#ser harwin death

[ignitedminds27]

Do you know who else would've done these 👇

My man, SER HARWIN STRONG.

[riosnecktattoo]

i haven't minded the time-jumps in House of the Dragon yet at all but to completely skip the ten years of relationship between Rhaenyra and Harwin, them getting together, having three children together and then just skipping to him dying? I'm mad about it. Like it's robbed of all the weight it should and could have had.

[beepboopbaddabing]

Maybe the one good thing about Harwin dying is that Luke won’t have to be alone :((

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

House of the Dragon 1x06: Ser Harwin Strong says to Rhaenyra, “I will be a stranger when we meet again.”

In the Westerosi religion of the ‘New Gods’ the ‘Stranger’ is the God that represents Death.

[horizon-verizon]

The next to perish were the elder Strongs. Lyonel Strong, Lord of Harrenhal and Hand of the King, accompanied his son and heir Ser Harwin on his return to the great, half-ruined castle on the lakeshore. Shortly after their arrival, a fire broke out in the tower where they were sleeping, and both father and son were killed, along with three of their retainers and a dozen servants. The cause of the fire was never determined. Some put it down to simple mischance, whilst others muttered that Black Harren’s seat was cursed and brought only doom to any man who held it. Many suspected the blaze was set intentionally. Mushroom suggests that the Sea Snake was behind it, as an act of vengeance against the man who had cuckolded his son. Septon Eustace, more plausibly, suspects Prince Daemon, removing a rival for Princess Rhaenyra’s affections. Others have put forth the notion that Larys Clubfoot might have been responsible; with his father and elder brother dead, Larys Strong became the Lord of Harrenhal. The most disturbing possibility was advanced by none other than Grand Maester Mellos, who muses that the king himself might have given the command. If Viserys had come to accept that the rumors about the parentage of Rhaenyra’s children were true, he might well have wished to remove the man who had dishonored his daughter, lest he somehow reveal the bastardy of her sons. Were that so, Lyonel Strong’s death was an unfortunate accident, for his lordship’s decision to see his son back to Harrenhal had been unforeseen.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pg 383 [On Lyonel and Harwin’s Deaths]

[tomriddleslovergirl]

House of the Dragon characters x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of child death, pregnancy, mentions of sex, mentions of threesomes

Daemon has trauma from what happened with his past wife, Laena. He's terrified that you'll die during childbirth, and will have a Maester check up on you every moon.

Daemon loves to gently press his forehead against your stomach, humming a song under his breath as you fall asleep.

He'll pick out a few dragon eggs for you to choose from for your guys' baby.

If there are any complications during the birth, he'll threaten to put the Maester's head on a spike if you don't make it out alive.

He'd rather you survive than the baby. You can always have another baby, but there's only one of you.

It was no surprise that you got pregnant since the both of you were constantly fucking.

b i g b o o b s

His hands and mouth are constantly on your breasts and once you begin lactating it will probably get worse,

Like Daemon, Aegon would choose you over the child if it came to it. You are one of the only things that bring him some version of happiness and he'll be damned if he losses you.

Aemond has thought of being a father before. Of course, since he was the second son, he would need heirs. He had also sworn that he would be a better father to his children than Viserys was to him.

Aemond does get a bit possessive when your pregnant and would prefer to be the one helps you bathe and gives you massages when you complain about back pain.

Though Aemond is usually reserved and shy about his touches, once he finds out your pregnant, he becomes more confident. Something that should of been a simple kiss, would end up with his hands wandering towards your breasts.

Ser Harwin probably got you pregnant during one of the multiple threesomes you have with him and Rhaenyra.

She's over the moon when she finds out your pregnant.

Her hands are constantly on your stomach.

Rhaenyra has a lot of experience when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth. She'll be there for you, listening to your worries and reassuring you.

She'll go throw a list of baby names with you, and you'd land on Aemma and Baelon being one of your top picks.

Buys you long necklaces and new dresses that show off your breasts, and gives you a cheeky smirk when you catch her looking.

[axelsagewrites]

Hello, dear reader. I'd like to make a wish for Rhaenyra's little sister, maybe a year or two. And she never liked Alicent, who after marrying the king tries (along with Otto) to demote her to bastard status (but Viserys loves his little girl too much to do this to her). Of course, things get even worse when Rhaenyra's sister gets engaged to Harwin...

Thank you for your attention, I like your stories 🫶🏻. Another thing, can I stop by more often? I wish I had more of my ideas adorned with your writing

Harwin Strong*Suitable Match

Pairing: Harwin x f!reader

Word count: 1320

Warnings: Step parent hating step child, secret relationship, kind of implied smut

a/n: ahh thank u sm for being so sweet and ofc request as much or talk however much u want. sorry i didnt reply sooner i just didnt want to lose the request x

Masterlist Here

A life of a princess was something to envy. Well so many had claimed however after the death of your mother life felt like an ever falling spiral. Your sister began to grow closer to Alicent after the death and while you were happy for her to have a friend Alicent had always been unkind to you.

It had started small with her asking Rhaenyra not to let you join in their games to her unpicking your needle work whenever you would wander off to stretch your legs. Soon you gave up on even trying to be nice to her. anytime she was invited to dinner was met with loud sighs from you.

“Why does she hate me?” you pouted one night as Rhaenyra upbraided your hair.

Your sister rolled her eyes as she began to brush your hair out, “She doesn’t hate you. she’s just not used to a little sister,”

“She’s mean,”

“Cmon she isn’t that bad?”

-

You didn’t want to say I told you so when Alicent was betrothed to your father but the look on your face said it for you. at least Rhaenyra was able to marry and move away. you were instead stuck living at court with your evil stepmother and her spawn. Well, the children were kind to you, but Alicent constantly used them to get under your skin.

She’d send toddler Aegon running over with pretend crown shouting that he was going to be king. Or she would have a 2-year-old Aemond claim he was your husband. She tried to make Helena spill wine on your dress one time, but the poor girl burst into tears and confessed to you instantly.

Instead Alicent settled on insisting that your chambers were given to Aegon. Something you managed to convince your father against from at first but soon you were moved to a wing of the castle usually just for guests. You would’ve complained about longer if you hadn’t realised your new chambers window overlooked the kings guard training ground.

From your window you’d pretend to be doing needle work while secretly watching break bones fling any man that challenged him like a rag doll. Eventually Harwin caught onto your staring and would send his own glimpses up between sparring. It was also handy that your chamber was only a short walk from the guards’ sleeping quarters and Harwin soon became a frequent private guest of yours.

-

“Ser Barros is coming to court next week,” your father told you over a family dinner, “and I heard his son is looking for a wife,” he said, shooting you a hopeful glance.

“I heard he’s a fine man father,” you said kindly knowing full well it didn’t matter. Somehow every match they tried to make for you was sabotaged. The tall dark Baratheon boy was ever so keen for weeks for your hand then one day disappeared like a ghost. The gorgeous Lannister man that would bring you fine jewels suddenly decided a dornish match was of more importance. Even the Tarly boy you had courted had inexplicitly decided to join the nights watch. Every time Alicent wore the same twisted smile.

The only ones she didn’t send running were the incredibly old and decrepit looking men from minor houses, but it wasn’t hard to convince your father they weren’t suitable matches. “Perhaps we should set up a luncheon to great the boy,” Alicent suggested making your father smile widely. She really had twisted him around her finger.

-

“I wish I could stay here all day,” you pouted as you lay your head on Harwin’s bare chest.

His chuckle vibrated through you as his arm wrapped tight around your waist, “Me too princess but I have my duties and you have yours,”

“I thought your duty was to serve me,” you sighed dramatically, pretending to try get away.

Harwin laughed, his arms moving to cage you against the bed as he moved to lay over you, “I think I serve you just fine princess,” he said, his lips moving to kiss along your jaw.

“Oh yeah?” you asked and Harwin hummed in response as his kisses grew lower.

-

As expected Borros’s son went running after only a week and now you were in another awkward family dinner however unluckily for you the children all had the cold so now you were sat in stoney silence with just your father and Alicent. “You should really think about your future dear,” she said with a fake sweet smile, “We worry for you,”

Instead of replying you grabbed your wine, drinking a hefty sip of it. Viserys sighed, “Alicent is right dear. You must marry. At this point we’re going to have to start considering marrying you to a tree!” he said, flinging himself back in his chair. “Honestly what even happened between you and the boy?”

-

The days that followed were awkward to say the least. Alicent walked around smug as all hell and your father continued to sulk. You decided enough was enough and when Alicent went out to the sept you decided to track your father down. Unsurprisingly you found him staring over a model of the city.

“Father?” you greeted, walking closer to the tired looking man, “May we talk?”

“Of course, sweet child,” he said, nodding for you to sit beside him before sighing, “You know I worry for you?”

“I do father, and I do appreciate it,” you lied but did your best to look sympathetic to your clueless father, “but I was thinking. Well. I found another match you see father,” you spoke, and his head perked up as he waited for you to finally spit it out, “He’s sweet and kind and his family is well respected. You even like his father, and I was just thinking- “

“Out with-it child,”

You took a breath before finally asking, “Have you considered Harwin Strong yet father?” Viserys sighed, his eyes turning away but you continued, “Think about it! I’d be able to be at court and help Helena with her studies. Plus, you have four more children so four more matches. You already have the Velaryon which secures the crownlands. Harwin and I would secure the Riverlands. Then after you betrothed Helena, Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron you will have six of the seven kingdoms on your side. Your reach will go far especially if our children do the same,”

“You want to dilute the blood of old Valyria?” he asked, sounding exhausted as he spoke.

“No father, only strengthen it,” you said, moving to hold his hand, “Besides there is no other Targaryen or Velaryon to wed unless uncle daemon is brought back from exile- “you said but your father raised his hand to hush you.

He paused for a moment before nodding, “I will think about it. but for now, leave me. I have a lot to consider,”

“Thank you, father,”

-

Apparently Alicent must have missed this chamber meeting because somehow the news came back finally in your favour. Harwin would be your husband. You were so happy when your father told you that you instantly hugged him before rushing to find Harwin however that night at dinner Alicent shot you many dirty looks.

Finally, you had undermined her. you’d won. Well, that’s how it felt at first, but her glares began to sink into your skin till it itched. As the dinner ended, she tapped her cup with her fork, “A toast to my dear sweet daughter,” she smiled at you making your father beam, “May she have a marriage like ours,” she said, holding his hand tightly but you felt your stomach flutter.

“Here, here,” your father said, standing to kiss your cheek.

Alicent did the same, her arms twisting round your back into a bony hug, “Do not forget yourself darling,” she whispered sweetly in your ear, “You don’t win that easily,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila @jacesvelaryons

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hey :) Hope you're doing well, I read some of your Aemond fanfics, and they were great. I was hoping you could write a Jacaerys x Alicent daughter fanfic. Something about an arranged marriage, you can take it anyway you wish, but could there be some angst in there. with the prompts 1. ‘’My blood is not noble enough for a prince.’’ and 14. ‘’I’m not used to this. Being a wife.’’

Thank you :)

Request: Alicent’s second daughter to marry Jacaerys to unite the houses

Thank you for the compliment on my Aemond fics <3 More will be coming soon. Also, I was not able to use the first prompt as it doesn’t work with the characters. Alicent’s daughter’s blood is more noble than Jacaerys since her father is king and his mother is princess. I hope you still enjoy what I wrote for you <3

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Twenty years ago, when Viserys made Rhaenyra his heir, the knights and houses who swore allegiance to him had no choice but to accept her as their future queen. She was the king’s only child. But now that the king had a male heir — and a spare —, there were possibilities that people would oppose her claim to the throne and demand Aegon to wear the crown. 

To prevent the situation from happening, the king and queen, along with Rhaenyra, made an accord that Rhaenyra would ascend the throne following the king’s death, but to unite the houses, the princess’s firstborn son — and heir — would marry Alicent’s second daughter and, one day, inherit the throne together. 

Like any political marriage, you nor Jacaerys had a choice or say. At least he wasn’t an older lord you had met once or twice. You knew Jacaerys — a little. He was kind, loyal and protective. He was a good man. 

Prior to that arrangement, your grandsire, Otto, had been talking to you about having a tourney to meet suitors, but your mother had been quick to oppose to the idea. She didn't want you to be the victim of his scheming like she had been at your age. 

You were drawing under the weirwood tree when Jacaerys stepped into the yard, having just arrived in King’s Landing. Its red leaves matched the color of your dress, making him smile. He liked you in red. 

‘’I was told by the servants that my wife was out here.’’ 

Immersed in your drawing, you didn’t hear the prince approaching. You only glanced up when you heard your new title, the sound of his voice almost making you drop your charcoal onto your dress. Your mother would have been furious.

A soft laugh left your lips. Moons have passed since the wedding, yet being called a wife still felt strange. ‘’I’m not used to this. Being a wife.’’

‘’Me either,’’ Jacaerys admitted. ‘’What are you drawing, Princess?’’ 

You reflected his smile as he approached. ‘’Just some birds.’’

Jacaerys walked up to the tree and sat beside you. He had a bit of dirt on his jacket from sparring with Ser Criston in the training yard. 

‘’How was your training session with Ser Criston?’’ you asked, raising a hand to run through the front of his hair, fixing an unruly curl that was on the wrong side. 

The older he got, the more he looked like Ser Harwin Strong. He had the same dark brown curls. But you would never dare saying that out loud. Although you meant it as a compliment, the mere insinuation of his illegitimacy was a vile insult to the crown — to the princess. 

‘’I disarmed him twice…and I ate some dirt.’’ The brunet grimaced, the earthy taste still lingering on his tongue. ‘’It was a blessing that no one was watching.’’  

‘’Mayhaps you need an opponent that is closest to your age?’’ you suggested, not finding it fair that he was sparring against a grown man who had years of practice as a knight. ‘’You could ask Aemond to train with you? He is training for the upcoming tourney, but I’m sure he would a accept to help you.’’

Jacaerys hummed, then leaned back against the weirwood tree, taking a moment of rest. He watched with quiet admiration as you continued your drawing, fascinated by the way you could, with a few strokes of charcoal, illustrate pretty much anything. Birds, flowers, dragons, or portraits of your family. 

Much like your twin brother, you favored solitude over socializing. When the betrothal was announced to you, you assumed that this tranquility would be disrupted, but it turned out that Jacaerys enjoyed it too. Partially. While he often thrived on the excitement and duty that came with his heir title, he found it relieving that he could find peace and comfort in your silent company. 

‘’I’m going back to Dragonstone in the morrow,’’ the prince announced, breaking the serenity of the quiet.

‘’How long for?’’

Jacaerys shifted, fearing the conversation that was to come. ‘’No. I’m going back to Dragonstone…permanently.’’

You stopped drawing, a sudden knot forming in your stomach. ‘’And what of me?’’ 

‘’You can join. Or not. That is up to you.’’ 

‘’And what of us? What of our marriage, Jace?’’ you asked, turning your head toward him. 

When you got wed in the tradition of Old Valyria, you pledged to one another that you were one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Jacaerys returning to Dragonstone would break your duties to your House. 

‘’Dragonstone is easy to travel from and back on dragonback.’’ You began picking at your fingers, and Jacaerys noticed, taking your hand in his to stop you. ‘’I tried, but King’s Landing is not my home. I don’t belong here.’’

‘’I can’t leave my family.’’ 

‘’I left mine for you.’’ 

You pulled your hand from his hold and narrowed your eyes at him. Jacaerys moving to King’s Landing after the wedding ceremony was your father’s idea, not yours. How dared he blame you for a decision you didn't make?

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen@naty-1001@katiepie67@moshpot24x@hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler@saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag@wondxrgurl@aerangi@strmborns@astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection

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[50shadesofrossi]

Want Me

Ser Harwin Strong x Female Reader

Summary: You're Rhaenyra's lady in waiting, by her side at all times and thus leading you to spend many hours within Ser Harwin's company, drawing the two of you together

Warnings: Smut, mentioned violence, swearing, angst (if you squint), fluff

A/N: Hi, small warning, haven't written a full smut scene for a while so I'm a little rusty, but I hope you enjoy :)

"Want me to kill him?" You absentmindedly offer to Princess Rhaenyra. 

She chuckles from behind you, her fellow ladies attempting to hide their smirks and smiles whilst they finish up her hair. "I know how much you crave violence, but I can not allow you to kill him. Besides, how would you even do it?"

You pause in the mirror, your eyes flickering to find Rhaenyra's. "Seduction is a woman's greatest strength." You whirl around to face her, a cruel expression etching into your face at the thought. "A simple poison into his drink and during the night he'd cease breathing and the Maestor would declare a heart attack. An easy kill, if I say so myself," 

The princess raises her eyebrows, her lips pursing together. Tonight is her name day feast, celebrating another year of her youth and thus drawing in all the potential suitors wishing to offer themselves. One of the Lannister twins made a fool of himself, offending Rhaenyra and thus resulting in you plotting his death, should your princess command it. 

As her lady in waiting, you take your role very seriously. Though, you are oft referred to as her sister, the two of you becoming close at a young age and growing up together. It has solidified your relationship with her, and in turn, you know each other inside and out. 

Your sharp words and cunning nature are a breath of fresh air as opposed to the customary expectations of Rhaenyra's fellow ladies. 

You glance over yourself once more in the mirror, your attention spanning over the finer details of your gown and the excellent work of the seamstress. The dress accentuates your frame, the embroidery and accessories dating back to your House and heritage. 

You look like a woman, a woman grown and of power. 

"Are you ready?" Rhaenyra pulls you from yourself, twirling around to give you a full look at her. 

"Indeed, and must I say my Princess, you look divine." You tell her honestly. 

She smiles, the two of you making your way to the great hall. Heads turn at the sight of you both, the heir to seven kingdoms and her fierce lady, who would protect her more so than a knight. 

Your stomach begins to twist as you near the hall, your teeth grinding together to keep the nerves at bay. You feel a reassuring squeeze on your hand, your dear friend sensing your change in behaviour. 

"If he doesn't fall at your feet and beg for your hand, I'll feed him to Syrax myself," she whispers. 

You bite your tongue, though a small smile creeps out. In the past moons, you've become acquainted with a knight, the two of you sharing passions and dreams. Nothing more of talk has happened thus far, but you can't help but think that maybe he will ask for your hand in marriage, as the two of you spend most days side by side. 

He makes your heart beat rapidly, with the small gestures and whispered words when no one is close. Not to mention, the way he looks at you, like no one else exists but you. 

Yet, you can't help but think that you're in way over your head, too consumed to see the reality. 

You have no time to ponder Rhaenyra's words, as the two of you arrive at the hall, the chatter dying down instantly. Swallowing, you hold your head high, following Rhaenyra down the stairs and toward the high table where you veer off to your own. 

His eyes were on you the moment you appeared, refusing to leave even as you sit down. You look absolutely breathtaking. 

Of course, you avoid his gaze, even from across the room, as you begin to fill your plate. Your skin ignites under his heated stare, your desire overweighting your sense of propriety. Glancing up, you meet him, his deep blue eyes burning into your darkest depths and tearing down every wall you've ever built. 

Ser Harwin Strong, renowned for his strength throughout the seven kingdoms and his proud house. 

Your cheeks heat up under the intensity, neither of you daring to break contact. You admire how he's dressed, his fine threaded clothes making him look regal, his unruly curls neatly pulled back into a bun. Gods.

The grumble of your stomach brings you to your senses, your head bowing down to begin consuming your food. You feel him continue for a heartbeat longer, before he diverts his attention elsewhere. 

As the night begins to progress, you drag Rhaenyra to dance, moving with the music and enjoying yourself. You change partners throughout, making yourself known and extending yourself to the other lords and ladies currently attending for the princess's name day. 

For once, Harwin doesn't grace your thoughts, until he becomes your next partner. 

Your eyes widen for a moment, your breath catching. "Ser-" you start, not expecting to see him. 

"My lady, you look exquisite." His rasps, his body feathering your own. 

His heat wraps around you like wild vines, pulling and tugging you closer, enticing you to become lost. You hit your chin out, refusing to fall prey. 

"And you, good Ser," 

Harwin smiles, a hum of satisfaction rumbling within his chest. His hand brushes your own, a part of him needing to touch you, his resolve almost snapping from the softness of your flesh. His fingers itch to press firmly, to warn off any man or lord that dare think they have a chance with you. 

"Are you enjoying yourself, this evening?" He asks, his lips close to your ear as to make sure you hear him over the loud music. 

You turn your head, his breath fanning your cheek. Heat pools within your stomach, want gnawing at you and demanding to be free. "I'll enjoy myself once I've had my dessert," you dare. 

His eyes narrow, assessing the situation. Little minx. Before he can conjure his own smart remark, a fellow knight of the city watch approaches, pulling him away from you. You watch him go without a word, a sense of humiliation washing over you as you continue to dance alone, searching for Rhaenyra. 

You find her with her uncle, enjoying themselves. 

Biting your lip, you move off the dance floor, standing on the sideline. You feel deflated, watching your friends enjoy themselves and even sneak out of the hall with their suitors, and your heart's deepest love couldn't even excuse himself. He just left you. 

You see him, surrounded by his companions, and more so with an older woman hanging off him. Now you feel stupid, your usual confidence and ego a ghost. The woman wraps an arm around his waist, much like a partner, and him not moving. 

Of fucking course, I'm just the plaything to keep him entertained whilst his lover is elsewhere. 

Grinding your jaw in anger, you inhale deeply and begin to make your way through the crowd, ignoring Harwin and his group as you have to pass them to ascend the stairs out of the hall. Your hasty exit catches many people's attention, especially the one you were hoping wouldn't notice. 

You don't realise he follows you, until you almost reach your quarters. His boots hit the ground harshly, as he tries to catch you, going as far as calling out your name. You pause in front of your doors, whirling around to face him once he draws near. 

Fire dances within your eyes, making Harwin pause momentarily. "Ser Harwin?" You snap. 

"I wanted to make sure you're well, you left in such a hurry," 

"I'm fine," you start, your thumb running over your fingers anxiously. "The hall became too much, so I'm retiring for the evening." 

Harwin tilts his head. He calls bullshit. He knows you, he grew up alongside you and knows that you are one of the last to leave the party, oft enjoying yourself too much to notice the sunrise and thus requiring an escort, usually him. 

He reads your body language, depicting your sudden mood change has something to do with him. He chuckles lightly, amusement etching across his features at your frustrated glare. "You're jealous." 

"Jealous?!" You repeat in disbelief, your raised voice echoing the corridor. "Me? Of what?" You ask him incredulously. You naturally begin to step closer, "of that woman? Why would I be jealous of some wench when I am the Princesses lady in waiting, I can have almost any suitor I want, I have sway within these walls and no one quite realises the extent I'll go to if I'm pushed, not to mention," you stop just shy of him, your chest heaving. "One word to my Princess, and I can have whatever I want." 

Harwin peers down at you, a small smirk gracing his lips at your outburst. "I never said what you were jealous of," he says lowly, almost inaudible if not for your closeness. "I'll be sure to tell my sister you think she's a wench." 

Your world crashes and burns. Sister? That was his fucking sister?! Your heart ceases beating, your breath catches in your throat and your skin clams up. Realisation and dread wash over you, embarrassment etching into your cheeks. You become a wounded animal, and respond much as they do, 

"Fuck you." You don't know what compels you or who takes over your body, but you can't stop the words from tumbling out and sending them straight at Harwin. 

He blinks. 

Quickly you spin on your heel and make haste to your door, pulling the handle to only have it slammed shut, and a large body pressing against you. Your throat constricts, feeling Harwin's entire front against your back as his hand looms over your head, keeping the door closed. 

One small movement, and he could bury his nose into your hair. "Say that again," his chest rumbles, his mouth angling down to press on your ear. To make sure you hear him loud and clear. 

You're frozen, your body shutting down. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. "Go on, don't go shy on me now, my lady," he presses, pushing you. 

Licking your lips, you hesitantly shift on the spot, leaning your back against the door and tilting your head to hold Harwin's gaze. He pins you down, the entirety of his body caging you in, almost like a shield protecting you from peering eyes. 

"Fuck you," you whisper. 

Reflexively, his other hand snaps to your jaw, his fingers digging into the skin. Your lips part, your muscles relax and your body becoming a rag doll. He could very easily suffocate you like he was bunching up a piece of parchment, he wouldn't even feel your bones snap. Yet, in this very moment, your thighs press together, your garment becoming soaked with each passing second. 

You know he won't hurt you. His hold on you is firm and delicate, the pads of his fingers gently holding you in place. He tilts his head, assessing you like he would an opponent, his dark eyes roaming your face and his brows twitching in thought. 

You test the waters, standing straighter and in turn bumping your nose into his cheek. Harwin exhales shakily, his grip tightening if only a smidge, in comparison to his self-restraint. You nudge your nose against his, his hooded eyes following your every move. 

Your breath tangles with his own, desire and hunger transpiring. Harwin's jaw clenches, his palm against the door closing into a fist. You want him, he wants you. Swallowing thickly, your lashes feather your cheeks and you take the plunge, pressing your lips against his own with uncertainty. 

For a moment, you float, your body becoming weightless and your mind lost. His lips are softer than you imagined, despite his harsh reputation, soft and plump on your own. Harwin responds, before suddenly pulling you away by his grip still on your jaw. 

A bucket of cold water drenches you, his sudden cold demeanour creating a crack in your heart. Not so much that he pulled you away, more how forcible it was, after he began to lose himself under the taste of you. That hurts. 

Your eyes flash. You move to release yourself from his grip, but he tightens it, his head turning slightly as though to check for any movement within the corridor. With precision, he pulls you flush to his body and opens the door in one movement, shoving you inside to your quarters and locking the door behind him. 

"You naïve girl," he starts, running a hand over his beard. 

You scoff, creating distance between the two of you by standing at the window sill. "And they say romance is dead." 

Harwin narrows at you. "You have no idea what you've just done, what if someone had seen?" His voice raises, his hand gesturing to the doors. 

Confusion swirls within you at his sudden change of behaviour, at his switch from intimacy to frustration in an upsetting kind of way. "I don't see the problem," you cross your arms, raising a brow. "I want you, and I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks." 

"Well, you should!" You're taken aback by his sudden outburst, a sliver of fear creeping up your spine. "I am not good for you," he says your name with such emotion. "I have enemies at every turn, I can't be at your side protecting you every day and not to mention what would happen to your reputation-" 

"My reputation?" You cut him off, your voice low in disbelief of what you're hearing. "You think I give a fuck about my reputation! About your enemies? Gods Harwin," you begin to pace, your hands running over your head and falling against your neck. "How fucking dense are you?" 

He attempts to ignore the hiccup in his heart rate at the way his name rolls off your tongue. "I'm more than capable of protecting myself," you start after calming down a notch. You cross the room, standing before the brute and taking his large hands in your own. "Is it that hard to believe that I want you? That I don't care about everything else, about your history and reputation, about the fucking court gossip and your enemies? All I care about is you, your health and well-being, and that I know you'd never hurt me, physically and emotionally. I know you'd die protecting me, and you'd make me feel so loved, despite that shield you put in front of yourself every day." 

Harwin brings your hands to his lips, brushing them over your delicate fingers whilst he closes his eyes, relishing in the moment. His coarse beard caresses your skin, planting the idea of how it would feel between your thighs. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you drop your hands down, beating him to it. "You want me Harwin?" your voice pulls to him, lulling him in. "I am right here, otherwise there's the door," you gesture. 

Your chest clenches at the thought of him turning his back. You wonder how he could kiss you back, then cough up some bullshit about him being bad for you. It confuses and wounds you. 

His lips part, the cogs turning in his head as he makes his decision. He surges forward, gently taking your head in his hands and angling you upward to capture your lips in a searing kiss. 

He walks you back until you hit the pillar, careful not to slam you into it. His lips move against yours hungrily, his tongue begging for entrance and his breath meddling with your own. Your fingers curl onto the front of his jacket, squeezing out any air left between you, your fronts pressing tightly. 

Your lungs burn, your actions becoming erratic as you move up to his hair, tangling his curls and removing the band keeping it back. You pull at the roots, emitting a deep groan from Harwin, his own hands gliding down your body to find refuge on your waist. 

You pour all your emotions into the kiss; the hunger, lusting, anger and need. He dominates you, his mouth slowly moving down your jaw, his teeth nipping along your bone and travelling to your neck, unknowingly finding your sweet spot. 

You bite your lip at the sound you release, a small sense of embarrassment flooding your body. Harwin immediately comes up, holding you still with his hard stare. "Don't you dare quieten on me." 

"Like your girls loud, Ser Harwin?" 

He chooses to ignore your comment. You smirk, your usual demeanour washing into the shore, a calculating look flashing in your eye. Before he can do anything you shove him back, pushing him down onto the lounge. 

Surprise is evident on his face, his eyes watching you curiously. You crouch between his spread legs, your palms sliding over his thighs in a soothing manner, slowly making your way to his waistband. 

You quite like this image; his unruly dark curls free and framing his face, his intense eyes swallowing you whole and his knees bent outward. He looks casual, yet so fucking handsome you have to restrain yourself from fucking him there. 

"Don't look at me like that," you scold, tugging on his pants. 

"Like what," he grumbles, lifting his hips. 

His pants pool at his feet, his hardened cock free from restraints. "Like I don't know what I'm doing." He eyes you suspiciously, waiting for you to shut down his thoughts. "I've been fucked before, if that's what you're wondering." 

He hums in dissatisfaction. 

"I'll decide if you've been fucked, my lady." You raise a brow at the title. 

He opens his mouth to say something more, but only a loud groan escapes, your lips wrapping around his cock. His hips reflexively jut, his hand moving to your head in response to your movements, your tongue flattening along the underside. 

Harwin shudders, his chest rising in deep pants under your ministrations and his fingers flexing in an attempt to hold himself back from face fucking you. You work him steadily, glancing up at him through your lashes and feeling a sense of pride roll down your spine at his dishevelled state, his head lolling over the back of the lounge. 

"Fuck," he curses, tilting down to hold your gaze. 

You move a hand to work the rest of his cock that you can't fit in his mouth, momentarily pausing when he grabs your wrist, and quickly heaves you off him. "You do that, and this night ends very quickly." 

"I find it hard to believe that Breakbones finishes in under twenty seconds," you muse, slipping out his grip easily and situating yourself on his lap.

He groans quietly, both in frustration and need. "Believe me, my lady, that when I cum, I intend on cumming in you and filling you up." 

"Good." 

You begin undoing his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and down his arms before moving to his shirt, heaving it up and revealing his toned stomach. Your fingers splay across his chest, feeling his hard-earned muscles and scars from various fights. You pause on a particularly large wound along his abdomen, feathering the pink tissue. 

"Don't worry about it," he whispers your name, reading the emotion on your face. 

"This is an assassination attempt, Harwin." You press, flickering up to hold his stare. "Someone almost succeeded in fucking killing you." Unwanted tears spring in your eyes, raw emotion thick within your voice.

The thought of Harwin being killed, frightens the fuck out of you. 

He cups your cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping a tear. "This is what I meant," he refers to his previous statement about his enemies. You still, your features hardening. 

"Don't you dare, Harwin. Don't you fucking dare." You spit. 

He stays silent, observing you whilst your fingers continue their path along his torso, grazing each other his scars. "Seven Hells help the next man that makes an attempt on your life," you vow, your hand splaying out over his heart. 

"My little warrior," he rasps, pulling you down to him. 

Your lips collide, the taste of him invading your mouth and stealing your breath away. You whimper at the feel of his hands sliding up your arms and resting on your collarbone, toying with your dress. Blindingly he reaches for the lace tying it together, pulling it apart and loosening the top section. 

Goosebumps rise along your flesh as Harwin gently tugs the dress down your arms, exposing your breasts and stomach once it pools around your hips. You rest your forehead in the crook of his neck, gasping under the ministrations of his hands along your breasts, his thumb tweaking the bud. 

You thread through his curls, your nails scraping his scalp and your lips seeking out his neck. 

Suddenly he lifts you off him, placing you down on your feet. You raise your eyebrows in surprise and a little confusion, unsure of his next motive. "Take it off," he commands softly, the low rumble in his chest making your heart rate spike. 

The dress falls to your feet and you step out of it, mindful of taking off your shoes and being left bare before him. He slowly takes his boots off, never breaking contact even whilst he removes his pants. 

You watch him stand, tilting your head as he comes near. He doesn't speak, nor does he kiss you again. Instead, he hooks his hands under your thighs and hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and your arms coming to the back do his neck. 

He walks toward your bed, gingerly laying you down. You stare up at him with adoration, every fibre of your body knowing you're safe with this man. Despite his reputation, you could almost laugh, knowing that there is a softer, more caring side to him than anyone realises.

No one has ever touched you like you're glass, like you could shatter and slip through his fingers. He kisses you with so much passion and care, in stark contrast to his daily goings. You've witnessed him in a brawl, smashing the men to the ground without a worry and pummelling them to an inch of their life. 

Yet you know, these hands handle you with love. 

You slide up to the head of the bed, brushing the hair from Harwin's face when he comes to hover above you. He descends, missing your face entirely and planting kisses along your neck, slowly travelling south. 

Airy breaths leave you, your body responding to his attention, more so as he pauses over your breasts, taking an erect nipple into his mouth and tugging. Fire pools within your stomach, threatening to pour out. In a way it does, your head falling back into the cushions and your lips parting to release sounds of pleasure. 

Harwin continues his way down, his eyes flickering up to you through his loose curls, intently watching your reaction as he nears between your thighs, softly blowing cool air on your sensitive region. You grit your teeth, glaring down at him. 

"Hurry up." 

"As my lady commands," he chuckles. 

Your flush at the incredibly loud moan, not exactly expecting him to dive right in. Harwin drags his tongue up your slit, finding your clit and sucking. He switches between flicking your clit with his tongue and sucking, groaning lowly to himself at watching you writhe under him. 

He draws more sounds out of you, snaking a hand up to tease your opening, carefully entering a finger. "Fuck!" You arch your back, your hands reaching for his hair. 

He slowly pumps it out of you, enjoying the way you feel around him. He can only imagine how tight you'd be around his cock. The thought almost makes him fuck you right here. 

Your stomach twists, your knuckles turning white. No man has made you feel like this, even with just his mouth and finger, the two bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

He adds a second finger, wanting to properly prepare you for him, and enjoying watching you lose yourself to the pleasure he's giving you. 

He can feel you get close, teetering along the edge as he begins to increase his pace. You whimper at the ache, rutting your hips upward. "Harwin," you whine at the contact of his lips enclosing over your clit and sucking, hard. 

The fire burns brighter, scorchingly hot and desperate for a release. 

"Let go," he murmurs, gently nipping your clit. You do, your orgasm crashing down like a wave, engulfing you. 

He slowly continues to move his fingers through, allowing you to experience your high as he draws it out. He can't help but clean you up before he even thinks about moving away from the safety of your thighs. 

With ease, Harwin climbs back up, claiming your lips. You taste yourself, rummaging your hands through his hair and down his back, his muscles rippling under the pads of your fingers. 

He pulls away from you, question shining in his eyes; do you still want this?

You nod, leaning up to kiss him again, solidifying your answer. He hums, guiding his cock to press against your slit, teasing you for a moment before he nudges your opening. You gasp on his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders at every inch. 

Harwin falls into the crook of your neck, groaning at the sensation. He stops moving once you've taken all you can, pausing to make sure you're comfortable. You clench around him in reflex, eliciting a deep rumble from his chest, his beard grazing your neck. 

"Harwin," you pant. "If you don't move in the next five seconds," 

He chuckles at your warning, slowly pulling back. You bite your lip, closing your eyes at the high pleasure rocking throughout your body. Harwin lifts his head, his forehead brushing your own. He intends to watch you complete shatter underneath him. 

He slams home, somewhat slow but hard, rutting into you like wild waves against a rock, your back arching and pressing your chest to his. You can't help but rake your nails down Harwin's back, ignorant to the fact that you're close to drawing blood, desperate for a way to show how easily he's unravelled you. 

"Gods Harwin," you cry out at each thrust, harder and deeper than before. 

He grins, his lips on your ear, "I know quiet isn't exactly in your nature, but maybe don't alert everyone in the Red Keep of our rendezvous." 

"Oh fuck off."

Harwin reaches for the headboard, his knuckles turning white from his harsh grip, using it as leverage to pound harder. You chant his name, subconsciously clenching and unclenching around him, causing him to falter each time. 

That burning ache brews within you, gradually growing with each slide into you. His free hand comes down to your clit, playing with the bud and drawing you closer to the edge. Overwhelming sensations spark up your body, your legs starting to shake from the pleasure. 

"Harwin," you whine. 

"I know," he grits, picking up his pace. He hits parts of you that you never knew existed, fireworks erupting each time he enters you deeper, if that were possible. "Good girl, you're taking me so well, hmm?"

Your head is tilted up by his hand leaving the headboard to cup the side of your face, forcing your eyes on him. You struggle to keep your eyes open, a drowsy, drunken look coming across you. 

Without warning, you let go, bursting around him. "Gods, fuck!" Harwin calls your name, following you over. He couldn't last any longer, not after feeling you come undone from him. 

You gape in a silent moan, relishing in the feeling of him fill you up, his hips slowing but not yet relenting. You shiver from the sensitivity, thankful for when he stops. You struggle to hold contact, fatigue seeping in. 

You sigh at the feeling of him remove himself, your muscles relaxing and your spine calming. You don't see where Harwin moves off to, until he comes back and murmurs for you to spread your legs, gently wiping his seed from your thighs. 

For a moment, you wonder what happens now. Does he just leave? Does he stay? What happens between the two of you? Thoughts rummage, ruining your come down. 

"Hey," he brushes your forehead. "Come here." He pulls the sheets back, indicating for you to crawl underneath. All those thoughts are momentarily thrown out the window when he slides in beside you, pulling you to him. 

You lay in silence, your head on his chest and your hand playing with his loose curls. "What happens now?" You can't help but ask. 

"Now?" He hums, his chest vibrating. "You become my lady wife, and I fuck you whenever I please." 

You laugh, rolling further into him. "You better, now that I've given you my maidenhood." 

He pulls away slightly, making you look at him. "What? You told me that this wasn't your first-" he stops, reading the glint in your eye and the expression on your face. "You cheeky girl, almost gave me a heart failure." 

You grin cheekily, not quite saying anything whilst you comb his hair. You've found yourself with an obsession. "Leave your hair like this," you say lowly, loving the way it frames his face. 

"But it gets in my way," he grumbles, swatting your hand away. 

"And I like it like this," you counter, going for his curls again, but this time running your nails along his scalp, smirking at his groan. "And I think you secretly like it too." He gives you the side eye, taking your other hand and bringing it to his lips.

[daemonsdivorcerock]

THE HEIR WHO NEVER WAS || d.Targaryen

IN WHICH: a decade after the two rogues of house targaryen run away, they live a content life in pentos until they are invited to laena velaryon’s funeral on driftmark and are forced to reunite with their dysfunctional family.

REQUESTED: yes/no

PAIRING: daemon targaryen x fem!reader

AUTHOR’S NOTES: sequel to “taming of the shrew”. i advise that you read that first. also reader is described as having silver hair. meraxes, the dragon of the first rhaenys targaryen, is alive for selfish reasons/j. sorry if this is shit.

WARNINGS: incest (bucket loads), westerosi shenanigans, mentions of death, childbirth, children, daemon being daemon, otto hightower, maiming/bodily injury, angst, fighting, dysfunctional family, targaryen shit etc

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

“THAT’S IT, PRINCESS, ONE MORE PUSH!” the young Pentosi midwife joyfully encourage, crouching at the end of a double bed, the white sheets tarnished with the crimson blood of the Heir Who Never Was.

(Name) panted, chest heaving. Sweat clung to her brow, eyebrows knitted, eyes closed and nose scrunched as her features contorted with pain. Her hands were occupied. One gripping Daemon’s alarmingly pale one in a vice-grip and the other holding her swollen baby bump.

“I AM PUSHING YOU CHILD-LOOKING CUNT!” (Name) shrieked hysterically. Daemon covered his mouth in a failed attempt to conceal his snicker, “DAEMON, SHUT THE FUCK UP! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU ARE NOT BEDDING ME EVER AGAIN, YOU STROPPY SMALL-COCKED GIT!”

The room was soon filled with the loud set of shrieks that the whole castle could here. (Name) began to son happily as Daemon kissed her sweaty brow. “A boy, my Princess,” the midwife happily said, holding the naked, squirming, blood-stained babe in her arms.

“It is all over now, my shrew,” Daemon softy whispered, kissing her temple lovingly, “The babe is safe. He is healthy. He is kicking like a goat. Our son,”.

Minutes later, the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing sat on the bed, doting on their new son. The sound of subtle whispers, odd for their daughters, came from the corridor. The door softly opened, revealing their brood of silver-haired daughters in tow with a servant, Elaine.

“Come here, girls,” (Name) beckoned, smiling happily at her daughters, “Come and meet your younger brother,”.

Their eldest, Daenerys, was mature for an almost eleven-year-old and led her younger sisters. After an encounter in a brothel in the weeks leading up to Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor Velaryon, (Name) refused the Moon Tea from the Grand Maester and she hadn’t regretted it.

Daenerys was the eldest of now six children. Aemma, Rhaenys, Alyssa and Rhaella followed their eldest sister. “Girls, this is your brother,” Daemon said, holding three-year-old Rhaella on his lap, whilst five-year-old Alyssa climbed onto the bed with the help of nine-year-old Rhaenys.

Seven-year-old Aemma sat closest to (Name), doting on her brother. “This is Baelon,” (Name) told the girls, gesturing to the slumbering babe in her arms, fondling smiling at the sleeping baby boy.

The girls gushed over their new brother, each getting a turn to gently hold the babe. For none of them knew what the future held for them in the days coming.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Laena Velaryon was dead. Set herself aflame after failing to give birth. The funeral was in to be held on Driftmark, as she had wanted. She’d left behind her husband, Ser Harwin Strong, and their twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena.

The funeral was teemed with tension and was a sombre occasion as Laena’s stone coffin was lowered into the sea. Laena’s mother Rhaenys looked devastated. Ten years it’d been since (Name) had seen her family. And much had occurred in ten years.

Alicent had bore her father two more sons, Aemond and Daeron. Rhaenyra had bore three sons, Jacaerys, Lucerys and the infant Joffrey, who were in no method possible Laenor’s biological children and had an, as Daemon put it, “entirely coincidental and unmarked resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch”.

After the initial funeral procedures, (Name) had noticed how the girls had made Baela and Rhaena smile a little and how her daughter Rhaenys had taken a shining to Aemond. Daenerys and Aemma were in deep conversation with Helaena. The interactions made her smile.

The girls had yet to meet their cousins, Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Or their aunt, Rhaenyra. Rhaella clung onto (Name)’s skirts, hiding behind the thick, black velvet of the dress’ material.

Baelon was a heavy sleeper, currently residing in his mother’s arms, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took and gave. She’d reunited with her cousins, Rhaenys and Corlys Velaryon, offering her sympathies for what happened to Laena.

As children and teenagers, (Name) had shared a sweet friendship with Laena, comforting her after the events at the Heir’s Tournament all those years before. They’d danced at the celebrations for Laenor and Rhaenyra’s wedding ceremony.

Her father looked terrible. His hair had thinned and he looked frankly horrible. Yet, he somehow gave his eldest daughter a smile. “(Name),” Viserys spoke. His voice sounded heavy as if it pained him to utter the word, “It is…good to you, my daughter,”.

(Name) gave him a half-curtsey, careful not to wake Baelon. “As it is equally good to see you, father,” she spoke, half-smiling, “Ten years. It certainly has been a long time,”.

Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Alyssa and Rhaella trailed behind their rogue of a father. “Brother,” Daemon greeted, “Time hasn’t been too kind on you,”.

(Name) thought he’d be upset but Viserys laughed slightly at Daemon’s comment. “These are your granddaughters,” (Name) said, “Daenerys, she is ten. Rhaenys is nine. Aemma is seven. Alyssa is five. Rhaella is three,”.

Viserys fondly smiled at each of his granddaughters. “They have their mother’s beauty,” the King mentioned. (Name) noticed how he’d visibly tensed at hearing Aemma and Alyssa’s names but smiled, “Is this my grandson, who cried a little during the precessions?”.

Daemon smirked. “His name is Baelon,” he casually mentioned, causing the king to visibly tense again, “After Father. He was born but three weeks ago,”.

“That was around the same time as when Joffrey was born,” a voice chimed in. Rhaenyra, with her sons,“Sister. Uncle. It is good to see you both again. And meet my nieces and nephew,”.

(Name) was elder than Rhaenyra by a year. Their relationship soured when Rhaenyra was named the heir to the Iron Throne, despite (Name) being Viserys’ eldest child. “Sister,” she smiled, “Those must be my nephews. Jace, Luke and…Joffrey, he’s inside, is he not? They will be good knights, so…Strong,”.

Viserys’ face blanched. Rhaenyra glared whilst the boys looked confused. “Do not take is as an insult, boys,” (Name) spoke in a manner that bordered on mocking, “It is good to be Strong, is it not, sister?”.

Daemon began to snicker. (Name) handed Baelon to Viserys, who held him in his remaining arm. (Name) sharply elbowed Daemon in the ribs, causing him to spill his cup of wine slightly.

Rhaenyra huffed, walking away to speak to Laenor. Luke followed Rhaenyra suit. Jace lingered. “Aunt,” he asked, catching (Name)’s attention, “May I ask you something?”.

“Of course, dear boy,” (Name) spoke, smiling at the brunette boy, “You may ask me whatever you wish,”

“Mother will not be honest with me about this matter…” Jace spoke, nervously fiddling with his fingers, “Am I a…bastard? Is Ser Harwin my father?”.

(Name)’s eyes widened in horror. Was Rhaenyra truly planning to put a bastard on the Iron Throne? She always knew her father was metaphorically blind, but not this blind. She was blatantly aware of her father’s favouritism to Rhaenyra. But she never knew it was this bad.

“Yes,” she spoke quietly, “I cannot believe your mother is not being honest about this to you. Harwin Strong is your father. Laenor is not your father. Nor is he Luke or Joffrey’s father. I am so sorry, dear boy,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Earlier in the day, whilst Daemon was holding Baelon, (Name) found herself skulking around in black velvet after Laena’s casket had been lowered into the ocean.

“Hand turns loom…” the dreamlike voice of her younger sister, Helaena Targaryen, uttered, letting a spider crawl across the skin of her hand, “Spool of Red…Spool of Black…dragons of flesh…weaving dragons of thread,”.

(Name) crouched next to Helaena. “Sister,” Helaena greeted, smiling at her older sister, “May I tell you something?”.

The older woman smiled at her younger sister. “Of course, Hel,” (Name) spoke, “Anything,”.

As an infant, Helaena was restless and cried with her whole being unless she was held by (Name). “I have…strange dreams,” Helaena confessed, “And those dreams…become real as time goes on…do you think that is normal?”.

(Name) placed a hand on Helaena’s shoulder. “My dear Helaena,” she spoke, catching Helaena’s attention from the spider, “It is. You see…many years ago, before the fall of Old Valyria, our ancestor, Daenys, had a dream. She dreamed of the fall of Old Valyria two and ten years before it actually happened,”.

Helaena’s eyes widened, beckoning her sister to continue. “As Targaryens, we are known for our ability to ride dragons. Some Targaryens had the ability to dream of the future. Dragon Dreamers. I am a Dreamer, just like you. My sister, don’t ever let Aegon make you feel inferior without your consent. You are a marvel,”

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

The sun was barely setting when she discovered a horrific sight. Otto Hightower, who’d been reinstated as Hand of the King, was roughing up Aegon, who was half-drunk and slumped against the wall.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Lord Hand?” (Name) spoke, glaring at hole into Otto Hightower’s soul. Her voice had a frightening steeliness to it.

Otto bowed. She truly resented Otto, as a man and as Hand of the King. “Princess,” he greeted, “There is nothing to see here. I suggest you rejoin Prince Daemon inside,”.

She scoffed. “I would rather feed myself to Meraxes than listen to a word you have to say,” (Name) spat, folding her arms, “I know a few dragons who would gladly set you alight, akin to a torch. Caraxes, Meraxes, Vermithor and Silverwing, for instance,”.

Otto visibly tensed. He bowed and walked past her. “Sister,” Aegon drunkenly slurred, as (Name) heaved teenager up from the ground, “-Nice to see you again! I missed you!”.

“I missed you too, Egg,” (Name) smiled to the boy, placing his arm across her shoulders for support and guiding him up the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, sweet Prince,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

It was the late evening when (Name) had been approached. The events following Laena’s funeral had been drastic. Young Aemond had claimed Vhagar as his mount, causing a fight between him, Jace, Luke, Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Baela and Rhaena.

It was an honest accident when Daenerys maimed Aemond and caused him to lose and eye. Alicent understood that. What she did not understand was that it was in defence of Jace and Luke’s legitimacy.

It’d blown up into a full-blown fight between Rhaenyra and Alicent, one of which had come at the other with a Valyrian Steel Dagger belonging to Aegon the Conqueror. (Name) had stepped in and gotten cut across the bridge of her nose.

There was a sharp knock at the door, catching both the attentions of the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing. “Enter,” (Name) spoke. The doors opened, revealing the visage of Otto Hightower.

Daemon blanched. “Lord Hand,” he bitterly spoke, “Have you come to darken our door for the ordeal earlier?”.

Otto sent a steely glare Daemon’s way, causing the Rogue Prince to mockingly smirk at him. “I have not, Daemon,” Otto spoke. Alicent stood behind him, guiltily staring at (Name), “I have come to speak to Princess (Name),”.

This caught (Name)’s attention, who was rocking Baelon softly in her arms, their daughters had since retired to the guest chambers with Baela and Rhaena hours prior. “Speak plainly, Lord Hand,” (Name) commanded coolly, briefly making eye contact with Ser Criston Cole, “What brings to you my chambers at this time of night?”.

“I believe we are…aligned,” Otto mused, adjusting the pin on his emerald-coloured lapel, making Daemon scoff, “In our beliefs in regards to the legitimacy of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons and the line of succession,”.

He was putting salt into the all the right wounds. (Name) was still evidently bitter about her younger sister being named heir over her and her plans to put her bastard son on the throne.

“My father is a fool,” (Name) confessed, softly stroking Baelon’s silver-coloured tufts of hair, “Nothing would change that. He is blind to the truth. Rhaenyra is his favourite child and nobody can deny that. He cannot accept the truth that Jace, Luke and Joffrey are bastards,”.

Otto smirked. “What if it did not have to be that way?” Alicent asked. This made (Name) glance at her stepmother, “What if another were to inherit the throne after the King’s passing?”.

“How would you like to be Queen, (Name)?” The Hand of the King quickly asked, making (Name) glance at Daemon, holding Baelon closer to her chest.

[ignitedminds27]

Watching Jacerys stand up for his betrothed, Baela and kindly asking Haelena to dance, his fathers, Ser Harwin Strong & Ser Laenor Velaryon would've been proud of the man he's becoming.

He has equal parts of both of them in him. He is their true son.

[starogeorgina]

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲

Paring: Aegon II Targaryen × Targaryen OC

Warnings: Swearing, character death

1.02

You struggle to breathe normally from crying so much, so you clasp your hand over your mouth to try and help regain control. All the repressed emotions that had been building for years came bubbling out when you and your father got into a heated argument. He was upset that Rhaenyra had suddenly fled to Dragonstone and blamed it on you for giving your older sister the silent treatment, insisting you go fly to her immediately and apologize.

It caused deep pain in your chest, knowing he didn’t care about your side of things. He didn’t even care to ask.

“The decision has been made; you will go to Dragonstone and apologize,” your father says, waving you off dismissively before returning his attention to his sculpture of Old Valyria. “I think it might be good for you to go and stay on Dragonstone for some time.”

“Why? As a punishment?”

“No, my child, it’s so you and Rhaenyra can be there for each other.”

“I don’t want to leave the house; it’s my home.”

“It wouldn’t be forever.”

Red blotches appear across your neck and chest as your body shakes with rage. It felt as if you were being banished for a crime you didn’t commit, and something inside you snapped. “It’s not my fault; none of it is. Not Rhaenyra was leaving, and neither was my mother or brother dying.”

“What?” Your father still makes his movements but keeps his back to you. “Ivory, what did you just say?”

“You were so obsessed with having a son that you forced my mother to get pregnant again and again until she finally died giving birth, and you have spent every day since resenting me for it.”

“That’s simply not true.”

Your eyes gloss over. “You wanted a son, and Baelon died. Leaving you with me.”

“I suggest you go to your chambers and rest before you leave.”

“I’m not going to Dragonstone!” Your father finally turns back around to face you, and the expression on his face is one of disinterest, which angers you further. You had spent years craving his and Rhaenyra’s approval, and now you felt nothing but a fool, a silly girl who thought she needed to remain quiet to keep everyone else happy, but in the heat of the moment, you no longer felt that way. “You remarried Alicent so you could have an heir, and she’s given you three sons and a daughter. Another four children that you don’t even acknowledge!”

Your father shoots you a glare; it was obvious you had struck a nerve. “Ivory, hold your tongue! Remember, I am not only your father; I am also your king.”

“The only child you love is Rhaenyra, and we all know it.”

Before he can say anything else, you turn to leave his bedchamber and come face-to-face with Alicent, who looked speechless. You closed your eyes and waited for her to scold you, but she never does; instead, she holds your hand.

Seeing the worried look on his wife’s face, your father stands. “Alicent, what is wrong?”

“I’m afraid I have some dreadful news for your grace,” she says. “It’s regarding Ser Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong.”

—

You twiddle with the green and gold ribbons that go down the center of your pale gold dress. It was a beautiful gift from your stepmother, but you couldn’t wear it yet. You focus on the design of the fabric and how it reminds you of dragon scales; it was a good distraction from the last memory you have of your late husband plaguing your mind.

Smiling, you pull your riding gloves off with your teeth as you make your way out of the dragon pit, listening intently as Aegon talked about his lessons in sword fighting. Your conversation comes to an abrupt halt when Ser Harwin appears at the doorway.

He bows his head, but before he has a chance to say anything, Aegon sharply asks, “What do you want?”

“I simply wish to speak to my wife, my prince.”

Aegon turns to you to gauge what your intentions are. Once you nod your head, silently telling him it was okay, he looks between you and Harwin, shooting a death stare at the knight. He says, “Fine, but she can’t stay long. We are expected to have tea with my mother, the queen, shortly.”

Harwin nods his head. “Of course, my prince, I won’t take much of the princess' time.”

When Aegon is out of earshot, Harwin faces you, and the amusement on his face is clear. “I’m glad that your brother is so protective of you.”

“What do you wish to speak to me about?”

He straightens his posture and says, “I am leaving tonight with my father to return to Harrenhal, and I just wanted to say goodbye as it may be some time before I return.”

Feeling your eyes become glossy, you stare at the ground and ask, “Have you said goodbye to Rhaenyra?”

“No, I didn’t think that would be appropriate.”

Heaviness weighs down on your chest. You doubted he was being truthful; you fully expected him and Rhaenyra to say a tearful farewell, but your feelings of concern for the children were stronger than your anger towards them. You clear your throat. “I hope you speak to Jacaerys and Lucerys before you go; they deserve a proper goodbye.”

Harwin’s expression is hard to read as he leans forward, kisses your forehead, and whispers, “I truly am sorry.”

When you remain silent, Harwin bows his head slightly and goes to leave. A horrid feeling twists in your gut; you don’t quit explaining it, but you feel as if it’s a final goodbye. You step forward and ask, “When do you intend to return?”

He gives you a soft smile and says, “Whenever you ask me to, princess.”

You jump when approaching footsteps pull you from your thoughts. You spin around, hand clapped to your chest, the feeling of your heart beating fast pressing against your palm. “Ser Criston, I had no idea you were behind me.”

“Forgive me for startling you, princess,” the knight says. “The queen has asked that I accompany you to the docks.”

Knowing that it was time to leave, you reached for the shawl, lying across your bed, and draped it across your shoulders before leaving your chambers. Many a lord and lady offered you their condolences as you made your way outside as the news of Harwin and his father, the kings hand burning to death made its way around court. In the back of your mind, you wondered how Jace and Luke were coping. No matter how much you hated Rhaenyra for hurting you, you could never hate your nephews.

—

Noticing you rolling your eyes at his comments, Aegon scoffs, “I’m just saying, I hate the color black.”

Not only were you dressed appropriately to mourn Harwin, you were all wearing black as you made your way to Driftmark for the funeral of your uncle's late wife, Lady Laena Velaryon, who had died during childbirth.

“You hate most things.”

Aegon pouts, “I do not.”

You tap your finger along a thick rope that was attached to the side of the boat, trying to think of something smart to say back, but your mind draws blank. “What’s something you love, then?”

“I enjoy drinking and beautiful women.”

Smiling, you shake your head, turning to face the choppy waves. “You’re ridiculous.”

Aegon’s nose crinkles as irritation spreads across his features. He looks up at the sky, watching as your dragons fly side by side. “Sunfyre.”

You smile; the dragon keepers had already spoken about how strong the bond between Sunfyre and Aegon was, especially since the golden dragon never hatched in the crib and they had only bonded a few years prior. “There is no denying that, lēkia.”

You stand together in a comfortable silence, watching as the scenery around you changes, until your destination comes into view and your heart drops. The thought of seeing Rhaenyra again so soon after Harwin’s death made you feel sick.

Aegon stretches his arms out and yawns, but his attention changes to something behind you. He clears his throat and says, “Father.”

You turn to see your father standing on the other side of you with a smile on his face, which was surprising since this was the first time you had spoken following the argument in his bedchamber. “Have you thought anymore about what we discussed?”

Before you can answer, Ghost, the beautiful white dragon you're bonded with, swoops down low and lets out a loud screeching noise, startling everyone on the boat. “No, your grace, I haven’t.”

—

As the funeral ends and the wake for Lady Laena begins, Aegon rudely interrupts the conversation you’re having with the ladies from the house, Darklyn and Baratheon. He grabs you by the hand and pulls you behind him, further away from the crowd and behind some large rocks, so you're out of sight. “What are you doing?” You frown. “That was incredibly ill-mannered; the queen will be furious.”

“What does Father want you to think about?”

You toyed with loose threads on the sleeve of your dress; you felt too embarrassed to tell him the truth. “It doesn’t matter.”

Aegon scoffs, “Fine; perhaps I’ll go ask him myself.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you are obviously fucking upset!” Aegon stumbles backwards into one of the rocks. He had been drinking since you got off the boat; it was actually astonishing that he wasn’t sliding his words by now. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“It’s humiliating, that’s why.” A sinking realization hits you suddenly, and tears glisten in your eyes. “Father no longer wants me around; he wants to ship me off to Dragonstone.”

“I will speak to my mother tonight; you cannot go and live with her; to even suggest it is an insult,” he says, shaking his head. “The king is neither blind nor stupid; he’s in denial and would rather believe my mother is a fool over Rhaenyra being a whore.”

“Aegon!”

“What she is! She slept with your husband and had his bastard children.”

“I know.” The black thread you’ve been pulling on finally snaps. “But—”

You freeze when you hear a snapping sound behind you. Aegon stares at you with his mouth slightly agape. Someone just heard everything he said.

Brother - Lēkia

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

omg noooo, daemon kills harwin?? i don't remember that from the book, is that a show change? i am BEREFT 😭

"The cause of the fire was never determined. Some put it down to simple mischance, whilst others muttered that Black Harren's seat was cursed and brought only doom to any man who held it. Many suspected the blaze was set intentionally. (...) Septon Eustace, more plausibly, suspects Prince Daemon, removing a rival for Princess Rhaenyra's affections." (page 383)

As the trailer is suggesting, Daemon will kill his wife, and Ser Harwin Strong being the last obstacle for Rhaenyra's hand, it makes sense that he will get rid of this obstacle.

I predict that Daemon will do a lot of killing to get what he wants and maybe now he will truly know what he wants, which is Rhaenyra.

[misguidedasgardian]

Storm's End 3

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader

Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you

Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, rape, non-con, minors engaging in sexual activities, blood, violence, smut on top of a dragon, asphyxia (not severe), kind of choking, moon tea shows up, and other very dark things. 

+18 MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.9 k

Notes: Ufff It seems I can’t do one shots anymore, I think this required another third part because I didn’t want to make it so long… anyways… 

Maybe… you’d prefer for Vhagar to have devoured you…

You shook your head at that, you couldn’t think like that, you had to be strong, perhaps tapped into your real father’s force, he was a good man, a strong the, brave, and kind, you had to be like him.

You whimpered when you felt your uncle’s hot hand in your belly, making you lean back until your back was against his chest, you tried to look around, but you barely could see cloud at this time at night

“You are shaking”, he purred against your ear, you barely hummed, your clothes had barely dried, but you were freezing

“I’m cold”, you murmured, he chuckled darkly, making you shake some more

“you’d think that you’d ran hot, like a dragon, and then I remember, you are only a bastard”, he mocked, but you didn’t fight him, you didn’t have the strength, you didn’t care anymore

What if your father was Harwin Strong? he had cared for you, he had protected you and guarded you, consoled you when you cried, cared for you when you were sick or when you fell and hit your hands or knees, he had loved you, you could see it in his beautiful eyes, you missed him, and Ser Laenor didn’t care, he loved you too, he accepted you and called you his, you were a Velaryon. And now Daemon, for everyone he was the fearsome devil, the rogue prince, unreadable, unpredictable, merciless, but for you and you siblings? He was your father, who cared for you, guided you, taught you, he was fearless when it came to defend all of you and your mother, he watched over you all and knew how to give you counsel 

Perhaps he was jealous, you have had three fathers, and he barely had half of one, your grandfather had been sick for so many years, he couldn’t be a good father for Aemond, you thought

“What happened? a dragon took your tongue?”, it was a sick joke, a single tear fell from your eye at the thought of your baby dragon Karnax.

You named him in honor of the first ever dragon that bonded with Aerion, and together with his flames he forged the city of Old Valyria, and created the greatest empire the world had ever seen.

How silly you had been

Perhaps the gods had taken away your dragon for your boldness, who did you think you were?

Aemond grabbed you by the back of your neck, roughly, grabbing your hairs until you cried out

“I like to be answered when I talk to you, bastard”, he grunted, he pretended like he wanted to drag you off of the saddle, into the air and to your certain death and you squealed, grabbing back at his arm

“No! please!”, you whined, “don’t throw me, don’t kill me!”, you begged him

“Why would I kill my new toy? after all the trouble she make go through to get her”

He didn’t release you, but he let you accommodate back in the saddle with shaky hands, grabbing into the rough leather. Vhagar’s flight was steady, thanks to her huge size, it would be enjoyable, if it weren’t for the circumstances that led you here 

“What are you going to do with me?”, you asked in a whisper, he caressed the back of your head and neck, but it wasn’t a soft, loving caress, it was rough, dominant, to show you his power and dominance over you

“I told you what I was going to do to you”

I lied, I’m going to give you my bastard 

“Please uncle, you took my dragon, you draw my blood”, you whimpered, “I payed by brother's debt”

For one second to the other, the skies opened up, and you gasped when you could see Dragonstone far in the horizon.

Aemond grabbed you even tighter

“I will say when it’s payed”, he chuckled darkly, and he pushed you over the handles in his saddle

You whined when he pushed you even lower, grabbed you even tighter, the handle hit you right over your belly, preventing you from breathing properly

You coughed, tears falling down your eyes

He had ripped your riding pants, but you still had your upper part, working like a dress, he raised that, exposing your intimacy, which still burned and ached…

“No please.. AH!”, he impaled you on his cock, dragging you back, letting your weight make him ripped you open even more

It was worse than before, your inner walls were sore, and aching, it felt like he was ripping you open

“No more, please uncle”

Vhagar growled under you as he started thrusting into you, over and over, each time it burnt more, your insides were on fire, every thrust you were out of breath, the handle digging under your ribcage, making you whimper

You couldn’t breathe

And the only thing you could see was Dragonstone, right there…

So close, yet so far 

Aemond leaned into you, grunting in your ear, dropping wet open mouthed kisses in your neck

“Please”, you begged, “no more”

“I’ll say when is enough”, he grunted, “fuck, you are squeezing me so tight”, you didn’t even know how you were doing, perhaps was the fact that you started feeling dizzy because of all  the oxygen you were lacking,a dn that made you clamp down on him.

“please”, you whimpered with the last of your strength, suddenly you didn’t care anymore than your uncle was taking you against your will, the last thing you saw before your eyesight began to tunnel was the stronghold of your family, your own home.

He felt you going slack under his grasp, and that is when he realized you couldn’t breathed, he pulled you back, hugging you tightly against him, and then you managed to get air inside your lungs, gasping greedily 

he kept fucking you, as he had you relaxed in his arms, he held you almost tenderly, making sure you wouldn’t fall off the saddle.

Inside his dark mind, it was true, he wouldn’t want to lose you. he didn’t want to kill you, he wanted to keep you

You were what he deserved

You were just a little bastard, a girl, you should be thankful that he, a prince, was even looking at you, adding in the fact that you and your bastards brothers where pretenders to the Iron Throne, he was just doing his duty, to prove to you how wrong you all were.

He grabbed your jaw, making you look up at him, your eyes were misty, out of focus, your sweet mouth was open, taking short breaths, trying to recuperate yourself, meanwhile he was still pounding into you.

He placed a hand over your belly, drawing you even close to him, and that is when he could draw a moan from you, as a tear fell down your eyes

It was too soon to expect you to feel pleasure… hell, he didn't do this for your pleasure 

He did it for his own 

He felt like you might give in, but you didn’t, more tears fell down, and you whimpered when his cock touched a special spot inside of you, feeling shamed, cold and frightened 

“Please uncle”, you whimpered, grabbing into his hands all over your body, “it wasn’t my fault, I’m sorry”

“Would you rather I go after your brother?”, he asked, you shook your head, “then shut up”, he got angry, throwing you in your belly wasn’t an option anymore, he didn’t want you to asphyxiate, so he pounded into you harder and harder, making you cry out.

He closed his eye, concentrating on the sensations, and he had never felt anything like this, he was fucking the girl he always desired, a girl with no power, no nothing, over the biggest and most powerful dragon in the world.

He ruled the skies, and now he had you.

He tried to get to you the right way, he bit his own tongue and put his tail between his legs and asked your whore of a mother to betrothe you two, he didn’t give a shit about uniting the family and fixing the strained bonds 

He desired you, he desired you so much it made himself hate you, because he believed that you were not worthy of his love, passion and attention

You were a bastard

Like his mother always taught him, and bastards deserved nothing, to inherit nothing, they were born out of sin, and weakened flesh

Two things he despised

Sin and weakness

So he had tot ake you the way he was entitled too

It didn’t help that he hated your brothers

It was not fair

that they were loved, protected, cared for, after everything they had put him trough, they always got away with it…

So he was going to take it all on you

He would give the entire royal treasury to see those bastard’s faces when they realized what he had done to you, their dear, lovely sister

“It hurt, please, uncle, please stop”, your cried made himrealize how hard he was fucking into you, completely lost in his dark thoughts of revenge and desires 

He didn’t want to stop, he grunted and moaned in your ear, he licked the tears of your cheeks, and then, he bit down in your shoulders until he drew blood and you squirmed in his grasp due to the stinging pain

Having you struggling and twisting in his arms, squeezing him like a fist, your little whines and pleas, he cummed inside you, hugging you tightly despite your hands scratching all the skin you could reach, he grunted in your ear filling you with his seed

He was already addicted to you, your unwillingness and your tightness 

he made yo u lean in and looked where your bodies were still intertwined, he discovered, with sick pleasure, that his cock was tainted with your blood still

Now you were ruined, for everyone else

He chuckled at the sight and at your lame lie. that you were betrothed to Cregan Stark 

Well, not anymore, he thought with satisfaction when he heard your cries and whimpers starting again.

“Please”, you whined, and when he looked ahead he could tell why

Dragonstone stood there in all its might.

He grunted, grabbing the reins of Vhagar and made her turn away, if you got to close, they were going to spot you, and could easily attack

“No! please!”, yo grew desperate when you realized you were not going back to Dragonstone

“You think I was just going to drop you there?”, he whispered in your ear, “no, it is not going to be that easy”

‘Please, you got what you wanted”, you whispered, defeated, grabbing into his hand that was still holding you by your belly  

“Not even close”, he whispered darkly, pushing inside your walls again, growing hard only at the thought of your despair

“I want to go home”, you cried

But he didn’t take you home

You arrived at King’s Landing when the sun was rising in the horizon

The Usurper was dragged out of bed, or that is what it looked like when you entered the throne room and Aegon was there, sitting in the Iron Throne lazily, almost snoozing, his clothes where dirty, his hair was in disarray

The sight made you sick 

When he saw who you were, he giggled drawing his head back

“My brother, ever the over-achiever, we send you for a stag and you came back with a little dragon”

The doors opened behind him and you looked back to see Queen Alicent and Otto, who looked back at you wide eyed

“What is the meaning of this?”, demanded Otto

All eyes fell on you, you you only played with your hand looking at the ground

You felt Aemond’s seed dripping out of you, you only managed to squeeze your thighs together and swallow a whimper, praying they couldn’t see it. It was probably just a phantom feeling, but you still felt shame and fear. 

Aegon was looking at you like you were the most amusing thing he had ever seen 

Alicent’s eyes filled with tears, and her mouth twisted in a horrified face

“Aemond…”, she called, it didn’t take a genius to know what had happened between the two, “what did you do?” 

“What I did was find a way for the pretender to surrender, without blood being spilled”, he said out loud, to all of them, he grabbed you by the back of your neck and angry tears fell down your eyes, “we have her daughter, is she doesn’t come here and surrender, we are going to feed her to the dragons”

Aegon’s laugh rang all over the room 

“You already fucked her, didn’t you?”

“Aegon!”, chided Alicent, Aegon giggled again, but she then looked back at her favorite son, with an incredulous look on his face

“You didn’t, didn’t you?”, she asked, fearful.

They all talked like you weren’t even there, and for a time, you enjoyed being invisible

“What does that matter?”, he asked, manhandling you, moving you by your neck like you were some rag doll, “she is a bastard, you said so yourself”, Alicent covered her mouth, horrified

“I never meant for you”

“What my brother did was great”, sentenced Aegon, “you got us Lord Borros, and you got us some entertainment, well. a hostage but, entertaining nonetheless”, he said raising a cup he held by his hand, “we should hold a feast tonight, for my dear brother”

Otto didn’t know what to say, he kept looking at his grandson, and then at you, not really knowing if this was good or bad, but he liked the initiative of his grandson

“Ser Criston, put her in Rhaenyra’s old chambers”, he commanded, and Ser Criston, who had been standing by the gates, walked towards you and grabbed you from Aemond’s grasp and led you off of the throne room

It was painful to be back into your mother’s chambers, you remembered it from your childhood, and now you were alone and sad

But not for long, as Queen alicent showed up in your chambers

She found you sitting in the edge of the bed, and you didn’t stand up, or do anything, you just sat there, looking at her

“Are you comfortable dear?”, she asked shakily, her hand linked together in front of her, that ever present scowl on her face

“I’m sorry for the loss of the King your grace”, that seemed to kind of break her, a single tear fell from her eye and nodded

“Thank you dearest”, she looked around, you could see that she had trouble to face this, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, you moved uncomfortable, your core aching, you hissed and she seemed to notice

“Aemond… was always smitten with you”, she said faking a smile, and you looked up at her in surprise and disgust

“What?”, she looked away from you and started pacing. A tear fell from your eye when you realized she was just trying to diminished what had happened, in favor of her son

“Aemond was always a driven young man”, she said, with that nerve-wrenching smile

“What will happen to me?”, you asked in a whisper

“We are still debating the best way to proceed”, she said calmly

“Please your grace, Alicent, I want to go home”, you cried, “I want to go to my mother”, you stood up and grabbed her gently, she seemed shaken up by your outburst, “please”, you begged her, but she shook you away

“Prince Aemond will decide what is to do about you”, she said, recuperating her composure

“No! he is going to rape me again”, you cried, she winced at the word

“I’ll have moon tea brought to your chambers”, she said simply, walking to the exit

“PLEASE! I want to go home!”, she closed the door in your face and you went there and slapped your hand on the hardwood, “please!”, you begged but it fell on deaf ears 

For better or worse, you were left alone until the night fell over in King’s Landing, you were to busy staring at the horizon, in the direction of where Dragonstone was

Were they thinking of you? Were they missing you?

Did they know something happened to you?

Did they believe you died?

Maids brought you food and wine for you to drink and eat, to replenish your strength, and even though you haven’t eaten anything since lunch the day before, you found yourself so nauseous you couldn’t even have a single bite 

You could hear it, all over

There was a feast being celebrated in the Keep, as Aegon promised

A feast to celebrate you being kidnapped, you were a valuable hostage, now they might make your mother surrender.

Would she?

For you?

Would she give up her birthright?

Finally exhaustion got the better of you, and you removed your torn riding gear, to put on the nightshirt the maids had left for you, and you curled up in the bed 

You were exhausted, and you managed to fall into a dreamless sleep

Until you were suddenly awake

Greedy hand grabbed you, fondled you, grope you

You whined, fighting between the realms of dreams and reality

“Fuck, you are still dripping”, it was Aemond, as his fingers tried to pry you open for him, you tried to grab his hand, but you were too weak, and still in a haze

“Uncle”

“Mmm yes”, he purred in your ear, as he got rid of your night dress, you knew what it came next, and you hissed when you felt him entering you. He hugged you tightly, obsessively, grunting in your ear as he started pounding into you

It was of no use to make him stop, you just had to endure it, but it still hurt, it still burn as he cock split you open.

In this position it was tighter for him, and for you, you could tell, you just laid on your side as Aemond took from from behind, hugging you against him so you couldn’t move away from him

“You are my little whore now”, he said, you could smell the wine on his breath, “I’m going to breed you, it is only fair, that a bastard births my bastards”

“I don’t deserve this”, you cried, tears soaking the pillow beneath your head, “I didn’t do anything to you please”

“Didn’t you?”, he mocked

“I loved you”, you confessed, “you were my loving uncle, my friend”, you said sadly

“Not anymore”, he mocked, kissing the side of your face, “I bet you hate me now, don’t you?”, you grabbed into him, sobbing

“No”, you cried, and he chuckled, fucking into you rougher, making you cry out

“Oh you don’t hate me?”, he purred, “aren’t you sweet?”

“Please Aemond”, you whimpered, “I don’t want to have a child”, you cried

“Too late for that”, he teased, “You will give birth to my white-haired children”, he teased, biting on your neck 

He cummed inside of you that night as well, staying there deep inside you until morning

When he was done with you, he released you hastily, you woke up hissing at how uncomfortable you were.

You didn’t even know if it was possible, but you felt  it in your belly still. 

He was getting dressed again, looking back at you with appreciation, it was the first time he saw you truly bare for him. You hair messed up, your tired face, your marked skin

But unbeknownst to you, you looked beautiful and delicious to him 

Until the door was knocked

Aemond answered for you, and he saw it was a made bringing a small tray, in it, only two things, a small tea cup, and a small pitcher

“What the hell is this?”, he asked, mad out of his mind

“T-the Queen send it, your grace”, she said with a nervous stutter

“I didn't asked who send it, I ask what it is”, he almost bit off her head

“Moon tea, your grace”, you jumped in the bed when you saw Aemond grab the small tray and smashed it against the wall, making you and the maid terribly scared 

“get put and if I see you again I’ll flay you alive”

“YES M’LORD”, and she ran out of the chambers, when Aemond turned to you, he find you crying, grabbing into the sheets, covering yourself

“If you drink that filth, you’ll live to regret it”, he threatened, and left the room, with you exhausted and in tears

He erupted in the middle of a meeting of the small council, his grandfather and mother invited him to sit down, his brother wasn’t present, but it was early in the morning, so he didn’t find it strange 

“Daeron will marry one of Lord Borros’ daughters, and you will marry your niece”, said Alicent, not looking at his son, but at the table in front of him, she couldn’t stand the sight of this man she hardly knew, “we will send the terms to Rhaenyra, to stop this nonsense of her taking the throne…”

“Why?”, asked Aemond, bored

“Why? because you dishonored her! Rhaenyra…”

“Will do as we told her if she wants to see her daughter again”, he said, “nothing has to change”

Alicent and Otto shared concerned looks

“The first thing to do is to send word to Rhaenyra that we have her, and she is alive, if she thinks otherwise, they could retaliate”

“I will send a raven to Rhaenyra”, muttered Otto

“Aemond saved the princess”, Alicent said, “he saved her from dying in the treacherous waters of shipwreck bay”, Aemond chuckled darkly

“That’s the story we are going with?”, asked mockingly

“Yes!”, snapped his mother, Aemond only shook his head, amused

“So be it”, he mocked

. . .

Rhaenyra watched the Fellwood woman retreat from the room and she whined in pain, Daemon grabbed her softly, hugging her tightly against him to soothe her

“Everything will be alright”, he muttered gently, Rhaenyra only nodded

“Your grace”, her new appointed Queensguard appeared in the war room, “a letter from King’s Landing”

Rhaenrya didn’t dare to receive the letter, but Daemon did, he opened the small scroll rapidly and angrily, and read it carefully, to finally snort

“THOSE CUNTS!”

“What is it?”, Rhaenyra asked

“They have her”, he whispered, and Rhaenyra drew a sigh of relief, until know she didn't really know if her daughter was alive or not, at least she was, “they claimed that one eye cunt saved her from the seas, and took her to safety”, Rhaenyra chuckled darkly, “they are offering to marry them, and offer the same terms of surrender”

“Or?”, she whispered

“It doesn’t say”, he said back, crumpling the paper in his fist, “What if they give us our daughter back, or we kill them all?”, he grunted with greeted teeth, angry tears leaving her eyes

“We need to tell the boys”, warned Rhaenyra, “we need to ask them to see her, to see if she is alright, then we can set something up”

“You are not giving up your birthright”, he sentenced

“I just want to see her”, she whined, “see if she is alright”

“We will teach them what happens when you mess with our family”, grunted Daemon

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[aemxnd]

strength in numbers | aemond & aegon ii x strong!reader

Two scheming Targaryen princes shatter your world as you know it. 

Inspired by a wonderful anon request for a Targaryen sandwich… 🥵

WARNINGS: reader has brown hair for plot point, change of canon events, manipulation, praise, degradation, v fingering, oral f receiving, p in v, titty sucking, name calling, threesome, multiple orgasms, restraint, overstimulation, language, Aemond is a lovestruck cutie, Aegon is a dick, it’s just chaos.

WORDS: 5.6k 

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.

✨ my requests are open! ✨

Fire and blood, if commanded correctly, can melt Valyrian steel, lead an army to battle and change the course of a meandering river. 

Aemond’s gaze fixed into the commotion of the family meal to celebrate the Driftmark succession, gaggles of relatives mingling in groups around the hall before dinner arrived. His eye was trained on one of the present number, a woman with rich wavy mahogany tresses tumbling over her shoulders, mixing confidently with his family as if you were always there. 

He was so fixated, the one-eyed Prince missed the approach of his brother Aegon at his blind side, toting a full tankard and observing him unashamedly glaring at you. 

“Are you sure about this, brother?” Aegon leaned into his younger sibling’s shoulder, wavy silver curls brushing his poker-straight locks. “Not too late to back out, you know.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Aegon,” Aemond asserted without a falter, refusing to part his gaze from the vision which made his heart soar.

“You’re well and truly cuntstruck for her, aren’t you?” Aegon pressed jokingly, choking back a chuckle deep in his throat. “She only arrived at King’s Landing last week and you’re already smitten.”

“She deserves to know she is betrothed to her own brother,” Aemond’s lips slowly puffed into a determined pout. “The Strongs aren’t familiar with our family’s… customs.”

Aegon shrugged, eyebrows quirked. “Keep it in the family, I say…”

“You would, brother,” Aemond snapped. “Besides, if nothing else I cannot see her marry that bastard. A beauty of her standard deserves better than Jaecerys Velaryon, eventual heir to the Iron Throne or not.”

“What if all this backfires on you, though?” Aegon took an eager sip of his flagon. “What if she doesn’t choose you, or she turns against you?”

“She will not,” Aemond insisted, watching the way you smile warmly as you make polite conversation with the Queen. “She will know the right course of action.”

“You remember what happened the last time you made a scene like this, don’t you?” Aegon nudged. “Mother wielded a dagger, Rhaenyra’s family left for Dragonstone. It got messy.”

“Yes, brother, I remember it well. We got rid of those bastards from under our feet for a good few years.”

Aegon laughed, jabbing his brother’s arm in jest.

“You do realise you’re risking our family for the sake of a Strong, muddying our bloodline with brown hair… just because she’s Ser Harwin’s only legitimate child, you don’t have to be the lone saviour to keep their low family name alive.”

Aemond did not dignify his statement with an answer, not even breaking his fixation on your form flowing around the hall in your black dress. Fitting for the occasion, he thought to himself, considering you were as good as signing your own death warrant by boring yourself into the grave.

“Well, I’m all out of protests,” Aegon cinched his lips into a grin, demonstrably slapping his own thigh with his free hand. “All that remains is that I hope there’s something in it for me if you want me to help you in this fool’s venture.”

“Your cup will never empty, you can be assured of that,” Aemond clicked his tongue, nodding his head toward Aegon’s quickly dwindling tankard. “I know your price, brother.”

“As you wish, Aemond,” Aegon sighed. “Don’t come crying to me when mother actually stabs our sister this time.”

Three loud chinks of hollow metal signalled the call to be seated.

It’s now or never, Aemond thought to himself.

—

You could cut the tension in the hall with a butter knife. 

“I, umm… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” Aegon jibed to you through a mischievous grin, his provocative jest at your betrothed’s lack of carnal knowledge worked as soon as the syllables left his lips, your gaze flicking to Jaecerys’ fists balling at the table. “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Jaecerys slammed the table and rose to his feet in a fit of rage. 

“Jace,” you pressed quietly, calming his temper purely for the sake of public appearances. You may not know many things about Aegon Targaryen, save for his reputation for evocative outbursts like this. The sooner you refuse to humour the platinum-haired firstborn, the better. 

Aegon made a demonstrative nod to his one-eyed brother across the table, who stood upright and cast a stony glare over the room at him. The grace of his stature, the manner in which his poker-straight silver tresses flowed like crystal waterfalls over his shoulders — the man was a striking example of Targaryen beauty that had you all wrapped up in his image rather than the palpable tension in the room.

Aegon dutifully returned to his seat, feigning defeat as per their well-orchestrated plan. Establishing a tension between the two would surely dissuade any concern about their scheming, ensuring any and all consequences would not be levelled at them as a pair, instead dismissed as two isolated incidents in the midst of palpable conflicts within the room. The hall obediently fell silent for Aemond as if he wished to make an announcement, but now was not the correct time to break his cover in sure and certain knowledge that whatever he uttered next would be connected to his brother’s snide remark. 

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” Jace raised his goblet tentatively, casting a suitably awkward nod to each of his uncles. “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies.”

Aemond remained aloof, jaw clenching ever so slightly as he glanced over to you, also raising a toast. 

“To you and your families’ good health, dear uncles.”

Jace tipped his goblet and sipped carefully before placing an assertive hand on Aegon’s shoulder and jabbing a playful fist into his arm. Aegon swallowed harshly, eyes widening at the insinuation. 

“To you as well,” the elder prince conceded reluctantly, stifling a chuckle. 

You had yet to piece together exactly why your betrothed was so anxious around his uncles, or exactly why Helaena Targaryen attested to the ease of married life until your husband is drunk. Word had not reached Harrenhal of any quarrels or infighting between the branches of the silver-haired Targaryen clan, but it seemed like such common knowledge among present company that you didn’t dare question it around the table. 

As the festivities continued, music drowned out small talk and groups gathered to dance. Your betrothed requested a dance, but you refused with a quick excuse that you were too hungry to consider dancing, noticing that more food was being served at the table. A plump roast pig was placed just in front of Aemond when Lucerys began stifling a giggle. In awkward compliance with the commotion around you, you prepared to rise to your feet and join Jaecerys across the room when the one-eyed Prince slammed his fist on the table, silver cutlery chinking against the wood as he stood to address the room. 

“Final tribute,” he declared, raising a goblet aloft as the room fell silent. His jaw tightened. “To the health of my nephews.”

Your gaze fell into your lap, still perplexed by the tension that fell over the room like a grey cloud descending before the storm. 

“Jace,” he nodded. “Luke… and Joffrey.”

You swallowed harshly, reading his body language that felt as if he could lunge across the room at any moment. 

“Each of them handsome, wise…”

A pregnant pause fell mid-sentence. You couldn’t calculate why, but your fingers had begun clinging to the edge of the wooden table, pressing so hard your skin turned pure white. 

“Strong.”

The coil of suspense in the room snapped with his word, but you remained fixed to the edge of the table. 

“Aemond,” the Queen interjected, her face pale and fearful. 

“Come,” he cut off his mother. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” your betrothed interrupted. 

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” To the untrained ear, it was nothing more and nothing less. Your gaze frantically scanned the room, confusion washing over you in a tidal wave as you found shocked, horrified and nervous faces all around the room. Aemond paced over to Jace with rigid shoulders. “Do you not think yourselves strong?”

Jace’s fist flung at Aemond’s and clocked him across the cheek, and in the blink of an eye Aegon was slamming Lucerys’ face into the table. You tried to rise to avoid the commotion, but found yourself frozen to the spot with fear. Aemond smirked proudly, shoving Jace to the floor and walking away with a smug grin as the younger was restrained by the waiting guard. The Queen raced over to the one-eyed Prince in blind panic. 

“Why would you say such a thing before all these people?”

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother,” he dismissed coolly. “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

His comment caused Jace to lunge free of the guard’s restraint, and suddenly bile rose up into your throat. The penny dropped, a freezing wave of shock washing over you as you realised the enormity of his accusations, no less factual statements considering the response of the entire room to his declaration.

The three brown-haired princes were not Velaryon offspring, but Strong bastards. You were related to your betrothed.

Suddenly, you flung yourself to your feet and scattered from the room, your chair tumbling to the floor with a loud crack behind you. Racing to the nearest exit, your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough away from the horror your mind was beginning to process.

Each darkened hallway that led you further and further from the epicentre of your discovery made your stomach turn, twisting around stone corner after stone corner with your dress billowing behind you.

Having only arrived at the Red Keep mere days ago, you had no idea where you were, where you were going or even your destination, but the thought didn’t cross your mind. Sheer terror had descended a red mist over your vision, your revelation replaying like a recurring nightmare over in your head until the sound of your own blood thundering through your veins sickened you. 

Stumbling around another darkened corner, you hastened until your body slammed into another, a rock-hard cliff face of a human standing before you. The blur of your panic blocked out any features except the black leather chest that stilled your motion, squeezing your eyelids together and opening them to find poker-straight blonde locks flowing over its shoulders, framing a pale, stern face adorned with a leather eye patch. 

Aemond. The executor of your terror.

“Eh… excuse me, your Grace,” you panted out, hastily battling for breath and frantically wracking your brains for an excuse to duck out of idle conversation. “It—it is late, I must retire to my chambers. G… good night, Prince Aemond.” 

You smoothed down your dress and slinked past his broad shoulders obstructing your path, scanning the doors in the hallway and choosing one to swing open. Yet on the other side, you found less of a lavish bed and more cleaning equipment, mops and buckets stacked high in a restricted chamber.

“You’re boarding in the broom cupboard?” Aemond scoffed lightly as he observed you floundering at your discovery, a gentle dismissive shake of his head disguising the delicate notes of a polite giggle. “Why don’t you come with me, Lady Strong?”

In one swift motion, his hand clasped around your forearm and tugged you through another door, this time one where you found a lavish bed at the centre nestled atop ornate flagstones, the walls draped with a thick black satin swooping from corner to corner.

Carefully casting you into the chamber and releasing his grip on your arm, Aemond turned to close the portal behind you, where he pressed his back to the wood and leaned against it. 

“Umm… Prince Aemond, what do you mean by this?”

“You said you wished to rest, my lady,” he nodded dutifully, clasping his hands behind his back. “After the commotion this evening, I shall guard the door for you.”

Your confusion skewed into anger in a heartbeat. 

“A commotion you concocted, Prince,” you spat back through now gritted teeth, lunging toward him. “You conspired to humiliate me in front of them all!”

“Not at all, my lady,” he corrected, his brows knitting into a gentle frown as you closed him against the door. “I only sought to help you.”

“By exposing the princes’ parentage in front of your entire family?” Your hands flew demonstrably in the space between you. 

“They already knew,” his calming voice reassured. “They just don’t like it when I bring it up in conversation.”

“So that display was for my benefit only, then? I was the solitary person in the dark in the entirety of Westeros, so it was a good idea to tell his future wife that she’s marrying her cousin in the most public manner possible? Seven hells, why did you and your drunkard brother Aegon not simply shout it from the Red Keep so even Flea Bottom could hear?”

“Cousin?” Aemond’s head tilted slightly, perplexed at your presumption and pushing himself off the wood to close the gap between you. “Y/N, Jaecerys is your brother. His father is Ser Harwin Strong.”

The wave of bile rose up in your throat again, your fists instinctively clenching at your sides.

“My… my brother?” You retched, throat thickening and constricting at the mere concept. “I’m to be wed to my brother?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” he insisted.

“I could not possibly marry my brother, that’s… that’s…,” you spun away from Aemond, storming across the room to the bed, propping yourself up against the ornate post at its corner. “I’m not accustomed to your… queer Targaryen customs!”

Aemond stifled a laugh under his breath, pacing toward you with his hands still clasped behind his back. 

“This is… this is monstrous,” you choked again, palms pressing into the hollow of your throat in a vain attempt to control your sickened reactions. “My mother called for this betrothal, did… did she know too?”

Aemond didn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

“Oh gods,” you despaired at the thought that your mother not only knew your father had sired three bastard sons, but also intended to wed you to the eldest. You sank onto the edge of the bed and dropped your head into your hands. “It’s all such a mess.”

“It does not have to be,” Aemond reassured, approaching to perch by your side. “I want to help you.” 

Unsure you had heard him correctly, your eyes squinted hard and brows furrowed as you raised to look at his softened, sympathetic features. 

“Why do you care?” Your eyelids half-shut in a suspicious frown. “What does it really matter to you whether a Strong suffers a fate of marrying their closest relation?”

You could hear Aemond’s hard gulp, his eye refusing to meet yours. 

“I know right from wrong, Lady Strong,” he dismissed, looking away and twirling his thumbs together like an awkward child. “You deserved to know the truth.”

“The one-eyed prince wanted to do the right thing?” You scoffed. “I would never believe that in an infinity of moons. Tell me the truth, Aemond. Why did you do this for me?”

His lips skewed into a pout. “Because you matter, that’s why.”

“Me? A lowly unwed Strong?” You interrogated him despite his refusal to even meet your gaze as you spoke. “You didn’t even know I existed until last week.”

“The passage of time does not change how you feel for a person!” Aemond’s temper finally snapped, his eye meeting yours with a fierce violet glow. “I could not see you marry that bastard when I would give anything for your countenance to be the last thing my remaining eye sees in this world.”

His words finally slotted into place, and you immediately softened your temper. You reached out a gentle hand to brush his cheek, closely observing the way his eyelid fluttered on contact. 

“Aemond, I didn’t know,” you sighed, recalling each time you caught his gaze upon you ever since you arrived at King’s Landing. He wasn’t just observing you, he wasn’t suspicious of the new betrothed to the second in line to the Iron Throne, he was yearning. 

“It was never my intention to inform you, you were simply supposed to call off your betrothal to Velaryon and leave the Red Keep behind you.” Aemond’s hand rested on your gown draped over your thigh. “But I could not watch you walk away from me.”

You leaned to gently rest your nose against his, breaths heating up each other’s lips as you waited for him to close the gap between you. His eye scanned yours for confirmation before crashing his lips against yours, feverishly pressing into you for the most contact possible. Within moments, his tongue darted to explore your mouth and beckon your own, your mind swirling as frantically as your tongue around his. You blossomed under his touch, his arms now wrapping around your waist as he rose to his feet and lifted you to the centre of the bed. 

Tumbling into crisp silk sheets while jostling for dominance in each other’s mouths, you hardly noticed the tussle to remove each other’s clothing before you found yourself bare beneath Aemond, his knees locking you in on either side as he hovered over you. 

“So beautiful,” he hummed against your lips, consuming your frame with his hands brushing down your curves as he refused to part from your mouth. His fingers journeyed toward the valley of your hips, sinking into the expanse between your hipbones before traversing intrepidly over your mound, eagerly pressing his palm to your skin as he continued. Your legs instinctively twitched at the sensation of his touch, battling to both buck away through sheer sensitivity and also grind into him to chase your own desires, spreading open beneath him to allow the prince to crawl between your thighs. 

“Easy, my lady, I won’t hurt you,” he soothed, lips trailing feverish searing kisses from your lips down the column of your throat, making a determined path for your left breast as your chest heaved with anticipation. “Not unless you ask me to.”

A soft hiss escaped you as his tongue laved around your nipple, consuming the sensitive bud with his lips and latching as if a man starved of touch all his life. 

“Aemond, please…,” you pleaded through shallow breaths, your spine flexing as his touch ignited every vein in your body, pressing his teeth ever so slightly over the hardening bud. “Take me.”

“Patience, sweetling,” he mumbled against your skin, swinging over to lavish your right breast with the same undivided attention while his palm smoothed your mound, fingertips dancing lightly over your pulsing folds to complete his sensory onslaught on your body. “I have no intention of rushing this.”

While carefully suckling on your nipple, his index finger drove an intrepid trail around the perimeter of your waiting entrance, a groan escaping his lips with every soft jerk of your hips into his touch yearning for contact. Unlatching his lips to raise up to hover his lips over yours, Aemond watched your body writhing uncontrollably while your eyelids fluttered from your heightened oversensitivity. 

“So eager for me,” he moaned gratuitously. “You really need me this much? Don’t worry, you’ll have me soon, issa jorrāelagon.” My love.

With his last syllable, two fingers swiftly buried knuckle-deep into your heat with a sharp hiss and another buck of your hips in return. Aemond’s eye fluttered closed to the sweet music of your moans while his fingertips deftly stroked your walls, wasting no time in pumping within you at a pace you were not quite ready for. 

Stealing chaste kisses with every explicit purr from your tongue, Aemond hardly noticed the droplets of anticipation from his own length dragging onto your thigh as he leaned into you. Instead, his lips journeyed to join his pistoning fingers and lightly pecked your sensitive bud. Your hips keened furiously, weakened cries of his name spilling out as your eyes roved into the back of your head. 

“Stay with me, sweet one,” Aemond purred against your clit, the tip of his tongue tracing your sensitive nub as his fingers curled feverishly inside you just enough to bring your attention back to him between your thighs. “I’ll fuck you soon, I promise.”

Aemond licked a flat stripe over your folds before withdrawing his fingers and suddenly dipping the tip of his tongue into your waiting cunt, your walls clenching tightly around the new intrusion while your head threw back into the pillows. Drinking in your moans as the sensation overwhelmed you, he lapped at your core and bucked his hips into the sheets beneath with every flutter of your walls around him. Both hands ventured to spread your folds before him, allowing him easier access to lave deeper inside you. 

“Aem… I’m…,” you stammered, hands clawing at his shoulders and clamping down on your bottom lip to drown out your ragged breaths. “Please, just…”

“Cat got your tongue, sweet girl?” He muttered between your thighs, his eye lust-blown to a pitch black as he gently rutted into the sheets beneath. “You come undone for me so easily.”

Reacting to your fucked-out state so soon, he picked up the pace of his tongue swirling around your core, lapping feverishly while the pad of his thumb trailed to rub gently over your bundle of nerves, sending your hips keening up into his face and earning a hungry growl from the prince eating you like a man starved. Your spine flexed with the pressure building up inside you, the sensation of a spindle tightening within that would soon snap against the rising tension. 

“Aemond please… I’m gonna…”

The staccato flutters of your walls increased around his tongue, encouraging Aemond to ramp up the thrusts of his tongue inside you, licking flat stripes into your core until you toppled over the precipice of your peak, the coiled tension inside you bursting its banks and releasing a tidal wave onto his waiting tongue with repeated cries of his name. Aemond’s eye widened as he consumed the sight of you clenching around him and mewling softly as you rode out your high with the sensation of his breaths against your cunt and both his palms pressed onto your inner thighs, revelling in the gentle shake spreading through your body.

Planting a farewell kiss to your aching folds, Aemond rose to crawl up your body when the sound of an approaching voice burst through the chamber door, resulting in the image of Aegon frozen in the door frame, eyes on stalks as he calculated the sight before him. 

“Have I had one too many cups,” Aegon slurred slightly, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow beneath his dishevelled silver waves. “Or is my brother fucking a Strong in my bed?”

Aemond gulped, sloping his body in a bid to shield your modesty. “‘Twas mere coincidence, brother, I do apologise.”

“Oh no, don’t apologise,” Aegon dismissed, a wavering hand flailing in the space before him. “I may not be all that keen on witnessing my brother in such a compromising position, but the lady on the other hand…”

Aemond lowered his shoulder to conceal you further, still shaking softly in the afterglow of your orgasm, head sinking into the pillows and eyes still flickering closed. 

“Well,” Aegon slapped his thigh. “I guess I should, umm… I’ll sleep in the…”

“Actually, Aegon,” Aemond interrupted his brother, “Perhaps you could assist me further in this venture.”

Aegon puffed his cheeks. “Go on, dear brother.”

“I’m afraid my sweet girl here is in quite a… delicate condition, Aegon,” Aemond pressed, gesturing down to you still blissed-out beneath him, softly groaning and legs twitching as you eagerly awaited Aemond’s return. “Could you mayhaps help me send her over the edge?”

A satisfied chuckle thrummed through Aegon’s throat. “Brother, I know I requested a favour in return for my efforts tonight but, this… have you even consulted the lady?”

“P… please,” you purred weakly, raising a hand out toward Aegon in the open doorway. “Prince…”

“As you can see, brother,” Aemond observed. “At present, the lady is quite absent of mind. Your encouragement would be… gratefully received.”

“As you so wish,” Aegon hesitated for a fraction of a second before clicking the chamber door closed behind him and hurriedly disrobing on his way across the room. As he arrived unclothed at your side, Aegon swept a hand to brush your sweat-slicked hair from your face. “Poor fucked-out little whore, do you need help reaching your peak with my brother?”

“Pl… please,” you begged wearily, hands flailing to grip onto Aegon’s alabaster skin and drawing him in. “Please.”

The brothers shared a sinister chuckle as Aegon scooped his arms around your waist and settled in the space behind you, bare legs enclosing you on either side and his hardening length pressing into your back. 

“You’re going to take everything my brother gives you, isn’t that right little girl?” Aegon sneered into the shell of your ear through an accomplished grin, his manner far more degrading and humiliating than his brother’s which somehow only sought to arouse you further. “Take every inch and still beg him for more, do you hear me?”

Swallowing back a flush of envy as he witnessed his brother’s hands roving over your body, tousling into your hair and tracing your curves before venturing to part your thighs, Aemond’s attentions returned to your soaking cunt, stifling a groan as he noticed the glimmering trail of your own slick coating your thighs.

“Say the word and I will stop, my lady,” he reassured, grasping his length and nudging the tip at your waiting entrance. His eye searched your own faltering ones for a go-ahead signal, finding you making a frantic nod to proceed with all the energy you could muster. In one slow, glacial buck of his hips, his cockhead slipped inside your searing heat and elicited strangled gasps from you both in tandem. Your head dipped back into Aegon’s chest where the elder pulled your hair to face him, consuming your lips in a haunting kiss at the same moment his brother filled your cunt to the hilt. He tasted of bitter wine and desperation, his lips pressing into yours to make the most contact possible. Aegon hummed contentedly into your mouth as you blossomed for the two silver princes, your body and mind caving to their will at every turn as if you belonged to them. 

“She’s so desperate for us, brother,” Aegon observed, pulling from the kiss and watching you gaze up at him through glassy, lust-blown pupils. His vision journeyed down to your lips, parted and plumping to a cherry red after his onslaught. “Give this hungry little cockwhore everything and take no mercy.”

Your gaze snapped back to Aemond with a sharp, devastating thrust into your cunt, his thick cock stretching your walls as if a sculptor crafting his design to his own will, modelling your insides to take him and him alone. 

“My sweet girl,” Aemond cooed, a stark contrast to the humiliating tones of his brother. Bracing himself with one fist balled into the sheets beside you, his hips gathered a steady pace into your core as his free hand raised to cup your chin and captured your lips with his. Smashing into your face and plundering your mouth with an intrepid tongue, Aemond moaned softly against your lips. “You feel like the seven heavens around me.”

“Is she tight, brother?” Aegon groaned behind you, palming at your breasts in his impatient exploration of your body as if his turn to dominate you could not come soon enough. “Is she choking your cock?”

“As tight as your lips should be, Aegon,” Aemond sassed before returning his devoted attention to ruining you slowly but surely, every determined piston of his hips sending your spine bucking into him, thighs wrapping tightly around his waist to draw him in closer. “Is it too much, darling?”

In truth, it was. Between Aegon’s wandering fingers and Aemond’s relentless onslaught on your insides, you were battling for consciousness. The overwhelming tension within you kept you alert under duress, knowing that you could not give in to the darkness until their shared torment came to an end. 

“Y… yes,” you spluttered weakly, unable to gasp out full sentences between Aemond’s full-force thrusts stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Good,” Aegon growled lowly, a hand journeying to wrap around the column of your throat and squeezing at each side, stemming the flow of blood to your brain. “Now you’re ours.”

Although reluctant at the inclusion of his brother in the statement, Aemond punctuated with a sharp snap of his hips to press his cockhead against your cervix, making you wail out his name for its echo to carry around the stone chamber along with the lewd slaps of your coupling.

“You’re not going to marry the Velaryon bastard, are you?” Aemond queried while ramping up his pace to an unbearable tempo, his throbbing tip stroking the entrance to your cervix. 

“N… no, ser,” you complied, hands scrambling to clutch at Aemond’s poker-straight locks, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and tugging him toward you, helplessly signalling your cliff-edge nearing once more and your desperate need for more contact to push yourself over the precipice.

“Good girl,” Aemond swallowed, swooping down to capture your lips with his and clenching his eye closed to savour the warmth of your cunt bowing to his will.

Aegon’s hand tightened around your throat, exposing your neck and leaning in to drag his teeth over your sensitive skin. His free digits trailed between the valley of your hips to stroke your bundle of nerves, gloating at the keening of your hips into his overstimulation. “Now let go for us.”

You flexed and writhed between the two princes, screaming out into the void as they chased you to your peak, molten flame coursing through your veins as if you might lose consciousness at any moment. Aemond’s thrusts refused to relent, plunging deep inside you while your walls flushed waves of your own pleasure out to greet his throbbing member. Explicit splashes filled the room as he continued to ride out your orgasm in pursuit of his own, plummeting into you with a force that left your vision blurred with stars like the night sky.

“That’s it,” Aegon encouraged, his fingers still working your clit to oversensitivity and enjoying the way your thighs twitched away from him. “Aemond’s going to fill you up now, what do you say, Strong?”

Your fucked-out state could barely hear a word coming from behind you, which earned a hard squeeze on your windpipe. 

“I said, say thank you to my brother for filling you up, little bitch,” Aegon spat into the shell of your ear, sinking his teeth into your earlobe. 

“Th… thank you, ser,” you spluttered out mid-consciousness, your walls still fluttering so delicately that you could just make out Aemond’s twitching cock pulsing inside you, ragged thrusts betraying his own climax as he spilled his seed into your warm chambers. His own distempered breaths melted with your own as he bumped his forehead against yours, pressing a light peck to your nose while you both steadied yourselves and Aegon released your throat. 

“You swear you will not return to Jaecerys?” Aemond pressed once more as he slowly withdrew his length from your swollen folds, a wave of post-coupling clarity washing over him and a sense of dread rising to the surface that him and his brother may have scared you away for good. “Please, don’t go to him.”

“Never, Prince Aemond,” you reassured while you regained breath. “I’m yours, beloved.”

“Well, you say that now,” Aegon interjected behind you, threading his fingers into your brunette hair and tugging you back to face him. “Your evening is not quite over yet, Lady Strong.”

His lips crashed into yours and melted your resolve once more, your spine caving and sinking into his touch. Your spit-slicked lips felt swollen against his own narrow mouth, his kiss so feverishly intense as if he craved you with every beat of his drunken heart.

Your attention turned back to Aemond as the mattress lifted between your thighs, signalling his departure. He rolled back on his knees and grasped your shoulder to prop you up while Aegon moved from beneath you, taking his place caging you between his thighs and planting butterfly kisses on your head trailing down to the nape of your neck.

“It’s alright, angel,” Aemond comforted, long slender fingers entwining in your hair and cupping your neck beneath.

Aegon cleared his throat as he arrived between your parted thighs. 

“Lady Strong, you’ve seen how… precious my brother can be,” he remarked with a raised eyebrow, palming at his length and crawling to approach your cunt, reddened and enraged but by no means unwilling to sustain a third orgasm. “Are you ready to find out what it’s like to be fucked beyond your senses?”

You swallowed hard, glanced back at Aemond and nodded contentedly. 

As the river bends to the will of fire and blood, two Targaryen princes parted your Strong resolve, never to return to its former path. 

“Good girl,” Aegon growled deep in his throat, his aching cockhead nudging at your folds. “Hold onto Aemond for me, this might hurt a little.”

[themotherofhorses]

bewitched

pairing: alys rivers x fem!targaryen!reader, minor aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

summary: she is many things— this witch, and observant is one of them. alys rivers can see the way your older brother stares at you, that mix of heavy lust and longing darkening the violet in his eye.

it is quite cute, she thinks. such a shame she's decided to claim you for herself.

warnings: explicit language. aemond acting like book!aemond in the beginning (violence and death). seduction. mention of canon-typical targcest between siblings. oral (f receiving) and fingering. tiddy sucking. slight breeding kink. alys straight up stealing aemond's bitch.

masterlist

Without any further thought, you had followed your older brother on his sixteen days’ march to Harrenhal, riding alongside him at the head of his army, some four thousand strong. Your mother had protested it a great deal, demanding you stay back and remain with her and your broken older sister.

But you were Aemond’s in the way Helaena’s was Aegon’s, and where he went, you followed.

And it was you, his sweet little sister, who did her best to calm him down when, twenty days later, word of the fall of King’s Landing finally reached him. At dinner, Aemond felt thrice the fool, you knew, and cried out curses at his uncle and the “river scrum” and Rhaenyra, over and over again. His fury was fearsome but never directed at you. He loved you too much. That night, you held him close, cradling his head against your breasts as the two of you slept.

The following morning, he began his onslaught.

Under the dawning sun, Aemond soon killed Ser Simon Strong in a duel, cutting the old man to pieces before feeding the corpse to Vhagar. Ser Simon was the great uncle to Larys Clubfoot, you then remember, grimacing at the blood puddling across the castle’s courtyard. Larys Strong. Harwin Strong. Lyonel Strong. Bits of his limbs were scattered about too, a horrible mess of muscle and skin and greyed hair. The sight made you sick to your tummy.

Bring me his grandsons! Aemond demanded soon after, freckles of dried blood staining his cheekbones and brow. And every man or boy with Strong blood in his veins. The Stranger does not discriminate in his wielding, and neither will I!

You watched in tears as one by one, your brother’s men dragged out both man and boy, some no older than your niece and nephew. Their screams broke out across the courtyard as their bodies stacked in a pile almost three feet high. Clutching Aemond’s sleeve, you begged and pleaded mercy for the children, and for the womenfolk huddled within the wards.

“See reason!” you cried. “They are innocent in all this, the babes especially! Do not let your anger deceive you, my dear brother!” But Aemond was unmoved by your words, to your utter dismay.

No trueborn Strong was spared nor any bastard, both adult and child. All except Alys Rivers.

You pled mercy for her as well, and Aemond surprised you by granting it. He gestured for two soldiers to shove her back inside Harrenhal, safe and alive, before asking if you were finally happy. Your lips curled at the bite in his tone, and the madden glare in his eye.

“This is unlike you,” you told him. “I do not like it.”

Aemond rolled his eye. “And I do not give a shit, sweet sister. If you wish to cast blame onto someone, let it be our eldest whore sister and her damn husband. Ser Simon was a traitor to the crown, and died a fitting traitor’s death.”

“But this was unnecessary, Aemond! You’re many things, yes, but cruel is not one of them.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“I know it!” you insisted.

Aemond sighed. His sword was back belted to his hip, hidden by the cloak he wore. “We’ve entered a war, sister. Fairness and humanity do not survive long on the battlefield. Do not expect much compassion during these times.”

You frown. Was Aemond always like this?

Suddenly you wish to be at home, tucked within the Keep’s stone walls, in your mother’s arms. Perhaps if you closed your eyes, you’d be back in the gardens, smelling the warm earthy smell of early springtime and feeling the cool wind play with your hair.

I want to go home now, you wanted to say when you reopened your eyes to find yourself still at Harrenhal. I don’t wanna be here anymore. Anywhere but here.

You did not know this man in front of you. Not anymore. He was no longer your older brother and protector, the man you would soon wed when the moon turned again, and the one you loved with your whole heart. Your eyes drifted back to the corpses stacked atop each other, bloodied legs and arms and messy heads strewn all over the redden dirt.

With nothing else left to say, you turned and left.

She is many— this witch, and observant is one of them. Alys Rivers could see the way your older brother stares at you, that mix of heavy lust and longing darkening the violet in his eye.

It is quite cute, she thought. Such a shame she’s decided to claim you for herself.

Alys felt no guilt at that. You had saved her life, although she hadn’t the slightest inkling as to why. Or, maybe she did, actually. She herself was older by many decades, raven-haired, and as tall as the Prince Aemond himself. Her breasts were still heavy with milk from all the highborn children she fed throughout the years. She was a wet nurse, a bastard woman.

There were so many pretty maids, all of your own years, at Harrenhal, and yet you never once entertained them as companions.

No, instead your pretty eyes remained on her.

As the evening sunlight streamed through the castle’s windows, Alys arrived at your bedchamber, guised as a servant. In her hands, she carried a tray of plated roasted deer, goat cheese, and nutty bread, still steaming from the furn. You’ve barred yourself shut in your room for the better part of the day, too upset with your brother’s carnage to venture beyond the walls. The hour had grown late, and you must be starving.

“My princess,” she greeted softly, bowing when you let her in. You stand by the window, gazing outside at the east gate, near the Tower of Ghosts- one of the five immense towers bent and lumped and cracked from the Balerion’s fire during the conquest. As dark and ruinous as it now stands, it was still hauntingly beautiful. “Might you be hungry?”

You sniffled. “My appetite has fled me, I’m afraid.”

“At least try, child.” Alys set the tray on the desk, before taking a step back to study her new prize.

Up close, you’re very much a Valyrian beauty, with hair as silvery as moonglow and deep purple eyes. There is a certain softness and sweetness to you that strikes her fancy, from the elegant way you hold your posture to how you trailed after your brother, the prince. Her eyes fall to your breasts, and she licks her lips.

“Thank you…um…” you paused shortly, unsure of her name.

“Alys Rivers.”

You nod, smiling. “Ah, yes, Alys. I remember now. Thank you for the food,” but then you shake your head, chuckling, “But I don’t think I can stomach any food after today….brutality. I feel sick just remembering such…”

Alys felt the same way as well, though she didn’t fault the little princess for such. It was all your damned brother anyways.

An awkward silence soon followed, and it left her wondering if both you and her had swallowed your tongues in that moment. She didn’t know what to say or do, so she cleared her throat and offered you the chalice of wine she brought too. “Here, sweet princess. A bit of wine to wash away these ill thoughts.”

“Thank you, Alys.” You took a sip, quickly relaxing your shoulders. Mmm, very nice. “I wish mercy on Ser Simon Strong, and his grandsons too, may the gods give them all rest.”

Ser Simon was her great uncle too, Alys thought with some sadness. “He was an old done man, my princess,” she said, lacing her thin fingers together. She wore two silver rings on each hand that sometimes she twisted when anxious. “I like to think he lived a good life before now. He died with bravery and a sword in his hand, the way many in House Strong dream of passing.” Or dreamt, I should say. I’m the only one left, next to Larys.

The two of you spoke for the rest of the hour, moving to sit comfortably on the settee at the foot of the bed. Alys Rivers was a complete joy to be around, and very beautiful. As she talked, you took some time to admire her. Her green eyes shone like bright emeralds, and her hair was long and dark as the midnight sky, falling thickly around her ample breasts. Maybe it was the wine tonight, or perhaps her voice, but you were struck with the sudden urge to kiss her plump, pink lips.

So you did.

You leaned forward, kissing her— softly at first, until she wrapped her arm around your waist to tug you closer. Nobody had ever kissed you before, not even Aemond, although during boyhood he made several attempts to steal a kiss. Her tongue found yours in a short dance before you broke away from her, a tad breathless now.

“Princess,” Alys whispered, hands falling down to your shoulders.

“Apologies!” You buried your face in your hands, embarrassed. “I cannot believe I just did that—my sincerest apologies, Alys. I don’t know what overcame me, I—” your voice was muffed as you hid away from her gaze.

She just laughed. “Was that your first kiss?... Have you been deflowered, sweet princess?”

You shook your head.

“Really?” Her dark eyebrow lifted in surprise. “With the way your brother looks at you, in truth I would’ve thought his babes were already in your belly.” Prince Aemond hasn’t bedded you yet? Alys was astonished at that. A silver flower still blossoming prettily in the rosebush, ripe for plucking? A slow smile spread across her lips.

“Aemond—he hasn’t…we’re to be married when we return to King’s Landing, I believe.”

“Do you like him?”

“I do. He is a good brother, and he will be a fine husband, and father too!” You said in a quivering voice, trying to calm your breathing. “He loves me, I think, and I love him too.”

But Prince Aemond had made you afraid of him today, she could smell it on you, even if you would never admit it aloud. This was very good. She could use it to her advantage. “Ah, I see. Well, in that case, I wish you two a fruitful and blessed marriage. You’ll make a fine wife when the day finally arrives, little princess.”

That made you pause. “I don’t know…” you mumble, picking at the skin around your nailbed.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well…our elder brother, King Aegon, he took Aemond to a brothel on his thirteenth nameday. He likes to joke that our brother is well-educated in pleasing a woman. I worry that I’m not…I’m not up to his standard. Or that he may not desire me afterward.”

Alys drew back, shocked. Up to his standard? Non-desirable? Does she take him for an utter fool? For what man wouldn’t wish to bed a Targaryen princess like yourself?

She scoffed, leaning her face so close to yours that you could feel her warm breath against your lips. It sent goosebumps prickling up each arm. “Men always love a blushing maiden in their sheets. They may return to the whores in due time, but they’ll always welcome a maid in their bed, however inexperienced she might be.”

Your breath hitched at her words. Could she…maybe….? Your eyes fell back down to her heavy breasts. She was a wet nurse, after all, and confessed to being pregnant with several children of her own. Would that mean she is well experienced in pleasure…? You debated the thought in your head, weighing the consequences of asking such.

Is it really whoring if it is with another woman? It is not like I’m laying with another man….she would be a teacher, not a mistress. You closed your eyes, thinking of Aemond. And Aemond would never know. I’d never tell him.

“Will you show me?” you blurted. “Teach me, so that I might be somewhat educated in pleasure?” Maybe it would take your mind off of this morning too.

Mischief twinkled in Alys’s pretty green eyes. “If it pleases you, my princess.”

Alys is quick to lay you down on the bed before climbing over you, straddling your waist. “I can hear your heartbeat. Do not be scared, little love. Passion is a love song, and lovemaking is merely the dance that follows.” She then takes both your hands in hers, placing them on her breasts. "I am yours to do whatever you wish, my princess." Encouraged by the look she gives you, you rub her nipples with your thumbs, before leaning to take one in your hot mouth to suckle.

She moans, cradling your head closer to her chest. “Good girl,” she whispers, eyes shutting as you flick it back and forth with your tongue.

Your other hand squeezes her other breast, enjoying the way it feels between your fingers and the moans flooding from her lips. You want to ask her if you’re the first woman she’s ever been with and if this moment is as special to her as it is to you. But her tit is still in your mouth and steals all the words away.

After a few more minutes, she pulls your mouth away to kiss you, letting you taste a bit of her tongue. “Very good,” she murmurs against your lips, kissing you again and again. “Did you like my breasts, sweetling?”

“Mmmm,” and you tug at her bottom lip between your teeth. “I did a lot, Alys. They're so soft.”

She giggles before pushing you back down, your head sinking against the pillows. Her soft hand drifts across your belly, fingers skimming below the curve of your breasts down to your hipbones and waist. “You’re so beautiful,” she says aloud, her voice thick with awe. “I dreamt of Targaryens before, but you’re far lovelier than them all, little princess.”

Your brother has been blessed with your hand, she thinks, with a mix of both sincerity and bitterness. Men never deserve such tantalizing fruits. They are all the same in their words and actions. They never truly appreciate the gods’ given gifts.

Her green eyes remain on your naked belly, imagining a soft swell to it. You’d be such a lovely mother, she’s sure. She could never give you a baby, though, but maybe….her eyes look up to yours, noticing the faint glimmers of lust clouding the pretty violet hue. It is a mirror to your older brother, Prince Aemond.

Alys thinks and thinks, taking the time to fondle your smaller breasts.

Prince Aemond could plant the seed…and she could then tend to it.

Alys’s hand continues downward, finding the mound of fine silvery hair between your thighs, grinning when she feels how wet you are. “I wonder if your cunt is as sweet as your lips,” she wonders aloud, more to herself. You bite your lip, watching with large, doe-eyes. Alys moves herself between your thighs, her pretty face hovering over your soppy pussy.

“You are just so lovely, sweet princess.” She flashes you a quick smile while running a finger through your folds, gently easing you open. Above her, you tremble.

She then presses a soft kiss to your clit before sucking it into her mouth, tongue drawing small circles around it. “Ohhhhh,” you moan, face scrunching in blissful pleasure. Alys switches between sucking and lapping at your cunt, her eyes flickering up to watch the way you react to everything. There are tiny beads of sweat lining your browbone and temple, and your fingers are slowly turning white from the tight grip on the cream sheets.   

Scream. Allow me to hear those cries. Let the entirety of Harrenhal learn who’s claimed you tonight.

Your hips buckle up against her mouth as your head lolls to the side, breathless whimpers leaving your lips when she works two fingers inside your cunt, scissoring and pumping and stroking your sweet spot until all you can see are flashes of blinding white. “ALYS,” you shriek, bringing the sheet to your mouth to bite down as hard as you can to muffle the rest of your screams. “Oh, gods be good, Alys!”

You don’t wish for your beloved Aemond to hear you, nor anyone else.

Oh, but you taste so fucking good, Alys thinks, savoring your arousal on your tongue. She continues to eat you out, as well as fucking you with her fingers, partly dreaming of a wonderful new life where she wakes up every morning between your shaky thighs, breaking fast with every sweet orgasm she pulls from you.

My princess, mine own dragon.

Several seconds later, your legs twist around the older woman’s body, breasts heaving as your whole body shakes and shudders. Your pussy clenches tightly around Alys’s fingers, a sign that you’re close to cumming. “Cum for me, sweetling,” she coos, kissing the inside of your thigh- once, twice, thrice. She feels victorious in a way, a great pride simmering within her as she eyes the way your peak comes only closer and closer.

Prince Aemond One-Eye may have sacked her Harrenhal, but she sacked his baby sister, and made the little princess her own sweet whore.  

“Would you like for me to bring your dear brother next?” she asks.

You shake your head, panting through the moans and whimpers and gasps. “He—he won’t…take me—ah, until our wedding night—”

“I have a way of fixing that,” Alys says, leaning to lick a long strip up your pussy. She has many love potions and philtres to entice the prince, a collection that would surely inflame his deep passion and lust for his sister. Although, she thinks in amusement, it shouldn’t be that hard. He wants you as badly as she did, mayhap even more. “You’ll be heavy with his child soon, sweetling, his bastard’s fire blazing in your womb.”

“He won’t father a bastard. Aemond hates bastards.”

“He’d father anything if it comes from your loins, sweet one.”

You cry, flinging your head back as you come undone at her fingers and tongue. Alys drinks everything you give her, mouthing tiny spells against your cunt. One for fertility, the second for a blessed marriage, and the third for protection. Except it won’t be between you and the prince.

Alys Rivers always did prefer women to men.

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