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fan-goddess · 2 days

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‘His ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man’

A/N: Surprise! I'm making this a strange sort of drabble like series with Aemond and dragonseed! This title is long af but the quote so fits I love/hate it! It ain’t entirely fully proofread so errors may pop up I may correct later fyi

Warnings: Smut, dragonseed is back and unnamed as ever, brothel working, sex working, not dark!Aemond but clingy at nonetheless! (If I miss any let me know!)

Taglist: @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee

Series Thing Masterlist

The men you were hired to please in the nicest of terms were always much older and sweaty than you, as if they had competed in two tourniments before arriving. Though the likelihood that they had even competed in one throughout their lifetimes was slimmer than they had even been.

The young men were always given to the more older, experienced ladies for their teachings, or so the brothel madam would sometimes laugh as the young lads were dragged by their hands to a room beyond the main hall. It was a rare time whenever a younger looking man would specifically request a more younger lady, as the older the men were the younger the ladies sent to their assigned room became.

That day, you had already been paid for by three men whose skin dripped in exhausted sweat and stained the covers of the bed with a mixture of their bodily fluids. By the time night came around though, the brothel bellow became heaving with men of all ages, a familiar head of short silver locks came bounding through them with a practised ease.

His voice rang through the crowd staring at the breasts of the ladies he was offered by the Madame. Yet when he looked up to the balcony ledge where you were perched watching the sights bellow, he stopped where he had stood, and pointed with a fierce look in his eye that you knew all too well in a man.

The look of a predator who has caught sight of fresh game, and is ready to begin the hunt of the night.

The eldest son of the king, the boy whispered by all to become the future king of the seven kingdoms of course choosing to ignore with hated stares his elder sister, points a finger to you and by the way his lips move you know he has demanded a reduced price.

He may have more money than all the men in the room combined but even he knows like any poor man how to strike the right sort of bargain for a better price.

That night, you were bought and fucked by a Targaryen for the first time in your life. A service that used to be an honour to the highest of all for whores, or at least it was before the Targaryen men became too indifferent to their flesh of the night.

It appeared the once well known hunger of purpled eyed silver haired flesh has trickled down to its last generation, as the man who’d left his spent to trickle down your thighs gave no indication that he desired you particularly for your hair or for your eyes.

He barely even looked at you as he forcibly took you from behind and pushed your face into the thin sheets that had yellowed in age.

He even left as soon as he came, quite literally, as by the time you looked around the door was swung open and the overwhelming stench of alcohol remained pungent. It appeared this young Prince had a thin layer of wine on his skin instead of the usual stench of overwhelming sweat.

You did not see the recognisable sight of silver locks for quite some time after that. Many a nights were you forced to look away to the window as men of all hair but silver took you on the bed you fucked to keep. Yet they were no different from the eldest prince at all. They all had only the idea of completion in mind.

Which you suppose was why it was so shocking when the infamous one-eyed Prince came to the brothel in search of a women to warm his cock, and laid a single eye on you as you stood oblivious on the same balcony you had stood on when you were chosen by his brother.

It was like a strange sick dream when you saw the younger Prince refuse to take his eye off you as he bargained a price with the Madame. Again, he too knew how to strike a deal similarly to his eldest acknowledged sibling.

When the Prince finally entered your chambers and met eyes with your naked form sitting on the bed awaiting to be told the orders, it was made quite quickly to you that the One-Eyed Prince was not like a regular laying customer.

Yet he still had his regular moments it seems, as while he managed to humanise your body, he still found a way to objectify your soul.

The Prince uses you like any other man would, and yet he still somehow manages to find a way to make you feel mortal.

While he takes you, he has you on your back and his eye looking deeply into your own. A single hand of his stroking the left side of your face while a thumb catches on the edge of your lips.

Even after spilling his spent of the skin of your stomach, he explains he cannot dare father a bastard and bring the shame to his already soiled family legacy. Going as far as to grab a lone stained cloth from somewhere in the room to mop up his cooled down spent away and throws someplace random.

The one-eyed Prince stays with you the whole of that night and morning, something you could easily say was a first in your working career.

His head lays on your overworked thighs that twitch randomly in patterns even he with his highly educated mind cannot comprehend. But he does not complain at all, instead only burrowing further into your overwhelming warmth you subconsciously provide him with.

You dare not to say anything as you place a hand on his head and thread your fingers through his hair, waiting with baited breath as his lets out a tired sigh and wraps his arms around your body tighter.

When your fingertips catch on the rough leather of his patch you do not dare take it off in fear of being caught in the familiar feeling of a dragons rage. So you merely ghost your hand over it and he does not make a disapproving sound.

He reminds you heavily of a child craving a mother’s affection, even though you know he has one waiting no doubt anxiously for him in his own chambers back up at the castle. Yet it appears the prince lives in a strange limbo of ignorant bliss, as you can feel his eyelashes brush lightly against the skin of your thigh as he closes his eye, and not a minute later you can feel his bodies breath even out as he begins drifting away.

The One-Eyed Prince falls asleep against your naked spent body, and you can only force your body to relax as your eyes shut tightly and sleep to not come at an easy price. For that night as the Prince rests by the base of your stomach, dreams fill your head of overwhelming fire and blood comes storming down around you.

At the end of your dream mere seconds before you are awoken by the grumbling child, a two eyed man with features mimicking yours holds a sword angled to the base of your throat and sneers at you, before allowing the blade to swing you with heavy cost.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen smut #aegon targaryen #aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen/reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen drabble #my works

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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 8 hours

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FORBIDDEN TEMPTATION.

Aemond Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle married niece), menstrual sex, p in v, fingering, lactation kink

WORDS: 2.1 K

NOTES: Thank you to @lady-phasma and the rest of our little group for this period smut collaboration 😝 and extra thanks to @zaldritzosrose for the moodboard!! I love you guys sm 💕 It was so much fun working with this request. Cheers to the dragon friends🤍

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

A poking ache in your stomach is what pulls you out of your sleep, like a sharp, stinging tug that makes you curl into a bundle, clutching your belly. With your husband still sound asleep right next to you, his snores filling the room, you’re determined to not moan out in pain too loudly, though you’re close to failing.

“By the Seven,” you whisper, a clear strain to your voice, and when you bring your hand down between your legs, the stickiness you're welcomed with makes you sigh. There’s hardly any light of the moon falling into the room, which makes it difficult for you to make out the source of the wetness that coats your fingers, yet the smell lets you know it’s familiar. Your moonblood.

“Oh, this can not…” you trail off, moaning through gritted teeth as another jolt of pain runs through your belly.

Next to you, your husband has been roused from sleep by your stirring and moaning, blinking against the darkness and blearily into the night as he tries to understand what is going on. Propping himself up on one elbow, his groggy voice is laced with worry as he speaks, “what is the matter?”

You shift to lie on your back again, leaning up against the headboard. “I… my moonblood has come,” you say. The realization that it’s just your monthly bleeding does bring you some sense of relief, meaning your husband has not yet managed to put another child in you, but it also concerns you. “It feels like someone is clawing at my belly from the inside out… and I can not remember for it to be so painful before the pregnancy.”

It’s an instinct he’s developed over the course of your pregnancy, something you still catch him doing every now and then, but Aemond‘s hand immediately goes to your belly, rubbing small, soothing circles to somewhat ease the pain. And for someone possessing the blood of the dragon, his body certainly emanates a lot of heat. You’re immediately drawn towards him, melting against his frame, warmth radiating off of his bare chest.

Aemond brings his lips to the crown of your head, wrapping his arms around you. “That was to be expected, was it not?” he asks.

“Yes, but it is quite severe.” You flinch again at the stinging pain, though it is not as sharp with his warm hand splayed over your stomach. “Could you fetch me the maester to ease the pain?”

Your husband’s mind, however, quickly comes up with a different solution. “Well, I have heard and read that there’s another way to ease that kind of pain, my love,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “A more… pleasurable alternative that may not completely rid you of the pain, but certainly takes your mind off of it.”

His words and the innuendo don’t surprise you at all. Ever since he truly has learned what it meant to indulge in the pleasures of flesh with you, he’s turned into a starved beast, desperate to get his fill of you every night until your little Baelon was born, and determined to get you round with his seed as quickly as possible again. The few weeks of rest that had been prescribed by the maester were the most difficult for him, struggling to keep his hands off of you. It was the complete opposite to the way he was while you grew up together; your usually quiet and observing uncle turned into a beast, similar to the one he claimed when he turned ten.

Aemond’s hand slowly drifts lower, and a small gasp escapes your lips, his fingers dancing lightly over the damp linen of your smallclothes. You look at him, your eyes half-lidded with a mix of pain and desire. “Do you really think… it would help?” you murmur softly, instinctively arching into his touch. The throbbing ache in your belly is temporarily replaced by a pleasant warmth spreading through your core.

“Oh, I very much believe it will,” he whispers in your ear, his voice low and gravelly.

A sly smile is on his lips as his thumb brushes over your pearl, making your breath hitch in your throat. Your head tips back into the pillows with a moan slipping past your lips. “Aemond…” you whisper, his name coming out in a mere breath, “please.”

He is quick to bow his head forward, capturing your lips for a kiss. As he tugs on your smallclothes, you wrap your arms around his neck for support, using the leverage to shimmy out of the damp linen.

You gasp against his lips as his nimble digits ease into your cunt, and Aemond presses his forehead against yours. Feeling you writhe beneath his touch, he lets out a low groan, a small shiver running down his spine at the wanton sight of his wife on the cusp of pleasure. “Relax, my love,” he rasps. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers continue their ministrations, his touch gentle yet insistent, never slowing down, and your hips buck into his touch. There’s no denying your desire for him, your need for him. And while he focuses on easing your pain, your focus solely lies on him – or rather his cock. It’s always the same, for his fingers are never enough for you.

Aemond has pushed his sleeping trousers down to the point he was able to free his cock, thick, hard, and the tip glistening with a few beds of his arousal, indicating just how badly he wants to take care of you. Feeling his knuckles brush your thigh as his fist slides up and down his length, you whimper in anticipation while a strained grunt leaves his lips.

Without another word, Aemond positions himself between your legs, the motion fluid and practiced. His hands glide over the smooth skin of your thighs, pushing them further apart to accommodate him.

There is some impatience evident in his movements as he drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, causing you to gasp each time it presses against your sensitive pearl.

“Stop teasing me, Aemond,” you whine, your nerves on fire.

His lips curve into a smug smirk at your desperate whine. “What’s the rush, my love?”

Tilting his head forwards, he watches as he circles your entrance with his cock, repeatedly pushing just the tip inside… only to pull out mere moments later. While it drives you insane with lust, it also makes you aware of how slick you are for him – knowing it’s not just your arousal he’s coated in now.

That realization makes you feel shy, and you momentarily try to squeeze your thighs together to escape his hungry gaze – but to no avail. Tsking, Aemond is quick to pry your thighs apart again, raising a brow. “Do not shy away now,” he warns. “A little blood does not repel me.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod meekly at his words, and your husband takes that as his cue to continue. Where he usually sheathes him inside you in one, swift thrust, he’s slow and careful to enter you now, making sure you feel every vein and ridge of him on his way inside. You both moan in unison, never getting enough of each other.

Despite you being quite tense from the sharp pain tugging at your belly, Aemond buries himself inside of you with ease, your moonsblood adding to your slickness. It feels different than usual – you feel different than usual, more sensitive – yet the pleasure it brings is heightened and coaxes you to melt around him.

Your head tips back into the pillows, but Aemond is quick to bring a hand to the side of your neck, applying a bit of pressure to your chin with his thumb to force you to meet his gaze. There is a slight stutter in his hips as he sets up his slow pace, settling only once he’s found the perfect rhythm. With expert precision, he rolls his hips against yours. Your heels dig into his rear, encouraging him to go even deeper.

The dull, continuous ache in your belly grows weaker with every thrust, replaced by a warmth that spreads all the way to your limbs, fueled by the squelching sounds of his cock repeatedly disappearing into your soaked cunt.

Aemond has one hand on your neck and the other positioned on the mattress right next to your head, careful not to put all of his weight on your sensitive body. You take it upon yourself to tug on the low neckline of your nightgown, pulling it even lower to free your heavy breasts from their confines.

Your body is still providing enough milk to feed an army of children, despite you merely birthing one, and while they are heavy and hard to the touch, wearing clothes has always been a far worse agony. The creamish silk has been damp even before Aemond has touched you, and so it’s no surprise droplets of milk trickle from your darkened buds as soon as your fingers touch them.

And that is the moment he stops being careful, bowing down to capture one bud with his lips and press his body against yours. It’s a mix between a gasp and moan that slips past your lips, yet it’s enough to make clear the relief you feel.

The position all but forces him to roll his hips against yours languidly, but neither of you mind for it seems to bring you both enough pleasure. You can feel him suckle on your breast in the rhythm your cunt clenches around his cock. His cheeks dimpled from the suction; he’s propped up on one elbow, using his hand to pinch and roll the other bud between his fingers.

He alternates between licking and sucking, not keen on wasting just one drop of your precious milk. “Gods, Aemond,” you whine, arching your back against him. You feel him throb inside of you at the despair audible in your voice, spurring him on.

Your hips move on their own accord now, grinding against his and matching his movements, the pain in your belly and breasts long forgotten as you chase your pleasure.

A couple of moments pass until you feel Aemond’s breath growing labored, his chest almost heaving with more and more muffled grunts and groans escaping his throat. He is loud – much to your surprise – but your body seems keen at that, the pressure inside of your belly tightening at a rapid pace.

As his lips wrap around your other bud, the knot in your belly snaps. It’s either gripping the sheets or his hair to keep yourself grounded, and you opt for the latter, burying your hands inside of his silver strands. You use the grip to pull him closer to your breasts, more out of instinct than of clear will.

The sheets below you are soaked with a blend of your arousal and moonblood, trickling out of your cunt and coating Aemond’s cock and the sac of his stones. It’s the tightness of your peak’s contractions that eventually forces the seed from your husband, milking him for every last drop of his spent. His muscles go rigid, yet he hardly withdraws from your bud to release grunts and groans, too drunk on what’s supposed to be for your son.

He bites down as he spills inside of you, harder than you like considering your whole body is a sensitive mess at this point, but you do not begrudge him – it’s well deserved with how caring and careful he’s been to tend to your needs.

He buries his face between your now soft and tender breasts as you leisurely ride out your peaks, both your movements slowly, but surely, coming to a stop. You tug on his hair, and the sight of his half-lidded eye and his swollen lips makes you clench around him once more.

While Aemond swallows a groan, you urge his face towards yours for a kiss, moaning at the taste of your milk on his tongue. Labored breaths fan across each other’s faces as his mouth leaves yours, and you take a moment to stare at each other silently.

“Is the pain… has it eased?” Aemond’s voice is a hoarse whisper. Panting softly, he sits back on his haunches.

A small, bashful smile curves your lips, the haze of desire beginning to lift. Your body still thrums with the aftereffects of his endeavors. “I am quite alright,” you reply. “But perhaps we should indulge in a bath. I do believe a soak in hot water may alleviate my discomfort even more, and it seems we have both made quite the mess.”

You notice the mischievous gleam in his good eye. “If that is what my love desires, then consider it done. I shall have hot water brought to our chambers, and then I shall ensure that every bit of your discomfort is soothed.”

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smalltownw1tch · 3 days

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SEASON 2 PREMIERE TIMEEEEE

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axiina · 2 days

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what about aemond x niece reader but aegon has always been in love with her? she is betrothed to aemond and they’ve always had a thing for the other but aegon has been head over heels for her since he can remember 👀

Always the last

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x niece!reader, Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader

Summary: The firstborn son, always the last. It was like a mockery of the gods. To give him birthright but take away the one he wanted more than anything in the world.

Words: 1k

Themes: angst, no comfort, basically aegon is obsessed with reader, kind of self harm? (too much alcohol to silence pain), addictions

Warnings: delulu fanon aegon, kind of self harm? (too much alcohol to silence pain), addictions, incest (it's targaryens so obviously)

Author's note: I'm back, and I hope for longer. At first, it was supposed to be a more aemond x reader, but I changed my mind, and it ended up as angst from aegon's perspective. I'm sucker for my delulu fanon aegon. if you want more, my asks are open!!

Aegon knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. The life he imagined with his niece by his side was simply not going to happen.

He didn't deserve her. And even if it were otherwise, nothing would come of it. He had already been married to Helaena for years.

It just didn't make sense, and Aegon was well aware of that. So why did it hurt him so much? Why then, when he heard his father's decision about the betrothals of Aemond and his niece, did Aegon feel as if his life had just been put to rest? Why did it hurt so much? The knowledge that it would be Aemond who would be able to watch her sleep blissfully, hug her, kiss her, and spend the rest of his life with her didn't allow him to function.

He is the first-born son, and yet always the last.

So he turned to drinking and whoring. Aegon was never a serious man. He was always more interested in pleasure than any duty and this time was no different either. He didn't want to think anymore.

He didn't want to think about her, so to silence those disturbing thoughts, he would get drunk to the point of unconsciousness, unable to get her out of his head.

He would do anything to forget, to silence the pain and the voice that reminded him that it should have been him all along.

Aegon drank day and night with no desire to stop it. In every spare moment, all he could think about was his niece. The girl whose smile could light up the darkest corner and whose touch made his heart beat faster.

He knew it was wrong. He knew he should forget her. After all, she was his brother's betrothed. But there was nothing he could do about it.

No matter how much he tried to push away thoughts of her, no matter how much he tried to hide his feelings, he couldn't.

He couldn't forget the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed or the way her hair fell around her face like a waterfall. He couldn't forget her scent and the smile that made his heart flutter. He couldn't forget the way her hand felt in his, or the way her fingers traced patterns on his skin. Even if it was years ago when they were children. When life was easier.

He couldn't forget her. He was completely and utterly infatuated.

And it was killing him.

Every time he saw her with his brother, every time he saw them laughing and joking together, it felt like a dagger in his heart. He knew he should be happy for Aemond, but he couldn't. He was too consumed with jealousy, too consumed with the thought that she should be his betrothed and not his brother's.

He knew it was selfish and even unreasonable. But he couldn't help it.

He couldn't bear the thought of her being with someone else. Not when he had wanted her so much for so long. Not when he had spent years admiring her from afar, unable to do anything but dream of what might have been if things had turned out differently.

No amount of alcohol could erase his memories, no amount of pleasure could dull the pain in his heart.

She was always there, on the edges of his mind, tormenting him with her sweetness, beauty and innocence.

The pain in Aegon's heart only grew when he saw them together.

The sight of Aemond's eyes brightening as he looked at her, the way he leaned in to listen closely every time she spoke, the small smile that appeared on his lips when she laughed, all of it made Aegon's insides twist into a knot.

He felt as if a cold, strong hand was squeezing his heart and squeezing it tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

He tried to look away, to divert his attention, but he couldn't. His eyes always returned to them, drawn to their sight like a moth to a flame. He tried to tell himself that he should be happy for Aemond, that he should be happy that his brother had found someone to make him happy, but he couldn't.

He was filled with a burning jealousy from which he could not shake.

He couldn't stand it.

He couldn't look at them together, see the happiness on their faces, the warmth in Aemond's gaze. It was like a thousand needles piercing his heart with every passing second. He wanted to scream, tear them apart, take her away from her brother, and claim her as his own. He wanted to sink his face into her hair and inhale her scent, to wrap his arms around her and never let her go.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't do any of those things. He was trapped, watching from the sidelines as Aemond, his younger brother, his other son, always the more loved one, was now the one who could be with her. The one who could hold her hand, kiss her, and share her life. Aegon could only stare at it, feeling the bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue.

She was like a drug, an addiction he couldn't shake off. Every time he saw her, his heart sped up, his palms sweated, and his throat tightened.

And every time she smiled at Aemond, her eyes shining with affection, his heart broke all over again.

He knew that Aemond deserved someone like her in his life. But he couldn't help it. Jealousy was consuming him. It was destroying him.

Aegon knew he was not the right choice for her. He was too weak, too selfish, too impulsive.

He was a drunkard, a lustful man, one who lacked discipline and self-control. He would disappoint her, hurt her, and ultimately break her heart.

But that didn't stop him from wanting her, from lusting after her like a drug. Every thought of her filled his mind, every memory of her haunted his dreams.

She was like a bright, shining candle in a dark, cold world, and he was drawn to her more and more because he couldn't have her.

He was the firstborn son, the eldest, the one who was supposed to get everything.

And yet he was always the last. Last in his father's eyes, last in his mother's heart and now last in the race to her heart.

It was like a cruel joke, a mockery of the gods, that they had given him the birthright but taken away the one thing he wanted, the one person he wanted more than anything.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #hotd aegon #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #send me asks #aegon targaryen #aegon x reader #hotd imagine

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flowerandblood · 3 days

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The Fall from the Heavens (36)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: hard sexual abuse, torture and starvation, angst, swearing, description of the murders ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After Prince Aemond and his wife flew off on their dragons into the skies to meet their destiny in the Eyrie, Alys knew what awaited her; Larys paid her a visit shortly after they left the fortress. Despite his light, dreamy smile, her brother's blank, dark gaze expressed everything he had to convey to her.

He was not pleased.

"I'm disappointed. I thought we had made an agreement." He hummed, walking slowly over to the table she sat at, watching him vigilantly, his hand reaching for one of the vessels in which she kept her herbs.

"Worthless objects are usually…thrown away. Do you agree with me, sister?" He asked calmly and smiled gently at her, as if he had just said something comforting. Her expression and grin did not change, although a cold, unpleasant shiver ran along her spine.

She knew what awaited her.

She had seen it in her dream.

The strange, drunken men, guards and servants who could use her body as much as they liked in the darkness of her cell.

She didn't pose or look at them – she just tried to think of something else. She imagined then her unborn child, her mother's face, the soft smile of the little girl who might already be dead, betrayed by her husband.

She tried not to exist, pretended to herself that this was not her body.

The only man who did not take the opportunity to humiliate her was the guard who had been her lover for years, the same one who had watched over her chambers.

She felt a kind of emotion when Ser Erwin came to her in the morning, before his service began, covering her bared, bruised body with a sheet, always bringing her a piece of bread, letting her drink the wine that soothed her pain.

She would not eat or drink anything Larys's servants brought her, knowing that she would die in agony afterwards.

"Forgive me. If I defy him, he will hurt my wife and my children." He muttered, pressing his lips together, his bearded, broad, masculine face contorted in a grimace of pain, his eyes red from tears of grief.

He really pitied her.

She touched his arm and he placed his wide, rough hand on hers.

"I know. Protect your family. I will survive this. I'm grateful to you for what you're doing for me and I'll never forget it."

The man nodded.

"There is something else." She whispered. Ser Erwin looked at her, surprised.

The same dream repeated itself again and again every night: a white deer in a sea of blood and a man standing over it, whose silhouette she knew very well.

"I saw a wounded white deer in the darkness. I saw you standing over him. Promise me that when Prince Aemond arrives here, you will watch over him and his wife." She said.

He stared at her as if considering her words, then nodded again and stood up, leaving her alone in her prison.

And then there was silence.

The men ceased to visit her, and there was an uneasy, dark emptiness in the fortress.

The next day he arrived.

She knew it would happen.

She knew he would come, seeking answers.

In his armour, he looked older and more mature – looking at him from afar, she thought with amusement that, indeed, he was a handsome man and, were it not for his sweet wife, she would have loved to play with him, if only for her own amusement.

So helpless, hiding behind the walls of his pride, filled with complexes and fears, like a little child craving only someone's warm word and praise.

"Why did you lie? I could have your head for this." He hissed, angry and tense, standing at a good distance from the bars as if he feared he might otherwise fall under the influence of her charms.

She laughed weakly at his words.

"If there were no capacity for treachery in you, my words would not frighten you, Your Grace. But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve stabbed her in the back, would it?" She sneered, saying exactly what she was thinking, thus bringing him completely off balance.

"Why?" He growled, pale as if he was about to faint.

She couldn't believe how frightened he was.

Did he consider that his will as a man was so weak?

That he wouldn't control his members and would just fuck her?

"My brother reckoned that after what was going to happen in the Eyrie she would try to take her own life again. I don’t consider myself a good person, but I’m not heartless. I wanted you to be horrified by my words and get her as far away from here as possible." She said.

"How dare you manipulate me and my wife." He hissed, enraged.

"I didn’t manipulate her. There was no need for that. You. Your pride wouldn’t allow you to listen to the advice of a bastard woman, on top of the Strong line. A witch’s prophecy that could give birth to your bastard child would be a different matter. Wouldn’t it?’" She asked mockingly and noticed how something changed in the look in his eye, his brow arching in pain.

He was suffering.

But why?

After a moment, however, the expression on his face changed, replaced by fury.

"Whose fucking side are you on, you insolent whore?" He growled through clenched teeth, as if he felt like spitting on her.

She realised then that it wasn't himself he was afraid of, but her.

She liked that.

"I am on my side. But my cold heart supports your wife. She has broken deep into it and refuses to leave it. I’m certain you understand me. Such a sweet girl." She hummed, wanting to bring him out of his daze, and the effect she provoked was even stronger than she had anticipated.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" He shouted low, hatred and madness in his eye, his jaw clenched as tightly as if it was going to burst – he took one step towards her cell as if he wanted to tear her apart but stopped, panting heavily.

Gods.

He was jealous of his little wife.

He was afraid she would take her away from him.

His rage and fear were indeed great, for it seemed to her that he really wanted her to die of hunger and thirst. It was only a few days later that the guards whom she did not know and who had probably travelled with him from King's Landing opened her cell, ordering her to rise.

She did so with difficulty, sore, hungry and thirsty, and moved slowly with them through the familiar corridors of the fortress of Harrenhal. She pressed her lips together as she noticed out of the corner of her eye a fair-haired man watching her vigilantly, one of her brother's spies.

What was he doing here?

Why hadn't the prince sent him away?

Only then did she realise that he certainly had claimed to be a completely different person, putting his guards' vigilance to sleep.

"I need to speak to the Prince." She muttered, sitting down on her bed without strength. The guard placed a plate of bread and a jug of apple juice on her table.

"Be silent, witch. Be thankful to the gods that you are still alive." Said the man through clenched teeth, looking at her with disgust and left, closing the door. She heard the sound of the key turning in the lock and sighed heavily, burying her face in her hands.

She thought that Larys would certainly not poison the prince, but would be watching him with the help of this boy.

Indeed, the man brought her food and drink several times. She sniffed the juice he brought her and then split an apple lying on a tray in half and poured the contents of her cup over it. She snorted under her breath as the apple instantly turned black and began to break into pieces.

The Last Breath.

A poison created from a decoction of several herbs that could only be found locally in the region of Riverdale, slowing the heart rate and making breathing difficult, in large quantities suffocating the victim, in small quantities causing slow agony.

For reasons she understood, Prince Aemond did not visit her throughout his stay in Harrenhal, thus earning her respect and affection – she recognised that since he wanted to catch her brother he felt guilty and wanted to reward his wife for his moment of hesitation.

One night she dreamt of a great stone fortress reaching up to the sky surrounded by clouds, around which she seemed to hear the sea. She looked down upon it, flying on a dragon she had never seen before.

She opened her eyes and swallowed hard, wondering what she had actually seen and what it meant.

The dragon she saw belonged to neither Prince Aemond nor his wife.

So to whom?

That she did not know, but she knew for a fact that she would be leaving Harrenhal soon.

And then she appeared in the doorway of her chamber.

She felt a pleasant warmth in her stomach at the sight of her, her heart pounding faster in the hope that perhaps this girl would forgive her for what she had done, understand that she wanted her good.

She swallowed hard noticing in her eyes sadness so deep and infinite that she felt a squeeze in her throat.

"You predicted my husband would give birth to your bastard child." She said in a trembling, breaking voice, betrayed, humiliated, distraught.

"I lied. I saw nothing of the sort neither in my dreams nor in the fire." She said calmly, looking her straight in the eye. The prince's wife pressed her lips together at her words and furrowed her brow, anger and frustration in her gaze that startled her.

"How dare you lie to my husband, and your Prince?" She asked dryly, standing up for her husband to her astonishment.

How dare you manipulate me and my wife.

She saw that her hand was stroking her lower abdomen in a gesture of nervousness, something she had not done before.

Two streams of blood finally merging into one.

"You are expecting his child." She whispered, but the girl didn't answer her.

Alys sighed heavily.

"My brother had plans for you. He ordered me to seduce the Prince. He wanted you to step aside and try to take your own life again. He knew that your husband would then fall into complete darkness."

Her eyebrows arched in pain, as if some part of her really wanted to believe her.

She was so innocent.

"You didn't tell me about this."

"No."

"You and my husband. You are identical."

She smiled sadly at her words, understanding perfectly what she meant.

They were both a dancing, aggressive fire that burned everything around them, lonely stars in the sky that could only devour each other.

"Yes. Yes, we are."

Her eyebrows arched in pain, her pretty, bright eyes shone with tears of disappointment.

"I believed you."

"I regret not telling you. I didn't want to destroy your already strained trust in him." She whispered, lowering her gaze to the stone floor, recognising, however, that there was nothing more she could do now.

It was already too late.

"Did you make an attempt?"

She blinked, snapped out of her reverie and looked at her, not understanding her question.

"Your Grace?"

"Did you try to seduce him?"

"No. I didn't go near him."

"Why?"

"Because he would have killed me. I just wanted your husband to make the right decision. For him to be scared of what might happen, to try to change the future. For him to tell you about what's happening here."

"I believed you. I opened my heart to you." She muttered in a breaking voice, from which she felt a cold sweat on her neck.

"I know."

The girl pressed her lips together – even though she was clearly trying to remain calm a single, lonely tear ran down her cheek.

"− there are still people in this fortress who will want to kill you − especially beware of the young, fair-haired man − don't eat or drink anything he serves you −" She said finally, wanting her to understand that hurting her was never her purpose or desire.

Like her husband, she could not express her feelings or affection other than through actions, even if they remained incomprehensible to her.

"− why didn't you tell my husband about this? −" She muttered in disbelief.

"− I saw this boy when I was moved back to my chamber − the Prince didn't want to see me anymore then − this servant brought me poisoned food several times, a gift from my brother −"

An uncomfortable, long silence fell between them − her gaze expressed horror, shock and disbelief, her small figure trembling all over in fear. She finally swallowed loudly and lifted her chin higher, trying to control herself and calm down.

"My husband gave Harrenhal to me to rule. That means I will decide what happens to the people who serve here, including you."

Alys didn't even flinch at her words, thinking only with her admiration that her husband did indeed have a great deal of remorse for what he had never actually done.

She thought that perhaps she had inadvertently contributed to something that helped them both.

Her husband had opened up to her, shown her his weakness and helplessness, and she hadn't pushed him away despite her disappointment.

"I saw it in a dream. A stone castle reaching to the skies. That's where you'll send me away." She said softly, and she nodded as if it was indeed as she had said.

"I will not forget what you have done for me, that you warned me. As an expression of my gratitude you will be given gold, and by my order all your belongings will be moved to the Eyrie. My cousin, after spies were discovered in his fortress, is indebted to my family and will receive you with honours. I will introduce you in my letter as a valuable medic who should work alongside the maester. You will not lack anything there."

The Eyrie?

She remained silent, wondering if there was a sea or river somewhere near this fortress, but she wasn't sure.

She decided it didn't matter.

And then what she had feared happened.

The boy had tried to poison her.

She wondered if Prince Aemond would come to her chamber and kill her too, but he didn't.

She heard the guards speaking with each other, saying that he had ordered the servants to try the poisoned wine, and they died one by one in agony in front of his eyes.

They said that looking at them the Prince was grinning broadly.

She swallowed hard at the thought and closed her eyes, already understanding why her brother cared so much about ending her life.

Larys was willing to sacrifice all these people just to get rid of this little girl once and for all and regain his power over her husband.

In keeping with his wife's wishes, she prepared to leave − she did not resent her for wanting to send her away, in fact feeling a peace in her soul at the thought that perhaps her life would now be better than it had been, and she would not have to worry about her welfare.

She looked towards her door, surprised when she heard someone turn the key in the lock. After a moment, it opened, and a young man with beautiful dark curls and bright eyes entered her chamber. She blinked, thinking he reminded her of someone, but she wasn't sure who.

Who was he that he could walk in here?

"My Lady." He said softly and bowed, as if she were a lady of great lineage and not a bastard. She smiled indulgently at the thought, folding one of her gowns, placing it in her trunk alongside the other things she wanted to take with her.

"My Lord." She replied, eager to hear what the young man was coming to her with.

The boy seemed ashamed and uncertain, as if he himself did not know what he was actually doing in her quarters. He began to look around her room, looking at the jars and vessels full of herbs, roots, liquids and other objects she used in her craft.

"I heard you're a witch. Is that true?" He asked casually, a light, wry smile on his lips, as if the thought amused him. She smirked involuntarily at his words, tucking her books into her trunk.

"So they say, my Lord." She hummed and sighed quietly, wondering whether or not a book on philosophy would be of use to her in the Eyrie.

"Did you know my father?" He asked finally, and she looked at him surprised, finally understanding who was standing before her.

He was her brother.

Yes, she thought.

They were so similar.

"Yes." She replied calmly, reaching for more books from her shelf. The boy shifted from foot to foot and swallowed hard, tense.

"Was he a good man? A man of honour?" He asked proudly, however his voice trembled, as if he feared her answer. She froze in mid-motion and thought for a moment.

"He was a compassionate man with a sharp tongue. He was cordial. He laughed a lot. He always treated me with dignity, and his father was proud of him." She finally replied, involuntarily remembering his face.

"Wasn't that your father too?" He asked uncertainly, and she smiled involuntarily.

"Indeed, but only formally. He put his seed inside my poor mother, nothing more." She said.

A long silence fell between them.

"I am also a bastard." He said finally and drew in the air loudly, as if the words were leaving his throat with difficulty. "And I regret that I came into this world."

She turned towards him, curious, wondering if he was looking for her support and advice. She cocked her head and hummed, running her fingers along the table top in front of her.

"From what I understand, you have become heir to Dragonstone. Would you rather be a bastard king? People don't forget someone's origins, even less so when that person rules a kingdom."

She saw that he lifted the gaze of his bright eyes to her, in his expression something similar to what she had seen in the face of Prince Aemond's wife.

They were both sensitive, warm, compassionate, empathetic and assertive at the same time, but what in her case as a woman was an asset, in his case was clearly the cause of his complexes and misery.

He felt too fragile, too weak, unable to be the kind of man that was expected of him − cold, brutal, threatening, mocking, ironic.

It was impossible to change his nature and he felt humiliated.

She thought she understood him.

"You also have a beautiful betrothed. I saw her arrive with your sister through that window." She said calmly, walking around her table and past him, reaching for one of the jars that stood on a bookcase against the wall. When she turned, he was looking at her in a way from which she stopped in half a step.

"I don't love her. And she doesn't love me."

She blinked and swallowed quietly, not taking her eyes off him. He gave up and lowered his head, his cheeks red with shame.

"Marriages are rarely created on the basis of true passionate, sincere affection." She replied, not intending to judge or rebuke him.

"However, my sister does not see the world beyond my uncle, and he spends every night with her." He muttered angrily and regretfully, like a small child who envied others for being able to play with better toys. She sighed quietly at his words and shook her head.

"Their affection was a gift to them from the gods." She said, walking back to her trunk, putting the jar of herbs inside.

"Are you leaving Harrenhal?" He asked suddenly, as if understanding that she was packing her belongings to set off on her journey.

"Your sister is sending me to your cousin in the Eyrie to serve him as a medic." She said calmly. Her nephew stepped closer to her, furrowing his brow.

"Why?"

Curious little thing.

"They don't want anyone associated with Larys Strong to remain in the fortress." She lied. "Thanks to her, Prince Aemond spared my life."

"When are you leaving?" He asked uncertainly, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"In a few days. I am to be accompanied by your uncle's troops and I must wait for his order."

The boy nodded, tense.

"May I also visit you tomorrow? To speak with you." He asked without looking at her, filled with shame, and she nodded.

Her nephew said a polite goodbye and left her chamber, leaving her in a state of confusion.

Indeed, he came to see her the next day and every day after, clearly in a better mood.

He walked around her chamber, asking her many questions.

"Have you ever seen a dragon up close?"

"No, my Prince."

"You don't have to call me that. You are my aunt."

Her lips twitched in a mocking smile at his words.

"Very well."

"Why have you never married anyone?"

"A bastard-wife is a burden. Unless it's your sister." She replied with amusement, and he gave her a drawn-out look.

Something in her words made him uncomfortable.

"You think you're going to be a burden to your betrothed? I don't think she pays attention to that sort of thing. She seems to be a strong woman." She said softly, and he swallowed hard, looking down at his feet.

"She is. She has an overwhelmingly strong character. I'm not able to…keep up. I get tired of how fast she lives, how many things she wants." He confessed with shame, once again exposing his oversensitive, fragile nature to her.

"Sometimes people just don't fit together."

He looked at her and furrowed his brow, as if he didn't understand what she had said.

"What do you mean?"

She sighed heavily, looking away, spreading herself comfortably in the chair. She smiled involuntarily when she noticed that, despite his efforts, his gaze escaped for a moment to her full, soft breasts, hidden only beneath the material of her thin gown.

"It is impossible to change human nature. Not at its core. You can be different, but marriage, it seems to me, is about complementing each other."

He lifted his gaze back to her eyes, his lips parted as if he had run out of words. He nodded his head and grunted, walking uncertainly over to the table, sitting down in one of the chairs. He began to play with his fingers, as if he was fighting with himself.

"I don't know what I could do to change. To be what everyone expects me to be.’

"Stop killing yourself."

He looked at her and she shook her head, furrowing her brow.

"What?"

"You're killing your sensitivity. Your calmness, your thoughtfulness. Your warm nature, which is the reason for your shame. You want to be like your uncle, but you're not. Maturity is about taking responsibility for your decisions, and you are running away from it. You become a man when you confront your desires."

Prince Jacaerys seemed completely surprised by her words, simultaneously distressed and filled with hope. He lowered his gaze, looking down at his fingers, silent for a long moment.

"Fly with me to Dragonstone."

She looked at him in disbelief, for a moment not knowing what to say, shocked.

This boy completely lost his mind.

"I don't follow." She confessed.

Her nephew looked at her with a gleam in his eye, from which she felt a squeeze in her lower abdomen.

"Fly with me to Dragonstone. You are my blood. I do not want you to be the servant of a lord who will be able to use you and…" He did not finish, his cheeks red with shame.

Something in his words, in the fact that he was concerned about her fate and welfare, touched her.

She thought this boy had a really good heart.

"Your sister has ordered me to set out for the Eyrie."

"My sister wishes you to disappear from Harrenhal. I desire you to accompany me on my journey back to Dragonstone."

She laughed at his words.

"Who will I be there? Your whore?"

The boy furrowed his brow, looking at her in shock.

"My aunt."

Her smile vanished from her face, her brow furrowed in anger.

"Truly you are still a little child."

"I want this."

"You don't know what you want. Who I am."

"You are just like me. Abandoned. Alone. Marked. Without purpose, without a chance to have the dignity you deserve. I seem to have finally understood my sister. What she and my uncle have in common. I felt something immediately when I saw you for the first time. I'm not speaking of lust − I'm speaking of a feeling that I've never before met a person who could accept me as I am. Some part of me believes that I was destined to meet you."

He whispered, as if he was referring to something he was ashamed of, desperate and embarrassed, his bright eyes full of hot emotion that frightened her, overwhelmed her and moved her at the same time.

Only then did she understand.

A stone fortress reaching up to the sky, with the sound of water all around it.

The dragon on whose back she flew, which she had never seen before.

Her destiny had come for her.

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hotdaemondtargaryen · 7 hours

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HE'S MOMMA'S BOY.

Olivia's face as she saw how the host made him pick up Ewan and sit away from her.

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lonelymagpies · 1 day

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I love the new outfit I’m so confident those shoulder embroideries will get easy to draw at some point (I’m delusional)

#artists on tumblr #character art #sketch #sketch digital #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #sketchblr #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond aesthetic #aemond #ewan mitchell #i love him in a way a could dislocate my jaw and swallow him whole

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thought--bubble · 8 hours

Text

Fear is a game for children

Aemond X Aemond Wife Reader X Daemon

Warnings Below

Word Count: 2,716

Canon Aemond Master List

Daemon Master List

Full Master List

Banners by @arcielee

Written for the Dragon friends period smut collab. Based on an ask received by the wonderful @lady-phasma that she so kindly invited us to participate in!

Header by @zaldritzosrose

Please click HERE for the masterlist for this Collab

Warnings:: Mentions of menstruation, Some sexism, Dubious consent, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Multiple partners. (P in V Sex *Brief mention*)

Being married to a Targaryen prince wasn't half as bad as you had initially expected.

Your husband wasn't exactly warm and loving, but he was respectful, performed his marital duty, and made sure that you were comfortable throughout the process.

Yet you yearned for something more. Something other women spoke about. Not just comfort during the act but actual pleasure. The idea is that you did not need to simply be grateful that the act does not hurt but that you could derive actual pleasure from it.

You had brought this topic up to your husband multiple times. Trying to address what you were sure was a sensitive subject with the utmost gentleness.

At first, Aemond would hear nothing of it, only chastising you for your lewdness. But true to form for Aemond, being told that he was inadequate in anything would motivate him, and try he did, and he improved trying difference postions and pacing, preening at your positive encouragement. That came to an abrupt halt once your moonblood reared its head.

You had heard from your mother and other ladies of the court about the benefits of intimate connection with your husband even at this time, yet Aemond was entirely averse to the idea. Unsanitary and of no purpose being his selected terms. You took no offense to this. You knew how stubborn to change Aemond is. His ability to try something new is limited to the training yard or on the back of Vhagar. He had already done more than you had expected.

You learned quickly that the best time to get things from your husband was when he has had some wine. He is much more...... agreeable, in this state.

Viserys' big birthday feast tonight would be the perfect venue. Everyone knew it would most likely be his last so it was expected to be a grand affair, and a grand affair is was.

So, partway through the evening festivities, you find yourself sitting alone with a slightly wine soaked version of your husband. Your fingertips gently tapping on the table. You knew this may be your moment. Your moment to explain to him why this would be a positive for you both and your growing connection.

"Husband," you open conversation gently, your voice soft as snow.

"Wife?" He turns his head toward you, a small wrinkle creasing his forehead.

You love that little wrinkle. The wrinkle that tells you he is listening, that you have his attention even though his eye is not on you.

"Do you remember the conversation we had this morning?"

Aemonds back stiffens slightly, and he turns his head back to facing forward.

"I do. My opinion on the matter has not changed, " he replies dryly. His fingers lightly tapping on the smooth wooden table they rested upon.

"There are benefits, husband." You lower your voice as much as possible,"others have told me....."

He whips his head toward you, bringing his mouth close to the side of your head. "Do not tell me of your lecherous conversations with the dim-witted ladies of this court." He hisses between clenched teeth "it is beneath your station"

You open your mouth to retort but are cut short by a dark chuckle emanating from behind you.

Daemon Targaryen leans against the wall, his frame tall, his shoulders broad. His short white hair slicked back, with a smile that creeps up his face before settling behind his sharp lilac eyes.

"Oh dear nephew! Must you be such a prude? Must be the Hightower in you." Daemon swirls his wine around his goblet, his eyes trained on you, but his words meant for your husband.

"I find myself quite intrigued by your wife's lascivious conversations and would be quite pleased to hear more." he pushes himself off the wall, bringing his free hand to your shoulder, "do continue, princess."

Your words catch in your throat as heat rises to your face. Your husband and his uncle exchange some choice words in hushed tones, but you can't hear them over the rush of blood pounding in your ears.

You are finally torn from your mental whirlwind when your husband abruptly grips your hand pulling you harshly to your feet.

"My wife and I wish to retire. As always, it has been the utmost pleasure to speak with you, uncle. " Aemonds words are polite, yet the venom in his tone could not be clearer.

As your husband pulls you out of the banquet hall and through the corridors of the redkeep, your stomach is doing somersaults. It is not easy to provoke the wrath of your husband. As his wife, he has always used gentle hands with you, though embarrassment is not something he takes lightly.

You try not to imagine the fate that awaits you behind your chamber door, where Aemond will be free to let you know exactly how he feels about the shame you have clearly brought upon him.

The tapping of your feet against the stone floor echoes through the corridors. Your soft steps, your husband's harsh steps, and a third set of steps heavier than yours yet lighter than your husband's and trailing behind you

You audibly gulp before turning your head to glance behind you but before you can fully turn your head your husband yanks you forward.

"Dear uncle. Your accommodations are back towards the hall. I fear you may not be headed in the right direction. " Aemond attempts to exude an air of confidence, but the gentle shake to his voice is unmistakable, especially to a predator like the rogue prince himself.

"You fear a lot of things, sweet nephew, if I am to understand our previous conversation" Daemon continues following you and Aemond through the corridors, even as Aemond increases his pace nearly dragging you along the floor.

"Dragons fly! They do not run!" Daemon chuckles heartily as he picks up his pace as well. You can't help but admire the confidence in his voice, in his swagger. It's something you see Aemond becoming once time has had a chance to mature him.

When you reach your chambers, Aemond practically shoves you through the door. Turning his body hastily in an attempt to get the door shut. Just as the door is near to close in slips, the tip of a boot.

"Uncle," Aemond growls his hands grip the door tightly, his arm muscles flexing.

"Yes, it is me," Daemon chuckles as he pushes through the door as if Aemond is a mere fly he was swatting from his face.

"The hour has grown quite late. My lady wife and I wish to retire... tis hardly the time for company" Aemond holds his arm out towards his uncle in an attempt to corral him back out the open door.

"Oh, but I have been left unsatisfied by our earlier conversation and a dragon...... well, we simply can not go unsatisfied. " Daemon feigns a smile toward Aemond before setting his sights on you.

"Now princess, if you wish for me to take my leave, I will. Just as soon as you tell me the subject of these conversations with the ladies of the court. The conversations that serve to upset my nephew so much." Daemon wiggles his eyebrows at you before settling himself in one of the chairs placed before the hearth in your marriage chambers.

"Well......" You trail off unsure of what you should do. You're placed in a room with two quarreling dragons, and you feel the fire breathing down your neck. You look toward your husband for some guidance, but he simply looks down.

"We speak about girlish things. Things I am sure would bore you greatly, my prince."

"Hmmm...." Daemon scratches his chin, his smirk returning to his face when he sees how uncomfortable Aemond is.

"What kind of girlish things was my dear nephew chastising you for? For I am sure it was not because you spoke of gowns, balls, or childbearing. " Daemon starts to tap his foot, and your stomach curls.

You know the situation you are in. You refuse Daemon and meet his wrath now, or you appease Daemon and meet Aemond's wrath later. You decide you are better off calming your husband then to attempt to avoid the questions asked by the elder dragon prince.

"We spoke of benefits." You clear your throat and pull and the neckline of your gown, the material suddenly tight around your neck and heavy upon your frame.

"This bores me" Daemon drawls annoyed. "What is it?"

"The benefits of...... intimate moments with one's husband... during.... well..... when a lady has her moonblood. " As the words leave your lips, you turn your head to the side in a desperate attempt to not look at your husband.

"Is that it?" Daemon laughs loudly. Though the laughter is not joyful, instead it is condescending.

"Oh, nephew! You are supposed to be a dragon! Yet you fear a little blood?" Daemon stands up hastily from his chair. He casts a sideways look towards Aemond before smirking and making his way to you swiftly, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Uncle......" Aemond voice is a low growl and he stands with his legs spread slightly apart.

"It is wholly unsurprising that you have yet to...... bloody your blade. " Daemon snickers his back, turned away from Aemond, his arm still around your waist. "Such a fearful boy. Now pay attention. I am about to teach you a lesson you would be wise to learn...."

With that, Daemon tightens his grip around your waist, walking you backward toward the bed you share with your husband, pushing you gently until you land softly on your back.

"Nephew. As a dragon....." Daemon leans down, pushing your dress up your legs and around your hips. "Blood is not something we fear." He deftly wraps his fingers around the band of your small clothes, quickly pulling them down your legs before discarding them.

"Come" Daemon beckons Aemond to stand behind him, Aemond stays rooted in place at first but after a sharp look of annoyance from Daemon he slowly walks over until he is behind him.

Daemon brings his hand to your heat opening you up with his fingers. His hands are cold, sending a shiver up your spine.

"Are you sore princess?" Daemon's question pours over you like warm water, the chill running down your spine replaced with a heat.

"Why would she be?" Aemond's voice cuts through your haze briefly.

Daemon pinches his nose before turning to look at Aemond. "Because, ladies can be sore during this time. you tout around all of your knowledge yet do not know this?"

Aemond scoffs and turns his head. "The affairs of women are hardly my concern"

You try to keep the thoughts in your head from displaying on your face.

"The comfort of your wife should be your concern Aemond" Daemon runs his fingers through your folds swiping the pads of his middle and forefinger over your pearl. "however do you cope princess?"

Your back arches slightly at the touch, a soft sigh slipping out from between your lips.

"Such a responsive thing. You are a man of good fortune Aemond. Unfortunate that you have squandered it until now."

Daemon brings his head down between your thighs rolling his tongue over your clit, humming as he goes.

Your reaction is instant. Aemond has never gone down on you at all let alone during your cycle. Your hands quickly find their way into Daemon's hair pulling him closer.

Your eyes shoot open as his slides one cold long finger into your heat, crooking it upwards and exploring your insides. You look for Aemond, slightly raising your head and find him frozen. His one pupil blown and taking in the sight before him.

You moan loudly as the lewd wet sounds of Daemon's mouth sucking and licking at your heat ring loud around the room. You feel that pressure that you have experienced very few times start to build in your lower stomach, tightening like a coil, ready to pop loose at any moment.

Daemon lifts his head from you, your juices and moonblood are a cloudy mixture that drip down his chin.

"Give in for me sweet girl, show your husband what you look like when a man does as he should" Daemon growls as he brings his face back down to your heat, biting gently and sucking harshly on your swollen nub.

The pleasure that had been building in your lower stomach reaches a pinnacle and crashes over you like a wave, your back arching off the bed, nothing else exists for you in this moment aside from your pleasure and the momentary relief you feel from you feminine aches.

The noises you make are unbecoming for a lady of your standing but not even the 7 could keep you quiet now.

Daemon leans back on his haunches, a sly smirk on his face clearly pleased with himself. "And that, dear nephew, is what a satisfied woman looks like, a new view for you, of that i am sure."

Aemond angrily shoves Daemon to the side causing him to lose his balance temporarily.

"You are most welcome princess" Daemon taunts haughtily, he makes no moves to clean off his face instead focused on Aemond who has now lowered his own face to your heat desperately attempting to recreate the scene he just witnessed.

"Slower nephew. There is a build up that must be done"

Aemond slows his movements suddenly, the overstimulation you were feeling calms to a gentle wave of pleasure as your husband flicks his tongue across your sweet pearl.

Daemon gets up and crawls onto the bed kneeling beside you.

"Princess..." He coos directly into your ear while pushing your hair back. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Y-Yes" your breaths are short and broken, each stroke of Aemond tongue across you overstimulated clit cause a small twitch.

"That is good." Daemon brings his lips to yours pushing his tongue into your mouth, the taste of wine and copper fills your mouth heightening your pleasure as it once again builds.

You bring your hands down to Aemond's hair using it as an anchor to hold him in place as you take your pleasure from him rubbing yourself against his prominent nose as he shoves his tongue into your clenching entrance.

Your hips roll as you move climbing up that wall of pleasure once again, Daemon trails bloody kisses down your neck and over your cleavage, before grasping your left breast, kneading the fatty flesh beneath his palm.

"You are taking much longer than I did nephew" He taunts his mouth up against the side of your throat, biting a nibbling at the sensitive flesh there.

Aemond takes this taunt as a challenge pressing two fingers into your core and flattening his tongue against your pearl. His fingers digging into the fatty flesh of your thighs.

The stimulation of your core, mixed with Daemon's tight grip of your breast and needy kisses sends you hurtling back towards your peak.

"Aemond... please Aemond" you gasp as you feel your body tense, a small tremble spreading throughout your entire frame.

"Hmmmm" Aemond hums applying more pressure to your pearl and pushing his fingers into your body at an accelerated pace.

"One more time for us princess" Daemon whispers into your ear, gently biting at the lobe.

"One more!" You gasp out before succumbing to your orgasm.

You gasp loudly, feeling as if you could take all the air in the room into your lungs and it still wouldn't be enough.

Aemond raises his head slowly from between your legs the same mixture dripping down his face and covering the tips of his white hair.

His eye connects with yours as he stands and starts to loosen the laces of his trousers.

Daemon pulls away from your neck and watches Aemond as he pushes himself into your core in one swift motion, his face and hair still covered in your blood, his ravenous eye upon you and his fingers digging so deeply into your thighs you are sure he will soon break skin.

"And now nephew....." Daemon chuckles and slightly pushes back his hair. "you finally look like a dragon"

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#aemond x reader #daemon x reader #aemond fanfiction #daemon targeryan #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #ewan mitchell verse #daemon fanfic #ewan mitchell fanfic #matt smith fanfiction #jess fics

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mairoon · 1 day

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short king, bitchy, THE✨ dreamer ✨

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ridhistory21 · 1 day

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he's so bf coded 😭

#aemond targaryen #house of dragons #hotd fandom #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #prince aemond #ewan nation #ewan mitchell #ewandaily

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nothingbutsweetwords · 23 hours

Text

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ…"

Word count: 4000.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

HOLDING — 5. Her.

In the turbulent landscape of her mind, revelations unfurled like a shadow play, eclipsing all other thoughts, making it impossible for her to consider the idea of claiming a dragon. The cruel and harsh circumstances of the moment left no room for such a notion. Even in a different world, she would not have felt ready. Her respect for family transcended her own desires.

She could see the urgency in every word Aemond spoke, the need shining in his eyes. She felt immense gratitude toward him for his consideration, but this gratitude was accompanied by an unexpected anger, for now she had a new fear to face. A fear that grew with each of his insistences, a fear of not measuring up, of not being good enough.

The disappointment on Aemond's face as he headed for the door wounded her deeply. Her mouth twisted in a gesture of frustration, regretting not only having disappointed him but also herself. She had always believed in her courage, in her capability, until the moment came to prove it.

"I won't sit idly by" Aemond declared before leaving, his words echoing in the emptiness of the room. Her stomach sank, a knot of anxiety forming within as she recalled Helaena's words.

Quickly, she threw her cloak over her shoulders, not caring that it barely covered her nightgown. There was no time to dress properly. She rushed out of the room, her hurried steps filling the dark and silent corridors. The night's chill seeped through the castle windows, she could hear the murmur of waves crashing against the shore, and the echo of her steps resonated against the stone walls, heightening her sense of urgency and desperation.

Upon reaching the balcony, she spotted Otto and Aegon entering the castle, although their gaze was fixed elsewhere. As she was about to step outside, with her eyes on Aemond's back, Diana, her mother's lady-in-waiting, appeared carrying Joffrey in her arms. At the sight of her, Diana frowned.

"My princess, what are you doing out of your quarters at this hour?" Diana asked, concerned.

"I need to..." she began.

"You cannot leave your quarters dressed like this, so inappropriately, princess, come with me" Diana insisted, shifting Joffrey to one arm and taking her by the shoulder with the other, guiding her back.

"I need to find Aemond" she explained, her words falling on deaf ears as Diana led her further into the castle.

"You can look for him tomorrow, my princess" Diana concluded, opening the door to the room she had left just minutes before.

"Diana, please, listen to me" she begged, feeling the desperation in her chest and a bitter taste filling her mouth. Both entered the room, and seeing her urgency, Diana put Joffrey on the bed and knelt to be at her level. Diana had been like a mother to her, and she had never seen her so upset, so her distress made the lady-in-waiting pay more attention.

"I have a bad feeling, Diana, please, I need to go" she pleaded, nervousness evident in every word. Diana took her trembling hands, trying to calm her.

"Princess, tell me, what is happening?"

"I feel that something bad is going to happen, Diana, let me go to him."

"Princess, I cannot let you leave at this hour, your mother would not approve. I assure you that nothing will happen, we are all safe here, yes?"

Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she realized it was futile; the woman did not understand. Joffrey began to cry, demanding attention. Diana moved away to console him, picking him up again and casting a worried glance at her.

"What if I call your mother, princess, would that be better?" Diana proposed. She nodded, knowing that her mother might comprehend her better. "Very well, but wait for her here, princess, please." Although she still wanted to go after Aemond, she agreed.

She grappled with an unfamiliar sensation, something she didn’t know how to describe, like a tightening grip around her ribs that boded ill, and she knew it could not mean anything good. Seated upon the bed, she endeavored to steady her breath, yet with each passing moment void of news from her mother, the task proved more arduous. Rising to her feet, she commenced pacing, impatience fueling her, her mind besieged by an unyielding tempest.

Then she felt it, as if the ground trembled beneath her soles. She hastened to her window, and there she beheld it. From her elevated position, she had a clear view of where Vhagar lay, her giant dark silhouette standing out against the golden sand. Though unable to discern Aemond's diminutive form, she watched as the dragon turned its gaze in his direction and opened her mouth. A chill ran down her spine as she witnessed the scene, her heart racing wildly.

A deep roar, vibrating through her very core, thundered forth from Vhagar's throat, enveloping the night in its imposing echo. Admiration and fear danced a precarious duet within her, emotions entwined in conflict as she beheld the majestic creature ascend from its resting ground. Helaena's cautionary words reverberated still in her mind, stirring a burgeoning anxiety within her.

She bit her lower lip, her trembling hands gripping the window sill. The tension was unbearable. She wanted to scream, run to him, stop him, but she was paralyzed by fear and worry.

The scene unfolded like a dream. Aemond mounted the dragon, and for a moment that seemed eternal, both remained still, as if time itself had stopped to witness that momentous instant. Then, with another thunderous roar, Vhagar spread her colossal wings and, with a powerful flap, majestically lifted off the ground. The wind generated by the takeoff shook the window glass, making it tremble.

She could not look away, her eyes filled with tears. It was a sight both awe-inspiring and terrifying at the same time. She felt pride, but also a deep and visceral fear for Aemond's safety. Vhagar was a formidable battle dragon, and only the most capable and daring individuals could hope to claim her. The dragon ascended higher and higher, her powerful wings slicing through the air with lethal grace. Soon, they became a shadow, fading into the distance and the darkness of the sky, joining their fates in a defiant flight and leaving her with a sense of emptiness and an unanswered question: Could Helaena have been wrong, or did her prophecy still await?

After an agonizing wait full of uncertainty, the moment she waited for finally arrived. From her position at the window, she saw the great figure of Vhagar soaring through the night sky. Her heart leapt with relief at the sight of Aemond's familiar silhouette, unscathed and returning safely from his daring flight. With her heart in her throat, she watched as he descended from the dragon's back with grace and determination. Every stride he made towards the castle was a melody of triumph and bravery. Illuminated by the moon, his figure glowed with a quiet radiance.

She could barely contain her excitement when she saw him disappear below. Each step Aemond took towards her echoed the victory in her chest, like it was her own.

She ran to her door, her sweaty hand on the knob, ready to open it before he even knocked. A smile adorned her face, her lower lip between her teeth as she waited, expectant. She could not wait to see his sweet look, revealing exhaustion and satisfaction from his feat, when they were face to face. She was about to go out in search of him again when she noticed how long it was taking him to return, but at that moment, she heard a deafening noise coming from the beach and stood rooted in place. It was a roar from Vhagar, a raw and primal cry of pure agony.

Everything had gone too well considering the luck they both had, and she knew Helaena was never wrong.

Her lady-in-waiting, Lyra, had rushed in some time later, her face appeared ghostly pale, as if every drop of blood had been drained from it, terrified, and when she saw her, there was no need to ask any questions. She approached, sitting beside her, and she simply rested her head on Lyra's lap, curling into a ball. Lyra covered her with blankets, feeling the chill of her cold body, and gently stroked her hair, humming a sweet melody, while madness reigned in the hallways. The clinking of metal armor could be heard as guards ran, frightened and condemning whispers from everyone present in the castle, yet she remained in place, pinned, unable to react. She was not ready to face whatever was happening, but there was only one thing she needed to know.

"Is he okay?"

Lyra did not ask who she meant, for she had seen her princess's face soften every time she saw him pass by, she simply replied, "He will be, my princess."

The sun barely hinted at itself behind a shroud of gray clouds that darkened the dawn. Throughout the long night, she had been unable to close her eyes, despite Lyra's careful attempts to tuck her in. Lyra had stayed by her side, fulfilling the order Diana brought from Rhaenyra, and her presence had been a small but insufficient source of comfort.

With the first light of day, the gravity of the events became apparent. Lyra had gone to fetch breakfast a few minutes ago, and she, unable to keep waiting, decided to step out. The castle hallways buzzed with frenetic activity, guards stationed at the door of Aemond and Aegon's room, and servants hurrying by with luggage. When she tried to enter to see Aemond, the guards stopped her. Only a maester, carrying a tray full of instruments and herbs, was granted entry. The door closed swiftly, and she only managed to glimpse a silhouette resting on the bed in the dim light.

Desperate, she headed to her brother’s room, finding it empty. She decided to go to her mother's chambers, where the guards immediately let her pass. Inside, she found her brothers with bowed heads and Laenor with loose dreadlocks, disheveled and with swollen eyes. Rhaenyra maintained a grave expression, despite her serene face.

"Mother" she called, running to her side. Rhaenyra took her into her lap and kissed her forehead. Luke looked up, revealing a swollen nose and traces of blood, while Jace remained unscathed except for his reddened knuckles. He seemed uninjured otherwise. She opened her mouth to question what had happened, but her mother spoke first.

"Leave us. You've already caused enough trouble today" Rhaenyra commanded. Her brothers left without protest, leaving her searching for answers.

"Prince Aemond was… injured last night" Rhaenyra began softly, a tremendous weight settling on her shoulders, crushing her in place. "He has lost an eye."

Her world crumbled at that instant. Tears began to well up as she backed away, bringing her hands to her mouth. Rhaenyra hurried to take her by the shoulders, trying to calm her.

"He will be fine, he was attended to quickly" her mother assured.

"How...?" The question died on her lips, terrified and confused.

"It was a... regrettable accident. They did not wish him such harm."

"They?" she asked, feeling a knot in her stomach as she recalled Luke's injured face and pieced it together. "How could they..."

"Your brothers were forced to defend themselves" Rhaenyra firmly said.

How had things escalated so far? Had she misjudged the situation? It seemed that the jokes, taunts, and blows were the result of something much deeper.

She felt the breath escape her, her mind swirling with guilt and fear. Guilt gnawed at her conscience for failing to intercept Aemond before his departure from her chamber, for not standing by to shield him, for delaying her departure from the solace of her quarters, and for not being by his side at that pivotal moment, holding his hand.

"Defend themselves from what?" she asked, desperate to understand.

"Aemond insulted them, and by extension, us." The pain stabbed her as she understood. Aemond, her dear Aemond, had said terrible things. Surely there was some explanation, he would never say such things just to hurt. And still, nothing justified him losing an eye. Shaking her head, she tried to move towards the door, but her mother's hands stopped her.

"They won't let you near him, not after last night."

"But I did not do anything."

"They won't care." Frustrated, tears streamed from her eyes. Defending their honor had been what drove Harwin away from them, and now it was keeping her from her sweet prince, her best friend.

Her mother's voice cut through the mental cacophony with a statement: "His family will soon sail back to King's Landing, and we will go to Dragonstone, like it was planned."

"He is our family too, we can't leave him alone after this, mother, please, we can't go to Dragonstone" she said, suspended in a liminal space between incomprehension and denial.

"We are not living in a castle where we are not welcome anymore. There is no discussion."

"I need to be with him," she pleaded, "he will need me by his side. I need to take care of him."

"He will have the best maesters at his disposal, ensuring his safety, I promise you that, my child" Rhaenyra said, in an effort to soothe her distress.

"That is not enough!" she replied angrily. "Please, let me stay with him."

"I cannot leave you alone with them" her mother’s voice began to rise.

"Why not?"

"What if something happens to you? I could never forgive myself."

"Nothing could ever happen to me in the Red Keep. They will continue to look after me, I am part of the family."

"You are part of our family."

"It is just one family, Mother, I beg you" she said, taking her mother's hands in hers and looking her in the eyes. "Do not separate me from him."

"Let her" Laenor intervened, surprising both of them. Rhaenyra looked at him, uncertain.

"I cannot leave her alone."

"I will have Aemond, Helaena, and my grandsire" she insisted.

"And I will ensure the best men guard her doors day and night" Laenor added.

"She belongs at our side, I can't..."

"Then let her return to you" Laenor said gently. Rhaenyra sought more reasons to refuse, but she interrupted her.

"Please, Mother" she begged. "At least until he heals, please."

Rhaenyra finally relented, her nod almost unnoticeable. "Only until he heals."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, a blend of joy and sorrow as she enveloped her mother in a tight embrace. They wept in unison, their tears mingling as they shared their burdens. With a turn towards Laenor, she found his outstretched arms, welcoming him into their embrace. Grateful for the familial warmth, for the embrace she had lost.

Days at sea dragged on with the patience of a shadow that refuses to move, passing with an awful and annoying slowness. She waited patiently by the door of Aemond's cabin, where the maester and Queen Alicent seemed to weave a cloak of excuses to keep denying her the access. Nevertheless, she remained there, waiting, clinging to the hope that her presence, perhaps even separated by the wood between them, might bring some comfort to the prince.

Occasionally, a specter slipped into her thoughts, whispering questions. Had it been a mistake not to travel to Dragonstone? Was Aemond choosing not to see her, holding her responsible for her brother’s actions? She couldn’t blame him if that was the case.

In those moments of uncertainty, her heart found solace in the smiles of Lyra and Helaena. Saying goodbye to her family turned out to be an even more heartbreaking experience than she could have ever foreseen. The only thing that kept her upright was the intense fury she still felt towards her brothers. Luke, with tears streaming down his eyes, hugged her with palpable desperation, and though she tried to remain impassive, she couldn’t stop a few tears from slipping down her cheeks, especially upon seeing the wound that scarred her brother's face. On the other hand, Jace showed a clear reluctance to a farewell. He only appeared due to Rhaenyra's insistence, but even that pressure wasn’t enough to elicit a genuine hug.

Returning to King’s Landing brought a glimmer of relief, a fresh breeze that caressed her face with the promise of the safety and comfort in her own room. She dedicated that first day on solid ground to rest, to clear the fog that had clouded her mind and made her body seasick during the days of the voyage. And although she allowed herself to enjoy the momentary peace, her mind remained anchored at the prince’s door.

The following days flowed in a serene routine, marked by Lyra’s warm voice announcing the dawn. Amid laughter and trivial conversations, she avoided mentioning her family, afraid that the echo of nostalgia would turn into an insurmountable abyss. Then, she attended her classes, engaging in relaxed conversations with the septa and Helaena while they embroidered. While Helaena embroidered an impressive spider, she made circles in different shades of blue and violet, or tried to. Later, in the sanctuary of her room, after a warm bath with rose oils, she immersed herself in reading, as the prince's absence had stolen the shine from all the words in the books inside the library.

Until one night, tired of the guard’s persistent refusals, and determined to defy the prohibition that tormented her, she locked her door with determination. With a flickering candle illuminating her face, she ventured through the corridors toward Aemond's chamber, ready to challenge any obstacle that stood between them.

A dim light in the middle of the hallway, like a tiny star in the dark, guided her path to the room. The slightly open door seemed to whisper a silent call, inviting her to cross the threshold into Aemond's refuge.

As she entered, her gaze met the prince's figure, bathed in the silvery moonlight streaming through the window. He lay in bed, wrapped in sheets with his arms outstretched over the covers. With barely perceptible steps, she approached, afraid of disturbing his sleep, but urged by the need to be near him. Closing the door behind her and placing the candle on the bedside table, her eyes settled on the prince's face. One side covered in white linen bandages, and the other marked by bruises, a painful contradiction of wounds and scars on his silk like skin. When their gazes met, a flicker of complicity lit up the darkness, though tears threatened to blur her vision.

"I thought you wouldn’t come" Aemond whispered, a trembling smile curving his lips as his sapphire eye met hers, now clouded. She wanted to return it but couldn’t. "Do not fret, I’m better now" he tried to console her, but she gave in to the emotional storm she had kept at bay for so long. Tears flowed freely as she collapsed onto the bed next to the prince, messing up the sheets. Her hands found his, a contrast between the violence of her tears and the softness of her touch.

"I’m so sorry" she murmured between sobs, overwhelmed by the weight of guilt that had consumed her since that fateful day.

Aemond gently squeezed her hands, whispers of comfort escaping his lips in an attempt to calm her inner turmoil. "Quiet, there are guards at the door, they must not hear you or they will come."

She nodded and began to inhale and exhale, trying to relax. "I’m so sorry" she repeated in a lower voice, a litany of regret that threatened to drown her.

"You must stop apologizing for things you did not do" he interrupted her, his voice soft, yet firm.

"I should have been there, I tried to follow you, but Diana took me back to my chambers and-and" her words were cut off, caught in a whirlwind of uncontrollable emotions. "I tried to visit you every day, Aemond, I swear this to you, but they would not let me see you."

"I’m glad you’re here now" his voice was barely a whisper, but it resonated with a tenderness that melted the walls of pain inside them. An unexpected request broke the silence between them, a gesture of vulnerability that transcended all barriers. "Could you come to the other side?"

A blush of embarrassment tinted her cheeks as she realized her mistake, but her response was a gesture of silent obedience as she circled the bed to take her place on the right side. Her tears continued to fall.

"Could you pass me my tea?" Without saying a word, she reached for the adjacent table and took the small golden cup filled with liquid. Carefully, she brought it to the prince's lips, who drank slowly, seeking relief in the bitter and now cold brew. When he finally set the cup aside, his words once again stirred the torrent of feelings within her. "It helps with the pain."

A heart-wrenching impulse flooded her at Aemond's exposedness, silently struggling against the torment consuming him from within. "Does it hurt terribly?" she asked, though she knew the answer lay beyond mere expressions. However, the prince responded with nothing more than a press of his lips, a silent refusal to lie to her, and also to tell her the truth, which spoke more than a thousand words.

"I wish I could take all your pain and bear it myself instead" she whispered, longing to feel the weight of his suffering crush her heart if it meant giving him a respite.

Aemond looked at her, his face full of gratitude and determination. "I would never allow that" he assured her, with the firmness of one who has made an irrevocable decision. And she knew that it was true, he held a sincerity that moved her heart, and was like a balm for her wounded soul. The prince's next request flowed in the air, laden with longing and need. "Could you stay with me? The maester won’t come until the sun is up." She nodded, relieved that her presence was welcome. She shed the cloak that covered her and slid under the sheets, feeling the comforting warmth of the prince’s closeness. "Would you hold me?" he requested, setting aside shame thanks to the effects of the poppy milk beginning to take hold.

With tenderness and care, she moved closer, seeking refuge in his chest while her arm wrapped around his waist in a gesture of mutual comfort. In that embrace, they found a haven of peace, an oasis of calm amidst the storm, where pain dissolved in the warmth of their shared love. Her heart beat in unison with Aemond’s, united in an indissoluble bond that transcended the wounds of the past and the uncertainties of the future, while her tears continued her lament, reflecting the pain that had taken root in her heart not only for the prince but also for the acts perpetrated by her own brothers. The disappointment and anger intertwined, tearing the veil of trust she had once placed in them. That darkness, deceitful and treacherous acts seemed alien to the image she had built of them, even in the darkest corners of her imagination.

It was the prince’s caress among her scattered curls that brought her out of that abyss of murky thoughts, reminding her that, despite everything, there was still light and comfort in the middle of the night. "I’m glad Helaena told you. For a moment I thought that she hadn't heard me" he confessed, a hint of relief in his voice.

"Told me what?" she asked, confused by Helaena's mention.

"To stay" Aemond replied, as if it were obvious. However, her response came in the form of a profound silence full of meaning. She knew it wasn’t necessary for Helaena to ask, for her commitment to remain steadfastly by his side was unwavering.

@callsignwidow @helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @fics-i-love-and-recommend @scarletbedlam @squidscottjeans @woodlandwrites ♥

#aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic

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daenysx · 2 days

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here's a little appreciation post for ewan mitchell because i love him so much

okay so ewan mitchell looks like the babiest babygirl of all time with all his looks, his soft hair, and his big blue eyes -i would willingly drown in them- but then he starts speaking and his voice is so silky smooth with this dangerous tone i can't really explain- it's so deep and so flawless, he could literally bring people on their knees just by using that voice

his face expressions are always so deep!!! i mean the way he widens his eyes, or the way he curves his lips?? and his cheekbones (don't even get me started on them) i feel really happy when i see his face because he always looks so charming and attentive- he's literally so effortlessly cool all the time

-and the way he knows his shit? he is aware of everything about aemond. he just does it so well, talking about aemond with all the knowledge and logical explanations. he makes me feel so safe about it. understanding a complex character like aemond is not easy but listening ewan talking about him, giving us reasons and motivations, it's so amazing (he's so clever it messes with my head)

and um- he's so tall and handsome as hell. you know what that means. boyfriend material.

#ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen thoughts #hotd #aemond one eye #prince aemond #house targaryen #house of the dragon thoughts #team green #ewan mitchell thoughts #hotd aemond #daenysdreams

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fanficapologist · 2 days

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

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

Chapter Eighty-Two

The next few weeks at Harrenhall were marked by an eerie emptiness that permeated every corner of Maera's life. All signs of Aemond had vanished from their once shared rooms. His weapons, which had always hung neatly on the walls, were gone. His books, once neatly piled across tables and shelves, were no longer there to be stumbled upon. His clothes, that had intermingled with hers in the wardrobe, had disappeared as if they had never existed. The room, and especially her bed, no longer smelled like him. The familiar scent of leather, smoke, and the faintest hint of dragon clung only to her memories now.

Their marriage, which had been a tumultuous blend of passion and conflict, now felt like a distant dream. Most evenings, Maera spent crying herself to sleep. Her tears soaked the pillow as she reached out to the empty side of the bed, her hand yearning to touch her husband who was no longer there. The ache of his absence was a heavy weight in her chest, a constant reminder of the love that had been lost. She thanked the Gods for the child growing in her belly, for it was this new life that gave her the strength to keep going. Every kick, every movement, was a reassurance that she had a reason to endure the pain.

Maera knew that this was for the best. She understood that by distancing herself from Aemond, she was shielding herself from further harm. The wounds on her heart needed time to heal, free from the tumultuous influence of her husband's presence. And yet, it was so painful. The emptiness in her room mirrored the emptiness in her heart, a void that Aemond had once filled. The knowledge that this was necessary did little to ease the sting of loneliness and the sorrow of what could have been.

She had meticulously avoided all attempts by Aemond to contact her. She ignored the persistent knocks on her door, the sound of his voice calling her name in the corridors. She counteracted these intrusions by avoiding leaving her chambers altogether, creating a sanctuary of solitude where she could shield herself from his presence.

The only reason she left her chambers was for council meetings. Knowing this, Aemond exploited her sense of duty by requesting these meetings daily. It was in his nature to be manipulative and bitter, and though he had physically kept his distance, he cloaked his cunning idea in a guise of necessity. The council meetings were his way of maintaining a connection, no matter how strained, ensuring that he could see her, even if they did not directly speak to each other.

Each day, Maera would enter the council chamber with the grace of a true princess, her head held high and her demeanor calm. She moved with a fluidity that belied the turmoil within her, each step measured and purposeful. Taking her seat next to her husband, the one-eyed Prince, she barely spared him a glance as the meeting commenced. The air between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

Aemond, clad in his usual dark attire with the now-familiar green accents, would sit with a rigid posture, his single eye often flickering to her in moments of distraction. Each meeting was a silent battle of wills. He masked his intentions behind a facade of professionalism, his gaze often lingering on her with a mixture of longing and frustration.

Despite her awareness, there was little she could do. Her duty demanded her presence at these gatherings, and Aemond had skillfully used that to his advantage. The council, oblivious to the personal conflict playing out between the prince and princess, continued their work under the watchful eyes of their superiors, unaware of the silent war waging just beneath the surface.

However it quickly became apparent that the council shared Maera’s thoughts about the unnecessary frequency of the daily meetings. Though none of the members openly voiced their opinions, Maera noticed their exasperated sighs and the rolling of their eyes. These silent gestures mirrored her own frustrations every time she was summoned. The initial few meetings, however, were not as burdensome as Aemond had substantial updates to share with the council.

With his brother Aegon and the dragon Sunfyre gone, Kings Landing had become significantly more vulnerable. Aemond’s strategic mind had been hard at work addressing these newfound weaknesses. He had doubled the number of men in the City Watch, ensuring that the capital would be well-protected despite its losses.

Furthermore, Aemond had made decisive moves to bolster their overall military strength. He had divided the remaining army from Rook’s Rest into three parts. One third was sent to Oldtown to strengthen their defenses there, another third was allocated to reinforce the Capital, and the final third, including Ser Criston Cole, was dispatched to Harrenhal. These actions demonstrated Aemond’s keen understanding of military strategy and his commitment to securing their holdings.

These early meetings were indeed productive. The Prince’s plans were meticulously detailed and well-received by the council. Even Maera, despite her personal grievances, had to acknowledge the necessity and effectiveness of these measures.Yet, as the days passed, the meetings began to lose their substance. With fewer pressing updates and strategic decisions to be made, they started to feel more like a charade, a pretext for Aemond to be in her presence.

It was embarrassing to watch the attending lords attempt to fill the void of conversation during the later daily meetings. They resorted to discussing minor updates regarding the Westerlands army, detailing their victories and defeats over the Rivermen. The black and green pieces on the map moved ever so slightly with each passing day, each shift more perfunctory than strategic.

Maera had effectively switched off during these sessions. She found herself drumming her fingers against the arm of her chair or rubbing her swollen belly as a distraction from Aemond’s burning gaze. His intense stare was a constant presence, and she did her best to ignore it. The proceedings became a blur of mundane details and forced conversations, with Maera only half-listening.

Yet, despite her detachment, she did pick up on one significant change: Harrenhal’s guards were undergoing a restructure. Ser Willard and the other guards Maera had previously reprimanded, including her ally Lord Unwin’s nephew, were gone. The stiffness in Lord Vance’s posture and the disdain on Lord Unwin’s face were unmistakable. Maera knew that Aemond had done away with the knights. Be it by the sword, as he had originally slaughtered the people of Harrenhal, or by the flame of his dragon, the men were gone.

She couldn't help but shake her head to herself, knowing that her husband’s temper had overtaken his reason. It meant that now four capable, skilled soldiers, could not be put to use in the war effort. And thanks to Aemond’s impulsive decision, it would further strain the political alliances with the men on their council. No house would take kindly to their kin being killed. Maera’s heart ached with frustration and a sense of foreboding as she considered the ramifications of her husband’s choices, and how, undoubtedly, she would once again have to pick up the pieces after him.

Apart from the restructuring of Harrenhal's guards, there were no new updates, and thus no need for the meetings to continue. That was until one day, a piece of news arrived that changed everything. The message that reached Harrenhal was both momentous and grim: Prince Jacaerys, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s eldest son and heir, was dead. The details of what had transpired were scarce, but the council took it as a significant victory. The room buzzed with restrained triumph, but Maera felt no such emotion.

Glancing toward Aemond when the news was revealed, Maera saw a slight twitch in the corner of his lips as he attempted to hide a pleased smile. His satisfaction was palpable, but Maera? She found no joy in it. The Blacks were indeed their enemies, yet this escalation only heightened the stakes of the war, putting herself and her unborn child in even greater peril.

Empathy welled up within her once again for her half-sister-in-law. Rhaenyra had now lost another child, making it three in total. Maera could not fathom the depth of such grief; it would surely consume her if she were in Rhaenyra's place. How the woman still stood and fought was beyond Maera's comprehension. The sorrow that would have shattered Maera seemed only to fuel Rhaenyra’s resolve. There was no doubt that revenge would follow this loss. The thought chilled Maera to her core, for she knew that Rhaenyra’s retaliation would be swift and merciless. This was what Maera feared most��the inevitable cycle of vengeance that would drag them all deeper into the abyss of war.

The week following the news of Prince Jacaerys’s death, the skies around Harrenhal were littered with ravens, their wings a dark, ceaseless flurry against the gray expanse. They carried scrolls reinforcing oaths to the Greens, as well as missives from Black factions turning cloak. The old River King’s castle seemed like an aviary, the constant fluttering and cawing of ravens creating a somber symphony.

Maera observed the ravens' arrivals from various vantage points. She sat on the grass outside the castle walls, Ēbrion by her side, her eyes following each bird's descent with a mixture of curiosity and dread. She also watched from her window, her gaze distant as she wondered what news each raven brought. The scrolls they carried bore the weight of lives and loyalties, each message a fragment of the shifting allegiances in this bloody conflict of the Dance of the Dragons.

Even though most of the letters were addressed to the Prince Regent, the title Aemond was now styling himself with, one early morning, Maera received one addressed to her. Recognizing the Essosi seal, she broke it eagerly, her heart quickening with anticipation.

Sister

I hope you and the babe you carry are faring well. I pray I do not sound like father in my writings, but I hope you are listening to the advice of the Maesters and keeping yourself and the child healthy.

Maera smiled as she recognised the familiar penmanship as Dermot’s. Though she hadn’t seen her brother in years, their bond had remained strong. Growing up, they had been inseparable, and since Dermot left for his travels, they had always kept in touch through letters.

I decided to join the Essosi fleet when they ventured towards the gullet, alongside my friend, Admiral Sharako. By chance we saw another ship crossing our path. Although Pentoshi, it was guarded heavily by accompanying Velaryon ships. A touch suspicious for a mere trade ship, would you not agree?

Her brows furrowed. Concern for his safety gnawed at her. She hoped he was keeping himself out of harm’s way. And the mention of a Pentoshi ship puzzled her, prompting her to read further.

Battle ensued and we managed to board the trade ship, the Gay Abandon. To our surprise, we found two little silver-haired boys. One immediately clung to the neck of his small dragon and got away. The other only clutched a dragon egg and was terrified. The poor boy warmed to me, and revealed his name is Viserys, Princess Rhaenyra’s youngest son.

The Princess’s green eyes widened in shock and fear. It appeared that the council update from a few months prior had been true; Rhaenyra was indeed sending her youngest children to be warded. Unfortunately, by chance, the Essosi fleet had intercepted them. The realization struck her with a mix of dread and sorrow, knowing the peril these innocent children now faced in the brutal game of thrones.

It seemed though that the little Prince would not be given to us without fuss. A few days into the voyage back home, we were attacked by a green and orange winged beast, who set most of the fleet ablaze.

Oh fuck. Vermax. Maera knew the description of the beast well. Aemond spoke often about the dragon, verbalising how he should have had the beast hatch to him in his crib instead of that unworthy Strong bastard, Jacaerys. Jacaerys? Wait…

Salvation came on boats sporting a deep blue flag with a grey anchor surrounded by mist.

The fleet of Morne.

The beast flew too low, hitting one of the masts before crashing into one of the already burning galleys. The young rider leapt free, but the bowman on our ship shot him before he could be retrieved.

Gods be good, this cannot be happening.

I am sorry to inform you of such gory details via raven, Maera. I know it is grim and improper, but I thought, given your position, it was best you knew everything. I shall leave it to you to inform House Targaryen of this information.

Maera froze as she read the letter, her eyes scanning over the devastating news. Her fleet, inherited from her beloved aunt and uncle who had perished due to Aemond’s actions, was responsible for the death of Prince Jacaerys and his dragon. The realization was a heavy blow, leaving her feeling monstrous and indirectly culpable.

Panic surged through her. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths, her hands trembled as they clutched the parchment. She knew war was filled with gruesome deaths, but to be so directly linked to one left her feeling tainted and overwhelmed by guilt.

We have taken the young Prince back to Myr with us, and although technically he is a hostage of the Greens, we will treat him with the upmost kindness and respect. Unless, of course, you and your husband request…something else. But I know you, sister, and you are not so ruthless.

By the time I receive your next letter, you might have made me an uncle once more, another niece or nephew to send gifts to. I pray for a safe birth and I await your reply.

Your Brother, Dermot

As she finished, Maera tried to steady herself. She knew that Prince Viserys would be safe with her brother, that no harm would come to the boy. Yet the question Dermot posed about the potential of ending the little prince’s life stunned her. He assumed, based on knowing her well, that Maera would want no harm to come to Viserys. Still, it was horrible to think that Dermot even felt the need to ask.

Is this what war did to people? Did it turn them into monsters willing to harm children for the sake of a crown? Maera knew the answer, having seen the evidence around her. Yet she also knew that, no matter the stakes or the cost, she would never resort to such horror. Her heart ached, torn between the horror of what had happened and the resolve to protect the innocent, even in the midst of a brutal war.

Maera knew she would need to inform the council of the shocking contents of Dermot's letter. The thought weighed heavily on her, but she steadied herself and prepared to leave her chambers. As she shut the door behind her, she noticed Aemond emerging from his room across the corridor, a piece of parchment in his own hand.

For a moment, the couple paused, their eyes meeting. There was a brief flash of unspoken understanding and shared burden between them, a recognition of the gravity of their respective news. Maera's face was set in a determined expression, while Aemond's was marked by the usual sternness, tinged with a hint of something unreadable.

Without exchanging a word, they fell into step beside each other, walking side by side toward the council chambers. The silence between them was thick with tension and unspoken emotions, their footsteps echoing through the dimly lit hallways of Harrenhal. The castle's cold, grey stone walls seemed to close in around them as they walked, the distant sound of ravens and the occasional clank of armor from passing guards the only interruptions to their shared silence.

Maera's mind raced with the implications of Dermot's letter. She could feel the parchment crinkling slightly in her hand as she gripped it tightly, the weight of its contents pressing down on her. Aemond's presence beside her was both a comfort and a reminder of the fractured state of their relationship. Despite the distance between them, their fates remained intertwined.

“Is there a reason a meeting has been called so early this morning?” Lord Butterwell groaned, rubbing his face in an attempt to hide a yawn. “Some of us have not even had time to break our fast.”

The early morning light bathed the council chamber in a soft, rosy glow, the sky outside still displaying the pink hues of dawn. Though Lord Butterwell had grumbled about the early hour, it was clear the day had barely begun. The chamber itself was an imposing space, its high ceilings and stone walls giving it a grand, almost austere atmosphere.

The Lords and the Maester sat around the table, their faces etched with curiosity and mild concern. Scrolls and maps were spread across the table, remnants of previous discussions. Each man seemed to be silently questioning the necessity of this meeting, their eyes darting towards the door every few moments.

“Yes, I-“

“I have received-“

Both Aemond and Maera moved to speak at the same time, their voices overlapping awkwardly. They stopped, turning to look at each other. The moment was heavy with unspoken tension, a silent battle of wills playing out in their gazes. After a beat, Aemond gestured for Maera to speak first, his gesture a reluctant acquiescence. She nodded in thanks, though the strain between them was evident to all.

“My brother Dermot has written once more. He has provided more information regarding the death of Prince Jacaerys,” she declared as she stepped forward, her movements deliberate as she handed the piece of parchment to Lord Unwin.

“The Essosi fleet chanced upon a ship containing the young Princes, Aegon and Viserys. Aegon escaped but Viserys was taken hostage,” the Princess explained as she watched the letter be passed from hand to hand, each Lord’s expression shifting from curiosity to grim satisfaction as they read its contents. The news was clearly pleasing to them, despite its grim nature.

“Jacaerys attempted to rescue his brother but his dragon flew into one ships of my fleet.” Maera’s gaze drifted to the map of Westeros that occupied the center of the table. The map was dotted with green and black figurines, representing their forces and those of their enemies. She reached out, her fingers hovering over one of the black dragon figurines. Taking a deep breath, she picked it up, feeling the weight of its symbolism. With a solemn expression, she placed it into a wooden box containing other discarded figures.

“To then be finished off by the Essosi bowman.”

The room remained silent for a moment, the weight of the news settling over them. The Lords seemed pleased with the grim update, their faces reflecting a shared sense of grim determination. Maera, however, felt a mix of sorrow and dread. The loss of another Prince, even if it was on the enemy’s side, marked another tragic chapter in the ongoing conflict, and the stakes continued to rise with each passing day. The war was far from over, and its toll weighed heavily on her heart.

“This is an advantageous prospect,” stated Lord Unwin, granting Maera a kind smile as if knowing she was feeling conflicted about the news. “With Rhaenyra’s son being held by the Greens, we can bend her to our will.” Maera smiled back at him, only to be distracted by a scoff from Lord Vance.

“Mayhaps sending her a finger or two via raven will sway her,” he said with a cynical smirk.

Maera scowled at the aged lord, her eyes narrowing. “I needn’t remind you, my Lord, that a hostage is more valuable alive and unharmed rather than at risk of threat when it comes to negotiating with our enemies.” The room fell into an awkward silence, and Maera glanced up to see Aemond staring at her, his single violet eye showing respect and something else.

She sighed deeply and settled into her chair, placing a protective hand on her bump. She took a deep breath to steady herself, knowing Aemond also had news to share. “My Prince?” she prompted.

Aemond rose from his chair beside Maera, his movements deliberate and controlled. Reaching into the pocket of his black and green leather doublet, he pulled out a small piece of parchment. With a gesture, he offered it to Maera.

Maera stared up at him for a moment, taking in his appearance. His silver hair, straight and gleaming like moonlight, framed his sharp-featured face. The lines etched across his skin spoke of both determination and weariness. His single eye, keen and focused, bore into her with an intensity that was both familiar and unsettling.

As she reached out and took the piece of parchment, her soft fingertips brushed against his calloused palm, sending that familiar spark through her. The brief contact reignited a mix of emotions she had been trying to suppress. Shaking her head to herself, Maera unfurled it with a frown, her concern deepening as she read its contents.

Nephew,

I must congratulate you on your promotion to Prince Regent. It is the closest thing you will ever experience to being King.

If you fancy yourself a man, if you truly believe you are more than just a boy playing at war, then prove it. Come to Dragonstone and face me in single combat. Bring your sword, if you think you can manage to wield it without trembling.

I will wait for you everyday on the western shoreline, though I half expect you to shy away, as a coward would. Show the realm who you truly are, Aemond. Face me if you dare.

Daemon Targaryen, King consort.

The words were stark and direct, carrying the weight of inevitable confrontation. She immediately flicked her gaze up to her husband, who stared right back at her, his expression inscrutable. The usual fire in his eye was no longer tempered, controlled, his iris a blazing and furious violet. She did not break eye contact as she passed the letter to Lord Unwin, searching her husband’s eye for any sign of hesitation, but finding none.

“You cannot seriously be considering this?” Maera stated with a deep frown, her eyes locking onto Aemond’s.

“My uncle is a challenge I welcome,” Aemond replied coolly, his tone unwavering. “If he dares face me.”

She scoffed at Aemond’s reaction to Daemon’s challenge. The insulting letter had struck its mark, stoking Aemond’s fury and clouding his judgment. She could see the simmering rage beneath his composed exterior, the anger that threatened to boil over and drive him to rash decisions.

“And what if this is a trap?” Maera asked angrily, her voice rising slightly.

“Vhagar will see to it,” her husband replied with a shrug, casting his gaze onto the other council members. “It will be a chance to end things, once and for all.”

He approached the table with deliberate steps, looking at the map of the known world. “And since we have heard nothing from Ser Arryk, we can assume he has failed his mission.” He glanced back at Maera for a moment, his expression firm. “I will now take matters into my own hands.”

Upon hearing Ser Arryk’s name mentioned, Maera’s heart clenched painfully. It was true that no news had come, and she dreaded the possibility that her loyal protector had met his end. The pointed tone in Aemond’s words felt almost accusatory, as if he blamed her for sending Ser Arryk on the mission in the first place.

Maera fumed at Aemond, her fists clenching, but she remained composed. “What are your thoughts, my Lords?” she asked, glancing around the room. “This should be a council decision after all.”

The room fell into an awkward silence. The Lords exchanged hesitant glances, their reluctance to speak palpable in the tense atmosphere between husband and wife. No one dared to voice their thoughts on the matter, not while the undercurrent of conflict between the couple hung so heavily in the air. Maera’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table, her frustration mounting as she struggled to keep her composure

Lord Unwin broke the silence first, clearing his throat. “The Rogue Prince is hardly trustworthy,” he said, his voice steady. Maera bid him a small smile, relieved to hear someone thinking clearly.

Lord Unwin continued, his gaze shifting between Maera and Aemond. “Should any harm come to you, Prince Aemond, the line of succession would be even further at risk.”

Maester Cain nodded in agreement, his brows furrowing in concern. “I would agree. You have a dragon at your disposal, yes, but if you are ambushed, I am certain young Prince Daeron would bend the knee to Rhaenyra to save his life and that of his family.”

The Princess felt a wave of relief wash over her as her allies, Maester Cain and Lord Unwin Peake, voiced their logical reasons against Aemond accepting Daemon’s challenge. Their arguments were grounded in reason, emphasizing the broader implications of such a duel and the unnecessary risk it posed. She clung to their support, hoping their sensible advice would penetrate Aemond’s stubborn resolve.

She watched as Aemond furrowed his brow, considering the councilmen’s points. His expression was a mix of frustration and contemplation, the tension in his features revealing the internal struggle between his desire for vengeance and the practical counsel being offered.

Despite this, Maera couldn’t shake her disbelief at Aemond’s recklessness, provoked by a mere letter from Daemon. His thoughts were consumed by his own pride and the need to prove himself. He wasn’t considering his younger brother Daeron or his two-year-old nephew Maelor.

Most painfully, he wasn’t thinking about the impact this would have on Maera and the child she carried. It was selfish, and the realization stung deeply. Maera’s heart ached as she silently implored Aemond to see reason, to think beyond his own vendetta and recognize the wider consequences of his actions.

“And yet,” Lord Butterwell’s voice cut through the room, causing everyone to look at him. “Without Daemon by her side, Rhaenyra would bend the knee to the Greens and recognize Prince Maelor as the rightful heir to the throne.”

Aemond nodded along, and Maera clenched her jaw, silently praying that one of the Gods would come down from the heavens and clamp a hand over the old goat’s mouth. Her husband needed no further pushing in this dangerous direction, yet the bloodthirst amongst the men seemed difficult to match with reason.

“It is a risk, of course, my Prince,” the older Lord Vance agreed, his expression grave. “But is it one you’re willing to take?”

Maera watched Aemond’s gaze sweep around the room, taking in the supportive nods and murmurs of approval from the other Lords. His eye finally landed on her. Maera met his gaze with her forest green eyes, silently pleading with him to reconsider. Her heart pounded in her chest as she hoped against hope that her husband would heed her unspoken plea. Yet he remained unswayed.

“It is,” Aemond declared with finality in his tone. Feeling her heart sink, Maera slumped further into her seat, a wave of despair washing over her. Aemond was indeed a skilled swordsman, but he was about to venture into enemy territory and face a seasoned warrior in Daemon. She struggled to maintain her composure, knowing that her husband’s recklessness could cost them everything.

Aemond moved his hand over one of the green dragon figurines at Harrenhall, representing himself and Vhagar, and placed it on Dragonstone on the map, a finality to the movement. The room was silent as the council watched, the gesture confirming his resolve to face Daemon. “I will make my preparations at once.”

Frustrated, Maera rose from her seat, her black and golden skirts swaying as she approached the map, standing beside her husband. She felt defeated but knew there was nothing she could do to change her stubborn husband’s mind. With a resigned sigh, she acquiesced to the plan.

“Fine,” Maera said through gritted teeth. “To Dragonstone then.”

Aemond’s single violet eye met hers, a flicker of surprise and something else passing through his gaze. The room fell silent, the tension palpable as the council members exchanged uncertain glances.

Maera looked at the map and saw another green dragon figurine at Harrenhall, representing herself and Ēbrion. If Aemond thought Maera would simply wait for her husband to be slain and then have Daemon and Rhaenyra come to kill her and her child, then Aemond truly did not know her. She picked up the black figurine and placed it beside Aemond’s dragon figurine on Dragonstone.

“Both of us.”

Notes: Shiiiiiiiiiittt 👀 also it’s my birthday next week and then the first episode of S2 drops and I’m growing very impatient 😤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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