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randomdragonfires · 22 hours

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If The Sun Ever Rises | Chapter 5

Chapter 5 | Symptom Of Your Touch

SUMMARY | After narrowly escaping the Battle Above God’s Eye, Prince Aemond is now a hidden fugitive within the very kingdom he once ruled. Driven by vengeance, he plans to usurp Aegon III and avenge his family. His rage-blinded path to the throne begins with getting rid of Cregan Stark and the men who support his nephew’s rule. Having nothing to lose, he recklessly kidnaps the Northerner’s betrothed - his own niece - hoping to lure him and his men out to fight.

Soon, Aemond finds that memories of a first love are strong, and that he cannot steel his heart against the woman he has loved all his life.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; Canon Divergence - Aemond lives (but barely); Violence; Stockholm Syndrome; Mental and Physical Trauma; Angst; Canon Incest; Manipulation; No Happy Endings In This House YAY; Slow burn, I think?

WORD COUNT | 3k

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

As the first light of dawn began to creep through the mouth of the cave, she stirred from her slumber, the chill of the morning air seeping into her bones. Nestled near the entrance, she could see the forest floor spread out before her, bathed in the soft light of the rising sun. Beyond, the calm river wound its way through the trees, its tranquil waters shimmering like liquid silver in the early morning light.

With a sigh, she rose to her feet and stepped out, the soft earth cool beneath her bare soles. The forest lay silent around her - muted hues and shifting shadows as the sun cast its golden rays through the tangled branches overhead. But despite the tranquil beauty of her surroundings, there was a tension in the air that she couldn't quite shake. She dropped a hand into the river to drink, water going through her throat smoother than she ever thought possible.

Looking around, her eyes desperately searched for her uncle’s lithe form - but she could not spot him. Where has he gone?

It amazed her how quickly her heart had become too heavy to bear in his absence. She may be physically worn and barely holding on, but it seemed that her heart had taken a worse beating. Her mind churned with conflicting emotions, memories of happier times warring with the bitter taste of betrayal and hurt that lingered on her tongue. She couldn't shake the image of him standing over her, his features twisted with silent, dangerous rage as he pressed the cold edge of a knife against her throat. The fear that had gripped her in that moment still clung to her like a shadow, whispering of dangers yet unseen.

But beneath the fear, there was something else, something she couldn't quite name. A flicker of longing, perhaps, or the ghost of a love she had thought long extinguished. Despite everything, she couldn't deny the pull he still held over her, an undeniable force that drew her back to him time and time again.

All he had done in her presence was plot against peace, her brother and her betrothed - and somehow, her heart refused to let her see him for anything apart from the man she fell hard and fast for before their carefully curated world had crumbled from underneath their feet.

Setting her thoughts aside with a heavy heart, she laid a hand onto her stomach as the hunger settled in. She then assumed that he’d gone away to hunt and must be nearby. She shouldn’t move from here, she knew - but her feet carried her on their own accord as she scanned the underbrush for any sign of his presence. The forest remained stubbornly silent, its secrets hidden beneath layers of foliage and fallen leaves. The scent of pine and damp earth filled her nostrils, mingling with the distant echoes of birdsong and rustling leaves as she pushed deeper into the heart of the forest.

As she treaded cautiously through the forest, her senses heightened by the eerie silence that surrounded her, she caught the faint sound of footsteps behind her. Heart pounding, she spun around, expecting to find Aemond emerging from the shadows, but there was nothing. Only the whisper of the wind through the trees and the rustle of leaves underfoot.

Wary now, she continued on her path, her steps quickening with each passing moment. But before she could react, a strong arm wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back against a solid chest. She gasped in shock, struggling against the unseen assailant's hold, but his grip was firm and unyielding.

Not Aemond. It is all her mind manages to register as the man’s hands tighten around her, his beard nauseatingly close to her neck as it poked.

Not Aemond.

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond-

“Let me go,” she choked.

Amusement colored his voice as he spoke, his breath hot against her ear. "Wandered away from where you're supposed to be. Have ye, Princess? Trying to escape?" Her heart hammered in her chest as she thrashed against his hold, her scream dying on her lips as he silenced her with a quick, brutal motion. A blade pressed against her throat, its edge biting into her skin, drawing a bead of blood that trickled down her neck.

Helplessness. The feeling makes her want to retch.

Terrified and disoriented, she allowed him to guide her, her thoughts consumed by the fear of what Aemond would do when he found her gone. As they walked, she couldn't help but notice the sack slung over the man's shoulder, hanging by his side. Her confusion deepened when she caught sight of the worn-down skirt peeking through the edge of the pack, alongside short swords, jerkins, fruit, and scrolls bearing the unmistakable seal of House Hightower.

Of course. If anyone would help Aemond, it would be his mother’s family. How did she not think of this before?

“Who are you?”

“Quiet, Princess. I’m under instructions to not hurt you, but I don’t have much patience for girls, eh?”

She pushed her back against him firmly in what could only be described as an act of defiance, but she felt his cock harden against the swell of her backside. Immediately, the disgust took over her and she gritted her teeth together as the man guided their steps. His touch made her squirm, and she hoped she’d find Aemond in time.

The sigil of House Hightower. This man will not attack her.

But he was a man nonetheless. And she was a woman with no strength to summon and no one to help.

He won’t. He won’t. He won’t. Aemond will have his head.

He will. Won’t he?

As they approached the mouth of the cave once more, her eyes caught sight of a tall black horse tethered to a nearby tree, its powerful form standing sentinel in the dappled light filtering through the forest canopy. A sense of unease prickled at her skin as she wondered who could have left such a magnificent beast outside their secluded sanctuary. Was it this stranger? If he knew the cave, surely he had been here before?

Before she could ponder the mystery any further, the man behind her gave her a rough shove, propelling her forward into the comparative darkness of the cave. She stumbled, her hands reaching out to catch herself against the rough stone walls, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to regain her footing.

As she straightened up, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled over her like a heavy shroud. Despite her circumstances, the cave never felt like a prison closing in around her - but it did now.

House Hightower. They’re surely part of this. As she steadied herself, she couldn't help but wonder what twisted game fate had set in motion, bringing her back to the one place she had hoped to escape.

The man’s gaze lingered on her, a predatory smile curling his lips as he took in her disheveled appearance. His eyes roved over her with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something that made her skin crawl. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain her composure.

"You're quite the curious one, aren’t you Princess?"

She closed her eyes, turning her head away from him in a desperate attempt to block out his leering stare. She could feel his presence, his eyes boring into her, and it made her feel exposed and vulnerable. The cave's shadows seemed to stretch and twist, enclosing her in a suffocating grip.

The sound of footsteps approaching the cave’s entrance made her heart skip a beat. Hope and fear tangled together in her chest as she opened her eyes. Aemond emerged from the shadows, his one remaining eye flashing with a cold, dangerous light.

“You weren’t to speak to her, Hugh.”

“I wouldn’t have, but your little chit insisted on a little expedition. Luckily, I was around to bring her back to safety… was I not, Princess?” She did not look at either man, but she felt both their stares bore into her from where they stood - one amused, and the other furious.

“Regardless, I’m here for a reason,” Hugh said, and pushed the sack into Aemond’s hands. “I’ll be outside, Your Grace.” And with that, he was gone.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, but the fear of being manhandled by a stranger in a forest she did not know refused to dissipate. In all honesty however, she found it hard to be as shaken as she should have been - multiple instances of near death have a way of doing that, she supposed.

“Stay here. I need to speak with him. Will you listen to me?”

“Yes.” How could she say anything but?

She listened to Aemond's footsteps recede, accompanied by the other man's heavier tread. The silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by the distant murmur of the river and the rustling leaves outside the cave. She sat alone and the hours dragged by, daylight waning into twilight.

The cave felt stifling, its walls pressing in on her with a suffocating intensity. Desperate for a moment of respite, she ventured outside to the river, the moon casting a silver glow over the serene landscape. She slipped into the cool water, the sensation soothing her frayed nerves as she scrubbed away the remnants of her fear and uncertainty. Each stroke of the water against her skin felt like a balm, washing away the grime and the memories of the day's encounter. The cut from Hugh’s blade stung, but she couldn’t be bothered.

Returning to the cave, she noticed the dress inside the sack Hugh had left behind. Assuming it was for her, she shed her old damp clothes, letting it fall to the ground in a heap. The cool night air kissed her bare skin, sending a shiver down her spine as she dried herself with the rough fabric before slipping into it as quickly as she could to preserve what little was left of her modesty. The worn-out dress was unlike anything she’d ever worn before - old, ordinary and almost maidservant-like. It laced at the back, and she struggled to reach the ties, her fingers straining in vain. Frustration mounting, she gave up, her back left exposed to the moonlight filtering through the cave entrance.

And then she felt it. She felt the air change, a presence darkening the entrance of the cave.

She could always sense him before she saw him.

Aemond's stealthy, catlike steps approached, and she watched the shadows move before he even touched her. The heat of him, so close yet not quite touching, was intoxicating. His presence was a heady mix of danger and desire, making her pulse quicken and her thoughts blur. Every inch of her skin seemed to come alive under his gaze, her senses heightened to a near-painful awareness.

And then he touched her.

His fingers traced a line down her spine, sending a cascade of goosebumps across her skin. She held her breath, her body taut with anticipation and an unnameable yearning.

He’d brought her here against her free will. Abducted her, subjected her to hurt. She must not love him. She mustn't.

Oh but she did. She did she did she did-

Aemond's hand traveled to her collarbone, then down the front of her neckline, his touch firm and possessive as he cupped her breast. Her breath hitched as his lips brushed the back of her neck, the warmth of his kiss a stark contrast to the cool night air. A shiver ran through her, her body responding to his touch despite all that they’d been through.

For what seemed like years, Aemond leaned in closer, his face buried in her damp hair as he inhaled deeply. His hand remained inside her dress, fingers splayed over her skin in a possessive grip that sent waves of heat radiating from where he touched her. The sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming her senses and drowning out the lingering fear and uncertainty.

The blood of the dragon runs hot, he had once said. Hot indeed.

"Aemond," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, his lips trailing a line of fire down her skin. "You are mine," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "No one will ever take you from me."

She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t-

Before the war, their paths would never have crossed in such a way. Now, he was a fugitive, and she was betrothed - what future could they possibly have together?

Gathering her resolve, she lifted her head and looked into his eye with a determined gaze.

To fall out, or give in?

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” she managed to breathe out. “When all this is over, what will you do with me?”

Aemond's expression softened as he traced his fingers over her lips, his touch both tender and contemplative. She watched him, her heart in her throat, as he seemed to weigh his words. Finally, he sighed, leaning in to kiss her with a tenderness that took her breath away, all while his eye housed a dilated pupil so dark that she thought she could count stars.

"You will be my queen," he said softly, the conviction in his voice making her heart skip a beat.

Wasn’t that what she’d wanted her entire life?

To fall out, or give in? To fall out, or give in? To fall out, or give in? To fall out, or give in? To fall out, or-

For a still moment, they simply looked at each other, the intensity of the connection between them almost tangible. The weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future hung in the air, but in that instant, none of it mattered. All she could see was Aemond, the boy she had once known, and the man he had become.

Damn it all. Damn it to all Seven Hells.

I want him. I love him.

Throwing caution to the wind, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was both tentative and fervent. She gave in to her passing desires, letting them grow and burn her from the inside out. Her hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the silken strands as she deepened the kiss, pouring all her longing and desperation into it.

In that moment, she forgot about Cregan, Aegon, and all the tangled webs of duty and betrayal. It was just the two of them, as it had always meant to be. The world outside the cave ceased to exist, and all that remained was the fire between them, consuming and all-encompassing.

Aemond responded with equal fervor, his hands roaming over her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His kiss was hungry, filled with a need that matched her own.

His warmth seeped into her skin and ignited a fire in her veins. She barely dared to breathe as he pushed her into the cave wall and knelt down, his hands reaching for her bruised feet with a surprising gentleness. His touch was light, reverent almost, as he traced the contours of her ankles and then moved upward, lifting the skirts of her dress along. The fabric rustled softly, the sound mingling with the pounding of her heart.

His fingers brushed over her inner thighs, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure racing through her body. He was so close to her core, the anticipation making her breath hitch and her body tense with need. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the intoxicating blend of his touch and the heady sense of his dominance.

Aemond stood up, his breath warm against her ear before he captured her lips in a kiss and lifted her leg up to wrap around him. It was fierce, almost desperate, as if he were a man starved, finally tasting what he had long craved. She responded in kind, her hands fisting in his old linen shirt as she pulled him so close that neither knew where he ended and she began.

Between his kiss and his wandering hands, her head went light and hazy as she gave in to her desires. His fingers found their way to her slick folds and she gasped into his mouth - his touch both demanding and expertly gentle. The pressure built inside her with each stroke of his fingers pushing her closer to the edge.

Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her body arching into his touch as she felt the pleasure build, taut like a bowstring. His lips never left hers, their kiss deepening in intensity, a mirror of the growing storm within her. She could feel herself unraveling, every nerve ending alight with pleasure - the kind that she thought she’d never experience again.

How had she gone so far without him?

“Mine,” he said. His, his, his, his, his-

She always had been. In dreams and in desire.

With sped up ministrations, he sent her careening over the edge. Her peak crashed through her, a wave of ecstasy that left her trembling and breathless in his arms. Aemond held her tightly, his fingers still gently stroking her as she rode out the aftershocks of her release.

As she came down from the high, her body still shivered as she looked up at him. His one violet eye burned with a fierce, possessive light. He held her gaze as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with deliberate slowness. She blushed deeply, the intimacy of the act making her pulse quicken again.

He pulled her closer, her head resting against his chest as he whispered, "Mine, mine, mine." The steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest calmed her, grounding her in the moment. “My queen.”

Inhaling the smell of him, she watched over his shoulder as the river sparkled in the moonlight. “Yours."

In the distance, a pained wolf howled in pursuit.

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A/N: This feels a bit like I've completely forgotten how to write lol. It's been a while, please be a little nice about it hehe thanks loves!

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yoonivy · 2 days

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my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 6.

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

01| 02 | 03 | 04| 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

---

By the time the Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm, Aemond Targaryen, and his army arrive at Harrenhal; Daemon Targaryen had already abandoned the ruined castle.

All Aemond was left with was Ser Simon Strong and his blubbering excuses on why he gave up Harrenhal so quickly without much of a fight. Ser Simon said he recalled the previous House that occupied Harrenhal, House Hoare, and how their whole line was extinguished during the burning of Harrenhal. Seeing Daemon and his dragon, Caraxes, instilled a fear in his mind — and he saw Aegon the Conqueror and his dragon, Balerion, instead. He did not want the same fate for his family.

“So you are either a craven or a traitor,” Ser Criston Cole spits in disgust towards the Strong castellan. “I can’t decide which one is worse.”

(It is only Ser Criston beside Prince Aemond now helping to deal with the Strongs. The youngest Targaryen Prince had been commanded by the Prince Regent to head immediately back to Oldtown on his dragon on the day they were to march to Harrenhal after capturing Horn Hill. What confused Prince Daeron even more was the bundle shoved into his arms to take back home.)

Ser Simon does not look happy at all at the accusation, but what can he really say to refute it? He has already said his piece earlier. So he turns his attention to Prince Aemond once again and bows his head deeply in regret. “Your Grace, I know my words are cheap. But my family and I will do whatever it takes for you to believe that we will always be loyal to you and King Aegon.”

At the mention of Simon’s family, Aemond glances around the table, each one supposed to be present… but there are two faces he does not see among them.

“There’s one missing of your kin, isn’t there?” Aemond asks, but it sounds more like an allegation.

“Yes, your Grace… my… my grandson,” Ser Simon nods despondently. “He and his wife were two of the many casualties during Daemon’s invasion.”

Aemond’s throat suddenly closes up, like he cannot breathe. Visions of a girl he once had known like the back of his hand flickers in his head, all bloodied up with eyes that hold no more light in them wide open. The image does not leave him even when he tries to will them away, especially since he had so recently seen someone with very similar features in the same exact lifeless state.

“Sean fought and died valiantly to defend the honor of House Strong and King Aegon,” Ser Simon gruffs out, glowering at Ser Criston. “We did not merely just back down without a fight, we’ve lost—”

That has Aemond exhaling out raggedly. A sense of relief washing over him.

“No, not that one. Your other grandson — the younger one,” Aemond callously cuts off the castellan who is still mourning the death of his fallen family member. But Aemond does not care to eulogize the dead, he’ll be here forever if he does that. All he wants to know is what happened to her.

Ser Simon is taken aback, brows drawing together. “I– I beg your pardon, your grace?”

“I think he means Jeremy, uncle,” one of the Strong boys speaks up, reminding him.

“Ah,” Simon nods, understanding now. “Jeremy has gone to Bear Island a moon ago. His lady wife’s father is not in the best of health. But they’ll be back soon.”

She’s alright. She’s safe. She’s back where she belongs. She’s not dead.

The words are like a mantra in his head. Resounding over and over to ease his fried nerves.

“You let your grandson go to Black territory?” Ser Criston laughing in disbelief. “How are we to know you are not traitors just for that?”

Simon grimaces, face turning red in anger. “It’s not my fault. I cannot control my grandson when he is under the whims of his cunt of a wife–” He turns his glare to the Prince Regent, accusing, “This is your grandfather’s fault you know–”

This snaps Aemond out of his thoughts, belatedly and only half-listening. “What do you mean?”

As if suddenly remembering himself and who Aemond is, Ser Simon shakes his head. “I apologize, your Grace. I have spoken out of turn.”

Aemond shakes his head, not really caring. His mind is only focused on one thing only.

“When do you suppose they’ll be back?” He asks, and when Simon raises a brow, Aemond provides more context, “Lord Jeremy and his wife… I want all the Strongs here before I pass my judgment on what to do with your House.”

“They should be back in the coming week. When I had sent word of Daemon attacking Harrenhal two weeks ago, I got back a raven from Braeden Mormont just three days past that they already left to travel back a few weeks ago,” Simon then heaves a sigh, shaking his head. “But I don’t understand what having Jeremy here will change. My family are terrified and not to mention, traumatized, at what had just happened here. We do not need more stress in our lives waiting for what our fate will be.”

“So you’d rather I just make my decision – right here and now – without thinking about it?” Aemond asks, eye narrowed at the head of the House Strong.

“You should be grateful, Ser Simon,” Criston bites out. “Our initial plan was to just slaughter the traitors that you all are tonight, but our Prince Regent is merciful and is giving you lot an underserved period of time to prove your loyalty.”

The discovery of the initial plan has Simon shaking his boots, bowing multiple times towards Aemond and encouraging his family to do the same. “I apologize, your Grace. You’re right. Thank you. Thank you for giving us time to prove our loyalty.”

Aemond is sick of this now. He got the information that he wanted. Pinching between his brows, he waves them off to stop, “Alright, enough. I’m beyond exhausted…”

“Of course. I apologize, your Grace, I’ve not even considered your journey here,” Ser Simon then turns to a serving girl, and hurriedly beckons for her, “You! Take Prince Aemond to the imperial guest chamber! And make sure to provide him with anything he wants!”

---

Although it is true that he is exhausted (not even just from the travel but just — everything ), Aemond still finds himself wandering the halls of Harrenhal instead of crashing into bed after getting shown the guest chamber.

He tries not to think of why he is so curious enough to search around, pushing open every door that is unlocked. But it is pretty obvious why.

Aemond needs… He just needs some sort of proof that you were here. That you were living and breathing and alive , even if it was not with him.

After wandering for a while and just when he was about to give up, by some luck, the next room he steps foot in has him instantly freezing in his spot. It is not because of what he sees inside — for it is too dark for him to see anything, the only light is from the torches casting in from the hallway and the moon from the big open window — but from the smell that hits his senses.

The sudden warmth and comfort that it gives him, it is so wholly you.

Aemond grabs a torch from the hallway wall, then heads inside.

There is no doubt about it, although it is no bedchamber since it lacks a bed, this room is yours. Everything in there screams you. From the paintings scattered around and stacked against one another (some with people he knows and many others he doesn’t — he sees one of Jorah and immediately turns away), at all the other arts and crafts projects that hold your sweetness and care in them (you’ve taken up weaving now, evident from a weaving loom at the corner of the room), and the shelves filled to the brim with books that hold many of your favorites — some that he even recognizes that are his own that he had given you.

Aemond did not even realize that his eye was wet the whole time he had been looking around until he tastes the single salt tear on his mouth.

He quickly wipes it away, just as he bumps against a wooden desk. It causes a picture frame on the desk to fall over. He picks it up and is swept with devastation at what is in the frame.

It is a charcoal drawing, obviously done by you, of your husband, Jeremy Strong.

Objectively speaking, you’ve improved tremendously, your talent can even rival Dorothea’s now. But every little detail is drawn with care and obvious love in every line — and that is what has Aemond feeling venomous.

Why does he even care about what happens to you or your family? It’s obvious you don’t return the sentiment.

He slams the frame face back down in his fury, not knowing he is being watched.

“You should not be in here, your Grace. This room is Lady —”

At the sound of your name, Aemond grins bitterly, scoffing out a hollow chuckle. He looks over his shoulder, finding a dark haired woman standing by the door, looking displeased at him. “Ah… The Mormont girl? The one Ser Simon claims is a cunt?”

The woman's gaze on him narrows now, a look that could kill, not even caring it is the Prince Regent she is directing it at. “You should not repeat words that hold no truth. It is unbecoming of a prince. Especially one who is regent for the king… And I will not allow you to say such baseless things about my Lady in front of me, kinslayer .”

Aemond turns to face her head on, giving her his full attention. He is amused despite his irritation and indignation. This woman clearly cares for you enough to throw around insults that could get her head on spike — and to a prince who is wearing the crown of Aegon the Conqueror, no less.

“I see you seem to know me well, and yet I don’t know you…” He straightens, clasps his hand behind his back and cocks his head to the side. “So tell me… who are you exactly, my lady?”

---

“I’ll ask Alys to make more when I get back. I’m sure there’s a courier out there who would be willing to make the travel for the right price.”

Your mother sets the empty vial down on the bedside table before sitting back down on the stool she had placed next to her bed and offering you a wavering smile.

“Thank you, little cub,” she says, taking your father’s hand in hers. The tension on your father’s face slowly fades away as the concoction that Alys made for him takes in his system, allowing him to once again rest peacefully. “And please let sweet Alys know how grateful we all are for her help. She has been a saving grace to our family.”

With a soft smile, you let her know that you will.

Your mother is not even exaggerating. Alys has been the saving grace to your family. Not only had she concocted a medicine that works even better for easing pain than milk of the poppy for your father since his body does not take well to the latter; Alys also cured Dorothea’s son when he had been taken ill by greyscale. You really don’t know what you would do without your dear friend, she has become so important to you in more ways than one. You think of her as another sister now.

There is a knock on the door that has you looking over your shoulder behind you.

It is Braeden by the open door, eyes set on you. “May I speak to you, little cub?”

“Of course,” you tell him, getting up from the chair on the opposite side of the bed that your mother is at. Though instead of heading to your brother, you first crawl partway on your parent’s bed, feeling like a little kid again, brushing your lips on your father’s forehead and leaning to do the same on your mother’s cheeks. Your mother’s hand cups your face before you pull away and lays a sweet kiss on both your eyelids like she used to do all the time when you were young.

When your eyelids open again, your vision is blurry and wet.

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise her and your slumbering father. Your mother nods, her eyes on you tender but also melancholic. You’ve noticed that since you came back that they are always like that. They no longer hold the hard yet bright-eyed light that had earned the reverence of the people on Bear Island.

Your mother now… She is just so… sad.

You are quick to get off the bed, following after Braeden while you blink away the tears.

“Are you alright?” Braeden asks, hearing you sniffling behind him.

“‘M fine,” you tell him curtly, scrubbing at your eyes to make sure they stay dry.

Thankfully, he does not press any further and just leads you to his study — the one that used to be your father’s. But due to your father’s deteriorating health, Braeden has stepped up to be regent in his stead. Your oldest brother has been groomed for this since he was born — to be the head of House Mormont — but no one had anticipated for it to happen so soon.

Braeden closes the door behind him, then slips a scroll into your hands. You give him a look but he remains silent, walking to the window to stare out at the dreary night sky, weary-eyed and despondent. It seems your mother is not alone in her grief. Perhaps even the rest of your siblings share the same heaviness in their part of the Seven Kingdoms.

You wonder if you were to look in the mirror at this moment, would you see the reflection of your mother too?

The worn out sigh you let out might have just given you the answer to that question. It is to prepare yourself before you open the scroll, you have a feeling you might be needing it.

Dear Older Brother, Our loss at Rook’s Rest was devastating but at least our efforts there incapacitated the false King. Although now it is said that Aemond has taken over for him, leading the Green army as the Prince Regent. I saw him briefly in battle while he was on Vhagar. He is a formidable warrior and I just wish… I just wish he was on our side instead. But then I remember what he had done to Luke and I get furious all over again. Our next move is still up in the air, the Queen has nothing set in stone planned yet. But I am sure you will get a letter soon from Cregan Stark about how the North will rally to help. There is another news I wish to bring you and it is not a good one. We’ve been getting word that a blue dragon has been raising hell all over the Reach. Horn Hill is untouched for now but I’m afraid it won’t stay that way for long. I’ve sent a letter to Jorah to warn him and hopefully it reaches him in time. Please let me know how our father is doing and give my love to mother, Rebeca, Jeor, Marjorie and all the rest — and let me know when our little cub and Jeremy arrive, I promise to see you soon, Forrest

The scroll was written four weeks ago, made known by the date sprawled on the top.

You felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

“The blue dragon… That’s Prince Daeron’s dragon,” You recall, remembering the youngest Targaryen Prince. The sweet one that tried his hardest to make you laugh that first night you met him and the one you danced with for most of the night.

To read that he has been terrorizing the lands with his beautiful dragon, Tessarion, the one you saw can breathe out pretty flames of blue… You cannot fathom it for the life of you.

And to think he is doing it so close to where your dear brother lives… You feel like throwing up.

“You’ve still not gotten any letters from Jorah?”

Braeden shakes his head morosely. “I have not…” His hand then quickly covers his mouth, suppressing a choked sob. Without a second's delay, You stride over to him and you lay a comforting hand on his arm. He looks at you, eyes watering and yours start to well with tears as well. “I’m… I’m afraid, little cub. Forrest sent that letter four weeks ago… A lot can happen in four weeks.”

Your head shakes, trying your hardest not to let the tears fall once again. “You can’t… You cannot think of the worst, Braeden… Jorah, Renee and our unborn niece or nephew are all alright,” you take his hand in yours, and reassure once again, “They’re okay.”

Braeden nods sullenly, and you do not think you have ever seen him so broken before. Not even when you first arrived back on Bear Island, when he told you that your father was getting worse day by day. It might be because the thought of outliving his younger siblings does not sit right with him.

“I hope you are right, little cub,” Braeden murmurs. “I really hope you are right.”

---

The next morning, you look for your mother after you break your fast since she decided to forgo her own — which she has been doing quite often lately.

You check the Lord’s chamber first, finding your father sleeping in the bed, but your mother who is usually by his side is not there.

Not wanting to disturb your father’s rest, you don’t stick around. Though just when you were about to leave, you hear your father call your name, his voice weak and hoarse.

You turn and make your way to him. When you see him struggling to sit up, you quickly come to his aide.

Once he is comfortable, you settle on the chair beside the bed and lace your hand with his.

“I’m sorry I’ve not been a good host to you and Jeremy, darling,” your father apologizes with a wan smile.

You shake your head hurriedly with a tight smile. “ Stop , father. You’ve been wonderful.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do not cry.

But you think about how even though the last time you saw him was only three years ago and yet he looks he has aged at least ten more years since then has your heart aching.

You want to think about something else. Like how he used to be when you were younger — how strong he was, how he brought comfort to everyone on the island with just his mere presence, how you and all your siblings looked up to him.

Then you suddenly remember the time he has been so furious with you — probably the angriest he had been with you your whole life — and you feel the need to confess, “Jorah’s the one that cut my arm! But — in his defense, I pretty much provoked him to!” You take a deep breath after blurting that all out, and your father listens intently as you explain in a much calmer manner, “It’s because, when he would be assigned to practice fighting with me – and only me — he would never take it seriously and I hated it. Then he started that whole thing where he would sneak out to practice by himself so he can beat Forrest, and I followed him one night to practice too. But he wouldn’t challenge me so I called him a bunch of stuff that I knew would hurt him, and it did , and he lashed out and started swinging… And then, well… You know the rest.”

“You two told me that you ran into a knife in the kitchen that the kitchen maids didn’t clean up… Farlana almost lost her position,” Your father said, solemn-faced.

“I know,” you croak out, ashamed that your lie is the reason that Farlana, the head kitchen maid at Mormont Keep since even before you were born, almost lost her position. “So we asked Braeden for help and that’s why he told you he was the one who left it out… I’m so sorry, father, for lying and only now coming out with the truth…”

Your father pulls at your hand gently as he says, “Oh, little cub… Farlana was never going to lose her job.”

Your brows furrow together. “She… wasn’t?”

“No…” your father’s lips spread into a knowing smile, making you believe his seriousness just moments before was just an act all along. “Because I knew all along that you and Jorah weren’t exactly telling me the truth.”

Your mouth drops and he continues, “The way you two became thick as thieves after that to hide the truth… it’s because he didn’t want to get in trouble and you didn’t want to stop training, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. Maybe you should have known all along. He was curt and mad at you and Jorah for days , even if the whole incident was believed to be an accident.

“So… what awful names did you call Jorah?”

You gnaw at your lip, not sure if you should repeat what you said even though you remember every word, but your father encourages you with a jut of his chin your way. “Well… I think I started with the obvious ones… Wanker, dolt, tosser… Then some things more personal like how Renee will never like him, and how Forrest is so much better than him… And then I went back to name-calling, like runt of the litter, anklebiting moron, knobheaded bloodfly…”

“I see you got creative towards the end.”

“Yes…” you answer, guilt ridden. Then you lean in close to whisper, “... I even called him Vhagar’s dropping. ”

Much to your surprise, that has your father laughing — hard and joyful and just a little bit wheezy. His laugh reminds you of your grandmother’s, his mother, on one of her last days, the laugh that you were also the cause of by picking out the sapphire ball instead of a pretty jewelry from her collection.

And right then you knew, this might be the last time you’ll see your father happy like this.

So with that, you finally allow the tears to flow instead of bottling it up, springing up to throw your arms tight around him. He murmurs soothing words in your ears like you were just a little kid, and in his arms, you wish you still were.

You don’t let go of each other until Rebeca finds you later for a walk to the godswood.

---

When you and Rebeca get back to the courtyard of the Keep after praying at the godswoods, you find Jeremy and Braeden playing with the children. The two of you stand by to watch them running around, a game of tag and Jeor was it.

You laugh when Jeremy lets Jeor get him, falling to his knees on the ground with a groan. It's obviously exaggerated, but it doesn’t stop your nephew from gleefully grinning in triumph. He starts running before he gets up, but his poor younger sister, Marjorie – the softest of hearts, most certainly so at her tender age of seven – makes her way to your husband in concern.

When she reaches her hand out, about to pat his back, Jeremy looks up from the ground and pounces towards her with a roar, wrapping his arms around her and lifts her up to spin her around and around. Marjorie is shrieking, both from joy and cries of, “Uncle Jeremy! That is so mean!”

You laugh, watching on fondly. It is sweet how wonderful Jeremy is with children, and they all adore him as well. You are sure if you ask your nieces and nephews to choose between you or your husband, they’ll have trouble picking between the two of you. Not that you would ever, but you hope that they’d ultimately choose you in the end.

As Jeremy sets Marjorie down, she catches sight of you and her mother.

“Mom!” She shouts, running towards Rebeca and headbutting into her mother’s skirt before peering up, faking a yawn. “I’m tired.”

Jeor stomps over, arms crossing. “You’re only tired cause you’re it now!”

From over her shoulder, Marjorie sticks her tongue out at him causing her brother to glare at her.

Rebeca laughs, her hand soothing over the top of her daughter’s head, “You’ve all been outside for quite a long time today, anyway. We should all head inside to rest a bit and for something to eat.”

Jeor and some of the other children complain but Braeden walks up to his son and pats his shoulder. “Your mother’s right. And I’m sure the tarts Farlana was making this morning is ready by now,” he glances around at the kids, “Who wants to take a break and have some of those?”

The children are cheering now, following Braeden and Jeor inside. Rebeca picks up Marjorie and smiles your way when you smooth your hand down her back before she leaves too, passing by Jeremy who is jogging towards you.

“Hey,” your husband says, slightly out of breath.

“Hey,” you murmur back, kissing the sweet grin on his face. When you pull back, your lips curls into a teasing smirk. “You almost started another fight between Jeor and Majorie.”

He flushes with a chuckle, rubbing his hand at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, that almost got ugly…”

He then takes your hand in his, then cocks his head to the path leading to the village. “Walk with me.”

Nodding, you tighten your grasp on his hand and let him lead the two of you, walking instep with each other.

There is something about Bear Village that just feels so welcoming. Maybe it is because everyone knows each other, so the bustle in the town is always so cheerful and loud. All the villagers that pass by you and Jeremy are friendly and sweet, stopping for small talk that you happily indulge in. You don’t get this at Harrenhal – the villagers there keep to themselves, or maybe they just avoid you because you are a Lady of higher stature — so you really miss these warm conversations.

Reaching the town square, you and Jeremy are finally alone to just bask in the sun on this warm afternoon.

Hand still holding yours, Jeremy glances around, his sleepy eyes taking in the village fondly.

“I think we should make Bear Island our home,” is what Jeremy says that has your eyes widening to look over at him.

“What?” You blurt out dumbly.

His gaze is on you now, both his honeyed browns and his smile tender. “It may be bloody freezing here but there’s a warmth here too that I haven’t really felt in Harrenhal in all my life. And I can picture us raising our children here more than I can picture doing it there…”

If he notices the way your smile falters slightly at the mention of having children, he does not dwell on it. Still optimistic in that matter.

“But I think the most important part for me is that…” he trails off, now taking both your hands in his, “You are happier here. And that’s all the convincing I need to make the decision.”

Your features start to wobble, a feeling of happiness igniting in your veins at your husband’s sweetness. “Are you sure?”

Jeremy hums with a nod, pulling you closer towards him that your chest is pressed against his. “Yes, I’m sure. Once this stupid war is over and my duty at Harrenhal is no more, we shall live the rest of our happy lives here… So what do you think?”

Without another thought, you grasp his face between your hands and kiss his mouth over and over again, murmuring yes and yes and a thousand times yes.

---

“Jeremy and I discussed it last night. We can stay for another day or two if you’d like.”

Glancing over at you with a small grin, your mother shakes her head, patting your hand that is wrapped around her arm.

It is the day you are to leave for Harrenhal, so you spend the morning with your mother at the rampart of the keep, staring down at the place you are once again going to miss so terribly.

“We’ll be fine… Your father will be fine…” Your mother reassures you. “I also reckon that Ser Simon would not be too happy if Jeremy stays even another second here.”

Huffing, you roll your eyes. You do not care what Ser Simon wants or not.

“Little cub… Tell it to me true… Do you hold any ill feelings towards me?”

Your mother’s inquiry has you confused. “Why would I hold any ill feelings towards you, mother?”

You rack your brain for a reason for her question but you can not think of any. Your mother ends up answering it for you.

“Braeden got to marry his childhood best friend and the one he loves, Dorothea was smitten the moment she saw Tobias and thus we asked Lord Grover to introduce them…” As your mother continues, you have a feeling you know where she is going with this. “... and after years of pining, Jorah finally got his happy ending with Renee, and even Forrest is happily with Willam… But you…” your gaze turns blurry as you turn towards her, your mother’s gaze already on you as she chokes back a sob, “I– I told you to give up on Aemond.”

You remember it very well. A year passed already since Aegon’s and Helaena’s wedding, and yet every day you kept going to the docks and rookery, waiting for Aemond’s letters. It must have been so distressing to watch you, so lifeless and depressed and not all like yourself. It is no wonder your mother finally had enough and told it to you straight:

We are of House Mormont, my precious girl. We do not lie in wait, and especially not for a boy. Not even a prince. Because we are Mormonts, and Here We Stand.

Then she had set up a meeting between you and Jeremy despite your protest. You may have been angry with her back then, but now…

“You didn’t do anything wrong, mother,” you tell her, head shaking as you thumb away the tears falling on her face, feeling your cheeks are wet too. “I needed that wakeup call. I was so… unhappy. Just waiting and grieving for the living… I wasn’t in a good mental space. But now — I’m happy now. We might not have had a fairytale sort of romance but I love Jeremy.”

“Good. Good, ” your mother says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s all I want. For my precious little cub to be happy.”

A few minutes later, a guard interrupts the sweet moment between the two of you. “Lady Mormont. The ship leaving for the mainland is boarding soon.”

When he leaves, your mother has some final words for you, “I need you to stay safe. I cannot bear to lose any more of my bears.”

Brows furrowing together, you whisper to her, “You haven’t lost any of us…”

“No,” your mother breathes out, and yet there seems to be something in her weak smile that seems to say otherwise. A mother’s intuition, perhaps. “Not yet.”

---

A fortnight pass and you are almost back at Harrenhal.

At the last stretch of the journey, only a few hours away from the castle, Jeremy offers for you to ride with him so you can rest against his back. Since you decided to forgo riding in a wheelhouse to avoid attention, you’ve been riding a horse of your own. It is tiring since you are not used to it, so you climb onto Jeremy’s horse and wrap your arms around your husband’s waist.

You drift in and out of sleep, but what wakes you up fully is when one of the Strong bannerman traveling with you exclaims out loud, “What in the Seven Hells is that?!”

The way Jeremy stiffens against you has you worried, lifting yourself up to peer over his shoulder.

And that is when you see her.

As menacing and as colossal as you remember, coiled around one side of the Harrenhal castle.

Vhagar.

The sight of the dragon has your stomach swooping — you are not sure if it is from anticipation or anxiety. Probably a little bit of both. Because wherever the shedragon is, her rider will surely be there as well.

---

The walk to the castle is strange. The people of Harrenhal are even more eerily cold than usual. They did not smile or greet you warmly, only harsh murmuring filled your ears. It makes you think that at the time when you and Jeremy were away, you had missed something big.

It makes you thankful for the tight hold Jeremy has on your hand, but the energy emanating off your sweet husband is not at all how he was on Bear Island. He is rigid and tense, and you have a feeling you know why.

As you approach the front of the castle, the Strong court is already awaiting your arrival at the top of the steps. Ser Simon is at the forefront, domineering and stone faced as always. Your gaze roams, and yet there is no sight of the pale haired prince in the lineup. There are a few missing faces as well, like Jeremy’s brother, Sean.

“You two are finally back,” Ser Simon gruffly spouts, already unhappy. “Took you long enough.”

“I’m sorry, grandfather,” is all Jeremy could really say, bowing towards the castellan. You curtsy low in respect as well, not wanting to start trouble as soon as you arrive.

“Come,” Ser Simon motions for you to follow, already turning on his heels. “We have a lot to discuss.”

Jeremy and you share a glance before following him, dread in the pit of your stomach. You can not explain why but you do not have a good feeling about what is coming.

As soon as you step inside the castle, you remember why you hate it here so much. It’s cold. So cold, and —

Suddenly you envelope in warmth and the smell of cinnamon.

“Alys!” You laugh, squeezing her as close as she is squeezing you. “I’ve missed you so, so much!”

“And I you,” she murmurs, leaning away so you can witness her rare smiles. “How is your father?”

“He is… alright, when we left,” you tell her, pressing your lips together. “He does need more of that medicine you made for him.”

“Of course, I’ll get to it as soon as I can, My Lady,” Alys tells you as she loosens her arms around you. She then turns to greet your husband and as she does, someone steps forward and wraps their arm around Alys’ waist.

With a tilt of your head and your brows furrowing, you glance up in question — only to gasp softly when an all too familiar smirk graces your vision.

Although he has a possessive grip on your dearest friend’s hip, Aemond Targaryen’s eye is solely on you.

“Welcome back… Lady Mormont.”

#hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #aemond #aemond targaryen

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nezu-mi · 3 days

Text

second son

#myart #sketch #digital sketch #digital art #csp #clip studio #clip studio art #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanart #aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond

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kckt88 · 1 day

Text

The Lost Dragon 2 - I'll Never Let You Go.

Summary:

A King loses his Queen.

Warnings - Death, Grief, Mourning.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

Word Count: 5890

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

"Vaelys, my love," Aemond began, his voice barely audible. "Please, don't leave me. I can't cope without you. You're my strength, my light. I don't know how to live in a world where you're not by my side."

He squeezed her hand gently, as if the mere act could tether her soul to this world. "I can't lose you," he continued, his sobs growing more pronounced. "I won't survive it. You're everything to me, Vaelys. My Queen, my heart. I don't know how to go on without you."

Aemond's tears fell onto her blanket, creating tiny, darkened spots on the fabric. He pressed his forehead onto her shoulder, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. "-I love you so much."

The room seemed to close in around him, the oppressive silence amplifying his grief. He could hear the distant murmurs of the Maesters, but their words were meaningless to him now. All that mattered was the woman lying in his arms, the woman who held his heart.

The realm could go to the seven hells, for all he cared.

As the night deepened, Aemond continued to whisper his desperate pleas, his voice raw with emotion. "You promised me a lifetime, Vaelys. Don't let this be the end. I can't do this without you. Please, come back to me. Please-"

Exhausted, he laid his head beside hers on the pillow, still holding her hand tightly, his tears mingling with the strands of her silver hair.

As dawn's light began to seep through the heavy curtains of the chamber, Vaelys stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and she found Aemond still nestled beside her, his face etched with worry and exhaustion. His eye, though filled with sorrow, softened as he saw her wake. He leaned in, his breath catching in his throat.

"Vaelys," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

Vaelys managed a faint smile, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek. "Aemond," she said softly, her voice weak but filled with love. "My brave dragon. My heart."

Aemond clutched her hand, bringing it to his lips. "I'm afraid," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I don't know how to live without you."

Vaelys shook her head gently. "Aemond, my love, you have given me everything. Because of you, I've had a life filled with joy, with love. Our children-they are a testament to our bond. You've made me the happiest woman in the world."

Tears welled up in Aemond's eye again, but he listened intently, holding onto her every word.

"You are my twin flame," she continued, her voice growing steadier. "In you, I found my other half, my soulmate. We've faced so much together, and through it all, you've been my rock, my strength. I am so grateful for every moment we've shared."

Aemond's tears fell freely now, his heart aching with the intensity of his love for her. "Vaelys, I don't want to face the world without you. You are my everything."

Vaelys smiled, her eyes shining with affection and a deep, abiding love. "And you are mine, Aemond. Always remember that no matter what happens. Our love is eternal. It transcends time, and nothing can change that."

She took a shaky breath, her gaze never leaving his. "You have to be strong, for our children, for our legacy."

Aemond nodded, though his heart felt like it was breaking. "I will, Vaelys. I promise. But please, don't leave me-"

Vaelys cupped his face with her hand, her touch gentle and filled with tenderness. "I love you, Aemond. More than words can express. No matter where I am, a part of me will always be with you. In your heart, in our children's laughter, in the legacy we've built together."

She closed her eyes, her strength waning. "Thank you for loving me, for giving me a life filled with wonder and joy. I will always be with you, my love. Always."

Vaelys stirred, her eyes fluttering open to meet Aemond’s. She managed a faint smile, her hand weakly reaching up to touch his cheek. "My Aemond," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "My dragon."

Aemond leaned in closer, his heart aching. "Vaelys, I'm here," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm right here."

"I’m so tired, Aemond," she admitted, her voice frail and filled with exhaustion. "So very tired."

Aemond's tears began to fall, dropping onto the silken blankets that covered her. "I know, my love," he said, his voice breaking.

Vaelys looked at him with eyes full of love and sorrow. "I-I don’t want to leave you," she whispered, her voice quivering.

Aemond clutched her hand even tighter, his tears flowing freely now. "If you need to rest, Vaelys, you can," he said, though every word felt like a dagger to his heart. "If you need to go, it’s okay-“

Vaelys' eyes filled with tears as well, and she nodded weakly. "I love you, Aemond. More than anything in this world. You’ve given me a life filled with love and joy. I will always be with you, in your heart."

Aemond leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "And I will always love you, Vaelys. Forever and always."

Vaelys' hand slipped from his cheek, and her eyes closed as her strength finally waned. She took one last, shallow breath, her body relaxing in his arms. Aemond felt her go limp, a wrenching sob escaping his lips as he realized she was gone.

"Vaelys-" whispered Aemond, his voice breaking.

He held her close, his body shaking with the force of his grief. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire and the sound of Aemond's heartbroken sobs. In that moment, the world seemed to stop, and Aemond knew that nothing would ever be the same without his beloved Queen.

Aemond screams of heartbreak and anguish echoed throughout the Red Keep, a mournful sound that reached the ears of everyone within its walls. The guards outside the chamber exchanged solemn glances, their hearts heavy with the sorrow that filled the air. Servants paused in their duties, bowing their heads in silent respect for the King Consort's grief.

Aemond rocked back and forth, holding Vaelys tightly, as if his embrace alone could somehow bring her back. "I love you," he sobbed, his voice hoarse and desperate. "I love you more than anything. You were my everything, my heart, my soul. How am I supposed to go on without you?"

He pressed his forehead against hers, his body wracked with uncontrollable sobs. The room felt colder, emptier, as if the very essence of joy and life had been stripped away with her passing. "Vaelys, please," he whispered, his voice a broken plea. "-Not yet."

But there was no response, no gentle touch to soothe his pain, no loving words to ease his despair. Vaelys was gone, her spirit departed, leaving Aemond to face a world that felt unbearably dark and empty without her.

As his cries of grief continued to echo through the Red Keep, the people within its walls mourned alongside their king consort.

"Your Grace, please allow us to enter. We must tend to the Queen."

Aemond's response was immediate and fierce. "NO" he shouted, his voice raw with anguish. "No one is to enter. No one will touch her."

Maester Clarke exchanged a worried glance with the other servants and guards. "Your Grace," he tried again, his tone gentle but insistent, "-The Silent Sisters must be allowed to prepare her- It is tradition."

Aemond's grip on Vaelys tightened, his eye blazing with a mixture of sorrow and fury. "I won't let them take her," he said, his voice breaking. "I won't let anyone take her from me."

"Father," called Sovia softly, "Please. Let us in-let them help. Mother deserves the proper rites."

Aemond shook his head vehemently, tears streaming down his face. "No. I can't let her go. I can't bear it."

"Father, we understand your pain, but Mother wouldn't want this. She would want us to honour her properly,” said Daevyn.

"We must be strong, Father. For Mother. For each other. She would want us to carry on, to honour her memory with dignity” whispered Aemon.

Aemond's body shook with sobs as he held Vaelys closer. "I can't," he cried. "I can't say goodbye."

“We're here, Father," Rekara said softly. "We're all here to help-to get through this together. But you need to let them in."

“Father-“ uttered Jacaerys.

But Aemond would not be swayed. His grief had turned to rage, a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him. "I won't listen to any of you!" he spat, his voice thick with anger. "I won't let anyone take her away from me!"

"Grandpa-it's Vhalarr. Can I come in?"

With a heavy sigh, he rose from his seat, his steps heavy as he approached the door.

Slowly, he opened it just a crack, his eye meeting Vhalarr's with a mixture of grief and gratitude.

Vhalarr stepped into the chamber, his heart aching at the sight of his grandfather's pain. He crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The room was silent save for the sound of their breathing, the weight of their grief hanging heavy in the air. Aemond stood before him, a broken figure bathed in shadows, his sorrow etched deep into the lines of his face.

Vhalarr approached him slowly, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. "Grandpa," he said gently, his voice filled with compassion. "I'm here for you. Whatever you need, I'm here."

As Aemond turned to face him, his facade of strength crumbled, and he collapsed into Vhalarr's arms, his body wracked with sobs. Vhalarr caught him instinctively, holding him close as the weight of his grief threatened to crush him.

Aemond's cries echoed through the chamber, a raw and anguished sound that tore at Vhalarr's heart. He held his grandfather tightly, offering what little comfort he could, knowing that no words could ease the pain of losing someone so dear.

For what felt like an eternity, they remained locked in their embrace, the only sound the desperate sound of Aemond's weeping.

"Grandpa," Vhalarr said gently, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart. "I know this is hard, but we need to let the Silent Sisters in. They can help prepare Grandma for her final journey."

Aemond's body tensed at the mention of the Silent Sisters, his grief-fuelled resolve still strong. But Vhalarr held onto him tighter, refusing to let him push everyone away.

"They will treat her with the utmost respect, Grandpa," Vhalarr continued, his voice soft but firm.

Aemond remained silent for a long moment, his body trembling with silent sobs. Vhalarr could feel the weight of his grandfather's grief pressing down on him, threatening to drown them both.

Finally, with a shaky breath, Aemond nodded, his resistance crumbling in the face of Vhalarr's unwavering support. "Okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the echoes of his sorrow. "Let them in."

Vhalarr released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, relief flooding through him. With gentle hands, he helped Aemond to his feet, guiding him to the bed where Vaelys lay.

Together, they watched as the Silent Sisters entered the chamber, their movements graceful and reverent as they approached the bed.

But as they moved to lift Vaelys from the bed, Aemond's hand shot out, grasping the edge of the sheet with a fierce determination. "No," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

The Silent Sisters exchanged uneasy glances, "We must take her now, Your Grace," one of the sisters said gently, her voice filled with sympathy. "It is not proper for you to witness-"

But Aemond cut her off with a fierce shake of his head. "I don't care about propriety," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I won't leave her side. Not now, not ever."

Vhalarr stepped forward, placing a hand on his grandfather's shoulder, his eyes filled with understanding. "Grandpa," he said softly, "Please. Let them take her-“

But Aemond's gaze remained fixed on Vaelys' still form, his determination unwavering. "I won't leave her," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't."

In the chambers of the Silent Sisters, Aemond stood with a heavy heart, watching as they prepared Vaelys' body. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and the hushed whispers of the sisters as they went about their sacred task.

As they reached for the linens to wrap Vaelys' body, Aemond's hand shot out, his voice firm and resolute. "Stop," he said, his tone commanding yet filled with a quiet intensity. "I'll do it. I shall be the last to touch her"

The Silent Sisters hesitated, surprised by Aemond's sudden assertion. But they could see the determination in his eye, the love and reverence he held for his beloved wife.

With a nod of understanding, they stepped back, allowing Aemond to approach Vaelys' still form. He stood before her, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to gently caress her cold cheek, his touch lingering with a tenderness born of a lifetime of love.

Leaning down, Aemond pressed a soft kiss to Vaelys' forehead, his lips lingering against her pale skin for a moment before he straightened, his resolve firm.

“I love you-“

With steady hands, he began to wrap her body in the white linens, his movements slow and deliberate. Each fold was a testament to the depth of his love, a silent vow to honour her memory with the utmost care and reverence.

As he worked, the Silent Sisters watched in silence, their hearts heavy with sympathy for the grieving King Consort.

But Aemond remained steadfast, his focus unwavering as he carefully completed the task. And when he was done, he stood back, his hands resting on the shrouded form of his beloved wife.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Aemond looked upon Vaelys one last time, his heart heavy with grief yet filled with a quiet sense of peace.

With a choked sob, Aemond collapsed to his knees, his body wracked with the force of his grief. His cries echoed through the silent chamber, a haunting lament for the woman he had loved so deeply the woman who had been his everything.

Aemond felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support and understanding. He looked up through tear-blurred eyes to see Vhalarr standing beside him, his own cheeks stained with tears.

"Grandpa," Vhalarr said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're not alone. I'm here with you."

Aemond lay curled up on the bed he had shared with Vaelys, her absence a palpable ache in the air. The scent of her lingered on the sheets, a haunting reminder of the love they had shared and the emptiness that now filled his heart.

Suddenly, the door swung open, flooding the room with light and the sound of hushed whispers. Aemond looked up, his eye bleary with tears, to see his children entering the room, their faces etched with sorrow and compassion.

Without a word, they climbed onto the bed, surrounding their father with their presence. One by one, they wrapped their arms around him, pulling him close in a silent embrace.

Aemond buried his face in the crook of Sovia's neck, his body shaking with silent sobs. Daevyn placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, his own tears mingling with his father's. Aemon and Rekara held onto him tightly, offering silent support, while Jacaerys leaned in close, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"We're here, Father," he said softly. "We're here for you."

Together, they lay on the bed, their bodies forming a protective circle around Aemond. They held him close, offering what little comfort they could as he grieved the loss of the woman who had been the heart of their family.

As the sombre toll of the bells echoed through the streets of King's Landing, the city mourned the passing of their beloved Queen. The people lined the cobblestone streets, their faces etched with sorrow as they watched the procession pass by.

Flower petals drifted through the air like tears, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to the grey skies above. The scent of roses and lilies mingled with the heavy weight of grief, filling the air with a bittersweet fragrance.

At the head of the procession, a grand carriage draped in black carried the shrouded form of Queen Vaelys.

But it was not the carriage that drew the attention of the crowd—it was the figure walking behind it, his head bowed, and his shoulders stooped with the weight of his sorrow.

Aemond had, refused to sit in a carriage or ride a horse. Instead, he walked behind his Queen, his steps slow and measured, his gaze fixed on the ground before him.

With each step, Aemond felt the weight of his grief pressing down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its relentless weight.

The people of King's Landing watched in silence as Aemond passed by, their hearts heavy with sympathy for the grieving King Consort.

But as they lined the streets, their silent presence spoke volumes, a testament to the love and respect they held for their Queen and the man who had loved her so fiercely. And as the funeral procession disappeared from view, Aemond walked on, his silent vigil a poignant tribute to the woman who had meant everything to him.

As the funeral procession wound its solemn path through the streets of King's Landing, the sky above was suddenly filled with the majestic form of Vermithor.

With each powerful beat of his wings, he soared through the air, his massive form casting a shadow over the grieving city below.

The mournful song of Vermithor echoed through the streets, a haunting melody that seemed to pierce the hearts of all who heard it. His sorrowful cries filled the air, a lament for the loss of his beloved rider.

As the funeral procession reached the grassy banks outside of King's Landing, Aemond stood with a heavy heart, his eyes fixed on the spot where Vaelys' body now lay. The air was heavy with grief, the solemnity of the moment weighing down on him like a leaden cloak.

With a deep breath, Aemond approached the pyre, his steps slow and deliberate. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked down at Vaelys' shrouded form.

In his shaking hands, he held a daisy chain-made by his youngest great granddaughter, a simple yet poignant symbol of the love they had shared. With trembling fingers, he placed it gently on her wrapped body, the delicate flowers a stark contrast to the starkness of death.

Closing his eye, Aemond bowed his head in silent prayer, his thoughts filled with memories of the woman he had loved so deeply. He whispered words of farewell, his voice barely more than a whisper, as tears streamed down his cheeks.

And then, as if in response to his grief, Vhagar descended from the sky with a thunderous roar. Her massive wings beat the air, stirring up clouds of dust and debris as she landed beside the pyre, the great dragon lowering her head low in a silent gesture of sorrow and respect for the passing of her rider’s love.

The time had come for him to give the command to Vhagar, to ignite the pyre and send his beloved Queen on her final journey.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, to utter the word that would set the flames alight, he found that the words wouldn't come. His throat felt tight, his tongue heavy with the weight of his sorrow. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to give the command.

A sense of panic washed over Aemond as he struggled to find his voice, his hands trembling at his sides.

But then, a gentle hand slipped into his own, grounding him in the present moment. Aemond looked up to see Sovia, standing beside him, her eyes filled with determination and strength.

Without a word, Sovia glanced towards Silverwing, who stood nearby, and in that moment, Aemond understood.

With her voice firm and unwavering, Sovia gave the command that Aemond could not. "Dracarys," she said, her voice carrying across the quiet clearing.

As the flames roared and danced before him, casting a flickering glow over the clearing, Aemond felt an overwhelming urge to step forward, to immerse himself in the searing heat of the dragon's fire. It was as if a voice whispered to him, urging him to join his beloved Queen in her final journey.

With a heavy heart, Aemond took a tentative step forward, his eye fixed on the blazing pyre before him. For a brief, fleeting instant, it seemed as though he would surrender himself to the flames, to the consuming embrace of fire and ash.

But then, as if sensing his intentions, the hands of his children closed around him, pulling him back. Their grip was firm and unwavering, their voices filled with concern and determination.

"Father, no!" Sovia cried out, her voice echoing through the clearing.

Aemond looked into the eyes of his children, his heart heavy with sorrow and gratitude. In that moment, he realized the depth of their love, the strength of their bond.

With a trembling breath, Aemond allowed himself to be pulled back from the flames, his steps faltering as he collapsed into the arms of his children.

Sovia stood at the forefront, her expression stoic yet resolute. Her mother's crown, a symbol of power and authority, was placed upon her head with great reverence, its weight a reminder of the responsibilities that now rested upon her shoulders.

Beside her stood her husband, Daevyn, his own expression solemn yet supportive. The crown of their father, now passed down to him, sat upon his head, a testament to the legacy of their family.

With a steady voice, the High Septon stepped forward, his words echoing through the clearing as he declared Sovia the new queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The crowd fell silent, their eyes fixed on the newly crowned queen and her king consort, their hearts heavy with the weight of the moment.

Sovia held herself with grace and dignity as she accepted her new role, her gaze unwavering as she surveyed the faces of her subjects. She knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and trials, but she was determined to lead her people with wisdom and compassion, just as her mother had done before her.

Beside her, Daevyn stood tall and proud, his hand clasped tightly in hers as they faced the future together.

Alone in the dimly lit chambers of the Red Keep, Aemond sat in solitude, his heart heavy with grief and his mind consumed by memories of the woman he had loved with all his being.

The coronation of his children, Sovia and Daevyn, should have been a moment of great joy and celebration, a testament to the enduring strength of their family and the resilience of the realm.

But for Aemond, the thought of attending such an event was unbearable.

Instead, he remained hidden away in his chambers. He sat before the crackling fireplace, the warmth of the flames a stark contrast to the cold emptiness that filled his heart.

In his trembling hands, he clutched a robe that belonged to Vaelys. The fabric was soft and worn, the scent of her perfume lingering on it like a bittersweet reminder of the life they had shared together.

With each breath, Aemond drank in the familiar scent, allowing it to envelop him in a cocoon of memories and longing. He closed his eye, his mind drifting back to happier times, when laughter and love had filled the halls of the Red Keep, and Vaelys had been by his side, radiant and full of life.

But now she was gone, her absence a gaping hole in his heart that could never be filled. And though he knew he should attend the coronation of his children, to fulfil his duty as the previous King Consort, he could not bring himself to leave the safety of his chambers.

Eventually exhaustion overtook him. His eyelid growing heavy with the weight of his sorrow, and soon, he succumbed to the embrace of sleep.

In the quiet of the chamber, the flickering flames of the fireplace cast dancing shadows across the room, and Aemond drifted into a fitful slumber. His dreams were haunted by memories of Vaelys, her laughter echoing in the recesses of his mind, her gentle touch a fleeting sensation against his skin.

But as sleep began to loosen its grip on him, Aemond felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, pulling him back to consciousness. He stirred, his mind still clouded with the haze of sleep, and for a brief moment, he thought he heard Vaelys' voice calling his name.

"Vaelys?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep as he reached out instinctively, expecting to find her warm embrace.

But instead, his hand met with empty air, and he blinked away the remnants of his dreams to find Sovia standing before him, her face etched with concern.

"Father," she said softly, her voice breaking through the fog of his mind. "It's me, Sovia."

Aemond's heart clenched with a sudden surge of grief as reality crashed over him like a tidal wave. He looked up at his daughter, his eyes brimming with tears, and in that moment, he saw the ghost of Vaelys reflected in her features.

"Sovia," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry. I thought-"

But Sovia reached out a hand, gently brushing away the tears that streaked his cheeks. "It's okay, Father," she said, her voice filled with compassion. "I understand."

And in that moment, Aemond felt his grief swallow him whole once more, consuming him with its overwhelming intensity. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as the weight of his loss pressed down upon him like a leaden shroud.

Sovia knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around him in a comforting embrace, offering him solace in the midst of his pain. And as they sat together in the quiet of the chamber, father and daughter bound by their shared sorrow.

In the weeks that followed Vaelys' death, Aemond retreated further into the solitude of his grief, his heart heavy with the weight of his loss. The once vibrant halls of the Red Keep now felt empty and cold, their echoes a painful reminder of the woman who had brought light and warmth into his life.

Day after day, Aemond shut himself away in his chambers, seeking solace in the silence and solitude. He spent hours sitting before the fireplace, the flames casting flickering shadows across the room as he stared into the dancing embers, lost in memories of the past.

At times, he would take out parchment and quill, penning letters to Vaelys that he knew she would never read. He poured his heart out onto the page, his words a desperate plea to the heavens, a futile attempt to bridge the chasm that now separated them.

But no matter how many letters he wrote, no matter how many tears he shed, the ache of his loss remained unchanged, a gaping wound that refused to heal. And so, he would sit, lost in his thoughts, his heart heavy with the burden of his grief, praying to whoever was listening to just let him die, he had promised her-but this was one promise he couldn’t keep, he couldn’t exist without her-he didn’t want to exist without her.

Outside his window, the sky stretched endlessly overhead, a vast expanse of blue that seemed to mock him with its boundless freedom. Aemond would stare up at the heavens, his eyes tracing the path of the stars as they shimmered in the darkness, wondering if somewhere among them, Vaelys was watching over him.

But no matter how long he stared, no matter how hard he searched, he found no solace in the vastness of the sky. For his queen was gone, lost to him forever, and no amount of longing or despair could bring her back.

As Aemond lay in bed, enveloped in the silence of his chambers, he felt the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. The memories of Vaelys haunted him, her absence a constant ache in his heart that refused to fade.

And then, as if from the depths of his own longing, he heard her voice—a soft, melodic whisper that sent shivers down his spine. It was as if she were calling out to him from beyond the veil, a beckoning from a world he could not see.

For a moment, Aemond's heart soared with hope, his mind filled with the possibility of reunion with his beloved Queen. He closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat as he reached out, as if to grasp hold of her ephemeral presence.

But then, a sense of peace washed over him, a calmness that seemed to settle deep within his soul. He realized then that he was ready, ready to let go of the pain and sorrow that had consumed him for so long.

With a sense of finality, Aemond closed his eye once more, surrendering himself to the embrace of the unknown. He felt as though something were reaching out for him, a gentle hand guiding him towards the light.

As Aemond slowly stirred from his slumber, he was met with a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Surrounding him was a blinding light, so intense that it seemed to sear through the darkness of his dreams and into the waking world.

Blinking against the brightness, Aemond raised a hand to shield his face, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Everything felt strange, yet familiar at the same time, he was in his chambers but as his vision began to adjust to the light, Aemond realized something even more astonishing—there was no pain. No dull ache that had plagued him for so long, no phantom twinge of the scar that had marred his face since childhood.

With trembling fingers, he reached up to touch his face, his breath catching in his throat as he realized what he had found. His left eye, the one that had been lost to him for so many years, was whole once more.

It was a sensation he had almost forgotten, the feeling of having two eyes instead of one.

He stood in front of the looking glass and was stunned at his youthful reflection staring back at him, over the years his hair hair grown grey and his face lined with wrinkles but here now-his hair was silver and his face smooth and sculpted.

What was going on?

As Aemond stood in the threshold of his chambers, the sound of laughter danced on the air, drawing him irresistibly forward. With each step he took, the laughter grew louder, filling him with a sense of warmth and joy.

And then, he stepped through the doorway and found himself standing in the midst of the gardens, bathed in the golden light of the sun. The warmth of its rays washed over him, chasing away the shadows of his grief and filling him with a sense of renewal.

Beneath his feet, the grass was soft and, tickling his bare skin as he walked. The scent of flowers hung heavy in the air, their delicate fragrance a symphony of colours and shapes that surrounded him on all sides.

And as he wandered through the garden, basking in the warmth of the sun and the gentle embrace of nature, Aemond felt a sense of peace settle over him.

Then he saw her, sitting amidst a bed of wildflowers, her hands deftly weaving daisy chains with a grace and ease that took his breath away.

She looked so beautiful, her youthful skin glowing in the warm sunlight, her smile radiant. Aemond's heart swelled with a mixture of joy and disbelief as he watched her, unable to tear his eyes away from the vision before him.

"Vaelys," he whispered, his voice trembling with awe and love.

She smiled, that same tender, loving smile that had always made his heart skip a beat. “I’ve been waiting for you."

Aemond sank to his knees beside her and reached out, cupping her face in his hands, his fingers tracing the familiar contours of her features.

"I missed you so much," he said, his voice breaking with emotion.

Vaelys placed her hands over his, her touch grounding him in the reality of their reunion. "I missed you too, Aemond," she replied, her eyes glistening with tears. "But now we’re together again, and we have an eternity to share."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the still air of the garden.

Without a word, he pressed his lips to hers, the kiss soft and tender.

It was a kiss that spoke of love, longing, and the promise of forever. In that moment, Aemond knew he was home. His heart was whole once more, mended by the presence of the woman who had always been it's other half.

When they finally pulled apart, Vaelys smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief and affection. She patted the ground beside her, indicating for him to sit. "Come," she said, her voice as warm and inviting as the sunlit garden around them. "It's time you learned how to make daisy chains."

Aemond chuckled, feeling a lightness in his heart as he settled down beside her. Vaelys reached over and placed a pile of picked daisies in his lap, their delicate petals soft against his skin. She took one flower and began to demonstrate, her fingers nimble and sure as she wove the stems together.

"Watch closely," she instructed, her tone playful yet patient. "It's simple once you get the hang of it."

Aemond watched her intently, his eyes following the movement of her hands. He picked up a daisy and tried to mimic her actions, his larger hands fumbling slightly with the delicate stems. Vaelys laughed softly, her laughter a melody that filled the air with joy.

"Like this," she said, guiding his hands with hers. Together, they worked on the daisy chain, their fingers brushing against each other in a dance of love and connection.

As they wove the flowers together, Aemond felt an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment. Each daisy added to the chain was a symbol of their unbroken bond, a testament to the love that had transcended time and death.

"There you go," Vaelys said, holding up their finished creation. "See? You did it."

Aemond smiled, pride and happiness radiating from him. He took the daisy chain from her hands and gently placed it on her head, crowning her with the delicate flowers.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude and love. "For everything."

Vaelys reached up and touched the daisy chain, her eyes shining with tears of joy. "We're together now, Aemond," she said softly. "That's all that matters."

And as they sat in the sunlit garden, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the love they shared, Aemond knew that he had found his paradise. With Vaelys by his side, his heart was whole, and he was finally at peace.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x original female character #aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen

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aemonds-sapphire · 1 year

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#Aemond Targaryen #Aemond #hotd

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flowerandblood · 2 months

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#it will pass #lol #had to do this mene #thought about it right away when i saw these scene #aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd memes #hotd meme #aemond meme #house of the dragon meme #alicent meme #alicent

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trupniy · 2 months

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boys

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queers-gambit · 9 months

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Mother Knows No Bounds

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.7k+

note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote

warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother. descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?

please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content: descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.

you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!

The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.

Women skinny dipped. Children ran around without their clothes. Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.

The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.

The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.

It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.

For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.

Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.

You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.

21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.

Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.

However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.

The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.

The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.

Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.

Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.

Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.

Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.

You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.

"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."

"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.

"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"

"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.

He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"I've asked you why."

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.

"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."

Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."

"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."

Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."

"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.

"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.

"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.

"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."

You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."

You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.

When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"

"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."

"Mother, it's too hot for - "

"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.

"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."

"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "

"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."

Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."

So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.

Sweat bulleted on brows. Pale cheeks flushed with heat. Legs started to shake from stress. Clothes dampened and clung to skin.

You were all of the above and then some!

The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.

Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.

Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.

Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.

This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."

"What 'bout the li'l one?"

"Pardon?" Otto blinked.

"The Queen's last son?"

"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.

Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...

"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."

"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.

"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."

"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.

"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."

Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.

The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.

"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."

"We're almost done - "

"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."

You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.

The hall was too hot.

Stifling hot. Suffocatingly hot. Stuffy sort of hot.

Overwhelmingly hot.

Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!

Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!

So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!

However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.

"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"

But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.

"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"

"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.

"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"

"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.

"What happened?" Otto demanded.

"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."

"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."

"You saw the Grand Maester?"

"We did."

"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.

"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.

When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.

When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"

"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"

"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.

"Mother didn't demand you stay?"

"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."

"He was?"

"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.

When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.

The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.

He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.

You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.

Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.

"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.

"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."

"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.

"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."

Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."

With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."

"I-It was a girl?"

"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."

"But my body - "

"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."

"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"

Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."

"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."

"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."

When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."

"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"

"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"

"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"

"How was I to know - "

"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"

"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."

"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."

"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"

"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.

"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."

It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.

Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."

Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."

"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."

"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."

"Just lay with me," you requested.

He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."

"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"

"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."

Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."

"I do not deserve a woman like you."

"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"

His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."

A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.

You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.

You didn't move, staring into the flames.

Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.

King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.

For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.

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randomdragonfires · 2 months

Text

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife.

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age.

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved.

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love.

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens.

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did.

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to.

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride.

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought.

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband?

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance…

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him.

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them.

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was.

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her.

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get. Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately.

How she wished it was her.

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals. Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?” she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?”

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now.

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut.

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger, it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face.

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him.

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these, he needed a champion too.

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife.

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor.

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit.

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife.

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron.

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive.

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him?

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there.

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked.

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.

Oh yes, their marriage had grown.

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either.

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige.

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do.

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own.

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened.

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.”

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care.

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears.

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into.

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up.

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?”

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.”

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full.

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind.

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips.

“Thank you, for everything.”

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did.

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago.

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria.

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries.

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said.

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored.

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself.

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim.

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed.

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally.

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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yoonivy · 3 days

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my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 5.

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!!! uh... major character (for this fic anyway) death ahead... you've been warned... 01| 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

---

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.

#hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #aemond #aemond targaryen

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multific · 4 months

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Moonlight

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Wife!Reader

Warnings: childbirth (no detailed description)

Summary: Aemond loves his little wife, so naturally, when you give birth to your first son, Aemond falls in love even deeper. However, when a simple refusal of his breaks your heart, it will be difficult for him to win you back.

It was hard to keep you close. You were much like Aemond, a true fighter. You had a fire in you which couldn't be questioned. A fire towards him, pure love. And now, fire towards your son.

Aeren was only born a week ago, yet you protected him fiercely like a dragon.

And you refused to let the small child out of your hands.

When Aemond was allowed in the room, he saw the blood, he heard your screams and many times, he wanted to barge in but he knew he couldn't.

So, once he was allowed in, someone informed him that it was a boy and that you were in bad shape.

Aemond could see it, you looked beyond tired, yet you smiled.

But your smile didn't last long.

Aemond refused to hold his son.

"Give him to me." he heard your voice as he looked from the woman holding his son to you. You looked angry. Way too angry.

It was too late when Aemond realised what he had just done.

He refused to hold his own child.

And since then, you didn't speak a word to him.

You slept in a different room with your baby, sometimes, late at night, he heard the cries. He wanted to get up and go to you but he couldn't, his guilt was overbearing.

"You should put a leash on her, brother. If I had a wife like that, she wouldn't be sleeping in another room." Aegon taunted his brother daily.

One day, you were in the gardens, walking with your son in your arms when Aegon spoke up.

Aemond never heard his brother speak with such longing.

"I truly wish she was mine."

Aemond looked at his brother who was watching you.

"But she's mine." was his simple and firm reply.

But you truly weren't.

You used to be, now, you just sat next to him during dinners.

One night, you excused yourself, and he followed you.

In an empty corridor, he spoke up.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he knew why. He very well knew why.

"I'm sorry, My Prince." you turned and looked at him. "I believe you are mistaken. I'm not avoiding you, I just hate to see the disappointment on your face." this surprised Aemond. "I gave birth to a child you refused to even look at. I loved you, Prince Aemond, I truly did. But I love my child more. And if you cannot look at him, you won't get to look at me. Fill your bed with whores for all I care. Goodnight."

"You are mistaken." he said, not letting you leave, but you did grab the handle. "You-You were in that bed, crying, screaming and bleeding for hours. I couldn't do anything. And when they let me in, the blood... so much... they told me you were weak, you survived but you needed a lot of rest. How-How could I hold my child when the love of my life almost died? How could I look at him when I was worried to even look at you? I feared you would die giving birth. I was shaking. I feared losing you and my child. That is why I didn't hold him. I was scared." you stood there, your hand on the door, you looked away from his eyes.

"Then you could have just fucking say so, Aemond! For fucks sake!"

"That is not very lady-like."

"FUCK lady-like, you made me believe you hate me and our son! I believed I disappointed you since you wanted a daughter."

"I said I would be happy either way. My emphasis was on a girl because I feared if you had a daughter, you would see that as disappointing my bloodline."

"You are fucking terrible at communicating." you opened the door and walked into the huge room in which you stayed the last couple of weeks.

Aemond followed you, and watched as you walked over to the small bed and picked up your son. "Next time, you should just tell me. Letting me assume things clearly don't work out."

"Of course." a small smile found its way onto his lips, next time, it was the promise of a future, a promise of more, something he could work towards. He walked over to you after closing the door. "I wish to hold him." you handed him the small child who didn't even stir in his sleep. "Aeren you named him I recall." Aemond's attention was now fully on his son as you decided to leave the two alone after watching them for a couple of minutes.

You got changed and when you arrived back, Aemond was sitting on the bed, his son on his chest.

"Some nights I heard his cries. It broke my heart but I broke yours far more. I apologise for not being clear and for causing you pain. I am truly sorry."

"I'm sorry as well. I should have asked." you said as you sat down next to him. "I will have to feed him soon."

"I will stay here with you."

You smiled as the moon shined through the window, illuminating the room a little more, helping the fire so you could see your husband's face.

"I love you so much Aemond."

"I love you too, My Queen." you giggled, moving closer to him as he leaned down to kiss you.

You two kissed in the moonlight until your son made it clear that he was hungry.

It all made you look towards a better future.

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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youraverageaemondsimp · 4 months

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Sweet Nectar // Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Summary: Aemond feels ever so slightly jealous when he watches his wife feed their babe, he'll have a taste for himself tonight.

WARNINGS: mdni, afab!reader, lactation kink, breeding kink, unprotected p in v sex, reader is already a mom, breastfeeding, aemond craving the good old tiddy milk, tiddy sucking, teasing, biting, nipple play, aemond is so down bad for the milkers. + not proofread.

WC: 2,078

A/N: I suddenly got the urge to write this I'm not kidding 😭😭 // diviver credits to @cafekitsune

You coo softly while gently rocking back and forth as the small babe in your arms begins getting fussy in between your arms, you pat her gently and reassure the fussy babe, while caressing her cheek.

“Are you hungry, my dear?” You ask her as if she'll respond verbally, a small croak leaves her throat before she coos, stretching her tiny arms and placing it upon your breast as a way to answer your question. You chuckle at her action before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Shall I take her to the nursemaid, princess?” The maidservant allotted to you questions, putting your comfort as a first priority, you shake your head, “No need, I shall feed the babe myself.” You reject her politely, “Can you undo the lace?” You ask her, and she nods, her fingers making quick work of the lace that's holding the top of your gown together, you pull the material down — along with your chemise — just enough for one of your breasts to be exposed but cover everything else.

You hold the baby in a feeding position, and she immediately latches onto your nipple, suckling as she makes soft satisfied noises, as her hunger is being satiated. You giggle at her cuteness and watch as she closes her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.

The door to your shared chamber opens and you lift your head up to see Aemond, carrying a bunch of scrolls and books in his hands, he sets them down on the nearby table before turning his attention to you. “My prince.” the maidservant greets and Aemond nods, “Prepare a bowl of water and a rag, after that, leave us alone.” He commands her and she bows, swiftly beginning to do what she's been told. After the maid leaves the bowl and leaves, Aemond quickly begins to retire for the night, undressing himself, usually, he would call in a manservant or you would help him, but he cannot call the manservant when you're breastfeeding, and neither can you help him because of that.

So he does it himself, after undoing his upper garment, he wears nothing but his white plain transparent tunic and breeches ; that are more suited for sleepwear, loose and thin. Aemond later washes his hands and forearms thoroughly, ridding them of any kind of dirt before making his way to you.

“How was your day, Husband?” You ask him, watching as he comes near and stands next to you, staring at you for a second before sitting down beside you. “Hm, t'was decent, what about you?” He asks you, his gaze dropping down to your chest. “It was good, I did not wish to partake in any social meetings today, but rather decided to spend it with her.” You look down at your child who is now sleeping. Aemond hums before he lays his head on your shoulder getting comfortable in your presence enough to express his desires.

“I want to have my wife tonight.” He mutters, nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck as his gaze remains fixated on your chest while he rests his hand on your thigh, slowly drawing imaginary patterns on it, indicating what he wants. Your face heats up at his implications, “You will, husband, let me call the servant and have her taken to the nursery for tonight.” You reply to him, slowly pulling her away from your breast and covering yourself up.

“I will call for the servant.” He offers, hoping to help you out and you nod, he opens the chamber door stepping out and turning to the guard before asking the guard to fetch a servant, to which he immediately obeys and goes to get one. Aemond gets inside, making his way over to you before he takes your child from you and hands her over to the servant who had entered the room just then. “Take care of her for the night in the nursery, should there be any news that she was hurt in any way, I will cut off all of your limbs.” He threatens to which the poor servant just nods her head in fear assuring him that no harm would occur to your child, and then she takes her away.

The door closes and Aemond secures it tightly so it doesn't open upon impact. And all the while Aemond was talking to the servant, you had quickly gotten undressed and were now sitting in your chemise, putting the gown that had fallen to the floor away.

Aemond goes straight to the bed and sits on it and you watch as he removes his eyepatch, placing it on the table next to the bed before he turns his attention to you. He looked so ethereal when he was staring at you, his sapphire glinted as the fire from the chambers reflected off from it. “Come.” He commands and you slowly make your way over to him, now standing in front of him.

He looks up at you the tension thick in the air as his eye is filled with pure desire for you. he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your chest and pulling you, this causes you to stumble and lose your balance which he takes as an advantage to pull you onto the bed with him, flipping you over and getting on top.

His hair curtains around your face as he stares at you, his eye moving back and forth between your own, taking in your beauty. You raise your hand and gently tuck his hair into his ear before caressing his cheek, “You're so beautiful.” You hear him say and you smile, “I could say the same about you, husband.” You respond, He gives you a small smile before tilting his head slightly and connecting his lips to yours.

His lips felt soft against yours, you reciprocated and kissed him back. You felt the heat bloom in your core as he slowly grinds himself against your lower abdomen while kissing you. He slowly slides his hand against yours before intertwining your fingers with his. You parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside, allowing him to deepen the kiss which resulted in him humming in satisfaction.

He pulled away shortly after, panting for air, his kisses then trailed down towards your neck, he pecked and nipped at the skin of your neck, leaving bite marks as a way to mark you as his, he untwined his hand from yours to pull down your chemise, causing your tits to spill out of their confines.

He presses kisses down to the valley in between your breasts before he stays there for a while, “You know, I'm jealous—” he begins, his other hand coming up and gently fondling with your breast, “— that our daughter gets to have these whenever she wishes, meanwhile I'd have to wait until night.” He whines slightly, his thumb pressing over your sensitive nipple making you gasp slightly.

He decides he doesn't want to waste any more time and immediately wraps his lips around your nipple, pulling and suckling on your breast like a babe, he swirls his tongue and flicks it up and down the bud, Aemond hums in satisfaction when he feels the taste of your milk in his mouth.

He squeezes and fondles your other breast, rolling your nipple between his index and thumb finger and pulling meanly on it. Your breathing becomes shorter and faster as you begin to get aroused by his ministrations which prompts you to rub your thighs together trying to ease the throbbing between your legs with some friction.

It doesn't go unnoticed by Aemomd, but he instead focuses his attention to your other breast, repeating his actions and drinking your milk selfishly for himself, his teeth grazes against your bud and you wince slightly at the burn it causes only for him to bite onto it, making you whine and squirm before he sucks on it again as a way to soothe the pain he just caused. He pulls away with a wet pop and you take notice of the milk that's dripping from the side of his mouth and down to his neck which was such a perverse sight, yet you couldn't help make you feel more aroused so you guided his head back to your breast again.

And so he took your breast in his mouth once again, drinking all of your milk up you moaned in pleasure as his tongue flicker up and down your bud. You whimpered because you are sensitive from earlier feeding.

You felt him humping against your thigh as he tried ease the tension between his very own legs, he let go of your breast, unable to hold himself back anymore, he sat straight up and began to slip down his pants and take off his tunic, you did the same with your chemise, discarding it and throwing it someone to the side of your chamber.

He spreads your legs wide and lines his cock against your entrance slowly pushing it in, this causes you to tremble in excitement as his cock stretches you deliciously, you let out a gasp once he is fully settled. He lifts your hips off the mattress, holding you by your thighs as he slowly begins to move.

His thrusts were slow at first, almost as if he's teasing himself until he begins to pick up on the momentum, thrusting his hips back and forth, he begins to pick up the speed quite steadily.

You grind your hips to match his rhythm as your body jolts up and down the bed, your tits bouncing as a result, the moans of his name leave your lips like holy chants, “Aemond— oh fuck– right there– Aemond—!” all the while his tip is continuously hitting that sweet spot of yours, he grips one of your breasts and stares at it intently, “They look so good when they're swollen and full of milk.” He refers to your tits, he squeezes your tit slightly and watches as droplets of milk begin oozing out. “Oh gods— you're still full– fuck.” He quickly shifts his weight, dropping your lower body down onto the mattress and leaning forward to take your breast in his mouth while he fucks you.

“Seven fucking hells–— I don't think I can ever get enough of this ; perhaps I should keep you pregnant constantly, Yes? So your tits are always full of milk, for the babe” he grunts, his peak nearing as he mouths at your nipple. “And for me— ” His thrusts become more frantic and desperate, “You would like it wouldn't you? I know you would. You'd love to be full of me— I can only imagine how gorgeous you'd look, constantly waddling around while carrying my child— Answer me.” He growls. “Yes yes yes yes! yesyes! Aemond! I'd love it so so so much please please—” You babble as you feel your peak nearing. “Good girl— fuck!” He moans as he peaks, and your babbling is cut short as you gasp because you too reach your high right after him, the pleasure explodes inside you like a volcano, slowly seeping and coursing through your veins, you feel hot, warm, cold, suffocated all at the same time due to the intensity of the pleasure.

Aemond slows down his thrusts before fully stopping and pulling out, he watches as your cunt pushes out his spend to which he tuts disappointedly at before scooping it up with his finger and pushing it all back in.

“Here I am; planning to keep you full of my child and yet you're here denying it? Such a disobedient wife.” He slaps your clit as a punishment making you whimper, “I apologise— t'wasnt my intention.” You reply, breathlessly and he hums.

He lays down next to you, catching his breath along with you. You watch and his hands rests on your lower abdomen. He grabs you by your hips and turns you around to face him before he grabs the sheets and throws them over you both before pulling you close, your breasts pressing up against him, and the milk transfering over to his chest, making it sticky.

“Aem— it's messy.” Your voice comes out slurred and Aemond simply hums, “Let it be.” He hugs you even tighter, and you sigh, before wrapping your arm around his waist, hugging him back and you both slowly drift off into sleep.

— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

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