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[weirwoodswitch]

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 4.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. fingering, riding, first time, creampie, jealous & possessive aemond.

wc. 16k+

Author’s Note: while plotting this chapter i did not know it was going to end up having a wc of 16k+ but as usual, i got carried away so here we are! enjoy!

also the dress is this one if you want a visual!

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 (finale)

chapter four: heaven is here if you want it

The private library in Maegor’s Holdfast is Prince Aemond Targaryen’s favored spot for solitude and peace. It is the one place away from all the noise, gossip, and politics in the castle; and he often finds himself there, reading whatever book catches his eye that day or quietly contemplating by the fireplace. The only person that keeps him company there is his sister, Princess Helaena, but that only happens once every blue moon. So it is usually only him and Snowball – a stray cat he had claim as his own only a year ago, finding the little fellow near the docks of Blackwater Bay and taking pity since he thought the cat to be a mirror of himself, with it’s pure white fur and one eye blinded from a street fight with another stray – and he likes it that way. 

So why, oh why, is his usual peace in the private library being demolished when today is the final day he can have some time by himself before the festivities of his siblings’ wedding begins? 

“This is going to be the worst week of my life!”

Aemond’s facial features slightly twitch in annoyance, but chooses to ignore his older brother, continuing to read the text he has in front of him. Or at least, trying to – Aegon has been whining for over half an hour already, and it is really hard to focus when a big man child is crying into your ear.

“So many beautiful women from all around Westeros have been arriving into the city, all so they can witness me marry my strange, little sister!” Aegon bemoans, actual tears falling from his eyes as he runs his hand through his hair. Aemond rolls his own, thinking about how Helaena is the one given the short end of the stick in the deal. “It is so unfair!”

“Now imagine how our dear sister is faring with this,” Daeron says with a snicker at his place by the window, scratching under the chin of the small cat he has tucked in his arm. “I highly doubt she is any more ecstatic at the prospect of marrying you than you are.”

Aemond grins at his little brother, adding on, “And I would even propose she has it worse.”  

Daeron laughs hard, head knocking back, which could only mean he is in agreement. It has Aegon’s jaw dropping, looking between his two younger brothers, “How can you two be so cruel when I am already in distress?” Then he turns to Daeron, “Is this what they taught you in Oldtown? To disrespect your older brother?” 

Daeron shrugs, throwing him a boyish grin, and Aegon heaves a bothered sigh as he slumps against the chair he is sitting on. 

“You know,” Daeron begins, “I’m surprised our mother and grandfather even allowed you to put it off for so long. You and Helaena have been betrothed for nearly a decade.” 

“And every single day I prayed to the Sevens that our mother would change her mind…” Aegon grumbles petulantly. 

Aemond closes the book he has in his hands – clearly unable to read anymore – and tells him, “And each and every one of those prayers were completely useless. An annulment was never going to happen. Your marriage with Helaena is not only a way for our Targaryen bloodline and your inheritance to the throne to stay strong, but also so our mother would not have to agree to a betrothal between our sister and one of our bastard nephews. It is why mother sent an olive branch to our half-sister and rogue uncle and invited them to the wedding. It is purely just to gloat to Rhaenyra that she did not get what she wanted.”

Aegon rolls his eyes at Aemond – already knowing all that himself – and mutters angrily under his breath, “I detest this fucking political bullshit.”

Daeron shrugs again, returning to showering Snowball with affection. Their youngest brother is probably happy that he is a ward and squire of their uncle, Lord Ormund Hightower, over in Oldtown instead of being around here with all the drama.

Aemond, on the other hand, does not mind the intrigue of the court. Sometimes, he can even say he enjoys it. Besides, as heirs of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, he and his brothers should at least be knowledgeable on the affairs of the land that their father rules over – whether they like it or not. 

“I know what you two can do to make it up to me!” Aegon perks up suddenly, obviously over talking about the previous topic. Grinning mischievously, he leans forwards on the table in front of him and whispers to two in the room, as if the walls had ears, “Tonight… We’ll all sneak out… Have ourselves a little party all throughout the Streets of Silk in my honor…” He lifts his brows a few times, “Huh, how ‘bout it, brothers?” Then he smirks at Aemond, “You had fun the last time, didn’t you?”

Aemond grimaces while Daeron questions in disbelief, “You actually went with him?!”

“Once,” Aemond answers, then sharply glares at his older brother. “And never again.”

Aegon huffs and rolls his eyes, once again slumping in his seat as he mutters, “What a bore.”

“Wow…” Daeron awes, walking towards Aemond and gently drops the cat in front of him, Snowball purring as soon as Aemond starts scratching near his ear. Daeron pushes aside the book Aemond had been reading and lifts himself to sit on the table. “I did not think you are one to let him coerce you to do anything, especially his stupid ideas… I’m a bit disappointed, Aemond.”

Daeron is obviously teasing, but Aemond shoots him a glare anyway.

Aegon is beaming again, amused, and laughs too. Truly a hurricane of different emotions – probably the wedding jitters. 

“Hey, if it were not for my coercing and “stupid ideas”, Aemond would not have met that girl he is over the moon for,” Aegon says, still laughing. “The Northern bitch he is always writing his gay, little love letters—Eurgh!”

Aemond suddenly has him by the collar, cutting off his airway by how tight his younger brother’s grip is. The rage in Aemond is palpable, especially given how close their faces are, it’s clear to see. Aemond is seething when he spits out in Aegon’s reddening face, “I will have your tongue if you dare utter anything like that ever again, I don’t care. She is a lady of House Mormont and you will put respect on her name, or I’ll cut off your cock along with your tongue. Then we shall see if you will be having any fun on the Streets of Silk anytime soon.”

“Brothers, brothers…” Daeron tries to put himself between his two older brothers, pressing against their chest to push the trembling Aegon away from the furious Aemond. “As much as I think it is deserved, I do not wish to witness the heart attack that both our mother and father will have when they find out that their dear oldest son has been maimed and circumcised just days before his wedding.” 

That has Aemond loosening his grip, letting Aegon fall back down unceremoniously on the chair. With his father’s deteriorating health, Aemond did not want to be the one to cause him more pain. 

He sits back down too, trying to calm down as he ignores Aegon murmuring under his breath, “The Mormonts are hardly a house.”

“But tell me, what is the story there? Why did you fly North that day?” Daeron curiously asks, so used to his older brothers’ fighting that it does not even phase him. “You never did tell us.”

“Well, you see…” Aegon grins, still rubbing at the soreness around his neck before he starts the story. Aemond shuts his eye, choosing to drown his idiotic brother out to recall the time he told you himself.

It was when he visited during the third anniversary of the night he had landed on Bear Island, the snow on the ground in abundance but not as bad as that first time. The two of you were trudging through it, hands clasped together to prevent the other from falling. Although the two of you were falling behind the group of woodcutters that you, Aemond, and your brothers were helping out to gather firewood for the upcoming week, in case a snowstorm hits. It had been a long day, both of you tired but happy of the hard work you had done. As the sun started setting, Aemond turned to you and questioned, “Have I ever told you why I ended up here all those years ago?”

As you kept walking side-by-side with your best friend, you shook your head. “No… but I have been curious. King’s Landing is awfully far from Bear Island.”

Aemond heaved a sigh, stopping at his track and it made you stop too, your hand still in his. He eyed you hard, a serious look on his face. “I’ll tell you if you promise you won’t laugh at me.”

Facing him, you took his other gloved hand, holding both now, and just as seriously as he was, you said, “I promise.”

“My older brother he…” Aemond took a breath, and you squeezed his hand in comfort, knowing every story he told about his older brother does not end well. He gave you a small grateful smile, before he started again, “Well, first of all, we were reading this story book — about different creatures, and the horrible things they do — and then we got to the story about giants. It absolutely terrified me and it caused me to have nightmares for days after that… Then he found out I–” His mouth snapped shut, frowning, “A serving girl told him what I had done, and he began to make fun of me. I tried to act brave and say it was a lie but he saw right through me. So he dared me to fly up North, go beyond the Wall, find a giant and bring him back the head. If I did not, I was a coward and he would tell everyone what I had done…”

Aemond’s lips were trembling when he finished the story, his eye was wet. Frowning, you reached up, tugging the corner of his mouth up with your thumb. “Your brother is the stupidest, dumbest, most idiotic person I know.”

Aemond laughed through his sniffling. “You’ve never met him.”

“I don’t have to. I just know,” you told him with a shrug.

Aemond smiled at that. “But doesn’t that make me even more of an idiot for trying to prove him wrong?” 

You thought about it for a second, lips pursing to the side, then answered plain and simple, “Yes.”

His mouth dropped, and with a teasing, toothy grin you added, “But at least you met me.”

He was about to retort, but karma got you first, in a way of a snowball to your face by your brother, Jorah. You screeched as you wiped away the freezing ice covering your face, then screamed at the boy who was laughing, far ahead the two of you, “This is why Renee doesn’t fancy you!” 

Thus started the Great Snowball War of Bear Island, the one that you and Aemond lost horribly.

Aemond huffs out a soft chuckle fondly at the memory, almost missing when his older brother says your name and continues with, “I actually cannot wait to meet her soon and see what all the fuss is about.” 

Aemond snaps his attention on him. “What?”

“Your little Lady Mormont,” Aegon says so slowly, dragging each syllable like Aemond is dense. “She should be arriving in the city right now, with all the other Northern Houses.”

Aemond’s head shakes, disbelieving. “What are you talking about? House Mormont are never invited to these things. Believe me, I’ve tried before.”

“Yeah, well, when you are the oldest son of the King, what you want, you get,” Aegon says with a cocky shrug. But as Aemond continues to glare at him, calling his bluff, he sighs. “I asked our mother to invite them to the wedding. Told her it would be… nice, to do this for you. Since you have not seen her in years. I saw her write the invitation and everything. There is even already a chamber in Maegor’s Holdfast ready for her arrival.”

Aemond knows his brother well enough to know when he is lying or not, and so he abruptly stands, running to the door. As soon as he has it open with a swift kick of his pointed black leather boots, he takes off, Daeron watching with grand amusement and Aegon shouting after him, “You’re welcome, by the way!”

The small hall is already crowded to the brim when Aemond gets there. The new arrivals from the North easy to spot with their heavy clothing not suited for the southern weather. Among them, he sees someone familiar that has him smiling wide as he stride his long legs over to her.

“Lady Dorothea!” He calls out, and she turns around to face him with a smile of her own. Aemond had already had the pleasure of greeting your sister during her arrival a couple days ago with her Lord-Husband, Tobias Tully of Riverrun. He stands beside her now. Aemond bows his head towards him, “Lord Tobias.”

“My Prince,” they both answer back in respect.

“Did you know your sister is coming here as well?” Aemond asks Dorothea, which has her smile falling, confusing the prince.

“I–” Dorothea starts, but then sighs and smacks her palm lightly against her temple. “How did you find out?” It has Aemond frowning this time, unsure of the reaction. Then Dorothea chuckles. “My sister wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Oh… My brother told me. Just now, actually.” 

“She’s going to kill him,” Dorothea murmurs in a low voice that only her husband and Aemond could hear. Aemond’s lips start tugging up into a smile, and even more when Dorothea further explains, “My sister, she was looking forward to just… spring up on you. She even wrote this… Really long and foolhardy letter to your Lady Mother, her Grace, about why she wanted to keep it a secret and begged your mother to keep it a secret as well. Imagine that? Asking the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to go along with your childish plans for… I don’t even know what,” Dorothea shares a laugh with the two men at her side, sighing at the thought of you. “Ah, my beloved little sister… How I do love her so…” 

Aemond can’t help but chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Do you know when she’ll arrive?”

Dorothea exchanges a look with her husband, then tells the prince, “She’s already here, my Prince.” The news has him sucking in a breath, his gaze already searching around again. “I have yet to see her, but I’ve already met with my father just a bit ago. He is taking their possessions to the two chambers they’ve been graciously given, and my sister… Well, I would hope you know her enough to know exactly where she is.”

A secret smile is shared with him, and in an instant, Aemond knows precisely what your sister meant.

Unlike the usual stoic and aloof prince that the staff of the Red Keep are used to, they are passed by a hurried yet bright-eyed Prince Aemond. There is an out of the ordinary grin gracing his face, so handsome that as he weaves through the mingling guests, he turns the heads of every pretty woman he passes by, hoping to gain his attention with a bat of their eyelashes. But he does not even notice, not when his own eye is searching around for the one face he is longing to see. 

As Aemond takes the now very familiar cobblestoned path to the Godswood, he catches sight of his twin cousins, Baela and Rhaena Velaryon, giggling together by the wisteria archways leading to one of the many gardens on the castle grounds. This could only mean that his bastard nephews are also running amok the Keep as well, but not even that can ruin his day… Because how can this day ever get ruined when as soon as he steps his foot onto the dirt ground of the Godswood, he has to suddenly stop short to catch his breath and calm his rapidly beating heart? 

Clutching a hand over his chest, he feels that he has to. Like if he does not try to protect it, his yearning heart will shoot out of his body to lay itself down for the heavenly being in the lilac dress who is staring up at the great oak Heart Tree of the Godswood. 

Although right in front of him, Aemond is still in disbelief. 

Is it truly you? 

He has dreamt of this a million times before – you, here, at his home, with him – but now that it is actually happening, he cannot even fathom it to be true. 

Aemond watches as your eyelids flutter shut, a gentle smile on your face. 

He wonders what you pray to your Gods for. All his visits to the Sept ends with him praying for your wellbeing and happiness – and more selfishly, for you to return his feelings. He used to pray for a taste of the crown on his head, but now he just wants you by his side, always — so is it really that bad?

The Targaryen Prince waits, giving you peace for your private moment, and only makes his move once your eyes flutter open. He keeps his footsteps light, so light that you are none the wiser he is by your side until he makes himself known, close enough that when he whispers your name, he can see the shiver going down your spine in delight. 

Spinning towards him, you murmur his name just as tenderly as he said yours. It makes his heart ache; remembering how long it has been since he has heard your voice, seen your smile, and felt that feeling when you looked at him – like he is someone that can be revered and loved. 

Then suddenly, your face is crumpling in mixture of a laugh and a cry, standing on the tip of your toes to throw your arms around him. 

It catches him by surprise. But it seems he is not the only one — because just as he is about to return the gesture, you are springing back and away from him.

“I’m terribly sorry, I forget myself,” you apologize as you glance around, your cheeks burning up with embarrassment at your display in front of the many others that came to greet the Old Gods after their long travel – and towards a prince . They are probably wondering why a girl from such a small and insignificant house thinks she is so familiar with the prince to even dare look him in the eye, let alone touch him. How you didn’t even address him with his title as well. At that thought, you dip your head down and murmur, “My prince.”

You feel fingers grazing under your chin, gently coaxing you to tilt your head up. You are met with Prince Aemond’s soft gaze and a warm smile on his lips. He is breathtaking, and you can only think about how pretty he is. You stare at him in awe, lashes fluttering as your eyes take in all his beauty so greedily, tucking in the image of him in every corner of your mind for safekeeping.

Before you can even form any thought other than that, his arms are wrapping around you. So tightly that you could not jump away if you wanted to like last time.  

You stand there frozen in place, feeling the curious stares of everyone around on you and your Prince. You can hear murmurings — whispers of his name, wondering who you are, and what the two of you are to each other. It should have you worried, how it might appear improper and scandalous in some way… But if your best friend did not care for their gossiping, then why should you? 

So you let go of the worry. 

You press your face against his chest, breathing him in as you hold him just as closely as he is holding you. 

It felt so nice and right that the two of you stood there like that for what seemed like hours.

In reality, only minutes passed — and although still long, when the two of you did part, it truly did not seem enough. 

“This is unfair… I wanted to be the one to surprise you, not the other way around!” You tell him with a playful pout, hoping it will hide the secret yearning in your heart.

Aemond’s perfectly straight and beautifully long silver hair swishes elegantly when his body shakes with laughter. “I’m afraid my older brother sold you out.”

“Your older brother… Prince Aegon?! How did he…?”

“He was the one to suggest to our mother to invite your family to the wedding.”

Your mouth drops in shock and it makes the corners of Aemond’s own tug up in a grin. “Believe me, I was surprised by his out of character thoughtfulness as much as you are.”

“Well if it were not for that and the fact that he is to be married soon, I would have had his tongue–” You catch yourself and glance around, hoping no one heard your treasonous thoughts uttered out loud. Luckily, no one did.

Aemond laughs again. It has been a while since he has laughed this much and he knows it is because of you. He always seems to be full of merriment whenever you are around. “Funny that, I had the same exact thought earlier.”

You share a smile with him, standing there and just happily basking in each other’s presence.

“It’s been too long…” Aemond says. Slow and carefully, he reaches a hand towards you, placing it on your shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

You suck in a breath as you allow him, emboldening the prince. He has you glancing down to follow the way his thumb gingerly brushes across your collarbone, gentle yet firm. A familiar feeling of heat toils deep in your lower belly, one you have come to know whenever you have thoughts of Aemond when you are alone in the privacy of your bedchamber. You look up at him from your lowered lashes, “I’ve missed you too.”

As you stare into his eye, you can not help but remember how you would slip your hand under your covers, your unpracticed fingers in between your thighs as you sigh his name into your pillow. It is burning you up to be thinking of something so impure in front of the Prince — if you only knew he has had his own fair share of sleepless nights doing the same. 

Aemond lets himself be selfish for a couple more moments, trailing his palm across and down your shoulder before he clasps his hands together behind his back. If he did any more than that, he knew he would have done something unbecoming for a Prince. 

“It seems you intend to stay true to your family nickname…" he says then, full of mirth. "You are still but a little cub.”

You gasp, appalled. “I’ve grown!”

Aemond hums with a teasing smirk.

You straighten up your posture even more, holding your head up high, trying to convince him. “I have!”

His answer remains the same, a hum, and the infuriating (and begrudgingly – charming ) smirk still on his lips.

“It’s not my fault you grew so freakishly so, with your long, spider-like legs,” you grumble. And it is true. The last time you had seen him, he was only an inch or two taller than you. Now he has at least a foot over you. So much has changed, especially when the first time you met him, you were the taller one.

Aemond can not help but be amused at the petulant look on your face and repeats out loud your use of ‘long, spider-like leg’ in disbelief. He licks his lips as the smirk turns into a beaming smile.

“I apologize, my lady,” Aemond says, dipping his head in mock apology. “May I make it up to you by showing you around the Keep?” 

Then he is holding his arm out for you to take. You narrow your gaze at him for a long second, letting him sweat. You notice the way he takes a hard swallow and thus, becoming satisfied. 

Sighing dramatically, you lock your arm around his elbow, your hand holding onto his bicep, sticking close by his side. “I suppose that is the least you can do.”

Aemond is a very thorough tour guide. For every place he shows you, he tells you about the long history of it and the most significant events that happened there. If it were anyone else, you would surely be bored. But since it is Aemond, he has your rapt attention. Besides, it overjoyed you to finally be able to put a place for all the stories that Aemond has told you over the years.

The prince takes you everywhere in the Red Keep – the Sept, the White Sword Tower, the Maidenvault, the Great Hall, the rookery, the training yard, the private library, and all the other places that are not off limits.

He saves the dragon pit for last, being the furthest from the Keep. 

“How are you feeling about the wedding?” You ask him, curious to know. You and the prince are still arm in arm as he leads you there, not at all in a rush and enjoying the leisurely walk.

Aemond shrugs nonchalantly. “It has been a long time coming. They’ve been betrothed since even before we’ve met. I think I’ve already come to terms with it.”

“Do you find it strange that your siblings are getting married?”

Aemond takes a moment before he answers, “I pity my sister, if that is what you are asking… But if it is because they are of the same blood… Well, I’ve told you about my many ancestors before, how they often married their own family to keep our bloodline pure for our legacy and to control dragons… And I must admit, there was even a time I had wanted for Helaena to have been betrothed to me instead—” He feels you stiffen slightly at his confession, “— Not that I felt anything romantically towards her in any way, but for duty and our birthright. And perhaps even to save my sister from the cruelty of our older brother. But now though…” he trails off, giving you a sidelong glance, “I am glad that the duty did not fall on me.”

You do not notice or feel his stare, deep in your thoughts and humming in contemplation at what Aemond just told you. Then finally, you say, “I could never picture myself marrying any of my brothers.”

Not only do you physically cringe, but the grimace of disgust that twists your features has Aemond laughing so heartily. 

“Good,” he says plainly, after his laughter lets up. Then he clears his throat before asking, “And what of other suitors? Surely you have many…”

You snort at the notion, very unladylike. “You think too highly of me, my Prince. I have none at all… Although I do think that they are all too scared of my older brothers to even try to court me.”

“Good,” he says once again. You look up towards him and see he is staring straight ahead, a satisfied smirk on his face. You want to ask him what has him grinning like a cat who got the cream, but before you get the chance to, Aemond turns to you and announces, “We’re here, my lady.”

You look at the building you are approaching in awe, the immense structure with the dome-like roof unlike anything you have seen before. You truly are not on Bear Island anymore. 

Aemond leads you inside, once again a walking history book. As you take in the information, you clutch onto him a little bit tighter when he takes you down into the dungeons. Though brave, you are not stupid, and you knew if you were to stray away from Aemond, there is only one dragon there loyal to the prince – the others would not be as kind. So you and Aemond pass by the others without giving them much attention, only catching glimpses of them. All of them big and mighty, and yet not nearly as immense or as ferocious as the dragon you have come to be so fond of. 

Finally, you make it to the largest holding area of the dungeon, the mighty beast inside laying down, resting.

“I took her for a long flight just this morning,” Aemond tells you with a smile. Then he parts from you, striding to the dragon first. Vhagar perks up when she hears him call her name, though only lifting up her head minutely. He stands beside her, murmurs something in High Valyrian, and then turns his heel to look towards you. Folding his arms behind his back, he waits. 

Now both their attention are on you. Cautiously, you approach the she-dragon, not knowing if she remembers you or not. She huffs hot air through her nostrils as you get closer, but does not move, only her pupils following you. When you make it to the prince’s side, he gives you a nod of encouragement. 

You reach out your hand, softly grazing the scales on Vhagar’s snout. Immediately, the she-dragon starts to rumble. Her eyes shut, basking in your touch and purrs even louder, happy.

You exchange a joyful laugh with the prince. Aemond places his hand on his dragon just beside yours and leans to whisper hotly in your ear, “It seems I am not the only one who missed you dearly.”

You can not help but burst inside with happiness.

For the next couple of days, you and the prince try to spend every waking hour together. Since the attention is mostly on Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena, Aemond had less commitments he had to attend to, leaving him with more free time than he has had the past three years. But he does get pulled away from you sometimes. Like this morning, after breaking fast together at the garden pavilion overlooking the ocean, leaving you with his sister, Princess Helaena. 

You did not mind one bit, you quite enjoyed the princess’ company. Her eccentricities remind you a lot of your brother, Jorah — who chose to stay home with Braeden and your mother. 

Like Jorah, Helaena talks your ear off about various subjects you are not familiar with. It is as if they think that if they know it, you know it as well. Still, you try to understand, asking questions when you see fit. It does not make things any more clear, but they seem to enjoy it all the same, and it makes you happy to indulge them with their special interest.

But when you do find yourself understanding what Helaena says, you notice that the princess has quite a funny side to her. Her jokes are very understated but intelligent, and when it hits, she has you laughing out loud. Even the dutiful royal guard following closely behind you and the princess cannot help but chuckle a bit.

The princess is so sweet and lovely, and it makes you all the more sad that in just a couple hours, she will be forced to marry her crude older brother.

You have only had the displeasure of being in Prince Aegon’s presence once – and thank the Old Gods, it was a very brief encounter because that was more than enough. Your skin still crawls in remembrance of his crass words towards you and the way he looked at you like you were merely just a piece of meat. He was lucky that he was pulled away to meet with some important Lord, because if it were not his brother, Aemond, to punch his lights out – holding back, with the knuckles of his fists whitening at his sides – it would have been your brother, Forrest, who also heard the Targaryen Prince.

“What are you thinking of, enkelitsos?” 

You snap out of your thoughts, turning to Princess Helaena with a smile.

“Hmm…? Oh, it is nothing…” You say, then you tilt your head at her. “What does that mean, by the way?”

“Enkelitsos?” When you nod, Helaena poses another question, “My brother has not told you?”

“No, he calls me it often yet keeps me in the dark.”

Helaena giggles into her hand that is not wrapped around your arm, then looks up at the clear sky, seeming faraway from you now. “When my brother disappeared that winter day all those years ago… I had a dream that he fell and met an enkelitsos, surrounded by shrouds of snow. When your father wrote us that first raven from Bear Island, I did not even know where my brother ended up, but I asked my father to send Aemond back my note asking if he has met the enkelitsos,” she looks towards you now, a peaceful look softening her face, “He wrote me back that he had.”

Then like her brother, that is all she gives to you, and you are still no closer to figuring out what that Valyrian word even means. You can guess, sure, but you would rather not. So once again you are just hoping it means something good rather than bad.

On the walk with the princess, the two of you somehow ended up at the training yard. 

It is bustling there. The air is heavy with the stench of sweat and grime. All of the men busy with practicing for the upcoming tournament later at noon, in celebration of the wedding taking place right after.

You catch sight of Forrest surrounded by four men, always the life of the party as his boisterous laugh and vibrant way of speaking enraptures their attention. There is a silver-haired fellow with your brother that could only be the coloring of someone of Valyrian blood, but his back is turned towards you to know who for sure. You know it’s not Aemond – for you know the sight of your prince’s back better than you know the back of your own hand – and it is certainly not Helaena’s husband-to-be. He stands tall and regal; reminiscent of Aemond, but not Aemond.

Could it be Aemond’s younger brother, Prince Daeron? 

You had not have the chance to meet the youngest and most loved prince. He had been savoring his time in King’s Landing with old friends he left behind for Oldtown, poised to head back with his uncle directly after the wedding feast.

Forrest then spies you from over the man’s shoulder, mouth spreading in a wide grin and jovially waving. “Little cub!” 

It has the silver-haired man turning around, and you see it is not the younger prince at all. This one is older than Aemond and even Prince Aegon, with roguish good looks. 

This has to be the King’s younger brother and Aemond’s uncle — the rogue prince, Daemon Targaryen. 

He follows behind your brother and Willam Stark, with two dark-haired boys in tow. The sly smirk that graces his face as he regards you and Princess Helaena has your companion pressing against your side closer.  

“The halls ablaze brings a ring of blue,” the Princess murmurs beside you.

You turn to her, confused. “What was that, my princess?”

Helaena shakes her head, just as Forrest steps up in front of the both of you.

“Princess Helaena,” Forrest bows so deep, his knee hits the ground. “Your presence must be the reason for this beautiful, clear sky.”

Though you roll your eyes, you are grateful that Forrest has a certain effect on people as you feel Helaena relax beside you. She even giggles, offering your brother a playful curtsy of her own.

“Aye, get up. Before they make you the jester for the feast tonight,” Willam Stark chides, lightly kicking Forrest’s bum.

Forrest stands, brushing off the dirt on his back and knee while throwing Willam a cheeky grin. “Doubt they will make the winner of the tourney the jester.” 

It was Willam’s turn to roll his eyes, not bothering to give Forrest a satisfaction of a reply for his cocky statement. Instead, Willam turns to Helaena and offers a well mannered bow, “My princess.”

Then to you, he takes you in a short yet tender hug. You squeeze him tight. For how long you’ve known Willam Stark – the younger brother of the Head of House Stark, Cregan Stark – and how close he is to your two oldest brothers, he is like family to you now too.

“I’m glad your travels went well, my lady,” Willam says after the two of you parted.

“I’m sorry yours did not go as smoothly, Willam,” you say, frowning. The Starks just arrived a day ago when they were supposed to arrive even earlier than your family. A brawl at an inn they had stayed at, Forrest told you last night after he helped the Stark men settle in. “At least you are here now, and safe. My brother was absolutely miserable without you.”

“Do not stroke his already huge ego, little cub.”

Both you and Willam snap at him a, “You’re one to talk.” and a “Says you?” – respectively. 

Forrest frowns deeply in mock hurt, just as someone comes in for his defence, “Even from the little I’ve seen Lord Forrest fight, I think his ego is deserved.”

“How you flatter me so, Prince Daemon,” Forrest says with a bright smile, making space for said prince and the other two behind him to join your little circle.

So it is him, you think to yourself as Daemon’s eyes find yours, a mischievous twinkle in them. From the little Aemond has talked about him, Aemond seems to respect the rogue prince as equally as he did not like him — both highly. 

You are not one to let others’ opinion form yours (except maybe when it is towards Prince Aegon) but when you give Prince Daemon a once over, you cannot stop the scowl from forming on your face. Because when you look down, what you see wrapped around Daemon’s grip is an all too familiar sword, a bear head crafted of silver signifying House Mormont at the pommel. You glare at his hand, like the heat of it will make him drop the precious sword so you can catch it. But fire cannot burn a dragon, and so you chose to glare daggers into his eyes instead.

If Daemon is confused or startled by the fire in your eyes, he does not let it show, the infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

“I should give this back to you, Lord Forrest,” Prince Daemon says, handing over the Valyrian steel sword that had been in your family for generations back to your brother. “It is something treasured that should not be touched just by anyone.” He winks your way as he teases, “Isn’t that right, Lady Mormont?”

As you watch Forrest slide the sword back into its sheath by his side, you say with narrowed eyes now directed at your brother, “When Braeden passed over his inheritance of Longclaw over to you, he entrusted you not to just hand it over to anyone, all willy nilly… Even if it is towards a prince.”

Forrest huffs, clearly embarrassed to be scolded by his little sister in front of a group of people he respects. “Oh, come off it, little sister. Prince Daemon was merely looking. He has a Valyrian steel sword of his own, he does not need mine.” 

Daemon chuckles. “You never know. Perhaps I may need it in the future.” 

You glare at him again, not quite sure if he is joking or not. Forrest, on the other hand, takes it as a playful jest and laughs foolishly.

Once again, Helaena murmurs so quietly the strange phrase she had said before. The halls ablaze brings a ring of blue. Daemon overhears, titling his head in confusion at the young princess.

“How rude of me. My darling niece, I've not even greeted you — and on your wedding day,” Daemon says, taking Princess Helaena’s hand and places a dainty kiss on it. “Please forgive me.”

“It is alright, kepus,” Princess Helaena forgives, but she says it to the ground and is quick to snatch her hand away.

That is when you feel the weight of someone’s stare, and when you look, you lock eyes with the taller of the boys beside Prince Daemon. He jolts, his face turning red as he looks away – at the sky, the others around, the ground, everywhere, but on you.

He is quite handsome. You feel your cheeks heating up as well. You are not used to male attention, so when you get it, you do not know how to act. You wonder which House he is from–

“I hope today treats you well, Princess Helaena,” the younger and smaller of the two dark-haired boys says.

Helaena smiles, genuinely this time. “Thank you, Lucerys.”

That has you stilling, hearing the name. The boy looks so sweet, so young, so innocent, and yet… and yet.. 

“I also hope the same, princess,” the older one says to Helaena, and she nods sweetly to him. Then he takes a breath, puffs out his chest, and then turns to you with a boyish smile. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Mormont. I am Jacaerys Velaryon, but those close to me call me Jace.”

You felt traitorous, finding attraction towards the man who had a hand in traumatizing your best friend – the person you secretly claim to love – and left him blind in one eye. Even more so when he offers you his hand and you take it without question. 

Then, as he keeps his gaze on you from under his long and dark lashes, he brings your hand up slowly towards him, has you sucking in a breath as his lips—

An ironclad grip wraps itself around Jace’s wrist, freezing you both in place before his mouth can touch your skin. You glance to your side and gasp, meeting Aemond’s furious face, nostrils flared and mouth pulled back in a sneer. His glare is not on you, but on his nephew, and yet, you feel just as ashamed.

“He was just introducing himself, nephew,” Daemon says with a huffy laugh. “No need to get your smallclothes in a twist.”

If Aemond heard him, he does not show — choosing to tighten his grip harder, making Jace wince in pain as he drops your hand.

Aemond does not take his eye off Jace when he grabs for your hand and wraps an arm around his sister. “Come, my mother is looking for Helaena.”

Then he takes the two of you away, the stares of the men left behind burning your back.

After taking Princess Helaena back to her solar to get ready for the festivities of the day, Aemond whisks you away to the private library he calls his own. The whole time though, he did not speak one word to you, fuming and brooding to himself.

And in this room, where the two of you are alone, he keeps it up. Still fuming and brooding as he stands by the hearth, staring at the fire he had just kindled.

You watch him from where you are sat on the floor, back against the wall and the cat you had helped name sleeping peacefully on your lap. Having had enough of the silent treatment, you thump the back of your head against the wall and say out loud, “You’re angry with me.”

The silence is even more deafening now that you tried to break it. Aemond lets it simmer for a while. Then finally he answers, clipped and short in tone, “No.” 

He cannot even look your way when he says it. So how are you supposed to feel?

You are about to voice out this concern but then Aemond starts speaking again, “I’m angry with myself… for letting them get so close to you.” The fist he has clenched on his side hits the wall suddenly, startling you. “His filthy mouth almost touched you!”

It makes you frown, this side of the Targaryen prince. You don’t see it often, but when you do, it scares you sometimes. “Aemond, you’re being ridiculous. He was just being respectful.”

Aemond huffs out a mirthless laugh, finally turning towards you. “If you think he was doing that out of respect then you are more naive than I thought. Perhaps you are also blind to the many suitors I know you have, if that is the way you think.” He grins sardonically, aiming to be cruel and mean. “Although I did not think you would be one to fall to your feet for the lackluster charms of bastard boys.”

You hold his gaze, yours getting blurry with tears. Though before he can get the satisfaction of seeing a tear fall, you look down, threading your fingers through Snowball’s soft fur to help with your feelings of hurt. “That was mean, Aemond.” 

Towards me and your nephews , you wanted to say. You know that Aemond has very valid reasons for his hatred towards his nephews, but you remember what your father had said before — holding a grudge leaves nothing but more pain in its wake, poisoning your own soul . It was a lesson for Jorah and Forrest, after another tiff between them, but it stuck to you too.

But you hate the way your voice had trembled when you spoke earlier, so you let it lay in your mind.

You hear Aemond sigh, then there is a shadow falling over you. You look up just as he starts to bend down, both knees on the ground to level with you. His face sullen, and sorry. 

“I…” He takes a swallow, looking down at his hands he had on his lap. “I apologize deeply… for snapping at you when you did not deserve any heat of my ire. And for whisking you away in here without even asking… If you want to leave and go to the tourney instead, I will not stop you.”

You press your lips together, head shaking. Snowball is blinking up at you, awaking from his slumber, stretching his limbs in a yawn before curling up again, purring loud. You start to stroke his fur again as you tell Aemond, “I am content right here.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure Forrest would want you there, cheering for him.”

Smiling, you hum, “I’m sure he does… But I’ve spent my life watching him train all the time. It has become a bore. I do hope he wins though… he is determined to prove to Willam that he is the better warrior out of them…” You sigh, chuckling to yourself. “Those two are always butting heads… and swords.”

Aemond huffs out a laugh, smiling at each other, as if sharing a silent secret.

Then you take his hands from his lap, holding it in yours. It forces him to gaze into your eyes, his own violet eye sheepish. It is that soft look of his that has you confessing straight from your heart, “I did not come to King’s Landing for a tourney, or a wedding, or anything or anyone else.. I came to King's Landing for you, Aemond Targaryen. My best friend.”

Then you pull one hand away from him to pat the floor beside you, inviting him to sit with you.

“And I intend to spend all my time here with you, whether you like it or not.”

Aemond exhales a shuddering breath, as if he had been holding it the whole while you were speaking, then nods before he crawls and takes his place by your side, his hand still holding yours. 

From your other side, you pick up a book on the floor, the one you had picked out earlier from a shelf when he was all taciturn and morose, and hand it over to him. 

His eye widens as he recognizes the cover, “This is…” 

You grin at him. It is his favorite book. One that he talked to you about often but could have never brought to Bear Island because of how big and heavy it was. He had told you many times over the years that once you visit him, he will read it for you, over and over again, until you have it memorized, until you are sick of it. So…

You lean close to him, whispering so soft yet he feels the tickle of your breath on his lips, “Can you read for me, Aemond?”

Aemond wets his lips, glancing from your pretty mouth to your big doe eyes, not knowing he had been leaning closer and closer with every passing second. Just when you were about to flutter your eyelids close, Aemond catches himself and moves back, smiles your way, tender and true. 

Although a bit disappointed, he has you humming sweetly as you let him wrap his arm around your shoulder and pulls you tight towards him, getting comfortable in each other's company — like the two of you are little kids again in the common room of Mormont Keep – and he opens the book and reads.

It was impossible for Aemond to not lose track of time when your head is on his shoulder, your light laughter and clever commentary like music in his ears, and your heartbeat beating like one with his, lulling him deeper and deeper in that dreamland you two had created in the privacy of that library.

As the sun outside starts to set, the fire burning in the room gets brighter and brighter — but it is Snowball’s whining for food that has Aemond realizing that it is late. Really late.

The tournament is surely over and the wedding— 

Seven hells. The wedding.

Aemond shakes you, stirring you awake from the sleep you had just succumbed to moments ago. He feels awful for it, wishing he could just let you rest on his shoulder like he wants to, but he has a duty to perform. Always the good and honorable son.

You don’t protest or whine, grasping the situation quickly, and he takes your hand to pull you up, taking off with one another.

Luckily, the two of you manage to make it to the Great Hall in time. 

You catch sight of your brother-in-law close to the back, towering over the other guests, and you easily weave through the many bodies to slip beside your sister, her grin wide and happy to see you as she pulls you close with her arm around your hips.

Aemond, though, strides confidently down the middle of the hall, no one the wiser that he is late with how sure he carries himself. Except for his older brother, already standing in his place and waiting for his bride-to-be (wiggling his brows at Aemond when the younger passes him by, slyly making a gesture with one hand making a circle with his fingers and the other has two straighten out, pushing them towards the other) and his mother (clearly disappointed in Aemond’s unusual tardiness and confused as to why he wasn’t wearing the formal clothes she had his chambermaids lay out for him) — both to which he ignores, to take his place beside his younger brother, Daeron.

It is good that Daeron knows the time and place when to tease, can gauge how people are feeling, and so he just grins placidly at Aemond, before both their attention towards the opening of the huge double door of the Great Hall, the wedding about to begin.

The wedding was beautiful. Well, as beautiful as a loveless marriage between two siblings could be. Aegon was completely out of it, not bothering to hide how bored and listless he was, and Helaena was meek and quiet when she repeated her vows.  

As Aemond watches them walk back down the long hall together, he cannot help but feel pity – for the both of them.

Yes, Aegon may be a twat but it must be a terrible weight on his shoulder. That ever since he was young, this was what he was destined for, out of duty for his family and the crown. Perhaps it is the reason he grew up to be so horrible, why he drinks, why he is the way he is.

And Helaena – sweet and dear, Helaena – could have had a pick of anyone she wanted, but here she is, stuck with her rude and crass, older brother.

As the crowd starts to disperse, Aemond stands there, thinking about you. How you and him could have a wedding ceremony just like this when he finally tells you how he feels for you. It will be even more grand and gorgeous because that is what you deserve, and because he loves you.

Or… Would he also be forced into a political marriage, to create a stronger alliance with some House that would never feel like a family to him like yours have? Forced to wed someone he does not love, while you slip through his fingers, married to another?

He swallows the lump in his throat, shaking away the dreaded thought.

Aemond’s eye searches for you now, knowing one look at you will bring him back to the library, bring him back that peace of mind you and him created in there, away from all this. He thinks he spies you near the back, but he quickly loses sight of you in the masses of guests heading out the Great Hall to get ready for the celebratory feast. 

Though before he can move to really look for you, his mother grabs his arm and leads him to the back doors of the Great Hall, chastising to get properly dressed. Aemond looks back over his shoulder and sees the hall almost completely empty. He frowns, guessing he’ll have to wait to see you again.

After the wedding ceremony, you head back to your guest chamber, the swarm of guests leaving the Great Hall did not allow you to do anything else. Your sister accompanies you so the two of you can get ready for the dinner celebration together. 

Dorothea has you sitting at the vanity, brushing careful strokes into your hair, making it shiny and pretty for the night. Your eyes are closed, humming in content. You miss this, it is like when you were little girls. You’d put up more of a fight back then but now…

Opening your eyes, you place a hand over Dorothea’s, stopping her mid-brush to find your gaze through the looking glass in front of you. “Come back to Bear Island with us. It’s been awfully lonely without you around.”

Dorothea looks down, hiding her smile, putting the hairbrush down to start braiding your hair in the way the pretty ladies in King’s Landing do. “I never thought I’d hear this from you. You’ve always been closer to our brothers than with me.”

“That’s not true!” You protest, shaking your head. Dorothea tuts and forces you to still. “I may jest with them more, but you have always been my favorite.”

Dorothea chuckles at that. “You are awfully bold tonight.”

Pouting, you whine in a way that only a little sister can get away with, “Can’t a girl just say what is in her heart without being questioned so much so?”

“Then tell me… Have you told the prince how you felt about him?”

This time, it is you who looks away from Dorothea’s gaze through the mirror. “I did not come here to burden him with my feelings.”

Your sister sighs. “You will not be burdening him with your feelings. Don't you see the way he looks at you?”

You bite down at your lower lip, not sure what hurts more – how your sister is pulling your hair back so tight that your face stretches with it or the hollow feeling in your chest. “I do… but… you were at the wedding. The princess and prince hold no love for one another, not even familial love… And Aemond… he is also the son of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. In line for the Iron Throne… We— it’s not a match, the two of us. As much as I want it to be.”

Dorothea frowns, letting your hair free to walk around you to kneel in front of you. She takes you by the shoulders to make you look her in the eyes, properly this time. “Don’t say that, little cub.”

You sniff, holding back the incoming tears. “Our house… it’s… We’re not…” You lick your lips, trying again, “What will they gain from letting Aemond marry me?”

Dorothea squeezes your shoulders in reassurance, then says, “They will gain a wonderful daughter-in-law. One who is smart, and strong, and stupidly stubborn, but lovable nonetheless. One that adores their son so much and looks at him as if he puts the stars in the sky.”

You manage to smile at her words, albeit one that is watery and sad. 

“I don’t think that is enough,” you whisper to her, voice trembling for the second time that day.

Dorothea purses her lips together. Her silence an admission that you may be right.

When it came time to head to the Queen’s Ballroom for the wedding feast, it is like you and your sister did not have that talk at all, laughing together as you walk hand-in-hand. Following behind you two are your Lord Father, Lord Grover Tully, and his two grandsons, Elmo Tully, and Dorothea’s husband, Tobias Tully.

You are so content with your sister’s company that you do notice all the handsome lords that make eyes at you when you pass them by. Instead, you are more entranced by the delicious food filling the many tables, taking your pick and then offering a piece to your sister and father whenever you find something so mouthwateringly good. 

You were in the process of popping a stuffed olive into your mouth when someone chose to slide up behind, shouting your name and startling you to choke on the darn thing. 

“You idiot,” Dorothea hisses at her twin brother as she pats on your back to aid dislodge the olive stuck in your throat. 

“I’m sorry, I did not– Are you alright, little cub?!” Forrest exclaims with worry, smacking his palm on your back as well. Finally, you cough out the olive, and thank the Gods for Dorothea, as she slides a small plate in front of you – making the sticky and wet olive fall on it instead of in your hand.

While Dorothea berates her twin, Forrest keeps asking if you were really alright. You wave him off with a laugh.

“Are you sure? Really sure?”

“Yes, Forrest. I’m quite sure,” you say once more with a playful roll of your eyes.

“Good,” Forrest sighs. “I was quite worried… Also for the fact I didn’t see you at the Tourney.”

“I was… Elsewhere. But I heard you got second! Congratulations!”

Forrest pouts now. “Thank you, but… I wanted to ask for your favor. I had to settle for Dorothea’s and I think that is why I did not win.”

Dorothea glares at him and snaps, “I can hear you, you know?”

Forrest throws a cheeky grin her way that has her eyes rolling, turning her attention towards her husband instead.

“But are you sure you are alright?” Forrest asks as he takes a careful hold of your hands, voice low and firm so only the two of you can hear. “I’m asking seriously this time… That scene in the training yard with Ae and his nephews… I’ve never seen him like that before.”

You squeeze your brother’s hands reassuringly. “It is alright. He has apologized.”

Forrest hums, frowning, but takes your word for it. Then he straightens up, happy-go-lucky Forrest again. “Then will you join me to sup tonight? Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra asked me to their table. They were quite impressed with my skills at the tourney. And well…” He whispers the next part, a teasing smirk on his lips, “There is a certain Velaryon boy that was quite taken by you, and they want you to join them as well.”

Before you can even accept or refuse, Dorothea nudges Forrest aside to wrap her arm around yours, as if to claim you for the night. “Nuh-uh. Our sister is to sit with me and my Lord-Husband tonight,” then to you she asks giddily, “Do you remember Jeremy Strong? Ser Fallon Strong’s second youngest? Well, ever since you visited Riverrun for my wedding, he had been asking about you and well, before, with the whole… situation, I let him down easy. But now after our talk…”

“A Strong? Over a Velaryon Prince for our lovely sister?” Forrest scoffs quietly. “You are a terrible matchmaker, Thea.”

“Titles and Family Names should not matter. What matters is a good man. You should know that, dear Forrest, with all your canoodling with the Stark —”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you both–” Your father cuts in, smiling fondly at his children before standing at your side. “But our little cub and I have been formally invited to dine with the King and the Queen tonight… And that is an invitation we simply cannot refuse.” 

Then without another word, your father takes you by the arm, leading you away from your siblings that are as dumbfounded as you are.

Aemond is running late again. So late, in fact, that his mother has Daeron knocking on his door to chaperone him to the feast. 

It puts Aemond in a foul mood. Or perhaps, fouler than the one he was in before, when he was all alone in his bedchamber, stewing in dreadful thoughts about the future – the reason he is running late in the first place.

Aemond waves off Daeron in a way that could also be interpreted as a more polite way of Aemond flipping him off. The youngest prince just shrugs, and follows closely behind his older brother as they make their way to the ballroom together.

Aemond thought that maybe once they reach the ballroom that he’ll be free to mingle, be free to find you. But of course it cannot be that easy, because what they find when they arrive is Ser Criston, waiting for them near the entrance of the ballroom to lead them straight to the main table of the room. 

With not many options on where to sit now that almost all the guests have taken a seat at a table, Aemond plops down on the chair beside his mother, all sulky and surly. 

Aegon is to his right, takes one look at the One-Eyed Prince’s face and laughs, hard – clearly already in his cups. Aemond simply shifts his body slightly more to the left to ignore him. 

Only two empty chairs remain at their table beside Prince Daeron, who is sitting directly across Aemond. At first, Aemond thought it would be for his half-sister and heir to the throne, Princess Rhaenyra, and her uncle-husband, Prince Daemon, but he spies them at another table with Rhaenyra’s bastard children, and Princess Rhaenys and her granddaughters. It was probably by his mother’s arrangement to not sit them at their table — if it were up to his father, they would be by his side. His mother – though petty at times – would rather not ruin her two beloved childrens’ wedding day and end it with another huge family feud.

So who would be sitting on those empty chairs? From looking around, Aemond sees all his immediate family already sat. Could it be for the twin knights, Ser Arryk and Erryk Cargyll, the former being the champion of the Tournament, or maybe –

Suddenly, the Queen rises, beaming with joy. “Our guest of honor! It is lovely to see you two!”

Aemond glances over to who his mother is speaking to and what he sees has his eye widening, body moving on its own as he is standing up too.

Because it is you, standing right there at the other side of the table beside your father, and looking like an absolute daydream in that dress — no, the dress, the one he gifted you for your sixteenth name day. 

Aemond had often dreamt about you wearing the cream colored dress ever since he got a look at it – how lovely the color would look against your skin, the way your dainty collarbones and shoulders will be on display due to the off the shoulder sleeves, and the elegant way you would move around him in it.

But, as you often proved, dreams could never compare to the brilliant reality of you. 

He can’t keep his eye off of you. You have completely stolen his breath away — and his heart, once again.

He can tell you were very nervous, with the way your fingers twist together in front of you. But then your eyes meet his and you are exhaling out air as you stand up a little straighter, more sure of yourself.

Aemond smiles to himself. It is nice to know that he gives you as much ease as you give him.

“Sorry for the tardiness, your Grace,” your father apologizes, bowing his head at the Queen and the King. 

“It’s alright, Lord Mormont,” The Queen shakes off with a kind smile. “The invitation was quite last minute, so I thank you for gracing us with your presence.”

Then she puts a hand on Aemond’s arm, a gesture for him to stay put, before she rounds the table to greet you and your father.

Queen Alicent talks to your father first, thanking him once again for taking care and bringing back Aemond safely all those years ago, and for always welcoming him to your home. Then King Viserys pipes up from the seat over where the Queen had been, too weak to stand up to greet your father properly, but your father leans over the table to shake his hand, and they start to converse as if old and very close friends. 

That has the Queen’s attention flicking to you, and she smiles at you in a way that seems like she is about to burst into tears. Then you are being pulled into her tight embrace.

“It is so wonderful to finally meet you,” the Queen says softly into your ear. “Thank you for being such a good friend to our dearest Aemond.” 

Alicent pulls back, but her hands are now on your arms. “I have heard so many wonderful things about you.”

You glance down bashfully. “Thank you, your Grace. I heard many a great things about you too.”

Neither of you hear Aegon’s comment, “Well, of course. Aemond, the mommy’s boy,” or how said ‘mommy’s boy’ kicks his shin from underneath the table.

Alicent then looks you over. Even if her stare is anything but scrutinizing, you still felt very self-conscious. The Queen is the very definition of perfection, and you cannot help but think of all your flaws in that very moment. Is your hair all in place? Is there food stuck in your teeth? What will she think about that scar you have on your arm from sparring with Jorah when you were young?

“You are such a darling girl,” Queen Alicent declares. “So pretty…” She then gasps, “Is this the dress Aemond and I have gotten made for you?”

You nod in confirmation. “It is. Thank you graciously, your grace.”

Alicent sighs, head shaking as she smiles at you and squeezes your arms. “Lovely…”

Then she breaks away fully, gesturing at the empty chairs for you and your father, “Come, sit! Sit!”

And when you take a seat, that is when Aemond finally sits down too. 

You share a smile with your best friend, before turning to your left to greet his younger brother. Prince Daeron gives you a handsome grin and takes your hand to shake. But before you can take your hand back, he leans in close and murmurs hotly in your ear, “I would kiss your hand, but I heard whispers about what my dear brother did earlier to our nephew… And I’d rather keep my head, no matter how absolutely divine you are.”

You are a flush when he pulls away, the youngest prince silently laughing to himself, and your prince at the other side of the table narrows his eye in question at the exchange.

The main course of the dinner arrives and soon the Queen’s Ballroom is alive with joyous laughter and utensils scraping on plates. You are slow to eat and drink, afraid if you are not careful, you will stain your pretty dress with something you cannot get off of it. This also means you are a lot more sober than anyone else around you – even Aemond, who does not drink much or often. 

He is so relaxed and happy, often looking towards you with that sweet smile on his face. 

From beside him, his mother seems quite tipsy as well. She is staring at you, her chin in the palm of her hand.

“I apologize, Lady Mormont, I can’t seem to stop myself from looking at you,” Queen Alicent confesses, head tilting with a sigh. “You look even more gorgeous than that stunning painting Aemond has of you in his –”

“Mother!” Aemond sharply barks, the tip of his ears immediately burning bright red.

Maybe you are not as sober as you thought, because, what?

“Painting…? What painting?” You ask, confused. 

Alicent is silent now, realizing she had blurted out something her son did not want you to know.

“Oh, right! That one!” Aegon exclaims, as if suddenly remembering. “The one that Aemond surely jerks it—”

The oldest prince groans, doubling over. The one responsible does not look sorry at all but just miserable now, his fingers pressed to his temple.

Luckily for Aemond’s (and Aegon’s) life, your father had gotten up moments before to chat with Forrest at his table.

“It is quite life-like!” Princess Helaena gleefully adds on from beside her brother-husband. “It looks exactly like you!”

Befuddled even more, your brows crease closer together. You try to get your best friend’s attention to make things a bit clearer, “Aemond..?”

But the one-eyed Prince is so embarrassed that he refuses to acknowledge you — leaving you in turmoil for the rest of the dinner. 

Even when the plates start getting cleared away, Aemond still does not say one word to you. 

Prince Daeron tries to ease the tension, making small talk with you about things that his brother could easily input a thought or two in. But Aemond doesn’t take the bait, not even then Daeron kicks him from under the table.

Although Prince Daeron is quite nice to talk to, you still felt very out of place – especially with how Aemond is ignoring you. 

Every passing second, your smile feels more and more forced – until you cannot do it anymore, choosing to stare at your hands on your lap instead, making yourself small. 

Seeing you like that has Prince Daeron huffing and shaking his head at the stupidity of his brother, and he decides to take matters into his own hands. He stands then and turns towards you, “Lady Mormont, will you honour me with a dance?”

With his jaw clenching at the question posed, Aemond feels your gaze turning to him, but he keeps his steady on the wall. You stare at his profile for another moment or two, then resign yourself to the fact that you are not going to get anything out of him – maybe not even for the rest of the night. So with a tight smile, you take Prince Daeron’s hand. “Of course, my Prince.”

As the youngest prince leads you out to where the other guests are dancing, Prince Aegon laughs out loud when Aemond furiously inhales deeply. “Seven hells, you’re an idiot.”

And for once in his life, Aemond thinks that Aegon might be right.

Aemond is watching you now, once again cannot take his eye off of you.

How can he when you are laughing so prettily, smiling freely, spinning around and around, and enchanting everyone with every twirl of your dress?

But he can’t even bring himself to find a little bit of joy for your happiness, not when the ones giving it to you are the admirers after admirers asking for your hand to dance, tripping over themselves to have even a morsel of your precious time.

Aemond is wild with jealousy, seething as he has Ser Criston murmuring in his ear who each one was.

Lord Thorin Tyrell. Ser Jonas Lannister. Lord Thomas Vance. Lord Alwyn Swyft. 

And the one who currently has his arms around you now, making you beam from ear to ear, is Lord Jeremy Strong .

It’s nauseating, but at least it is not that bastard, Jacaerys. He has noticed his nephew making eyes at you all night. But he might not be as daft as he looks because he keeps his distance. Maybe what happened that afternoon still burned in his mind.

Good, Aemond sneers in his head, glaring at where Jace leans against a bannister, moping.

That is when Aemond realizes he is doing the same pitiful thing. 

Feeling sorry for himself as he lets others get what he wants. It’s pathetic.

Having had enough, Aemond stands and straightens out his cufflinks before stalking his way to you.

As he gets nearer, he overhears the conversation you are having with the Lord leading you around the dancefloor.

“I did not mean to offend you, Jeremy. If I had known you were the one that made the dish, I wouldn’t have—”

“Wouldn’t have… so blatantly said it was revolting in front of me?”

“That was not the word I used! I just said it was bad!”

“Well, if it pleases you to hear, my Lady… I, uh, have gotten better at it.”

“...Truly?”

“Don’t– Don’t look so doubtful! Maybe I can, um, show you some time, how does breakfast–”

Aemond has to refrain his eye from rolling. Instead, he takes an interjecting step towards the two of you, his looming presence intense enough to halt you completely from moving even an inch.

When your eyes round at him, he simply smirks.  “Lady Mormont, I believe I am owed a dance.”

You glance at Lord Strong, smile apologetic as you take your hands off him, a faint thank you for the dance out of your lips.

Aemond does not even spare a single glance at your partner for the whole interaction, his eye only on you. He hears the Lord murmur a low my prince out of respect, but Aemond doesn’t acknowledge it, just overtakes the Lord’s place in front of you, placing his hands possessively on your hips. 

Although you put your hands on Aemond’s arms – thus accepting his invitation to dance – your gaze follows the retreating back of your previous dancing partner, a frown worrying your features. Then your fierce glare is on him, “That was pretty rude of you, don’t you think, my Prince?”

He should be happy that’s what he got out of me after he dare thinks he could just court you so easily at my home, in front of me, Aemond thinks uncivilly , Vhagar is itching to burn something alive.

But it would be unwise to say all that out loud, so he just presses his mouth together and holds his chin up a little higher, as if to let you know that what he is going to say next is not at all genuine, “I apologize for my very impertinent behavior towards Lord Strong. It shall not happen again.”

Your look of exasperation does not falter, but you do not move away, not even when Aemond pulls you to him a little more closer.

“I do also apologize though, for how I treated you at the dinner table,” Aemond murmurs, this time sincere. He takes a swallow, frowning. “I was… uncomfortable with some things that came to light. I could not face you to preserve my own selfish pride, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

You cannot help it, you are too soft for him. Your anger just dissipates away. Your hand skims down his arm, comforting him as you sway slowly together with the music from the band, “You’ve been apologizing to me quite a lot today, my prince.”

Aemond hums, head bowing low, his breath tickling your cheek when he speaks, “I intend to make it up to you, enkelitsos.” 

From beneath your lashes, you peer at his hungry gaze, your nervous voice shyly asking, “And how will you do that, my prince?”

And again, as if gravity is simply forcing the two of you to each other, the distance between you and the prince closes in more. 

Too close to be appropriate in a hall full of nobles, with eyes that see and mouths that talk. 

From the main table, Queen Alicent is one of those eyes and mouth. Fondly, she leans to her husband to comment, “Aemond looks so smitten.”

But beside the jovially laughing King, the man with the gold hand pinned on his chest watches too – disapproval strong in the lines of his face.

With the Bedding Ceremony underway, it is easier for Prince Aemond to sneak you into his bedchamber. Still, if the two of you were caught, the punishment will be harsh. But he has one goal in mind and he intends to see it through – to show you the painting that caused quite a stir at dinner.

“I promise you it is not as strange as you think it is,” Aemond says, his hand holding yours as he leads you carefully yet swiftly through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast.

You huff, pressing your back against the wall when Aemond does, watching as the prince peers around the corner. “Do not put words into my mouth, Aemond! I do not think it is strange. I just want to know what it is!”

“It’s–” he stops, then he is tugging you to move again, across the hall and into a door that leads to a stone staircase. As you climb the steps with him, Aemond continues, “Well, you’ll see soon. We’re almost there.”

Your heartbeat is beating so fast at the thrill of all the sneaking around. But as exhilarating as it is, you were delighted to finally be pulled into the safety of Aemond’s bedchamber, to allow the pulsing in your veins to finally calm and to breathe normally again.

Or at least you try… Because it is then when it comes to you that you are in Aemond’s bedchamber, alone with the prince.

You don't know how you do it, but you are the perfect image of serenity when you glance around the room to take everything in.

Nothing there was really surprising to you. He keeps his own bedchamber the same way he kept the guest chamber that is his in Mormont Keep – pristine, and not a thing out of place. But there are things around that make your heart sing with delight –  the little gifts you and your family have given the prince throughout the years. 

The long black leather gloves that Jorah made, with an embroidered red of the House Targaryen sigil by you on the cuffs, hanging on the handle of his armoire. Wooden Cyvasse pieces crafted by Braeden on a fancy marbled Cyvasse board — reminding you that Aemond still hasn’t beaten your oldest brother yet. The leather ball by the foot of his bed, the one that he kicked in the goal and earned a victorious win with Forrest in a game of mob football with the other kids on the island. A very amateur drawing you made of you and him riding Vhagar in a golden frame on the bedside table. A leather bound journal on his desk, gifted by your mother and father, looking well-loved and well-used. And many, many more.

He keeps it intertwined with his other things, as if they are as precious as the golds, jewels, and all the other clearly more valuable items he has.

And that is when you see it, hanging on the wall opposite of his bed, surrounded by the golden ornate frame, is you — brought to life on a canvas by talented strokes of rich oil paints. 

“This… Dorothea painted this,” you inform Aemond – who stands in the center of the room with his hand nervously clasped behind his back – as if he already did not know. 

“Yes, she did.”

As you continue to stare at the painting in disbelief, you start to recount, “I… I remember this day so clearly. She made me sit in her room for hours and hours – seven to be exact. Believe me, I counted. And then after she was finished… The next day, it was just… gone . I was mad at her for weeks. I couldn’t believe how she wasted my time, and she cannot even explain how it disappeared. But now—” You look at him, a mirthful smile on your lips, “She sent it to you.”

Aemond nods slow, taking steps to meet you by your side. “When I couldn’t travel to visit you, I was slowly succumbing to a state of dep—” he clears his throat, and tries again, “Deep discontent. I just wanted to see you, but I could not. So I sent Dorothea a letter in hopes that she can provide me with a picture of you. I just wanted something small but what she sent back was… Well, I am grateful, but I asked her not to tell you about it. Not even the part where I wanted a picture in the first place.” 

“Oh Gods,” you mutter, slapping a palm on your forehead. You remember that too. When you start to laugh, Aemond looks down at you with confusion.

“I thought you were writing those letters to Dorothea because you were courting her,” you say in between fits of giggles. So all those days you spent crying in bed were all for nothing? How your heart only truly mended when you watched Dorothea make her way down the aisle because that means that Aemond could not have her anymore? You feel so utterly silly. 

There is a grimace on Aemond’s face that makes you laugh even harder. “She was so secretive with them, so I did not know what else to think!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Aemond says, as if you are offending him. “I could never look at Dorothea in that way.”

“And why not? ” Now it’s your turn to be offended, on behalf of your sister. “Everyone is in love with Dorothea! She’s so pretty, and clearly very talented, and so polite, and—”

The way Aemond takes your hands in his has you shutting up your prattling. 

The prince shifts closer, your hands intertwined together over his heart, his gaze heavy on you as his forehead press against yours.

“Because I…” he breathes, and his mouth – his sinfully alluring mouth, crafted so prettily by the Gods – so close to yours, only breadths away. It is hard to tear your attention away from the way his tongue peeks out of to wet his lips, but you do, only to witness the beauty of his violet eye just as he confesses, “I’ve only ever had eyes for you.”

And you don’t even know who makes the first move. It might have been you. It might have been him. But his mouth is on yours, and yours are on his, and that is all that matters. 

Aemond’s lips are as heavenly as you dreamt them to be. So soft yet firm, and he knows the right pressure to apply with them to have you moaning against his mouth. 

You feel his smile, and he murmurs how delectable you are before his tongue laves along the seam of your lips, asking for permission. You give in to him, also craving for more. 

As the kiss deepens, you pull your hands away from his to wrap around his strong shoulders, and he places his own greedy on your hips, gripping tight onto the willowy fabric of your dress. You feel like you should be embarrassed about the needy, whimpering sounds you are making, but you’re not. 

Aemond starts moving now, pulling you back with him, though his hungry lips stay attacking your lips. Although your own kisses are unpracticed, it fills you with some strange sort of satisfaction that you have the prince panting in your mouth, desperate for more. His mouth so hot you are getting delirious.

“Aemond…” you gasp, so sweetly, when you part for an intake of air. The prince growls, nipping along the underside of your jaw. “Please…”

You don’t even know what you are asking for.

He turns you around, so sudden it has you gasping and grasping onto the footboard of his bed. His lips are quick to latch back on your skin, mouthing down the side of your neck while his fingers unties the lacing on the back of your dress. With every undoing of the silk ribbon, the bustier gets looser, causing your breast to spill out, the heat of Aemond’s palm on one of them without a moment’s delay, squeezing. 

Your whole body is lit ablaze, burning hotter and hotter as more and more of you is becoming exposed to Aemond’s eye as your dress starts to fall – his mouth now kissing down your spine, following the fabric down –  and drops onto a heap on the tiled floor.

Then Aemond is straightening up, his hands tender on you, skimming across your shoulders, putting your nerves at ease under his touch. 

“Gevie… ” He whispers hotly in your ear, his fingers now in your hair, undoing the braids and letting the strands free. You know that one, gevie, a word he taught you after you had wanted to compliment Vhagar. 

Beautiful . 

Your eyes flutter shut, humming under his gentle ministration. 

And that is when you feel him, hard, pressed against your lower back, rubbing onto you. You bite down your bottom lip, suppressing a wanton moan.

Once he is done with undoing all the intricate braids in your hair, he is turning you around again to face him, this time more gentle. You are a flush, his eye roaming on your bare body – completely and wholeheartedly just for him.

You don’t know how or why, but you don’t feel self conscious at all under the heated gaze of your prince. If anything, you might be bolder, standing on the tip of your toes to press another desperate kiss on Aemond’s lips.

“I want you so much,” he tells you; voice low, breath heavy, and eye full of lust. 

Your lashes flutter at him, smiling wide as you cannot contain the happiness inside from bursting out. “And I want just as much. Perhaps, more.”

He takes your hand, his grinning lips grazing the knuckles. “I don’t think that is possible.”

Then he leads around to the side of the bed, lays you down with such care, your head landing gently on the rich duvet. He does not join you, not yet, still standing beside the bed frame.

You call for him, desire burning between your thighs. 

What is he waiting for?

You sit up your elbows to watch him, watching you as he wordlessly unfastens the sashed belt around his waist and unbuttons the form-fitting leather tunic he is wearing, stripping both off unceremoniously. Your mouth gapes open at the sight of his marbled and broad chest, marveling at how gorgeously toned it is, defined by years and years of special training. 

There is a cocky smirk on his lips as he starts to unlace his breeches. His ego inflating as you eye the thickness of him with a hard swallow. He takes himself in his hand while he kicks away the rest of his clothes – now as naked as you are.

He crawls onto the bed now, his knee sliding in between your thighs, his mouth on yours again – he simply cannot get enough. 

You cannot not think straight, you need him so much it makes you dizzy. You need to ground yourself, so you touch his chest, feel the solid planes of it, his heartbeat beating fast underneath your palm. It makes you feel so safe. Aemond makes you feel so safe.

Aemond’s hands are roaming too, worshiping every inch of your body as if you are the altar he prays to. Fondling your breast, tweaking your nipples until they harden, clutching at your hips and your thighs so hard that it will leave bruises…  And then his fingers – your heartbeat speeding up so — his fingers trail along the juncture of your thigh, so close to where you want him most. 

You moan wantonly, throwing your head back and baring your neck for him. Without even noticing, you also part your thighs further apart, allowing him easier access.

“Needy ,” he tuts with a huffed out chuckle, teeth biting to leave a mark on the underside of your jaw. Aemond looks down to where his hand is, exhaling out a shaky breath as fingers slide closer to the dewy folds of your precious cunt. He groans when he finds you dripping wet, and it’s because of him. All for him. “So bloody needy.”

His fingers make a mess of you, rubbing so firmly yet tenderly at your sensitive clit. You’ve done this to yourself before, but somehow the way Aemond does it feels different. Better . He has your hips moving on its own, your mouth crying out his name, and your cunt clenching, begging to be filled.

Then a finger starts to press inside you — thicker than your own, thicker than what you are used to. 

Aemond sees how you squeeze your eyes shut, and he stills. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes flutter open to Aemond’s face of concern, and you quickly nod, clutching a hand on his arm. “Yes, please keep going.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, to make sure this is what you really want. When he deems your words true, he starts to move his hand again, his finger slowly sliding in and out of your entrance, coming out wetter and wetter each time. You start to pant softly, licks of pleasure rolling through you.

He eases another digit in, scissoring the two apart inside of you. You bite your lip, hips lifting off the bed at the slightly uncomfortable feeling. But it doesn’t take long for the fuzzy, good feeling to take over you again. So much so that when he presses his thumb on your clit again, you start to tremble, whimpering as you peak for the first time, your sweet juices spilling over his fingers and onto the sheet beneath you.

“You’re so good for me, enkelitsos,” your prince praises, has you preening underneath him as he places a kiss on each of your eyelids, the tip of your nose, and your lips. He then sits up on his knees, palming his hard cock again. Still trying to catch your breath, you watch in fascination as he spreads the precum beading at the tip along the rest of him. “Think you can take me now?”

Although extremely nervous, you find yourself nodding at Aemond.

You have had lessons about this before, about the deflowering, from your mother, your septa, and even Dorothea, but never in great detail. You do not know what to expect.

But what you do know is that Aemond will treat you right.

He bends over you, one hand gripping his cock while the other is beside your head, pressed against the bed to keep him from falling on top of you. He teases the tip of him on your still sensitive nub, making you shiver, sliding himself up and down along your folds to build up anticipation. But his set on torturing you has the same affect on himself. Not when you feel so warm and good and was so tight around just two of his fingers.

Aemond curses under his breath, unable to put it off anymore. He guides his cock to the entrance of your cunt, pushing inside with a low, impassioned groan.

You are so bloody tight, it feels too good. But he knows you need to adjust to his size, the rapid clenching of your walls letting him know you are trying to get used to his cock.

He sees you blinking away the tears. It hurts, but not as much as you thought it would. 

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Aemond murmurs as his head falls, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, finding comfort there as he inhales the scent of you. 

And in that moment, you knew you are so full of love for him, snuffling as you nudge your nose into his hair. “I’m ready, Aemond.”

He peers at you, his hand finding yours, intertwining together as he starts to move.

He fills you to the brim in one slow thrust, hilting as his hips knock against yours. You are stretched tight around his throbbing cock, the pushing and pulling building up something fierce inside of you. He buries himself deep inside, over and over again, slamming into you like a man possessed. 

The heat of his mouth is burning like the dragon he is, open above yours, hovering and close enough to touch, but they don’t — only moaning your passion for each other.

He pulls you up suddenly, still deep inside you. Has you sitting on his lap, hands gripping on your hips as he makes you move, making you bounce on his cock. He sets the pace, and you are completely under his control, letting him with no regret.

“Ae!” You cry out, feeling him hit so deep, the head of his cock probably already breaching the deepest parts of you. Your arms are wrapped tight around him, tears streaming from your eyes, all out of pleasure and none out of pain. 

“Peak for me, my love,” Aemond demands, an animalistic growl rumbling his throat. “Come all over my cock as I spill my seed inside you.”

And you do. Breaking again just as his cum fills you up, just like he promised.

He kisses you deeply one last time before you are both flopping on his bed, completely boneless and aching with exhaustion.

You lay there for some time in your lover’s embrace, completely content in the silence save for the evening out of both your heavy breathing. 

Is it possible to be this happy? You must have saved a million lives in your past life for just this moment. You cannot believe how lucky you are to fall in love with your best friend.

To have someone you love everything about.

“Eye…” You say softly, but it still breaks the quiet between you. Aemond hums in question, his fingertips absentmindedly trailing over your skin, just to feel you. You roll to your side to look at him, his hand gripping your hip when you do so. “Eye… you only have an eye for me. Earlier you said eyes , during your confession. But, you only have one …”

That has Aemond spluttering, mouth opening and closing in sheer disbelief. 

And then he is laughing, fingers digging into your sides, tickling you into a fit of giggles. “You cheeky, little…”

As you two laugh, you grab onto his face to press a sweet kiss on his lips. When you pull away, he is not laughing anymore, and neither are you. You lick your lips, staring into his violet eyes, “But this one eye.. It is the beautiful eye I fell in love with… When you opened them to look at me that first night.”

Aemond’s eye waters as he lets out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss on your inner wrist. Then his hand is moving behind his head, unclasping his eyepatch. 

It has you holding your breath. You have not seen Aemond without his eyepatch since the first time he landed on Bear Island. So why is he now taking it off?

As Aemond lets it fall onto his hand, what you see has you gasping softly.

For it is your sapphire there, taking the place of his missing eye.

You reach your hand up, running your thumb tenderly along the bags underneath it. Aemond hums happily, nuzzling his cheek against your palm.

“I keep it here because I… I always want you with me,” he declares. “The woman who has my heart wholeheartedly and for evermore.”

You say his name, so full of fondness. He kisses you fiercely, puts all his feelings in it that he cannot put into words anymore. 

“I want to be selfish now,” you say against his lips, already dreading the thought of leaving him in the morrow. “I want you to write to me everyday. I do not even care if you have nothing at all to say.”

“I will do that, enkelitsos. And many more.”

“Like what?”

Aemond simply smirks, before he is descending kisses down your body, your hand threading into his hair and pulling as his tongue spreads over you. 

Prince Aemond sends you off a day later with a tight embrace – stealing your kisses in every shadowed corner of the Keep as the two of you made your way to your father waiting at the gates – and you are barely even out King’s Landing but he is already in his bedchamber, writing you a raven that will be waiting for you when you arrive back home. He will keep good on his promise, writing to you every day. Greedy to steal more of your heart with every prose he writes about how much he loves you, how he cannot wait to see you again, and more salacious things that will make your whole body heat up.

With the first letter done, he makes his way to the rookery. 

When he steps inside, he almost collides into the Hand of the King, his grandfather, Otto Hightower. 

“My apologies, grandfather,” Aemond says, stepping aside to let him pass. 

“It is alright, my prince,” his grandfather says, about to take his leave. 

“Important business?” Aemond cannot help but ask, stopping the Hand on his track. He does not see his grandfather at rookery much — or at all, if he thinks about it. He usually has his serving boys deliver his scrolls to the rookery Maesters. So whatever he is here for is probably important enough for him to hand it off himself. 

“Yes, you can say that…” Otto says with a stiff smile, glances over his shoulder to give the Maester a solid nod — a silent understanding between them. He then pats his grandson’s arm before walking out the open door. 

Aemond is used to his grandfather’s taciturn ways, so he lets him be, turning to the Maester with a grin. “A raven to Bear Island, if you have the time.”

Aemond waits, and waits, and waits. Several moons pass, many letters written, and the couriers traveling back and forth… Still, he gets nothing back at all from you.

And so like the harsh temperament of the North, he fears you have completely iced him out of your life.

Author's Note: this officially concludes the first act of this story! whoo!! the second act is the last one and should only be four more chapters unless one chapter gets too long so i have to break it into two!

any predictions on what's to come? it's inspired by taylor swift's ivy if that will give anything away >:)!

also, if it's not obvious, i have a soft spot for alicent because olivia cooke plays her, and olivia cooke also played emma in bate's motel and emma/dylan is like one of my top ships of all time lol!!

comments/reblogs/questions keeps me inspired & motivated so never hesitate to do any of the three :) !!

also after posting this chapter, i've caught up with what i've posted so far on ao3 so the next update will not be posted anytime soon since i haven't started writing it yet :'). but i've been writing a LOT lately so hopefully the next chapter will be done in a week or two!!

[weirwoodswitch]

A Merciful King ☼ Chapter Five

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen II x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: death of a child, hella angst, drunken behavior

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: huge thanks to @sinsofedgar for editing this chapter for me! I originally posted this series on TheGreensWhore. Unfortunately I got shadowbanned on there so I’m reposting all of amk onto here and will be posting further chapters on here instead of there. If anyone asked to be added to the taglist that isn’t on it please ask me again on here cause I just kind of checked out of my old blog. It started upsetting me. 

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.

Taglist, ones in bold didn’t let me tag:@mirandastuckinthe80s @b1gb3anz @daenerysdracarys @sidiriv @wondergal2001 @flavorofsalt @daddysfavoritesexkitten @zillahvathek @venusthevirgo @gretesstuff @rey260717-blog @tswiftsthings @itsametaphorbriansblog @elleclairez @stargaryenx @tired-ninfa @caramelcandescence @viscardiac @peachiesteve @moonxhunt @tisthekatseason @bajadotcom @xxlilyxx90 @ferrarischampions @ohitsthemaster @justasmallbean-blog @thefloatingpickle @lawlerek @miqaelababa @arcielee @watermel0nsugarhigh @lovecleastrange @lyannesworld @imakeangelscry @aloneatpeace @xinyourdreamsx @cl-0-vr @borikenlove @shion-ah @widemiffyhappy @aegonsgf @randomgirlthatlikesalotoffandom @bwormie @bellameshipper @evienorville @mandiiblanche @ggglitch-exe @hydrationqueensworld @shiranai-atsune @graykageyama @hiatuswhore​

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[weirwoodswitch]

I know, you was looking forward for Daeron and Tessarion.

And maybe you want Syrax the next?

[weirwoodswitch]

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 7.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. angst. major character (for this fic) death... yeah...

wc. 3k+

Author’s Note: WARNING!!! spoilers ahead!! Kinda… i’ve not read the books, just the wiki pages obsessively lol, so this will have major spoilers, diverge canon but events will probably be wrong! But that’s the fun of this au!!

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 (finale?)

chapter seven: you're not my homeland anymore, so what am i defending now?

The people are calling it the Dance of the Dragons. 

A pretty song-like title for a tale that they will tell in future years to come of the triumph of the one who had sat victorious on the throne made of a thousand swords, the imagery of falling flying beasts, and the rise and fall of two families who share the same name. 

The winners will be lionized as heroes. They will have songs written about them and their pictures in the history books will be one of them looking tall and gallant. People will say their victory was selfless — all for the good of the realm and its people, and not for anything else. 

The losing side will be the villains and the cravens who gave up everything they had – their dignity, their moral compass, the ones they care about the most, and their lives. When people speak of their name, it will be said like it is a curse and as if they taste trash on their tongue. Or perhaps worse — there will be some who will not be remembered at all. 

But in reality, despite its pretty song-like title, this “Dance of the Dragons” is a brutal and cruel civil war that has already taken the lives of many and forever changed the trajectory of others. 

Aemond Targaryen thinks about his younger brother, Prince Daeron, no longer the young, carefree man with the easy-going smile for he has hardened by the horrors he has seen and caused himself, and for the dark liquor he drinks to forget it all.

He thinks about his sister, Queen Helaena, stuck in the prison of her bedchamber under her own volition; refusing to eat and sleep, over encumbered with grief and depression due to witnessing the brutal murder of her oldest son. Forever haunted by the fact that when the assassins gave the false illusion of choice to choose between which of her children to die, she had said her youngest’s name instead.

He thinks about his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, who has seen the suffering her beloved children have been going through this past year and a half and weeps on their behalf every single night. Who tells Aemond that she is proud of him, and yet still cannot look him in the eye. 

Then, Prince Aemond thinks about himself, and the crown he wears now, as Prince Regent for his older brother, King Aegon, who is bedridden and unfit to rule with his severe injuries and burns due to the battle at Rook’s Rest, where they — Aemond, himself, and Aegon — took the lives of their aunt, Princess Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was and her dragon, Meleys. And though it is his older brother who bears the same name as their Targaryen ancestor who first sat on the Iron Throne as King and thus beginning the Targaryen dynasty in the Seven Kingdoms, Aemond thinks it is on his head that Aegon the Conqueror’s crown fits better. 

But he can’t— no, Aemond won’t think about the little cub so far from her forested island to inhabit the hollow and cold halls of Harrenhal. 

Though it seems that the Sevens are not the most benevolent of Gods; and when they give Aemond something that he wants, they always have a habit of taking something away. 

This time in exchange for the crown, they want his already crumbling peace of mind. 

“Harrenhal has been conquered,” Ser Criston announces as he storms furiously inside the pitched tent that Aemond and Daeron are using as a war council room at their base camp just by the southwest border of the Reach. “That filthy whore fucker captured it with his dragon and army.”

Daeron shrugs, kicking his feet up on the war table as he indulges on another gulp of wine. “Well, after tonight, we take full control of the whole Reach so who really cares about Harrenhal. Our dear uncle can have that cursed castle.”   

Clearly he is already in his cups and not thinking clearly if he thinks what he said has any sense to it. 

Aemond scowls at his youngest brother, pushing his feet off the table so suddenly that Daeron almost falls off the chair if he had not managed to catch his balance at the last second. Aemond then braces his hands on the edge of the table, glaring first at his brother then turning to the map laid out in front of him. “We’re not letting Daemon have anything, especially not Harrenhal — not when the Tullys, the Freys, and the Arryns are also for the Blacks.”

Daeron stands now and looks over the map with the Prince Regent, sighing when he realizes Aemond is right. If the Blacks get a hold of a Harrenhal as well, they can kiss goodbye to their already a sliver of an opportunity to invade the North. 

“How did Daemon manage to take hold of Harrenhal so quickly?” Aemond asks Ser Criston, looking wildly incredulous. It was only a few weeks ago that they got word from the castellan, Ser Simon Strong, that they have enough troops in Harrenhal to rally towards the other Riverlands Houses who supported Rhaenyra. “Was it really an incredible feat or are the Strongs as traitorous as they are in the penchant for producing lowly bastards?” 

The Lord Commander of the King’s Guard — and also now, the Hand of the King after King Aegon deemed his grandfather, Otto Hightower, unfit to guide him — shakes his head, unsure. “I would not put it past them, your Grace… With Harwin who sired three of that whore Queen’s sons, and the Clubfoot — fuck, that guy gives me the creeps…” Ser Criston shivers, thinking of Larys Strong, the master of whisperers. 

Aemond lets out a hmm in agreement. He never trusted Larys, and the way the man leered at his mother disturbed the prince and made his blood boil with rage.

“So I say we take no chances and just be done with the whole House,” the Lord Commander advises.

Aemond hums again, this time in contemplation at his suggestion. Ser Criston has a point. House Strong’s so-called loyalty to their side has not been beneficial to their cause in any way – the only thing they’ve truly given is their hold on Harrenhal, and now they don’t even have that. 

“Wait…” Daeron frowns, deep in thought. “Are you saying we should execute the Strongs?”

Ser Criston grins maniacally at the youngest prince. “Every. Single. Last. One. Of those traitorous fucks.”

Daeron finds himself grinning back, suddenly bloodthirsty. Although unfortunate, Lucerys’ death was all in all an accident. But the retaliation from Daemon – hiring two assassins to savagely murder Daeron’s nephew in front of his two younger siblings and their mother, Queen Helaena – was anything but an accident. It was a cruel act, made to break the Greens. Helaena has never been the same since that night, and Daeron is not sure if he is either. 

And if the Strongs are secretly aiding Daemon behind their backs, then they deserve to rot through all Seven Hells.

Despite his dark thoughts, Daeron casts his glance sideways at Aemond and cheekily says, “What say you, brother? Honestly… I’m all up for it!”

With his eye trained on where Harrenhal lays on the map, Aemond sucks in a short intake of air. 

Executing each and every member of the Strong family? But that also means…

There are two voices warring in his head, both loud and overbearing.

(You can’t. She’s there. And as much as you loathe it, she has taken the Strong name now as her own.)

And –

(Why does it matter? She abandoned you first. And if she chose to lay with traitorous men, then she shall lie in that bed and take it.)

Aemond shakes both the thoughts away, nostrils flaring as he takes another sharp breath before he looks from his brother to Ser Criston as he tells them his final plan, “Tomorrow, we’ll start our march for Harrenhal. If the Strongs aren’t already dead by the time we recapture the castle, then we’ll see which punishment fits. If it’s certain they betrayed us then I have no problem eradicating the Strong bloodline, for none of the Strongs hold any importance to anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms…” The words taste all kinds of wrong in his mouth and there are voices in his head telling him to take it back. But he shuts them out, stomps on their attempt to make him the villain in the story.

“But for tonight, let us focus on capturing Horn Hill.”

Daeron chugs back the rest of his drink, then tips the cup towards Aemond with a wine-stained smirk. “Then let’s get to it.”

When it comes to the battlefield, Daeron is a formidable force despite the three goblets of wine he had earlier – hence why he had been dubbed Ser Daeron the Daring. 

The Daring Prince slashes through the Tarly soldiers and villagers of Horn Hill as if they are merely practice dummies. The Prince Regent follows behind him, hacking down men from the opposing side left and right in his wake as well.

The little Horn Hill village they are in just a few ways away from the castle where the Tarlys sit is already in a chaos of their doing. Homes demolished and the screams of villagers loud in every direction. Above them, Vhagar and Daeron’s blue she-dragon, Tessarion, circle the night sky – burning down their flames wherever they see fit.

Aemond has grown used to these sights and sounds — many different villages, many different people, so many lives and livelihoods destroyed in a single day – so is it callous to say it does not even phase him anymore? 

At least he can say that he finds no joy in it – unlike his younger brother whose laughter grows more wicked with each body that falls limp on the ground as if they were nothing at all.

“It’s nice fighting alongside of you again, brother,” Daeron grins over his shoulder at Aemond as he pulls his bloody sword out of a man wearing the Tarly colors of olive green and red. “I wish I could have been there at Rook’s Rest with you and Aegon.”

“I don’t,” Aemond bites out, snarling when the man he is facing manages to parry his attack. But Aemond is quick to elbow him, causing the man to stagger back, and that is when Aemond drives his blade into his chest without mercy. Once the man falls, Aemond turns to Daeron to finish what he wanted to say, “I don’t need another incapacitated brother.”

Daeron sniffs, pretending to wipe away a tear with his finger. “So you do love me.”

Head shaking in disbelief, Aemond rolls his eye. Then he grabs Daeron on the nape of his neck, affectionately — like he used to do when they were younger. But this time, instead of the two of them laughing as they follow behind a miserable Aegon leave a feast overstuffed with a tummy ache, Aemond is now leading his younger brother through a battlefield that could lead to his death in any given second. 

“Come on,” he smirks at Daeron, before turning to where he sees Ser Criston ahead of them. “They’re advancing to the castle.”

With a determined nod, Daeron slaps the Prince Regent’s shoulder blade. An unspoken promise that he has his back.

Aemond is suddenly blinking back unshed tears. Him and Daeron have never been close – with Daeron’s distance when he was sent to Oldtown at age 12, it was impossible to be — but this war definitely brought them closer. Same with Aegon. It is true that Aemond still hates his older brother’s character and what he chooses to stand for in many ways, but he cannot deny the bond that formed between them when they fought and won so many battles side by side. Then with the tragedy that befell Helaena, Aemond became more fiercely loyal and protective of all his kin.

They may not be the most picture perfect set of siblings, and yet, his family… They are the only precious thing left in this world that he has. 

It is hard to explain fully. Maybe it is just the Targaryen way.

Together, Aemond and Daeron round a corner on the path leading to the castle, and that is when a poor, unfortunate soul bumps squarely against Daeron in his rush. But when Daeron grabs him – an arm around the man’s throat – it is Aemond’s gaze the man’s terrified and bewildered eyes finds. 

“Ae…” The man breathes out, a light of hopefulness softening his once distressed feature. Aemond stares at him wide-eyed, shocked and at a standstill. This can’t be real, right? It is just his mind playing tricks on him. It has to be. 

Daeron then presses the sharp edge of his sword against the man’s throat and he is once again in a panic, begging now, “Ae, please… I have a–”

“You know him, brother?” Daeron cuts him off, clearly confused as his sword starts to cut shallowly enough for blood to seep from the man’s throat. The man’s face started to crumble, silent tears streaking down his cheeks, petrified beyond belief. That look on his face, Aemond thinks as starts to breathe shallowly, that expression. Aemond can so clearly see it on someone else— 

The two youngest bear cubs did have the most similarities – even more so than the twins.

“No,” Aemond says in finality, face blank and impassive. He begins to walk past the man and his brother, without as much as a single glance. “Do as you will, Daeron.”

“With pleasure,” was the last thing Aemond sees Daeron say with that crazed smirk on his face. Behind his back, he hears Daeron state venomously with a spit afterwards, “You think you can just call him ‘Ae’? That’s the Prince Regent, you scum.”

Aemond freezes suddenly when it dawns on him what he had just done.

Wait, he thinks in a panic. Wait…!

But when he turns back around in an attempt to stop his brother, it is already too late.

There is blood. 

Blood everywhere.

Perhaps the most blood Aemond has ever seen in his life. It stains his hand, and yet, he is not even close enough for it to. But he is drenched in it. His shame is drowning in it. 

Though it is Daeron who slashed open his throat; Aemond feels as if he is one who held the sword, forcing his little brother to do it.

You did this! The voices in his head weep. This is your fault!

Daeron pushes the lifeless body down into the dirt, carelessly and with a shrug. There is blood on Daeron’s face, it is on his mouth like his wine. And when he beams at Aemond, the older Targaryen Prince cannot help but wonder if he tastes her blood on his tongue. For it is the same one that runs through her veins. 

“Shall we?” Daeron asks, cocking his head towards the castle. So nonchalant, like he had not just taken the life of—

Aemond stares at the body on the ground, still shellshocked. 

Daeron wraps his arm around Aemond’s neck, laughing joyously in his older brother’s ear as he drags him towards their destination. “Come on. We have a castle to ransack.”

With most of their men dead beyond the castle walls, it did not take long for Lord Alan Tarly, the Lord of Horn Hill, to surrender to Prince Regent Aemond once they breach the front gates. 

The Greens celebrate their victory in the grand hall of the castle, the scent of fresh blood still in the air. Daeron is still covered in it — covered in his — that Aemond finds his stomach turning unpleasantly whenever Daeron gets too near him. And so when both Daeron and Ser Criston tease Aemond to stop looking so surly and glum when they have won, Aemond shrugs off Daeron’s arm around his shoulder and stands up stiffly, announcing he needs air.

So Aemond walks and walks and walks. He knows where his feet are taking him to — to whom his feet are taking him to — and every step he takes he dreads. Yet, he cannot seem to stop himself. 

The village is eerily quiet when he reaches it at the bottom of the hill. There are villagers still alive, but they must be cowering in fear inside their homes, trying not to make a sound. 

He is close to the corner of the path where it happened, he knows it. 

He is ready, he thinks, he is ready to see again the irreparable damage he has caused.

But when the lump on the ground comes into his view, he almost hurls out the dinner he barely ate.  

There are soldiers from the Greens side milling around, collecting their fallen companions. Aemond grabs for one wearing Hightower colors.

“Bring me a shovel,” Aemond demands through clenched teeth, and the soldier is quick to say ‘yes, Your Grace’ as he rushes to do as he was told.  

As Aemond stumbles closer, he notices that another body lies on top of the one he had left earlier. A beautiful woman with bright copper hair holds onto the man underneath her, the back of her light yellow dress pooled with red.

So, you got the girl afterall, huh, Jorah? Aemond thinks sadly.

And as dreadful as it is, they oddly look at peace...

Aemond almost laughs out loud, because that can't be right. It was probably just his mind trying to make this into some sort of tragic love story to make himself feel better.

While he stares at Jorah Mormont, Aemond begins to think about their shared interest in history and philosophy. How they would talk Jorah’s younger sister’s ear off until she pressed her hands over ears to hear no more, and then they both would attack her with tickles until she was laughing and crying at the same time. 

Aemond cannot help but smile at the memory — his heart suddenly hurting while he does, in disbelief at what he has done. And when the tears begin falling, he chokes back the sobs by biting down on his wrist. 

While he mourns them in this fucked up way of his, that is when he notices two things.

One, Jorah did not have a weapon with him. Perhaps maybe if he had something to defend himself… Aemond shakes his head bitterly. No, that would have not done anything. Jorah was not a fighter like Forrest or Braeden; even if he did have a sword with him, he would not have stood a chance to defeat Daeron.

And two, the bear patch on Jorah’s leather jerkin. A work of embroidery that Aemond has not seen for a long time, but he knows who exactly made it just by the fine detailing alone. He bends down, unsheathing the small dagger from his belt and begins to cut it off. 

As a prize? A remembrance?  

He does not know why, but he just wants to… Take it. 

After shoving it into his pocket, he glances over at Renee just as he hears someone approaching behind him – the soldier, letting him know he has a shovel for him.

Aemond nods back minutely. Then he takes a hold of Renee’s body, turning her over —

But what he sees cradled in her arm has him backing away in shock.

Aemond turns away from the sight and keels over on his knees, finally emptying his stomach like he had wanted to all night.

[weirwoodswitch]

A Refined Taste

Part 3: White Sunshine

Previous Part ◇ Next Part ◇ Series Masterlist ◇ Main Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: A surprise visit from the other side of the family creates an environment for learning new things and you find yourself spending more time with Aemond... alone.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, sensual themes, mentions of weed smoking, suggestive content, mention of animal related medical procedure and illness, kind of a slow burn.

Word count: 4.5k

From the author: Hi, dears! Slowly but surely we are getting there! The library will be a witness to some interesting things, just saying, so you can prepare 😏 As always, thank you for the support and hope you'll like this one <3

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

The weather’s stayed the same for two days since you came back from the wine tasting and you’ve spent every single minute outside.

You found yourself enjoying the lazy leisures immensely and envied anyone who’s got to live that way every single day and not only when a lucky opportunity comes their way.

When you reminded yourself that you’ll have to go back to King’s Landing by the end of the summer and return to your mundane reality, you immediately decide to cherish every moment spent here.

Take life in handfuls, like rich people do. 

An example of that would be the siblings’ cousin, Baela, and nephew, Jace, deciding to surprise them on their way to Highgarden, where they’re going for vacation, knowing perfectly well that their visit wouldn’t interfere with the Targaryen’s summer schedule. 

At least that’s what they say after parking in the driveway in their freshly polished grey BMW X5. 

“As if you would be anywhere else right now!” Jace laughs, gaining an annoyed look from Aegon. “What? You’re going to the Darklyns’ next month, as per usual.”

“Yeah, but still. Don’t want to be that predictable.” He answers his nephew and looks up and down the broad-chested and dark-haired friend of Baela and Jace named Cregan.

He evidently doesn’t reciprocate it and you wonder if there’s some kind of bad blood between them. 

This family’s dynamics never cease to stop curiosity from eating you alive. It’s all so very dramatic. As if you were witnessing a play being performed in front of you. Constantly. 

“We won’t be here long, I promise!” Says Baela as she puts her hair in a tight bun and you can’t help but marvel at the beauty of it. 

Damn it, their whole family won a gene lottery, you think to yourself, while listening to their conversation. 

“Also, your mother already knows.” Jace leans against one of the car’s doors and as on cue, Helaena’s phone rings. She shows all of you the screen with ‘Mom’ written on it and picks up the call. 

Jace grins to himself and nods to Cregan to pick up their things. You see them sending barely visible smiles to each other and it reminds you too much of the smiles Helaena and Argella gave each other at the beginning of their relationship, thinking you wouldn’t notice anything. 

Oh. You’re curious if anyone else, except probably Baela, knows. 

The damned curiosity! It’ll definitely get you in trouble soon.

The siblings’ family is a fun party to be around as you find out during brunch and you wish you could’ve met Rhaena and Luke as well. Baela said they’re obsessed with sports activities and the mention of it led you to the place you’re currently at.

You stand at the family’s tennis court waiting impatiently for everyone to join you, twirling the rocket on the ground, moving from one leg to another.

Your sister and Helaena are already sitting on the chairs reserved for referees, talking about something enthusiastically as you stare at the water in front of you. 

Helaena’s voice gets louder and you turn around with a water bottle pressed to your lips. 

“It’s just a friendly match, don’t worry! Aemond can always teach you the basics. He’s actually a very good teacher. As outlandish as it might sound to you.”

You choke on your water and hope that the blush on your cheeks and neck is attributed only to the undignified gag reflex.

The fact your body responds in such a way to the mere mention of his name should be alarming. 

You touched hands once. Get a grip. You keep on reminding yourself. 

Argella’s quick to run to you and pat your back in an attempt to help you but you put your hand up letting her know it’s all right now. 

The sudden gush of the wind swipes through the leaves of the trees and bushes around the court, carrying the voices of the incoming group of people your way. 

Everyone’s dressed in white as if it was an unspoken rule and you’re glad Helaena let you borrow her spare skirt and her mother’s shirt that ‘she wore maybe twice since buying it’ as Helaena said. The cheapest piece of clothing on you are your favourite white Adidas shoes that suddenly feel incredibly out of place. 

But no one seems to care as they greet you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to play tennis again!” 

Baela’s voice carries from the opposite side of the court as she spins around, making the hem of her skirt float around her tights. 

“Are we playing in pairs?” Cregan asks, silently counting everyone present. 

“Yeah, why not!” Helaena shouts and comes down, taking Argella’s hand. 

You feel a nervous beating of your heart in your chest. 

“Will you forgive me if I sat the matches out? I need to learn the basics.” 

Jace raises an eyebrow at your confession but says nothing. 

“Sure, don’t worry about it.”

Cregan sends you a warm smile and you nod in thanks. 

You step aside to the tall referee chairs your sister and Helaena sat on moments ago just as Aegon runs up and pinches your waist. 

“Aegon! What in the Seven Hells?” You shout out in surprise. 

“I’m feeling so good right now.” He says, grinning and showing you his straight white teeth. 

The smell of weed reaches your nose and there’s nothing else to do but roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” 

You shove his shoulder playfully.

“Argella said you’ve never played tennis and I know who’d be willing to teach you.” He smirks mysteriously and for some reason you sense that Aegon means the same person as his sister did. 

“Oh, really?” You play along with Aegon’s teasing. Nervousness and excitement boiling in your veins. 

“Yeah, really.” And he turns his head to Aemond’s direction, who’s closing the wicket behind him. 

He looks as if he was bathed in white sunshine—shining in the midday sun from all sides. 

It’s almost unfair how someone can be that good looking. Almost unreal. 

“I can teach you the basics, if you want!” 

You hear Baela shout out to you in the distance. 

You’re about to agree, not really believing in Helaena’s and Aegon’s earlier suggestions, but then you hear Aemond’s voice respond and your whole body freezes in place. 

“I’ll take care of it. Team up with Baela, Aegon. Like the good old days.” 

The older brother smiles at Aemond suggestively and sends your way a very inappropriate gesture. 

It’s a hard thing to ignore and you bite the inside of your cheek not to show on your face how you feel because of it.

And you feel a lot. To put it simply. 

Aemond hums, not letting you know what he thinks of Aegon’s dirty allusions, and Gods, you wish you knew what’s going on inside his head. 

“There’s a smaller court behind the observation deck.” It’s all he says and you follow him, catching your sister’s confused expression before you disappear from her plain of sight. 

The court looks the same but like Aemond said it is quite small. You wonder if it was put next to the main one to be used by kids and if the siblings practised here in their childhood. 

A pressing grunt forces you to stop looking around and pay your attention to him. 

Aemond stands with one hand in the pocket of his white tennis shorts and the other tightly gripping his tennis racket. The knuckles of his hand are white, almost like the clothes he’s wearing. 

He looks so damn good in the morning light and well-fitted clothes that probably were tailor made for him that you need to remind yourself to focus on the task ahead. Getting distracted won’t do you any good. Especially not when he’s the one person that can easily judge your every wrong move. And you’re sure you’ll make beginner's mistakes soon. 

“Stand there.” 

He points at the middle of the side of the court you both are standing on. You follow him and do as he says, gripping the handle of the racket harder than necessary. But you can’t help your nerves. 

“Are you always so demanding?” You respond as he moves to your right side. 

His tall and lean frame casts a shade over you but instead of feeling a cool relief, the temperature of your body rises because of the close proximity between your bodies. 

“Depends on the student.” He hums and then, with only the tips of his fingers, he pushes your racket gripping hand to the left. 

A light gasp escapes you at the contact but you try to play it off by pretending to cough and then moving the racket to the right, swinging it a couple of times in the same manner. 

He hums again and moves to your left as he finally starts to talk and not drive you insane by the brief touches he so clearly enjoys giving. 

“It’s an energetic game, so your swings have to be dynamic and springly.”

He shows you the way he does it and you repeat after him. 

“Smooth movements.” 

Now he stands in front of you and watches you attentively. 

You can see him tilting his head slightly to the side and squinting his eyes. 

That’s what you were nervous about—him judging you but there’s also something else in his expression. 

Something that forces you to swallow slowly before speaking up. 

“Is that okay?”

It’s as if your question woke him from his own reverie—he blinks swiftly and takes one big step forward. 

His voice is a bit hoarse when he answers.

“Quite well.”

The sound goes right to the intimate part between your tights and you don’t even try to ignore the sudden throbbing you’re feeling there. 

“I’m a fast learner.” 

Your own voice lowers slightly and now, feeling your body taking the reins instead of your brain, it doesn't surprise you how clearly it comes off as flirty.

There’s a flicker in his violet eye right after the words slip from your tongue and his lips give in to an impish smirk. 

Aemond tosses a tennis racket in such a way that it spins in the air and lands perfectly in his stretched out fingers. 

“Let’s continue then.”

After your private training session with Aemond and the matches taking place on the main court, the afternoon is spent on playing card games by the pool.

You sit under a wide beige sunshade, giving up on sunbathing with Argella and Baela a while ago and joining Helaena and the boys in an innocent game of poker. 

You look at your cards and hate what you see but swiftly wipe off the wince from your face when Jace points at his eye and then to you, showing you that he’s watching you. 

Well, poker—the game and the face—isn’t something you’ve ever mastered. 

“Where are Rhaena and Luke?”

Aegon asks and you see Aemond shift slightly on the sunbed he occupies. 

He joined you half an hour ago, with a book in his hand, which surprises you only momentarily. But then you remember that he spends most of his time in the family library anyway.

You’ve tried not to glance his way after leaving the tennis court but now that he’s casually laying in the same space as you, and so close, you’ve failed miserably.

How’s it possible that with only scarce words, fleeting glances and feather-like touches, he managed to make a burning mess out of your body and mind? In such a short time, adding to that. 

Seven Hells take this man for making you feel like you’re slowly sparling out of control of your own emotions. 

Jace’s voice shakes you out if it.

“Luke’s at home. He’ll come to the Darklyns’ with mom. Rhaena’s already in Highgarden. She’s got a boyfriend from Oldtown, you know? A Hightower, actually.”

Aegon raises an eyebrow at the news, and you assume that at the unapproving tone of Jace’s voice too and gives his nephew a smug smile. He then shuffles the cards and quickly looks at Aemond as if he wanted his brother to share his amusement. 

You turn around, curious to see his reaction but you’re as disappointed as Aegon ends up being. 

Aemond seems wholly uninterested in your conversation. His long legs are stretched out and crossed at the ankle, his hands rest on his—clothed in Ralph Lauren tank top—torso, and you can see the muscles of his arms stretch or flex whenever he moves them. 

His face is hidden behind a beautiful dark-green cover of The Great Gatsby. The book is opened somewhat in the middle and acts as a shield from the sun, even though most of his body is covered in the shade anyway. 

When you saw what he was reading, it only half surprised you. For some reason a novel that comments on social classes, the rich in particular, being read by him doesn’t shock you as you thought it would. Fits to his pretentious rich boy persona you got the impression of thus far. 

Your own copy of Pride and Prejudice lies on your thighs and, as you cannot help yourself from looking at Aemond from the corner of your eye, you’ve managed to catch him looking in the book’s direction two times. 

Three times now, you realise when you reach for the book and turn to the side in order to put it on the empty sunbed that was previously occupied by Aegon and now separates your small group from Aemond. 

But when your eyes meet, he only licks his index finger and turns the page of his book that he must’ve just resumed reading, seeming not at all embarrassed to be caught looking. 

A stark contrast to you as you feel your blood rushing and beating furiously in your veins at the sight of the meeting of his finger and the tip of his tongue. 

The warmth of the sun on your face is definitely being replaced by the one set by Aemond’s gaze, which drags lazily over you.

It reminds you of the way he looked at you the night you met. 

But this time it feels different and quite similar to the way he looked at you at the tennis court. In a way that makes your whole body tingle with anticipation.

You turn around quickly but the feeling doesn’t go away. You can feel his healthy eye drilling a hole in your back and the thought distracts you from the game—you lose in quite a pathetic fashion.

You bend slightly over the table to push your cards and coins to Aegon, suddenly grateful for the beach shawl Helaena lent you that’s wrapped around your waist, covering your lower body.

Aemond’s eye grazing over your black one piece swimsuit was enough to light your skin on fire. The low neckline is enough of a tease, so at least the shawl gives an impression that you don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself.  

Not that you thought about it the moment he joined you by the pool. 

“Thanks for that.” 

Aegon winks at you and speaks to Helaena right after Jace leaves the table and joins Cregan in the pool.  

“Is Baela with Stark then? I thought Rhaena was.” He takes his glass of vodka lemonade and puts it to his temple to cool himself, leaving it this way while continuing his thought. “Wait, no.” He’s silent for a moment and then he sighs. “Shit, I keep on forgetting who dates who.” 

Helaena lowers her sunglasses and gives him a cheeky grin. 

“Wasn’t it you who hooked up with Cregan and then ignored him after, behaving like a complete dick? Don’t pretend you don’t remember.” 

Your eyes widen and you see your sister removing one of her earpods and straightening up on the chair next to Helaena. The two of you are a mirror to each other’s reaction.  

“Well, now that you reminded me of that…” He shrugs as if it didn’t bother him and drinks from the metal straw. But you remember seeing him checking Cregan out and you’re quite sure that him coming with Jace and Baela took Aegon off guard. 

You open your mouth before thinking about the words that rush to come out.  

“I think that Jace and Cregan are a thing.” 

Aegon stops drinking and you hear a low, mean sounding chuckle coming from behind you. 

He glares at Aemond and mutters “shut up”, which you’re sure did nothing to stop the younger brother from his silent mocking. 

“I’m going for a swim.” He stands up and after a quick glance at the pool, he adds: “In the sea.” He points at you with the drink still in his hand. “You wanna come? I wonder what else you might’ve noticed going on in our little group.” 

“No, thanks. I’d like to see the library. Finally.” You punctuate the last word and stand next to Aegon. 

As you do it, you hear the creaking of the sunbed and when you turn around Aemond’s gone. 

Is he serious? 

“Is there a body he hides in there? Or a secret wife in his own type of an attic?” You ask Helaena, who’s already on her way to join Baela in sunbathing. 

“He’d appreciate the literary reference but no, not really.” She says softly, which surprises you, and nods for you to follow him. 

The gentle look she sends you sparks your curiosity too, so you adjust the shawl, put your feet into your slip-on shoes, and hurry up to the house. 

You see the library doors being ajar, like the first day you arrived, but this time you knock twice to let him know that you’re already here. If he’s even inside. 

He is. 

Aemond’s crouching behind the wide desk. He’s so tall that you still can see the top of his silver hair poking out. 

“Am I interrupting something?” 

You ask and as you watch him half-hidden behind the large desk, you recall the dirty images your mind conjured of the activities taking place in the library involving him personally.

Your cheeks warm up and even more so when he straightens up and looks at you with his penetrating gaze. 

Aemond props himself up with his left hand that rests on the desk surface and you try not to stare too long at it. 

Suddenly, he scratches the back of his neck, with his right hand, ruffling the ends of his hair a bit, and seems to fight with himself about something. 

You wait impatiently for what he’s going to say and are taken aback when he walks up to you and pulls you after him by the corner of the knot you tied with the ends of Helaena’s shawl. 

There is no lying to yourself at this moment about the way this affects you. 

The all too familiar warmth and tightness in the apex of your thighs says it all. 

You’re fucking attracted to the quiet and self-righteous brother of the guy you thought you liked. 

Maybe it’s finally the time to give in to whatever you’ve gotten yourself into recently. 

After all, you said to yourself to take life in handfuls this summer.

His hand suddenly drops and for a second you think he’s going to take yours in his to continue leading you but you shake the thought from your head, not wanting to read too much into his body language. 

Or your wild imagination. 

“You asked about Vhagar when we were at the vineyard.” He starts and this time he doesn’t try to touch you in any way, only walks behind the desk and waits expectantly for you to join him. 

You do so and your heart stops at the sight of a very old Tibetan Mastiff laying between the ends of the wooden desk.  

Vhagar’s sleeping on her side, breathing slowly. You’re surprised that she didn’t wake up the moment you passed the threshold of the library.  

You look up at Aemond and whether he tries to hide it or not, his violet eye is filled with a sombre sadness. 

“Is she… okay?” You ask, hoping that the simplicity of the question won’t be taken in the wrong way. 

When he doesn’t return your look, your head lowers and you focus only on Vhagar.

There's a few moments of silence filling the air around you and you decide to apologise for your question but then he answers with the reserved tone when he’s not insulting or judging someone. 

“She hasn’t been okay for a while now.” 

He purses his lips and moves his hands behind his back. You see with the corner of your eye how he digs his nails into the flesh of his palms. 

“As I said back then… she’s resting now.” 

Vhagar’s body jolts suddenly, probably from the dream she’s having. 

“She had a surgery last year.” He finally looks at you and the intensity of his gaze makes your throat dry and your neck tense even more so now than during the rare occasions of your conversations in which you’re forced to look up at him.

“The day after Helaena’s birthday.” 

Your lips part and suddenly his behaviour that night makes sense. So, you only nod, quite lost for words, and look at Vhagar again. 

He didn’t have to say anything more. 

You understand now why he spends so much time in the library and why he’s so adamant about not being disturbed when he’s here.

“I’ll keep on staying away.” You assure him but he shakes his head. 

“You don’t have to.”

You give him a gentle smile in thanks and see him opening his mouth, only to close it again. A crease appears between his brows as they furrow slightly. 

“I saw you reading Jane Austen.” 

Your own eyebrows raise up and even though you noticed him looking at your book today, that laid on your bare thighs, hearing him admitting to that makes you fluster. 

“Well, yeah…” 

“We have first editions here.” He looks at you from the bridge of his nose and you bite the inside of your lower lip—both at the sight above you and at the exciting news. 

“If you’d like to see them, of course.” He adds quickly. 

“Of course, I would.” 

You answer and hope he can’t hear the slight tremble that comes out with it as exhilaration boils beneath your skin, gently tightening your throat.  

He nods and shows you the shelves with the first editions of all kinds of books. 

You allow yourself to brush over the spines with your fingers, careful not to accidentally damage them in any way. 

“Here.” 

You hear him say in a low manner and as he pulls one of the volumes by the top of its spine, your fingers touch briefly, making your body jolt in place.

You should remove your hand but when he doesn’t, you only stare at the point where your fingers graze each other. You think that it’s a weird accident that both of you are touching hands once more and that he doesn’t move it right away. 

Again. 

Aemond pulls out the book from between those that press against it and takes your palm between his fingers, pressing it to the cover with his own. 

The warmth of his skin sends shivers from the tips of your fingers to your toes and when you force yourself to look into his—so fascinating—eyes, you see a very self-assured smile stretching his lips. 

“Take it.” He says as he presses his palm on yours a bit harder.

“For the time you’re here that is.” 

He adds in a half-joking manner. 

You narrow your eyes, deciding to joke back, if only to take your attention from the way his thumb brushes against your knuckles and from your rapidly beating heart. 

“And I thought you would give it to me as a gift. Like a generous rich person should. A philanthropist, even.”

He lets out a low laugh that sounds more like a murmur and you have to swallow at the sound. 

“I’m not sure if you’re enough of a good girl to receive such a priceless gift.”

Fuck.

The way he slowly stretched out these two words goes right to your core and you know that if you don’t move away from his grasp, you’ll do something that would either embarrass you or… 

His fingers move to your wrist but even though they barely touch it, you still don’t feel freed from his touch. The goosebumps appearing on your bare arms are evidence enough. 

And Aemond evidently sees that as he strokes your forearm with the back of his palm, up and down, down and up, creating more of them.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Are you?” He whispers in your ear, not stopping his movements. 

Breath catches in your throat when you feel his on your face once again. 

“Am I… w-what?” 

Your question will definitely sound incredibly dumb when you replay this moment in your head later but now you’re too dizzy to think about it. 

Aemond chuckles lowly. Self-satisfaction ringing in the sound. 

You tilt your head back slightly and find his pouty lips opened just a little bit but enough for you to get a glimpse of the tip of his tongue being stuck between his teeth. 

He’s so incredibly close. 

“A good girl.” 

His lips form these damned words once again and a tiny gasp leaves your throat. 

He drops his hand from the crook of your elbow just to pull you closer by the knot of the shawl and this time he doesn’t move away. Your parted lips, ragged breath and fluttering eyelids give him an idea that he doesn’t need to. 

But before either of you make a move, several knocks to the door make you jump away from him. 

Talya’s usual overly formal tone seems to shout at you in your ears.

“Dinner will be served in twenty minutes, sir.” 

You breathe through your nose and rub the arm Aemond’s just caressed.

The parts of your body he’s touched today feel to you like sunburn marks.

“Thank you, Talya.” There’s no gratitude in his tone. Only irritation dripping from his tongue. 

Your mind goes back to the story Helaena told you about the housekeeper and you wonder if Aemond’s also thinking about the woman’s poor timing but you’re not able to form any coherent sentences in this moment, except of mumbling something between a ‘thank you’ and ‘see you later’. 

He’s leaning against the shelves with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he observes you in silence.

There's no way he didn't see your eyes dropping to his lips, as if they were a magnet pulling you in. 

“Come to the tennis court tomorrow.”

You can’t work out if it’s a question or a demand. Though, it doesn’t matter because you nod and answer with a quiet “sure” before letting yourself even think about refusing him.   

What rings in your head are four fateful words: Take life in handfuls.

The Tag List

@beaconofthehightower ◇ @bellstwd ◇ @carriellie ◇ @chainsawsangel ◇ @fan-goddess ◇ @godrakin ◇ @herfantasyworldd ◇ @itsabby15 ◇ @jeezlouiisee ◇ @letmeloveyouuuu ◇ @moonlightazriel ◇ @melsunshine ◇ @padfooteyes ◇ @skikikikiikhhjuuh ◇ @snh96 ◇ @sunna-fangirls ◇ @violetletovi ◇ @wintrr13 ◇ @winifrog

Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be included in this specific series tag or a general Aemond tag ♡

[weirwoodswitch]

A Merciful King ☼ Epilogue

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: talk of death, blood, torture, childbirth

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: It has been exactly a month and fourteen days since I posted the first chapter to this series (on my old account). I had no clue it would go this far or that so many would love it, I'm so used to my writing not being received at all or only being received by very few. The response I've gotten for this story is overwhelming and honestly I love all of you guys for the support you've given me. Despite being ready for a new story I think I'll always have a soft spot for amk and I know I'll miss this series. On a story note, the second to last like 'scene' is both of their povs, mainly readers but I decided to mesh their thoughts in certain bits. I also took inspiration for the crown from jesus because despite not being religious I like the flare of it.

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.    

Taglist, if you asked to be tagged and you aren't on the list it's because it wouldn't let me add you so I just got rid of your name. It only lets me tag 50 people so I'm sorry!: @mirandastuckinthe80s @b1gb3anz @daenerysdracarys @wondergal2001 @flavorofsalt @daddysfavoritesexkitten @zillahvathek @itsametaphorbriansblog @elleclairez @stargaryenx @tired-ninfa @caramelcandescence @viscardiac @moonxhunt @tisthekatseason @bajadotcom @xxlilyxx90 @ohitsthemaster @justasmallbean @thefloatingpickle @lawlerek @miqaelababa @arcielee @watermel0nsugarhigh @lovecleastrange @lyannesworld @imakeangelscry @aloneatpeace @xinyourdreamsx @cl-0-vr @borikenlove @shion-ah @widemiffyhappy @aegonsgf @bwormie @bellameshipper @evienorville @mandiiblanche @hydrationqueensworld @shiranai-atsune @hiatuswhore @giulia2372 @venice-bish @malfoytargaryen @crudemoon @crispmarshmallow @trifoliumviridi @wooya1224

Previously

Aegon Targaryen dutifully stays by your side while you recover. He doesn’t move from the rather uncomfortable chair, nor does his hand leave yours. Unfortunately, none of the lords nor guards were able to locate his brother, only found two different trails of blood. One leading from a study to the ballroom and the other leading from the same study to where Aemonds bastard son, Jaerion, was sleeping.

He has already told his mother his decision, that when you wake up he will marry you. She only nods, face solemn, as she goes back to mourning her favorite son. He’s not dead, that much is obvious by Vhagar’s behavior, but he is gone. The preparations have already begun, he’s decided the ceremony will be in the Grand Sept and a celebration will be held in the gardens. He understands why you might have an aversion to the ballroom.

Aegon tells you all of this while you sleep, there are only a few times you wake up from your milk of the poppy induced slumber and all you speak is gibberish. You ask for your handmaid Lila, you keep mumbling her name, but unfortunately no one can find her. 

Your marriage has been annulled, Aegon made sure of it during one of the most recent small council meetings (it's the only time he leaves your side). The small folk had shown so much outrage at learning that their favorite princess had been hurt by her own husband. 

Many began to gossip that something seemed amiss that day during the festival, that he seemed too tense and neither of you seemed to even notice each other's presence. This fairy tale that they were spoon fed was a lie, and all of Flea Bottom knows that the reason children are no longer dying of starvation is thanks to you. 

He tasks his mother and daughter to have your wedding dress made, the royal tailors already have your measurements so that should be easy. Giving them this task helps ease his daughter's anxiety, he even asks her to see if the boys would like to help. His only request is that the dress did not have any green on it, much to his mothers dismay. Aegon knows how much you’ve grown to hate the color, and he wants this to be a memorable and lovely day. 

“I love you,” he whispers, you groan in response.

Upon fully waking up, Aegon is filled with something he has not felt since Jaehaerys’s murder. You tell him and Alicent everything, it’s hard to ignore the face she makes when you mention stabbing Aemond, but you simply remind them both of what Alys has done. 

He wants to send out search parties all throughout the free cities, to put her head on a spike, and you keep quiet throughout his raging, not minding the idea. It is Alicent that shoots him down and reminds him of how that may make the leaders of said cities believe he is trying to attack them. 

So instead, search parties are sent all throughout Westeros (once again) looking for your handmaiden. Upon waking up, one of the first things you did was ask for Lila, Aegon had foolishly believed that maybe the two of you harbored a friendship, so imagine his surprise to find out the truth.

He feels the same outrage you do, those handmaidens were picked by him and his mother, and yet one was the reason for all of this? A taster is hired, all your meals are tested before being brought to you, and all of your handmaidens have been swapped.

“What kind of flowers?” he asks you one day, leaning on his hand that’s propped up by his elbow. He’s laying at the end of your bed, watching you sip on the broth the maesters brought you. ‘It has healing properties’ they said, but the face you keep making leads him to believe it’s just a new form of torture for you. Nevertheless, you drink all of it, every day since waking up you've drank and everyday you comment on how rancid it is. 

“Dragons breath, and black lotus’s. They’ll perfectly display our house colors,” you set the empty mug aside and reach out for him. Aegon eagerly moves from his position at the end of the bed to lay beside you, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. 

He’s more at ease now that he doesn’t have to hide his love for you, some of that possessiveness and jealousy has waned away. Aegon is finally being granted his wish of calling you his, he just wishes so much tragedy hadn’t taken place to get here. 

“I want them filling the Sept,” you say, arms wrapping around his waist. Your eyes seem elsewhere, perhaps dreaming of the upcoming day. He’s thought about it with great detail and finds himself wistfully imagining the rest of his life with you. 

It makes Aegon feel like a silly child, like he needs to be scolded and reminded he cannot have such wonderful things. Yet you are in his arms, agreeing to marry him. When you woke up, and he told you the news, there was no fighting, no resentment or anger, only a sigh of relief. 

“Would you want a valyrian ceremony?” He knows there will need to be one following the faith of the seven, the lords and ladies will not approve of their marriage if they don’t. But perhaps, if you want, there can be another one, a more intimate one.

It’s silent for a few beats, your expression contemplative and lips pursed. “No,” you run your fingers up and down his chest, your eyes almost glazed over as you look at Rhaenyra’s bassinet. “I do not want to shed any more blood for a long time.” 

Part of Aegon feels relieved, if you had said yes he would do it, but the idea of seeing you bleed again (it’s only been a month) terrifies him. That night you laid limp in his arms as the Maesters got to work, they did the best they could while still in the ballroom. Maester Orwell had said they must act fast, that moving you to a private room would have to wait or else you would perish from blood loss. 

Aegon’s hands had been stained red for days, Alicents too. He had held his hand on top of the wound with his mother, trying to help in any way. Some courtiers stayed to watch, while others ran in disgust when they saw how much blood was smeared all over you. Most of the men were gone by that point, having ran out to try to secure themselves a seat on the small council. 

He didn’t realize just how much blood was on him until two guards slowly lifted you onto a wooden board and gently carried you to your chambers. He was knelt in a large puddle, as was his mother, and Aegon had held you for a long period of time. You were smeared all over him, staining his clothes, his hands, some had even gotten on his face.

The poor king was in shock, sat staring at the massive puddle, reflection gazing back at him as tears filled his eyes. You had almost died, the maesters even told them there was a chance you would die within the first few days of recovery. They talked about loss of blood, bed fever or even infection. Somehow you prevailed, and Aegon doesn’t know who or what to thank for such a miraculous thing. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingers stilling as your gaze shifts to look into his eyes. His face softens, mind being pulled away from the thoughts that plague his mind late into the night, and brings his lips down onto yours. The kiss is chaste, it’s nothing like how he normally kisses you, but perhaps a near-death experience softens a man. 

“I love you too.” 

You looked radiant, the dress was made of the finest white silks, it was form fitting and had gauzy sleeves and a cape that trailed behind you. There’s little silver dragons on your sleeves and cape, along with a metal belt that looks like a dragon taking flight around your waist. You looked like the perfect Targaryen bride. 

It’s three days after your wedding when the news reaches the both of you about Lila. She was found hiding in a pleasure house in Flea Bottom, apparently trying to make enough money to find safe passage to Pentos. The guards drag her into the throne room while Aegon sits upon the iron throne with his crown nestled perfectly upon his head.

You stand beside the throne in a dress made of black and red fabrics with gold detailing and a valyrian steel circlet that matches Aegon the Conqueror's crown. He had ordered it to be made three days before your wedding and placed it upon your head himself after the two of you had kissed.

The guards shove her onto the floor at the bottom of the steps, hands on their swords as they watch her every move. Aegon wants to order her death immediately, his chest rises and falls as he takes in the traitorous woman who helped kill his son, who tried to kill you. 

Surprisingly, she does not beg, nor does she weep or even look a little scared. Her eyes stay set on you, a hardened expression on her features as she never wavers. Gone is the girl you described her as, and in her stead sits a woman who looks ready to try to finish the job. 

“Why?” Is all you say, voice shaking with barely contained rage. Your hands are clasped together, tightly clenching your fingers as you take her in. All Aegon sees is blood that needs to be shed. He finds himself itching to grab his sword and do it himself, to slice her to bits that he will later feed to Sunfyre. 

“Your stepfather killed my father and little brothers in the war, there wasn’t even anything to bury once he was done with them. My mother followed soon after by her own hand.” Lila grits teeth, chest raising and falling. Her hands have been chained, as have her ankles, but still she yanks on the chains as if she believes herself strong enough to break them. “Alys offered revenge, I was happy to accept.” 

He leans forward, practically seething now. No one else is in the room besides the sworn guards, who happen to be Ser Criston and Ser Arryk. His mother stands on the opposite side of the throne, with Otto beside her. His words will never leave this room, he’s sure of it. “So you killed my son?!” 

Alicent jumps at the volume of his voice, hand clutching her chest, and Otto sighs. His wrinkled hand rubs his forehead, probably disappointed in him yet again. You on the other hand, stay with your back straightened, your hands reddened from irritation as you glare at this woman. You told him how you thought she was a friend, he cannot imagine how you must feel. 

“I believe it was Daemon Targaryen himself who once believed it was okay to seek revenge for the killing of a child, my youngest brother was only four and ten, just like yours was.” Lila briefly looks at him, that same barely contained rage in her eyes, before looking back at you. “A son for a son, Alys called it. I think my mother would have appreciated me seeking what little vengea-” 

You storm over to her, snatching her by her chin and roughly pulling her face up to look into your eyes. Aegon stood, ready to defend you, as he just barely heard your words. 

“Death would be too kind a sentence,” you spit out, “I shall have you tortured in the dungeons for as many years as we can keep you alive, perhaps I might stop by to watch occasionally.”

You shove her to the floor, body shaking as you clench your fists. Aegon comes down to stand beside you, a hand on your shoulder to say ‘I’m here, I understand.’ 

Ser Criston looks to him for confirmation, he seems astonished by the sentence, but all Aegon does is nod. Why would he go against your command when it is you she wrought the most pain against. Aegon grieves his son, misses him too, but Lila betrayed you the most. He won’t take choices from you ever again. 

Criston and Arryk pick her up, beginning to drag her away when she calls out, “you are a wicked beast! I wish I had managed to kill you!” 

He’s astonished by your response, he wants to grab your cheeks and pull you into a kiss when you confidently reply “you’re right, I am a dragon after all, and it will take more than your puny poison to kill me.” 

Gods, he loves you. 

He had danced with you all night, not a drop of wine was needed after the ceremony, his lips had hardly left yours. All your favorite foods were served, songs you both loved strummed out by the bards. You even picked up Jaehaera and brought her into dance with you two at one point. He had waved Aegon and Viserys over, so they could join too. Aegon never thought he’d have such a joyous wedding, let alone a little family that loved him like this.

Aelar is named heir while you are still a sweaty mess in your birthing bed. His older sisters Jaehaera, Rhaenyra and Saera all crawl onto the bed to get a peek at their little brother, excited giggles filling the room. He lets Otto announce to the kingdom that Aelar is born, he can’t bear to be away from you right now. Not when you're glowing like this, not with his son in your arms. A healthy baby boy who is alive. 

Aegon III and Viserys visit later, both boys having been training in the yard when the news broke out. The labor had been quick, so had Saera’s thank goodness. They ask to pick the egg out themselves and the two older girls all but demand to come with, Aegon watches as you smile at their childish bickering, little Aelar still in your arms. 

“Would you like to hold him?” You ask, voice low enough that the kids don’t notice. Honestly, Aegon is scared too. He had practically snatched Saera out of your arms when she was born, so excited for another child to spoil, but Aelar is smaller and the past still haunts the both of you. 

He nods, heart pounding as you slowly shift him into his arms, the second yours are free Saera climbs into them. She’s only just turned one, her brain probably has no clue what’s going on. The both of you had decided to wait for another child after Rhaenyra, the trauma left behind was too fresh. Both of you were scared that another birth would take you, or that you would perhaps deal with another stillborn. 

By now, Rhaenyra is five and an absolute spitfire, she constantly talks and always wants snuggles from her father before bedtime. It was due to her that Saera was born, she had begged for a little sibling despite Jaehaera telling her ‘they can be annoying sometimes’. Rhaenyra had thrown a pillow at her in response and stomped her little foot, lips pouting as she stared up at him. 

That night he had talked with you, and you agreed to stop drinking moon tea. Both of you were scared, but the pressure for an heir was ever present, and enough time had passed. The wound was still there, just like the scar on your stomach, but it had faded with time. Both of you hardly thought about Lucerys II anymore. 

Aelar squirms in his arms, tiny feet slowly kicking in the air, he’s all squishy and red like newborns are, but Aegon thinks he’s perfect. You lean your head against his shoulder, arms wrapped around Saera who gently tugs at your hair and stares at your son. This, him, he’s perfect. Suddenly Aegon forgets about the stress, the pressure, the desire to throw his crown into a crowd and walk away. 

Perhaps now life will be a little easier, perhaps the work of a king will be worth it when he thinks of how one day Aelar will inherit it. 

“I love him,” he whispers. By now, all four of the kids have run off with guards trailing after them, most likely to pick out an egg together. His gaze shifts to yours, eyes meeting in a loving stare. “Just like I love you.” 

“I lo-” Saera shrieks, hands roughly grabbing your cheeks as she surges forward. The both of you laugh at her silly antics.

The morning of his wedding, Otto had tried to discuss matters regarding the realm, he had all but tried to shoo him away. Unfortunately, his grandfather is a stubborn man. “There is also the matter of your… Assassins.” 

Aegon stills, telling all the servants shuffling about his chambers to leave as he finally faces his grandfather. Of course, nothing gets past this man. “Can I not have one happy day? One without business or whatever dreadful thing you're about to tell me.” 

“I have not told your mother about the horde of mercenaries you have hired to kill your brother, but I do want to remind you to restrain yourself. Even if another man kills him, since you were the one that paid for it, you would still be a Kin slayer.” 

Aegon shrugs, hands running through his cropped hair as he eyes the decanter left on his dresser. “I do not care, besides the last update I received is them being run out of Pentos. None of them have found where the roaches are now hiding.” 

Just one glass, he thinks while pouring himself a chalice full. You would need this too if you were stuck talking to Otto. “Seems the lords there were fond of Daemon Targaryen, they have not taken lightly to the news of his stepdaughter being harmed. Dorne also kicked them out for killing a child, I believe they didn’t fare well in Essos either.” Aegon takes a swig, leaning against the dresser as he glares at his grandfather, “either my mercenaries kill them or starvation will finally hit. They must have run out of money by now.” 

“Saera claimed Vhagar,” you say one evening, you're pregnant with your fifth child by now. Aegon stills, hands full of important documents that he’s drowning in. The words circle through his mind, trying to think of what to say as realization sets in. “The dragon keepers were surprised, seeing as she is only four and….” 

You're wringing your hands out, feet propped up by a stool, while you sit in your armchair. He wonders if you’ve told his mother, does she know? Should he go check on her? She’s been so focused on Helaena’s recovery, a new-found confidence in her daughter surging within her ever since Helaena has finally started leaving her room. Should he be the one to ruin that happiness for her? He’s ruined everything else, so it wouldn’t be anything new. 

“Oh,” is all he says, his throat is suddenly so dry. Aegon thinks to pour himself another glass of wine but for some reason he can’t unclench his hands, the papers within them crinkle, some rip. The stress did not leave upon Aelar’s birth, the weight on his shoulders has only grown. Now he wants to leave a perfect kingdom for him, and no matter what it seems he can’t. 

You slowly pull yourself from your chair, letting out a low groan as you waddle over to him. You’ve complained recently of your feet aching, it’s late into your pregnancy and any day you may go into labor. He wonders if it’ll be another boy like Rhaegar or if they’ll have another girl. He doesn’t know which he wants more. 

You stand in front of his desk, gentle hands on top of his as you slowly peel his fingers back. He gulps, staring at your hands, once stained red with your own blood. There are scars on both of them, Rhaenyra asked you about them recently.

Aegon had stilled at the dinner table, a dark look coming over his face as he recalls that horrid night. But you, ever the smart woman that he loves, just smiled and said, “sometimes a mother must make sacrifices.” 

It had been vague enough to confuse her and keep her from pressing for more information. Jaehaera though had stopped eating as well, eyes on your hands as she too recalled that night. Her name day has never been the same, every year she thinks of you in that puddle. 

“It was most likely peaceful” you say, pulling him out of his thoughts. Aegon knows you still despise him and while he too hates his brother for what he did At this moment he realizes what this means. His brother is dead. The boy he used to tease as a child, the one who covered for him when he would run off to Flea Bottom. The little kid he used to steal food from. He’s dead, and Aegon doesn’t even know how. Some time passes before you kiss his forehead and head to bed. Aegon finds himself slowly standing up, deciding to join you when his hand slips, papers sprawling across the floor.

He lets out an annoyed huff before bending down to pick them up, his hand sifts through the pile, bunching them in one hand while the other grabs the rest. His hands grasp onto something unfamiliar, brows furrowing when he finds a letter amongst the stack. 

Aegon shoves the unimportant (but actually very important) papers onto the desk before ripping open the letter, the letter is short, it’s signed ‘Nightshade’. His heart drops. 

“It’s done, proof is enclosed. 

~ Nightshade” 

Aegon digs inside the envelope, producing two strands of silver hair and one black. 

“You would still be a Kin slayer.” 

Aegon cannot bear to speak after that, he can’t even respond when you sleepily say you love him. The stunned man only nods in response. 

The cake served was a honey cake, he thinks, no he knows because that is your favorite cake. It was honey and your hair was pinned back, silver dragon pins found throughout your hair. You looked stunning that day. 

Everyone has caught on, the king is different, he’s quick to temper, erratic, stressed. He’s constantly seeking you out, so he can calm down, hands shaking and crown askew. Aemma lays in her cradle as you hold him. Aegon won’t say why, he can’t seem to fathom telling you what he’s done. 

“It’s too much” he sobs one day, hands clenching your dress as you hug him. “It’s too heavy!” 

You frown, pulling away and cupping his red cheeks, you look concerned, scared. Aegon can’t blame you, he’d be scared if this was you. “My love, talk to me, please. What is too heavy?” 

He chokes on his sobs, head resting on your chest. You take off his crown, throw it onto the bed and rub his back. “This feeling, I did it! I did it and I can’t take it back!” 

“You must tell me what this feeling is, so I can help you, maybe it won’t feel so heavy if you tell me.” 

Aegon pulls you closer until your body is flush against his, “I forgot she was still employed by me, everything was going so good, and she hadn’t found him in years s-so-” he sniffles, body shaking, “I forgot.” 

You nod along, one hand playing with his hair in a way that you know soothes him. “My last assassin killed Aemond, she killed his whole family.” 

He whispers the words, scared somehow the walls will hear and scream it to the whole realm. ‘Aegon killed his brother!’ They would screech, ‘he’s a kinslayer!’ 

Your ministrations stop, body suddenly so still as you take in his words. He’s scared you’ll scold him, reject him, show him the disgust he knows he feels for himself. Instead, you pull his face away from your chest, despite his protests, and look into his eyes. He doesn’t find any of those things, only sorrow and concern. 

“You forgot?” 

He nods. 

“Then you did not mean it, and therefore it was not you.” 

It's shitty reasoning, but he’ll take whatever you give him. He launches himself back into your arms. By now, the front of your dress is soaked, but neither of you comment on it. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats like a mantra. 

“And I, you” you murmur, kissing the top of his head. 

He can’t remember what kind of flowers were draped throughout the Sept, nor can he seem to remember the necklace you wore, despite it being a gift from him. Aegon can’t remember if you sat on his left or right, and he knows he used to remember that. 

“I want to talk to you,” you start. Aegon is laying in bed, boots kicked off and only in his small clothes. Lately there have been bags under his eyes, he’s lost weight and despite your talk a few weeks ago he still seems on edge. You’ve sat in on many of the small council meetings and noticed how detached Aegon has become. Many of the members scoff when they must repeat themselves. You're scared. 

Aegon pats the spot beside him, you crawl onto it but stay on your knees, a hand resting on his thigh as you gaze at him with concern. “What of?”

Even his tone sounds tired. Your hands reach up to cup his cheeks, “I have an idea, but you must hear it out before you make any comments.” 

“If this is about that new thing you heard the ladies gossip about, I will not let it anywhere near my as-” 

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I want you to abdicate.” 

It’s silent, he looks confused, the only sound in the room is the crackling fire. You had moved Aemma to the nursery when you noticed how tired he seemed, best let him get as much rest as possible. “The stress is destroying you and-” you scoot forward, forehead pressing against his, “I can’t keep watching as you fall apart. I just want to see you happy again.” 

“Aelar is too young,” Aegon concludes, brows still furrowed. 

You chew on your lip before pulling away from him, hands dropping into your lap. You wring them out as you look down at them, the words that leave you shock him. “I know, but you have me, I could do it for you until Aelar is old enough.” 

“That’s unheard of,” he leans against the pillows, watching you nervously fiddle with your hands. You sigh, shoulders slumping as you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Yes, but not impossible. If I take over, you could relax, be with the kids more, take a deep breath. At this rate, if you keep going you’ll die from the stress alone.” You lean forward, leaning against your hands that are now flat against the bed. “I do not wish to lose you, and the kids are worried about you.” 

He gulps, even after so long such words still seem foreign to him. Every time his children tackle him or excitedly shriek at his presence he looks around for what is so interesting, it’s always him though. He doesn’t know how, but they love him, so do you, so do you his nephews. Even Alicent is gentle with him now. He’s taking on so much to keep you from it and yet you're sitting here asking for the stress, the burden, to help him. 

The small council would not like that, nor would Otto, and probably not his mom. The kingdom might be confused by it, but they do love you. Having you on the throne does not change the succession either, it would still fall to Aelar, so there would be nothing to worry about in that regard. 

“Let me be queen, so you may be the father you wish to be,” you say it so sincerely, so earnestly. How can Aegon say no to that? He hardly ever says no to you, he can’t start now. 

“You love me?” He asks, it’s the first time he’s had to ask in years, but this decision involves all the trust in the world. He needs reassurance. 

You nod, a smile on your beautiful lips as you sit back down, “I do, so much.”

You try not to remember your first wedding, the day was somber and against your will. None of it had been planned by you, and you had to keep from crying at the altar. But your wedding to Aegon? He made sure you helped plan it and when the day arrived everything fell together so perfectly. For a moment you forgot all your pain, all your heartache. That wedding you remember vividly, even as the years pass by. 

The dress they fit you in has valyrian steel shoulder pads and a belt. It’s all black with red satin cuffs at your wrists. The style of it reminds you of the dress you wore the day you almost died, except this one has silver dragons embroidered on the skirt. Your hair is twisted into intricate and regal braids and a silver ruby necklace is draped across your neck with matching earrings. 

The coronation will be in the throne room, and after you will give a speech to the small folk in front of the Red Keep. Many were shocked by the news that Aegon was stepping down, none more surprised than your good mother. Her lips had been pursed while she picked at her fingernails until they bled. 

You later found that she felt all her hard work and sacrifice over the years had been for not. Despite rejecting Aegon’s pleas as a child and making him marry Helaena, here you stood happily married to her eldest son. Despite starting a war to put him on the throne, here you stood, about to be crowned queen of the seven kingdoms. 

You think against telling her that none of this would have happened if she had just let the two of you marry, it would only upset her further. Upon hearing about Vhagar she had been beside herself. Helaena had stood awkwardly, not quite sure what to do, as she herself was not fully present yet. Her mind was still elsewhere most days. 

“Are you ready?” Aegon asks, he had requested to be the one to give you the crown and walk you to the throne. It felt right to have him be the one to hand it over to you, to tell the world he approves of this decision, that he sees you as the true ruler of the seven kingdoms. You take his hand, letting out a shaky sigh before nodding. 

“Yes.” 

You catch one last glimpse of yourself in the mirror before walking away. The sight shocks you, the woman staring back looks eerily similar to your mother. You wonder what she would make of the life you’ve lived since she passed. You still think of her often, thoughts consumed on if she’d be disappointed or not. 

The coronation is a blur. Aegon walks you to the iron throne after a guard announces your arrival. Everyone turns and watches you walk up the steps. You do not sit immediately, Aegon says his speech which you hardly hear, the ringing in your ears taking precedence over his words. In the crowd you see your children, up at the front and grinning from ear to ear. 

Jaehaera holds Aemma and Rhaenyra holds Rhaegar. Saera and Aelar are standing in front of them, fidgeting as their little bodies try their best to stay still. Your brothers stand behind your girls, shoulders back and faces proud. Neither remember what your mother looks like, you wonder if they see her in you as Alicent does. Part of you hopes they do. 

Aegon grabs the crown from the velvet cushion it was sat upon. He had a new one made for you, it’s the valyrian circlet he had made for your wedding, except he has added thorns to it, the way they are shaped almost looks like a dragons nest with rubies embedded to look like the eggs. They seem sharp enough to harm, maim even, as the thorns curl around one another. 

You wonder what went through his brain when coming up with the concept, he gently places it upon your braided hair and whispers, so only you hear, “for my mighty dragon.” 

Gods, you want to cry. 

“All hail the queen!” He shouts, turning to the crowd in front of him. They chant along with him as you finally ascend to the throne, your body fits perfectly against the seat as you stare out at the people, no, subjects in front of you. 

And while your new subjects stare up at you with unadulterated rage and shock, a shiver of happiness worms its way into your heart. This might not have been the way your mother wished for the war to truly end. She would still disapprove of your marriage to Aegon, but you know that at this moment as you sit on the iron throne, the crown of y/n the mighty laid upon your dark curls, that she would finally be proud of you. 

And in the end, that’s all you ever wanted.

[weirwoodswitch]

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

-

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

-

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

-

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

-

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

-

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

-

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

-

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

-

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

-

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

-

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

-

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[weirwoodswitch]

A Refined Taste

Part 11: Honeymoon

Previous Part ◇ Epilogue ◇ Series Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Summer slipped away into a moment in time but for you it doesn't mean the end to what you found there.

Rating: Explicit/MDI (More warnings under the cut)

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: Smut (oral f-receiving, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex), sensual themes, suggestive content, language, alcohol consumption, fluff.

From the author: I'm still in shock at how many of you decided to follow me on my journey of writing my very first modern AU! I'm so grateful and the joy at seeing your comments and reactions to every part is indescribable! Thank you and I love you 🥺

Enjoy this last dinner at the Targaryens alongside the reader and Argella <3

Farewell the mansion, farewell the vineyard, what a summer it was! Cheers to that 🍷

P.S The epilogue's coming next, so this is not the final goodbye to these love birds yet or Argella and Helaena 🤭

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Comments and reblogs are highly appreaciated!

Since the moment you realised that Aemond sneaked into your heart and made a little nest there to live, you dreaded the end of your summer holidays. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen and yet here you are, sitting at the table at the Targaryen-Hightower vineyard with Aemond’s hand lying comfortably on your knee as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. As if it was both of you who have been dating for years and it was Argella who got invited to come along with you. 

Since your mutual love confessions in the billiard room, Aemond took every opportunity to whisper to you these three words you were scared to even say out loud yourself. The last week of your stay was filled with muttered and moaned out “I love yous” from both of you and you came to a realisation that you’ve never been this happy with anyone. 

You only hope that, even though Aemond's decision to do his PHD at King’s Landing University made it easier for you to continue being with each other, this thing between you works out in the end. You want more than anything for it to last and stretch beyond the honeymoon phase you both are in at the moment. 

“Are you okay, my love?” 

My love.

Aemond hasn’t stopped calling you that since he saw your cheeks blush and eyes twinkle with affection when the change happened. 

And the way he whispered it into your ear when he rooted himself into you every night since that moment not only made your body shiver but your heart grow even bigger. Leaving you astonished that it’s possible for it to do so still. 

His hand covers your twitching fingers that absentmindedly twist the knot of your linen trousers.

You give him a reassuring smile, “I am, baby. You know just got a bit lost in my head,” you joke. 

Aemond’s lips quirk up and you can’t help but want to kiss them. 

Will it ever stop? Wanting him?

“Can you love birds stop looking at each other like that? There are people around,” Helaena teases but as her words bring a faint blush to your cheeks, they only make Aemond squeeze your knee harder, smirking at his older sister while doing so. 

“Yeah, I’ve never seen you so publicly touchy with a girl before, brother,” Aegon continues after Helaena and you feel like hiding under the table. “Your sister must be special, Argella,” he adds, smirking mischievously. 

“She is,” her and Aemond say in unison and you bite the insides of your cheeks not to let the rapidly growing smile take over your face. 

You are so happy at this moment that it doesn’t seem real to you. 

All of their eyes shine with loving amusement, Argella’s included, and even though the attention flusters you, it makes your relationship with Aemond that more real. 

“My girl,” he murmurs in your ear and the blush deepens. 

“You really like seeing me embarrassed, don’t you?” You ask and with the question comes a déjà vu of your secret tryst at the gazebo all those many weeks ago. 

So much has changed since then. 

And when Aemond’s other hand that’s draped over the back of your chair settles on your shoulder, you do nothing to stop yourself from smiling brightly. 

“Is there another sister or a brother we don’t know about and can show up for Aegon next summer?” Helaena jokes and a choir of laughter welcomes Alicent and Daeron and Mr Cole trailing behind them. 

The youngest of the siblings looks at your group knowingly.

“Just wanted to wish you a good evening,” the man says with clear uncertainty in his brown eyes and then quickly turns to Alicent, “I’ll be outside, as always.”

“Wait, Criston,” Aegon calls out and everyone stops breathing for a second. Alicent looks at his son wide-eyed, “We’ve known each for years and eaten together before. Join us.”

“It will make mom happy, will it not?” Helaena adds and only then the man sits down, relief washing over his and Alicent’s faces. 

Aemond and Daeron don’t say anything more but they don’t seem to argue about the choice that’s just been made. But in case he needs any reassurance that you’re here to talk, you brush his hand that still holds onto you with your thumb.

He answers in the same manner.

The dinner is served almost immediately after Alicent sits down and once the wine fills everyone’s glasses the hostess is the first to speak up.

“I’d like to toast to my children,” she looks affectionately at each of them, dark eyes welling up with tears. “I couldn’t be more blessed to have such an incredible daughter and the most amazing sons. I’ve never been more proud of you.”

Helaena seems to glow when she smiles at her mother’s words, while the boys sport faint blushes on their faces. 

“And right now, I’m especially proud of Aemond and Daeron. Daeron is following in his brother’s footsteps and continues his academic career at Oldtown University, making me both happy and sad. How dare you leave your mother once again,” she jokingly chastises him, eliciting a laugh from everyone at the table. 

“And as Daeron stays in Oldtown, Aemond leaves it and moves closer to home to work on his PHD!” You turn your head to look at him, your face beaming with pride and love, fingers squeezing his own with tenderness. His face is as stoic as ever but as always his eye shows the brewing emotions underneath—the pride in his mother’s voice touches him deeply. 

“I’m aware that the final decision was made with the help from someone very important to him,” Alicent looks directly at you and this time you’re sure that your face is burning. “My dear, you and your sister have been the most gracious guests and I truly hope that you’ll come back here again,” her gaze goes from you to your sister and you cannot help but feel the luckiest person to gain Alicent’s respect. “You make my darling children incredibly happy and that’s all a mother can ever ask for. Another toast to you girls and to the bright future that lays ahead of us all.”

All of you thanks for her kind words and before you realise an hour goes by filled with light conversation, another bottle of wine and Aemond’s soft, discreet touches that make you lightheaded more than what you drunk this evening. 

It’s just wonderful, being filled with a happiness that makes you so dizzy. 

“Do you mind if we leave you alone, mom?” 

Helaena’s voice cuts through Aegon and Daeron’s hysterical laughs─the elder brother told the younger one a joke you didn’t pay attention to but you assume it must’ve been good because even Aemond’s mouth twitched. Or he’s simply in a remarkably good mood. Whatever it is, your heart jumps at the sight of him smiling, even if in such a covert manner.

“Sure, honey, go enjoy yourselves,” she sends you off with a warm smile, her eyes lingering on your backs until you disappear behind the corner of the winery. 

As you walk down the hill, passing the grapevine rows the siblings are deep in conversation about her mother and Criston. Not to intrude you and Argella walk a couple of steps behind them, enjoying the gorgeous view you’ll leave behind tomorrow.

“Have you talked more about how it’ll look like when you’re back in King’s Landing?” Argella touches your shoulder, stopping you from walking.  

The siblings don’t seem to notice, the distance between your two groups growing bigger because of that. 

“Not yet but I don’t see us moving in. It’s too early for that…” Your eyes pin into Aemond’s back at the thought.

“That’s good,” she nods, “It could do more damage than good at this early stage. Learn from your big sister,” her eyes spark with what you sense is gaiety. “Besides, Alysanne wouldn’t mind you bringing Aemond to the flat anyway. She’s a good friend,” Argella adds as you resume your walk.

“Yeah, we’ve known each other for so long,” you suddenly chortle under your breath as you imagine your closest uni friend interacting with Aemond, “I can’t wait to bring him to my place. Alysanne is so bubbly and chatty and Aemond is… Aemond. He’ll probably prefer me staying at his.”

The burst of laughter that comes out of you and your sister catches everyone’s attention and they stop to wait for you.

As Aemond lives alone, you won’t mind at all staying at his place.

You won’t mind that at all. 

“We’re almost there,” Daeron points at an old oak facing yet another stock of grapevine rows. Its thickest and longest branch sticks out to the right, supporting a simple, hand-made swing. A wooden bench stands on the left side of it.

Aemond hums and then reaches out his hand for you to take it and you do it without question. In that moment music fills up the space around you when Helaena chooses a playlist on her phone. 

Aegon sits down on the grass and pulls out a joint from his bum bag, handing one to his sister who sits down on the bench with Argella on her lap, while Daeron splays out his sweatshirt next to him to lay down on it and when he does he puts his hands behind his head to look at the leaves hanging above you all.

You follow the youngest boy’s gaze and there’s no other word in which you could describe the way the light of the setting sun peaking through the upper branches of the tree than mesmerising. 

Aemond leans against the wide trunk of the oak, one hand in the pocket of the trousers and the other wrapper around the thin rope of the swing. 

Your hand immediately flies to rest atop of his fist as it seems that your body is constantly craving his skin contact and you try to get his attention by bumping his leg with the side of the swing.

“Let’s lay down next to your brothers. Relax, enjoy ourselves like your mom told us to do,” your legs bend and straighten in order to swing yourself in place.

Aemond’s eye squints slyly like it usually does when he’s ready to tease you and that itself alone makes your stomach tingle with anticipation. 

“Like my mom told us to?” He repeats, leaning in closer so much so that the charming dimpled tip of his nose touches yours. 

In the background Argella starts telling everyone a story from your childhood.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” His hands find themselves on your hips and you bite your lip involuntarily at the contact. “I know just the perfect way we can enjoy ourselves without having to stay quiet,” he murmurs, while his thumbs draw lazy circles at the top of your hips. 

“You mean here, here?” Aemond laughs lowly.

“No, there are rooms in the winery building available for guests or business partners. We can spend the night there. Let’s call it a final farewell to the summer, hm?”

“That’d be perfect,” you nod slowly as your thoughts go rapidly into many different directions, conjuring images of what Aemond has planned for you. “But let’s stay here for a bit more, okay? I don’t want to miss a single moment that passes.”

“Of course,” he takes your hand that caresses his cheek and places a soft kiss on it. “But then I want you all for myself.”

The firm declaration in his voice makes you that more excited for tonight, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

An hour later everyone’s back at the house, Helaena and Argella spend their last night at the mansion doing a movie night with the boys and you and Aemond walk up the stairs to the first floor of the winery. 

The moment you walk into your room, Aemond drops his backpack—filled with your things for the overnight stay—on the floor and it’s on you in an instant. His hands cradle your cheeks and because of how big they are your head is almost entirely covered by them. 

He kisses you roughly, letting out groaned moans as his fingers pin into the back of your head, pushing you ever closer to his mouth.

“Aem-” his name stucks in your throat when he moves his lips to your neck, nibbling at it gently.

“I want you to remember me when you’re gone,” he whispers in your ear as he pulls you even closer.

“Aren’t we seeing each other soon?”

“Not soon enough,” his teeth suck at the tender spot under your ear and a moan escapes you immediately. 

You both love and hate how well he got to know your body already.

Desire starts feeling up every inch of your body and settling between your thighs. 

“How could you cope if you chose to stay in Oldtown? Would you do a distance relationship with me?” You ask jokingly, knowing how you personally feel about it. 

Aemond picks you up in one swift motion and lays you onto the bed, “If it was anyone else I’ve ever been with, I’d probably say no to that,” he strokes your hair with one hand, while his other hand traces its fingers down your body, slowly coming to rest on your thigh, squeezing it gently before beginning to caress your calf.

Drunk on the sensations he provides your body with, you don’t even notice that he’s starting to undress you.

“But for you I would reconsider,” Aemond smirks as he throws your trousers and panties on the floor, leaving you bare waist down for him. 

“Because you love me?” You tease, dragging my nails down the back of his head and then down his neck. 

Aemond hums contently and kisses you again, his hands trailing up your body, pulling you out of your shirt and bra but with your help this time. 

“Yes... Because I love you,” he smiles into your lips, his tone so tender that you might cry. In response, you peck at his cupid bow and repeat that with every inch of the outline of his pretty, pouty mouth. 

He lets out a throaty chuckle and when you’re done with your display of affection, Aemond captures your lips with his again, nipping at your lip and holding it there for a moment, as his other hand moves down and grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing it harshly.

“Let me make my girl happy,” he murmurs and without waiting for an answer his tongue spreads your folds with a swift swipe up. 

All you can do is squirm and writhe as he laps at your already wet pussy. 

And when he finally decides to pay attention to your swollen clit, eagerly sucking it he watches as you come with a strangled moan and his name on your lips.  

“Look at you,” he leans in, the evidence of your arousal shining on his mouth and chin, “What a sight you are.” 

You grab his face and kiss him deeply, the taste of your juices building another fire of desire within you.

Impatient to feel his cock inside you, you lean back on your elbows and attempt at the most seductive tone you can manage, while your foot moves from his stomach, to his crotch—he takes a sharp breath when you brush against his evident bulge—and up to his stomach again, “Strip down, baby. I want to see all of you.” 

Aemond’s violet eye widens as it takes in your laying form—a bit demanding and all spread out for him.

He gets rid of his clothes hastily and yet also in a way that you can spend some time admiring every part of his skin that’s being revealed. 

As he stands before you, naked and bathed in the warm light of the night lamp, you can’t believe that he’s real. Lean and toned with sharp angles and angular edges. He looks like a sculpture from antiquity. 

“I love you, Aemond,” you breathe out, not being able to control what your heart wants him to know. 

This works like a charm because he’s instantly on his way to you.

Your mouth opens, letting your jaw hang loosely when he crawls up on the bed to slot between your thighs. And that dimpled smile you adore so much stretches his thin, soft lips as he leaves a trail of kisses from your belly bottom to the top of your breasts.

“Say it again,” he murmurs as he kisses along your jawline. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you repeat over and over again until he takes you by your hips, pulling you close enough that you can feel his cock pressing against the inside of your thigh. 

Your legs circle around his waist but when you think that he’s about to enter you, he turns you around so that you straddle him.

Aemond smirks at you as he leans back up against the wooden back of the bed, spreading his legs wider for you. 

“All yours, my love. I need to see these pretty tits bounce in front of me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat but you waste no time to do what he asks.

“No condoms tonight,” you tell him before he reaches for one, “I want to feel all of you. I need it.” 

“Whatever you want, whatever you need,” he answers and then you kiss him wildly as you begin your descent.

The two of you drink up your moans at the feeling of your walls pushing against his cock, the stretch both too much and perfect all at once. 

You raise up and come down again, looking at him disappearing inside you, moans of satisfaction leaving your lips as you repeat your movements.

“Having you like this-fuck-I can’t believe-” his hands squeeze you everywhere they can reach. The brush of his fingers against your skin is as burning as the devouring hunger in his eye. 

The feeling of his hands palming at and kneading your breasts or of his mouth sucking and nibbling at your nipples send another wave of arousal to your core, making you arch your back and throw your head back with a loud whine. 

“Fuck-You look so beautiful right now,” he reaches up and gently brushes his fingers over your lips. A content smile never living his own. 

Then he leans in and starts biting at your neck, his large hands grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them, making you cry out loudly.

“Oh Gods, baby. Fuck-” he hums complacently against your skin at your response, while his hands help you move faster and harsher.

Aemond leans back against the cushions, his chest heaving and eye blown up as it switches from watching your bouncing breasts to the place where your bodies join, “I’ll never get-fuck-tired of seeing you above me.”

“Good,” you pant, “‘cause I love it too much.” 

His breath catches in his throat at your words, “Do you? How lucky I am then,” he sends you his usual self-satisfied smirk all while keeping on watching you ride him. Jaw slack and eye mesmerised by your face that’s all screwed-up in pleasure. 

Then suddenly he plants his feet firmly on the sheets and starts thrusting into you, dragging his long cock through your warm walls.

Broken moans fill his ears, which only spurn him to go harder. 

He finds an angle that brushes your sweet spot, leaving you breathless, mind so filled with pleasure that no coherent thoughts seem to be formed. 

“Oh, fuck,” your head falls forward and you bite your lips, your nails dig into his abdominal muscles and then his pectorals—not really sure where to sink them into. 

“All mine,” he groans, “Tell me.” 

“Yours,” you pant out, barely registering anything that isn’t Aemond’s cock hitting you perfectly where you need him to. “All yours.” 

“That’s right, mine,” he gives you one rough thrust, one that makes you jolt on and around his length, before he stops moving but only to flip you both so you’re under him again.

Aemond pulls out almost entirely and hums in light amusement when the sudden withdrawal is welcomed with your pout and annoyed whimper. 

“So perfect for me,” his fingers push a strand of your hair out of your face and brushes his thumb along your profile, all while the head of his cock is nestled safely inside your entrance. 

It’s maddening what he’s able to do to your body and to your heart concurrently.

Irritation disappears completely at the gentleness he’s showing you, giving space to a look of adoring wonder in your eyes. That’s probably what makes him push into you again, unhurriedly and steadily, which helps you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of the cock that always brings you to the heights of blissful ecstasy. 

“I love you,” he sighs into your lips and then you’re kissing once again. “I love you.”

It’s what he repeats with every push and pull of his hips and you’re doing the same, pouring every feeling that you were scared of into this moment, meeting his thrusts with yours. 

“Don’t- don’t leave me,” you sound on the verge of tears. The cumulative of emotions and your impending orgasm force out single tears to drop out of the corners of your eyes. 

“I won’t,” his movements don’t falter, even when he leans in to kiss away the salty trails.

“I mean it,” your legs tighten around his backside more, pulling him even closer—you need him to melt into you. Aemond bites your jaw at that, groaning at the added depth in which he can manoeuvre. Your determined, practically desperate gaze pierces into his good eye, “Don’t you dare leave me.” 

The darkened violet of his eye answers you with the same intensity, his jaw hangs above your lips, the warmth of his breath fans your face, while his hips start pounding into you relentlessly.

With this the all too familiar sensation is coming at you so fast that you’re barely able to hitch in breath each time his cockhead hits that rough patch of yours with a vehemence you could never get enough of. 

Aemond has you moaning his name like a broken record the closer you get to your release. 

“You belong with me now,” he grits out through teeth, his breathing coming out through his nose as he’s nearing his end as well.

“How could I ever leave you?” He punctuates his statement with a set of powerful pushes and then it only takes one press of his thumb on your sensitive bundle of nerves for both of you to come undone.

Your back arches and his arm slots under it, bringing you flush against him, enough for your tits to press against his chest and his teeth to graze over your shoulder. And then you sigh deeply with serene fulfilment when he spills into you. The feeling of his hot spend coating your walls brings you comfort that you didn’t expect to experience in this particular moment. 

The sounds of your shared pleasure fills the room, while your bodies shake in the aftermath. 

Aemond lays you down gently on the soft duvet and doesn’t let go of you when he pulls his softening cock out, immediately circling his arms around your waist, so that you’re cradled in his embrace. 

“I mean it,” his slightly hoarse voice tickles your ear, “I could never leave you now.”

A shudder travels through your body at yet another tear-jerking confession of his. 

You tilt your head to look at him from behind your shoulder and turn around to face him. He raises his leg to let you slot yours in the gap and when you’re once again intertwined with each other, you lay a gentle kiss on his gorgeous lips.

“We’re quite lucky, don’t you think?” You ask, laying your head against his chest and listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “To be able to continue this…” The word “relationship” is left behind. Even after the neverending love confessions, you’re not sure if you should put a label on the thing you have with him. 

“Yeah…” his knuckles caress the length of your arm, the curve of your hip and then thigh until they’re stopped by his bent knee. He repeats that, making your stomach flutter pleasantly. “Maybe we were meant to be.”

Your heart stops for a second only to start pumping blood again with a double force. You look up at him slowly and are met with the softest gaze Aemond’s ever gave you. 

“I didn’t take you for a romantic type,” you smile rather shyly. 

“I’ve been finding out a lot about myself recently,” his fingers ceaselessly stroke your hip, drawing out a quiet, breathy sigh from you. 

“Have you?” 

As he’s adamant at teasing you so delightfully, you do the same and brush his collarbone with your fingertips, leaving goosebumps in their wake.  

A long, contented hum leaves his chest and you can feel its vibrations under your palm, “Mhm. And it’s all because of you.”

At the start falling for him seemed so nerve wracking and so complicated but now it feels like the most soothing and easiest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

You take his hand and place it on your bare chest right where your heartbeat can be felt, so in this way you both are holding each other’s hearts in your hands. 

“My heart’s yours, Aemond. It can always be yours, if you’re willing to stay long enough to make it work. I know I am.”

You count in your head every second that passes, every beat of your heart that waits for an answer that is already written in his loving gaze.

“Take mine and do whatever you want with it. I’ve given it to you some time ago and no one’s ever been so careful with it as you have. I’m all in.”

There’s no place for doubt and guessing for both of you anymore. 

The next morning Aemond wakes you up with kisses alongside your spine, the dull, delicious ache between your thighs from last night lingers still and truth be told Aemond’s mouthing ministrations don’t help to make the feeling go away.

It’s here to stay, just like he is. 

“I thought we’d eat breakfast here,” he suggests, lips brushing the nape of your neck.  

“Wouldn’t you like to eat with everyone else? I’m not sure when I’ll be back…”

You give him a pleading look as you sit down, instinctively covering your chest with the duvet, which is no use because Aemond finds a way to touch your bare skin anyway—stroking the small of your back leisurely. 

It seems that Aemond is as touch-starved as you are.

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind. After all, we’ll have plenty of time for private breakfasts,” he cocks his head to the side, while the corners of his naturally curled mouth lift up, making your heart flutter at the sight of his dimples.  

I’m all in.

You leave a lingering peck on his cheek, “Yes. Yes, we will.” 

You did however drank your coffee at the balcony, looking out to the endless rows of grapevines as the sun rose slowly over the plains and hills.

And some time later when you pack your things into Helaena’s car it feels like you’re rewinding the tape. 

The sun shines brightly, hanging above the sea water you can spot in the distance, making it look like it's covered in tiny diamonds and the dark-stone Targaryen mansion stands proudly, ivy falling down its outside walls. And you’re marvelling at it still with awe written on your face, wearing the same boyfriend jeans you wore at the day of your arrival, Argella at your side and Mrs Targaryen, or as you call her Alicent now, saying goodbye to her daughter who she “only just welcomed back home.” 

Criston, forever dutiful to his position at the house, waits patiently at the main door but there’s an ease to the way he carries himself, as if some weight was taken off of his back. 

And of course this time the Targaryen-Hightower boys are at the driveway and not hiding away in the living room. 

The moment feels both familiar and brand new and a sudden wave of nostalgia flows into your heart as if you were already a great distance away from this place. 

It’s like coming full circle, except that it’s not the name “Aegon” that wanders around your mind but “Aemond” instead.

“I already told you that yesterday but come visit us here next summer or any time you want. Christmas, perhaps?” Alicent’s big doe-eyes somewhat beg you to accept her invitation. 

How can you say no?

“That’d be a good idea actually. We can later go to the Starks’ ski resort for your final winter break,” Argella seems excited at the prospect. 

“That’s a plan then. I don’t want to hear any objections,” the firm determination in her voice reminds you too much of Aemond’s, so you smile not really able to help yourself anyway. “I’ll start the preparations right away!” 

You can never be sure how long a relationship will last but you can have hope that it lasts as long as possible, forever even. In your case, you wish for nothing more because you’ve been made to feel like part of this family since day one and that’s a feeling that cannot be replaced. 

One last embrace from Alicent and a warm hug from Daeron, whom you wish the best of luck at OU, and here comes the guy you were so excited to see at the beginning of summer.

“Don’t be sad, we’ll see each other at another Helaena’s birthday,” Aegon jests and kisses you in the same fashion like all those months ago─three pecks on the cheeks but this time, as you no longer let those nervous butterflies stop you from treating him as a friend, you reciprocate, catching him off guard. 

“Careful brother, she might like me still,” you answer his wink with an eye roll.

“I still remember what Aemond said. Wouldn’t risk it,” you shove your elbow into Aemond’s side, smiling archly but he’s suddenly all abashed, hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, that was below him but it worked in his favour, didn’t it,” Aegon laughs at both of you. That wide, mischievous smile doesn’t leave Aegon’s face, clearly all too pleased with himself at making his witty, supercilious brother lost for words.

You can’t help yourself and laugh with him, taking Aemond’s hand in yours, “Would you say that he got a skillfully laid out plan already at the ready?” 

“It seems so,” a glint of affection shines in his lilac eyes, paler than Aemond’s and so similar to Helaena’s, “I did help him get a bit jealous, though. Push him into action,” he pretends to whisper and with that Aegon quickly leaves you to ponder on his words. 

“Seven Hells,  that brother of yours,” you look up at Aemond, a faint shade of blush still on his defined cheekbones. 

“He’s right,” he looks at you from the bridge of his straight nose, thumb slowly beginning to brush the back of your hand, “My life changed when you walked into the library that day. I didn’t lie when I said that. Maybe I didn’t know it at that moment but the idea of you and Aegon together didn’t sit right with me. Especially when I saw you two drinking outside. Already getting close. If I played my cards right we’d have more time.”

“But we won the game in the end,” you reassure him, “And can make up for those lost weeks now. It can only mean that maybe we were meant to be together,” you echo his words from the night before. 

At that he pulls you into him, one hand around your waist, one still holding your hand.

“You’re right and you know, life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall*.” 

“Gods, you’re such a nerd,” you giggle into his chest, the literary reference swelling your heart with profound affection. 

“Prepare yourself then because you’ll have to endure him for a while longer than you anticipated,” he murmurs into your hair and then kisses the top of your head. 

Aemond Targaryen isn't one for excessive public displays of affection but here he is holding you in his arms for everyone to see.

A walking contradiction, indeed. 

As you share your last kiss in this place you think to yourself that this really was an interesting summer. 

No, it was more than that. 

Life changing.

*The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Tag List

@aegonx ◇ @aemonds-fire ◇ @anehkael ◇ @arcielee ◇ @bel-bottoms ◇ @bellstwd ◇ @carriellie ◇ @chainsawsangel ◇ @fan-goddess ◇ @aemonds-holy-milk ◇ @helaenaluvr ◇ @herfantasyworldd ◇ @itsabby15 ◇ @jeezlouiisee ◇ @letmeloveyouuuu ◇ @malfoytargaryen ◇ @mooncalvin ◇ @moonlightazriel ◇ @melsunshine ◇ @padfooteyes ◇ @randomdragonfires ◇ @skikikikiikhhjuuh ◇ @snh96 ◇ @strangersunghoon ◇ @sunna-fangirls ◇ @talesofoldandnew ◇ @the-common-cowgirl ◇ @tsujifreya ◇ @violetletovi ◇ @wintrr13 ◇ @winifrog

Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be included in this specific series tag or a general Aemond tag ♡

[weirwoodswitch]

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Fighting, Aemond being an asshole, fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, degradation, hair pulling, spanking, daddy kink.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Okay so, two things. I should preface this by telling you all that Harold Holt was an Australian Prime Minister who went swimming and never came back. It was assumed he drowned, or got eaten by sharks, or if you want to go with the more fun conspiracy theories, got abducted in a submarine. But to do a Harold Holt is basically to do a runner, no show, disappearance with no word, smoke bomb, etc. Hope you get it now lol. Secondly, the song Aemond is listening to is from one of my longtime fav bands who I got to see live! The song is ‘Kletka - Molchat Doma’ and its such a vibe, anyway, thanks for your patience on the update! Its a long ass chapter because I don't know how to stop.... Enjoy <3

Chapter 6: Lapse in Judgement

Waking up the next morning was something that you had dreaded the moment you ran and hid in your room, diving beneath your sheets as your heart raced and your core throbbed.

Your fingers had grazed your lips, sensitive from the bruising kiss he had pulled you into.

Fuck.

You had kissed Aemond. 

And Aemond had kissed you.

You had felt the phantom feeling of his fingers on your core and had tossed and turned all night, desperately trying to ignore the heartbeat that settled between your thighs and the mounting anxiety that followed. 

What would Helaena say?

When you woke that morning, the turning of your stomach began almost immediately, anxiety winding its way higher and higher, palms sweating, knowing that you would have to face the music and exit your room. 

A small headache had formed behind your eyes from the alcohol, but it was barely noticeable in comparison to your racing thoughts. Or perhaps the cause for your headache was the conundrum you now found yourself in.

Note to self, no more Porn Star Martinis if a handsome and brooding man was in your apartment.

You dressed, and ran to the bathroom, noticing Aemond’s door was open. 

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, there were bags beneath your eyes, and your hair a mess from tossing and turning all night. You paid careful attention to concealing the dark shadows and fixing your hair before you took a steady breath and exited the loo. 

You expected Aemond to be gone for his morning run as he usually was, as the creature of habit he seemed to be, door open and all that, but nope, fate had other plans for you. Aemond stood, in his over six foot glory in the kitchen, mug in his hands as he looked out the window. He was dressed in his running gear, grey shirt today and his hair was down, cascading over his shoulders, strands tucked neatly behind his ears. 

On your approach, he lifted his head to look at you. 

You swallowed dryly, feet stumbling slightly against the floor boards as you made your way over, heat rising in your cheeks. You were mortified, and beyond that, ashamed.

Ashamed of who it was.

Ashamed of how you had acted.

Ashamed that it was Helaena’s brother.

And ashamed that you had liked it.

You had to tear your face away from his gaze, diverting your eyes to the floor as you made your way over, picking up the kettle to make yourself your morning tea. You didn’t greet him verbally, too unsure of what to do, and so you gave him a soft nod.

A sliding sound caught your attention. 

You took your eyes from the sink, and beside you on the bench, Aemond had pushed with two knuckles a mug of tea towards you.

It was your favourite mug, and it looked like he had managed to make it perfectly. 

You blinked up at him, putting the kettle back in its holder and reaching for the tea. Your fingers grazed over his momentarily, heart racing as you took the mug from him. Warmth spread through your chest and you swallowed. 

“I’m sorry.” You breathed, picking up the mug to your lips, “I, uh,” You let out an awkward chuckle, “I think I had one too many martini’s last night.” Another awkward laugh, and then the words didn’t stop, Oh god, “Sara took me to this new bar, and it was so cool, it actually reminded me a bit of you. We had one drink aft-“

“-Don’t worry about it.” Aemond interrupted your anxious rambling, his cool gaze on you, face blank.

You nodded and sipped at the tea.

Your heart raced in your chest.

It was perfect.

“Thanks for the tea. And for dealing with me last night.” Another awkward laugh, you lifted the mug towards him.

Aemond hummed, looking away to sip at his coffee, the strong smell of the beans surrounding you. 

You stood together in the quiet of the kitchen, awkward energy surrounding the both of you before he set down his empty mug. He stepped closer, his chest almost bushing yours. Your breath caught in your throat as his hand reached forward.

And then over you to turn on the sink, a small ‘excuse me’ falling from his lips as he rinsed his mug and placed it into the dishwasher. 

Your cheeks felt hot and you sucked in a shaky breath. 

Aemond didn’t speak another word, and turned away from you, heading towards the front door as he pulled out his AirPods and placed them in his ears. He disappeared down the hall, and the last thing you heard was the keys being pulled out of the dish, and the door opening and closing.

You let the breath you had been holding in out in one big gust. Hand moving to rub at your neck awkwardly. 

What the fuck was that?

-

The day droned on as it would with Larys hovering over your shoulder as usual. It didn’t help that you had not heard a word from Gwayne Hightower, and were swamped with endless calls from investors and clients whom he had meetings with and didn’t show.

“Do you know where Gwayne is?” You leant over your desk, looking to the one next to yours, a solicitor names Jasper Wylde watching at you with steely eyes. 

His curly hair shifted as he turned to face you, dark beard trimmed perfectly against his chin, “No clue. He may be at the magistrates office. Got a text from Tyland this morning saying that something went down at the case this morning.”

You sighed loudly, leaning back in your chair, “That’s the last thing we need. How come Tyland texted you and not me? I’ve got calls coming out of my ass from angry and disgruntled clients about Gwayne missing their meetings.”

Jasper shrugged, “You know what Tyland is like, useless at the best of times.”

You snorted and rolled back to your desk.

Jasper was nice, stiff, but nice.

He took his job very seriously, and Tyland Lannister often called him Ironrod as a joke. Though he was older and a complete professional, it didn’t stop him from sending an occasional flirty glance your way, or rise of his dark brows.

Recently divorced.

You knew he had had four wives, all ending in divorce, and multiple kids with each one. You didn’t know how he had the time to support them all, let alone spend time with them. But he did, and you had been surprised when you first started and saw the pictures pinned to his cubicle of all his kids. 

There was, at the very least, ten. 

Ironrod might be more fitting for something else. 

By the time the day ended, you had slumped in your chair, sighing loudly as you packed away your things. You turned to look at Jasper who was still working.

He never followed the clock ‘off at five’ rule you had, and would often stay behind to get everything perfect. 

A real stickler for law.

You walked to the train station and jumped on the next one that rolled slowly into the subway. On your way home, your anxiety flared again. You hadn’t even answered Helaena’s texts asking about how you were and how Aemond was. Each time your fingers hovered over the notification a wave of guilt would crash over you.

You didn’t even know how to respond to it. What could you say? ‘Everything is great! It’s super awkward, but so fine. By the way, did I mention that I almost let your brother take me against the kitchen bench? Haha, anyway, how are you?’

You shuddered at even the thought of telling her yet.

Stopping at the grocery store, you decided to pick up some things you knew you were running low on, as well as grabbing the ingredients you needed to make dinner with for the night.

What you hadn’t expected when you arrived home, was the smell of cooking food filling the apartment and the sound of sizzling vegetables coming from the stove, ‘Kletka - Molchat Doma’ streaming out of your speaker. You chucked your keys in the dish atop Aemond’s and kicked off your shoes, shuffling to the kitchen.

He stood facing the stove, hair pulled back in a low and messy bun, shorter strands tucked behind his ears.

The tall man had changed out of his running gear, and was in a black t-shirt and some black dickies cuffed at the bottom, large black Doc Martins tied tightly on his feet. 

You watched as his shoulders spread, muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he cooked, the smell of spices filling the kitchen and lounge room.

It smelt so good that your mouth watered.

Aemond effortlessly flipped food in a pan, arm tight and tensed, veins visible on his pale skin as he worked. It was almost enchanting watching him cook, and your stomach did a flip as you gazed, warmth spreading into your gut.

“You going to stand and watch the whole time?”

You tensed, and sheepishly cleared your throat, “What are you cooking?” You walked over to stand next to him, his eye slipping to you from the corner of his eye as he continued to flip and stir the food.

“Dinner.”

You snorted, “I can see that.” You turned away and began to put your groceries and things away, opening the fridge to see that it was already full.

Aemond had gone grocery shopping.

“Do you eat meat?” He asked, chucking in some before you answered.

“Yea, I do.”

He hummed, flicking a finger out to turn the speaker down slightly so he could hear you better. He reached above him and pulled down two bowls, stirring the dinner again in the saucepan before he flicked it over into the two bowls.

He spun and gave you one, turning the speaker off.

Aemond made you dinner.

“Oh, thanks.” You uttered, taking the bowl from his hands before digging into the cutlery draw to pull out two forks.

Aemond hummed again, grabbing a fork from your hand as he turned the stove off and grabbed his own bowl, moving to the couch to eat. You followed after him, still in your work clothes and sat on the opposite end of the couch, feeling static energy between you both. 

He flicked on the tv and began eating, dropping his phone on the table face down. You followed and began eating, watching some show about dragons and royalty. 

The dinner was amazing. 

You even groaned audibly as you ate. 

Aemond was a good cook.

“This is amazing.” You complimented him, shoving another forkful into your mouth, flavour exploding on your tongue.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement.

“Who taught you to cook like this?”

“Helaena.” He smiled.

“Of course she did.” You chuckled, feeling the tension between you begin to dissolve. 

This was fine. 

You could pretend nothing happened.

He totally didn't have you pressed against the kitchen bench with his finger on your cunt last night.

“How was work?” He turned his head to you, eye concentrated on your face, watching your reaction.

You groaned, “Shit. Gwayne did a Harold Holt and left me to clean up the mess.”

Aemond’s brows frowned, “Harold Holt?”

You flicked your hand in dismissal, “Australian Prime Minister. Anyway, absolute nightmare of a day, so thanks for dinner. I was thinking after I got groceries I would just come home and make some noodles.”

Aemond smirked, and your stomach fluttered at the sight, “I got groceries too.”

You smirked back, “I saw that. Thanks by the way. Great minds do think alike.”

The coffee table buzzed from Aemond’s phone, once, twice, three times in succession. You watched as a long arm reached out to press the silence button, dropping it back onto the table with a huff. 

You polished off your dinner, watching the show together.

“Why doesn’t she just take her dragons to the castle and kill everyone?” You watched the silver haired woman on the screen and couldn’t help but think of the man beside you.

“That would mean she kills innocents and proves a point to her enemies that she is cruel like her father.” Aemond mused. 

His phone buzzed again.

“But she’s proven that she’s not. If anything, she’s shown restraint and empathy.” You argued, before a large smirk wound on your face, “Now that I look at her, you guys look similar. You’re more brooding though.”

“Brooding again.” Aemond huffed a laugh and you followed.

“Brooding and a chef. You won’t get any complaints from me.” You paused tilting your head and nodded to the screen, “If I was her I’d just kill everyone.”

“Spoken like a true tyrant.” 

“Tyrant of this apartment, and this apartment only. Maybe my office cubicle if my boss is being particularly slimy.”

Aemond hummed, “Larys giving you a hard time?”

You grimaced, “When does he not? I don’t know what your mum sees in him.” Aemond nodded in agreement, “At least I don’t work under Tyland Lannister, he would be a nightmare not even I could survive.” 

The thought of working under your ex’s brother made your skin crawl, you didn’t even want to think about it.

The table vibrated again, and then again. Aemond snatched up his phone, pale brows frowning as he looked at the screen. His lips twitched and you watched any inkling of the good mood he had been in disappear.

He threw his phone down on the table with more force than needed, the sound causing you to flinch.

“Who’s that? Don’t tell me Aegon’s stuck in some sorority bathroom again.” You tried to lighten the mood, teasing tone in your voice. 

Aemond’s cheek twitched and you watched as his hands flexed, “No one.” His voice came out almost like a growl.

You felt a pang of concern for him, “Are you ok?”

Aemond stood abruptly, grabbing his bowl and shoving his phone into his pocket roughly, “Drop it.”

You blinked up at him as he snatched your finished bowl and made his way to the kitchen. 

-

Over the next two days Aemond avoided you completely, leaving early and coming home late, opting to either eat outside of the house or in his room. His avoidance of the apartment came at a great relief as well as a disappointment.

You were back to square one, and you had a sneaking suspicion that his mood came from either his ex or news of his father. 

You had finally replied back to Helaena, shooting her an apology and then calling her after to tell her about work and see how she was doing. She sounded a bit shorter than usual, but she told you that being back with the family had been tense, and that her dad was not doing great.

You wished you could console her, hold her and let her cry, but you were stuck in the house with her brother and unable to go to her with the pile of work that was mounting on your desk. 

When she had asked about Aemond, your heart had raced in your chest, anxiety peaking as you lied and told her that he was nice enough but rarely home. You didn’t tell her about your kiss in the kitchen, or how his hand had gone up your dress, and guilt ate away at you because of this. 

You told yourself you would tell her, but not now. Not with everything else going on in her life. You couldn’t add another pile of flaming shit to the stress she was going through.

You would reap the consequences later.

After the third day had passed of Aemond avoidance of you, you found him in the kitchen that morning where you had found him on Monday, leant against the bench, coffee in hand, and a steaming mug of tea beside him. 

An apology. 

Or at least, one in his opinion.

He greeted you with a soft and rumbling ‘morning’ before he left to go on his run, leaving you with the tea. You stood leant against the bench and drank the brew that was perfectly steeped to your liking. 

Helaena must have told him how you liked it, or maybe he taken a good guess. Either way, you were gladdened for his shite apology and drank it happily.

You went to work and made sure to politely chew Gwayne out with multiple ‘per my last email’s and flooded him with rebooked meetings that were back to back for him to chase up on. He had come to your desk, leaning against it as he watched you and explained the reason for his absence, all the while Jasper pretended to not be listening in.

Gwayne often tried to ‘connect’ with you on a more personal level, but he annoyed you more than anything. He had this air around him that screamed ‘Trad Wife Fantasy’ and you were definitely not one to entertain that. Misogyny seemed to be ripe in the Hightower circles.

When you had got home that evening, Aemond was not, and so you began to heat up leftovers from the night before.

The apartment had felt cold despite the warmth outside, and you realised that the aircon had been left on for likely the whole day. You turned it off, making a note to check it before you leave in the mornings, chucking on an oversized jumper before sitting down to eat. 

You flicked on the tv to put a show on and zone out, needing to let your brain turn to mush after the long day, before finishing your meal and putting your dishes in the washer. You were curled up amongst the pillows with your jumper sleeves tucked over your hands when you heard keys be pushed into the door. 

Aemond entered the apartment, long silver hair shifting against his back as he sauntered in. His eye dropped to you on the couch and gave you a small nod. You nodded back, greeting him with a small ‘hey’ before going back to watching the television.

Aemond moved about the kitchen to make himself dinner and you scrolled through your phone, wondering if you should reply to Cregan’s text asking if you wanted to go out drinking with him and the boys that weekend.

The couch dipped beside you, Aemond having sat in the centre of the couch, thigh brushing against yours.

“What’re you watching?” He asked, face turned to the tv. 

You turned to look at Aemond’s, who’s attention was locked on the screen.

Everything about him was so severe. The way he spoke, the way he moved, the music he listened to, all way to how he interacted with others, and his features reflected it. His nose was long and sharp, and it matched his chin and jaw, his scar slicing through his eye to his cheek. 

But his lips were different. They weren’t sharp like the rest of him, they were soft. So soft, and the way he had held you in the kitchen was softer than you had expected he would have been. 

You had expected him to grip your neck roughly, whisper in your ear obscenities, shove you backwards into the shelves, and bend you over the bench to wrench your dress over your ass, and d-

His face turned to you as he asked you again, and you swallowed feeling heat rise in your cheeks, “Some show about a zombie apocalypse.” You answered.

Was it hot in here?

Why was it so hot all of a sudden?

Aemond hummed, lifting a long leg to cross over a knee, his thigh hovering above yours, as warmth from his body spread up through you, travelling straight to your gut. 

He smelt good. 

Spicy and dark, with a hint of cigarette hanging in the undertones.

Feeling suddenly warm, you gripped the underside of your jumper and lifted, pulling it up and over your head. Cool air met your stomach and chest, and you snapped a hand down to pull the shirt that had gotten caught in your jumper back over your skin. 

Shit.

One arm after the other, you took the jumper off in a flustered set of movements, chucking it onto the arm of the couch as you tried to hide the blush of your cheeks. 

Ok.

He hadn’t said anything.

Clearly he hadn’t seen otherwise he would have said something. It was Aemond, he would have been snarky and sarcastic or chastising. It’s fine. So fine. Totally fine. Not as if you didn’t just flash him. Not at all.

Everything was fine.

You sat for a moment, adjusting yourself against the couch cushions, suddenly not being able to get comfortable, feeling a shyness spread through your chest. You breathed shallowly. A peak couldn’t hurt. You let your head turn slightly to look at Aemond. 

His jaw was clenched, hand against his knee in a tight fist, small blush on his cheeks.

The couch vibrated and Aemond stiffened, this time not reaching to look at his phone. 

Okay. 

Maybe he had seen. 

Fuck.

You stood awkwardly, grabbing the discarded jumper. Aemond looked up, watching you, chest rising and falling slowly beneath his shirt.

“Gonna have a shower,” You blurted, watching his silver lashes blink up at you, “Unless you want first dibs?” 

Aemond shook his head and you moved away, walking straight to the bathroom. 

Your stomach was full of butterflies as you made your way to the bathroom, stripping quickly to turn on the shower and let the water run cold, trying to cool the rising heat inside of you.

You spent ample time in there, goosebumps erupting on your skin as you attempted to ignore the way the man in your lounge room stoked a fire within you.

But no matter how hard you tried, it didn’t work.

You turned off the shower and stepped out, looking over at the towel rack to grab your towel to dry yourself.

Nothing.

Fuck.

On the back of the door was Helaena’s lilac silk robe, something she always wore when you would do a girls night in, face masks and hair care, and painted nails with your favourite movie, always Pride and Prejudice (2005 version), and a bottle of red. You grabbed the robe off the rack and threw it over your body, the silk clinging to your wet skin.

You swung the door open to run to the linen closet and grab yourself a new towel, running straight into a warm and broad chest. Hands steadied your shoulders as you stumbled backwards, eyes snapping up to meet Aemond’s gaze.

His fingers were tight around your arms, clenched into your flesh as he looked down at you. You swallowed, breathing heavily as your heart raced, the air between you charged.

“You can let go of me now.” You breathed, still in his grip as he looked at you. 

His gaze darkened as his eye roamed down your body, and you felt heat brushing against your skin from it. Aemond’s gaze dropped further down still, hovering over your chest as he breathed heavily.

His fingers twitched and then skated down your arms to his side, raising goosebumps along your skin. He took a step back as you moved around him to open the linen cupboard, pulling down a towel. 

From behind you could still feel his eye roaming over you, warmth sliding down your spine and into your gut. You gave him a small and shy smile before you stepped back into the bathroom, towel held against your chest. 

Why was he staring at you like that?

You turned in the bathroom and caught your reflection in the mirror, you could now see why. 

The thin lilac silk had stuck to your wet skin, becoming almost sheer, patches of the wet robe clinging to your curves, whilst the rest was dry and soft. The dark of your nipples were revealed against the soft material, and the curve of your breast was visible.

You blushed deeply, taking off the robe to hang it back the door to dry as you towelled yourself down, dressing into some comfortable pyjamas to get ready for bed.

Anxiety nipped at you again.

Gods.

Had you just flashed him twice in one day?

What was he going to think of you?

He probably thought you were doing it on purpose. 

Deciding to go back out to the lounge room and swallow the embarrassment that sat heavily in the back of your throat, you trudged quietly into the room, Aemond sitting stiffly on the couch as he continued to watch the show that was still playing on the screen. 

When you sat beside him, his head had turned slightly to look at you, eye taking in your now clothed form, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You tucked your legs beneath you and began to watch it, still feeling his gaze solely on you, and no longer paying attention to whatever was on the screen.

“Did anyone die?” You asked, not daring to turn your head to fully face him, knowing that you would lose all composure once you did.

“Don’t think so.” Aemond’s voice was low and gravelly and it made you shift on the cushion.

You made an awkward sound in the back of your throat, an attempt at a laugh, but it came out more like a whine, “That’s good then, I don’t want to miss anything important.”

Aemond huffed, “You could have paused it.”

His shift in demeanour caught you off guard, “But you were watching it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then how do you know if anyone died?”

“I don’t.”

You turned your face to look at him annoyed, “Then why say no-one died?”

Aemond lifted a brow at you, lips beginning to pull down, “I didn’t say that at all. I said I didn’t think so.”

“That implies you were paying attention.” You argued, feeling annoyed at his snarky attitude again.

Aemond dragged an irritated hand through his hair, “I don’t care about your stupid fucking show. If you didn’t want to miss something, then maybe you should have been smart and paused it.” 

Your head reared back as you looked at him, his mood rapidly having soured, “What the fuck is your problem?”

The man let out a hollow laugh, “Fuck off.”

His phone vibrated in the couch cushions.

“No seriously dude. What is your deal? You’ve been on my dick ever since you moved in. I’m doing you a favour here.”

Anger flashed across the Targaryens face, his brows pulling down into a sneer as his scar crinkled across his cheek, “You think you’re doing me a favour?”

You were wrong, his lips could be sharp.

Buzz.

You turned on the couch to face him, “You’re the one who needed change. Who needed to leave Harrenhal and come back here. You took Helaena’s room so you could get settled and start fresh.”

“You don’t know anything about what I need.”

Buzz.

“You need to check your phone for a start, because whoever is messaging you is clearly desperate to get in touch. Maybe it’s Alys.”

The air in the room dropped, and Aemond’s face became stoney, as though he had pushed away all emotions to the back of his mind with cool practice. The way his posture had even changed looked as though he was on guard, ready to fight. 

Regret flooded you as you looked at him.

You felt immediately terrible, having crossed a line that should never had been crossed. You knew his break up with Alys was bad, and their relationship was not great, and you had just rubbed that in his face. 

“That was uncalled for, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” You apologised quietly, watching as his chest rose and fell jaggedly.

Aemond’s jaw was tensed, lips pursed together in a hard line as his eye narrowed on you, “Do you want to know what my problem is?” He leant forward, voice barely higher than a whisper. 

You swallowed.

“My problem is that I live with someone who parades herself half naked around the apartment, and brings home men to fuck her loudly, all night, like a tart.”

You blanched, anger rising up your throat, “A tart? Wow.” Your voice dropped, “That's low. Even for you, Aemond.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.” You sneered, standing from the couch to look down at him, “You have this ‘woe is me’ performance down to a T, when in reality you were born into a family of old money, not having to work a single day in your life, yet you still act as though you are downtrodden. You’re a spoilt, narcissistic asshole who looks down his purebred nose at people. You have more in common with Jason Lannister than you’d like to think.” You spun on your heel, anger bursting inside of you as you moved to storm away from the lounge room and into your bedroom. 

Aemond’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist tightly as he began to stand, “Is that what you really think?”

“It’s what I know. You’ve so far treated me as lesser than the dirt on the bottom of your shoe. You’ve got some serious social deficiencies, Aemond. Did Daddy not hug you enough as a child?” You mocked, striking him where you knew it would hurt the most. 

Fuck him.

Fuck being nice.

Arrogant, rich, prick.

Aemond straightened to his full height above you, looking down as he silently seethed. The air around you was charged, and the tension continued to mount as he watched you, eye locked on yours.

“Careful, bunny.”

“Stop fucking calling me that.”

“Why?” His voice dropped, “It’s what you like, isn’t it? Being called bunny, being treated rough. I could bend you over this couch right now and I bet you’d be soaked.”

Your eyes widened, breath stilling in your chest.

Aemond took another step forward, dropping your wrist, “I’m right aren’t I? You act out like this because you want to be put in your place. You want to be a brat so daddy will fuck you, don’t you?”

A chill ran down your spine as he loomed above you, “Don’t you?”

You swallowed thickly, eyes narrowing, “Fuck you.”

Aemond chuckled, “I bet you’d love that.” His hand moved swiftly, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, tingles rippling down your neck.

His hand kept going, brushing through your hair softly, before he gripped a large chunk harshly at the nape of your neck. 

A shocked gasp fell from your lips.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

Defiant until the end.

“No?” His brows raised, “Then if I check, you wouldn’t be dripping right now, would you?”

You raised your head in false bravado, a blush creeping across your skin, standing as impossibly still as you could. Challenging him.

Aemond hummed, spinning you around by the grip on your hair, swiftly bending you over the arm of the couch. A cry fell from your lips as your hips and stomach collided with the edge, hands gripping the side to catch yourself.

Your heart was beating against your ribs as you shifted in anticipation, the heat of Aemond’s body loomed behind you as he bent over you, lips coming to beside your ear.

“Now, if I check, and you are wet, you’re in trouble.” He purred.

You squirmed, his hand tugging on your tendrils sending pleasure down your spine and straight to your core. He chuckled, and you whined again, feeling one of his large palms skate down your side agonisingly slow before he reached your pyjama bottoms. 

Aemond’s long fingers dipped beneath the elastic and paused for a moment, as though he was giving you a second to say no. But you said nothing, eyes focused on the cushion in front of you as he tugged the shorts down in one swift yank.

Aemond tutted behind you, dragging one long finger to swipe through your folds. Your back arched as you whined, teasing pleasure rippling up through you.

You could feel how wet you were, and your thighs rubbed together in anticipation of what was to come. 

He clicked his tongue at you, “You’re soaked.” Aemond’s hand left your core and you turned your head to look at him, watching as he brought the slick finger up to his lips to suck. 

Your lips parted as your watched, his eye sliding shut as he licked his finger clean, humming. 

“So sweet.” He cooed, “But I was right.” His voice lowered, and he loomed back over you, looking into your eye as his face hardened, “You’ve been such a brat tonight.”

You shook your head, tilting your hips back towards him, biting your lip as you looked at him. A smirk wound on his face as he watched you, hand moving back between your thighs where they instantly found your bud. 

He pressed into it meanly, and a sharp cry fell from your lips.

“Shut up.” He hissed, diving two long fingers into your core with no warning. 

Your eyes clenched shut as he immediately began to fuck his digits in and out of you, delicious stretch blooming within as the lewd sound of your wetness was all to be heard over your shallow breaths. 

Aemond stayed bent over you, watching your face contort with pleasure as you tried to keep your moans inside, biting your lip roughly. 

It was so hard.

Every drag of his fingers found the soft spongey spot within you with practised precision and without mercy, roughly pressing into it with each thrust of his hand, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine and heat to settle in your gut. 

“So quiet now.” He teased, “Where’s that attitude gone?”

“Fuck you.” You grit through your teeth panting, eyes half lidded.

Aemond huffed, straightening up to his full height as his other hand pressed down on your lower back, pinning you to the couch arm. His hand began to fuck into you rapidly, slick leaking down your thighs as you writhed beneath his grip, coil beginning to tighten. 

A broken moan fell erupted from your lips as the knuckles of his hand beat harshly against your clit, pain and pleasure being pulled through you in equal measure. The pain eventually being overridden by the euphoria that he was pulling from you. 

Your walls tightened around his fingers and you felt him shift, the width of his other hand spreading widely across your back as he knelt behind you. You squeaked, trying to move, feeling suddenly shy, which earnt you a particularly harsh swat against the flesh of your ass.

“Stay still.” Aemond growled, and you did, feeling the warm of his breath at your core. 

Your legs shook as his fingers were pulled from within, and you heard him lap at his digits once more, humming almost pornagraphically. 

“Such a dirty, little girl. So wet and wanting for daddy, aren’t you? Such a slut.”

You mewled, hips shifting upwards, trying to take his fingers back inside of you. 

You were so close, so fucking close. 

Aemond leant forward, and dragged a wide stripe with his tongue up through your folds, humming as he moved, his sharp nose pressing into your backside. 

“Fuck.” You whined, jolting forward.

Aemond’s hands grabbed your cheeks and spread them wide in a bruising grip before he dived between your folds, licking and sucking at your pearl with no abandon, your release coming closer and closer with every swipe of his skilled tongue.

He moaned as he lapped at your arousal, tongue dipping between your folds to collect it straight from the source. Aemond’s fingers dug into your flesh meanly as you whined, hips jerking backwards, chasing your release. He held you still, fucking you with his tongue as your climax hurtled towards you. 

“Please.” You begged, fingers gripping the couch for dear life, knuckles going white.

Aemond paused and pulled back, “Please what?” He asked coyly.

You groaned, “Please make me cum.”

“But you don’t deserve that, do you? You’ve been a bitch all night, haven’t you?”

You whined, pushing your hips back as you felt him stand behind you again, “Not true.” You argued pathetically, “You were mean first.”

Aemond’s hand pulled your head back by your hair, eye boring into your own, “You haven’t seen mean at all, princess.”

His fingers pressed back into your walls, head still wrenched back painfully as he fucked his hand into you harder and faster than before, the coil within winding rapidly.

“Fuck. Fuck. Aemond, fuck.”

“Not my name.” He yanked on your hair, pain pulling at your scalp, “What’s my name?”

“Aemond.” You breathed jaggedly, last bit of cheekiness coming through.

His hand stilled inside of you, “No.”

You wriggled and whined, trying to push yourself back to fuck yourself on his fingers. His grip in your hair tightened again, preventing you from making any movements as he kept his fingers still. 

A warning.

You swallowed the last of your pride, and whimpered, “Daddy.”

“Good girl.” Aemond cooed, his hand began to fuck into you again, thumb curling beneath to press into your bud and rub with every thrust, “Beg.”

You whined, biting your lips as pleasure began to mount, your release so close you could begin to feel the peak.

“Beg.” He growled again, thrusts getting harder.

“Please,” You sobbed out, “Please let me cum. Please let me cum, daddy.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” He mocked, fucking his hand into you as fast as he could go.

The swirling of his thumb combined with his fingers moving rapidly, caused heat to bloom through your gut as your breath held in your chest. It was all too much, and the coil within wound pathetically fast as his skilled hand brought you to your peak. 

“There you go.” He cooed from behind, feeling your walls clench around his digits, “Good girl.”

You came with a cry, hips pressing backwards into his hand as he fucked you through your climax, drawing out each and every inch of pleasure that he could. The room was filled with your moans and whines, the wet sound of your heat engulfing his fingers behind you.

Aemond slowed his thrusts down as you slumped against the arm of the couch, mind going fuzzy as pleasure coursed through your veins. Aemond removed his fingers carefully, wiping your slick on the inside of your thighs as you felt him look down at you.

Buzz.

You breathed heavily, lost in bliss as a small smile wound on your cheeks. You heard him chuckle behind you at the sight. Completely fucked out on the couch. And only with his hands and mouth.

Buzz.

“You gonna get that?” You sighed dreamily, pants still pushed down to your knees as lay slumped in a daze. 

Buzz.

You turned your head to look at Aemond as he pulled out his phone in agitation, face scowling at the screen. You moved to sit on the arm of the couch, pulling your shorts up as you looked at him scrolling through his notifications.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly, feeling concern at seeing his sudden change in nature, “Is it your dad?”

His cool gaze flicked to your face, and you felt the warmth that had once surrounded you grow cold. It was like he had flicked a switch, “How about you mind your own business.” He scowled.

You furrowed your brows at him, “Woah, relax. I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

Aemond scoffed, shoving his phone back into his back pocket, “Are you always this overbearing?”

You blanched.

What the fuck?

Buzz.

“What?” You said in disbelief, brows furrowing. 

“Oh, please.” He growled angrily, “Making me dinner, asking after me all the time. If I had known you were that desperate-“

“-Desperate?” 

A flash of regret washed over Aemond’s face. He sighed through his nose and stepped towards you, “Y/n, I-“

“Don’t.” You held a hand up, feeling tears begin to prickle at your eyes standing on shaky legs, “This was a mistake.”

Aemond’s face dropped.

The silver haired man sighed again, “If you would just l-“

“If you treated Alys half as bad as this, it’s no wonder she left you.” You snapped, watching as his jaw tensed, feeling an ache bloom in your chest, “You have no regard for anyone else but yourself, and what we just did was a lapse in my judgement. I thought that you-“ You paused and swallowed, not bothering to finish what you were going to say.

Aemond stood deathly still as you sped past him, not waiting for his response as you fled to your bedroom, slamming your door shut behind you. You crawled immediately into the sheets, tears finally falling from your eyes as you cried softly, turning onto your side to curl in on yourself. 

You felt used.

If there was one thing that you knew, it was that Aemond was not a good person, no matter what Helaena said.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[weirwoodswitch]

A Merciful King ☼ Chapter Eight

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader, Slight Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: child labor, stillbirth, body horror

Word Count: 5.3

A/N: We’re almost there! I think amk will end with either 10 or 11 chapters! I legit have had this idea for this chapter since like chapter 4 so I was super excited but also very nervous to write it. I think it’s why it took so long because I just couldn’t figure out how to properly execute it the way I wanted. We’ll also be getting an epilogue at the end!

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.    

Taglist, ones in bold didn’t let me tag: @mirandastuckinthe80s @b1gb3anz @daenerysdracarys @sidiriv @wondergal2001 @flavorofsalt @daddysfavoritesexkitten @zillahvathek @venusthevirgo @gretesstuff @rey260717-blog @tswiftsthings @itsametaphorbriansblog @elleclairez @stargaryenx @tired-ninfa @caramelcandescence @viscardiac @peachiesteve @moonxhunt @tisthekatseason @bajadotcom @xxlilyxx90 @ferrarischampions @ohitsthemaster @justasmallbean-blog @thefloatingpickle @lawlerek @miqaelababa @arcielee @watermel0nsugarhigh @lovecleastrange @lyannesworld @imakeangelscry @aloneatpeace @xinyourdreamsx @cl-0-vr @borikenlove @shion-ah @widemiffyhappy @aegonsgf @randomgirlthatlikesalotoffandom @bwormie @bellameshipper @evienorville @mandiiblanche @ggglitch-exe @hydrationqueensworld @shiranai-atsune @ graykageyama @hiatuswhore @giulia2372 @curlszx88 @venice-bish @malfoytargaryen @crudemoon @crispmarshmallow @trifoliumviridi @green-lxght @sirenofavalon @wooya1224 @lesscrying @djlexi @issshhh @tempt-ress​ @lunablade​ @kittykylax​ @cecilyjmorgenstern​ @missbeeentertainment​ @deadgirldreaming​ @thesapphirequeen​ @thelittleswanao3 @supmymainhuman​ @gaisse-blog @silverslive​ @min-mingii​ @akinatrix​ @f4ll-for-you @thelastcitysposts​ @dreamyfloralfire

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[weirwoodswitch]

Dragonstone Baela and Vale Rhaena

[weirwoodswitch]

finally rendered those baela and rhaena sketches;

baela, lady of driftmark 🌊 & her younger twin sister— rhaena of pentos 🪷

(post on x)

[weirwoodswitch]

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 2.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, eventual smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. no warnings yet!

wc. 8k+ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 (finale)

chapter two: a touch of a hand

The murmurings at the other side of the wooden door that you have your ear pressed against is way too quiet. Your little fists clenched at your sides tightly so, frustrated that you are having trouble eavesdropping on the conversation. 

It has almost been two hours since you, your brothers, and the guards had burst through the entrance of your home, shocking your family at the sight of an unconscious young boy that they have never seen before carried on Forrest’s back. It has almost been two hours, and you still do not know the fate of the boy that you had saved.

Did you actually even save him? Is he even still alive?

You try not to think about how he was so cold to the touch, the blue of his lips, the light leaving his violet eye. 

You have never been so scared before. It must have been evident in your sobbing and desperate calls for your brothers’ help as you struggled to lift the boy up by yourself that the dragon finally allowed them to come to you. 

You remember the intense look in the dragon’s eyes as it watched you leave its territory. You knew it had been holding back, choosing to trust you to take care of the boy who is clearly important to it. 

Was the dragon wrong to put its trust on you to save the boy it had been fiercely protecting?

You thump your forehead against the door, pressing hard on it enough to hurt as you blink away the incoming tears.

“Oi, stop doing that.”

You glance over to the side where Braeden sits cross-legged on the floor, back against the wall beside the door. He looks absolutely exhausted.

Being the oldest, Braeden got the brunt of the scolding. Your mother did not know whether to be angry at her children’s foolish venture or praiseful that said foolish venture might have saved a person’s life. So she settled for both, which was more frightening in the long run. 

“You should go to sleep,” you tell him, turning your head to once again frown at the door as if it offended you. “Forrest already has.”

He chuckles. “As you should, as well. A little cub needs to hibernate, you know? To grow big and strong.”

You take a deep inhale, ignoring him. Or you try to. Maybe if you were strong enough then maybe…

“He is in good hands,” Braeden says aloud after a few minutes of silence. “Remember, Maester Garland is the reason our great-grandfather lived to be 102.”

It is not that you did not think Maester Garland is incompetent, it is that you think you were not fast enough to bring the boy to the maester to treat to the best of his capabilities. Your group did take the riskier path back home, in an obvious hurry, but you are afraid that was not enough. 

You are about to tell your oldest brother what has been weighing down on your mind, when the door suddenly opens, startling you to take a step back with a gasp. 

At the sight of the two of you, your mother heavily sighs. 

“When did my two most obedient children stop listening to me?” She murmurs mostly to herself but obviously intending for you and your brother to hear her. 

“Our names are not Dorothea One and Dorothea Two ,” you remind her haughtily. You might be pushing it now, but you could not hold back, your frustration from waiting so long taking over you. When Braeden laughs at your jest, your mother narrows her eyes at the both of you. 

She could not even reply back, as you are already trying to push past her and into the room. You don’t get very far though, her arm barring you from entering. 

“The boy needs his rest, and you do too, young lady,” she says, foregoing your familial pet name. Whenever someone does that, you know they are obviously not in the mood to coddle you or they are seriously upset with you. Your mother is both at the moment.

But her tone does not even phase you, when all you could really focus on is her words:

The boy needs his rest.

So does that mean…?

“So he is alright?” Your brother asks, beating you to it. 

While he stands up from the ground, your mother answers, “He will be–” her stern gaze resting on you, “-- if his rest is uninterrupted–” 

“Did he awaken!?” You ask excitedly, and she hushes you quickly with a glare, pressing a finger to her lips. You quickly slap a hand over your mouth, looking into the room, but all you see is Maester Garland and your father coming out of it. 

Just as your father is about to close the door, you manage a quick peek into the guest chamber. They had moved the bed closer to the fireplace in the room, but you do not see the boy. The headboard of the bed hiding him from your view. At least you know he will be warm.

“He has not yet awakened–” Your face drops, turning to Maester Garland. Like always, there is a kind smile on his face, and he continues, “But if it will ease you, My Lady, he is breathing evenly and is even talking in his sleep. I will not lie to you, his left arm is broken and so are a few ribs. But all that will heal in due time.”

Your father clasps his hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of your worry. “Forrest broke his ribs and it only took a moon to heal, remember that?”

You nod, remembering it all too well. The heated fight that broke out between your brother and the youngest Stark boy, Willam. It was the first time you have ever seen your brother being truly angry and you often wondered what had really transpired between them, what words were exchanged. 

“And what of the wound on his head?” Braeden asks, breaking you out of the memory. 

“Luckily it is just a minor cut. There is no sign of a hemorrhage or anything too serious. But I will be checking again in the morrow to make certain.” 

Braeden hums, seemingly more at ease now with the new information. He smiles your way. “You hear that, little cub? He will be alright.”

Though you nod, you look downcast, gnawing at your lip.

You feel hands on your shoulders, and when you peer in front of you, it is not your father, but your mother bending down to be at your height. 

“You did well,” she begins, causing your eyes to well up. “Although I’m still upset at you; you were a very brave and wonderful girl today, little cub.” 

“I think she takes after you, my love,” your father says, chuckling. “You would have done the same thing in her shoes.”

Your mother laughs as she tugs you into her warm embrace. You squeeze her back tightly.

“Now, shall I tuck you into bed?” 

Feeling sleepiness overtake you now, you allow your mother to take you by the hand. As the two of you walk away, you hear the three left behind still conversing behind you.

“I really do hope the blizzard passes soon so I can send a raven to King’s Landing. His family must be worried sick.”

“King’s Landing? I thought the boy did not wake…?”

“He does not need to wake for us to know who he is. There is no doubt about it. The boy… He is who they call One-Eye. The King’s youngest son—” 

Heartbeat quickening, his name starts to echo in your head as soon as you hear your father utter it.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

You had thought the stories you heard about the one-eyed Targaryan Prince were just that — stories. 

You had never believed them, always scoffing whenever Septa Earla caught you taking an extra piece of pie and her reminding you that your greed will someday lead you to be like One-Eye; the prince who stole a dragon from a dead girl and in turn lost his own eye for it. You had thought it was such a stupid tale. Who would not trade an eye for a dragon? How could you even steal a dragon in the first place?

But now, you think about that ferocious and colossal creature in that clearing. The mere thought of the young prince stealing it makes no sense to you. Not only is he smaller than yourself, but you highly doubt the dragon would allow anyone to just “steal” it, whatever that entails. No, you think about the protectiveness the dragon has over the young boy, and you have the feeling that whatever it is that transpired between the prince and the mighty beast is not a one-way devious act. They have a bond that your Septa’s silly, little cautionary tale could never comprehend. 

Then that has you thinking, wondering what made this Aemond Targaryen so special enough to have a dragon so loyal to him. It cannot just be because he is a prince, right? Is it because of his bloodline? You remember learning something about the Targaryens and their bloodline, how they came from an old and ruined city in the East. Or something like that… Perhaps you should have listened to those lessons closer, but you did not really care for history like Jorah does…

So you think, and think, and overthink so hard that you could not get a wink of sleep, tossing and turning in your bed. 

You need to know more about Aemond Targaryen.

Huffing, you finally sit up. It is early in the morning now, and if the blizzard was not still ravaging hard outside, the sun would be beginning to rise in just an hour. Which means that although there would be a few in the Keep slowly awakening to start their day, there would still be a chance for you to sneak out of your chamber without being seen.

Pulling your blankets off you and hopping out of bed, you are quick yet light footed when you leave your bedchamber. Luckily, the room that the Targaryen Prince is currently in is close by yours, just five doors down the hall. You slip into his room like a ghost, barely making any sound.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you find yourself pressing up against it. You have always been too hasty, not thinking your plans through. But this one might be stupider than the one you had last night, traversing out in the blizzard… Barging into a room without consent. Not only was it improper, but it was rude and you were taught better. If your parents were not disappointed in you before, they would most definitely be now. Besides, it is not like he is awake to answer all the burning questions you came in here to ask. 

So you decide to just leave, come back when he is lucid enough for company.

Though before you can open the door, you hear him start to stir behind you, whimpering in discomfort. You are swift to turn right back around, rushing to check on him. 

The young prince looks better than the last time you saw him – color has returned to his complexion – but he still looks unwell. He lays there, a pained look pinching his sleeping face and a sling around his arm. Although for you it feels sweltering in the room, Aemond is still shivering as if still out in the cold. It has your heart clenching at the sight.

Worriedly, you touch his face with the back of your hand, gasping when you feel just how cold he still really is. 

You take a hold of his hand closest to you - luckily, it is the one that is not broken - keeping it in between your hands as you start to try to rub the cold away. This always made you feel better whenever your loved ones did it to you, it always brought a warm feeling in your chest. 

It seems to be working. As you continue, the tension between his brows relaxes slightly due to your touch. The silver-haired prince looks a bit more at peace now. A sigh of relief falls from your parted lips.

You keep at it for a bit, only stopping when a yawn creeps up on you. That is when you realize how tired you are now, body feeling heavy and head full of fluff. You should go anyway, before anyone finds you in there.

But when you go to pull your hand away, the once loose hold of his hand in yours tightens, keeping you in place. You try again and again to pry yourself away but his grip on you will not let up. For someone so small, it surprises you how strong he seems. 

Finally, after a couple more minutes of trying and him not budging, you groan as you give up. Standing in place, you grow even more exhausted, and it has you looking around. You will not sit yourself on the bed beside him, even if there is room; but you cannot stand there anymore. That is when you spot a stool just beside his bed. It must have been the one Maester Garland had been sitting on when he was tending to the young prince. With your leg stretching, you manage to catch your foot around a leg to bring it closer to you.

Once you sit down, you heave another sigh, wondering to yourself how you got into this predicament. Then you laugh to yourself, remembering it was all you. 

Soon, you start to slump on the stool, eyelids drooping until it closes.

So it is there where you finally fall asleep, holding onto the prince’s hand.

“ Nngh..? ” The feeling of your hand getting squeezed causes you to stir awake. Your eyes blink open slowly, the wet feel of drool running down the side of your cheek that is pressed against soft fur. After wiping the gross feeling, you sit up, groaning with a stretch to alleviate the ache in your back — only to register that you could not, as the unfamiliar hand holding your own prevented you from doing so.

Confused, your gaze follows where your hand is connected, only half-remembering where you are. That is when you catch a lilac eye staring wide-eyed at you, a flush of pink high on the prince’s cheeks. The sight causes you startle with a gasp, so surprised to see him awake. The prince flinches minutely at your reaction, snatching his hand away from yours, head turning the other way, not facing you anymore.

You are too ecstatic to question it, not even noticing, so overjoyed that he is sitting up and awake and alive .

“Are you–”

“What happened to it?”

Your head tilts in confusion, but it is not like he can see it. “It…?” Then you realize, “Oh! The dragon?!” You glance out the window, the snow storm still wrecking havoc outside. You frown a little, murmuring as you look back at him, “I’m sure it’s fine… I hope so…”

His head to you, glaring as he snaps, “No, I don’t mean Vhagar. I know she’s fine. But…” He turns away again, for some reason unable to look at you for long, letting his hair fall to cover his face. “Where is it? My patch…”

“Your patch…?”

“Do not lie to me. It is an unforgivable offense to lie to a prince, you know,” he threatens. You see his hand that was once holding yours now clenching at the fur blanket covering him. “So give me back my eyepatch or else I’ll…” He takes a deep breath, and you are not sure if he is letting you fill in the blank to scare you more or if he just could not think of a punishment.

You sit up, pushing the stool back with the heels of your foot to create a bit of distance between the two of you. He lifts his head up slightly at the sound of the legs of the stool scratching the floor.

“When I found you, you were not wearing an eyepatch,” you let him know, frowning. It irritated you that he was accusing you of something you had no knowledge of, that all his ire is directed towards you. But you tell yourself to show kindness because of how terrified he must be feeling, being in an unfamiliar place – and injured, nonetheless. “It must have fallen off while you were falling. I’m sorry, but I do not have it.”

He takes a swallow at that, head turning to face you again, his violet eye on you while the other side of his face still obscured by his silver hair. “ You … You were the one that found me?”

You give him a tentative nod, nervous that he will accuse you of something else.

“So you are…” His face softens a bit as he mutters to himself just as soft, “ Enkelitsos… ”

Though quiet, you hear him. You were about to ask him what that means — for it is the second time you had heard him say it — but a knock on the door has your mouth clamping shut. Both your head turns, watching the door open. In comes Maester Garland, who stops short at the sight of the two of you. 

Attention on you, the Maester huffs out a slight chuckle, “I should have known you’d be here, Lady—“

At the sound of your name, the young Prince perks up, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. 

“I just got here!” You lie. Luckily, the only other one who knows the truth did not sell you out. 

“I’m sure…” Maester Garland says with a smile. “I think everyone is breaking their fast now. Would you like to join them while I check over our young guest here? And you can come back with some food for him as well.”

Though it sounded like a suggestion, you knew it was really an order.  So you nod, getting off the stool as you grin at the young Prince. “I’ll be back! I’ll get you the most delicious food, don’t you even worry about it!”

He looks at you in mild surprise, nodding back. Then you are running out the door, the Prince watching you until you are out of his sight. 

A few days pass before the blizzard also passes, and your father is finally able to send a raven to King’s Landing in regard to Prince Aemond. He writes about what had happened, how Aemond is doing, and Maester Garland’s professional opinion of allowing Aemond to heal on Bear Island for a moon before sending him back home. Your father also writes that he, himself, will be happy to take the Prince home with a few bannerman but if they have another plan, he is all ears for it. 

While waiting for a letter back from King’s Landing, your family welcomes Aemond to your home, trying to make him feel as comfortable as possible. By his fifth day at Mormont Keep, he was told that he was well enough to eat with your family in the dining hall. At first he had politely refused, but on the eighth day, he timidly joined in the middle of dinner. By the end of that dinner, you can tell he was well entertained by Jorah’s and Forrest’s antics, and it was nice to see him laughing despite doing so seems to hurt his still healing ribs. He joined every family meal after that. 

Prince Aemond and your brothers get along swimmingly, especially Forrest – which is not surprising because Forrest has a way of making a person feel like he is truly their best friend. Your parents and Dorothea also become quite fond of the young boy. Maester Garland likes how curious he is, always asking questions. Even Septa Earla has only nice things to say about him, warning you not to repeat the story she used to tell about him.

As you watch everyone around you get closer to the Targaryen prince, you can not help but feel envious. Ever since that first time the two of you talked, you never had again. But it is not like you have not tried. Because you have. Every. Single. Day. 

Like clockwork, you visit him in his chamber every morning, trying not to let it get to you when he allows you inside after you knock, only to look away when he realizes it is you . You push through the cold shoulder he gives you; telling him about your day, reading to him your favorite books, showing off your latest embroideries or artworks — anything you can think of that would interest him. Honestly, it is like talking to a wall, but at least you know a wall has no choice but to not talk back. 

It is upsetting. The only time you ever hear his voice is if he is talking to someone else. Even whenever you are in a group, he would only answer questions you asked if someone else repeats it after you. 

You are not sure why he is treating you this way. It cannot just be because of the eye patch he accused you of keeping from him, right? Does he really just hate you? It hurts, but you pretend to everyone else that all is fine, only allowing the tears to flow when you are alone in your bedchamber at night. 

You do not even know why you keep trying. You guess it is because the other kids on the island are either older or way too young to be your friend. Sure you have your siblings, but you’ve always wanted a best friend of your own like you have read in your books — and then Aemond fell from the sky, and it might be selfish but in your heart all this was fated for him to be that friend for you. Why else were you the one that saw him fall and the one who found him and the one his dragon, Vhagar, allowed to come to him? 

Still, it was disheartening to be ignored. One can only take a number of rejections before giving up all hope.

So on the day that marks the second week that Aemond has been staying at Bear Island, you decide that this day will be the last time that you try to get through to him to become your friend. If he once again gives you the cold shoulder then you will leave him alone, forever. 

Or at least until he leaves in a few weeks. Then after that, you’ll never have to see him ever again and with no effort on both your part. Because on that same morning, your father wakes you to tell you the news. They had just received a raven from King’s Landing and got word from the king himself that they trust your father’s words and are grateful for the care your house has given to the young Prince. He would like his son home sooner, but if the maester believes that a few more weeks to heal would be good for the boy then they’ll adhere to his suggestion. 

Before he leaves for this morning duties, your father hands you a tiny scroll, telling you with a smile that he is trusting you to deliver it safely to the prince. It is a very important note from his mother and sister and it will definitely brighten up his day. 

Maybe – just maybe – today will be the day , you think to yourself as you get ready. It is sunny outside, and you were also informed that Ser Gregory wants you to train with your brothers today. Not only that, you and Dorothea finally finished the little project you asked her to help you with last night. So once you are done getting dressed, you grab the scroll and the secret thing from inside your box full of your personal treasure before skipping excitedly out of your room.

“Come in,” you hear the muffled call out from the other side of the door you had just knocked. When you walk inside, you knew what you will be greeted with… Absolutely nothing. Once again, when the prince sees it is you, he looks away, pretending no one even came in the room as he quickly shuts the book he has in his hands.

You take a deep breath, trying to let it not bother you. At this point, you should be used to it by now. 

You stride with purpose into the room, stopping beside where he sits at the desk. You hold your palm out, presenting the tiny scroll. You can see him eye it curiously.

“It is from your mother and sister,” you tell him. At that, he glances up at you, sees the kind smile on your face before sharply looking back down to cautiously take the note from your hand. While he pulls at the string, you let him know, “You’ll be staying for a couple more weeks so you can heal properly, then my father and a few of our bannerman will take you home.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “Lord Mormont already told me earlier.”

Your father already visited him? Then why did he not just give him the note then? You can’t help but playfully roll your eyes at your father’s antics. He must have known how hard you have been trying to befriend the prince. 

As Aemond opens the note, you give him some privacy, turning away to look and touch at the knick knacks on the desk he has made his own. Some things you can tell are from your brothers, but most were given to him by you. That is when you notice that the book he had been reading is the one you told him is your favorite. It makes you smile a little, but you remind yourself not to make a big deal of it. He was probably just bored.

“What are you wearing?” You hear Aemond ask, and when you turn to him, he is staring at you, the note placed neatly on the desk. You almost want to point at yourself and go, ‘ who me ?’ because this is the first time he has ever said something directed at you without you having to prompt him first. But you guess your outfit for today is very different from your usual. Instead of skirts and dresses, you have dressed up in your new favorite pants.

Taking a step back, you proudly show it off, spinning for him. “It’s my new training outfit! Dorothea made it for–”

“Training…?”

Smiling wide, you excitedly nod. “Yes! Today, Ser Gregory is teaching me how to block–”

“Girls don’t fight,” Aemond says like it is a fact, taking you aback.

“Yes, they do!’ You snap back, getting a bit heated now.

“No, they don’t,” he says again, though a confused frown sits on his face. “My mother, the Queen, doesn't. My sister doesn’t. A lady doesn’t fight.”

You glare at him. If you weren’t so mad, it would have dawned on you that this is the first time he has held your gaze for longer than a second. 

“ I’m a lady too! I’m ten and two already, and they do fight, like my mother and grandmother and—”

“You’re ten and two?” 

You let out a frustrated huff, sick of his interruptions and his backwards way of thinking. So entitled and rude. Are all princes like this? Do you even want to be his friend anymore?

“What’s it to you ?”

He glances at you from under his pale lashes and says softly as if shy, “I am as well…”

Your eyes widen, eagerly asking him when his date of birth is. Turns out, yours and his are only a few days apart. And just like, everything he has done to you and the way he treated you prior to this is forgotten. You excitedly ask him a million more questions, and this time, he indulges you with the answer.

Some time passed and although you hated to halt this development between you and the prince, you had to get going to train with Ser Gregory. 

“I guess I should get going,” you tell him after the both of you had died down from a fit of laughter because of a story you told about Septa Earla and a hornets’ nest. 

Maybe you are imagining things, but you could have sworn you saw a flicker of disappointment on his face.  “I suppose you should…”

Even after bidding each other a good day, you shift in place awkwardly. Although you had been waiting for today’s training for so long, you just did not want to leave… But you should. With a sigh, you turn, about to head out, when–

“Oh!” You turn back to him, remembering you had something else for him. From your pocket, you take it out to give to him. Once he has it in his hand and is examining it, you start explaining, “I know this might not be like the one you lost but I hope you’ll like it! I don’t know what your old one looks like but I borrowed Butcher Pate’s for reference. You see, he lost his eye from a fishing accident way before I was born. But anyway, I think I must have weirded him out when I asked for it. Dorothea and I made it – well, okay, mostly Dorothea made it but look–” you proudly point out the little purple embroidery on the band of the leather eyepatch, “I did that! Isn’t it nice? I’m not usually good at lettering but I tried really hard to perfect your initials!”

You were talking so fast, a million words per second, that Aemond can’t help but giggle a bit. When you are done, you wait expectantly, nervous as well in the way you toy your fingers together. Then Aemond’s lilac eye is on you, a big smile spreading on his face, rounding his cheeks. 

“Thank you,” he says, so genuinely that it makes all of Dorothea’s chores that you did to have her make it worth it. Then he looks away, back at the eyepatch in his hands, fingers feeling the threading, “And I’m sorry… For being so… Unsavory towards you.”

Your heart warms at his apology, almost tearing up. But you blink it back when he looks up at you again and repeats, “I’m truly sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you forgive easily. This is what you wanted. All your hard work had paid off. Then with a toothy grin, you add teasingly, “At least you know that you were being a jerk.”

His head dips sheepishly. Before he can drown in sorrow, you hit his good shoulder playfully.

“Would you like to watch my brothers and I train?”

When Aemond nods, you hold your hand out, offering it for him to take.

He does.

“Well look who finally decided to show up!” 

Forrest leans on the wooden gate of the training yard, a smirk on his face as he watches the two approaching adolescents. Braeden and Jorah join him as well, curious as to what took you so long. You pout at their obvious stares, amused as they glance between you and the boy by your side. 

“I had to ask Maester Garland if Aemond is well enough to walk around outside,” you let them know, now on the other side of the gate. 

Braeden hums, turning to Aemond with a friendly smile. “Mornin’ Little Prince.”

Aemond politely greets all your brothers a good morning as well.

“I like the new look, Ae,” Forrest compliments, pointing at his own eye when Aemond turns to him.

“Whoa, it’s just like Butcher Pate’s!” Jorah exclaims excitedly. He put his thumb up out, adding with a resolute nod, “It looks great!”

You and your two other brothers snicker at Jorah’s usual strangeness, while Aemond shyly accepts the compliments.

You hear your name being said, and you glance in slight shock at the one who said it, “-- made it for me,” Aemond says, then throws a small smile your way. Though your heart warms, you feel like you are still dreaming. You still can not believe how fast things have changed. Aemond went from completely ignoring you for weeks , to now smiling genuinely at you and actually knowing and saying your name.

“Yeah, well, you know, it’s nothing. I mean, I just did the embroidery like I told you earlier, Dorothea is the one who did most of the leatherwork – all of it, actually – but I was kind of guiding her the whole time…” you babble, clearly so flustered that it’s you that your brothers are laughing at now.

You glare, about to snap at them, but someone beats you to the punch.

“Shall I just cancel today’s training? Cause you lot are just wasting my precious time,” a man with salt and pepper cropped hair says gruffly, appearing behind your brothers and towers over them. Aemond takes a hard swallow at the sight of him, his rough appearance could scare anyone and anything – who doesn’t know him better. 

Forrest bellows out a laugh. “Your precious time you can be spending flirting with Darcy at the tavern?”

Ser Gregory starts blushing so red that even his full beard cannot hide it. “What did I say about spreading gossip, boy?” 

“I think it’s sweet,” Jorah muses. “That Ser Gregory found someone so lovely at his old age.”

Braeden smacks the back of his head, but Ser Gregory just chuckles knowing that the boy means no harm by it. “I– Thank you, Lord Jorah.”

“We’ll stop wasting your time,” Braeden says, opening the gate that Forrest had been leaning on earlier. “Come then, little cub, little prince.”

You and Aemond glance at each other, and he makes a small gesture, letting you walk in first. You bow slightly at him before you do. 

As he walks in after you, Aemond feels the eyes of Ser Gregory staring him down. He glances up cautiously, meeting the older man’s astute gaze. 

“So you are the Dragon Prince who fell from the sky, hmm?” Ser Gregory questions but does not give Aemond a chance to answer when he adds, “I heard many things about you.”

Forrest must have caught the petrified look on Aemond’s face because he laughs goodnaturedly and says, “Don’t worry, all good things.”

Ser Gregory grumbles. “Most good, some–”

Your face twists, silently begging him not to mention anything – that he had found you one night in a hidden corner of the keep, sobbing after another freeze out from the prince. 

So he changes the subject, asking the prince instead, “Will you be joining us for training today?”

“The Maester said he shouldn’t,” you relay. “His ribs are not healed enough to do anything too physically demanding.”

Then Aemond lifts his arm, still in a sling. “And my arm… I cannot fight without both.”

“Ey? Is that right?” Ser Gregory’s usual deep tone says an octave higher, clearly tickled. He shrugs the cloak off his shoulders, revealing the long sleeve of his left arm folded and pinned up. Aemond’s mouth parts in a gasp then shuts it tight, trembling as he realizes he had just offended the armless man. “Shall I not fight anymore? Would the training I provide for you lot all be for naught?”

“Oh, Ser Greg, don’t be like that! You know he did not mean any harm by it,” Forrest says with a roll of his eyes, waving his hand after Aemond murmurs a very soft apology, the young boy unable to look the swordsman in the eye.

Ser Gregory grunts roughly, turning on his heels and begins to walk away, to where the others are training. It is his way of letting you all know to follow. Jorah stalks after him, then Forrest (who gives a shrug to Aemond), and then finally Braeden after he tells Aemond not to worry, that Ser Gregory is always unpleasant at the start but he’ll warm up to him soon.

Alone with Aemond once again, you turn to him. “Braeden’s right. Ser Gregory is just… very protective of us. But he is as sweet as he is tough! He is one the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, if not the best!”

Aemond almost blurts out that Ser Criston Cole holds that title, but he bites his tongue, not wanting to cause anymore trouble. 

“You can watch from over there,” you tell him, pointing at the wooden benches at the far side of the training yard, closer to where the action is. The two of you start walking together, while you keep talking, “With Dorothea and her friend, Renee. She talks a lot but she’s fairly nice… She fancies Forrest but I don’t think Forrest likes her back like that. I don’t know why ‘cause she’s by far the prettiest girl on Bear Island… Well, after Dorothea of course...” Your mouth quirks down and you shrug, stopping when you are closer to where Ser Gregory and your brothers are. “I guess I’ll see you after training!” 

“Okay,” Aemond hums. “See you soon…”

With that, the two of you part ways. You to your brothers, and Aemond goes to join Dorothea at the benches. 

“Good morrow, Prince Aemond,” Dorothea chirps with a smile when she sees him approaching. She scoots over a bit, instructing her friend to do the same, giving Aemond room to sit beside her. “You look quite handsome with your new eye patch!”

Aemond blushes. “Thank you… For crafting it for me.”

She waves her hand. “It’s no trouble. You really have to thank my little sister. She pestered me until I could not say ‘no’ anymore.” 

The pretty ginger girl beside Dorothea leans across her, pushing her way through the conversation, “So you must be the Targaryen Prince! It is so wonderful to meet you! I’m Renee, by the way, my father’s the tanner that made the leather of your eyepatch! It looks amazing on you! How is it like down south? Is it as beautiful as the tales I’ve heard? What of King’s Landing? Is it nice to grow up there? It must be, the North’s cold is so awfully dreadful —”

Dorothea chuckles to herself, giving Aemond an apologetic smile. Knowing he won’t get a word in until Renee wears herself out.

Eventually Aemond answers all her questions and while that happens, the training begins. The three of them watch you, your brothers, and Ser Gregory in rapt attention. Though Aemond finds himself keeping a closer eye on you than the others.

Although you are not as coordinated as your older brothers, you can still hold your own. He would even dare say you are as good as his younger brother Daeron and definitely better than his older brother Aegon. It makes him wish he was not injured, so he can pick up a sword and challenge you to a duel. Another time, perhaps.

Aemond’s daydreaming gets interrupted when the training also gets interrupted, by three soldiers approaching you and your brothers. “Lord Braeden!”

As they talk to your oldest brother, Aemond overhears a couple words being said.

Dragon. Back. Clearing.

Aemond stands up suddenly, just as Braeden looks over at him and shouts, “Little Prince! It seems your dragon has returned!”

The trek back to the clearing you had found Aemond and his dragon is a lot easier now than that first night. You, your brothers, and even Ser Gregory accompany the young prince to her, the dragon you had learned is named Vhagar. 

Aemond had asked your family to keep an eye out for her. He was worried when she had been gone for so long, but now he guesses she was just flying around the North, perhaps hunting for food.

When you once again step foot in the clearing she had made herself, Vhagar huffs out. Though this time, she seems relieved, seeing her little dragon prince in one piece and standing tall. 

You are in awe at the sight of her. That night you first saw truly did not do justice to how magnificent she really is. 

“She is the largest and oldest dragon in all of Westeros,” Aemond says proudly, beaming at the look on your face. 

“Whoa… Then you must be very special to be the one riding her, huh, Ae?” Forrest asks, in quiet disbelief that such a small boy has tamed such a mighty beast. 

Ser Gregory grunts, but you can tell he is also awestruck. 

There is a phantom pain that strikes Aemond’s right eye, a reminder at what it cost to get Vhagar. He flinches with a hiss, blinking back tears. Luckily everyone’s gaze was on the dragon, not noticing the tormented look on the young boy’s face. “Yes… I suppose so…”

Then he makes a move, walking towards his dragon.

Jorah is the first to try to follow, but Ser Gregory pulls him back from the collar of his shirt. “I will only allow the prince to see his dragon. The rest of you will stay here.”

You and your brothers all make noises of complaint, but ultimately, you listen to him. So with one final look back, Prince Aemond walks the rest of the way to his dragon, alone.

The familiar sight of Vhagar clenches at Aemond’s heart, realizing how much he misses his home. With a small coo, her head dips, allowing him to stroke her snout with his good hand. 

“Have you been eating well?” He asks her. “I hope you have not been eating any of the bears on this island. That might anger the Mormonts, you know.”

Vhagar huffs, looking away in guilt, and that makes Aemond laugh. “It’s alright, I will not tell your secret. But no more!”

Vhagar’s head dips again, maybe in understanding, before she gestures it to the side, seemingly wanting for him to ride her. To fly back home.

Although he misses home, Aemond finds himself shaking his head. 

He leans in and whispers to his dragon, “It’s okay, Vhagar. I…” He looks back, smiling to himself when he sees your family there, still waiting for him despite it being so cold, “I want to stay for a bit longer.”

As more days passed, the prince’s wish to stay a bit longer changed to a lot longer. And as the proposed date for him to travel home gets closer, the more he dreads it. 

He loves his home, his family, don’t get him wrong. But these past month and half with the Mormonts has been one of the happiest times he has had in his life. 

Aemond became fond of the rambunctious and joyous breakfast and dinners your family had every day. Likes that he can go to Braeden for anything, how Forrest can always make him laugh, that Jorah tells him all his silly fantasies, and that he is always one of the first people Dorothea goes to try out her new dessert recipes. He likes how your mother and father treat him like he is one of their own, how gentle Maester Garland is when treating him.

And like what you and your brother said, Ser Gregory eventually also warmed up to him. He learned a lot from the older swordsman, becoming much better at wielding just a sword without any shield. His footwork and dexterity also improved during the short time he had training with Ser Gregory.

But what he likes the most is, well… You . 

He likes how you always seem to be the first person he sees in the morning, and last he sees at night. The way you would share all your favorite things with him, so excited all the time, that he starts to do the same. It makes him so happy how your eyes light up when he does so. You two become so attached to the hip that he wonders how he is going to go on without by his side when the time finally comes. How can he even smile ever again when your smiling face is not there for him to look upon?

All that – that has made him so happy, is also the reason he is so dejected on the morning he is to leave with your father and some of his men back home to King’s Landing. He has not even left yet, but he is already missing you and your family and the whole of Bear Island.

He does not realize it – too stuck in his own feelings – that he misses how silent the usually loud family breakfast is that morning. That he wasn’t the only one looking down at his plate, pushing the food around, appetite lost. You frown, trying to catch his eye, but he does not look up, also frowning down at his plate.

Aemond is so sulky, choosing to bolt to his chamber as soon as breakfast is finished that you do not even have the chance to talk to him at all today. He had even refused your visit to him in the early morning. 

You take such a heavy sigh – one more appropriate for an elderly person who has had enough of the world instead of such a young girl like you – that Forrest can’t help but have a chuckle. You glare at him, but he soothes the frown on your face with the back of his knuckles. “Don’t worry, little cub. I’m sure Ae is just as sad as we are.”

But that sentiment makes you frown even deeper. You did not want him to be sad, you want him to always be happy.

Noon arrives and you find yourself standing with your family at the docks of Bear Island. Your father is already getting the ship ready, along with Ser Gregory and some other men – but the boy of the hour, Prince Aemond, is not even there yet. 

Your brother, Forrest, volunteered to stay behind when the prince refused to come out of his room. He said to leave it up to him to get the prince out. 

That was over an hour ago, and you are starting to get worried that Aemond will hole himself in that room and never come out. Though before you can really start, you hear your mother sigh with relief. “There they are.”

Turning, you follow her line of sight.

“Sorry for the wait!” Forrest calls out, the little prince running behind him, trying to keep up. There is a bag slung over your brother’s shoulder, and he addresses it a second later, “Just had to pack up all the little prince’s things.”

Aemond did not have many things when he fell on Bear Island – actually, he had nothing at all, even losing his eyepatch. All the clothes he wore during his time on Bear Island were Jorah’s and all of that were already returned yesterday. So that big bag he had packed… It must be all the gifts you had gifted him. Your heart swells at the thought. You even see the many paintings you had made for him in a roll, sticking out of the bag. 

When they reach your family, that is when Aemond begins to bid farewell to everyone – one by one. It is sweet to watch just how close Aemond and each of your family members (and also those closest to your family) became. They laugh, they hug, they exchange words of promises to see each other someday soon — Septa Earla even cries, kissing both of Aemond’s cheeks.

Finally, it was your turn and when Aemond steps in front of you and faces you, you give him a wobbly smile and he gives you one just as unsure back. Stomach dropping, you can finally admit to yourself that you did want him to leave.

“You have to write to me,” you say, sniffing away the incoming tears. “I’m not asking. It’s a demand.”

Aemond chuckles, wetly. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” he says, then he licks his lips, also trying not to shed any tears. “I will write every day.”

This time, it’s your turn to laugh. “Every week will suffice. I don’t need to be spoiled.”

“But I want to,” he blurts out. Then shyly, he glances down and murmurs, “I will spoil you. I will send you as many gifts as you have given me.”

Your breath catches when he glances back up, looking determined now. “You have my word, Lady Mormont.”

“I hope you don’t think that giving gifts will make me go easy on you when we finally have our one-on-one duel,” you tease with a grin. “Because I know I can beat you with my eyes closed.”

It almost offends Aemond, almost. Then he realizes you were not being unkind or making fun of him like he is used to with his brothers and nephews. No, it was not like that at all. This is like a joke, shared between… friends.

That makes him laugh joyfully, smiling so big. “Alright, I do not wish for you to go easy on me. We will duel fairly when I visit again.”

“Soon?” You ask, hopeful.

He nods firmly. “Soon.”

And then you are hugging him. It takes him by surprise, staggering back slightly, but soon he is melting into it. The tightness in which you are hugging him hurts his still healing arm – already out of the sling – but he bites through the pain, wanting to hold you a bit longer.

Neither of you let go until you both hear Ser Gregory calling from the ship, letting everyone know that they are sailing soon. 

It has Aemond squeezing you in his arms one last time, his heart heavy yet elated at the same time. 

He truly is already missing you… His first real friend.

[weirwoodswitch]

Deadlock

Part 2 of Tipping Point

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: After you hook up with your longtime rival, he doesn't text all weekend, leaving you to believe that he just wanted to get laid. You respond accordingly. It doesn't go well (or does it?).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Rating: Explicit/18+

Warnings: NSFW/Minors DNI, smut, enemies to lovers, academic rivals, the triumphant return of Titty Sucking™️, semi-public fingering, degradation

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Re-upload from my old blog @rottingviserys!

After you and Aemond hooked up, you found yourself unsure how to act around him.

Did you continue your rivalry? Start acting all sweet with him and deal with the sidelong looks from your classmates and professors? Ignore him altogether?

Just because you fucked one time didn’t mean you were anything to each other, and some nagging voice at the back of your mind worried that he’d only slept with you to throw you off your game and gain an edge on you in class, or worse, that he’d just been horny and pent up and wanted a quick fuck. 

When he didn’t text you once the weekend following your stay at the inn and your trip to the Blue Lantern, you slowly began to fear that your worries might not be entirely misplaced. 

The following Monday, a cold sense of embarrassment began to curdle in the pit of your stomach. 

You had been used, that much was clear to you. 

Briefly, you considered skipping class entirely to avoid having to see Aemond’s smug face, but the day's scheduled activity was far too good to miss–your class was set to take a day trip to the Sealord’s Palace and the Moon Pool, an old fountain in Braavos that sat just south of the fortress.

You’d vowed to yourself the moment you saw Aemond at the airport that you wouldn’t let him ruin this for you, and you were determined to stand by that pledge. 

Resolved to go through with it, you selected your favorite skirt (that just so happened to make your legs look fantastic) and made your way to the front of the hotel, where your class was scheduled to meet. 

Aemond is already in the lobby, dressed in a deep green sweater that probably costs more than your entire wardrobe put together. The top half of his hair is knotted into a bun on the back of his head, the rest of his straight hair loose above his shoulders, leaning against the wall with a lazy kind of grace that only he could pull off. 

He’s deep in conversation with your professor, and you catch yourself staring at the way his lips move as he speaks. The memory of those same lips sucking at your nipples, on your neck, and between your legs makes your pussy clench, and you force yourself to look away, cheeks hot. 

You pull out your phone, simply scrolling through your settings tab and pretending to be preoccupied, giving you something–anything–else to look at. To distract you from him and the heat that curls deep in your belly when the corner of his mouth curves upward into a smile.

Mentally, you take back your confession of not hating him you’d whispered in the throes of post-coital bliss the other night in the inn. 

You had to hate him.

If you didn’t feel angry, you’re pretty sure you might cry. 

“Anything interesting going on with your settings?” you almost jump at the sound of Aemond’s voice, not having heard him approach, and quickly fix your face into a sour expression. 

“Fuck off,” you snap shortly, clicking your phone off and crossing your arms. 

His teasing smile fades, the mirth in his eyes fading into something questioning, but before he can open his smug mouth again, your professor calls for the class to leave the hotel, and you hurry off, moving as far away from him as quickly as you can. 

The group takes a boat up the canals, heading north toward the Moon Pool, and you snag a seat beside Cerelle Lannister, a blonde girl you knew vaguely from a few of your classes at King’s Landing University. 

You swear you can feel Aemond’s gaze burning a hole through the back of your head the whole ride there, but you force yourself to ignore it, instead making idle small talk with Cerelle about the trip so far. 

Admittedly, you aren’t really listening to her, but her chatter serves as a welcome distraction from the silver-haired dickhead behind you. 

At the Moon Pool, you follow the rest of your class to the edge of the fountain, marveling to yourself at the intricately carved faces, spitting water out into the pool below. It glitters under the sun that just barely peeks through the clouds, reflecting your face up at you.

“The Moon Pool,” your professor spreads his arms broadly in introduction. “Can anyone tell me why it’s significant to Braavosi culture?”

As usual, yours and Aemond’s hands are the first ones up, volunteering yourselves eagerly. 

“Yes, Aemond?” 

“The Moon Pool is the customary dueling place of the Water Dancers,” Aemond answers proudly, “its reflective surface makes an optical illusion from a distance–it looks like they’re on the water’s surface.”

“Good,” your professor nods in approval. “And who are the Water Dancers?”

Again, you and Aemond’s hands raise, and this time your professor calls on you.

“Water Dancing is a style of combat,” you explain, refusing to meet Aemond’s scalding gaze. “It is focused on fluid motions and quick attacks. Typically, they can far outpace other fighters, which puts them at an advantage.”

“They use smaller weapons for speed and wear lighter armor, which can put them at a disadvantage,” Aemond cuts in, not waiting for your professor to reply. “The rapiers they use are fairly useless when it comes to penetrating armor.”

“Their smaller weapons can more easily find weak spots in plate armor,” you reply, turning your gaze to his annoyingly self-satisfied face. “Not to mention the greater level of finesse needed to outmaneuver their opponents–their skill is unmatched.”

“So do you think water dancing is a superior form of combat?” he accuses, crossing his arms over his chest, eye narrowed. “Because that would be an incredibly unnuanced take.”

“You wouldn’t know ‘nuance’ if it smacked you in the face, you pretentious di–”

“Enough, both of you,” your professor cuts in sharply, cutting off your insult. “If you continue to derail in-class discussions like this, I’ll have to dock both of your grades, understood?” 

You press your lips together tightly, nodding stiffly, your cheeks hot with embarrassment. 

“Understood,” Aemond says, ever the suck-up. “Sorry, Professor.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from snapping at him again. If you lost points because you couldn’t control your temper, he would only get more insufferable, if that was even possible. 

You’re silent for the rest of your time at the Moon Pool, quietly seething every time Aemond opens his smart mouth again, and briefly consider shoving him into the fountain just to ruin his stupid hair and ridiculous sweater. 

In sullen silence, you follow your class on the brief walk to the Sealord’s Palace, barely paying attention to the guided tour. Every time you look at Aemond, he’s looking at you, and it makes you want to punch him right in his pretty mouth. 

It comes as a relief with the tour ends, and the class is dismissed to explore the rest of the public areas of the castle individually for a few hours before you go back to the hotel, and you all but run away from the group, and from Aemond’s searing gaze. 

Escaping him proved to be easier said than done.

“Hey!” his voice sounds behind you, every bit as angry as you feel. You try to ignore him, making for the single-stalled bathroom down the hall from you, but Aemond Targaryen is nothing if not persistent. 

“I know you can hear me,” he continues, his longer stride allowing him to quickly catch up with you. “Will you stop?” he snaps, grabbing your wrist and yanking you about to face him. 

“Targaryen, if you don’t let me go right now, I will scream,” you threaten, pulling in a vain attempt to escape his grasp. 

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time,” he shoots back snarkily, “I like it when you scream.”

“Fuck you,” you jerk your arm again but to no avail. 

“You’ve already done that, haven’t you,” he snaps. “What was it…three days ago when you were crying for me to–”

“You’re such a dick,” you snarl, your voice raising in volume. “I can’t stand you.” 

He stares at you for a beat, and before you can blink, he’s dragging you into the very bathroom you’d intended to take refuge in, slamming and locking the door behind him. 

“What the hell–” you begin to berate him again, but then he’s kissing you with the same punishing ferocity he’d displayed a few nights previous, his fingers digging harshly into your hips as he lifts you onto the counter. 

The pathetic excuse of a dam breaks, and you wrap your arms around his neck, legs spreading without prompting to allow him between them. His hands run up your thighs, kneading at the soft flesh, his grip so hard that it hurts, the tips of his fingers disappearing beneath the hem of your skirt. 

“You were so damn pleasant last week,” he hisses, shoving your skirt up toward your hips. “And now you’re acting like a fucking child again, making a scene in front of the whole class. Did I not fuck you well enough last time? Do you need this cock again to placate you? Huh?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, capturing your lips again, his tongue delving into your mouth as he grinds his hardened cock against the apex of your thighs. You whimper into the kiss, curling a hand into his hair and ruining the bun he had tied there, helpless to do anything except submit to him. 

It feels so fucking good when he kisses you that it makes your head feel like it’s full of cotton, any chance at coherent thought or a witty comeback dying under the drag of his tongue on yours and the grip of his hands on your ass. 

He yanks your shirt up over your head, pausing his assault on your lips only momentarily to get it off of you. He tosses it to the side on the counter, nimble fingers undoing your bra and discarding it as well, leaving you half-naked in the middle of the goddamn Sealord’s Palace. Anyone passing by could overhear you, but the thought doesn’t horrify you the way it should. Instead, it makes a rush of arousal pool in your core, and you buck your hips forward, seeking any friction he would give you. 

Aemond drops his head to your exposed breasts, suckling at the right while his hand palms your left, just as he had a few nights previous, but this time, he’s not teasing you. He flicks his tongue over your nipple, the edge of his teeth dragging over it lightly once, twice, each sting of pain worsening the ache between your legs. 

“Do I need to fuck you every day? Would that make you behave?” he growls darkly, releasing your nipple and moving his attention to the opposite, pinching at the spit-soaked peak of your breast as he begins to suck on the other. 

You moan at the thought–the idea of him fucking you, filling you the way he had before melting away any traces of resolve you had in the blink of an eye. 

He continues his ministrations on your tits, licking at the hardened, swollen bud, the heat of his mouth around it making you drop your head back, landing with a quiet ‘thump’ against the mirror behind you. You expect him to stop, to undo his pants and fuck you the way he threatened, but he just keeps going, slowly driving you insane. 

A familiar coil begins to build in your stomach, spurred on by the lewd slurping sound of his mouth on your tits, and your arousal becomes almost painful. You’re so desperate for him to give you more, your hips moving against his of their own accord, humping desperately like you’re a horny teenager getting touched for the first time.

It’s indecent, foolish, and downright disrespectful for you to be doing this in a historical government building, but all you want in the world is for him to never stop what he’s doing. 

He moves his mouth back to your right breast again, sucking harshly at the skin before engulfing your nipple in rapturous torture once more, his now free right hand slipping between your legs at last, shoving your soaked panties to the side and plunging two thick fingers deep inside you. 

“Aemond,” you choke out, jolting up to meet his thrusts haphazardly, the combined attention to your tits and your cunt increasing your pleasure tenfold. 

“Aemond,” he mocks in a high-pitched voice, pulling back to blow on your hardened nipples, drawing another whimper from you. “What happened to ‘Targaryen’?” he references your typical refusal to call him by his first name. 

He curls his fingers inside you, zeroing in on the rough patch of your walls immediately, fingers squelching loudly in your dripping cunt, thumb petting at your swollen clit in tandem, rendering you utterly incoherent. 

You’re close–embarrassingly so–and you clench around his digits furiously, wave after wave of arousal spilling from you, soaking his hand. 

“Fucking pathetic,” he comments darkly, tongue darting out again to resume his attention to your achingly sensitive nipple, not letting up on the pace of his fingers for even a second. 

Pulling his fingers from your fluttering pussy, he focuses all his attention on your clit, rubbing it in harsh, tight circles, humming in satisfaction against your chest. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, far too loudly given your current location, your cunt clenching, your legs shaking wildly as you cum. Your back arches forward, pressing your tits further into his face, and the few shreds of composure you’d retained thus far disappear altogether. 

Your thighs clamp hard on his narrow hips, trying unconsciously to close them but unable to do so, and your pulse thunders in your ears. Everything becomes a distant backdrop to your orgasm, every muscle in your body going completely rigid.

You’ve barely begun to come down from your high when he pulls back, wiping his fingers on your thigh carelessly, his chest heaving, eye blown dark with lust. He rakes his gaze over you shamelessly, dragging the back of his hand over his kiss-swollen lips.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” he smirks at you, condescending and half-cruel, and then he turns, unlocks the door, and leaves. 

You sit on the counter, dumbstruck and shaking, forcing yourself on your unsteady feet to lock the door again so that no one would walk in on you in your current state. 

Your brain, still fuzzy with lust, is racing a mile a minute, and you grasp onto the counter for support, staring at yourself in the mirror as you catch your breath. 

A large bruise is forming at the top of your breast, stinging faintly, and your hair is in disarray, your eyes wild. 

You suck in a slow, calming breath, your lust morphing back into anger at the realization that he’d just made you cum and left you there.

“Oh, that motherfucker,” you snarl under your breath. 

Not only had he won in class today, but he’d also utterly humiliated you and given you an earth-shattering orgasm on top of that too.

Tonight, you decided you were going to his room to settle this once and for all.

The bastard wouldn’t know what hit him.

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[weirwoodswitch]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss.

Note: EEEE! Here is chapter two of my little mini-series! Thank you all so much for your patience for this update, to say it has been hard has been an understatement. An odd thing to put into the notes of a fanfic, but From the River, to the Sea. 🇵🇸

Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Changes

The next few days were the same routine as usual, but with a new addition; A man who had been at deaths door, recovering in your bed. 

The lighthouse, you knew. 

You knew the way to light it, tend to it, care for it. It had been your life for many years ever since your Pa had died, leaving its responsibilities to you.

It had been him who taught you everything. He who had raised you to know what you now do, to do as you now do each day. And you were thankful. Thankful to not be married to a Fishermans son, or market boy at a young age, to squeeze out child, after child, in a marriage that had no love or care but rather a societal duty. 

But now, there was a man in your home. 

A man on your small, little, isolated island which you sought refuge in. An island and isolation that had been all you had known, and yet now, here he was, laid in your bed with hair like spun silk that lay around his head, a violet eye you had only heard in the tales on shore, a scarred cheek and sharp mouth. 

Was he a pirate?

You had heard of those, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to be as brash and roguish as those stories either. And whilst his presence was not all begrudged, it did throw your small little world into a loop. So with the duties of old, came the duties of new. 

You would rest, only shortly, wake, and tend to the lamp, the storm slowly moving away inland, but the winds too high to take your small boat alone, or send your pigeon with a letter to alert them of the wreck and lone survivor.

Thereafter, you could come back inside, fix yourself a tea, and here began the new routine; you would make two instead of one. 

Two plates or bowls of food. 

Two cups or glasses of water, or tea.

Two of everything. 

One for you.

And one for the man. 

A man who still had not told you his name.

That was until that evening.

The winds had begun to yield, but the soft grumbling of thunder still prevailed in the near distance.

You were eating the last of your stew together, though this time, he was seated at the table. You having dragged the only other chair on the island down the many stairs of the lighthouse to the cottage. 

He was still rather pale, and wheezed and coughed on occasion, but after his many days in your presence, you realised that he was not pale because of his ailment, but rather, his skin was just as white as the porcelain William’s wife owned. His cheeks however, gained some colour, and his lips were no longer cracked and dry, but now hydrated.

And plump.

And soft.

And-

“-Aemond.”

The spoon you were holding clinked back onto the side of the bowl.

“Pardon?”

“My name,” The man put another spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewing before swallowing politely, “Is Aemond.”

You tested the name on your tongue. It was definitely not a common name from around your part of the world.

“I take it you are a long way from home?” You chewed on a chunk of potato, watching as the man nodded.

“Aye.”

“Your ship-“

“-Vhagar.” So that’s what its name was, “Sunk to the bottom of the sea, I presume.” His lips pulled down at the sides.

You nodded solemnly, “Was your family-“

“-No. No family. Just me and my crew.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before nodding, “I’m sorry. Though we have the Gods to thank. They favoured you when they washed you ashore.”

Aemond, the man before you, scoffed, “Favoured. Sunk my ship and my men. Drowned me.”

You sucked your teeth, feeling slightly guilty about your choice of words, “Yes, and yet you are here. I prayed-“

“-You prayed?”

A nod, though his gaze seemed more intrigued than mocking, “To the Drowned God. Prayed to anyone who would listen to spare your life.”

You watched as the corner of his lip twitched, “And why should a Lady such as you, pray for a sailor such as me?”

“I’d hardly like to deal with a corpse on my beach." You stirred your stew, "And I am no Lady, I have told you this.”

The snort from his nose made way into a smile that was contagious. 

At least you could be blunt.

And in some ways, you supposed that he liked this bluntness. 

You shared your meal together quietly, the crackling of the fire and sound of rain and occasional thunder outside. You found, much to your displeasure, that you did not mind having his company after all.

He did not talk to fill the space, and seemed to think deeply before he spoke, at least when he was not irritated or slightly offended by your own remarks. All in all, he was a welcomed presence in your modest home.

And that was what scared you.

“Do you often have drowned men wash ashore?” His spoon was delicately placed in his bowl, bread devoured shortly after given to him. The way in which he ate, the manner in which he sat back, rod stiff, indicated to you that he came from some form of high society, far higher than you, and likely came from money and wealth that you could do naught but try to imagine. 

You smiled coyly, “You’re the first. An achievement to some end, I am sure.”

The corner of his lips pulled again, yet this time, it developed into a full smirk, “Then I am honoured to have been the first, Miss.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you had to look away.

The way in which he spoke, the way his voice became deep and smooth like the whiskey in your cupboard, had sent shivers down your spine with the implication that perhaps there was a double meaning to what he said.

To what you had said. 

But then he continued, “And how does a woman of your stature become the keeper of this Lighthouse?”

“My Pa. He was the keeper before I. Taught me all there was to know. It was just me and him on this island for a long, long time, and now it is just me.”

“Is your father-“

“-Dead.”

“I see.” Aemond nodded, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be.” You gave him a small smile, “He died doing what he loved.”

A silver eyebrow raised above the man’s seeing eye, “And what was that?”

“Drinking on the job.” You poked your tongue in your cheek to stifle the laugh as you watched Aemond’s composure become flustered, “It’s okay,” You reassured him, “You can laugh. My father was not a solemn man. I like to think he enjoys my humour.”

A hum was all you received, though he did not smile as you had hoped.

You had not fully seen him do so yet, and although there was glimmers of a more playful and relaxed man, you wondered in that moment if perhaps he was simply just a rather stern and serious sailor after all. That his nature was to be stiff, and bold, and unbendable.

And if he was to be that, a small flicker inside of you wished to make him bend. 

Gods, what was wrong with you?

Had you grown so lonesome in your isolation that the first man to wash upon your shore, literally, was whom you would grow some sort of desire for?

Sure, you were no stranger to pleasure, chasing your own peaks with your hands as often as you’d like, of course, if it did not endeavour to endanger the care of the lighthouse. And now, that a man was sat before you, kept in the confines of your home by storm and ailment, you wished to taste what it truly meant to be pleased. 

It had of course crossed your mind once or twice on your rare travels to shore. Speaking to the locals in shops or on the street, friends of William, or any decent man who cast you a glance. You had thought about it seriously, allowing some sort of dalliance to form, to warm a mans bed and then leave on the morrow to go back to your life of solitude. 

In fact, it had almost happened. 

A sailor named Dalton Greyjoy had caught your eye on the occasions he would be on shore at the same time as when you were. He was sailor from a well known, and well to do family. He came and went as he pleased, and it was no secret that he liked his women. Dalton's hair came below his ear, curling slightly atop his head, the colour as black as night and with his eyes to match his hair; a piercing, deep black which captured and lured anyone who caught his gaze.

And you had caught his, on more than one occasion, and each time, he had tried to woo you. Tried to offer a trip on his sturdy ship which carried more than one hundred men. Or a tour of his home which lay on bountiful lands on shore.

He had even offered a drink in the local tavern, and a meal, with a desire to speak to the ‘beautiful woman who keeps my ship from ruin’. 

And you had thought on it, had almost given in, and when you had rejected him the last time, you had meant to offer him refuge on your island, should he ever so need it. If he was ever so inclined to have a tour of your own homestead, of your lighthouse which kept him from ruin. 

But when you had moved to tell him thus, he was gone, back to the seas for the Gods only know how long, perhaps months, before he returned to shore. And that had been two months ago, and you had almost kicked yourself at the missed opportunity of having a man warm your bed, and then leave. 

The convenience was lost.

You were under no impression that it would be anything more than a release for the two of you, and in your eyes, it was perhaps, a perfect arrangement. Yet, you had strung him for too long, and the seas had called him once more. 

You had thought to wait to look for his ships arrival as it passed from you to shore, and lowered its anchor within eyesight. You had thought that perhaps at the sight of it, you would send your pigeon to her, the large ship, or to shore to send word of your request of his presence. But then, you thought, perhaps you would make a quick stop to the markets, weather permitting, and keep your eyes widened for the dark black hair which you sought. 

But now, as the man you had come to know as Aemond, grew stronger with each day, the desire to meet your desires with Dalton faded, and were now replaced for the desire of a man who was the stark opposite.

No black hair, only silver. No black eyes, only lilac.

Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

Would he hold you passionately? Whisper in your ear? Give you pleasure that you had only read of?

This was what you thought of, thighs clenching as you pulled the old wick from the lamp to replace it with a new one, careful to not spill any oil around the lamps enclosure or yourself. You were exhausted as you lit the flame, night crawling towards you rapidly.

There was not much rest that you could get when sleeping on the worn down lounge of your home, mind reeling at the thought of the handsome man not too far from you in the warmth and plush of your bed.

Once you were positive the lamp was fine and well lit, you trudged down the stairs, eyes struggling to stay open as you made your way back to the cottage, the wind blowing your hair roughly as you closed the door behind you.

The fatigue dragged you down, limbs feeling as heavy as stone as you moved to make yourself some tea, feeling all the more exhausted than before, eyes half shut.

Once your tea was made, you sat on the couch and stared at the fire, blowing the steam away and sipping on it to warm your chilled bones. The lighthouse was cold inside, no warmth but the lamp, and despite wearing your warm layers, the cold still nipped you to your core.

There were no thoughts as you moved half asleep around your home, pulling the heavy waxed coat from your shoulders to place on the hook by the door.

Your boots came next, and then your socks, and finally you pulled away at your dress, untying your stays as it slid down your hips to the floor.

You trudged to your room, having extinguished the lamps and candles in the cottage, leaving the fireplace to burn through what was left of the night.

It was dark as you pulled back the sheets, mind in memory and eyes already shut, as you slid into bed in only your slip, pulling the sheets up to your neck as you lay on your side.

Then sleep came just as quickly as your eyes closed.

-

It was hot. 

Too hot. 

There was a warmth that radiated around you as you slowly rose to consciousness.

Then, came the weight. 

A weight of something wrapped around you, behind you, heat seeping into your spine. You blinked sluggishly, confused as to what it was as you shifted, feeling whatever that warmth was shifting with you. Solid.

Arms. 

Two arms.

One under your head, the other draped over your middle, hand splayed across your stomach as your back was pressed into the flush of someones chest. 

Not someone.

Aemond. 

You jerked, suddenly awake and out of the bed, looking down at the man who looked tiredly up at you, corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he fought away a smirk. Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks in embarrassment. 

You had been in bed.

With him.

Tucked into him.

Oh Gods.

Your mouth opened and shut as your brain misfired, unsure of what to do our say. 

Do you apologise?

Gods, you had been so tired you hadn’t even realised. 

You were suddenly mortified at the thought of what he must now think of you. 

He must-

“-If you want to get into bed with me, all you must do is ask.” Came the low timbre of Aemond, who now smirked freely at you. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you became flustered, a small squeak escaping your lips. 

Aemond’s eye bore into your own as you stood there, bare feet on the cold flagstones below, chest heaving as you were at a loss of words. His eye then roamed lower, taking in your appearance as you felt the heat of his gaze blanket over you.

It was then, that you realised, you were in nothing but your thin shift.

“Gods. Fuck.” You swore, turning quickly to throw on an old dress, foregoing your skirts, stay and stockings.

You kept your back to him as you hastily did up the many buttons, suddenly cursing each and every one of them as your fingers struggled to do them up the more you become flustered, all the while you could still feel his heated gaze upon you from the bed.

You uttered an embarrassed apology, too ashamed to even raise your eyes to look at him, before you fled from the cottage, forgetting your coat, and not even doing up the laces of your boots as you shut the door behind you and raced towards the lighthouse. 

You had never quite climbed the steps as fast as you had in that moment, desperate to get away from his salacious gaze, and your burning embarrassment.

What had you been thinking? Climbing into bed with him like that? He must think you desperate. Depraved. Unkempt.

Gods be good.

The embarrassment made tears prickle at your eyes.

Though the lamp in the lighthouse was fine, and there was no true reason for you to monitor it, the worst of the storm having moved away, you did not return back to your cottage. You stayed in the cold, no coat and shoes half tied, shivering in the stone walls of the lighthouse to avoid the mortification of that morning. And yet, despite trying to avoid him physically, there was no possible way, you had tried, to avoid thinking of him. 

Thinking of his touch, how warm he had been behind you, how his large hand had completely spanned across your middle as he held you to him, how his fingers had twitched and pulled as you wriggled in first wake. How he smelt of the sea, and sweat, the stew you had cooked him, and the smell of your own sheets, but beneath it all, there was his natural scent, something earthy and musky and like sandalwood that surrounded your every waking moment. 

If it wasn’t for his legs and his near death, you would think the man was a Siren.

You thought of how cold he had been when he washed ashore, how pale and almost blue he looked, and now he burnt hot, and although he was still pale, the flush of life coloured his cheeks and lips. His lilac eye devouring you every chance he had.

At first you had thought you were mistaken, that he was simply looking at you, but now you were sure of it. His eye, the seeing one, unclouded by injury and simmering a bright lilac, watched you almost always half-lidded and ablaze with something you now thought could perhaps be lust.

Gods. 

You buried your head into your hands, deeply exhaling before standing up straighter, trying to erase the images and thoughts of him from your mind, but it was hopeless. He was all you could think of, all you could smell, or see behind your eyelids, and you yearned to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Caress him. 

Your thighs instinctually squeezed together and you sighed, feeling a wetness that had settled between them. 

Gods be good, you were in trouble.

You shivered again, rubbing your hands together as you looked out at the sea, mentally cursing yourself for not having more than two chairs on the island, but you had never needed more than that.

Your legs ached from not having sat in the hours that had passed, and you had turned to pacing the small landing back and forth to try and keep yourself warm. 

A soft clunk came from the bottom of the lighthouse. 

You mustn’t have shut the door properly. 

You continued your pacing, back and forth, breathing into your icy palms as you tried to warm them, mind straying to a body of warmth that you knew, if you pressed your palms against him, would warm in an instant. Your hands coming beneath his tunic to splay against his stomach, working their way-

The sound of rustling came from behind.

You spun on your heel in fright, breath caught in your throat to find Aemond behind you. Now standing straight, the man towered over you, looking down his sharp nose at your shivering form. His hair was slightly wet, stuck down to his shoulders and dripping from its ends onto the floor of the lighthouse. The tunic he wore, stuck to his skin where spatters of rain wet the material. 

In his hands, your coat. 

“Gods be good.” You cursed at him, hand immediately shooting out to press against his forehead, having to rise slightly on your toes to reach, “Have you gone mad? You’ll catch cold and grow ill again.”

Snatching your coat from his hands, you threw it up and around his shoulders, pulling it together tightly at the front, watching as his brows furrowed at you.

His hands caught your wrists as you fussed over him, and you immediately could no longer meet his eye. The warmth of his hands seeped into your bones, and a barely contained sigh fell from your lips.

Aemond was so close, so close to you, you could feel his warmth, smell his-

“Go back to the cottage before you become feverish again.” You tried to pull your wrists away from his hands to push him back to the door, but the man did not budge, his grip only tightened. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Came his low response, jaw tensed as he watched you. 

You swallowed, looking anywhere but his eye, “No.” You lied terribly, hoping he couldn’t feel the way your pulse quickened at your wrist, “I have to tend to my duties.“

“-You’re a terrible liar.”

You bristled, heat rising in your cheeks again before you met his eye.

Exhaling shakily, you tried again to get him to release your wrists with no avail.

“Please let go of me, Sir.”

Aemond’s cheek twitched, before finally he let go, and you begrudged his warmth leaving you the second he did. 

As his hands dropped to his sides, your eyes flitted to the exposed skin of his chest, if only for a moment, where his tunic was ripped down the middle. He moved, arms coming up again as he pulled your coat from his shoulders, stepping towards you suddenly. 

You stiffened, feeling his warmth envelop you and the subtle scent of salt and sandalwood engulf you as he wrapped you in your coat, pulling it tightly against you at your front. Your arms were trapped beneath it as he kept his hold on you, the coat pulling tighter as he stepped closer.

“You’re cold.” He whispered, head ducking slightly as he looked at you, long strands of silver cascading over his shoulder. 

Okay. You were sure of it. 

Perhaps he was a Siren. 

And now he was going to drag you to the sea and-

You watched in a confusion, or horror and delight as his head began to dip down towards your face, eye watching you intently as you held your breath.

Oh Gods, was this really happening? Was this man-

“Sīr gevie.” Came a deep purr from the back of his throat, and there it was again, that half lidded gaze. 

You parted your lips instinctually, feeling his nose brush against yours, your eyes fluttering as you looked down to his lips which were parted a hairsbreadth away from you, “I don’t know what that means.” You whispered, feeling his breath fan across your lips warmly. 

“Beautiful.” Came his response, less purring than the last, more of a whisper, more delicate, like the silk that spun his hair, ready to break.

His face loomed closer, the tip of his pink tongue coming to wet his lips, and all you could think of was how you wished to close the distance, to press against him, taste him, have him. 

Your lungs ached from the breath you had been holding, and a sudden gust of wind knocked at the windows of the lighthouse. It seemed to have broken the spell, jerking you away from the man in front of you, who blinked longingly at you.

Swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the ache in your core, you uttered, “I need to prepare supper.” Before you dashed away from him and down the stairs, almost tripping over your half laced boots in the process. 

As you wound down the stairs, you felt a pang of guilt leaving him up there.

Would he be fine to get down himself?

What if he grew ill? It was cold, and he had no coat, and you had just-No. If he had made his way up those stairs, then he could surely make his way down them.

You wasted no time preparing dinner, darting about the kitchen noisily as you began to prepare your meal, cutting the vegetables on the chopping board, and moving for some more dried meats to add with it, soaking it in some bone powdered broth you had made days earlier.

When the door of the cottage opened, and then clicked shut, you ignored the mans arrival, keeping your back to him, pretending that you were all too busy preparing the dinner to spare him a second glance, and not only that, you were far too engrossed of thinking what was coming next, and not at all how his lips might have felt on yours. 

You heard him settle at the table by the fire, and without looking, cast your voice behind you, “I still have my fathers belongings,” You told him, voice shy, “Seemed a waste to be rid of them when he passed. You may fit them. I’ll let you look through the trunk after supper so that you may have some cleaner, warmer clothes.”

A hum, and then, “Thank you. You are a gracious host.”

You blushed at his compliment, thankful that your back was turned to him so that he would not see you shy once more. Once your meal was cooked, you brought it over to the table for the two of you, including a plate of some of your scones, as well as the jam from Celia to go with them after.

It was a mostly silent affair, a tension strung between the two of you, pulled taught as the minutes went by. That was until-

“You are not married.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of fact. 

You blinked, taking your eyes away from your meal as you looked up at him.

He was already watching you.

But there was nothing malicious about his statement, more so curious as to why.

Aemond continued, “You are a beautiful young woman, a shame that you are not out in society.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling vulnerable at the turn of conversation. 

You knew it was unheard of a woman of your age to be unwed, and not only that, alone in a usual mans position. You knew that the townsfolk at shore talked about it, whispers behind your back at why that was.

There had been a cruel rumour once that you simply enjoyed the coming and goings of the many different sailors who came to and from the port. It didn’t help that Dalton was not quiet about his interest in pursuing you, at least, not as his wife anyway.

“I am content where I am.” You sighed, “I have no desire to be flaunted on a mans arm as merely decoration. I have a responsibility to those on shore and on sea, and I doubt any man in town would know more about the mechanisms of working such a lamp than I do. They would be more of a burden than a blessing.”

Aemond blinked before lifting another steaming spoonful of food to his lips, “And do you not grow lonely on this little island?”

Did you?

You didn’t think you did.

At least, not until he arrived on your shore.

“Not at all.” And unconvincing lie, or perhaps not a full one, “William comes to bring my reprieve, and I go to and from shore as I wish for the whims of societal company.”

The man swallowed his mouthful of food, head cocked as he looked at you, “William?”

“An old friend of my fathers.” You explained, watching as he relaxed at the explanation, “Brings food and goods to me when I cannot get them my own, which is more often than not. His wife and daughters join him here on occasion.”

Aemond hummed, “It is a shame you have no feelings of loneliness.”

“A shame?”

The corner of his lip twitched, “I thought you might have enjoyed my company.” Before you could respond, he spoke again, “Though, perhaps it is not a shame after all. There is no husband that I need worry about.”

Heat rose into your cheeks fast, and a flush of hurt crept up your throat.

Of course he would make a comment about you being unwed. 

He was just like the others in town. 

“You mock me.” You grit angrily, hands twitching on the table. 

You watched as a flash of regret creeped over his face.

“I don’t.” His tongue darted out to lick at his lips again, the hungry look in his eye not at all for the food on his plate, “I would worry that my attempt to court you would be burdened by a disgruntled husband.”

Court you. 

Court. 

Your stomach turned tightly, and you found yourself pushing your chair behind you quickly as you stood, grabbing your empty plate as you moved to take it to the kitchen, unsure of what to say, mouth dry and mind reeling. 

As soon as your back turned, you heard a deep chuckle behind you, making your cheeks flush with heat once more. You did not even bother to clean your plate, instead dumping it into the dry sink before you snatched your coat off of the coat hook and moved to open the door.

“You cannot avoid me forever.” Came his low purr, and would if you tried.

The door thumped behind you as you swept yourself outside.

-

By the time you finally returned to the cottage, the night had flown away from you, having spent the majority of it trying to cool the heat in your body that he had stoked, resting your cheeks against the cool class of the lighthouse, anything to soothe the molten blood that coursed through you.

The storm had mostly passed, and your home was quiet as you snuck back inside, darkness filling the majority of the space bar the fireplace as you pulled your coat from your shoulders, back facing the room.

When you turned to walk further inside a small gasp pulled into your lungs. 

“You’re awake.” You blinked at Aemond owlishly, watching as he leant back on the small worn couch, his long limbs stretched out in front of him by the fire, with one arm resting against the back.

“I am.” You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to do or say. 

Damn your anxious mind, reeling in circles at the thought of him, and his desires and if he desired you as much as you desired him. And what if-

You shook the thought away, “Well, you must be tired. You need to rest so that you may go home. The storm is passing, and I’d wager that you could return to shore now.” You wrung your hands together. 

You didn’t want him to go, but you knew it was logical.

He would have to leave. He would have to go home. To his family. To his friends. To his land. And then, you would be left alone with the spiralling 'what if's' of his stay.

“You speak of fatigue as if you sleep more than I, and do less.” Came his pointed remark, “I am well aware of my need to recover, and my abilities.”

Speechless. 

That was what you were.

The fire crackled loudly between you as you watched him shift, moving to lay himself down onto the couch which was comically too small for him. His long legs stretched over the arm, feet dangling almost to the floor whilst his head was tucked at an awful angle on the opposite arm. 

He looked like a doll that had been carelessly tossed onto the couch by a child.

“You need rest.” He mused, eye roaming over your body shamelessly, “I shall sleep where I am.”

Your brows furrowed, “You can’t suggest that you wish to sleep there.” Your hand pointed to where he was uncomfortably lain, “You do not fit. You shall see no rest and I will have to nurse you to health once more.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here.” His eye slid shut, seeming to make a point of sleeping on your lumpy and aged lounge.

You guffawed at him and his brazen flirting, mouth hanging open as your hands moved to your hips, “Go back to bed.”

His brow lifted, but his eye stayed shut, “A command or request?”

You blinked, “A request, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Will you be joining me?” Came his purr, eye cracked open at you, the bright lilac having turned as stormy as the sea once had been.

“No.”

Another hum, something you had grown used to by now, his eye sliding shut, “Then I shall stay put.”

You stormed towards him, looking down at him, trying to not notice how soft his hair looked, or how the pale skin of his chest looked like a cozy place to-

“Really, Sir.” You sighed, exacerbated, “I must implore you to sleep in the bed tonight. You will only hurt your neck and back. I am far smaller than you, and-“

“-Sīr byka.”

The language was smooth, the r curling in the front of his teeth, all creamy, and soft like syrup and warm. It sent heat straight into your core. 

“What does that mean?”

His eye opened again as he sat up, “Would you like to know?”

Gods, he was infuriating. 

“Yes.” You grit out, “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I said you were little.”

Embarrassment curled in your chest, but not only that, something else that sent heat striking through you. 

You tried to blink it away, “An obvious observation. And the bed would fit you perfectly well, if only-“

“-Nyke kessa mazverdagon ziry-“

“-Would you stop that?” You snipped, chest heaving as you blushed, watching as the tall man pulled his legs down and sat up, looking at you predatorily. 

You were in trouble.

Every hair on your body stood up as he watched you beneath his lashes.

“Stop what?”

You wet your lips, “T-that.”

“What, byka ōños?”

“That!” You pointed, running a hand through your hair, “You- You make a mockery of me.”

His head tilted, “I do no such thing.”

“You do.” You countered, looking anywhere but him, “You speak in tongues that I do not understand. For all I know, you could be throwing insult at my person. I know that I am not as educated as you-”

“-Do you want to know what it means? You only need ask.”

“What does it mean?” You breathed, watching as he stood from the couch, sucking all the air from the room as his head slowly came up to your height, then finally looming over you down his nose. 

“What does ‘what’ mean?”

“Fine." You huffed, "You shall stay on the couch, and I shall send word tomorrow-“

“-Little light.”

You lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you felt him step closer to you, your chest heaving as one of his hands reached out to caress a lock of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as his fingertips grazed a path down your neck, his eye intent on you. 

“W-what?”

“Byka ōños,” Aemond purred, “It means ‘little light’.” He took a step closer to you, his chest brushing against yours, warmth immediately seeping into your dress as you craned your head to look up at him, "Byka perzys.”

“And what does that mean?” Your voice was quiet, unsure, the air around you crackling with the tension that had been building for days.

“Little flame.” He translated, large palm moving behind your neck as he gripped the back of it softly, fingers tangling in your hair. Your breath hitched as he moved forward, his eye on your lips, yours on his.

“Byka jelevre.”

“What does t-“

Aemond’s lips crashed into yours hungrily, silencing your question. You squeaked, eyes widening before they slowly slid shut, hands coming to the front of his tunic as you fisted them tightly, rising on your tip toes to meet him. His kiss melted you, a fire being stoked in your gut steadily as the fingers in your hair tightened.

Then as sudden as it came, it stopped. 

You were both panting, looking at one another as his tongue wet his lips.

“Fuck.” He growled, before crashing into you again, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip as you sighed into his embrace.

His other hand wrapped around your waist pulling you tightly against him as his tongue licked at your bottom lip. It was unfamiliar, uncertain, and your lips parted in a small gasp, immediately feeling his tongue lick tentatively at your mouth.

You were still, frozen as you thought of what to do as the hand on your waist moved to pull at your skirts hastily, dragging them up your legs.

And then, it was as though the fog was cleared, and your mind re-emerged. You pulled back with a gasp, hand gripping the wrist that was pulling at your skirts, your eyes searching his face with uncertainty. 

And then, slowly, it dawned on him, realisation washing over his features. 

“You’re untouched?” Came his quiet breath.

You swallowed, shutting your eyes to avoid his prying gaze, too afraid of his next reaction as you answered him. 

“Yes.”

The warmth of his body left yours, and you almost subconsciously followed it, eyes reopening. 

He looked at you with a new expression you could not quite understand. 

Your chest ached to be held again, to feel his want and his hands pressed against your body. To feel his chest against yours, his lips on your own, his tongue teasing yours as you sighed into it. You wished to feel the calluses of his hands, and smell the salt and sandalwood that lingered around him.

You felt stupid for having told him, for having stopped him. You wished you hadn’t. You wished you had just let him have his way-

“-Apologies, Miss. I did not mean to overstep.”

Any thought that you had vanished, and you found yourself gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“I shall retire for the evening.” He took another step back, his eye not once leaving yours as he shifted his body towards your bedroom, “But if I do take your bed, I would like to earn my keep around your home as I recover.”

If this man did one more thing out of the ordinary, you thought your head may spin off your neck.

“Your keep?” You echoed, feeling the tingle in your lips from his kiss. '

Did he mean-

“-Work around the island. Cleaning, gardening. Anything that you need or want from me. I am yours.”

You felt that his last offer meant more, but you did not have the wherewithal to ask for elaboration, nor did you have the courage. 

Gods, what was it about this man that turned you to syrup?

You nodded slowly, watching as relief washed over his features, “It is much appreciated, though I will be hard pressed to find things for you to do yet.” You shifted on your feet, hands wringing together once more, “I shall send word soon of your survival to shore. My pigeo-“

“-No.” Aemond said hastily, to which he recovered a moment afterwards, “No need until I am hale and healthy again. There is no point for false hopes, I may turn on the morrow.”

You shook your head, a small laugh falling from your lips, “I see no possibilities of you turning to meet the Stranger tomorrow. You-“

“-Please.” Came his voice once more, rough and quiet, and more strained than before, “Let me stay dead for a while longer.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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[weirwoodswitch]

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Angst.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Oh lordy, we all need a friend like Helaena don't we? She is just such a sweet angel. Here is the next chapter, hehe. Enjoy <3

Chapter 12: The Red Keep

The flight to the Red Keep was quick, and you had been almost horrified when the driver had driven you onto the tarmac at the airport and up to a small jet. Your eyes had widened, and the driver had to insist on you getting out of the car and into the private plane. 

You had sent Helaena some nervous texts, promising to pay her back, feeling guilty about how much it would have cost, to which she had replied that it was Viserys’ money and he had plenty of it.

It did little to quell the guilt that built within you, but you thanked her profusely in the air anyway, wifi available on the flight. 

It felt weird to be surrounded by sudden wealth, Helaena never usually opting to use it and making her own way in life. If this was what she had at her fingertips, you wondered why she didn’t use the convenience of it more often. 

But then again, you grew up with no money, and she didn’t. This could be as mundane as a bus trip to her.

The flight would have been barely over an hour long, and when you had landed, you were met by a sleek black Mercedes on the small and private landing strip amongst rolling green hills. 

Criston Cole sat in the driver seat, a tanned man with dark curly hair and darker brown eyes, dressed head to toe in a black uniform, greeting you politely by your last name as he took your bag for you, putting it in the boot swiftly before opening the door for you to get in.

The Keep was situated outside of the city, a large estate on many acres of land, surrounded by sea, rolling green hills and forests. It was a historical site that had been passed down through the Targaryen family for hundreds of years, with almost a hundred rooms within to match. They even had their own private botanical garden with the rarest of plants within, that housed one of the oldest trees in Westeros.

It was extravagant, and you felt a sudden sense of anxiety as you drove up a long and winding path, large gates opening automatically as you jiggled your leg in your seat. The Keep towered atop a hill, red brick work looking like they had been soaked in blood in the dark of the night as the car rolled up, headlights shining at two large wooden doors to the entrance. 

Helaena was standing in the spotlight, large slippers on her feet and oversized lavender sleep shirt sliding off of one shoulder. When you jumped out of the car she let you walk to her quickly, throwing yourself into her arms as she held you, soothing your back as tears threatened to fall once more, apologising meekly into her neck.

“Shhh,” She cooed, gentle fingers running along your spine, “You’ve done nothing wrong. I could never be mad at you.”

“But I-“

“-I’m mad at my brother. Not you. Let’s get some sleep, hm?”

You let Helaena drag you up through the Keep, Criston following closely behind with your bag. You had tried to turn and take it from him, but he had given you a stern glare with his handsome face, insisting he carry it for you.

The walls of the Targaryen’s Keep were tall and made of stone, various portraits of Targaryen ancestors strung on the walls, and tapestries of art from across the years and realms hanging delicately for decor. You couldn’t help but notice some newer editions to the Keep, heavy green works and sigils of the Seven Pointed Star that almost outnumbered the Valyrian traditions.

When you reached Helaena’s room, it was larger than your entire apartment. It had four poster bed with draped lavender and cream curtains in the centre, and its own sitting room. A writing desk was pushed into the corner on a far wall near a large stone fireplace. She guided you to sit on the bed, taking your bag from Criston before she thanked him and dismissed him for the night.

“I’m sorry-“

“Shh.” Helaena’s voice came out sharper, “Go to sleep, bug. I don’t want to hear another apology from you, okay?”

The way she spoke reminded you so much of Aemond. 

You nodded sadly, and pulled back the sheets, crawling beneath before Helaena joined you, turning the lights off as she settled against her pillow. She let you cry beside her, and stroked a soothing hand up and down your arm. 

Eventually the both of you fell to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake or cry any longer.

When you woke the next morning, it was to light streaming into the room from Helaena’s sheer curtains, the bright suns rays warming the room already. You stirred, looking beside you to find Helaena already awake and on her phone.

She turned her head to look at you, scrunching her nose, “You snore.”

Your mouth gaped, “I do not.” You blushed, feeling embarrassed.

Helaena hummed cheekily, before her face turned more serious, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” You grumbled, tummy aching as you remembered your forgotten noodles uneaten and left behind in your room.

An uneasy quiet settled around you as she watched your face, phone set flat against her chest as she took you in. Her lilac eyes bored into your own, and you fought the urge to not wriggle in the spot.

“Do you love him?” Helaena asked abruptly and you felt your mouth turn dry.

Love him?

Did you?

It was too soon to tell.

But there was no denying there was something powerful that you felt for her brother.

“I don’t know.” You said quietly, and Helaena looked at you as if she knew the answer herself. 

The silver haired woman shifted in the bed, sitting up before she ripped the sheets away from you, “Right. No more moping. You had one night and one night only for the sad girl special.”

You looked at her incredulously.

“Hel, what the Hell?”

“You hungry?” She ignored your comment, crawling out of bed, stretching high on her toes to stretch her spine, long arms in the air.

Helaena was giving you an out.

A distraction.

And so you took it.

“Starved.” You chirped back, though the tone fell flatter than you intended.

Helaena turned around and lifted a brow at you, “Come on, let’s go eat before the boys demolish everything in sight.”

You nodded in agreement, going to stand before you followed her down to a large open kitchen at the bottom, back doors opening up to a grassy garden which led to a tiled area with chairs and tables littered here and there. A creamy white gazebo was seen a few ways away, and the sitting area bled into a large swimming pool, spa nestled beside it.

“Woah.”

Helaena, noticing your eye line scoffed, “I know right? Talk about gaudy. Mum had the pool upgraded. Not that she needed too. It’s only her, and she doesn’t even use it.”

Two chefs moved about the kitchen quickly, large island in the centre being gradually filled with food of all kinds. Pastries, meats, breads, fruits, eggs. It was almost a buffet style.

You felt strangely out of place. 

“Morning.” Helaena greeted the two chefs, to which they turned and nodded 'morning' back to her. Her face met yours and she grimaced.

You were glad she felt just as uneasy as you. 

At least you had each other. 

You grabbed a plate, following Helaena and piled it full of food that you wanted to eat, asking your friend where you could make some tea. Hel pointed you to a kettle, and you felt grateful that you would be able to make your own tea for breakfast. Though there was a sting in knowing that a certain silver haired man hadn’t done it for you.

“Good morning, girls.” A voice chirped from behind you, and you turned to face the auburn haired woman you had come to know well.

“Morning mum.” Helaena returned, eyes not lifting from where she piled another pancake upon her already high stack.

Alicent Hightower stood in a green dress shirt, darker green blazer thrown over the top, matched with a pair of black slacks and heels. She wore a dark red lipstick and gold jewellery, nails matching her lips. 

You couldn’t help but notice a similarity between her and Alys, but shrugged it away.

“Y/n,” Her hands were held in front of her, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Alicent stepped forward to kiss at the air beside both of your cheeks, a blush rising along your neck as you awkwardly and stiffly returned it. Her long curly hair was pulled back away from her face with a butterfly clip at the back of her head, and against her chest was a Seven Pointed Star.

You shook your head, “Thank you for having me. I’m sorry I-“

“-None of that.” She chastised in a motherly way, “You are always welcome here at any time.”

You wet your lips and nodded, “Thank you.”

“It has been a while since I saw you last. I trust you know your way around?”

“Kind of.”

“Not to worry, Helaena can make sure you don’t get lost.”

Helaena groaned, and Alicent shifted on her feet.

“I’m leaving for the day, have some work I need wrapped up.” 

Your lips parted, about to apologise for leaving your job on such short notice. 

A job at her firm no less.

She eyed your sudden shift and dismissed you, “No need to worry about this week, I have already informed Larys you are on carers leave for family business here.”

Carers leave?

But that was paid leave.

“Alicent I-“

Her look stopped you in your tracks. 

There was no arguing.

“Thank you.” You said again, feeling sheepish and all too overwhelmed with both her and Helaena’s generosity.

She nodded as though she approved of the way you had responded, as if it was the way that you should have responded, as though it was a response that had been written down in a book to be studied, ‘Duty to guests and hosts.’ 

Alicent Hightower stepped over to Helaena to kiss her cheek. You watched as her daughter shied away from it slightly, but allowed it nonetheless with a stiff spine. 

“Behave.” She warned her, before casting you one last smile, “If you need anything, let Criston know." And then she set off with a click of her heels.

Helaena rolled her eyes, grabbing her stack of pancakes as you finished making your tea. 

You both made your way outside to sit at a large table, eating your breakfast with hungry speed. It was a beautiful day. The sun shone warmly down on you, the sounds of birds was loud in the distant trees, and the softest of breezes rolled over your bare arms and legs.

“So, did you bring your swimmers?” Helaena asked, mouth full of pancakes.

You nodded in affirmation, “Uh huh.”

“Good,” She smiled, “We can claim the pool first if we hurry.”

“Claim? Hel, It's huge.”

She swallowed the chunk of pancake she had been chewing on, syrup on the corner of her lip that she licked off with a quick swipe of her tongue, “Yeah, and the boys have been having a pissing war with each other, calling dibs on the pool. It’s been driving me insane.”

You laughed softly, imaging Aegon and Daeron bickering amongst themselves, “Is Jace and Luc here yet?”

Helaena smiled, “Yeah, and they’re the worst of all.” She snickered, “Can’t know a moment of peace with those two. They’re so chatty. Not that Aegon helps. Daeron is more observing than usual which is nice.”

You were excited at the prospect of seeing Luc and Jace again, but you worried that the news of your arrival, the reasoning behind it would only cause more family rifts than there already were. 

“Don’t worry," Helaena began, her sixth sense picking up on your sudden quiet, “I won’t tell anyone what’s happened, okay?”

You nodded, “Okay.”

Helaena swiped a finger through the syrup on her plate. How she managed to inhale all seven pancakes in one sitting amazed you. She brought the sticky digit to her lips which she sucked clean.

“Let’s get changed and have a pool day!” She beamed, and her excitement rubbed onto you. 

-

You laid in the sun for hours side by side, intermittently jumping into the pool to cool off. 

Helaena told you about how her dad was doing, and from the sound of it, they expected him to pass any day now, which made you feel selfish in having intruded on their pre-mourning. But Helaena had shrugged, and told you that he had been sick for a very long time, most had already mourned his loss despite him still being there. It was a waiting game. And each morning they waited with bated breath to see if he would rise from his sleep.

It was brutal, but honest. 

Warmth spread over your body as you laid on your back in a pool chair, the heat of the sun almost pulling you into a nap from how comforting it was. It was nice to not be at work, and to be away from your apartment. To have a moment of respite and relaxation.

A shadow crossed over your body, and you frowned. 

Damn cloud.

“Boo.” 

You shrieked, jumping up from where you lay, eyes wide and darting up to a short silver head of hair, wild smile on his lips. 

Aegon.

“Egg, you prick.” Helaena groused, turning onto her side to look up at her brother, book long forgotten and large floppy hat tilted sideways on her head.

You sat up higher in the chair, looking up at Aegon as he smiled down at you, “Miss me?” He teased, waggling his brows at you.

You pulled a face. 

He was in his swim shorts and nothing else. 

Aegon was wider, stockier, and shorter than Aemond or the other siblings, who seemed to be made of long, graceful limbs. And Aegon was anything but graceful. His face was softer too, looking much more Alicent than any of them did. 

Aemond was the outlier with his sharp jaw and nose.

“Like a hole in the head.” You teased back, standing to hug him tightly. 

His embrace was warm, snug, and not at all as flirtatious as it once had been. 

“Enjoying the Palace goodies?”

“Go away.” Helaena whined, falling back onto her back, long groan pushed out of her chest. 

“Am I not allowed to say hello to our guest?”

“You’ve said hello. Now say goodbye. It’s our pool today.”

Aegon mock gasped, and you had to chew your cheek to not laugh, “What would mother dearest say? ‘Sharing is caring, Helaena.’”

The silver haired woman huffed, “You share a bit too much…” She grumbled quietly.

“What was that?”

A slender hand lifted and presented a solitary finger in Aegon’s direction. 

His laugh was contagious. 

Aegon sat himself down in the chair beside you, catching up on the both of your lives, bar your recent escapades with his brother, and you learnt that Aegon was considering studying at Kings Landing University but was undecided on what he wanted to do.

You watched as he eventually pulled himself to stand, looking down at you, “You coming in?” He asked, hand held out to you in invitation. 

“Nah, not yet. In a minute though.”

“Lame.”

Aegon ran and jumped, diving, ungracefully, into the water with a large splash near the edge, though it was more like a belly flop with arms that bent downwards to enter the water first. Water splashed out of the pool and small droplets landed on you, where as a large splash crashed onto Helaena. 

“Ah!” She cried, “You fucking asshole!”

Aegon came up, tossing his wet hair away from his face with a laugh, smirk pulling on his lips as he came up to the edge slowly. There was no denying that he was handsome, white teeth peeking through soft pink lips.

Helaena sat upright, “No.” 

Aegon’s smirk only widened.

“Aegon, don’t you fucking dare.”

His violet gaze flicked to you and then back to his sister. 

His mind was made up. 

His arm crashed against the surface of the water, sending it flying at Helaena. 

It soaked her in her seat, frustrated growl falling from her lips as she stood, throwing her soggy hat to the side. 

Aegon’s smirk dropped. 

You couldn’t control your laughter, stomach clenching as you watched Helaena jump nearly on top of Aegon’s head as he tried to swim away from her, her hands slapping at him and pulling his hair childishly. 

“Okay, okay, okay!! Mercy!” He cried, finally throwing Helaena from his back and into the water again. 

She emerged with a scowl, wet hair slicked backwards, “Douchebag. You ruined my book.”

“Buy another.”

“Ugh.”

“Did you see mother this morning?” Aegon looked at you finally, swimming over to you as he watched you sit on the waters edge, legs dangling into the pool. 

You nodded. 

“Oh good.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “She was worried she wouldn’t catch you. The twins will be here soon.”

“Thank the Gods.” Helaena praised, “I need a break from you and the boys stench.”

Aegon frowned, “Who says we stink?”

Helaena dipped her head into the water, sucking some into her cheeks as she spat it at her brothers face, his hand coming to shield it poorly, “Me.”

Aegon turned to face you again, “Do you see how mean she is to me? How do you even stand her?”

You smirked, biting at your bottom lip, “I don’t know what your talking about.”

His eyes narrowed, “The Stranger will get you for your lies and deceit.”

You spent the rest of the day in the sun, Aegon settling beside the two of you, his presence clearly annoying his sister, but you acted as a buffer and indulged him in minor conversation. Daeron had joined you a while later, and you had hugged him tightly to you.

When the day grew long and you had spent more than enough time in the suns rays, Helaena took you back to her room and the ensuite joined to it, insisting you shower and get yourself ready for some dinner. 

You washed your hair, running shampoo through it to get the smell of chlorine out. Helaena jumped in straight after, talking to you as you began to put some light makeup on in the large mirror at the double sinked basin. 

This was something you had missed in her absence. Getting ready together, talking and chatting mindlessly, playing music as loud as possible as the both of you sang as loudly as you could. You didn’t know just how much you had missed her until that moment, and a wave of sadness crashed over you. 

She wasn’t the only person you missed. 

Your mind strayed to Aemond. You wondered what he was doing. How he was feeling. You wondered if Alys was back in your apartment now that you were gone. 

Did she stay the night?

Was she in his bed with him?

Did she-

“Oi. Cut it out.” Helaena’s voice broke you out of your revery. 

She was wrapped in her towel, cheeks flushed pink from the sun and hair dripping down her back. 

You smiled at her sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“If I hear you say sorry once more, I’ll drown you in the pool.”

You held your hands up in surrender as she came beside you at the mirror, pulling down her skin care to rub moisturiser into her face and body. 

“What are you wearing tonight?” She asked you, long pale finger rubbing circles into her cheek as her lilac eyes locked onto your face in the mirror.

“Dunno. Something casual?”

Helaena screwed the lid of her moisturiser back on before putting it in its spot on the shelf, “Hmm. No. Wear something nice. A cute dress. Tonight we are letting loose.”

You chuckled at her, brushing mascara over your eyelashes, “I don’t need to dress up to let loose.”

“No, but I’m not having you mope about. Got enough of that as is from my mother and Eggy. Dress up for me,” She turned to you, putting on her best puppy dog eyes, bottom lip sticking out, “Please.”

Shaking your head you snickered, “Fine. So needy.”

“Yes!”

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[weirwoodswitch]

A Merciful King ☼ Chapter Two

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen II x Reader

Warnings: mentions of assault, cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of violence and death.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N:  I originally posted this series on TheGreensWhore. Unfortunately I got shadowbanned on there so I’m reposting all of amk onto here and will be posting further chapters on here instead of there.

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.

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