triscy

[triscy]

Pearl of The Realm

Aemond x wife!reader | HOTD Big Bang!

Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.

Word Count: 9,240 (oops) | Warnings below the cut~

A/N: My fic for the HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @solisarium for the artwork! 🥰 Please also support all the other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, and thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organising this event ❤

Warnings: arranged marriage, virginity loss, p in v sex, domination, corruption kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, canon typical sexism, aemond has a breeding kink (obvi), dark!aemond (ish)

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

To the realm. His title. But most of all, his family.

As a Prince of the Realm, he had many duties.

For most of his adult life he had trained relentlessly with the sword, striving to become better than his own teacher.

He had buried his nose in books, absorbing  information from them, willing them to stick to the insides of his head to obtain intelligence unmatched by any other member of his family.

And, most of all, he had upheld his faithful relationship with his mother, whom he cherished dearly, and his sister equally.

He'd always felt close to the women in his life. But his mother had a special place in his heart. She had been through such hardships, such sacrifice.

And when she'd exploded that night in Driftmark, as inexcusable as she seemed the behaviour to be, he had felt such utter devotion towards her that she would be so angry on his behalf. At a time when he had felt so vulnerable, and felt that his own voice as well as hers had been ignored by the man in their lives.

A man who had so repeatedly, let them down.

He would never admit it out loud, but a part of him sought pleasure in the fact his father was largely bed-bound these days. Even more so that his own father had lost an eye as a result of his worsening condition.

It felt like the Gods were looking down on him and validating him.

But there was one duty he had yet to perform.

Taking a wife.

Unfortunately for him, that time was upon him, and he had no interest in it whatsoever.

As much as Alicent tried, and she really did try, she could not get her second son interested in courting the ladies at the Keep.

As soon as Aemond clapped an eye on the opposite sex, he would retreat in the opposite direction. Not even bothering to engage in conversation, surmising perhaps that he had little in common with them.

He'd never met a lady before who shared the same interests, why start actively seeking them out now?

Alicent's son was in his prime, rooted in adulthood, and she knew it was time, like it or not, that he was wed.

Aemond stood stock still, hands behind his back curled into fists, biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to show his mother the annoyance on his face. Her words were those of truth. He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.

What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned.

That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.

Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.

He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court.

And mercifully, Aemond sighed with relief that she was not.

Something struck deep within his chest. His mother spoke of her so wonderfully, as if she were a star plucked from the sky, and Aemond pondered if such attributes could be proven correct by simply meeting her once, as Alicent had. What woman, and of what standing, deserved such praise, after only meeting for a short time?

What would she look like? Her mannerisms, her stature, her smile? He found himself haunted by these thoughts without even knowing the woman’s name. Much less, her appearance.

He feared that she might share the same sentiments as the other ladies at court once they were due to meet, chaperoned by her ladies and tainted by their company. Perhaps they had their own opinions that they instilled on her also. She might be afraid of him, he thought. Maybe it is not so bad if she feared him, he allowed himself to think.

Aemond could not find it in his heart to expose himself so willingly to a stranger he was due to wed, and so when word reached the Keep that she had arrived and made her pleasantries, he thought to have mercy on the poor thing, stay clear and not dim her supposed ethereal presence with the darkness that followed at his back since the day he lost his eye.

There was some power in not allowing her to see him until their wedding day.

While a small part of him felt empathetic to the poor girl, that her betrothed chose not to greet her on arrival, another part of him was somewhat self-assured that he had made the right decision. It was the little power he felt he had.

When one thinks of a wedding, they might imagine the Sept beaming with joy, crammed with people all eager to feast their eyes on the new royal couple. But as Aemond stood before the Septon, with the extended feeling of nervousness at the fact she had yet to arrive, he could hear nothing.The Sept was dead silent. The people, the lords and ladies, as well as his family, were in attendance, watching with wide, curious eyes, too terrified to make a sound.

His hands were rigid behind his back, dressed in his finery, feeling the tightness of his clothes against his chest where his heart was hammering underneath.

For duty. For family.

He did not see her at first, as she was on his blind side, but once she’d well and truly stepped beside him, he spared a glance at her and felt his mouth go utterly dry.

Her dress, which he presumed were her house colours, was a light pastel, almost dream-like when combined with the translucent silky fabric graced atop it. He watched with curiosity as she let go of her father’s hand. Her gaze and almost undetectable smile was warm and inviting, as if the space around her was simply alight with her presence. Her father peeled the cloak from her shoulders, and it reminded him that he had the cloak with the Targaryen colours fisted in his grip.

Her hair was pinned up in a series of braids, all varying in size, and he was ashamed to admit that the first thought that came to mind was not that she looked beautiful with them, but that they must be uncomfortable. He was allowed to have his hair loose around his shoulders, whereas this woman, and he supposed others like her, were prodded and poked to look their best to the detriment of their comfort.

Aemond found it impossible to stare ahead and listen to the Septon, and he could’ve let a heavy breath loose when he was asked to cloak her. He swallowed over the lump in his throat that had formed and lifted his gaze to look down at her. Her bright, warm eyes looked up at him, revealing nothing about what she was really thinking, and her lips were full and looked soft, forcing him to think what they would feel like when they would sign their marriage with a kiss later.

He took a breath and placed the cloak on her shoulders, half thinking that such a heavy, large thing would swallow her whole, for her form was smaller than his, and therefore more delicate. Placing his hands on her, but not directly, still felt somewhat intimate, especially in a room of so many people watching. But something stirred deep within when he stepped back and observed that the colours complimented her, like she was meant to be his and belong to him.

They faced each other as the Septon spoke.

Aemond watched every micro-movement. The fluttering of her eyelashes, the deep intakes of breath through her nose and her thumb brushing over her hand, in what he could only assume was nerves, though she was hiding it well on her face.

It was only here that he noticed she wore a dainty pearl necklace, not at all gaudy in size, but small and delicate, like he perceived her to be.

A feeling he didn’t know hummed in his blood. And it showed when both of them were asked to conclude the ceremony with a kiss.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.”

Aemond had to be the one to lean down to meet her in the middle, and he felt his blood thrum when their lips met, excited to find that her lips were as soft as he had imagined. He could not help the lewd thought that passed through his mind, and wondered if the rest of her was as supple and luxurious.

Curse the wedding feast, he wanted to find out right after the ceremony.

He was not overzealous with the kiss, not wanting to frighten her. But he was equally delighted when they parted to the applause of the lords and ladies, to find that her cheeks were faintly bloomed with warmth. His lips pulled into an indistinct smile at the idea that he was the first man that would have made her feel that way, and it pulled a possessive string in Aemond’s body towards her.

He took her hand in his and led her away from the Septon, through the line of people, and relished in the fact that she was now his. Aemond felt somewhat ashamed when his manhood began to harden within his breeches at the mere touch of her hand, and wondered what hers would look like wrapped around it. If her fingers could barely encircle it, and if she would be good and pliant, do as she’s told, and please him.

The wine during the feast surprisingly did nothing to quell the hardness between his legs. He yearned so desperately for her, sat right next to him, posture straight and proper like a good lady wife, with her hands clasped so delicately in her lap. She had yet to say a word to him and he thought she must have been raised very strict, not speaking to her betters without being spoken to first, and now that person was her husband.

It was difficult not to look unimpressed when the various lords and ladies all queued up to provide their congratulations to the intimate little table he and his wife were seated at during the feast.

He watched his mother beam with joy, though he and his wife had not spoken. Aegon had snickered, clearly thinking something inappropriate. And Otto had bowed, offering congratulations as if he had not been involved in the match behind the scenes along with Alicent the entire time. Did he think he was stupid?

Not even his father had managed to pull himself from his bed to offer his congratulations. But, Aemond thought then, he was glad he didn't have to see his face.

At times he could suppress his sheer boredom and impatience, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could fuck his wife and see what pretty sounds she could make. With the absence of her voice, it only made him more impatient to find out.

Surely, the girl might not have been afraid of him? He thought.

Aemond almost regretted hoping she was afraid of him, but there was some dull excitement in thinking she was, even now, with how beautiful she looked. When he takes her maidenhead, as he was sure she was entirely pure, would her soft eyes look up at him in fear, or in pleasure, or both?

He found his gaze wandering over her for several quiet moments, watching her profile as she scanned the hall, observing everyone else enjoying themselves. Whilst he appeared somewhat indifferent to her to anyone else’s untrained eye, he was otherwise calm and collected. Her lips glistened against the warm amber glow of the candles adorning the table, and he could not hide his delight in seeing how she swallowed nervously. She must have felt his gaze on her, he thought. And as he watched her throat bob, he was drawn to her chest, where the pearls lay, and watched as her breathing pushed her breasts somewhat over the bust of her dress.

He imagined those pearls dancing while he fucked her, her breasts moving with the rhythm of driving his cock into her sweet wetness. Her lips parted with hurried breaths as she struggled to gain it while she appeased him with the sound of her soft moans.

“Are the celebrations to your liking, wife?”

He smirked, testing the title on his tongue.

The insides of him glimmered in excitement when she turned, her posture still perfect and straight. Her wide, innocent eyes met his with curiosity, and also fright that he had spoken to her in such a way. She almost seemed to flinch at the new title he’d referred to her as.

She gave an almost indistinguishable nod, her grip tightening on her hands, “Yes, husband, thank you.” She replied with a wavering voice.

She studied him for a moment, watching as he gave a lopsided smirk, adoring the way she seemed so nervous in his presence, and speaking to her husband. He drank slowly, continuing to watch her squirm under his gaze. Her breathing had hastened, evident by the way she struggled under the tight confines of her boned dress.

Her voice was smooth, like the sweetest honey, and he couldn’t wait to hear how it would translate, echoing throughout their marital chambers, with his flesh pressed against hers.

He never imagined merely envisioning power over something so delicate could be so exhilarating.

Aemond had to hide how elated he was when their leave was announced. He stood, and therefore she did as well, like a delayed little shadow.

She was an obedient little thing, he surmised, as she followed quietly, willfully ignorant to the leering glances and smirks of the lords and ladies who parted a path for them. Every single one of them was curious, as to how such a quiet, soft girl could tame someone so fearsome and chaotic as a dragon prince, who could not be caged in as mere mortal men could.

The chambers seemed too grand, too clunky, to house such a perfect thing as her, he thought. She stood stock still in the middle of his chambers, which he would now share with her, and watched amused as she looked around and took in her surroundings as if she were in some kind of danger. Her pupils flitted about the darkened room, lit only in a warm glow from various candlesticks placed most deliberately.

Her pale dress cast a glow against the grey of the room, as well as her aura, which seemed to lift all the tension from his body and direct it to the place he had needed her the most since he laid his eye on her.

The glass decanter clinked as he poured himself a cup of wine, his back to her.

Aemond turned and extended the decanter only slightly, asking wordlessly if she would like one as well.

But she simply wringed her hands and shook her head, her body wracked with nerves.

Aemond only chuckled, cup of wine in hand and looked upon her, standing so diligently, where he’d left her.

“Wine might dull your nerves, my lady wife.” He mused, watching the way she looked down in embarrassment at being able to see inside her head so clearly.

Every now and then, she would peek over at the well made bed, like it was an inevitability, and not a place where she would share her most intimate and passionate moments with her new husband.

There was a dark red blanket held taught atop the pale sheets.

A warning.

There were never such dark, stark colours atop her bed sheets at home, and she wondered silently why they would choose such a menacing colour to adorn a place where you may lay your head to rest.

A peaceful night’s sleep. A moment’s passion. The birth of a child.

She thought, beds are where we are born, where we sleep, where marriages are made, where women give birth, which is often their last. And where we die. Not necessarily in that order.

Her husband may have thought a bed a peaceful thing.

But to her, many dangerous things may take place in a bed. And she had heard the stories of a dragon’s temper. Of lords, not necessarily of royal standing, taking their wives on their wedding night, whether their wives were willing or not. And this, is what she feared.

“You need not be so afraid.”

He tore her from her thoughts. And she blushed and felt warm all over realising he had caught her staring at the bed, her body betraying how nervous she felt.

When he looked at her, he felt his manhood throb. He wondered if the blood would rush to her cunny the same way it rushed to her cheeks, and how her flesh would cover her delicious curves beneath the softness of her gown.

He felt excited when she opened her mouth, forcing the air into her lungs like it took all her effort.

“May I ask for your assistance with my gown, husband?” She asked sweetly, with her eyes downcast.

Husband.

He felt his cock become impossibly harder.

He poked his cheek with his tongue in amusement, pushing himself off what he was leaning on and made towards her, watching the way she shrunk the closer he got. She turned slowly, showing him her back, where the laces of her dress were tied so tightly, he was surprised she had not asked him sooner.

While he worked on them, loosening the fabric around her middle, his breath hitched when he saw the shift underneath. She moved her hands to her hair, pulling several pins from it where the braids had been twisted together. She visibly shivered under his touch when the laces were undone and he pushed the stiff fabric apart across her back.

Her hair fell to her shoulders, and she used the sharpened tip of the pins to undo the braids into delicate wavy strands, all while unaware how her new husband marvelled at her out of sight.

She walked away from him for a moment to the vanity, never meeting the looking glass with her eyes, but simply placing the pins in a trinket bowl. With the gown loosened around her shoulders, the fabric lifted when she reached up to unclasp the necklace.

“Leave that on.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, questioning. Her cheeks alight with what he was suggesting.

But he didn’t say anything else.

So instead, she cleared her throat quietly, and pulled the heavy dress from her shoulders, folding it lengthways and draping it over an armchair. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, anxious. Aemond merely watched, his doublet feeling tight and hot against his chest. He could make out the silhouette of her form beneath the thin cotton, the candlelight illuminating her, as if her body was the soft and gentle morning sun, peeking over the horizon to set the day alight.

He heard her shuddered breath and allowed himself to think about what it would feel like against his neck while he rutted into her. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer to her, to sink deeper into her hot insides.

“I do hope that…I please you…with my appearance.” She murmured, turning with her body to face him from a distance. She sounded embarrassed, and shy.

Aemond furrowed his brows.

“Why do you say such a thing?” He asked, colder than he had meant to sound. And it’s clear that the tone of it made her shudder more, which he didn’t intend.

“I only meant that…I hope I am pleasing to the eye…and that I shall be obedient and supportive, as a good wife should be.”

He fought the urge to smile, not wanting to embarrass her further. His silence towards her had clearly given her the wrong impression. That he didn’t approve of her, and perhaps she thought that she wasn’t suitable for him because of his reaction.

“Come here.”

She did as he asked, albeit slowly, until she stood right in front of him.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Does my appearance scare you, he thought with curiosity, and panic.

Does my ailment make you uneasy, as it does the other ladies?

She shook her head softly, “No.” She answered quietly, “It’s just… my Septa said…that the night of consummation would be…” she trailed off, speaking too quietly for him to hear.

“It is alright. Speak again, without fear.”

She swallowed as she looked at him, having to crane her neck.

“She said…the night of consummation would be painful…and that it must be endured. As wives are to be submissive and obedient to their husbands.”

She spoke as if she were speaking from a line in a book. And Aemond thought she must have had this idea stamped into her brain from a very young age. It both concerned and irritated him to think that a young child, forming into a young woman, would be forced into being so terrified of such intimacy by a caregiver who ultimately knew little about marriage.

“There will be some pain.” He replied simply, watching the way she flinched at his words, “But I do not wish for you to endure it simply because you have been told to.”

His fingers came to the tresses of hair that hung on her shoulders, threading his fingers through them and revelling in their softness. Her eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted, absorbing his words, and he could see behind them that he was challenging everything she had ever been told.

“If there is pain, you must tell me.”

She inhaled slowly, gathering her nerves, and nodded simply.

“Come. Lay on the bed.”

Though he spoke softer, there was still a coldness to the way he gave his demands. But nonetheless, she did as he said, and stared up to the canopy of the bed, feeling her heart going so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest.

All she heard was the rustling of leather, the unlooping of his belt, and the clinking of his silver clasps.

She felt the mattress dip at the end of the bed and saw her new husband, without his doublet, but with his breeches only untied halfway, so she could not see a thing. But even so, the sight of a man naked on his torso had her heart still in her chest, and warmth crawl up to her cheeks. Aemond chuckled slightly, not wishing to embarrass her.

“Have you seen a man bare before, little one?” He asked, laying down beside her. She tried with the utmost effort to not stare at him, fearing that in some way she would anger him. His chest was well-muscled and pale, shimmering in the low light of the chambers and littered with many tiny scars that had silvered with time. His hair ran like milk over his shoulders, so silky it seemed to stick to his smooth skin.

She shook her head, and mouthed ‘no’. His manhood throbbed in his breeches at the thought that she had not even seen a man beneath his clothes before, and that he would be the first.

“It is alright, there is no need to be embarrassed.” He gave her a soft smile, trying his best to appear comforting.

But it could not be ignored that they were strangers, and it was his fault that he had not gone to see her before marriage and get to know her better. And on top of that, she was afraid, not of him, but that he might hurt her and that it would define her expectations for the rest of the marriage.

She flinched noticeably in shock, not out of fear, but at not having been touched so intimately, when his palm ran softly up her leg, taking her shift with it.

“Relax.”

She tried to do as he said.

She was so jumpy and nervous, Aemond wondered for a brief, funny moment, if she had even spoken to a man before today.

So he asked a question which he thought was almost silly to ask.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

His question was answered immediately when she flushed and her face went all warm, and suddenly she was unable to meet his gaze. She shook her head softly. And instead of feeling bad for her, a devilish grin split across his face, all the blood going south.

She was so pious, and so devoted to the Seven, that she had saved any part of her inner desires for her husband to be.

He would be the first to give her pleasure of any kind.

To touch her intimately.

To make her feel as beautiful as he thought she was.

“It is alright. I shall show you.” He added softly, his voice like the purr of a cat.

She dared to look back at him as his hand trailed higher, dipping beneath the hem of her shift to touch her smooth skin beneath, “How will it feel?...”

“It may feel strange at first,” He answered honestly, “But after that, it should be pleasurable.”

She seemed to accept his answer, but her legs were pressed together almost instinctively, like her body was telling her it needed to appear smaller. His sharp nose pressed into her hair, inhaling her pleasant, female scent. His breath against the shell of her ear, hot puffs of air landing against her neck, where he began to place one, and then two open-mouthed kisses.

His eye wandered over her from this angle. Looking down her body, he could see the shadow of what lay beneath her shift in between her breasts as they moved with her breathing, which was slow and calculated. He could see how her hands held the bedsheets below her in her palm, not tightly, but prepared to pull on them if she needed.

She shivered with a shuddered breath when he kissed her, trailing his lips lower to her collarbone, past her string of delicate pearls, and he could see that beneath the cotton, her nipples had reacted to the chill of the room, but he liked to imagine that it was because of the way he was touching her so lovingly.

His hand completely slipped past where her hip met her leg, not touching her womanhood just yet, but close enough to feel its warmth. He felt the gooseflesh on her tummy as he trailed upwards, the shift bunched against his arm when his palm slid over her breast. She gasped softly as he squeezed tenderly, testing the weight of it in his palm and kneading it, and when he looked up to her briefly, she had closed her eyes.

He would tell her to open them later, after he did what he planned.

Her hips moved towards the mattress when his deft fingers dipped between her legs, the tips parting her folds to her entrance first, where Aemond began to feel the slick, as little as there was, gathered around it.

She was beginning to feel aroused even if she didn't know it.

She whimpered, pressing her lips together when she felt his fingers in such a strange, forbidden place. Her eyebrows furrowed in discomfort.

"Shh…" He cooed, the air brushing against her cheek, "Relax, dear wife."

She swallowed thick, and relaxed her thighs so that they weren't pushed together as much. The title he'd given her making her head feel as if it were full of air and nothing else.

A part of her felt bad. For she was supposed to be an obedient, pliant little wife, and he was taking care of her so diligently and she was still afraid.

"I apologise-"

"Do not apologise." He replied quickly, and her eyes opened, glistening with a new expression of understanding, "Only feel."

Her breath quickened.

Feel?

"Feel how I touch you here -"

He drew his fingers from her entrance to her pearl, drawing little soft circles using her arousal for ease. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes glued to him, a near-indistinguishable gasp falling from her lips. She began to feel a sort of ache, deep in her stomach that felt strange. And her hips began to move in micro-movements.

"This is where you feel the most pleasure." He whispered, his fingers moving sometimes directly and then indirectly over her pearl. At others, the anticipation of them being close to it had her hips searching for the touch.

"How does it feel?" He asked.

She struggled to think of a word, having never felt this dull and yet pleasurable rush to her core.

"Strange…pleasantly so."

He continued to move slowly, not making a direct effort to make her peak like this, just allowing her to feel what the touch of a man, the touch of her husband, could feel like.

"I will prepare you like this, so that there will be as little pain as possible."

Maintaining eye contact while he said things like that, while he did things to her like this, felt so intimate and so painfully domestic. As if nobody had bothered to care for her so much in her life. Her eyes curiously flitted between his seeing one and his eyepatch, not in fear, but wondering what he might be hiding beneath it.

It would not be removed this night. Or perhaps many to come.

Aemond's fingers moved over her womanhood with ease, more slick began to pool there and lubricate her puffy folds, swollen with arousal. She was wet, but he thought not prepared enough for his cock just yet.

He shifted his body down, his cheek grazing over her still clothed form, as if he was teasing himself. He could easily have asked her to be naked for him. But there was still trust to be gained.

Her eyes were questioning where he might be going. And she truly had no idea.

Using his knee, he settled between her legs, seeing the gooseflesh still there. His hands rucked up her shift, just pausing at the point where it would reveal her womanhood, all slick and ready for him. Her cheeks bloomed as she looked down at him, but didn't have the courage to question.

"Keep your eyes on me." He whispered lowly, his fingers pushing the fabric up so that he could see her cunt, so close to his face. And he was hit right then with the invigorating scent of her, like the sweetest perfume. He felt ashamed that even the scent of her aroused little cunny made his cock weep with arousal.

She looked more embarrassed than anything to have her new husband's face so close to her intimate area she had been taught to keep hidden. And it was hard for her to keep her legs apart. But she couldn't close them for fear of clamping on his head, and his hands were tenderly keeping them spread, his fingers only slightly indented in her supple flesh.

He looked down upon her, his thumb grazing her pearl again and watching with delight as her hips moved again, accompanied with a breath. It was simply too tempting, the idea of tasting her and the sweet nectar that leaked from within.

Holding her thighs, he leaned forward and flattened his tongue against her womanhood, and something primal was awoken inside when he finally tasted his new, little wife. He moved around her folds, and whenever he had to take a breath he placed an open-mouth kiss to it. He spared a glance up at her, and he hadn’t even heard her hurried breathing or tiny whispers of moans, so engrossed in tasting her for the first time.

Her cheeks were alight, her eyes torn between settling on his gaze and what he was doing to her. He had already told her to keep her eyes on him, and Aemond felt pleased that despite how embarrassed she was, she was obeying him.

Aemond redoubled his efforts, using his tongue to part her folds and nuzzling deeper against her, his nose rubbing gently against her pearl and using his wet muscle to dip against her entrance. It’s here that she gave some semblance of a proper moan, slipping shakily out of her throat, her hands tightening on the bed sheets.

He all but moaned against her cunt, delving into the deepest parts of her and dragging his tongue against the top of her velvety walls, trying to find out why she was the way she was. What made her feel the best. How he could make more of those pretty sounds tumble past her lips. He thought he could have spent all his life between her thighs, lapping at her arousal, and he would die a happy man.

In his grip, her thighs began to shake, and her brows furrowed like she didn’t understand what this feeling coursing through her veins was, this fire ablaze in her blood. Pride flooded his head, and he dragged his tongue from the inside of her to her pearl, where he drew circles over it. She jolted in his hold, as if he’d scared her, but he knew that it was because of the overwhelming feeling that was beginning to crest over her, and the uncertainty of it.

With his attention and efforts on her bud alone and she was suitably wet, he looked up at her when he touched her entrance with the pad of his finger. He heard her gasp when he slowly sank one digit inside her, he himself struggling to keep his composure once he realised just how tight she was around his finger alone. And he could barely think straight thinking about how she would feel wrapped around his cock.

He could forgive for the time being that her eyes were closed and brows furrowed, for the new sensation must have been strange for her. Something akin to a strangled whine rumbled from her chest when he was sank all the way inside, curling upwards. And when he brushed against that spot at the top of her walls, gently caressing the slick ridges, her back arched slightly off the mattress, and he smiled against her womanhood.

It appears his little wife was becoming emboldened in her movements by what he was doing to her.

As he continued to please his wife in two separate ways, almost instinctively, her hand came to his bare shoulder. To pull him close? To push him away? She wasn’t entirely sure herself.

He could tell she was on the precipice of something she was unable to comprehend, and was embarrassed to show herself in such an open way.

 “What is it, sweet wife?” he asked, drawing his lips from her, now covered entirely in her arousal when he licked at it.

Through her loud pants, she regained her breath as he continued to tease that deep spot inside of her, “What is…” She breathed, her grip closing around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh, not meaning to, which made him smirk.

“Shh, it’s alright.” He cooed, pulling out slightly to slide a second finger inside, using the girth of his fingers to stretch her cunt around him, “I am just making sure you are ready for me.”

He began to pump his fingers inside her like he would fuck her, curling them up to focus his attention and pressure against the sweet spot at the end of her. She was so tight around him, already trying to suck him further inside and clenching hard. He felt his skin stretch around her grip on his shoulder, like she didn’t realise how hard she was holding him.

“ - Aemond - I’m - ”

Aemond.

The way she called him by his name.

There was no shame now in how hard it made him, and he felt as if he would spill right in his breeches and not inside her if she was going to say things like that.

A breathy whine made its way from her mouth, her eyes tightly shut as her face twisted in pleasure, feeling all the pressure leak into her limbs in bliss while Aemond kept pleasuring her, loving how her body was uncontrollably trembling with the force of her peak. He could feel the rush of slick coat his fingers and hand, so he slowed down the pace of his movements, allowing his sweet wife to savour the feeling she’d experienced here for the first time.

“That was your peak, little one.”

Her eyes opened to focus on him, feeling her body erupt in shivers as he pulled his digits from her and smeared her wetness over her thighs, thinking that as erotic and lewd the action was, that is excited her at the place where her husband had just been caressing with his fingers and tongue.

Her pupils were dilated only a bit larger than before, and Aemond felt pride in being the first to make her feel such things, awakening a part of her that had remained dormant for a long time. And while she had been emboldened by what he’d done to please her, her cheeks still bloomed with a faint embarrassment that he found endearing.

His hands traced her sides, taking her shift with it, and her breath hitched at the idea she would be entirely bare before her new husband, who had just given her the first experience of female pleasure. But alongside the trepidation, there was excitement.

Once he pulled her shift over her head and raked his gaze over every inch of her body.

It was a fucking crime that she’d been hiding herself under that gown all evening, he thought.

He thought she was perfection, with her soft and supple curves, and he hadn’t even realised his calloused hands had been kneading her breast until she let out a breathy sound. But she didn’t protest. She just appeared somewhat uncomfortable, as this was the first time she had shown herself so openly to the opposite sex.

“You are beautiful.”

She seemed to calm at least when he said that, relieved her husband found her attractive.

He saw her eyes flit from his one seeing eye to the eyepatch covered one, curious. But she simply swallowed thickly and didn’t say or ask anything. And he too was relieved that she hadn’t asked him to remove it.

He was not sure if he would be ready for that, for some time.

She still wore the little pearls around her neck, and now with her entirely naked with the exception of that, it felt erotic and arousing.

They were the same.

She wore the necklace, he wore the eyepatch, keeping a tiny piece of themself while they joined in matrimonial bliss.

He unlaced the rest of his breeches, watching her breasts move up and down as she breathed in anticipation of what was going to happen and the irreversible fact that she would never be the same afterwards.

“Remember what I said?” he asked, pulling his breeches over his hips. His achingly hard cock sprang free, standing proud and aroused against his stomach.

She took a moment to reply, trying not to stare too much at his member as he stroked himself slowly, the ruddy tip, weeping with arousal, poked out of his fist with every languid movement. She’d never seen one before. But all she knew was that she wondered how on earth it would fit inside her, he looked so thick and long, slightly curved to one side. Was there empty space inside of her she didn’t know about where he would place himself?

Her eyes met his, all glazed over, and she nodded.

“If there is pain, I must tell you.” She repeated what he’d said earlier. Her skin bloomed, for that moment was here right before them.

She tried to relax her body, numb from the force of her very first peak, as the mattress dipped either side of her where he’d leaned on his forearms, his knee brushing the inside of her legs as he nudged them apart so he could place himself there.

“Yes, you must.” He added tenderly, “It is not my intention to hurt you.”

The affection in his words made her stomach roll.

“You are my wife.”

She confirmed with delight that she was. And she nodded, not knowing what to say in response to his statement, but Aemond could see the subtle glimmer in her eyes.

He saw her glance at his manhood with something akin to a mix of fear and curiosity, and she took a sharp breath in as Aemond leaned forward, not pressing his weight on her, and placed several open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, neck and collarbone, teasing her with his teeth, while his cock kissed her puffy folds.

She felt his breath at her skin, her grip loosening on the sheets as he made her feel a little more relaxed.

When he leant forward, parting her folds easily with the aid of her slick, the first thought she had was that it felt strange, but nothing else in particular. It was only when his cockhead had disappeard inside her and he speared her upon his length that she began to tense up, her stomach tightening somewhat unpleasantly. Her hand came automatically to his chest, to try and push him away and make him stop.

He raised his head from her neck, his eye hooded down in concern. He felt her soft, almost-hummingbird-like touch on his chest and felt something fluttering inside of him at the tenderness of it. She was in some pain, not dramatically so, and yet her touch was so gentle.

Nothing was said, and only the utmost patience was offered. And it was difficult to do so for Aemond, with the way her core was holding him so tightly, to stay still and not move an inch. But for the sake of making her feel safe, he did it.

After a moment, she made an effort to relax her muscles for him. Her hand trailed over his muscled chest, as if taking this small window of opportunity to do so. Her fingers ran over the scars he’d gained on his lithe form, wanting to commit every ridge, every little piece of him to her memory as if it was the last time she’d ever see him.

Her eyes shifted to him once he sheathed himself inside her all the way, bottoming out with a low groan. He felt her walls fluttering around him, stretching her to accommodate this size, having not felt anything like this before. Her lips parted to let a soft pained sound past her lips, but that was all, and she felt the worst was behind her.

It felt only slightly uncomfortable, but she was willing to do it for this marriage. To please him.

It was intimate, looking right at her while he was deep inside her, and she gave the faintest of nods, telling him without words that she was alright. She thought she'd never felt more full in her life, nor more connected to someone as she was right at this moment.

It hurt at first, yes, but he had prepared her, waited for her and cherished her like she was precious. And the pain, the sting of losing her maidenhead, was a small price to pay for how full her heart felt, by giving a piece of her to him.

Closing his eye, as if to concentrate, Aemond moved almost entirely out of her to push back in as she gasped below him, the same feeling the second time had a spark licking at her insides that didn’t stop as he began his slow and careful pace. He wanted to tear his gaze off her, desperately, but couldn’t.

It was just as he imagined. With every soft thrust inside her, the pearls at her neck danced, and her cheeks were flushed, eyes shimmering. It wasn’t as animalistically lustful as he envisioned. Before he imagined an innocent thing like her, bending to his will, corrupting her in any way he saw fit.

But now more than anything as he listened to the gentle moans come out of her, he wanted to protect her, to nurture and watch her flourish. The pearls clicked against each other at her neck, her breasts moved, nipples pebbled with arousal, and she’d raised her legs only slightly to wrap around his waist, blinking slowly up at him.

The whore Aegon had gotten him to fuck on his thirteenth nameday was overzealous, large-breasted and older, perhaps more experienced. She had bounced on top of him, her loud moans bouncing off every surface in the room, her hands planted on his chest as she moved her hips up and down on him with loud slaps. He remembered feeling horrified that this is what intimacy was. That this is what men would desire so relentlessly.

It didn’t feel good. And he remembered feeling sick.

But here, with her, looking so lovingly up at him. No hysterical moaning, no pathetic whines to boost his male ego. Just unapologetically everything she was feeling, she was giving to him.

It felt like a gift. To experience real intimacy. And with the person he was due to spend the remainder of his days with.

As if realising he was daydreaming, his hips still moving against her with wet slaps of skin, her hand cupped his face, on the unmarred side, and her thumb stroked over his cheekbone. She touched him so softly he could have wept.

She had seen some kind of thoughtfulness on his face, and in the throes of consummation, was supporting him.

“Aemond.”

When she said his name with such sincerity and care, he blinked slowly and reached his hand up to hers, encircling his fingers around her small wrist, and turned his face into her palm, to kiss the inside tenderly. One kiss to her palm, and one to her wrist. And it felt more intimate than kissing on the lips, which he only now realised with shame, that he’d not done for her yet.

“I am alright.”

He looked at her when she said that. It was as if she could see all of his inner thoughts, and had been able to all evening.

She saw that he had been holding back.

He had been afraid of frightening her, and yet she was allowing him what he wanted.

Her breath caught in her chest with a kind of excitement as his fingers wrapped around her wrist and forced it down to the bed beside her head, his other hand joining her other to keep her pinned tightly under him to the mattress. Her eyes glimmered as she looked up at him, watching his expression change to something more possessive.

“Put your legs around me.”

She did as he asked and raised her legs around his waist, causing his length to brush that same spot inside her that he’d pleasured just moments before. And with an iron grip on her wrists and easier access to her, he dipped his head into her neck, her scent swirling around him and fucked her as he had wanted to the entire evening.

Skin slapped against one another with the moisture of her slick on his pelvis, his stones hitting against her repeatedly with every rough thrust into her wet cunt.

"Does my innocent little wife like to be properly fucked, hm?" He grunts, watching how she blushes and turns her head away out of embarrassment.

"I think you will continue to surprise me, little pearl."

She felt her insides clench at the name he gave her.

Little pearl.

Aemond smirked, increasing the intensity of his driving into her, constantly spearing her open onto his cock, and watching at the way he disappeared into her.

"I can feel you tightening around my cock. Did you like that? Little pearl?"

Her breath was sucked from her with each devastating thrust, and that same pressure was beginning to build in her belly, from when he'd pleasured her before.

"Answer me.”

"Yes - yes, husband - " She replied, breathlessly and gulping for air, throwing her head back against the bed sheets.

He smirked, leaning back and watching how his cock was being covered in her slick everytime he pulled out of her.

He pulled her hips onto his lap, and the angle had his cockhead bullying her tender and sensitive place deep inside of her. Her eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, feeling utterly at his mercy.

Feeling proud of the reactions he was getting, his hand slipped from her hip to her bud. Her pearl. A grin splitting across his face at the lewd thoughts he was having. He circled her sensitive bud tenderly, applying just enough pressure that she clenched around him again.

If she wasn't careful, he would cum right there and then.

"Does that feel good, little one?" He teased her in a low tone, not ceasing his endless pace, pushing himself as far inside her as he could.

"Do you like it when I touch you here?"

She couldn't deny she liked it. The way her back arched, being pleasures in two ways. It was nearly overwhelming. And it took her voice from her.

"Perhaps we should name you Pearl of the Realm." He smirked, increasing both his pace and pressure, "Prim, proper…a good little obedient wife to her lord and husband."

He leaned over, changing the angle yet again.

"But in here, with me, it is this pearl I shall be paying special attention to, dear wife."

His words made her tighten around him, coupled with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving her. She felt her entire body get hot, the pressure in her belly set to explode at any moment.

His delicate and careful ministrations to her bundle of nerves was almost too much, and her hips began to move forward towards his in rhythm with his cock stretching her open, meeting him halfway.

She didn't imagine such lewd words would have an effect on her.

"Husband - "

"I think I will keep you like this. All night if I have to. Paying special attention to this precious pearl you have been neglecting for so long." He mused, his words were strained, as if set to explode himself.

"I will give you my seed. Over and over. Until I am done with you." He breathed through heavy pants, his eye slipping shut, "I will watch you swell with my child. Would you like that?"

She could only whimper in response, fisting the bed sheets as she had nothing else to hold onto, her mouth dropping open as her climax began to crest.

"I would like that. To see these perfect tits all round and full."

The idea of bearing his children was only a fantasy that appeared right at that moment.

"Gods - you are so tight - such a perfect little cunt - fuck - "

She fell apart around him, her entire body filled with such eternal feeling bliss that she felt as if she were floating, her husband's deft fingers still pleasuring her bud.

Her limbs felt numb, her blood like fire under her skin and her lips dropped apart so that a shattered moan could escape her, the only proof that her peak was decimating every nerve in her body with blinding, white hot pleasure.

She tightened impossibly around him, and the pistoning of his cock into her sex was only stilled when he slammed inside her one last time. His length throbbed within her, his spend warming her core at the end and filling her, completing this sacred, intimate ceremony.

They both gulped down air desperately and when Aemond had caught a moment to himself, he spared a look down at his sweet wife, her delicate skin covered in a soft sheen of sweat, eyes shut, breasts shifting erratically with her breathing.

She must have felt his gaze on her, because she turned her head to look up at him. In her once innocent and naive gaze he once saw fear and trepidation. And now her pupils were blown wide and glimmered with lust and a kind of pride that she'd pleased him, and they'd done this together.

Aemond still had a grip on her hips, noticing the red marks where his fingers had been. Her body was littered with them, where he'd been too tempted to nibble at her, to make sure she bore the marks of his passion for her.

He looked down where they were joined, pulling out of her and watching with a lustful curiosity at his spend that leaked from her entrance. It was instinctual, the way two fingers scooped up what had come out, and he gently plunged it back into her as far as he would go.

Overstimulated and tired, she winced, bucking her hips slightly.

Aemond only smiled down at her.

"I can hardly wait to make you a mother, little one."

She laughed a little, exhausted, "You speak of children. We have only lay together once."

Aemond took her reply and smirked, pulling her thighs close to him again.

"In that case - might we try again? I dare say I have already forgotten the first time."

His little pearl smiled tenderly up at him. A safe smile. One of utter adoration. It was like he was being seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. She had been so good to him in the short time he'd known her, and cared enough to let him see her as well.

He felt fulfilled in a way he never had before. Something exciting ran through his blood, like how he felt whenever he trained. As if a new challenge were upon him.

Challenging the notion that had been placed upon him his entire life, that marriage was about ownership. As a wife should belong entirely to her husband.

And while he felt that sheer possessiveness before he really knew her. Knew her properly.

Now, he questioned if marriage was more about respect than anything else.

The fabric covering his eye now felt so heavy. And one day, he thought, he hoped to be able to show himself so openly to her, as she had done for him.

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

And he would pay his little pearl all the attention she so deserved.

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[triscy]

Lilac & Silver

Chapter I: A Bad Word

Summary: <Aemond x female Rogare OC> There was only one for Aemond, and then she was taken away. This is my first fanfic, so I don’t know if this is actually going to go anywhere. This chapter focuses on young Aemond but (if I continue) future chapters will transition to adult Aemond.

Black sails hung from every ship docked at Driftmark, a display of mourning for the passing of Lady Laena Velaryon. Nell remembered little of the Lady Laena but, as was often the case when a Valyrian noble died, her family made the long journey from Lys to pay their respects. Few houses escaped the Doom, her father would tell her, so we mourn with our kin when another Valyrian dies.

Nell walks along the wooden dock from their ship, a sombre mood amongst her party.

“Lord Rogare” a Kingsguard addresses her father “his Grace, King Viserys, has asked me to escort you to your quarters.” Nell’s violet eyes cast over the knight, curious about his olive skin and dark hair *a Dornishman perhaps?*

Nell follows behind her father and brothers, small legs scurrying to keep up with them. Her lilac cloak swirls behind her, embroidered unicorns of silver at the hem, catching the light. As they enter High Tide, her eyes are sharp, wondering where the other children are. The silver-haired Targaryen children, not those plain faced boys of the Princess Rhaenyra. *What was the word her father called them in whispers?* She cannot recall, but knew it was a word never to be spoken. No, the Targaryen children were the ones like her, the blood of Old Valyria.

Nell had met the Targaryen children a few times at such gatherings. The oldest boy, Aegon, made her laugh. He was mischievous but sometimes cruel. A sloth of a boy, always slumped lazily somewhere.

The girl, Helaena, was sweet but hard to talk to, still Nell persevered and they found common interest in painting butterflies. But those other creatures she played with; the many legs! Oh, how they scared Nell!

Then there was the younger boy, Aemond, her favourite. He was the one who led her down to the dragon pit, where they peeked at the great beasts. The one who giggled and whispered that bad word about the Velaryon boys; the word she couldn’t remember. He was the one that would ask her to speak in High Valyrian, so he could listen to her Lyseni lilt. The one who made her feel interesting, as he listened intently to her stories of Lys.

When they stood on the cliff side later that day, as Lady Laena’s casket was dropped into the sea, she felt his gaze upon her. Her happy smile returned with his shy one.

The adults milled about after the funeral, talking, politicking, scheming. Nell watched from her fathers side, as Aemond smiled at the brown haired boy, Prince Jacaerys, then turned head bowed as his gesture was unreturned. The plain faced boys and the dragon twins turning away from him.

Nell slipped from her fathers side, weaving through the black-clad adults, until she found him sat on the castle wall, casting stones into the sea. Nell stood wordlessly beside the young Prince, peering over the wall, watching the stones plop into the water. He glances at her before offering a hand for her to climb up beside him.

Nell hauls herself onto the wall inelegantly, smoothing her black skirts as she sits beside him. Aemond passes her a handful of stones and a silent game begins of who can throw their stones the farthest. The boy wins of course, his long limbs casting much further than Nell’s.

“Rhaenella! It’s time to retire, sweetling” calls her mother.

Nell turns to bid the Prince goodnight “shall I see you on the morrow?”

He hesitates “Maybe. I’m going to do something tonight. I might not be here on the morrow” he presses his lips together.

“Where are you going?” she raises her eyebrows, surprised and disappointed “are you leaving early?”

“I’m going to claim a dragon” whispers Prince Aemond.

[triscy]

What a beauty 🖤

Credit to raffy_phuk on Instagram

[triscy]

Whatever you say, My Prince 🫦

[triscy]

No more Ewan, I beg of you.

*Credit to @daveysutton on Instagram

[triscy]

EWAN MITCHELL & GRACE COLLENDER as MARTIN & JENNIFER aka SPIDER in the music video for It's Amazing to Be Young by Fontaines D.C.

[triscy]

[triscy]

Aemond’s bed for research purposes

[triscy]

EWAN MITCHELL as AEMOND TARGARYEN House of the Dragon 2.02

[triscy]

The Price of Pride (12/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before in her life had she been so terrified as she was the night their army was supposed to return from the battle of Rook's Rest. Lying in bed in her chamber, she looked towards the door, hoping in despair that it would open in a moment and he would appear in it, saying that they had won.

That he had returned.

It frightened her how far this had gone, how attached she had become to him, that the thought that he might die made her eyelids fill with heavy, burning tears.

She didn't care if he married her or not, she didn't resent him for taking her maidenhood even though he wasn't her husband, she didn't expect anything from him.

She just wanted him to survive.

She stood up, knelt before the bed on the floor and folded her hands as if to pray.

"Father, surround him with your support and wisdom. Warrior, give him the strength to fight. Mother, protect him and let him return home. Stranger, do not take him away yet." She muttered and sobbed quietly, burying her face in her hands, thinking she was pathetic.

He'd abducted her and forced her to serve him, fucked her like a whore, merely ensuring she didn't betray him, she repeated to herself, trying to pull herself together, but then she panicked again at the thought of never seeing him again.

She swallowed loudly, laying her head on the bedding, trying to calm her breathing, wondering how she would feel if he and Aegon had died and her father had marched into the Red Keep at the head of his army to liberate her.

Would she throw herself into his arms with joy?

Would she feel relieved?

Her heart and mind were filled with complete emptiness when she realised that she would not.

She didn't want to be saved.

The longer she thought about it, the more it came to her that she and her cousin were identical: they were drawn to each other like moths to a flame, burning in each other's embrace, taking from each other what they both so desperately craved.

He felt as rejected as she did, overlooked by his mother, who showed more tenderness to her lover instead of to him, her son, who was dying every day in the loneliness of his heart. Moreover, he could not openly ask for his mother's attention: it would show his weakness, the fact that deep down he was not a man but a little boy.

As rider of the greatest dragon in the world and protector of the Realm, he could not afford it.

She had only fallen asleep at dawn and shuddered when someone suddenly walked into her chamber, snapping her out of her deep slumber.

"My Lady. Prince Regent summons you to the Small Council chamber." Said Lysa.

Prince Regent.

She reached for the robe lying on the chair as quickly as she could, threw it over her shoulders, tying it around her waist, and went out into the corridor.

What has he done?

She made her way through the Red Keep with a quick step, finally standing in front of the door that the guards had opened for her, and she caught sight of his face sitting at the head of the table in the place reserved for the King.

What has he done?

She glanced around at the people sitting at the table – the Dowager Queen and Criston Cole looked distressed and tired, as did the other lords, however her cousin was grinning broadly, looking at her in a way she felt uneasy from.

"Leave us alone." He ordered and everyone around him stood up, bowing to him, leaving the chamber one by one.

She swallowed quietly as the door finally closed behind her with a quiet clatter of old wood, and they were left on their own. For a moment, they just looked at each other – her cousin hummed under his breath and spread himself comfortably in his seat, as if he was enjoying the moment, satisfaction and contentment in his gaze.

"Come closer, hāedar." He said softly, making a gesture towards her with his hand, as if encouraging her not to be afraid.

She moved towards him uncertainly, feeling that her lips were slightly parted in an accelerated breath, her heart pounding like mad.

She wanted to ask him where is Aegon, but didn't, recognising that the question would upset him.

He didn't like not being the centre of her attention, like a small child demanding her full involvement.

When she stopped in front of him his hand was still outstretched towards her, so she placed her fingers on it – she sighed as he pulled her gently and she fell into his lap, sitting down clumsily, trying to find a comfortable position, leaning against his shoulder for balance.

She closed her eyes when she felt his lips place a soft, sweet kiss on her cheek, the tip of his nose running over her skin as if he wanted to wordlessly tell her that he was glad to see her.

"– lēkia –" She whispered, not knowing what to say, afraid to use words, knowing that she had to be careful what she did now, feeling that something had changed.

He felt mighty and powerful.

Something had happened on the battlefield.

Had he disobeyed her?

Was Aegon dead?

Fear mingled with a sense of pleasant comfort in her heart when his familiar, broad hands stroked her back, trailing up and down, sliding up to her very buttocks, causing a delightful shiver to pass through her.

"– look at me, hāedar – look at me –" He sighed, his index finger tilting her face so that she looked straight into his own – his gaze was hot, filled with something she didn't understand, his breathing heavy, as if the very sight of her aroused him.

She dared to take his cheeks in her palms, and he closed his eyes as her thumbs gently stroked his skin, his lips slightly parted in a blissful expression.

There were so many things she wanted to ask him.

She was so afraid.

What have you done?

Why are you so proud of yourself?

Will you take me now while your brother's body is rotting somewhere?

She pressed her forehead against his, not knowing what to do, who was the man who had returned to her, thinking that he was at once close to her, beloved and foreign, terrifying.

"– iksan arlī, hāedar (I'm back, little sister) –" He whispered, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her back, her waist, her buttocks as if trying to remember what it was like to feel her body, his eyes closed, his face relaxed, as if he were in heaven.

"– ivestragon nyke skoros massitas, lēkia (tell me what happened, big brother) – kostilus (please) –" She muttered pleadingly, and his eye opened – contrary to what she had feared, his gaze was not cold or frustrated, but filled with warmth and relief.

"– my brother thoughtlessly interfered in the battle between Vhagar and Meleys – he paid for his foolishness and burned in the fire – he is alive, but incapable of performing his duties – I will remain Prince Regent until that changes –" He said quietly, as if he was telling her his secret, something meant only for her ears, stroking her cheeks and hair.

She sighed in relief and for some reason embraced him, cuddling his face between her breasts, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

My brother thoughtlessly interfered in the battle between Vhagar and Meleys.

So he didn't do it, she thought, feeling lighter, as if someone had dropped a stone from her back.

Simply the will of the gods had happened.

"– do you believe me, zaldrītsos? –" He whispered, as if he needed to hear it, his hands clenched tightly on the material of her robe at her back.

She had to believe him.

Hundreds of soldiers must have witnessed it, the sight of the dragon falling from the sky and what had happened before.

Why would he lie now, knowing that she would discover the truth anyway?

She stroked his soft white hair with her palm and placed a warm, loud kiss on the top of his head, cuddling him into her as if he were a small child.

"– I do, lēkia – I do –" She assured him and felt his manhood pulsate hard beneath her, then again and again.

She sighed when she felt his fingers untie her robe and nightgown, when with a light, impatient movement he slid their material off her shoulders, exposing shamelessly her breasts.

"– someone will see – ah –" She mumbled, involuntarily pressing him closer to her body as his lips in some subconscious, thirsty impulse found her nipple, sucking and licking it alternately.

A powerful shudder ran along her spine, down to her fingertips and her swollen lips, making her cunt pulse hungrily around nothing. She moaned helplessly as one of his hands clamped down on her ass, his hips beginning to roll back and forth, rubbing his hard, swollen erection against the place between her thighs.

"– no one dares –" He murmured softly, pulling away from her hard, puffy nipple only to move his mouth to the other, repeating the same caresses on it. "– I forbade it –"

She cried out in pleasure, clenching her fingers in his hair when she felt his hand slide from her buttock to between her thighs from behind – she began to rub against his fingers when she felt them sink into her leaking, soft folds with his sigh of satisfaction.

"– my little sister missed her brother – hm? –" He gasped, circling around her swollen bud, making a wonderful, tickling tension begin to rise in her lower abdomen, their hips meeting each other, his cock hard and swollen between her thighs.

"– did you not hear my desperate prayers? –" She mumbled, rising to her knees, lifting her robe and nightgown above her thighs as his hands slid down to his belt – he unbuckled it, looking at her with eye that was surprisingly vulnerable and warm, as if something in her words moved him.

"– what were you praying for, sweet girl? –" He whispered, untying and spreading the material of his breeches to the side, embracing her waist with his arm, with his other hand holding his swollen erection.

She liked the new position she found herself in – she knew that if he had wanted to, he could have simply come and fucked her in her bed, he, however, clearly desired something else.

Proof that she missed him, that she wanted him, that she needed him.

She placed her hands on his shoulders for balance and slowly lowered herself onto the fat head of his cock, feeling him open her wide on himself with their quiet sigh of pleasure.

She decided to tease him for a while and see how he would react to that.

"– for the Father to give you wisdom –" She gasped softly, letting him deeper into her hot core only to lift herself up again, sliding his manhood, slick with her moisture, out of her almost all the way, his mouth parted wide, his gaze fixed on her face, simultaneously terrified and delighted at how pleasurable what she was doing was. "– for the Warrior to give you strength –"

They both groaned pathetically as she let him into her all the way, closing their eyes only to open them a moment later, their hips in some subconscious, natural rhythm beginning to thrust out against each other as she pressed her forehead against his.

"– for the Mother to protect you –" She mewled as they both sped up, his stones slapping again and again against her asscheeks with loud splats of their bare skin, his cock thick and swollen, teasing her sweet spot with cruel precision, making her cunt begin to leak, the chair underneath them creaking loudly.

"– fuck –" He muttered, digging his short nails into the bare skin of her arse, forcing her to let him pound into her harder, his mouth grabbing her hard, sweet nipple and began to suck on it again, a wonderful, aggressive thrill of pleasure shook her body, her walls giving his erection a firm, sure squeeze.

"– for the Stranger not to take you away –" She cried out, moaning loudly along with him, her fingers clenched in his long hair, their bodies slamming against each other like mad, the tension deep inside her reaching its zenith, making her pant hard, their sweaty foreheads pressed together, their eyes fixed on each other.

"– hāedar – oh f-fuck –" He mumbled out, clenching his fingers on her body as tightly as if he felt he could no longer escape what was happening to him, how much he wanted it – their lips met in a messy, sticky kiss full of their tongues, her weeping cunt began to clench around his throbbing erection, bringing them closer to fulfilment.

"– ah – don't stop – gods, your brother is about to fill you –" He breathed out, and she cried out loudly, feeling that his words had done something to her – she heard him groan loudly, shocked when he felt her come hard on his cock, soaking his entire manhood in her wetness – they were both panting with relief and delight as his mouth spread wide in bliss, and his warm seed spilled deep inside her.

She snuggled her face into his neck, moaning quietly, unable to calm down as he did, their hips rocking for another moment, his arms embracing her tightly, cuddling her into his body.

"– dīnagon nyke, hāedar –" He sighed softly, combing his fingers through her hair, his lips placing a warm, tender kiss on her temple, as if he wanted to reassure both her and himself.

She froze, clenching her fingers on his black leather tunic, feeling her heart stop in her chest.

Marry me, little sister.

"– my brother is plunged into a deep sleep – there is no telling when he will awaken – we will manage to marry in the Great Sept by then – I have ensured that the message sent by the King does not reach the Iron Islands – I want it to be you –" He said in a voice trying to be calm, but she could hear it breaking, filled with the fear of rejection.

Gods, what was she to do?

If she became his wife, she would never run from him again.

She will become his property, like his chair, table or bed.

She would bear him children and he would bed his servants as soon as she was no longer young and beautiful.

"– I'm afraid –" She mumbled at last.

She heard him swallow hard, his free hand stroking her back reassuringly, as if he wanted to soothe her.

"– what are you afraid of, zaldrītsos? – tell me –" He whispered in her ear and fell silent, waiting anxiously for her words.

She pressed her lips together, feeling warm tears under her eyelids, her heart filled with stinging pain.

She embraced him and snuggled into him, deciding that this one time she would try to do what she had always dreamed of doing.

That she'll confide in someone like a friend.

"Marriage is for a woman like a cage. She can be happy only if she gives her husband children while still remaining young and beautiful. I don't know if a person born out of hatred can be fertile, but even if I am, I don't want to wait for the days when I find out that you are not faithful to me – I don't expect you to be, because since when have husbands been faithful to their wives? Isn't that why the world is filled with mistresses that everyone curses? I have never been the most important person for anyone and I know I won't be for you. I understand it, but our marriage would be a lie, even though everyone would have to believe otherwise. They would pity me, knowing that I have become a vessel for your seed." She muttered in a trembling voice, feeling tear after tear begin to run down her face, her throat clenched as if she was choking.

She heard him draw in a loud breath and sigh, his chest quivering all over – she lifted her gaze to him and froze, seeing that his jaw was shaking.

"If I wanted to have a mistress, I would marry Floris Baratheon and took you to my bed." He muttered at last, trying to remain calm, his eye large and filled with suffering fixed far ahead of him. "I wish for you to fall asleep and wake up beside me. For us to roam the skies together. For you to dine with me, read with me, speak with me. For you to always support me. For our children, if born, to be the result of our closeness. I will never dishonor you."

He said and looked at her, his hand stroking through her hair as if she were a small child.

"Marry me. I will care for you, and your place will always be by my side. I will protect you."

She felt her lips tremble, her eyebrows arching in pain as she heard those familiar words, what he had said to her then, as they lay under the stars.

If you tame a dragon, I will treat you like my little sister.

She understood what he was trying to tell her.

Had he lied then?

Had he let her down?

Had he abandoned her?

No.

"Yes." She whispered.

He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, licking his lower lip.

"Yes, what?" He asked in a trembling voice.

"Kesan dīnagon ao, lēkia (I will marry you, big brother)." She whispered.

He pressed her body to his chest and sank his face into the crook of her neck, twitching all over with emotion.

She smiled, embracing him tenderly, thinking with amusement that she had already forgotten that his soft manhood was still deep inside her.

For some reason, the fact that they were one flesh seemed natural to her.

Her cousin announced their betrothal during supper later that evening, and although everyone at the table lowered their gazes, no one dared to contradict him.

He threw her a satisfied, piercing look as he sat at the head of the table in his brother's place, grinning broadly, and she sighed quietly and smiled, thinking that she might have been trying to lie to herself, but it was no use.

Her destiny was tied to this dark, violent, unpredictable man.

She spent that night in his chamber, for the first time feeling light-hearted with the fact that she was lying bare in his arms, in his pleasant, tender embrace, in which she felt safe – there was something wonderful about the way his fingers roamed lazily over her back, forming different shapes, while they lay in silence.

A silence full of understanding and contentment.

Her cousin wanted to use the time while his brother was unconscious, so he pushed for a quick nuptials – she didn't mind and agreed that he would organise everything as he saw fit, much to his delight.

"I haven't had time to congratulate you, my Lady. You are about to become the Prince's wife." Said Gwayne Hightower, Queen Alicent's older brother, raising his eyebrows in what she would call a mixture of amusement and mockery – he approached her with his hands folded behind his back as she practised archery in the courtyard.

She smiled under her breath as she drew her bowstring and took aim, releasing it, her arrow again hitting the centre of the target.

"Thank you, my Lord, for your kind words." She said lightly, not even bestowing a single glance on him, reaching into her quiver behind her back for an arrow, intending to take another shot.

She heard him snort under his breath, combing the sand beneath his feet with his boot.

"You could use tracks to shoot from a greater distance. You won't learn anything else here." He said softly, and she sighed, amused, pressing the bowstring to her cheek.

"On the contrary. I'm learning patience." She hummed, taking another accurate shot, looking up at him finally.

Indeed, Queen Alicent and her brother resembled each other, however, his eyes and hair were paler – she thought he looked like a confident and mischievous man, who was none too pleased that she was to join their family despite the fact that he himself owed his position to his sister.

The Court breathed hypocrisy.

"Surely your patience will come in handy with my nephew." He sneered, looking at her with a smile full of curiosity.

Did he really think she would let him provoke her, that she would tell him something about her cousin that he could then use against her?

"Prince Aemond doesn't like it when people speak about him behind his back. He generally doesn't like to be spoken about. He would not be pleased if he found out that you wished to discuss his affairs with me." She said, lowering her bow, coming closer to him, making his eyebrows raise.

He licked his lower lip, looking at her cheekily, as if he recognised that he had accepted the challenge.

"So he is oversensitive about himself. Like any Targaryen." He stated.

"He just doesn't like gossip. It's a trait of his character that I value in him." She replied.

Ser Gwayne cocked his head, taking a step towards her, standing, in her mind, too close to her – but she did not pull away, recognising that she would not be the one to pay the price.

"Are you carrying his child yet?" He asked, and she lifted her chin higher, understanding that with this innocent question he wished to humiliate her, reminding her that she was lying in bed with a man who was not her husband.

In his mind, she had simply seduced his nephew, whom he considered weak and vulnerable to manipulation.

"Possibly. I, unlike our Dowager Queen, don't make sure every time that my actions won't have consequences. I am prepared to pay them." She said calmly and smiled when she noticed that his gaze grew grimmer, his eyebrows straightened, his jaw clenched in fury.

He opened his mouth to say something, but they were interrupted by another voice.

"Hāedar."

She turned towards her cousin and smiled at him reassuringly, seeing his tense figure walking towards them, his gaze once on her, once on his uncle.

He stopped beside them and licked his lower lip, impatient.

"Skorion massitas (what happened)?" He asked coolly, staring at her expectantly.

She sighed quietly and threw him a soft, calm look.

"Aōha kēpus jaelagon naejot gīmigon lo nyke gryves aōha riña iemnȳ nyke (your uncle wants to know if I am carrying your child). Nyke udlitan zirȳla bona gaoman gīmigon daor (I answered him that I do not know)." She said and saw that he closed his eyelid and turned his head away, furious, swallowing hard the rage that surged in his body.

"Henujagon īlva, hāedar (leave us, little sister). Jikagon naejot ñuha tistālion (go to my chamber)." He said matter-of-factly.

She nodded and moved ahead without bestowing a single glance on Ser Gwayne Hightower.

She smiled under her breath, guessing that her betrothed would teach him a lesson in humility.

She sighed quietly as she went into her quarters for a moment, wanting to change and take a quick bath before heading to his bed, all hot and tired after the physical exertion. She put her bow, a gift she had received from her Prince on the occasion of their betrothal, into one of her trunks and stood up, undoing the buckles of her leather tunic one by one.

She froze when she noticed a small roll of parchment lying on the table by the window.

Was it possible?

She walked over there and reached her hand for the letter, feeling her heart pounding like mad, a cold sweat running down her back at the thought that her father and his third wife's spies were still in the Red Keep.

She knew it was him.

It had to be him.

She unrolled the parchment and swallowed hard, feeling her heart jump to her throat as she read what was written in it.

Congratulations on your betrothal Kepa

[triscy]

That really tickled Ewan 🤣

FABIEN FRANKEL & EWAN MITCHELL - The Tonight Show, July 2024

[triscy]

It’s too good 😭

The Price of Pride (9/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, kissing, mutual masturbation, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"The day is beautiful." He whispered in her ear, placing a gentle, little kiss on her neck a moment later.

Her flesh was hot under his fingers, and he savoured the taste of her sweat on his lips – he sighed as he felt his hard manhood, already sore and all swollen with impatience, push hard against her buttocks.

She moaned quietly, tilting her head back, her mouth parted wide in a heavy breath, her hands clenched on his arm – his palm, sunk between her silky, smooth thighs was soaked from her wetness, her thirsty cunt pulsed greedily around nothing.

"– focus –" He commanded, feeling that her hips sought involuntary fulfilment, rolling back and forth in a joint rhythm with his long fingers.

The last few evenings had blended into one for him, turning later into nights full of her moans, the loud clicks of her moisture, her lips leaking with desire, her fingers clenched on his manhood.

Every time it came for him too naturally, too easily.

"– tubis – mmm – tubis issa gevie –" She mumbled, and he took his hand away, sighing heavily.

She squirmed, turning in his arms, looking up at him pleadingly, sitting down on top of him with her hands around his neck.

"– please –" She whispered, pressing her bare breasts against his tunic, combing her fingers through his long hair.

He didn't stop her when she pulled at the black ribbon at the back of his head, letting the front strands of his hair fall over his face.

"– right words, wrong order –" He said coolly, embracing her with one hand around her waist, the other clamping down on the plump skin of her bottom, the only part of her body hidden under the thin material of her nightgown, letting them rub against each other with the motions of their hips.

"– tubis gevie issa –" She breathed out, and after a moment his mouth was already on hers, hearing with relief that she had finally used the correct grammar and conjugation.

He thought with satisfaction that, indeed, she deserved a reward, as did he for being such a patient and good teacher, so he twisted himself along with her and threw himself onto the bed on which they had been sitting until now, pressing her body against the sheets.

They purred and panted loudly, letting their mouths devour each other in loud, sticky kisses full of their saliva and slick tongues, their hands wandering blindly over each other's bodies, wanting nothing more than to simply feel each other.

Something like a smile flashed across his face when he heard her nimble fingers undo the belt and buckles of his tunic, the motion of his arms helping her to pull it off him.

His hands followed her example, revealing her naked, graceful body, slipping her nightgown off her legs – he always stopped at that moment, at the sight of her exposed, bare flesh, her gaze full of joyful, hot anticipation, her glistening lips parted in a loud, deep breath.

She was always so eager, he thought with appreciation.

"– gevie –" He sighed, leaning lower to see that her teeth bit into her lower lip at that word, her thighs parted, allowing him to lie between them – his fingers untied the small knot binding the fabric of his breeches as his tongue ran from her stomach upwards, between her sweet breasts.

Beautiful.

Her fingers combed gently through his hair as his nose ran over to the side, with her quiet moan of pleasure closing his lips around her hard, puffy nipple. He murmured when, with her help, he managed to slide his breeches off his hips and raised himself up on his elbows, releasing her nipple with a quiet plop.

He pulled his linen shirt over his head feeling that his eye patch exposed his eye socket and scar – his heart pounded harder in panic, his lips parted in horror as he reached up and corrected it, but the damage was already done.

He saw in the shocked expression on her face that she had seen it.

"– daor –" She begged, propping herself up on her elbows, her eyebrows arched in pain at the sight of him trying to cover himself from her again. "– kostilus, lēkia – tubī daor –"

He looked at her with his mouth open in ragged breath, feeling that he had completely frozen, not knowing what to do, wanting it at the same time as being afraid.

Please, big brother.

Not today.

Looking at her flushed face, at her long eyelashes and sweet, full lips, he caught himself thinking that if he had pretended that she had always lived in the Red Keep, there would have been nothing inappropriate about their closeness, their caresses and the nights they spent together.

Her eyes, though darker and bigger, as much as her hair could be inherited from his mother after all, similarly soft and smooth, her gaze as warm and tender – her calmness and thoughtfulness was much like his father's, and only when he was by her side did he realize how much resentment lay within him that his King had devoted so little attention to his own son.

Their fictional relationship, created by him only to subdue her, was slowly becoming a truth of which he himself became a victim.

He swallowed hard as she raised herself up on her hands and sat in front of him, looking him straight in the eye, his lips pressed together into a thin line as her fingers rose to his face, slowly pulling his eye patch off his head.

He looked at her, feeling that his face was stony – he didn't want her to see anything that was happening inside his mind – he felt that she had no right to reject him, no right to mock him or laugh at him, no right to look at him with compassion, but he dreaded it anyway.

Humiliation.

She, however, seemed to sense his tension – as soon as she put his eye patch aside her hand lifted uncertainly back to his scarred cheek, and her fingertips ran over the pale, long line that adorned it, looking at him intrigued, her doe eyes large and warm, full of some kind of understanding.

"– kasta –" She whispered with a sweet, gentle smile devoid of anything but tenderness.

He felt a squeeze in his throat.

Blue.

His sapphire.

He sighed quietly as she threw her arms around his neck, as she moved closer and let his long, swollen erection push against her abdomen, her hard nipples pressed against the bare skin of his torso. Their fingers sank into each other's soft hair as they leaned towards each other, and their swollen lips met in a strangely quiet, uncertain, gentle kiss.

It was a sweet kiss, he thought, and each kiss that followed was just as lazy and soft – their lips clicked from their saliva each time they became one, her breath hot and full of desire.

As his hand slid down her waist, hers slid down his chest, seeking the same thing.

They sighed quietly and stopped, not pulling their mouths away from each other, simply breathing as their fingers found what they wanted – he closed his eyes as her smooth hand clenched gently on his thick, throbbing manhood, dripping with desire, while his hand slid between her thighs from the side of her buttocks, meeting her soaked, hot womanhood.

He pushed her onto the bed, holding her in his arms, and lay on his side with her, throwing her thigh over his waist – their bodies clung to each other in an embrace close and full of affection, their lips meeting in the need for intimacy and understanding.

Her dark, long curls were wonderfully soft and smooth under his fingers, his hands seeming to sink into her warm, bare skin, the scent of her sweat and oils filling his lungs like a morning breeze.

Her body was different from Madam's – her curves were more girlish, her breasts wonderfully plump and swollen, her hips soft and silken to the touch, her lips and womanhood just as moist and delicate, thirsty for his caresses.

He twisted and forced her to lie on her back, brushing her sweet lips with his, panting louder and louder as her smooth hand caressed his cock, all sore with desire.

The touch of her hand on this intimate part was never perverse and animalistic – no – she squeezed his hard length with slow, gentle strokes, turning a simple, primitive reflex into something almost tender, as if she thought his manhood was not something dirty, a source of sin and embarrassment, but something she respected.

It was only by being with her that he understood the difference between caressing and satisfying.

Madam was satisfying his needs.

His little sister was caressing his body, almost embarrassing him with how pleasurable it was.

He pulled away from her lips, thinking that although they were usually limited to touching each other with their hands, now, this night, when she finally saw all of him, he wanted to reward her for her devotion, for not asking questions, for not demanding, for not commanding, for letting him touch her every night even though he had no right to do so.

"– ah – what –" She muttered as he lifted himself up on his knees and gently took her thighs in his hands, shamelessly spreading them wider.

Her lips parted as he leaned over her, already knowing subconsciously what he was trying to do, her hips wanted to move back involuntarily, but he didn't let her, pushing her close again.

"– daor, hāedar – your brother longs to taste you –" He said and before any word left her throat, he leaned lower and let his face sink into her warm, leaking cunt – he heard her loud, surprised moan, her spine arching in ecstasy as his lips ran shyly over her soft folds.

"– lēkia –" She mewled, clasping her fingers in his white hair as the tip of his tongue began to fondle with her swollen slit, teasing it lazily, while his thumb found her little bud, trailing around it, making her hips begin to roll back and forth, rubbing against his face.

He himself began to rock his hips, rubbing his painfully hard cock against the bed beneath him, trying to find any source for an escape from his tension, thinking only of how wonderful she tasted and looked – his lips and tongue swept over her thirsty cunt while his gaze was fixed on her face, her mouth wide open and her eyes closed, her cheeks red with exertion, glistening with sweat.

"– so needy – soaking wet for her big brother –" He hummed contentedly and felt her whole body tremble, her eyes opening, meeting his gaze – she started to pant, spreading her thighs wider, pressing his head closer, as if she wanted him to simply melt into one with her body – his short nails dug into the soft skin of her buttocks as she cried out loudly, throwing her head back, feeling his slick tongue suddenly burst deep inside her, mercilessly hitting the same wonderful spot within her again and again.

"– ah – mghmmm – f-fuck, gods –" She babbled, writhing before him in pleasure, surprisingly innocent and vulnerable now as he devoured her cunt like there was no tomorrow, feeling her sweet wetness melt on his tongue.

The tip of his nose along with his thumb traveled around her pearl, feeling her entire womanhood begin to pulsate, his tongue hitting her fleshy walls just above her opening, feeling the tiny bud that made her quiver with pleasure.

"– Aemond – Aemond, Aemond, Aemond, Aemond –" She panted as if she was pronouncing the words of a prayer.

A shudder shook them both as she came with a girlish cry of pleasure, rocking her hips so that they rubbed against his face, her fingers clenched in his hair as if she was never going to let him go again, her breath heavy and uneven, her thighs quivering all over in his hands.

"– please – please, no more –" She begged, trying to push him away as the last waves of pleasure surged through her body, while he continued to lick what was flowing out of her, teasing her over-sensitive, weeping cunt anew.

"– nothing can go to waste – it's all mine –" He cooed, and she sighed, giving in, trying to endure his treatments with quiet moans on the edge of pain and pleasure.

"– me too – I want – I want to kiss you there, lēkia – let me –" She mumbled, looking up at him with eyes hazy with disbelief at how pleasurable the experience was.

His cock pulsed painfully hard, leaving him with no resistance.

"– mmm – come here –" He exhaled, laying down beside her on his back, tossing his hair away so that it didn't bother him, thinking with shame that it was a feminine gesture, not a masculine one.

She, however, seemed not to mind, for the eagerness with which she shifted over to him and lay between his thighs amazed and embarrassed even him.

He sighed, tilting his head back, unable to get a word out when her hand gently grasped the base of his cock in her fingers, while her lips ran over the pink, fat head of it.

"– guide me –" She hummed sweetly, making the whole act seem absurdly innocent to him, despite the fact that his erection was so swollen that he felt like he was about to just reach his peak on her face.

There was something tempting about it, but he couldn't deny himself the warmth of her lips.

"– tease it –" He whispered, running his thumb over the tip of his cock, smooth and slick from his own wetness – he threw his head back and closed his eyes, surprised when she leaned in immediately, running her sticky, warm tongue over that part of him.

"– fuck –" He exhaled, feeling his heart pounding like mad in his chest – this time it was his hands that clenched in her hair, holding her close as her lips roamed and brushed over the tip of his erection, her palm squeezing its root.

This is too much, he thought with desperation, I'm about to come.

"– put it in – open your mouth –" He breathed out, forcing her head to lean lower and let him simply slide his erection deep into her lips – they both moaned loudly – she from exertion, feeling the head of his cock hit her throat, and he from pleasure, her palate warm and moist, safe, welcoming him home.

"– suck –" He commanded, panting and groaning loudly, with ruthless, sharp thrusts slamming deep into her throat, her squeal telling him that she was unable to keep up.

"– ah – breathe through your nose – mmm – just a moment longer – fuck, fuck, oh, gods, swallow, swallowswallowswallow –" He mumbled out and moaned like a little boy, throwing his head back when he felt his seed spilling over her tongue – he forced himself between convulsions of his body to look at her and saw her face red from exertion and tears, her closed eyes, the curls of her dark hair stuck to her sweaty face, the base of his throbbing erection in her hand, a trickle of his release dripping from the corner of her mouth.

"– gods, you look perfect like this –" He gasped, feeling completely relaxed, filled with nothing but relief and that wonderful, pulsing, tingling sensation that was spreading in final waves through his loins.

His fingers loosened their grip and she pulled away, sliding his half-soft length out of her mouth with its loud splat against his lower abdomen, gasping for air loudly, panting heavily, all drenched in tears.

"– māzigon kesīr, hāedar (come here, little sister) – māzigon kesīr (come here) –" He said, extending his hand to her, and she immediately fell into his arms, laying between his thighs, her womb and breasts pressed against his naked body, while her face, as usual, found refuge in the hollow of his neck.

"– gōntan nyke ōdrikagon ao, zaldrītsos? (did I hurt you, little dragon?) –" He asked softly, placing a warm, loud kiss on her forehead, wiping with his thumb the remains of his seed from the corner of her mouth, feeling her whole body tremble in his embrace.

She shook her head.

"– n-no – just – it was so much –" She mumbled, and he sighed in relief, running his fingers down her bare spine.

"– I know, sweet girl – you've satisfied me – now it's time to rest –" He said and leaned towards her face, allowing their lips to meet in the wettest, most tender, softest kiss he'd ever experienced in his life.

He thought it would have been every man's dream to be kissed like that by a woman as they spread out comfortably, his hand covering their naked bodies with thick furs, letting her lie on top of him as she had so far.

He knew he should send her away, he knew everyone was already gossiping about them spending nights together in his chamber, but he couldn't do it.

He could not, after what they had done, stay in the cold bed or condemn her to the same fate.

Each time, she would fall asleep and wake up in his arms.

"– you fight better than ever, my Prince –" Criston Cole exhaled after another round of their sparring together. "– you're more focused and precise –"

He nodded, turning his face to the side, thinking with shame that it was because ever since she'd stayed in his bed, ever since he'd fallen asleep sunk into the warmth of her body, listening to her calm breathing, he'd experienced true rest at night and only been awakened by birdsong at dawn.

"– however, your mother is concerned about the nature of your relationship with your cousin –" Cole began uncertainly, but fell silent seeing the grimace of displeasure on his face.

He thought with frustration that the last thing he needed was lecturing.

"– if Queen Alicent wants to tell me something, she should do it in person –" He said coolly and nodded, taking the right position to attack, wanting to end the subject and move on to the next duel.

They both swung, and their blades collided in the air with a loud clink of steel.

"– your mother is worried about her future marriage – about her dignity –" Criston continued between blows, causing him to push against him with even more fury.

Her peaceful, sleeping face snuggled into his chest in the morning, her soft hand lying on his heart, the warmth and smell of her bare body, her sex, her hair, the sound of her calm breathing and birdsong outside the walls of the keep, his fingers running lazily down her spine, watching her with serenity.

I am her future, he thought furiously, but he didn't dare say it out loud.

They both stopped in mid-step when they heard the swish of an arrow, which, a moment later, hit straight on target – his cousin was standing on the other side of the courtyard, pointing her bow again towards the big straw shield, and once again she hit the centre.

After the incident with Floris, Aegon had assigned her a larger chamber and agreed that she could move around the fortress without guards, and he had not objected.

She spent most of her day in his company anyway: in his bed, in the heavens or, as now, practising at a similar time to him.

She never interrupted him or approached to speak to him, respecting his private space and the fact that he preferred what went on between them to stay behind the closed doors of his chamber.

However, this did not prevent him from admiring her graceful figure from afar and sinking into his own fantasies, from which his manhood swelled all over in his breeches.

"– my Prince – this is a dangerous game – the Queen and I just wish to spare you disappointment –" He said, and he only pressed his lips together without answering him.

He decided that it was beneath his dignity to discuss it with him.

"It occurs to me that Criston Cole has no love for me. I can see it in his look full of disapproval cast in my direction." She said lightly, massaging his back with her soft hands after their intense pleasure that same night, his muscles all tense and sore from the physical exertion.

He hummed under his breath, hearing her smile, lying on his stomach while she straddled him – he opened his eyelids lazily, feeling himself begin to slowly fall asleep.

He thought more and more about how her touch, her closeness, her scent had subconsciously calmed and relaxed him.

"He and my mother are trying to lecture me. As if I'm a fool who doesn't understand the consequences of his actions." He murmured resentfully, feeling tired and uncomfortable at the thought that they both still saw him as nothing more than a little child who refused to submit to their rules.

"They are the last people who should be instructing anyone in these matters." She said amused, and he froze, wondering why she had said that.

"What do you mean?" He asked curiously, thinking that perhaps Cole had a mistress he didn't know about.

He figured that he could use it against him if he wanted to moralise him again.

He turned onto his back when silence answered him, wanting to look at her – he blinked when he saw that she was pale, her eyes open wide in horror.

"What is it? What is that look?" He asked anxiously, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

She swallowed heavily and shook her head, her lips parted slightly in a deep breath.

"– it's just gossip – I shouldn't have said that –" She muttered, trying to smile and turn it into a joke.

His hand slid into her hair and his fingers clenched warningly in her soft curls.

"– hāedar –" He said coldly, letting her know that he was about to lose his patience and it would not be pleasant for either of them.

"– you shouldn't have heard it from me – gods, I was convinced you knew –" She mumbled, and he swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

"– speak –"

She looked at him pleadingly, her eyes filled with warmth and a plea for him not to make her do it – he longed to kiss her, longed to sink into her lips with the thought that this was surely nothing, her naked body at his fingertips.

"– Ser Criston – he broke his vows of chastity with a woman who is close to you – and whom you hold in the highest regard for obvious reasons –" She whispered in a trembling voice, looking at him in pain, her lips parted in a loud, heavy breath.

He felt his lips press together in a thin line as his heart froze in his chest for a moment, his eye red from burning tears of rage and humiliation, cold disappointment and bitterness running through his veins.

His mother.

His mother had no words of understanding for him, no time to embrace him, to squeeze his hand, to comfort him and soothe his suffering after he returned from Storm's End, but she had time to take care of herself and her delight in the arms of her sworn protector.

A man he treated as a friend, as a role model, whom he trusted, with whom he spent long evenings in discussion, believing they shared a bond.

And he, as soon as he left his chamber, headed for his mother's quarters and fucked her, lecturing him brazenly the next day about the nature of his relationship with his cousin.

He felt himself grow sick at the thought, his stomach squeezed into a knot as if he was about to vomit.

"Get out." He said coldly and let her go, feeling himself quivering all over, his chest rising and falling in rage and pain. "I want to be alone."

He only saw out of the corner of his eye that she nodded, her hands trembling with nerves as she put on her nightgown and robe, looking at him once more, as if she hoped he would change his decision.

He, however, simply sat and looked at his fingers, pleading in his mind that she should just leave.

When he heard her get off his bed and quietly head towards the door, opening and closing it behind her, he broke out into a silent cry, burying his head between his knees.

Alicent had humiliated him, abandoned him, forgotten him, but she had time for her lover, found opportunities to give him her warm gaze and tenderness, her closeness, leaving him, her son, alone.

He swallowed hard, choking on his tears, and lifted his face as if he suddenly realised what he had done, horrified by the silence around him.

"– hāedar? – come back – come back, sleep in my bed –" He called out towards the door, for some reason believing that she was still there, that she had not left him.

He sobbed when no sound answered him and hid his face in his hands, thinking that he didn't want to sleep alone, wondering in a reflex of despair whether to flee to the brothel again, ready to find shelter anywhere as long as he could feel the warmth of another body beside him.

He shuddered and sighed when he heard the door open again, her head peeking in.

She stood in the corridor.

She had not left him, his little sister.

Never.

He held out his hand to her and she closed the door behind her and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

It was the first time he had burst out crying in front of someone – the warmth of her body, her familiar arms, her wonderful scent made him feel so wonderfully relieved that tears began to run down his face on their own.

He was panting heavily when, with greedy, impatient movements, he tore her robe and nightdress from her shoulders, exposing before him her sweet, plump breasts, between which at last he dared to press his face, like a child seeking refuge, sinking his fingers into the soft skin of her naked back.

He struggled to catch air in his lungs as her arms enveloped him tenderly, pressing him against her warm, smooth skin – her fingertips combed through his hair, allowing him to calm down.

"– I'm so sorry –" She whispered, and he simply closed his eyes, thinking that it wasn't her fault after all.

"– all my life she's been telling me about the value of virtue – of sacrifice – instilling in me a belief in principles and morals – and she's fucking her own guard –" He howled regretfully, the touch of her fingers, her hands trailing over his body bringing him relief.

"– I know –" She whispered, sinking down onto the soft cushions along with his body – his hand found her sweet breast, wanting to touch something warm and pleasant that would give him comfort.

He closed his eyes as she locked him in the tight embrace of her arms, and he curled up, lifting his knees almost under his chin, wanting her to be able to give shelter to his whole body, being a little boy again.

"– no matter what I do – no matter how hard I try, what I sacrifice – I'm not able to please her –" He confessed in shame, his voice shaking with sadness and regret, feeling tear after tear run down his cheek without the participation of his will.

Everything he held inside just flowed out of him.

He sighed quietly, feeling relieved when she simply leaned over and kissed the top of his head with a sweet tenderness, running her fingers through his long, white hair without saying a word.

He thought he deeply appreciated that she didn't do what Madam did – every time he was vulnerable in her embrace, Sylvi showered him with advice and guidance, trying to manipulate and direct him, as if he didn't understand that she wanted him to simply do what would be better for her.

However, she, his little sister, was silent, coexisting with him in his suffering, focusing only on giving him solace, on gentle and innocent gestures full of affection, from which a pleasant warmth melted inside his chest.

He thought, nestled in the soft embrace of her familiar, sweet arms, that what his mother was doing didn't matter.

Now he had someone all to himself.

His little dragon.

His hāedar.

"You could hide better with your weakness for our cousin. The servants no longer even whisper but openly speak of her walking into your chamber in the evenings and leaving it only after sunrise." Said Aegon, pacing around his room while he sat comfortably in one of the chairs, feeling absolutely nothing at his words.

You'd be surprised to hear what our mother is doing, he thought, but didn't dare to say it out loud.

He decided that it was better to keep this information to himself.

It might have been useful to him at some point in the future.

"It takes her a long time to learn. She is making progress, but she is very…mmm, eager to bring the language of our ancestors to perfection." He said with a wide, cold grin, cocking his head to the side.

He didn't feel like confessing to him.

Aegon raised his eyebrows and walked over to the empty chair on the other side of the table, sitting down in it with a heavy sigh, reaching, of course, for the wine jug.

"I thought you hated bastards. Do you desire to beget your own now, brother?" He asked, and he smiled even wider.

"A maiden will not bear a child. Anyway. That's not why I invited you here." He said, unfolding one of the maps he had prepared earlier, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

His hāedar had begged him endlessly to tell him of his and Criston's plan, and as the battle of Rook's Rest was about to take place and possibly determine the fate of the war, he decided that this once he would yield to her, knowing that her fears were justified.

Aegon could not think that he was plotting behind his back.

She longed to participate in this conversation with him, but he did not agree to it.

These were matters between them.

Between brothers.

"Criston Cole and our army are not heading towards Harrenhal." He said, and his brother laughed, as if he had heard some foolishness.

"And where the fuck do you think he's heading? To his home in Dorne?" He asked amused, taking a loud sip from his cup.

He licked his lower lip, trying to remain calm and not show his frustration.

"To Rook's Rest."

Aegon looked at him in disbelief and shook his head, as if hoping his younger brother would tell him he had not meant it.

"WHAT?" He hissed and stood up, placing his hands on his hips, circling around the table, as usual unable to sit still.

"Why? That wasn't the plan. We wanted to destroy Daemon and take back Harrenhal. What has changed? Why don't I know anything about it?"

"Now you know. Cole and I thought it best to cut Rhaenyra off from the land first. To block her ability to support Daemon in the future with her army other than by sea. We must plan a few steps ahead. Be patient, brother. That is all." He said, raising his hand over the map of the Seven Kingdoms, recalling the words his little sister had used when suggesting what he should say to him. "What we are doing is for you. It's not hard to throw an army and lose – this map is a chessboard, and we need to plan well for the whole game, not just the end. I ask you to trust us and agree to our attack."

Aegon blinked and furrowed his brow, as if something in his words troubled him.

"Yours?"

He swallowed hard, not taking his eyes off him, wondering how he should convey this to him.

He decided he would just be honest.

"We're planning an ambush. This whore will surely send dragons to Rook's Rest to help defend the fortress. Then me and Vhagar will step onto the battlefield and take the lives of both the beast and its rider, whoever it may be." He said, and his brother pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Very well. I will fly with you then."

He looked at him dully, wondering if he was really such a fool.

"The King cannot die. You and Sunfyre will guard the Red Keep. Our cousin will accompany and support me." He said, and Aegon slammed his fist on the table, startling him and making him jump up in his seat.

"No. She is less experienced and she will protect our family in the Red Keep. I will fly by your side to fight like a man. I am the King and that is my final decision." He said, and he looked away, feeling his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

He thought that perhaps it would be better this way and closed his eyes.

Maybe this way his problems would solve themselves.

His brother had ordered a meeting of the Small Council later that afternoon, intending, as he understood it, to convey to the assembled members the change of plans and his decision.

He knew their mother would be furious.

They all turned their heads towards the door when their cousin walked in – he thought, looking at her, his little sister, at her warm gaze directed towards him, at her full, glistening lips, at her graceful, soft body hidden beneath her leather riding attire, that Aegon wanted to inform her that it was he who would be setting out at his side to fight.

"What is this important matter that could not wait any longer?" Their mother asked, looking at his brother with a weariness he knew well.

He wondered if she had prayed for Cole and his return before falling asleep, feeling discomfort and frustration in his chest at the thought.

Aegon nodded, ready to speak.

"I wish to relieve our subjects who live in hunger. This fucking blockade has gone on for too long and I have decided to take measures to remedy it. Greyjoys are tactically avoiding choosing sides in this conflict, and only their fleet could face the Velaryons. In such situations, things are usually resolved through marriage. Lord Greyjoy has two sons, Toron and Rodrick, who are looking for a suitable candidate to marry. My mother and I believe that our beautiful cousin and her dragon will meet all of their father's requirements."

Silence fell all around him; he had the feeling that his body, although frozen in stillness, inwardly fell into some kind of panic attack, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he felt like he was dying.

My mother and I believe that our beautiful cousin and her dragon will meet all of their father's requirements.

They wanted to marry her off.

They wanted to take her away from him.

He looked at her, at the woman who had brought him into the world, feeling deceived, betrayed, abandoned.

Alicent shook her head, her brown eyes big with sadness and regret, her lips parted slightly, as if she herself was suffering.

"You knew it would end like this. Your irresponsible behaviour forced us to take the right steps." She whispered, lowering her gaze to her fingers, with which she scratched the cuticles around her nails.

He thought that in that case his brother should marry her off too, since she was so eager to open her thighs before men, but he was unable to say such words about his own mother.

How would that testify to him?

He was her son.

Her behaviour, her sins would be a burden and a humiliation to him, Aegon, Helaena and Daeron.

He heard his hāedar at his side inhale sharply, as devastated as he was.

"– here is my home, my King – please –" She mumbled pleadingly, but his brother interrupted her.

"It would happen sooner or later. Better sooner, given the rumours that reach our ears about where you've been spending the last nights. My brother did not deny it, conversing with me today, that he is taking advantage of your…kindness. I want to put an end to this sinful practice."

"No." He heard his own voice, feeling rage, fury, despair, regret, anger, shame, fear.

No.

Not her.

"She is a Targaryen. 'Tis I, as your younger brother, who, by all rights, have precedence to her hand." He said coldly, feeling his nostrils flutter in a heavy, deep breath.

His mother twisted in her seat, looking at him in disbelief as his brother smiled piteously at his words, making a drop of cold sweat run down his neck.

"You can bed whomever you want, brother. But it is I, as King and her protector, who will decide who she marries, and sooner Vhagar will fit into the Dragon's Pit than I'll give you her hand." He exclaimed.

"Why?" He asked like a little boy, feeling that the tone of his voice, the way the word suddenly ripped from his throat was just pathetic.

It made him want to cry.

Aegon froze, looking at him in disbelief.

"Good gods. Since when can the Kingdom afford marriages out of the need of the heart? Your subjects are starving. This agreement can make us break the blockade. Are your desires more important than the sake of the Realm?" His brother asked and he heard her loud sobs – out of the corner of his eye he saw that she hid her face in her hands.

"My decision is final. I will have the crow sent to the Iron Islands with our generous offer later today. That is all." He said and slammed his palms on the table, rising and left the room, leaving them with his words.

"– no – please, don't let him do it, don't send me away, don't send me away, don't send me away –" She wept like a little child as soon as he walked into her chamber, throwing herself into his arms – he cuddled her into himself as if he longed to merge with her into one, feeling his heart in his throat.

Don't send me away.

"– shhh – shhh, sweet girl – I won't –" He whispered, placing loud, soft kisses on her temple and cheekbone, stroking her back and neck with his hands, trying to calm her, to soothe her, her body trembling in his embrace.

"– you're lying – you're going to sell me, you're going to abandon me like he did –" She wailed, choking on her own tears, falling into complete hysteria, her fingers clenched painfully tight on his back.

He grabbed her by the hair and tilted her head back, wanting her to look at him, doing it, however, so as not to cause her pain.

"What did I tell you? Back then, when we were lying under the stars. What did I promise in return for you taming a dragon?" He asked, and she swallowed hard, her pretty face all swollen from tears, her dark eyes big from the sadness and grief that squeezed her heart, her lips parted wide.

"– that my place will always be by your side – that you will protect me – that I will be your little sister –" She mumbled out with difficulty, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking at him pleadingly.

She closed her eyes and sighed as his thumbs brushed the moisture from her red, hot cheeks, his forehead pressed against hers exactly as it had been then.

That night.

"– and you are –" He hissed, clamping his fingers in her hair. "– you are fucking mine –"

[triscy]

The Price of Pride (7/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, mutual masturbation, targcets stuff, infidelity, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence, some kind of sexual harassment (unwanted touch), death threats, bad things ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Waiting for the arrival of his betrothed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, forced to do the deed by his mother, he thought, staring blankly ahead, that he longed to be anywhere else.

In his bed, in the Small Council chamber, on the back of Vhagar flying through the skies.

Even the vision of an evening spent with his cousin in the library teaching her the language of Old Valyria did not sound as awful as the prospect of what he would now have to do.

He was not good at pretending or lying – false flirting, sweet gestures and gifts to win the heart of a beloved woman were not his domain and aroused his pity. Conversing about nothing or romantic walks were also not what he wanted or needed.

He should be planning the war with Criston Cole, not courting a woman who was indifferent to him.

Worse, now that he had managed to forget what he had done to his nephew, he knew that along with Floris Baratheon's face all the memories, nightmares and unbearable pain in his eye socket would return.

He sighed, straightening up, standing with his hands folded behind his back as a couple of carriages drove through the gate, one with only the chests, the other surely with the person to whom they belonged.

Gods, how long was she going to stay here?

The door opened and he moved ahead reluctantly, needing to show at least a bit of courtesy, giving her his hand – Floris smiled at him gratefully and placed her soft palm on his, stepping out the carriage like the princess she surely longed to be.

"My Lady. Welcome to the Red Keep." He said, letting go of her hand, folding it behind him again.

A squeal and a cry of a little boy before Luke was swallowed by the Vhagar's maw.

He swallowed heavily, feeling a cold sweat on the back of his neck and an unpleasant stab of pain in his eye socket.

His betrothed bowed before him.

"My Prince. I am tired after my journey. Please, guide me to my chamber." She said, and he nodded, hoping that she was very tired and would not require any other effort from him.

He took a breath, surprised, feeling discomfort when they moved ahead and her fingers slid under his arm right away, snuggling into his side as if they were a pair of lovers.

He closed his eye and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat, rage, humiliation and shame, aware that the guards and servants might have been watching and mocking him, knowing how much he hated such familiarity.

For her, however, what was more important was not how he felt, but what she imagined in her head.

He was only to adapt to her fantasies.

As they walked into the chamber his mother had specially chosen for her, Floris smiled – her windows looked out onto the harbour itself, the beautiful sea and the sun.

He hummed, wondering if he would be able to escape.

"Get some rest, my Lady. I will see you at the supper." He said, wanting to take a step back and leave, but he heard her sigh quickly, seeing out of the corner of his eye her furrowed brow.

"I was hoping that we would get to know each other more closely. That you were also looking forward to this moment like I was. We could take a walk in the royal gardens and talk." She said with a hopefulness that made him feel a discomfort in his stomach.

He thought that he had not been waiting for this moment at all.

His brother had told him to get Borros Baratheon's daughter, and he did.

It was a decision dictated by politics, not the desire of his heart.

Deep down, he wished that as soon as the war was over their betrothal would be undone.

Storm's End would then no longer be of any use to them.

But he couldn't tell her that.

He finally looked at her, seeing her gaze full of desire but also excitement, as if she had already imagined what this marriage would give her – that he would surely slowly fall in love with her, that his behaviour was only due to embarrassment and his shy nature.

It didn't even occur to her that she could be indifferent to him, and that was exactly the case.

How was he supposed to make something out of nothing?

"What would you like to discuss with me?" He asked, wanting to shift the burden of this awkward exchange of words onto her.

His betrothed exhaled quietly, as if comforted that he hadn't left, though she smiled, something in her gaze that he didn't like.

"My heart broke when I learned of your lonely expedition. I understand, my Prince, that you did it for the good of the Kingdom, but you must know how awful and difficult the experience was for me, knowing that there was a young, unmarried woman at your side." She said in a way that indicated, in his opinion, that she was not sad because of it, but angry and irritated.

He hated it when someone did not say directly what was on their mind.

"At my brother's request, the Maester has dispelled your doubts, my Lady. My cousin remains untouched." He said coldly, however his grin was wide, menacing – he knew by the look on her face that she understood that she had frustrated him.

She, however, instead of accepting his explanation or negating it, decided to probe deeper into the subject.

"But did you touch her, my Prince? With your hands or your mouth?" She asked, looking at him proudly, as if she recognised that these questions were necessary for her to feel that her position remained unthreatened.

She felt his hands clench into fists behind his back.

"I touched her with my hands. It's hard not to when you're flying together on the back of a dragon."

"So I also want to fly with you on the back of a dragon." She communicated, like a child demanding the same toy from him.

He felt his teeth clench in his jaw, his heart pounding like mad in his chest with rage.

Who was she to demand anything from him?

Stupid cunt.

"I cannot agree to this, my Lady, for the sake of your safety. Your father has placed you under our protection." He said lightly, smiling so that for a moment he exposed his teeth, as if he wanted to bite through her artery.

"With you, I will certainly be safe." She didn't give up, clearly annoyed that he was denying her what he had given to another woman.

"I do not agree. Rest, my Lady. I will see you during supper." He replied and, without waiting for her farewell or a word, left the chamber with a slam of the door.

He felt like shouting, hitting someone, a guard or a servant, beating them until they lost consciousness.

And then he remembered.

Tyland Lannister's fucking servant.

It was time to make him pay for his lack of discretion.

"Robert is no longer serving in the fortress, Your Highness. He was moved to Casterly Rock by Lord Lannister." Said one of the boys when asked where he could find him.

His brother knew what he would want to do and removed the man from his sight so that he could not take revenge on him for his betrayal.

Fucking bastard.

He pounded his palms on the top of his table and cursed in rage, feeling like he was about to explode – he had the urge to ride to Vhagar, get on her back and burn everything he came across in his path.

He closed his hands into fists and leaned forward, panting heavily, feeling like a caged animal.

Why were there traps waiting for him on every side, set for him by his mother and his brother?

Why did he still experience from them the two feelings that caused him such pain: rejection and humiliation?

Sitting at the great table among the lords and their families, staring blankly ahead, pretending not to see the expectant glances of his betrothed in his direction, hoping for any kind of conversation, he thought for the first time in his life that he wished he simply didn't exist.

He wanted to disappear so that he didn't have to deal with all this.

What did he get in return?

A sad, disappointed look from his mother and a sneer from his older brother.

"What's that grave look, brother? Do you not rejoice at the sight of your chosen one, Lady Floris? She has come a long way to see your displeased face." Said Aegon and laughed, licking his lips, none, however, echoed him.

If it had been the first time, or the fiftieth time, but he could no longer count how many times he had humiliated him in this way in the presence of others, and he always, every time, felt the same squeeze in his throat, sadness and emptiness.

Why didn't he instead take him aside, ask him what was happening?

Doesn't he need help?

His brotherly understanding, advice, support?

Was he not worthy of this honour?

He sighed, deciding it didn't matter, when he heard the chamber door open and his King's attention turned to another guest.

"Ah, here is my dear, fearless cousin. Come here, my Lady, I have assigned you a seat next to my brother. Perhaps your presence will lift his spirits." His brother called out, and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, not even bothering to look at the expression on his betrothed's face, hearing her twist next to him in her chair.

He wondered if it wouldn't be better if he just killed him.

He heard her footsteps behind his back, and a moment later he smelled her pleasant, floral scent – the servant had pushed back her chair for her. She sat down beside him, to his right, and for some reason he felt a little better.

She was by his side.

He didn't understand why, but he struggled to restrain himself from slipping his hand under the table and placing it on her thigh, wandering up and down, wordlessly letting her know that he missed her in some strange, twisted way.

She was always honest with him, his little dragon, her and her sweet, sharp tongue that cut like a dagger.

"My Lady." He heard Floris's voice to his left, leaning forward to see her better.

Gods, have mercy, he thought.

She was going to express her jealousy in front of everyone.

"I congratulate you on taming a dragon. No one expected you to succeed." She said with feigned admiration from which he rolled his eyes and shook his head, glancing at his cousin.

She, to his surprise was smiling broadly, her eyes shining dangerously, as if his betrothed amused her but also irritated her at the same time.

"I didn't believe it myself, my Lady. I was convinced that I would burn and become dust." She said with such light-heartedness that he and several people at the table chuckled at her words.

Why did he feel satisfaction?

"The gods have spared you. Will you stand to fight your father?" Floris continued, deliberately changing the subject to one that was uncomfortable for her, to force her to make a mistake and say something she shouldn't.

"Enough." He said impatiently, wanting to spare her this, however, his cousin decided to respond, finding her question surprisingly easy to answer.

"My dragon lacks experience and composure. I will be a mere support for the King and the Prince."

He smirked under his breath, thinking she had been clever in answering politely and cordially, while giving his betrothed no reason to mock or cause him or the King himself to distrust her.

To his relief, Aegon interrupted this exchange of words by ordering music to be played, and he decided to eat something, feeling that, indeed, his cousin's presence by his side had lifted his spirits and restored his appetite.

He pressed his lips together and sighed when Floris's hand brushed his wrist.

Did she have to touch him all the time?

Did she think it was romantic, that she was arousing his desire in this way?

The only feeling he felt was frustration.

"Will you pass me a tray of goose pate, my love?" She asked in a whisper, as if she was telling him some important secret, and he simply nodded, handing her the platter.

"Thank you." She said, but he answered her nothing, concentrating on his roast, hoping she wouldn't make him speak to her with his mouth full.

When he had quenched his thirst and satisfied his appetite, he thought it was time for him and his cousin to leave, however, they could not do so together – that would arouse the displeasure and curiosity of his betrothed, and he did not want that.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to get her attention, but she was focused on cutting the meat, immersed in her own world, not caring about what was going on around her.

The desire to sink his fingers into her thigh returned to him with redoubled force making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches, but he limited himself to pressing his knee against hers, hoping she would understand what he meant.

He saw that she froze and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stood up, communicating to all assembled that she would retire to bed, to which his brother-king, already completely drunk, agreed.

He waited a long time before getting up himself.

"My brother. Are you leaving us already?" Aegon asked.

"I am tired." He explained, looking at him coolly.

It was not a lie, he thought.

"I will escort you to your chamber, my Prince." Floris said, immediately rising from her seat, and he nodded, wanting nothing more than to escape from this room as quickly as possible.

This was what his evenings were to be like for days, weeks, months, years, once she became his wife.

He swallowed hard, stepping out into the corridor, feeling the contents of his stomach and the roast he had eaten rise to his throat as if he was about to vomit.

He closed his eyes and pulled away from her as she tried again to grab his arm.

"No." He growled more harshly than he would have liked, feeling his heart pounding like mad as he simply walked ahead.

Her silhouette walked beside him, her face raised at him filled with bitterness.

"Why? We are betrothed. I long to feel your closeness, at least for a moment."

He stopped, looking at her as if he was about to tear her apart, feeling himself breathing loudly through his mouth.

"But I don't want it." He said in a breaking voice, thinking that perhaps if he played the wounded boy it would give him at least a little peace and space.

"It's just a touch of the hand, my love. Nothing bad." She said, against his request touching his arm again, stroking it in a gesture of comfort.

He closed his eyes and grinned coldly, shaking his head, feeling tears of despair under his eyelids.

He thought he hated her.

"Sleep well, my Lady."

"This corridor. This is not the way to your chambers." She said in a trembling voice.

He looked at her over his shoulder, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

"I need to do one more thing."

"Do you..."

"That's enough. One more word from you and I'll lose patience. Don't provoke me." He said and turned away, walking towards the library.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked over his shoulder and saw that she was gone.

He ran his hand over his face, thinking that he couldn't stand it.

That he had to somehow get rid of her from the Red Keep and his life.

His brother was not worth such a sacrifice.

He felt at home in the library – the old oak bookcases filled to the brim with thick volumes reminded him of his childhood, the years he had spent in that great hall, hiding from the world.

He pulled out a few of the books he had used himself to study, knowing most of them almost by heart, and spread them out on one of the tables where one of the servants had lit some candles.

"You may leave." He said, and the boy nodded and left.

When the door finally opened and he saw her, he froze.

She was wearing his mother's robe thrown over her nightgown, that was certain, however, he did not understand why she had put it on now – that attire should only be worn in the privacy of her own chamber, outside of it being in a degree of negligee.

He swallowed quietly, watching as her girlish figure moved across the floor towards him with a quiet rustling of the shiny, delicate fabric tied at her waist.

He had a feeling that if he pulled at the ribbon, he would reveal her entire beautiful, bare body before his eyes, hidden only beneath the thin layer of her linen shirt.

He grunted as she sat down beside him, smelling her pleasant, fresh scent, sliding a few books towards her.

He knew what he wanted to practice with her and he was doing it deliberately.

He needed to take it out on someone and she had become his victim.

"We'll start with the basics. The most important and simplest terms." He said, pointing his finger at one of the words.

"Jelmor." He hummed. "North."

"Jelmor." She whispered, her voice soft and calm, clearly focused on her task.

She really wanted to learn, he thought with surprise and pride.

The heritage she so despised had become dear to her.

He felt a pleasant warmth in his lower abdomen and satisfaction at the thought.

"Ñāqon. East."

"Nāqon." She said, however, with a mistake, not making the right sound at the beginning of the word.

"No. Roll your tongue at the n." He explained, and she swallowed hard, as if gathering the courage to say it again.

"Ñāqon." She said, slightly better this time.

"Better. Vēzor. South."

"Vēzor."

"Endia. West."

"Endia."

"Muña. Mother." He hummed, looking at her intently, and saw exactly what he wanted.

She froze completely, and her body tensed all over as if he had hit her.

"Muña." She said softly, warmly, her voice trembling slightly, betraying the pain she felt.

"Mmm. Kepa. Father." He said, and she looked at him in a way from which his manhood instantly swelled and pulsed hard, causing his lips to part in a sigh.

Her brown eyes were glazed from tears, her eyebrows arched in pain as if she was asking him why he was doing this to her.

"Repeat." He whispered.

"Kepa." She said, as if she was praying to one of the gods.

Kepa.

A single, lonely tear ran down her cheek, a sign that she still loved him, her father who had abandoned her, after all these years remaining a small child craving attention and praise, helpless and powerless, beautiful in her suffering.

Noble.

He lifted his hand to her cheek, for some reason wanting to relieve her, to let her know that he understood her, that he didn't think what she felt was a cause for shame.

She shuddered as his thumb brushed the wet mark from her plump cheek, the gaze of her doe eyes fixed on him, only on him.

"Trēsy. Son." He said softly, quietly, as if he was afraid to frighten her, his index finger running over her jaw, admiring the shape of her smooth face.

"Tresy."

"No." He said. "Trēsy. The letter 'ē' needs to be read deeper, as if you want to sing."

"Trēsy."

"Tala. Daugther."

He saw her shake her head, pressing her lips together as if to tell him that she was incapable of doing it, of uttering a word the meaning of which remained foreign to her.

She didn't know what it meant to be someone's daughter, just as he didn't know what it meant to be someone's betrothed, someone's son, someone's brother.

He pressed his forehead against hers, sinking his hand into the back of her neck, stroking soothingly her soft skin, feeling himself grow hard, his breath deep and uneven, filled with desire.

Her closeness was never forced, he thought with tenderness, to which his heart thumped harder in his chest.

Just like with her dragon, she allowed him to approach her when he wished, watching her from afar, circling around her until he himself, of his own accord, fell again and again into her arms.

"Tala."

"Hāedar." He hummed, feeling his erection throb hard in his breeches, his gaze fixed on her face. "Little sister."

She opened her eyes upon hearing those words, and he saw what he wanted in her hazy, hot gaze.

She was wet.

She merely sighed as his other hand did what he had longed to do since supper, touching her knee, travelling lazily upwards to her place of pleasure.

"Hāedar." She exhaled, her puffy, pink lips parted sweetly, her hard nipples peeking through her robe.

Gods, how he craved her.

I'm going to caress her, he thought, and then I'll take her here, on this table.

"Lēkia." He breathed out in a trembling voice, closing his hand over her womanhood, her eyebrows arching in disbelief as a quiet, innocent moan broke from her throat. "Older brother."

Say it, he thought, feeling his cock twitch in his breeches in impatience, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"Lēkia." She moaned as if calling out to him, begging him to end her suffering, and his hand immediately clenched in her hair allowing his mouth, swollen with desire, to close on hers in a greedy, hot kiss.

She gasped in his throat as their one lustful kiss turned into a second, a third and a fourth – a surprised murmur of delight broke from his lips as her soft hand touch his cheek, combing through his hair at last, her closeness so unforced, tender, warm, innocent, desired.

He thought he had never allowed himself to be kissed on the mouth by Madam, while his lips sank again and again into her helpless sobs of pleasure, breathing hard with the loud clicks of their saliva, his impatient, slick tongue forced its way deep into her hot throat as his hand lifted the material of her robe higher.

She mewled and shuddered all over, clasping her hands on his body as his fingertips finally dug into the leaking, silken structure of her folds – he groaned low, surprised to feel her cunt pulsing all over, hot and moist under his fingers, ready for his further caresses.

She wanted this.

She wanted him inside her.

He thought his cock was about to burst with desire, but he knew he couldn't take her yet, so in an act of desperation he grabbed one of her hands and pressed it against the throbbing, hard bulge in his breeches.

They both groaned, panting into each other's mouths, teasing each other with the tips of their wet tongues as, while his fingers circled around her little pearl, she trailed over his long, swollen manhood, teasing him.

He pulled her to him, embracing her around the waist, feeling her sweet nipples pushing against the material of his tunic as her swollen lips and soft thighs parted invitingly before him with her cry of pleasure, the tips of his fingers pushing against her slit, ready to slide into her and feel how tight and warm she was.

A voice stuck in their throats and they both pulled away from each other as if burned, terrified when they heard someone open the door – in some subconscious, involuntary reflex he wiped his fingers, sticky with her wetness against his breeches, her hands quickly leaving the material of her robe down.

When he saw Floris's grave face he closed his eyes and sighed, feeling his heart pounding like mad in bitterness and disappointment, his cock pulsing and twitching in his trousers, not understanding why he had interrupted their caresses when what he had experienced was so pleasurable.

So right.

"The guards told me I would find you here, my Prince. I did not know you would have company." She said quietly, and he looked ahead with a blank stare, wondering how he could believe that she would just go to sleep, that she would not move after him, suspicious and full of concerns.

Rightful concerns, moreover.

"I am teaching my cousin the language of Old Valyria. It is the only way she can communicate with her dragon." He said, feeling only weariness and fatigue, not having the strength to look at her or speak to her.

He knew he had been cruel, but there was nothing he could do about it.

If she had been wiser, she would have seen that he did not care about her or her welfare and would have asked her father herself to break off their betrothal, not wanting to suffer such humiliation.

She, however, preferred to remain the prince's betrothed, even if unwanted one.

Floris walked over to the table and flipped through one of the pages, pretending to understand anything of what was written there.

"May I join you? I would also like to learn the language of your ancestors, my love." She said, and although he clearly asked her not to touch him, her hand laid on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, feeling an unpleasant shudder.

Her hand on his shoulder or between his thighs, what difference did it make?

"I will not be able to concentrate with you standing by my side, my Lady." He whispered in a weak voice, for some reason feeling humiliated, having the urge to cry like a child.

Take your hand off me, he thought, but her hand slipped lower, to his forearm.

"Does my presence disturb you, my love?" She asked, but more than her question, his attention was drawn to the fact that his cousin wanted to get up from her seat.

"I'll leave you alone. With your permission." She said, and he pressed his lips together, feeling panic.

No, he thought.

Don't leave me alone with her.

"Daor, hāedar."

She looked at him in shock, her lips parted slightly in disbelief, her eyebrows arched in pain, in her eyes warmth, tenderness and something else from which he felt a pleasant tingling in his fingertips as he watched her sit back in her seat.

She stayed.

"What did you say, my love?" Floris asked, and he licked his lower lip, feeling impatience.

"I don't allow it. We are not finished yet. Soon her dragon will move to fight at my side and she must be ready. I ask that you never interrupt us again. If you wish, we will take a walk around the royal gardens tomorrow, just as you desire." He said, willing to give her what she wanted as long as she left him alone and took her hand off him.

"Is it because she is your cousin? Like any Targaryen you prefer your own kin?" His betrothed asked with anger, and something snapped inside him – his fists hit the table with all his might, both of them jumping as he stood up like an enraged lion, thinking he was going to kill this whore with his own hands.

Who the fuck was she to speak to him like that?

He could have had her tongue for that and sent it in a small casket to her father as a warning so that none of his daughters would appear in the Red Keep again.

"Lēkia." He heard her pleading voice, her soft hand gently touching his arm in an attempt to stop him.

He looked at her, at his hāedar, at her sweet face red with emotion, her gaze full of request, her puffy lips parted in an uneven, deep breath.

If he could, he would kiss her again, her moist lips, her long neck, her plump breasts, her hard nipples, her smooth stomach, to finally sink his face into her leaking, soft cunt.

For a moment he considered doing this, he decided, however, that doing so would humiliate her, and he did not want that.

Her hand let go of him when she saw that the first wave of his anger had passed, replaced by a second, much more threatening one.

He looked at his betrothed, at her face twisted in a grimace of anger and pain, at her eyes filled with tears.

She had come to marry the image of a man, not him.

"I will consider that you never said it, my Lady. Otherwise I would have to recognise that you intended to insult me and my family. And that would mean, in turn, that my betrothed is a fool. Is that how it is, my Lady?" He asked with a sneer in his voice, the corner of his mouth twitching when he saw the frown on her forehead at his words.

"No, my Prince. I am not." She said, looking at his cousin in a way he didn't like, before he could say anything, Floris turned and walked away, leaving them alone.

Silence fell – he glanced at his cousin out of the corner of his eye, partly hoping that they would finish what they had started, still half-hard, but he saw that her face was turned away in embarrassment, her figure bent.

Unlike him, she had a sense of shame, he thought regretfully.

"You may leave." He said.

She nodded and moved towards the door, as if she was afraid that if she looked at him she wouldn't hold back and they would both sin even more than they already had.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the door closed behind her – he sat down in his chair, undid the belt from his tunic and untied his breeches, immediately putting his hand inside them.

He groaned throatily and leaned his forehead down, pressing it against the wooden table top, imagining that he was actually cuddling it to her sweet breasts, gripping his erection in his palm.

He imagined how he would do this to her – how gentle his thrusts into her delicate, warm body would be, rocking his hips lazily back and forth, rolling them each time his fingers squeezed the base of his swollen, pink cock, sighing in pleasure.

"– hāedar – oh, fuck –" He exhaled, speeding up, panting hard, imposing a more aggressive, faster pace on himself, squeezing his hard, painfully hard erection with loud smacks of his palm against his stones, feeling that he would reach his peak embarrassingly quickly.

"– ah –" He moaned like a little boy, feeling tears under his eyelids at the thought of how great the relief that shook his body was, his mouth wide open as his pearly, sticky spend trickled down his fingers.

For a moment more he moved his hips in rhythm with his hand, imagining that he was deep inside her, in her warmth, snuggled between her soft breasts, calm and safe.

And then he opened his eyes and felt a squeeze in his throat, seeing the books and the candles all around him, feeling an embarrassing, painful emptiness.

His jaw trembled, his breath became heavy, but he did not allow himself to shed any tears, getting up from his seat, bringing himself to order.

He was just fastening the belt of his tunic when one of the guards suddenly rushed in, terrified.

"My Prince. Your prisoner has been attacked."

He stood over her bed feeling that he was quivering with rage, not hearing his mother's or his brother's discussion, looking at her gentle face immersed in sleep.

"Will she survive? We need her. How the fuck could this happen?" Aegon said, pacing around the room furiously, running his hand over his chin.

"In my opinion, she was hit in the back of the head with a long, heavy object, after which her head hit something hard again, probably the stone floor. This night will determine her death or life. If there has been bleeding inside her skull, nothing can be done." The Maester said, and he looked away, staring at Floris' face, who stood beside his mother, pale, afraid to lift her gaze to him.

For a moment he wondered, sure that it was her doing, whether to expose her in front of his brother, then, however, he decided that she might begin to say something about what she had seen, to spread rumours about his and his cousin's relationship.

He had to deal with her himself.

"We have fucking enemies everywhere. Maybe it was her father who sent someone to get rid of her?" His brother continued, thinking out loud.

Floris looked at him and nodded.

"It is very possible, Your Grace. Certainly Prince Daemon is furious that she managed to tame a dragon. Poor girl." She said, as if she was actually worried and sympathised with her, and he looked at her, grinning broadly.

I'm going to fucking kill you, he thought.

"Aemond. Do you find this amusing?" His mother said to him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I find it very amusing, mother, because I think I know who did it." He said lightly, glancing at his brother, who spread his arms in a gesture of invitation.

"So tell us this secret." He said, and he looked at his betrothed with a smile.

"As soon as I am sure. Meanwhile, I will escort my betrothed to her chambers. She must surely be tired, and I do not wish to see her suffer a similar fate to my poor cousin." He sneered, cocking his head, stepping towards her.

"No need, my Prince, don't bother." She muttered, panicking, unable to look him in the eye as he towered over her.

"I insist."

Floris Baratheon's head slammed into the wall with all his strength as soon as the door to her chamber closed behind them – he grabbed her by the throat, holding the blade of his dagger against her chin.

"You will return to Storm's End and tell your illiterate father that our betrothal was broken because of you. Furthermore, you will tell him what you did to my cousin. You will say that the Crown could not, because of your unacceptable behaviour, bring about our marriage, but that the agreement between your father and the Realm is still in force. If your father objects, I will come to Storm's End on Vhagar once more, and I promise you that you will meet the fate of my nephew, you dumb, insolent cunt." He growled and let her go – Floris fell to her knees, drew in her air loudly and burst out sobbing, curling up in fear.

"– why are you hurting me? – I have nothing to do with it, I swear –" She mumbled, choking on her own tears.

"– and I swear you that if you insist on becoming my wife, I will hurt you every morning and every evening, for all the days of your life, and then I will fuck my cousin in the chamber next door so that you can listen to what pleasure means, which you will never know from me – you are to leave the Red Keep with the first light –" He said coldly and left, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

When he returned back to her chamber, there were only the physicians and the Maester, who was supervising their work, laying cold cloths on her forehead.

"Did she get a fever?" He asked, sitting down beside her on the soft bed, touching her cheek.

It was hot.

"Yes." He said, bringing a new bowl of water and ice.

"Leave it. I'll do it myself." He said, rising from his seat, undoing the belt and buckles of his leather tunic, staying only in his white linen shirt tucked into his breeches.

"I will come to examine her again in an hour, my Prince." Said the Maester and bowed to him, leaving him alone with her.

He sat back on the bed beside her, pulling the cloth from her face, sinking it anew into the cold water only to place it on her warm forehead again.

"– umbagon lēda nyke, zaldrītsos (stay with me, little dragon) –" He hummed tenderly, his hand moving from her forehead higher, combing her soft hair with his fingers.

"– kepa –"

He froze, looking at her in pain, her brow arched in misery.

She thought he was Daemon.

He swallowed hard, leaning toward her, stroking her head with his hand as if she were a small child.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, his full lips pressing a soft, warm kiss on her hot forehead. "– you're safe now –"

She opened her eyes – he saw her tears, glistening in the candlelight, running down the sides of her face, as if his words had both hurt and soothed her.

He sighed as her small hand lifted to cup his scarred cheek, the tips of her fingers brushed against his skin.

"– lēkia –" She mumbled, something about the way she said it, the relief he saw in her eyes, made their lips press together in a sticky, tender kiss.

"– mmm –" She sighed as he repeated the caress with a quiet click of their saliva, running his thumb over her jaw and chin, sinking into the moist sweetness of her plump lips again and again, uniting with her in that innocent, intimate way.

They both breathed heavily as he pulled away from her, looking at each other for a moment, his erection pulsing hard in his breeches, letting him know he had to stop.

He couldn't take her now.

He hummed, seeing that she closed her eyes again, stroking her hot, rosy cheek with his thumb, her face nuzzled into his hand.

"– sleep, little sister – your brother will stay by your side –"

[triscy]

The Price of Pride (5/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: the angst, sexual tension, targcest stuff, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, mention of murder ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

I will treat you like my little sister.

He had no idea what had crossed his mind to say something so pathetic and absurd – he thought at that moment that he had to find a way to make her choose him, not Daemon, at the time of the trial.

Since her father had abandoned her, he would let her stay by his side, since her father had denied her her inheritance, he would let her be part of it, since her father did not want her to be part of his family, he would let her become it in his eyes.

Until they win the war.

He didn't know what he would do with her afterwards, once they had defeated his sister – she might begin to demand more, putting pressure on him, threatening that she had a dragon she could always take away from them.

He thought, trying to quell the inner feeling of guilt, that he might have to kill her.

Now, however, she had to love what he could give her.

What he could be for her.

He was sure that he had her in his grasp, that she craved him both spiritually and physically, that she would become a docile shadow of herself just to satisfy him.

She, however, once again acted as if nothing had happened.

Neither the way he had shamelessly touched her nor what he had said to her allowed the wall she had built between herself and him to collapse – worse, he had the feeling that for some reason she had closed herself in even deeper.

Walking with him through the valleys, she remained silent, not even bestowing a single glance on him, thoughtful and focused on her task.

She walked a few steps behind him – she did not seek his proximity, she did not try to start a conversation, she did not do what the ladies of the court did, hoping to fall to the fate of the prince's wife.

This made him feel uneasy and uncomfortable – he had the feeling that he had made a fool of himself and she had seen through his plan.

He wondered if this was all a good idea, or if maybe he should pull out his dagger and just kill her, instead finding someone else in her place, someone who would be easier to manipulate.

And then they heard it.

A screech in the skies.

They both fell to the ground as a large, dark dragon flew over their heads, landing in a valley not far away, burning several sheep beforehand that had tried to flee from it in terror.

They started to run in that direction, clambering down the stones, stopping only when the dragon's head turned towards them, concerned.

He looked at her and swallowed hard, watching with some kind of admiration as she moved towards the creature, several times her own size, without any hesitation.

A male dragon the size of Meleys, he thought with satisfaction.

He could fight and make a difference, protecting him and Vhagar.

The dragon roared squeakily, opening his maw, tense, ready to breathe fire, her hand extended forward.

"Daor!" She called out.

The dragon hesitated, the red flame in his maw extinguished, but he continued to hiss, shifting on his paws closer and closer to her, as if considering whether to devour her.

"Lykirī!" She said and, to his surprise, crouched down on the ground, still keeping her hand stretched forward.

The dragon stopped in his half-step, as bewildered as he was.

What the fuck was she doing?

She was supposed to get on its back, not sit down.

However, the dragon seemed intrigued. He closed his maw and leaned forward as if to sniff her – she sat with her legs crossed, placing her hands on her thighs, simply looking at him.

"Lykirī." She repeated, and the dragon croaked, however in a different way than before. He walked sideways around her and circled her figure, making a strange high-pitched sounds, and she watched him the whole time, a wide smile on her lips.

"What are you doing?" He asked loudly, feeling his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

He hadn't burned her yet.

A good sign.

"He can't feel I'm a threat to him. When I sit I'm smaller and I don't move. He needs to get to know me." She said lightly, extending her hand towards the dragon as if she was just trying to tame the dog – the dragon extended its muzzle towards her slightly, but did not touch her, instead gushing warm steam from his nostrils at her.

She laughed.

Gods, they didn't have time for this.

"Try to mount him." He commanded, seeing with excitement that this beautiful beast with spikes on its back seemed to accept her.

He will return to King's Landing with two dragons.

He will win this fucking war.

His cousin gave him a stern look from above her furrowed brows and shook her head as if she thought he was a fool.

"That's what gets people like you killed. Lack of patience." She said with an anger from which he felt himself boil inside. He moved at her suddenly, furious, making the dragon step back and hiss, and she rose from her place.

"– FUCKING MOUNT HIM, I SAID –" He shouted and froze as the dragon's maw aimed at him opened, the pillar of fire in his throat testifying to what he wanted to do.

"– DAOR – DAOR, SHEEPSTEALER –" She called out desperately, standing between them, extending her hand in front of her. "– Rȳbas! –"

The dragon stepped back at once and squealed, howling like a child being rebuked by its mother, writhing from side to side with its eyes fixed on him.

"– YOU SCARED HIM! –"

"– he is a dragon – how the fuck could I scare him? –" He asked in a voice trembling with rage thinking that she was talking some sort of tendentious feminine nonsense.

"– he was trying to protect me – he senses your lies, your hypocrisy – he knows you are deceiving me, he knows what you want – what you will do with me when it's all over –" She exclaimed to him with tears in her eyes.

He didn't know why he had lost his voice completely, looking at her with big eyes, feeling that he was quivering all over, his throat and guts clenched as if she had punched him in the stomach with her fist.

She sat down again and he stepped back, doing the same, simply watching as the dragon lay down opposite her and crawled closer, without touching her nonetheless.

For a few hours, he watched with a blank stare as she lay next to this dark beast with her arm outstretched, while the dragon rolled around her and squawked like it was a puppy.

He was trying to protect me.

He knows you are deceiving me.

What you will do with me when it's all over.

He swallowed hard, looking away.

He was doing all of this for his family.

He didn't want to kill her – he only feared she would become a threat.

A problem.

And with those, he didn't know what to do.

The easiest way was for them to just disappear.

He shuddered when he heard her footsteps, the dragon behind her squealed, but stayed where he was.

"What are you doing?" He asked, rising with her, escorting her away with his eye as she walked past him without a word.

"That's enough for today." She said, and he felt his jaw clench in rage and regret.

Now she was going to give him orders?

"You are to mount him."

"I will." She threw over her shoulder.

He clenched his eyes, shaking his head and cursed under his breath, following her to Vhagar's lair.

They didn't have time for this.

He watched with indifferent eyes as she, a woman, did what had been a man's task and vocation for centuries – with a sharply pointed stick she threw into the water she hunted for fish while he ate what he took with him.

When she returned, welted and pink with exertion, he watched as, with the knife he had used to cut bread, she cut off the heads of the fish and began to scrape the scales from them.

She rubbed some herbs into them that she had probably found along the way, and then impaled each one on a stick, which she rested on top of two others over the hearth so as not to burn them.

Curls of her dark hair that were not braided clung to her sweaty red cheeks, her lashes even longer in the flames of the fire, her irises infinitely black but not empty, filled with something he did not understand.

They were silent – all around them only the sizzle each time she added wood to the hearth and turned the stick of fish to roast them properly on all sides.

When she thought they were ready, she took out two wooden bowls and slid them into it.

He swallowed hard as she handed him one of them without a word, herself placing the other between her crossed legs, tearing pieces of meat from the bones with her fingers.

"I didn't poison them." She said softly, putting the bite into her mouth, swallowing it at last without even giving him a single glance.

As much as he wanted to think of it that way, her attitude wasn't aggressive or defiant – on the contrary, he had the feeling that something inside her had faded.

He lowered his gaze, shamefully grabbing a piece of fish and, like her, tore off a piece of meat, putting it in his mouth. It was tasty; the herbs she had rubbed into it added a pleasant, salty flavour, the meat was crispy and melted in his mouth.

For some reason he felt tears under his eyelids.

He was furious with himself for being so pathetic.

Even though he knew she was freezing, she lay alone on the other side, covering herself with one of the blankets as soon as she finished her meal.

Some part of himself kept telling him that he had a right to do this, that he had a right to think of her this way, to use her as his brother-king had used him.

However, another whispered that he was disgusting, that if his mother knew what he planned to do she would look at him with disappointment and pain from which his heart would break.

He couldn't be both the caring, sensitive son and the cold, shrewd prince who would protect them from falling.

Like his mother, brother and sister, he simply wanted to live and hold in his hands what was rightfully his.

He looked at her, her figure curled up from the cold, her small hands clenched into fists, and felt ashamed.

I will treat you like my little sister.

I will care for you, and your place will always be by my side.

He felt embarrassment because some part of him wanted this.

To have his little sister, a copy of his mother, who at the same time would not be his mother, but someone only his, his destiny, his relief, his solace, warm, gentle hands, soft, plump breasts between which he could cuddle his face and hide if only for a moment, the scent and warmth he so longed for but could never ask for.

Not out loud.

His body lay down behind her on its own, embraced her on its own, hugging her to his chest, wrapping the second blanket around them, his fingers tightening on their own around her shoulders, his face sinking on its own into the crook of her fragrant neck.

He closed his eyes and felt her gasp as his manhood pulsed hard, pushing against her buttocks, his hands ran over her wrist up to her fingers, entwining them together.

He felt a squeeze in his throat, felt painful tears under his eyelids, felt his eyebrows arch in the pathetic despair that was his realisation that he was alone because he had so decided, over and over again humiliating himself by chasing a simple tender embrace.

He heard her draw in a loud breath as his erection swelled all over, pulsing and twitching even harder, her fingers tightening on his as if she was afraid of what he wanted to do.

"Sleep." He whispered in a trembling voice, feeling a single tear run down the side of his face to the ground, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her hand.

I'm sorry, he thought, but no words left his throat.

I'm sorry, but I can't do it any other way.

The next day they waited by one of the herds, watching the shepherds and their flock from above, hoping, surely to their despair, that Sheepstealer would arrive, encouraged by the vision of a feast.

"DRAGON!!!!!" Shouted one of them, pointing a finger upwards – they both looked to the side and saw a shadow pass over them like an arrow – the men managed to dodge to the side and run away, however, several sheep were burned on the spot.

They both ran downhill, but this time he let her go ahead, surprisingly sure of what she wanted to do.

He decided, albeit reluctantly, that he would try to be patient and give her another day.

To his surprise, the dragon seemed overjoyed by her presence – he cackled high and swished his tail, then moved the carcass of one of the sheep towards her with his head, apparently wanting to share his meal with her.

She laughed, shaking her head, sitting down on the ground again.

"Daor. Daor." She said, but Sheepstealer didn't seem to understand what she meant after all, as he threw the leftover burnt bones and meat into her lap, looking at her expectantly.

She swallowed hard, tore a piece of meat off the bone and put it in her mouth, looking straight into the beast's eyes.

The dragon, as soon as she did so, fell to the ground and stared at her as if it was observing something beautiful. When she reached out her hand to him he put his muzzle out and let her touch him.

He closed his eyes and sighed, feeling relieved.

Feeling pride.

His cousin shifted to the dragon on her knees, and he watched with interest as she came to his side, placing her hand on his back – he felt his heart beat quickly when the dragon made no movement, the sound it made from its throat gentle, as if encouraging her to do it.

As soon as she had managed to get on his back, Sheepstealer rose, spread his wings and soared into the sky.

He gasped in disbelief, hearing her squeal and laugh, seeing her circling around them, wondering if she would burn him now for everything he had done to her.

She could have done that.

He was defenceless.

But after a short ride she commanded him to land in the same place, and as soon as she slid to the ground she fell to her knees.

She panting heavily, staring at the clouds as if she was thanking the gods in her mind that she had survived this.

"I did it." She said, picking herself up from the ground and walked towards him, her face flooded with tears of happiness and disbelief. "Gods, I did it."

She stood in front of him, looking at him with her big doe eyes, for some reason looking more beautiful than ever, all welted and glistening with sweat, her lips swollen with emotion, her dark lashes with tear drops shining like stars.

"Take me home." She breathed out, and he felt a squeeze in his heart at her words, a pain, as if she had stuck a needle in his chest.

Take me home.

She didn't move away when he approached her, when his hand sank into her soft hair at the back of her head, when his forehead pressed against hers, his gaze fixed on her dark eyes.

She stroked his wrist and closed her eyelids as if she wanted to remember this moment – he did the same, concentrating on her scent, the pleasant cool breeze on his heated cheeks, the closeness that wasn't stolen or taken by force.

He stepped back and nodded, her hand stroking his arm as his thumb ran over the line of her jaw.

His little sister.

Only what he'd experienced when he'd tamed Vhagar could compare to the feeling of pride that filled his chest when he'd returned to King's Landing with not one dragon, but two.

He knew that the sight of them, together, gliding through the skies had spread throughout the keep even before they reached it on horseback from Vhagar's lair.

As soon as they crossed the fortress walls, one of the guards announced to him that the King had called a meeting of the Small Council, at which he and their cousin were to appear to report on how their mission had performed.

He stepped into the chamber confidently, upright, with his chin held high, feeling the weight of what he had done, what he had achieved on his shoulders, knowing that he had perhaps determined the fate of the war while his brother sat idly in the Red Keep.

He sat down in his chair and stretched comfortably in his seat, placing one of his hands on the table top, looking the King straight in the eye.

Aegon smiled and nodded.

"I have heard of your success, brother. Bravo. Our cousin has returned victoriously on the back of a dragon." He said, and he smirked, feeling satisfaction rather than blood flow through his veins.

"Indeed. Sheepstealer is the size of Meleys. He's still untamed and unfamiliar with warfare, but it's a matter of practice." He replied calmly, glancing at his mother out of the corner of his eye, hoping to see pride and warmth in her gaze, just what he needed.

She, however, looked at him with fear, her lips slightly parted, her eyebrows arched in worry.

He felt a tightening in his throat, his hand clenched into a fist.

Why?

Why didn't he deserve at least one gentle look from her?

"We will hold a feast in your honour, brother. And, of course, our courage-filled cousin." The King said, and he pressed his lips together, thinking that his brother was a complete imbecile.

"You will organise a feast when our subjects are starving?" He hissed with anger and frustration, not understanding how he could come up with such ideas and spout them with such ease, without thinking, without analysing the situation, whether it was appropriate.

Aegon grunted loudly, clearly displeased with his harsh response.

"It will be a small feast. You will have another reason to celebrate. Your betrothed, Lady Floris Baratheon, concerned that her beloved prince has set out on a solitary expedition with an unmarried woman has written a letter to our mother demanding an explanation. I thought it best if you, in your own person, explained your reasons to her. She is heading for King's Landing."

He stared at him dully feeling that he had suddenly gone deaf, his heart in his throat.

She is heading for King's Landing.

"NO, VHAGAR! NO!" he heard himself shout, the figure of his nephew and his dragon disappearing into Vhagar's maw with Luke's loud, childish cry.

He could only watch as the remains of their bodies fell from the sky.

"Fear not, brother." His brother continued, snapping him out of his reverie. "You have done your part – now the Crown will take care of our cousin and her dragon, and you will devote yourself to softening the heart of your beloved."

What?

"She's not ready yet." He muttered, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad in his chest.

He wanted to take her away from him.

"Did you fuck her?"

He froze, as did the rest of those present at the table, their mother shaking her head, horrified and heartbroken.

"Aegon."

"They spent three nights alone in the cold. I need to know if anything happened to my cousin during that time that she might be afraid to speak of of her own accord. We all know what my brother is capable of when he acts in a rage." He said lightly, throwing him a bored, cold look that made him feel like vomiting.

"I didn't touch her." He hissed, leaning over the table.

"There are rumours among Lord Lannister's servants that contradict your words." He said in a raised voice, making his eye open wide in horror.

"What rumours?" He scoffed through clenched teeth.

Fucking fool.

I'll personally cut out his tongue, he thought.

"I will not quote them out of respect for my cousin and you, my brother." He said, and he burst into a low, cold laugh, feeling his whole body quiver.

"So they are mere slanders. Gossip. You judge me by your measure." He hummed in a voice drenched with sweet poison, grinning broadly.

"The Maester can see who is right. Does he not, cousin?" Aegon asked her, and he glanced over his shoulder, seeing her eyes open wide in horror, her hands clasped in front of her, her shoulders raised slightly in a defensive posture.

Gods, what if she had lied to him?

If she was not a maiden?

"No, Aegon. I do not permit you or anyone in this room to humiliate her in such a manner."

"No." She spoke up suddenly, and all those gathered looked at her. "I have nothing to hide. The Maester can examine me."

He circled the chamber in fury, angry and bitter, glancing again and again towards the bed with the curtains covering each side, feeling both anger and remorse that she had to go through this.

It was her fault.

They were humiliating her because of him.

She had wanted it herself, fucking whore.

He himself had let her understand that he wanted to watch.

He wanted to watch, hoping it would end very differently.

That he would be the one to do this to her.

His brother, his mother and his lords were all looking at him, as if they had already prejudged the fact that he was guilty, that he had done this, that he was even worse than everyone had predicted.

He felt like crouching down, hiding his face in his hands and bursting out crying, mumbling that he hadn't done it.

He wanted to, but he didn't.

He shuddered as the Maester stepped out from behind the curtains, her sad, red face flashing before him for a moment, her gaze lowered in regret.

"She is a maiden, My King. I have no doubt." He said, and he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, feeling a wonderful relief full of satisfaction.

Praise be to the gods.

He left, not looking at the bewildered faces of his mother and brother, not wanting to hear their explanations or apologies, the false words that it meant nothing.

Only when the door of his quarters closed behind him, when he sat down alone in his chair did he lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hide his face in his hands and burst into tears.

His brother pretending to greet him like a hero, pretending to appreciate what he had done at the same time humiliated him, taking away his credit, his pride and her.

His little sister.

[triscy]

I love it, I love it, I love it

The Price of Pride (4/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: fingering & oral sex, a kind of triangle, smut, the angst, description of the effects of murder, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The boy's death had devastated her.

Even though it was a strange child to her, in addition from a family she despised, it was still small and innocent – she had seen Prince Jaehaerys accompanied by servants escorting him to his morning classes when she herself had gone out to meet his uncle, to practice on Vhagar the commands as she did every day.

Knowing that her father had done this made her feel a partial sense of guilt for what had happened, though she did not understand why.

Was it because she was born of his poisoned seed?

That a part of him lived inside her?

She knew it was revenge for Lucerys' death, but after all, the little prince had nothing to do with it.

The death of an innocent being always hurt the most.

She watched his funeral procession from outside the windows of the Red Keep, from her prison that was her small chamber, thinking of her one-eyed cousin.

Were you with that fucking old whore whose tits you like to cuddle up to?

With your second mummy?

She didn't know why his lowered head, his face and big eye filled with tears of shame made her feel sympathy towards him.

However, the death of King's son made her reflect on her own life and what she had experienced in it.

She realised that she had lived for years as if in lethargy, spending her time riding horses and hunting, even though in the midst of her family, in fact always remaining alone.

She realised that she had never even kissed a man.

She had never experienced a touch that was tender, that was pleasurable, that made her feel safe.

She bit her lower lip, pacing around her room, suddenly getting an idea that was extremely dangerous.

Her cousin was interested in women – this she knew for sure – and after being humiliated by his brother in front of everyone gathered he would certainly not return to the brothel to his lover, whoever she was.

From what she understood, this woman was older than him, giving him fulfilment not only physically, but also purely childlike.

She knew he was weak, but now she also had the certainty that he was miserable.

She couldn't try to seduce him directly, offer to spend the night in his bed – he would send her away immediately, furious, knowing what she wanted to do and how she hoped to achieve it.

She had to show him what he could have, while at the same time not offering it to him herself.

She had to make him desire whatever she was in his mind.

"I want to ask you something, cousin." She muttered, standing over him with a jug of wine, wondering what she was doing. "And I know you won't like it."

She saw him freeze, looking ahead.

"You like to take risks, don't you?" He sneered, taking a deep sip of wine from his goblet without even bestowing a single glance on her.

His vision was hazy, his mind dulled by the wine.

He was weak, vulnerable, heartbroken by what had happened to his nephew, sunk in guilt.

This was her chance.

"No, but you give me no choice. I will fly with you and the will of the gods will happen, as you desire. However, the chance of me dying in flames or being devoured is just as great as the chance of me succeeding." She said uncertainly, and he sighed heavily, impatient, setting his cup down on the table.

"What do you want?"

She licked her lower lip, feeling her heart pounding like mad in her chest, cold sweat trickling down her back.

He would fall into a fury or fuck her, there was no other option left.

"Servant. I want to choose one and take him to my bed. I don't want to die without having any idea of this sensations." She muttered.

She saw that he froze motionless, his healthy eye open wide in shock.

Oh gods.

"Aren't you ashamed to ask something like that out loud? What self-respecting Lord will want you after this?" He asked coldly, annoyed, however it was not as aggressive a response as she had expected.

He himself didn't know what he thought of it, she thought.

Good.

"I don't care what the lords will think of me. If I become a dragon rider, my maidenhood will be the least of their worries. I have no desire to become either a wife or a mother. I could try to hide it from you, but I stand here before you and ask your permission like a dog." She said with a certainty that surprised her, recognising that her directness was due to the fact that she was partly telling the truth.

He was silent for a long time, his lips pressed together in a thin line, his finger in some involuntary reflex began to tap against the table top.

"Knowing what you ask, my soul will have no peace unless I am assured that no man has taken you by force."

There it is.

"I'll let you watch if it will soothe your conscience." She said without stammering, his grin turned towards her making her feel an uncomfortable shiver.

"It will."

Finding a willing person turned out not to be too difficult: she simply lied to the man she found handsome that the prince liked to look at such things and that it was his idea.

What could he do to her for those words even if he found out about it?

Were they not partly true?

Her whole body quivered in excitement and disbelief as, lying beneath Tyland Lannister's servant, she heard his lazy footsteps, felt his gaze on them, the fiery, thirsty lips of her lover pressed against hers.

It was a surprisingly wet and slick experience, not as pleasurable as she had imagined, however, it was not all that bad.

She swallowed hard, hearing her cousin sit down in a chair in the distance, and flinched when the man's hand suddenly clamped down on her breast, causing an unpleasant chill to pass through her.

"– no –" She whispered, tightening her hand on his wrist. "– not yet –"

She exhaled quietly, closing her eyes as she felt him take his hand away, trailing it instead around her waist, trying to feel what she had felt when her cousin had leaned over her face after she had fainted.

Serve me well and I will reward you.

When the time comes.

She felt it, that wonderful pulsing between her thighs, and sighed, opening her eyelids, involuntarily glancing at him. Her breath froze in her throat, her womanhood swelled all over as she met his gaze, dark and hot, his legs crossed, his head cocked in curiosity.

She gasped, feeling a squeeze in her throat and a cold shudder when the boy's body suddenly pressed her against the bed, constricting her space, making her fingers tighten on the back of his tunic in terror.

Is this how it should be?

Should she be so afraid, feel so cornered?

"– slow down –" She heard his voice, deep and displeased – her lover looked at him, surprised, panting heavily.

"– Your Highness? –"

"– slow down, I said –" He repeated with a kind of threat in his voice from which her lips parted in disbelief, some sense of gratitude and warmth spread through her heart, a pleasant stickiness sweeping from between her thighs down her buttocks.

He was protecting her, she thought, feeling the situation begin to slip out of her control.

This was exactly what she wanted.

Make me feel safe, she thought pleadingly, but no words left her lips.

Shame overwhelmed her.

"– sink your fingers between her thighs – prepare her properly –" He instructed the boy, her eyes grew big as she stared at him in disbelief – his nostrils twitched in excited breath, the corner of his mouth lifted in a dangerous smirk.

A sigh left her throat as the servant lifted her skirt and smallclothes, her gaze fixed on her cousin's face as his hand found her leaking, fleshy womanhood.

She moaned.

However, after a moment she flinched and swallowed hard, closing her eyes as she felt his fingers touch a very tender, sensitive spot, giving her pleasure and pain at the same time, not knowing what she herself felt, tears burning under her eyelids.

Why did it feel like this?

Why couldn't she enjoy it, why was she losing focus?

"– step back, boy –" She heard his voice, and then noticed that he moved towards them, startling her and him – she rose up on her elbows, panting heavily as he pulled her forward, sitting behind her back, pulling her close, his legs on either side of her body.

His arms embraced her lightly, his hand tilting her head back, allowing her to spread out comfortably while not taking away her sense of security.

She swallowed hard, feeling something long and hard pulsate behind her, pressing against her buttocks.

Good gods.

She gasped as she felt him press his nose against her hot cheek, his thumb running over her jaw as his free hand forced her to bend her legs at the knees, exposing her bare thighs.

"– bend over and lick her –" He commanded, running his full lips over the skin of her face, making her feel a simultaneous shudder of pleasure and terror shake her, his hand trailing down the exposed skin of her thigh.

Lick her?

What did he mean by that?

What purpose did it serve?

"– what? –" She mumbled, terrified, involuntarily reaching back with her hand, clamping it over his long white hair, wanting to pull away, hitting his hard body again.

She had nowhere to run.

"– easy – let me take care of this –" He whispered in her ear, making her moan stuck in her throat, her nipples became hard at his words, her throbbing walls clenching around nothing.

Let me take care of this.

He knew.

He knew what she craved.

She stifled a breath as the man obediently leaned between her thighs, a terrified, pathetic, surprised moan escaping her throat when she felt something warm and sticky slip between her tight, swollen slit.

His tongue.

She clenched her hand harder in his white hair, feeling her cousin's hand slide down her leg, to the very spot her lover had touched earlier – this time, however, she didn't feel the unpleasant pain as his fingertips merely circled around her oversensitive little bud, causing her to leak, stimulated from the inside and outside.

"– ah – oh, gods, t-too much, too much –" She mewled in despair as she tried to pull away from him, never having experienced a similar sensation before, he, however, held her in an iron grip, his free hand sliding from her face under the material of her gown, to her breasts.

"– you wanted it yourself – go on –" He said matter-of-factly in a way that sent a shiver through her – she tilted her head back, feeling the servant's tongue accelerate, forcing its way again and again deep inside her hot, throbbing cunt.

In some subconscious, involuntary reflex, she sought refuge, not knowing what to do with the waves of tickling pleasure and tension that were rising in her body, so she turned her face towards him and he leaned in, letting their foreheads touch.

For some reason she wanted to cry.

He was so close.

The gentle touch of his hand between her thighs, his thumb teasing lazily her hard nipple, his hot breath on her face, his embrace was too familiar, too safe.

"– if only you were my little sister – I'd caress you like this every night – would you like it? –" He breathed out encouragingly, and she shuddered all over in his arms, feeling her lover's tongue hit the sweet spot inside her again and again, her and her cousin's hips beginning to rub against each other, his manhood unashamedly hard and swollen.

If only you were my little sister.

I want this, she thought.

I want to be what you want me to be.

"– what would your father say at the sight of this – hm? – do you think he would be proud? –" He whispered, sinking his fingers into the throbbing folds of her moist womanhood, weeping with desire, teasing with lazy, slow circles her little bud.

She felt tears under her eyelids as she shook her head.

She didn't know.

She didn't know what her father would say to this sight.

He wasn't there for her.

He hadn't protected her.

"– you like it, don't you? – I can feel you're close – come on his face –" He exhaled and she shook her head, moaning from exertion, feeling something approaching, the tingling tension between her thighs unbearable, her breath heavy and hitched, droplets of sweat running down her skin.

"– g-gods, stop –" She mumbled out with difficulty, feeling that she couldn't take it any longer, and then she was shaken by a pleasure foreign and overpowering, hot and sweet, flowing in waves through her whole body, her lips, her nipples, her fingertips, her silken walls clenching around nothing.

For a moment she heard or saw nothing, heard his soothing whisper, his warm breath enveloping her face, his hands closed over her womanhood and over her breasts just continued to press against her skin, allowing her to calm down.

"You may leave. If you tell anyone about this, I will cut your tongue out." She heard his cold voice, but knew it wasn't meant for her – the man lying between her thighs had risen and simply stepped off the bed, leaving them alone, and she sighed loudly, as if she had just accomplished some extraordinary, demanding feat.

She didn't know why she had sought refuge in his embrace, why she had turned in his arms and snuggled into his body, burying her face in his neck, why she had felt nothing but peace as one of his hands lay on her back while the other slowly stroked her hair.

One by one tears ran down her cheeks, shame, relief and sadness spilling over her heart, making her only able to lie down and breathe. She closed her eyes, concentrating on his scent, the warmth of his body that pulsed almost imperceptibly, his manhood pushing against her stomach, his hands trailing gently over her body.

She thought that he was certainly proud of himself, but she decided that it didn't matter.

She needed his arms, she needed to hide, to disappear, to melt into him as one, not to think, not to feel, not to exist.

She fell asleep.

When she awoke, it was late afternoon – there was no one in the chamber but her, however, she knew it was not a dream.

Her bedding was soaked with his scent.

She wasn't sure who had benefited from what had happened. She decided, however, surprised by this discovery, that she did not regret it and did not intend to think about it again.

It had never happened.

As he had ordered, she was already ready before dawn, waiting for him in the courtyard in her riding attire, his mother, clearly displeased with his idea, tried to stop him, to his apparent annoyance.

"You cannot leave the Red Keep without Vhagar. Who will protect us?" She asked, and her son rolled his eyes, impatient, licking his lower lip.

"I leave you in the care of Sunfyre and Dreamfyre. May my brother be of some use for once. With the help of the gods, we will return in about four days with a new dragon on our side." He said and stepped around her, mounting his horse and nodding at her to do the same.

When they reached Vhagar's lair, the dragoness raised lazily her large head, looking at them curiously – having seen her almost every day, she had already become accustomed to her presence and scent, remaining calm.

"Come." He said, and she moved to follow him, seeing that he had taken in his hands some of the bags his horse had been carrying on its back earlier.

She walked behind him, never coming this close to her, watching as the prince tied the grey bags to the ropes hanging from the saddle.

"What are you waiting for? Climb up." He said, glancing at her impatiently, and she nodded, surprised by his directness.

They both had no intention of showing that what had happened had affected them in any way.

Being with him meant a constant battle for dominance.

So be it, she thought and glanced up, sighing quietly.

She was afraid that Vhagar would not be happy that someone other than her rider was trying to climb onto her back, she, however, merely tilted her head towards her and watched her, not moving from her place.

"Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī." Her cousin reassured her as she, panting heavily, climbed with great difficulty over one of the ropes to her very back and sat down in the large leather saddle.

She blinked as her cousin appeared at her side shortly afterwards, as if covering the same distance hadn't caused him any trouble, and sat behind her, pulling the bags up, using the ropes so that they weren't hanging down.

She grunted, leaning forward, hugging the front of the saddle, feeling him all too clearly, his body pressed against her buttocks and back. She shuddered as he slipped his hands under her shoulders, grabbed a couple of the front ropes and called out loudly.

"Sōvēs!"

She squealed, terrified, hugging the saddle as the dragoness suddenly rose up on her paws, moving forward with a loud thump, and closed her eyes as she spread her great wings and flapped them, struggling to slowly lift herself into the air.

She had never experienced something so terrifying and liberating at the same time.

It wasn't until Vhagar had stabilised her flight and was gliding through the heavens that she dared to open her eyes – she froze in awe, seeing clouds all around her, doing what other people could only dream of.

Indeed, there was something wonderful about it, she thought with delight.

In the freedom that flight in the skies offered.

She leaned against the front of the saddle, simply looking ahead with a smile, watching the sun rise in the distance. She drew in a loud breath, feeling her heart beat harder as his cheek pressed against hers, apparently resting in this position.

She felt his erection pushing against her buttocks again, but neither of them spoke.

It was just a man's natural reaction to a woman's closeness, nothing more, she thought.

She knew he was playing with her – she knew he already understood what she wanted.

What she needed.

Tenderness.

Care.

Shelter.

This was why he nuzzled his nose into her cheek, why he persisted in this position: he wanted to break her, wanted her to love what he could be for her.

She felt tears under her eyelids, her eyebrows arching in pain knowing that it was all just a lie.

Her father would never come back for her, and even if he did, it would only be for the sake of the dragon, if she could tame it.

But not for her.

She was of no value to either of them.

As they landed with a thud on the ground in the middle of a wasteland full of hills, evening was approaching. It was only when she opened her eyes, horrified by how intense the landing itself had been, that she realised that her cousin had not chosen this place without reason.

He must have noticed from above what she could see clearly now – vast expanses of black, scorched earth with dozens of animal skeletons.

She shuddered as she heard her cousin untie the bags they had taken with them, letting them fall to the ground, and after a moment he slid down the rope to the bottom, landing lightly on the ground himself.

"Come here."

She made big eyes, feeling that this height terrified her. She swallowed hard, turning her back, grabbing the line and squealed as she suddenly slid down it with far too much speed, thinking she was just going to kill herself.

She gasped as she felt someone's arms soften her fall, supporting her, his impatient sigh told her it was not a graceful jump.

"Get yourself together. We're going to recon. It's fresh tracks, it must not be far." He said, and she nodded, feeling her legs grow all stiff from the long hours of travelling in the saddle.

Her cousin looked around, as if trying to remember this place and how they were supposed to get back here, then moved ahead quickly, making her have to almost run after him.

"When we find it. What should I do? Approach it right away?" She exhaled, following him step by step.

"Mmm. No, you'd better not do anything rash. No sudden movements. You can't make a mistake." He said coldly, and she swallowed hard, thinking in the back of her mind that it was easy for him to say.

However, despite all the absurdity of the situation, she felt excitement.

If she succeeded, she would return to King's Landing on the back of her own dragon.

They climbed one of the peaks, from which they could see clearly in the distance the lying silhouette of Vhagar, the fields, hills and valleys, but not a trace of the dragon. Her cousin pressed his lips together, frustrated.

He thought this would be easier, and the dragon would come to them on its own, she thought with a sneer, but she dared not provoke him, knowing that they were both tired.

"We must turn back. It will be dark soon. We will start tomorrow before sunrise, moving in the opposite direction." He ordered and she nodded, following obediently behind him, looking around at the familiar landscapes.

She had an advantage over him here, she thought.

She knew these places, she knew these people.

So why didn't she feel the need to run away?

When they returned to Vhagar's liege, darkness surrounded them. Her cousin had picked up a few long, thick branches on the way, and when they sat down on the grass he laid them down and lit a fire using a flint he had taken from one of his bags.

She did not ask his permission, which did not escape his notice as she untied one of them and began rummaging through it.

"What are you doing?" He asked matter-of-factly, adding wood to the fire, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"What did you take for us as nourishment?" She answered with a question to a question, causing him to merely turn his face away from her, trying to control himself for sure and not hurt her with his own hands.

"Bread and smoked meat." He said, and she sighed, pulling out a waterskin with spring water, drinking a few deep sips from it.

"If I had known that this would be our sustenance for the next few days, I would have asked you to bring a bow with us and I would have provided our meal myself." She said regretfully, and his face turned abruptly towards her.

"You don't need to eat. You will survive on water alone until our return to King's Landing." He hissed, meeting her tired, weary gaze.

"I have cooked many times while hunting with my uncle. It's a useful skill." She replied, pulling a woollen blanket from the pouch with which she covered herself.

Although Vhagar lay beside them, they were high between the hills where a strong, chilly wind was blowing.

She knew the night would be difficult.

Her cousin no longer spoke to her, gazing into the flames as if he could see something in them, his past or his future, his silhouette sitting on the Iron Throne or his fall from the heavens.

Finally, he lay down on the uncomfortably hard ground, placing one of his bags under his head, covering himself with the other blanket, and turned his back to her.

They couldn't sleep too close to Vhagar, for there was a risk that she would simply crush them by turning in her sleep. Therefore, they had to lie at a great distance from her, and their only source of heat was the fire.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think as her teeth began to chatter, her body trembling, her hands clenched into fists with each stronger gust of wind.

If this kept up, they'd both wake up with a fever.

"I'm cold." She said.

Silence.

A long one.

"I'm really cold. Aren't you?" She mumbled, guessing that he was suffering as much as she was, but would sooner die than admit it.

The Targaryens and their fucking pride.

She stood up and walked a few steps with her blanket towards him, causing him to have exactly the reaction she wanted – he raised himself on his elbow and looked towards her, his jaw clenched in frustration.

"You have no shame."

"I don't care about shame. I'm supposed to die in dragon fire, not from the cold." She said and lay down beside him, slipping under his blanket, covering them with the other to create a thicker layer to protect them from the cold.

He slumped to the ground, letting the air out loudly, looking up at the stars as if he had given up. She embraced him, but not because she sought safety in his arms, but because he was a source of warmth that she wanted to cling to at all costs, hugging her face to his chest.

They stayed like that in silence, not moving – at first his whole body was tense, as if he thought that what she had done was just an excuse for her to slip her hand under his breeches and shamelessly try to seduce him – he relaxed, however, when he realised that all she really wanted was to lie in the warmth, and since he himself apparently felt better, also warmed by her presence, he said nothing more.

"What did you feel when you tamed Vhagar?" She whispered, looking ahead at the outline of the hills and mountains around them, feeling the cool breeze on her cheeks.

She was sure he wouldn't answer and felt herself begin to slowly fall asleep when she heard his quiet voice.

"Relief."

She blinked, surprised, not expecting him to put it this way.

Relief.

"Why?" She dared to ask further, still not looking at him, his heart hidden beneath the material of his tunic and cloak hit hard.

"I gave my family a reason to be proud." He explained, a note of bitterness in his words, as if something in that memory was painful to him.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, thinking with disappointment that she had never been anyone's pride.

Nothing she did mattered – not really.

She felt a single, lone tear run down her cheek onto the material of his leather coat and inhaled loudly, saying nothing more.

She shuddered, pulled out of her reverie when he slided his arm out from between their bodies – she froze when she felt him embrace her, cuddling her into his body, his fingers running through her soft hair as his cheek rested against her forehead.

She snuggled into him, into the merciless substitute of a protector he was to her, feeling the warmth in her chest as he let her face sink into his neck.

She knew that a part of him sympathised with her – she knew that, like her, he understood that in a day or two she might die for his cause, and so in some twisted definition of duty he tried to give her what she had craved all her life as a consolation prize for what she might lose.

It was so pathetic that she clenched her eyes shut and let heavy tears of shame run down her cheeks, her breath hitched and heavy, filled with pain.

She let him do this, let him take advantage of her desperation, the fact that she wanted so much to satisfy his vanity, because of how unavailable he reminded her of her father – by satisfying him, in her mind she was satisfying the man on whose lap she had sat as a small child, imagining that he had given her a second chance.

He created a lie for her to be able to endure what he was condemning her to.

"If you succeed. If you tame a dragon." He whispered, and she froze, feeling that he was about to reveal something vital to her, some secret he had never told anyone. "I will treat you like my little sister. I will care for you, and your place will always be by my side."

She shook her head, thinking how cruel he was, knowing exactly what to say, what to do to break her heart, to bend her to his will, to make sure she never betrayed him.

She cried out helplessly as he hugged her tighter to his body, as he cupped her cheek in his broad palm, rough from wielding his sword, and pressed his forehead against hers in a gesture that was too intimate, too tender, too sweet.

"I will protect you."

[triscy]

The Price of Pride (2/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, physical abuse, abuse of power, violence, panic attack ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

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"Rȳbās." She heard her father's voice in her memories. "Repeat."

"Ribās." She mumbled, rocking her small, short legs as she sat on his knee, looking at the book in which were written the commands by which dragon riders could communicate with their dragons and soar through the skies.

She had only seen Caraxes from afar and always squealed with joy at the sight of him.

It meant she would see her father.

"No." Her father sighed, twisting in his seat. "Rȳbās. Again."

"Ribās." She repeated, this time confident that she had said the word correctly.

Her father rose and set her down on the ground, closing the book, throwing it on the table, her body instantly moving to follow him in a subconscious reflex, a cry escaping from her throat as it always did when she failed to please him, and he walked away.

"No. No, let me try again. Ribās. Ribās. Ribās." She wailed after him, choking on her own tears, watching his silhouette disappear into the depths of the corridor, his short white hair.

She couldn't remember his face.

When her mother's body was found among the hills away from the fortress, voices were raised by people who said that they had seen Caraxes in the skies that same day. She knew that her mother would not have thrown herself off the precipice, and she understood that in doing so her father had freed himself from them once and for all.

She felt satisfaction at the thought that his second wife had given him only daughters.

The gods had punished him.

He had no heir.

She didn't remember her mother's face either, but perhaps that was because she didn't want to recall her disappointment – she knew that she didn't want to carry his child, that she abhorred him, and yet she had been forced to give birth to his daughter.

She knew she should not have been born, and yet she existed.

She decided to pretend that she was the child of ordinary lords, giving up the right to inherit Runestone to one of her cousins in return for being allowed to stay in the fortress. Royce's family, although rather stodgy in their dealings, showed her much care and support – she couldn't say she lacked anything, and her life was peaceful as long as King Viserys lived.

And then it happened.

Two men burst into her chamber, pressing a cloth soaked in some foul-smelling liquid to her mouth which made her lose consciousness and she only woke up in a carriage that was closed on both sides.

For a moment she naively believed that her father had done it.

That he wanted her on his side in the battle for power for his third wife, heir to the Iron Throne.

And then she noticed the emerging silhouette of King's Landing in the distance.

She had only heard of this place from stories: the great Red Keep towering over the entire city and harbour, sunshine and cloudless skies all around it.

She wanted to laugh at the thought that one of her father's opponents had thought they would be able to pact with him because of her.

However, it turned out that she was mistaken once again.

Her one-eyed cousin was like a statue, his jaw drawn and sharply pointed, adding even more severity to his impassive, stony expression. He was proud and vain, she thought at once, seeing the way he stood, erect and sure, one hand holding a torch, the other placed behind his back, sword and dagger strapped to his belt.

Rider of the greatest dragon in the world.

"Do you know who I am, woman?" He asked, and she struggled not to smile, hearing his forced pretentiousness, the choice of his words such as to instantly degrade her.

Of course she knew.

His black eye patch betrayed him.

"It's hard not to guess." She replied.

His pupil narrowed in frustration, his tongue ran over his lower lip in some subconscious reflex.

He didn't like being spoken to like that.

When he was not shown respect.

When he was not feared.

He was weak, she thought.

"Do you understand why you're here?"

She sighed heavily, looking down at her fingers in boredom, feeling nothing but immense fatigue.

"Because of my father, I guess. You are wasting your time. I don't represent any value to him. He will not pact with you for my sake." She muttered reluctantly, wanting to let him know that whatever hopes he may have had of her were vain.

She looked at him surprised when he chuckled, turning his gaze away, staring at her a moment later with a look that made her feel discomfort in her stomach.

"You are mistaken. We need your blood." He hummed, as if he were speaking of the weather, something childishly simple and obvious.

She shook her head, looking at him in disbelief, not understanding what he expected of her.

Were they going to slit her veins?

If someone else drank it, would they be able to become a dragon rider?

"We will find one of the wild dragons hidden in the mountain caves and you will try to claim it. You will die, or you will succeed and join the war on our side." He said lightly, and for some reason she burst out laughing, horrified at how ridiculous his words were.

She was going to claim a dragon?

Were they really that desperate?

"I know nothing about dragons or their riders and have no desire to learn about them. This, I think, is something that is destined for those endowed by the gods with white hair. I have no intention of sacrificing myself for your family. Behead me or burn me, but spare me this farce." She said mockingly, looking away, recognising that this man had simply lost his mind.

She shuddered and rose from her knees when, a moment later, he opened the door of her cell and rushed in like an enraged bear, throwing his torch to the stone floor, his hand grabbing her neck, her head and body slamming against the wall making everything around her seem blurry for a moment.

"Do you think I'm asking you for your opinion? You will serve me, and you will serve me well, or I will burn not you, but all of the fucking Vale. Only dust and ashes will be left of the people you knew. Is that what you want, my Lady?" He scoffed, arching his full lips and eyebrows in a way as if he sympathised with her, however his gaze was blank, cold, mad, his breath heavy on her face, his chest rising and falling in rage.

She shook her head quickly, feeling his fingers dig into the skin of her neck even harder, making her unable to take a deeper breath despite the fact that she needed the air so badly.

Her head was spinning, his voice seeming to come to her from far away.

"So we have an agreement, as I understand it?" He whispered, leaning over her so that the tips of their noses were almost touching, towering over her to make her feel who had the power, who had the strength, who had the last word.

She merely nodded, breathing loudly through her wide-open mouth, a cold feeling of humiliation surging through her stomach.

"Mmm." He hummed and let her go. She fell to the ground, drawing in air loudly, clutching at her neck, feeling her heart begin to beat anew.

"You will be moved to one of the chambers. You will not lack anything. Serve me well and no more harm will befall you." He said calmly with a kind of threat from which a shiver ran down her spine.

Serve me well.

Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Indeed, true to his word, the guards came for her and she walked out of the smelly, dark cell where rats ran around to the upper floor of the Red Keep. The light blinded her and for a moment she could not see where she was going, but then, despite all her reluctance and trepidation, she marvelled for a moment at the rich, beautiful architecture of this castle.

If only she could have come here under different circumstances, at her father's side when she was a little child.

But her father was not here.

Instead, there was her cousin, exactly as self-obsessed as he was.

She thought with pain that they were just alike.

In the small chamber that had been assigned to her, the Queen Mother was waiting for her, accompanied by a knight with rather tanned skin: she thought he came from Dorne.

"My Lady. I ask you to forgive us for what inconvenience you have suffered. I place my old gowns and two of my servants at your disposal." She said, looking her straight in the face with her big, warm brown eyes, plucking at the cuticles around her fingernails in some involuntary, nervous reflex.

She lowered her gaze, silently acknowledging that she had nothing to say to any of them.

"This is the Queen speaking to you. Show respect." Said the knight, Queen Alicent however rebuked him immediately.

"I do not recall allowing you to speak, Ser Criston."

The man looked away and fell silent. The Queen sighed, closed her eyes and swallowed hard, as if she felt shame looking at her.

"Rest." She said simply and left, immediately followed by Ser Criston with a clatter of his silver, shining armour.

She was left alone.

She felt that she needed a bath, tired, sweaty, soaked in the smell of the disgusting cellar they were holding her in – she called one of the servants to bring a tub to her chamber and fill it with warm water.

She wondered, watching these young girls doing their chores, whether she might try to escape, seeing that they had left the door open, but decided that it was pointless.

Even if she did escape, they would find her and bring her here again, and Prince Aemond would burn the Vale.

She lowered her gaze, recognising that she had neither the strength nor the will to stand up.

She was empty inside, she thought, and he could fill her with whatever he wanted.

With his ideas, his desires, his demands.

As she sank into the pleasantly warm water scented with oils of field flowers, she felt better. Her muscles relaxed and she leaned her head back, closing her eyes, deciding to calmly analyse the situation she was in.

Since they were so desperate to abduct her, it meant that her father and Princess Rhaenyra had the upper hand over them.

She was also sure that her cousin, Lord Royce, had already sent a raven to Dragonstone with the word that she had been imprisoned, and since the informations was spreading through the Kingdom like the wind, she was sure that Daemon would be furious.

Would he try to contact her?

She sighed, recognising that she didn't want that.

Because of how much she despised him, even though she was a Targaryen, she used her mother's name.

Royce.

She wanted nothing to do with any of them, but it seemed to her that Prince Aemond was truly mad and that in his rage he really could set off on his mighty dragon to burn and destroy if she betrayed him.

She didn't want to test how mad the Targaryens could really be.

After all, they were bedding their own siblings.

She sighed when one of the servants came in, saying that she had been summoned by the King, who wanted to see her in person. She had chosen a gown most similar to the ones she had worn in Runestone, but as soon as one of the girls wanted to touch her hair she pulled away, feeling an unpleasant shudder.

"No. I'll do it myself." She said, taking a comb in her hand, brushing out strand after strand.

A woman could only wear her hair loose in the privacy of her chamber, for it was a sign of her freedom but also of chaos, where in the world of men there always had to be order.

She decided she didn't care about that.

She was horrified by how many people were sitting in the chamber she had been led to – at the table, she understood, sat the Lords, Queen Widow, the King, and Prince Aemond, looking at her with a malicious grin.

He was proud of himself, she thought and let out a quiet breath, looking away, thinking they were all pathetic.

The King smiled broadly at the sight of her and nodded, as if someone had indeed given him a wonderful surprise.

"Come closer, cousin." He said lightly, so she took a reluctant few steps forward, wondering what she would hear this time.

"We are overjoyed by your presence, even though you were brought here under not very pleasant circumstances. I hope you will quickly forget about these … discomforts and support us in our cause. My brother is extremely eager to prepare you for this." He said as if what they had done to her was no great thing, a mere joke at which she should laugh along with him and willingly go to her death in dragon fire if it turned out that their plan would fail.

That's why she remained silent, recognising that the man sitting in front of her was an imbecile.

"Are you not glad to face your father? Did he not forget you and abandon you for so many years?" He continued, seeing the expression on her face, and she looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing.

"I have nothing to say to you, cousin. Do with me what you wish."

The men around her twisted uneasily in their seats, glancing at the King, clearly afraid of his reaction to her insolent words. King Aegon, however, leaned forward, looking at her intrigued.

"Our family has forgotten you. Left you the fuck knows where, motherless and fatherless. And I am deeply sorry for it."

She swallowed hard, letting the air out loud, feeling the pain in her chest at his words – this reaction of her own surprised her. Looking into his eyes, she thought in disbelief that while he was certainly a fool, the words he had spoken to her a moment ago were sincere.

The last thing she expected from him was sympathy, and it surprised her how much it hurt her.

"You may leave." He said, and she nodded and left, thinking with relief that just a moment longer and the King would have seen something in her gaze that she didn't want.

What she desired.

As long as they didn't know it, none of their threats could do anything to her.

The guards escorted her to her chamber and as they closed the door behind her, she simply threw herself on her bed, wondering if it had all just been a bad dream.

What if she died in the dragon fire?

Did she want to end her life without really experiencing anything?

She never wanted to be a wife or a mother, but she hoped to see something more, to find her own purpose, her own way, away from the dragon war.

Meanwhile, she found herself at the centre of it.

She knew that Prince Aemond would summon her – she could see it in his displeased expression after his brother's words. He did not like the fact that he was trying to besmirch and get close to her, his little toy – he had made it clear in his words that she was not to serve Aegon or the Kingdom, but him.

He had brought her here for himself, to spite her father, and she was to be what he desired.

What he had imagined in his head.

Very well, she thought.

When she walked into his chamber, he was sitting with his back to her; his room was much more spacious than hers, maps and books spread out on the table he was leaning over.

He was planning a war without his brother.

"Come here. Sit down." He said coldly, casting her one weary glance over his shoulder, going back to whatever it was he was preoccupied with before he summoned her.

She walked over to the table and sat down in the chair beside him with a quiet rustling of her gown – he hummed as he slid an open book towards her apparently on a page he cared for her to focus on.

"Can you read?" He asked, and she looked up at him, wondering if he had heard himself.

His gaze changed, suddenly frustrated and impatient so she just looked at the book and started reading, hearing what he was saying in between.

"The dragons understand the language of Old Valyria, and this is how the dragon riders communicate with them. You have to learn to speak the commands properly." He sighed, spreading out comfortably in his seat with his legs crossed, tilting his head back.

"Rȳbās means listen. It is the most important word, right next to Lykirī, which commands a dragon to remain calm. Repeat."

She felt a powerful, cold shiver run down her back, the memory of that evening, of her, sitting on his lap and his voice.

"Rȳbās." Said her father in her imagination. "Repeat."

She stared dully ahead feeling that she couldn't open her mouth, her throat squeezed tight, her breathing accelerated, heavy with the terror that possessed her, her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

He left because she couldn't say it properly, but after all, he hadn't even explained to her what she had done wrong. He didn't give her a chance to improve, disappointed that she wasn't what he wanted her to be.

Over the years, she kept asking herself the same question.

Did she really not deserve a second chance?

And then she saw darkness before her eyes, and her head hit something hard.

She dreamt that her father was holding her hand. She wasn't sure if it was a memory or her imagination, but she could smell his scent and was sure she heard his voice, though she was unable to open her eyes, her body burning with fever.

"Will she survive?"

"Only the gods know." The Maester replied.

Her father was silent for a moment, his fingers tightening on hers.

"Perhaps it will be better this way."

When she finally woke, the light blinded her. She squinted, closing her eyes, feeling that someone was indeed holding her hand – when she opened her eyelids again she saw Queen Alicent sitting beside her on her bed.

The gesture, the touch of her warm hand on hers was at once pleasurable, motherly, and at the same time uncomfortable – she was not her child, but a stranger, and to her it was an act filled with her guilt, her attempt to alleviate what they wanted to condemn her to.

"How do you feel, sweet girl?" She hummed, though she didn't understand what purpose this question was intended to serve.

Did she think that she would cry now in her arms like a fool, saying that she missed her mother and was afraid?

Even if that were true, she had no intention of confiding in the mother of two self-obsessed men, one worse than the other.

Did she blame herself sometimes for the way they were?

Queen Alicent let go of her hand and lowered her gaze, as if embarrassed by her silence, understanding what she must have been thinking about.

"My son, Aemond. He was such a sweet boy." She said in pain, shaking her head, biting her lower lip.

"After his nephew took his eye he sank into a sense of injustice. He says that Luke's death was an accident, but I don't know if I believe him. I don't recognise him anymore and I warn you that he's unpredictable." She whispered and looked at her, clearly thinking that her words would make any impression on her.

She, however, felt nothing.

"I know."

Prince Aemond circled around her bed like a predator, watching her vigilantly, pacing with his hands folded behind his back, listening to what the Maester was saying.

"The momentary weakness has passed, but she should not strain herself." He said, and the prince hummed under his breath, stopping at the height of her head, looking at him with satisfaction.

"She won't. Leave us alone."

She turned her head away from him, not feeling like listening to what he had to say to her.

"Daemon tried to teach you. Didn't he?" He asked haughtily, apparently convinced that he was right.

She just swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her throat at the thought that he wasn't wrong.

"I wouldn't call it teaching." She replied dispassionately, feeling that she was sinking deeper and deeper into the bedding, wanting to melt into one with it.

She shuddered as he leaned over her suddenly, his hands on both sides of her head resting on the pillow, strands of his long hair brushing her face.

"Is there really no desire for revenge in you? To prove him wrong by rejecting you? Don't you want him to curse the day he left you?" He asked, looking her straight in the eye.

He's changed tactics, she thought, wanting to get to her hidden frustrations, pain and disappointment now.

She smiled at his words, his lips twisted in a grimace of displeasure at the sight.

He was enraged.

"I don't care about him. However, I can see that for you the person of my father is very important. You are alike, you and him." She whispered, and he swallowed hard, something in his gaze extinguished, making his iris dark.

"Daemon is a challenge I welcome. I will face him if the need arises. I will not allow the bastard children of my sister-whore to sit on the Iron Throne." He said slowly, choosing each word carefully, as if he knew he needed not only her, but also her loyalty.

And for what reason would she remain by his side if the opportunity came for her to betray him?

"Do you want your brother to remain King?" She asked quietly, and his expression changed – his forehead cleared, his jaw relaxed into an expression that was strangely calm.

Silence.

They looked straight into each other's eyes, and with every second in which his mouth did not leave the confirmation her heart pounded harder and harder in her chest, her lips parted in a sigh of disbelief.

His lips parted too, his gaze grew misty, as if he felt arousal at the thought of what he saw in his head.

Himself on the Iron Throne.

"Serve me well and I will reward you. When the time comes." He whispered and, to her amazement, she felt an unfamiliar sensation between her thighs, a warmth and a pulsing, as if someone had tickled her there.

He rose with a smirk and moved towards the door, telling her that they would begin her training the next morning.

He had her riding attire prepared for her and arranged for her to meet him in the courtyard of the Red Keep. In order to be on time, she had to rise before dawn – by the time she left the gates of the fortress in the company of the guards, the sun was just rising lazily over the horizon.

Prince Aemond gave her one sharp glance before mounting his beautiful brown steed, nodding his head for her to do the same. She therefore climbed with lightness and ease onto the black mare standing just beside him and set off at a gallop after him.

She thought with amusement, feeling the wind in her hair, the front strands of which she had braided back, as he did, that she could easily try to escape with such a well-rested horse at her side, knowing her riding skills.

For the first time, however, she wondered why she should return there?

What kind of life awaited her in Runestone?

Certainly not death in flames, she thought with a smile, but for some reason she didn't fear that.

She would simply become dust and fly with the wind high into the sky.

The prince stopped suddenly, indicating to her with a raised hand to do the same, and jumped down from the saddle. She followed in his footsteps, sinking onto the soft dew-damp grass, trying to catch her breath after the physical exertion, looking around.

She wondered what they were doing among the glades and woods, until she felt the ground around them shake and something she thought was a hill began to slowly rise, a large eye similar to that of a lizard opened.

A dragon.

A dragon as big as a mountain.

"Lykirī, Vhagar." Said her rider, stepping closer to her, extending his hand to her.

Vhagar leaned towards him, apparently trying to understand what was happening, allowing him to touch her jaw – his hand seemed to her to be just the head of a needle compared to her huge body, her muzzle opened in an expression as if she was pleased to see him.

Her heart was pounding like mad, her mouth open wide in a quickened, excited breath.

"Come closer. Slowly, step by step." He called out to her, and she looked at him as if he had completely lost her mind.

Gods, she was so big.

She probably wouldn't even feel it in her throat if she swallowed her.

She felt her legs grow soft, her body quivering all over as she took an uncertain first step forward and then a second, Vhagar's gaze shifted lazily to her, her nostrils releasing the air loudly, enveloping her in warm steam.

She stopped, terrified, as the dragoness suddenly opened her maw, something red appeared in the distance of her throat, as if someone had lit a fire there.

"DAOR, VHAGAR! DAOR!" Exclaimed her rider, and in some act of despair and fear she shouted to her as if she were chastising a little child.

"Rȳbās!"

Vhagar froze motionless, as if confused, staring at her small silhouette standing before her.

"Rȳbās, Vhagar. Daor."

Vhagar closed her maw, a loud sigh escaping from her nostrils, which hit her and made her fall over, dropping to her knees.

She looked at him from a distance and saw that he was pale, his mouth open in a heavy, shuddering breath.

She didn't know why she started to laugh – why she grabbed her stomach, bent over and died of amusement and bitterness, thinking that her father had made a mistake, that he had wasted years of her life, had rejected her believing that she would never be able to do this.

She was panting, feeling her laughter turn to sobs, heavy tears of shame one by one began to run down her cheek onto the grass beneath her hands, her mouth wide open trying to catch air.

She did it, and he wasn't here.

She still remained a nobody, just as she had been before.

Playing with dragons didn't change anything.

She gasped as he grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head up with an aggressive motion of his hand, kneeling beside her, pointing at his dragoness lying right in front of them.

"Do you know what it is? Do you know how much I sacrificed to achieve it? This dragoness has seen Old Valyria, fought in wars when your great-grandparents were not yet in the world. You should fall to your knees before her, you fucking whore, not laugh." He hissed and pushed her forward so that she bent over, as if praying before a statue of a god.

She clasped her hands in the wet grass, panting all over, whooping with her tears, wondering how long she was supposed to last in this position, his fingers clenched in her hair, not allowing her to move away even a little.

"That's it. Show some fucking respect." He sneered, and she clenched her eyes shut, drifting her thoughts away to the pleasant scent of the forest around her, the singing of the birds, the sound of the wind.

She swallowed hard as his embrace eased, her heart thumping harder in her chest as his fingers ran through her smooth curls, sinking finally into the soft skin of the back of her neck.

Her lips parted in disbelief, wondering what he was actually doing, the familiar pulsing between her thighs told her that she was both terrified and aroused by this new, unfamiliar sensation.

She felt her lips swell and her nipples harden as his thumb stroked her skin, her thighs clenched involuntarily with her silent sigh.

He heard it and gasped, tightening his fingers in her hair again, leaning over her ear.

"This position suits you." He whispered and let her go with a firm tug, moving towards his dragoness, placing his hand on her jaw.

"Stand up and repeat everything again."

[triscy]

GOOD. NIGHT. SWEET FUCKIN DREAMS.