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#prince aemond
vsnyarbll · 3 days
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I will never stop making these 1 2
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buckybarnesb-tch · 2 days
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Aemond T. Yandere A-Z
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(For the multiple people who asked for a Yandere Alphabet for our favorite little War Criminal)
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A stands for AFFECTION: how would they show affection?
•Aemond is a gift giver to the extreme
•From the moment you found out about your betrothal to your Uncle, you had been receiving gorgeous dresses, fantastic shoes and jewelry you could never have imagined wearing. All of the jewelry you were gifted containing large sapphires in the necklaces or earrings, staking the One Eyed Princes claim on you
B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?
•He loves getting bloody on a normal occasion so getting bloody for you would be a joy for Aemond
•He would slaughter any and all men who dared even think they had a chance with his girl and he even killed a few women who thought it their place to ‘warn you’ about what he’s like and insist you needed to get out of the marriage proposal, even though you all knew that was impossible
C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?
•Aemond would avoid harming you as much as possible, he never liked to see pain on your face or bruises on your perfect porcelain skin but if you thought you were going to defy him then he needed to teach you a lesson
•Normally locking you in your rooms was enough after two days of isolation and eating all of your meals alone
•Only once did Aemond ever really hurt you and it was only after you had pushed him too far, something even you admitted he couldn’t ignore in public
D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?
•Aemond is as patient as he can be with you but if you give him no other choice, then yes, he absolutely will
E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?
•Aemond talks to you about almost everything
•One of your jobs as his wife is to listen to him and you quickly find out you’re the only person that he really tells about how he feels about everything from his mother to his brother to even his father
•He is also very open in how he feels about you, making it clear from the moment you are betrothed that you are his and he is completely obsessed with you loves you dearly
F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?
•Aemond absolutely thinks it’s funny…for about 5 minutes
•You are his wife and him your husband, you will behave as a lady is expected to behave within the confines of her marriage so ‘fighting back’ isn’t really much of an option
G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?
•You are Aemond’s everything, this is no game
•Anyone who thinks it is will get a painful wake up call sooner than they think
H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?
•Your worst experience would be the one time you made the mistake of refusing his demands in front of the small council
•Aemond didn’t want to harm you, he was trying quite hard to get you used to being his wife and doing your duties/behaving how he expected you to but you didn’t give him much of an option before you felt his hand strike your face so painfully you briefly thought he had broken your jaw
•He apologized for hitting you so hard later in the privacy of your rooms but informed you that you shouldn’t have said anything against him in front of anyone especially the small council and even you knew how badly you had messed up as soon as the words left your mouth
I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?
•Aemond’s plan is impregnating you
•That has been his plan since the moment he insisted his mother ensure you were going to be his wife
J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?
•When Aemond is jealous someone is going to die, he is a violent man when he thinks another man is getting close to his wife and he will often publicly punish any man who he thinks is looking at his Princess wrong
•You learned very quickly to talk to other men as little as possible
•However you also learned that if you wanted a man dead you had a sure fire way to make it happen
K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?
•When you and Aemond are alone he is much different than he is in public
•Aemond is usually a sweet, gentle person with you when he isn’t in a bad mood or you’re not being difficult
•Even when in public he is gentler with you than most men are with their wives, he’s just far more quiet and somber
L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?
•He made sure his mother knew he would only accept you as his wife, and that if Rhaenyra made the mistake of trying to marry you to anyone else he would steal you away before any wedding could take place and burn the Lords house to the ground, ally of the Hightowers or not
•Aemond was quite sweet to you, he always had been when you were children however he was a proper gentleman now and he ensured you were as happy as you could be…obsessively so
M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?
•He is quiet for the most part in public, and if he must say something it is usually a snarky comment or a backhanded insult
•With you he is very attentive and often needy for your attention which is actually what makes you fall for him in the end, loving his desperation for you
N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?
•Aemond locks you in your chambers until you can’t stand being alone anymore and admit you were wrong for whatever, you never really need anything more than that
O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?
•Rights?
•What are rights?
•You are Aemond’s wife. You will do what is expected of a highborn lady wife or be punished. Even so, Aemond tries to make you as happy as he can and doesn’t order you about as much as he could
P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?
•Aemond tries his best to be very patient and to his credit he does very well until you push too hard
•Compared to other men and even other Targaryen men, he is quite patient with you, wanting you to actually learn lessons and want to be a good wife for him in the end
Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?
Died: He would be a complete basket case without you and he would refuse to remarry for any reason what so ever
Escaped: He would go on a rampage until he got you back. No one would be safe until he found you and had you back in his arms
R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?
•Aemond will Never let you go
•He would only ever regret how hard he slapped you once in a small council meeting, he hated how afraid of him you were in that moment
S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?
•You had always been the only one in the family who was kind to Aemond, being his best friend as kids
•He knew you would be his wife from the moment you first stuck up for him during the pig prank to your brothers and uncle, that was the day he fell completely in love with you
•He decided that night that he would do whatever he needed to do in order to make you his wife, even though he knew his mother would want to marry him to another house and that Rhaenyra would never want you to be with him
T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?
•Anger
•Your tears brings out a rage in Aemond that is not often seen and he will slaughter whoever has made you so upset
•If he were the one to upset you however, he wouldn’t really know how to fix that. He would typically hold you until you either calmed down or cried yourself out and then get you a gift as an apology since “apologizing” isn’t really something he knows how to do very well
U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.
•In the beginning of your relationship, before the wedding was set and you were staying as far from him as you could, Aemond came up with a plan to make you dependent on him and feel safe with him to ensure you wouldn’t try and run back home to Rhaenyra and Daemon (who was the only man you seemed to trust which enraged him to no end)
•Aemond had Criston Cole hire a man to sneak into the castle with the intent to kill you. He planed it out meticulously to ensure you were never in any real danger though you wouldn’t know that
•The man entered your chambers as you were getting ready to sleep and you shrieked, backing towards the window, pleading with him not to harm you and telling him that he could leave and you would forget he was ever there. Suddenly your door flew open and Aemond ran in, he was on the man before you could blink, beating his head in as he shouted about how he would never let anyone harm his wife
•It was that night that you really began giving Aemond the chance to win your love, realizing that you were truly safe with him. The entire plot was a secret that Aemond would take to his grave
V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?
•His jealousy, 100%
•If you want someone, anyone dead, all you need to do is make it seem like they’ve been looking at you for more than a second too long, it gives you a feeling of absolute power and you love it
W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?
•Aemond would never hurt you in any kind of serious way
•If he has to he will lock you in your chambers for the rest of your life, but he won’t do you serious harm
X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?
•He definitely has a way of making you feel like a Goddess
•Especially when you’re pregnant as he worships the ground you walk on. He is constantly getting you whatever food you’re craving, fluffing your pillows, rubbing your sore feet, anything to make his precious Princess feel better while she is carrying his baby inside of her
•You are the most precious thing in the whole world to him and even when he is upset with you Aemond never lets you forget it
Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?
•Aemond has always loved you, and always had a bit of a crush on you however he has been head over heels since he was 10
•He keeps it together and hidden until he is 16 and he demands you as his bride upon hearing that Rhaenyra was considering marriage proposals for you, the idea of you being married off to someone else sending him over the edge
Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?
•Aemond doesn’t want you broken, he wants you to be his compliant little Princess and that’s exactly what you are
•You had always known what was expected of you as a women and a wife in a marriage from the time that you were a little girl (though you never expected to be married to your Uncle) but Aemond ensured that you would be exactly what he always wanted in a wife and you are absolutely Perfect to him
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Aemond Targaryen Masterlist
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Take Me Down To The River, And Bathe Me Clean [One Shot]
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Text Divider by @saradika-graphics
SUMMARY | The Gods have sent her for him, and he'll have her if it's the last thing he does.
WARNINGS | 18+; Canon AU; Smut; Heavy Religious Themes; Obsession.
WORD COUNT | 10.1k
A/N | Another one of my older stories, because @toms-cherry-trees reminded me of this one! This was originally beta-read by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs.
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She walked in sin, and had him in a trance.
A lowly servant girl, that was all she was. If he had been in his right mind, he would have never noticed her; never given her the time of day. Dragons did not spend their time entertaining sheep - especially in a time of war, when there were many and more important things to attend to.
The blood of the dragon ran hot, and his had boiled when he saw her for the first time. They said murder and bloodshed turned men into insatiable monsters and opened the doors to affluence for whores - of course, somebody had to draw benefit from the lust that came from making it out alive from battle. The men thought the cunts they got to sink their cocks into were their reward for victory; in truth, they had lost to women who made good use of war-tainted fools’ hot-headedness and filled their pockets with gold.
Aemond was different, however. While men spent their nights with women who screamed loud enough to keep every surrounding soul awake, he had taken to keeping away from sins of the flesh to keep himself in the light of the Gods. In the faint whispers of firelight, Aemond Targaryen would pore over war strategy and books of politicking, history, philosophy and diplomacy - that was when he was not reading passages of the Seven-Pointed Star, to give himself some sort of comfort during uncertain times of war.
He was a kinslayer already. He had to work doubly hard to appease the Gods now. He was a warrior and a Prince through and through, and he knew better than to give in to carnal desires that would mean next to nothing to him in the face of the lessons of the Gods that he had been taught. 
And then, she happened. She had walked in moonlight, and she had been sin incarnate.
On his first night as Prince Regent, he informed the maidservants to keep the candles burning in his study at the library, so he could continue to ponder over strategies to proceed in the fight for the throne. He had walked in while struggling to keep up with the pace of his thoughts, his calculated decisions seeming wrong at every turn and terribly in need of further thought. With his hands held behind his back so tightly that they would have gone red, Aemond walked to the private library where his study was set up - and she had been there.
He did not know if he had seen her before. He did not know if she had attended to him earlier, or if she was new to the Keep. All he knew was that she had been bent over a candle, the low light of which had given him a warm view of her soft face and the breasts that threatened to spill out of her tight servant maid’s dress. Her loose braid had fallen over her shoulder as she shielded the fire with her hand from the night air, and he watched her as she had looked at the flame intently, hoping it would keep.
With her shy little eyes and sharp nose, pouty lips, and nimble hands, she had Aemond’s attention completely, his mind already swirling with thoughts of her, of who she was, of what he could do to her.
Aemond’s very heart felt like it had been knocked down to his gut, with how heavy it was at the sight of her. There was a sense of unease about the slow loss of bearings in him, a feeling that he did not know what to make of. Illuminated by candlelight, she was the loveliest sight he’d ever known - almost divine, like a gift from the Gods themselves.
He could have her if he wanted to; burn her if he wished. He was a Targaryen Prince, now the solemn ruler of the realm - what was he, if not the living personification of fire itself? His peculiar thoughts threatened to give way to those of a sinful nature, and Aemond was painfully aware of it both in the chaos of his mind and the tightening of his trousers.
Through his hazy one-eyed gaze, worsened by the dim darkening of the night, he watched as she tilted her head ever so slightly. It took him by complete surprise how her neck called for him, for his touch. All he wanted was to run his fingers over the newly exposed skin from jaw to collarbone and squeeze her neck in his firm hold; just enough for her to feel his strength and burgeoning desire, but not so much that she’d beg to be let go of.
In the Hour of the Wolf, illuminated by the bright candlelight, Aemond Targaryen had seen the lowly servant girl for the very first time. And the moment her eyes had met his one violet orb, he knew he would never be able to let her go.
“Your Grace,” she murmured; whether it was in reverence or fear, he did not know. What he did know was that he enjoyed the respect from her, just as much as he did watching her bow down to greet him, giving him an ample view of her chest once more. Her voice was an almost quiet, tired one - one that might have belonged to a woman who would choose to stay quiet and unseen if she could manage it.
It was the nature of servants to put the wishes of the royal family above their own - so, of course, even if she wished for quiet, she would have to open her mouth and greet him with the respect that was his due. 
So far, she hadn’t disappointed him. She gripped the sides of her skirts while she waited for him to give her leave, and he wondered how far he could take this little game that he had begun to play. Would she be a willing participant in this dance of theirs that he had wanted to partake in with her? Would she put his needs above her own? Or would he have to bend and break her to have her?
“Continue,” he said, in a harsh tone that masked the growing curiosity in him. Who was this girl that had managed to capture his attention so effortlessly? Would she be warm to the touch like fire that she covered with her hands, or cold like the ice in his wine? Who was she? What was she?
He was a devout follower of the Faith, and was very well apprised of the punishments for indulging in sins of the flesh. He also knew that it would take an otherworldly grip to pull and lead him astray, and to his disappointing yet exciting realisation, he was sure that she had gained that power over him in a matter of moments - like nobody else ever had before.
If he had felt unease at how easily he had found himself willing to give in, he hadn’t bothered with it right then. Somehow, he had known that she had been worth it.
He took his seat at his chair by the desk - his scrolls, parchments, correspondence, and books already laid out for him. She had quietly walked over to the shelves with a dusting cloth in hand and had begun cleaning the older books on the shelves within his line of sight.
He watched from the corner of his eye, all the while trying his best to read from the book in hand. But his efforts had been in vain, of course. How could he have won, when sin herself was tempting him from across the chamber? How could he, when she was right there, mesmerizing him with every movement of hers?
If he hadn’t been so caught up with the voices in his mind, he would have seen her watching him from the corner of her eye and smiling, ever so slightly. Only a moment, and she had disarmed him. Sin was dangerous - and he now knew how.
Her mere existence had left him defenceless against her effortless pull toward him, and the notion that she had not even intended to hold his eye like this and yet still had - she so very much had - only worsened the weakness creeping up on him. 
He was not Aegon. He was not the rake who dishonoured powerless women over a moment’s weakness. He was not the man who seeded women who were not worthy of his blood. He was not the man who indulged in sin. And yet, as he had watched her curious eyes trying to make out the titles of the books she wiped, the fear of becoming that man grabbed him by the throat.
Those who indulged in sins of the flesh were cursed to spend all of eternity trudging through the Seven Hells - and no pretty face was worth that fate, no matter how ethereal she seemed to him. No Targaryen would suffer that fate - he was the blood of the Conqueror; he would not be anything less than ideal. He would not be the first to slip and sin.
So why did he find himself rising from his seat and walking towards her? Hands held back and his breathing even and steady, Aemond watched as she stilled, cognizant of his presence as his dark shadow fell over the shelves in front of her. She did not turn to see him or try to run.
She froze with her eyes fixed on his unsteady, dark shadow, and he enjoyed the nervous beads of sweat that began to form on the nape of her neck, right below where the stray hairs of her braid fell haphazardly. She swallowed, and Aemond's eye followed the slow bobbing of her throat with great intent. 
Was she fearful? If yes, she would have had every right to be. He certainly was afraid - of being carried away by sin.
That was all she was. Dirt and sin, both of which he should stay cleansed of. And yet, his hands moved of their own accord - the tip of his thumb wiped away the beads of sweat forming on her skin, drop after drop. Her breath hitched in her throat in surprise as gooseflesh arose in the wake of his touch and the warmth of his breath, and Aemond could not help the cutting smile that graced his lips then.
Could he conquer sin? He did not know. But he wanted - oh, he so wanted - to learn. And if there was one thing he truly enjoyed, it was learning. With that singular thought in mind, he moved her face by the chin to the side - giving her a view of his unmarred side if she wished for it.
She looked straight ahead, making no attempt to look at him. His hand was yet to leave her chin; if anything, his grip had only gotten tighter. In close proximity, he saw the way her hair curled on her sweat-dampened skin; the way her breasts heaved as she took in laboured breaths to calm herself down as a Prince of the realm touched and held her in his tight grasp.
Aemond’s thumb lazily caressed her jaw and lower lip, fingers holding onto her like she was a startled little fawn who would run if he let her. In close proximity, the swell of her backside grazed his clothed bulge for just a moment - enough to drive him mad with want and take a step back. But even then, he did not let go.
How could sin manage to look so innocent? How could she remain so ignorant of what she was doing to him?
Those who committed sins of the flesh would spend the entirety of the afterlife making their way through the dark expanses of the Seven Hells, and she… she was a test of will. The Gods had clearly sent her to test him, for why else would he have been so easily swayed by a pretty face?
“What do they call you?” He rasped into her ear, while she, to his utter shock, lifted her lips up slightly - enough to send his senses into action. She smiled like she knew the realm's biggest secret, and wouldn't tell anyone until she'd let it unfold a bit for her own amusement.
All of a sudden, there was no chasm, no oceans to separate them - all that they had between them was a slight fraction of space, just enough to breathe. His nose brushed her earlobe and she hissed - if he had not been close to her, he would have missed it.
Her name tumbled out of her lips in faint song-like whisper - a voice made to seduce - and Aemond was convinced that she was some sort of otherworldly creature - a siren, or a fey. Her voice went straight to his cock, and his eagerness was evident as it hardened. She was yet to make even a slight movement - every part of her remained still, and if she were not breathing, he would be convinced that he had killed her with the forwardness of his actions.
His hands reached down to her neck, and he continued down as he traced a path down the soft skin of her arms with the tips of his fingers. His hands reached hers, and he pried her fingers apart, allowing him to intertwine his with hers. He guided their joined left hands to wrap around her waist, and her eyes followed his movements as her head hung low.
The laces of her worn-out brown dress called for his fingers to run through them. The sight was the most inviting one he ever knew, and he let go of her other hand to let his finger work through the first loop. He gulped at getting to see a new plane of her body - it was a very small patch of newly won skin, but it had made his mouth water and mind race nonetheless.
He wondered what it would be like if he simply swooped in, pushed her braid aside, and planted his lips right there, but Aemond managed to hold himself. Would she push him away, or would she welcome him and encourage him to work his way through the second loop? Would she let him go further down her back until his mouth reached the swell of her backside?
His calloused fingertip tapped the skin under the newly removed loop on her back once, twice, thrice. The gooseflesh that arose and the audible gasp she let out felt like the biggest victory Aemond had ever known.
He decided then that if he were going to conquer sin, he would do it looking her in the eye. After all, Princes had to be honourable - and it was not honourable to approach prey from behind.
He turned her around, and she was quick to take a step back - her back hit the old wooden shelf behind her, and he towered over her, his presence a looming threat to her virtue as one of his hands rested on the side of her head, while the fingertips of the other grazed her neck. He drew his face closer to her, and her breath hitched, and he was infinitely amused by what her thoughts right now could be.
He pulled her face up by the jaw, and now she was forced to look at him - he expected to see fear for her modesty, nervousness for her virtue, and shame for her birth and station, which took away her agency when being held so close by a Prince.
He had not expected to see eyes that matched his own fire. Was he hallucinating, or was she truly holding her own against him in silence? He did not know. But what he did know was that meeting her vision from up close had stunned him. From where he was, he would have been able to count the number of lashes on each eyelid if he so wished - and it was that realisation that broke his reverie and made him draw back.
Sin and shame. He had to be far removed from both, and yet, he had almost allowed himself to be drowned in them. Near where she had stood, he had seen the bound books on the shelves. With his one eye, he had made out the title of The Seven Pointed Star, and he awakened - as though he had been doused with ice-cold water.
How quickly had he been drawn toward her? How easily had he almost given in to temptation? His first night as Prince Regent, and he had already teetered close to sin, dancing at the edges of Seven Hells as the Gods’ most tempting offering had lured him in.
“Leave.” His voice, hoarse from being in close proximity to her, had carried through the air but seemed to have failed to reach her. It seemed as though she had been looking through him, past him, and his words had fallen on deaf ears. She had seemed to be in thought as she ignored his grunt, as though she was waiting for him to take his words back and ravish her right then.
He expected to loom over her, to engulf her - he had not considered that she might perhaps seek to do the same thing to him. The thought of being controlled or met by an equal unnerved him like nothing else ever had.
So he repeated himself and held his hands behind his back, waiting for her to follow his command and swallowing the spit that had collected in his mouth. She quickly picked up her rag from the shelf and had gathered her skirts, eyes downcast and flitting about in confusion and shock.
If he looked closely, he might have noticed a slight knowing smile - one that indicated that this was far from over.
She bowed to him, eyes confident - she said much and more with her eyes, he found - as though his hands had not touched her only a few fleeting moments prior. She made away into the corridors - out of sight, but certainly not out of mind.
He let go of breath that he didn’t know he had been holding only when he had heard the definitive slam of the doors following her exit.
He who holds his own against temptations of the flesh would hold infinite power and control over his senses, the Holy Book had said.
His one eye trained over the spine of the Seven Pointed Star, and he sighed. He had looked sin in the eye and won tonight, resisting his urges. But given how she had plagued his thoughts so strongly even after running away, how long would it be before he gave in?
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Aemond Targaryen was not a man of depravity.
He was not a man of sin. And yet, it was terrifying to him how he very easily could be whenever he was even remotely in her presence.
It was maddening how gooseflesh arose on his skin even when she was farthest away from his vision, blocked by many others who were positioned closer to him. His palms would become drenched just at the sight of her skirts billowing as she took a turn, without even having seen her face or body. Just the mere sight of the edge of her skirts was enough to drive him mad with want; and want her, he did.
On some days, he would have to sit with his hands held together tightly at the supper table while she served the food, if only to prevent himself from reaching out and grabbing her hand. His heart beat loudly and heavily in a steady thump, thump, thump - so definitive, he wondered if his family could hear it at the table.
What was worse was that she knew. She knew the maddening effect she had on him. Her lips curled up just slightly at how his eye would flit to her chest while she bent down to pick up his plate from the table. After dinner, before he could catch her and keep her in his hold, she would be gone. Regardless of the time of day, he sought her out like a moth to a flame. It did not matter where he was; it was always her that he wanted.
The shame of being driven with want for her touch - a mere servant girl’s touch - had taken over him, consumed him entirely. It spread through him faster than wildfire ever could, and hit him like a well-aimed arrow through to his heart. Only a week ago, he had been swirling with thoughts of battle and regency.
On one particular day, he had caught her tending to the gardens while walking in the corridors of the Red Keep. It was instantaneous how he immediately managed to make out her form even from far away. He stepped closer to the railing and watched with a stoic expression on his face and yearning in his mind, still completely befuddled as to what this servant girl had that had pulled her to him in an instant.
Soon enough, the girls who were with her had dispersed, and she’d waved them goodbye before going back to kneeling down next to the bushes, taking good care to not damage the roses as she dug out the mud.
Hands caked with dirt, possibly. The idea should have repulsed him, but the thought of her placing those very hands on him and tracing a muddy path down his chest knocked the very breath out of him in an instant.
Each day in the following week was torture for him - catching glimpses of her in pieces, in fragments, but never entirely and never enough to properly see her. Each sighting of her skirts, her hair, or her back was a moment on its own, frozen in time. She’d taken good care to make herself scarce, so much so that he worried.
Had he frightened her with his forwardness? Did she fear him? Wanting her was supposed to bring her closer to him, but it seemed to him that all it had done was push her away, oceans apart.
It killed him - how his mind, heart, and soul sang for her, a siren song so rich in wanting that it would leave nothing but destruction in its wake as he sought her out - and yet, she hadn't met his eye after that night when she’d run away from him, but she smiled.
He remembered clearly the way his fingertip had grazed the slightly exposed skin of her back; the way her breath had hitched when his fingers ran over her neck, and how she’d frozen for a moment when she felt his warm breath on her. And her voice - gods, her voice - he kept her name and her voice running through his mind like a desperate prayer, as though it was the only word that would bring him salvation from all the sins that he’d committed.
He remembered the slight upward curve of her lips, almost as though she was challenging him to go further. He thought about her all day, every day - and yet, it seemed as though it was never enough.
When this game of hide and seek had become too much for him, he’d take to the comfort of the night to relieve himself in the privacy of his bedchambers. He knew it was a sin to touch himself and spill into his own hand - but if he had to commit a negligible error to keep himself from committing a grave sin, like taking her no matter how much he wanted it, he would have to.
Aemond spent his days thinking her name, and his nights voicing it out in moans, grunts, and gasps as he let his hand work his painfully hard cock. Each time he pleasured himself, he remembered how her hands felt against his own - he imagined those hands on his cock, stroking each vein of his back and forth until he had himself drowning in pleasure, with white-hot spend spurting all over his hands and stomach. He imagined her hands coated with his seed.
She was an enthralling beauty. Calm, but with tempestuous eyes. Quiet, but with a flame to match his own. He'd hold a torch for her forever if that's what it took. He wanted her like he’d wanted nothing else.
His eye would remain closed throughout - the irony of his eye having to be closed for him to properly see her now did not escape him. It was a need, to be able to have her in some shape or form - almost as though he was at the edge of his body, and she was the only one who could save him from losing himself.
He imagined her face resting on his chest, her breasts pressed onto him. Her hands on his cock, his down her skirts. He’d let his mind take him all the way, and each time he spilled onto himself, he drove himself mad with more want - it was a vicious, endless cycle. He continued until he tired himself out and went to sleep, his last word of the night always being a faint and needy whisper of her name as he wondered what it would be like if she was sharing his bed, his heart, his life.
The shame would engulf him soon after he woke, and he’d grit his teeth at how the gods had chosen to play him. If they wanted him to be righteous and good, why put her in his path? If he was meant to resist her, why make her irresistible? Why play him for a fool? The unanswered questions, those that sound like he had been screaming into a well, gave way to a gigantic lump in his throat.
What she’d made of him - this pathetic, needy, pining mess of a man - could not stand for much longer. If he had to throw himself at the feet of the Seven and beg for penance, for absolution, for peace and quiet - he would. He would do it a thousand times over. He hated that he loved the feeling of wanting her. He was lost on what he could possibly do with the emotions creeping onto him through his blood as he pondered over the contrast.
With his intent and goal clear in mind, Aemond walked to the Royal Sept. He decided that he would fall at the Father’s feet, beg for mercy in his judgement, and pray to be forgiven. He would apologise to the Mother for playing host to foul and sinful thoughts that should have had no place in the mind of a Prince. He would leave himself at the mercy of the Maiden and make his shame known for wanting to defile a woman who’d done nothing but go about her duty. 
She was there, bent down on her knees at the foot of the statue of the Maiden, praying. She was right in front of him.
The Sept was empty, save for him and her. Aemond’s hands went to his back quickly, and he managed to stop moving his feet to silence the clicking of his boots. He watched her intently, fiercely, unnervingly.
He may have come to the Sept as a pathetic man wanting to give the Gods their due for his sinful indiscretions, but her presence had immediately taken him to who he was a week ago on the fateful night when he met her - a starved man who was mad with desire for her.
There was something to be said about how he’d come to the Sept ready to beg for forgiveness - only for the pathetic thoughts to become a distant memory as she invaded his mind once more. He was a hunter with a primal urge again.
Hot, ready, and absolutely ravenous, ready to stake out his prey - with her knees bent and her face unassuming as she let the comforting and safe feeling of the Sept take over her, she had no idea what dangers to her virtue the man stealthily standing behind her posed.
But Aemond did. He mapped out every inch of the skin that he could and could not see from where he stood, and he knew exactly how he wanted to touch, enjoy, and worship every inch of her. From where he stood, the entirety of her looked so small that she could have fit into his one hand. He closed his fist at the thought of holding her tight and watched.
The light from the stained glass windows reflected and fell around her in a bright ring of fiery orange and light rose, and she looked lit from within as the light illuminated and surrounded her. She may be wearing an old, worn-out servant maid's dress - but in the divine light of the Sept, surrounded by all things holy, she was nothing less than a goddess to Aemond.
Standing at the foot of the statue of the Maiden, she was a Goddess he wanted to claim; in mind, heart, and soul. The Maiden had fallen from the skies and had taken to taunting him with her beauty.
In the light, all he saw was her. Everything around her had vanished, and she was all his vision could register. It was almost as though the Maiden was offering her to him, asking him to indulge, rewarding him for all his years of obedience.
Everything fell into place, and all his thoughts made sense. She was sin, but she was the reward too - perhaps knowing that already was the reason why she had smiled. Only she was visible to him in a grand Sept adorned with many religious relics - a clear sign that she was all he was meant to see.
How could he not have her? He’d spent years being the obedient son, the good son. He’d spent years studying the blade, learning the histories of his realm and the philosophies. He made sure to be the ideal son his mother wanted, and now he was a Prince Regent of Westeros. A powerful man within his own right.
And all his time being good had finally led him to her - a sinful indulgence. And if he had earned the power he had, he had earned her too. She was his, and soon he would make it known - to her and to the damned Gods. He would make them all watch from above - all the Gods, the Old, the New, the foreign ones and his Valyrian ones - as he worshipped her in their place, as she usurped them in his world. She would be a goddess, and he, a devoted, starving, and humble man - on his knees for her.
He glanced over at her and then at the Seven statues one last time before walking away, his coat flying sleekly behind him as she finally finished her prayers and turned around. He forgave her for consuming him, his thoughts, and invading his very being. His hand stretched out and laid floating mid-air, reaching out for a girl who had not yet sensed his presence.
In the distance, as a second son walked away with his mind made, the young servant maid’s ears picked up the hauntingly familiar, fading sounds of his boot-clad purposeful gait. The candle she lit at the Maiden’s feet melted away, the sight making for something ethereally beautiful in the bright light.
She walked away soon after, and did not notice as the flame sputtered, faded, and went out.
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Aemond Targaryen was a man starved.
This game they played, this push and pull, was enough to drive a disciplined and restrained man like Aemond to his wit’s end. His nights became longer as he stayed up to pleasure himself and moan out her name until the entire corridor heard it; his days became longer in her absence too, as he stayed alert, trying to find her in some corner or another. This dance that they paired up for was an absolute tease - he always found himself reaching out for a hand that did not fall into his grasp, one that he missed by a fraction of space each time.
She would walk into a corner and be gone before he could catch sight of her; he spotted her braided hair in a sea of heads from the dias once, but he could not keep up as the servants moved to work. In the library, in the corridors, in the gardens, in the common rooms - he’d missed her narrowly everywhere.
He had always been a man who worked for what he had. His dragon, his sword skill, his intelligence, his fearsome reputation - Aemond worked hard to earn every single one of his known traits, and as was the natural order of things, he was made to earn her too. It made his patience run out slowly and swiftly - but he did not give up. He would not.
An offering from the Gods was never simply handed over - there are many trials and tribulations to be faced first. And in his case, it would mean finding her first.
One fine day, he did.
He had seen her enjoying herself. She held a basket of dirty clothes to be taken to wash, and her companion was hidden by a wall. Aemond knew that pursuing her right here, despite every bone in his body wanting to, would not be a good idea - he could not afford to be found lusting after a serving girl with such intensity.
But he could stay around for a while and hear her speak. He did love her voice - the hold her siren song had on him in each waking moment was absolutely crushing, and he’d let it take him.
He stood out of sight and heard her talking about the Holy Day festivities out in the city, and when he heard the voice of her companion, his blood ran cold. A man - she had been speaking to and entertaining the company of a man. She was giving him her laughs freely and her company with nothing in return - laughs and time that should have been his.
Her lips curled up in the most captivating way, and it hurt and angered Aemond to think that it was not meant for him. He once again heard the man speak about taverns and dances happening all night on the day of, and Aemond’s hand clutched the hilt of his dagger. 
"Vaogenka Andali," he seethed. [Andal scum]
It would be so easy, so simple to rip his throat out right now. He could easily kill him and take her, claim her right there as the man watched Aemond take her in every possible way with his dying breath. He would do that to every man who dared to meet her eyes and put himself in her path, for he was the only one with the right to behold the sight of her.
Sin of course, was a common temptation. No wonder everybody wanted to partake. No matter. She was his. And judging by her next words, it seemed that she knew it too.
“Apologies, I’m already spoken for.”
His hold on his dagger loosened as his mind and heart caught up with her words.
He loved the push and pull of this sinful game they played, and it seemed that she did too. His smile was harsh and cutting, dripping with victory and pride at knowing that his want for her affections was uncontested. He slowly slinked away, and completely missed how she leaned her head back at the sound of his boots, only to spot his silver hair in the distance.
He missed her sly smile once more.
That night, her words ran through his mind over and over as he imagined her whispering sweet nothings in his ear while letting him slip his cock into her cunt, The mental image of her wanting, moaning and at his mercy while he fucked into her mercilessly had sent a shivering bolt of pleasure to his spine. It was the sight of her looking up at him and batting her lashes innocently that did it for him, and sent him careening to his peak.
On the seventh day of the seventh moon, a day considered holy for the New Gods, the prayers at the Royal Sept were to happen late in the morning in the presence of the royal family and the courtiers. Aemond had to make an appearance in the beginning as his mother welcomed those of the court and noble houses, and so he stood, with his hands held behind his back, trying to spot a familiar face amidst the throngs of people who had gathered.
There are very few serving girls around, she was not there. Where would she be?
Aemond took his leave, and he watched as the High Septon took his place at the front and led the proceedings. He walked out of the Sept through the backdoor, with the faint and dull sounds of prayer running through his ears as he remained within earshot.
“The Seven themselves walked among the Andals in the hills of Andalos, and it was they who crowned Hugor of the Hill and promised him and his descendants great kingdoms in a foreign land…” 
The Septon’s voice reverberated through Aemond’s mind, and given all the shame he had felt and the conflicted nature of his thoughts ever since he met her, he felt the need to listen to the Word of the Gods. And so he froze in the darkened, empty corridor, with his back leaned onto the wall and his hands held together on his front, finger tapping incessantly into his thigh as he listened.
“The Seven had promised King Hugor a golden land amidst towering mountains…”
Promises. What had the Gods promised him?
Almost as though they had heard his prayers, she had walked in. 
She was what the Gods had promised him.
She looked no different from the first time he’d seen her, and his mind was racing. His throat had suddenly gone dry, and his voice was seemingly stripped away from him as he finally faced her.
He’d wanted her for too long, and now she was right in front of him; his for the taking. He would not let her go this time.
The basket that she held in her hands had a variety of fruits that he presumed were for the lords and ladies to eat once they’d finished with their prayers. If his assumptions were right, she was on her way to join those at the Sept to pray. 
The Maiden as he saw her, was on her way to the Sept to bless them with her presence. And Aemond was about to show her that he was the most devout man in the Kingdoms. It did not matter how loud the echoing sounds of their prayers were - he’d worship her like none of them could.
He stalked toward her with the cadence of a starved man, one that had been kept away from his prey for too long. And what was he, if not that? The High Septon’s voice was faintly audible to him, but nowhere close to impactful enough to sway him towards any other course. 
“Spirits, wights, and revenants cannot harm a pious man, so long as he is armoured in his faith,” Aemond heard him say. No, none of them managed to penetrate his thoughts - but this woman, this Goddess amongst men… She owned him. She had his heart, his soul, and everything that he was.
She quickly dropped the basket and her eyes followed the one stray apple that rolled away from them both. She couldn’t for long however, not when he’d pushed her to the wall and held her by the soft skin of her cheek.
Her eyes, meeting his own. His legs lodged on either side of hers. His hand, digging into her waist like he wanted to bruise her, brand her, mark her as his.
She turned to look sideways, and seemed as though she was worried about people walking in on them in the dark, isolated corridor. He pulled her face harshly to meet his eye once more - Aemond knew that they’d all take the front entrance and not the back - they’d be left alone, if only for a little time.
He will have her today. He will have her if it’s the last thing he does.
He ran his fingers over her forehead, slowly bringing them down to trace her eye. Her eyelids shut immediately, and her breath hitched as he travelled further down and met her nose. He cannot stop now  - he will not stop - and he got to her lips, fingers hovering over the outline. He felt the faint dampness from when she’d probably licked her lips not too long ago, and gasped.
It was all he could do to not slip those fingers inside.
Her eyes are locked with his one violet orb, and he looks into her as his fingers map out every little plane of her face. He felt his knees going weak as she held her own against his intense gaze, fire matching his as she refused to break contact with his eye. His voice was hoarse and it was almost painful to let the words out, but he knew that he’d explode if he did not. 
“Do you… have any idea what you do to me?”
“Perhaps I will be better served if you tell me,” she whispered. There was no fear in her, he noticed. He may have seen her as his prey to claim, but it seemed that she was determined about keeping them both on equal footing. It only drives him toward her a lot more. His fingers travelled down to her chin, and made their featherlight way down her neck, moving as her throat bobbed while she gulped. When they reached her bosom, he watched as she audibly gasped, and wondered what other noises he could elicit from that pretty mouth.
“I have been driven mad with want. Sinful, uncouth thoughts that befit a lowly barbarian, rather than a prince. All because….” He gulped and her eyes still did not move away from his. He holds her chin to raise her face, while letting the other wander over her gown and fall on her clothed breast.
“Pride goes before a fall.” the High Septon’s faint voice reverberated through the dark corridor. Aemond is the blood of Valyria; closer to the Gods than men. With his unquestionable blood and status came a sense of pride that ensured that he’d never be looked down upon, pride that he’d never let go of. But tonight, he will. For her, he will. For he does not want to fall - he wants to fly high, higher and higher still with her.  When he faced her, he realised that he would go on his knees in reverence if she asked. 
“I’ve thought about you ever since I first saw you,” he said. His hands squeezed her breast as though he was testing out the action, and he saw how the back of her palm hit the wall and the other gripped his doublet, trying to find purchase as the faint pleasure shot through her.
“You… you are special. You are the Gods’ answer to all my prayers… You….” he took a long breath as he studied her face, looking for any signs of discomfort. “You…”
She raised her eyebrow as though she challenged him to continue, and he wondered if he should. He heard what he’d said, and it sounded no less than delusional - but how could it be wrong, if it felt so right?
“The Gods… they sent you to me.” My Goddess, he thought. “What do they want? What do you want?” 
The hand on her breast continued to knead at her soft flesh through her clothes, and his other hand descended too as soon as he watched her lips part - but that wasn’t enough. He needed an answer. So he stopped his ministrations and asked again, stern voice giving way for nothing apart from what he wished to hear. 
“What do you want from me?”
“I only want you,” she breathed out, her hands covering his as she caged them over her chest.
The Maiden had come to bless the earthly beings with her presence, with her love, and she wanted him. Wanting to wait no longer, his lips found hers.
The air crackled with an electric intensity as their lips met, desire and longing fueling the moment. His hands trembled slightly as they traced the curves of her face, fingers brushing against her soft skin with a reverence that bordered on worship.
Their kiss deepened, and he pulled her closer, his body pressed against hers, feeling the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat matching his own. She arched into him, a soft moan escaping her as their tongues intertwined. The taste of her was intoxicating to Aemond - a heady blend of sweetness and fire that seared itself into his memory, branding him with a hunger he never knew existed.
Time seemed to slow, the world around them fading into obscurity as they lost themselves in the intensity of their union. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer and he reciprocated, as if afraid that she might slip away if he didn't hold on tight enough. Every fibre of his being was consumed by her, by the intoxicating sensation of her lips on his, the soft sighs that escaped her, and the way her body moulded seamlessly against his. 
He pushed them both towards the wall and let his hands rest on the stony surface, caging her. She leaned forward and caught his lips this time, letting her hands wander over the planes of his shoulders, his arms, his clothed chest. Aemond’s hand grasped at her neck and squeezed - enough to elicit a gasp from her, but not so much that she’d beg to not be choked to death. 
Her hands snuck in through the hem of his doublet, fingertips grazing over the bare skin of his abdomen. If Aemond dropped dead right then, he would die a happy, blessed man. Blessed by a Goddess herself.
“Spirits, wights, and revenants cannot harm a pious man, so long as he is armoured in his faith,” the High Septon recited. He recognized the words from the Holy Book, and could not help but agree. As the taste of her lips consumed him and her touch left him in a mindless frenzy, he knew.
Her touch on his bare skin ignited a fire in him that already burned bright, and as he readied himself for more, the High Septon’s distant words echoed through the darkened corridors once more.
“Men bow to their lords, and lords to their kings, so kings and queens must bow before the Seven Who Are One.”
And right then, a Prince of Valyrian blood, a man closer to the Gods than to men, kneeled. Just as the Seven preached kneeling down to the divine deities, he listened. Aemond was quick to hold her ankles and swiftly pull his hands up her legs, hiking her skirts up with each passing moment. The chill of the air around them hit her newly exposed skin instantly, as he made note of the gooseflesh that arose on her calves. He pushed his face forward to kiss her knees as his hands continued their way up, pulling her skirts all the way up to her hips and exposing her already drenched clothed cunt to him.
When his lips met the apex of her thighs, she let out a loud moan. Aemond was convinced right then, that pleasuring her was what he was put on the earth for. What better purpose can a man have, than to satisfy a Goddess amongst men?
As though they could not survive without each other’s touch any longer, her hands pulled at his hair - she wanted more, and he was all but a devoted soldier at her feet, giving her all that she wished for. He pulled her smallclothes down to her ankles, and parted her folds to bring her wet and wanting cunny to his line of sight. 
He looked up to face her, and her heavy breathing and heaving chest filled him with energy beyond that which he was humanely capable of handling. His Goddess had perhaps blessed him already, but he would be amiss if he did not properly pay her his obeisance. She’d sensed what he intended to do almost immediately, and through her barely hidden lust and half lidded eyes, she murmured.
“Anyone could come. Anyone could see.”
“Let them.” 
He pushed his head between her thighs and licked from her opening to her pearl, already drunk on the taste of her. She arched into him, and he took good care to tightly grip onto her thighs, keeping her and her skirts in place so they'd not disturb him. It would seem that his hot breath on her and his nose nudging her bud was enough to have her lose all sense of control and moan, and he relished in watching her let the pleasure take over her with each movement. He then sucked at her pearl diligently before fucking into her with his tongue once more and she pushed herself at him like she couldn't have enough.
“Those who indulge in sins of the flesh would be cursed to spend all of eternity trudging through the Seven Hells.” The High Septon’s voice echoed through, but Aemond was far too gone, far too cuntstruck as he became addicted to the feeling of her pearl between his lips. Why would he be bothered about trudging through the Seven Hells, when the Seven Heavens were right here, between his beloved’s thighs?
He was sure he heard someone, but he was too in deep to care. He’s drowning in her; the feel of her, the taste of her, the scent of her and everything that makes her the Goddess that she is to him. 
After all, how can he not? The Seven themselves had shined their light on her and sent her for him, had they not? The deeper he buried his tongue in her weeping cunny, the more the intoxicating smell of her engulfed him. And he let it. He’d let her take over him a hundred times over, for every lifetime that the Gods see fit to bless him with. 
A thin streak of light escaped in and illuminated her thigh, and he heard her moan wantonly as his tongue continued its unrelenting assault. Her pretty sounds only served to drive him mad with want, and he pressed his nose into her bud as he continued to feast on her and pushed her against the wall with a hand splayed across her stomach, pressing into her as she grinded against him.
Her hands tightened around his head and pulled at his spun-silver hair. Her cries of pleasure were the only sounds he heard as she toppled over the edge, her mind a haze as white hot pleasure coursed through her. Seven save him, Aemond was not a greedy man - but it was with greed that he did not let a single drop of her go to waste and continued to pleasure her through her peak as he lapped it all up. When he stood back up, he did so with a glistening chin, painted with her slick. 
He knew very well from the moment he saw her, that if he touched her once, he’d never let go. What he had not anticipated was how little patience he’d have - for as soon as she recovered from her peak, he quickly freed his cock and sheathed himself in her in one swift thrust. Her thighs quivered in his hold and her hands flew to his shoulders, looking for purchase as she struggled to stand on her own - her knees seemed to have melted under his touch.
He lowered his head onto her shoulder, letting the feeling of her tight heat warm his length for a moment as he stilled. She clenched around him immediately and he mouthed a path of feather light kisses down her neck. Every bead of sweat was visible to him and he breathed it all in, following it with a firm lick up the skin that left her shivering under him. He let his hand rest and pull at the hair on the nape of her neck, cold from being dampened by sweat.
It would seem that his Goddess was as impatient for him as he was for her, and couldn’t wait for him to lay his claim on her. While he was content to stay buried to the hilt in her wet cunt for a while, he knew that they were risking it all - anyone could walk in at any moment, and they had to make it quick. 
The thought of being caught out like this, buried inside of her, would usually shame him. But right now, he couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed - how could he? He’d let them all watch as he took her in all the ways a man could a woman before he let her go for fear of strangers. After all, dragons did not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. Especially not when it is a Goddess’ satisfaction that is at stake. 
“Lives are like candle flames that can be snuffed out by an errant puff of wind,” the High Septon said, and he agreed instantly. If life was finite, if he could die today, wouldn’t it be prudent to take pleasure from a divine deity that presented herself to him, wet and wanting?
Her hand moved to the back of his neck and she breathed into him, her warm breath hitting his lip as he kissed her once more. She was as desperate as he was, pushing against him in search of pleasure - pleasure that only he could give her - was all the indication he needed as he began thrusting into her, hard and fast.
She let out a choked moan as he smiled against her lips, his own a sharp line that looked more arrogant than happy - as befitting a Targaryen Prince. She lowered her hands and let it slip under his doublet once more, letting her hands roam free over his back and planting her nails into the skin. Aemond was sure that red blood had bloomed where she’d dug into him, but the heat of her, her walls clenching around him were all that mattered.
He locked her in his tight hold - one hand pulling at her hair so she’d look at him while he fucked into her mercilessly, and another on the small of her back, fingers ghosting over the top of her backside - and she was caged in by him. He held her so tight, like he worried that she’d disappear if he loosened his hold even just a little. Their kisses were all tongue and teeth as he rutted into her, hitting her rough spot with each thrust. He groaned as her lips parted, a thin line of spittle between them as he lost himself in the feeling of her.
Her back hit the wall repeatedly and the heavy thuds were in tandem with the wet sounds of his cock in her cunt. Her heavy breaths, the tightening of her stomach, the touch that she sought out and all the sounds that she made, the ones that he'd never tire of hearing, were enough to drive him to madness.
Her hands roamed over all the bare skin she could find, and when he thrusted too harshly she would reward him with blood red crescent-moon cuts with the tips of her nails. “I have… waited… for so long…” Aemond panted, his words punctuating each push into her. “Imagined having you like this, tight and warm around me,” he grunted.
She let out a choked moan, followed by her fastening her legs around him as he lifted her up and continued to let her know how much he desired her. 
“Fucked into my fist each night to the thought of you… Wrong, so wrong…” he growled, and his hands quickly went up to her chest and pulled her neckline down, freeing her breasts. He kneaded at the flesh and marvelled in how perfectly they fit in his palms, almost as though they were made for him to have and hold. With each touch, he felt the heel of her feet press into the small of his back through his clothes. Nudging him, taunting him, driving him mad.
“Want you so much, you’re mine…Issa jaesa.” [My Goddess] 
Every declaration was accompanied by a rough thrust and he felt hot pleasure blooming in his lower abdomen. But he wasn’t ready, not quite yet. Not if she wasn’t. He needed her to peak with him and truly join him as one. He needed there to be indisputable proof that she was his. The thought of her spending the day with his white hot spend running and drying down her thighs was what pushed him to circle her nub with his long finger and thrust animalistically into her, coaxing moans and a blooming warmth in her belly.
“Yours, my prince. Only yours…” she murmured in between gasps, and she peaked immediately after. He was powerless as she clenched tightly around him, and in a few slow yet definitive thrusts, his release came soon after. 
Looking in between their joined bodies, he ran his hand up her stomach and held onto her sweat-coated breast. No sight in the world had ever been so divine.
“Death is never far in this world, and seven hells await sinners…” the High Septon’s voice said as he finished his sermon. Having just found his life’s greatest pleasure in her, he found that he did not mind the Holy man’s words. 
He may be a Valyrian prince closer to God to others, but in front of her, he was only a man. And what power does a man have against a sinful temptress like her? How was he to possibly stay away? If this is how good sin felt, then Aemond realised that he would not mind being left to rot in the Seven Hells if he would be allowed the memory of her in his mind, heart and soul for eternity. It would be enough to keep him alive in the land of the undead.
He stayed buried in her until he softened once more, his hand twirling a dampened stray curl on her neck as he continued to knead at her breast and roll the soft nipple with the other. His soft kisses on her neck were only made better by her tired breaths, and he bit into her neck quickly before he let go.
He missed the warmth of her touch immediately as he pushed his cock back into his trousers, and corrected himself to make himself presentable once more. When he caught a glimpse of the stray hair on his shoulders, he looked around to find his leather hair tie - only for her closed fist to reach out to him. He opened his palm and she let the hairtie fall onto his hand, and he smirked at the normalcy of the action.
After he set his hair in place, he clutched his hands behind his back as he watched her correct her sleeves and smooth down the skirts of her worn-out dress. She smiled at him when she was done with her clothes and put a hand in her hair to tame it, and with her mischievous yet charming grin, she healed all the scars in him that she had not caused.
When she was done, he found the stray apple that had rolled away from her basket and put it in with the rest. He handed it to her and could not resist letting his hand push away the fine hairs that stuck to her forehead. When he finished, he kissed her well, and he kissed her true - no trace of the roughness with which he’d taken her only moments ago, a soft reminder of his claim to her that he'd just staked. 
Their foreheads met and he held her by the back of her head, and he smirked as he heard his Goddess speak once more.
“Will you come to me again?”
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MASTERLIST
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targaryen-dynasty · 11 hours
Text
OBJECT OF DESIRE (4/?)
Aemond Targaryen x female!Reader
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Are you just a political ploy to Aemond? Or is there more to him rushing your wedding?
WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, table sex, handjob, fingering, slight humiliation, praise kink, breeding kink, somewhat darkish and possessive Aemond (?), he might be an asshole and the king of gaslighting in this, Valyrian wedding, mentions of blood
WORDS: 5.5 K
NOTES: part 4 is finally here! Ty @zaldritzosrose 🤍
❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! ✨ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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The way from the outer yard into the castle passes in a blurr with your heart thrumming in your chest, drowning out the sounds of your footsteps. It’s so deep in the night that the castle is mostly deserted, but a few guards and servants cross your path from time to time, some giving you a curious glance, others not bothering much. 
Aemond’s movements are swift and quick as he guides you through the eerily silence of the castle of Dragonstone, leading you through a labyrinth of passageways that comes close to the one you’ve conquered not many hours before. 
You try to marvel at the architecture of the ancient seat, but the dim light of sparsely placed torches and candles doesn’t allow you to indulge in it too much. 
The man in front of you is determined, and your presence seems to be not more than an accessory to him with his attention fixed on something entirely different. 
“Where do you take me?” your voice is low as you speak, the hesitance palpable.
Aemond chuckles. “Patience.” His voice is soft, but not low enough to whisper, and still manages to make you aware of how eager you probably have to sound. “We are nearly there.” 
From what you gather, the chambers he brings you to are located deep within the bowels of the castle, requiring some time and knowledge of the place to reach it. You tackle another set of corridors and narrow staircases until you eventually arrive and stand in front of a thick, wooden door. 
Knocking raptly at the door, it takes a few seconds for an older man to open it, woken from his slumber. When your eyes dart to the collar he wears, you grow aware that he led you to the maester’s study. 
The man squints his eyes in the dim light, assessing who disturbs him at this hour. “Prince Aemond,” he eventually says, more surprised than matter-of-factly, and opens his door a little further. “How may I help you?”
“Maester Gerardys,” Aemond says, a firm tone underlying his words, despite keeping his voice at a low volume. “I require your assistance in officiating a marriage ceremony.” 
Gerardys now gazes at the two of you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly and his brow furrowing as he realizes the unusual nature of the request. “You intend to wed?” he questions. 
Nervousness flutters in your belly, more so as you process the skeptical tone laced within his voice, and you expect it all to fail miserably. But you didn’t count on Aemond’s stubbornness. 
“Yes, I do,” he affirms, his determination not faltering at the maester’s tone and gaze. “My wife-to-be and I ask you to officiate a ceremony that should take place immediately… in the traditions of our House.”
“You mean to marry at this hour, my prince?” Gerardys questions. “Well, I am no septon, and a marriage ceremony is not something that you do just on a whim. There are certain rituals involved that have to be observed. I am afraid that I cannot simply officiate a wedding on demand just because the prince asks me to…”
You tug at Aemond’s hand, mumbling a ‘perhaps ‘tis not meant to be’ but he doesn’t even turn to look at you. 
“I understand that, Maester Gerardys, I do. However, this matter is of utmost urgency. It has to be fulfilled tonight, as it can’t wait until daylight.” Aemond explains it calmly but assertively, his patience clearly running thin. There is a lilt of desperation in his voice, as if something bad will happen if the marriage ceremony is not performed at once. “We both wish for this to be done tonight. I am well-aware of the rituals involved in the tradition, and we are ready to complete them.”
It should concern you just how pressed he is on the matter, but all you can focus on is the fact that you will be a married woman in no less than two hours at last. 
Gerardys seems to be torn by the prince’s request, his brow furrowing again as he thinks over the situation. This clearly is no usual business for him, yet he does not feel as though he can refuse Aemond who insists on seeing the ceremony performed immediately. “Very well, Prince Aemond,” the old man sighs, “I will see to the arrangements.”
Despite the maester’s agreement, Aemond doesn‘t release a sigh of relief. He stands as still and composed as before, although you can spot his shoulders drop slightly. “We shall meet in the Chamber of the Painted Table,” his voice remains firm and serious. “Do not let us wait for too long.”
You briefly hear Gerardys starting to scramble to gather the items necessary for the ceremony before you’re led back the same path you’ve come. Suddenly, it feels all too serious, and your belly starts to flutter, more so as Aemond squeezes your hand. 
“I-I am not aware of the rituals involved?” you question, looking at the ground to watch your steps. 
As he notices the nervousness in your voice, Aemond turns around and smiles in a reassuring manner, his eye twinkling. “There is nothing to be concerned about,” he says. “I assume you are confident in the tongue of our ancestors?” 
You almost bump into him as he stops so abruptly, craning your neck to meet his eye. “I-yes, probably not as confident as you are, but my scholar has taught me everything within his capabilities.” 
“Very well. I shall tell you what to do, but you must trust me, my lady.” 
“Very well,” you echo his words, accompanied by a gulp. As you set up towards the spacious and opulent Chamber of the Painted Table, the room is dimly lit by several torches and candles. Servants scurry around the place, more than you’ve seen on your whole way through the dark pathways, and seem to take care of everything around you. 
Aemond’s steps bounce off the wall as he approaches a servant, and the ‘see to the table’ he commands is hardly audible to you. 
You walk around the chamber, taking in the decor, and drag your fingers over the large table standing in the center of it, following its carvings. The shadows of carved mountains and rivers dance in the dim light of the few candles standing on it, capturing all your attention. You marvel at the intricate design, but are quick to pull your fingers away when it suddenly lits up, the carvings glowing like lava running through molten rock. 
With wide eyes, you look towards the head of the table, and spot Aemond standing there with a smirk on his lips as servants emerge from under it. He leans against it with one hand splayed out on its surface, indicating that there’s no threatening heat radiating off of it. And indeed, when your fingers trail over the Vale of Arryn, you don’t burn them. 
“Are you sure this all is not going a little too fast? That we should not wait just a few more days?” you eventually ask, your doubts knocking the smirk right off of his face. 
Aemond walks around the table, coming closer to you, but keeps a fair distance. “There is no need to wait,” he retorts. “I see no reason to drag this out, unless you want to wed one of the men ordered by your father?” 
You flinch at his words, remembering the queue of men presented to you by your father. A few moments pass as you hesitantly raise your head, locking your eyes with Aemond’s good one. “Do you wish that I did?”
“No,” he replies, sternness lingering in his voice. “I do not wish that at all. I wish for the privilege of having you all to myself.”
While his words cause the hairs on the back of your neck to stand, a shiver following in their wake, you can’t suppress the doubts. ”Then why hurry?”
“Why wait?” Aemond retorts. "I have helped you obtain your dragon, your bloodright, and now it is your turn to see through on the promise made." 
"Am I a political ploy and nothing else?"
His expression darkens with your words. For the first time, the veneer of his composure and politeness towards you begins to slip slightly, his patience running thin. “I did not say that.”
Not giving him a reply, your eyes dart down to the table. You know you’re getting too bold, that you should not have said it, but you can’t help but feel as though the marriage being rushed is simply another political gambit. As your eyes flicker back up to meet his, a faint twinkle of anger and fire can be seen within them. “Do not pretend as though you are not getting anything out of this.”
“Now why are you so concerned with what I am getting out of this?” Aemond asks bluntly, voice as sharp as the edge of a knife. “Do you not trust my intentions? Or is it that you are not happy with the arrangements seeing that you’ve finally got your dragon?”
The change of tone prompts you to take a step back from him, a faint pout appearing on your lips as you feel your anger and defiance slipping away, replaced by a certain amount of apprehension. 
“Please, do not misunderstand me,” you say swiftly, softening your tone and lowering your voice to calm the situation. “I simply… I feel a little unsure of rushing into this. It is only… I have heard many tales, both from court and from my own father. Men are not known to be the most trustworthy, and I have no idea what to make out of someone so eager to wed me when I do not know his thoughts behind it.”
"You silly girl, do you not yet understand your role goes beyond the political agenda of the seven realms?" He reaches to grab you, holding your attention. "It goes beyond what your father or my father says. The gods made you for me, you have always been fated for me and me alone."
Your heart feels as though it might leap from your chest at his words. You’ve never been looked at the way he does now, never been treated that way. Your nerves and anxiety don’t vanish completely, but a part of you starts to calm down; he easily manages to put you at ease with just a few words. 
You lower your head, melting under his touch and words. “I–That is…” you trail off. 
The footsteps of Maester Gerardys approaching fill the large chamber, catching you off guard and causing you to pull away from Aemond. He’s unfazed, despite Gerardys staring at you and taking in the scene. 
Clearing his throat, he steps further into the chamber, carrying a great deal of utensils with him. “We shall commence, then?”
Aemond’s shoulders drop slightly with relief as the maester finally joins you. “By the blessings of the Gods, we shall indeed,” he says, walking around the table to the end that faces the hearth. You follow silently, and watch the older man prepare everything. 
“You stay here,” Aemond barks at two servants just shy of your age as they make their way towards the door. “We shall need every witness to our union we can get.” Both women nod their heads once, and stand rooted to the spot. 
Turning around, Aemond faces you now with Gerardys standing in front of the pair of you. The maester smiles warmly, albeit it also seems a bit forced, and glances at you as he begins with the most important question of it all. “Do you two come to this union free and willing, without prior coercion or undue influence?”
While Aemond’s answer comes quick and determined, a brief moment of silence passes as you process the question. “Yes, I do,” you speak softly yet hesitant. 
Maester Gerardys nods silently at both your confirmations, and hands Aemond what appears to be a shard of dragonglass. Your eyes widen when he brings it up to your lips, and the ‘let me just…’ he mumbles is little comfort as the sharp knife pierces your lip. You wince at the stinging pain and taste of copper that soon fills your mouth, clearly coming with the cut, but a part of you is grateful he’s done it without so much preparation. 
“Now ‘tis your turn,” he says, handing you the shard. You briefly glance down to where your hands meet, before your gaze is fixed with his again. 
The shard is lighter than anticipated, which makes the trembling of your hands more apparent. You’re skilled with a bow and arrow, but have yet to hurt anyone seriously. Bringing the shard up to Aemond’s mouth, the tremors don’t ease with you dragging it over his bottom lip. 
Blood amasses at the cut, and you mirror his gesture as he gathers yours with the pad of his thumb. The touch is so intimate, heat crawls up your spine, making you almost miss out on his next instructions. “I shall draw the glyph for blood over your forehead, and you do the same with the one for fire. Are you familiar with how to draw it?”
You nod. It’s one of the few glyphs you’re more than familiar with as Maester Lomys has always insisted for you to learn how to spell your House’s words; even though you’re only half Targaryen. 
Aemond uses your blood to draw said glyph on your forehead, and you’re quick to follow his instructions with the supplementary glyph. 
But that moment of peace doesn’t last long, not when Aemond takes the shard from your hand to cut the palm of his own without any sign of pain or discomfort to cross his features. 
You have hurt yourself plenty of times before, merely counting how often you fell off your horses as you learnt how to ride, but it has rarely happened on purpose and most definitely not with something as sharp as the dragonglass. And that is the moment you find yourself unable to move, unable to take it from his hand. 
“The pain disappears quickly,” Aemond tries to reassure you, sensing your hesitation; a stark contrast to how stern and annoyed he was mere moments ago. 
The coldness of the fragment nestles into your open palm as he places it into it, and Aemond bows his head once in a way to encourage you. 
His words bring you not much comfort, but the prospect of your future does. You have claimed a dragon, you’re meant to be the future Lady of Runestone and close to be married to the man that’s riding the largest dragon alive; there’s no place for you to think of the things that could possibly cause your downfall. 
A deep breath is exhaled the moment the dragonglass pierces the palm of your hand, opening your skin with a clean cut. The pain is delayed, and for a brief moment all that clouds your mind is the rush of your warm blood, and the sight of it so quickly filling the hollow of your palm. 
“Hen lantoti… ānogar,” Maester Gerardys cites, a thick accent and hesitance weaving itself through the otherwise smooth tongue. It makes it difficult for you to fully understand what’s being said. “Va s ȳndroti v āedroma.” Blood of two, joined as one. 
As Aemond unites your hands in a firm grip, you tilt your head up to look at him, taking him in wholly as the worst part has passed. You don’t dare to break the intense eye contact to look at where your hands meet.
The sensation of your blood trickling out of the cut has already been very adamant, but with Aemond’s blood combined, several droplets all but seep out from your joined hands, gathered in a goblet he holds underneath. 
Aemond squeezes your hand gently as the maester ties a red ribbon around them, binding you to one another and sealing the pact. 
“Mēro perzot g īhoti, el ēdroma iārza s īr. Izulī amp ā perzī, pr ūm ī lanti s ēteksi,” Gerardys mumbles in the background, but your attention is captured by Aemond bringing the goblet full of your blood up to his lips. Ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires. 
He does not hesitate one moment and takes a generous sip of the goblet, crimson tinting his chiseled lips as he lowers it again and hands it to you. You capture it between your fingers, raising it to your lips and following suit. The very adamant taste of copper lingers on your tongue, and it’s hard to swallow without grimacing. A smirk tugs on the corners of Aemond’s lips at that, making you blush and mouthing ‘my apologies’ at him. 
Although the goblet is lowered by you, you two do not move otherwise. There’s a thick tension between you, fueled by you gazing longingly into each other's eyes. Neither of you smiles or grins, just taking in the moment and its significance. 
“Hen jenȳ māz īlarion, q ēlossa oz ūndesi.” A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. 
Both of Aemond’s hands come up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb dragging gently over your nicked bottom lip. You stare at him with wide eyes and heavy breaths falling past your parted lips, every fiber of your body filled with heat that makes the waiting unbearable. And with his hands holding you, you can’t even bring your face even closer to his. 
“S ȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳk k īvia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.
Time stretches on as Aemond slowly dips his head toward yours, finally, holding it firmly in place as his lips collide with yours. The taste of blood on your tongues and lips doesn’t seem to subside at all, very much prominent and bringing a certain tint to it all. There is no gentleness in this kiss, the passion underlined by hunger and longing for more. 
Maester Gerardys clears his throat and inevitably catches your attention again, causing you to pull back from each other. “The marriage is now complete,” he states matter-of-factly. “If you’ll excuse me now, Prince Aemond,” he bows his head once before turning to you. “Princess. I shall retire to my chambers once more.”
“You may leave, too,” Aemond commands the servants, who quickly make a beeline for the doors. Watching the master depart after that, a faint sense of relief washes over the both of you. 
As soon as the doors shut behind him, Aemond’s eye flickers back to yours. He steps toward you, closing the distance between you until you can feel the warmth of his breath fan over your skin. “Well now, little princess,” he teases. “Are you familiar with the privileges a husband expects from his wife?” 
The blood rushes to your face as you realize what he implies, your heart starting to beat faster, though you cannot deny that it has piqued your interest. Your face remains neutral, however. “Oh, what are they?” you ask, deciding upon acting more innocent than you truly are just to mess with him. 
Aemond’s lips quirk up into a slight smirk as he notices your feigned innocence. It’s obvious that you’re aware of the true nature of a marriage, but he decides upon playing this game, at least for just a bit longer. “There are many,” he says teasingly, bringing his hand to the small of your back to draw your body closer to his. “And I am certain that you’re well aware of what some of those expectations might be.”
“Hm… some,” you whisper in reply, your tone getting flustered. A smile tugs at your lips as you try to hide the growing excitement his proximity is causing inside of you. 
He’s amused by you trying to act as though you’re not tempted, as though you both don‘t desire the same thing. “Shall I tell you or show you?”
You try to keep your composure at his words, but it’s obvious they are starting to have an effect on you. “Show me,” you whisper, the words slipping out between your trembling lips. 
While one of his hands comes up to rest at the back of your neck, the other grazes over your side down to grasp at your hip, and your body melts into his touch as his lips find yours once again. The tip of his nose presses against your cheek as you tilt your head in response to his tongue dragging over the curve of your lips, silently asking you to part them for him. And you do, prompting him to deepen the kiss. 
Aemond deliberately backs you up against the Painted Table, its edge pressing firmly against your rear, and splays his hand over the small of your back. He gives you no chance to escape his lips to catch your breath; when you pull away, his lips chase yours, eager to capture them again. 
A spark of something familiar ignites in the pit of your belly, something that has you pulling back just slightly to gasp against his kiss-swollen lips. You were so lost in the kiss, that you haven’t paid any mind to him herding you like a sheep, keening at the proximity and attention.  
But Aemond doesn’t stop at that. 
The laces of your breeches are undone swiftly by him merely using one hand, clearly experienced with it being his everyday attire. He pushes the thick fabric and your undergarments down to pool around your knees, exposing your soaked cunt to the chill air of the chamber. 
You, however, don’t give his fingers time to drag through your swollen folds. Catching him off guard and coaxing a grunt to escape his throat, your hand trails over the hardness in the front of his breeches, cupping it over the fabric and squeezing it slightly, before your fingers unravel the laces just as skilled as his did yours before. 
You can tell by the way he finally breaks the kiss as your hand slips inside of his breeches, wrapping around his hard, throbbing cock, that he’s taken by surprise. He instinctively bucks his hips against your hand, and releases a gasp as the cold air hits him with you freeing his length from its confines, pulling it out and stroking it deliberately slowly. 
Aemond’s fingers dig into your hip as a means to steady himself, a breathy ‘fuck’ spilling past his lips. 
“Is this one of these… privileges?” you tease, although it’s more of a whine with two of his nimble fingers easing into your cunt without a warning, pumping in and out of you in the rhythm of your hand tugging on him. It encourages you to move your hand quicker along his shaft in hopes of him doing the same, but when that doesn’t happen, you start rocking your hips against his hand to which he just tsks in disapproval. 
His lips find the side of your neck, and you’re quick to tilt your head to the side to grant him even more access. When his hot breath fans over your skin as he speaks, words laced thickly with arousal, a shiver runs through you. “It certainly is,” he groans. There’s a wry smile on his lips as he pulls back, meeting your half-lidded gaze. “But that is not all.”
The implication of his words causes your heartbeat to quicken, your walls tightening around his fingers in response. He draws in a sharp breath at that. “And… what else is there?” you ask, breathily. “Are you just talking or will you show me?”
“My my, what an eager, little wife I got myself here,” he taunts with a scoff, bucking his hips into your hand once. Your cheeks lit up at his words and the tone of his voice, but there’s no chance for you to cower under his piercing gaze when he peels your hand off of him and turns you around; his patience seemingly not infinite.  
He pushes you flatly onto the table, the warmth radiating off of it seeping into your cheek. Towering over you with one hand buried in your hair, the length of his hard cock presses into the crevice of your arse and makes you whimper; your body aching for more. “Are you not satisfied with what I’ve shown you so far?” he mocks, his slick coated fingers trailing over your hip. 
Pushing your lips into a pout, you try to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, but not without shoving your hips back against him to rile him up even more. “I just… I just wish to indulge in what my husband has to offer,” you whimper. Using that term of endearment feels unfamiliar, yet it just manages to spark more desire inside of you. 
“Oh, is that so?” he drawls. “What luck that it’s an option which lies open to you.”
He rises back to his full height, and grabs both of your hands to pin them behind your back, locking the wrists with one of his large hand and rendering you immobile. There’s no need for him to tug himself to full hardness, as just the sight of your cunt slick with your arousal is enough to get him rock hard. 
“That perfect cunt of yours is weeping for me.” You don’t have to look at him to see the smirk draped across his lips, the smugness very much prominent in the raspy drawl of his voice. 
Aligning the tip with your entrance, he’s met with little resistance, your soaked and swollen folds embracing him in one, swift thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. You moan in unison at the intrusion, your walls fluttering and clenching around him to fully accommodate his size. 
He pulls out of you almost completely with merely the tip of his cock remaining buried inside, the lack of his fullness already driving you insane. With his hand around your wrists, he proceeds to pull you back onto his cock while he thrusts his hips forward, meeting you halfway and resulting in his heavy balls slapping against your sensitive pearl. 
He pounds into you with reckless abandon in the following, the tip of his cock brushing the spot inside of you that has your vision grow blurry over and over again. 
With your face pressed against the table, you aren’t able to spot the desire blazing in his eye. The only thing that makes you aware of the excitement he finds in your unison is the tone of his husky voice. “When I am done with you,” he rasps, bowing forward to put more of his weight onto your small frame beneath his. “You will never desire another cock but mine.” 
Being in a stupor because of his cock, you’re not able to whine and whimper more than a string of yesses, the last one interrupted with a hard, percussive thrust. Then follows another, and another, until you can’t focus on anything else but the delicious pressure inside your cunt. 
You push your hips back against him, and he rears up to pull you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfway which results in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin bouncing off the walls.
The ‘gods’ he mumbles is hardly audible over both your moans and pants, but still doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You find it extremely pleasing to know that you’re able to coax him out of his composure more easily than you’ve first assumed; the highest praise he could ever give you. 
With one hand on your hip, he hoists you further onto the table, your feet leaving the cold ground beneath and dangling in the air. The edge of the table cuts into your hips in a way that slowly but surely becomes uncomfortable with the force of his thrusts, but it also ruts so perfectly against your pearl each time; juxtaposing pain and pleasure, making your mind hazy and your body go limp. 
It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your peak builds in the pit of your stomach with the right stimulation, taking over your body and rippling through you with soaring pleasure. 
Each time the sac of his stones slaps your little bud, your body tries to jerk away from him – but to no avail with your hands still pinned behind your back. Your body trembles in his grasp, and the tremors grow more and more apparent with each second he doesn’t pull out of you, prolonging your peak. 
“I shall breed you until you’re round with my seed,” Aemond rambles behind you, his own mind scrambling from pleasure. “To show everyone that you’re mine.” 
“S-Seven hells, yes!” It’s the overstimulation making yourself more desperate for his release, begging for his seed. “Please, please… please.”
Your walls tremble around him, choking him so tightly your husband has to take a deep breath to keep his composure. But all effort is fruitless when his pulsing cock spends itself inside of your quivering walls. His grunts and groans fan into the chilly air of the chamber, and you’d love nothing more than to feel them fanning over your lips instead. 
Out of instinct, you start to roll your hips against his, prolonging his own peak as you milk him for every drop of his seed. Aemond is out of breath by the time his movements come to a stop, staying buried inside of you as if he means to make sure his efforts bear fruit after the first try. And you relish in it, despite the vulnerable position it brings you in.
Releasing your wrists, his hands proceed to grope at your arse while he considers your trembling, satisfied frame. He can’t help but feel somewhat proud of himself. 
Being the first one to break the silence, you flush as you hear his raspy voice ring out. “Well, I see you were certainly eager to engage in those privileges,” he says, his voice laced with mischief. “Very eager.”
You chuckle softly, and when you move to push yourself off the table, Aemond takes that as his cue to pull out of you. Marveling at the sight of his seed slowly oozing out of your swollen cunt, he’s quick to stuff it back inside using his thumb. The gesture brings another wave of heat to your cheeks, more so when you feel his chest press flush against your back and the warmth radiating off of him with his finger still inside of you. 
Taking in a deep breath, you hold onto the table for support. “You certainly did not waste any time in… indulging either,” you reply. Not just your body is trembling with the after-effects of your intimacy, but also your voice still shakes. 
With a chuckle, Aemond dips his head down and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “We only have a few more hours before our absence is called into question by the court. We must return promptly.”
Your husband is the one fixing your attire, pulling up your smallclothes and breeches before he tugs himself back into his own. And it makes you well aware that the semblance of calm and freedom is very much over now. “They will realize where we have been anyways once they see me arriving on dragon back,” you counter with a pout on your lips. Perhaps that would coax him into staying just a little longer. 
He brings his hand up to cup your face, his thumb tugging on your bottom lip to free it from its position. “Yes, they may very well come to such a conclusion, but at least we shall preserve some of our dignity if we do return after a reasonable time. The last thing we need now is the whole court speculating on our whereabouts. It is already scandalous enough as it is.”
At his words, you let out a soft, grumbled noise of frustration, although you can’t deny that he has a point. “And what do we do then? We cannot just return to court and pretend as if nothing has happened.”
“No, I suppose not,” he replies. “We shall confront our fathers.”
Though you know your own father won’t take kindly to the news, you’re certain that your uncle won’t bat an eye upon hearing of it. Still, your demeanor shifts at hearing the notion that you’ll be facing your father, your eyes flickering with a hint of worry. “That will be just as bad as not returning to court at all.” 
Truth is, you haven’t spent a second thinking of the consequences, always pushing the thoughts aside for a later time. And with that time being now, a tiny amount of sweat appears at the back of your neck. 
“It won’t,” Aemond says firmly, his tone taking over a sudden sharpness. “At least then we shall be the ones defining our own fate. They will have no chance than to listen to us, rather than making an assumption based on hearsay.”
You exhale a deep breath. “Back to King’s Landing, then.”
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flowerandblood · 2 days
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The Fall from the Heavens (17)
[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: angst, swearing, violence ]
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[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]
The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.
Characters & Series Moodboard
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
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Although she feared that her father and mother would hate her, although she suffered at the thought of losing her unborn sister, the day after they returned to King's Landing was the most beautiful day of her life.
After their nightly honest and painful conversation, at last they both shook off the burdens they had carried on their shoulders for so many years, confessing their regrets and thoughts to each other.
After this, there was some kind of change in her husband, as if he had expected this conversation to destroy everything once and for all, to turn them away from each other, when in fact the complete opposite had happened.
It helped.
When he took her on the table that afternoon, when she felt his thirsty, tender touch on her body, she thought that at last things were as they should be.
And then he smiled, lightly and sincerely for the first time since she had seen him years later.
Although they waited in dread for an answer from Dragonstone, this period was also a time of hope for them, the prospect of a peaceful resolution despite the approach of his grandfather and mother filled them with a reasonable calm that allowed them to take a breath.
They did everything they could.
No matter what she thought of her usurper uncle, he, unlike their grandfather, had imposed fair conditions on her mother, ones that she could in fact agree to.
The next day, like every morning, her husband was training in the courtyard with Criston Cole. Although she had been reluctant to poke her nose out of her chamber for the past few days, she now felt better and, encouraged by the beautiful cloudless sky lit by the sun, decided to go outside.
At this hour, as usual, the Red Keep seemed unusually quiet and peaceful to her, with only the guards and servants walking hurriedly past her, trying to keep up with their duties without even noticing her.
She smiled involuntarily when she heard the loud clang of steel and spotted them in the distance walking under the cloisters, just as she had then, as a child, watched her uncle duel. She thought with some kind of pride, watching the sure, swift slashes of his sword, that only Daemon could now match him in hand-to-hand combat.
She felt a pleasant satisfaction at the sight of her uncle pushing against Ser Criston, leaving no one under any illusion as to who was dominating the duel.
Cole knew that her husband had taken it out on him for what he had done to her and forced him to give in every time.
She lifted her chin higher, sighing contentedly as the blade of his sword pressed against his neck, Cole raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
Her uncle turned the hilt of his sword in his hand and lowered it, a dangerous grin full of mockery and satisfaction on his lips. He stopped in mid-motion, his eye spotting her in the distance, seeming not to recognise her at first, and blinked, watching her from afar.
Encouraged by his attention, she walked down the stone steps into the courtyard, squinting, blinded from the sun, her husband stabbed his sword into the ground, coming towards her with a lazy step.
"What is it?" He asked uncertainly, his face expressing concern and surprise, his eye wide open, as if he could not believe she had left her chamber of her own accord.
"I have always enjoyed watching you duel. Does my husband deny me that pleasure?" She asked softly, saw his Adam's apple wave as he swallowed hard, his lips parted slightly.
"Tis not my desire." He hummed, and she felt a pleasant shiver run along her spine at his words.
She felt as if they were children again.
There was something wonderful about it, something joyful, something that made her feel a renewed desire to live.
She trembled when he tentatively raised his hand, when his fingers touched her cheek, when his thumb ran over her jawline, his eye watching her thoughtfully.
When he leaned in, when he pressed his warm lips to hers in a soft, wet kiss she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen, her heart sang with pleasure, her fingers touched his wrist.
He pulled away from her, looking at her with misty gaze, she could smell his sweat, hear his quiet murmur of contentment as she stroked his cheek with her palm, when her lips placed a soft, butterfly kiss on the tip of his nose.
She knew that Criston Cole, the guards, the servants could see this and it delighted her most.
Though distrustful at first, she agreed after her husband's persuasion to accept an invitation from her uncle to dine with him and Helaena in his chamber.
She felt that in doing so, Aegon was creating a faction inside the faction, showing his mother and grandfather that the fate of what was about to happen no longer lay in their hands.
Although she believed that Alicent did in fact want to protect her children, she did not trust their grandfather and knew that Aegon had no love for him either.
As it turned out, his invitation had a double bottom.
"Furious Borros Baratheon is on his way to King's Landing with his daughter, whom he expects and agrees you should marry. I fear he will regard your secret marriage as invalid and demand that you fulfil your vows." Said her uncle, putting himself a bit of roast from the tray, handing it to his sister-wife, who looked at her uncertainly.
She felt her heart begin to pound like mad, terrified, and looked out of the corner of her eye at her husband, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"It's out of the question." He said coolly, and she felt instant relief at the thought that he hadn't changed his mind.
That he wouldn't betray her.
"I am aware of that, however, the matter is delicate and complicated. I have decided, on the advice of my wife, to simplify it. Today you will marry in the presence of the Septon."
She and her husband looked at each other in shock; the loud conversations of servants and guards could be heard from behind the open window. Aegon took a deep sip of wine from his cup, putting it down on the table with a loud clink of steel.
"The king and queen will witness your wedding. The Septon will write a proper marriage act, which he will sign under threat of losing his head. This will officially settle the matter and enrage Borros Baratheon, but it will also surprise him. I will then offer him a seat on the Small Council for his son and financial compensation, which you, my brother, will cover from your annual income."
Said her uncle, she heard her husband turn in his chair beside her with a loud creak of wood and nod, swallowing hard, playing with his cup in his hand.
She glanced up at Aegon and frowned as she saw their eyes meet. She lowered her gaze immediately, thinking with disapproval that although part of her abhorred him, it was only because of him that there was any hope for her and his brother.
"Do you love him?" She heard his impassive, calm voice, saw Helaena and her husband move uneasily in their seats.
"− Aegon −"
"I am not speaking to you." He replied coldly to his brother, looking at her, stretched out comfortably in his chair.
She looked at him in disbelief and swallowed loudly, feeling her lower lip begin to tremble, tears of pain gathering in the corners of her eyes at his question.
Gods.
"I stayed here for him. I gave myself to him." She muttered regretfully, Helaena quickly grabbed her hand lying on the table, squeezing it in her own.
"My brother has been calling you a little whore all these years. He used to say: she surely fucks with her guards like her pathetic mother." He said softly, cocking his head, curious about her reaction. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that her husband had covered his face with his hand, devastated, his sister cast him a quick, sharp look full of regret.
She involuntarily chuckled at his words, feeling the pleasant evening breeze flowing in through the open windows envelop her heated cheeks.
"I am aware of it. He shared those very thoughts with me the very first evening when we spoke to each other years later." She sneered, Aegon burst out laughing loudly, placing a hand on his stomach, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Indeed, it sounds like something my younger brother would do."
After her uncle shared the details of his plan and informed them of the location of their clandestine meeting, they returned to their chambers to prepare. Her husband escorted her to the door, tense; she could feel that what had been said filled him with anxiety.
"Do you still wish to do this?" He asked in a hoarse voice, as if he thought what he had thought of her over the years and what she had learned might have influenced her decision.
"And has anything changed, uncle?" She answered question for question, saw that he threw her an impatient look in which relief lurked at the same time.
"No."
"Then you have your answer."
As promised, Helaena brought her one of her rich gowns. Being a prisoner in King's Landing, she only had a few of her garments, as the rest of them were left in Dragonstone. Her aunt helped her comb her hair, forming a bun from some of the curls at the nape of her head, surrounded by braids, letting the rest flow freely down her back.
The gown she'd brought her was gold, with open, exposed shoulders and wide sleeves slit at elbow height, its cut perfectly emphasising her pleasing figure. Looking at herself in the mirror, watching as she put pins with gold pearls into her hair, she thought that this was not how she had imagined her wedding day, but she felt happiness nevertheless.
She knew that this time it would look the way it should.
Her aunt had put a plain grey cloak over her shoulders and placed a hood over her head, hiding her attire that might arouse suspicion. Looking straight into her eyes, she thought with warmth in her heart, squeezing her hand in her own, that during this time she had been watching over her, being there for her during the hardest moments of her life.
"I am grateful to you for everything you have done for me. I wish your husband would give you what you deserve." She muttered, stroking her skin with her thumb, wanting to show her in any way that she also wanted her happiness. Helaena stroked her shoulders, turning her head, her gaze dreamy and calm, her lips curved in a gentle smile.
"He is the father of my children." She said softly, folding her hands on her womb, looking somewhere far away thoughtfully. "And it is only the fate of our children that matters."
They left her chamber together, not speaking to each other, heading ahead along the corridor. Just as they suspected, they came across guards who wanted to know where the princess was taking the prisoner.
"To the king, as ordered by him."
"Queen Alicent has commanded that she not leave her chamber after dark."
"I am the queen, Ser."
The guard swallowed loudly, looking at his companion, and then nodded, letting them pass.
Helaena grasped her hand, turning suddenly, leading her down a steep staircase into an underground lit only by barely smouldering torches.
It was rare for anyone to go down there, judging by the smell she concluded it was a former larder. She shuddered as she heard a rat run past her feet and swallowed loudly, wondering how Aegon had found this place and what he was doing here.
After a moment they emerged from the dark corridor into one of the chambers where she spotted three figures − a man of similar age to their grandfather dressed in modest grey robes tied at the waist with a cord, next to him stood Aegon and her husband, she swallowed loudly seeing his attire.
He wore a dark red tunic with gold ornaments in the shape of writhing dragon heads, she had never seen him in such colours before.
Neither Green nor Black, just like her.
Their marriage was supposed to be beyond division, a symbol of reconciliation.
For some reason she felt distress and anxiety, as if this was indeed her first wedding, her hands trembling as she untied the knots of the cloak she had pulled off with the help of her aunt, her golden gown shining in the firelight. She saw her uncle-husband's pupil narrow at this sight, he swallowed hard, trailing his gaze across her entire figure, tense.
She looked uncertainly at Helaena, and she nodded, so she gathered her courage and moved ahead, this time of her own accord, fully aware of what this entailed by going to marry the man she thought she had lost forever.
She involuntarily breathed through her mouth as she stepped in front of him, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous gesture, looking straight into his eyes, the expression on his face a mystery to her, his gaze seeming to almost burn her, piercing and dark.
She felt the Septon cast an uncertain glance in Aegon's direction, and he nodded, ordering him to begin. The man grunted quietly and turned to her husband.
"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."
She saw her uncle swallow heavily, turning towards his elder brother, who handed him a golden cloak embroidered in shiny red thread with their family crest. With a sweeping gesture, her uncle placed the cloak over her shoulders, her heart beating like mad, she was unable to look away from his face, hearing in her mind his words spoken in rage to her father.
She is my wife.
Who her father was no longer matters, for she belongs now to my family, for our children will bear my name.
She heard him swallow hard, clearly filled with extreme emotion as much as she was, she sighed as he took her hand in his, lifting it up.
"We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."
Said the Septon tying their entwined hands with a ribbon, thus symbolically uniting them for eternity.
She could not believe that this was really happening.
"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words." Said the Septon lowly, and they looked at each other, breathing loudly, clutching their fingers tightly.
"Father,
Smith,
Warrior,
Mother,
Maiden,
Crone,
Stranger
I am hers | I am his
and she is mine | and he is mine
from this day, until the end of my days."
They both fell silent, hearing the echo of the words they had spoken spread around them, looking at each other in disbelief.
She could see that his lower lip was trembling, his nostrils twitching in accelerated breath, his eye wide open, red with emotion.
He should say that he was sealing the marriage with his kiss, but it seemed to her that he was unable to get anything out.
He was moved.
This thought, the thought that he really craved this, that he had really waited for her for so many years, hating and desiring her at the same time made warm tears one after another flow down her cheeks, she pressed her lips into a thin line feeling her breasts rise and fall in quick, ragged breaths.
And then he did something she hadn't expected, which was sweeter and more tender to her than any kiss.
He drew her to him, locking her in a desperate, strong embrace of his arms, his fingers digging into her skin hidden beneath the thin material of her gown, cuddling his face into the hollow of her neck.
They were husband and wife.
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sylasthegrim · 1 day
Text
The Gods are Prisoners ♢ Chapter 2
Aegon x Aryana Stark (OC) x Aemond
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Tags ♢ arranged marriage, romantic tension, eventual polyamory
Wordcount ♢ 4,065
While touring the Seven Kingdom, Prince Aegon meets his intended, Aryana of House Stark. While he expected an austere woman, he instead finds a fiery young lady with an unexpected affinity for dragons. However, he isn’t the only Targaryen prince to take an interest in her…
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In this chapter, Aegon and his intended finally meet under the careful eye of King Viserys and Rickon Stark. However, neither is how the other expected...
Masterlist
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Chapter 2 ♢ The Godswood
It was as though time had stopped in the courtyard, people standing still in the quietly blowing wind, the royal carriage having been spotted and its estimated arrival was a mere few minutes.
There was a strange sort of atmosphere, a mixture of excitement and exhaustion, as a royal visit was a grand affair and this specific one had been years in the making—it was no simple visit, but the confirmation of the betrothal between House Stark and House Targaryen.
In the center of the courtyard, the Warden stood with his children, brother and nephews, and the handful of northern lords who had made the journey to Winterfell to meet their king. Most of them were present to witness this new alliance take its first steps, others to petition their sovereign, if he allowed it. What was at stake hung over their heads like a cloud, particularly heavy on Aryana’s shoulders.
Still, she stood with pride, bust held straight and chin tilted high. She would make her House and kingdom proud, she vowed to herself, no matter who she would meet today. She might meet a man she could eventually fall in love with, or at least come to admire, but she knew she could just as well meet someone she would never see eye to eye with, and they would have to rule together despite their differences.
Aryana was pulled out of her thoughts as the assembly gasped—a great shadow suddenly flew over them, plunging the yard in darkness for a few seconds before the walls trembled and the ground shook, rattling the windows. A great chill went down her spine and the back of her neck prickled with excitement.
She had read about dragons in the years prior, but she had never seen one, and she wondered if the sight of a winged beast would be enough to satisfy her if Prince Aegon was a disappointment.
The courtyard was silent in the minute that followed, before the King’s carriage passed the gates. Soon it was stopping a few feet away from them, and Aryana’s stomach twisted in a knot.
She threw a glance at her brother who stood on the other side of the father, and his encouraging nod settled her nerves slightly. No matter who Prince Aegon was, she would still have her family as support.
Aryana breathed through parted lips as the king came out, walking down the couple of steps out of the carriage with slight difficulty—he looked a bit tired, or perhaps even sick, and she thought to herself that the sight of the dragon king was quite underwhelming. Still, she held her judgment for later and curtsied low as her father greeted the king appropriately. 
The words they spoke to each other were lost on her as she kept her eyes on the carriage’s door, her heart beating wildly in her chest as a young man came out, following the King’s footsteps. 
He was shorter than his father, slim and well-dressed in the colors of his house. The black and dark red made his golden white hair stand out, and as he looked up from the steps, his piercing gaze searching the assembly, Aryana took a single step forward.
He was handsome, and that was a small relief, she thought to herself. His hair was cut below his chin, thick waves that framed his chiseled jaw and rounder face, the curves of youth still present in his cheeks. The look on his face was one of reserve, neither shy nor enthusiastic, and before Aryana could decide what she truly thought of him, her father introduced her.
“Prince Aegon, may I present you my daughter, Aryana,” Rickon introduced solemnly, reaching for her hand.
Aegon planted his feet into the hard ground as his own father turned to him, watching him like a hawk, and the young prince swallowed his nerves. He held onto the words of encouragement his brother had given him earlier, keeping his face neutral. 
The young woman at the right of Lord Rickon stepped forward, dressed in black and brown, muted colors that made her fiery hair stand out, and Aegon could not help a smile pulling at his lips. 
She was lovelier than he could have ever expected—while he had spent months if not years picturing an austere, plain woman, he was instead faced with an intriguing beauty. Her pale skin was freckled like a splatter of stars upon the sky, in accordance with her formidable red hair and rich brown eyes.
Out of the two brothers, Aemond was the poet and the more romantic at heart, but in this instant Aegon understood the appeal of well-chosen words and great declamations. His relief was so that he could not find his voice, and after a breathless chuckle that warmed Aegon’s chest further, the young lady spoke.
“It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Prince Aegon,” she said with a proper curtsy, slow and low, her lower lip caught under her teeth. A subtle squeeze of her father’s hand and she released it, looking up at Aegon under her lashes.
Aegon’s heart picked up speed when he saw the look in her eyes and realized with excitement that what was surely being mistaken for shyness by the rest of the royal party was a carefully constructed image, and behind her demure attitude lay a character that he found himself curious to discover. Mischief sparked in her dark gaze and Aegon grinned.
“The pleasure and honor are mine, Lady Aryana,” he recited in a careful tone, and he could practically feel his brother roll his eye behind him. His cheekbones flushed slightly as she seemed pleased, looking up at her father with pride.
At his side Viserys clapped him on the shoulder firmly and for once, was looking upon him with satisfaction. He knew it would take much more to deserve his father’s pride. “This way, your grace, we have much to discuss,” Rickon invited, and King Viserys followed him.
Walking side by side behind their fathers, Aryana kept the appropriate distance between her and Aegon while holding her head high, stealing glances to her right. 
“I hope your journey was pleasant,” she offered much too carefully for it to be natural, and Aegon’s grin came back slightly. He understood she was playing a game, much like he was, certainly having been taught what to say and encouraged to rehearse words beforehand—there would be time for honesty later, now they had a part to play.
“Most of it was on dragonback. Pleasant doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he still decided to reply honestly, and for a split-second wondered if she would take his answer as arrogance, but she only breathed a laugh.
“How exciting it must be, to be able to fly,” she exclaimed, her voice taking on a musical tone. It was deeper than most women’s, with a rumble he found utterly charming. He allowed himself a step slightly to the side and their shoulders brushed minutely—she was as tall as him, perhaps even an inch taller. 
“I suppose that in time, I could take you with me,” Aegon offered, fully knowing his question was a bit forward and that most people would be intimidated by the idea of riding a dragon, but he was eager to know what sort of northern lady she was. 
“I would love that,” she replied warmly, her complexion brightening under her excitement, and Aegon felt a boost of pride in his chest. It was rare that he made a good impression, and it was a good feeling. “The great beast that flew over us, is it yours?” 
“I’m afraid you shall have to settle for less,” Aegon answered, slightly bitter—perhaps a good impression was unattainable after all. “This formidable beast is my brother’s dragon, Vhagar. Mine is smaller, with golden scales.”
“Golden scales suit you more,” she added with utter certainty, and Aegon stopped in his tracks, genuinely surprised. She looked straight at him as he turned to face her, the party following a few feet behind stopping as well, allowing them the illusion of privacy.
“Your hair,” she replied, obviously taking his stunned silence as a question. Her gaze followed the line of his nose up to his forehead and his hairline, giving the ample opportunity to Aegon to look into the details of her face—her button nose scrunched slightly as she examined the color of his hair. “It’s less white than I expected. It has gold in it.”
Aegon felt his chest swell at this simple observation, the fact that she had thought of him enough to have expectations as elating as it was frightening, but he wished to know what else she had imagined him to be. 
“Your hair is less brown than I expected,” he returned the observation and her answering grin smoothed the scrunched skin at the bridge of her nose. He took a moment to look at her thick mane, and the color reminded him of the falling leaves in the Red Keep’s gardens when autumn hit the capital.
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The royal party was invited to settle into the guest quarters while the king and Rickon Stark talked in the small hall where the Warden usually received his petitions. Neither Aryana nor Aegon were allowed, and while she smiled easily and made herself scarce, no doubt seeking her brother, he found himself swallowing nerves.
He wondered what terms were being discussed while he changed from his traveling clothes—he had been put into a fresh doublet during their last stop, barely an hour away from Winterfell, and his hair combed, but to clean up and rest in a real bedroom was still very much welcomed.
“She is lovely,” he whispered to Aemond in passing as they were led to their respective rooms, and the young man appeared pleased for him. 
Aemond took less time freshening up, barely a swipe of a damp cloth at his throat and the back of his neck, and a change of doublet—the smell of dragon could be offensive to some, but he carried the scent with pride.
As he came down into the main hall where chatter was coming from, he found a luncheon offered to the royal party as a welcome, and he was glad for the cup of mulled wine a servant put in his hand. 
He settled himself on the edge of the room, looking at his father’s advisors mingling with the northern lords who had made the journey to Winterfell to greet them. Near the large hearth, Rickon Stark and Viserys were deep into what seemed to be a serious conversation.
As he was two third into his cup, he saw Lord Rickon look up and beckon someone over. Before Aemond could turn his head and see who was outside of his field of vision, Aryana appeared, walking over to her father with confidence.
From the corner of his eye, Aemond observed the young woman. She seemed perfectly at ease speaking to the king, smiling easily and holding herself with assurance. He was relatively pleased with what he had seen of her so far, and was hopeful she would make a fine companion for his brother. 
Soon he was pulled into conversation by one of his father’s advisors and put aside his musings, focusing on the task at hand, the one he had been brought into the tour for—managing Aegon’s image, and painting a better picture of his brother.
By the fire, Aryana had a difficult time focusing on her conversation with the king. She was eagerly awaiting Aegon’s return among the party, and she found herself wondering if her betrothed hadn’t fallen asleep in his room.
After a short while, Viserys called the name of his second son; Aryana followed his gaze to where the tall man was standing among a small party conversing excitedly.
The prince turned on himself, arms still crossed behind his back, Aryana was momentarily struck by his appearance—she had seen him in the royal party, standing closer to the king and Prince Aegon than anyone else, his white hair giving him away, but seeing him up-close was an another experience altogether. 
He was leaner than his brother, with sharp features that were harmonious despite their cutting edges. A scar seemed to run along the left side of his face, from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, hidden by an eye patch that contributed to his unusual appearance. “Lady Aryana,” he greeted, her name rolling smoothly on his tongue, and she was utterly intrigued.
“Prince Aemond,” she replied, a bit more curt than she would have liked, still puzzled at how different the two brothers seemed to be. “Might you know where my betrothed is? I think it would be fitting for me to spend some time with him.”
“Last I saw him, your brother was showing him the way to the Godswood.”
Aryana excused herself politely, and the king encouraged her to seek Aegon, his brow furrowing as he realized his eldest son was absent from the luncheon. She hurried out into the cool air of the afternoon and walked to the Godswood decidedly. The canopy of trees enveloped her as she stepped into the enclosed forest, the familiar smell of earth and leaves soothing her nerves slightly.
She found Aegon easily, not far from the entrance, and she stopped in her tracks as she found the prince was not in the company she had expected. Cregan was nowhere to be seen, and seemingly unafraid or uncaring, Aegon was sitting atop a large tree root and petting Aryana’s wolf, Nymeria. 
“You are either bold or a reckless fool, as she could easily bite off your hand,” Aryana announced herself.
Aegon barely looked up before he grinned, his pink lips stretching to reveal his white teeth. “You seem to have forgotten what beast I rode here,” he said with unconcealed pride. “What is a dog compared to a dragon? No matter the size of the dog, it doesn't compare.”
“Hardly a dog,” Aryana laughed, a deep rumbling sound that made him want to hear more of it.
In that spirit, he pushed the taunting humor, eager to see how far she would allow him to jest, or if she would take it as an offense. “It has four legs, fur and fangs. What would you call it, if not a dog?” he asked with a grin.
“She is a Direwolf, and her name is Nymeria,” she introduced. “Comparing her to a dog would be comparing your golden beast to an eagle or a hawk.”
Aegon’s grin widened and he shook his head as she sat beside him, tucking her heels against the root. He looked up from her low boots to where the hem of her dress had ridden up, exposing her ankles and legs almost up to her knees. She was dressed in a dark brown gown with maroon embroideries, a simple dress with a high, modest collar.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she said after a while, uncaring that she was being observed. “Are you bold or a fool?”
“I will let you answer that question for yourself,” he replied with good humor, and they shared a conniving smile.
“Afraid of revealing yourself so soon?” she asked in what was meant to be a teasing tone, but his brow furrowed and she had the inkling she had pushed him too far. His casual hint of arrogance amused her and she far preferred it to false modesty, but now she wondered what it was hiding. “I thought Cregan was escorting you?” she quickly asked, unwilling to let the first question fester between them.
“He did. I asked for a moment alone,” Aegon replied. “These woods are peaceful.”
“Indeed they are,” she agreed, stretching her legs in front of her and looking up at the thick canopy of trees. “I often come here, when I need a moment to reflect. Do you have such a place, back in King’s Landing?” 
“Not strictly in King’s Landing, no,” he said. Then smiled some sort of private, secret smile when she made a questioning sound. “The skies.”
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Later in the day, the luncheon turned into a merry banquet that celebrated what they all considered to be a promise of stability and prosperity for the crown. The lords of the North were confident that having a Stark near the throne would improve their prospects in the next few years, and in time profit the whole region when Aegon became king and Aryana would come to rule at his side.
She bore on her shoulders hope for her entire people and beyond—the North didn’t stop at Castle Black, and in the secrecy of her own heart, she carried the circumstances of the death of her birth father.
The whole assembly went silent and stood in respect as Rickon Stark proposed a toast. He stood with his back to the fire, and with his long hair and beard streaked with gray and his cloak lined with pelts, he looked like an old wolf, or an old warrior. “I would like to toast to this unprecedented alliance and thank his grace King Viserys for this honor,” he said, raising his cup above the line of his shoulders.
At his side, King Viserys smiled, looking pleased. He nodded before raising his own cup.
“A toast to my son Prince Aegon and his betrothed, Lady Aryana. I am sure you will make us all very proud,” he responded, and Aryana couldn’t help but notice how the king’s gaze quickly passed over his own son to set on her, where he lingered for a moment as he gave his compliment.
The smile on Aegon’s face was tight, and Aryana quickly thanked the king, eager to get the attention away from them. When they sat back, Aegon was uncharacteristically quiet, his back ramrod straight and his fingers tight around his cup.
He sighed in obvious relief when Cregan stood from his seat and walked around the table, coming up to him to ask his permission to dance with Aryana.
“I would request one last dance with my sister before your grace whisks her away,” he said with good humor but a hint of defiance that had Aryana roll her eyes.
As men and women, adults and children alike, filled the space with merry dancing that was very different from the dances customary in the capital, Aryana was swept away into the crowd with one last look to Aegon. He forced himself to keep his composure as long as he could see her, but as soon as she disappeared into the mass of bodies, he stood up and drained his cup, excusing himself.
He found a hallway that led to the outside, to a covered inner courtyard where he took a few deep breaths to settle his emotions. The humiliation stung, and he wondered how many people in the crowd had noticed the blatant way his father had dismissed him, obviously giving his blessing to Aryana alone. 
Hot tears stung the corner of his eyes but he held them at bay, until familiar footsteps came behind him.
“I am simply taking some air, father,” he justified himself before the king reached him, startled when he was grabbed by his shoulder and turned to face his father.
“Your betrothed is waiting for you,” Viserys reprimanded, anger etched on his face, and Aegon tried to free himself from his hold. “Again.”
“I shall go now, then.”
However his father’s grip only tightened and his mouth turned downward. “I held my tongue when you disappeared during the luncheon instead of seeking your intended, but I cannot and will not let you make a bad impression of yourself.”
Aegon kept his silence, desperately wanting to defend himself, to assure the king that Aryana had not been offended by his seeking the quiet of the Godswood. He wanted to tell him of their conversation, of their finding common ground under the sacred wood’s canopy, but he wished to keep this moment for himself. 
“Do you think it brings me joy to reprimand you this way?” Viserys pressed, and Aegon shook his head silently. “Answer me!” he snapped at his son’s silence, startling Aegon. 
“No, father,” he quickly replied, hot tears coming to his eyes again, and this time he knew he could not fight them.
“Jaehaerys would have not tolerated your ways the way I have. It is time for you to obey and to conform to what is expected of you,” the king insisted, despite the humiliated tears that streaked his son’s face now.
Jaehaerys would have been just, and he would have been proud of any son and heir, no matter the woman he was born to, Aegon thought in the privacy of his mind, regretting bitterly that the old king had passed before his birth. He spoke none of these words, knowing what awaited him if he spoke his own disappointment—a strike across the face, sharp and stinging, with the back of the hand. 
The rings on his father’s hand had split his lip more times than he could count, and he often blamed himself for how he had provoked his king, that he would need to resort to physical violence as words didn’t seem to register with him. He was beyond explanations, a lost cause that could only understand violence.
“You will not drink a drop more than what you have tonight for the remainder of our stay here,” the king commanded. “And you will spend every waking moment either with me, or with your intended. Am I clear?”
Aegon’s voice wobbled when he spoke and he curled his hands to stop their shaking. “Yes, father.”
As the king released his son, the young man made a wounded sound and scampered away, unaware his humiliation had had an unexpected witness.
Leaning on the railing of the balcony atop their heads, in the quiet and darkness of the night, Cregan had found some air after his dance with Aryana, holding his breath the moment he realized what was taking place a few feet away. 
He remained still as stone until the king left as well, and the words he had heard stayed with him all throughout the night. “Cregan, are you alright?” Aryana asked as she came to find him later, after a few dances with Prince Aegon. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure,” he whispered, taking Aryana by the arm and leading her away from the noise. She followed him into one of the hallways, and she took a sip of wine while waiting for him to speak. 
“I stumbled upon a conversation between the king and Prince Aegon, earlier. It was rather tense,” he started to explain, the words he had heard visibly still echoing in his head.
“I suppose the prospect of his eldest son’s marriage is putting pressure on the king,” Aryana said quietly, filling the silence in the time it took for Cregan to find the words to elaborate, her brow furrowing.
“Far from me to criticize the king and how he raises his sons, but in this instance he seemed overly harsh and unjustly so,” Cregan said, looking concerned. “He treated him like a boy.”
“Father still treats you like a boy sometimes,” Aryana pointed out, and they both smiled in tenderness at the mention of their father.
“Father would never humiliate me to make a point,” Cregan murmured, and Aryana’s stomach twisted in a tight knot. Viserys seemed of mild character, neither too soft nor too harsh, and even though Cregan would never repeat words he had overhead, she was glad he was sharing his impression with her.
Aryana wondered if what she had noticed during their conversation in the Godswood was more than a simple uncomfortable moment, if it held issues she was unaware of. “Aegon has the righteous arrogance of a royal prince, but a self-deprecating sense of humor,” Aryana murmured, almost to herself. “I’m unsure what to make of it.”
Left reeling by their first meeting but uneasy about Aegon’s true state of mind about their union, Aryana struggled to find sleep that night.
She realized that, foolishly, she had never considered that even though the match had been at the initiative of the Targaryens, her prince might not look forward to such an alliance. Still, she forced herself to wait until she made her judgment.
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Dividers by @saradika
Please reblog if you enjoyed reading. Reblogging is how you can show support to your favorite authors and keep their stories alive on this platform.
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mmurkoff · 17 hours
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the poll was a lie because i ended up doing both
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kckt88 · 2 days
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The Lost Dragon XII - Revelations.
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Summary:
Rhaenyra summons Aemond to Kings Landing.
*Features an Aemond POV*
Warning(s): Secret Reveal, Language, Anger, Threats to 'Burn down Kings Landing', Breaking Glass/Throwing Things, Prophecy, Vulnerability, Uncle/Niece Incest.
AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Word Count: 3786
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.
Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9
As they landed within the castle walls, Aemond couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and disbelief wash over him. His eyes were fixed on Vaelys as she gracefully dismounted Vermithor. Aemond stood transfixed, watching her stroke the bronze dragon's scales with a gentle hand, a look of pride on her face.
But alongside that awe, a pang of guilt stabbed at his heart. It was he who had been responsible for the death of Archonei. His control over Vhagar had failed and Vaelys had lost her cradle mate as a result and for a while he thought he hated Vhagar for what she’d done, but in truth it was himself that he hated.
He was responsible, had he not chased Vaelys through the skies then Vhagar wouldn’t have had the opportunity to kill Archonei.
But if Vhagar didn’t kill Archonei, then he wouldn’t have brought Vaelys to Kings Landing and the outcome of the war would be very different.
He wouldn’t have his wife and he certainly wouldn’t have his children.
The two years he spent in exile had allowed his bond with Vhagar to grow stronger, he’d never been across the narrow sea before, and he had to trust that she would keep him safe.
They spent weeks exploring, from flying over the ruins of old Valyria, and the red waste lands near Qarth to the grass lands of the Dothraki sea before finally settling in Volantis.
Of course, the money he’d taken with him didn’t last for the entirety of his stay, and sometimes Vhagar would be too lazy to hunt for herself, so he would have to pay for livestock.
Due to it’s location, Volantis was at risk of raids and Aemond was more than happy to help defend the city in exchange for funds, the Volantene agreed and were more than happy to host a Prince and his dragon-plus it didn’t hurt to mention that he was married to the future Queen of Westeros, of course the Volantene didn’t need to know the whole story surrounding his exile and they certainly didn’t need to know about Aemond’s fears of being set aside by Vaelys upon his return.
His fears of course were unfounded, and his wife was waiting for him on the beach of Dragonstone.
She was so beautiful, her silver hair longer than it been before, tied in a simple braid, the loose whisps fluttering in the sea breeze, her lips curved into a smile and her amethyst eyes shinning with tears, as she gazed upon him.
Never had anyone looked at him like that, like he was the only person in the world.
He spent the night fucking her into the mattress, over and over again. Gods his sexual appetite was ravenous-two years with nothing but his fist, of course many whores had tried their luck with him, but he’d declined every single one of them.
The thought of sticking his cock in a woman that wasn’t his wife made his stomach turn.
Of course, there was one woman, but she was never anything more to him than a friend. At first he had found her interesting, given her area of expertise, and her ability to see things in the flames, but what she had shown him, had terrified him.
As he laid entwined with his wife, he’d told her everything-well almost everything as that would no doubt come later.
As much as he wanted to tell Rhaenyra to stick her summons up her arse, he knew he couldn’t. Out loud anyway.
It was inevitable really, he knew he wouldn’t be able to return and not have her stick her nose in, not even two days and the raven arrived.
Can’t a man spend time with his children and fuck his wife in peace.
Speaking of fucking – his wife had looked truly delicious that morning and just before they were due to fly to Kings Landing, he bent her over the desk in their chambers and stuck his cock in her.
His request to her afterwards had been absolutely depraved.
"Do not clean yourself issa zaldrīzes, I want you to put your small clothes back on so that you feel my seed against you all day-only tonight will I permit you to clean yourself, after I've filled you up again" (My dragon).
But it definitely gave Aemond a twisted sense of satisfaction, that they would be in a meeting with the Queen, and his seed would be inside Vaelys.
Of course, he didn’t miss the look of hurt that flashed across his wife’s face when he asked her drink moontea.
He quickly explained that he wanted to enjoy being home first, being with her and the children, and getting to know Daevyn properly before he puts another babe inside her.
But he did insist that it wouldn’t be long before he desired to see her belly swollen with his seed again.
Fuck, he was getting hard again at the very thought, perhaps if they had time, they could sneak into one of the alcoves or even their old chambers.
But the approaching clatter of armour distracted him and sure enough two guards emerged clad in the red and black of House Targaryen. Their armour gleaming in the light.
"Princess Vaelys, Prince Aemond” one of the guards addressed them respectfully, bowing low before gesturing for them to follow. "The Queen awaits you in the council chambers."
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As Vaelys and Aemond entered the council chambers, they were met with some members of the council. Queen Rhaenyra sat upon the high seat at the head of the table, her silver hair cascading down her back, her violet eyes sharp and commanding. Beside her stood Daemon, his features masked in a stoic expression.
Jace, was also present, seated nearby with his wife Lady Baela. Jace's demeanour was composed, but there was a hint of tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the weighty matters that were to be discussed.
At the far end of the table sat Corlys Velaryon, and his wife Rhaenys Targaryen, who served as the Hand of the Queen. Corlys' silver hair was swept back from his face, his gaze sharp and assessing, while Rhaenys sat with an air of authority, her posture straight and unwavering.
As Vaelys and Aemond approached the table, the members of the council rose to greet them, their faces a mixture of curiosity and concern. Queen Rhaenyra's voice cut through the silence, her tone commanding yet tinged with warmth.
"Welcome, back brother," she said, her voice echoing in the chamber. "We have much to discuss, but first, take a seat”.
With a nod of acknowledgment, Vaelys and Aemond took their places at the table.
“So how are you finding your return to Westeros?"
Aemond scoffed lightly, “It's only been two days," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "I've spent most of it with my children and in bed with my wife, making up for lost time"
As Aemond's jest echoed through the council chambers, a slight scowl marred the features of Jace. His brows furrowed in disapproval as he shot a sharp glance in Aemond's direction, his expression betraying a hint of annoyance at the cavalier remark.
Aemond, ever quick to notice the reactions of those around him, caught sight of Jace's disapproving glare and couldn't resist a smirk. His lips curled upward in amusement, a glint of mischief dancing in his eye as he met Jace's gaze head-on.
Rhaenyra turned her attention to her daughter, her gaze softening with maternal affection. "Vaelys, I was hoping you'd bring the children with you," she remarked, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips.
Before Vaelys could respond, Aemond interjected with a hint of brusqueness in his tone. "My sister Helaena is looking after them," he stated bluntly, his words carrying a note of dismissal.
Rhaenyra's expression faltered briefly, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features at Aemond's curt reply.
Vaelys, sensing the tension in the air, placed a reassuring hand on her mother's arm. "I'm sorry, Mother," she said softly, casting a pointed glance at her husband. "Aemond thought it best they remain with Helaena for the time being."
"How was your time across the narrow sea?"
Aemond's response was sharp, his tone laced with a hint of accusation. "Why ask me a question that you already know the answer to-or did your little spies not tell you, sister?" he retorted, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
Vaelys, sensing the tension in the air, turned to her mother with a furrowed brow. "Mother, what is he talking about? What spies?" she demanded, her voice edged with frustration.
Rhaenyra's gaze flickered for a moment, a hint of uncertainty crossing her features before she quickly composed herself. But Vaelys could see the slight tremor in her mother's hands, the subtle tightening of her jaw.
"Vaelys, it's nothing," Rhaenyra replied, her voice strained. "Just a misunderstanding."
But Vaelys wasn't satisfied with her mother's vague response. Anger simmered beneath the surface as she pressed for answers. "Nothing? It doesn't seem like nothing," she countered, her voice rising with frustration. "What spies, Mother?"
Daemon, ever the voice of reason, stepped forward, his expression grave. "I'm afraid it's true, Vaelys," he admitted reluctantly. "We had our agents keep an eye on Aemond during his time across the Narrow Sea. It was a precautionary measure, given the circumstances."
Vaelys' eyes widened in disbelief at her father's revelation. "What circumstances?" she repeated, her voice tinged with incredulity and growing concern.
Daemon's gaze softened as he met his daughter's questioning stare. "We had to make sure that wherever Aemond ended up, he didn't organize a coup with one of the Free Cities," he explained, his voice grave. "There were concerns that he might seek support to send soldiers to invade and take over Westeros, backing a prince with royal blood and the largest dragon in the world."
The weight of Daemon's words hung heavily in the air, the implications sinking in with chilling clarity. Vaelys struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the situation, the thought of her own mother and father plotting.
"And we also had to make sure that he didn't pop up somewhere in Westeros, breaking his exile," Daemon continued, his tone sombre.
For a moment no one dared to speak. Jace clasped Baela’s hand in his and Corly exchanged a concerned look with Rhaenys.
Aemond's voice cut through the tense silence of the council chambers, his tone tinged with bitterness and resignation. "Basically, they don't trust me, and they never will," he declared, his words heavy with the weight of truth. "Doesn’t matter that she only has the throne because I killed my fucking brother”.
"All this time-you knew where he was, and you never told me," exclaimed Vaelys, her words tinged with disbelief.
The weight of the realization settled heavily upon her, a sense of betrayal gnawing at her heart. For two years, she had wondered about her husband's whereabouts, fearing the worst, while all along, her own family had kept the truth from her.
Rhaenyra's expression softened with regret as she met her daughter's anguished gaze. "Vaelys, I..." she began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the right words.
But Vaelys couldn't bear to hear any excuses or justifications. "How could you?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
Then Daemon's words cut through the tense atmosphere of the council chambers like a knife, his tone laced with bitterness and accusation. "It is not only us that keep secrets from you," he remarked with a snide edge to his voice. "Why don’t you ask your husband about the woman in red whose company he frequently kept?"
Vaelys felt a surge of anger and betrayal rise within her at her father's insinuation. She knew exactly what he was accusing Aemond of, and the thought of her husband's potential infidelity filled her with a mixture of fury and hurt.
Vaelys then felt a seething rage boiling within her, an anger so potent that it rendered her speechless. The weight of betrayal and deceit hung heavy upon her shoulders, threatening to consume her from within. As her family's voices echoed around her in the council chambers, she found herself unable to utter a single word.
With a sense of numb detachment, Vaelys rose abruptly from her seat, the scraping of her chair against the floor the only sound she made. Ignoring the calls of her mother, the pleas of Aemond, she strode purposefully towards the exit, her footsteps echoing in the hushed silence of the chamber.
Her vision blurred with unshed tears, Vaelys pushed open the heavy doors of the council chambers, the cool air of the Red Keep's corridors washing over her like a wave. She quickened her pace, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of the truth that had been laid bare before her.
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As she climbed into the saddle, settling herself upon Vermithor's broad back, Vaelys felt a sense of familiarity wash over her. The connection between dragon and rider was a bond forged in fire and blood, unbreakable and unwavering.
Beside her, Aemond approached on Vhagar, his expression etched with concern as he climbed onto the back of his own dragon. He looked towards his wife, a silent plea for her to speak, to share the burden that weighed so heavily upon her.
But Vaelys remained silent, her gaze fixed forward as the dragons took to the sky, their powerful wings beating against the air. The wind rushed past them, carrying with it the echoes of their flight as they soared through the clouds.
For the entirety of the journey back to Dragonstone, Vaelys remained lost in her own thoughts, her silence a testament to the depth of her anger and hurt.
Hours later and Vermithor and Vhagar were descending onto the shores of Dragonstone, the dragons' mighty wings beat against the air, creating a gust that stirred the sands below. Vaelys remained stoic in the saddle of Vermithor, her expression unreadable as she dismounted in silence.
Aemond, his brow furrowed with concern, followed suit, dismounting from Vhagar's back and landing lightly on the ground. He glanced at his wife, searching her face for any sign of emotion, but she remained as impassive as the stone walls of Dragonstone itself.
With a heavy heart, Aemond watched as Vaelys wordlessly turned away from him, striding purposefully towards the towering gates of Dragonstone's castle. He hurried to catch up with her, his footsteps echoing in the empty courtyard.
"Vaelys, please," he called out softly, his voice tinged with desperation. "Talk to me. "
But Vaelys remained silent, her eyes fixed straight ahead as she pushed open the heavy gates and disappeared into the depths of the castle.
As Aemond followed Vaelys into their chambers, the heavy silence weighed upon them like a suffocating blanket. He watched in growing concern as she moved with purpose, her movements tense and erratic.
Suddenly, without warning, Vaelys erupted into a frenzy of rage. She seized whatever objects lay within her reach and hurled them across the room with a force that startled Aemond. Books, vases, even small pieces of furniture became projectiles in her tempestuous storm.
Aemond stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock as he witnessed his wife's unbridled fury. He had never seen her like this before, consumed by such raw emotion that she seemed almost unrecognizable.
"Vaelys, stop!" he called out, his voice filled with urgency, but she paid him no heed. Her rage burned bright and fierce, an inferno consuming everything in its path.
Desperate to calm her, Aemond approached slowly, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Please, Vaelys," he pleaded, his voice soft and soothing.
But Vaelys continued her rampage, her eyes blazing with a fire that refused to be quenched. In that moment, she seemed untouchable, lost in the whirlwind of her own emotions.
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As the chaos of Vaelys' fury raged around them, her voice pierced through the tumult with a raw, anguished cry. "It was in that bed—where I struggled to birth our son," she screamed, her words laced with pain and accusation. "The blood, the pain-I thought I was going to die. I called for you-I kept calling for you and you didn't come."
Her voice cracked with emotion as she continued, her words carrying the weight of years of unspoken anguish. "But she was there, holding my hand, listening to me weep for you. And all this time, she knew where you were."
Vaelys' words rang out like a fiery proclamation, her voice filled with a ferocity that sent shivers down Aemond's spine. "I'll go back there and burn it down!" she shouted, her tone laced with determination and rage.
But before she could make a move to leave, Aemond acted swiftly, wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her back into the room. "Not so fast," he interjected firmly, his voice commanding.
Vaelys struggled against his hold, her desperation evident as she fought to break free. "No, Aemond, let me go! I'm going to burn them all," she cried out, her eyes flashing with a mad glint.
Aemond held her tightly, refusing to let her slip away into the darkness of her own fury. "Vaelys, listen to me," he urged, his voice gentle yet firm. "Burning things down won't solve anything”.
"No, it will solve everything," argued Vaelys vehemently, her words dripping with contempt. "Because then I'll be free of the lying cunts!"
Her eyes blazed with an intensity that matched the flames she longed to unleash upon those who had betrayed her trust. Each syllable carried the weight of her righteous fury, a testament to the depth of her pain and the magnitude of her anger.
Aemond tightened his embrace, his heart aching with the realization of the depth of her anguish. "Vaelys, I understand your anger," he said softly, his voice pleading. "But vengeance will only lead to more suffering."
But Vaelys shook her head defiantly, her gaze unwavering. "No, Aemond," she insisted, her voice unwavering. "This is justice. They deserve to feel the same pain they inflicted upon me."
Aemond's heart sank as he realized the depth of his wife's despair, the darkness that threatened to consume her from within. He knew that he couldn't let her succumb to the lure of vengeance, no matter how justified it may seem in the heat of the moment.
"You asked for me," said Aemond, his voice heavy with regret. "Had I known, I would have come. Rhaenyra would have had me executed for it, but I would have broken my exile-for you."
Vaelys felt a surge of emotion welling within her, the anger and resentment that had consumed her gradually beginning to ebb away. She stopped struggling against Aemond's embrace, her body relaxing as she listened to his heartfelt confession.
“Aemond I-“ whispered Vaelys.
"For the two years I was in exile-I felt dead inside. I had no idea that someone could exist with their heart outside of their body."
"I felt the same way-every day I would look across the narrow sea and wonder if you was on the other side looking back" replied Vaelys.
"I was-I was always looking" said Aemond.
Despite the surge in her chest at Aemonds admittence, she had to know.
"What about the red woman?" asked Vaelys softly, her voice hesitant.
Aemond's expression softened, a weary sigh escaping his lips as he considered how to respond. "She was a High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis," he explained, his tone tinged with resignation. "She could see visions in the flames."
He paused; his gaze distant as memories of his time in exile flooded back to him. "I kept her company because-I was intrigued by the Lord of Light," he admitted, his voice trailing off.
"What did she see in the flames?" asked Vaelys, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Se bōsa bantis iksos māzis. Hen aōha ānogar māzigon se dārilaros bona istan kīvio, se zȳhon jāhor sagon se vāedar hen suvion se perzys” (The long night is coming. From your blood comes the princess that was promised, and hers will be the song of ice and fire).
“Dārilaros?” asked Vaelys (Princess).
“Daenerys jelmāzmo hen targārio lentrot” (Daenerys stormborn of House Targaryen).
“When?” asked Vaelys.
“Many years from now, our fifth great granddaughter will ascend the Iron Throne and unite the realm against the enemy in the North” replied Aemond.
“Did she show you anything else”.
For a moment Aemond seemed hesitant to answer, but then he took a deep breath and closed his eye.
“She showed me a future where it was Lucerys that went to Storms End instead and Vhagar killed him, the war happened and many more died-The greens and the blacks, we destroyed our house. My own death at the hands of your father, my only legacy was that of a kinslayer and my bastard son sired on a woods witch” muttered Aemond.
“W-What about me?” asked Vaelys.
“You were dead, I was the one who killed you” replied Aemond, tears running down his cheek.
“Oh Aemond” said Vaelys his words sending a chill down her spine.
"I-I want you to know that I would never hurt you. I’d rather cast myself into the depths of the seven hells before I raised a hand too you”.
Tears welled in her eyes as she reached for him, her fingers intertwining with his in a silent promise of devotion. "Aemond," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, "I trust you. And I love you."
Aemond leaned forward, his heart pounding with a mixture of longing and desperation. Without a word, he closed the distance between them, his lips meeting Vaelys' in a passionate kiss.
"Ever since the Red Woman showed me that vision of the future," Aemond lamented, his voice heavy with sorrow, "I didn't want to go to sleep."
He looked into Vaelys' eyes; his gaze haunted by the spectre of the nightmare that had plagued him. "I feared waking up in that terrible future, where you were gone-where I lived a life never experiencing your love."
His words hung in the air, a raw admission of the depths of his despair and longing. Aemond reached out to Vaelys, his hand trembling as it sought hers, desperate for the reassurance of her touch, almost afraid she would disappear.
Feeling the weight of his emotions pressing upon him, Aemond leaned forward again, his lips seeking hers in a tender and passionate kiss. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of their embrace and the softness of her lips against his.
As their kiss deepened, Aemond poured his heart into the gentle touch, seeking solace and connection in the midst of their shared vulnerability.
When they finally parted, Aemond rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the chamber. He closed his eye, savouring the closeness they shared, grateful for the love that bound them together.
“Make love to me” whispered Aemond.
Vaelys met his gaze with a tender smile, her eyes filled with understanding and love. Without a word, she took him by the hand, leading him with gentle determination towards the bed.
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theboleyngirlx · 19 hours
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my lord husband is so handsome… 💭❤️‍🔥
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aemond-defenser · 2 days
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“You are my love.” [ Aemond Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen (oc - twin of Daeron) ]
Warnings: soft, sweetness
Summary: After after a night of passion, Visenya takes over Aemond's room to ask him how he felt about her.
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Visenya knocked on Aemond's door. That quiet, warm day turned out to be very important for her. She used to enter in his rooms, but now her heart beat faster.
"Who is?" Aemond's tone was impassive.
“I am your sister, the sister you love.”
“Visenya…” His tone became softer. His lips moistened with the touch of his tongue. "Enter. Don’t esitate."
She took over Aemond's room. He was sitting in front of a roaring fire. He looked at her and she cracked a smile on her lips.
“Sister you are here.” He got up from the sofa to approach her.
"Aemond." Visenya hissed through her teeth. Her intentions to communicate her thoughts and what she felt were so strong. She approached him softly and he looked at her with his usual impassive gaze, but tender only with her.
“I notice you're worried. Has anyone upset you? I swear that…" He said.
However, she immediately stopped his words.
“No one did anything to me.” Her hands were now on Aemond's chest. She looked at him in the only eye she had which however had a particular sparkle that day. “But I have something to ask you.”
“Ask then. Don't hesitate with me, my beloved.”
“Do you love me, dear brother?” She blushed at that moment and looked up at him to look into his eyes.
Aemond smiled softly.
“Were these your concerns?”
She didn't answer, just smiled at him.
“Visenya. I believe you wield power far beyond that of those ancient sorcerers. You own my heart.” Aemond gently caressed her sister's face with his hand in response.
“I asked you because you know… in the last few weeks I've been thinking about how much you meant to me. A sister, a lover, someone important to you? And what will become of us in a few years? I... I want to know everything you think about me.” Her voice now sounds serious.
“You are my soulmate, my light, my love. I don't want to spend my time with anyone else but you. We are not just siblings. And in a few years? We will still be together, stronger and happier than ever." His features softened as she began to speak, sensing the change in Visenya's demeanor. He took her hand, holding it tightly, showing the care he felt for her. He spoke honestly, without holding back.
“So you love me.” Visenya said with her face slightly worried or just too serious for the situation. “Because I do and I couldn't live without your love.”
He squeezed her hand lightly, a smile of tenderness and affection appearing on his lips. His gaze was firm and sincere, showing her all his love and adoration. “I do. With all my heart. I love you.”
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witchy-v1xen · 1 day
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Just realized I'm going to be inconsolable when Aemond dies...
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idksmtms · 2 days
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evermore series
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To all the swifties who enjoy my writing, this one is for you! I got this idea at 3am and I am now committed! I'm gonna write a one-shot for each song from the album (at least the ones I can think of) for a variety of characters! This will probably go a bit slowly because I'm writing another series at the same time but I got a bunch of inspo for some of these songs and this idea so I have to do this!
Below I have the track list and the characters:
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willow - Cillian Murphy
champagne problems - Aemond Targaryen Modern AU
gold rush - Kerry Von Erich
'tis the damn season - Aegon II Targaryen
tolerate it - Daemon Targaryen
no body no crime - Daemon Targaryen
happiness - David Von Erich
dorothea - Cillian Murphy
coney island - Kerry Von Erich
ivy - Kerry Von Erich
cowboy like me - David Von Erich
long story short - Cillian Murphy
marjorie - David Von Erich
closure - Uhtred Ragnarsson
evermore - David Von Erich
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queenhunter102 · 2 days
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Master list
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(This is how I see the boys looking at you Aemond's eyes lazily following you around, not really giving anything away unless you look real close, while Aegon's face just gives him away, like his whole face is following you, smiling like a twat)
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON - Aegon and Aemond.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
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Nsfw - GN!reader | Male!reader | Fem!reader
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valeskafics · 4 months
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"My Strong Girl" - Dark Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader
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a/n: in honor of WHATEVER THE FUCK YESTERDAY WAS AHHHHHH prince regent aemond is coming (and so am i hehe). this is also a late bday present for my babe @hoosbandewan ilysm boo!!! 🩷
Summary: The Prince Regent consummates his union in a rather... Unorthodox way.
TW: HEAVY DUBCON, canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, dark/yandere behavior, PUBLIC sex, period typical misogynistic attitudes, asshole aemond, fingering, overstim, loss of virginity, p in v sex, breeding kink, degradation, humiliation kink, dumbification, filth, i'm going to hell
Word Count: 2,810 words
Rating: 18+, MDNI
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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The silence is deafening as you are led from your cell in the dungeons to the throne room. Your mouth tastes of ash and blood as you hold your head high, refusing to let Ser Criston treat you as anything less than you are.
The eldest surviving child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
You know it is not your Uncle Aegon who sits the throne now. He is not who you are being led to. No, it is his younger brother, Aemond, the Prince Regent. You see him, sitting there on the Iron Throne. Your mother’s throne. The Conqueror’s crown rests upon his brow, his lips curled up into a smug smile, the greatsword Blackfyre resting at his side. You maintain eye contact with him, refusing to shrink away, something which seems to amuse him. With the way he stares at you, cold and calculating as ever, you feel naked under his gaze. Like your body and soul are bared to him. Never have you felt so uncomfortably vulnerable.
Ser Criston shoves you to the ground in front of the throne, demanding, “Kneel before your Prince Regent.”
You look up at Aemond, seeing that he’s still staring down at you, and rather than kneeling, you spit at his feet, lips pulled back as you snarl, “I will not.”
Aemond arches a brow at your display of defiance while Ser Criston glares at you, “I will not repeat myself, bastard. Bow to your Prince Regent.”
The prince has to catch his breath when you look up at him, that fire in your eyes which he has loved since he was a boy, your voice as sharp as Blackfyre’s edge, “No matter how the wind howls, the mountain will not bow to it. I will not yield to this usurper. This murderer.”
Criston unsheathes his sword, raising it above his head as he declares, “Then you will kneel in pieces.”
Aemond raises his hand, giving Criston a stern look, stopping the knight in his tracks. He descends down the steps, staring down the bridge of his nose at you before bringing Blackfyre to your chin, forcing you to look up at him.
“A fine blade, is it not?” You remain silent, glowering at him in a way that has his breeches uncomfortably tight. “Would you care to test your mettle against steel?”
“I came here to avenge my brothers,” you retort, “To watch your blood spill upon these floors and to retake the crown for my mother, you treacherous snake.”
He purses his lips, clicking his tongue in a show of mock chastisement before replying, “Such harsh words from such soft, pretty lips. We’ll need to change that if you are to be the bride of the Prince Regent.”
The word makes you feel as though your heart has stopped beating entirely.
Bride…?
Before you can say another word, you are dragged away by Ser Criston once again, delivered into the hands of two chambermaids. He instructs them to get you ready, that the dress will be waiting when they are done bathing you. Your eyes are wild as you look around, realizing what is happening. You kick against your captors, screaming wildly, looking at the knights that were once loyal to your mother, your grandsire before her, as they stand by and do nothing.
As you are carried off to be married to the man you hate most in the world.
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The Royal Sept feels every bit like a tomb, each step you take toward Aemond feeling like a step closer toward your doom. And he just stands there, with that infuriating smirk on his face, knowing that he has won. It is your mother’s former childhood companion, your grandmother of sorts, who walks you toward your husband to be.
You whisper to her under your breath, “For a woman of the Faith, you seem content to allow your traitorous sons to do as they please, breaking all bonds of family and loyalty. You sanctimonious, hypocritical-”
“You had best be quiet. As a good wife is,” Alicent cuts you off sharply with a warning look, “This is not your mother’s keep anymore. You would do well to remember that.”
Your voice is dark as you glare at her and respond, “This will always be my mother’s keep, you traitor.”
The septon says his words, extolling the value of love. Of duty. Of family. And it takes everything in you not to laugh in the man’s face. Where is love? Certainly nowhere in this sept. Where is duty? Where is family? Your family is scattered to the four winds. And you are here, your hand being tied to that of the man who murdered your beloved little brother. You think of Luke as Aemond puts his cloak around your shoulders, bringing you under his protection.
Kinslayer. The most cursed of all things a man can be.
And you are married to him.
He leans in and presses his lips to yours, the hunger in his kiss intense and almost terrifying. His hand threads in your hair, pulling you close to him as his lips move against yours. You hear whispering around the sept, but no one is brave enough to say anything to stop this madness. To save you from this man.
You’re taken by surprise when you are not led to a feast nor the bedchambers you are likely to share with your newly wedded husband.
Instead, you are led to the throne room, the nobility of Westeros surrounding you. You feel their eyes on you, some pitying, some amused, as Aemond drags you by the elbow up to the throne, pulling you onto his lap. You let out a shocked yelp, doing your best to squirm away from him, but he keeps you in place. You wonder whether he plans to address the highborn folk, why he has brought you here.
But then, it becomes glaringly obvious to you what his plans are as his long fingers move to rest on the nape of your neck. You shiver, your eyes closing as you feel his other hand tugging at the laces of your wedding gown. He cannot be serious.
He cannot truly intend to consummate your union in the eyes of all the nobility, on the throne.
“Your parentage has been a topic of conversation for years. You and your bastard brothers.” Aemond’s breath is hot against your ear, his teeth grazing against your skin as he inhales your scent, “I will not have the same happen to my children. I will breed you in front of the entire realm so they know the whelp that grows in your belly is mine, that it is my seed that quickens in your womb and none other’s.”
Anger brews inside you at his words, your fists clenching as you resist the urge to lift your elbow and strike him in the jaw, if only barely. You hate him, you hate him so much, and you remind yourself of the fact as he tugs your wedding gown down your body, leaving you in only your smallclothes. Your jaw sets and you do your best to ignore the feeling of his fingers tracing your upper arms. Aemond pulls you closer to him and you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against your flesh, the thought making you want to retch. One of his hands caresses your throat while the other moves to your thighs. He squeezes your soft flesh, letting out a low hum of pleasure, fingers trailing up toward your cunt, lifting your shift as they move.
You press your lips together, refusing to make a sound as you feel his fingertips grazing against your bare, sensitive core. You hate the way his touch, how feather light and almost ghostlike it is against your skin. You hate the feeling of wetness pooling between your thighs as Aemond teases you, chuckling in your ear as he feels your slick on his fingers.
“For someone who claims to hate me so much, niece, your body betrays you. Your sweet little cunny is practically begging to be fucked by me.”
Aemond’s words make you shiver. And you despise the fact that he’s right. Your body is responding to him in a way that shocks you. Though you want nothing more than to shove him away, to look out at the crowd and plead for someone to help you, all you do is rest your back against his chest, allowing him to spread your legs, his fingers pushing inside your center. You have touched yourself before, but gods, it is so different when it is the touch of another, when it is they who set the pace. Aemond drags his fingers along your walls, your cunt tightening around him, body reacting viscerally to his touch. You can hear the murmurs of the crowd and turn your face away in shame, but you feel his hand move from your throat to tug harshly at your hair, forcing you to face the observers.
“Look at them,” he snarls in your ear as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you at a pace faster than anything you could do on your own, making you let out a gasp of pleasure, “They are here to see us consummate our union, wife. Let them see you writhe against my fingers, moaning my name like a little whore as I prepare you to take my cock.”
In spite of yourself, your hand moves to rest over his, urging him on, a silent plea for him to move faster as you face the crowd, the slight tug at your scalp only enhancing your desire. Aemond happily complies, feeling the way you squeeze around him when he brushes a certain spot inside of you, focusing his attention on it, listening as you let out a breathy moan of his name, your free hand grasping at his thigh for purchase. His thumb rubs at your pearl, the bundle of nerves devastatingly sensitive to his touch, and he feels you spill yourself against his fingers, your body going lax as you fall back against him.
The Prince Regent has no intention of stopping, however, shocking many of the nobles present as he continues, the wet noises of his fingers sliding in and out of your cunt quietly echoing, along with your little pants of breath, your plea for him to slow down.
“And you call yourself the blood of the dragon,” Aemond mocks, pinching at your sensitive bud, making you cry out, your thighs shaking as he continues, bringing you closer and closer to your second peak, “Where’s my Strong girl? Hm? You can give me another one. I know you can.”
You shake your head, writhing against him just as he predicting as he continues fucking you with his fingers, not a trace of mercy in his touch. His free hand leaves your hair to grope at one of your breasts, sliding your shift down to expose you to his greedy gaze, along with that of the perverted noblemen watching you.
He wants them to see you, the sweet princess once known as the Realm’s Jewel, defiled and debauched by him, the second son who no one thought would amount to anything. Everyone was under the impression that you were to be married to Jacaerys. That is, until the day your family returned to King’s Landing and Princess Rhaenys announced that he was to marry Baela. Aemond saw the way your face fell with despair, you and your twin exchanging looks across the table. Your mother then stated that you were to be sent off to Riverrun, to be wed to Kermit Tully. Aemond knew that he would not allow this to happen. He knew that no matter what, he would have you. The little bastard girl who had haunted his dreams since he was a boy. You showed him kindness that neither his brother nor yours ever did, with your warm smiles and your gentle words.
And now, as far as he is concerned, he is repaying the favor, bringing you to the edge for a third time, listening to you mewl his name like a bitch in heat as you squirm against him.
“Where is that willful girl who was brought to me earlier today?” Aemond chuckles, lifting your hips, moving you back and forth on his thigh, the feeling of the coarse fabric of his breeches against your abused cunt making you let out a choked gasp, “I thought you would never bow to me. But here you are, sweet niece. My wife. Ready to be fucked like a little whore.”
You whimper slightly, and the sound prompts him to turn you around to face him, your back now to the crowd. He pulls his dagger from its sheath and slices open the fabric of your shift, your body now entirely bare before him. To add to the humiliation of it all, Aemond keeps his clothes on, only undoing his breeches to free his cock. Your eyes go wide as you realize what is about to happen. And the worst part is that the aching between your thighs intensifies. You want this. You want to fuck him.
Aemond sees the shame in your eyes and pulls you close, watching your teeth bite into your lower lip as you sink down on his cock. His hands move to squeeze at the flesh of your rear, kneading it between his fingers. Your entire body is taut, growing accustomed to the intrusion, but soon the slight discomfort gives way to pleasure, a fact that does not escape the one-eyed prince’s notice.
“Does my pretty little wife like being split open on her prince’s cock?”
You hate that his words excite you. You hate that the feeling of him thrusting up into you, setting a brutal pace as he holds you in place drives you to the brink of madness with how much you desire him. You close your eyes and try to pretend that you are anywhere but here, but one of his hands moves to hold your jaw, squeezing just enough to get your attention.
“Look at me, niece,” Aemond snarls, his eye trained on you, “Look at me as I fuck you. Look at me as I spill my seed inside you. And worry not, if it does not take tonight, I have every intention of breeding you every night for the rest of our lives.”
Gods, why does that excite you? You reach your peak, with how many times he brought you to it before, this came faster than the others. He has not spent himself yet, so you are surprised when he lifts you off of him, only to turn you around and pull you back onto his cock, forcing you to face your audience as he continues fucking you.
“They are about to see the next king of the realm being conceived,” Aemond whispers in your ear, “It is the most exciting thing that will ever happen in their pathetic lives. What a gift we have given them, my strong girl.”
“Aemond, it’s too much,” you say, your voice cracking slightly, your toes curling as his fingers move to deftly circle your pearl, bringing you closer and closer to the edge once more.
“You can barely even speak, hm?” Aemond coos, “My poor, empty-headed little wife. Head empty, save for how good my cock feels inside you.”
You can feel the metal of his crown against your temple as his hips begin to slow, knowing he is close to spilling himself inside you, that this humiliation will soon end. He pinches at your sensitive nub once more, feeling you spill yourself against him, reaching his own end moments later, breeding you, filling you with his seed just as he promised. 
He snaps his fingers and the cloak he put on you during your wedding ceremony is brought forth and placed on your shoulders. He turns you to face him, holding your trembling form in his arms, tears spilling down your face. What will your mother do when she hears of this? And Daemon? The thought is too much to bear.
As if he can sense what you are thinking, Aemond tugs on your hair, pulling your face close to his, lips crashing down onto your own in a searing kiss.
“You belong to me now, zaldrītsos,” Aemond rasps against your ear, low enough for only you to hear, “Just as I always wanted. I have the crown, permanently once I do away with my fool of a brother. And I will have the perfect queen.”
A shiver goes down your spine at his treasonous words.
Though it shocks you that it is not one of fear.
It is one of excitement.
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Pearl of The Realm
Aemond x wife!reader | HOTD Big Bang!
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Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.
Word Count: 9,240 (oops) | Warnings below the cut~
A/N: My fic for the HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @solisarium for the artwork! 🥰 Please also support all the other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, and thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organising this event ❤
Warnings: arranged marriage, virginity loss, p in v sex, domination, corruption kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, canon typical sexism, aemond has a breeding kink (obvi), dark!aemond (ish)
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Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.
To the realm. His title. But most of all, his family.
As a Prince of the Realm, he had many duties.
For most of his adult life he had trained relentlessly with the sword, striving to become better than his own teacher.
He had buried his nose in books, absorbing  information from them, willing them to stick to the insides of his head to obtain intelligence unmatched by any other member of his family.
And, most of all, he had upheld his faithful relationship with his mother, whom he cherished dearly, and his sister equally.
He'd always felt close to the women in his life. But his mother had a special place in his heart. She had been through such hardships, such sacrifice.
And when she'd exploded that night in Driftmark, as inexcusable as she seemed the behaviour to be, he had felt such utter devotion towards her that she would be so angry on his behalf. At a time when he had felt so vulnerable, and felt that his own voice as well as hers had been ignored by the man in their lives.
A man who had so repeatedly, let them down.
He would never admit it out loud, but a part of him sought pleasure in the fact his father was largely bed-bound these days. Even more so that his own father had lost an eye as a result of his worsening condition.
It felt like the Gods were looking down on him and validating him.
But there was one duty he had yet to perform.
Taking a wife.
Unfortunately for him, that time was upon him, and he had no interest in it whatsoever.
As much as Alicent tried, and she really did try, she could not get her second son interested in courting the ladies at the Keep.
As soon as Aemond clapped an eye on the opposite sex, he would retreat in the opposite direction. Not even bothering to engage in conversation, surmising perhaps that he had little in common with them.
He'd never met a lady before who shared the same interests, why start actively seeking them out now?
Alicent's son was in his prime, rooted in adulthood, and she knew it was time, like it or not, that he was wed.
Aemond stood stock still, hands behind his back curled into fists, biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to show his mother the annoyance on his face. Her words were those of truth. He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.
What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned.
That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.
Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.
He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court.
And mercifully, Aemond sighed with relief that she was not.
Something struck deep within his chest. His mother spoke of her so wonderfully, as if she were a star plucked from the sky, and Aemond pondered if such attributes could be proven correct by simply meeting her once, as Alicent had. What woman, and of what standing, deserved such praise, after only meeting for a short time?
What would she look like? Her mannerisms, her stature, her smile? He found himself haunted by these thoughts without even knowing the woman’s name. Much less, her appearance.
He feared that she might share the same sentiments as the other ladies at court once they were due to meet, chaperoned by her ladies and tainted by their company. Perhaps they had their own opinions that they instilled on her also. She might be afraid of him, he thought. Maybe it is not so bad if she feared him, he allowed himself to think.
Aemond could not find it in his heart to expose himself so willingly to a stranger he was due to wed, and so when word reached the Keep that she had arrived and made her pleasantries, he thought to have mercy on the poor thing, stay clear and not dim her supposed ethereal presence with the darkness that followed at his back since the day he lost his eye.
There was some power in not allowing her to see him until their wedding day.
While a small part of him felt empathetic to the poor girl, that her betrothed chose not to greet her on arrival, another part of him was somewhat self-assured that he had made the right decision. It was the little power he felt he had.
When one thinks of a wedding, they might imagine the Sept beaming with joy, crammed with people all eager to feast their eyes on the new royal couple. But as Aemond stood before the Septon, with the extended feeling of nervousness at the fact she had yet to arrive, he could hear nothing.The Sept was dead silent. The people, the lords and ladies, as well as his family, were in attendance, watching with wide, curious eyes, too terrified to make a sound.
His hands were rigid behind his back, dressed in his finery, feeling the tightness of his clothes against his chest where his heart was hammering underneath.
For duty. For family.
He did not see her at first, as she was on his blind side, but once she’d well and truly stepped beside him, he spared a glance at her and felt his mouth go utterly dry.
Her dress, which he presumed were her house colours, was a light pastel, almost dream-like when combined with the translucent silky fabric graced atop it. He watched with curiosity as she let go of her father’s hand. Her gaze and almost undetectable smile was warm and inviting, as if the space around her was simply alight with her presence. Her father peeled the cloak from her shoulders, and it reminded him that he had the cloak with the Targaryen colours fisted in his grip.
Her hair was pinned up in a series of braids, all varying in size, and he was ashamed to admit that the first thought that came to mind was not that she looked beautiful with them, but that they must be uncomfortable. He was allowed to have his hair loose around his shoulders, whereas this woman, and he supposed others like her, were prodded and poked to look their best to the detriment of their comfort.
Aemond found it impossible to stare ahead and listen to the Septon, and he could’ve let a heavy breath loose when he was asked to cloak her. He swallowed over the lump in his throat that had formed and lifted his gaze to look down at her. Her bright, warm eyes looked up at him, revealing nothing about what she was really thinking, and her lips were full and looked soft, forcing him to think what they would feel like when they would sign their marriage with a kiss later.
He took a breath and placed the cloak on her shoulders, half thinking that such a heavy, large thing would swallow her whole, for her form was smaller than his, and therefore more delicate. Placing his hands on her, but not directly, still felt somewhat intimate, especially in a room of so many people watching. But something stirred deep within when he stepped back and observed that the colours complimented her, like she was meant to be his and belong to him.
They faced each other as the Septon spoke.
Aemond watched every micro-movement. The fluttering of her eyelashes, the deep intakes of breath through her nose and her thumb brushing over her hand, in what he could only assume was nerves, though she was hiding it well on her face.
It was only here that he noticed she wore a dainty pearl necklace, not at all gaudy in size, but small and delicate, like he perceived her to be.
A feeling he didn’t know hummed in his blood. And it showed when both of them were asked to conclude the ceremony with a kiss.
“With this kiss I pledge my love.”
Aemond had to be the one to lean down to meet her in the middle, and he felt his blood thrum when their lips met, excited to find that her lips were as soft as he had imagined. He could not help the lewd thought that passed through his mind, and wondered if the rest of her was as supple and luxurious.
Curse the wedding feast, he wanted to find out right after the ceremony.
He was not overzealous with the kiss, not wanting to frighten her. But he was equally delighted when they parted to the applause of the lords and ladies, to find that her cheeks were faintly bloomed with warmth. His lips pulled into an indistinct smile at the idea that he was the first man that would have made her feel that way, and it pulled a possessive string in Aemond’s body towards her.
He took her hand in his and led her away from the Septon, through the line of people, and relished in the fact that she was now his. Aemond felt somewhat ashamed when his manhood began to harden within his breeches at the mere touch of her hand, and wondered what hers would look like wrapped around it. If her fingers could barely encircle it, and if she would be good and pliant, do as she’s told, and please him.
The wine during the feast surprisingly did nothing to quell the hardness between his legs. He yearned so desperately for her, sat right next to him, posture straight and proper like a good lady wife, with her hands clasped so delicately in her lap. She had yet to say a word to him and he thought she must have been raised very strict, not speaking to her betters without being spoken to first, and now that person was her husband.
It was difficult not to look unimpressed when the various lords and ladies all queued up to provide their congratulations to the intimate little table he and his wife were seated at during the feast.
He watched his mother beam with joy, though he and his wife had not spoken. Aegon had snickered, clearly thinking something inappropriate. And Otto had bowed, offering congratulations as if he had not been involved in the match behind the scenes along with Alicent the entire time. Did he think he was stupid?
Not even his father had managed to pull himself from his bed to offer his congratulations. But, Aemond thought then, he was glad he didn't have to see his face.
At times he could suppress his sheer boredom and impatience, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could fuck his wife and see what pretty sounds she could make. With the absence of her voice, it only made him more impatient to find out.
Surely, the girl might not have been afraid of him? He thought.
Aemond almost regretted hoping she was afraid of him, but there was some dull excitement in thinking she was, even now, with how beautiful she looked. When he takes her maidenhead, as he was sure she was entirely pure, would her soft eyes look up at him in fear, or in pleasure, or both?
He found his gaze wandering over her for several quiet moments, watching her profile as she scanned the hall, observing everyone else enjoying themselves. Whilst he appeared somewhat indifferent to her to anyone else’s untrained eye, he was otherwise calm and collected. Her lips glistened against the warm amber glow of the candles adorning the table, and he could not hide his delight in seeing how she swallowed nervously. She must have felt his gaze on her, he thought. And as he watched her throat bob, he was drawn to her chest, where the pearls lay, and watched as her breathing pushed her breasts somewhat over the bust of her dress.
He imagined those pearls dancing while he fucked her, her breasts moving with the rhythm of driving his cock into her sweet wetness. Her lips parted with hurried breaths as she struggled to gain it while she appeased him with the sound of her soft moans.
“Are the celebrations to your liking, wife?”
He smirked, testing the title on his tongue.
The insides of him glimmered in excitement when she turned, her posture still perfect and straight. Her wide, innocent eyes met his with curiosity, and also fright that he had spoken to her in such a way. She almost seemed to flinch at the new title he’d referred to her as.
She gave an almost indistinguishable nod, her grip tightening on her hands, “Yes, husband, thank you.” She replied with a wavering voice.
She studied him for a moment, watching as he gave a lopsided smirk, adoring the way she seemed so nervous in his presence, and speaking to her husband. He drank slowly, continuing to watch her squirm under his gaze. Her breathing had hastened, evident by the way she struggled under the tight confines of her boned dress.
Her voice was smooth, like the sweetest honey, and he couldn’t wait to hear how it would translate, echoing throughout their marital chambers, with his flesh pressed against hers.
He never imagined merely envisioning power over something so delicate could be so exhilarating.
Aemond had to hide how elated he was when their leave was announced. He stood, and therefore she did as well, like a delayed little shadow.
She was an obedient little thing, he surmised, as she followed quietly, willfully ignorant to the leering glances and smirks of the lords and ladies who parted a path for them. Every single one of them was curious, as to how such a quiet, soft girl could tame someone so fearsome and chaotic as a dragon prince, who could not be caged in as mere mortal men could.
The chambers seemed too grand, too clunky, to house such a perfect thing as her, he thought. She stood stock still in the middle of his chambers, which he would now share with her, and watched amused as she looked around and took in her surroundings as if she were in some kind of danger. Her pupils flitted about the darkened room, lit only in a warm glow from various candlesticks placed most deliberately.
Her pale dress cast a glow against the grey of the room, as well as her aura, which seemed to lift all the tension from his body and direct it to the place he had needed her the most since he laid his eye on her.
The glass decanter clinked as he poured himself a cup of wine, his back to her.
Aemond turned and extended the decanter only slightly, asking wordlessly if she would like one as well.
But she simply wringed her hands and shook her head, her body wracked with nerves.
Aemond only chuckled, cup of wine in hand and looked upon her, standing so diligently, where he’d left her.
“Wine might dull your nerves, my lady wife.” He mused, watching the way she looked down in embarrassment at being able to see inside her head so clearly.
Every now and then, she would peek over at the well made bed, like it was an inevitability, and not a place where she would share her most intimate and passionate moments with her new husband.
There was a dark red blanket held taught atop the pale sheets.
A warning.
There were never such dark, stark colours atop her bed sheets at home, and she wondered silently why they would choose such a menacing colour to adorn a place where you may lay your head to rest.
A peaceful night’s sleep. A moment’s passion. The birth of a child.
She thought, beds are where we are born, where we sleep, where marriages are made, where women give birth, which is often their last. And where we die. Not necessarily in that order.
Her husband may have thought a bed a peaceful thing.
But to her, many dangerous things may take place in a bed. And she had heard the stories of a dragon’s temper. Of lords, not necessarily of royal standing, taking their wives on their wedding night, whether their wives were willing or not. And this, is what she feared.
“You need not be so afraid.”
He tore her from her thoughts. And she blushed and felt warm all over realising he had caught her staring at the bed, her body betraying how nervous she felt.
When he looked at her, he felt his manhood throb. He wondered if the blood would rush to her cunny the same way it rushed to her cheeks, and how her flesh would cover her delicious curves beneath the softness of her gown.
He felt excited when she opened her mouth, forcing the air into her lungs like it took all her effort.
“May I ask for your assistance with my gown, husband?” She asked sweetly, with her eyes downcast.
Husband.
He felt his cock become impossibly harder.
He poked his cheek with his tongue in amusement, pushing himself off what he was leaning on and made towards her, watching the way she shrunk the closer he got. She turned slowly, showing him her back, where the laces of her dress were tied so tightly, he was surprised she had not asked him sooner.
While he worked on them, loosening the fabric around her middle, his breath hitched when he saw the shift underneath. She moved her hands to her hair, pulling several pins from it where the braids had been twisted together. She visibly shivered under his touch when the laces were undone and he pushed the stiff fabric apart across her back.
Her hair fell to her shoulders, and she used the sharpened tip of the pins to undo the braids into delicate wavy strands, all while unaware how her new husband marvelled at her out of sight.
She walked away from him for a moment to the vanity, never meeting the looking glass with her eyes, but simply placing the pins in a trinket bowl. With the gown loosened around her shoulders, the fabric lifted when she reached up to unclasp the necklace.
“Leave that on.”
She met his gaze in the mirror, questioning. Her cheeks alight with what he was suggesting.
But he didn’t say anything else.
So instead, she cleared her throat quietly, and pulled the heavy dress from her shoulders, folding it lengthways and draping it over an armchair. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, anxious. Aemond merely watched, his doublet feeling tight and hot against his chest. He could make out the silhouette of her form beneath the thin cotton, the candlelight illuminating her, as if her body was the soft and gentle morning sun, peeking over the horizon to set the day alight.
He heard her shuddered breath and allowed himself to think about what it would feel like against his neck while he rutted into her. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer to her, to sink deeper into her hot insides.
“I do hope that…I please you…with my appearance.” She murmured, turning with her body to face him from a distance. She sounded embarrassed, and shy.
Aemond furrowed his brows.
“Why do you say such a thing?” He asked, colder than he had meant to sound. And it’s clear that the tone of it made her shudder more, which he didn’t intend.
“I only meant that…I hope I am pleasing to the eye…and that I shall be obedient and supportive, as a good wife should be.”
He fought the urge to smile, not wanting to embarrass her further. His silence towards her had clearly given her the wrong impression. That he didn’t approve of her, and perhaps she thought that she wasn’t suitable for him because of his reaction.
“Come here.”
She did as he asked, albeit slowly, until she stood right in front of him.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Does my appearance scare you, he thought with curiosity, and panic.
Does my ailment make you uneasy, as it does the other ladies?
She shook her head softly, “No.” She answered quietly, “It’s just… my Septa said…that the night of consummation would be…” she trailed off, speaking too quietly for him to hear.
“It is alright. Speak again, without fear.”
She swallowed as she looked at him, having to crane her neck.
“She said…the night of consummation would be painful…and that it must be endured. As wives are to be submissive and obedient to their husbands.”
She spoke as if she were speaking from a line in a book. And Aemond thought she must have had this idea stamped into her brain from a very young age. It both concerned and irritated him to think that a young child, forming into a young woman, would be forced into being so terrified of such intimacy by a caregiver who ultimately knew little about marriage.
“There will be some pain.” He replied simply, watching the way she flinched at his words, “But I do not wish for you to endure it simply because you have been told to.”
His fingers came to the tresses of hair that hung on her shoulders, threading his fingers through them and revelling in their softness. Her eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted, absorbing his words, and he could see behind them that he was challenging everything she had ever been told.
“If there is pain, you must tell me.”
She inhaled slowly, gathering her nerves, and nodded simply.
“Come. Lay on the bed.”
Though he spoke softer, there was still a coldness to the way he gave his demands. But nonetheless, she did as he said, and stared up to the canopy of the bed, feeling her heart going so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest.
All she heard was the rustling of leather, the unlooping of his belt, and the clinking of his silver clasps.
She felt the mattress dip at the end of the bed and saw her new husband, without his doublet, but with his breeches only untied halfway, so she could not see a thing. But even so, the sight of a man naked on his torso had her heart still in her chest, and warmth crawl up to her cheeks. Aemond chuckled slightly, not wishing to embarrass her.
“Have you seen a man bare before, little one?” He asked, laying down beside her. She tried with the utmost effort to not stare at him, fearing that in some way she would anger him. His chest was well-muscled and pale, shimmering in the low light of the chambers and littered with many tiny scars that had silvered with time. His hair ran like milk over his shoulders, so silky it seemed to stick to his smooth skin.
She shook her head, and mouthed ‘no’. His manhood throbbed in his breeches at the thought that she had not even seen a man beneath his clothes before, and that he would be the first.
“It is alright, there is no need to be embarrassed.” He gave her a soft smile, trying his best to appear comforting.
But it could not be ignored that they were strangers, and it was his fault that he had not gone to see her before marriage and get to know her better. And on top of that, she was afraid, not of him, but that he might hurt her and that it would define her expectations for the rest of the marriage.
She flinched noticeably in shock, not out of fear, but at not having been touched so intimately, when his palm ran softly up her leg, taking her shift with it.
“Relax.”
She tried to do as he said.
She was so jumpy and nervous, Aemond wondered for a brief, funny moment, if she had even spoken to a man before today.
So he asked a question which he thought was almost silly to ask.
“Have you ever touched yourself?”
His question was answered immediately when she flushed and her face went all warm, and suddenly she was unable to meet his gaze. She shook her head softly. And instead of feeling bad for her, a devilish grin split across his face, all the blood going south.
She was so pious, and so devoted to the Seven, that she had saved any part of her inner desires for her husband to be.
He would be the first to give her pleasure of any kind.
To touch her intimately.
To make her feel as beautiful as he thought she was.
“It is alright. I shall show you.” He added softly, his voice like the purr of a cat.
She dared to look back at him as his hand trailed higher, dipping beneath the hem of her shift to touch her smooth skin beneath, “How will it feel?...”
“It may feel strange at first,” He answered honestly, “But after that, it should be pleasurable.”
She seemed to accept his answer, but her legs were pressed together almost instinctively, like her body was telling her it needed to appear smaller. His sharp nose pressed into her hair, inhaling her pleasant, female scent. His breath against the shell of her ear, hot puffs of air landing against her neck, where he began to place one, and then two open-mouthed kisses.
His eye wandered over her from this angle. Looking down her body, he could see the shadow of what lay beneath her shift in between her breasts as they moved with her breathing, which was slow and calculated. He could see how her hands held the bedsheets below her in her palm, not tightly, but prepared to pull on them if she needed.
She shivered with a shuddered breath when he kissed her, trailing his lips lower to her collarbone, past her string of delicate pearls, and he could see that beneath the cotton, her nipples had reacted to the chill of the room, but he liked to imagine that it was because of the way he was touching her so lovingly.
His hand completely slipped past where her hip met her leg, not touching her womanhood just yet, but close enough to feel its warmth. He felt the gooseflesh on her tummy as he trailed upwards, the shift bunched against his arm when his palm slid over her breast. She gasped softly as he squeezed tenderly, testing the weight of it in his palm and kneading it, and when he looked up to her briefly, she had closed her eyes.
He would tell her to open them later, after he did what he planned.
Her hips moved towards the mattress when his deft fingers dipped between her legs, the tips parting her folds to her entrance first, where Aemond began to feel the slick, as little as there was, gathered around it.
She was beginning to feel aroused even if she didn't know it.
She whimpered, pressing her lips together when she felt his fingers in such a strange, forbidden place. Her eyebrows furrowed in discomfort.
"Shh…" He cooed, the air brushing against her cheek, "Relax, dear wife."
She swallowed thick, and relaxed her thighs so that they weren't pushed together as much. The title he'd given her making her head feel as if it were full of air and nothing else.
A part of her felt bad. For she was supposed to be an obedient, pliant little wife, and he was taking care of her so diligently and she was still afraid.
"I apologise-"
"Do not apologise." He replied quickly, and her eyes opened, glistening with a new expression of understanding, "Only feel."
Her breath quickened.
Feel?
"Feel how I touch you here -"
He drew his fingers from her entrance to her pearl, drawing little soft circles using her arousal for ease. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes glued to him, a near-indistinguishable gasp falling from her lips. She began to feel a sort of ache, deep in her stomach that felt strange. And her hips began to move in micro-movements.
"This is where you feel the most pleasure." He whispered, his fingers moving sometimes directly and then indirectly over her pearl. At others, the anticipation of them being close to it had her hips searching for the touch.
"How does it feel?" He asked.
She struggled to think of a word, having never felt this dull and yet pleasurable rush to her core.
"Strange…pleasantly so."
He continued to move slowly, not making a direct effort to make her peak like this, just allowing her to feel what the touch of a man, the touch of her husband, could feel like.
"I will prepare you like this, so that there will be as little pain as possible."
Maintaining eye contact while he said things like that, while he did things to her like this, felt so intimate and so painfully domestic. As if nobody had bothered to care for her so much in her life. Her eyes curiously flitted between his seeing one and his eyepatch, not in fear, but wondering what he might be hiding beneath it.
It would not be removed this night. Or perhaps many to come.
Aemond's fingers moved over her womanhood with ease, more slick began to pool there and lubricate her puffy folds, swollen with arousal. She was wet, but he thought not prepared enough for his cock just yet.
He shifted his body down, his cheek grazing over her still clothed form, as if he was teasing himself. He could easily have asked her to be naked for him. But there was still trust to be gained.
Her eyes were questioning where he might be going. And she truly had no idea.
Using his knee, he settled between her legs, seeing the gooseflesh still there. His hands rucked up her shift, just pausing at the point where it would reveal her womanhood, all slick and ready for him. Her cheeks bloomed as she looked down at him, but didn't have the courage to question.
"Keep your eyes on me." He whispered lowly, his fingers pushing the fabric up so that he could see her cunt, so close to his face. And he was hit right then with the invigorating scent of her, like the sweetest perfume. He felt ashamed that even the scent of her aroused little cunny made his cock weep with arousal.
She looked more embarrassed than anything to have her new husband's face so close to her intimate area she had been taught to keep hidden. And it was hard for her to keep her legs apart. But she couldn't close them for fear of clamping on his head, and his hands were tenderly keeping them spread, his fingers only slightly indented in her supple flesh.
He looked down upon her, his thumb grazing her pearl again and watching with delight as her hips moved again, accompanied with a breath. It was simply too tempting, the idea of tasting her and the sweet nectar that leaked from within.
Holding her thighs, he leaned forward and flattened his tongue against her womanhood, and something primal was awoken inside when he finally tasted his new, little wife. He moved around her folds, and whenever he had to take a breath he placed an open-mouth kiss to it. He spared a glance up at her, and he hadn’t even heard her hurried breathing or tiny whispers of moans, so engrossed in tasting her for the first time.
Her cheeks were alight, her eyes torn between settling on his gaze and what he was doing to her. He had already told her to keep her eyes on him, and Aemond felt pleased that despite how embarrassed she was, she was obeying him.
Aemond redoubled his efforts, using his tongue to part her folds and nuzzling deeper against her, his nose rubbing gently against her pearl and using his wet muscle to dip against her entrance. It’s here that she gave some semblance of a proper moan, slipping shakily out of her throat, her hands tightening on the bed sheets.
He all but moaned against her cunt, delving into the deepest parts of her and dragging his tongue against the top of her velvety walls, trying to find out why she was the way she was. What made her feel the best. How he could make more of those pretty sounds tumble past her lips. He thought he could have spent all his life between her thighs, lapping at her arousal, and he would die a happy man.
In his grip, her thighs began to shake, and her brows furrowed like she didn’t understand what this feeling coursing through her veins was, this fire ablaze in her blood. Pride flooded his head, and he dragged his tongue from the inside of her to her pearl, where he drew circles over it. She jolted in his hold, as if he’d scared her, but he knew that it was because of the overwhelming feeling that was beginning to crest over her, and the uncertainty of it.
With his attention and efforts on her bud alone and she was suitably wet, he looked up at her when he touched her entrance with the pad of his finger. He heard her gasp when he slowly sank one digit inside her, he himself struggling to keep his composure once he realised just how tight she was around his finger alone. And he could barely think straight thinking about how she would feel wrapped around his cock.
He could forgive for the time being that her eyes were closed and brows furrowed, for the new sensation must have been strange for her. Something akin to a strangled whine rumbled from her chest when he was sank all the way inside, curling upwards. And when he brushed against that spot at the top of her walls, gently caressing the slick ridges, her back arched slightly off the mattress, and he smiled against her womanhood.
It appears his little wife was becoming emboldened in her movements by what he was doing to her.
As he continued to please his wife in two separate ways, almost instinctively, her hand came to his bare shoulder. To pull him close? To push him away? She wasn’t entirely sure herself.
He could tell she was on the precipice of something she was unable to comprehend, and was embarrassed to show herself in such an open way.
 “What is it, sweet wife?” he asked, drawing his lips from her, now covered entirely in her arousal when he licked at it.
Through her loud pants, she regained her breath as he continued to tease that deep spot inside of her, “What is…” She breathed, her grip closing around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh, not meaning to, which made him smirk.
“Shh, it’s alright.” He cooed, pulling out slightly to slide a second finger inside, using the girth of his fingers to stretch her cunt around him, “I am just making sure you are ready for me.”
He began to pump his fingers inside her like he would fuck her, curling them up to focus his attention and pressure against the sweet spot at the end of her. She was so tight around him, already trying to suck him further inside and clenching hard. He felt his skin stretch around her grip on his shoulder, like she didn’t realise how hard she was holding him.
“ - Aemond - I’m - ”
Aemond.
The way she called him by his name.
There was no shame now in how hard it made him, and he felt as if he would spill right in his breeches and not inside her if she was going to say things like that.
A breathy whine made its way from her mouth, her eyes tightly shut as her face twisted in pleasure, feeling all the pressure leak into her limbs in bliss while Aemond kept pleasuring her, loving how her body was uncontrollably trembling with the force of her peak. He could feel the rush of slick coat his fingers and hand, so he slowed down the pace of his movements, allowing his sweet wife to savour the feeling she’d experienced here for the first time.
“That was your peak, little one.”
Her eyes opened to focus on him, feeling her body erupt in shivers as he pulled his digits from her and smeared her wetness over her thighs, thinking that as erotic and lewd the action was, that is excited her at the place where her husband had just been caressing with his fingers and tongue.
Her pupils were dilated only a bit larger than before, and Aemond felt pride in being the first to make her feel such things, awakening a part of her that had remained dormant for a long time. And while she had been emboldened by what he’d done to please her, her cheeks still bloomed with a faint embarrassment that he found endearing.
His hands traced her sides, taking her shift with it, and her breath hitched at the idea she would be entirely bare before her new husband, who had just given her the first experience of female pleasure. But alongside the trepidation, there was excitement.
Once he pulled her shift over her head and raked his gaze over every inch of her body.
It was a fucking crime that she’d been hiding herself under that gown all evening, he thought.
He thought she was perfection, with her soft and supple curves, and he hadn’t even realised his calloused hands had been kneading her breast until she let out a breathy sound. But she didn’t protest. She just appeared somewhat uncomfortable, as this was the first time she had shown herself so openly to the opposite sex.
“You are beautiful.”
She seemed to calm at least when he said that, relieved her husband found her attractive.
He saw her eyes flit from his one seeing eye to the eyepatch covered one, curious. But she simply swallowed thickly and didn’t say or ask anything. And he too was relieved that she hadn’t asked him to remove it.
He was not sure if he would be ready for that, for some time.
She still wore the little pearls around her neck, and now with her entirely naked with the exception of that, it felt erotic and arousing.
They were the same.
She wore the necklace, he wore the eyepatch, keeping a tiny piece of themself while they joined in matrimonial bliss.
He unlaced the rest of his breeches, watching her breasts move up and down as she breathed in anticipation of what was going to happen and the irreversible fact that she would never be the same afterwards.
“Remember what I said?” he asked, pulling his breeches over his hips. His achingly hard cock sprang free, standing proud and aroused against his stomach.
She took a moment to reply, trying not to stare too much at his member as he stroked himself slowly, the ruddy tip, weeping with arousal, poked out of his fist with every languid movement. She’d never seen one before. But all she knew was that she wondered how on earth it would fit inside her, he looked so thick and long, slightly curved to one side. Was there empty space inside of her she didn’t know about where he would place himself?
Her eyes met his, all glazed over, and she nodded.
“If there is pain, I must tell you.” She repeated what he’d said earlier. Her skin bloomed, for that moment was here right before them.
She tried to relax her body, numb from the force of her very first peak, as the mattress dipped either side of her where he’d leaned on his forearms, his knee brushing the inside of her legs as he nudged them apart so he could place himself there.
“Yes, you must.” He added tenderly, “It is not my intention to hurt you.”
The affection in his words made her stomach roll.
“You are my wife.”
She confirmed with delight that she was. And she nodded, not knowing what to say in response to his statement, but Aemond could see the subtle glimmer in her eyes.
He saw her glance at his manhood with something akin to a mix of fear and curiosity, and she took a sharp breath in as Aemond leaned forward, not pressing his weight on her, and placed several open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, neck and collarbone, teasing her with his teeth, while his cock kissed her puffy folds.
She felt his breath at her skin, her grip loosening on the sheets as he made her feel a little more relaxed.
When he leant forward, parting her folds easily with the aid of her slick, the first thought she had was that it felt strange, but nothing else in particular. It was only when his cockhead had disappeard inside her and he speared her upon his length that she began to tense up, her stomach tightening somewhat unpleasantly. Her hand came automatically to his chest, to try and push him away and make him stop.
He raised his head from her neck, his eye hooded down in concern. He felt her soft, almost-hummingbird-like touch on his chest and felt something fluttering inside of him at the tenderness of it. She was in some pain, not dramatically so, and yet her touch was so gentle.
Nothing was said, and only the utmost patience was offered. And it was difficult to do so for Aemond, with the way her core was holding him so tightly, to stay still and not move an inch. But for the sake of making her feel safe, he did it.
After a moment, she made an effort to relax her muscles for him. Her hand trailed over his muscled chest, as if taking this small window of opportunity to do so. Her fingers ran over the scars he’d gained on his lithe form, wanting to commit every ridge, every little piece of him to her memory as if it was the last time she’d ever see him.
Her eyes shifted to him once he sheathed himself inside her all the way, bottoming out with a low groan. He felt her walls fluttering around him, stretching her to accommodate this size, having not felt anything like this before. Her lips parted to let a soft pained sound past her lips, but that was all, and she felt the worst was behind her.
It felt only slightly uncomfortable, but she was willing to do it for this marriage. To please him.
It was intimate, looking right at her while he was deep inside her, and she gave the faintest of nods, telling him without words that she was alright. She thought she'd never felt more full in her life, nor more connected to someone as she was right at this moment.
It hurt at first, yes, but he had prepared her, waited for her and cherished her like she was precious. And the pain, the sting of losing her maidenhead, was a small price to pay for how full her heart felt, by giving a piece of her to him.
Closing his eye, as if to concentrate, Aemond moved almost entirely out of her to push back in as she gasped below him, the same feeling the second time had a spark licking at her insides that didn’t stop as he began his slow and careful pace. He wanted to tear his gaze off her, desperately, but couldn’t.
It was just as he imagined. With every soft thrust inside her, the pearls at her neck danced, and her cheeks were flushed, eyes shimmering. It wasn’t as animalistically lustful as he envisioned. Before he imagined an innocent thing like her, bending to his will, corrupting her in any way he saw fit.
But now more than anything as he listened to the gentle moans come out of her, he wanted to protect her, to nurture and watch her flourish. The pearls clicked against each other at her neck, her breasts moved, nipples pebbled with arousal, and she’d raised her legs only slightly to wrap around his waist, blinking slowly up at him.
The whore Aegon had gotten him to fuck on his thirteenth nameday was overzealous, large-breasted and older, perhaps more experienced. She had bounced on top of him, her loud moans bouncing off every surface in the room, her hands planted on his chest as she moved her hips up and down on him with loud slaps. He remembered feeling horrified that this is what intimacy was. That this is what men would desire so relentlessly.
It didn’t feel good. And he remembered feeling sick.
But here, with her, looking so lovingly up at him. No hysterical moaning, no pathetic whines to boost his male ego. Just unapologetically everything she was feeling, she was giving to him.
It felt like a gift. To experience real intimacy. And with the person he was due to spend the remainder of his days with.
As if realising he was daydreaming, his hips still moving against her with wet slaps of skin, her hand cupped his face, on the unmarred side, and her thumb stroked over his cheekbone. She touched him so softly he could have wept.
She had seen some kind of thoughtfulness on his face, and in the throes of consummation, was supporting him.
“Aemond.”
When she said his name with such sincerity and care, he blinked slowly and reached his hand up to hers, encircling his fingers around her small wrist, and turned his face into her palm, to kiss the inside tenderly. One kiss to her palm, and one to her wrist. And it felt more intimate than kissing on the lips, which he only now realised with shame, that he’d not done for her yet.
“I am alright.”
He looked at her when she said that. It was as if she could see all of his inner thoughts, and had been able to all evening.
She saw that he had been holding back.
He had been afraid of frightening her, and yet she was allowing him what he wanted.
Her breath caught in her chest with a kind of excitement as his fingers wrapped around her wrist and forced it down to the bed beside her head, his other hand joining her other to keep her pinned tightly under him to the mattress. Her eyes glimmered as she looked up at him, watching his expression change to something more possessive.
“Put your legs around me.”
She did as he asked and raised her legs around his waist, causing his length to brush that same spot inside her that he’d pleasured just moments before. And with an iron grip on her wrists and easier access to her, he dipped his head into her neck, her scent swirling around him and fucked her as he had wanted to the entire evening.
Skin slapped against one another with the moisture of her slick on his pelvis, his stones hitting against her repeatedly with every rough thrust into her wet cunt.
"Does my innocent little wife like to be properly fucked, hm?" He grunts, watching how she blushes and turns her head away out of embarrassment.
"I think you will continue to surprise me, little pearl."
She felt her insides clench at the name he gave her.
Little pearl.
Aemond smirked, increasing the intensity of his driving into her, constantly spearing her open onto his cock, and watching at the way he disappeared into her.
"I can feel you tightening around my cock. Did you like that? Little pearl?"
Her breath was sucked from her with each devastating thrust, and that same pressure was beginning to build in her belly, from when he'd pleasured her before.
"Answer me.”
"Yes - yes, husband - " She replied, breathlessly and gulping for air, throwing her head back against the bed sheets.
He smirked, leaning back and watching how his cock was being covered in her slick everytime he pulled out of her.
He pulled her hips onto his lap, and the angle had his cockhead bullying her tender and sensitive place deep inside of her. Her eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, feeling utterly at his mercy.
Feeling proud of the reactions he was getting, his hand slipped from her hip to her bud. Her pearl. A grin splitting across his face at the lewd thoughts he was having. He circled her sensitive bud tenderly, applying just enough pressure that she clenched around him again.
If she wasn't careful, he would cum right there and then.
"Does that feel good, little one?" He teased her in a low tone, not ceasing his endless pace, pushing himself as far inside her as he could.
"Do you like it when I touch you here?"
She couldn't deny she liked it. The way her back arched, being pleasures in two ways. It was nearly overwhelming. And it took her voice from her.
"Perhaps we should name you Pearl of the Realm." He smirked, increasing both his pace and pressure, "Prim, proper…a good little obedient wife to her lord and husband."
He leaned over, changing the angle yet again.
"But in here, with me, it is this pearl I shall be paying special attention to, dear wife."
His words made her tighten around him, coupled with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving her. She felt her entire body get hot, the pressure in her belly set to explode at any moment.
His delicate and careful ministrations to her bundle of nerves was almost too much, and her hips began to move forward towards his in rhythm with his cock stretching her open, meeting him halfway.
She didn't imagine such lewd words would have an effect on her.
"Husband - "
"I think I will keep you like this. All night if I have to. Paying special attention to this precious pearl you have been neglecting for so long." He mused, his words were strained, as if set to explode himself.
"I will give you my seed. Over and over. Until I am done with you." He breathed through heavy pants, his eye slipping shut, "I will watch you swell with my child. Would you like that?"
She could only whimper in response, fisting the bed sheets as she had nothing else to hold onto, her mouth dropping open as her climax began to crest.
"I would like that. To see these perfect tits all round and full."
The idea of bearing his children was only a fantasy that appeared right at that moment.
"Gods - you are so tight - such a perfect little cunt - fuck - "
She fell apart around him, her entire body filled with such eternal feeling bliss that she felt as if she were floating, her husband's deft fingers still pleasuring her bud.
Her limbs felt numb, her blood like fire under her skin and her lips dropped apart so that a shattered moan could escape her, the only proof that her peak was decimating every nerve in her body with blinding, white hot pleasure.
She tightened impossibly around him, and the pistoning of his cock into her sex was only stilled when he slammed inside her one last time. His length throbbed within her, his spend warming her core at the end and filling her, completing this sacred, intimate ceremony.
They both gulped down air desperately and when Aemond had caught a moment to himself, he spared a look down at his sweet wife, her delicate skin covered in a soft sheen of sweat, eyes shut, breasts shifting erratically with her breathing.
She must have felt his gaze on her, because she turned her head to look up at him. In her once innocent and naive gaze he once saw fear and trepidation. And now her pupils were blown wide and glimmered with lust and a kind of pride that she'd pleased him, and they'd done this together.
Aemond still had a grip on her hips, noticing the red marks where his fingers had been. Her body was littered with them, where he'd been too tempted to nibble at her, to make sure she bore the marks of his passion for her.
He looked down where they were joined, pulling out of her and watching with a lustful curiosity at his spend that leaked from her entrance. It was instinctual, the way two fingers scooped up what had come out, and he gently plunged it back into her as far as he would go.
Overstimulated and tired, she winced, bucking her hips slightly.
Aemond only smiled down at her.
"I can hardly wait to make you a mother, little one."
She laughed a little, exhausted, "You speak of children. We have only lay together once."
Aemond took her reply and smirked, pulling her thighs close to him again.
"In that case - might we try again? I dare say I have already forgotten the first time."
His little pearl smiled tenderly up at him. A safe smile. One of utter adoration. It was like he was being seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. She had been so good to him in the short time he'd known her, and cared enough to let him see her as well.
He felt fulfilled in a way he never had before. Something exciting ran through his blood, like how he felt whenever he trained. As if a new challenge were upon him.
Challenging the notion that had been placed upon him his entire life, that marriage was about ownership. As a wife should belong entirely to her husband.
And while he felt that sheer possessiveness before he really knew her. Knew her properly.
Now, he questioned if marriage was more about respect than anything else.
The fabric covering his eye now felt so heavy. And one day, he thought, he hoped to be able to show himself so openly to her, as she had done for him.
Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.
And he would pay his little pearl all the attention she so deserved.
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queers-gambit · 7 months
Text
Mother Knows No Bounds
prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.
pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose
fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon
word count: 5.7k+
note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote
warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother. descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?
please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content: descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.
you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!
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The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.
Women skinny dipped. Children ran around without their clothes. Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.
The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.
The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.
It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.
For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.
Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.
You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.
21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.
Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.
However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.
The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.
The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.
Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.
Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.
Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.
Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.
You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.
"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."
"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.
"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"
"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.
He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"
"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."
"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.
"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."
"I've asked you why."
"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."
"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.
"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."
Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."
"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."
Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."
"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.
"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.
"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.
"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."
You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."
You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.
When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"
"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."
"Mother, it's too hot for - "
"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.
"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."
"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "
"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."
Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."
So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.
Sweat bulleted on brows. Pale cheeks flushed with heat. Legs started to shake from stress. Clothes dampened and clung to skin.
You were all of the above and then some!
The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.
Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.
Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.
Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.
This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."
"What 'bout the li'l one?"
"Pardon?" Otto blinked.
"The Queen's last son?"
"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.
Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...
"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."
"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.
"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."
"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.
"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."
Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.
The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.
"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."
"We're almost done - "
"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."
You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.
The hall was too hot.
Stifling hot. Suffocatingly hot. Stuffy sort of hot.
Overwhelmingly hot.
Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!
Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!
So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!
However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.
"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"
But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.
"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"
"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.
"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"
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"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.
"What happened?" Otto demanded.
"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."
"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."
"You saw the Grand Maester?"
"We did."
"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.
"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.
When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.
When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"
"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"
"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.
"Mother didn't demand you stay?"
"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."
"He was?"
"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.
When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.
The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.
He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.
You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.
Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.
"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.
"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."
"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.
"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."
Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."
With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."
"I-It was a girl?"
"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."
"But my body - "
"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."
"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"
Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."
"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."
"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."
When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."
"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"
"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"
"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"
"How was I to know - "
"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"
"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."
"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."
"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"
"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.
"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."
It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.
Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."
Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."
"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."
"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."
"Just lay with me," you requested.
He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."
"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"
"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."
Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."
"I do not deserve a woman like you."
"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"
His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."
A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.
You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.
You didn't move, staring into the flames.
Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.
King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.
For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.
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