for her response as she stared her pointedly.

“I’m well aware of my duty Your Grace. Despite what you may think. I am not my mother. I fully understand the value of my virtue and I swear that no man has touched me, and no man will ever touch me besides my husband” replied Vaera truthfully.

“Pretty words Princess. Surely you can understand my reluctance to believe such things”.

“Yes, Your Grace I do understand. But as I said I am not my mother, and I can assure you I have no such desire to sully myself or my husband by birthing bastards” said Vaera sharply.

Alicent stared at her for a moment before smiling and nodding her head.

“You will of course be assigned a guard who will accompany you and ensure your safety and wellbeing” said Alicent.

“Yes, Your Grace” whispered Vaera.

“I must also inform you that I expect your to behave whilst you are here and act in a manner befitting a Princess of the realm” retorted Alicent.

“Of course, Your Grace. I will endeavour to act accordingly” said Vaera.

“This is your home now; you may go where you wish” replied Alicent.

Vaera nodded wordlessly.

“Ser Arryk will be your guard, mayhaps you would like to be escorted to your chambers so that you may bathe” said Alicent.

“Yes, Your Grace, I understand the smell of dragon isn’t particularly pleasant” replied Vaera.

“I expect your presence at dinner later today, a formal introduction between you and Aemond will be made. I will send a maid to inform you of the time. Ser Arryk will you escort the Princess to her chambers”.

Ser Arryk lumbered forward and Vaera bowed respectfully to the Queen before following the knight.

As she walked back to her assigned chambers, Vaera couldn't help but wonder what her marriage to Aemond would be like.

Would he love her? or would she be nothing more than his duty?

Only time would tell.

[the-desilittle-bird]

Hey dear! I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if I could get a imagine/oneshot Daemon x wife!poc fem Reader (dornish maybe?) inspired by "jhute ilzaam" by Umrao jaan, please? (with happy ending) feel free to ignore.

AN- I loved it! Thanks for the ask sweetie. Hope you find it as per your liking.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading

False Accusations

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

Summary- And sometimes false accusations end with a beautiful evening...

Tag List- @minaxcarter, @eliseline, @blackhoodlea, @little-moonbeam-666, @neenieweenie, @omgsuperstarg, @avalyaaa, @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @krokietinio, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @thekayarlene, @narcy, @helloitsshitzulover, @muushwrites, @daringboba, @bi2simps, @issybee0611, @yariany02, @agathe, @5moremin, @candypurplebutterfly, @saraelizabeth26, @moon-light1415, @targaryenmoony, @stargaryenx, @instabul, @shine101, @hyacinthus007, @mcam623, @eudximoniakr, @carissa_griffin7777, @marvelescvpe, @severewobblerlightdragon, @deltamoon666, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @ultrav0lence, @savagemickey03, @sunmoon-01, @literishdegree99, @watercolorskyy, @Lady-Juliettes, @cherryaemond, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @nats-whore

Warnings- Tooth-rooting fluff and it gets steamy at a point. Implied smut.

GIF Credits to @thelekhikawrites

Kaun kisko yaha bhala samajha

Humne kya samajha tumne kya samajha

"Do what I hear is right?" The Dornish princess asked, her fingers combing through her dark tresses. Her dark eyes gazed accusingly at her husband who seemed not fazed by her statement, casual as always.

Instead, the Rogue Prince drew closer to her, like a moth to burning fire. His long fingers caressed the dusky skin of her shoulder; the thread of her heavy necklace sat sternly on the bare skin, barely grazing the rough padding of his digits.

"And what do you hear, my little sun?" He called dearly, fingers running down to the thread which held her translucent nightwear together. "Now, that you are here, make some work on the threads of the necklace."

With a roll of his eyes, Daemon started to carefully undo the knots holding one of the symbolic representation of the riches of House Martell of Dorne. But whilst his pursues, he observed the little frown shadowing over her face.

"What has stolen the smile of your face, beloved?" He asked, once all the knots were undone and the jewelry was placed carefully on her vanity. His fingers massaging the muscles of her tensed shoulder.

"Queen Alicent had decided to enlighten me upon a particular... interest of yours," she said, her teeth sinking into her lower lip while her hands slapped his hands off.

"Which one?" Daemon asked with a frown tugging over his eyebrows. His hands crossed over his chest; eyes skimming over his lady wife; his little sun; his Dornish princess.

"Were you in an intimate relation with Rhaenyra?"

The prince was left in a deep silence; his eyes boring deep into her brown irises which resembled the drenched soil after the arrival of first rain; the earthen warmth they held were lost as tears welled up in them.

"Were you, Daemon?"

Of course he was. How could the prince forget it. But that was before (Y/N) came in his life; dancing and singing like one of the angels from the heaven, with hair so dark that they could challenge the Maiden herself.

Her smile which brightened up his entire life; making him forget about the misery of his life and drown in the rain of love she showered over him.

"I was."

"And does the relationship still exist?"

The hope in her eyes resembled the flame of a burning candle; little but bright. Her pink lips resembled the petals of the softest rose. Her skin like gold; or the beautiful colour of tea she makes when he couldn't sleep.

"No."

"And how shall I accept that it isn't a lie?"

Daemon chuckled, his hands guiding her to stand up. Forcing her to face him, to look into his violet eyes with her dark ones. In her eyes, he saw in them the childlike stubbornness and with them was love.

"What can I do to make you believe it?"

Meri aankho me jo achhe nahi lagte aansu

Toh jalaya na karo mujhko sataya na karo

"I hate it when you cry," he whispers, cupping her cheek as his fingertip massaged the muscles beneath her eyes, softly with great care. "Then don't make me cry then," she replied in an equally low voice, the stubbornness leaking through her voice.

"Apologies, my love," he says, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the corner of her lips. The sharp intake of breath pleased the prince as he retracted his face only a few inches.

"Apologize better," (Y/N) argued, turning around with her arms folded in front of her. Her eyes focused over the reflection of herself and her now smirking husband, who only stepped closer to her, towering over her petite stature.

"I. Hate. Tears. In. Your. Beautiful. And. Erotic. Eyes."

Each word was accentuated by a kiss, starting from her shoulder to her neck. The shiver which ran down her spine excited him.

"Stop the seduction," she hissed, eyes widening as she took a few steps away from her prideful husband, unconsciously moving towards the bed she shared with her lord husband.

Daemon only huffed a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he stepped closer to her; like a predator hunting it's prey in the quiet of a dense forest.

"Those are just another false accusations, ñuha byka vēzos," (My little sun) Daemon said, his fingers slowly crawling over the expanse of his broad chest, undoing the ties which hold the black tunic together, slow as a turtle.

"It hurts me, Daemon," she whispers with a bite on her lower lip, blinking her lashes to prevent the fall of her tears.

Jhute iljaam meri jaan lagaya na karo

Dil hai najuk ise tum aise dukhaya na karo

"These false accusations hurts my weak heart as well, my lady love," Daemon admits, exposing his lean chest to the hungry eyes of his wife. His tunic was left abandoned on the floor, while his finger grazed the covered skin of her side, just below her bossom.

"My lord, I was just... scared to lose you."

"You would never lose me, my sunshine."

His lips touched the smooth skin of her collarbone, a small hum of pleasure leaving the throat of the exotic beauty he was fortunate enough to marry. The little moan had him growling; his teeth biting the skin below her ear softly.

"Daemon, please."

The smirk on his face grew, his fingers finding home on her waist. Her dark brown locks touching his rough fingers, a soft touch like a mother's to her little child.

"Lets remove the false accusations from your mind."

[legitalicat]

Out of Time

Chapter 3 - "Dinner and Dessert"

AN: Chapter 3 my loves! I hope you enjoy this one :) Also I'm sorry if this is bad I've only ever written smut like 2x before this. If you're looking for better smut, I always always always recommend @lovelykhaleesiii

If you love this header go check out zaldritzosrose for more amazing work! She is tagged on the series masterlist and on my welcome post!

If anyone is interested in me starting a tag list, please feel free to let me know!!

Find the series Master list here!

Summary: As the day comes to a close, she can only think of what has happened. With having less than a full day to understand the situation, her thoughts are all consuming. Her beloved twin, Jacaerys, shows he has only ever cared for her.

18+ every one

TW: SMUT SMUT SMUT!!!! P in V, Targcest (is it Targcest if their last names are Velaryon?), profanity, dirty talk, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex guys), Jace has a monster in his pants, Jace being kinda dom

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin!Reader, mentions of Aemond Targaryen x Reader, mentions of Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Word count: 3.6 k

Aemond had accompanied me to the Dragon Pit, as was my original intention. And it was time well spent in all honesty. He spoke to me about the time that I was gone. Just as Mother said, he had gone around the entire realm to attempt to find me. Apparently, he had spent a long time in Harrenhal, the seat of my blood father’s family.

What I hadn’t expected, though, was him telling me of this woman he had met there named Alys Rivers. According to him he had grown fond of her and even attempted to be with her. He claimed it was to try to get over me, as all logic pointed to me being dead. I stopped listening.

When I was back in my chambers, with nothing to do but think as I waited for dinner, I could only sit in the window seat overlooking Blackwater Bay. My finding didn’t make sense to me.

If I were taken by pirates like seemed to be a popular theory, why was I not in Essos? I would probably fetch a fair price if they sold me into slavery. Or why had they not demanded ransom? As a princess of the realm, my identity was not a secret, even if I didn’t have the signature Targaryen hair. I had done as much as possible to help the citizens of King’s Landing. I had done a tour of the Seven Kingdoms to meet with several Lords and their sons to consider for marriage. There was not a time in which I was ever hidden away.

“Your brain is going to break if you continue to think so hard,” Jace said from beside me. My gaze snapped to him, trying to steady my heart from the shock. “It is just me, issa dāria.”

“Must you sneak in here like that?” I scolded him yet I was certain the only thing stern about me was my tone. I was too happy to see him to control the smile that crept onto my face.

He was carrying a tray with two plates piled high with food and two cups. He set it on a nearby table before coming back to stand by my side.

“I wanted to have time with you. We have not seen each other since the afternoon,” he explained to me.

He gave me a soft smile. Everything about him was soft. His hair laid in loose curls that bounced with every motion. His lips were plump, eyes round and a deep brown, and even his sharp jawline was offset by full cheeks. Hell, even down to what he wore was soft. A loose fitting, long sleeved white linen shirt with strings crossing over the space between his collarbones tucked into the waistband of his brown cotton pants. Unlike most, he didn’t often wear shoes around the castle unless he had to go before the council or maybe a formal dinner.

No matter how much I loved Aemond, Jace was a part of me. I loved him in nearly every way a person could. He and I were two pieces of the same soul. We could spend all day together and never need a break. He listened to me rant about every subject I ever read about, learned High Valyrian for me. He was good and kind and sweet.

“And the food?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought perhaps dinner with all of us at once may prove to be too much tonight, so you and I could eat in here. I’ve already spoken to Mother and told her,” he said.

I chuckled and stood from my seat. Without any hesitation, he took my hand in one of his hands and pulled me closer by my waist with the other. Standing here, chest to chest with him, the world felt quiet.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. He was sure not to hold me too tightly.

“Physically I hurt,” I whispered. It was best if I were honest with him. “Otherwise, I’m just confused. None of it makes sense. And to think of missing five years with you causes an unbearable ache in my chest.”

He pressed his lips to my forehead. It was how he comforted me when he had no idea what to say. Always handling me with great care like it was his life’s mission. There was no amount of affection too small to him.

He said nothing else before helping me into a chair at the table. The silence felt nice if I were honest. With him, I didn’t feel like I had missed anything.

“Luke is happy you’re back,” he told me after he had sat down. “So is Joffrey. They missed you greatly.”

“I cannot wait to see them. As well as Little Aegon and Viserys. They all have grown so much,” I responded, tears welling up in my eyes.

My plate had a venison roast with potatoes and carrots. A simple meal but one of my favorites. Dragonstone had the largest deer I had seen which was an impressive feat considering how many dragons roamed free on the island. But with such an abundance of the meat, we had it frequently when we lived there.

“I love you,” he said. He spoke it in such a way nobody could question his sincerity. He had always been honest to a fault.

“I love you,” I said before taking a bite of food. It was perfect and heavenly.

“So then why did you go to Aemond? Why spend the afternoon without me?” His voice was pained and his lip quivered a little.

Did he not know that it was not that way? It wasn’t like I chose Aemond over Jacaerys. He had merely been the one to come to my room.

“My moon, I had been on my way to see Vhaela and he approached me. I did not go seek him out,” I nearly pleaded with him. I reached across the table to take his hand in mine and squeeze it.

“I am not oblivious to the fact you were with him in the year you spent here with grandsire. But you and I are meant to be husband and wife. Formally so, now,” he whispered. His eyes moved to look at his plate.

My heart ached at the thought of hurting him. He was everything to me. My best friend, the moon and stars in my night sky, my fire on a cold night. When I spoke of him being my other half, it was not an exaggeration. Without him there was no me.

Even so, I could not pretend that everything was fine and as it was before I woke on the beach. While I had been stuck in place, everyone around me continued to grow and thrive and change. Pretending they hadn’t was like ignoring the rain as it washes away the earth. I would be fine as long as it was raining and I could use the water to maneuver. But once the flood subsided, I would be stranded without knowing where I was.

“But should we be? It has been five years, Jacaerys. Hell, I wasn’t even with you for a year before I disappeared. What if the person you are now does not love the person I am?”

“I could give you everything you could ever wish for when I am King. I will give you every child your heart could desire, I will love you until my final breath. Why is that not enough?” he asked before looking back up at me. The way he said it made me question if he was more hurt or angry. “Or is this back to the ridiculous notion that since Aegon the Conqueror had two wives you could have two husbands?”

“I wish to know where my heart truly lies. I wish to know if I marry you it is purely for love and not anything to do with duty. Why can you not give me that?”

He was silent for a moment longer than I would have liked. Was it truly an unreasonable request? All I ever wanted was a life of love. I knew Jace would love me for as long as we lived, and I would love him. But if it weren’t an equal love, if it were a love that was weighed down by a sense of duty, where was the honor in that? How could I subject both of us to that?

“So you wish to replace me?” he asked me. He yanked his hand away from me as he pushed up from the table. “I can only assume with Aemond.”

“I am not replacing you!” I said firmly. “You are my twin, my other half, there is no replacing you.”

I quickly stood up too, trying to be on his level, to prove I was on his side. But it was too quickly and I cried out in pain. The Maesters figured it had only been a month at most since they were cracked. As such, they warned me of the potential for severe pain, making it difficult to move or breathe without risking it. At first I thought they were full of shit, but with my ribs feeling like they’re on fire and my breathing causing agonizing pain, I realized I had just been stubborn.

No matter his anger, he rushed to close the distance between us and hold me steady. Even when he was angry or hurt, it was never enough to take over his compassion. Jace truly was too good for this world.

I couldn’t help but nuzzle him as he held me. Never was it my intention to hurt him. I just didn’t want to rob something from him that he above all people deserved. A happy, love filled life.

“How could you do this to me?” he whispered while holding me close. “I have lived without you for over six years. I alone waited for you.”

“It is not something I’ve done to you, Jace,” I insisted. “I do not wish to exclude you. I just want to explore my heart.”

He sighed softly and set me back down in my chair. Kneeling in front of me, he pushed my hair back from my face. I loved him so much. I could only hope he still understood that.

“I have dreamt of you every night since you left my side,” he whispered. “Even so, I cannot make you unhappy. If you are sure, then I will not object. But do not make me stay away from you.”

It was never easy to stay away from him. The first time I ever tried to was when I became aware of how desperately I wanted to cross the lines of what was proper. Being around him had been overwhelming, so I elected to just stay away. But eventually he became frustrated with me and came to my room in the middle of the night to demand answers. That was the night he took my maidenhead. To this day I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

“Then you cannot ask me to stay away from him. I want this to be true and fair, issa dārys,” I whispered to him.

He said nothing, instead moving forward and pushing his lips to mine. His movements were cautious as to avoid causing me more pain in my busted lip, but I could feel a hunger behind it. All thoughts but him left me.

Jace pulled away far too soon, standing from his position in front of me. Within a moment he had me in his arms, holding me off the floor. I couldn’t help but giggle wildly at this. The sound made him smile and then he carried me to my bed.

In truth, for the longest time this was our bed. No matter how often our parents tried, we always found our way back into the same bed. It is why the room is decorated equally in our favorite colors. Once we had painted the wall behind the bed to look like a sunset, mixing stunning oranges and purples that felt like home. Warm and wonderful just like Jace.

“I love you,” he whispered in my ear as he began desperately pulling at the laces along my back that held my dress to me.

“I love you,” I whispered, pulling at his shirt. He pulled back just enough to allow me to pull it over his head and toss it aside before he put his lips to my neck.

My dress fell from my shoulders and chest, leaving my breasts exposed to him. The way Jace stared with nothing short of an animalistic hunger made me whimper in pleasure. Within a matter of moments he was massaging the left one and attaching his lips to the right. He sucked little red marks into the flesh, so insignificant that they would disappear by the morning, but leaving a stinging sensation wherever he touched that reminded me this was real.

When he took my hardened nipple in between his lips, grazing it with his teeth, I gasped in pleasure. It had been far too long since I had felt his touch. He made sure I was aware of it, too. He sucked eagerly, never once stopping the massaging movements he made with his hand. Moans of his name fell from my lips as though he were the god I worshipped.

He pulled away from me with a loud pop. “Always been so perfect for me,” he whispered to me. “Made for me, weren’t you, issa dāria?”

I was rendered speechless as Jace pulled my dress from me completely, followed quickly by his pants. In his naked form he was everything a girl could ask for. His muscles were firm and well defined, biceps large enough so that I could not wrap a hand around them. Any baby fat on his stomach had melted into six individually defined muscles. Somehow there was no hair along his chest, but a small line of hair connected his navel to the curly brown hair at the base of his cock.

Every time I saw his cock, my jaw dropped slightly. He was easily ten inches in length and thick enough so that I could barely touch my thumb and middle finger together when holding it. It was monstrous in size but he was so loving and sweet it never caused excessive pain. His cock was hard, red at the tip with pre-cum beading on it. I glanced up to his face to find him blushing as I looked him over.

“Still so shy after all the nights we spent together?” I asked him quietly.

“You must remember that while it has not been so long for you, it has been damn near seven years for me. So shut up,” he said, blushing even more at my teasing. I couldn’t help but giggle.

“No passage of time could ever change the love I have for you, or how perfect I find you,” I whispered before taking one of his hands in mine.

He moved to hover over me, a knee on either side of my own, his cock resting against my thighs. His eyes were easy to follow as he dragged his gaze along my body, starting at my face and working his way down. Every cut or scar, no matter how small, earned a kiss against the skin. Taking extra care with the bruise on my ribs, he pressed small kisses along the edges of it where it did not cause any pain. The pure intimacy of it was enough to cause a heat to build as my pussy became increasingly wet.

Just as he was about to continue leaving kisses down the rest of my body, I reached down to grab his chin. The touch was enough to get him to connect his gaze with me.

“Love me, Jace,” I whispered, pleading with him. I couldn’t take the sweet torture that was his foreplay.

“You are not ready for me yet, love,” he said.

“I am plenty wet for you. The rest I do not care about,” I told him.

“I do not wish to cause you more pain,” he insisted, but I leaned up and kissed him, my eyes fluttering shut.

This time it was I who kissed him hungrily. Being like this with him, I felt like I had been starving and all that I wanted was right in front of me. My sweet twin, one who had always put me above anyone else. Even now when I can feel how needy he is as his cock leaked pre-cum onto my thigh, he needed to put me above him.

Carefully I slid down some, so that his cock was now resting on my hip. Reaching between us I grabbed it, giving a few lazy strokes. He groaned against my lips when I aligned the tip to my waiting cunt.

He pulled back just enough to separate our lips. My eyes opened quickly so that I could look at him. His eyes were soft, waiting for me to tell him to go.

I nodded ever so slightly. That was all he needed to push forward into me. Already he was moaning my name as he sunk inch after inch into me. It ached quite a lot after not having him inside me for so long. But still, I couldn’t ask him to stop. The ache was pleasurable and needed.

He got nearly three quarters of his cock inside me before he stilled. He was breathing heavily, obviously struggling with restraint but giving me time to adjust. I pressed kisses over every part of his face before laying back so that I could admire him. Jacaerys was a god among men, that I was certain of.

“I’m okay, love,” I whispered to him. One look in my eyes was all he needed to be sure.

He hooked my right leg behind my knee and pulled it to lay against his chest. A cry of both pleasure and pain came out of my lips at the way this caused him to reach further in me than he ever had. There was a small smirk on his face. The cheeky fucker knew exactly what he did.

Setting a near torturous pace, he pulled out of me slowly and pushed back in. The pain I felt was indistinguishable from pleasure. Every twitch and every throb of his cock, I could feel entirely. Then Jace pressed his thumb to my clit, rubbing in tandem with each movement of his hips. When his cock was buried inside me, he rubbed against it eagerly, like he was trying to make me cum right then and there. And then every time my body started tightening up and I began to see stars, he pulled out to just his tip and all but stopped touching my clit.

I glared at him the sixth time he did it while feeling my approaching orgasm back off. It made him chuckle as he bent down, pressing my knee to my shoulder, with only the tip of his cock nestled inside me.

“You feel so good, you know that, love?” he whispered to me. “Feels like your cunt was designed with my cock in mind. Bet I would fit perfectly if I went all the way to my balls, don’t you?” With widened eyes I nodded eagerly. “Have I fucked you stupid already, pretty girl?”

This was a side to him I hadn’t seen before. Normally he was whispering praises to me, thanking the gods for me, and I gave him the same. But it was not unwelcome. In fact, I could feel myself clench around him as a whine built up in my throat.

“That’s okay, baby, don’t need you to say anything. Can feel how much you love this,” he whispered before driving his hips forward.

I wrapped my left leg around his waist so that I could pull him closer into me. Each powerful thrust had me moaning out his name. The sounds of my moans and his heavy balls slapping against my ass was all that could be heard echoing around the room. A wave started building inside me, the intensity of it increasing while he stroked my clit again. This time he never let up.

“Cum around my cock, pretty girl,” he said to me. “Fuck, Y/N, so fucking tight. So perfect for me.” His breathing became more labored as he punctuated each word with a moan.

“Gods, Jace!” I cried out when the orgasmic wave crashed over me. He looked to where his cock sank into me. The evidence of my orgasm soaked his stomach, sliding down his skin and dripping onto the bed.

Jace’s thrusts became erratic as my cunt squeezed around him. Within seconds, he was crying out my name and his hips stuttered to a stop. I could feel every inch of his cock throb and twitch as his cum poured into me.

He was very careful as he pulled out. Both of us whined at the loss of contact, but his turned quickly into a moan when he saw a string of my juices mixed with his between his cock and my body. With a goofy little smile he laid beside me and pulled the blanket up over the both of us.

“You have had my heart for our entire lives,” he whispered to me. “I am not giving yours up without a fight.”

With one last kiss to my forehead, he held me close to him before we both went to sleep.

[flowerandblood]

Song from the Sea (2)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Greyjoy! • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: physical violence, swearing, sexual tension]

[description: Aemond and Aegon arrive in the Iron Islands, to confirm the arrangements made years ago and the marriage of Lord Greyjoy's daughter to Aemond. (Anon Request) During a break on a long journey, at one of the taverns Aegon drags him to, Aemond meets a woman, who will change his life forever. (Anon Request) Smut, angst, sexual tension, domination.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Watching the waves of blue water lapping against the side of their ship, listening thoughtfully to the restless roar of the element, she considered throwing herself into the sea. Shouldn't she let the Drowned God take her to his depths, take the sea abyss for her husband.

The thought of marriage made her want to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. Her indifferent face looked at her small, blurred reflection, their huge galley sailing at high speed, which made the whole ship rock, her dark hair, partly tied in a bun at the back of her head was blowing in the wind.

She boarded a ship for the first time when she was five years old. She accompanied her father, Dalton Greyjoy, on one of his short trips. He wanted his daughter to get acquainted with the cold and dangerous sea, to understand what the difficult life of a seaman is. She remembered her admiration for the ship's vastness, its huge sails that practically touched the sky.

She heard the shouts and orders of men, strange, tattooed, without eyes, arms or legs, in elaborate, gray and brown dun clothes, running from one point of the boat to another. Although it seemed like chaos at first to her, then she realized that everyone was working like clockwork, adapting to the changes in the sky and water.

Then she fell in love with the sea.

She first escaped from a stronghold in the Iron Islands at the age of eight. She packed a small bag, in her child's opinion, her most necessary things and sneaked out of the castle under the cover of night, heading towards the port, leaving only a letter.

She boarded Devilwind's galley unnoticed. In the morning one of the boatswains found her and took her to Captain John Senray, her father's closest friend.

Captain Senray was ten years older than her father, his long dark beard was covered with earrings and beads. She still remembered him looking at her, thinking hard, the boat creaking loudly around them from the speed that they had reached at sea.

After much thought, he decided that they couldn't turn back if they were to get the goods on time. He ordered her to sit in her cabin and obey all his orders.

She spent a week on his ship. The men, mostly bearded, with long, sticky hair, smelling of sea and rum, welcomed her as if she were their own daughter. They thought it worthy that Lord Greyjoy's daughter would go on a sea voyage, and they liked that she had no fear.

They taught her how to tie ropes and look at the stars, set a course, read maps and signs in the sky, the clouds that told her if it was going to be clear or a storm was coming.

She helped them with everything she could. They did not allow her to participate in their drunken revels, but they protected her and gave her a sense of complete security, combined with a freedom that she felt every time she looked overboard and saw only the endless sea.

When she returned home a week later, all dirty and plastered, her robes torn, her father greeted her with a love and tenderness that she never knew he was capable of. Although her mother died of worry every day, he was proud that his child felt the call of the sea. He didn't want her to be a plain, gentle lady like her mother.

Lady Greyjoy made her husband happy only twice: the day she gave him his beloved daughter and the day she gave him a son and heir. He considered her death in childbirth to be the natural order of things, with which he came to terms quite quickly, unlike his daughter.

She wanted to throw herself into the sea after her, to apologize to her for all she had suffered. She would wake up sometimes in the night, feeling like her mother was giving birth again, screaming so loud that her heart clenched.

From that moment on, she tried to pretend that the subject of marriage did not concern her. She was at sea with Captain Senray who already treated her as part of his crew.

She knew that her father loved her more than her brother, who had a softer nature, being more like their mother inside. He also swam at sea, but not so willingly, feeling weary from long voyages. Their father often told her that if he could, he would sign over the entire Iron Islands and the rest of his inheritance to her.

However, when the king proposed that they make a deal, her father betrayed her. He explained to her that the Iron Islands with the support of the crown would be richer and stronger than ever. That as her father expects from her and knows that she will fulfill her vocation.

She wanted to spit in his face then, considering that he had abandoned her, as he had abandoned her mother.

But nothing came out of her mouth.

Now, standing on Devilwind's galley, sailing back to the Iron Islands to meet her future husband, she wondered, if it wouldn't be better for her to just end it all.

She could still hear her mother's scream, see the brief fragment of her body lying in blood, that she saw through the crack in the door, which a moment later someone closed, noticing her. She thought, that the same would happen to her. That she would die giving birth to a man, who would be completely indifferent to her.

She shuddered and leaned forward, as they suddenly heard a loud, piercing roar above them. For a moment she thought, that she had lost her hearing, then looked up and saw two giant dragons, flying over them at such speed, that their entire galley began to rock side to side, causing panic. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought, that it was him.

She turned quickly, glancing after the great monsters flying through the sky, and saw, that they began to circle above the ground, landing. She knew, that there was a port nearby and ran to the captain to beg him to dock. She told him, that she wanted to meet her future husband.

Captain Senray and Walter Moore decided to accompany her in case of trouble. The route at night was dangerous and led only to one village. She knew there was an inn there, and that perhaps they had gone there. All three of them knew exactly the owner of this establishment, because they had stayed there more than once. She felt her heart pounding at the thought, that she might soon meet the person, on whom her entire future life depended.

They stepped inside, pulling off their hoods, looking around. She saw him at once, his back to them, watching them warily over his shoulder, his lips pursed. She knew, that it was him, because of his eyepatch and the light shade of his eye, unnatural in this part of the country. With difficulty she looked away from him, feeling her whole body tremble.

They went to the counter and ordered beers, exchanging pleasantries with the host. Then they approached one of the occupied benches. The men recognized them at once, so they only bowed their heads in appreciation and got up to find another place. Only then did they make themselves comfortable, taking off their coats. She now had a perfect view of their table. She barely suppressed an amused smile, as she saw him staring intensely at her and her waist.

His brother was babbling to him, and her future husband was answering him impatiently. He got up, she heard him say in the distance, that he wanted to leave and move on. Her heart squeezed at the thought.

After a while, however, they began to struggle with each other, and his drunken brother practically shouted, that they came here on dragons. Looking at them, she decided, that Prince Aemond's brother was an idiot.

She wasn't surprised, when he walked over to the counter to order something for himself, furious and resigned. She thought, that he had a very interesting face, and his scar didn't take anything away from him. Besides, she'd seen plenty of mutilated men, and such physical deficiencies didn't bother her much anymore.

She got up and walked over to him, figuring, that she wanted to tease him a little. She wasn't afraid of the consequences, she knew, that everything was already decided. She wanted to see, what awaited her, what kind of man he was.

When she bought him a round, he just looked at her searchingly, his face seemed to be made of stone. He was very tense, his eye cold, furious and disapproving. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw, that he had one hand on the dagger. There was some tension between them.

She thought, that he was handsome. That she could go upstairs and give herself to him, if he wanted to. See if he's a good lover. She smiled at the thought.

“Come upstairs with me. By the time we're done, your brother will fall asleep here, on the table.” She said calmly, softly, looking at him with her mouth slightly parted. She thought, that she wanted it. That she needed relief, because the frustration, pain, and fear she was feeling were too much to bear.

She didn't expect what would happen between them. She hadn't suspected, how he would react to her touch, hadn't expected, how wonderfully his sapphire eye graced his face.

She did not expect, that his disability was the reason for his great complexes. She thought, that in King's Landing, where everyone walked around in colorful robes, adorned with rich stones, he must have felt like a monster. She thought, that among her people, he would find acceptance, stop thinking, that he lacked anything.

The thought of him being like her, made her lose her temper. Originally, she just wanted to get fucked by him, but she ended up riding him. Her orgasm was so strong, that it was almost painful, her muscles clenching greedily around him, drawing low moans from him, that sent shivers down her spine.

In addition, she allowed him to cum inside herself, although no other man, with whom she had known this kind of pleasure, had been granted this honor before.

As he left, she slowly began to calm down. She thought, maybe there was hope for them. That maybe she'll find at least a little happiness with him.

However, as she officially entered the hall of her stronghold, wearing her most elegant, black gown, she saw his expression change from shock to fury. If he could, he would kill her with his eye.

She saw him clench his jaw, turn his head away, squeezing his eye shut, trying to calm himself down and not show anything. She wanted to laugh at the sight.

Her father ordered a small feast to be prepared for them, attended by Prince Aegon and her brother, Laren. She was seated next to her fiancé and even wanted to exchange a few courtesy words with him, but he beat her to it.

"Do not speak to me." He hissed softly like a snake, and she pursed her lips, arching an eyebrow, amused, simply taking a piece of roast into her mouth, unfazed. She decided not to force herself on him and waited, until he calmed down.

Her father had been sullen throughout the entire dinner and hardly spoke, leaving the entire burden of discussion on her younger brother's shoulders. Laren was a great talker, and though he tried to get something out of her future husband, he answered practically only in grunts, thoughtful and angry, completely in his own world. She thought, looking at him, that if he could, he would breathe fire and burn them all, including himself.

He was the first to get up after dinner. At first she decided she wouldn't run after him, but then she found herself wanting to drive him mad with rage. She stood up, thinking, that maybe he might even kill her, while doing her a favor. She wasn't afraid of death or the brutality he was known for.

He turned after her, surprised to see, that she had followed him into the chamber, that Lord Greyjoy had assigned him. She closed the door behind her, leaning her back against it, looking at him with a haughty, calm smile.

"Get out." He spoke low, menacing, dangerous, madness in his eye, that made her belly hot. She thought, that he was about to explode and licked her lips involuntarily.

“No.” She spoke calmy, sensually, softly. She saw a grimace cross his face, for some memory of their shared elation, that he wanted to get rid of.

He walked over to her unhurriedly, his eye black, his face expressionless. He grabbed her neck, his large hand slowly tightening on her slender, soft skin, forcing her to tilt her head back slightly.

He stared at her for a moment, and she could feel his hot, uneasy breath on her face. She smelled him again, the smell of smoke and something else, that she couldn't describe. She felt wetness between her thighs for some reason.

"Fucking whore." He spoke softly, lightly, not even blinking, his good eye wide open, as if he was just fighting hard not to strangle her. She smiled at his words, making him purse his lips.

“From what I remember, it takes two to elevate between a man and a woman. So you're just as much a whore, as I am." She whispered, moving closer to him as if to kiss him.

His hand gripped her neck tighter, slamming her whole body brutally against the back of the door with a dull thud. She felt him draw in a breath as he felt her short, tiny knife hidden in her sleeve, pressed against the side of his stomach.

"I could kill you for those words. For such an insult to the prince and the crown." He said through clenched teeth, not controlling himself. She thought, that he had just reached the height of his rage. She parted her lips slightly, impassive, looking at him with dreamy eyes.

"Take your beautiful princely knife from your belt and cut my throat. Punish me for wanting to meet a man, for whom I would give my freedom, my body, whose future descendants would tear my womb. With whom I will fly to King's Landing to be nothing, sewing with sweet, perfumed ladies fabrics, praising his future victories and achievements." She laughed lightly, warmly, feeling her throat constrict not because of his strength, but because of the tears, that she was holding back with the last of her willpower.

She saw him hesitate, something changed in his face. Her words surprised him and knocked him off balance.

"Or let's both assume that it never happened. That you fucked some strange, unknown woman, and I fucked some unknown, strange man. The last joy before an arranged wedding. Isn't that beautiful?” She asked quietly, one tear streaming down her face.

Her mask fell down. Her mouth went from smiling to helpless, her lips began to twitch, her body relaxed, as if she was about to collapse and pass out, her gaze pleading and tired. The knife slipped from her hand, falling with a loud thud to the floor.

She saw, that he was dismayed and surprised. His grip loosened suddenly and he took a few steps away from her, as if he didn't recognize her. She sank to the ground, burying her head between her knees and just started sobbing.

"I should have thrown myself into the sea." She said finally, covering her head with her hands, as if he was about to kick and punch her.

The fact, that he was in this chamber at that moment, was indifferent to her. All the grief, that she'd felt for months, ever since she found out, that her father had sold her, had just been released.

She didn't care what he thought of her, whether he thought she was a whore, an idiot, or a lunatic. For a moment, all she heard was the sound of her ragged breathing, and nothing else. She knew, that he was looking at her.

After a while, she heard him move and sit up on bed, with a loud creaking of wood. She looked up slightly and saw, that he was bent over, his face buried in his hands. She thought, that he was as broken as she was.

She changed her position and lay down on the floor, staring straight ahead at the legs of a small, wooden table, that stood at the back of the chamber. Her future husband looked at her, his expression uncertain and puzzled.

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking at her, as if he was about to faint from exhaustion and frustration himself. She didn't even look at him, when she heard his words.

"I'm lying." She said indifferently. He sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands again, apparently deciding, that it was too much for him.

She heard him begin to unbutton his jacket, then pull off his boots, knocking them to the ground with a loud thud. He blew out the candles lit in the chamber, making it completely dark. Then she heard the rustling of cloth. He lay down on the bed with his back to her, pretending, that she wasn't there.

She thought, for some reason, that she wanted to stay with him. She'd slept on the floor more than once on ships, and it wasn't uncomfortable for her at all, though he probably thought she was crazy. She didn't want to be alone in her chamber.

In the Iron Islands, the approach to male-female relationships was lighter, and she knew, that as long as he didn't kick her out, she could do whatever she wanted.

She fell asleep after a while, crying without a sound, looking at the moon, that shone brightly outside the window. She dreamed of her mother again, covered in blood. Then she had a dream about her father, saying, that he was proud of her. She cried in her sleep, begging him not to give her away.

She flinched, as she felt someone suddenly grab her and throw her over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. For a moment she didn't know where she was, so she started kicking.

"Stop it." He hissed as he laid her on his bed, and only then did she recognize his face.

She pursed her lips, a bit embarrassed by her outburst. She straightened her long dress, as he laid down next to her, with his back to her.

"Stop crying and sleep."

_____

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[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise - c. 15

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series

Chapter Fifteen: Children of Valyria

When the news of Rhaenyra’s labor reached the ears of the Strongs, they both bolted out of their rooms for different reasons. Saera loved her sister - and couldn’t bear the thought of her alone in the birthing bed, while Harwin was excited to meet his child. They halted in front of the Princess’ chambers - freezing at the sound of her screams. 

“Is she alright?” Saera asks, while settling on the bench outside of the door. “Yes,” Alicent replies - sitting beside her daughter. 

Harwin Strong was pale - nervous for the safety of his beloved. “She’ll be fine,” Laenor touches the man’s shoulder before bolting inside the room. He was the father, but they didn’t know that. 

“How long has she been in labor?” the Princess inquires, watching the Queen peel the skin back at her fingers. “Ten hours, she started at dawn.” the woman confirmed, trying not to show her fear. Rhaenyra and Alicent were no longer friends - but the affection was still there. 

“Gods,” Harwin mumbled, finding his place beside his wife. 

—

Saera bites back a gasp, exchanging confused glances with Queen Alicent. “He is a handsome young boy.” Viserys smiles, holding his grandson with tenderness and love. Even a blind man could see that the child wasn’t a Velaryon. Prince Jacaerys had brown hair and brown eyes - Saera has spent two-years with Harwin to know that the babe had his nose and his smile. 

Harwin grins from behind his wife, both at them staring at the Prince’s face. He was adorable and charming - Saera couldn’t find herself hating him. “He is delightful,” she cooed, smiling at the sight of the little boy. 

“Thank you,” Rhaenyra breathed a sigh of relief, exchanging a knowing stare with her lover. “Would you like to hold him?” she offers, but it comes across as teasing. 

Saera’s lips settled into a thin line. 

It wasn’t an insult but it sounded like an insult. 

“No thank you,” she declined, gathering her gown and excusing herself from the room.

—

Harwin enters Saera’s separate chamber, he could sense that there was something wrong. His heart jumped out of his chest at the sight of her, arms crossed and with a frown. He was in trouble. 

“Good morrow,” she greeted, slowly filling her cup with wine. He had the broad shoulders of the Andals, and he was the perfect husband for Viserys’ second daughter - but she did not need his protection. Matter of fact, he should protect himself from her. 

Rhaenyra was fire and avarice, but her sister was calm as spring. It unnerved him - as he could do anything but it would never anger her. At least not in the way that Rhaenyra would be angered.

“It’s a shame that my nephew inherited his grandmother’s Baratheon blood,” she hummed, looking at his face and seeing it drop with every word that escaped her tongue. “ - his face is void of Valyrian blood.” she added. 

“He is still a dragon,” he defended and she raised an eyebrow. “Of course,” she looked at the side, taking a sip of her wine. 

Saera figures that it was the alcohol that had her speaking of things that she couldn’t understand. She takes another sip, sitting on top of her vanity. “I’ve heard rumors,” she began - already regretting her capriciousness. 

“Rumors about?” he acted clueless, but that seemed to feed more into her desire for the truth. “Her son looks like you,” she pipes - leaving out the fact that she had concrete evidence of his betrayal. 

She glances up from her cup to his face. 

If he were to admit the affair - then she’d bring forth an agreement. She could have Daemon and he could have Rhaenyra. 

“They are efforts to besmirch the crown’s reputation. Do not believe them, my wife.” he shuts her down, the grip on her goblet tightened - she bites the insides of her cheeks. She knew in that very moment - all of her trust diminished with her husband - even the mere possibility of friendship was impossible. That he would lie to get what he wanted. 

“I won't be mad,” she gives him a chance to redeem himself, but he begins walking in her direction - wrapping her around his arms. “You are the only woman that I love.” he pressed a reluctant kiss on the top of her head. “ - that is a promise.” he vowed - sealing his fate. 

—

Daemon and Saera impatiently walk inside the Maester’s chambers. He was never a big fan of Maesters, they were stupid and incompetent. He’d rather fly to Essos and Pentos to get a proper diagnosis. He places a protective arm around her shoulder - twisting the doorknob without knocking. He’d have more decorum if the Maester wasn’t the one that killed his sister, Aemma. 

“Prince Daemon,” the man stands up and he points at his niece. “Princess Saera,” the man bows, walking to help them. “I think I’m with a child.” she announces bluntly, and the man nods. 

Daemon points at a chair and she sits on it. 

The Maester hands her a small bowl, “You must pee in it.” the man reports, and she pales slightly. “Do I have to?” she stares up at her uncle.“How will we know, my princess?” The Maester replies, returning to his paperwork. 

Daemon turns to glare at the man, “Do not be curt with the Princess.” he gritted his teeth, eyes softening once his gaze returns to Saera. “Kessa, iksan zūgagon sīr. (Yes, I’m afraid so.)” he hums, combing through her hair. 

“Skorkydoso kessa gaoman bona? Kessa ao ūndegon ziry? (How will I do that? Will you catch it?)” she joked while rising to her feet. She was happy at the thought of having a child, but the process to know if she was going to - was quite embarrassing. 

“Disgusting,” he chuckled. 

Saera turned to look at the Maester. “We’ll be back in an hour,” she announces, walking out of the door. “Īlē jāre naejot emagon nyke ūndegon ziry? (You were going to have me catch it)” a faint whisper of Daemon’s voice echoed through the halls as they exited the room. 

“Bona iksin iā joke, uēpa vala. (That was a joke, old man.)” she huffed, running to the direction of her room.

“Careful, konir sagon ñuha riña iemnȳ hen ao. (that’s my child inside of you.)” he warned with a cheeky smirk, knowing that none around him were capable of listening in to their conversation.

—

Saera holds her breath, staring at the bowl and watching the Maester inspect her pee. The man raises his glass, a small formal smile on his lips. “You are with a child, princess - I extend my congratulations to you and Lord Strong.” he announces, and her grip on Daemon’s hand tightens. 

“Thank the seven,” she breathes - a smile spreading onto her lips. 

next chapter>>

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[vivalarevolution]

𝓜𝔂 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓷𝓮

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon (Strong) Reader 

Request: „Could you do one where the reader is Rhaenyra daughter and is in a relationship with Aegon‟

A/N: This fic consists of two requests from @rachelcarroll1819​ and @afro-hispwriter​. But I hope you all gonna like it. It contains smut, so please be aware of that and don't read it if you're minor.

English is not my native language , be aware of mistakes.

It all started with a look ,when their eyes met that fateful night.

Aegon never paid attention to her, never looked at her, never asked for her, but when her hand was offered to him, many things changed for him and for Y/n Velaryon, who stole the prince's heart without even knowing it.

When her grandfather took her away from her beloved mother's embrace, life of the dark-haired girl turned into a lonely and painful journey. She was condemned to live away from her family, and to function among the shadows that terrified her just as much, no matter how many years she spent in the castle.

Rhaenyra's brother had never felt so many emotions as when Y/n entered his life.

His nervousness and frustration quickly turned into desperation and misery. From having sex with women who reminded him of his wife to watching her every day and night.

Nothing could soothe his thirst for the dark-haired girl slipping out of his hands every time he so persistently tried to reach her.

It caused Aegon to see so many things that once did not matter to him. The way her eyes were like liquid honey when the sun shone on them, the way barely noticeable dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth with every smile, how her brown locks shone and how soft they were. Or how much she loved Valyrian culture while talking to her brother mainly in the language of their ancestors, which hurt his heart even more deeply , because he was not the recipient of her affection.

Eventually his despair reached its zenith. The man could no longer hide his feelings behind a mask of indifference, he couldn't drown his sorrows in alcohol, which he was no longer able to drink, because of the princess who despised it.

He had to throw away everything that weighed on his heart, he couldn't stand the loneliness and cold anymore. Y/n had to love him, she had to.

A young woman was standing on the balcony, staring at the dark sky when she heard the door open. Her eyes closed for a moment, preparing to meet her husband.

Her uncle, despite the passage of years, still made her uneasy, even though her heart beat involuntarily faster and harder at the sight of him, as if contradicting her feelings towards him.

-Husband- the girl said in a soft and sweet voice as she entered their bedroom.

Aegon didn't answer, so Y/n looked at him, and seeing a pair of eyes full of pain and sorrow, she frowned, worried. After a while the man was in front of her. Falling to his knees, he hugged her abdomen, pressing his face into her white sleeping gown.

The brunette involuntarily placed her hands on Targaryen's head, stroking his silver strands.

-I know I was never the man that the kingdom or my parents expected of me, but I was hoping to be the man you were expecting. But you, who I care about the most, pushed me away and I understand. I will never deserve you - confessed the violet-eyed man, still hidden in the fabric of her clothes - Still , I want you to know that I love you—deeply, endlessly. If you walked away from me today, I would love you still. I will love you forever, Y/n.

-Aegon- his niece whispered in disbelief.

The man stood up, now facing his wife, who was looking at him with a storm of feelings hidden behind dark eyes.

-Y/n I wasn't lying when I said I love you. I am ready to burn this world for you if you want it - the white-haired man said desperately.

-That's what I'm afraid of - said the princess, before she put her arms around his neck.

Looking deeply into his eyes, she was looking for something, a lie, maybe a fraud? Instead, she saw a truth that she had denied for many nights.

Stroking his mouth with hers, she grasped his lower lip, sucking it gently before she pulled away from him so that she could see his eyes.

Her uncle was already staring at her face, having a silent conversation with her, looking for what the young woman had been trying to find before, but he quickly stopped pushing her against a nearby wall, immediately attacking her soft lips, which made him addicted with every passing second. (gif)

Velaryon girl unexpectedly ran away from his intense caresses, making him follow her with his eyes and hands, trying to grab her body, not letting her escape again.

In response, she grabbed his larger hand. However, she did not stop walking, now looking at her husband who followed her obediently, ready to worship the land she walked on.

-I want you to show the whole world that I only belong to you, Aegon- the brunette said, and seeing where the woman was leading him, his thirst almost exploded.

-Y/n- the blonde whispered in her mouth, running his hands over her body, having the need to feel her in any way- Allow me.

He wanted this ,to take care of her, to heal her lonely soul, to ensure she was well. He could not explain why, but the part of him that desired this, it was primal.

-I'm all yours - replied the princess, feeling all the pieces finally fall into place.

Her uncle placed wet and tender kisses on every naked strip of her skin he could make out. In response, she slowly stepped back, needing a place to hold her body trembling with pleasure.

When Y/n felt the stone frame of the balcony railing under her fingers, she leaned against it with her other hand, while holding the prince's neck to be as close as possible to him.

Her body arched when Aegon's knee slid between her thighs, teasing her womanhood as he marked her neck at the same time.

-I won't let you hide your body from me - man muttered, biting her lip before he pulled away, rolling up the fabric of her night gown, sensually taking it off her.

-Aegon - the princess whimpered, the cold of the night began to envelop her body, and she needed Targaryen's warm touch in front of her.

-You are a goddess - said the violet-eyed prince, touching her naked hips, belly and firm breasts with impunity - I want to worship you - he announced.

Y/n did not have time to formulate the answer as her husband clung to her, marking his way with kisses. He wandered around her shoulders, through the valley between her breasts, which he gave special attention, brushing down her belly button to stop in a place that was intended only and exclusively for her lover.

Her femininity, wet and glistening, cried out to him, and he was not about to avert any plea, clinging to her clitoris, sucking it extremely gently and slowly, savoring every groan, gasp, and whimper that left her brown-haired niece's mouth.

The young woman had nothing left but to accept everything her uncle gave her. She wrapped her arms and legs around the dragon's body, as it feasted between her legs, hungry, devouring all that her flower of femininity was giving him.

When Aegon put two fingers inside her, the girl couldn’t stand it, screaming in the ecstasy that had seized her body. Feeling soft , velvet walls of Y/n clamping on him, making him barely able to move them, he growled softly. His manhood started aching more and more, and the beauty in front of him was not helping him to keep the last vestiges of self-control.

As he stood up, the man's lips rediscovered those of his wife, who was desperately trying to remove the clothes he had helped to get rid of, occasionally kissing sloppy his niece's swollen lips. As the last layer of clothing fell to the ground, the man gripped her hips in a possessive grip, pulling her close to his body so that there was no gap between them.

-My beautiful wife- said the white-haired man, smiling, finally feeling happiness in the depths of his heart- Mine to love, mine to please ... and mine to ruin- he added before he entered her in one sure movement.

The princess moaned as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Hiding her face in the hollow of his neck, she whimpered and panted, feeling her husband pushing her insides for the first time, kissing her cervix with his member, which gave her incredible pleasure and pain that only increased her desire.

Aegon tried to be tender and slow, but the nails digging into his back, the sweet moans against his ear and the warmth of his wife's body made him quickly change his tone to brutal, using her trembling body to his liking.

-My beloved - Velaryon girl moaned, feeling the recently discovered warmth begin to intensify in her lower abdomen, forming a knot ready to burst at any moment.

-Tell me you're mine - Targaryen growled, hiting in her harder, making her feel as if his manhood was deep in her belly.

-I'm yours, I'm yours, only yours! - Y/n announced, grabbing his wavy curls, squeezing them as an electrifying sensation passed through her body, making her nearly blind from pleasure.

-Again- he demanded, attacking her neck.

-I'm yours - she repeated, joining their foreheads together.

Yours.

Yours.

Yours.

Suddenly the knot in her abdomen snapped, flooding her body with an eerie sensation that tickled her body down to the tips of her fingers. Aegon, pulled her even closer, though it was no longer physically possible, groaning against her skin with the delight he felt at that moment, it was better than anything in his life.

-I love you Y/n - her uncle unexpectedly confessed, so softly and fearfully that she almost didn't heard him.

-And I love you - she replied warmly, rubbing his nose with hers.

-Ñuha ābrazȳrys (my wife)- he muttered fondly.

-Ñuha valzȳrys (my husband) - she replied, smiling gently.

She found herself looking at him , as he was looking at her all this times before. At the way his muscles rose to the surface of his skin, at the shadow of stubble gracing his jaw, the full curve of his lips. He was impossibly handsome, unimaginably powerful in her eyes, and he belonged to her.

He became hers and she was finally his, from this day, until the end of their days.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hello!!! Long time no ask! Lol, I've been battling sickness, and I'm and out of hospitals and specialists, and whilst I sit upon my bed, I was thinking of how I used to absolutely ADORE your stories!!! So, I come here seeking a HOTD story!!!

Would it be possible for you to write a story/one shot about an old character I had asked you to make? She was the only child between Laenor and Rhaenyra, but never wanted the throne, in this story could you write her reaction to hearing about her brother, Lucerys' demise from Rhaenys? She was close to her brothers even though they were half siblings and I can't imagine how she must have felt knowing Aemond, who she had once been betrothed too and cared for, was the cause.

Goodness I miss your works and I look forward to seeing the HOTS season 2!!!

Loss of the wrong blood

Targaryen family x daughter of Laenor and Rhaenyra!reader

warning : angst, emotional, implied war, mention of death (of lucerys), mention of war and death, very slightly implied Aemond x reader, reader is female, no use of Y/n

Summary : Once the succession to the throne seemed secure with her being the true child of Princess Rhaenyra and her first husband Laenor. But that time is over, the war is upon them, and into the storm comes the news of Lucery's death, a time when much worse was to come.

Info : OMG I am so happy to have written this my dear I wish you all the best and the best of health I really hope you enjoy this and I am always open for more. It was really nice to visit old friends again and I wish you a lot of fun…everyone else too of course ;) Season 2 will be amazing and so sad at the ame time

masterlist

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The blood of the Targaryens, Velaryons and Hightowers all older than most houses. Three families that came together under the royal family a family from Alicent and the Hand of Otto Hightower grandfather of the three children of the queen who were also the uncles of the three blood infested children of Rhaenyra a daughter of King Viserys of the kingdom of joy and a woman who would one day ascend the throne.

The three princes, as they were often called, were three children with dark brown hair and dark eyes who knew that they were not the true heirs, born out of love for their beloved mother. Three sons without a father a real father who burned to death in the flames of his castle.

But in those dark days, in the days when Aegon was crowned king, the green ones were preparing for a first strike and the black ones were sharpening their blades and dragons around Rhaenyra, there was a trueborn in the family besides Rhaenyra and her three half-siblings, it was her only daughter.

The only daughter from the marriage between Laenor and Rhaenyra was born one night when it had worked out in a circuitous way with wine and potions with slaves and under the moonshine.

A night from which Rhaenyra's only daughter, the second-born child, was born with white light hair, violet eyes and a darker skin that resembled Velaryon's.

Eyes that now showed assurance as she raised her sword and pointed at her older half-brother who had also moved into position before the two approached each other under the command of the Master of Arm.

Swords slashing against each other, the dragon Vermax looked on curiously at the older Seasomke who was looking at his horse. A battle, a training between siblings, a battle in which Jace was seen to have the strength of his father Harwin, a battle in which the skill of the Velayrons came to the fore.

It was a back and forth until it came to the point where her two brothers moved away and she shrugged off his ,,I'll see you in a minute, you lame chick" with a roll of her eyes and saw the teacher's look of approval. But she saw how tightly Jace clutched the sword, nervous about his first mission for the empire, for their mutual mother.

She knew that she and Jace should have gone, not Lucerys, who was still too young for her. But I can't go…the heiress can't go, she thought, handing her sword to her holder hanging over the fireplace as she put on her formal clothes to say goodbye. Her eyes briefly lingered on the picture of the entire family of Targaryens, Velaryons and Hightowers at the family dinner.

Where everything was still sort of okay until Aegon ruined it, ,,And you defended me Aemond," she murmured and put her finger on her uncle her real blood relative not her half uncle like Jace, Luce and Joff. Despite the fact that it was only a picture, she could see the sapphire in his eye and she felt his gaze on her, he was always with her, had been promised to her.

He was a man she had once not disliked, their interests were similar and he was gentler and more affectionate than her first uncle Aegon. Soon she hastily put the picture away and closed the golden buckle with the dragon while seahorses and dragons in silver and gold appeared on her cloak and clothes.

It was a reminder to everyone here on Dragonstone and King's Landing that she was the only legitimate child and heir to the throne besides her little hall brothers Aegon the third and Viserys the second.

,,We are the true family they say but that's not true" she mumbled as she looked at the painting of King's Landing a painting in the glory days of the city a city that knew who the true heirs were she and her two half brothers and her two uncles and her dear aunt Helaeana and her three children her cousins.

As she left her room, she remembered one thing about Lucery's hopeful sad expression-hope for no war and grief that he was walking alone, his fears threatening to hollow him out.

,,Mother, father…Harwin the house of Velaryon and I we are all so proud of you my little Luce" she reminded him and placed a hand on the brown haired man's cheek looking into his dark eyes as he pulled her into a hug and gave a soft ,,Thank you sister" before she stroked his head one last time and watched him mount Syrax.

She felt Jace's hand on her shoulder, ,,He's going to make it our little Lucerys," her older brother said as he closed her in a hug and she watched him mount his dragon Vermax and watched her brothers until they disappeared into the sky.

But things were to turn out differently - they were messengers on behalf of Queen Rhaenyra, but Jacaerys fulfilled his mission to the Arryns and the Starks in the north…but Lucerys met a bitter, gruesome end over the sea, murdered by his uncle on Vhagar.

A message that came to her late as the fire burned in the hearth and she sharpened her sword as her stepfather Daemon had always advised her to do when waiting, ,,Keep your weapons and mind sharp so you can't be surprised," she remembered his words.

She felt his hand on her shoulder as they shared the few moments they had. Daemond was not like Laenor, she barely remembered her real father, but whenever she saw the sea, the air whirring around her and the fire, she knew he was with her.

Before an almost timid knock on her wooden door made her put down her sword, ,,Come in" she said and saw that it was her grandmother. ,,What brings you to me, grandmother?" she asked, but saw that there was something like sadness in the Targayren baratheon's violet eyes. She saw Rhaenys come to her and stand beside her, her grandchild having risen from the bed and looking at her uncertainly.

She was just about to open her mouth when she heard the news, ,,Lucerys is dead, killed by your uncle Aemond," her grandmother said and wrapped her in a hug that was not returned.

Violet eyes darted around the room looking for something, looking for Lucerys, his image seemed to blur until she saw the family picture…Lucerys is supposed to be gone? Aemond? Could Aemond have done this after all?

Releasing herself from the embrace she saw her grandmother blurred tears had entered her eyes and were running down her cheek as she shook her head, ,,No-what? You're making a horrible joke, Rhaenys," she mumbled, but she could hear the distant sobs of her two brothers, the conversations and voices of her mother and stepfather. Lucerys saw the dark eyes and felt his soft hair under her hand. a few hours ago she had seen him, but he was still alive.

The older woman wanted to put her on the bed and tell her what had happened, but her granddaughter pulled away, ,,No! No, it wasn't Luce, it wasn't my little Lucerys!" she screamed, shaking her head and grabbing her sword before running out of the room.

She felt abandoned by everything, had lost her beloved brother, had lost everything, all because of an iron chair that was hers…a family that brought death. Something had to be done, something had to be done, but the point of war had been passed with his death.

Running past the sleeping chambers and rooms, she arrived in the main hall breathing heavily from crying and running. ,,Tell me it's not true, mother!" she called across the hall, seeing the queen's expression mixed with tears as she broke away from her uncle and husband and slowly, almost shakily, approached her daughter with a ,,Dear child".

But before she could embrace her just as Rhaenys wanted to do, her only daughter threw the sword on the floor in front of her. ,,You-you're the queen, you have power mother damn it he can't be dead!" she screamed in rage, anger and grief, not noticing Jace watching her with tears as he hugged his little brother Joffrey.

,,Your brother, the Lord of Driftmark, will be avenged, you can be sure of that, daughter!" Dameon, who could hardly tolerate such behavior even if the lords and ladies and servants were no longer in the room, pointed out publicly. Lord of Driftmark she thought and laughed in her emotional frenzy the title goes to Joffrey a child and Rhaena now a widow her betrothed murdered even before the wedding with her cousin.

,,You Daemon…Lord of Driftmark do you all hear yourselves? Joffrey is it now, Rhaena is a widow mine-my brothers are bastards with no claim and I'm the only damn child left to a queen without a kingdom! What do you want to avenge Dameon!" she screamed at him, pushing past her mother and giving her uncle a look that was returned by the dragon's violet eyes.

Caraxes and Seasmoke could be heard outside and the other dragons joined in. They all felt the pain and suffering.

For a moment everyone seemed to think that Dameon was going to hit his stepdaughter and great niece but he just put his hand on her shoulder for a moment before walking past her, ,,I'll get us back to bloody Westeros if it means I can avenge this family," he said audibly to everyone and put on his helmet before walking out of the hall.

The doors slammed shut and silence returned to the Targaryen Velaryon family, all of whom remained silent. Going back to her sword and picking it up, she slowly walked to her mother and hugged her for a moment, listening to her sobbing words of comfort, but in the princess, in the only princess of the realm, an idea had already formed, an idea for which she was born.

,,Don't worry mother, everything will be all right again, the war will end," she assured her, looking into the sad violet eyes before she disappeared past her family into her room and stayed there.

She lingered there with the picture of the family in her hand and looked into his eyes, gazing at the gemstone before she waited for the mode to slowly open. A thought she knew seemed to be the only thing left to fight.

She was the only legitimate child of the black she was the only legitimate child of the royal family she had to do what she was meant to do. Putting the leather bag over her shoulder, the sword hanging from her belt, she reached for the bridle for Seasmoke who was staying on Dragonstone in the pits.

The moon was covered in clouds and darkness fell on the family as a shadow flitted through the corridors. Dragons and seahorses gold and silver shells and fire could be seen on her kelding as she ran her hand over the doors of her beloved family members. ,,Forgiven me mother, Jace, Joff and Raenys…forgive me father I will put it back into order" she murmured leaving the letter on the iron table before scurrying out of dragonstone to the hells and calling out to valyrish for her dragon to come to her.

,,We'll fly back Seasmoke we have to try" she said and put the leather around the pale silver gray dragon a growl made her look up and Seasmoke grumbled as they both knew that they had to fly through the storm, that it was the storm that awaited them that Aemond promised her hope for the offer as Aegon accepted the offer of marriage for the peace of his brother with his niece and she hoped that Alicent and Otto with Larys would finally leave the strings of power alone.

Mounting her father's dragon, Seasmoke flew into the sky with a roar, his roar and fire barely visible or audible. The dragon brought his rider safely to King's Landing into the courtyard, protecting her from the guards with fire and wings until the proclaimed king with his sister queen, children, mother, grandfather and his brother Ameond were in front of her.

Only then did she step forward and kneel before them, throwing down her sword, and it is said in the books of the secured that violet tears of the dragon rolled down her cheeks in the darkness of the night as she asked her uncle Ameond to marry her as a peace offering.

A marriage that should have happened much earlier when she saw the pitying yet devoted look on Ameond's face. It was the chapel in the Dance of Dragons where the marriage took place, a marriage that was short-lived as Daemon kept his promise and his great-niece became both prisoner and wife.

It was a time when both sides fought a side that the other took more and more. A family struggle that ended in death and the throne went to the true heir after Aegon's death.

The green blood was wiped out and the only true heiress, the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, ascended the throne and the only thing she had left of her beloved family were her two younger half-brothers full of fear of tomorrow, her grandfather Corlys a man with sorrow and yet hope in him when he looked at her and her husband's sword in her hand while her mother's necklace hung around her neck and the symbol of the dragon joined the seahorse on the banner in the throne.

It was the Peaceful Queen's reign that unified the kingdom and made the way for her younger brother when she died. But she was in the place she hated surrounded by a small part of her family that was slowly rebuilding with the memory of her beloved mother and brothers for whom she had statues built.

The peaceful queen would never let the history of her family be forgotten…and so once again a Targaryen sat on the throne full of grief, hope and a story that began with the spilling of untrue blood the death of her brother Lucerys Velaron.

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[b00kdiary]

Beautiful creature

Aemond x Plus size reader

Aemond and the reader are in a game of cat and mouse, where predator hunts prey. He doesn't care who she is, or where she is from, he doesn't care what anyone else thinks. He wants her.

Warning: The series will contain swearing, violence, body issues, and sexual content (mature 18+)

Part I

Part II here

Part III here

Masterlist (Aemond Targaryen)

Y/n Tyrell had never been so nervous in her life.

Never as nervous as she padded through the corridors of the Red Keep, her clasped hands fidgeting endlessly and her heart beating so loud she could hear it in her ears. Y/n followed Otto Hightower silently, barely taking in the artwork and archaic architecture, her mind too busy with the endless scenarios of how her life here would unfold.

She imagined either being attacked and assaulted by the repulsive Prince Aegon or being cut into tiny pieces by the terrifying Prince Aemond.

Her stomach twisted at either option.

The Tyrells were no cowards, and she had been raised with as much wit and fire as any of her brothers. Yet that fire seemed to fizzle out at the reality that she was one girl, only 17 and in this pit of dragons without anyone she knew or loved.

The Hand of the King gave her an encouraging half-smile as he glanced back at her and despite her best efforts, she could just about manage to curve one slight corner of her lip. He frowned, his face full of pity as if he, better than most, knew the tendencies of the family she would now serve.

They curved around another bend and soon stopped before a mahogany door, varying flowers of beauty and smell gathered on either side.

Princess Helaena��s room.

Otto knocked softly, and as he did, Y/n gathered her strength, her hands going by her side, her chin raising slightly and her back straightening. She inhaled once, exhaled and repeated the action silently twice more before that door was creaking open and they entered.

The room was simple, not particularly extravagant, and not what Y/n had expected of the Princess. But at noticing the children’s toys and cribs, she realised that this was probably the only place the Princess felt real peace.

She stopped before the two chaises, Otto had gone to stand beside his daughter, The Queen and Helaena.

“Halaena, Alicent… may I introduce Lady Y/n Tyrell- she will be your new lady-in waiting” He smiles and y/n curtsy, her hand lifting the simple brown satin dress as she lowered her head.

When y/n’s eyes lift, Helaena is grinning, her bright teeth on display and blue eyes glistening as she clasps her hands before her in joy. “It is a great pleasure for myself and my family that you would consider me worthy, my Queen” Y/n said gently, and Alicent’s eyes softened as she observed the girl.

“The pleasure is ours, there is none other than the heart of Highgarden who would be a greater ally and friend for my daughter” Alicent smiled and Y/n’s lip curved, her cheeks tinting at the old name.

She was the Heart of Highgarden, beloved by her people.

Before Y/n could speak Helaena squeaked, rushing forward and before y/n could part her lips in greeting, the Princess pulled her into a suffocating hug. “I so look forward to another woman’s company” She mumbled against the dark auburn ringlets of Y/n's hair.

 Y/n relaxed, her arms lightly hugging back, happy that at least one of the Targaryen was not a monster.

Y/n pulled away and the two girls grinned, already quite the team to watch out for.

“You’re going to love the Red Keep, I can show you all my favourite-“ Helaena was cut off by a raspy and deep voice.

A male voice.

“Aemond, Aegon” Helaena smiled in greeting, her bright eyes lifting past Y/n’s shoulder. She stiffened, her body going rigid and goosebumps rising as she rasped out a tight breath at the first meeting with the Princes.

She turned, her eyes down and chin lowered slightly as she bowed “My Princes” Y/n muttered softly in greeting, only their silence meeting her back. She raised, her breath shallow as she lifted her chin to meet their eyes.

One enrapturing sapphire blue eye and a dark brown leather patch immediately caught her attention.

Prince Aemond.

She swallowed at his intense gaze, the passive mask he wore revealing nothing. Y/n was struck by his beauty, he’d been described as being near monstrous in tales, ‘Aemond one- eye’ they called him and yet he was anything but unattractive.

Not with the soft and silken silver hair, creamy white skin and chiselled and defined cheekbones and jaw. Even the eye patch, as terrifying as it was, enhanced his beauty in the most sinister way.

No, this man was gorgeous and not at all what she had been expecting.

And the raise of his brow and slight vicious curve of his lips indicated he knew exactly what Y/n was thinking as she beheld him.

She blanched but not before Aegon muttered, soft and barely audible “Look at the tits and ass on her, she’d be a fine fuck- heavier than I like, but still…”. Y/n stiffened, her breath cutting out at the lewd and obscene words.

Aemond’s lips thinned as he ignored his brothers' feral smirk and disgusting sentiment and as his eyes dragged to Y/n and then lowered over her body, completely unreadable, she felt the desire to hide behind Helaena, tears clawing at her eyes at the judgement he was making.

“Heavier than I like.”

Y/n knew she didn’t look like other ladies, she wasn’t ugly, she knew that and yet her size was something she had endured her entire life. Y/n was of average height but was curvier than most women in Westeros.

Her thighs, pillowy and riddled with cellulite touched and rubbed when she walked, her hips flared and had dips on either side and her stomach had rolls, not just one or two but enough that sometimes these tight and laced dressed felt like shoving herself into a cupboard.

Y/n had been doted on for her face; the soft tan skin, mesmerising hazel eyes, an upturned nose and full lips and her thick, flowing long hair that was the envy of Highgarden.

Too bad that she was ‘too heavy’ they’d say after all of that positivity.

Y/n bit back her anger and frustration, her sadness, and lowered her eyes from Prince Aemond’s scrutiny, gathering herself.

“This is Lady Y/n Tyrell” Helaena stated beside her, and she raised her face slightly to smile at her, the gaze of a certain Prince burning into Y/n as she watched her new friend. “She will be my new lady- in- waiting and I expect a very good friend, so be nice” She warned, though not that frighteningly.

Aegon snorted, and Y/n glanced towards that savage face “Oh, I’ll be very nice” he purred, his eyes dark with a twisted sense of male satisfaction as if already knew how easy this would be. Y/n grimaced, her hands clasping at her sides, her nails biting into her palm.

The pain was a welcome distraction.

Prince Aemond stepped forward swiftly, his figure shadowing Aegon before blocking him from Y/n’s view entirely.

She shrunk slightly at the feel of his body heat, the fire of the Targaryen line in his blood. With weariness, Y/n locked eyes with the Prince.

His expression did not change from nonchalance and yet, there, right there, in that singular blue eye, Y/n could see the fascination, the intrigue of a predator eyeing its new prey.

“Welcome to Kings Landing, Lady Tyrell” Aemond rasped, so low and smooth that it ran over Y/n’s body like a cool wind.

He noticed the imperceivable shiver that ran over her and one corner of his lip lifted like he liked the effect he had on her.

Y/n knew that this would not be good.

***

It had been 6 months since Y/n had arrived at Kings Landing and began helping Princess Helaena.

Six months of surprising peace and joy, she came to very much adore and admire the Princess- she respected her strength as a mother and daughter, came to love her weirdness and insect obsession and even came to heed the warning to the odd ‘prophecies’ that she’d randomly blurt out.

Her initial fear had practically disappeared.

Prince Aegon did not make true to his promise, thank the Gods. Not only did he not ‘be very nice’ to Y/n but he made it a point to avoid her, barely looking at her or even speaking to her. It would have been a miracle by most standards if a certain silver-haired, one-eyed Prince hadn’t been there.

Aemond.

Y/n had pretended like she hadn’t noticed, but she had. 

She saw the way that Aegon would eye Aemond nervously whenever you were in the room and for whatever reason near him, she saw how he’d make any excuse to leave as swiftly as possible and she certainly saw that terrifying and world-ending glare that Aemond would throw Aegon as soon as she was near.

The kind of glare that promised a painful death should he say or do anything.

He was protecting her and she had no idea why.

A part of her wanted to think that he did it out of the goodness of his heart, not willing to allow another woman to be preyed upon by his brother. And yet, Y/n knew, she knew that the most likely and evident reality was that he didn’t want Aegon hunting you because Aemond had already called dibs.

You were his to play with.

For the last few months, he rarely spoke to her, besides a few purred good mornings and hello’s or a silken and raspy goodnight or goodbye. He did it on purpose, liking, living off her reaction, that warm tint that filled her cheeks and the stuttered reply Y/n would give in response.

He would stare too.

A brand on her face and body, immovable and indomitable as Y/n moved around. It began as she prepared the Princesses things around her chambers, he would stare- sit beside his sister and listen to her endless tales but his eyes would never once leave her.

Then one visit to his sisters' chambers turned to two visits, then three and then suddenly every corner she turned, every room she entered, everywhere, the Prince was.

Watching her.

He’d smirk, so subtle that most wouldn’t be able to tell and he’d lean back, spreading his strong legs apart and laying his wrist against the muscle of this thigh as he held his cup. The movement was agile, particularly smooth and one that made her mind spread with damning thoughts.

A part of her enjoyed it, it was a harmless game not nearly as horrific as she had feared.

 She’d find herself looking forward to her interactions with the Prince; the gentle graze of his calloused hands as he’d take a wine cup from her, the way he’d smile softly and his eyes would widen when she and Helaena would talk and laugh in his presence and she began to very much like the way his eyes would wonder her body, glowing with something that looked like awe and hunger, like the idea of every curve, dip and roll was a never-ending temptation.

But Y/n knew not to be stupid, Prince Aemond was attractive, rich and powerful and she was certain he had his fair share of wealthy, skinny, perfect ladies throwing themselves at his feet.

He was not fawning and lusting over a heavily curved lady in waiting.

Y/n was scolding herself over such thoughts as she hurried through the corridors of the Red Keep, her rosy lips down turned and eyes focused upon the floor, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of the Prince.

So preoccupied that she hurtled face-first into a hard chest. She hissed, recoiling back and nearly tripping over backwards if not for the strong and capable grip that reached around her waist and helped her back up.

She sighed shakily, “Thank you-“ She paused at that one eye sparkling down at her. 

She froze before the Prince, the feeling of his warm and rough hand against her waist like fire, scorching through her clothes into her body. His chest was brushing against her breasts and her body felt electric at the warmth and sturdiness of him.

She was pressed up against the Prince and from the darkness that clouded his expression and the possessive grip of his fingers on her skirts, she knew this was too far.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, recoiling backwards and Aemond’s face fell as his hand slipped from her waist “My Prince, my apologies, I should’ve been looking, I am so-“

“Lady Y/n” He cut off deeply, his voice echoing off the walls. “You needn’t apologise, it was an honest mistake, I am just glad that you weren’t harmed by my bruteness”. Y/n gaped, heat rising in her neck as she clasped her hand before her yet again, fiddling with nerves.

“Thank you, my Prince, for the… the help” Y/n stuttered out, and he gave a lazy smirk at that bashful look.

He exhaled, his face and body relaxing as he moved closer and leaned beside the wall, inches from her. “Tell me, what or who” He whispered, “Had you so consumed that you didn’t hear my footsteps coming?” His eye glinted, his arms folding over and brow-raising, taunting her as if already knew the answer.

“I-“ Y/n stopped, inhaling and exhaling briskly before she straightened her back “I was going over my lists for Princess Helaena, the ball tonight shall be busy and there are lots to be done,” Y/n said, her words smooth and flowing sentence and she felt herself relax in comfort with the Prince.

He realised that comfort and a small, appreciative smile graced his lips, even as he perked up.

“Yes, this ball” He rolled his eye and Y/n giggled at the look of disdain on his face. His face lightened at that light and breathy sound.

“You don’t enjoy balls? Surely a Prince would be partial to booze and women” She teased, surprising even herself, but particularly surprising Aemond, that sharpness of tone hitting him at the word ‘women’.

A dark, almost feline smirk appeared, his head leaning lower and closer, so close she could feel the cool caress of his breath against her cheek.

“I couldn’t imagine I’d care much for the other women, not if you are there” He mumbled, soft and seductive, and y/ns breasts tightened and her body throbbed at the tone. She blushed, and Aemond merely chuckles in reply, his fingers coming forward and twisting into the soft curl of one strand of loose hair.

“That is a sweet sentiment, My prince” his hand tightened at the title as if he liked the way it sounded on her lips “But the other fine ladies of Westeros will have to do since I will not be in attendance”.

His hand stopped his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?” He asks and y/n sighs, shrugging indifferently.

“I am Helaena’s Lady in waiting, not a Princess or something similar, it’s not a ball for me” She states softly, trying not to let the disappointment shine too brightly in her eyes.

“You’re the Lady of Highgarden, of Tyrell blood and a member of our Court,” Aemond said roughly, his hands now folded sternly over his chest again, his eye bright with frustration at her, at the low opinion she held of herself.

“That is very kind, My Prince, but I doubt many would share that sentiment” She smiles in appreciation, “Besides it’s far too late, I couldn’t find anything to wear. I am content to curl up with a book in my chambers”.

He shakes his head, a frown on his lips “If the issue is a dress, then-“

“Aemond! Y/n!” Helaena calls.

Y/n instantly steps back from the close bubble that she had found herself and the Prince in, before turning and beaming as Helaena waltzes over with a kind smile.

“Princess” Y/n greets.

“I was beginning to wonder what had happened, you’d been gone so long,” She says, stopping beside her.

“That would be my fault sister, the Lady and I had gotten too caught up in our conversation,” Aemond says smoothly, a small curved smile on his face as he looks at his dear sister, “She’s very… beguiling” He purrs, his eye twinkling with amusement as Y/n duck her head, biting her lip at his words.

“That she is” Helaena grins, not particularly in tune with the tension that was spiralling from the two people beside her.

“We should go, Princess, there’s much to prepare before tonight” Y/n states softly and Helaena merely nods before smiling up at her little brothers and walking away.

Y/n looks at the Prince, his face now more contemplative and bows her head slightly in respect “My Prince, I hope the ball and its people please you” She mumbles out and with a shaky breath, Y/n walks away.

His eyes burned into her back the entire time.

***

Y/n paced through the Princess's room, different garments and silks in her hand as she tidied and organised, knowing that the Princess would prefer a neater space when getting ready for tonight.

Her mind had been flustered with thoughts of the Prince for hours, her mind plagued by the feeling of his hand on her body, the amusement and desire rippling through his face and the sweet caress of words he had breathed against her as he toyed with her hair.

She had to yet again remind herself of the game- it was not real, it was all just fun.

He didn’t find her attractive and he certainly wouldn’t choose her in a room full of beautiful, thin Westeri women.

Sighing, Y/n swiftly grabbed the cotton and silks she was holding and placed them into the cabinet, barely acknowledging the creaking floorboards and door opening and closing, anticipating Helaena arriving soon to decide her outfit for tonight.

“Helaena, the gold silks just came in from-“ She started as she turned, jumping in surprise as Aemond stood before her, poised and straight, his eyes dancing over her “My Prince, I thought you were your sister… what can I help you with?”

Aemond nodded, stepping forward with a mischievous glint in his sapphire eye. “I brought you something” He states simply, his hand rounding from his back to present the simple black box he was holding, a blue ribbon wrapped over it.

Y/n frowned in confusion, but seeing the glint in Aemond’s eye, she hesitantly grabbed the softbox, gently unfurling the ribbon and taking off the lid.

She nearly gasped.

“My Prince” She started “ I couldn’t-“ She looked up wide-eyed and then back down to the beautiful cream and silver gown, the material the softest and most expensive of silks. “This is far too much, I cannot accept-“

“Your Prince demands it,” Aemond says shrugging and definitive, his body now perched against the tabletop, his face showing that he won’t take no for an answer.

“But-“ She stops as he growls lowly, a grave expression overcoming his face, a warning to not test him.

“I-“ she swallows, bowing her head “Thank you, My Prince, it’s a truly beautiful gown” Y/n mutters quietly in earnest and Aemond’s face seems to melt at the sight.

“You needed something equal to your beauty, something that was as breathtaking and damning as you” He replied quietly, standing up from his leaning position.

“Damning?” She questioned with a cocked head, her brows pulling together. He chuckled, marching over in quick paces and standing before her so close they touched.

“So very damning” He whispered in reply, his eyes trailing over Y/n’s eyes, and nose and then stopping at her mouth. Y/n barely breathed as he watched her, his eyes debating and fighting within himself.

But she desperately wished she was brave enough to rise onto her toes and make the choice for him.

But instead, he sighed, a long and frustrated one before he inched back slightly, collecting himself. “I have something else” He smiled and Y/n watched in awe as he pulled out a chain, long and thin and at the very end lay a pendant the shape of an eye, a sapphire blue orb practically glowing in the middle.

“It’s… gorgeous ” Y/n stuttered, so softly it was barely audible. Aemond smiled, genuine as he watched her marvel at the piece, even as she hesitated at accepting. “I’m not sure I deserve something too expensive and lovely, My Prince”

“Nonsense” He tutted, dismissing her words with a harsh frown. His hand came to her waist and she gasped as his grip tightened on the flesh and he manoeuvred her body around, her back now against his chest.

“Beautiful creatures deserve beautiful things” He murmured as Y/n looked over her shoulder and merely nodded once in meek acceptance, her heart stuttering in her chest.

Aemond’s touch was electric as he ran his hand up from Y/n’s hip bone over her waist and scrapped by the sides of her breast, she nearly seized at the whisper of his touch as it grazed up to her neck. He paused, the only sounds heard were the heavy breathing of Y/n and surprisingly the uneven puffs of air that escaped the Prince as his fingers lingered on the skin of her collarbone and shoulder.

Y/n shivered as, with gentle and calloused hands, Aemond pushed the long, curled locks of dark hair across her shoulder and left it all gathered on her left shoulder, exposing the column of her neck.

She gasped at the cold press of his fingers down her neck and blushed with embarrassment at the icy chuckle that escaped the Prince's mouth and reverberated against her back, his heated chest pressed firmly against her.

He leant down, and with the most precise and intimate intention, ever so softly, so soft it was as if he hadn’t done it, ran his nose and lips across the pane of her outstretched neck and in almost unconsciousness, Y/n angled her head to allow him better access.

The Prince hummed in approval as he pressed his lips against her collar, inhaling her scent and getting drunk off the feeling. “So fucking damning” he muttered, spitting the words harshly, as if in anger and lust and all things good and bad. Y/n groaned, melting against him, her mind clouding over at that hard pressure against the curve of her ass, even as Aemond snarled with barely held restraint.

Good god, she felt like she was going to combust.

“My Prince” Y/n whispered, her eyes fluttering and breathing uneven “Someone could come in, this isn’t-“ She sighed at his hands enclosing her waist, and despite that second of fear as he encircled her stomach, his touch had her too overwhelmed to worry.

“Hmm” he considered lowly, lifting his head from y/ns neck and reluctantly loosening his hands from her waist, she nearly dragged him back, missing his touch instantly. “I promised myself I would contain myself with you, my love”

My love.

She nearly buckled under the sheer pleasure that the nickname gave her.

“But it seems you’re far harder to avoid than I had anticipated” He growls, shaking his head. Y/n gulps, her chest heaving as she pants. Aemond sighed, their bodies loosening as he finally lifts the necklace before her and with hands so gentle, like he thought she’d break, he clasped the necklace around her.

His fingers were hot on her skin as he brushed over the line of the thin chain around her neck and she turned to him, to show him the final result. He groaned slightly, low and predatory noise at the back of his throat as his eyes lowered to where the pendant sat, nestled just between her breasts.

He ran one finger absentmindedly down the middle of her chest, stopping right at the centre of that sapphire-blue orb.

The orb that resembled his eye so meticulously.

Y/n breathed, in and out, in and out, even as he stared down at her with want and need and even as his long and ringed finger idly touched the sensitive skin of her breasts.

“Thank you, My Prince” Y/n breathed out, the rasp of her voice dragging the Prince's attention back to her and he smirked, victorious.

“Find me at the ball, my love” and with those final uttered words, he stalked away.