#kepa MOVE

[ikram1909]

Nooo he wanted to go to Laporte 😭😭😭

[julianalvarez9]

this kit is hot

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Little Bride

daemon x niece!reader smut

A/N: based on a request here! also i don't understand high valyrian conjugation so kepa just means father in every time it's used

TW: smut!!, incest, DUBCON, daddy kink, size kink, breeding kink, spanking, exhibitionism because of under the table shenanigans

word count: 1,563 words

You haven’t seen Daemon since you were seven years old and you’ve missed him deeply. Everyone says that he hates Alicent Hightower’s children but he always said you had the true blood of the dragon running in your veins. You were always his favourite but it’s been over a decade since his latest exile and you most definitely aren’t a little girl anymore.

“Zaldrīzes riña.” (dragon girl) You hear from behind you as you make your way to your chambers. Only one person calls you that.

“Kepus?” You say as you turn around and squeal when you lay eyes on him. You run down the hallway and throw your arms around his shoulders before blushing when you realize how unladylike your actions are. You slowly remove yourself from him. “Sorry.” You say timidly. He laughs.

“Don’t be. I don’t remember the last time someone was so thrilled to see me.” His eyes take in the sight of you but you don’t notice the predatory nature of his gaze. “You’ve grown, little girl.”

“That’s what happens when you are away for so long.” You say petulantly. He chuckles and looks over you. His eyes fixate on the swell of your breasts. He seems like he may say something when he’s interrupted.

“Should you not be preparing for supper, daughter?” The voice of the Queen rings out as she shoots the filthiest glare at your uncle. Your mother hates Daemon.

“Of course, your Grace.” You say and curtsey before running off, shooting your uncle a passing smile.

“I'll see you at supper then, zaldrīzes riña.” Daemon calls out after you. He looks to your mother. “Hello, Alicent. You’re looking well.” He says with a wolfish grin and makes himself busy with greeting another noble before the Queen can retort.

~~~

When you arrive to the family dinner that night, Daemon has saved a spot next to him for you, much to your mothers dismay. You take it eagerly.

“Glad to have you home, brother.” The King says as he raises his cup and you all follow in suit, toasting to Daemon’s return.

The room falls into steady conversation, steady enough for people to not notice when

Daemon whispers things in your ear that make you blush.

“This is a very pretty dress, niece.” He says as he plays with the collar of the gown. His hand begins to trail down it. “Very expensive fabric.” The roaming hand decides on its destination being your upper thigh.

“T-Thank you.” You say with a light smile as he turns his attention elsewhere, talking to your father about things that you don’t understand.

After a few moments, the hand on your thigh begins to move. You sigh in relief, hoping he will take it off and relieve you of the warm feeling in your tummy but that isn’t what happens. Your uncle’s hand moves discreetly to the hem of your skirts, and to your dismay, he begins to lift them. You give him a pleading and confused look, not really sure what’s happening but he doesn’t even look at you as he seems to be fully focused on his conversation with your father.

You take a sip of wine, trying to distract yourself, but it only causes you to choke as you feel his fingers ghost over your smallclothes.

“Are you alright?” Daemon says in a faux-concerned tone as you cough. You only manage to nod in response before he goes back to ignoring you.

He slips his fingers to the side of your undergarments and pushes them to the side so he can feel how wet you are. You could swear you see a slight smile twinge at his lips. You try not to look at him, or anybody, as you feel his two fingers slip inside of you. You hope you don’t give anything away with your face as you reach down to clutch his hand, trying to pull it away, to make him stop, but it’s to no avail. Your attempts are almost pathetic with how little they do to faze him.

The whole scene of it is filthy, Daemon talking politics with his brother as his fingers pump in and out of his virgin niece’s soaked cunny right next to him, her father right across the table from the two of them. One look at the princesses face could have them both found out as she tries not to squirm in her seat.

You feel yourself edging closer to your peak but it never comes. You’re humiliated by the whole act of it but you feel needy for him when he pulls his hand away. You hold in a visible reaction even though it seems that Daemon wouldn’t know the difference as he acts like he never even touched you.

For the rest of dinner, you’re unfocused. Aemond tries to make conversation with you but you can’t do much more than nod and give short answers. You’re very much in disbelief that you hardly realize when supper has ended. Your brothers and sister leave quickly. Your mother left early with your father because of his sickness. You’re left alone with your dear uncle and some servants.

“Leave us.” Daemon says and the servants scurry out of the room.

Your uncle stalks over to you and you keep inching away until you hit the table. He towers over you. You still feel like a child next to him.

“Kepus.” You try to speak sternly. “What you did was wrong and you shall not do anything like it again.”

“If it was wrong then why did you like it so much?” He looks you in the eyes as he grabs your chin and tilts it up.

“It was terribly improper.”

“Hmm. I think you liked the attention. Daddy never gives you any, does he? And mommy is too focused on her problem child.” He says condescendingly.

The hand that doesn’t hold your chin goes to your waist. He traces up and down… the curve of your hips… of your breasts.

“I’m a princess. I get more than enough attention.” You say petulantly but your voice wavers.

“Then why haven’t you pushed me off?” He asks and you immediately try to push him away… pathetically. It’s little effort for him to turn you around and bend you over the table with your hands pinned behind you. “Dumb girl. Look at your trying to put up a fight. It’s not nice to deny kepa.” Kepa, he says, not kepus.

“Get off of me!” You try to squirm under his grasp.

“What happened to the girl a few hours ago who was so excited to see me?” He teases as he begins to use one hand to hike up your skirts.

“Kepa-... kepus, stop now!” You cringe when you call him the name he just referred to himself as.

“Aww so you like calling me that. You want daddy to take care of you.” He gets your skirts to your waist and you feel the cold air when he tugs your smallclothes.

“No, kepusss.” You whine at him and squeal when his hand slaps your ass.

“That’s not what you’re meant to call me, baby. And you need to be quiet, don’t want the guards outside to hear when i’m pounding the little princesses cunny, do we?”

“But… kepa i-i’m meant to save myself for my husband.” You say when you feel something long and hard rubbing between your thighs. His hand snakes around and he shoves two fingers in your mouth.

“Good, then i’ll get to bloody my cock with your maidenhead.” He says simply before shoving himself inside, the fingers in your mouth barely muting your scream. “That’s it, just take it and suck on kepa’s fingers like a little baby.” He says as he keeps bullying his cock inside of you. “Gods, you’re so fucking tight.” He lays another smack on your ass. “I’m gonna put a baby in you, make you mine.”

“Mmm.” You moan around his fingers, starting to realize that you enjoy the treatment once the pain has somewhat faded. He fucks into you as hard as he can, making you see stars.

“I’ll make you my wife and i’ll eat this little cunny every night, have you screaming and begging for me as you cry.” His hands grip your hips roughly and you can feel the formation of bruises coming on. He lets go only for a second so he can spank your ass a few more times because he just loves how you whimper.

You feel him finally start to slow and the deep, lasting thrusts are what sends you over the edge. You have never came so hard as you squeeze around him and feel yourself tense up. He fucks you through your high before spilling his seed deep inside you.

“Fuck.” He says as he takes his fingers out of your mouth.

You still feel molded to the shape of his cock even once he’s pulled himself out.

He wipes your drool away in an almost loving way and then helps you turn around so you can sit on the table. He situates himself between your thighs and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You did so well, zaldrīzes riña.” He presses a few more kisses to your face and you blush at the tender action. “You’ll make a perfect bride.”

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy

[s-brant]

Judas

Upon returning to King’s Landing, an unexpected betrothal is arranged to make peace between Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent’s children.

13k (18+)

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, arranged marriage, and violence. (smut in part two, stay tuned).

-

The last time she saw Aemond, they were mere children.

It was the morning after Leanor Velaryon’s funeral at Driftmark, not even a full week following the passing of his dear sister, Laena, and she was watching from the saddle strapped across the back of her dragon as he and his mother strolled along the beach side by side. She made a point of doting on her young son more than she had in the past due to the loss of his eye. Her arm was draped over his shoulder, her hand rubbing up and down his arm, and, yet, he didn’t seem consoled by her sweet touch. All he did was stare off at the horizon, his face hardened by the years of cruelty from his own brother and the prospect of having to face more ridicule due to his disfigurement.

That was the final glimpse she got of him for years, and, since moving to Dragonstone with her family, she hadn’t been back to visit King’s Landing once. Instead, she spent her days flying on dragonback, committing to her studies, and learning to fight with a sword from the best warrior she knew. Her father.

While all of her siblings refer to him as their father due to the union between him and their mother, Y/N says it with a certainty none can question. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra ever meant to admit to her. In fact, it wasn’t her mother who told her at all. It was Daemon. After an afternoon spent fighting, Valyrian steel clashing against Valyrian steel in a symphony of practiced violence, she asked him the question that would confirm the suspicions she had for most of her young life.

Jace, Lucerys, and Joffrey were sired by the late Sir Harwin Strong, that much she knew from the countless rumors hurled at them as well as his consistent presence when they were small, but she knew she was not his nor Laenor’s. It was an open secret amongst all who knew them. And, when confronted with it, Daemon met her with honesty. It was less to do with her and more to do with him, however. He couldn’t bear to pretend she belonged to anyone but him, so he told her.

“Issa drēje, ñuha dōna riña,” he said in their native tongue to keep any guards nearby from eavesdropping.

It is true, my sweet girl.

He tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear in a display of affection not entirely uncommon for his favorite child. It was no secret that he favored her most. After all, she was the heir to the throne, and she retained the very best of his and Rhaenyra’s respective personalities. Then, of course, there was the small fact that she was his, not Harwin’s. He loved his step-children, of course, but she was his most cherished creation of Rhaenyra’s by far.

“Nyke gīmigon istia daor jaelagon naejot rȳbagon bisa, yn i’ll va moriot sagon drēje lēda ao. Ñuha lēkia refused naejot wed zirȳla naejot nyke skori ziry ryptan, sīr ziry teptan zirȳla naejot laenor naejot ruaragon ziry bē,” he explained. I know you must not want to hear this, but I’ll always be honest with you. My brother refused to wed her to me when he heard, so he gave her to Laenor to cover it up.

He then looked at her, and she held his gaze without balking from the intense stare that many unfortunate souls met before taking their last breaths. To her, he wasn’t a monster. He was a ghost she spent her whole childhood chasing after. She still couldn’t believe he was real.

“Yn nyke va moriot jeldan naejot sagon iā kepa naejot ao. Gaomagon daor mirre másino bona.” But I always wanted to be a father to you. Do not ever question that.

With that, a grin broke out on her face, and she nodded along with tear-filled eyes. They never spoke of it again after they returned to the castle where Rhaenyra and the boys were settled at the table for dinner together. It didn’t have to be said aloud again, though. Now that she knew for certain, she didn’t need to dwell on it any longer.

For Aemond, the days they spent at Driftmark for the funeral of Laena Velaryon were a conflicting period of time. For Y/N, it was the beginning of her happiness. All she wanted was to know the truth, to know her father, and that was the first time she was allowed to.

Now, she isn’t sure if she’s as happy as she once was.

The breeze blows her hair from her shoulders as she descends upon King’s Landing atop Vermithor. Like Aemond, she too was raised without a dragon. It was something they once bonded over as children until he nearly bashed her younger brother’s face in with a rock the night he claimed Vhagar. Shortly after their return to Dragonstone, she made it her life’s mission to claim the beast who dwelled in its solitary lair on the island.

Flying settles her nerves better than anything else. Wine tends to make her wallow in sorrow more than anything, talking with her parents only ends in lectures or reassurance she does not seek, and since she is not a male, she cannot frequent brothels without consequence like her brothers could to relieve stress. The only retreat she has is the sky.

Seeing that the rest of her family left by ship ahead of her, she doesn’t expect to see any others on dragonback nearby. As she scans the sky, she sees nothing but the city spread out ahead of her and the endless expanse of ocean beneath. That is, of course, until she sees the shadow passing over her head.

Bigger than her own by a decent margin, she knows that the dragon casting a shadow onto her cannot by any other than the largest in existence. She doesn’t make the mistake of tipping her head back to take a look, however. She makes the choice to feign indifference rather than give in to the demand for attention Aemond shows through flying so close overhead. Unlike her brothers, he doesn’t frighten her, and that small difference in attitude is certain to annoy him.

Vhagar swoops down in a steep dive in front of her, and she hardly has the chance to steer Vermithor out to the right to avoid being smacked with the other dragon’s long tail.

Sensing his sudden state of unease, she reaches down to stroke her gloved hand along the surface of his rough skin and says to him with the same tone her mother uses to soothe her in times of distress, “Lykiri, Vermithor. Lykiri.” She scoffs at the sight of a man with long silver hair to match hers riding on Vhagar’s back. “He poses no threat.”

As expected, Aemond does not taunt them any more than this. The sound of his dragon’s wings flapping in the wind overpowers that of the waves crashing onto the land as they both make their way to the Dragonpit. The folk living in the city whip their head around to catch sight of the giant creatures descending upon them with equal parts fear and enchantment. Targaryens are closer to Gods than men, so what can mere mortals do but watch as evidence of their superior existence shoots through the sky on a set of gargantuan wings?

With Vermithor promptly landed on the sandy ground as far from Vhagar and her rider as possible, Y/N dismounts him with a tired sigh, muscles aching from hours of riding, and climbs down onto unsteady feet. She greets her escort, Ser Harold, with a bright smile despite Aemond’s antics, as well as the reason for visiting in the first place, weighing heavily on her shoulders.

Queen Alicent means to call into question Jacaerys’ inheritance of Driftmark in the absence of Lord Corlys, and, by extension, call the legitimacy of all of Rhaenyra’s offspring into question as well. Y/N remains mostly unconcerned by this. She knows in her heart that she is a trueborn Targaryen, and whatever Alicent may have to say about her brothers will do nothing to change it. So long as King Viserys remains steadfast in his declaration of his daughter and her children as heirs to the throne, there shouldn’t be much to fear.

Just as Aemond turns from his beloved dragon with the intention of beginning the journey back to the Red Keep on foot, the sound of Y/N’s voice halts him.

“Hello, Uncle,” she says with a pointed stare.

He shows no issue with staring right back at her.

“Niece,” he says with no real emotion to the word.

“It has been a while since we last met.”

With one glance, she deduces that he has changed in the time they’ve spent apart. For one, the bloodied scar she saw covered by bandages in the days after Lucerys maimed him has been healed and hidden behind a leather eyepatch. Whatever it is that lurks beneath, she hasn’t a clue. The rest that is visible to her searching eyes is surprisingly agreeable.

He has a strong, sharp jaw, pretty lips, and he stands tall above her height with the sinewy figure of a fine swordsman. As much as it pains her to admit it to herself, he has grown into a handsome man. If it weren’t for the purposefully off-putting demeanor, ancient dragon, and the intimidation accompanying his eyepatch, there’d likely be droves of highborn maidens begging their fathers to set up an advantageous match with the prince.

His stoic face displays no reaction she can discern before he says, “It has, Princess,” and walks off without deigning to speak another word to her.

-

The first two hours of her arrival are spent becoming acquainted with her chambers and washing the stink of dragon, as her dear grandsire always called it, from her body before formally greeting Queen Alicent and reconnecting with her parents. For as long as she could get away with, she submerged herself in the in-ground, marble bathing tub flooded to the brim with steaming water and gazed out of the opened windows with daydreams of flying back home on Vermithor at once. The citrus-scented oil one of the handmaidens poured into the water washes the sweat and proof of her flight from Dragonstone from her long hair and skin. By the time she dries off and allows the ladies waiting outside of the bathing room to help her dress, she looks brand new.

Her hair is half-up, half-down with simple braids keeping it from falling into her face, and her dress is one of her favorites that was brought on the ship with the rest of her bare necessity belongings. It used to belong to her mother—rich, red fabric with a neckline that hangs off the shoulders with a gold belt cinching her waist and cuffs that circle her wrists. The sleeves are cut open at the center to display her arms, and she cannot help but smile at the sight of her reflection.

Navigating the familiar halls of the Red Keep keeps her occupied on her way to find her parents and brothers. On her way, she passes many servants and guards, all of whom she offers a tight-lipped smile, and walks until she reaches the gardens, then the training yard at the front gate to the castle grounds where she finally spots her brothers.

“Jace! Luc!” she shouts to garner their attention and hurries down the steps to meet Jacaerys in a tight embrace.

She only speaks again once they’re pulling apart, one arm wrapping around Lucerys to pull him into her side, “I missed you both terribly. Dragonstone is not the same without the rest of you residing there.”

Both of them grin at her, their brown eyes crinkling at the sides, and try not to pay attention to the whispers of the onlookers in the yard who call attention to the differences between the boys and their older sister. When standing beside each other, it couldn’t be any more clear. Where their hair is dark, hers is paler than snow. Where they are shorter than their uncles and step-father, she is taller than them both and carries an aura of otherworldliness her mother passed along to her.

At the sight of Lucerys’ gaze shifting toward a clustered group of three talking amongst themselves while looking at them, Jace speaks before she gets the chance, “Pay them no mind, brother.”

Her hand strokes through her younger brother's brunette hair as though to soothe him the same way she had done with her dragon hours prior, and she nods.

“Come, let us watch the men train while you catch me up on what I missed on your journey here. Tell me, did mother and father bicker the whole time? Seasickness makes her quite short with him, and he detests traveling by ship rather than dragonback.”

With that, the three of them launch into a conversation revolving around the events of their voyage here. Due to her combined seasickness and pregnancy-induced illness, their mother was short with everyone, not just Daemon. Jacaerys said that when Joffrey decided to jest with her by chasing her down while holding a rat he found at the bottom of the ship, it took Daemon shooing everyone, the rat included, from their room to prevent her shouting at everyone in her path. As sweet as she is, even their mother has limits when it comes to her boys behaving less like princes and more like pests.

Y/N is still giggling to herself at the thought of it as they come to a stop around the edges of the small crowd that has gathered to watch Ser Criston Cole fight with another man. Through the bodies forming a wall between them and the action, it takes the Princess murmuring, “Excuse me,” softly a few times for her and the boys to reach a decent spot.

The second she gains a clear view, her smile drops.

Though her brothers may not recognize him from behind as she does since they have not seen him in years, she knows it’s him the second she catches a glimpse of his hair swaying with his body’s sharp movements. Her earlier assumptions are quickly proven true. A fine swordsman indeed, she realizes as Aemond spins around with his sword raised at Ser Criston’s neck with an expression that takes pride in his victory before the knight can even form the words.

“Well done, my Prince,” Ser Criston says, panting.

The sword is lowered from his neck without another word from Aemond, and, just as he thinks he might ask Cole to go again, he catches sight of her on the edge of the crowd. Of course, he has no choice but to notice her first. Among the people watching them, she is one of few with hair the same shade as his. Another huge small factor contributing to him noticing her first would have to be her being the only woman present. Although adorned in fine clothing and jewelry fit for a Princess, she looks as though she is comfortable where she stands in the midst of clashing swords and leering men.

His eye follows the neckline of her dress that leaves her neck and shoulders exposed, and he finds his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening involuntarily. His jaw clenches at the delicate slope of her neck giving away to her shoulders. For a second, she finds it difficult to breathe. When pinned down beneath his intense stare, what else could one do but go still and quiet and wait for chaos to ensue?

He shifts his focus to the boys flanking her on either side.

“Nephews,” he says by way of greeting, “Have you come to train?”

She watches in her periphery as Jace opens and closes his mouth, at a loss for words, and almost speaks up on their behalf to say their mother is expecting them back soon, but they are saved. The doors to the castle gates open with a thunderous rumble, and everyone’s attention turns from where it had been transfixed upon her siblings to the man who strolls in.

Vaemond Velaryon.

Under her breath, Y/N mutters a hardly audible, “Of course,” with a scoff nobody else surrounding them notices. Except for one. It shouldn’t surprise her that Aemond picked up on her disdain for Corlys’ nephew whom she knows without a doubt will aid Alicent in her attempts to steal her brother’s inheritance from him. Her uncle’s eye remains locked on her as she watches Vaemond walk up the path leading to the castle, and it isn’t until the older man disappears from view that she notices his staring.

Right when Aemond expects her to avert her eyes with the same reproach her brothers have for him, she does the very opposite. How he could ever expect the daughter of Daemon Targaryen to shy away from a challenge, he doesn’t know, but he finds himself surprised all the same.

“Apologies, my Prince, but our mother is expecting us back soon. She sent me to fetch my brothers,” she says without breaking their stare. “Perhaps you may train together at another time.”

She ushers the two younger boys away with a hand on each of their arms without allowing their uncle to get another word. Payback, she supposes, for his curt attitude with her back at the Dragonpit. Over her shoulder, she casts him a glare that could cut a weaker man to the bone. It conveys every word she has yet to say to him, telling him, “If you lay a hand on either of them, I will cut your heart out just as my brother did with your eye.” Her hair swishes in the afternoon breeze as she turns to look ahead of her once more and leaves him standing with Ser Criston Cole in the training yard.

“The Princess is the very image of her mother, is she not?” Ser Criston asks, drawing his attention back to him.

Coming from him in particular, that isn’t the compliment those around them assume it to be. Alicent and Ser Criston have never spoken candidly of what incited their shared distaste for Rhaenyra other than her passing off her bastards as trueborn princes, but Aemond is not a fool. He can sense it in the way Ser Criston speaks and acts regarding his aunt and her children that the reason lies deeper than moral outrage over bastard children.

All Aemond offers in response is a quiet hum in agreement as he sheathes his sword.

-

The rest of the night following their run-in with Prince Aemond was uneventful for the most part.

Though she did lie to allow her brothers a quick escape from the man who has been yearning to exact revenge against them for years, the first thing she did was find her mother. She and Daemon were coming back to their chambers after speaking with Queen Alicent, and their faces lit up at the sight of their daughter despite how difficult it was to see Viserys in such a state of suffering earlier in the day.

Rhaenyra ran her hands down the sleeves of her dress, feeling the years-old fabric slipping through her fingers, and said with a nostalgic smile, “You look beautiful, my love.”

It was something she heard from her mother at a constant rate, but it warmed her heart even if it were the millionth time she heard the words spoken to her in that soft, caring tone of voice. A moment later, Daemon placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, murmuring something about how good it was to see her.

Now, as she sits at her mother's feet and allows her to braid her hair before she’s off to her chambers to sleep for the night, she flips through a book she found in the library after dinner and becomes lost in her thoughts.

The way Aemond looked at her today in the training yard…It was strange. Not strange in the sense that she has never seen a man look at her like that before. She has. In fact, many men far too old and below her station have looked at her like that and met the glares of her fiercely protective parents who, by the grace of the Gods, agreed to her wish to put off marriage until it became absolutely necessary. No, what made the way Aemond looked at her strange had less to do with her lacking experience in witnessing men admire her beauty and more to do with the fact that it was him.

Of course, he is merely a man. Many gossiping court ladies she overheard when she was little said they are more susceptible to the temptation of the flesh than women are, but she’s never felt the way she did when she caught him staring. There was a rush of heat blooming between her thighs under the skirts of her dress, and she could hardly stand to hold his gaze for the duration of the moment. It felt wrong to feel that way when he was looking at her brothers like they were prey to kill seconds after staring at her.

“I visited Helaena and her children today,” Y/N says suddenly to distract herself from her current train of thought. “I suppose they liked me. They kept pulling at my skirts to get my attention as Helaena and I spoke. She is a wonderful mother to our little cousins.”

Though she couldn’t see it, Rhaenyra smiles and says, “You will make a wonderful mother too one day.” A long pause. “Did you see your uncles as well?”

She shakes her head, which causes her mother to tighten her grip on the strands of hair she’s braiding down her back, then offers a murmured apology before going on to respond to the question.

“Well, I saw one of them. Aemond landed with Vhagar in the Dragonpit when I first arrived. Then, at the training yard, he spoke briefly to Jace and Luc. Thank the Gods I did not have the misfortune of running into Aegon.”

The consistent pulling and twisting of Rhaenyra’s fingers braiding her hair goes still for a moment.

“You do not prefer Prince Aegon, then?”

She scoffs.

“He is a miserable cunt.”

In the connected room, the sound of Daemon’s wry laughter in reaction to the insult echoes and reaches their ears with ease. The hatred her father has for every Hightower in the Red Keep is not hidden from anyone, least of all her, so when she hears him laugh, she cannot help but grin to herself.

“Y/N…” her mother chides.

“I know it is not nice to say such things, but everyone knows it to be true. Helaena is the one I prefer of all your siblings. She is kind to everyone. Aemond is…tolerable, I suppose. A fine swordsman. I prefer both of them to Aegon.”

Rhaenyra hums in consideration of her candid statement.

“As do I.”

It only takes another five or so minutes for her to secure the long braid in order to prevent it from coming undone in her sleep before sending her off to bed. A kiss is pressed to the top of her head as a goodbye, then she is escorted to her chambers by one of the guards stationed outside of her parent’s door.

-

The throne room is flooded with people by the middle of the next day.

On one side, she, her parents, and her brothers stand before a crowd of curious observers who will surely gossip about what they are to see here today. On the other stands Queen Alicent, Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. As always, Alicent is dressed in one of her finest green dresses to hammer the extent of their division home as if it weren’t already clear enough, while Rhaenyra wears one of black and red. Her brothers and father wore black by coincidence while Y/N, ever the loyal daughter, picked out a gown to match her mother as closely as she could.

The sight of her decked out in full red and black Targaryen regalia prompted Aegon to snort an unbecoming laugh when they walked in as a family. Alicent was quick to quiet him out of fear that those surrounding them would hear and look upon them unfavorably over his rude behavior. Meanwhile, Aemond simply stared.

She can feel it from across the room despite her attempts to ignore it—that same heated gaze he set upon her yesterday is back. If she weren’t so determined to her feigned act of indifference toward him, it would make her want to squirm in discomfort. It’s impossible to focus on what venomous words Vaemond spouts about her family and why he should inherit Driftmark in place of Jacaerys when she can feel Aemond’s eye on her.

To his credit, he looks away whenever her father scans his gaze around the room. If Daemon saw one of Alicent Hightower’s sons ogling his daughter, who knows what he may be compelled to do? So, every time Daemon’s focus strays from the man pleading his case to the Hand sitting atop the throne, he makes certain to look at anyone but her. Whenever her father’s eyes return to the front of the room, however, he goes straight back to it.

The only thing that manages to break his stare is the sound of the doors to the great hall being pushed open in the midst of Rhaenyra’s speech.

A masculine voice booms through the open space of the hall, “King Viserys of House Targaryen, first of his name!” Every person in the room gasps or takes a deep inhale of some sort at the sight of the frail old man that appears in the doorway, stumbling into the room with a mask covering half of his deteriorating face and a cane in hand. “King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm!”

It is painful to watch him struggle his way down the length of the room, and, considering that, she cannot imagine how much worse it must be for him. Every breath he takes is labored and shallow, heaving for air that evades him at every rise and fall of his chest. The side of his face visible to them all appears pale with dark circles and bags beneath his eyes, leaving her to wonder how much worse the other side could be to necessitate the mask concealing it. It has been years since she last saw her grandsire, and, though she knew he was ill, his current state is worse than she ever could have imagined.

Y/N watches with wide eyes as he approaches where Rhaenyra and Otto Hightower stand on either side of the room with the throne to bisect them in a line of demarcation. There are only two sides as of now—green and black—yet here he stands at the center to bind them together with what little strength he has left in his weary body.

His head cranes to the side to face Otto.

Viserys says, “I will sit the throne today,” and that is that.

It doesn’t get any easier for his family to watch him on his way up the stairs. And though he refuses the help of the guards, he does not tell his brother to back off when he appears at his side to retrieve the crown that slid off of his balding head and escort him the rest of the way to the throne. A soft smile crosses her face at the sight of her father placing the crown onto his head, and she welcomes him back to her side with her hand extended when he walks down the stairs with it never having left her face.

Feeling his rough hand in hers steadies her for what comes next. For having to endure the glares from Vaemond and her uncles when Viserys declares her brother the rightful heir to Driftmark. For having to listen to the hushed whispers that always occur at the sight of Jacaerys and Lucerys’ dark hair and features that resemble that of their biological father.

As the king calls the Princess Rhaenys to speak on behalf of her missing husband, her grip tightens enough for Daemon to give it a reassuring squeeze back. It tells her not to worry. It tells her that he and her mother will die before they let anything happen to her or her dear brothers.

Rhaenys stands with her hands folded in front of her and holds her chin high as she says to her cousin, “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Jacaerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.” A knowing glance is cast at where Rhaenyra stands side by side with her eldest son, and, in response, Y/N’s mother nods. Just once. “As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luc, to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Y/N’s gaze immediately turns to find her father with as much subtlety as possible, and he gives her a nod similar to the one her mother gave Rhaenys to confirm that they plotted this together. It’s difficult not to smirk to herself at the mere thought of the panic Queen Alicent must surely feel as a result of this. She can always count on her parents to be one step ahead, can’t she?

“Well,” Viserys starts, “the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

Alicent’s eyes avert to the ground in what Y/N guesses is disbelief and shame. Shame for her husband who has never, not once in the course of their marriage, chosen her and their children over himself. Although she admires Viserys’ love for his only daughter, Y/N cannot pretend to miss the sorrow evident on his wife’s face. Still, she finds it hard to have much sympathy for the woman who came after her mother with a knife years ago and actively tried to supplant her brother in the line of succession. Then, there’s the matter of Aegon. In her eyes, a mother who shields her perverted son from the consequences of his actions is no better than the son himself. If Y/N is to bear her future husband a son, she will be sure to raise him the way Rhaenyra has raised her honorable brothers.

Across the room, she catches Aemond’s eye once more and tries to refrain from shifting in place so as to not alert her father of the matter. Seeing that Daemon is rather protective of her, she wouldn’t want to spark any more chaos today than there already has been. This time, however, Aemond does not look at her with the same desire from yesterday. He assesses her from top to bottom, sizing her and her family up as the threat they’ve proven themselves to be.

Their attention is quickly called elsewhere when Viserys speaks again.

“It seems I have another announcement to make. A joyous one, to be sure.”

Her grandsire looks at her with a fond smile, and she can feel dread curling in the pit of her belly like an asp readying itself to strike.

“After speaking with the Princess Rhaenyra, my daughter and I have reached an agreement regarding the betrothal of her eldest daughter.” Imperceptibly to anyone but her, Daemon’s hand tightens its grasp on hers at the announcement that neither of them expected. “I hereby announce the betrothal of Princess Y/N of House Targaryen and my son, Prince Aemond of House Targaryen.”

The room erupts with the sound of gasps and whispers from the observers as well as a few members of the family who hadn’t been clued into the plans of her mother and grandsire. With a quick look around the room, it seems that nobody was informed ahead of time, not even Aemond’s mother. It’s hard for her to think, let alone conjure the ability to speak in order to whisper to her father not to make a scene or challenge the word of his brother. All she can do is try to breathe as deeply as possible through the shock and stare across the room at her uncle as though to ask him if he knew.

By the way he looks back at her with an equal amount of surprise, or, at least, as much as his inexpressive face will allow him to display, he did not know either.

-

What followed the announcement of her betrothal to Aemond mattered little to her. She did not bat an eye at her father’s cold-blooded murder of Vaemond, nor did she say a word to anyone as she walked in step with her family out of the great hall. To her mother’s terror, Y/N did not make a face or utter anything on the journey to her parents’ shared quarters with her brothers following closely behind.

She has never known her daughter to be a closed-mouthed woman. Growing up, it was something she prided herself on as a young mother—that ferocity, that fire—and admired about her only daughter. That is why Y/N’s silence is troubling by comparison to her typical demeanor. For someone who inherited her temper from her father, someone who has the blood of the dragon flowing in their veins, silence is a precursor to deadly rage.

And when the door closes behind Lucerys, the dragon is unleashed.

“How dare you?” she spits the words with tears welling up in her eyes. “You’ve damned me to a marriage with a man who couldn’t be bothered to speak more than a few words to me after years spent apart! I don’t wish to live here without you, and father, and my brothers, it’s like being thrown to the wolves! Dragonstone is where I’m happiest, mother, you know that!”

She stands in front of her entire family, excluding her youngest brothers Aegon and Viserys who are being tended to by her mother's handmaidens, pleading her case as though she is being put on trial. Jacaerys and Lucerys know better than to offer a comforting touch or words of encouragement at the risk of getting caught in the crossfire, but the sympathy visible on their faces is more than enough to offer the support she needs. The two of them know better than anyone why she is upset at the idea of her betrothal to Aemond. After all, it was Jace whose head he nearly bashed in during a fight years ago and Luc who cut his eye out in defense of him.

Rhaenyra attempts to reach out to her only to have the touch rejected with a gentle shove to the arm to prevent her from holding her daughter’s hand.

“My love,” she says softly, sighing, “I know this is not what you would have envisioned for yourself, but I needed a plan. With you and Aemond wed, with him as your prince consort and the father of your heirs when you ascend to the Iron Throne, the division between our families will cease.” When Y/N scowls at her, she adds, “I took your feelings into consideration to the best of my ability. Your grandsire proposed that you and Aegon be betrothed years ago, but I refused him as a result of your desire to wait until you were older. Then, I proposed Jacaerys and Helaena wed, but Alicent refused. This was the best I could do to benefit both you and the realm.”

The younger woman’s jaw clenches with rage as she forces herself to remain civil and not spew the first nasty words that come to mind. She does not want to say things she will regret later in the heat of the moment, but, fuck, how can any of them expect her to remain calm after what Viserys and Rhaenyra did? Her fists clenched with enough force to break the skin of her palm with the blunt edges of her nails.

Y/N turns her heated gaze to Daemon and asks, “Will you do nothing to stop this, father? You hate the Hightowers just as much, if not more, than me. Do you not give a shit about your daughter being used as a political pawn by your brother?”

Although angry himself, Daemon’s eyes narrow at her abrasive tone of voice.

“Watch your tongue,” he warns. There’s a pause during which he raises his brows at her as if in a challenge, then relaxes his face when she sighs in reluctant obedience. “Your mother and I will discuss this matter privately. As of the present moment, what the King says is law, and you will mind your tone when speaking to your mother.”

Beneath the formality of his words, she can sense his ire for the decision Rhaenyra excluded him from making with her and Viserys. She knew as soon as it was announced that her parents would be going back and forth in argument until the late hours of the night over it, but her mother is not a closed-mouthed woman either. Seeing that she is the heir to the throne, her word holds more weight than his, and if she wishes for her daughter to marry Prince Aemond, it will happen regardless of Daemon’s protests.

Y/N presses her hand to her forehead and turns to face the wall, rubbing her temple as if that will do anything to soothe the thoughts racing through her head. If not even her father has the power to protect her from her fate, what else is she to do but surrender herself to it? Instantly, the wheels begin to spin in her head, and she conjures up the conditions it will take for her to bind herself to Aemond One-Eye.

She turns around and wills her face into a mask of composed poise.

“I have conditions.”

Her mother cannot help but mutter, “Oh, Seven Hells,” under her breath to herself while her father suppresses a chuckle.

“I will do my duty and marry Prince Aemond for the sake of the realm, but I will not forfeit my standards. I know Queen Alicent will want her son wed in the Grand Sept in the tradition of her faith, but I demand a traditional Valyrian wedding as well. Whichever comes first matters not to me, but I won’t forsake the tradition of our ancestors.”

Since childhood, she has dreamt of marrying her eventual husband in the tradition of her house just as her mother did with her father, and no matter how insistent Alicent may be, that dream isn’t one she is prepared to give up without a fight. If she is being taken from Dragonstone and given to one of her sons, the least she can do is accommodate her wishes for her own wedding day.

Rhaenyra offers her a tight-lipped smile.

“Your father and I will support you in that decision, I swear it.” She then asks, “What else?”

“There will be no bedding ceremony. That is sacred, and private, and should remain between us as husband and wife.”

The only thing she can imagine being more mortifying than having to wed a man who does not care for her is having to bed him in front of her grandsire, as well as other grown men and women she would prefer not see her in a state of undress. Not to mention, she would have to resort to burning Aegon to a crisp with Vermithor to avoid him pestering her until the end of her days over what he would witness in the ceremony.

“I agree,” her mother says. “I have no doubts that you and Prince Aemond will fulfill your duty. I see no need for a bedding ceremony either.”

With the silence that follows, the realization that what’s happening to her is, in fact, real nearly knocks her off her feet. Until now, she didn’t have to face it head-on without the buffer of her argument with her parents and the conditions for her agreeing to the marriage between her. That dread she felt in her belly has now spread to the rest of her body and holds her hostage. Yet, through the panic, she recalls the way he looked at her when they were in the training yard and hopes that basic level of desire will be a sturdy enough foundation for a functioning marriage.

She isn’t a fool. She knows that her marriage will not be loving, nor will it be what she wanted for herself in the past, but her mother is right. It is the best opportunity to keep the peace between their families, and marrying Aemond is a better alternative to what could have been with Aegon had her mother agreed with the King those years ago.

“Well, then, I suppose it’s already decided, is it not?” Before either of her parents can get a word in, she turns to her brothers and asks, “Jace, Luc, would you mind escorting me to my quarters? I wish to be alone until we are called to supper with the family.”

They both nod.

-

When it comes time to walk into the dining room, Y/N isn’t sure if she wants to enter.

An hour or so after she left her parents in their chambers, her father came to visit her in hers. The expression on his face was downcast yet subdued in the way it always is when he’s to deliver her bad news. All it took was one look at his face for her to slam the book she was reading shut and toss it onto the table in front of the chair she was lounging in. Her hair was disheveled from the braids she took down, and she wore her simplest, most comfortable dress available. She looked, for lack of a better word, a mess.

Daemon stalked across the room to her with his mouth clamped shut, one hand on the hilt of Dark Sister, and knelt down on the carpet in front of her. One of his hands reached for hers, and he held it. Without saying anything for the first moment or so, he held her hand because he knew it was what she needed from either him, her mother, or her brothers now that her temper had been given time to cool down. As soon as he saw her finally begin to take deep, even breaths in and out without fail, he allowed his hand to slip away.

“Iksan vaoreznuni, ñuha dōna riña,” he said in their mother tongue to keep any of her handmaidens from overhearing the private conversation. I am sorry, my sweet girl. “Konīr iksis daorun kostan gaomagon.” There is nothing I can do. “Nyke gōntan daor jaelagon ziry hae sȳrī. Yn konir sagon se vyguēsin hen bisa ābrar. Issa jēda ao gūrēñagon skoros māzigon lēda aōha gaomilaksir hae dārilaros.” I know this is not what you want. I did not want it as well. But that is the nature of this life. It is time you learn what comes with your duty as heir.

She huffed a sigh at him in response, wishing to throw a fit and stomp her feet the way she once did as a spoiled young princess, but she didn’t. What frustrated her the most was the fact that he was right. Everyone else was right—her mother, her father, Viserys—and it killed her. It threatened to eat her alive.

Y/N lamented, “Dārilaros Aemond gaomas daor sesīr hae nyke. Emi daorun isse quptenka, kepa.” Prince Aemond does not even like me. We have nothing in common, father. “Nyke gīmigon nyke gōntan daor emagon iā iderennon, yn naejot gaomagon bisa mijegon nyke iksis nūmāzma.” I know I did not have a choice, but to do this without me is mean.

To this, Daemon chuckled.

“Aōha muña gīmigon ao sȳrī. Lo ēdas eptan ao nūmāzma ziry, ao would emagon geptot va Vermithor.” Your mother knows you well. If she had asked you about it, you would have left on Vermithor. “Iksā aōha kepa’s tala. Iksā iā zaldrīzes. Se mērī ñuhoso naejot gaomagon īles naejot ruaragon ziry hen ao.” You are your father’s daughter. You are a dragon. The only way to do it was to hide it from you.

The last part drew a soft giggle from her as well. It wasn’t as if he was wrong. Had she been briefed on the plan to betroth her to her uncle, she would have marched down to the Dragonpit and mounted Vermithor the first chance she got. No, Rhaenyra was right, this was the only way to ensure the plan’s success on both ends. Had anyone told Aemond, she suspects he would have talked to his mother and allowed her to find a way out of it. Perhaps a highborn woman from another house whose gained alliance would prove too good of an offer for the King to overlook.

Her father quieted for a second, then spoke again quite candidly. For he never thought to prepare his most cherished creation for the reality of her ever-looming duty as a wife until now. Selfishly, he thought he and Rhaenyra may keep her forever. He already lost ten years with her, so why wouldn’t he feel entitled to more? But, he realized, she was a woman grown. Soon, she would no longer be his or Rhaenyra’s, nor would she be Prince Aemond’s. She would be her own. The Seven Kingdoms would one day be hers for the taking.

“Riña Rhea Royce iksin daor se ābra nyke jeldan hae ñuha ēlī ābrazȳrys, yn nyke gōntan ñuha gaomilaksir.” Lady Rhea Royce was not the woman I wanted as my first wife, but I did my duty. “Se gaomā daor gīmigon skorkydoso olvie emā isse quptenka lēda zirȳla. Ra arlinnon istin iksā wed. Skori ao glaesagon hae valzȳrys se ābrazȳrys, ao mirre hēnkirī. Lēda biarves, kesā mazverdagon naejot hae aōha valzȳrys. Se, lo ziry ōdrikagon ao, ao gīmigon aōha kepa se muña would nekēbagon hen zȳhon tolie laes. Daor bona ao jorrāelagon īlva. Daor, nyke gīmigon ao se vermithor kessa gaomagon sepār sȳz mērī.” And you do not know how much you have in common with him. Things change once you are wed. When you live as husband and wife, you work together. With luck, you will grow to like your husband. And, if he hurts you, you know your father and mother would carve out his other eye. Not that you need us. No, I know you and Vermithor will do just fine alone.

The thought of things changing between her and Aemond felt impossible, but she decided to take his word for it. What else was she to do? After all, her father had three marriages so far, and she had none. If anyone were an expert in the matter, it would be him, not her.

Truth be told, Prince Aemond was not the worst option in the realm. It could’ve been Aegon, and thank the Gods it was not. For one, she did not find him as attractive as Aemond, and he could not wield a sword to save his own skin, so how could she expect him to protect her as his wife? She and Aemond could take down a group of men with their skill as sword fighters alone, standing back to back as a team. The same cannot be said for her other uncle. Not to mention, Aegon had a well-known reputation for forcing himself on the handmaidens who tended to him and his wife. Aemond, however, had never had such vile rumors spread about him. Outside of his obvious lust for revenge against her brothers, he was decent.

After her father departed, it was time to wash for the day and allow her handmaidens to aid her in preparing for supper. Rather than wearing the dress she sported in the Great Hall earlier that day, she opted for her best. If this was her first dinner with her soon-to-be husband and stepmother, she would do her best to make Rhaenyra proud in one of the dresses she had made for her.

Now, the confidence she built up in the secluded sanctuary of her private chambers has dwindled back down, but she doesn’t allow herself to linger outside of the dining room for any longer than a moment. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, then walks in.

Everyone else, save for King Viserys, is already present at the long table pushed toward the other side of the spacious room she enters. She forces her gaze to meet her parents’ eyes first, then her brothers, Queen Alicent, Helaena, Otto, Aegon, then, finally Aemond. He is positioned at the end of the table with an empty chair beside him that she can only assume is meant for her now that they are promised to one another. Mercifully, she is seated on the side closest to her dear Aunt Helaena, not Otto Hightower. Whether that was intentionally planned by her mother, father, grandsire, or new stepmother, she does not know. If she were to bet on it, it would be on the latter. Queen Alicent may have her issues with Y/N’s parents, but she is well aware of her fondness for Helaena.

Rhaenyra gives her an encouraging smile as she watches her cross the room, no doubt approving of her cheerful demeanor whether it’s feigned or not. When she turns to walk toward the side of the table Aemond sits at, she finds herself breathless yet again beneath the intensity of his stare. His eye moves up and down the length of her body in assessment. It lingers on the upper part of her body where the detailing of her blood-red dress becomes more intricate, then notices the statement necklace passed down to her from her mother that clings around her neck.

The neckline of the dress plunges down as far as she is allowed without compromising her modesty. When facing her dead-on from their seats at the table, it does not appear scandalous at all, but when Aemond stands from his seat to pull hers out as his mother instructed him to, the height advantage he has on her changes that.

She says in greeting, their gazes locked, “My Prince,” and sits down as soon as the words leave her.

And though she cannot see it, Aemond grips the back of her chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white at the sight of her. He can only see the side of her face at the moment, but she looks…beautiful. The same conflicted feeling that came over him in the training yard settles inside of his chest again as he sits down in the chair beside her.

The second they are both settled in their seats, though, the doors open again, and they all must stand to welcome King Viserys. It merely takes a moment for the guards assisting him to carry his chair around the side of the table and place him in between Alicent and Rhaenyra. His wife is quick to interlace her fingers with his and ask him how he’s feeling, to which he responds by saying he is fine despite the wheezing breaths he takes.

After Alicent says a quick prayer, he wastes no time in looking upon his family with a smile on his face.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luc, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena.” He then turns to look where Y/N and Aemond sit side by side, not looking or speaking to one another. “My son, Aemond, will marry my granddaughter, Y/N, further strengthening the bond within our house. A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”

Everyone raises their cups.

“And,” Viserys continues, “to Prince Jacaerys, the future Lord of the Tides.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N watches Aegon’s face twist up into a smile that she can only assume means trouble. But, before her son can ruin the evening just as it is beginning, Alicent plasters a warm smile on her face and turns toward her son’s betrothed.

“Princess, may I ask that I help you design your wedding gown? I would love to aid you in your preparations for the ceremony, seeing that it is far too much for one woman to handle alone in a week.”

She nearly choked on the mouthful of wine she was in the midst of swallowing when Alicent began speaking. Even Aemond tenses slightly at the short timeframe between now, the day their betrothal was announced, and the wedding. It isn’t as if it doesn’t make sense to her. Viserys’ health declines daily at a horrifying rate, and the sooner they are wed, the sooner they create peace between their families.

He watches her closely, studying her as she nods and says, “Of course, my Queen. It would be an honor.”

The whole time, Aemond remains unnervingly silent. It isn’t unlike him at all, but for the situation at hand, she finds herself wishing he were the type to initiate conversation of some sort so she may begin to get to know him better. They were friends when they were children, sure, but much has changed in the years that have passed since they last saw one another at Driftmark, and they are not the children they once were.

“I must admit,” Viserys speaks from beside his wife, “It pleases me so to know that I will be able to witness my youngest child’s wedding. My only hope for you both is that you remain happy together, and that you may have a marriage as fulfilling as mine own.”

For the first time since she arrived, her betrothed speaks.

“I am happy to hear that I’ve pleased you, father.”

The night continues on with little issue from then on. Surprisingly, their mothers do not break into an argument from either side of King Viserys, and, save for a few comments from Aegon here or there that cause her brothers to stiffen with stifled anger, everyone gets along rather well. She and Aemond do not speak to each other as she hoped they would, but he is not cruel or perverted like his brother had it been him she was betrothed to.

In fact, when she looks across the table to see her mother and father talking and laughing with each other, to see her brothers talking with their soon-to-be wives, she cannot help but feel happy to be here. It was the last thing she expected to feel when she spoke to her parents earlier, but she welcomes it. Although it has Aegon scowling into his cup of wine, Jacaerys and Helaena dance together in front of the table with wide smiles, spinning around one another and jumping as though they’re still the children who used to play together.

For a brief moment, everything is perfect. Viserys is glad to see his family together in celebration of his grandchildren’s marriages, Rhaenyra and Alicent are being civil toward one another, and, she decides, Aemond isn’t too bad. Granted, he is hardly speaking to her or anyone else for most of the dinner, but that matters not to her. He’ll warm up to her eventually, she hopes.

Her hope is scattered to the wind the second she sees a servant set down the roast pig in front of Aemond’s place at the table. At first, all he does is turn his head slowly to look at where Lucerys sits further down the table. Her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the threat present in his body language and facial expression. Silently, she prays neither of them does anything to ruin the peace that has fallen over their family tonight, but when Lucerys begins to chuckle to himself at the memory of the time he, Jacaerys, and Aegon pranked him by gifting him a pig, all bets are off.

The table rattles from the hand Aemond slaps down against it, causing everyone sitting before it to either jolt in surprise or look up from their plates to watch him rising to stand.

Under her breath, Y/N murmurs, “Aemond…” but he pays her no heed.

His cup is clenched in one fist that raises to present it to the room.

“Final tribute,” he casts a quick glance at her. “To my betrothed.” He then sets his sights on her younger brother and glares at him with every bit of ire he’s kept trapped beneath the surface since they last saw each other. “And her brothers. Jace. Luc. Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” There’s a heavy pause. Tension floods the room in the time he takes to consider his words, his eye refusing to stray from where her brother is sitting at the end of the table. “Strong.”

“Aemond,” his mother is quick to say.

Without thinking, Y/N reverts to the child she was when she, her cousins, and her brothers fought him over his claiming of Vhagar and reaches to pinch him on the leg in warning. It’s hidden beneath the surface of the table where their parents cannot catch notice of it, so when she does it, he is the only one who reacts. Even then, it isn’t much of a reaction. All he does is clench his jaw in annoyance. As though she’s a fly buzzing around his face that he wishes to swat away.

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys—“

Jacaerys marches forward a step and says, his voice unwavering in its command, “I dare you to say that again.”

From where she sits, she can see the corner of Aemond’s mouth twitch with the urge to smirk. That bait has been taken.

“Why? T’was only a compliment.” At this, her brother begins to walk across the room to him, and her Prince takes that as his chance to turn to him. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

The sound of her brother’s fist meeting his face is soft, only heard by her and Otto as they are the closest over everyone else’s sounds of shock. Aemond takes the hit without wobbling where he stands, not even a little, and he turns back to see Jacaerys with a feral grin on his face. All it takes is a shove against his chest and her brother is sent tumbling into his back on the floor. Her mother shouts his name in disappointment at his violence, but neither of them listens.

Chaos has broken out amongst the family for the second time today, and Y/N doesn’t know what to do other than reach out to grab onto his arm.

“Do not touch him,” she hisses, looking up at Aemond from beneath her furrowed brows.

A muscle in his jaw jumps with him clenching it tightly in restraint, looking down not at her but at the bare hand wrapped around his. She holds onto him as though he is her lifeline, and he cannot help but look back over his shoulder at her brother as he breaks free from the guards restraining him to attack again. On instinct, Aemond rips his hand from her forceful grip with little struggle and moves forward to meet him halfway, damning whatever consequences it may have with her.

Just when the two men are about to reach one another with the promise of violence visible on their faces, they are stopped.

Daemon walks between them and forces his stepson to retreat back to where the guards are standing in a row behind him. All it takes is him holding up a hand, telling everyone else to back off, before he spins back around to face Aemond. His hand rests on the hilt of Dark Sister as a silent threat in time with the heavy sigh that sinks his shoulders.

Her father looks at him the way he used to look at her when she would talk back to him as a child. It must infuriate Aemond to be looked at like a petulant child in need of scolding, but he does not say anything. He simply walks off in the direction of the doors.

Y/N pushes her chair out behind her without a care for how Rhaenyra and Alicent call after her to stay, storming out after Aemond with no small amount of anger swirling within her.

The doors open and slam shut behind her as she rushes to catch up with him halfway down the long hallway with a few servants walking in either direction. His hair swishes from side to side with every harsh step, and she longs for nothing more than to wrap it around her fist and yank on it to gain his attention for what he said to her brothers tonight.

She raises her voice at him, “Keligon!” Stop.

Instead of listening, he continues to walk away from her, and she cannot stop herself from grabbing him by the arm to turn him around to face her. Their difference in strength prevents her from moving him, but she does manage to halt him, and that is not an opportunity she ignores.

“Ēdā daor paktot naejot gaomagon bona! Lucerys iksis iā ābrītsos valītsos, iksā vala. Gaomagon daor iderēbagon va zirȳla syt ra kostas daor dohaeragon!” You had no right to do that! Lucerys is a young boy, you are a man. Do not pick on him for things he cannot help!

Aemond whirls around, invading her space with a hand grasping onto her wrist to yank her hand from his forearm. There’s a crazed look in his eye, and he does not care that the servants at the end of the hall are watching despite not being able to understand their language anyway. Let them talk.

“Ēdan daor paktot? Mazēdas ñuha laes! Lo kostan glaesagon mijegon ñuha laes, kostas gryves issare brōztagon iā nādrēsy!” I had no right? He took my eye! If I can live without my eye, he can bear being called a bastard.

Her face scrunches with rage, brows furrowing, and she plants her free hand on his chest to shove him back only to be seized with both of his hands on her shoulders.

“Vestā aōla bona iā laes iksis iā litse odre syt iā zaldrīzes. Lo ao konir sagon drēje, skoro syt ēdruta ao ōregon bisa toliot zȳhon bartos? kesan aderī sagon aōha ābrazȳrys. Aōha ābrazȳrys! Istia daor ōdrikagon ñuha lēkia.” You said yourself that an eye is a fair price for a dragon. If that is true, why must you hold this over his head? I will soon be your wife. Your wife! You must not harm my brother.

The sparks between them flare up into a wildfire incapable of being contained. Two dragons face off in a fight neither of them will back down from, readying themselves to cause one another harm at a second’s notice. She can feel the heat of his rapid exhales puffing against her face as they are locked in an intense stare, and his hands squeeze her shoulders hard enough to leave bruises behind on her delicate skin.

Aemond says, “Lo iksā naejot sagon ñuha ābrazȳrys, skoro syt ēdruta ao mīsagon lī qilōni ōdrikagon nyke? Lo daor syt Lucerys, aōha valzȳrys would daor jurnegon bisa ñuhoso.” If you are to be my wife, why must you defend those who hurt me? If not for Lucerys, your husband would not look this way.

“Nyke hae se ñuhoso ao jurnegon! laes iā daor, iksā iā gevie vala! Kostilus bisa kostagon emagon issare vestās ondoso sir lo ao jenitis naejot ȳdragon naejot nyke tubī!” I like the way you look! Eye or no, you are a beautiful man. Perhaps this may have been said by now if you bothered to speak to me today. “Nyke shifang bona ziry pryjatan ao, yn ao brōztagon zirȳ nādrēsy ēlī.” I understand that he struck you, but you called them bastards first.

“Issi nādrēsy!” They are bastards!

She rips herself out of his clutches and reaches up to grab him by the chin, forcing him to meet her gaze and listen to what she says next.

“Ñuha muña se kepa sia daor wed skori īlen vēttan, se kesīr iksan. Aōha ābrazȳrys. Gaomas bona jenigon ao? Kessa bisa gaomagon ao hen issare lēda nyke? Kessa ziry jenigon ao naejot qogralbar aōha nādrēsy ābrazȳrys?” My mother and father were not wed when I was made, and here I am. Your wife. Does that bother you? Will this keep you from being with me? Will it bother you to fuck your bastard wife?

This seems to stop him for an instant. It causes his eye to turn wide and his nostrils to flare with the strange mixture of anger and attraction he feels for her at this moment, and he is too stuck on what she said to care or notice that she is still holding his chin. Although he loathes her brothers, he cannot deny the effect she has on him. Every potential match his mother has introduced to him has been a simpering, bashful high-born lady who assumes that their skill in needlepoint or singing will woo him. None of them presented him with a challenge. They all gave way under the slightest bit of pressure, but she doesn’t. She never has.

The sweet scent of the bathing oil she used while soaking in the tub in her chambers clings to her half-up, half-down braided updo. It takes everything he has to not reach up to run it through his fingers. He isn’t sure why the urge comes to mind, but as soon as he notices the citrus scent, he has to pull his chin out of her hand and put a distance between them to keep himself at bay.

He shakes his head at her.

“Emā iā vaogenka relgos syt iā riña.” You have a dirty mouth for a lady.

She counters back without missing a beat, “Iksā olvie nūmāzma syt iā dārilaros.” You are quite mean for a prince.

Aemond steps back again, allowing his eye to roam up and down her figure in a lingering, selfish stare. The neckline of her dress allows him a generous glimpse at her breasts, pressed up against the fabric in a way that begs him to tear it off of her. What she failed to realize when he ignored her throughout their family dinner was that he could not say the things he wished to in the presence of her parents and brothers.

All he offers in response is a, “Hmm,” and turns on his heels to walk off down the hallway without her.

-

For the next three days, she does not see Prince Aemond, but it isn’t his fault. If anything, it is hers.

She refused to leave her chambers for the entire first day following their betrothal. The events of the day prior had been chaotic enough to provide her excitement for the week, so she resigned herself to a day of solitude her mother allowed due to the whirlwind of drama from their family dinner. If not for her marriage to Aemond being planned, her family likely would have left to return to Dragonstone after the fight broke out between her brothers and her betrothed, but Rhaenyra was quick to reassure her that they were not going anywhere.

The comfort of her mother’s warm hand stroking her back as she hugged her to her chest, pressing the swell of her pregnant belly into her abdomen, soothed the nerves that plagued her in anticipation of the wedding.

“Your betrothal does not mean we are abandoning you, my love. I promise to stay here by your side until you become accustomed to living in King's Landing again.”

They talked and spent time together that first day, just the two of them, until the sun faded below the edge of the horizon. The topic of conversation varied between gossiping about what happened at the family dinner and Rhaenyra answering her myriad of questions about marriage. No one sent for them or dared to disrupt the sanctuary created within the walls of her room. It wasn’t until her brothers and Daemon came knocking that they were forced to come back to reality.

The second day, she read two modestly-sized books, walked to her brother Jacaerys’ chambers to pass the time with a quick conversation, and wasted at least thirty minutes soaking in the tub until the water went cold. Other than that, there wasn’t much she could do to quell her boredom without leaving her rooms.

On the third day, her father forced her out of bed and dragged her down to the Dragonpit, insisting that a ride on Vermithor would lift her spirits. And it did. She thanked Daemon the minute she landed back in the dragon pit where he waited for her, stranded without his beloved Caraxes there for him to fly. All he did was throw an arm around her shoulder and tell her they would practice in the training yard next. This set her on edge at first, wondering if she would run into Aemond for the first time since he left her in the hallway, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he too was sulking and isolating himself in his chambers.

Today, she finally tired of hiding herself away with nothing to occupy her and made her way to the Godswood with her favorite book from the library tucked under her arm.

Y/N sits beneath the Weirwood tree, back pressed up against the thick trunk and book flipped open to rest on her thighs. It has been at least an hour since she arrived if the position of the sun in the sky changing where the shadows of the leaves fall has anything to say for it, and she has yet to look up from her story. The warm breeze blows at her face to keep her from feeling too warm in the arid summer. It has not rained in a moon, and every blade of grass beneath her as she walked up to her favorite tree was brittle from nature’s neglect.

Distantly, she hears the soft footfalls of someone crossing the same brittle grass she had to reach the tree, but she doesn’t lift her gaze from the book to greet them. It is most Queen Alicent’s most trusted lady in waiting coming to fetch her for wedding preparations. Either that or it’s Lucerys coming back to bug her as he had earlier because he was bored.

The last thing she expected was to hear Aemond’s voice.

All he says is, “Hello, niece.”

When she lifts her eyes from the pages of her book to see him, the sun halos him from behind, turning the edges of his silver hair warm from its marigold rays, and before she can stop herself, a slight smile finds its way to her lips. She hadn’t been lying the other night when they argued in the hallway. She does find him handsome, and there are fond memories from her childhood with him far different from those which he shares with her brothers. There was never any cruelty between them. He enjoyed that she was learning to wield a sword and often asked her to practice with him before the drama of their family pulled them apart.

Before she can get a word in, he’s extending his arm to present a small, green velvet box to her. By the looks of it alone, she deduces that it is jewelry of some sort, but she won’t know what exactly it is until she opens it.

“What’s this for?” she asks and takes the box into her possession.

It sits, cradled in her lap on top of the book, until she pushes the lid open. A necklace. Gold with modest rubies set along the chain until a slightly larger one, set in the mouth of a roaring dragon, hangs from the center of it. In truth, it is stunning. She has never owned nor seen a piece of jewelry like it in her mother’s collection, and it’s hard to refrain from asking him to put it on her straight away.

“My mother told me I must court you,” he says, voice even and comically unexpressive. “I’d like to see you wear it for our wedding ceremony.” Then, having heard of her desire for a traditional Valyrian ceremony through Queen Alicent, he clarifies, “The public one.”

She looks up at him again.

“This is what you call courting, my Prince?”

Of course, the gift is better than what any other potential suitor could have given her, but, for the sake of torturing him, she couldn’t resist the urge to say it. Marrying a man who cannot be bothered to spend time with her or engage in conversation with her is not in her plans. If she is to become his wife, he’ll need to work for it, and as pretty as the necklace may be, she’d prefer actually getting to know him over a gift.

Aemond tilts his head to the side as though in curiosity.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. What else would you like me to do, Princess?”

Without further ado, the velvet jewelry box is shut and placed on the ground to the left side of her. The book remains flipped open on her lap to the page she was last reading from, and she glanced up and down between it and him.

“Well, you could ask me what I’m reading first,” she suggests. “I know we were friends as children, but it has been many years since then. All I’m asking is to know my husband before we’re wed. To do so, we would have to actually talk to one another for a change.”

There’s a stretch of silence following this.

All she hears is the breeze ruffling through the leaves of the treetop above and the sound of distant conversation between servants as they stare at each other. He narrows his eye at her, then smiles to himself and closes the distance between them with two long strides. The thick roots of the tree serve as seats for them to lounge upon, and he takes the one emerging from the ground right beside her as his seat of choice. It looks a little funny from her perspective to see him awkwardly perched on the room of the great tree with his arms braced on his knees and his focus solely set on her.

“What are you reading?” Aemond then asks.

She closes the large book with a soft “thump” sound and leans back against the trunk with her head tilted back just so to allow her to look up at him.

“I found it the last time I was here. In the library. Septa Marlow ripped it from my hands before I could read a single word, so, of course, I snuck back in later to see what all the fuss was for.” He fights the urge to smile at that. Her fingers, decorated in rings passed down to her from her mother, curl around the edges of the book and raise it to present it to Aemond as though it is a prize as sought after as the Iron Throne. “A Caution for Young Girls. The story of Lady Coryanne Wylde. After discovering its contents, I soon understood why the septa tried to keep it from me. It was far too scandalous for a young maiden such as myself to read.”

A scoff comes from the Prince as he takes it into his possession and flips it over in his hands to inspect it.

“I have only ever heard of it. I prefer history and philosophy.”

She perks up at the opportunity to gush about her favorite book to someone.

“It’s about her erotic adventures before becoming a septa in Oldtown later in her life. It’s quite entertaining. I rather enjoy reading books separate from my studies. It’s like entering a different world or living a different life.”

Under his breath, she can hear him mutter, “Erotic adventures,” incredulously to himself as though it is the most ridiculous topic for a book he has ever heard, and it earns a snorting laugh from her.

“What? Your brother can frequent brothels on the Street of Silk as much as he’d like yet I cannot read about it in place of having the freedoms only given to men in this world?”

The wind blows strands of his hair out of place enough for her to reach up and tuck it back where it belongs without thinking. Her sudden movement almost caused him to jerk away in blind anticipation of having to react physically before he forces himself to remain still. After a second, his body begins to relax at the feeling of his fingers running through his hair and pushing it back into place where it previously laid. When her hand comes back to rest in her lap, he manages to find his voice.

“You will not have to read about it for much longer, though, will you?”

Suddenly, the eye contact they maintain becomes unbearable for the both of them. Y/N stops herself from shifting in place in discomfort due to the strange feeling between her thighs at the implication of his words, and Aemond cannot ignore the thrill it gives him to see the effect he has on her.

Perhaps this marriage will be easier than she previously thought.

-

Let me know your thoughts! Part Two with the wedding, smut, and drama will be written shortly.

Taglist: @mvrylee​

[serenewrote]

"And nothing hurts anymore, I feel kind of free" - Daemon Targaryen x Daughter! Reader

Synopsis: You are Daemon's daughter. Lady of Dorne. Following Aegon's coronation, Otto Hightower travels to Dorne, in hopes that you will declare for him. In light of your aggressive refusal, the Queen's guards attack.

Warning: Mature Language

You lie on the ground, trying to stop the bleeding. How embarrassing. They caught you off guard.

And that Hightower cunt. He wants Dorne as an ally. You weren't going to ruin all that your ancestor, Princess Nymeria, has done in order to help a usurper.

You hear a dragon's cry. You know that sound, it was first sound you heard when you first laid your eyes on the world around you. Caraxas.

He lands and your father rushes towards you.

"Who did this? Who would be so foolish?"

You speak, trying to save your breath. "Otto Hightower, Kepa. He came to ask for an alliance."

Daemon moves your hand away from wound. The wound conveniently placed under your womb, bleeding heavily.

"He and the rest of those snakes will pay for their crimes."

He looks around the throne room. The guards are calm, the maids look at you in sorrowful understanding.

"Why has no one fetched a maester? You are in pain. I need you alive and healthy, Y/n."

You look at your father with sad smile, "It doesn't anymore, Kepa."

He looks at you, eyes filled with sorrow. He doesn't know how to feel. His eldest child is dying right in front of him and she wants nothing to be done.

"Nothing hurts anymore, Father. I'm free from all of this."

And with that, you take your last breath. Historians will go on to say that Daemon Targaryen was a rogue with no love in his heart, but the future peoples of Dorne can recall tales of the Rogue Prince crying and his dragon roaring in distress. For he had outlived his eldest child.

fin.

I might write a a short oneshot on how you came in the world of Westeros because I didn't put an explanation here. Thanks for reading and if there is something that you want to read from me, don't hesitate to ask. Enjoy!

[aemonds-sapphire]

Sabotage

Summary: Aemond scares off another one of his daughter’s suitors… yet again.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff. Protective dad Aemond.

Word count: 700

“Lord Lannister isn’t pleased at all,” one maid whispered.

The other one nodded. “I think Prince Aemond might have gone too far… sending the dragon after the lordling…”

Cold sweat prickled through your skin as you watched the two girls stride off along the hall before disappearing around the corner.

Usually, you’d interrupt and demand clarification as to what could your husband possibility have done that would warrant such reaction.

But you didn’t need to be told.

You knew.

Inwardly cursing, you paced hurriedly in the direction of the training grounds, already preparing yourself for what was to come.

The piercing sound of metal hitting metal rang in your ears and you looked down from the balcony as Aemond sparred with his daughter of ten.

“Move your feet.”

She clumsily tried to keep up with her vastly more experienced and agile father, only to trip and nearly lose balance.

“Cole told me I don’t move my feet enough,” she huffed in annoyance, her patience running thin.

Aemond’s steps came to a halt, sheathing his sword. “Cole taught me everything I know about swordsmanship. You’d do well to consider his advice.”

She twirled her sword lazily before nodding and approaching her father.

“Yes, kepa…” her voice filled with resignation as she bumped into his side in sheer affection after sheathing her own sword.

Aemond ruffled her hair with a mischievous smile curling his lips, earning a complaint from the younger Targaryen.

You were tempted to let the matter at hands slide, but logic urged you to pace down the staircases to meet them.

“Aemond… we need to talk.”

He turned to you and welcomed the kiss you planted on his cheek, lacing one arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

Your daughter glared at you with wide eyes. “What is it, mother?”

“Let me speak to your father.”

The fiercest scowl twisted her face. “This is about me, isn’t it?”

“Let us have a word,” Aemond interjected, giving her shoulder a faint squeeze. “Kesi ȳdragon tolī.”

But she didn’t want to talk later and a dragon should not be easily crossed. Aemond, best of all, should know this. She was perceptive enough to know that you only request her absence when the issue concerned her. While it used to be no issue a few years ago, she wasn’t as easily dissuaded now.

Her lilac eyes narrowed defiantly. “If it’s about me, then I want to know.”

Aemond heaved a deep sigh before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Clearing your throat, you locked eyes with him. “You cannot keep chasing away potential suitors.”

“Oh? Who was it this time?” she giggled, smile wide on her lips.

She was still a child at heart, finding amusement in her father’s antics. But you didn’t share the sentiment. Otto Hightower had been insistent that an adequate suitor would be found, strengthening the bonds between houses.

But you cared not for the wants and needs of lords, especially when it came to your daughter. What you did care about was how Aemond kept on finding more and more creative — and dangerous — ways to postpone the inevitable, even if that meant…

“Vhagar,” you said in a serious tone. “Your father is resorting to Vhagar now.”

Aemond’s face remained as impassive as ever. “No harm came to him. She was merely hovering.”

Your daughter broke into a laughter instead. “The Lannister boy?”

“Lord Lannister is furious,” you said, furrowing your brows at him, hoping he’d take you seriously.

He merely shrugged, eye on yours with a faint smile. “Vhagar is protective of her.”

You rolled your eyes as he tightened his grip on you playfully.

“She is protective, because you are protective.”

“Tell me something, lady wife,” Aemond said, his other arm resting protectively on his daughter’s shoulder. “He did flee, didn’t he?”

“He’s four-and-ten, Aemond!”

He scoffed. “I am sure we can agree he’s bound to face much more dangerous things than a protective father,” he said nonchalantly as his daughter cheered him on. “If he ran away, then he’s not worthy.”

“You sent the biggest dragon in the world after him… you would have run, too.”

As soon as your words left your mouth, you realised how ridiculous your statement was, especially when he rose an eyebrow.

“Father bonded with Vhagar when he was my age,” your daughter chimed in, not able to hide the pride in her voice.

He gave her a tender smile, running his fingers teasingly through her silver hair once more.

You sighed heavily, fully realising this to be a lost cause. He was set on having the matters of her courtship on his hands and no one across the seven kingdoms would have his mind changed.

“He’s the third one in two months,” you tried to reason with him again. “One day you’ll have to cave in.”

This time, your daughter spoke, “We have an agreement. Father will let me choose my suitor.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You are far too young.”

Aemond nodded. “That is why I shall act on her interests until she is of age.”

You were completely dumbfounded. The bond the two of them shared had evolved into something you had never witnessed before. The level of complicity and union had allowed you to see sides of Aemond Targaryen you had never thought existed.

“But father… I think there is someone I like,” you daughter said all of a sudden.

In an instant, you watched Aemond’s face drop and his fingers duh into your waist. “Who?”

You had to hold back a chuckle. “The Baratheon boy?”

Her face lit up as she nodded, looking expectantly at her father.

“Well, I’m sure your father will have no problem with that,” you said, patting his chest lightly. “Since he’s of your choosing.”

The look Aemond exchanged with you might have frightened the bravest Westerosi men, but you didn’t waver, bringing your lips to his.

“Hmm.”

[kitkatscabinet]

Mother's burden

Daemon Targaryen x wife reader

Summary: Weeks of stress from courtly gossip accumulates in an early labour that not only threatens your life but the life of your children and relationship with Daemon

Requested by anon

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: First Daemon request, hope y'all like this take.

"Muna, Kepa! Wake up, wake up!" Your husband let out a groan against the skin of your neck as you were rudely awoken by your three excitable girls. They knew better than to jump all over you in your current heavily pregnant state but Daemon was not so lucky. A pained groan paired with a wheeze had you turning just in time to witness your husband receiving a knee to the ribs from little Aella.

A smile covered your face as you witnessed Daemon lunge out and wrap his arms around the girls, shrieks of delight filling the room as they tried to escape.

"Kepa, let us go!" Laenara squealed, finally freeing herself with a well-aimed kick to the thigh. Your other two followed her lead, making their escape, giggles echoing through the corridors as they ran.

With the children gone Daemon turned back to you with a smirk, long arms trapping you against his chest as you leaned up to kiss him good morning. A moan of contentment left his chest as your hands gently tangled in his hair.

"We need to get up" you whispered hoarsely, even as Daemon continued to kiss you slowly. "Daemon" you scolded as you felt his lips move to your neck, "we can't leave the girls unsupervised."

"I'm sure they'll be fine" he protested.

"Daemon, I am not dealing with the fallout of Saerys calling some lord a cunt again," you huff, even if the memory has you stifling a laugh.

Pulling yourself from his arms you waddle out of bed just as your handmaiden entered to assist you into your dress. An endeavour that had become increasingly difficult in the eighth moon of your pregnancy. Your husband joins your side with a dramatic flourish, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he promises to follow you out soon.

Hands resting on your belly you idly walk through the keep, listening out for your rambunctious children. Turning the corner your feet stuttered to a stop as you heard not your little girls but the familiar voices that had been plaguing you for weeks.

"When was the last time you saw her not with child? The prince must be desperate for a son."

"Wouldn't you be? Three children and still no heir. No doubt the next one will be another useless girl."

"Do you think he'll take up a mistress?"

You couldn't hold back the choked sob at that. Whispers of similar nature had made their way into both you and your husband's ears throughout the past weeks. At first, they had very little effect, you and Daemon loved your girls fiercely and you knew he cared little for the gender. Yet as the rumours continued and Daemon still said nothing to stop them you couldn't help but feel as if maybe they held some truth.

The sudden and familiar cramps that wracked your body left you crying out as you were forced to lean aginst the nearest wall. You couldn't help but to scream at the pain, one hand holding you up and the other clutching at your aching stomach.

Through the haze of tears, you didn't spot your husband's arrival until his hands were pulling your body against his. His enraged and frantic voice calling for a midwife as he hauled you up and started to run as fast as he was able back to your chambers.

"It's too soon, it's too soon" you sobbed, panic clawing through your veins. You didn't hear Daemon's response, if he gave one, too lost in your own pain and stress. Though through it all you couldn't stop the sudden wave of hatred towards the man. He had done nothing to soothe your concerns and now you and your children were paying the price.

By the time he had placed you down, you were inconsolable in your fury, screaming at him to get out. Confused by your sudden ire, his face twisted as he tried to reach for you once more.

"I said out" you screamed, reaching to throw anything within your grasp at him. It took you forcing yourself to your feet once more and shoving him away before he got the message, leaving you to yourself and your pain.

It took what felt like an age for the team of midwives and maesters to arrive but when they did you refused to let them anywhere near you.

The labour was long and the most excruciating experience of your life, at some point Rhaenyra had slipped her way in, letting you clutch painfully at her hands. She had remained by your side throughout it all. The screams, the swearing, patting the sweat off your forehead and ensuring all your pain and ire faithfully alongside you.

It is only when your children are finally born, twin boys with matching tufts of silvery blond hair, that you finally free Rhaenyra from her position by your side.

Exhaustion filled every ounce of your being, but just being able to hold your new children was all you needed to keep yourself going. Even through the tang of bitterness you felt in your heart that Daemon had finally gotten what he wanted from you. You couldn't help but wonder if now he had his sons your daughters would suffer from a sudden coldness of any kind. Unaware of the turmoil happening just outside your chambers as your loyal friend Rhaenyra viciously snarled at the man that had caused you such distress.

You were almost thankful that Daemon hadn't entered the room immediately after the birth. Giving you enough time for both you and your new son to bathe and relax back onto clean sheets and pillows.

So entranced by the sleeping babe in your arms you were unaware of your husband kneeling by your side until his hand reached out to cover yours.

"Daemon" you gasped, trying to hide your weariness from him. When he didn't reply, just as entranced by your child you let out a defeated sigh. "Daemon, meet your son" and though you didn't want to, you moved to hand off the babe into its fathers' arms.

You were shocked however when he refused the gesture, one hand moving up to cup your face gently.

"He's beautiful nuha abrazyeys. Just as beautiful as our darling girls." You can't quite hide your shock at his words and you watch as his face drops.

"Please forgive me. I should have defended you. I would never wish for sons to replace our daughters. It wouldn't have mattered if I never had a son. Nothing would make me love you or our daughters any less." he had moved to sit by your side during his speech, gripping your cheek gently with one hand as he laid his forehead against yours.

Overwhelmed by emotion and the exhaustion of your labours you let out a sob. Simply nodding against him, gently cradling your son between the two of you.

"Just don't do it again" you whisper.

"Never. I would burn Westeros down for you and our daughters, and now our son." he replied, and you allowed yourself to believe him

TAGLIST: @targeryenmoony @psychwardsiren @mihrimahsultan03 @bbyaemond @krispold @hyperfixated-freak @deadstarkblacksoul @weepingwitchofthewest @kaitieskidmore1 @eli1fict @rainerax @dsl1999 @uno7 @shine101 @xinyourdreamsx @Kitty-marie725 @lacunaanonymoused @eudximoniakr @etherily

[cambion-companion]

Domestic Drabbles

Where their small daughter mistakes certain sounds for cries of distress.

Aemond x wife!reader

word count: 675

Silken spun silver curled around your fingers as you dug them into your husband’s hair, pulling him in for another deep kiss as he moved against you.  His weight pushed you further into the plush mattress, warmth enveloping your body as you sighed in pleasure.

The wooden bed frame creaked with each thrust, your whimpers of pleasure barely muffled as you bit into Aemond’s shoulder.

“Māzigon issa jorrāelagon.”  His voice was liquid velvet as he coaxed you to come undone around him.

You cried your release to the vaulted ceiling, feeling Aemond’s hot seed spilling within your heat as your muscles clenched and fluttered.  You pulled him deeper, his forehead coming to rest against yours as you breathed together, gently coming back to earth.

Aemond trailed his lips to the hollow of your throat, his hands caressing the curve of your breast as he tasted your flushed skin.

Amidst the post-coital bliss, wrapped together in a tangle of limbs, you heard the muffled crying of your young daughter.

Together you and Aemond sat up in bed, glancing at each other as he slid smoothly from the mattress, pulling on his clothing before striding with haste from your bedroom.

As you donned a satin robe, tying it securely about your waist, you heard Aemond’s soft voice several rooms away.

Minutes later he reentered the room, looking to you with a mixture of amusement and aggravation.

“Was it a nightmare?”  You asked, tilting your head in question of his prolonged silence.

Aemond shook his head slowly, a small smirk pulling his curved lips. “She is worried for you my dear.”

“Whatever for?”

“She says she heard you screaming and is scared for your well-being.”  You could see he was fighting to keep a stoic composure.

“Was I screaming?”  You ran a distracted hand through your tousled hair.

Aemond hesitated, glancing away from you, his mouth twitching. “I…uh, yes.”  His violet eye crinkled with mirth. “Perhaps you should go assure her you are unharmed.”

You nodded, brushing a kiss on his lips as you passed him into the darkened hallway.

“My darling, are you alright?”  You cooed, finding your silver-haired daughter curled upon her bed, still sniffling with widened eyes.

She reached her arms out to you, evident relief upon her cherub face. “I thought you were hurt!  Your door was closed and you wouldn’t answer me!”

You held you tight against your chest, rocking upon the small bed. “No, no.  I’m alright. I had a bad dream and your father was helping me.”

“O-oh.”  She hiccupped, still holding tight to your robe as you pulled back to look at her face.

“You don’t have to worry about me, my dove.”  You wiped the tears off her cheeks, helping her back under the covers and tucking her in. “When I’m with kepa, I am safe from harm.”

“He helps with your nightmares.”  She nodded, understanding.

You kissed her forehead tenderly. “Yes.  All better?”

“All better.”  Her eyelids were already beginning to close.

You waited for her breathing to deepen before exiting her room, closing the door softly behind you.

Aemond was waiting for you when you returned to your own chamber, he looked over at you with a quirked brow. “And?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I thought she was asleep.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if half the castle were awake by now.” He caught your wrist as you tried to hit his shoulder, pulling you in for a kiss. “Not that I’m complaining.”  He nuzzled your nose laughing as you scrunched it and giggled.

“In a little over a decade she is going to realize the truth and be traumatized.”  

“She is going to know how deeply in love her parents are.”  Aemond captured your mouth once more, smiling against your lips as you sighed with pleasure. “Besides, we have plenty of time to work on your volume control.”  

You giggled madly as Aemond rolled you beneath him, undoing the ties of your robe and spreading it open.  His eye glinted in the dim firelight as he straddled you, looking upon your form. “Now, my love, where were we?”

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic Father! Aegon II Targaryen

You are his first-born child with Helaena.

Aegon didn't attend your birth, yet he picked up a dragon egg for you, a clutching from Sunfyre coupling with Dreamfyre, he placed it in your cradle.

Much like his father, Aegon didn't care to spend time with you or your siblings.

That was until you reached an age where you could communicate properly with others ...

One day, when the Targaryen prince woke up and found you holding a flower crown in one hand while holding a familiar wooden dragon toy in the other one.

It was the same toy he used to play with when he was a baby.

"What are you doing here?" you smile brightly at him, before placing the flower crown on his head.

"I wanted to give you this flower crown, Kepa!"

Your father sits properly in his bed, before touching the flower crown on his head, shocked that you made him a gift.

"Why?"

"Because I love you"

Hearing those words made Aegon feel loved for the first time, even his own father never told him that he loved him.

At that moment, he realized that he never even said to you too.

"I love you too"

From this day, Aegon would spend more time with you, and only you.

Helaena would be surprised to see Aegon waking up early in the morning just to take you riding with him on the back of Sunfyre.

He also snatches you away during your playtime with your siblings.

You are the only one who sees past his flaws, even if you don't understand what his flaws are, yet he adores how you love him without judging him.

When he becomes king, he makes you his heir despite his grandfather and mother's protests.

Yes, he usurped his sister because she's a woman, but goes and makes you his heir... Not a hypocritical move at all.

When Blood and Cheese happens, the first thing Aegon does is isolate you in fear that you might get assassinated, no one was allowed to see you except for him.

He doesn't even trust his own family around you.

It only made Aegon realize the real, threat, is that if he doesn't kill Rhaenyra.

She might kill you

That's why Aegon becomes more determined to kill his half-sister.

[hyperfixatedhyperstressed]

A soft morning

Aemond awoke to the faint sounds of birds chirping on the balcony and outside the windows. With the curtains pulled shut, only slight cracks of light filtered through and left slivers of the golden morning light spreading around the room. Yet he could tell it was still early, well before time when servants would tap on the door and begin their morning tasks. To his side, you lay on your side facing him, hair fanned out haphazardly on the pillows. Your face was relaxed and gentle, soft breathes gently moving some pieces of hair hung over your face, which he delicately moved to tuck behind your ear, letting a finger trail along your cheekbone. A pillow was tucked underneath your swollen stomach, another resting behind your back and bracketing your body to provide some comfort while you slept; your hand was resting atop the swell while the other was still reached out across the bed from where you had a hold on his bicep throughout the night.

Turning to lie on his side, Aemond just remained watching you sleep, taking your outstretched hand in his own and holding it close to his chest. It was then that he felt a tugging at the blankets towards the end of the bed, little hands grasping and trying to find leverage and hurl themselves up. A quiet snort of a laugh left his mouth as he sat up and reached out, small fingers wrapping around his own as a head of white hair peaked over the top of the bed. Aemond pulled his arm up as he leaned back and returned to his lying down position. Your daughter, Shaera, crawled to sit atop his bare chest with a big smile across her face. White hair messy from sleep and still dressed in her nightgown, the 5 year old held a finger up to her lips upon seeing you still sleeping.

“Unlike you to wake so early, nuha byka zaldrizes.” Aemond reached to stroke down the wild hair on his daughters head, her hands batting him away. Little giggles left her mouth as she tried to scramble away gently, not trying to rock the bed too much and wake you. Aemond sat up and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest before lying on his side and holding her in between the two of you. Shaera’s hand outstretched to rest on Aemond’s cheek and grab ahold of a handful of his hair, pulling it gently close to her and she tossed it around to tickle his face, a smile coming to his face, his nose scrunching at her.

With his daughter pressed against his chest and pregnant wife beside them, Aemond could not invision a more picturesque moment, and one in which he never thought he would be able to have. You had given him the love and comfort he had always craved, and then blessed him with a child who was the spitting image of him. His daughter was his shadow, the little girl always accompanying her father, following him step for step. His Princess.

“When will the baby come, Kepa?” Shaera whispered to him, breaking Aemond from his thoughts. You had, still deep in your sleep, reached your hand out again and rested it on your daughters body, seemingly sensing her presence and wanting to hold her close; Aemond moved his own hand to cover yours.

“Soon, my little love, your sibling should be here any day now.”

“I want a sister, can she be a girl, kostilus Kepa?”

“We won’t know until they decide they’re ready to be born, it could be either a girl or a boy.” Aemond felt you moving more on the bed and knew that you’d be stirring from your sleep soon, “Your muna hopes for a boy, with hair just like yours, who she can dress up in reds and greens and golds.”

“What do you hope for Kepa, a boy or a girl?” Shaera wrapped one arm around his neck and pulled herself closer to him, tucking her head underneath his chin, snuggling into his warmth and taking in his comforting scent.

“I, like you, would like for another little Princess. As many as your mother agrees to bless me with, and a little prince eventually for your mothers sake.”

“More little dragons for you to spoil.” Your sleepy laugh came from beside the two Targaryen’s as you shifted the pillow out from underneath your stomach and moved closer to your husband and daughter. Shaera extended her other arm and slid it under your neck and pulled your head closer, your face coming close to Aemond’s as he pressed a soft greeting kiss to your mouth then the tip of your nose, “Something which I think this little dragon enjoys the sound of.” The movements and stretches of the babe within your stomach could be seen, your stomach moving and tapping against Shaera’s leg causing her to smile and sit up, pressing both hands firmly against where she saw movements. You and Aemond watched your daughter happily, you having moved your head to rest on Aemond’s temple, his own hand coming to rest softly on the top of the swell.

Aemond never invisioned having a moment like this, the light filtering in with the far away noises of Kings Landing faint in his ears. His daughter and wife lying against him with his unborn child, days from being born, locked away in your rooms in this moment of private familial calmness. Pressing another kiss to your cheek, Aemond felt completely at peace.

[timetravelingpenguin1066]

Bedtimes

Bedtimes could sometimes be havoc

Dad!Aemond x fem!reader

A/N: I wrote this while completely exhausted, but just had to get out one little drabble because I haven't written anything in ages

Bedtimes always seemed to be the most difficult part of your days. Your sweetest daughter, with her pale silver-gold hair never seemed to sit still for more than a few moments.

And bedtimes were not different.

She would always say, “Have to do one more thingy,” right as you were about to tuck her in, before leading you one wild goose chase around her room.

Tonight, however, you were in no mood for this chaos that could only come from her father’s side. She was running around the room as always, playing with her favourite stuffed dragon that her Aunt Heleana had made. She flapped it around the room, making it fly around.

“Please, Lya, please get into bed,” you begged yet again.

“But Dagon want to fly!” she protested, ducking around your arms yet again. “Dagon must have ex-ser-size.”

“Lya, please. I’m sure Dagon must be tired by now. It’s late and past your bedtime.”

“No!”

‘No’ had been among the first words your daughter learnt, much to your chagrin.

Aemond smiled in the doorway. He knew you were tired, and he should be helping, but at the same time, very little pleased him more than watching his daughter play. She was his little one, his sweetest daughter, his darling child. Most often, his little dragon. He loved how she had named her toy dragon, ‘Dagon’ (she hadn’t quite figured her r’s yet).

But he knew he would never here the end of it if he didn’t step in. He stalked quietly into the room, and, as Lya ran past him, he picked her up and put her over his shoulder.

She wriggled and giggled as he carried her to her cot.

“Kepa! Kepa!”

He laid her down gently. “Now, little dragon, I should know how important it is for dragon to have its exercise, but I also know that it is important for them to sleep.”

“But Dagon haven’t done enough today,” she protested again.

Aemond picked up the little toy. One wing was only hanging on by a thread. In only a year or tow, she had managed to break her favourite toy.

“I think Dagon has had enough for today, and he would like to sleep.”

“But he need to fly!”

“He will fly in his dreams, little one.”

“You pwomish?”

“I promise.”

Aemond bent over the cot and kissed her forehead. “Come on now, little dragon. Let’s get you tucked in.”

He bushed a few stray hairs back from her face and set about wrapping the blankets securely around her in the hopes that she wouldn’t get up in the night. Lya was already seeming tired. She stretched and yawned, clutching the little dragon toy.

“Goo-nigh Kepa,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the dragon she had now smooshed against her face. “Goo-nigh Muna.”

“Goodnight, sweetling.”

You kissed her forehead and smiled, watching her fall asleep. You started moving towards your own bedchambers and your warm comfortable bed. You expected Aemond to follow you, but he hadn’t moved.

You turned. Aemond was smiling adoringly down at his daughter.

“Goodnight, byka zaldrīzes.”

He kissed her forehead again and then started making his way to you. He paused at the door, taking in your expression.

“What is it, ñuha jorrāelagon?”

You could still see him with your daughter. For all his ramblings about not wanting to be like his own father, he was certainly lavishing attention on his daughter. And you loved to be able to watch it. Lya was her father’s daughter, of that there was no doubt.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you too, sweetest wife.”

You followed him to bed, and indeed it was warm.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Rogue Prince and the Privy

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader (niece) Warnings: Crack fic. Incest, but honestly that's the least of your worries. Mentions of shitting and breaking wind. Sex on the toilet. Smut. Word count: ~750

Summary: Daemon feels amorous while using the privy.

Author's note: A request from my boo-bear @em-writes-stuff-sometimes that also doubles up as a belated birthday gift. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EM! This is a crack fic - please don't read if you are easily offended. Community labels are for cops. No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

The call of her name echoing along the vast expanse of the corridor beckons her forth. Her uncle turned husband is summoning her and, as a dutiful wife should, she heeds his every command.

Following the sound of Daemon’s voice, her brow wrinkles in confusion when she reaches the privy.

Surely he cannot be calling to me from here?

“Kepa?” She asks with uncertainty. “Are you in there? Should I wait until you are finished?”

“No, no, sweetling,” comes Daemon’s voice from behind the closed wooden door, “you are fine to come in.”

She hesitates for a moment longer, but then reaches for the iron ring pull handle. He would not call her in if anything indecent were occurring.

Upon opening the door, the smell greets her first, causing her to take an involuntary step back, her eyes watering as she clasps a hand over her mouth to stifle her retching. The stench is ripe; a combination of the eggy scent she has only ever experienced before in the depths of the Dragon Pit, and the musk that skinned animals on hunts carry when they have been left out for too long in the sun.

Keeping a hand clasped firmly over nose and mouth, Daemon comes into view once her vision clears. He sits upon the privy, breeches around his ankles and a smug smile upon his face. Most shocking of all, however, is how proudly he grasps his hardened cock.

“Come, sit on my lap, sweet girl,” he coos to her, and her eyes widen in horror.

“B–but, Daemon, it…it smells in here,” she tries to protest.

He chuckles drily. “I know. I have been here for quite some time. Last night’s feast has been a tricky one to shift, so I require the aid of my lovely wife to aid in passing the time, while I pass this hog roast.”

Her hand falls away from her face, her jaw slackening in disbelief.

Surely he does not mean to couple with her while he defecates?

“You are shitting, I don’t want to,” she whines.

He keeps a firm hold of his erection, and narrows his eyes. “I saw you shit the bed while you were giving birth. I continue to sleep in that bed, to fuck you in it. How is this any different?”

“The sheets have been washed…” she says meekly, her gaze downcast. She knows she is fighting a losing battle. Daemon will have his way, he always does.

“It is a wife’s duty to obey her husband, especially when he is a Targaryen Prince,” he tells her matter of factly.

There it is. He has me bested. 

She sighs, lifting her skirts to remove her small clothes, before moving forward to straddle him. Her knees rest on the wooden bench either side of him, his ample backside pushed around the hole on which he sits.

Holding her breath, she tries not to think too much about what could possibly be coming out the back of him as she lowers herself onto him, wincing slightly at the stretch of his intrusion of her body.

He grabs forcefully at her hips, accelerating her movements as she bounces against him, and she is unsure of whether the grunts and groans that fan hotly against her ear are as a result of the pleasure he is taking from her body, or the relief of what he is forcing out of it.

She cringes when she hears something drop faintly into the opening beneath them, muffled by the sound of their intermingled panting and the slapping of her buttocks against his thighs.

Burying her face in his neck, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him for support as he continues to move her against him, until eventually the telltale pulsating of Daemon’s manhood inside of her alerts her to his rapidly approaching climax.

When he peaks it is with a long, drawn out groan, accompanied by a loud, rasping expulsion of air that echoes into the privy underneath him. She shudders in disgust at his sudden breaking of wind, feeling the warmth of his seed begin to drip out of her.

“There’s a good girl.” Daemon murmurs softly, lightly swatting her outer thigh. “Get yourself cleaned up and then you can come back and help me to do the same.”

She freezes in utter shock as his softening member slips from her.

He wants me to wipe his arse too.

[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (VII)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 2,090

CW: bad parenting

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen (can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclaimer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

a/n this chapter is mainly filler and im not that happy with it

Dragonstone

After two years and her mothers three failed attempts to get her to abandoned her engagement with Aemond to marry, the now newlywed,Cregan, she was at Dragonstone. Where she was greeted by a new baby brother, Aegon, or Aegon the younger as many referred to him. It was strange, the babe was the exact image of her, had her face, her smile, her eyes, but they were also the eyes and the smile of Daemon, and the face of Rhaenyra. And yet unlike her, this babe was loved, adored even. And she was becomeing more and more of an outsider to her own family. And the babe in her mothers belly would only push her further away.

"Visenya?" she heard Daemon call, despite the hesitancy, the pair had become somewhat close. Daemon having taken up time to train her with a sword, aswell has teach her all that he knew, an activity that had previously been reserved solely to Baela, a fact the girl had ahted so much that she had left to Driftmark.

"Daemon" she replied, looking up from her book, " what is it?"

He laughed, "māzigon sir tala, kostagon iā kepa daor māzigon visit zȳhon tala va zirȳla Brōzio Tubis" he moved forward to pat her head.

come now daughter, can a father not come visit his daughter on her name day

High valyrian, the only lounge her 'father' would speak to her in, "sȳrī seeing hae iksā se mērī mēre qilōni ēza jeldan nyke iā biare Brōzio Tubis ēdan thought tolvys would sagon skipping ziry bisa jēdarī"

sȳrī seeing hae iksā se mērī mēre qilōni ēza jeldan nyke iā biare Brōzio Tubis ēdan thought tolvys would sagon skipping ziry bisa jēdarī

"daorys ēza forgotten, Se ao gīmigon bona, dōna riña" he sighed, "tala, nyke gīmigon skoros bisa Brōzio Tubis means, īlon mirre gaomagon, se aōha muña iksis paktot zirȳla self lēda worry. issa worried syt ao, dōna riña" she scoffed, "nyke gīmigon ziry gaomas daor urnēptre ziry se ēza va moriot issare distant...yn"

no one she has forgotten, and you know that, sweet a girl daughter, I know what this name day means, we all do, and your mother is beside her self full worry. he is worried for you, sweet a girl I know he does cannot show he and she has always been distant...but

"Dont make excuses for her! Gods, my whole life i have been put an arms length away, shown no love by my own mother, all because i am your daughter, and you abandoned her. I should hate you both!" she sneered, before taking a deep breath, "ēza dōrī, daor istin, celebrated ñuha Brōzio Tubis. gaoman daor jiōragon presents, iā gifts, daorun hen zirȳla. Se ao would pendagon bona va ñuha mōrī Brōzio Tubis, se ñuha ēlī lēda zirȳla isse lanta bōsa jēdri nyke would. se yet gaoman daor" she was angry, he could tell that, everyon could. At breakfast her mother didnt even acknowledge her. And in only a few days she would got to kingslanding and marry Aemond. Aemond who as it seemed had also forgotten her.

she has never, not once, celebrated my name day. i do not get presents, or gifts, nothing from her. and you would think that on my last name day, and my first with her in two long years i would. and yet i do not.

"Senya, I am your father, and you are my daughter, your mothers daughter and her heir. She cares, even if she does not show it." he smiled, grabbing her hand "Now your brothers have a surprise for you" he stood up, dragging her with him.

She and her brothers had become closer the few moons she had been back, especially her and Jacaerys.

The gardens of dragonstone had been covered in decorations, balloons and a banner saying happy name day. It was a far cry from the usual balls and feasts, but the next few moons would be filled with that. She had wanted something small, to work as her nameday and going away celebration. All she wanted was two things, a civil day with her family, and cake.

A four tiered cake sat in the centre of the gardens, decorated in pink, white and gold with a single candle ontop.

A big smile graced her face at the sight, making her brothers, who stood to the side filled with excitement. Even baby Aegon had a big proud smile,as if the whole thing was his own idea. Her mother was there, with a small smile gracing her lips, at the sight of her daughter.

Her brothers were quick to tackle her into a hug.

"Happy name day Senya!" Joffrey practically screamed.

Jace watched on with a big smile, before moving to taunt a teary eyed luke. "We have a cake! Come see!" Joffrey spoke, dragging her down the steps and into the garden.

"Make a wish!" Joffrey whispered in her ear, before running off to stand with the other guests, or the lords and ladies that ran with her mother from the red keep to dragonstone.

She made a wish, a wish she would never admit too and a wish she hoped would one day be true.

"Daughter" she heard her mother speak, causing her to look up from the cake. "I wish to talk to you"

"Why?" she asked bewliderd, moving away from the cake to follow her mother. Servants were already moving towards the cake to cut it up and serve, she hoped some would be saved for her, but the eyes of both Luke and Joffrey were staring at the cake with which she highly doubted it.

"Beacuse i am your mother and i...care for you" she replied, her eyes looking down in shame as she struggle to utter the last part, causing Visenya to scoff.

"Of course." she rolled her eyes.

They moved away to talk in an alcove away from the celebration, away from prying eyes.

"Are you sure-"

"Yes!" she innturrupted, "for the last time mother, Aemond and i have been friends our whole lives, and though we have become distant in the past years is does not mean that this wedding is something i no longer want, and the realm will be better for it. It will ease tensions between the branches of our family and hopefully unit them."

Her mother nodded her head. " i know that, but- "

"No, mother, dont try. Am I still your heir?" she asks, causing her mothers eyes to snap to hers.

"Yes, I promised you it...I will not take it back, just like my father didn't remove me as heir once Aegon was born."

She sighed, "Then, me marrying Aemond will hopefully appease the greens, their blood will still sit on the throne"

Her mother moved closer, and took her hands in hers, "you are my daughter, it is my job to worry, dōna riña." Visneya flinched at the words.

"And yet you have never seemed to care before" she moved back, her mother eys filling with pain.

She took a deep breath " you are right, i have..i have not always been...there for you- but i want to be now"

"Now?" she asked bewildered " now? Now that I am leaving in a few days, now that I am about to be married?now?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Why do you care now?"

Her mother looked down, tears in her eyes "because Daemon-"

"Oh Daemon! of course! Of course he is why you care. He was the reason you hated me to begin with, and now! Gods, it's so- i" it was ridiculous that's what and she hated it, and yet she could'nt bring herself to hate her mother.

She took a deep breath, and moved towards her mother, "i leave in less than a week, we should not argue, we- no you should be ofr once in my life civil with me, show me an ounce of the love you showed my brothers, and be my mother." she stepped back, looking over to the party, jace was looking over, his face filled with concern.

"Tala,-" her mother began, "Avy jorrāelan, gaoman. nyke vaoreznuni bona gaoman daor urnēptre ziry yn - istia shifang skorkydoso qopsa īles naejot jurnegon rȳ aōha laehurlion tolī daemon geptot nyke, se ōdres hen ziry haunted nyke rȳ ao se nyke dōrī teptan se bonf iā muña should emagon lēda zirȳla tala iā chance, se iksan vaoreznuni"

Daughter....i love you, i do... im sorry that i do not show it but - you must understand how hard it was to look at your face after Daemon left me, the pain of it haunted me through you and i never gave the bonf a mother should have with her daughter a chance, and i am sorry.

Visneya simply nodded her head and moved forward, she had heard nothing new today, it was the same old argument she seemed to hve with her mother everyother day.

"Senya!" she heard Jace call as she walked down the halls, she wouldnmt stop, she couldn't. She just wanted to get away. "Visenya!" he called again, finally catching up. He placed his hand on his shoulder stopping her. "What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing, it was the same as usual, that's' all" he nodded his head, seeing hse didnt want to talk.

"Here I stole some of the cake from the party-your party" he pulled out two slices of cake wrapped in napkins from his pockets, "we can go to your chambers and eat them if you want" his eyes had a longing in them, hope.

She nodded her head, walking towards her chamber door. They ate in silence, relaxing in each other's company.

"I'll miss you" he spoke suddenly, his voicebraking.

"And i'll miss you" she replied, taking his hand "ill miss you all" she said, turning to face him, hand in hers. "I'll miss everyone," she smiled.

"No '' Jace shook his head, "i'll miss you" his eyes had such a sotrng loinging in them, a longing she now finally realsied was for her? He leant forward, leaning in to kiss her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, jerking back.

Jace grew flustered, a blush coming to his face, "i-im sorry, i-i thought that!-"

"You thought wrong! Gods jace....i" she sighed, he was hurt, "i am to be wed, and mother is planning an bethrotahl between you a Baela, i- we can not and i do- i don't look at you that way"

Her heart broke at the look on his face, "perhaps it's best if you leave"

He nodded his head and left.

She was confused, Jace had never been like this with her, at least she didnt think so. Their mother had never hinted or asked for them to consider the chance of marrying eachother. In fact she seemed quite opposed to the idea. Perhaps Daemon had mentioned something, he had taken Jace to a tour of brothels for his last nameday. She had heard that he had only picked one to bed, a woman with silver hair and violet eyes, one that looked very similar to her. Even made replicas of her clothing and responded to her name. Creepy. She had known of childhood crushes on her, Aegon had been obsessed with ehr as a child, and prepas now, if his letters were any inclination. But Jace? It was just straight up confsuing.

"syt qogralbar sake, qubāje Brōzio Tubis mirre!" she mumbled falling back onto her bed.

for fuck sake, worst birthday ever!

The next few days were spent relatively alone. Her youngst brothers her only company. Before she knew it it was the day they were leaving. Her room was fully packed, only the base furniture remained. It was funny she hadn't even lived her a year and there would be no trace of her ever being her. She had no fond memories of this place. She doubted she would miss it.

Now winterfell she did miss. She missed Creagn. He had become her closest friend and confidont. But he was a thousand leagues away, it took an age to receive and send letters. She hoped one day she could visit, meet the child in his wifes belly and see him as lord of winterfell. If his uncle ever stopped being power hungry and actually gave his nephew his birthright.

"Tala" she heard her mother call out, " we are about to leave".

she should be exicted, years and longing to be with Aemond and yet suddently years of fustration filled her, yeards of letters sent and no reply.

she was to be his wife in a moons time, a moon of celebrations, fo tourneys and feasts.

but she didnt know him, not anymore, the last she had seen him, and spoke to him was that fatefull night at winterfell.

for all she knew he had become like Aegon, or he had stayed exaclty the same. or worse she had become something, somone she knew nothing about.

she knew there would be changes, with Aegon and Heleana married with children. she feared going back, and yet she knew it was her home. A home she never wanted to leave, but she feared she wouuld retun and feel even more alone than she did here.

Taglist (bold means could not tag)

His sapphire princess: @cathy1514 @iiamthehybrid @melllinaa @aleemendoza2425-blog @cassandra1995-blog1 @deltamoon666 @aelora-a @ryiana @isa-beenme @unique7676 @adriennepoison

HOTD: @taragryenmoony

Aemond: @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter

General: @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar

[starogeorgina]

Violent delights

Warnings: Mentions of blood, swearing, smut (hand jobs)

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.07

Late in the night, your sons are fast asleep, tucked into the large bed at the top of the room, while your daughters both stare at your husband with curiosity in their eyes while the maester stitches his arm. While you were focused on Aegon hurting your younger brother, you were clueless to Aemond picking up a knife from the table, which Jace snatched from his hands, causing the deep cut in his arm.

The moment the maester leaves the room, you place soft kisses over Jacaerys face, ignoring the sting in your bottom lip as you do. “I am so sorry; if I had just ignored Aegon, none of this would have happened. I should have known better than to even entertain what he was asking.”

“But now our uncles have shown their true colors, and because of their actions, we can tell we made the right decision by keeping the greens at arm’s length.”

Noticing Rhaenys bottom lip quivering, you kneel down to offer her a hug, but she shakes her, backing away from you. Her lilac eyes moved between your lip and Jace’s arm; she seemed frightened by you both. Lucerys picks her up, and immediately she buries her face into her neck, mumbling something you couldn’t hear.

Jacaerys sees the hurt on your face and sighs. “Reni, what’s wrong?”

She murmurs something that only her uncle can hear. Luke strokes her hair gently, quietly saying, “She’s scared of the blood.”

The cut on your lip had already started to scab, and both Jace’s arms had blood on them. The angle that he punched Aegon in caused his knuckles to burst, and his other arm would most likely have a nasty scar left behind. The thing that hurt most was seeing your little girl so frightened, especially when all you wanted was to hold your children close. You get two damp cloths and give one to Jace, then use the other to clean your face.

Aemma leans her elbows onto the table before dropping her face into her hands. “Kepa?”

“What is it, my darling?”

“Who’s Aegon?”

You hear the hitch in Jace’s breath but cut in before he can respond. “Right, it’s time for bed; off you go.”

Aemma pouts as she drags her feet walking towards the bed, and she climbs in next to Aethan. Knowing it was going to be impossible for you and Jace to fit in beside four children and Luke in the bed, you grab two pillows, handing one to Jace and keeping the second for yourself to sleep on one of the chairs for a couple of hours until it was time to leave.

Daylight couldn’t come quick enough.

—

Groaning, you sit upright, cringing as your bones creak from sleeping in such an awkward position. The first thing you see is Jace sitting across from you, talking quietly to your newborn, holding him close to his bare chest. You note that Lucerys and your other four children are no longer in the room; since your husband was calm, you didn’t assume anything was wrong.

Noticing your awake Jace smiles, he kisses the baby's head, whispering, “Look who’s awake, Daemon, do you want to say good morning to Muña?”

You sit beside him and take Daemon into your arms. “My precious boy,” you say, kissing the tip of his nose and Jace on the cheek. “Where are the rest of the children?”

“Breaking fast in our mothers quarters You were sound asleep, so I thought it best to leave you be, but I did bring you back some almonds before they were demolished by Gaemon.”

He motions to the small bowl sitting on the table in the center of the room. You were never hungry in the mornings but always tried to eat a small amount so you’d have enough energy. “Thank you, husband, but I think I will get dressed first, so do not keep everyone waiting.”

Daemon’s eye closes over as you reach the cot at the foot of the bed. Gently, you place him down before stepping back to remove your nightgown. In hindsight, you should have woken up early to bathe before, but the antics of the night before and Daemon crying throughout the night had taken a toll on you. Three times you left the room during the night to feed your newborn to spare Lucerys from feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable if he woke up and saw you breastfeeding.

Feeling eyes on you, you look over your shoulder to see Jace staring at you, his brown eyes practically glued to your bare backside. Grinning, you turn around, giving him a full view of you. “It’s far too soon for that, dear husband.”

“I know,” he gulps down. His gaze lingers on you as you put your small cloth on, and when you wince in pain as the fabric of your lilac dress brushes against your sensitive chest, Jace clears his throat. “I asked Clara to bring ice water; I put a couple of napkins in it for you.”

You kiss him on the cheek as you walk by; the cold compress would do wonders for reducing the swelling in the breast. You place the wet clothes underneath the soft linen corset before pulling your dress the full way up. “Can you tie this at the back for me?”

Jacaerys fingers shake as he laces up the back of your dress, which was unusual. “Is something wrong?”

He lets out a sigh while tying a small bow with the loose strands of fabric. Jace steps back. “I need to say something.”

Immediately, you feel guilty, as if you’ve done something to cause the pain on your husband's face. “Jace, what is it?”

“I know I always said I’d never be the type of father or husband who tells his family what to do, but I should never have let you or our children come here.” He takes a deep breath as red blotches start to cover his neck and chest. “I put you in harm's way.”

“Stop; none of this is your fault. The only people to blame are Aegon and Aemond; if they weren’t brutes, then none of this would have happened.”

Tears build in his eyes. “How long do you think it will be until my legitimacy is brought into question? Because as soon as that happens, our children will be as well.”

“Oh Jacaerys,” you cup his face. “I wish I knew, but there’s no way to tell what the greens will do.”

“I don’t know how you survived living here alone.”

You kiss his cheek and say, “I believe the gods put me through it all so I can have the family that I do now.”

“I don’t know how to protect you from them; they are so malicious. What if now that Aegon and Alicent have seen Aemma, they want her back?”

“Then all hell will break loose,” you say, pressing your forehead against Jace’s. “Alicent isn’t a fool; she knows what would happen if they tried to take one of our children from us.”

“Does Aegon?”

You had no clear answer for your husband. “I hope so.”

—

Sitting on the soft gray rug covering the center of your son's nursery, you cradle Daemon closer to you, kissing his head while doing your best not to laugh as your children and brother continue to debate between two dragon names to pick from, which was highly amusing. When Daemon’s egg began to crack, you were stunned, given that your son was still a newborn. You sent for the children to be temporarily removed from their lessons so they could witness a dragon hatching since none of them had seen it before. When the egg cracked, a beautiful dragon with light blue scales crawled out. It was so tiny, you didn’t think you’d ever seen a dragon so small.

You had asked if any of them would like to help pick a name since Daemon couldn’t do it himself. The children had gone back and forth on Gaelithox, Aegarax, and Trixon. But you knew the Maester would become irritated if they didn’t return to their lessons soon. “Have you decided on a name?”

“Aegarax,” Gaemon says. “But only if you and Jace like it too.”

You hum in agreement, “It sounds like the perfect name.”

It seemed fitting that your brother chose a name that belonged to one of the gods of Old Valyria when both his mother and father's dragons were named after the gods as well. Aegarax was the God of all creatures that walk, run, swim, or fly. The creator of the first dragon

“When will you take us flying on Viserion again, muña?”

You smile at Avery, ruffling his silver hair. “Soon, my sweetling, I promise.”

One of your favorite things to do was take your children riding on dragons. It was a great bonding experience, and it also meant they would have experience for when they rode their own dragons some day.

You smile at Clara, who is patiently waiting on the other side of the room to escort the children. “Right, you lot, time to go back to your classes before they send out a search party.”

—

You frown, hearing Jace cursing in pain as the warm water spills from the tube as you enter your bed chamber. “Fuck!” He hisses, and as you walk further into the room, you see him attempting to clean around the stitches in his arm. “Gods! Fuc-”

“Jacaerys?” Your voice startles him, causing Jace to throw the cloth back into the water. You chuckle lightly, “Let me help my love.”

You crouch down beside him, picking up the cloth, and rinse it off before scrubbing his back. Jace’s body softened slightly at your touch, but his back and shoulders were still tense. You move to the side and begin gently cleaning his arm; even though Jace was perfectly capable of doing it himself, you enjoyed the intimacy of it.

You watch amused as his Adam’s apple bobs back and forth, his dark eyes blown wide with lust when water splashes onto your swollen chest. You kiss his bruised knuckle before moving. You gently start rubbing at his chest. Smirking, you kiss the back of his neck.

“Lyarra,” he says in a warning tone.

“Yes, my prince?” You lower your hand to the bottom of his stomach while continuing to pepper his neck with gentle kisses, an action that always turns him on. “My husband, my-”

He cuts you off by crashing his lips against your own. “I promise in five weeks time you won’t be leaving this room. I will take you in every position possible, and won’t stop until you are screaming in pleasure.”

“Hmm, I'll hold you to that,” you giggle. Jace was a man of honor and always followed through on his promises, so you knew when you were eventually able to lay with him again that you wouldn’t be leaving your chambers for days.

As you deepened the kiss, Jace untied the laces at the front of your dress, pulling the fabric down until your breasts spilled from it. He holds back on groping them, instead delicately running his fingers over them so as not to hurt you. Jace groans when you take his hard dick in your hand and begin to stroke him, quickly taking up your actions. He grips your hair with one hand, holding your face in place as he kisses you.

It doesn’t take Jace long to come undone, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he climaxes into your hand. After a few moments he kisses your cheek, “you look really beautiful; you always do.”

You blush at the compliment, “Thank you.”

“I mean it; you really are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Inside and out, I’m truly lucky to have you.”

“Avy jorrāelan.”

“Avy jorrāelan tolī.”

—

“Dracarys!”

Aethan squeals when Viserion burns the dead horse lying in front of him, burning its corpse before devouring it. Avery watched in awe. Out of all your children, he was the most fascinated by dragons. He loved nothing more than going with his grandsire Daemon to search for dragon eggs. Aemma and Rhaenys remained in their lessons, but since your sons finished sooner, you decided to take them dragon riding with you.

In the distance, you could see Jace and Lucerys training, but you could tell Luke was struggling to keep up with his older brother.

Hearing a loud roar, you look up to the clouded sky. You pull your sons closer to you while trying to locate the sound of flapping wings from above, and then finally, you see the red queen, Meleys, fly into view. You smile, happy that your grandmother was visiting Dragonstone.

Avy jorrāelan - I love you

Avy jorrāelan tolī - I love you too

Muña - mother

[cambion-companion]

need me some protective dad aemond, if you please i just know he'd be soo good

Ok finally we have more Dad Aemond incoming!

Prepare thyself for wholesomeness. There will be multiple parts.

word count: 1900

Aemond x wife!reader | teenage daughter | younger son | scaring off suitors | Aegon helps for once

A brisk wind blew the hair from your face as you hurried up the stone steps of the Keep. You glanced over your shoulder at the young man still wailing, even as he departed from the main gate.

"I am going to kill them both." You seethed to yourself, the guards in front of the oaken doors quickly stepping to the side with low bows, eager to not get in the way of your building wrath.

As you strode down the marbled hallways, you could already hear the shouting.

You daughter, hands on her hips, was practically screaming at her father, her white hair in tangles falling about her slender shoulders. "I cannot believe you!! This is the fifth time! Mother!" She saw you enter the room, tearing her blazing lilac gaze away from Aemond to look tearfully at you. "Another of my suitors frightened near to death! At this rate I will die alone and unmarried!"

"Better that than chained to a man who will make your life miserable." Aemond intoned, Aegon nodded from where he was perched atop the table behind your little family.

"What has happened?" Your son, barely past his tenth birthday, entered the room after you, tugging on your skirts. "Has father scared off another of Shaera's suitors?"

"He almost killed him!" Your daughter pointed an accusing finger at Aemond's chest. "Uncle Aegon lured him into the dragon pit, and they threatened to set him aflame."

"Wicked!" Your son grinned with delight.

"Shut up Aerys." Shaera was crying in earnest now.

You walked to her, your arms open wide and she sunk gratefully into your embrace. You glared at the two Targaryen men over her shoulder as you hugged your distraught daughter. "There had better be a good explanation for this."

Aegon took a deep sip of wine as Aemond sighed heavily, wrapping an arm around Aerys' shoulders as the boy sidled next to his father. Aegon was the one to break the heavy silence. "We did not threaten to burn anyone alive, Shaera."

"There were words said that we overheard, that settled uneasily with both of us." Aemond agreed, nodding to his brother, his lilac eye flitting from the back of his daughter's silver head to your face. "We took the boy to the dragon pit and introduced him to Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, and told him what would happen should he make good on his words."

"I will not ask you to expound upon it here." You shook your head even as Aegon opened his mouth to explain, stroking Shaera's hair gently. "Shae." You took her face in your hands, wiping away the tears. "Go to your father and make peace."

You shot Aemond a meaningful look as your daughter turned toward him. His gaze softened as he watched her approach, even though her arms were folded tight across her chest. "I am sorry I yelled at you, Kepa."

Aemond reached out, prying her arms loose and holding both her hands in his own. Aegon watched with mild interest, still sipping on his wine. Aerys moved to you, reaching for your hand, watching as Aemond placed a kiss to Shaera's knuckles. "You are worthy of a man who will not shrink in fear at the sight of a dragon."

"Was he very frightened? He said you threatened to kill him."

"A lie."

"His trousers were also wet." Shae tried to suppress a giggle. Her eyes, exactly matching the color of her father's own eye, sparkled up at him.

Aemond nodded solemnly. "He soiled himself."

They chuckled together, Aerys beside you positively cackled, even Aegon gave an appreciative snort.

"You are the blood of the dragon." Aemond continued, his face serious once more. "Above all, you are my daughter and will receive only the best in all things, including those who are allowed to court you."

"Not one person has been good enough though." Shae said hopelessly.

"There will be someone who you fall in love with, daughter." You said, smiling and walking up to where she stood, placing a hand around her waist. "Do not be in such a rush to grow up." You placed a kiss on her temple, she did not pull away.

Aegon watched this exchange with a curiously sour expression on his face, seeming to take a sudden disliking to his drink. "A lovely sentiment for those who have a choice in their futures." His voice was flat as he got up from the table, striding to the door. "Let me know if you need further assistance with troublesome youths, brother." He spoke without turning back, exiting the room, leaving just the four of you there.

Aemond's eye lingered on where his brother had disappeared, a frown tugging his curved lips.

"Father, can we practice sword fighting now?" Aerys piped up, straining on his tip toes to get his dad's attention.

"Yes of course, my son." Aemond allowed Aerys to take his hand and enthusiastically pull him in the direction of the training yard.

"Tis time for you to clean up and get ready for your harp lessons." You squeezed Shae's shoulder, earning a watery smile from the girl. "Don't be disheartened, my jewel. I will talk to him tonight."

"Thank you, mom." She gave you a hug, smelling of lilac and candlewax, before departing for her rooms.

You straightened your skirts, running your hands along the green velvet fabric. It was the fifth time Aemond had sent one of Shaera's suitors scurrying from King's Landing, tail between their legs. You would have to speak to him in private later, but for now you decided to watch him train your young son. Aerys' favorite activity, and something Shae had also begun. At her insistence, Aemond had started showing her the basics of sword fighting. Something that made you proud yet simultaneously worried.

The dull thunk of wooden swords striking each other met your ears as you entered the grey courtyard. The sky above threatened rain, but no droplets fell as your husband and son practiced.

"Keep your feet shoulder-width apart." Aemond was instructing, glancing up to grace you with a smile as you leaned against the railing. "I've told you too many times, Aerys. Do not lean forward, keep your balance over your belly button."

"I'm trying." Aerys complained, sounding a bit too whiny for your taste.

"Don't whine." Both you and Aemond spoke at the same time, he gave you a roguish grin as you chuckled. Aerys sighed, thwacking his wooden sword against Aemond's in annoyance.

They trained for about half an hour, quite enough time for Aerys to pick up several more tips from his father on footwork and arm movements.

"You are a quick learner." Aemond tousled the boy's curly hair affectionately causing Aerys to wrinkle his nose, giggling as he tried to push his dad's hand off.

"Now, off to dragon riding training trēsy. I will join you before long." Aemond looked up at you again. "I have a feeling your mother wants to speak with me."

You smiled at Aerys as he waved cheerily to you, walking away with bouncing strides in the direction of the dragon pit where his small dragon, Parthnax, waited. Aemond climbed the stone steps to where you waited, removing his leather gloves and stroking a large hand along your arm before interlocking his fingers with your own. "Yes, my lady?" His mischievous smile grew a little as you pulled him to walk with you back into the Keep.

"What happened today with that young man?" You asked. "He seemed a fine match for Shaera."

Aemond sighed, choosing his words carefully as his thumb stroked your knuckle. "Aegon and I overheard him boasting to his young friends of his imminent marriage to our daughter, Y/N. With the vulgar words he used, the boy is lucky he isn't charcoal right now."

"What did he say?"

"I will not repeat it."

Your steps faltered, you glanced sidelong at Aemond's face, his jaw was set, and his eye was staring coldly ahead. It must have been something truly vile for him to be so upset. You squeezed his hand gently. "You did well, then. But for the sake of our daughter, I must ask you to be less condemning to those suitors who have not spoken ill of her."

"I am the image of lenience."

"Aemond. This is the fifth time you've chased a boy away from her after they've known each other barely a week."

He sighed softly, remaining silent as the two of you walked together through the torchlit hallways. As you rounded a corner, you saw Shaera standing in front of a young man with shoulder-length auburn hair, deep in conversation.

You felt Aemond stiffen beside you, his hand breaking away as it instinctively went to the pommel of his sword.

Shaera noticed the two of you, her face falling slightly as her lilac eyes flicked to her father. "Dad, mom..."

"Shae." You greeted, your brow furrowing. "Did your lessons run short? Who is this?"

"This is Oliver." The young man bowed low as you approached.

"An honor to meet you, I only just arrived at King's Landing and got myself quite turned around. Luckily Shaera rescued me, and we've been discussing the upcoming tourney that I will be jousting in."

You noticed the coat of arms adorning Oliver's breastplate, but it was Aemond who spoke up first. "Mormont, is it?"

"Yes, your highness." Oliver Mormont bowed again, lower this time. "Might I take the liberty of expressing what an honor it is to meet you, as well as your lady wife." His light brown eyes smiled at you before he turned his attention back to Aemond.

Shaera beamed at him.

Aemond noticed her obvious admiration, his smile a little forced as he nodded at Oliver. "It is always a pleasure to host our friends from the North."

"I've invited Oliver to dinner tonight!" Shae said brightly, not seeing how Aemond's eye narrowed slightly as he looked at her. No, her attention was only upon the handsome youth standing tall beside her.

"We would be glad for you to join us!" You spoke before Aemond could, locking your arm with your husband's. "Now, Shae, you have harp lessons to get to."

Shae's cheeks flushed as Oliver kissed the back of her hand, bowing in farewell. "Until tonight, my lady."

"Tonight then." She nodded, looking bereaved as she watched him leave.

You could have propped Aemond up against a wall he was so tense, you gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. Shae looked hesitantly from him to you before hurrying away toward her class.

"I am going to put bars on her door and window." Aemond muttered, watching her go.

"You will do no such thing, Aemond."

"Dinner?"

"Yes, tonight in fact. He seems like a nice young man from a good house as well."

"They all seem like 'nice young men' to begin with."

You turned to face your husband, cradling his angular jaw in your hands. "My dearest love. You are correct in wanting to shelter her from the many horrible men who infest this world." You leaned in, brushing your lips along his mouth, feeling his muscles slowly begin to relax against you. "However, she will have to experience life one way or another. All we can do is our best to guide her."

"I worry for her, Y/N." Aemond kissed you gently, pressing his forehead to yours.

"As do I. But we cannot keep her all to ourselves forever." You traced your fingers across his cheek, your breaths mingling. "She is the blood of the dragon, and we must allow her to spread her wings and fly."